Copyright, 1899, by Henry Altemus.
ALPHONSE DAUDET
LA BELLE
NIVERNAISE
THE STORY OF AN OLD BOAT
AND HER CREW
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
V
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. A HASH ACT 5
II. THE BELLE NIVERNAISE 45
III. UNDER WAY 63
IV. LIFE is HARD 91
V. MAUGENDRE'S AMBITIONS . . 127
2227599
LA BELLE NIVERNAISE
CHAPTER I
A RASH ACT
THE street Des Enfants-Rouges is in
the Temple quarter a very narrow
street, with stagnant gutters and pud-
dles of black mud, with foul water and
mouldy smells pouring from its gaping
passages. The houses on each side are
very lofty, and have barrack-like win-
dows, that show no curtains behind their
dirty panes. These are common lodg-
ing-houses, and dwellings of artisans, of
day-laborers, and of men who work at
5
6 La Belle Xivernaise.
their trade in their own rooms. There
are shops on the ground floor ; many
pork-dealers, wine-retailers, vendors of
chestnuts, bakers of coarse bread,
butchers displaying viands of repulsive
tints. In this street you see no car-
riages, no flounced gowns, no elegant
loungers on the pavement; but there are
costermongers crying the refuse of the
market-places, and a throng of work-
men crowding out of the factories with
their blouses rolled up under their arms.
This is the eighth of the month, the
day when poor people pay their rents,
the day when landlords who are tired of
waiting any longer turn Want out of
doors. On this day you see removal
carts going past with piles of iron bed-
A Rash Act. 9
steads, torn mattresses, kitchen utensils,
and lame tables rearing up their legs in
the air; and with not even a handful of
straw to pack the wretched things, dam-
aged and worn out as they are by being
knocked about on dirty staircases, and
tumbled down from attic to basement.
It is now getting dark, and one after
another the gas-lamps are lighted, and
send their reflections from the gutters
and the shop windows. The passers-by,
however, hasten onward; for the fog
is chilly.
But there, in a warm, comfortable
wine-shop, is the honest old bargeman,
Louveau, leaning against the counter,
and taking a friendly glass with the
joiner from La Villette. The barge-
10 La Belle Nivernaise.
man's big, weather-beaten face dilates
into a hearty laugh, that makes the cop-
per rings in his ears shake again, as he
exclaims:
" So it's settled, friend Dubac, that
you take my load of timber at the price
I have named."
"Agreed."
" Your good health."
" Here's to yours."
They clink their glasses together, and
Louveau drinks with his head thrown
back and his eyes half closed, smacking
his lips in order to taste better the flavor
of his white wine.
It can't be helped, look you, but every
one has his failing; and white wine is
the special weakness of our friend Lou-
A Rash Act. 11
veau. Not that he is a drunkard. Far
from it. Indeed, his wife, who is a
woman of sense, would not allow fu&
dling; but when one has to live like our
bargeman, with his feet in the water,
and his pate in the sun, it is quite neces-
sary to quaff off a glass now and then.
Louvean is getting more and more
elated; and he smiles at the shining zinc
counter which he now sees rather in-
distinctly for it brings to his mind the
heap of new, bright coins he will pocket
to-morrow when he delivers his timber.
After a parting glass, and a shake of
the hands, our friends separate.
" To-morrow without fail ? "
" You may depend on me."
Louveau, at least, will not fail to keep
12 La Belle Xivernaise.
the appointment. The bargain is too
good, and has been too hard driven for
him to be behind.
So in high glee, our bargeman turns
down towards the Seine, rolling his
shoulders and elbowing his way along,
with the exuberant delight of a school-
boy who has a franc piece in his pocket.
What will mother Louveau say the
wife with a head-piece when she learns
that her husband has sold his timber
right off, and that at a good profit 2
Two or three more bargains like this, and
then they can afford to buy a new boat
and drop the Belle Nivernaise, for she is
beginning to get much too leaky. Not
that she is to blame for that, for she was
a fine boat when she was new; only, you
A Eash Act. 13
see, everything gets old and goes to de-
cay ; and Louveau himself feels that
even he is not now as active as when he
used to assist in steering the timber-rafts
on the Marne.
But what is going on down there ?
The gossips are collected before a door,
and people are stopping, and engaging
in conversation, while the policeman
standing in the middle of the gathering
is writing something in his note-book.
Like everybody else, our bargeman
crosses the road to satisfy his curiosity,
and see whether a dog has been run
over, or a vehicle has stuck fast, or a
tipsy man has fallen into the gutter, or
what other equally uninteresting event
has occurred. Something different this
14 La Belle Xivernaise.
time! A small child with disordered
hair, and cheeks all over jam, is sitting
on a wooden chair, rubbing his eyes with
his hands, and crying. The tears that
have streamed down his rather dirty
face have left upon it fantastically
shaped marks. The officer is question-
ing the little fellow, with a calm and
dignified air, as if he were examining a
prisoner, and he is taking notes of the
answers.
" What is your name ? "
" Totor."
" Victor What ? "
Xo answer; only the poor little brat
cried more, and sobbed " Mamma !
Mamma ! "
At this moment, a very plain and uri-
A Rash Act. 15
tidy woman of the laboring class was
passing by, dragging her two children
after her. She advanced through the
group, and asked the police-officer to
allow her to try what she could do. She
knelt down, wiped the little fellow's
nose, dried his eyes, and kissed his sticky
cheeks.
" What is your mammy's name, my
dear ? "
He did not know. Then the police-
man addressed himself to one of the
neighbors:
" Xow you should know something
about these people, as you are the door-
keeper."
Xo, he had never heard their name,
and then there were so many tenants
16 La Belle Xivernaise.
going backwards and forwards in the
house. All that could be ascertained
was that they had lived there for a
month, that they had never paid a farth-
ing of rent, that the landlord had just
turned them out, and that it was a good
riddance.
" What did they do ? "
" Nothing at all."
The father and mother used to spend
the day in drinking, and the evening in
fighting. They never agreed together
in anything, except in thrashing their
other children, two lads that used to beg
in the streets, and steal things there ex-
posed for sale. A nice family, as you
may believe.
A Rash Act. 17
" Do you think they will come to look
for their child ? "
" I am sure they will not."
The removal had, in fact, afforded
them an opportunity of abandoning the
child. That was not the first time such
a thing had happened on the term days.
"Did nobody see the parents leav-
ing ? " asked the policeman.
Yes ! they went away in the morning,
the husband pushing the hand-cart,
while his wife carried a package in her
apron, and the two lads had nothing, but
their hands in their pockets.
The passers-by, after indignantly ex-
claiming that these people should be
caught, continued on their way.
The poor little brat had been there
2
18 La Belle Xivernaise.
since noon, when his mother had set him
in the chair and told him to " be good,"
and all that time he had been waiting.
But when he began to cry for hunger,
the fruit-woman over the way had given
him a slice of bread with jam on it.
This had long ago been devoured, and
the little wretch was beginning to cry
again.
The poor innocent, too, was nearly
dying with fear. He was afraid of the
dogs prowling round him afraid of the
night that was coming on afraid of the
strangers talking to him and his little
heart was beating violently in his
bosom, like that of an expiring bird.
As the crowd round him continued to
increase, the police officer, tired of the
A Rash Act. 19
scene, took the child by the hand to lead
him to the station.
" Come now ; does anybody claim
him ? "
" Stop a moment ! "
Every one turned round, and saw a
great ruddy face wearing a silly smile
that extended from one copper-ringed
ear to the other.
" Stop a minute ! if nobody wants
him, I will take him myself."
Loud exclamations burst from the
crowd : " Well done,"" That's right,"
- " You are a good fellow."
Old Louveau, excited by the white
wine, the success of his bargain, and the
general approbation, stood with folded
20 La Belle Nivernaise.
arms in the middle of the admiring
circle.
" Oh, it's a simple matter."
Those who were curious went on with
him to the police magistrate's, without
letting his enthusiasm cool. When lie
got there he was asked the questions
usual in such cases:
" Your name ? "
" Francis Louveau, your Honor, a
married man, and if I may say so, well
married, to a wife with a head-piece.
And that is lucky for me, your Honor,
for you see I am not very clever myself,
ha! ha! not very clever. I'm not an
eagle. ' Francis is not an eagle/ my
wife says."
He had never before been so elo-
A Rash Act. 21
quent, but now he felt his tongue loos-
ened, and all the assurance of a man
who had just concluded a good bargain
and who had drunk a bottle of white
wine.
" Your occupation ? "
"Bargeman, your Honor, master of
the Belle Nivernaise, rather a rough
boat, but manned by a smartish crew.
Ah ! now mine is a famous crew. . . .
Ask the lock-keepers all the way from
the Pont Marie to Clamecy. . . . Has
your Honor ever been there, at Cla-
mecy ? "
The people about him were smiling,
but Louveau went on, spluttering and
clipping short his syllables.
" Well, now, Clamecy is a nice place,
22 La Belle XivernaLsc.
if you like! It's wooded from top to
bottom; and with good wood, workable
wood; all the joiners know that. . . .
It is there I buy my timber. He ! he ! I
am famous for my timber. I see a thing
at a glance, look you! Xot because I
am clever; as my wife says, I am by no
means an eagle: but in fact I do see a
thing at a glance. . . . For instance,
now, I take a tree as thick as you ask-
ing your Honor's pardon and I lap a
string round it, this way. . . ."
He had drawn a cord from his pocket,
and seizing hold of the officer standing
by, had encircled him with it.
The officer struggled to disentangle
himself:
" Please leave me alone."
A Rash Act. 23
" Yes. . . yes. . . I want to show
his Honor how I pass the string round
it, and then when I have the girth, I
multiply it by ... I multiply by ...
I forget now what I multiply by ...
My wife does the calculation. She has
a good head-piece, has my wife."
The audience was highly amused, and
the magistrate himself could not refrain
from smiling behind his table. When
the laughter had subsided a little, he
asked :
" What will you make of this child?"
" Certainly not a gentleman. We
have never had a gentleman in our
family. But he shall be a bargeman, a
smart barge lad, like the rest."
" Have you any children ? "
24 La Belle Xivernaise.
" I should think I have ! I have one
able to walk, another at the breast, and
there is a third one coming. That's not
so bad, is it, for a man who is not an
eagle ? With this one there will be
four; but pooh! where there is enough
for three, there is enough for four.
Packed a little closer, that's all. One
must pull one's belt a little tighter and
try to get more for one's wood."
And his laughter again shook the oar-
rings, as he turned a complacent look on
those present.
A big book was put before him, but
as he could not write he had to sign with
a cross.
The magistrate thereupon gave the
lost child up to him.
