Chapter III: The Desert (6)

In addition to Madame Legris', and many other enticing shops, there was, at that time, upon the Place du Musée, one which kept an excellent assortment of colours, canvasses, and everything connected with painting, and which the artists and students of that period may remember to have been well acquainted with. M. Barbe, the owner of this establishment, was a kind-hearted and excellent man, very intelligent, and very active in his business. His shop was always filled with artists and young men engaged in painting, the proximity of a great number of studios rendering it convenient for the purchases perpetually required in this pursuit. Moreover, the length of time it had been established, the confidence inspired by the worthy owner, and the advantages it offered to the poorer class of students, had rendered it a kind of rendezvous for that little world of its own which we term artists. Barbe kept in his lumber-rooms those inferior pictures which could not obtain a purchaser, and with which, otherwise, the unfortunate authors would not have known what to do; he supplied one with colours, for a certain time, gratis; lent a palette or an easel to another; had a kind word for all, and took as much interest in them as if they had been his own children. Madame Barbe seconded him wonderfully, and shared his tastes and occupations with a degree of skill and intelligence worthy of all praise; but, as there is nothing perfect in this world, Madame Barbe will not be offended if I reveal two little defects, of which, besides, I have since learned, that she has corrected herself. She was a little too fond, to use a common expression, of _storming_ at those about her; and she possessed such an amazing volubility of tongue, that it was difficult to keep pace with her, so that she almost always remained master of the field. Still young and very agreeable, she exercised great influence over her excellent husband, while she possessed sufficient attraction for her numerous customers, who were amused with her eloquence without suffering from her irritability. Her usual victims were her husband, her little girl of four years old, and a man of about forty, named Gabri, M. Barbe's head assistant and confidential clerk. Naturally taciturn, Gabri had become still more so since the marriage of his patron with this eloquent dame. He had remarked, with his usual discrimination, that when these fits of passion commenced, the very mildest answer was only pouring oil upon the fire; he maintained, therefore, in such cases, the most perfect silence; and Madame Barbe, satisfied with this evidence of the force of her arguments, went elsewhere to exercise her power. Gabri was nevertheless esteemed by her, as by every one else; and it is even asserted, that in one of her better moments she acknowledged, that a great portion of the prosperity of their business was due to his intelligence and integrity. He therefore, with a few exceptions, fared pretty well in the house; not to mention, that Barbe himself treated him altogether as a friend. Still, poor Gabri could not overcome the melancholy induced by irreparable misfortunes. In the course of six weeks he had lost his three children and their mother, by the small-pox; and, even after the lapse of many years, this man, apparently so cold, shed tears whenever he spoke of his poor children. "They were three fine boys," he would say, but could not finish. With a heart so sensitive, it was impossible for him to behold without interest our amiable little José. He carefully watched his disposition and conduct for a long time, became more and more attached to him, and the fortunate child thus acquired by his own merits alone a prudent and sincere friend.

But it was not enough for Gabri that he should love José with his whole heart; he wished also to take measures for his future welfare; and after repeatedly talking over the matter with Madame Legris, who also took a great interest in his young _protégé_, they commenced their innocent plot in the following manner.

Madame Barbe entertained some partiality for Madame Legris, who, wishing to maintain a good understanding with her neighbours, listened more patiently than others to the long speeches of this chatterbox. Besides, she often gave cakes to the little girl, a generosity which Madame Barbe could not find it in her heart to blame, notwithstanding her desire to discover faults. The friendly vender of gingerbread went, therefore, one morning, to call upon her at the hour she was sure to be in the best humour, her shop being then filled with purchasers. "Well, neighbour," she said, on entering, "how goes on business this week?"

"Pretty well, pretty well," replied Madame Barbe, (all the while dexterously filling and capping some bladders of colour, an occupation which she always reserved till the middle of the morning, in order to display the grace of her pretty fingers,) "but sit down, neighbour; I am really very glad to see you.... Ah! good morning, sir; you shall be attended to in a moment.... Pussy, my darling, here is Madame Legris, who has brought you some cracknels.... Be so kind as to take a seat, ladies.... Barbe, bring some canvasses.... Yes, ladies, they are excellent and very fine, and have been made these twelve months and more.... Your servant, sir; I know what you want.... Gabri, bring some pencils to this gentleman.... Naples yellow and white? In a moment, my little friend.... Gracious! what a crowd! what confusion! and only myself to attend to it all! for as to my husband and Gabri ..." And Madame Barbe shrugged her shoulders in a most significant manner.

"Really, friend," resumed Madame Legris, "you seem to me ..."

"What, sir!" exclaimed Madame Barbe, in a higher tone, "those brushes good for nothing!... Brushes carefully sorted, and made with brass wire.... Just look at them a second time, sir. Here's a glass of water. Good heavens! those brushes ill made!"

"Pooh!" exclaimed the discontented purchaser, "I don't want any water;" and putting the brush into his mouth, "I see," he repeated, "that they divide;" and he threw them on the counter with contempt.

"You have them, however, from the best makers, my dear friend," said Madame Legris, wishing to maintain the choleric shopkeeper in good humour in order to attain her object; "and doubtless ..."

