LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2355, 20 October 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

HOW WE LOST A TREASURE. |_“ London Society.”] Ten years ago J was churchwarden, or trustee, or something of the sort (I could never quite make out my exact legal status), of the Eug’iah Church iu a well-known French seaside town. In this capacity I became involved in a very strange affair, which, though anything but entertaining at the time, has at least provided me with one good story drawn from personal experience. Fet villo, if I may so name the town in which my lot was cast, is by no means one of those brand-new watering-places which have sprung no on the French coatt during the last thirty years. It is a pLca of great antiquity, whose name is continually met in the history of med ieval France, and is, 1 may add, eminently unfashionable, though much frequented by the Briton whose ideas of a visit to the Continent are mild and limited. In the eighteenth century, before tho idea of travelling for pleasure had entered the middle class English mind, Feteville was, I suppose, very like any other French provic. cial town. It therefore rejoiced in old ramparts, a cathedral, and (what is more to tho po'nt) several monasteries and convents u ith one of the former my story is, strange to say, connected ; and I must make a few introductory remarks concerning it, that the whole of my own adventure may be comprehensible In the year 1789 the Capuchin fathers wero established in Feteville in the steep Rue des Viellards. They were in a flourishing condition, and are, moreover, said to have possessed some extraordinarily fine church-plate. There was a very considerable quantity of it, tho acomulatiqns of five centuries of pious donors, including many valuable offers to the shrine of ‘St, Ambrose of Feteville,’ a local saint who had flourished in tho fourteenth century. Now one fine day in 1791 the poor fathers aha ed tho fate of their brethren iu other parts of France, and were driven out without a moment’s notice by a ra» id and ragged mob, who were no doubt stimulated by Republican enthu. siaim, and not by a vision of the nice pickings to ba had inside the chapel. However, tho reverend fathers’ moveable property did not follow them, but somehow appeared In the bouses of various poor but virtuous citizens. Be it observed, however, that while carved chests and stools were rife in the back streets, and though something which bore a resemblance to a handsome but mutilated confessional box was to be found affording shelter to a tribe of hens in one retired quarter, yet no ono could be found wh» would own to having secured any plate beyond a few silver pa'try ornaments of small size, Tho concluu on arrived at by the public was, that some particularly cool hand had been the first to discover the strong-box and was keeping quiet, to avoid any unpleasant investigations that might bo made when a settled government should be i t power. I have forgotten to mention that on the night after the monastery was pillaged some especially excited patriot, wishing to free tho town from tho taint of having harboured such an ‘ abomination ’ as a body of friars, set fire to the place, which was burnt almost to the ground, with the exception of its chapel. Of this only the shell was left ; however after a short time it was fitted with a new roof, and was utilised as a cask ware house by an enterprising cooper, who had somehow obtained a grant of It. The place where the other buildings had stood, and the little garden of the monastery were soon covered by a hive of small houses. Now the strange story which I am about to relate seems to make it piobable that the monks’ hoard was never discovered at all at the time of the Revolution, If so, It may be asked why, when settled times came a«ain, the fathers made no effort to recover their lost property. To this I can only answer that several of them are said to have been so maltreated as not to survive the pillage, and that among these may have been all the individuals intrusted with the secret of tho hiding-place of their treasure. After the great French wars of the early part of this century were over, the town of which I am writing, being close to England, became greatly frequented by our countrymen. Among the various wants of the expatriated Briton a church was found to have a place ; and when a suitable situation wai being sought, it chanced that the old chapel, now a cask warehouse, was chosen, as being cheap and requiting only a few repairs and additions to make it all that was needed. For as funds were not plentiful. It was a desideratum to escape the expense of erecting a new building. Now of this church, in the year 18C9 it happened that I was a churchwarden, and thereby met with this curious experience. It was a very nice place that town by tho sea, and no doubt is still; but I have not shown my faoe in it these ten years on account of this wretched affair. Then however there was no place that I liked '.better, though I must acknowledge that it was a little dull and melancholy in the winter. But with that season my tale has no concern, as it opens on a certain evening, or rather night in Jane. The hour of cloven bad just struck by the weak toned clock of the Custom House, and I was seated at the end of the long pier. The waves were leaping and heaving outside the breakwater, and showing their white crests in tho white moonlight; exulting no donbt at the way in which they had tormented the late London boat, which had just emptied out its ghastly freight of passengers, I had been amused at the state those unpleasant-looking Britons were in after their rough passage, and especially at the objurgations of one individual, who appeared to have staved off the qualms of seasickness by copious libations of brandy, and, after refusing to allow the douaniers to overhaul his luggage, bad attempted to rescue it from them vi et armis, whence there seemed to be every probability of his spending his first night abroad in a French lock-up When the bustle was over, I had sauntered down to the end of the pier, and had seated myself there. Ido not know why I lingered, but I liked the cool night breeze, and it slowly lulled me to sleep. I was awakened by a stop near me ; and as, with a shudder and an instinctive movement to feel that my watch was safe, I recovered my sight, I found that a stranger must have passed very close in front of me. I stared after him, and was surprised to see him tarn and walk back till he stood before me.