A Hash Act. 25
" Take the little fellow away, Francis
Louveau, and mind you bring him up
well. If any inquiries are made about
him, I will let you know. But it is not
likely that his parents will ever claim
him. As for you, you seem to be an
honest man, and I have confidence in
you. Always be guided by your wife;
and now good-bye, and don't you take
too much white wine."
A dark night, a cold fog, a lot of un-
concerned people hurrying away home
that all tends to quickly bring a man
to his senses.
Hardly had our bargeman got into
the street by himself, leading by the
hand the child he had taken under his
care, and carrying his stamped docu-
26 La Belle Xivernaise.
ment in his pocket, than he felt his en-
thusiasm suddenly cool down and he be-
came aware of the serious import of his
act.
Is he then always to be like this ?
Always to be a simpleton and a brag-
gart ? Why could not he go on his way
like other people without meddling in
what did not concern him ?
Now, for the first time, he pictured to
himself the wrath of mother Louveau.
Just fancy the kind of reception he will
meet with !
What a dreadful thing it is for a sim-
ple, kind-hearted man to have a shrewd
wife! He would never have the cour-
age to go home, and yet he dared not go
A Rash Act. 29
back to the police magistrate's. What-
ever should he do ?
They went on through the fog, Lou-
veau gesticulating and talking to him-
self. He was getting a speech ready.
Victor was dragging his shoes in the
mud and letting himself be pulled along
like a dead weight. At length, he could
go no farther, and then Louveau
stopped, lifted him up and carried him,
wrapping his overall round him. The
twining of the little arms round his neck
caused our bargeman to resume his jour-
ney with a rather better heart.
Faith, bad as it was, he would run the
risk. If mother Louveau turned them
out, there would still be time to carry
the little brat back to the police-office;
30 La Belle ]^ivernaise.
but if she would keep him only for one
night, he would be the gainer by a good
meal.
They came to the Bridge of Auster-
litz, where the Belle Nivernaise was
moored, and the faint, pleasant odor
from the loads of newly-cut wood filled
the night air. A whole fleet of boats
was rocking in the dark shade of the
river's bank, and the movement of the
water made the lamps swing and the
chains grate together.
To get to his boat, Louveau had to
pass over two lighters connected by
planks. He w r ent on with timid steps
and trembling limbs, hampered by the
hug of the child's arms about his neck.
The night was extremely dark, and
31
A Rash Act. 33
the only signs of life about the Belle
Nivernaise were the little lamp shining
in the cabin window, and the ray of
light that found its way beneath the
door.
Mother Louveau's voice was heard
chiding the children, while she was
cooking the evening meal:
" Be quiet, Clara ! "
It was now too late for retreat, and
the bargeman pushed the door open.
Mother Louveau had her back towards
it, and was leaning over her frying-pan,
but she knew his footstep, and without
turning round, said:
" Is it you, Francis ? How late you
are in getting back ! "
The frying potatoes were dancing
3
34 La Belle Xivernaise.
about in the crackling oil; and as the
steam from the pan passed towards the
open door, it dimmed the panes of the
cabin windows.
Francis had put the poor brat on the
floor, and the little fellow, impressed by
the warmth of the place, and feeling his
reddened fingers restored to animation,
smiled and said in a rather soft and
sweet voice:
" Warm here. . . ."
Mother Louveau turned round, and,
pointing to the ragged child standing in
the middle of the room, asked her hus-
band in angry tones:
" What is that ? "
But even in the best of households
there are such moments.
A Rash Act. 35
" A surprise for you, he ! he ! a sur-
prise."
The bargeman grinned from ear to
ear, in order to keep himself in counte-
nance; but he very much wished that he
was still in the street. However, as his
wife was waiting for an explanation,
and glaring at him with a dreadful look,
he faltered out his story in a jumbled
way, with the supplicating eyes of a dog
threatened with the whip.
His parents had abandoned him, and
he had found him crying on the pave-
ment. Some one had asked if anybody
would take him. He said he would.
And the police magistrate had told him
he might take him away.
" Didn't he, my child ? "
36 La Belle Xi
Then the storm burst upon him:
" You are' mad, or drunk ! Did ever
any one hear tell of such a piece of
folly! I suppose you want us to die of
starvation ? Do you think we are too
well off ? That we have too much to
eat ? Too much room to lie in ? "
Francis contemplated his shoes with-
out answering a word.
" Think of yourself, you wretch, and
think of us ! Your boat is holed like
my skimmer, and yet you must go and
amuse yourself by picking up other peo-
ple's children out of the gutter ! "
But the poor fellow knew all that too
well already, and did not attempt to
deny it. He bowed his head like a
A Rash Act. 37
criminal listening to the statement of
his guilt.
" You will do me the favor of taking
that child back to the police magistrate,
and if any objections are made about re-
ceiving him back again, you must say
that your wife won't have him. Do you
understand ? "
She advanced toward him, pan in
hand, with a threatening gesture, and
the bargeman promised to do all she
wished.
" Come, now, don't get vexed. I
thought I was doing right. I have made
a mistake. That's enough. Must he be
taken back at once ? "
Her good man's submission softened
mother Louveau's heart. Perhaps, also,
38 La Belle Xivernaise.
there arose in her mind the vision of a
child of her own, lost and alone at night,
stretching out its hands towards the
passers-by.
She turned to put her pan on the fire,
and said in a testy tone:
" It cannot be done to-night, for the
office is closed. And now that yon have
brought him, you cannot set him down
again on the pavement. He shall re;
main to-night; but to-morrow morn-
ing. . ."
Mother Louveau was so enraged that
she poked the fire first with one hand
and then with the other.
" But I vow that to-morrow you shall
rid me of him! "
There was silence.
A Rash Act. 39
The housewife laid the table sav-
agely, knocking the glasses together, and
dashing the forks down. Clara was
frightened, and kept very quiet in one
corner.
The baby was whining on the bed,
and the lost child was looking with
fronder at the cinders in the stove get-
ting red hot. Perhaps he had never
seen a fire in all his life before.
There was, however, another pleasure
in store for him, when lie was put to the
table with a napkin round his neck, and
a heap of potatoes on his plate. He ate
like a robin-redbreast picking crumbs off
the snow.
Mother Louveau helped him furiously,
but at heart she was a little bit touched
40 La Belle Xivernaise.
by the appetite of the starved child. Lit-
tle Clara was delighted, and stroked him
with her spoon. Louveau was dismayed
and dared not lift an eye.
When she had removed the table
things and put her children to bed,
mother Louveau seated herself near the
fire, and took the child between her
knees to give him a little wash.
"We can't put him to bed in that
dirty state."
I lay he had never before seen either
sponge or comb. Under her hands the
poor child twirled round like a top.
But when once he had been washed
and tidied up, the little lad did not look
bad, with his pink poodle-like nose, and
hands as plump as rosy apples.
A Rash Act. 41
Mother Louveau looked upon her
work with a certain degree of satisfac-
tion.
" I wonder how old he is ? "
Francis laid down his pipe, delighted
once more to be an actor in the scene.
This was the first time he had been
spoken to all the evening, and a ques-
tion addressed to him was almost like a
recall to grace. He rose up and drew
his cords from his pocket.
" How old? He! he! I'll tell you in
a minute."
He took the little fellow in his arms,
and wound lines round him as he did
to the tree at Clamecy.
Mother Louveau looked on with
amazement.
42 La Belle Xivernaise.
" Whatever are you doing ? "
" I am taking his dimensions."
She snatched the cord from his hands,
and flung it to the other end of the
apartment.
" My good man, how silly you make
yourself with these mad tricks! The
child is not a young tree."
No chance for you, this evening, poor
Francis! Quite abashed he beats a re-
treat, whilst mother Louveau puts the
little one to bed in Clara's cot.
The little girl is sleeping with closed
hands and taking up all the room. She
is vaguely conscious that something is
put beside her, stretches out her arms,
pushes her neighbor into a corner, digs
A Rash Act. 43
her elbows into his eyes, turns over and
goes to sleep again.
In the meantime the lamp has been
blown out, and the Seine rippling round
the boat gently rocks the wooden habita-
tion.
The poor cold child feels a gentle
warmth steal over him, and he falls
asleep with the new sensation of some-
thing like a caressing hand upon his
head, just as his eyes are closing.
CHAPTEE II
THE BELLE NIVERNAISE
MADEMOISELLE CLARA used always to
awake early, and this morning she was
surprised at not seeing her mother in the
cabin, and at finding another head on
the pillow beside her. She rubbed her
eyes with her little fingers, then took
hold of her bedfellow by the hair and
shook him.
Poor " Totor " was roused by the
strangest sensations, for roguish fingers
were teasing him by tickling his neck
and seizing hold of his nose.
He cast his wondering eyes round
about him, and was quite surprised that
45
46 La Belle Nivernaise.
his dream still continued. Above them
there was a creaking of footsteps, and a
rumbling sound caused by the unload-
ing of the planks upon the quay.
Mademoiselle Clara seemed greatly
perplexed. She pointed her little finder
to the ceiling with a gesture that seemed
to ask her friend:
" What is that ? "
It was the delivery of the wood be-
ginning. Dubac, the joiner from La
Villette, had come at six o'clock with hi-
horse and cart, and Louveau had very
quickly set to work, with a hitherto un-
known ardor.
The good fellow had not closed an rye
all night for thinking that he would
have to take that child, who had been so
The Belle Xivernaise. 49
cold and hungry, back to the police-
magistrate.
He expected to have a scene in the
morning again; but mother Louveau had
some other notions in her head, for she
did not mention Victor to him; and
Francis thought that much might be
gained by postponing the time for ex-
planations.
He was striving to efface himself, and
to escape from his wife's view, and he
was working with all his might, lest
mother Louveau should see him idle, and
should call out to him :
" Come now, as you have nothing to
do, take the little boy back where you
found him."
And he did work. The pile of planks
4
50 La Belle Xivernaise.
was visibly diminishing. Dubac had
already made three journeys, and mother
Louveau, standing on the gangway with
her nursling on her arm, had her time
fully taken up counting the lots as they
passed.
Working with a will, Francis selected
for his burdens rafters as long as masts
and as thick as walls. If the beam were
too heavy, he called the Crew to help
him to load.
The Crew was a boatman with a
wooden leg, and he alone formed the
personal equipment of the Belle Niver-
naise. He had been picked up from
charity, and retained from habit.
This maimed one would prop himself
up on his peg, or raise up the log with
The Belle Nivernaise. 51
great effort, and Loirveau, bending be-
neath the load, with his belt tight round
his waist, would pass slowly over the
movable bridge.
