The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVII, Issue 7, 18 February 1909, Page 243

The Storyteller

A FOUNDLING OF ST. ANTHONY

Outside the farm-steading -of Jean Marie Malahiende presented a most forbidding appearance. It had the air \ i5-ii P lace > standing out-there alone on the windswept hill above the sea. \ It was a great square enclosure or eyeless, wmdowless brick, and -the Ifeavy, arched 1 gate mignt have been the entrance to a fortress. - There was something sinister about if as we stole past it -in the dusk, it looked as though murder might have "been done or plot-ted-there. * Within, it was Very different— beautiful and bright and white. Around three sides of it were the open sheds tor the cattle. The fourth side Vas- taken up by the dwelling-house, with green jalousies to all the windows'. The way for the cattle was fenced off from the centre .pirthe courtyard, which had been made into a garden It was a garden for use. The neighbors used to admit sorrowfully that Jean Marie's vegetables were always finer than theirs. Such superb cabbages and cauliflowers, such delicious fresh lettuces and spinach and celery and beets and sorrel and chicory and endive, to say nothing of peas and beans,, were grown in the garden under the protection or bt. Anthony, whose statue stood in the midst of it holding the Divine Infant in his arms.

The land outside was very p©"or and sandy,> hardly - worth while cultivating, although cattle and sheep- could - pick up some kind of a living there. Jean Maria did not trouble to cultivate very much of it. He supplied milk and vegetables and eggs and butter "and poultry -to the people round about; and in the springtime, when the chalets along the plage were untenanted, sent his produce to the Friday market at Soulac. Year by year— although he was not ungenerous; was indeed a friend to. the -Church and the poor, as the Cure would have told you — he added something to his store. He was known for a man. "of substance. It was a thousand pities, said the neighbors diacussing him, that he had not a child to follow him in the farm- and inherit his savings, which "doubtless would go to the Church and the poor. . - Jean Marie had a little broivn,. much-wrinkled face under his silver hair. No one, nothing, feared- him. The pigeons would settle on his head and shoulders in a flock as he dug in his beloved garden. Menelik, the house dog, that had been" given to Jean Marie by a soldier, of the Foreign, legion long since dead, would he down in" the very path of -his hoe and refuse to get up again until removed by mam force. The'cat would jump upon his knee when he sat to meals, to the scandal of Josephine, his old housekeeper. -* ' Ah, the worthless ones ! ' she would grumble.- ' With what they eat, those rascals, I could 'fatten many more . geese and put money in thy pocket.' [ Money is not everything, my dear Josephine,' Jean Marie would say, pulling at his- pipe. •. And' that was a sufficiently startling sentiment' in the mouth of a French f armor to excuse the housekeeper's amazement! Jean Marie and the Cure used often to have a meal together, sitting in the-little arbor crowned by a vine, in front of which stood St. Anthony.- They would sit there after Josephine had served them a meal of excellent quality, and would sometimes not speak for quite a long time, since the understanding between them was so good. 'It is very peaceful, Jean Marie, 3 the Cure said, as he had said many times before. Jean Marie blinked his old eyes. 'How would it look, -Monsieur,' he said dreamily, 'to one from Paris — one to whom the city had not been kind ? It is gay in Paris, but when youth is over ' ' Ah, my friend,' responded ,the Cure, looking at him benevolently through the smoke, / if she could come back 1 But — there is more between you than .the .years. And I think she is dead, else we should have heard of her. The Commissionaire of Police told. me that everything would be done. Is it likely ho should failP He is a Breton like , myself, the son of an old neighbor. They are sharp, those police of Paris. Yet nothing has come.' Jean Marie nodded toward "the statue. " '"He is better, the good St. Anthony, than many commissionaires,' he said.' ;~; ~ - - ' You have great faith,' said the Cure. ' May dear St. Anthony reward it! And, my f fiend, you have "a forgiving heart.' -* % Jean Marie put down his pipe and stared out into the "hot white sunshine.- ' She was young,' he, said. 'I was almost old enough to be her father. We do not ask love of our young girls when we marry them.. And sometimes there is — another.

