Chapter II (2)

When we come to the great scholastics of the XIIIth century, we find that where they have varied in aught from the teaching of their predecessors on the subject of magic, it was, on the whole, in the direction of moderation, or what would be called nowadays rationalism. For instance, in considering the question of diabolical intercourse with women, a belief in which, as we have seen, they had inherited from a line of theologians, they gave an explanation which, whatever may be said of it, at least repudiated the idea of an actual mixture of carnal and spiritual natures. Again, they were very careful to guard against the notion that there is anything that can be called with propriety an art-magic--_i.e._ that there is any other than an arbitrary connection between the charms used and the results obtained--which is more than can be said of some of their predecessors.

Janus (p. 258), with the operose mendacity which is his characteristic, pretends that the authority "of the popes, Aquinas, and the powerful Dominican Order" established the reality of the Sabbath rides; that in the XIVth and XVth centuries you might "be condemned as a heretic in Spain for affirming, and in Italy for denying, the reality of the Sabbath rides"; that some Franciscan theologians in the XVth century, amongst others Alfonso de Spina, in his _Fortalitium Fidei_, maintained the ancient doctrine asserting "belief in the reality of witchcraft to be a folly and a heresy"; that Spina "thought that the inquisitors had witches burned simply on account of that belief." "Tot verba tot mendacia"! The question of the reality or non-reality of the Sabbath rides has always been an open question. S. Thomas says nothing about them one way or the other. It is much more probable than not that he regarded those rides as fantastic, in accordance with the teaching of his masters, Albertus Magnus[123] and Alexander Hales.[124] That he never committed himself to the opposite view is pretty well assured by the fact that the great representative of "the powerful Dominican Order" in the XVth century, Cardinal Turrecremata, is an advocate of the view which makes the rides fantastic. We may add that his eminence got on very comfortably during his long residence in Italy, without being molested for his Spanish heresy.

As to Alfonso Spina, he, indeed, asserts the fantastic character of the Sabbath flights; but so little is he a disbeliever in _diablerie_ that, not contented with maintaining its reality (_Fortal._, f. 146, p. 1, col. 1),[125] he contributes a rather grotesque instance of it from his own experience (f. 151, p. 1, col. 2).

He nowhere says that inquisitors had witches burned "simply on account" of their belief in the reality of the Sabbath. He recounts the burning of certain witches in Dauphiny and Gascony, who did hold their Sabbath meetings to be real, which view, as attributing a certain divine power to the devil, Spina thought could not be persisted in without heresy. (See fol. 152, p. 2, col. 1.) But they were burned because they were witches who had done real homage to the devil, although sundry of its circumstances might be imaginary.

The following passages may be accepted as examples of the doctrine on spiritualism of the principal scholastics of the XIIIth century.

S. Thomas, _Sum._ i. qu. 110, lays down that God only can work a miracle properly so called--_i.e._ a work beyond the order of the whole of created nature; "but since not every virtue of created nature is known to us, therefore, when anything takes place by a created virtue unknown to us, it is a miracle in respect to us; and so, when the devils do something by their natural power, it is called a miracle, _quoad nos_; and in this way magicians work miracles by means of devils." (In 4 _Dist._ vii. qu. 3.) "The devils, by their own power, cannot induce upon matter any form, whether accidental or substantial, nor reduce it to act, without the instrumentality of its proper natural agent.... The devils can bring to bear activities upon particular passivities, so that the effect shall follow from natural causes indeed, but beside the accustomed course of nature, on account of the variety and vehemence of the active virtue of the active forces combined, and the aptitude of the subjects;[126] and so effects which are outside the sphere of all natural active virtues they cannot really produce--as raise the dead or the like--but only in appearance."

_De Malo_, qu. xvi. art. 9: "The devils can do what they do, 1st, Because they know better than men the virtue of natural agents. 2d. Because they can combine them with greater rapidity. 3d. Because the natural agents which they use as instruments can attain to greater effects by the power and craft of the devils than by the power and craft of men."

Alexander Hales, _Sum._, pars 2, qu. 42, art. 3, says that nothing, however wonderful, "is a miracle which takes place in accordance with the natural or seminal order, but every miracle holds of the causal ratio (creative cause) only," (L.C. qu. 43). He admits that these marvels of the seminal order are miracles _secundum modum faciendi_--a term equivalent to S. Thomas' _quoad nos_.

Albertus Magnus, _Op._, tom. xviii. tract viii. qu. 3, art. 1, points out that the miracles of Pharao's magicians are called lies, "not because they are unreal (_falsa in se_), but because the devils have always the intention of deceiving in those works which they are allowed to do."

To sum up, the doctrine of the scholastics on the subject of the devil's power comes to this: The devil is a great artist, who can present incomparable shows to the senses and the imagination, and a supreme chemist, who can combine natural agents indefinitely, and can elicit in a twinkling the virtual contents of each combination; but he can create, and, strictly speaking, originate, nothing external to himself. They knew that, in mercy to mankind, Almighty God was ever restraining the devil in the exercise of this power; but they conceived that the power itself continued unaltered. It was generally admitted that the devil could not raise a dead man to life, or restore a sense, as the sight, when really destroyed. But such acts were regarded by the scholastics as precisely instances of the creation or origination of such a mode as could not be the outcome of any mere combination of natural agents, and which, therefore, must require the fiat of the Creator. At the same time, it must be admitted that they often found it difficult to distinguish in fact between the operation of the limits of the devil's finite nature and the result of the habitual reservation of Almighty God.

