On the 15th of May, 1801, an honest, but wretched woman breathed her last, in a garret of one of the highest houses in the Rue Saint-HonorÉ. She was still young; but misery more than sickness had rendered her condition hopeless. Stretched, since the morning, without food, upon a bed of straw, her strength was nearly exhausted; and she already was speechless, when the cries of her only child, a boy of about six years of age, attracted the neighbours, as well as the portress of the house. Their assistance, however, was of no avail. The poor creature expired without having the power to utter a single word, and her eyes closed in death while still fixed upon her child, whose tears had already ceased to flow on beholding himself thus surrounded. The portress took him in her arms, and kissed him. "Poor little JosÉ!" she said. "Poor JosÉ!" repeated the neighbours, and taking the child, they left the garret, to go and consult with Dame Robert, a shoemaker, and owner of a shop six feet square, attached to the same house. She was the friend and adviser of all who lived near her: the most trifling circumstances were referred to her superior judgment, and, in the present embarrassment, it was to her that the neighbours turned to decide on the fate of the unfortunate orphan. Before revealing the result of this noisy conference, we will relate in a few words the melancholy, but too common history, of the parents of poor JosÉ.

His father, a native of Annecy, in Savoy, was named Joseph Berr, or JosÉ, according to the patois of the province. The name, thus corrupted, is so common in that part of the country, that, if ignorant of a man's name, one may call him JosÉ, without being often wrong; and, under all circumstances, the appellation is received with pleasure. JosÉ Berr, then, possessed the usual qualities of his countrymen; he was honest, intelligent, and energetic. He had lately married, and not finding sufficient work to maintain his little family in comfort, he, like many other ignorant people, committed the folly of going to settle in Paris, after having expended in a long and wearisome journey, one half of his little store. The simple-hearted Berr firmly believed that he should make his fortune; but he soon found that, if a large city does offer great resources, there are also obstacles to be met with on all sides. He wished to station himself at the corner of a street, to do porter's work, but he found the ground already occupied by rivals, who determined to beat him off the field. They would have nothing to say to the new comer, and it was not until he had expended what was to him a considerable sum, in treating the whole party at a tavern, that he obtained the honour of being admitted into their fraternity. But as, at the corner of almost every street, companies of porters are to be met with, similar to the one into which Berr was received, the profits, consequently, were very trifling, while living in Paris is very dear. His wife, on her side, endeavoured to work, but having neither acquaintances nor patrons, and obliged, moreover, to take care of little JosÉ, who was just born, she earned still less than her husband. For some years, this unfortunate family thus struggled against poverty, Berr often repenting that he had left his native town, where, if he did not earn much, he was at least sure of being employed and assisted. Finally, at the close of a severe winter, during which he had made redoubled efforts to obtain a subsistence for his wife and child, Berr was seized with inflammation of the chest, and died in four days' time for want of proper care. From that moment, his wife languished, and unable to endure this loss, and the privations of all kinds which were hourly increasing, she terminated her miserable existence, as we have already seen.

In the meantime, the council of neighbours, assembled at Dame Robert's, deliberated, without coming to any conclusion, upon the fate of little JosÉ, who, without troubling himself as to the future, was quietly sleeping in the shoemaker's shop. The charity and the means of most of these women were about sufficient to make them willing to keep the child for a week, but not longer. One had a large family, another was in service. A moment's silence ensued; then a voice uttered the word "Workhouse." "The workhouse!" exclaimed Dame Robert, with indignation. "Send this poor little innocent, the only child of these worthy people to the workhouse! No, you shall not go to the workhouse, my little cherub," she continued, taking up the sleeping JosÉ; "I have five children of my own, but you shall share their bread, even if I have to work an hour more morning and evening, I will take care of you until you can provide for yourself; and God will help me."

The idea of the workhouse, so distressing to the poor, had greatly excited Dame Robert, but the kindness of her heart soon confirmed her generous promise. Left alone with the child, after being overwhelmed with praise by her neighbours, who envied her the good action, which they had not themselves courage to perform, she laid the little orphan in the same bed with her own boys, and retired to rest with the satisfaction of having done her duty.

The good done by the poor is more meritorious, and requires more self-denial, than that done by others; for their charity is always at the expense of necessaries, while that of the rich takes from nothing but their superfluity. Dame Robert had recently become a widow. Her small business was tolerably flourishing; but to suffice for the maintenance of a sixth child, she made it a rule to work, as she had said, an hour longer morning and evening. This was a great deal for her, who, with the care of her six children, her work and her business, could only obtain these two additional hours by taking them from her time of rest.

The produce of this surplus labour was amply sufficient for the maintenance of a child so young as JosÉ; besides, Dame Robert was not a woman to spoil him any more than the rest, for all her kindness of heart did not prevent her from displaying the roughness of manner so common to her class; his share of potatoes was the same as those of the two younger children; he occupied the small space left in the poor bed provided for them; and when the six little rogues made too much noise, broke anything, or drank the milk of Dame Robert's favourite cat, the reproofs and thumps which followed these misdeeds were equally distributed between JosÉ and his adopted brothers. As to the rest, Providence seemed willing to reward the good shoemaker for her humanity. The labour of the two additional hours was scarcely sufficient to satisfy her numerous customers; and, as she herself observed to her neighbours, who were astonished at her constant cheerfulness, "I laugh to see the people passing and repassing in such a hurry, little thinking that by wearing out their shoes they are helping to make my pot boil."

JosÉ was beloved by all his little comrades on account of his gentle and obliging disposition; but he was more especially the friend of Philip, the youngest of Dame Robert's children. Somewhat older than JosÉ, Philip protected him in their quarrels, gave him the best of everything, and became seriously angry whenever any one called him the little Savoyard, this appellation appearing to him insulting, without his very well knowing why. However, as the children grew older, Philip had no longer any need of exerting his influence for the protection of JosÉ. The intelligence of the latter had developed so much, and rendered him so far superior to his young friends, that he assumed over them that kind of ascendancy which the grossest minds cannot refuse to superior intellect, when it does not interfere with their own self-respect.

JosÉ had just attained his eighth year; he was small for his age, but strong and active. Dame Robert had neither the means nor the capacity to bestow upon him any education beyond some notions of religion, rather limited, it is true, but still sufficient for his age. The whole moral code of this worthy woman was contained in these four sentences, which she was incessantly repeating to her children, and which they always beheld her put in practice:—

"Be thankful to God for the bread he gives you.

"Never tell a lie, even to gain your bread.

"Earn your bread honestly, otherwise it will profit you nothing.

"When you are grown up, return to your father and mother the bread they have given to you."