How could a man so busily occupied
be interrupted in his work? Mother
Louveau could not think of it. She
went up and down on the gangway, in-
tent only on Mimile who was at her
breast.
He was always thirsty, that Mimile,
like his father. But Louveau, thirsty ?
... he certainly was not so to-day. He
had been working since morning, and
the question of white wine had never
been raised. He had not even taken
breathing time, or wiped his brow, or
drunk a drop at the edge of a counter.
52 La Belle Xivernaise.
Even when, after a little, Dubac pro-
posed to go and have a glass, Francis
heroically replied:
"We shall have time later on."
Kef use a glass! the housewife could
not understand it at all; this could not
be her Louveau, but must be some sub-
stitute.
Her Clara now seems a changeling
also, for eleven o'clock has struck, and
the little girl, who would never remain
in bed, has not stirred the whole morn-
ing.
Mother Louveau hastens into the
cabin to see what is going on. Francis
remains on deck, swinging his arms, and
gasping for breath, as if he had just re-
ceived in his stomach a blow from a joist.
The Belle Mvernaise. 53
Now for it! His wife has bethought
herself of Victor; she is going to bring
him on deck, and he must start for the
police office. . . . But 'no; mother Lou-
veau reappears all alone. She is laugh-
ing and she beckons to him :
"Just come and look here, it is so
funny ! "
The good man cannot understand this
sudden hilarity, and he follows her like
an automaton, the fulness of his emo-
tion almost depriving him of the use of
his legs.
The two monkeys were sitting on the
edge of the bed, in their shirts, and with
bare feet. They had possessed them-
selves of the bowl of soup that the
mother left within reach of their little
54 La Belle Xivernaise.
arms when she got up. As there was
only one spoon for the two mouths, they
were cramming each other in turns, like
fledglings in a nest; and Clara, who
used always to be averse to taking her
soup, was laughing and stretching out
her mo.uth for the spoon. Although
some crumbs of bread might have got
into eyes or ears, the two babies had
broken nothing, had upset nothing, and
they were amusing themselves so heart-
ily that it was impossible to find fault
with them.
Mother Louveau continued to laugh.
"As they are agreeing so well as that,
we need not trouble ourselves about
them."
Francis immediately returned to his
The Belle Mvernaise. 55
work, quite delighted with the turn
things were taking.
Usually, at the unloading time, he
would take a rest during the day; that
is to say, he would go the round of all
the bargemen's taverns, from the Point-
du-Jour to the Quai de Bercy. So that
the unloading used to drag on for a
whole week, during which mother Lou-
veau's wrath would continue unap-
peased.
But this time there was no idleness,
no white wine, but a passionate desire to
do well by ardent and sustained labor.
On his part the little fellow, as if he
understood that his cause must be won,
was doing all that he possibly could to
amuse Clara.
56 La Belle Xivernaise.
For the first time in her life, this lit-
tle girl passed a whole day without tears,
without dashing herself about, without
making holes in her stockings. Her
companion amused her, soothed her. He
was always willing to make a sacrifice of
his hair to stop Clara's tears on the edges
of her eyelids.
And she tugged at her big friend's
rough poll by handfuls, teasing him like
a pug-dog nipping a poodle.
Mother Louveau observed all this
from a distance, and inwardly remark^!
that this child was just as useful as a lit-
tle nurse. So they might keep Victor
until the unloading was finished. There
would be time to take him back after-
wards, just before their departure.
The Belle Xivernaise. 57
For this reason, she did not that even-
ing make any allusion to sending him
back, but gorged him with potatoes, and
put him to bed as on the night before.
One would have thought that Lou-
veau's little friend was a member of the
family, and to see the way Clara put her
arm round his neck as she went to sleep,
would lead one to suppose that she had
taken him under her special protection.
The unloading of the Belle Nivernaise
lasted three days. Three days of im-
petuous labor, without any relaxation,
without any break. About midday the
last cart was laden and the boat was
empty. ,
They could not take the tug until the
morrow, and Francis passed the whole
58 La Belle Nivernaise.
day between decks, repairing the planks,
but still haunted by those words that for
three days had been ringing in his ear- :
" Take him back to the police-magis-
trate."
Ah! that magistrate! He was not
more dreaded in the house of wicked Mr.
Punch than he was in the cabin of the
Belle Nivernaise. He had become a
kind of bogle that mother Louveau
availed herself of to keep Clara quiet.
Every time she pronounced that name
of fear, the little fellow fixed upon her
the restless eyes of a child who has too
early had experience of suffering.
He vaguely understood all that this
word meant of dangers to come. The
magistrate ! That meant no more
The Belle Nivernaise. 59
Clara, no more caresses, no more
warmth, no more potatoes; but a return
to a cheerless life, to days without bread,
to slumbers without bed, to awakening
in the morning without kisses.
How he therefore clung to mother
Louveau's skirts on the eve of the boat's
departure! when Francis, in a trem-
bling voice, asked :
" Come now, shall we take him back,
yes or no ? "
Mother Louveau did not answer. You
would even fancy she was thinking of
some pretext for keeping Victor.
As for Clara, she rolled on the floor,
choking with sobs, and determined to
have convulsions if she were separated
from her friend.
CO La Belle Xivernaise.
Then the wife with a head-piece spoke
seriously :
" My good man, you have done a fool-
ish act, as usual. And now you have to
pay for it. This child has become at-
tached to us, Clara is fond of him, and
every one would be grieved to see him
leave. I am going to try and keep him,
but I will have each one to bear a part.
The first time that Clara works herself
up into a fit of passion,' or that you get
drunk, I shall take him back to the
police-magistrate's."
Old Louveau became radiant.
It was done. He would drink no
more.
He smiled right up to his ear-rings
and sang away as he coiled his cable on
The Belle Xirernaise. 61
the deck, whilst the tug towed along the
Belle Nivernaise together with quite a
fleet of other boats.
CHAPTER III
UNDER WAY
VICTOR was under way. Under way
for the suburban country, where the
water mirrors little houses and green gar-
dens under way for the white land of
the chalk hills under way beside the
flagged, resounding towing-paths un-
der way for the uplands, for the canal of
the Yonne, slumbering within its locks
under way for the verdure of winter,
and for the woods of Morvan.
Francis leant against the tiller of his
boat, firm in his resolution not to drink,
and turned a deaf ear to the invitations
of the lock-keepers, and of the wine-
63
64 La Belle Xivernaise.
dealers, who were astonished to see him
passing free. He was obliged to cling
to the tiller to keep the Belle Nivernaise
from going alongside of the taverns.
The old boat, from the time she had
made the same voyage, seemed as if ^he
knew the stations, and wanted to stop at
them of her own accord, like an omnibus
horse.
The Crew was perched on one leg in
the prow, where, handling an immense
boat-hook in a melancholy way, he
pushed back the bushes, rounded the
turns, and grappled the locks.
It was not much work he used to do,
although the noise of his wooden leg on
the deck might be heard day and night.
Resigned and silent, he was one of
to
Under Way. 67
those for whom everything in life had
gone wrong. A school-fellow had caused
him the loss of an eye; an axe had lamed
him at the saw-mill; a vat had scalded
him at the sugar refinery.
He would have been a beggar dying
of hunger at the edge of a ditch, if Lou-
veau who always saw a thing at a
glance had not, as he was coming out
of the hospital, engaged him to help in
working the boat.
This was, at the time, the occasion of
a great quarrel exactly as for Victor.
The wife with a head-piece was vexed,
whereupon Louveau gave in.
In the end, the Crew remained, and at
this time he formed part of the house-
68 La Belle Xivcrnaise.
hold of the Belle Nivernaise, on the
same footing as the cat and the raven.
Old Louveau steered so exactly, and
the Crew worked the boat so well, that
after having ascended the river and the
canals, the Belle Nivernaise, twelve
days after her departure from Paris, got
moored at the bridge of Corbigny, there
to rest peacefully in her winter sleep.
From December to the end of Febru-
ary, the bargemen make no voyages, but
repair their boats, and look through the
forests to buy the spring cuttings as
they stand.
As wood is cheap, they keep good fires
in the cabins; and if the autumn sale has
been successful, this idle time is made
into a very enjoyable holiday.
Under Way. 69
The Belle Nivernaise was laid up for
wintering; that is to say, the rudder was
detached, the jury-mast was stowed
away between decks, and the whole
space was clear for playing and running
about on the upper deck.
What a change in his life for the
foundling! During all the voyage, he
had continued in a state of astonishment
and fear. He was like a cage-bird sur-
prised by being set free, that in the sud-
denness of the change, forgets its song
and its wings. Though too young to
enjoy the charms of the landscape
spread before his eyes, he had neverthe-
less been impressed by the grandeur of
that passage up the river between two
ever-changing horizons.
70 La Belle Nivernaise.
Mother Louveau, seeing him shy and
silent, kept on all day saying:
" He is deaf and dumb."
But the little Parisian from the Tem-
ple district was not dumb! "When he
got to understand that he was not dream-
ing, that he should no more go back to
his garret, and that, in spite of mother
Louveau's threats, there was really not
much to fear from the police-magistrate,
his tongue was loosed. It was like the
blossoming of a plant grown in a cellar
and then put upon a window shelf. He
ceased to cower timidly down in corners
like a hunted ferret. His eyes, deeply
set under his projecting brow, lost their
uneasy restlessness, and although he re-
Under Way. 71
rnained rather pale and had a thought-
ful look, he learned to laugh with Clara.
The little girl passionately loved her
play-fellow, as people do love each other
at that age for the pleasure of falling
out and making it up again. Although
she was as self-willed as a little donkey,
she had a very tender heart, and the
mention of the magistrate was enough
to make her do as she was bid.
They had hardly arrived at Corbigny,
when another sister came into the world.
Mimile was just eighteen months old,
and that made cots enough in the cabin
and work enough likewise; for, with
all the encumbrances they had, they
could not afford a servant.
Mother Louveau grumbled so much
72 La Belle Nivernaise.
that the Crew's wooden leg quaked with
fear. But nobody in the place had any
pity for her. Even the peasants did not
hesitate to say what they thought about
it to the priest, who used to hold up the
bargeman as a pattern.
" Say what your Reverence likes,
there's no common sense in a man who
has three children of his own picking up
those of other people. But the Lou-
veaus have always been like that. They
are full of vanity and conceit, and no
advice you can give them will alter
them."
People did not wish them ill, but were
not sorry they had got a lesson.
The vicar was a kind, well-meaning
man, who easily adopted the opinions of
Under Way. Y3
others, and always wound up by recol-
lecting some passage of Scripture, or
sentence from the Fathers, with which
to keep his own mind easy about his
sudden turns and changes.