And here it may not unnaturally be objected that the large allowance I have made to natural powers, and to the devil's power of manipulating them, tends to lessen the effect of the argument from miracles. No doubt it tends to reduce a considerable number of miracles from the category of logical proof to that of rhetorical argument. Where the miracle is supposed wholly above nature, it is a proof that God is with those who work it; but where it is not beyond the sphere of universal nature, it can, for the most part, only offer a greater or less persuasion dependent upon circumstances. However, such natural miracles, so to call them, approximate more or less closely to logical cogency in proportion as they manifest themselves as the victors in a war of miracles; for it cannot be supposed that in such a war God should allow himself to be worsted, or that Satan should be divided against himself. When God first presented himself as a wonder-worker before human witnesses, it was as developing and modifying in a supernatural manner the powers of nature--nay, of local, Egyptian nature--and outdoing and discomfiting the magicians "who did in like manner." A recent Catholic commentator, Dr. Smith, in his very learned work, _The Book of Moses_, points out in detail "the analogy which most of the plagues present with the annual phenomena of the country."[127] Of the prelude to the plagues, the conversion of the rod of Moses into a serpent, he says: "Even at the present day, the descendants, or at least representatives, of the Psylli ... can change the asp into a rod stiff and rigid, and at pleasure restore it to flexibility and life by seizing the tail and rolling it between their hands."

In his treatment of the first plague, he gives the following account of the annual phenomenon: "For some time before the rise, the Nile assumes a green color; it then becomes putrid and unfit to drink. Gradually, about the 25th June, a change comes on; the green color and putrid odor disappear; the water becomes clear again, then takes a yellow tinge, which passes into an ochreous red; until for ninety days before the inundation gains its greatest height, it is popularly called the _red water_. 'On the first appearance of the change,' says an eye-witness, 'the broad, turbid tide certainly has a striking resemblance to a river of blood.'[128] ... At the moment foretold by Moses, the miraculous rod is lifted up and waved over the stream; instantaneously the red attains all its intensity of color; the fish, which in ordinary years live on through the gradual habituation to a different state, now perish in numbers from the very suddenness of the change; and the putrid odor, which usually exhales from it before the rise, comes back again in consequence of this mortality. The blood-red hue is not confined to the spot where Pharao and his magicians stood. It spreads at once into the various channels into which the river divides itself, into the canals which are carried through the land for irrigation, into the lakes and ponds which served as reservoirs, into all the collections of Nile-water, and the very vessels of stone and wood which were commonly used both in town and country for private cisterns. The consequence is that at the very time the water begins to sweeten, it becomes again undrinkable; the Egyptians loathe the water, a draught of which is esteemed one of the greatest luxuries they can enjoy; and, as the inhabitants still do when anything prevents them from drinking of the river, 'they digged round about the river for water, for they could not drink of the water of the river.'"

Of the plague of frogs, the same author remarks: "Such a nuisance was not unknown in some other countries, and there are instances of the inhabitants being in consequence driven from their settlements, as Athenæus remarks of the Pœonians and Dardanians, Diodorus of the Antariats of Illyria, and Pliny of some Gaulish nation. But in Egypt they are not unfrequently equivalent to a plague. Indeed, Hasselquist believes that every year that would be the result, were it not for the species of stork, called _ardea ibis_, which in the month of September comes down in large flocks to feed upon the small frogs then beginning to swarm over the country."

As regards the third plague, that of the _ciniphs_, or Egyptian mosquito, Dr. Smith thinks that the magicians could not produce them, because at that time of the year they were not yet out of the egg. This, as we have seen, is not the doctrine of the scholastics, and is hardly consistent with the idea that the magicians were anything more than conjurers. I would suggest that the mosquitoes had to do something more than show themselves and crawl in order to vindicate their reality as plagues. Doubtless the magicians and their familiars hatched the eggs; and there the effete creatures were, with knock-knees, and flaccid trunks, and languid appetites; but they were as though they were not when the orthodox mosquitoes sounded their horns for the banquet, and put in their stings with all and more than all their native vigor. Well might the magicians exclaim in anguish, "This is the finger of God."[129] Abbot Rupert, a writer of the XIIth century, gives precisely the same _rationale_ of the magicians' failure, whilst maintaining that their successes were of the nature of phantasmagoria.

Of the remaining plagues, the fourth, that of flies, was too like the third for the magicians to hope for success; and when at the sixth plague they seem again to take heart, behold, they cannot "stand before Moses for the boils that are upon them." The dreadful sequel, closing in darkness and death, would seem to have simply swept them away in its tide of horror.

So far, then, from there being any reason for shrinking from the idea of a miraculous competition, in which the spirit of man, the demon, and Almighty God enter the lists together, we ought rather to rejoice at the recurrence of the very conditions which God is wont to choose for the scene of his most triumphant manifestations.