It may be seen, that if Dame Robert was not possessed of much eloquence, the principles which guided her conduct were just and solid, and that their correct application was sufficient to direct her children in the narrow path they were destined to tread.

"Now, my boy!" she said, one Sunday morning, taking JosÉ upon her knees, "we have something besides sport to think about to-day; you are now eight years old, and you may, in your turn, begin to assist me as I have assisted you. There are no idlers with Dame Robert. My eldest boys have begun their apprenticeship; Philip goes of my errands; and of you I intend to make a little shoe-black, who will bring home every night the pence he has earned in the day. See! here is the little box I have bought for you."

JosÉ was enchanted at these words. How delightful to be able, at his age, to earn money, to be useful to his kind mother; for the tenderness of his little heart made him already feel this joy. It must also be owned, that the seductive idea of being almost his own master, and of being able to go through a few streets when executing commissions, delighted him beyond measure, and made him eagerly accept Dame Robert's plan; and he immediately ran to admire his little shoe-cleaning apparatus. Nothing had been forgotten; the box, two hard brushes, two soft brushes, a little knife, some blacking, some spirit for the tops of the boots, a supply of rags, and a vessel to contain water; these articles comprised the whole of JosÉ's new possessions. They were looked at, touched, and turned about, not only by himself, but by the other children also; while JosÉ, impatient to make use of them at once, wanted to clean all the dirty shoes in the house, and Dame Robert decided, if he succeeded in this his first attempt, that he should the next day be established sole master of his brushes, on the grand Place du MusÉe. JosÉ, full of zeal, immediately set to work, aided by the advice of his brothers and sisters. The first pair turned out badly: JosÉ cut the strings; at the second attempt he gave his hand a great scratch, but this only proved that his knife was good, so he did not cry. Finally, he succeeded very well with the third pair, better with the next, and still better with the succeeding one; so that, when he came to Philip's shoes, which he intentionally reserved till the last, the young novice executed what the apprentices term their masterpiece, and it was therefore decided that he might exercise his talents in public.

It was with difficulty that JosÉ closed his eyes that night, and when he did sleep he beheld in his dreams more than one passer-by stop before him to require the exercise of his skill. As I have already said, Dame Robert lived in the Rue Saint-HonorÉ, near the corner of the Rue Froidmanteau; and, although but a short time has elapsed since the period at which little JosÉ commenced his labours, this part of Paris then bore no resemblance to what it is at the present day. The wide and handsome street leading from the Carrousel to the Place du MusÉe did not then exist, and the Place du MusÉe itself terminated in a rapid descent at the end of the Rue Froidmanteau, while this narrow, low, and always dirty street was almost the only thoroughfare leading to the Louvre in this direction. Nevertheless it was the one usually taken by the artists who were attracted either by business or pleasure to the Palace of the Louvre, in which at that time, as now, the exhibition of pictures was held, and in which, moreover, were situated the free academy for drawing, the rooms for the exhibition of prize pictures, both of which have been removed elsewhere, as well as the studios of a great number of painters then situated in the immense wing which extends from the Pont-des-Arts to the Pont-Royal. Dame Robert, in her tender solicitude for JosÉ, and wishing also to justify her reputation for prudence, had carefully examined all the localities I have mentioned; the inevitable mud which every foot-passenger must necessarily collect in crossing the Rue Froidmanteau, first suggested to her the idea of the useful establishment, of which JosÉ was to be the founder, and having with joy discovered that no rival in this department had yet thought of taking advantage of so favourable a site, she hastened, as we have already seen, to inform her adopted son of his new destination.

On the Monday morning, therefore, JosÉ commenced his new career. The whole of the little family was awake at an early hour, anxious to accompany and install JosÉ in the situation indicated by Dame Robert, who herself carried the neat little box, while each of the children took possession of one of the utensils. JosÉ alone, as the hero of the day, carried nothing; he marched proudly at the head of the merry troop, and never did conqueror take possession of a kingdom with greater satisfaction than was experienced by the little Savoyard, when he established his apparatus in a hollow, some feet in depth, faced by two enormous posts, between which JosÉ appeared as in a fortress. Dame Robert, after having strongly cautioned him not to leave his post, and not to eat up at once his provisions for the day, which she had given to him in a little basket, at length made up her mind to leave him, and went away, accompanied by the other children, though not without often looking back. Having reached the end of the Place du MusÉe, she once more turned round, and saw, with infinite satisfaction, that JosÉ was already engaged in cleaning some boots, which a lazy servant had brought to him, in order to save himself the trouble of doing them. With a contented heart, the good woman then redoubled her speed, and returned home to resume her ordinary occupations; but the image of JosÉ frequently presented itself to her imagination, and interrupted her labours. The day seemed to her very long, and she had to exercise her self-denial, in order to resist the temptation she felt to go and take a distant peep at him, to ascertain how he was getting on; but not to give her more credit than she deserved, it must be told that she turned away her eyes when, at lunch-time, Philip, stealing by the side of the houses, bent his steps towards the Place du MusÉe. When he returned empty-handed, and with a smiling countenance, the kind soul became quite easy, and resumed her needle with more activity than ever.

At the close of this day, so memorable to the little family, the moment JosÉ was perceived in the distance, dragging along his new possessions, all the children ran to his assistance; JosÉ, throwing himself into the arms of Dame Robert, commenced a confused recital of his wonderful adventures; then, suddenly interrupting himself, he drew from his pocket and presented to her, with inexpressible pride, twelve sous, carefully tied up in a bit of rag. This was the result of his day's labour, and JosÉ, encouraged by this first attempt, and having almost completely overcome the timidity natural to his age, like all children who are compelled by necessity to work while very young, he devoted himself with so much assiduity and intelligence to his new calling, that he soon became the most skilful, as well as the smartest little shoeblack in the whole neighbourhood. As he grew older, his earnings increased; he sometimes went of errands, called hackney coaches, &c., &c., while his gentle disposition and pleasing manners gained for him the esteem of all who lived in the neighbourhood of his ambulatory establishment. Besides, JosÉ was industrious and docile, and not given to mischief, neither was he greedy, as is sometimes the case with children even better brought up than he could have been, and his good conduct was all the more remarkable from his being entirely his own master during the whole of the day, while fate, as if for the very purpose of trying him, had placed objects of temptation in almost every street through which he had to pass on his way backward and forward. One of these objects was an attractive gingerbread shop, another, a troop of little urchins, who endeavoured to entice every child that passed by to join in their follies. It really required strength of mind, and even what at JosÉ's age may be termed virtue, to withstand these terrible rocks, but he was always triumphant, and if he did sometimes cast a longing look towards the somersets and tricks of these little vagabonds, or upon the delicious piles of Madame Legris' crisp gingerbread, his daily treasure was always faithfully carried home to Dame Robert, and never had the mud-soiled pedestrian to complain of having to wait a single minute for the services of the useful shoeblack.

