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<strong>OUR TRY</strong><strong>October 12th, Seven Oclock A.M.
</strong>
The nights are already bee cold and long; the sun, shining through mycurtains, no more wakens me long before the hour for work; and even whenmy eyes are open, the pleasant warmth of the bed keeps me fast under myterpane. Every m there begins a long argumeween myactivity and my indolence; and, snugly ed up to the eyes, I waitlike the Gas, until they have succeeded in ing to an agreement.
This m, however, a light, which shone from my door upon my pillow,awoke me earlier than usual. In vain I turned on my side; thepersevering light, like a victorious enemy, pursued me into everyposition. At last, quite out of pat<cite>9９ｌiｂ.</cite>ience, I sat up and hurled mynightcap to the foot of the bed!
(I will observe, by way of parenthesis, that the various evolutions ofthis pacific headgear seem to have been, from the remotest time, symbolsof the vehemeions of the mind; for our language has borrowed itsmost ages from them.)
But be this as it may, I got up in a very bad humrumbling at my newneighbor, who took it into his head to be wakeful when I wished to sleep.
We are all made thus; we do not uand that others may live on theirown at. Eae of us is like the earth, acc to the oldsystem of Ptolemy, and thinks he have the whole universe revolvearound himself. On this point, to make use of the metaphor alluded to:
Tous les hommes ont la tete dans le meme bo.
I had for the time being, as I have already said, thrown mio theother end of my bed; and I slowly disengaged my legs from the warmbedclothes, while making a host of evil refles upon theinvenience of having neighbors.
For more than a month I had not had to plain of those whom ce hadgiven me; most of them only came in to sleep, a away again onrising. I was almost always alone on this top story--aloh theclouds and the sparrows!
But at Paris nothing lasts; the current of life carries us along, likethe seaweed torn from the rock; the houses are vessels which take merepassengers. How many different faces have I already seen pass along thelanding-place belonging to our attics! How many panions of a few dayshave disappeared forever! Some are lost in that medley of the livingwhich whirls tinually uhe sce of y, and others inthat resting-place of the dead, who sleep uhe hand of God!
Peter the bookbinder is one of these last. ed up in selfishness, helived alone and friendless, and he died as he had lived. His loss washer mourned by any one, nor disarranged anything in the world; therewas merely a ditch filled up in the graveyard, and an attic emptied inour house.
It is the same which my new neighbor has inhabited for the last few days.
To say truly (now that I am quite awake, and my ill humor is goh mynightcap)--to say truly, this new neighbor, although rising earlier thansuits my idleness, is not the less a very good man: he carries hismisfortunes, as few know how to carry their good fortunes, withcheerfulness and moderation.
But fate has cruelly tried him. Father Chaufour is but the wrean. In the place of one of his arms hangs ay sleeve; his left legis made by the turner, and he drags the right along with difficulty; butabove these ruins rises a calm and happy face. While looking upon histenance, radiant with a serene energy, while listening to his voice,the tone of which has, so to speak, the at of goodness, we see thatthe soul has remaiire in the half-destroyed c. Thefortress is a little damaged, as Father Chaufour says, but the garrisonis quite hearty.
Decidedly, the more I think of this excellent man, the more I reproachmyself for the sort of maledi I bestowed on him when I awoke.
We are generally too indulgent in our secret wrongs toward our neighbor.
All ill-will which does not pass the region of thought seems ious, and, with our clumsy justice, we excuse without examination the sinwhich does not betray itself by a!
But are we then bound to others only by the enfort of laws? Besidesthese external relations, is there not a real relation of feeliweenmen? Do we not owe to all those who live uhe same heaven asourselves the aid not only of our acts but of our purposes? Ought notevery human life to be to us like a vessel that we apany with ourprayers for a happy voyage? It is not enough that men do not harm oher; they must also help and love one ahe papalbeion, Urbi et orbi! should be the stant cry from all hearts.
To n him who does not deserve it, even in the mind, even by apassing thought, is to break the great law, that which has establishedthe union of souls here below, and to which Christ has given the sweetname of charity.
