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<stro US LOVE ONE ANOTHER</strong><strong>April 9th</strong>
The fine evenings are e back; the trees begin to put forth theirshoots; hyaths, jonquils, violets, and lilacs perfume the baskets ofthe flirls--all the world have begun their walks again on the quaysand boulevards. After dinner, I, too, desd from my attic to breathethe evening air.
It is the hour when Paris is seen in all its beauty. During the day theplaster fronts of the houses weary the eye by their monotonous whiteness;heavily laden carts make the streets shake uheir huge wheels; theeager crowd, taken up by the one fear of losing a moment from business,cross and jostle one ahe aspect of the city altogether hassomething harsh, restless, and flurried about it. But, as soon as thestars appear, everything is ged; the glare of the white houses isquenched ihering shades; you hear no more any rolling but thatof the carriages on their way to some party of pleasure; you see only thelounger or the light-hearted passing by; work has given place to leisure.
Now eaay breathe after the fierce race through the business ofthe day, and whatever strength remains to him he gives to pleasure! Seethe ballrooms lighted up, the theatres open, the eating-shops along thew<u>9９lｉｂ.</u>alks set out with dainties, and the twinkling lanterns of the neercriers. Decidedly Paris has laid aside the pen, the ruler, and theapron; after the day spent in work, it must have the evening forenjoyment; like the masters of Thebes, it has put off all serious mattertill tomorrow.
I love to take part in this happy hour; not to mix in the general gayety,but to plate it. If the enjoyments of others embitter jealousminds, they strehe humble spirit; they are the beams of sunshine,which opewo beautiful flowers called trust and hope.
Although alone in the midst of the smiling multitude, I do not feelmyself isolated from it, for its gayety is reflected upo is myown kind, my own family, who are enjoying life, and I take a brothersshare in their happiness. We are all fellow-soldiers in this earthlybattle, and what does it matter on whom the honors of the victory fall?
If Fortune passes ></a>by without seeing us, and pours her favors on others,let us sole ourselves, like the friend of Parmenio, by saying, "Those,too, are Alexanders."
While making these refles, I was going on as e. Icrossed from one pavement to another, I retraced my steps, I stoppedbefore the shops or to read the handbills. How many things there are tolearn ireets of Paris! What a museum it is! Unknown fruits,fn arms, furniture of old times or other lands, animals of allclimates, statues of great men, es of distant nations! It is theworld seen in samples!
Let us then look at this people, whose knowledge is gained from the shop-windows and the tradesmans display of goods. Nothing has been taughtthem, but they have a rude notion of everything. They have seenpineapples at Chevets, a palm-tree in the Jardin des Plantes, sugar-es selling on the Pont-Neuf. The Redskins, exhibited in the ValentineHall, have taught them to mimic the dance of the bison, and to smoke thecalumet of peace; they have seen Carters liohey know theprincipal national es tained in Babins colle; Goupilsdisplay of prints has placed the tiger-hunts of Afrid the sittingsof the English Parliament before their eyes; they have bee acquaih Queen Victoria, the Emperor of Austria, and Kossuth, at the office-door of the Illustrated News. We certainly instruct them, but notastonish them; for nothing is pletely o them. You may take theParis ragamuffin through the five quarters of the world, and at everywonder with which you think to surprise him, he will settle the matterwith that favorite and clusive answer of his class--"I know."
But this variety of exhibitions, which makes Paris the fair of the world,does not offer merely a means of instru to him who walks through it;it is a tinual spur for rousing the imagination, a first step of theladder always set up before us in a vision. When we see them, how manyvoyages do we take in imagination, what adventures do we dream of, ictures do we sketch! I never look at that shop he ese baths,with its tapestry hangings of Florida jessamine, and filled withmagnolias, without seeing the forest glades of the New World, describedby the author of Atala, opening themselves out before me.
Then, when this study of things and this discourse of reason begin totire you, look around you! What trasts of figures and faces you seein the crowd! What a vast field for the exercise of meditation! A half-seen glance, or a few words caught as the speaker passes by, open athousand vistas to your imagination. You wish to prehend what theseimperfect disclosures mean, and, as the antiquary endeavors to decipherthe mutilated inscription on some old mo, you build up a history oure or on a word! These are the stirring sports of the mind, whids in fi a relief from the wearisome dullness of the actual.