With Gabriolle it was so. How could I know that the nouse and the garden were but a prison to her ? And my mother was somewhat harsh ivith her. What a woman my Mother was ! She could not bear to see Gabrielle fold her hands and sit still. She scolded-ah, yes, she scolded! tone said to me that the stick upon her poor little shoulders would be but fitting. My admirable mother ! See you, she was. old and her mind was in the cuisine and the house. Ihere were the long winters, too, when, she unpicked the beds. I think Gabrielle hated it. Once I saw the despair in her face, and I said to Her: "Hold, little one; there is enough of bed-making! I drive to Soulac, and I have room for thee." Her pooi- little face began to be delighted, But my mother would not have it. She thought it was enough for any woman, tliat occupation of remaking the' beds in the long winter.' m His voice was as monotonous and dreamy as the lapping of water upon the sands. «' I sh -? u l d i ia 7e7 c . had the Co " ra Se to remind the excellent mother that Gabrielle was young,' he concluded with- a sigh. ' Only that we Frenchmen have always obeyed our mothers said the Cure; 'and Madame Malahiende was not one to be disobeyed. It is, perhaps, not so wise that the mother and wife should be under one roof, as it is so often •Vl oil US*

_ Jean Mane was silent. He was remembering that winter when his. mother's voice scolded and complained incessantly. Why, her voice had gone all day scolding and complaining! And Galriolle had grown whiter and winter and her little lips had closed to a thinner line/ and she had quite forgotten to be merry as she had been at iirst, and had gone about with lagging steps and a drooping head ; and Jean Maria's heart had been sorely troubled within him, as men's hearts often have been and will be because women cannot agree together, and the two he loved were all wrong with each other. Then Jean Marie and 3ns mother had driven one day to market and had come Lome, the old mother in high good humor, because she had sold her geese well, and there was no Gabrielle. They had searched everywhere for her the mothers wailing giving place by degrees to silence! Ihey had gone out through the cornfield, down through the little glen along the plage, among the sand-dunes— everywhere, and there was no Gabrielle. Little by little the truth leaked out. She had gone away to Paris. Jean Marie had changed much since C*abrielle had left him. He no longer quailed before his mother. Even thp odious charge of being an imdutiful son did not move him now, when it came to a clashing of their wills. He took her scoldings meekly, though the older she grew the more she scolded; but he Avas not to he moved. Ho grew accustomed to the shrill old voice, as one grows accustomed to tJie piping of the storms in winter in that country of the winds. J

He took his wrongs in a curious way. Instead of feeling the shame that had come upon him as other people considered it, he waited for Gabrielle's return. Everyone knew it; and, according to his or her way of looking at it, thought him a fool ox a saint. Monsieur le Cure though he said nothing a-fc all about it, understood when Jean Marie set up in his garden a statue of St. Anthony who finds the thing that is lost; but he only sighed and took snuff, and rumpled Ms red curls, as he always did when lost in thought. Oc«asionally, during the long lone years in which there had been no word of Gabrielle he had said midway of the talk or the silence • ' ! sut5 ut * ie is ?}?™ in finding, the good St. Anthony !' Yet he will find/ Jean Marie would answer with a placid patience.

It never seemed to occur to him, as it had to the Cure, that if poor Gabrielle was alive after all those years she might be far from being the soft-faced, innocent Gabrii elle he remembered. Fourteen years had gone since that September day when they had sold the geese at Soulac market, and had found Gabrielle missing on their return. 'See then, my friend,' said the Cure, coming in to him one day very full of a new thing. < You must have an apprentice from the Assistance Publique. M Charleroi of the Osiers Farm, has received a brave boy. He will not have the habitudes of o«r lads here, who love too sooii the spiriting and the cigarette. You shall train him un your own way, and he will be a credit to you ; and it will be a good act to rescue- on-e of the foundlings of the great city. s Jean Marie gazed ai him thoughtfully through, the smoke-wreaths of his pipe-gazed beyond him to the statue of St. Anthony. He ww not sure that he needed a namefe S \i y ;i t an i? J, 086 **™ 6 S ot °a very well together; and Michel the shepherd and Jacques the ploughman had" been so long with him that they were like one household The boy might be a little rascal, a disturbing element. It would be different if one had had a child of one's own