These thoughts came into my mind as I finished dressing, and I said tomyself that Father Chaufour had a right to reparation from me. To makeamends for the feeling of ill-will I had against him just now, I owed himsome explicit proof of sympathy. I heard him humming a tune in his room;he was at work, and I determihat I would make the first neighborlycall.
Eight oclock P.M.--I found Father Chaufour at a table lighted by alittle smoky lamp, without a fire, although it is already cold, andmaking large pasteboard boxes; he was humming a popular song in a lowtone. I had hardly ehe room wheered an exclamation ofsurprise and pleasure.
"Eh! is it you, neighbor? e in, then! I did not think you got up soearly, so I put a damper on my music; I was afraid of waking you."
Excellent man! while I was sending him to the devil he uttinghimself out of his way for me!
This thought touched me, and I paid my pliments on his having bey neighbor with a warmth which opened his heart.
"Faith! you seem to me to have the look of a good Christian," said he ina voice of soldierlike cordiality, and shaking me by the hand. "I do notlike those people who look on a landing-place as a frontier line, aheir neighbors as if they were Cossacks. When men snuff the sameair, and speak the same lingo, they are not meant to turn their backs toeach other. Sit down there, neighbor; I doo order you; onlytake care of the stool; it has but three legs, and we must put good-willin place of the fourth."
"It seems that that is a treasure which there is no want of here," Iobserved.
"Good-will!" repeated Chaufour; "that is all my mother left me, and Itake it no son has received a better iaherefore they used tocall me Monsieur tent iteries."
"You are a soldier, then?"
"I served ihird Artillery uhe Republid afterward in theGuard, through all the otions. I was at Jemappes and at Waterloo; soI was at the christening and at the burial of lory, as one may say!"
I looked at him with astonishment.
"And how old were you then, at Jemappes?" asked I.
"Somewhere about fifteen," said he.
"How came you to think of being a soldier so early?"
"I did not really think about it. I then worked at toy-making, and neverdreamed that France would ask me for anything else than to make herdraught-boards, shuttlecocks, and cups and balls. But I had an old u Vines whom I went to see from time to time--a Fontenoy veteran inthe same rank of life as myself, but with ability enough to have risen tothat of a marshal. Unluckily, in those days there was no way for onpeople to get on. My uncle, whose services would have got him made aprinder the other, had theired with the mere rank of sub-lieutenant. But you should have seen him in his uniform, his cross ofSt. Louis, his wooden leg, his white moustaches, and his nobletenance. You would have said he ortrait of one of those oldheroes in powdered hair which are at Versailles!
"Every time I visited him, he said something which remained fixed in mymemory. But one day I found him quite grave.
"Jerome, said he, do you know what is going on on the frontier?
"No, lieutenant, replied I.
"Well, resumed he, our try is in danger!
"I did not well uand him, a seemed something to me.
"Perhaps you have hought what your try means, tinued he,plag his hand on my shoulder; `it is all that surrounds you, all thathas brought you up and fed you, all that you have loved! This groundthat you see, these houses, these trees, those girls who go along therelaughing--this is your try! The laws which protect you, the breadwhich pays for your<var></var> work, the words you interge with others, the joyand grief whie to you from the men and things among which you live--this is your try! The little room where you used to see yourmother, the remembrances she has left you, the earth where she rests--this is your try! You see it, you breathe it, everywhere! Think toyourself, my son, of yhts and your duties, your affes andyour wants, your past and your present blessings; write them all under asingle name--and that name will be your try!
"I was trembling with emotion, and great tears were in my eyes.
"Ah! I uand, cried I; it is our home in large; it is that partof the world where God has placed our body and our soul.
"You are right, Jerome, tihe old soldier; so you prehendalso what we owe it.
"Truly, resumed I, we owe it all that we are; it is a question oflove.
"And of hoy, my son, cluded he. The member of a family whodoes not tribute his share of work and of happiness fails in his duty,and is a bad kinsman; the member of a partnership who does not enrich itwith all his might, with all his ce, and with all his heart,defrauds it of what belongs to it, and is a disho man. It is thesame with him who enjoys the advantages of having a try, and does notaccept the burdens of it; he forfeits his honor, and is a bad citizen!
