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PENSATIONSunday, May 27th
Capital cities have ohing peculiar to them: their days of rest seemto be the signal feneral dispersion and flight. Like birds thatare just restored to liberty, the people e out of their stone cages,and joyfully fly toward the try. It is who shall find a greenhillock for a seat, or the shade of a wood for a shelter; they gather Mayflowers, they run about the fields; the town is fotten until theevening, when they return with sprigs of blooming hawthorn in their hats,and their hearts gladdened by pleasant thoughts and recolles of thepast day; the day they return again to their harness and to work.
These rural adventures are most remarkable at Paris. When the fiher es, clerks, shop keepers, and wmen look forwardimpatiently for the Sunday as the day f a few hours of thispastoral life; they walk through six miles of grocers shops and public-houses in the faubs, in the sole hope of finding a real turnip-field.
The father of a family begins the practical education of his son byshowing him wheat which has not taken the form of a loaf, and cabbage "inits wild state." Heaven only knows the enters, the discoveries, theadvehat are met with! arisian has not had his Odyssey inan excursion through the suburbs, and would not be able to write apanion to the famous Travels by Land and by Sea from Paris to St.
Cloud?
We do not now speak of that floating population from all parts, for whomour French Babylon is the caravansary of Europe: a phalanx of thinkers,artists, men of business, and travellers, who, like Homers hero, havearrived in their intellectual try after beholding "many peoples andcities;" but of the settled Parisian, who keeps his appointed place, andlives on his own floor like the oyster on his rock, a curious vestige ofthe credulity, the slowness, and the simplicity of bygone ages.
For one of the singularities of Paris is, that it uwentypopulations pletely different in character and manners. By theside of the gypsies of erd of art, who wahrough all theseveral stages of fortune or fancy, live a quiet race of people with anindependence, or with regular work, whose existence resembles the dialof a clock, on which the same hand points by turns to the same hours.
If no other city show more brilliant and more stirring forms of life,no other tains more obscure and more tranquil ones. Great cities arelike the sea: storms agitate only the surface; if you go to the bottom,you find a region inaccessible to the tumult and the noise.
For my part, I have settled on the verge of this region, but do notactually live in it. I am removed from the turmoil of the world, andlive in the shelter of solitude, but without being able to disect mythoughts from the struggle going on. I follow at a distance all itsevents of happiness rief; I join the feasts and the funerals; for how he who looks on, and knows asses, do other than take part?
Ignorance alone keep us strao the life around us: selfishself will not suffice for that.
These refles I made to myself in my atti the intervals of thevarious household works to which a bachelor is forced when he has noother servant than his own ready will. While I ursuing mydedus, I had blacked my boots, brushed my coat, and tied my cravat;I had at last arrived at the important moment when we pronounplatly that all is finished, and that well.
A grand resolve had just decided me to depart from my usual habits.
The evening before, I had seen by the advertisements that the da<samp></samp>ywas a holiday at Sevres, and that the a manufactory would be open tothe public. I was tempted by the beauty of the m, and suddenlydecided to go there.
On my arrival at the station on the left bank, I noticed the crowdhurrying on in the fear of being late. Railroads, besides many otheradvantages, possess that of teag the French punctuality. They willsubmit to the clock when they are vihat it is their master;they will learn to wait when they find they will not be waited for.
Social virtues, are, in a great degree, good habits. How many greatqualities are grafted into nations by their geographical position, bypolitiecessity, and by institutions! Avarice was destroyed for atime among the Lacedaemonians by the creation of an iron age, tooheavy and too bulky to be vely hoarded.
I found myself in a carriage with two middle-aged women belonging to thedomestid retired class of Parisians I have spoken of above. A fewcivilities were suffit to gaiheir fidence, and after someminutes I was acquainted with their whole history.
They were two poor sisters, left orphans at fifteen, and had lived eversince, as those who work for their livelihood must live, by ey andprivation. For the last twenty or thirty years they had worked injewelry in the same house; they had seen ten masters succeed one another,and make their fortunes in it, without any ge in their own lot. Theyhad always lived in the same room, at the end of one of the passages inthe Rue St. Denis, where the air and the sun are unknown. They begantheir work before daylight, went on with it till after nightfall, and sawyear succeed to year without their lives being marked by any other eventsthan the Sunday service, a walk, or an illness.
The younger of these worthy work-women was forty, and obeyed her sisteras she did when a child. The elder looked after her, took care of her,and scolded her with a mothers tenderness. At first it was amusing;afterward one could not help seeing something affeg iwogray-haired children, one uo leave off the habit of obeying, theother that of proteg.
And it was not in that alohat my two panions seemed youhantheir years; they knew so little that their wonder never ceased. We hadhardly arrived at Clamart before they involuntarily exclaimed, like theking in the childrens game, that they "did not think the world was sogreat"!
It was the first time they had trusted themselves on a railroad, and itwas amusing to see their sudden shocks, their alarms, and theirceous determinations: everything was a marvel to them! They hadremains of youth within them, which made them sensible to things whichusually only strike us in childhood. Poor creatures! they had still thefeelings of ane, though they had lost its charms.