As our reputation commences with ourselves, and is almost always dependent on our own will, JosÉ, who was truly anxious to do what was right, had already obtained for himself a very flattering one, considering his age; and we will now relate the good fortune which this reputation was the means of procuring for him at the expiration of a year.

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.

Those who are curious to know whether JosÉ justified the hopes inspired by his childhood, may have their curiosity gratified by a perusal of the Second Part of his history.

SEQUEL
TO
THE HISTORY OF POOR JOSÉ.

How tranquil and pleasant is the life of the artist! He possesses an advantage which is denied even to the fortunate of this world,—an occupation always affording amusement and variety, together with an almost total indifference to everything which does not bear directly upon painting. The artist sees that all is quiet in the town in which he lives; this is enough for him: scarcely does he know the names of the ministers in office, and he is the last to learn what is going on around. Occupied the whole day with his art, his studio is his universe; and at night, in the midst of a re-union of friends, artists like himself, he still dwells upon his favourite idea, which is never absent from his mind, while he gains instruction, or is inspired with increased ardour by the conversation of his colleagues or rivals. These re-unions are gay, and abound in wit, as well as in mischief. Not a few of those caricatures which attract the loungers of the Boulevards and the Rue du Coq, have been sketched by a skilful hand during these moments of recreation. A few amiable women, authors, distinguished musicians, and poets, make a part of these seductive meetings: each one amuses himself according to his fancy; and if the mirth is sometimes a little noisy, and the wit a little too free, wit and mirth are at least always to be found in them.

But if the artist is happy, the student is even more so. The former, being no longer at an age in which he can advance much, is keenly alive to his own deficiencies, and, if it must be owned, often looks with a jealous eye on the success of his brother artists; while to the other, on the contrary the horizon of his hopes is unbounded, and emulation but a healthy stimulant, which does not degenerate into envy. The student tries to excel his companions, but he loves them all; he encourages the less skilful, frankly admires those who are superior to himself, and, while pursuing his laborious occupations, seldom fails to lay the foundation of one of those honourable and lasting friendships which embellish the remainder of his life. Little favoured by fortune, as a general rule, these young men endure privations with cheerfulness, or rather their simple habits prevent them from feeling them as such. The whole of their time and powers, being constantly directed towards the one object in view, there is no space left for the minor passions, which so often disturb the mind of youth. The pleasures of the toilet are unknown to him who spends his days in the studio, and public amusements are too expensive to be thought of more than once or twice a year.

Francisco and JosÉ, re-united as we have already said in the studio of a celebrated painter, led a life in every way consonant to their tastes; but JosÉ especially felt the happiness of a condition, to which he had never thought it possible to attain. He was no longer the hapless child, rescued from the street by the benevolence of a kind-hearted woman, but a fine young man, the honour and hope of Monsieur G——'s studio, and, what was still better, a good young man, always simple and modest, almost ashamed of being distinguished, and redoubling his attentions towards his first protectors, in proportion as his success rendered them less necessary to him. The excellent Gabri devoted a portion of the sum which had been destined for his instruction to the hire of a room in the house in which Dame Robert lived, where JosÉ could work without much inconvenience. He rose very early, and commenced the labours of the day by making pictures of everything that presented itself to his imagination, or copied drawings lent to him by his master. After a hasty breakfast, he repaired to the studio, worked until five o'clock, when, accompanied by Francisco, and conversing together on their projects and hopes, he quietly returned home. M. Enguehard often invited him to dinner, and took great pleasure in extending his knowledge in such a manner as might be useful to him. Thanks to the kind instruction of Madame Enguehard, and to his own natural abilities, he soon learned to read and write; while M. Enguehard especially endeavoured to make him acquainted with history and fable,—acquirements indispensable to a painter, who, in fact, ought not, if it were possible, to remain in ignorance of any branch of knowledge. Everything can and ought to tend to his advancement in art: travel, reading, science, the habits of different classes of society, solitude, happiness, and misery, all are useful and profitable to him who seeks to represent, with the utmost possible truth, the acts and passions of man.

Francisco and JosÉ had not yet reached what might be called the moral portion of their studies; but JosÉ could form some idea of it, and began to make, beforehand, his provisions for the future. During the winter evenings, the two friends used to draw by lamplight, from seven till ten, according to the custom of almost all the students. Each pay a trifling sum monthly for the hire of the room, the models, and the lights. The students of the various academies assemble together, and their masters often take pleasure in passing an hour with them, and aiding them with their counsel.

It may, perhaps, be thought that such constant occupation must be very fatiguing, but there are so many attractions, and so much novelty, in the study of art, that weariness is seldom felt, especially in the full vigour of youth; and those who have experienced it, can say whether a week in the life of a man of the world does not leave behind it more lassitude, more weariness, and more void, than one such as I have just described. Besides, all is not labour in these pursuits: they rest, they chat; ideas are exchanged and corrected; the rich are generous towards the poor, and never refuse to share with them their experience. The character even is improved in these studious reunions—images in miniature of the great world into which they will have, at a later period, to be thrown; it is no longer the rod and the rule of college, but it is still the salutary influence of companionship; it is emulation, and a something of the honours of renown, without that alloy which so often spoils it for man. But woe to the sullen and morose! woe to those who cherish absurd or bad propensities! for justice is speedily rendered either by bitter sarcasm or by force. There, as elsewhere, the most distinguished take the lead, and it can easily be understood that studies, whose aim in general is to trace the good and the beautiful, may tend to elevate the mind, and strengthen every generous sentiment of the heart.

JosÉ enjoyed, with intense delight, the idea of being something of himself, of seeing before him the almost certain prospect of an honourable subsistence, acquired by a great talent. He may one day, perhaps, be rich; the name of Berr may one day be uttered with respect, and his pictures placed with care in the cabinets of the most fastidious lovers of art; but I may confidently assert, in advance, that nothing will be so dear to him, that nothing will efface from his memory the remembrance of the time, when, on the Monday, accompanied by Francisco, each went to purchase his sheet of tinted paper, or when, before retiring to rest, once more turning his canvass to take another look at the morning's work, he ventured to hope for all that he might then possess.