And Josephine was old, and nearly as sour 1 With young things as his mother had been. . . -,- He was about to answer tie question in- the Cube's eager face, when his eye rested om the curly "head ofTihe Infant Jesus m St. Anthony's arms. Why/ He was a boy" once and doubtless boys were, dew to Him. Supposing it was His will-' Eh, bien, Monsieur.!' he said, Suing to the Cure. 'It shall be as Monsieur desires. 5 - .It was some little while before the boy came $tm?hM Assistance Publique. But he arrived at last onS JbrMtf SdXT da *>™ ih £ is ?>?* ™ of ugly, warm clothing, .and the few books and writing materials which proved that he had received an education from the State, nliilri™ X Ma "?, had kkw»n ° w » something of these State-reared Sft a^ d the pledge had:not been of a favorable kind. So it was with a feeling of relief that his kind innocently shrewd eyes fell upon the little chap, who was standing on the cold platform, performing a quiet little C ?l in p Ord?r + tO - Warm himself ' ior Marie was late! and the Paris train was already speeding on its way It was a good face, a little bleached, as though the boy lived too much the life of the town and within doors, but bright .eager m its _ expression, with a pair of brown eyes n a deep and velvety as Gabrielle's were long ago. He lifted iiis eyes to Jean Marie with a quaint politeness. . 'The wbo c i? U f c TV" nlotheSn lotheS mil^^ bi S 'or it. Jean Marie, ?t, ™ ?d? d ! of a ii y ? ll i Ig things > felt Ms hear * go out to Pierre Martel, as the lad was called. As they jogged homeward in. the cart, which was alIZfl i dS ° h th Jean Marle ' s marketing that it could hardly contain himself and the boy, and the boy'^ square painted N box, Pierre's quiet excitement over the things he $aw made Jean Marie smile with plesaurable amusement. He had excellent rnanners-as good in the r way as Jean Marie's own— being eager to please and TcoulVt tllZrll^' "* ™* *°- d ° 'Thou wilt find him not so bad, Josephine,' said Jean Marie standing by the charcoal fire "in .the kitchen, when the boy had clumped heavily upstairs to his bedroom < to please" 0 1S qUiet aS * mm ° USe and very desiro "s ( I never knew the boy yet who was not -a rascal,' said Josephine, sourly ; < and if he seemed not to be I should but distrust him the more for that.' But eyen Josephine's grimness relaxed somewhat at' the boy's timid but heartfelt praise of her cabbage soup at supper, and his delight in a]l he saw about-him He won her over as he won over Michel and Jacques, and Menelik, and Mimi the cat, that was a most d&greeabll creature, and made war on all the world. Josephine would still give him harsh words at times, and- once or twice she flung her broom at him when his feet had brought hx mud on her clean tiled floor. But she acknowledged to Jean Marie that the rascal was as little of a rascal as could be expected; and in time she began to take an interest m Pierre's wardrobe, ajid even to knit Ms stockings for him-a thing which hitherto she- had done only for her master and for the Cure. In fact, the. boy made his place ao the farm in their hearts. By the time- summer Pierre * ° wondered how he had lived' without 'He becomes like a son,' he said to the Cure, who was in all his secrets. ' • . ? 'It is the reward of thy charity, Jean Marie,' returned the Cure. 'And it is true the boy has been well reared He tells me he was with the Sisters of the Good Mercy in his tender childhood They Laid the foundations. Paiis has done him no harm.' By and bye Pierre went of mornings to the old, old church out in the sand-dunes to, serve" the Cure's Mass There -were not so many to do it in these latter days when the newspapers from Paris brought the Free Thouaht into those quiet places. All were equal in the' sightof God, the Cure said to himself, when Pierre in his little surplice and vestment awaited him of mornings. Paris had done him no harm. The lad from the Assistance- Publique ' was better than the children of the parents of the parish, who would hardly pull the forelock to the Cure nowadays and thought but of saving the sous. - • As time went on, Pierre- grew strong and tall and willing; and even Josephine acknowledged that it had been a good day when he came to them: He was always so smiling and pleasant that he disarmed the crossness of the old woman. Long, long ago Jean Mar.ie's heart had settled" upon the foundling. Josephine in time doted upon him almost as much, though she would never acknowledge it He was not like other boys. Ho was gentle with old people and those ailing and with animals. He" could do anything with the animals, like Jean Marie himself - 'What shall we do, thou and I, Josephine,' Jean Marie asked one day, when the boy £oes for his service with the army? They will be long days in the house, and longer nights when he xs not coming,'