"Doubtless!" resumed Madame Barbe, becoming scarlet, and biting her lips; "the gentleman, doubtless, knows nothing about the manufactory of Dagneau; so it's no use talking. Get out of my way, you little stupid," she said, addressing her daughter, at the same time giving her a slap. "Yes, five sous for every dip-cup[2] you bring me to clean, young gentleman, and quite enough, I think; other people only give four. Mercy! Gabri: you bring so many things at a time, that you will let them all fall." And whether Madame Barbe's quick eye really saw what was going to happen, or whether the sharp tones of her voice startled poor Gabri, certain it is that he let fall the whole of his load in the middle of the shop. His mistress, greatly irritated, rushed forward, and she might, perhaps, have even ventured to have added acts to words had not the entrance of a new comer suddenly changed the expression of her features.

This was a distinguished artist, one of M. Barbe's best customers, who also affected to be an admirer of his wife, at whose expense he amused himself, by deluding her with the hope that he would one day paint her portrait.

"What's the matter now? Here is truly a fine subject for a picture;" he exclaimed, as he beheld the crayons and other articles floating in a sea of oil, while Gabri, with folded arms, stood petrified, and Madame Legris was engaged in restraining the infuriated mistress of the establishment. "It might be called the Broken Cruse. But do not spoil your pretty face, my charming model. My picture will be completed in a week, and then we will commence the sketch of our portrait; but really your complexion is so delicate, so transparent, that we shall have to use all the resources of our art, and I have a great fancy to try it on wood. Have you any panels at hand, as, if so, we will choose one at once."

Whilst Madame Barbe, now calmed and delighted, resumed her seat with an affected air; the painter, half reclining upon the counter, amused himself with sketching a small figure with a piece of white chalk, while he related all the important news of the artistic world. "I told you, Madame Barbe, that the number of fools was increasing; pictures of ten feet are nothing to these gentlemen now. There is G----, whom you know very well; he has just hired the tennis-court at Versailles, in order to commence his picture, as no studio would be large enough for it; and this they call painting."

"Ah! Ah!" said Madame Barbe, smiling, "we shall see that at the Exhibition. But what has become of that young man, a pupil of Monsieur V----'s, so talented, and so admired? I never see him here now."

"Lost! utterly lost!" replied the artist, with a malicious smile. "He gave the greatest hopes, but his master's false system has ruined him. That man will never turn out a first-rate pupil; I have said so for a long time past.... But, Madame Barbe, they are not bringing me anything I want. How is it that you have not more attendance for your numerous customers? It is very strange, upon my word."

"Indeed, neighbour!" said Madame Legris, who had been watching for an opportunity of getting in a word, "Your business is getting so extensive that it will be impossible for you to attend to it all yourself, notwithstanding your activity. Were I in your place, I should take an assistant--a child, for instance, that would not be much expense."

"You are right, neighbour," said Barbe, who at that moment joined them. "Gabri is overwhelmed with messages and work, and an errand boy would be very useful."

Madame Barbe looked at her husband, and then at Gabri: but the latter continued quietly to grind his colours, and Barbe saying no more, the desire of contradicting them passed away almost immediately; and this capricious woman, turning graciously towards the artist, begged him to give his opinion upon a subject of so much importance.

"Certainly!" he replied. "It is a good thing; you are quite right;" and he had already forgotten the matter in question.

"Since it is decided," resumed Madame Barbe, who now calculated that she should have an additional person to exercise her authority over, "tell me, neighbour, whether you happen to know a lad likely to suit us. You know as well as we do what we require."

"As to that," replied Madame Legris, concealing the pleasure she felt at this question, "it is a difficult matter. I am not sure that I know any one at this moment who would suit you in every respect.... Yes! stop; I know a poor boy.... But no, it is impossible; his mother would not consent...."

"His mother would not consent!" exclaimed Madame Barbe, offended at the supposition. "What! not consent to his entering a house like ours, to be my husband's _pupil_, to live as we do! And for all this, what do we ask in return? Almost nothing, in truth! only to be intelligent, faithful, obedient, active, industrious, and not greedy, nor awkward;" and as she named the last of the required qualifications, she glanced towards Gabri, who bent his head in silence. "In fine, Madame Legris, represent these advantages to the child's parents, and I cannot think that they will hesitate for a moment."

"They will not be so foolish," replied Madame Legris, "besides, this boy has only adoptive parents. It is poor little José, the pretty little Savoyard, who is established down yonder, between those two great stones. His is a singular history, and when you know it...."

"You shall relate it to me at our first sitting," interrupted the painter, taking up his hat; and the hope of being able to relate an interesting story, increased the desire which Madame Barbe then felt of possessing José. The kind-hearted Madame Legris therefore went away perfectly satisfied with the success of her project, and if Gabri's conversation was still as laconic as usual, a close observer might have seen him several times during the day rub his hands and smile, a thing quite extraordinary for him.