Profoundly impressed with the obligations which he was under to Dame Robert and to Gabri, he made it a law to himself never to lose a single day during the whole four years of his pupilage. Always the first at the studio, he never left before the time of the lessons, as is sometimes done by those idlers who, having gossiped or wasted in play the whole of the morning, hide themselves at the arrival of the master, who supposes them absent. Still, JosÉ was not always in an equally favourable disposition; the games and boyish tricks of his companions possessed some attraction for him; but he rarely yielded to the temptation, and did all he could to prevent his too volatile friend Francisco from doing so. "What matters," said the latter, "losing a few hours? We have time enough!" and Francisco wasted his time without scruple. Nevertheless, his natural ability, and a few weeks' steadiness, always kept him pretty nearly in the second rank among his companions.

At the expiration of a year, JosÉ began to paint sufficiently well from nature to attempt some portraits; and he eagerly availed himself of this means of being less burdensome to his friend Gabri. At his express desire, Dame Robert persuaded one of her relations to have her face drawn in colours; at the same time assuring her, that her boy was well skilled in his business. JosÉ would certainly have been sadly distressed could he have heard her thus torture the language of art; but, happily, he was not present, and the good woman, with two or three phrases of this kind, persuaded her cousin, who merely stipulated that she should be painted with two eyes, and with her lace cap and coral ear-rings. This portrait was to be finished for her husband's birthday. JosÉ therefore left the studio a little earlier every day; and, as the likeness was very striking, and had but little shade, while the eyes looked full at the spectator, and the coral ear-rings seemed as if they could be taken in the fingers, the work was universally applauded. The young painter received innumerable compliments, twelve francs, and several commissions, which, although paid for below their value, so much increased his little store, that he had the satisfaction of being able, at the end of a year, to reimburse Gabri for the hire of his room, and Dame Robert for the trifling expense of his board. The greater his advancement, the more profitable did his talents become; and he at length followed the example of many other students of slender means, who, having the good sense not to be ashamed of employing their talents in sign-painting, adorn the shops of Paris with what might almost be called handsome pictures.

All Monsieur G——'s instructions were attentively listened to by JosÉ, who sometimes even wrote down the most remarkable passages before he went to bed. One phrase especially struck him as being the true definition of an artist. "Three things," said this clever master to his pupils, "are requisite for him who devotes his life to the fine arts,—genius to conceive, taste to select, and talent to execute." These conditions are equally applicable to the musician and to the poet; but who can flatter himself with being possessed at once of all these three qualifications? JosÉ dare not cherish such a hope; he dare not believe that he had genius; but taste and talent might be acquired, he thought; and, as our sage little friend was still but just emerged from childhood, he wrote in large letters, upon his table and upon his easel, the words which thus became to him a fundamental law of painting.

The excellent Gabri experienced the most heartfelt joy at the success of his protÉgÉ; he frequently visited him when at work in his room, and, for fear of disturbing him, would remain in perfect silence behind his chair, and then, after embracing him, he would go down to listen to Dame Robert's chat. As we have already observed, Gabri was no talker; their intercourse, therefore, was rather a monologue than a dialogue; but he was never weary of listening, so long as JosÉ was the theme; but when Dame Robert went on to any other subject, "Good evening, neighbour," he would say; "Madame Barbe is expecting me, and you know she is not one to make light of things."

One morning, at the class, Monsieur G—— said to his pupils, "Gentlemen, you will to-morrow have a new companion. I recommend him to your kindness. Not too many experiments or jokes, if you please. He is very young, and, doubtless, but little experienced in your ways; be, therefore, good boys. He is sent to me by the city of Angers. Berr, my friend, you will place him by you; and I beg that you, Enguehard, will not show off the Parisian too much." Francisco smiled, without replying; but Monsieur G——'s speech produced the ordinary effect, and which he very well knew himself. The desire of tormenting the new comer immediately seized all these young madcaps, and Francisco in particular. "Oh!" said he, "a pupil from the provinces! how odd that we have had none before. And they think I shall not amuse myself with this young Raphael from Angers! Stuff! our master very well knows the value of his recommendations in this line." And Francisco, encouraged by the laughter of his auditors, began to make a grotesque sketch upon the wall which he assured them was an exact portrait of the Angevin.

"Angevin! Yes, that must be his name," said another young rogue, the usual companion of Francisco's follies; "you know how that exasperates them."

"Oh! as to that," replied Francisco, "we have all our nicknames: am I not the Madcap, and Berr the Phoenix? But listen! I'll tell you what we must do;" and hereupon these two giddy brains began whispering in a corner. JosÉ hazarded a few words in favour of the provincial; but he was only laughed at, and was at last obliged to end by joining in their mirth, though he determined, nevertheless, to exert his influence to the utmost at the proper time, in order to save the new pupil from too much annoyance.

Many of the provincial towns had then, and still have, academies of painting, destined for the artistic education of children in humble circumstances; and the pupil who displayed the greatest amount of talent was sent to Paris, to continue his studies under a better master than could generally be obtained in a small town, the expenses of those studies being defrayed by the establishment which elected him. The youth, from whom Francisco and his mischievous companions expected so much diversion, had been chosen by the professors of the Academy of Angers as the most promising of its pupils. This, however, was not saying much; and it did not unfrequently happen, that those who occupied the first rank in the Departmental Schools, were, on entering those of Paris, immediately placed in the lowest; still, however, fortunate that the principles inculcated by their professors were not those of the time of Jouvenet and Boucher. The young student had, unhappily, been directed by an old master—an admirer of that age of absurdity and bad taste. He made his pupils copy figures in red chalk, portraits in pastel, and showed them with pride his prize picture—for he, too, had been to Rome. But we may judge of the merits of his rivals, and of the advantage he derived from his journey, when we learn that this picture, regarded by him thirty years afterwards as his best production, represented Cleobis and Biton; and that the Grecian characters wore Roman armour, and draperies of gauze and silk. To crown his misfortune, the poor candidate, small, ill-made, and more than plainly attired, not so much in conformity with the fashions of his province as with the length of his purse, presented an appearance not altogether unlike the caricature sketched by Francisco upon the wall; and it may, therefore, be easily imagined, that these young satirists did not lose so favourable an opportunity of exercising their humour.

Scarcely had the young man entered, than he was received with noisy acclamations; and two of the pupils, eagerly pressing forward to receive him, overwhelmed him with ironical and outrÉ compliments.

"Sir!" they exclaimed, "your reputation has preceded you; the admiration of your native city was insufficient for such distinguished merit. You are about to receive the homage of Paris, while you have ours already...."

"The name of the Angevin is already celebrated," added another; "and it will be handed down to posterity like that of Josepin."