I have thus drawn out the Catholic idea of _diablerie_, because I believe that one of the causes most active in spiritualism--a cause necessary to the evolution of a great number of its phenomena--is the devil. In matter of fact, to this cause these phenomena have been for ages universally attributed. It may, then, fairly claim to be the hypothesis in possession. In the concluding chapter, I hope to consider the amendment which spiritualists, as a rule, suggest--viz., that the spirits whom they admit with us to be the causes of the phenomena are not devils, enemies of God and man, but the souls of the departed in varying stages of perfection.

TO BE CONTINUED.

FOOTNOTES:

[94] Cotelerius in lib. iv. _Recogn. S. Clementis_, p. 452.

[95] Eng. trans., p. 250.

[96] P. 250, note.

[97] Preface to Edit. Benedict. S. Augustin.

[98] _De Antiq. Collect. Can_, pars iv. cap. 12.

[99] _Vita Cardinal de Cusa._ By Hartzheim, S.J. Pars ii. cap. 8.

[100] Note to canto iii.

[101] See Döllinger's _Gentile and Jew_ (Darnell's translation), vol. ii. p. 49.

[102] _Act. Sanct._ Aug., 27.

[103] _L'Antiq. Expliq._, lib. iii.

[104] _Vita_, Hartzheim, l. i.

[105] _Polycrat._, l. ii. p. 13.

[106] _De Univ._, p. 948.

[107] Ovid, _Fasti_, lib. v. line 141.

[108] _Metam._ v. fab. 7.

[109] _Ducange_, sup. (Diana).

[110] _Storia Univ._, lib. xv. cap. 15.

[111] Vol. i. p. 101.

[112] _Masque of Queens._

[113] Vol. ii. p. 177.

[114] _Quart. Rev._, vol. xxii. p. 370.

[115] _Cont. Cels._, lib. vi. c. 28.

[116] _De Univ._, tom. i. p. 1037.

[117] _Cont. Cels._, lib. vi. c. 38.

[118] _Life_, by Mrs. Hope, p. 186.

[119] _Iren._, Ed. Ben. Var. Annot., p. 230.

[120] _Iren._, cap. xxx. p. 111.

[121] P. 252.

[122] _Decret._, pars xi. cap. 105.

[123] Tom. xviii. tract. viii. qu. 30, art. 2, memb. 2.

[124] Pars ii. qu. 166, memb. 6.

[125] Edit. Nuremberg, 1485.

[126] Cf. _Scotus Oxon_, lib. ii. dist. 18.

[127] Vol. i. p. 320 et seq.

[128] Osburn, _Israel in Egypt_.

[129] In Exod. viii.

THE FARM OF MUICERON.

BY MARIE RHEIL.

FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.

V.

Those who are fond of singular events in this world had here a chance to be satisfied; for, certainly, this affair surpassed anything in the ordinary run. Pierrette quickly recovered, and nursed her little one without fatigue. Far from becoming even the least pale or thin, it was remarked, even by the envious--and there are always some of the tribe around the happy--that she was rejuvenated, fresh as a cherry, and the baby in her arms made her resemble the good S. Anne, mother of our Blessed Lady, whose chapel was near our parish church.

Besides, the great esteem felt for the Ragauds, their charity, honesty, and well-known piety, caused it to be acknowledged--and it was true--that this new blessing, the choicest and most unexpected they could have desired, was the recompense of the Lord God on account of little Jean-Louis. M. le Curé said it to whoever would listen to him; and, as we have seen he was fond of repeating proverbs, he did not fail to add: "If there is one truth that each and every one of us can prove if he wishes, it is '_that a good action is never lost_.' Now, if this is always true in regard to men, judge if we should believe it when the good God, all-powerful, is our creditor!"

M. le Marquis de Val-Saint was the first and most sincere in rejoicing at the happiness of his good farmers. Mademoiselle, his daughter, asked to be godmother, and had made under her own eyes, by her maids, a complete outfit of fine Holland linen, of which all the little garments were scalloped, embroidered, and trimmed with lace; such as are only displayed in the shop-windows of the city.

M. le Marquis naturally stood godfather with mademoiselle, and, not to be behind her in presents, ordered that, on the day of the baptism, there should be feasting and village-dances on the lawn before the château.

It was a day to be remembered in the neighborhood. As for the eating, singing, and laughter, you can well think nothing was wanting; they spoke of it for months afterwards. Only one person wore a rather long face, and that was our _curé_; not that he was ever the enemy of pleasure and enjoyment, but that, contrary to his advice, M. le Marquis had three casks of old wine, reserved for his own table, tapped; and the consequence was that, out of two hundred persons present, men, women, and children, not one, towards twilight, was able to walk straight on his legs.

Apart from that, everything passed off splendidly; and, to conclude, I will tell you that they had awaited the complete recovery of Mother Pierrette, so that she might be present at the celebration with her little girl in her arms; which, to my mind, was the prettiest part of the show.

The little Ragaudine had three beautiful names--Nicole-Eveline, after M. le Marquis and mademoiselle, her god-parents; and Jeanne, in honor of our great S. John the Baptist, on whose feast she had the good fortune to be born. One fact, which would have touched devout hearts if they had known it, was that little Jean-Louis had also come into the world on S. John's day, four years before. M. le Curé, who had it from poor Catharine, but who could not breathe a word of it, was nevertheless so inspired by the thought that he made at the baptism a speech which drew all the handkerchiefs out of the pockets; and if I have one regret, it is that I cannot give a full report of his touching words. But I was not born at that time, and my father, from his great age, had forgotten them when he related this story to me.