"And what must one do, lieutenant, to be a good citizen? asked I.
"Do for your try what you would do for your father and mother, saidhe.
"I did not a the moment; my heart was swelling, and the bloodboiling in my veins; but ourning along the road, my uncles wordswere, so to speak, written up before my eyes. I repeated, Do for yourtry what you would do for your father and mother. And my try isin danger; an enemy attacks it, while I--I turn cups and balls!
"This thought tormented me so much all night that the day I returo Vines to annouo the lieutenant that I had just enlisted, andwas going off to the frohe brave man pressed upon me his crossof St. Louis, and I went aroud as an ambassador.
"That is how, neighbor, I became a volunteer uhe Republic before Ihad cut my wisdom teeth."
All this was told quietly, and in the cheerful spirit of him who looksupon an aplished duty her as a merit nrievance.
While he spoke, Father Chaufrew animated, not on at of himself,but of the general subject. Evidently that which occupied him in thedrama of life was not his own part, but the drama itself.
This sort of disiedouched me. I prolonged my visit, andshowed myself as frank as possible, in order to win his fidenreturn. In an hours time he knew my position and my habits; I was onthe footing of an old acquaintance.
I even fessed the ill-humor the light of his lamp put me into a shorttime before. He took what I said with the toug cheerfulness whies from a heart in the right place, and which looks upohing onthe good side. He her spoke to me of the y which obliged himto work while I could sleep, nor of the deprivations of the old soldierpared to the luxury of the young clerk; he only struck his forehead,accused himself of thoughtlessness, and promised to put list round hisdoor!
O great aiful soul! with whom nothing turns to bitterness, anderemptory only in duty and benevolence!
October 15th.--This m I was looking at a little engraving I hadframed myself, and hung over my writing-table; it is a design ofGavarnis; in which, in a grave mood, he has represented a veteran and ascript.
By often plating these two figures, so different in expression, andso true to life, both have bee living in my eyes; I have seen themmove, I have heard them speak; the picture has bee a real se, atwhich I am present as spectator.
The veteran advances slowly, his hand leaning on the shoulder of theyoung soldier. His eyes, closed for ever, no longer perceive the sunshining through the fl chestnut-trees. In the place of his rightarm hangs ay sleeve, and he walks with a woodehe sound ofwhi the pavement makes those who pass turn to look.
At the sight of this a wreck from our patriotic wars, the greaternumber shake their heads in pity, and I seem to hear a sigh or animprecation.
"See the worth of glory!" says a portly mert, turning away his eyesin horror.
"What a deplorable use of huma<var>9９ｌｉｂ.</var>n life!" rejoins a young man who carries avolume of philosophy under his arm.
"The trooper would better not have left his plow," adds a tryman,with a ing air.
"Poor old man!" murmurs a woman, almost g.
The veteran has heard, and he knits his brow; for it seems to him thathis guide has grown thoughtful. The latter, attracted by what he hearsaround him, hardly ahe old mans questions, and his eyes, vaguelylost in space, seem to be seeking there for the solution of some problem.
I seem to see a twitg in the gray moustaches of the veteraopsabruptly, and, holding back his guide with his remaining arm:
"They all pity me," says he, "because they do not uand it; but if Iwere to ahem--"
"What would you say to them, father?" asks the young man, withcuriosity.
"I should say first to the woman who weeps when she looks at me, to keepher tears for other misfortunes; for eay wounds calls to mind somestruggle for my colors. There is room for doubting how some men havedoheir duty; with me it is visible. I carry the at of myservices, written with the enemys steel and lead, on myself; to pity mefor having done my duty is to suppose I would better have been false toit."
"And what would you say to the tryman, father?"
"I should tell him that, to drive the plow in peace, we must first securethe try itself; and that, as long as there are fners ready toeat our harvest, there must be arms to defend it."
"But the young student, too, shook his head when he lamented such a useof life."
"Because he does not know what self-sacrifid suffering teach.
The books that he studies ut in practice, though we never readthem: the principles he applauds we have defended with powder andbayo."