"But, gentlemen," said the unfortunate victim,—speaking as if all the A's and E's had circumflex accents over them, according to the agreeable custom of his province,—"Gentlemen, I am not called the Angevin. My father's, as well as my own name, is Valentin l GrimÂudiÈre."[3]

This name, and especially the tone in which it was pronounced, a kind of sing-song, difficult of imitation to those unacquainted with the fair province of Anjou, excited fresh bursts of laughter; and Francisco again taking the word, "You must be aware, Sir," he said, gravely, and at the same time endeavouring to imitate the accent of the stranger, "that the great painters are rarely known by their true names. Thus we speak of Dominichino and Guercino, instead of Dominico Zampieri, and Barbieri da Cento. Assuredly then it is not surprising that you should be called the Angevin."

"But, gentlemen," replied the simple youth, "you are indeed too good; I do not deserve...."

"You deserve our most profound respect, illustrious companion," interrupted Francisco. "Gentlemen, I present to you the glory of the Angevin Academy, the hero of Pasticcio,[4] the conqueror of Stipling, and the favourite of the Rococos.[5] And to you, noble Angevin, I present my especial friends, Landort, Galvaudeur (the Disturber), La Picoterie (the Torment), Rubens the Younger, and myself, Le Braque (the Madcap), your very humble servant. Now, my worthy friend, you know us perfectly, so away with ceremony; take your place, my Gringalet, and let us see what you can do. At the first rest, you shall be made to read, to write, and to sing, and, after the model, you shall pay your welcome."

The unfortunate Angevin, bewildered by this torrent of bad jokes, dared neither reply nor resist. He had arrived early, in the hope of finding his future companions less numerous; but his precaution had proved a failure. Francisco, and the merry participators in his follies, had divined his intention, and their diligence surpassed his own. The more sober pupils had not yet arrived; and JosÉ, detained by a portrait which he had to finish that morning, did not arrive until late, so that the innocent victim remained unprotected in the midst of his persecutors. Although he had announced himself as having painted, Monsieur G—— made him commence by drawing, in order to judge of his power.

"Sit there," said Francisco, pointing to an empty seat between two of his companions; "the call has been made, but that is the place of honour, the best for the light, and the one always chosen by the first on the master's list;" and he pushed the poor lad towards the place which his mischief had destined for him.

As studios in repute are usually well attended, and as space is not always in proportion to the number of the pupils, they are often much inconvenienced, and press round the model in three or four rows of different elevations. Those of the first row are seated upon low wooden benches; those of the second upon chairs; others again upon high stools; while, behind these, upon still higher stools, or standing, come those who paint, with scarcely room for themselves and their light easels. The place pointed out by Francisco to the unfortunate competitor, was upon one of the little benches, so that above him were seated two pupils who amused themselves by resting their drawing-boards upon his head, and obliged him to hold it bent down, in a position by no means convenient, especially for looking at the model, which was placed upon a table two or three feet high. Besides, the disagreeable person above him, pretending to be obliged to touch and retouch his work again and again, crumbled up large pieces of bread, which he afterwards shook over the work of the patient Angevin. More than one bullet of bread was aimed at his nose, too, and by such well-practised hands, that their occupation seemed in no way interrupted. Conversation, however, flowed on as usual, while the elder students, busied with their work, thought no more of the stranger. He, poor fellow, tormented, crushed, with heavy drops of perspiration standing on his brow, and not daring to utter a syllable, smudged his paper at random, while tears rolled down his cheeks when he thought of the opinion Monsieur G—— would form of his talents. Summoning up his courage, however, he at length ventured to address his right-hand neighbour, and said gently, "Would you be so kind as to lend me your penknife, Sir?" No reply. "Sir;" he resumed in a somewhat louder tone, and gently touching him, "if you have a penknife...." The young man looked at him with astonishment, and pointing to his ear, gave him to understand that he was deaf. The Angevin sighed, not wishing to speak louder, for fear of again becoming an object of ridicule, and turning towards his left-hand neighbour, he again said, "Oblige me with a penknife, Sir, if you please." The student raised his head, and replied gravely, "Non intelligo, domine; non sum Gallus." "But, Sir, it is a penknife I want," continued the Angevin, at the same time making a movement with his fingers, as if cutting a pencil. His mischievous companion pretended not to understand him, and affecting to believe that he was making game of him, he pretended to be angry, and gave him so rude a push that he almost fell from his by no means steady seat. His portfolio escaped from his hold, and all the drawings and papers contained in it flew into the middle of the room. The Angevin, in despair, crept as softly as possible to pick them up, but his persecutors were not yet weary of the sport. "Get away from the model! Silence!" exclaimed those of the last row, who were disturbed by this commotion. "To the hunt! dog! hunt!" cried the others. At length the poor boy succeeded in returning to his place; but he found himself so much pressed, and so ill at ease, his companions having designedly drawn closer together, that, urged to extremes, his anger was on the point of triumphing over his timidity, when the door opened, and JosÉ appeared.

"Ah! Phoenix, Phoenix!" exclaimed the young students. "Good morning, my brave Phoenix," said Francisco; "you are late for a Monday morning, and will get no place for painting."—"I shall not paint this week," replied JosÉ, advancing towards the fire-place; then looking round him he said, "Who will give me his place, and I will give him my study?"—"I! I!" exclaimed several voices.

"Come, then!" said JosÉ, who had immediately observed the uncomfortable position of the Angevin, "it shall be you, Maurice;" and he pointed to the pupil seated beside the stranger, who had pretended to be deaf. "Bravo!" exclaimed Maurice, rising, "I shall have your study. Besides, I am not very industriously disposed. I shall do nothing this week. I'll be a gentleman at large!"

JosÉ took his place, and by a glance caused the drawing-boards which crushed his unfortunate protÉgÉ to be removed: then, as if he had forgotten to bring paper with him, he asked him for a sheet. The Angevin hastened to comply with the request, and JosÉ having kindly addressed some questions to him, he began to feel a little more at his ease. At the hour of recreation, these mischief-loving urchins again met to decide whether some grand joke could not be played off upon their victim; but JosÉ, stepping into the midst of the group, exclaimed, "No! no! gentlemen, enough of this; let us leave the poor fellow in peace; he is not a Paris boy, and I demand an exception in his favour. I was far more of a foreigner among you than he is, yet have I found in you most excellent comrades."

JosÉ was so much beloved, and possessed so much influence over his companions, that their sport had no longer any interest for them the moment he disapproved of it; so the Angevin was abandoned to his young protector. The nickname alone adhered to him, and it was not long before they discovered in him so much kindness and good-nature, that they soon ceased to have any desire of tormenting him. He obtained the good opinion of all his fellow-students; but JosÉ was his friend, and to serve him he would have gone through fire and water.