The day after this conversation, Dame Robert, dressed in her Sunday clothes, and holding our little hero by the hand, called upon Madame Barbe. The story was long, and the dialogue which followed it still longer: and it may be presumed that Madame Barbe's eloquence was more flowing and animated than usual; but, as her auditors did not take the trouble to report it, we can only inform our reader that it was agreed--firstly, that José should serve Madame Barbe during the space of seven years, without receiving any remuneration whatever; and that, after that time, if his conduct was good, he should be paid a small sum monthly. Secondly, that the said José should, during his seven years' apprenticeship, be lodged and boarded by his new masters, and that Dame Robert should take charge of his clothing.

Every thing being arranged to the satisfaction of both parties, José was immediately set to work, and from the first moment displayed a degree of intelligence which greatly delighted the kind-hearted Barbe and much astonished his difficult partner. He had a wonderful faculty for remembering where the different articles were kept, and, if he happened to hesitate for a moment, Gabri, from the extremity of the back shop, where he was grinding his colours, would quickly make him a sign, which the intelligent child immediately understood. Poor Gabri dared not display all his joy, for his tormenting mistress would have punished him by scolding the innocent José; but, taking advantage of a moment when the latter came to fetch something from where he was, he would cast a rapid glance towards the counter, and, clasping the child in his arms, press him with transport to his heart. Madame Barbe would turn her head, but Gabri's grindstone was already in motion, while little José was at the top of the ladder.

In the evening, the mistress ordered Gabri to conduct the _apprentice_ to his room. Oh! how delightfully did these words fall upon José's ears! he who had hitherto possessed only one-third of the dark loft in which the brothers slept! He was going to sleep alone, and in his own room! After having gaily mounted seven stories, Gabri opened a little door, and entered a very small room which led to the roof of the house, and adjoined M. Barbe's lumber-room. "A window! a window!" exclaimed José, on entering; "Monsieur Gabri, I have a window!" and he clapped his hands, and jumped for joy. Gabri showed him his bed, which was of fresh straw, covered with a sheet; the little fellow was in such a state of joyous excitement that it was with difficulty his protector could induce him to lie down.

José was roused from his pleasant slumbers by the first rays of the morning sun, when he was gladdened by another agreeable surprise, on discovering that the walls of his garret were smooth and perfectly white, for it had just undergone repair, and was then in a state of cleanliness rarely met with in such places; but José, little sensible to this advantage, was very much so to the cheerful appearance of his room, and especially to the facilities which those white walls afforded him for continuing his first attempts in art. For it must be known that José, in the leisure moments left by his former occupation, used often to exercise his talents by daubing with his blacking and clumsy brushes upon stones or bits of wood a thousand figures of his own invention. What pleasure, then, for him to be able to adorn his room with drawings of soldiers and horses! and he was already on the point of commencing operations when he heard the voice of Madame Barbe, and hastened to obey the summons.

For a whole week the house resounded with nothing but the name of José. The poor boy, constantly watched and tormented, was subjected to a very severe test; but the natural goodness of his disposition and his indefatigable zeal, softened by degrees the severity of his mistress. Besides, his kind friend Gabri, by his judicious advice, saved him from many an act of thoughtlessness, and Madame Barbe scolded so often that her husband never scolded at all. José was, therefore, good, beloved, and happy. His taste for painting was increased by the conversations which he daily heard in this house; still, perhaps, this taste might never have been developed, had it not been for a singular occurrence, and his genius, like the fire shut up in a rude stone, might never have emitted a spark, had not some one struck upon it.

Amongst the numerous houses to which José was sent with the orders executed by M. Barbe, there was one at which he was received with especial kindness, and which, notwithstanding all his prudence, he found great difficulty in leaving when his errand was performed. This was the house of one M. Enguehard, a respectable man, in only moderate circumstances, who, being passionately fond of art, had exercised his talents in engraving until compelled to discontinue, by weakness of sight. Married, late in life, to an amiable woman; who made him happy, their constant occupation was the education of their only son, a lad about two years older than José. Francisco, as he was named, had from his birth been destined to be a painter, and being brought up with this idea, he manifested both facility and power; but naturally of a lively, volatile temperament, and still too fond of amusement, he worked but little, and his progress was consequently not rapid. Like many other children he did not reflect on the sacrifices which his father's slender means obliged him to make for his education, and he lost or destroyed, without scruple, books, maps, mathematical instruments, and other expensive articles, which his parents could only replace by depriving themselves of some personal comfort.

Francisco was nevertheless of a good disposition, and when he chose to make an effort, his progress was so astonishing, that his kind parents forgot his past faults. M. Enguehard was at first inclined to restrain the liking which his son manifested for José, fearing lest this child, whom he naturally supposed had not been very carefully brought up, might lead his son to contract some bad habits; but feeling himself an interest, which it was indeed difficult not to feel, on seeing the boy's frank and amiable countenance, he made inquiries about him, and what he learned was so satisfactory that it removed all apprehension with regard to his intimacy with Francisco. The two boys grew daily more and more attached to each other, and José divided all his leisure moments between Dame Robert and his beloved Francisco. Philip, however, was not forgotten; but José, always beyond his years in mental powers, preferred the advantage of being enlightened by the conversation of M. Enguehard and Francisco, to the pleasure of being admired by Philip. His ideas became enlarged and elevated; and, grieved at his own ignorance, he envied Francisco the happiness of an education from which he profited so little.