Alas! as I was just now passing by the carriage-entrance of a greathouse, I noticed a sad subject for one of these histories. A man wassitting in the darkest er, with his head bare, and holding out hishat for the charity of those who passed. His threadbare coat had thatlook of ness which marks that destitution has bee by a longstruggle. He had carefully butto up to hide the want of a shirt.
His face was half hid under his gray hair, and his eyes were closed, asif he wished to escape the sight of his own humiliation, and he remaie and motionless. Those who passed him took no notice of the beggar,who sat in silend darkness! They had been so lucky as to escapeplaints and importunities, and were glad to turn away their eyes too.
Suddenly the great gate turned on its hinges; and a very low carriage,lighted with silver lamps and drawn by two black horses, came slowly out,and took the road toward the Faub St. Germain. I could justdistinguish, within, the sparkling diamonds and the flowers of a ball-dress; the glare of the lamps passed like a bloody streak over the paleface of the beggar, and showed his look as his eyes opened and followedthe rich mans equipage until it disappeared in the night.
I dropped a small pieoney into the hat he was holding out, andpassed on quickly.
I had just fallen uedly upowo saddest secrets of thedisease which troubles the age we live in: the envious hatred of him whosuffers want, and the selfish fetfulness of him who lives inaffluence.
All the enjoyment of my walk was gone; I left off looking about me, aired into my ow. The animated and moving sight ireetsgave place to inward meditation upon all the painful problems which havebeen written for the last four thousand years at the bottom of each humanstruggle, but which are propounded more clearly than ever in our days.
I pondered on the uselessness of so many tests, in which defeat andvictory only displace each other by turns, and on the mistakeswho have repeated from geion to geion the bloody history of and Abel; and, saddened with these mournful refles, I walked onas e, until the silence all around insensibly drew me outfrom my own thoughts.
I had reached one of the remote streets, in which those who would live infort and without ostentation, and who love serious refle, delightto find a home. There were no shops along the dimly lighted street; oneheard no sounds but of distant carriages, and of the steps of some of theinhabitants returning quietly home.
I instantly reized the street, though I had been there only oncebefore.
That was two years ago. I was walking at the time by the side of theSeio which the lights on the quays and bridges gave the aspect of alake surrounded by a garland of stars; and I had reached the Louvre, whenI was stopped by a crowd collected he parapet they had gatheredround a child of about six, who was g, and I asked the cause of histears.
"It seems that he was sent to walk iuileries," said a mason, whowas returning from his work with his trowel in his hand; "the servant whotook care of him met with some friends there, and told the child to waitfor him while he went to get a drink; but I suppose the drink made himmore thirsty, for he has not e back, and the child ot find his wayhome."
"Why do they not ask him his name, and where he lives?"
"They have been doing it for the last hour; but all he say is, thathe is called Charles, and that his father is Monsieur Duval--there aretwelve hundred Duvals in Paris."
"Then he does not know in art of the town he lives?"
"I should not think, indeed! Dont you see that he is a gentlemanschild? He has never go except in a carriage or with a servant; hedoes not know what to do by himself."
Here the mason was interrupted by some of the voices rising above theothers.
"We ot leave him ireet," said some.
"The child-stealers would carry him off," tihers.
"We must take him to the overseer."
"Or to the police-office."
"Thats the thing. e, little one!"
But the child, frightened by these suggestions of danger, and at thenames of polid overseer, cried louder, and drew back toward theparapet. In vairied to persuade him; his fears made him resistthe more, and the most eager began to get weary, when the voice of alittle boy was heard through the fusion.
"I know him well--I do," said he, looking at the lost child; "he belongsin our part of the town."
"art is it?"
"Yonder, oher side of the Boulevards--Rue des Magasins."
"And you have seen him before?"
"Yes, yes! he belongs to the great house at the end of the street, wherethere is an iron gate with gilt points."
The child quickly raised his head, and stopped g. The little boyanswered all the questions that were put to him, and gave such details asleft no room for doubt. The other child uood him, for he went upto him as if to put himself under his prote.