But was there not something holy in this simplicity, which had beenpreserved to them by abstinence from all the joys of life? Ah! accursedbe he who first had the had ce to attach ridicule to that name of"old maid," which recalls so many images of grievous deception, ofdreariness, and of abando! Accursed be he who find a subjectfor sarcasm in involuntary misfortune, and who gray hairs withthorns!
The two sisters were called Frances and Madeleihis days journeywas a feat of ce without example in their lives. The fever of thetimes had ied them unawares. Yesterday Madeleine had suddenlyproposed the idea of the expedition, and Frances had accepted itimmediately. Perhaps it would have beeer not to yield to the greattemptation offered by her younger sister; but "we have our follies at allages," as the prudent Frances philosophically remarked. As forMadeleihere are s or doubts for her; she is the life-guardsman of the establishment.
"We really must amuse ourselves," said she; "we live but once."
And the elder sister smiled at this Epicurean maxim. It was evident thatthe fever of independence was at its crisis in both of them.
And in truth it would have been a great pity if any scruple hadinterfered with their happiness, it was so frank and genial! The sightof the trees, which seemed to fly on both sides of the road, caused themunceasing admiration. The meeting a train passing in the trarydire, with the noise and rapidity of a thunderbolt, made them shuttheir eyes and utter a cry; but it had already disappeared! They lookaround, take ce again, and express themselves full of astonishmentat the marvel.
Madeleine declares that such a sight is worth the expense of the journey,and Frances would have agreed with her if she had not recollected, withsome little alarm, the deficit which su expense must make in theirbudget. The three francs spent upon this single expeditiohesavings of a whole week of work. Thus the joy of the elder of the twosisters was mixed with remorse; the prodigal child now and then turs eyes toward the back street of St. Denis.
But the motion and the succession of objects distract her. See thebridge of the Val surrounded by its lovely landscape: on the right, Pariswith its grand mos, which rise through the fog, or sparkle in thesun; on the left, Meudon, with its villas, its woods, its vines, and itsroyal castle! The two work-women look from one window to the other withexclamations of delight. One fellow-passenger laughs at their childishwonder; but to me it is deeply toug, for I see i<bdo></bdo>n it the sign of along and monotonous seclusion: they are the prisoners of work, who haverecovered liberty and fresh air for a few hours.
At last the train stops, a out. I show the two sisters the paththat leads to Sevres, between the railway and the gardens, and they go onbefore, while I inquire about the time of returning.
I soon join them again at the station, where they have stopped atthe little garden belonging to the gatekeeper; both are already in deepversation with him while he digs his garden-borders, and marks out theplaces for flower-seeds. He informs them that it is the time for hoeingout weeds, for making grafts and layers, for sowing annuals, and fordestroying the is on the rose-trees. Madeleine has on the sill ofher windoooden boxes, in which, for want of air and sun, she hasnever been able to make anything grow but mustard and cress; but shepersuades herself that, thanks to this information, all other plants mayheh thrive in them. At last the gatekeeper, who is sowing aborder with mige, gives her the rest of the seeds which he does notwant, and the old maid goes off delighted, and begins to act ainthe dream of Paired and her ilk, with these flowers of herimagination.
On reag the grove of acacias, where the fair was going on, I lostsight of the two sisters. I went alone among the sights: there werelotteries going on, mountebank shows, places for eating and drinking, andfor shooting with the cross-bow. I have always been struck by the spiritof these out-of-door festivities. In drawing-room eais, peopleare cold, grave, often listless, and most of those who go there arebrought together by habit or the obligations of society; in the tryassemblies, on the trary, you only find those who are attracted by thehope of enjoyment. There, it is a forced scription; here, they arevolunteers fayety! Then, how easily they are pleased! How far thiscrowd of people is yet from knowing that to be pleased with nothing, andto look down ohing, is the height of fashion and good taste!
Doubtless their amusements are often coarse; elegand refi arewanting in them; but at least they have heartiness. Oh, that the heartyenjoyments of these merry-makings could be retained in union with lessvulgar feeling! Formerly religion stamped its holy character on thecelebration of try festivals, and purified the pleasures withoutdepriving them of their simplicity.
The hour arrives at which the doors of the porcelain manufactory and themuseum of pottery are open to the public. I meet Frances and Madeleineagain in the first room. Frighte finding themselves in the midstof such regal magnifice, they hardly dare walk; they speak in a lowtone, as if they were in a church.
"We are in the kings house," said the eldest sister, fetting thatthere is no longer a king in France.
I ence them to go on; I walk first, and they make up their minds tofollow me.
What wonders are brought together in this colle! Here we see claymoulded into every shape, tinted with every color, and bined withevery sort of substance!
Earth and wood are the first substances worked upon by man, and seem moreparticularly meant for his use. They, like the domestiimals, are theessential accessories of his life; therefore there must be a moreintimate e between them and us. Stone aals require longpreparations; they resist our first efforts, and beloo theindividual than to unities. Earth and wood are, on the trary, theprincipal instruments of the isolated being who must feed and shelterhimself.