One day when the latter had thrown aside, in a passion, a book which wearied him, José picked it up, and, turning it round, looked at it with a sigh.

"You are very fortunate," said Francisco, "in not knowing how to read or write, for you are not forced to learn lessons."

"Ah!" replied José, "that is my greatest grief: it is you who are fortunate in having the opportunity of learning. Oh, if you would but teach me to draw!"

"Yes, yes!" cried Francisco, enchanted at the idea: "I will be your master; but take care if you do not do well--upon the knuckles, my lad!"

José smiled at this threat, and M. Enguehard, who entered at the moment, having approved the project, it was decided that Francisco should give José a lesson every Sunday, and of an evening during the week whenever José could obtain permission to go out; but Francisco thought no more about rapping knuckles. José comprehended so readily and advanced so rapidly, that, in order to maintain the proper distance between master and pupil, his friend was obliged to set seriously to work, and this little experiment led him to make a few salutary reflections. M. Enguehard, struck by José's astonishing aptitude, neglected no opportunity of maintaining an emulation so advantageous to both the boys. He often talked to them about the celebrated masters of the old school, and related to them portions of their history. "Almost all of them," he said, "displayed their genius from childhood. Lanfranc, one of the most distinguished pupils of the Caracci, being in the service of Count Scotti, covered all the walls with charcoal drawings, his paper being insufficient to contain the fertility of his imagination. Philippe de Champagne, a native of Brussels, but classed amongst the painters of the French school, and who died President of the Academy, used, when about eight or nine years of age, to copy every picture and engraving that came in his way; and Claude Gelée, called Lorraine, a real phenomenon, such as the history of the arts can offer but few examples of, could learn nothing while at school; his parents therefore apprenticed him to a confectioner, with whom he succeeded still worse. Not knowing what to do, he went to Rome, and, unable to find employment, he entered by chance the service of Augustin Tasso to grind his colours and clean his palette. This master, in the hope of obtaining some advantage from his talents, taught him some of the rules of perspective; and Lorraine, devoting himself entirely to painting, passed whole days in the fields sketching and painting, and became the celebrated and almost unique landscape painter, whose works we still daily admire in our Museum."

José had listened to this recital with an attention which scarcely permitted him to breathe. When M. Enguehard had finished speaking, a silence of a few moments ensued, which José at length interrupted by rising suddenly and crying out with all his might, "Why not? why not?"... He then blushed when he beheld Francisco and M. Enguehard laughing heartily. M. Enguehard sent them to play, and, reflecting upon the words which had escaped from José, he felt tempted to direct him into a career to which everything seemed to call him; but the kind-hearted engraver was poor; to charge himself with José was impossible; and then, was he not wrong in diverting the child's mind from the ideas that were suitable to his present position? Again he hesitated. "Good God! what a pity!" he repeated; "but if I should render him unhappy without being able to assist him!" And from that day M. Enguehard related no more stories, nor gave himself any further anxiety about the lessons which Francisco continued to give to José. But all precautions were now useless; José was born a painter; Claude Lorraine incessantly recurred to his mind, and for want of fields, which he was denied the privilege of beholding, he sketched horses and figures in every corner, and sought subjects for composition in the historical anecdotes which Francisco related to him. Francisco, however, could only teach him the elements and mechanical details of art, things which José's genius rendered almost useless to him. Drawing even was not enough; he burned with a desire to paint, and found a secret pleasure in touching palettes and colours. Examining with attention the occupations of the various painters on whom he waited with parcels, his imagination became excited, and when alone in his garret, he grieved at being only able to work with black and white. He took good care, however, to keep from Madame Barbe the knowledge of his favourite amusement. It was at the expense of his sleep that he exercised his talents; and his friend Gabri, his only confidant, did not feel tempted to betray his secret.

But a circumstance occurred, which all his prudence could not have foreseen, and which, by enlightening Madame Barbe, cost poor José many tears.

We have already spoken of Barbe's kindness in giving room in his house, not only to those pictures, whether good or bad, which their authors had no convenience for keeping; but also to the colour boxes of the young men employed in copying in the Museum; as well as to the studies which the pupils were very glad to bring under the notice of the crowd of artists, who were continually congregated in the shop of the honest colour vender. Before being admitted to compete for the great prize for painting which annually sends to Rome, and maintains there, at the expense of the government, the person who has the good fortune to obtain it, the students have a first trial with a full-length figure, and afterwards with painted sketches; and the six or eight most successful competitors then take their places, and commence the pictures for which the prize is to be awarded. It may easily be conceived how great is the importance attached to these competitions by those young and poor students, who behold in them the termination of their elementary course, and the possibility of pursuing their studies on a more extended scale. One of the most promising pupils of that time had just obtained the prize for the figure. As Barbe had assisted him in various ways, he was anxious to make him a participator in his joy, and place in his hands his triumphant work. He arrived, therefore, followed by a dozen of his companions and rivals, who, the first moment of disappointment over, usually participate cordially in the delight of the victor, especially when they happen to study under the same master. José was a witness to the transports of these young men, and heard the praises lavished by the spectators on the fortunate student. Agitated by a thousand varied emotions, jealous, but with that noble and rare jealousy which made Cæsar weep at the feet of Alexander's statue, he would doubtless in his excitement have drawn upon himself a severe reprimand from Madame Barbe, had not Gabri whom nothing could divert from his silent watchfulness, led him away, in spite of himself.