If you fancy that this event affected in the least degree the condition of Jean-Louis, you are vastly mistaken. True, there was no longer thought of his inheriting Muiceron; but the tenderness and care of his good parents were the same afterwards as before. Pierrette would have thought it a sin to have acted otherwise; for she was always the first to say: "It was the boy's guardian angel that obtained for me my little girl from the good God." Ragaud thought the same as his wife, but was a little more anxious than she about the temporal prospects of the boy. It was evident that, between the fear of injuring his daughter, and the dread of leaving Jeannet in want, his good heart did not know which side to turn. Finally, in his embarrassment, he determined to consult M. le Curé; and the good pastor, who had always an answer ready, solved the difficulty in fifteen minutes' conversation. According to his advice, it would suffice to place aside every year a small sum, drawn from the harvest of such and such a field, and never to touch either capital or interest. In that way, before twenty years, Master Jean-Louis would find himself, without any injury to the little girl, master of a nice little treasure, and capable, in his turn, of being a land-owner. This affair settled, Ragaud returned home perfectly satisfied, and told the whole story to Pierrette, who highly approved of the step.

Thus, instead of one child at Muiceron, there were two, and that was all the difference. The little things grew up calling themselves brother and sister, there being nothing to make them doubt but that it was really so. Never were quarrelling or bad words heard between them. Ragaud often repeated to Jeannet that, as he was the eldest, he should live patiently and amicably with his young sister; and Jeannet, from his gentle heart and natural sweetness of disposition, easily put the counsel in practice.

It is commonly said that girls are more forward than boys, as much in body as in mind; and another proof of the truth of this remark was evident as the Ragaud children grew up. At six years old, the little girl was so bright, so cunning, so bold, and had such a strong constitution, you would have thought her the twin-sister of Jean-Louis; but with all that, there was no resemblance, either in face or disposition, even though they say that, by living together, people often grow to look alike. Jeanne Ragaud had very light hair, was joyous and petulant, a little quick-tempered and rough in her actions, like her father; Jean had a thoughtful look, and although he was always ready to play, his tastes were rather quiet. They both loved to lead the sheep to pasture in the field near La Range; but when it was the turn of the little boy, you would have said the sheep took care of themselves, so quiet was it around them; and the reason of this was, that the shepherd was stretched in the wood, in the shade of an old willow-tree, face to the sky, watching the clouds pass over his head. Very different was it when Jeannette, armed with a switch, left the farm, driving the flock before her in the noisiest style; she drove off the dog, ran faster than he after the sheep which tried to get away from her; and if she ever sat down, it was only because she was forced to do so from want of breath. As for the clouds, little did she care for all that Jean pretended to see in them--the beautiful and moving things that kept him lying on the grass for entire hours, silently gazing with fixed eyes on the blue sky above him. She obstinately declared that a cloudy sky pleased her more than one entirely blue, because generally clouds brought rain; and nothing, according to her taste, was more delightful than a good soaking, which obliged the shepherdess and sheep to return together at full gallop to the house, running and paddling through the pools of muddy water.

This divergence of character grew more and more perceptible every day, and led Pierrette to exclaim:

"Come next S. Martin's day, and if this continues, my little chickens, I will have you change clothes; for, in truth, I begin to see that I was mistaken, and that Jeannette is the boy, and _Louisieau_ the little girl."

These words did not fall on the ear of a deaf person; for, after that, _La Ragaudine_ became bolder and more resolute than ever. She domineered over father and mother, who were weak enough to be amused by it; and as for Jean-Louis, when he ventured to offer a little friendly advice, she replied proudly, with her chin in the air:

"Hold your tongue; mother said I was the boy."

Thereupon good Jeannet was terribly confused, and could not find words to reply.

Soon the time came when they must think of school. In those days, there were no parish schools taught by the Sisters and Christian Brothers, as now. Our good _curé_, through pure zeal, had taken charge of the boys' education, and Germaine did the same for the girls. Thus the Ragaud children did not have to accustom themselves to new faces in this little change of their everyday life. But old Germaine could not say as much; for until then, having only taught the village girls, who were very obedient, even though a little stupid, she thought the devil himself possessed the school the day that Jeannette put foot in it. What tricks and drolleries this little witch of eight years invented to distract the others would be difficult to enumerate. Threats, scolding, shameful punishments, had no effect. At the end of a fortnight, she had received all the bad marks of the class, and the fool's cap appeared to be her ordinary head-dress, so that the greatest wonder was if she by chance was seen without it.

Jean-Louis, in the adjoining room, accomplished wonders. In less than four months, he learned to read and write; as for his catechism, he knew it so well he could explain it like a priest. Never did he go to sleep without knowing his lessons for the next day; so that M. le Curé held him in high favor, and taught him many things that are found in books, but which are not generally known in the country.

Thus it turned out that all the praises and dainties fell to the lot of Jeannet as a reward for his good conduct. Every Thursday he returned to the farm, holding up with both hands the front of his blouse, filled with fruit and candies of Germaine's manufacture. Jeannette kept close to his side, not at all displeased at having nothing--you can well imagine why. The cunning monkey knew that hardly would they have turned on their heels, before Jean-Louis would open his blouse, and say, "Here, little pet, choose."