Solon has, I think, said: "No praise before death;" and he said wisely, for one moment of forgetfulness might tarnish even the most irreproachable life. Who can boast of being infallible, especially in youth? JosÉ, the prudent JosÉ, learned this to his cost; for, unhappily, these reflections apply to him. It was his first fault; but it was a serious one, as we shall show.

Occasionally, during the summer, JosÉ's companions formed themselves into little parties, and spent the day in the country in an inexpensive manner; for they had both good legs and a good appetite, and required only simple fare. They went into the environs of Paris, and returned home in the evening, after spending a pleasant day. But JosÉ, though keenly alive to the pleasure of these parties, often refused to join them, as they occasioned a loss of time which to him was very precious. However, the fÊte of Saint Cloud was approaching, and Francisco proposed going to see the fountains play. This proposition was eagerly acceded to, and JosÉ felt a strong desire to accompany them. He had never seen the fountains play, and this sight possesses powerful attractions to a Parisian, and especially to a young man like JosÉ, who was ignorant of almost everything foreign to his studies. It was, therefore, decided that they should form a party of twelve, dine at Saint Cloud, and share the expenses between them. JosÉ communicated his project to Dame Robert, and this excellent woman loved him too tenderly to oppose what appeared likely to afford him so much pleasure; nevertheless, at the moment of his departure, she followed him to the door, recommending him not to lose his purse in the crowd, and not get into any quarrel with the boothkeepers at the fair. JosÉ smiled at her fears, and hastened to rejoin his friends, who were to meet him at the Tuileries.

The young people merrily pursued their way, already amused with the procession of carriages, horses, carts, and pedestrians, like themselves, all taking the same direction. On arriving at Saint Cloud, they commenced with a simple breakfast, the greater part of their little treasure being reserved for their evening meal. They then took a survey of the booths, admired the cascades, listened to the bands, marvelled at the conjurors, and even laughed at Punch's buffoonery, as the numerous spectators of this fÊte are annually accustomed to do at the same season of the year. They several times fell in with a troop of young men, pupils of a different master, and their rivals in glory and talent. These two studios were jealous and inimical, as well from party spirit as from a sentiment of attachment to their masters; and this animosity had been manifested in more than one encounter of class against class, for there existed between them no individual aversion. On this occasion, they looked at each other with an expression of irony.

"Oh, oh!" cried JosÉ's companions, "here are the Princes of Babocheux and Flou-flou."[6]

"Yes, gentlemen," replied the others, "ready to admire your CroÛtes aux Épinards."[7]

Each made a grimace; but they separated without saying anything more.

Returned to the inn, after having wandered about for a considerable time, JosÉ and his companions were prepared to enjoy a repast, dainty to them, from their simple habits; and they contemplated it with a degree of satisfaction, which would have made many young people, spoiled either by fortune or by their parents, shrug their shoulders with contempt. Their table was laid in what was called the garden, a small enclosure surrounded by walls, and covered with a trellis work, ornamented with honey-suckle and vine. This spot was capable of containing five or six tables, separated by partitions, also of trellis work, and though very warm, still there was a little more air there than in the house; besides the circumstances of the guests permitted them no choice, and our young students were therefore very well satisfied at being so comfortably located.

As may be imagined, there was no lack of conversation; this turned at first upon their good cheer, which they had time enough to enjoy, as the waiters were so much occupied, that they allowed full half an hour to intervene between each course.

"Well! Angevin, my friend," said Francisco,—for JosÉ's protection had caused him to be received into the party,—"what do you think of this Marinade?[8] something better than your usual fare, hey!"

"I should think so," replied the Angevin, holding out his plate for the third or fourth time. "Plague take the stew, I shan't touch it to-morrow."

"What!" cried the young folks, laughing; "what do you mean by the stew?"

"Oh! nothing, nothing," replied the Angevin, already regretting his indiscretion; but his companions insisting, and JosÉ joining in their request, he told them, laughingly, that, finding it impossible to live in Paris in any other than the most economical manner, he had ended, after trying various plans, by purchasing a large stew-pan and an earthen stove. He filled it once a week with turnips, potatoes, and a few slices of bacon, which he boiled altogether, and this ragout, which was hot only for the first time, served him for dinner during the whole week. He was so much accustomed to call it his stew, that the word had inadvertently escaped him in the presence of his companions.

"My poor fellow!" said JosÉ, holding out his hand to him. "Poor Angevin!" repeated the others; and, so far from laughing, a momentary silence pervaded the whole party.

"Gentlemen," said Francisco, who blushed at the remembrance of the murmurs which often escaped him on account of what he called his father's unnecessary economy; "I am going to propose a toast: to the success of our worthy comrade! May he gain the prize, even though I should myself have to be left behind him."

The young friends rose, and eagerly touched their glasses, while the Angevin, deeply moved, repeated, in a tone of emotion, "Oh! Berr, Berr, it is to you that I owe all this!"

Their conversation then turned upon painting, and upon the hopes entertained by Francisco and JosÉ, who flattered themselves with being this year permitted to compete for the prize, not, however, with the presumptuous hope of obtaining it, for they were both very young, especially JosÉ; but the mere fact of being admitted to the competition counted for much, and they might perhaps deserve honourable mention. Francisco had, moreover, an additional motive for desiring, as soon as possible, to distinguish himself. Glory was not the only passion which agitated his breast; for some time past he had grieved at being without fortune or reputation, which prevented him from aspiring to an alliance which would have crowned his fondest wishes. But this prospect was so distant and so uncertain that he had never spoken of it, even to JosÉ, except once, and then very vaguely.

Whilst, then, they were conversing upon art, with an enthusiasm worthy of the subject, they were interrupted by a loud noise, which proceeded from a room on the first-floor, immediately above the spot where they were dining. As the window was open, it was easy to overhear what passed, and, by a natural feeling of curiosity, the young guests checked their conversation, in order to listen to their joyous neighbours.

"By the powers!" cried one, "here's a splendid charge[9] it ought to be hung up in Barbe's shop; the veriest rapin[10] would recognise it!"

"Yes," said another, "it is his very self, with his vagabond air! Ah! ah! my gentlemen of the green and yellow school! you fancy you are going to carry off the next prizes from us, do you? We shall see, my lads! we shall see!"

Our young friends looked at each other with indignation, and softly approached the window, in order to hear more, for they recognised their antagonists, who doubtless little imagined they were so near.

"For my part," said one of the rival students, "I fear neither Rivol nor Enguehard, nor even the famous Berr, about whom they make such a fuss; he is ready enough, and up to the tricks of the art, and that's all. Enguehard is an idle dog, who does no good, while Rivol is too well off ever to be anything more than an amateur and a dauber. So down with the Purists, and long life to the Colourists!"