"Ah!" said José, with emotion, "Do you see that young man? He is only fifteen.... Claude Lorraine was a confectioner.... And I, what am I?... I feel that I, too, have something in me!..."

Gabri knew nothing about Claude Lorraine, but he exerted himself with so much kindness to pacify José, that he at length succeeded, by means of a positive promise, to satisfy, at least, the most attainable of his wishes. The Exhibition had just opened, and José from his station in Madame Barbe's shop, could see successive crowds of amateurs thronging the entrance to the Museum; and he was constantly hearing the merits of the different paintings discussed. How, then, could he help ardently longing to examine for himself those interesting works? He had once ventured timidly to approach the door of the Museum, but the dark scowl of the porter, and a slight movement of his cane, warned him to make a precipitate retreat; not that working-men of all kinds, and soldiers, cannot without difficulty gain admission into these exhibitions; but it must be owned that poor José, at his age, and in his linen pantaloons, besmeared with every colour in M. Barbe's establishment, and in his tattered and scanty jacket, presented an appearance by no means calculated to soften the rigour of so proper a gentleman. Having then confided his grief, both to his young and his old friend,--to Francisco and to Gabri,--the affair was settled in the following manner. Francisco, with his father's permission, presented his little companion with a coat, and a pair of nankeen trousers, which he had laid aside, and which could easily be made to fit José. Philip, who had for some time been working at a tailor's, eagerly offered his services. Dame Robert purchased a pretty piece of stuff, which her daughter cut out for a waistcoat; and Gabri declared that he would take upon himself to provide the hat. José burned with impatience to enjoy the generosity of his friends; but the requisite preparations necessarily took some time, for the little workers had more zeal than capacity; and, besides, they could not neglect their ordinary tasks. It was necessary, therefore, to wait, and José, finding himself alone in the shop, and wishing to divert his mind, determined to take another view of the picture which had made so deep an impression on him, and which the young painter, according to custom, had left for some time with M. Barbe. It was hung at a considerable height; José mounted a ladder, to get it down; but, thinking he heard the voice of the terrible Madame Barbe, he hastily replaced it, and, in his precipitation, brushed against the still fresh paint with his sleeve, and rubbed out a portion of the ground and almost the whole of one leg. Recovering from his fright, and finding no one approach, he again raised his eyes: judge of his dismay, on beholding what had occurred! What was to be done? What would become of him, if the young painter happened to come for his picture? What would Madame Barbe say? for, if questioned on the subject, he would not utter a falsehood. Besides, all evasion would be as useless as it would be wicked, as such an act of carelessness could have been committed by no one but him. The poor child was in despair; he already saw himself ignominiously turned out of the house; but time pressed, and he must discover some means of repairing the mischief. He could find but one. He ran to hide the picture in his room, and was presumptuous enough to rely upon his own ability to repair the fatal blemish.

It may be thought, that so daring an idea was but little likely to enter the mind of a child only thirteen years of age; but José, as we have before observed, was born with extraordinary talents for painting; besides, he knew nothing else; he occupied his thoughts with nothing else;--all that he had seen and heard from his earliest childhood had reference to painting. Neither is it without example, that remarkable talents--especially when constantly directed towards one object--have produced, even in extreme youth, very astonishing results. Some years ago at Florence, when there happened to be a fall of snow of a few inches thick, a very unusual occurrence in that climate, the children of the common people might be seen gathering it together into great heaps, forming it into giants in the principal square, and in the streets into colonnades and statues, and even into groups, in which artists themselves could not but acknowledge a remarkable imitation of the great works in the midst of which they were born; so much does the influence of what they hear and see act upon the minds and dispositions of children, and give, as a mere starting-point, to some of those who live in the atmosphere of art, that which to others less favoured proves almost a goal. It must also be remembered, that the work on which José was about to try his skill was that of a youth of fifteen, and, consequently, far from being faultless.

He had seen enough of painting to feel at no loss in charging a palette; but he wanted colours, brushes, &c.; and José well knew that, though in the midst of everything of this kind, he had no right to touch any. He therefore resolved to have recourse to the friendship of Francisco, and to ask him for the money necessary to make his purchases at a distant shop. It may perhaps appear singular that his friend Gabri did not come to his aid; but the absence of this guardian angel had been the cause of his misfortune as there was no friendly glance or hand to warn, or raise him up. Gabri, for the first time during the whole fifteen years that he had lived with M. Barbe, had asked leave of absence for a few days, in order to visit his native place; his request was so reasonable, that it could not be refused, but Madame Barbe's ill-temper was at its height when she beheld him depart without being able to obtain a single word of explanation relative to the motives which had induced him to undertake this unexpected journey.