"And at the price of your limbs and your blood. The mert said, whenhe saw your maimed body, See the worth of glory!"
"Do not believe him, my son: the true glory is the bread of the soul; itis this whiourishes self-sacrifice, patience, and ce. TheMaster of all has bestowed it as a tie the more between men. When wedesire to be distinguished by our brethren, do we not thus prove ouresteem and our sympathy for them? The longing for admiration is but oneside of love. No, no; the true glory ever be too dearly paid for!
That which we should deplore, child, is not the infirmities which prove agenerous self-sacrifice, but those which our vices or our imprudence havecalled forth. Ah! if I could speak aloud to those who, when passing,cast looks of pity upon me, I should say to the young man whose excesseshave dimmed his sight before he is old, What have you doh youreyes? To the slothful man, who with difficulty drags along hiseed mass of flesh, What have you doh your feet? To the oldman, who is punished for his intemperance by the gout, What have youdoh your hands? To all, What have you doh the days Godgranted you, with the faculties you should have employed for the good ofyour brethren? If you ot answer, bestow no more of your pity uponthe old soldier maimed in his trys cause; for he--he at least--show his scars without shame."
October 16th.--The little engraving has made me preheer themerits of Father Chaufour, and I therefore esteem him all the more.
He has just now left my attic. There no longer passes a single daywithout his ing to work by my fire, or my going to sit and talk by hisboard.
The old artilleryman has seen much, and likes to tell of it. For twentyyears he was an armed traveller throughout Europe, and he fought withouthatred, for he ossessed by a sihought--the honor of thenational flag! It might have been his superstition, if you will; but itwas, at the same time, his safeguard.
The word FRANCE, which was then resounding so gloriously through theworld, served as a talisman to him against all sorts of temptation. Tohave to support a great name may seem a burden to vulgar minds, but it isan encement to vigorous ones.
"I, too, have had many moments," said he to me the other day, "when Ihave beeed to make friends with the devil. War is not preciselythe school for rural virtues. By dint of burning, destroying, andkilling, you grow a little tough as regards your feelings; and, when thebayo has made you king, the notions of an autocrat e into your heada little strongly. But at these moments I called to mind that trywhich the lieutenant spoke of to me, and I whispered to myself the well-known phrase, Toujours Francais! It has been laughed at since. Peoplewho would make a joke of the death of their mother have tur intoridicule, as if the name of our try was not also a noble and abinding thing. For my part, I shall never fet from how many folliesthe title of Fren has kept me. When, overe with fatigue, I havefound myself in the rear of the colors, and when the musketry wasrattling in the front ranks, many a time I heard a voice, which whisperedin my ear, Leave the others to fight, and for today take care of yourown hide! But then, that word Francais! murmured within me, and Ipressed forward to help my rades. At other times, when, irritated byhunger, cold, and wounds, I have arrived at the hovel of some Meinherr,I have been seized by an it９9ｌib?g to break the masters back, and to burnhis hut; but I whispered to myself, Francais! and this name would notrhyme with either indiary or murderer. I have, in this assedthrough kingdoms from east to west, and from north to south, alwaysdetermined not t disgrace upon my trys flag. The lieutenant,you see, had taught me a magic word--My try! Not only must we defendit, but we must also make it great and loved."
October 17th.--To-day I have paid my neighbor a long visit. A ceexpressiohe way to his telling me more of himself than he had yetdone.
I asked him whether both his limbs had been lost in the same battle.
"No, no!" replied he; "the on only took my leg; it was the Clamartquarries that my arm went to feed."
And when I asked him for the particulars--
"Thats as easy as to say good-m," tinued he. "After the greatbreak-up at Waterloo, I stayed three months in the camp hospital to givemy woodeime to grow. As soon as I was able to hobble a little,I took leave of headquarters, and took the road to Paris, where I hopedto find some relative or friend; but no--all were gone, or underground.
I should have found myself less stra Vienna, Madrid, or Berlin.
And although I had a leg the less to provide for, I was he betteroff; my appetite had e back, and my last sous were taking flight.