"Then you take him to his parents?" asked the mason, who hadlistened with real io the little boys at.
"I dont care if I do," replied he; "its the way Im going."
"Then you will take charge of him?"
"He has only to e with me."
And, taking up the basket he had put down on the pavement, he set offtoward the pate of the Louvre.
The lost child followed him.
"I hope he will take him right," said I, when I saw them go away.
"Never fear," replied the mason; "the little one in the blouse is thesame age as the other; but, as the saying is, he knows black from white;poverty, you see, is a famous sistress!"
The crowd dispersed. For my part, I went toward the Louvre; the thoughtcame into my head to follow the two children, so as to guard against anymistake.
I was not long iaking them; they were walking side by side,talking, and already quite familiar with each other. The trast intheir dress then struck me. Little Duval wore one of those fancifulchildrens dresses which are expensive as well as in good taste; his coatwas skilfully fitted to his figure, his trousers came down in plaits fromhis waist to his boots of polished leather with mother-of-pearl buttons,and his ris were half hid by a velvet cap. The appearance of hisguide, on the trary, was that of the class who dwell oremeborders of poverty, but who there maintain their ground with nosurrender. His old blouse, patched with pieces of different shades,indicated the perseverance of , I soonperceived she was his mother.
Not seeiher the servant or child return, she had sent in search ofthem in every dire, and was waiting for them in intense ay.
I explaio her in a few words what had happened. She thanked mewarmly, and looked round for the little boy who had reized andbrought back her son; but while we were talking, he had disappeared.
It was for the first time sihen that I had e into this part ofParis. Did the mother tinue grateful? Had the childre again,and had the happy ce of their first meeting lowered betweehatbarrier which may mark the different ranks of men, but should not dividethem?
While putting these questions to myself, I slaed my pace, and fixedmy eyes on the great gate, which I just perceived. Suddenly I saw itopen, and two children appeared at the entrance. Although much grown,I reized them at first sight; they were the child who was fouhe parapet of the Louvre, and his young guide. But the dress of thelatter was greatly ged: his blouse of gray cloth was , and evenspruce, and was fastened round the waist by a polished leather belt; hewore strong shoes, but made for his feet, and had on a new cloth cap.
Just at the moment I saw him, he held in his two hands an enormous bunchof lilacs, to which his panion was trying to add narcissuses andprimroses; the two children laughed, and parted with a friendly good-by.
M. Duvals son did not go in till he had seeher turn the erof the street.
Then I accosted the latter, and reminded him of our former meeting; helooked at me for a moment, and then seemed to recollect me.
"Five me if I do not make you a bow," said he, merrily, "but I wantboth my hands for the nosegay Monsieur Charles has given me."
"You are, then, bee great friends?" said I.
"Oh! I should think so," said the child; "and now my father is richtoo!"
"Hows that?"
"Monsieur Duval lent him some money; he has taken a shop, where he workson his own at; and, as for me, I go to school."
"Yes," replied I, remarking for the first time the cross that decoratedhis little coat; "and I see that you are head-boy!"
"Monsieur Charles helps me to learn, and so I am e to be the first inthe class."
"Are you now going to your lessons?"
"Yes, and he has given me some lilacs; for he has a garden where we playtogether, and where my mother always have flowers."
"Then it is the same as if it were partly your own."
"So it is! Ah! they are good neighbors indeed. But here I am; good-by,sir."
He o me with a smile, and disappeared.
I went on with my walk, still pensive, but with a feeling of relief.
If I had elsewhere withe painful trast between affluendwant, here I had found the true union of riches and poverty. Heartygood-will had smoothed down the med inequalities on both sides,and had opened a road of true neighborhood and fellowship between thehumble workshop and the stately mansion. Instead of hearkening to thevoice of i, they had both listeo that of self-sacrifid there was no place left for pt or envy. Thus, instead of thebeggar in rags, that I had seen at the other door cursing the rich man,I had fouhe happy child of the laborer loaded with flowers andblessing him! The problem, so difficult and so dangerous to examiowith nard but for the rights of it, I had just seen solved by love.
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