" My parishioners are right," said he
to himself, as he passed his hand under
his badly shaven chin, " we must not
tempt divine Providence."
But as the Louveaus were, on the
whole, good honest people, he made his
pastoral call on them as usual.
He found mother Louveau cutting
breeches for Victor out of an old jacket,
for the little brat had brought no clothes
with him, and she could not bear rags
and tatters about her.
She placed a seat for his Reverence,
74 La Belle Xivernaise.
and when he spoke to her about Victor,
hinting that with the influence of the
Bishop they might perhaps get him into
the orphanage at Autun, mother Lou-
veau who would speak her mind to
everybody, abruptly answered:
" The little fellow may be a burden to
poor folks like us, certainly; I think that
when he brought him home, Francis
gave one more proof that he is not an
eagle. I am not harder hearted than my
husband; if I had met Victor, I should
have been sorry for him, but yet I would
have left him where he was. But now
that we have taken him, it is not in or-
der to get rid of him; and if we should
some day find ourselves in a difficulty
Under Way. 75
through him, we shall not go and ask
charity from anybody."
At this moment Victor came into the
cabin with Mimile in his arms.
The little monkey, angry at having
been weaned, was seeking his revenge by
refusing to be set down, and was show-
ing his teeth and biting everybody.
Touched by this sight, the vicar put
his hand on the foundling's head and
gravely remarked :
" God's blessing is on large families."
And away he went, delighted with
himself for having recollected a sentence
so appropriate to the situation.
Mother Louveau but told the truth
when she said that Victor was now one
of the family.
76 La Belle Xivernaise.
While continually grumbling, and
talking about taking the little fellow
back to the police-magistrate's, this
woman with a head-piece was getting to
like the pale-faced child that clung so
persistently to her skirts.
When old Louveau thought they were
making too much of him, she always re-
plied :
" Then you should not have taken
him."
As soon as he was eight years of age,
she sent him to school with Clara.
Victor would always carry the books
and the basket. He would fight bravely
in defending their luncheon against the
unscrupulous appetites of the young
Morvandians.
Under Way. 77
Xor did he show less spirit in his work
than in his fighting, and although he at-
tended the school in winter only, when
no voyages were made, he knew more
on his return than the little peasants,
who, dull and noisy as their wooden
shoes, would yawn over their alphabet
for twelve months together.
Victor and Clara used to come back
from the school through the forest, and
it amused the two children to see the
wood-cutters hewing down the trees.
As Victor was light and nimble, they
would get him to climb to the top of the
pines in order to fasten the rope that
served to pull them down. He would
appear smaller and smaller as he clam-
bered higher up, and when he got to the
78 La Belle Nivernaise.
top, Clara would be very frightened.
But he was fearless, and would some-
times swing on a branch purposely to
plague her.
At other times, they would go to see
M. Maugendre in his wood-yard. The
wood-dealer was a thin man and as dry
as a stick. He lived alone, away from
the village, amid the forest.
Xobody ever knew him to have any
friends; and the curiosity of the village
had for a long time been balked by the
seclusion and reserve of the unknown,
who had come from the farthest part of
the Nievre to set up a wood-yard a \vuy
from others.
For six years he worked in all weath-
ers, never taking a holiday, and like a
Under Way. 79
very drudge. Yet it was supposed he
had plenty of money, for he did a large
trade, and often went to Corbigny to
consult the notary about the investment
of his savings.
He once told the vicar that he was a
widower, but beyond this nothing was
known of him.
When Maugendre observed the chil-
dren coming he used to lay down his
saw, and leave his work to have a chat
with them. He took a great liking for
Victor, and taught him to cut hulls of
boats* out of splinters of wood.
He once said to him:
" You remind me so much of a child
I lost."
80 La Belle Xivernaise.
Then, as if afraid he had told too
much, he added:
"Oh! it is a long time ago a vt-rv
long time ago."
Another day he said to Louveau :
" When you get tired of Victor give
him to me. I have no heirs, and I will
deny myself something to send him to
college in the town. He shall pass ex-
aminations, and be entered at the School
of Forestry."
But Francis was still in the flush of
his good action, and he declined. Mau-
gendre resolved to wait patiently until
the progressive increase of the Louveau
family, or some money difficulty, should
have put the bargeman out of conceit
with adoptions.
Under Way. rti
It seemed as if Fate wished to grant
liis desires. For one might almost be-
lieve that ill-luck had embarked on board
the Belle Nivernaise at the same hour as
Victor.
..From that moment everything went
wrong. The wood did not sell well.
The Crew always broke some limb on
the eve of the unloading. And at
length, one fine day, just as they were
setting out for Paris, mother Louveau
fell ill.
Francis nearly lost his senses amidst
the yelling of the little brats. He mis-
took soups for draughts, and draughts
for soups, and so annoyed the sick
woman by his stupidity, that he had to
82 La Belle Xivernaise.
give up attending to her. and let Victor
doit
For the first time in his life, the barge-
man bought his wood by himself. It
was in vain he lapped his strings round
the trees, and took thirty-six times in
succession the same measure, for he
always went wrong in his calculations.
You know the famous calculation:
" I multiply by I multiply by . . ."
It was mother Louveau that knew how
to do that !
He executed his orders all wrong, set
out for Paris in a very uneasy state of
mind, and fell in with a dishonest pur-
chaser, who took advantage of the cir-
cumstance to cheat him.
He came back to his boat with a rery
Under Way. 83
full heart, sat down at the foot of the
bed, and said in a despairing tone:
" My dear, you must try to get well,
or we shall be ruined/'
Mother Louveau recovered slowly.
She strove against ill-fortune, and did
unheard-of things to make both ends
meet. "
If they had something to buy a new
boat with, they would have been able to
get their trade back again; but during
her illness they had expended all their
savings, and the profits were now going
to fill up the holes in the Belle Xiver-
naise, which was worn out.
Victor became a heavy burden for
them. He was no longer a child of four
years of age that could be dressed out of
84 La Belle Xivernaise.
an old jacket, and his food never missed.
He was now twelve years of age, and
he ate like a man, although he remained
a thin, nervous child, such as they could
not think of requiring to handle tlio
boat-hook, when the Crew had broken
any limb.
Everything kept going from bad to
worse. On their last voyage they had
great difficulty in getting up the Seine
as far as Clamecy. The Belle Nivernaise
was letting in water at every part, and
patching up would no longer suffice; it
would be necessary to repair the entire
hull, or rather to put the vessel aside to
be broken up, and replace her by a new
one.
One evening in March, on the eve of
Under Way. 85
getting under sail for Paris, as Louveau,
full of care, was taking leave of Mau-
gendre after having settled his account
for wood, the timber-merchant asked
him to come and drink a bottle in his
house.
'' I want to talk with you, Francis."
They went into the cottage, and Mau-
gendre filled two glasses as they placed
themselves opposite each other at the
table.
" I have not always led a lonely life
such as you see now, Louveau. I can
remember the time when I had every-
thing that is necessary for happiness; a
little money and a wife who loved me.
I have lost all by my own fault."
The wood-merchant stopped; the con-
86 La Belle Xivernaise.
fession that was sticking in his throat
was nearly choking him.
"I have never been a wicked man,
Francis; but I had a vice."
" You ? "
" I have it still. I love the ' rhino '
above everything. That has been the
cause of my misfortunes."
" How is that, my dear Maugendre? "
"I am going to tell you. When we
were married and had our baby, the idea
came into my head of sending my wife
to Paris to seek a nurse's place. That
pays well when the husband is an orderly
man, and knows how to manage his
house by himself. But my wife was un-
willing to be separated from her infant.
She said to me l But, husband, we are
Under Way. 87
earning money enough as it is. The
rest would be money accursed, and
would not profit us. Leave such re-
sources as these to poor households
already burdened with children, and
spare me the pain of leaving you/ I
would not hear of it, Louveau, and I
compelled her to go."
Well ? "
" Well, when my wife had found a
situation she gave her child into the
charge of an old woman to take it back
to our place. She saw them to the rail-
way station, and they have never been
heard of since."
"And your wife, my dear Maugen-
dre ? "
88 La Belle Xivernaise.
"When this news was told her, it
caused her milk to turn, and she died."
They were both silent, Louvean
touched by what he had just heard,
Maugendre overcome by his remem-
brances. The wood-merchant spoke the
first:
"For my punishment, I am con-
demned to the existence I now lead. I
have lived for twelve years apart from
every one. I can endure it no longer.
I have a dread of dying alone. If you
have any pity for me, you will give me
Victor, that he 'may take for me the
place of the child I have lost."
Louveau was much embarrassed. Vic-
tor was costing them much; but if they
parted with him at the time he was about
Under Way. 89
to make himself useful, all the sacrifices
that they made would be thrown away.
Maugendre guessed his thoughts:
'' I need not say, Francis, that if you
give him to me, I shall recoup you what
he has cost. It would, moreover, be a
good thing for the lad. I can never see
the forestry pupils in the wood, with-
out saying to myself: ' I should have
been able to make a gentleman of my
boy, like those gentlemen.' Victor is
industrious, and he pleases me. You
know I shall treat him like my own son.
Come, now, is it agreed ? "
When the children had been put >to
bed in the cabin of the Belle Nivernaise,
this matter was talked over. The wife
with the head-piece attempted to reason.
90 La Belle Xivernaise.
" You see, Francis, we have done for
that child all that we could. God
knows, one would like to keep him, but
now that there is an opportunity of part-
ing from him, without making him
wretched, we must try to have courage."
Despite themselves, their eyes turn
towards the bed, where Victor and Mim-
ile are sleeping the deep and calm sleep
of childhood.
" Poor little fellow," said Francis, in
a low voice. They heard the river rip-
pling along the planks, and the occa-
sional whistle of the railway engine
piercing the stillness of the night.
Mother Louveau burst out in sobs:
" God help us, Francis, we will keep
him."
CHAPTER IV
LIFE IS HARD
VICTOR was nearly fifteen years of
age. He had grown up all at once; the
little pale-faced child had become a stout
lad, with big shoulders and a quiet car-
riage.
Since he first sailed on the Belle
Nivernaise, he began to find his way like
an old bargeman, knowing the clear
channels, guessing the depths of the wa-
ter, passing from the handling of the
pole to that of the rudder. Now he had
a red waist-band, and wore a striped vest
about his hips.
When Louveau gave up the tiller to
91
92 La Belle Xivernaise.
him, Clara, \vlio was growing a big girl,
would come and knit beside him, much
taken by his calm face and robust move-
ments.