"Long life to the Colourists!" shouted his companions, and they added many other jests so bitter and so personal, that JosÉ and his friends, already animated by a few glasses of wine, to which they were unaccustomed, could no longer restrain their indignation, and commenced the attack by throwing into the room plates, knives, and anything else which happened to come in their way. The enemy hastened to the window, and recognising their adversaries, uttered shouts of laughter, which completely exasperated the others. A decanter, thrown by JosÉ, struck the forehead of one of the Colourists, who in their turn became furious, and began to make a descent, by means of the trellis-work placed beneath the window, for the purpose of crushing their antagonists. A battle then ensued, amidst bitter insults. Fragments of broken chairs flew about in all directions, the women at the neighbouring tables screamed, the children cried, and the men rushed forward to separate the combatants, without being in the least able to understand the invectives with which they overwhelmed each other, under the names of Purists and Colourists. The landlord of the inn, attracted by the noise, ran towards the scene of action, followed by his waiters, and they succeeded, without much difficulty, in calming those who were only soldiers—for they fought solely for the honour of their corps. But the chiefs did not so readily listen to reason; Enguehard was stretched upon the ground, his arms pinioned by the two stout hands of a Colourist, and JosÉ, absolutely out of his senses, was stifling, with the weight of his knee, the young man who had spoken of him with so much contempt, and who had just been conquered by his impetuosity.

These four madmen would listen to nothing, and were at length obliged to be separated by main force; but JosÉ, while still struggling, slipped over some pieces of the broken plates, and gave himself so violent a twist that he was unable to rise, and was obliged to remain seated on the ground, suffering excruciating pain.

It being proved by the testimony of eye-witnesses, that the young people in the garden had commenced this memorable battle, by throwing plates into the room, and that the Colourists had only broken the trellis-work in descending, the landlord contented himself with a slight sum as indemnification, and allowed them to depart; but JosÉ and his friends had done considerable damage, and had been the first to commence the disturbance; they had only sufficient money to defray the expenses of their dinner, and the innkeeper declared that he would be paid, and that he should send for the police. Francisco increased the man's anger, by the rage into which he put himself; the poor Angevin employed prayers and tears, to soften the innkeeper; while JosÉ, ashamed, and in despair, maintained a gloomy silence, abandoning himself to the most melancholy reflections, when his name, pronounced by a severe and well-known voice, made him utter a cry, and hide his face in his hands.

The voice was that of the good and vigilant Gabri, who had been induced by his active friendship for JosÉ to follow him to the fÊte, and to watch over the inexperience which he very justly attributed to him. He had watched the young men from a distance, and determined not to make his appearance, except in case of accident; finally, having been able to find accommodation only at the farther end of the place occupied by them at the inn, he had been the last to arrive at the scene of action.

"Sir," he said coldly to the innkeeper, "estimate the damage done, and make out your account; I will discharge the debts of these madcaps, who are of my acquaintance, and we will afterwards settle matters together."

The host, who was no cheat, and who was, moreover, too happy to be paid without any further trouble, made out a tolerably reasonable account, which Gabri immediately discharged. Then telling Francisco and the Angevin to support JosÉ, who was unable to walk, he placed him in a carriage, and drove off with him, after having saluted the troop of students, who were still too much bewildered by what had taken place even to think of thanking him.

Gabri had placed JosÉ in the cabriolet in as convenient a position as possible for his injured leg, while he went upon the box himself, and during the whole of their way home never once addressed a single word to the poor sufferer, nor even turned his head towards him, notwithstanding the complaints which the constant jolting of the rude vehicle drew from the culprit. The well-paid coachman took them as far as Dame Robert's door. "There, there he is," said Gabri to the terrified woman, "and now good evening; I will see him again when he has recovered, and grown wiser;" and he turned away without listening to Dame Robert's exclamations, who in her trouble did not perceive that JosÉ had almost fainted. He was conveyed to bed, his dislocated ankle set, and his numerous bruises attended to: but the wine which he had taken, and the violent excitement which had followed an excess altogether new to him, brought on a somewhat severe illness, which lasted for several days; and even when it was subdued he was obliged to remain six weeks with his foot resting upon a chair, without being able to move. We may judge of his grief and remorse, which many circumstances contributed to augment. Gabri allowed his heart to be touched by his repentance, and consented to see him; but he was sad, and Dame Robert uneasy; and JosÉ was one day deeply grieved to see her, while thinking herself unobserved, lock up a bottle of brandy which was standing near him.

Soon afterwards he had to endure a far more bitter trial. The time for competing for the prizes arrived; Francisco was admitted for the sketches; while JosÉ, who was only just beginning to walk, and whose studies had, moreover, been too much interrupted, was obliged to give up all hope for that year, and endure the mortification of finding himself left behind by companions considerably less advanced than himself. Francisco, though sincerely grieved at his friend's misfortune, felt his ardour increased from not having to compete with so formidable a rival. He made astonishing efforts to sustain the honour of the school, but he only obtained the second prize, which did not send its possessor to Rome: the first was carried off by that same chief of the Colourists who had spoken of JosÉ with so much contempt: and thus the poor boy remained with the bitter remembrance of two months passed in suffering, of a triumph lost, and of a folly committed.

However, as it is not considered that a young man must necessarily be dishonoured because he has once been intoxicated and beaten, JosÉ, after having passed some time in a state of complete apathy, at length took courage. He perceived, that instead of abandoning himself to vain regrets he ought to endeavour to repair his fault, while that intimate consciousness of power, in which even the most modest cannot help believing, told him, that he could repair everything. It usually happens after a first fault, that a young man either turns from the evil path, or pursues it for the rest of his life. JosÉ had too much superiority of nature not to profit by experience. Redoubling, therefore, both his assiduity and zeal, he made such marked progress during the course of the current year, that Monsieur G. decided that he also might compete as well as Francisco and Rivol.