This, doubtless, makes me feel so muterested in the colle I amexamining. These cups, shly modelled by the savage, admit me to aknowledge of some of his habits; these elega incorrectly formedvases of the Indian tell me of a deing intelligence,--in which stillglimmers the twilight of what was once bright sunshihese jars,loaded with arabesques, show the fancy of the Arab rudely and ignorantlycopied by the Spaniard! We fihe stamp of every race, everytry, and every age.
My panions seemed little ied in these historical associations;they looked at all with that credulous admiration which leaves no roomfor examination or discussion. Madeleihe name written underevery piece of workmanship, and her sister answered with an exclamationof wonder.
In this way we reached a little courtyard, where they had thrown away thefragments of some broken a.
Frances perceived a colored saucer almost whole, of which she tookpossession as a record of the visit she was making; heh she wouldhave a spe of the Sevres a, "which is only made for kings!"
I would not undeceive her by tellihat the products of themanufactory are sold all over the world, and that her saucer, before itwas cracked, was the same as those that are bought at the shops forsixpence! Why should I destroy the illusions of her humble existence?
Are we to break down the hedge-flowers that perfume our paths? Thingsare ofte nothing in themselves; the thoughts we attach to them alonegive them value. To rectify i mistakes, in order to recover someuseless reality, is to be like those learned men who will see nothing ina plant but the chemical elements of which it is posed.
On leaving the manufactory, the two sisters, who had taken possession ofme with the freedom of artlessness, invited me to share the luheyhad brought with them. I deed at first, but they insisted with somuch good-nature, that I feared to pain them, and with some awkwardnessgave way.
We had only to look for a ve spot. I led them up the hill, andwe found a plot of grass enamelled with daisies, and shaded by twowalnut-trees.
Madeleine could not tain herself for joy. All her life she haddreamed of a dinner out on the grass! While helping her sister to takethe provisions from the basket, she tells me of all her expeditions intothe try that had been planned, and put off. Frances, oherhand, was brought up at Montmorency, and before she became an orphan shehad often gone back to her nurses house. That which had the attraof y for her sister, had for her the charm of recolle. Shetold of the vintage harvests to which her parents had takeherides on Mother Lurets dohat they could not make go to the rightwithout pulling him to the left; the cherry-gathering; and the sails onthe lake in the innkeepers boat.
These recolles have all the charm and freshness of childhood.
Frances recalls to herself less what she has seen than what she has felt.
Whi.le she is talking the cloth is laid, a down under a tree.
Before us winds the valley of Sevres, its many-storied houses abuttingupon the gardens and the slopes of the hill; oher side spreadsout the park of St. Cloud, with its magnifit clumps of treesinterspersed with meadows; above stretch the heavens like an immenseo, in which the clouds are sailing! I look at this beautifultry, and I listen to these good old maids; I admire, and I amied; and time passes gently on without my perceiving it.
At last the sus, and we have to think of returning. While Madeleineand Frances clear away the dinner, I walk down to the manufactory to askthe hour. The merrymaking is at its height; the blasts of the trombonesresound from the band uhe acacias. For a few moments I fetmyself with looking about; but I have promised the two sisters to takethem back to the Bellevue station; the train ot wait, and I makehaste to climb the path again which leads to the walnut-trees.
Just before I reached them, I heard voices oher side of thehedge. Madeleine and Frances were speaking to a pirl whose clotheswere burned, her hands blaed, and her face tied up with bloodstainedbandages. I saw that she was one of the girls employed at the gunpowdermills, which are built further up on the on. An explosion had takenplace a few days before; the girls mother and elder sister were killed;she herself escaped by a miracle, and was now left without any means ofsupport. She told all this with the resigned and unhopeful manner of onewho has always been aced to suffer. The two sisters were muchaffected; I saw them sulting with each other in a low tohenFraook thirty sous out of a little coarse silk purse, which was allthey had left, and gave them to the pirl. I hastened on to thatside of the hedge; but, before I reached it, I met the two old sisters,who called out to me that they would not return by the railway, but onfoot!
I then uood that the mohey had meant for the journey had justbeen given to the beggar! Good, like evil, is tagious: I run to thepoor wounded girl, give her the sum that was to pay for my own place, aurn to Frances and Madeleine, ahem I will walk with them.
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I am just e back from taking them home; and have left them delightedwith their day, the recolle of which will long make them happy.
This m I itying those whose lives are obscure and joyless;now, I uand that God has provided a pensation with every trial.
The smallest pleasure derives from rarity a relish otherwise unknown.
Enjoyment is only what we feel to be such, and the luxurious man feels nolonger: satiety has destroyed his appetite, while privation preserves tothe other that first of earthly blessings: the being easily made happy.
Oh, that I could persuade every one of this! that so the rich might notabuse their riches, and that the pht have patience. If happinessis the rarest of blessings, it is because the reception of it is therarest of virtues.
Madeleine and Frances! ye poor old maids whose ce, resignation, andgenerous hearts are your only wealth, pray for the wretched who givethemselves up to despair; for the unhappy who hate and envy; and for theunfeeling into whose enjoyments no pity enters.
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百度搜索 屋顶间的哲学家 天涯 或 屋顶间的哲学家 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.