This time, the passage from Corbiiinv
to Paris had fyeen a hard one. The
Seine, swollen by the autumn rains had
carried away the weirs, and was rushing
towards the sea like a wild beast let loose.
The anxious bargemen hurried <>n
with their deliveries, for the stream W;H
already rolling by at the level of the
quays, and messages sent from the lock
stations, hour after hour, brought bad
news. It was reported that the tributary
streams were breaking down their banks
and overflowing the country, and that
the flood was getting higher and higher.
93
Life is Hard. 95
The quays were filled with a busy
crowd, a swarm of men, carts and horses;
while up aloft the steam-cranes were
working their huge arms. The wine-
market was already cleared out, and
drays were carrying away cases of sugar.
The mooring-men were leaving their
cabins; the quays were getting empty;
and a file of wagons was ascending the
slope of the incline, retreating from the
flood like an army on the march.
The Louveaus were so hindered by the
roughness of the water, and the intermis-
sion of work in the moonless nights, that
they despaired of delivering their wood
in time. Everybody had taken his share
of the work, and they labored till very
late in the evening, by the light of
96 La Belle Xivernaise.
lanterns and of the gas lamps on the
quay.
At eleven o'clock, all the cargo was
piled up at the foot of the incline; and,
as Dubac the joiner's cart did not reap-
pear, they went to bed.
It was a dreadful night, with much
grinding together of chains, creaking of
planks, and bumping of boats. The
Belle Nivernaise, with her timber-
loosened by the shocks, groaned like one
in pain.
It was impossible to close an eye.
Louveau, his wife, Victor, and the Crew
rose up at daybreak and left the chil-
dren in bed.
The Seine had risen still higher dur-
ing the night, and rough and surging
like a sea, its green waters were rushing
Life is Hard. 97
on under a heavy sky. On the quays
there was no movement' of life on the
river not a boat; nothing but the re-
mains of roofs and fences borne alone;
O
in the current of the stream. Beyond
the bridges the outline of Xotre-Dame
was shadowed out against the fog.
There was not a moment to be lost,
for the river had already got over the
parapets of the lower quay, and the lit-
tle waves that lapped the ends of the
planks had caused the stacks of wood to
tumble down.
While Francis, mother Louveau, and
Dubac \vere loading the cart, with the
water half-way up to their knees, they
were startled by a loud crash on one side
of them. A lighter laden with mill-,
7
98 La Belle JS'ivcrnaise.
atones had parted its mooring chain, and
had come against the quay and foun-
dered, being split up from stem to stern.
It sank with a dreadful noise, and a
strong eddy took its place.
They were standing motionless, im-
pressed by this sudden wreck, when they
heard shouts behind them. The Belle
Nivernaise, unmoored by the agitation
was leaving the quay. Mother Louveau
raised a cry :
" My children ! "
Victor had already rushed into the
cabin, and he now reappeared on deck
with the little one in his arms. Clara
and Mimile followed him, and all
stretched out their hands towards the
quay.
Life is Hard. 99
" Take them ! "
" A boat ! "
" A rope ! "
What was to be done? It was im-
possible to take all of them to shore by
swimming. The Crew was running from
one plank to another, bewildered, useless.
They must get alongside at any cost.
In presence of this bewildered man,
and of these sobbing little children, Vic-
tor, thus unexpectedly made into a cap-
tain, felt within himself the energy that
was needed to save them. He gave his
orders :
" Come, throw a cable ! Quick ! "
This was done three times over, but
the Belle Nivernaise was already too far
100 La Belle Xivernaise.
from the quay, and the cable fell into
the water.
Victor then ran to the rudder, and
they heard him shout:
"Don't be afraid. I'll see after
them."
And, in fact, by a vigorous movement
of the tiller, he brought the craft right,
for having been taken by the water
broadside on, she was drifting in the cur-
rent.
On the quay, poor Louveau quite lost
his senses, and wanted to leap into the
water in order to reach his children ; but
Dubac threw his arms round him, whilst
mother Louveau covered her face with
her hands to shut out the dreadful sight.
The Belle Nivernaise was now keep-
Life is Hard. 101
ing in the current, and shooting towards
the bridge of Austerlitz with the veloc-
ity of a tug-boat.
Composedly leaning against the tiller
Victor steered, encouraged the little
ones, and gave his orders to the Crew.
He knew he was in the right channel,
for he had steered for the red flag that
hung in the middle of the centre arch
to show the bargemen the way.
But, good heavens! would there be
height enough to pass through! He saw
the bridge approaching very quickly.
"Get your boat-hook ready, Crew!
You, Clara, don't leave the children."
He was clinging to the rudder, and
already he felt the wind from the arch
moving his hair. They are in it ! Car-
102 La Belle Kivernaise.
ried on by her impetus, the Belle Nicer-
naise disappeared under the span with a
dreadful sound, yet not so fast but that
the crowd collected on the bridge of
Austerlitz saw the wooden-legged boat-
man miss the stroke with his boat-hook
and fall flat down, whilst the lad at the
helm cried out:
"A grapnel ! a grapnel ! "
The Belle Nivei*naise was under the
bridge. In the shade of the arch Victor
distinctly observed the enormous rings
made fast to the layer of piles, and the
joints of the vault above his head, and
in the distance the line of other bridges,
inclosing their pieces of sky.
Then it seemed as if there were an en-
largement of the horizon, a dazzling
Life is Hard 103
glare as when one comes out of a cellar
into the light, a sound of hurrahs above
his head, and the vision of the cathedral,
like a frigate anchored in the stream.
The boat abruptly stopped. The
bridgemen had succeeded in throwing a
hook on board, and Victor ran to the
mooring-line and wound the rope firmly
round the timber-head.
The Belle Nivernaise was seen to put
about, turn round on the mooring4ine,
and, obeying the new impulse that was
given to her, slowly come alongside the
quay of the Tournelle, with her crew of
little children and her captain of fifteen
years.
Oh ! what joy when they found them-
selves all assembled in the evening round
104 La Belle Nivernaise.
the steaming stew in the cabin of the
boat this time well anchored, well
moored.
The little hero had the place of honor
the captain's seat. They had not
much appetite after the experiences of
the morning with its violent emotions,
but their hearts were expanded as after
a period of anguish, and they breathed
freely.
There was a wink across the table, as
much as to say:
" Ha ! if we had taken him back to the
police-magistrate's ? "
Louveau laughed from ear to ear, as
he cast his moistened eyes over his brood.
You would have supposed that some
good luck had befallen them, that they
Life is Hard. 105
had gained a big prize in the lottery, or
that the Belle Nivernaise had no longer
any holes in her sides.
The bargeman kept knocking \ r ictor
about with punches in the ribs. It was
his way of showing his affection. " What
a chap Victor is! What a pull of the
tiller! Did you see that, Crew? I could
not have done bettter myself, he! he!
master as I am."
For a fortnight the good fellow could
do nothing else but express his admira-
tion, and go along the quays to describe
this pull of the tiller. " You know, the
boat was drifting. Then he ... Ah ! "
And he showed by a gesture how it
was done.
In the meantime the Seine was get-
106 La Belle Xivernaise.
ting lower, and the time for setting out
was again at hand. One morning, as
Victor and Louveau were pumping on
the deck, the postman brought a letter.
It had a blue seal on the back. The
bargeman opened the letter with a rather
trembling hand, and, as he could not
trust to his own ability in reading more
than in arithmetic, he said to Victor:
" You spell that out for me."
And Victor read:
"OFFICE OF THE COMMISSARY OF POLICE
"72 Ik Arrondissement
" Monsieur Louveau (Francis), master bargeman,
u requested to call at the Office of the Commissary
of Police with as little delay as possible."
"Is that all ?"
" That is all."
Life is Hard. 107
" What can he want with me ? "
Louveau was away all day.
When he came back in the evening all
his cheerfulness had disappeared; he was
gloomy, cross, sullen.
Mother Louveau could make nothing
of it; and as the youngsters had gone to
play on the deck, she asked him :
" Whatever has happened ? "
" I am weary of it."
" What, of unloading ? "
" Xo, about Victor."
And then he told her about his visit
to the police-magistrate.
"You must understand that the
woman who abandoned him was not his
mother."
108 La Belle Xivernaise.
"No, really ?
" She had stolen him."
" How do they know that ? "
" She herself confessed it to the
police-magistrate before she died."
" Then they told you the name of his
parents ? "
Louveau gave a start.
" Why do you think they would tell
me?"
" Well, because they had sent for
you."
Francis got vexed.
" If I knew it, you think, perhaps, I
should tell you ! "
He was quite red with anger, and ho
went out, slamming the door after him.
Life is Hard. 109
Mother Louveau was overcome with
astonishment.
" Whatever is the matter with him? "
Yes, what could have been the matter
with you, Francis. From that time his
ways, his words, his character were
quite changed. He could not eat, he
slept badly, he talked all night. He
even answered his wife back! He fell
out with the Crew. He spoke harshly
to everybody, and to Victor most of all.
When mother Louveau, quite amazed,
asked him what was the matter, he an-
swered savagely
" Nothing at all. Do I look as if any-
thing was the matter with me? You are
all plotting against me."
110 La Belle Xivernaise.
The poor woman got nothing for her
pains :
" Take my word for it, he is going out
of his senses."
She thought he was quite cracked,
when one evening he made a dreadful
scene for them about Maugendre.
They were at the end of the voyii^r,
and had got nearly to Clamecy. Victor
and Clara were talking about the school,
and the youth having said that he should
be glad to see Maugendre again, Lou-
veau flew into a passion:
" Don't talk to me about your Mau-
gendre. I want to have nothing more
to do with him."
Mother Louveau interposed:
" What has he done to you ? "
Life is Hard. Ill
" He has ... he has ... It does not
matter to you. I am the master, I sup-
pose."
Alas! He was so much the master
now, that instead of making fast at Cor-
bigny, as usual, he went two leagues
higher up, into the heart of the forest.
He declared that Maugendre thought
of nothing else than duping him in all
their bargains, and that he could do
business on better terms with another
vendor.
They were now too far from the vil-
lage to think of attending the classes,
and therefore Victor and Clara rambled
through the woods all day, gathering
sticks.
"When they were tired carrying their
112 La Belle Nivernaise.
burden they would put it down beside a
ditch, and sit down on the ground amidst
the flowers. Victor would pull a book
out of his pocket, and would get Clara to
read.
They liked to see the sun peeping
through the branches, and throw a flick-
ering light on the page and on their hair,
while about there was the hum of mil-
lions of little creatures, and surrounding
all reigned the silence of the woods.