"I had indeed met my old el, who recollected that I had helped himout of the skirmish at Montereau by giving him my horse, and he hadoffered me bed and board at his house. I khat the year before hehad married a castle and no few farms, so that I might bee permacoat-brusher to a millionaire, which was not without its temptations.
It remaio see if I had not anythier to do. One evening I setmyself to reflect upon it.
"Let us see, Chaufour, said I to myself; the question is to act like aman. The els place suits you, but ot you do anythier?
Your body is still in good dition, and your arms strong; do you notowe all your strength to your try, as your Vines uncle said? Whynot leave some old soldier, more cut up than you are, to get his hospitalat the els? e, trooper, you are still fit for aoutcharge or two! You must not lay up before your time.
"Whereupon I went to thank the el, and to offer my services to anold artilleryman, who had gone back to his home at Clamart, and who hadtaken up the quarrymans pick again.
"For the first few months I played the scripts part--that is to say,there was more stir than work; but with a good will ohe betterof stones, as of everything else. I did no<big>.</big>t bee, so to speak, theleader of a n, but I brought up the rank among the good workmen,and I ate my bread with a good appetite, seeing I had ear with agood will. For even underground, you see, I still kept my pride. Thethought that I was w to do my part in ging rocks into housespleased my heart. I said to myself, Ce, Chaufour, my old boy; youare helping to beautify your try. And that kept up my spirit.
"Unfortunately, some of my panions were rather too sensible to thecharms of the brandy-bottle; so much so, that one day one of them, whocould hardly distinguish his right hand from his left, thought proper tostrike a light close to a charged mihe mine exploded suddenly, a a shower of stone grape among us, which killed three men, andcarried away the arm of which I have now only the sleeve."
"So you were again without means of living?" said I to the old soldier.
"That is to say, I had to ge them," replied he, quietly. "Thedifficulty was to find one which would do with five fingers instead often; I found it, however."
"How was that?"
"Among the Paris street-sweepers."
"What! you have been one--"
"Of the pioneers of the health force for a while, neighbor, and that wasnot my worst time either. The corps of sweepers is not so low as it isdirty, I tell you! There are old actresses in it who could neverlearn to save their money, and ruined merts from the exge; weeven had a professor of classics, who for a little drink would reciteLatin to you, reek tragedies, as you chose. They could not havepeted for the Monthyon prize; but we excused faults on at ofpoverty, and cheered our poverty by ood-humor and jokes. I was asragged and as cheerful as the rest, while trying to be somethier.
Even in the mire of the gutter I preserved my faith that nothing isdishonorable which is useful to our try.
"Chaufour, said I to myself with a smile, after the sword, the hammer;after the hammer, the broom; yoing downstairs, my old boy, butyou are still serving your try."
"However, you ended by leaving your new profession? said I."
"A reform was required, neighbor. The street-sweepers seldom have theirfeet dry, and the damp at last made the wounds in my good leg open again.
I could no longer follow the regiment, and it was necessary to lay downmy arms. It is now two months since I left off w in the sanitarydepartment of Paris.
"At the first moment I was daunted. Of my four limbs, I had now only myright hand, and even that had lost its strength; so it was necessary tofind some gentlemanly occupation for it. After trying a little ofeverything, I fell upon card-box making, and here I am at cases for thelad buttons of the national guard; it is work of little profit, butit is within the capacity of all. By getting up at four and w tilleight, I earn sixty-five times; my lodging and bowl of soup take fiftyof them, and there are three sous over for luxuries. So I am richer thanFrance herself, for I have no deficit in my budget; and I tioserve her, as I save her lad buttons."
At these words Father Chaufour looked at me with a smile, and with hisgreat scissors began cutting the green paper again for his cardboardcases. My heart was touched, and I remained lost in thought.
Here is still another member of that sacred phalanx who, itle oflife, always mar front for the example and the salvation of theworld! Each of these brave soldiers has his war-cry; for this o is"try," for that "Home," for a third "Mankind;" but they all followthe same standard--that of duty; for all the same divine law reigns--thatof self-sacrifice. To love something more than ones self--that is thesecret of all that is great; to know how to live for others--that is theaim of all noble souls.
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.