So that, without giving herself the least trouble, that imp of a Jeannette feasted at will on the choicest morsels. Our _curé_ was not long duped; without scolding Jean-Louis, who by acting in that manner only proved his good heart, he warned Germaine that she must try some other means of correcting the headstrong Jeannette, who could not be allowed to grow up with such perverse habits. Germaine, very much hurt, replied that she had used every punishment unsuccessfully, except whipping, which she had never dared.

"Well," said the _curé_, "the next time she misbehaves, whip her, Germaine. I authorize you to do it."

They had not to wait long. One very rainy day, Jeannette managed to arrive the last at school, and seeing all the children's wooden shoes and leather leggings ranged outside of the door, she gathered up the greater part of them in her skirt, and ran off to the well, that she might throw them to the bottom, running the risk of tumbling in herself at the same time. Germaine, who was still light-footed, and feared something wrong was contemplated, spied her through the window, rushed after her, and caught her just in time to prevent the act.

"This is the way," cried she, holding the young one tightly by the arm--"this is the way you, wicked good-for-nothing child, employ your time, instead of learning your lessons!"

For the first time, Jeannette, in spite of her daring spirit, was so overcome she could not say a word in defence. She saw quickly that she would be well punished, and returned to the class very downcast.

Germaine commenced by making her pupil kneel in the middle of the room, and then, seating herself in her straw arm-chair, with a severe and troubled look, related the whole affair, taking care to make it appear in its worst light.

"Now," added she, looking around at her little audience, who showed a just indignation, "if I ask you, my children, what punishment Jeanne Ragaud deserves for having attempted to enjoy herself in such a malicious and shameful manner, you will doubtless answer that I should expel her from the class; but do you think that would be a great sorrow for a girl so careless of her duties? No, no, I say that would only please her; and therefore, Jeanne Ragaud, you will immediately receive a severe chastisement, but which, nevertheless, is not equal to your great fault."

Thereupon Germaine readjusted her spectacles, drew from the bottom of her big work-bag a leather whip with several thongs, and Jeannette, more dead than alive with anger and shame, received in full view the well-deserved punishment.

She neither cried, nor wept, nor made any protestation, not even an attempt to defend herself; but she did not ask pardon either, and sat straight up on her bench, whiter than Mother Germaine's cap. It was the only day they had ever seen her quiet and good.

Towards evening, Jeannet, as usual, took his post where he could meet her, that they might return home together; but great was his surprise to see the little thing advance with measured steps, instead of running and bounding according to her custom. What astonished him still further was that she neither spoke nor laughed. Her little face was all changed; but whether from grief or anger he could not discover. It ended by making him feel very anxious, as he feared she was ill.

"What is the matter?" he asked gently. "Surely, Jeannette, something troubles you; for this is the first time in my life I have ever seen you sad."

The child turned away her head, and pretended to look at the trees.

"You will not answer me," continued Jean-Louis; "and yet I only question you from pure love, not from curiosity. When one is troubled, it is a relief to speak to a friend. Am I not strong enough to defend you by tongue and arm, in case you _need_ it?"

"Nothing is the matter," replied Jeannette. "What do you fancy ails me? Let us hurry, it is growing late; the crows are beginning to flutter around the steeple."

"I am not thinking now about the crows, nor you either, Jeannette," said he, taking in his own her little, trembling hand; "and as for going faster, that is not possible; we are already walking at such a rate we can scarcely breathe."

Jeanne stopped short, and quickly drew away her hand.

"Then, don't go any further," cried she in a rebellious tone.

"Come, now, be good; we can't think of stopping here. Why do you speak to me so roughly? Don't you know that I am your friend and your brother?"

"When you will know what has happened," replied she impatiently, "well--then--then--"

"Then I will console you as well as I can, my Jeannette."

"Oh! yes, but you can't do it, Jean-Louis; in my trouble nobody can console me."

"Let us see," said he.

"There is nothing to see," she cried. "I won't tell you anything."

"Then it will be difficult," he replied sadly. "Jeannette, if I were unhappy, I would not make such a fuss about telling you."

They continued on in silence. When they reached the top of the hill in the meadow of Fauché, from which could be seen the buildings of Muiceron, Jeannette suddenly stopped, and all the anger heaped up in her little heart melted into sobs.

"What will mother say when she sees you return with red eyes?" said good Jeannet, terribly distressed. "I beg of you, my darling, speak to me; you would never cry like this for nothing."

"O Jean-Louis! I am so unhappy," she cried, throwing herself in his arms; "and if they make me go back to school, I will certainly die."

"Now, stop; don't cry any more. You shall not go back," said he, kissing her; "for none of us wish to see you die."

Jeannette this time did not need urging, but frankly related all her wrongs and the affair of the whip. Jean-Louis for the moment was so furious he would willingly have beaten Germaine; but after a little reflection, he thought that after all the correction was not altogether unjust.

He spoke wisely to the little thing, and succeeded in calming her in a measure; but he could not make her change her mind about returning to school. On this point it was as difficult to make an impression as on a stone wall.

"What will we do?" said he. "For you see, Jeannette, father has already received so many complaints about you he will most assuredly not consent to let you remain idle at the farm. To-morrow we will leave without saying a word. Do what I tell you; say your prayers well to-night; and as, after all, you were a good deal in fault, the best thing will be to ask Germaine's pardon, which she will willingly grant."