When they got late, they had to re-
turn very quickly, all along the great
avenue, barred by shadows of the tree
trunks. The mast of the Belle Niver-
naise would be visible in the opening at
the end, as well as the gleam of a fire
Life is Hard. 113
through the slight fog rising from the
river.
It was Mother Louveau cooking, in
the open air at the margin of the stream,
over a fire of waste rubbish.
Mimile would be sitting close by her,
with his hair all ruffled, his shirt burst-
ing through his breeches, and he would
be lovingly contemplating the pot, while
his little sister rolled about on the
ground, while Louveau and the Crew
smoked their pipes.
One evening, at supper time, they saw
some one come out of the wood and ad-
vance towards them.
"Ha! Maugendre !"
It was the timber-merchant. He
looked much older, and much grayer.
La Belle Xivernaise.
He had a stick in his hand, and seemed
to talk with difficulty.
He came forward to Louveau and
held out his hand.
" Well, you have left me then, Fran-
cis ? "
The bargeman stammered out a con-
fused reply.
"Oh! I am not vexed at you."
He had so wearied a look that mother
Louveau was touched by it, and with-
out giving any heed to her husband's bad
humor, she handed him a seat.
" You arc not ill, I hope, M. Maugen-
dre ? "
" I have got a bad cold."
He spoke slowly, almost in a whisper.
Suffering had softened him. He told
Life is Hard. 115
them that he was about to leave the
neighborhood, to go to live in the dis-
tant part of the Nievre.
" It's all done with. I have given up
business. I am now rich ; I have money,
plenty of money. But what is the good
of it ? I cannot buy back the happiness
I have lost."
Francis listened with knit brows.
Maugendre continued:
" The older I get, the more keenly do
I suffer from being lonely. Formerly,
I used to forget all when I was working ;
but now, I have no longer any heart for
work. I have lost interest in every-
thing. So I am going to banish myself;
that may perhaps give me some distrac-
tion."
.116 La Belle Xivernaise.
And, in spite of himself, his eyes
turned towards the children. At this
moment Victor and Clara issued from
the avenue with their load of branches,
and seeing Maugendre, they threw down
their bundles and ran to him.
He received them as cordially as usual,
and said to Louveau, who remained sul-
len:
" You are a happy man to have four
children. I have none now."
And he sighed: " I must not complain,
it is my own fault."
He rose up, and everybody did the
same.
" Good-by, Victor. Be industrious,
and love your parents; you ought to."
He had put his hand on the boy's
Life is Hard. 117
shoulder, and was looking at him fixedly.
"Ah, if I had a child, he should be
like him."
Louveau opposite to him, with com-
pressed lips, bore an expression that
seemed to say: "Begone from hence."
Yet at the moment the timber-mer-
chant was leaving, Francis felt an im-
pulse of sympathy towards him, and he
called him back, saying
" Maugendre, won't you take soup
with us ? "
This was said as if against the grain,
and in a gruff tone of voice that did not
encourage acceptance. The old man
shook his head.
" ]STo, I thank you, I am not hungry.
When one is melancholy, look you, other
118 La Belle Xiv r ernaise.
people's happiness does not do one much
good."
And he departed, bending over his
stick.
Louveau did not speak a word the
whole evening. He passed the night in
walking up and down the deck, and in
the morning he went away without say-
ing a word to any one.
He went to the vicarage, which was
close to the church. It was a large
square building, with a court in front
and a kitchen garden behind. Fowls
were foraging at the threshold, and a
cow was lowing in the grass.
Louveau felt his heart lightened by
the resolution he had taken. As he
opened the gate, he said to himself with
Life is Hard. 119
a sigh of satisfaction, that when he came
out of it again he should be relieved of
his care.
He found the vicar seated in his cool
dining room. The good priest had fin-
ished his breakfast, and was dozing
lightly with his head leaning over his
breviary. Aroused by Louveau's en-
trance, he turned down the page, and
having closed the book, he motioned to
the bargeman, who was twirling his cap
in his fingers, to sit down.
" Well now, Francis, what can I do for
you ? "
He wanted advice, and he asked to be
allowed to tell his story from the begin-
ning.
" Because, as your Reverence knows,
120 La Belle Nivernaise.
I am not very clever. I am not an
eagle, he! he! as my wife tells me."
And having put himself at his ease by
this preamble, he told his business, very
much out of breath, very red, and all the
while gazing intently at the peak of his
cap.
" Your Reverence will recollect that
Maugendre told you he was a widower?
He has been so for the last fifteen years.
His wife went to Paris to be a nurse.
She showed her child to the doctor, as
the custom is, gave it the breast for the
last time, and then she intrusted it to a
meneuse."
The priest interrupted him.
" What is a meneuse, Francis ? "
"A meneuse, your Reverence, is a
Life is Hard. 121
woman who is employed to take back
home the children of the wet nurses.
She carries them away in a creel or
basket like kittens."
" That's a queer trade ! "
" There are some honest people that
carry it on, your Reverence; but mother
Maugendre had fallen in with a woman
that nobody knew, a witch who stole
children and let them out. to other idle
vagabonds to drag them about the streets
in order to excite commiseration."
'" You do not mean to say that, Fran-
cis ?"
" It is the simple truth, your Rever-
ence. This wretch of a woman carried
off a lot of children, and Maugendre's
little one among the rest. She kept him
122 La Belle ^ivernaise.
for four years. She wanted to teach
him to beg; but as he was the son of an
honest man, he refused to hold out his
hand. Thereupon she abandoned him
in the street, and then become what
you can! But now, six months ago, on
her deathbed in the hospital, she was
stricken with remorse. I know what
that is, your Reverence, it is devilish
hard to bear. . ."
And he turned his eyes up to the ceil-
ing, poor man, as if to call Heaven to
witness the truth of his statement.
" Then she asked for the police-mag-
istrate and she told him the name of the
child. The magistrate has informed me.
It is Victor."
The vicar let his breviary fall:
Life is Hard. 123
" Is Victor Maugendre's son ? "
" He is."
The ecclesiastic was .taken all aback.
He muttered a phrase in which the words
" poor child," " finger of God " were dis-
tinguishable. He got up, walked about
the room, went near the window, drank
a glass of water, and ended by stopping
in front of Louveau with his hands in
his waist-band. He was trying to recol-
lect a sentence that would apply to the
circumstance, but as he could not find
one, he simply said:
"Ah, well, but he must be restored to
his father."
Louveau started.
" That is exactly my trouble, your
Reverence. For the six months that I
124 La Belle Xivernaise.
have known all this, I have never had
the courage to tell any one, not even my
wife. We have denied ourselves so
much to bring up that child, we have en-
dured so much poverty together, that
now I do not know how I can bring my-
self to part from him."
All this was true, and if Maugendre
seemed to deserve compassion, some pity
should also be felt for poor Francis.
Possessed by these contradictory senti-
ments, the vicar was perspiring visibly,
while mentally he was requesting light
from on high. And forgetting that
Louveau had come to ask for his advice,
he murmured in a subdued voice:
" Come, now, Francis, if you were in
my place, what would you advise ? "
Life is Hard. 125
The bargeman looked down.
" I quite understand, your Reverence,
that Victor must be given up. I felt
that the other day, when Maugendre
came upon us unexpectedly. It cut me
to the heart to see him so old, so sad, and
so broken down. I was as ashamed as
if I had his money, stolen money, in my
pocket. I could no longer keep this
secret to myself, and I have come to tell
it you."
"And you have done right, Louveau,"
said the vicar, delighted at seeing the
bargeman find him a solution of the
question. " It is never too late to repair
an error. I am going with you to Mau-
gendre's, and there you will confess all
to him."
126 La Belle Xivernaise.
" To-morrow, your Reverence."
" No, Francis, immediately."
And observing the poor fellow's grief,
and the nervous twisting about of his
cap, he entreated in a softer voice:
" I beg of you to do it now, Louveau,
whilst we are both resolved."
CHAPTER V
MAUGENDRE'S AMBITIONS
A SON! Maugendre has a son!
He is gazing at him complacently, as
he sits on the opposite cushion in the
buzz and hum of the railway carriage
that is bearing them towards Xevers.
It was really an abduction. The old
man had taken his son away, almost
without saying thank you, like a rustic
who has won the big prize in the lottery,
and runs straight off with it.
He did not want to leave his child
open to the old attachments. He was
now as greedy for affection, as he for-
merly was for gold. No borrowing, no
127
128 La Belle Xivernaisc.
sharing; but his treasure is to be for
himself only, without the peering eves
of others.
There was a buzzing in Maugendrc's
ears like that of the express. His head
was hot like the locomotive. But his
dreams were hastening on faster than
any locomotives or express trains, and
passing at a dash over days, and months,
and years.
His dreams were of a Victor dressed
in dark-green faced with silver; a stu-
dent of the School of Forestry! One
might even say that this student Mau-
gendre had a sword at his side, and the
two-cornered hat on his head, like a
/
student of the Ecole Poly technique
for all the schools and all the uniforms
Maugendre's Ambitions. 129
were a little mixed in Maugendre's
dreams.
Xo matter! Embroidery and gold
lace are not spared by the wood-mer-
chant. He has the " rhino " to pay for
all that . . . and Victor shall be a gentle-
man covered with gold lace from head to
foot.
Men will speak to him with their hats
off.
Fine ladies will be madly in love with
him.
And, in one corner, there will be an
old man with horny hands, who will say,
bridling up:
" This is my son."
" Come now, my son."
" My son " also is dreaming, with his
130 La Belle Xivernaise.
little cap over his eyes until he gets
the two-cornered gold-laced hat.
He would not like his father to see
him weeping. But it was sudden, that
separation. Clara had given him a kiss
that still glowed on his cheek. Old
Louveau turned away, and mother Lou-
veau was very pale.
And Mimile brought him his por-
ringer of soup, to console him. All!
even to little Mimile. Oh! how will
they live without him? And how will
he live without them? The future stu-
dent of the School of Forestry is so
troubled by these thoughts, that every
time his father speaks to him, he an-
swers:
"Yes, monsieur Maugendre."
Maugen dre's Ambitions. 131
And he is not yet at the end of his
tribulations, our little bargeman of the
Belle Nivernaise. For it costs not only
money to become a gentleman, but also
sacrifices and sorrows.
Some of these Victor is conscious of,
as the quick train passes with a whistle
over the bridges above the suburbs of
ISTevers. It seems to him that he has
before seen somewhere, in a sad and dis-
tant past, these same narrow streets, and
those windows small as the air-holes of a
prison, with raveled rags hanging out of
them.
Now they have the pavement beneath
their feet, and round them there is the
station rout, the crowd of lookers-on, the
press of people laden with parcels, the
132 La Belle Xivernaise.
roll of cabs and of heavy railway omni-
buses,, which travelers, carrying rugs tied
up with straps, noisily take by assault.