Gabri was to return on the Sunday evening, the day following that which had proved so fatal to poor José; but to wait for his coming was impossible, this same Sunday being the only time that the poor boy had at his own disposal. He therefore hastened to M. Enguehard's, and having fortunately found Francisco alone, he confided to him his embarrassment. Francisco shuddered at his friend's danger, but was almost as much terrified at the projected reparation as at the accident itself; nevertheless, at the urgent entreaty of José, who feared lest his absence should be remarked, he gave him all the money he had, amounting to four francs ten sous. This was sufficient for José's purpose; for, as may be easily imagined, there was no question of easel, nor colour box, and he made so much haste, that his purchases were completed and hidden before Madame Barbe had once asked for him.

José was tormented during the whole of the day by the idea of his daring undertaking; and his preoccupation prevented him from being as much delighted as he would otherwise have been with his new clothes, which Philip, with an air of importance, brought home tied up in a handkerchief, in tailor fashion, under his arm. The poor boy, who expected great praise and many thanks, was somewhat disconcerted at the indifference with which José examined an _invisible_ seam, which in spite of this qualification was even more easily distinguishable than any of the others. He therefore went off, persuaded that José was ill, for he could never attach an unkind motive to his conduct.

José, awakening with the earliest dawn, at first felt nothing but the delight of possessing colours and brushes. He prepared his rude palette with extreme care, and made this important operation last as long as he could; but when all was ready, the difficulty of commencing vividly presented itself to his mind, and caused him so much anxiety, that he remained motionless, not daring to touch a brush, when all at once a fortunate inspiration restored his courage. "I have to paint half a leg," he said to himself. "Well, then, why not copy my own? The greatest masters use models, and paint everything from nature; I can easily place one foot without inconveniencing myself. We shall see if with this assistance I cannot manage." And José commenced by cutting a caper; then looking at the figure, the legs of which, fortunately for him, were outstretched, he placed one of his own in nearly the same position, and with a trembling hand gave the first touch. By degrees that fever of enthusiasm, which always fills the mind in every kind of composition, took possession of him; he became excited; he fancied himself drawing like Raphael, colouring like Rubens; and his hand, so timid at first, worked with freedom and facility; he felt no further embarrassment, and did not cease until he had completely repaired the mischief.

His task ended, José went down, to watch for an opportunity of replacing the picture without being observed. It was already late, the whole of the family were going out for a walk; and Madame Barbe was in such good humour, on account of a pretty cap which her husband had just given her, that José had no difficulty in obtaining leave to go to the Exhibition, on the understanding that he was to be back before dinner-time, to arrange certain things, which Gabri's absence had left in disorder. José, with a light heart, had no sooner lost sight of them than he hastened to hang up the picture, and smiled, as from beneath he beheld the fine effect of his work. Having now nothing to think of but the delight of possessing his new clothes, and, especially, of being privileged to pass the threshold of that door, so long closed against him, he went out, fastening with some pride the metal buttons of his coat, and entered the Exhibition, eyeing the burly porter, as he passed, with a confident air.

At that period, the noble staircase, with its double banister, which we admire at present, was not built; the square saloon of the Exhibition was reached by a side door, leading from the Place du Musée, and a staircase, which now only serves as a private entrance. This entrance was neither so convenient nor handsome as the present one; but still it was princely in its dimensions, and especially so to the unaccustomed eyes of poor José, who had never seen anything more splendid than the church of Saint Roch. Those wide steps of white stone; those walls covered with pictures, for they reached almost to the first landing-place; the tumult of the crowd which pressed forward, carrying him along with it,--all combined to throw José into a kind of bewilderment. He looked without seeing, walked without thinking, and, driven onwards by the crowd, at length found himself at the door of the great gallery of the Museum, which is left open during the Exhibition, but which at that time contained only the works of the old masters. At the sight of this immense gallery, magnificent even to those who are familiar with magnificence, José stood struck with astonishment, while an involuntary feeling of respect caused him to take off his hat. There were but few visitors in that part of the Museum; José breathed more freely, and being able to examine without being jostled, began deliciously to taste the pleasure he had so often longed for. Various pictures attracted his attention; but too ignorant to divine their subjects, there was something wanting to his enjoyment. But when, at last, he came to that picture of Raphael's, known by the name of _La Vierge à la chaise_, the figures could easily be recognised, and José found himself, so to speak, in the midst of his habitual acquaintances; he was able to make comparisons, having seen other church paintings; and his natural taste was so pure, and he had so remarkable an instinct for appreciating the master-pieces of art, that at the sight of this admirable production, an emotion hitherto unknown took possession of him. The more he looked, the more complete did the illusion become; the face of the divine infant seemed to become animated, and to smile upon him. José, leaning against the balustrade, extended his arms and smiled too, and in the delight of these new sensations, forgot everything else, when a noise close by him made him start and awake from his reverie. He turned his head, and beheld a man attentively examining him; he was still young, and possessed a countenance remarkable for its expression; his eyes, full of fire, were fixed with kindness upon José, who, notwithstanding his ordinary timidity, replied without embarrassment to the questions addressed to him. The stranger wished to know his name, what he thought of Raphael's picture, what were his views, his occupations, &c. José's artless statements, through which his precocious genius could readily be discerned, deeply interested the stranger. "You were born a painter, child," he said, touching José's forehead. "You already know what no master could teach you, but you must be directed, and this I will undertake to do. Here is my address, my name is G----; call upon me, I will make something of you."