"I would rather run off into the woods," cried the rebellious child. "I would rather be eaten up by the wolves."

"No, no, that is foolish," said he, "they would hunt for you, and the woods around Val-Saint are not so big but what they could find you; and then everybody would know your fault, and father would be so angry."

"Very well," said she resolutely. "I will go see my godmother."

"That can easily be done," replied Jeannet; "and it is a very good idea. Dry up your tears now; to-morrow morning we will go together and see mademoiselle; she will know what to do."

This agreement made, Jeanne's great sorrow was quickly dissipated. She recovered her good humor, her lively manner, and was as full of fun and frolic as ever. The grief of children is like the clouds in the sky--a mere nothing causes them, a nothing scatters them; and the sun appears more beautiful than ever after a shower. Jean and Jeannette reached the house, running together hand in hand. Neither Ragaud nor Pierrette suspected anything; and nevertheless, that night, without any one even dreaming of it, the whim of a little eight-year-old witch led to many new events which changed the life of our good friends, as you will see in the end.

VI.

It is time that I should tell you about the château of our village, and of its worthy lord, M. le Marquis de Val-Saint. The château was an imposing edifice, so high and wide, with such thick walls, and so well surrounded with deep ditches filled with running water, that my father truly said such a building had nothing to fear from either time or man. Before the great Revolution, our lords lived in great style. I have heard it said that one of them, who was a great warrior, could lead into the field more than a thousand soldiers, all of them his tenants, armed and equipped at his own expense. What makes me believe this was not false is the fact that there still remains in front of the château a great lawn, flanked on each side by buildings of such length they must surely have been used for barracks. But as to that, he that chooses may believe; I cannot positively affirm it, and, besides, it has very little bearing on the story of Jean-Louis.

As was to have been expected, our lords were driven away at the time when the masters had to fly, that their valets could take their places. Thank God! this fine condition of things did not last long. At the end of a few years, the legitimate owner of the château of Val-Saint, who was a little child at the time the family left France, was put in possession of his property. He afterwards married, and had an only daughter, the godmother of Jeannette.

Never was there seen a happier family or better Christians; from father to son, they were models. M. le Marquis always remembered the time when he was in poverty and exile, obliged to earn his bread as a simple workman. It made him kind and compassionate to the poor, and, consequently, he was adored by all around him; and I have heard that Madame la Marquise even surpassed him in excellence and charity. Frequently in the winter she was seen visiting the cottages, followed by her servants carrying bundles of wood and bowls of soup, which she loved to distribute herself to the most needy.

Contrary to many great ladies, who flock to the city for amusement and gaiety in the winter, she made her husband promise that they would remain at Val-Saint during the entire year; for, said she, "in summer nearly every one has what is necessary; but in winter there is much suffering among the poor, and if we are not at home to succor and relieve the indigent, who will replace us?" You will agree with me that she spoke as a true Christian; and you will also allow that if all our fine ladies thought and acted in like manner, they would gain in the benedictions of the poor what they might lose in pleasure, and it would certainly be for the best. Between ourselves, M. le Marquis did not give in very willingly to this proposition; it was not that the dear man was fond of foolish dissipation; but after passing through so much trouble, and having the happiness to see his true king once more on the French throne, he could not resist the temptation of going to Paris occasionally to salute him, and was very desirous that madame should appear at court. She always excused herself on account of her delicate health; and this reason, alas! was only too true. Besides, she was quick-witted, like all women, and, without saying anything, saw that a new revolution was not far off. M. le Marquis, on the contrary, boldly maintained that, as his dear masters had only returned by a miracle, they would not be off very soon again. 1830 proved that our good lady was right. After that, there was no further talk about going to Paris; but it was very sad at the château. M. le Marquis became gloomy and half sick from grief, and madame, who had not been well for a long time, felt that the blow would kill her; in fact, she died shortly afterwards, leaving a little daughter, ten years old, and poor monsieur, very lonely in his fine château.

As he feared God, he knew that a brave Christian should not sink under trials. By degrees he appeared resigned to his fate, and resumed his ordinary occupations. Besides the care of his large estate, he hunted, fished, and visited his good neighbors. He gave large sums for the restoration of our church and several chapels in the neighborhood. All this, and his great watchfulness over the peasants who were his tenants, made his time pass usefully. The evenings were rather wearisome. Our _curé_ noticed it, and frequently visited the château towards dusk, so that he could entertain him with the little news of the district, and read the public journals to him. They discussed politics. When I say discussed, it is only a way of speaking, as the _curé_ and his lord always were of the same opinion; but they could regret the past together, and build up new hopes for the future; and in that manner bedtime came before they knew it.

Little mademoiselle was brought up very seriously, without companions of her own age, or any amusements suitable to her rank. She was under the care of an old governess, named Dame Berthe, who was tall and severe in appearance, very well educated, but so soft-hearted in regard to her pupil she always said _amen_ to all her caprices, only regretting she could not guess them beforehand.

M. le Marquis exercised no control over his daughter; his great confidence in Dame Berthe made him refer everything to her. All that he asked of mademoiselle was that she should always look well and happy; and in these two respects he had every reason to thank the good God. As for the rest, he used to say it would take a very skilful person to find anything to reprimand in such a sweet, good girl; and there he was right.