Victor and his father go out of the
station gates in a carriage. The wood-
merchant sticks to his idea. He must
have an immediate transformation. So
he takes his son straight away to the col-
lege tailor's.
The shop is new, the counters lustrous,
and well-dressed gentlemen, like those
shown in the colored engravings hung on
the wall, open the door for the customers
with a patronizing smile.
They put before old Maugendre the
choicest of the fashion plates, where a
collegian is smoking in company with a
lady in a riding-habit, a gentleman in a
Mangendre's Ambitions. 133
complete hunting suit, and a bride
dressed in white satin.
The tailor happens just to have in
hand a pattern tunic, padded back and
front, with square skirts and gilt but-
tons. He displays it to the wood-mer-
chant, who beaming with pride, cries:
" In that, you will look like a soldier."
A gentleman in his shirt sleeves, with
a tape round his neck, now comes up to
the student Maugendre, and takes the
measure of his legs, his waist, and his
back-bone.
This operation brings to the mind of
the little bargeman remembrances that
call the tears to his eyes! The ways of
dear old Louveau, the tempers of the
134 La Belle Xivernaise.
wife with the head-piece all that has
he left behind him forever.
It is all past and gone now. The cor-
rect young man in the regulation uni-
form, that Victor beholds in the big
looking-glass, has nothing in common
with the ship-lad of the Belle Nivernaise.
The tailor with his toe contemptu-
ously pushes the dishonored boat gar-
ments under his bench like a bundle of
rags.
Victor feels that he has been made to
leave there all his past life. How much
is there in that word " leave " ! Here
now is he forbidden even to retain the
memory of it.
"You must detach yourself from all
the errors of your early education," said
Maugendre's Ambitions. 135
the Principal sternly, without conceal-
ing his distrust.
And in order to facilitate this regen-
eration, it is decided that the student
Maugendre shall go out of the college
only on the first Sunday in each month.
Oh ! how he weeps the first night, at
the end of the cold, dreary dormitory,
while the other scholars are snoring on
their iron bedsteads, and the assistant-
master is devouring a romance on the
sly, by the glimmer of a night-light.
How he suffers during the hated hour
of recreation, whilst his comrades hustle
and mob him !
How weary he is in the study, with
his head bent over his desk, trembling at
the anger of the usher as the latter, with
136 La Belle Xivernaise.
all his might, hits his table, repeating
ever the same phrase:
" Silence there, sirs."
That shrill voice, by stirring np in
Victor the bitter dregs of sad memories,
blights his whole life.
It reminds him of the dark days of his
early childhood, of the crannies in the
Temple suburb; of the blows, of the
quarrels, of all that he had forgotten.
He clung desperately to the images of
Clara and the Belle Nivernaise, as to the
one ray of sunshine amid the gloom of
his life.
This no doubt was the reason for the
drawings of boats that the usher was so
astonished at finding on every page of
the student Maugendre's books.
en arrose, tre.i ferine, el sunum
& tlr I Alias silenj It iu'
137
Maugendre's Ambitions. 139
Always the same barge, reproduced on
every leaf with the persistence of one
possessed.
Sometimes she was slowly ascending
the narrow path of the margins, shut in
as if on a canal.
Sometimes she was wrecked in the
midst of a theorem, splashing over the
inserted diagrams and the corollaries in
the small print.
Sometimes she was under full sail on
the oceans of the maps, ard on them she
rode at ease, spread all her canvas, and
flew her flag.
The Principal, tired of the circum-
stantial reports made to him on this sub-
ject, at length spoke of it to M. Maugen-
dre, the father.
140 La Belle Xivernaise.
The wood-merchant could not set
over it:
" A lad so manageable ! "
" He is as obstinate as a donkey."
" So intelligent ! "
" He cannot be taught anything."
And nobody would understand that
the student Maugendre had learnt to
read amidst woods looking over Clara's
shoulder, and that studying geometry
under the ferule of a bearded usher is
a very different kind of thing.
This is the reason why the student
Mangendre goes down from the " middle
school " to the "lower ": it is because
there is a singular difference between
the lessons of the magister at Corbiirny,
and those of MM. the Professors of the
fHEOItEME *
1 1 H Let diagonalet fun lotage/te coug
dmls.
Clrconference. Lacirron/eraicreslmie lignecu
clcr que le cercle t-ilune surface et la circuiiWrencc un
K. Hyo On appelle r'jyon loule droitK qui va du
eeniri- i la circonlCreiict-. UA. Ub >onl. dt ? rayon*
141
U3
Maugendre's Ambitions. 145
/
College of Xevers. A distance as great
as between teaching in a rabbit-skin cap
and teaching in an ermine hat.
Maugendre the elder was in despair.
It seemed to him that the Forester in
the two-cornered hat was taking great
strides far into the distance.
The father chides, he entreats, he
promises.
" Do you want lessons ? Would you
like to have tutors ? You shall have the
best, the most expensive."
In the meantime, the student Mau-
gendre is becoming a vexation, and the
*' Quarterly Reports " mercilessly ex-
hibit his faultiness. For his own part,
he is conscious of his stupidity, and
10
146 La Belle Xivernaise.
\
every day he withdraws more and more
into obscurity and sadness.
If Clara and the rest could but see
what has been done with their Victor !
How they would come and throw wide
open the doors of his prison ! How cor-
dially they would offer him a share of
their last crust of bread, of their last bit
of bedding !
But they also are unhappy, poor peo-
ple. Things are going from bad to
worse. The boat is getting older and
older.
That Victor knows by Clara's letters.
which from time to time come to him
with a great, savage " seen," scrawled in
red pencil by the Prin<*ipal, who hates
these interfering correspondences.
Maugendre's Ambitions. 147
" Ah ! when you used to be here," say
these letters of Clara's, always tender,
but becoming more and more distressful.
. . " Ah ! if you were but with us
now ! "
Was not this as much as to say that
all used to go on well in those days, and
that all would yet be saved if Victor
came back ?
Well, then, Victor will save all. He
will buy a new boat. He will console
Clara. He will bring back the trade.
He will show them that they have not
loved one who is without gratitude, and
have not succored one incapable of help-
ing them.
But to do this, he must become a man.
148 La Belle Xivernaise.
Money must be earned, and for that, he
must acquire knowledge.
So Victor re-opens his books, and
turns over a new leaf.
Xow arrows may fly, the usher may
strike on his desk with all his might, and
emit his parrot phrase:
" Silence there, sirs."
Victor does not lift his eyes from his
books. He draws no more boats. He de-
spises the paper missiles that strike his
face. He works ... he works. . . .
" A letter for the student Maugen-
dre."
This reminder of Clara, redolent of
liberty and affection, was like a blessing
unexpectedly coming to encourage him
in the midst of his studies.
Maugendre's Ambitions. 149*
Victor hid his head in his desk to kiss
the zigzag, painfully written address,
shaky as if a constant heaving of the
boat rocked the table Clara was writing
on.
Alas ! it was not the heaving of the
boat, but the agitation of feeling that
had made Clara's hand tremble.
"It is all over, my dear Victor; the
Belle Nivernaise will never sail more.
She has perished, and her destruction is-
our ruin. There is this ugly notice on
her stern:
WOOD TO SELL.
FROM THE BREAKING UP.
"People came and calculated the
value of everything, from the Crew's
150 La Belle Xivernaise.
boat-hook to the cradle in which my lit-
tle sister was sleeping. It seems they
are going to sell everything, and we
have nothing left.
" What will become of us ? Mamma
is nearly dying of grief, and papa is so
changed. . . ."
Victor did not finish the letter. The
words were dancing before his eyes; his
face was flushed, and there was a hum-
ming in his ears.
Ah ! study was now out of the ques-
tion. Exhausted by work, grief and
fever, he was becoming delirious.
He thought he was drifting on the
open Seine, on the beautiful cool river.
He wanted to bathe his brow in the
stream.
Maugendre's Ambitions.
Then he heard vaguely the sound of a
belL !Xo doubt, some tug that was pass-
ing in the fog. Presently it was like the
noise of many waters, and he cried:
" The flood ! the flood ! "
He began to shiver at the thought of
the deep shadow under the arch of the
bridge; and amid all these visions he was
conscious of the usher's scared, hirsute
countenance under the lamp-shade.
" Are you ill, Maugendre ? "
The student Maugendre was indeed
ill. It is no use the doctor shaking his
head, when the poor father, who follows
him to the college door, asks him in a
voice choked with anxiety:
" He is not going to die, is he ? "
For it is plain that the doctor is not
152 La Belle Xivernaise.
confident, at least his gray hairs are not,
for they say " no " faintly, as if they
were afraid of committing themselves.
No mention now of green coats or of
two-cornered hats. It is solely a matter
of saving the student Maugendre's life.
The doctor told them frankly that if
he should recover, they would do well to
restore him to his country freedom.
If he should recover !
The idea of losing the child just re-
stored to him annihilated all the am-
bitious desires of the rich father. It is
all over with his dream, he renounces it
forever. He is quite ready to bury the
student of the School of Forestry with
his own hands. He will nail up the
coffin, if desired. He will wear no
jjfaugendre's Ambitions. 153
mourning for him. Only but let the
other one consent to live ! Let him but
speak to him, get up, throw his arms
round his neck, and say:
" Be comforted, father. I am getting
well now."
And the wood-merchant leant over
Victor's bed.
It is done. The old tree is cleft to
the core. Maugendre's heart has been
softened.
' I will let you leave here, my lad.
You shall return to them, you shall sail
again. And it will be good enough for
me to see you sometimes in passing."
At this time, the bell no longer rings
the hours for recreation, for study, and
for meals. It is the vacation, and the
154 La Belle Xivernaise.
great college is deserted. Not a sound
is heard save that of the fountain in the
courtyard, and the sparrows chirping on
the grassplots. The rattle of an occa-
sional carriage sounds dull and distant,
for they have laid down straw in the
street.
It is in the midst of this silence and
this solitude, that the student Maugen-
dre comes to himself again.
He is surprised to find himself in a
very white bed, surrounded by largo
muslin curtains that spread about him
the seclusion of subdued light and
quietude.
He would much like to raise himself
up on the pillow, and draw them apart
a little, to see where he is; but his
Maugendre's Ambitions. 155
strength is unequal to the effort, al-
tliough he feels himself most delight-
fully refreshed. So he waits.
But there are voices whispering near
him. One would fancy there were feet
walking on tiptoe over the floor, and
even a well-known stumping, something
like the promenade of a broom-handle
over the boards. Victor had heard that
before. Where ? Surely on the deck
of the Belle Nivernaise. That's it !