José, overwhelmed with joy in recognising the name of one of our most celebrated artists, clasped his hands without being able to utter a word. Monsieur G. gave him another kind look, and departed. It was some time before José recovered from the agitation into which this event had thrown him, and the day was already far advanced when he remembered that he was still in the service of Madame Barbe, and that his accident caused him to run great risk of not remaining in it. Full of anxiety, he precipitately retraced his steps, and soon reached home. Alas! every one had returned, and the manner in which he was received, was a presage of the storm about to burst over his devoted head.

Barbe, who was hurriedly pacing the shop, advanced towards him, as if to question him, then turned away his head with an expression of vivid sorrow. José, confounded, was beginning to murmur some excuses, when Madame Barbe, the violence of whose passion had hitherto prevented her from speaking, at length recovered the power of pouring forth the abuse destined for the hapless culprit.

"Here you are, at last, Sir!" she said. "You are certainly very punctual; however, I can easily imagine, you young rascal, that you were in no hurry to make your appearance."

"I am very sorry, Madame....." replied José.

But Madame Barbe would not give him time to finish.

"Do not interrupt, you shameless liar," she cried; "you little viper, whom we have nourished, and who now stings his benefactors. But I could pardon you for being idle and ungrateful, if you had not sacrificed the reputation of my house, by destroying the pictures confided to us. Yes," she continued with more vehemence, seeing José turn pale, "you fancied, you hardened, good-for-nothing, that your tricks would not be discovered; thief, we know all: not content with having irreparably destroyed a fine work, you have carried your villany so far as to steal from us the things necessary for your undertaking." José uttered a cry of horror, and rushing towards his implacable mistress, who still continued her invectives, he protested his innocence, in so far at least as related to the second part of the accusation; but neither his tears nor his protestations produced any effect upon the prejudiced minds of his employers. It had so happened that when they entered, the light which M. Barbe carried, fell directly upon the unfortunate figure restored by José; and as nature had made him a colorist, a quality which can never be acquired, and one in which the young student was deficient, it was an easy matter to perceive the difference. Besides, poor José, in his embarrassment, had copied the left foot, which happened to be most convenient for him, without observing whether it was the proper one, and had so placed it that the great toe was on the outside. The loft in which the culprit slept was visited, and his still moist palette and colours left no doubt of what he had done. Barbe would have pardoned the injury done to the painting, but the idea of theft revolted his honest nature, and it was difficult to avoid suspecting José, since they were ignorant of Francisco's friendship for him, and well knew that he had nothing of his own. It was in vain that he related the simple truth, it only appeared an ingeniously concocted story; and Madame Barbe, after a second explosion of invectives, took him by the arm, and would have turned him out of doors that very evening, had not her husband positively declared that he should remain for that night. His wife, obliged to yield, revenged herself by seeking two or three of her neighbours, who hurried with malicious eagerness to see the left foot upon the right leg, and the woful condition of poor little José, choking with grief in a corner. He was spared none of their commentaries, these kind souls taking care to speak very loudly and very distinctly.

"Certainly," said one, "his mother did well to die, poor dear woman. She did not deserve such a son."

"I always expected it," said another, "this is what comes of picking up vagabonds; but Dame Robert is such an obstinate woman. What is one to do?" A third added that everything must be locked up, and care taken that he was never left alone. Finally, their cruelty was carried to such extremes, that poor José was unable any longer to restrain his sobs, which being heard by M. Barbe in his room, he immediately hastened to the poor child and sent him to bed.

José passed a frightful night; a few hours more and he would be sent away disgraced, and obliged to return to his adopted mother, without the means of support, and with a charge of dishonesty weighing upon him. One hope alone remained to him, Francisco might attest the truth of what he had said; he therefore determined to entreat M. Barbe, who was more humane than his wife, to go and question Francisco, who would establish his innocence; but even this resource failed the unfortunate child. The same idea had occurred to Barbe, who was very fond of him, and early in the morning he had called upon M. Enguehard. Wishing to spare his favourite as much as possible, he merely asked Francisco whether he had lent José any money. But Francisco not having been put upon his guard, and fearing lest he might in some manner injure his friend, or be reprimanded by his father, committed a fault too common among children, and in order to save José he told a falsehood, and by so doing completed his ruin, for he assured M. Barbe that he had not lent his apprentice anything. M. Enguehard knew nothing more, and Barbe returned, convinced of José's theft, and of the necessity of sending him away. He therefore repulsed him angrily when he came to present his request, and told him to pack up his things. But Madame Barbe was not a woman to lose an opportunity of delivering a speech or making a scene, and therefore determined before expelling the unhappy boy, to oblige him to make an apology to the young student whom she had begged to call at the shop. José almost happy at this unexpected respite, placed his little bundle on the ground, and leaning upon it, cast a sorrowful look on all the objects around him, and which he was about to leave for ever. Gabri's vacant place caused his tears to flow afresh; would that faithful friend believe his protestations any more than the rest, whilst proofs were so strong against him? At that moment the postman placed a letter in M. Barbe's hand. "Oh!" said the latter, "it is from Nogent-sur-Marne, and from friend Gabri. What can he have to write to us about?" and he read the letter to himself with signs of the greatest surprise. Madame Barbe, impatient to know what it contained, snatched it from his hand, and, after reading it, exclaimed, "Heaven be praised, this act of folly will never be committed. Listen to this," she said, calling to José, "behold the just punishment of your infamous conduct;" and she read, or rather declaimed the following letter:--

"From Nogent-sur-Marne, my native
place, September the 7th.