All the petting in the world could not spoil such a lovely nature, and every year she became more attractive. You may tell me there was nothing very wonderful in that, since she had all she desired. I will answer that, on the contrary, many in her place would have become for that very reason wicked and disagreeable. But mademoiselle inherited from her departed mother, besides a gentle and sweet face, a soul still more gentle and sweet. She would not have hurt a fly; her temper was so equal it resembled the tranquil water of a lake; she knew that she was a rich heiress, and remained simple in her manners, never haughty to others, always ready to be of service, and succeeded wonderfully in calming monsieur, her father, who, notwithstanding his goodness, was liable sometimes to be carried away with anger. Finally, I can say, without extravagance, that this last daughter of our dear lord's had, by the grace of God, all the virtues of her race united in her. Nevertheless, as nothing on earth is absolutely perfect, I must add that she had two defects--one of body; for when she was approaching her fifteenth year, having grown too fast, it was very evident that her spine was becoming curved; and notwithstanding the greatest medical skill was employed, she became fearfully crooked. M. le Marquis was greatly afflicted; but as for her, she quickly made her decision.

"No one will want me," she said sweetly; "and so, dear father, I will always remain with you."

This idea consoled her perfectly. Being lively and gay, she laughed about her deformity so pleasantly that the people of the château ended by thinking it not the slightest misfortune, quite as an accident of the very least importance; and, far from no one seeking her hand, the suitors came in procession to ask the honor of alliance with her. She was too keen not to see that her great wealth was the principal cause of their eagerness, and consequently refused all offers of marriage firmly and decidedly; and on that point the whole world could not make her change her mind.

Her second defect was of the heart; her great good-nature made her weak, as she never knew how to refuse when any one wept before her; neither could she deny herself anything where her innocent whims and caprices were in question. It was certainly a fault; for having in her own hands wealth, power, and no superior to control her, you can imagine that her kindness of heart would make her liable to fall frequently in the pathway of life, and drag others after her.

Now we will again take up the story of the little Ragaudins at the time when we left them.

You will remember that the foolish little Jeannette was resolved not to return to school, from shame of the whipping she had received that day, and was determined to go with the willing Jean-Louis, and complain to her godmother. They left the farm the following morning at the usual hour, passed right by the priest's house, and slowly ascended the slope before the château.

Mademoiselle had just come in from Mass, and was sitting in the parlor of the grand tower that overlooked the whole country. Dame Berthe was preparing her breakfast; for although there were in the anteroom four or five big valets, who passed their time in gossiping for want of work, she thought no one but herself was capable of pouring the chocolate into the large silver cup, and presenting it to her dear mistress. Mademoiselle, as it happened, felt a little bored that morning, and gently reproached Dame Berthe for not having found something to amuse her.

"If I were not eighteen years old," said she, throwing herself in her big arm-chair, "I would willingly play with my doll. You have done well, my poor Berthe; I feel like a little girl, and mourn for my playthings. What can you invent to-day? Father went away last evening. I am too tired to walk; tell me a story...."

Dame Berthe thought a moment; but in regard to stories, she scarcely knew any but those she had told and retold a hundred times. Mercy knows, that was not astonishing; two persons who are always together, know the same things, and have never anything new to tell each other.

Mademoiselle looked at her governess laughingly, and took an innocent delight in witnessing her embarrassment. It was just at this moment that the Ragaud children emerged from the chestnut grove before the château, and advanced straight to the bridge that led to the grand entrance.

Mademoiselle, who was rather near-sighted, scarcely distinguished the little things; but she heard the wooden shoes, which went click-clack on the stone bridge, and requested Dame Berthe to see who it could be.

"It is little Jeanne of Muiceron, and her brother, Jean-Louis, who have doubtless come to make you a visit," she replied; "for they are in their Sunday clothes."

Here the good lady was mistaken; for Pierrette held the holiday clothes under lock and key, and would not let them be worn on a week-day without explanation.

Mademoiselle rose up joyfully; she dearly loved her god-daughter and all the Ragaud family, and, more than that, in her frame of mind, it was an amusement that came like a gift from heaven.

"Make them come in, poor little things," said she; "and I beg of you, Berthe, to run to the kitchen, and order cakes and hot milk, as I wish them to breakfast with me."

Jean-Louis was the first to enter the parlor. Jeannette kept behind him, much less assured than you would have imagined. Until now she had scarcely ever seen her mistress, except on Sunday, when coming out from High Mass. Twice a year, on New Year's day and the anniversary of Jeannette's baptism, all the farm came in great ceremony to present their respects to monsieur and mademoiselle. Besides this, the visits to the château were very rare; and to come alone, of their own free will, and clandestinely, was something entirely out of the usual run. Jeannette began to understand all this, and felt more like crying than talking.

Happily, mademoiselle took the thing quite naturally, and asked no questions. She kissed and caressed her god-daughter, seated her on her lap, and petted her so much that for the first half-hour the little thing had only permission to open her mouth that the bonbons could be put in.

She thus had time to regain confidence, and Jean-Louis, who feared to hear her scolded, recovered his spirits. Notwithstanding all this, both were slightly overcome when mademoiselle, after breakfast, suddenly asked them if they had not some favor to ask, promising to grant any request on account of the trouble they had taken in coming to visit her.