And the patient, collecting all his
strength, cries out with a feeble voice,
which he, however, means for a loud
one:
" Yeho ! Crew ! yeho ! "
The curtains are withdrawn, and in
the dazzling burst of light, he sees all
156 La Belle Xivernaise.
the dear ones he has so often called on
in his delirium.
All ? Yes, all ! They are all there.
Clara, Maugendre, Louveau, mother
Louveau, Mimile, the little sister; and
the scalded old heron, as thin as his own
boat-hook, was smiling immensely his
silent smile.
And every arm is stretched towards
him, every head is bent, there are kis?es
from everybody, smiles, shakes of the
hand, questions.
" Where am I \ Why are you IK T '."
But the doctor's orders are precise,
and the gray hairs were in downright
earnest when thus prescribing:
" He must keep his arms under the
Maugendre's Ambitions. 157
bed-clothes, be quiet, and not get ex-
cited."
And in order to prevent his child from
talking, Maugendre goes on speaking all
the time.
"Would you believe that it is ten
<!;>y- ago the day you fell ill that I
had just seen the Principal to speak to
him about you ? He told me you were
making progress, and that you were
working like a machine. . . . You may
imagine how pleased I was ! I asked to
see you, and you were sent for, when at
that moment your master rushed into
the Principal's study quite frightened.
You had just had an attack of high
fever. I ran to the infirmary; you did
not recognize me, your eyes were like
158 La Belle Xivernaise.
tapers, you were in delirium ! Ah ! my
dear lad, how ill you were ! I did not
leave you for a moment. You kept rav-
ing on. You were talking about the
Belle Nivernaise, about Clara, about the
new boat, and I know not what else.
Then I recollected the letter Clara's
letter; it had been found in your hands,
and they had given it to me, and, for
the time, I had forgotten all about it,
you know ! I drew it from my pocket,
I read it, I shook my head, and I said to
myself: ' Maugendre, your disappoint-
ment must not make you forget v< un-
friends' trouble.' Then I wrote to all
these good people to come and see us.
No answer. I took advantage of a day
on which you were rather better, to go
Maugendre's Ambitions. 159
and find them, and I brought them to
my house, where they are now living
and where they will live, until some
means of settling their affairs has been
found. Is it not so, friend Louveau ? "
Every one has a tear in his eye, and,
on my word ! so much the worse for
the doctor's gray hairs, the two arms
come out of the bed-clothes, and Mau-
gendre is embraced as he has never been
before, the real kiss of an affectionate
child.
Then, as it is impossible to take "Vic-
tor home, they arrange their future life
Clara will remain with the patient in
order to sweeten his draughts and chat
with him; mother Louveau will go to
keep house; Francis shall go and super-
160 La Belle Xivernaise.
intend a building that the timber-mer-
chant has contracted for in the Grande
Rue.
As for Maugendre, he is going to
Clamecy. He is going to see some, ac-
quaintances who have a large contract
for wood. These people will be de-
lighted to engage so clever a bargeman
as Louveau.
Xo ! no ! Xo objections, no oppo-
sition. It is an understood thing, quite
a simple matter.
Certainly it is not for Victor to ob-
ject.
He is now lifted up and rolled in his
big arm-chair to the window.
He is alone with Clara, in the silent
infirmary.
Maugendre's Ambitions. 161
And Victor is delighted. He blesses
his illness. He blesses the sale of the
Belle Nivernaise. He blesses all the
sales and all the illnesses in the world.
" Do you remember, Clara, when I
used to hold the tiller, and you would
come and sit beside me, with your knit-
ting ? "
Clara remembered so well that she
cast down her eyes, and blushed, and
both of them were rather embarrassed.
For now, he is no longer the little lad
in a red cap, whose feet could not reach
to the deck when he climbed up on the
tiller, and sat astride it.
And she, when she comes in the morn-
ing and takes off her little shawl, and
throws it on the bed, appears quite a
11
162 La Belle Xivernaise.
handsome young woman; her arms are
so round, and her waist is so slender.
" Come early, Clara, and stop as long
as you can."
It is so nice to have breakfast and din-
ner, the two together, near the window
in the shade of the white curtains.
They are reminded of their early
childhood, of the pap eaten at the edge
of the bed with the same spoon. Ah I
those memories of childhood !
They flit about the college infirmary
like birds in an aviary. Xo doubt they
make their nest in every corner of the
curtains, for each morning there are
fresh ones newly opened for their flight.
And truly, if you heard their conver-
sations about the past, you would say
Maugendre's Ambitions. 163
that they were a couple of octogenarians
looking back only on the distance be-
hind them.
Now, is there not a future, which also
may have some interest for them ?
Yes, there is such a future: and it is
often thought of, if it is never men-
tioned.
Besides, it is not absolutely necessary
to use phrases in conversing. There is
a certain way of taking hold of a hand,
and of blushing at every turn, which
says a great deal more than words. Vic-
tor and Clara talk in that language all
day long.
That is probably the reason why they
are so often silent. And that, too, is
why the days pass so quickly that the
La Belle Xivmiaise.
month glides by noiselessly and imper-
ceptibly.
That is the reason why the doctor is
obliged to make his gray hairs bristle
up, and to turn his patient out of the
infirmary.
Just at this time, Maugendre the elder
returns from his journey. He finds
them all assembled in his house. And
he cannot help smiling, when poor Lou-
veau very anxiously asks him:
" Well, will they have anything to do
with me down there ? "
" Will they not, old man ? . . . They
wanted a master for a new boat, and
they thanked me for the gift I was giv-
ing them."
Who can these people be ? Old Lou-
Maugendre's Ambitions. 165
veau was so delighted he did not inquire
further. And everybody set off for
Clamecy without knowing anything
more about it.
What a pleasure, when they get to the
banks of the canal !
There, on the quay, a magnificent
boat, adorned with flags from top to bot-
tom, and brand new, raises her polished
mast amid the green fields.
They are giving her the last touch of
varnish, and the stern on which the
name of the craft is painted, remains
covered with gray canvas.
A cry breaks from every mouth:
" What a fine boat ! "
Lou veau does not believe his eyes.
He has a deuced queer feeling of smart-
166 La Belle Xivernaise.
ing in the eyelids, of a splitting open of
his mouth about a foot wide, and of a
shaking of his ear-rings like a couple of
salad paniers.
"That is too grand ! I would not dare
undertake to steer a boat like that. She
was never made to sail. She should be
put under a glass case."
Maugendre had to push him by force
on the foot-bridge, where the Crew was
making signals to them.
How is this ! Has the Crew himself
been repaired ? Yes, repaired, refitted,
caulked afresh. He has a boat-hook, and
a wooden leg, both quite new.
These are the gift of the contractor, a
man of intelligence, who has done tho
thing well. As, for example, the deck
Maugendre's Ambitions. 167
is of waxed wood, and is surrounded by
a handrail. There is a seat for resting
yourself, and an awning to afford shade
from the sun.
The hold is big enough to carry a
double cargo. And the cabin! oh, the
cabin !
" Three apartments ! "
A kitchen ! "
" Mirrors ! "
Louveau drew Maugendre aside on
the deck. He was touched, shaken by
his feelings as were his ear-rings. He
stammered out:
" Dear old Maugendre . . ."
" What's the matter ? "
" You have forgotten one thing."
Yes ? "
168 La Belle Nivernaise.
sail."
" You want to know ? "
"Certainly!"
" Well, then, on your own account ! "'
" How ? ... but then ... the boat
>
" Is yours ! "
"What an event, my friends ! What
close pressings of breast to breast !
It is fortunate that the contractor
who is a man of intelligence had be-
thought himself of putting a seat upon
the deck.
Louveau drops upon it like a man
felled by a blow.
Maugendre'a Ambitions. 169
" It is impossible. . . . we cannot ac-
cept.' 7
Maugendre lias an answer ready for
everything :
' Come, now, you are forgetting our
old debt, the money you have laid out
for Victor. Keep your mind easy,
Francis; it is I who owe you the most."
And the two companions kissed each
other like brothers. Xo mistake this
time; they w r ept.
Assuredly Maugendre has arranged
everything to make the surprise com-
plete, for whilst they are embracing each
other on the deck, behold his Reverence,
the Vicar, issuing from the wood, with
a band behind him and a banner float-
ing on the wind.
170 La Belle Xivernaise.
"What can this be for? It is for the
benediction of the boat, most certainly.
All Clamecy has come in procession to
be present at the celebration.
The banner is floating out in the
breeze.
And the band is playing
" Kum, dum dum."
Every. face looks happy, and over all
there is a bright sun that makes the sil-
ver of the cross and the brass of the
musicians' instruments flash again.
What a celebration ! They have ju-t
taken away the canvas that covered the
stern; and the name of the boat shows
up in gold letters on an azure ground:
" LA NOUVELLE XlVERNAISE."
Hurrah for the Nouvelle Nivernaise!
Maugendre's Ambitions. 171
May she have as long a life as the old
one, and a happier old age !
The Vicar steps up to the boat. Be-
hind him, the singers and the musicians
are drawn up in a row, while the banner
forms a background.
" Benedicat Deus. . . ."
Victor is the godfather, Clara the god-
mother. The Vicar asks them to come
forward to the edge of the quay close to
himself.
They hold each other's hand, and are
bashful, trembling. They confusedly
stammer out the words that the choir-boy
whimpers to them, whilst the Vicar is
shaking the holy-water sprinkler over
them :
" Benedicat Deus. ,
172 La Belle Xivernaise.
"Would yon not have taken them for a
young couple at the altar? That thought
occurs to everybody. Perhaps it occurs
to themselves, also, for they dare not
look at each other, and they get more
and more confused as the ceremony pro-
ceeds.
At length, it is finished. The crowd
retires. The Nouvelle Nivernaise has
received her benediction.
But you cannot let the musiciai.
away like that, without any refr-
ments.
And, whilst Lou v eau is pouring out
bumpers for the musicians, Maugemlre,
winking at mother Louveau, takes the
godfather and godmother by the hand
and turning towards the Vicar, ask- :
Maugendre's Ambitions. 173
"Here is the baptism finished, your
Reverence; when will the marriage como
off?"
Victor and Clara become, as red as
poppies. ]\limile and his little sister
clap their hands.
And, in the midst of the general en-
thusiasm, old Louveau, very excited,
leans over his daughter's shoulder, and
laughing up to his ears in anticipation
of his joke, the honest bargeman says,
in a bantering tone:
'' Well now, Clara, now's the time,
. . . shall we take Victor back to the
magistrate's ? "
FINIS.
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