Josephine turned aAvay her head, and made a great clatter with her cooking utensils. 'If he must go, 'he must go,' she said gruffly. „' Perhaps thou and I avlll not live to see him return; perhaps' he will not desire to-refcurn wlion he has seen life. It is not likely he Avould come back among bid people in this lonely place. We shall all be old together— thou and I, arid Michol and Jacques, and even Menelik and Mimi — once the boy has gone.'. ' Think how he will come back ! So tall and straight, and twirling his moustaches, as they do in the army,' Jean Marie said. .' It Avill not be the same,' Josephine murmured. ' Things Avill never be the same. It has been good for us all Avhile he has "been hero. 'But the world will swalloAV him as it gave him to us. Or he Avill come back to find us dead, and ho Avill have no heart for the farm. Paris will call him. What is there here for the young?' In her heart she had a thought that Jean Marie might buy off the lad if he would. If the same idea had occurred to Jean Marie, he said nothing of it. To bo sure, it would be a Avild thing to put down good gold to buy off a foundling, a child of the Assistance Publique, from serving with the army. Yet ho had grown so dear to them, almost like a son of the house, and they were all so oldj he had brought youth into their lives, and ho would loave behind only the sadness and weariness of old age. The boy indeed shoAved no . delight in the thought of going. The other lads wore often as eager to leave the farms as the sAvalloiv is to go south on the edge of Avinter. . ' It Avill be fine for thee, Pierre, to wear uniform and march to tho music Avith the others,' the Cure said one day, meeting Pierre on the level road between tho saltmarshes and ths sand-dunes. 'To be sure, it is fine to be young. Yet, Pierre my child, come back to us,' not us I have seen others return, but Avitlr~an unspotted" heart. That Avill be my prayer for thee — that thou mayst be-un-spotted from tho world.' ' I Avish I could stay,' Pierre replied, and his lip trembled a little. 'I am not like the others, avlio go whistling all day becaiise the time is near for the years of sorvice in the army. Seest thou they are so old, Monsieur and' Josephine. Hoav do I knoAv that I shall see them again? And I have no lore for toAA-ns.' ' I have brought thee thy papers from the Assistance Publique,' said the Cure. 'It Avill not be so long, thy three years. They Avill vait for thy return. Be sure thou dost return.' ' I -will surely roturn to you, if I Ha^c,' Pierre said seriously, taking the packet of papers the priest handed to him. They AA'alked across the salt-marshes to the farm together, talking as thoy Avent. It had been a Avet Avinter, and Joan Mario's rheumatism had been- worse than ever before. The green damp lay in streaks on the statue of St. Anthony. But spring Avas in the AA'ind, and the Cure Avho had the heart of a boy, though his cxirls Avere grizzling, felt his heart lift as they stepped briskly along the road that climbed to the farm. Jean Marie AAas Avithin. Having laid down the packet of papers before him, Pierre went out, leaving the tAA*o old men together. Josephine was clattering ' her crockery m some back region. Stretching his hands to the Avarmth of the fire, the Cure looked up and Avas struck by the cheerf ul_ expression on Jean Marie's face. ' I had made up my mind to buy him off the serA r ice,' ho said. 'It AA'ould be too great a Avrong to myself and Josephine to take tho chances of the years. And — and — avlio knoAvs Avhat the camp and the toAA'ii might do for Pierre ?' ' Who knoAvs ? Ho is a good lad and a brave lad. . Thou roineinberesi the wrock last winter— =?lioav he Avas the first to offer to go ? It is avoll, Joan Marie. ' The lad has groAvn very dear to thee.' ' Like my own son.' •And it~ is not right the one son of the old should -go. Besides, the boy's heart is Avith thee.” "* • Jean Marie Avas carefully taking one document after another' from tlie packet, and smoothing it out to read it. He looked about for his spectacles. ' Pormit mo, Jean Marie,' said the Cure, stretching his hands for the papers. He held them near the windoAV. ' Porhaps,' said Jean Marie, in his sloav, dreamy A'oice — ' perhaps it was so ; the dear St. Anthony ansAvered my prayers. I am resigned to think that Gabriclle is dead, that she Avill never return to the farm, that she is in the mercy of the good God. The groat Avorld that took her from me has given me Pierre. I shall not be without a son in my old age.' 'Jean Marie, my friend,' said the Cure suddenly, in a voice of great agitation, ' God's Avays are strange, and more Avonderful than Aye can imagine. What if Pierre were your OAvn son? You did not knoAV, but see here it is written doAvn: "The sou of Jean Marie Malahionde and Gabrielle,

his Avife, born in the Hospital of the Holy Pity, January 25, 1886." ' Jean Marie put his hand to his head with a trembling gesture, as though he tried to understand. 'What!' he exclaimed. 'Read it again. My son and Gabrielle's ! That four months after she left us. We never knew, the mother and I, else the mother would have ceased to scold her, or I would not have permitted it. My son.ancl Gabriello's!' ~' She died in the Hospital- of the Holy Pity with the Good Nuns. She died iai the arms of Mercy.'. "I wjuit-rny son,' said Joan Marie, standing up and stretching his arms as -though they Avould close upon the boy. 'My son ! I have a son ! My heart melted on him when I saw him first looiing at me with Gabrielle's eyes.' j 'He is as like th.cc as two peas,' said the Cure. ' Where wero our eyes?' Jean Mario took a step or two toward the door. As "he looked out his eye fell on St. Anthony. ' Ah, there ho is,' lie said — ' the dear saint who finds that which is lost ! He shall have a new coat. ■ There is so much to do, now that the spring is coming. Josephine, come hero and listen ! I have a son. Pierre is my son. He will close my eyes and thine.' Pierre camp with a lagging step through the gateway. Joan Mario flew to him and caught him in his arms. 'Thou art my son, Pierre,' he cried; 'really my son— the son of my body as well as the son of. my heart ! Thou wilt stay with us; wo liave need of thee. Ah, Pierre, my son! And thy mother is in heaven. We shall build an altar, thou and I, to the dear St. Anthony.' — Aye Maria-.