This was the critical moment. Jeannet became red with embarrassment, and the little girl appeared stupefied. Dame Berthe gave her a slight tap on the cheek, to encourage her not to be ashamed before such a good godmother; but that did not untie her tongue.

"Speak now," said Jeannet, pushing her with his elbow.

"Speak yourself," she replied in a whisper. "I don't know what to say."

"What is it that is so difficult to obtain?" asked mademoiselle. "Is it something beyond my power?"

"Oh! no, no," said Jean-Louis. "If mademoiselle wished, she has only to say a word...."

"I will say it, my child; but still, I must know what it is about."

"Very well, mademoiselle, this is it--Jeanette does not wish to return to school."

"She must be very learned, then," replied mademoiselle, smiling. "Come here, Jeanne; read me a page out of this big book."

Only think of the blank amazement and terror of Jeannette at that moment! She did not know A from B, and found herself caught like a mouse in a trap. One last resource was left--it was to burst into tears. This was quickly done, and she was heard sobbing behind her godmother's arm-chair, where she had hidden herself at the first mention of reading.

Mademoiselle, already very much moved, profited by this incident, and asked an explanation of the whole affair, which Jeannet related, trying his best to excuse the little thing. Mademoiselle was very much amused at the recital, and was weak enough, instead of scolding Jeannette, to praise her for her spirit. She replaced her on her lap, wiped her tears, and, without further reflection, decided the case in her favor.

"But," said she, "I do not wish my god-daughter to be as ignorant as a dairy-maid. Isn't that true, Jeanne? You will not make me blush for you? I don't want you to go any longer to Germaine's school, but it is on condition that you be a good girl, and learn to read and write. I will teach you myself; how will you like that?"

"O godmother!" cried the little one, enchanted.

"Very well," replied mademoiselle; "then it is all arranged. Jean-Louis will return to Muiceron to tell your parents, and in future I will take care of you and teach you."

And it was thus that the good young lady, without understanding the consequence of her act, in an instant changed the destiny of Jeanne Ragaud. Dame Berthe dared not object, although she saw at a glance there was much to blame in this decision. "Indeed, where the goat is tied, there he should browse," said our _curé_. Jeanne, the child of peasants, should have remained a peasant, instead of becoming the plaything of a marquise. But mademoiselle's intention was not bad; and, for the time being, to have taken away her distraction would have been cruel, and Dame Berthe, although very wise, had not the courage to do it.

VII.

In the village, every one had his own idea on the subject. The Ragauds were happy, and rather proud; M. le Curé shrugged his shoulders, keeping his remarks for a later period; Germaine was silent; Jean-Louis willingly sacrificed the company of his little sister for what he thought her greater good; and, for the rest of the people, some said it was foolish, others that the Ragauds were always lucky.

Jeannette was puffed up with joy and pride. It is justice to say that in a little while she became another child; her mind was so well occupied she lost all her wilfulness, devoted herself to her studies, and was no longer disobedient and rebellious. M. le Marquis, enchanted to see his daughter so happy in her new duties, cheerfully approved of the measure, and declared the château was a different place after this humming-bird's warbling was heard in the house.

As long as the summer lasted, the thing went on without great inconvenience, as the little one often went home to sleep, and thus did not entirely lose sight of her first destiny; but with the bad weather, mademoiselle feared she might take cold by being so much exposed, and sent word to the Ragauds that she would keep her all the time.

Henceforward Jeannette was treated like a daughter of the château. She had her own little room, well warmed, and a servant to obey her orders; her hair was braided in tresses that hung below her waist, which soon made her discover that she had the longest and thickest hair of any child in the village. Her costume was also changed. She had fine merino dresses, prunella shoes with rosettes, and the calico apron, with big pockets, was replaced by a little silk affair, which only served to look coquettish. In the morning she read with her godmother, or embroidered at her side; after dinner she drove out in an open carriage, and on Sundays assisted at Mass and Vespers, kneeling in the place reserved for the château, whilst her parents remained at the lower end of the nave, admiring her from a distance.

In the village were some sensible people, who openly condemned the whole proceeding; especially Jacques Michou, formerly a comrade in the same regiment with Ragaud, and his great friend, who one day, in virtue of his long friendship, ventured a remonstrance on the subject.

"You see," said he to Ragaud, "the preferences of great ladies never last long. Suppose mademoiselle marries, or takes another caprice, what will become of Jeanne, with the habits of a nobleman's daughter? She will not be able to wear wooden shoes or dress in serge; and her stomach will reject the pork, and cabbage, and rye bread. As for her mind, it will be pretty difficult ever to make her feel like a peasant again. Believe what I say, Ragaud, take your daughter home; later she will thank you, when her reason shall have been matured."

It was certainly wise counsel; but Ragaud had two reasons, sufficiently good in his opinion, to prevent his accepting such advice. In the first place, he thought it a great honor to see his daughter the friend and companion of M. le Marquis. This came from the heart on one side, as he was devoted body and soul to the good masters who had made his fortune; but I would not swear, on the other side, that it was not mingled with a good deal of pride. Old Ragaud was easily puffed up with vanity, and sometimes at the wrong time, as will be seen in the sequel.