"MONSIEUR BARBE,--Notwithstanding my intention of returning the day
after that fixed by you, I write to inform you in a more authentic
and convenient manner of my intentions with regard to Joseph Berr,
called José, your apprentice. Monsieur Barbe, I have lost my wife
and three children, three fine boys whom God has taken away from
me; but I dare say I have already told you this. I have a nice
little property perfectly free from all claims (a good seven
thousand francs placed here in honest hands). Therefore, being
master of my own will, which is to love and assist the said José,
I intend that he shall follow the calling which he is so anxious
for, viz., that of an artist, and for this I have bound myself, by
my signature, which you will see at the end of the deed written by
me upon stamped paper, and which accompanies this letter. I beg
that it may be read to the said José, and never again recurred to,
being, notwithstanding, Monsieur Barbe,

"Your very faithful Servant,
"SEBASTIAN GABRI."

The second paper was as follows:--

"Joseph Berr, called José, requiring, in order to be able to
prosecute his studies in painting, during four years, a sum of
money, which I possess, I give it to him as a loan which he will
return to me when his profession becomes profitable, together with
the interests and costs as is just and customary.

f. c.

"First. One franc per day for maintenance
during the space of four years, making 1460 0

Item. For entering the studio of a celebrated
master, 15 francs per month for four
years 720 0

Item. For indemnifying Madame Barbe, for
three years' apprenticeship, still due to
her 50 0

Item. For 25 centimes every Sunday, for
child's amusements 52 0

Item. For my journey hither by coach, expressly
on his account 10 0

Item. For my expenses while here 12 0

Item. For this sheet of stamped paper 0 30

Item. For interest during four years 460 6
--------
2764 36

"Which sum I undertake to pay, according as required, Provided that
the board and lodging be furnished by Dame Robert as heretofore.

"The said José will put his mark at the end of this deed, to which
I also cheerfully put my name.

"SEBASTIAN GABRI."

It is easy to imagine the agony of poor José while listening to the reading of these papers; what would have overwhelmed him with joy the evening before, now filled him with anguish. Gabri, that tender and generous friend, as a reward for his sacrifice, was about to learn that the object of his care was unworthy of it. Still José was not guilty, and these bitter trials were now on the point of coming to the happiest termination. Francisco, tormented as one always is by the consciousness of having done wrong, and rendered uneasy about his friend on account of M. Barbe's visit, determined to confess all to his father, who had no difficulty in convincing him of the gravity of his fault, and of the inconvenience which might result to the innocent José, who might perhaps be accused of having stolen the colours from his master. Francisco, alarmed at this idea, entreated his father to take him instantly to M. Barbe's; and there, regardless of the spectators, he had the courage and the merit to confess his fault, and thus completely justify his friend.

Whilst Madame Barbe stood biting her lips, and saying, "It is very singular, very strange," and her kind-hearted husband brushed the tears from his eyes, the two boys affectionately embraced each other, and enjoyed the happiest moment of their young lives. A moment afterwards, José had another triumph, highly flattering indeed to his self-love, but not to be compared in real worth with the noble friendship of Francisco. The young author of the injured painting was with his master when Madame Barbe wrote to him her anything but clear account of the accident, which she was anxious to turn to the disgrace of poor José. This master was the very Monsieur G---- before mentioned, who, recognising in the hero of the story, the child who had so much interested him at the Museum, wished to accompany his pupil to M. Barbe's. For a long time he examined in silence the attempt which had cost the poor boy so dear, then turning towards his pupil, "If you don't make haste," he said, "I can tell you he will catch you." This man, distinguished as much by feeling as by genius, was able to appreciate the action of the worthy and generous Gabri; he read his letter with emotion, and taking a pencil, ran it through the fifteen francs per month destined for José's instruction. "I cannot hope," he said, smiling, to José, "to be the _celebrated master_ mentioned by Gabri, but he must at least let me teach you all I know."

It may easily be imagined, that everything was arranged, without difficulty, to the entire delight of the poor boy. Madame Barbe, awed by the presence of Monsieur G---- and Monsieur Enguehard, felt that she must put some restraint upon her tongue. She unhesitatingly accepted, it is true, the indemnification of fifty francs, and only murmured on the day that Barbe presented José with his first box of colours. Dame Robert, who was consulted in all important arrangements, was at first somewhat discontented with José's choice; but she could refuse nothing to her dear child. "And, after all," she said, "it is a trade, like any other. I am only sorry that the apprenticeship is so long." She was completely consoled, however, when José came once more to live with her.

To complete José's happiness, M. Enguehard, a short time after these occurrences, begged M. G---- to receive his son as a pupil. The two friends, therefore, were again together, following the same career with equal ardour, and although with different success, still without any interruption to their mutual friendship.