* Pardon me, Herr Lamb,’ (Solomon Lamb is my name.) * Hallo,’ said I, ‘ how do you know who I am ? ’

* o meinheer, I have walked up and down before you two or three times, and I am sure I am not wrong in thinking that yon are the gentleman who was so kind to me at Aachen. Do you not remember the carpenter who repaired your travelling desk, which had been broken by the carelessness of the porter at the hotel, and to whom you gave some other little jobs during your stay ? Perhaps you will remember my name, Carl Muller.’

‘ O yes,’ I replied, brightening up more and more, ‘ I remember. But what are you doing here ? ’ ‘ Well, sir, it’s a long story, hut I have been forced to leave Germany through being persecuted by the Government, I know a little of most trades, and I have a knowledge of mining, my people belonging to the Hartz I also had a specialty for finding lost and burled treasure, and three times discovered valuable hoards for the authorities ; but instead of It doing me any good, I only became a suspected character, and it ended by ray having to fly with hardly a groschen to help myself with. I have been tramping all through Belgium, and now I have wandered into France, looking out for work.’

• I am afraid,’ I said, ‘ that yov will not find any treasure here ; it is not at all a likely place for that.’ * No,’ he answered; ‘but I am a good carpenter, and know something of boat building. I therefore came here after trying Calais and Dunkerque, and have been inquiring for employment at the different building yards, but as yet I have not been successful. Perhaps as I have had the g od fortune of meeting yon, you may be able to help mo to get work.* A happy thought struck me. I owned a boat which my hoys sailed about in; it wanted a dock in the bows ; here was a man who would do the work cheaper and sooner than the dilatory workman of Feteville. < Well.’ said 1, * I think I can help yon to a small job; so if you come up to my home on the esplanade to*morrow mornlngwe will tails it over. It will be abont doing up a boat. -

The man seemed very thankful, bowed, and then walked away. I told my wife when I reached homo of my meeting Muller, and how strange it was that he knew me and said what 1 had promised in the way of work. • 1 know he is a clever fellow, and I wont to see what he can do with the boat; if he is a good carpenter he may bo of great use, especially as these Feteville people are so very independent. Rut I do not quite nn derstand that rigmarole about his reason for leaving Germany, Muller came in the morning, very punctual at the hour I had named to him. I walked with him down to the basin, showed him what I wanted done, and advanced him a few francs as he said he was penniless. In a day or two the results of his work made it apparent that he was very skilful, and both my boys and myself were delighted at his handiness, I found him one or two other small jobs, and also recommended him to several of my friends. Among these was Mr Dawkins, our parson, and it struck him that Muller would be the very man to do some repairs that were needed about the church cheaply and well. He finished this work also—did everything so cleverly, and made himself so generally useful, that at last he was installed in a couple of rooms close to the church, and acted as a sort of decorator, verger, and, in fact, Jack-of-all-trades. In a few months Muller’s appearance improved wonderfully ; a wife and child, of whom he had told us nothing, joined him from Germany. He bought some furniture, and, being a general favorite, seemed in a fair way to secure a respectable living. He appeared very devoted to his family, was quite sober, and very seldom left his house, except to look after the interior of the church which seemed to have some groat charm for him. He was a Protestant, of course, and appeared to be such a thorough Christian, that the clergyman and all the devout old ladies of the congregation took quite an interest in him and his wife. When ho took to holding the plato at the door on Sunday, in a full suit of black and a white tie, everybody was quite melted, if X may use the expression. As a finish to his excellences', he suggested two or three ornamental improvements to the pulpit, did some very pretty carvings for the altar rails, and reprinted the table of Commandments under the east window not at all badly. This work kept him about the church all day for some weeks.

In July, 1870, I wanted some repairs done to the mast of my boat, wlrch had been slightly sprung, so went to Muller’s early in the morning to ask his advice and assistance. I knocked at the door, but no one answered. I called through the key hole for Mrs Muller. As no one came, I tried to look in at one of the windows. At last I banged at the door with my heel till I nearly iorced it in 5 still nobody stirred. • Tery strange this,’ I thought; * I’ll go and ask the parson whether ne knows anything about it. ’ I walked off at a tremendous pace to Mr Dawkins’s house, knocked, and was admitted, and went straight after the servant into the breakfast room. I fear that without saying “ Good-morn-ing’ to Mrs Dawkins, who was just pouring out the tea for breakfast, I began by blurting out, ‘ Where’s Muller ’ ‘Muller?’ said Mr Dawkins, taking off his spectacles and looking at me in great surprise ; * I suppose he is at his house,* « No,’ I replied ; ‘or if he is, he is dead, and his wife too. He’s gone. ’ « What!’ said Mr Dawkins, nearly upsethis tea cup. * What do you say ?’ 1 Oh, I mean that he has bolted—gone off.’

Visions of francs advanced for the repairs and alterations must have crossed Mr Dawkins’s mental diso ; but he evidently could not easily believe anything wrong of Muller. He got up hastily, and, with a slight tremor in his voice, said, ‘ I think we bad better go down again to his house and see.’ We went as fast as we could walk, and hammered at the door again, but could get no response. Then I suggested that we should send for a locksmith, and get the door opened. ( To ie continued.)