The place in which the young people then worked at their prize pictures, was situated at the top of that same Pavilion du MusÉe, of which we have already spoken. It was divided into several little compartments, or cells, called boxes, in each of which a student was shut up, so as to allow him no communication with his companions, and still less with his master or with strangers. The subject for the picture was chosen by the professors of painting of the Institution; the programme was distributed to the candidates, and when their sketches were made, and received, they were all to commence their pictures at the same time, according to those sketches, without changing anything. Each morning, on arriving, they were rigidly searched, in order to make sure that they brought with them no drawings or engravings which could in any manner aid them. Thus left to their own resources, they passed two months in this manner, en loge, as it is termed; and these pictures, the figures in which were one third the size of life, were publicly exhibited during three days before the prizes were awarded. But although it was strictly forbidden for the pupils to see their respective works, in order, doubtless, to prevent the weak from being aided by the strong, or to take care that a happy idea should remain the sole property of its author—notwithstanding, I say, all these precautions, the students of that time, less sensible perhaps than those of the present day, found means of visiting each other without being perceived. The windows of their cells all looked in the same direction, upon a small, dirty, and almost unfrequented square, in which is now situated one of the gates leading to the quay. These temporary abodes were, as we have already said, situated in the roof, all the windows opening upon wide leads, unprotected by railings. These madcaps, at the imminent risk of breaking their necks by falling from an immense height, glided by this way from one cell to another. The more scrupulous closed their windows, so as to prevent intrusion; but two days before the expiration of the time allowed for the pictures, each student permitted, without difficulty, his work to be inspected by his companions, and the little Areopagus, with remarkable sagacity and impartiality, precisely anticipated the decrees of the greater one, and awarded the first and second prize in such a manner, that there is scarcely an example of their decisions having turned out erroneous.

JosÉ, who took the first rank in the sketches, now prepared to submit to this trial, so severe, but, at the same time, so important to him. Monsieur G. had recommended the reputation of his studio to his pupils. Three times had they competed, without any of them obtaining the first prize. It was necessary to repair this disgrace, and be avenged for the late success of the Colourists. In addition to two formidable rivals in the opposition school, JosÉ had to contend against his two friends, Francisco and Rivol, who, besides having already competed for the prize, had, also, the advantage of age—JosÉ was then only fifteen years and a half old; but these considerations by no means discouraged him; and fired by that enthusiastic and true love of art which overcomes all difficulties, he commenced, though not without emotion, the required picture, the subject of which was the "Death of Hippolytus."

Dame Robert, as may be imagined, was greatly excited, and her mind wholly absorbed by her darling boy's undertaking. Certainly, had she been consulted, JosÉ would have had nothing to fear; but neither the good woman's indulgence, nor Gabri's affection, could avail poor JosÉ anything—they must wait. "If," said Dame Robert, "I could only see what they are doing, I should soon find out whether JosÉ had not left them behind; but they are cloistered up like so many monks, and when the boy comes home at night, he does not even so much as give us a hint as to how things are going on."

Gabri, equally anxious, but more discreet than Dame Robert, did not seek to elicit anything from JosÉ; but he watched him carefully, sighed when the poor boy appeared depressed, and rubbed his hands with glee when he seemed happy.

The good-natured Angevin, who was not yet sufficiently advanced to compete for the prize, was deeply interested in the success of his friend; but he felt little uneasiness, for he knew that JosÉ was very far superior to his rivals. He too would have liked to have seen his work, but he was obliged to content himself with walking beneath the windows of the young captives, and see their heads pop out and in occasionally, like so many marionettes, with now and then a mahl-stick accompanying them, and serving to complete the resemblance.

Six weeks had passed away, the pictures were advancing, and as, with the exception of JosÉ and his companions, the competitors were of different schools, he had seen only the work of his friends; and his own was so far superior to theirs, that a hope which he scarcely dared own, even to himself, made his heart beat high within his breast. He had nothing to fear from the other students, as they were all inferior to Francisco and Rivol. He was standing, therefore, contemplating with a kind of secret pleasure the group of terrified horses which he had just completed, when Francisco tapped at his window, and immediately afterwards leaping into the room, told him, with a countenance expressive of the utmost concern, that he was in despair, and should never succeed with his figure of Aricia, which was in the programme distributed for the picture. Subjects are usually selected with but few female figures, these being more difficult for the young artists, as they cannot have models; and the unfortunate Aricia, which almost all of them had reserved till the last, had completely wrecked both the courage and talent of Francisco. He looked with admiration on JosÉ's Aricia, for he had been entirely successful, at least in his sketch. JosÉ, anxious to soothe the agitation of his friend, accompanied him across the leads to his cell, in order to examine the figure which so much distressed him: he found it awkward, ill-drawn, and in bad taste, and could not conceal from his friend that he thought it detestable. This, of course, served only to increase Francisco's despair. He dashed his palette to the ground, stamped upon it, broke his brushes, and ended by crying with rage. JosÉ embraced and tried to soothe him, and at length, by dint of kindness and encouragement, succeeded in persuading him that all was not yet lost, and that he could still repaint the figure during the week that yet remained to them. He pointed out to him what he had to avoid, and raised his courage by dwelling on the merits of the rest of the picture. At last, after having spent two hours in this manner, he left him, if not entirely consoled, at least sufficiently recovered to resume his work.

The following days Francisco repainted his unfortunate figure, but still without success; he effaced it, recommenced, again effaced it, and at last succeeded in completing it; but in a manner so far inferior to the other parts of the composition, that it formed a blemish which destroyed the general effect. Such was the opinion of his companions, when, according to the rule established among them, they visited each other to judge of the respective merits of their productions. They had still four days to remain at work, and the pictures were not completely finished, but it was easy to judge which would obtain the prize; and JosÉ was regarded as the conqueror, provided he completed the figure of Aricia as he had done the group of Hippolytus and his horses. Next to his, came Francisco's picture, then Rivol's, the others were very far from the mark, and need, therefore, cause them no anxiety.

Francisco, deprived of the last ray of hope by the decision of his companions, as well as by that of his own judgment, shut himself up in his cell, and would not allow JosÉ to enter, though he entreated for admittance. He gave no reply to these friendly solicitations, and the intensity of his annoyance had rendered him so unjust, that to avoid seeing JosÉ, who lay crouched upon the narrow ledge of the window, he took a large piece of linen, which served him for a blind, and fastened it before the window. JosÉ listened to him for some time pacing up and down and groaning with despair; but seeing that his perseverance was useless and importunate he retired, deeply grieved at his distress.

He passed a sleepless night, and the next morning no sooner had he reached his own cell than he ran to Francisco's; but he was not there, his picture still rested upon the easel, and for a moment JosÉ thought of retouching the figure of Aricia. But this would have been a palpable fraud, and his honour revolted from its commission. Francisco, moreover, would never have consented to triumph by such disgraceful means. JosÉ, therefore, laid down the brush which he had taken up, and with a heavy heart returned to his own cell.

Whilst painting the figure which had proved so fatal to poor Francisco, he vainly sought some method of serving him, and his tender friendship made him almost desire that his Aricia might not be better than his companion's. He worked with so little care, that, had any one else been in the case, his wishes would have been accomplished; but, as it often happens with artists, the very thing that he took the least pains with turned out the best; and, to make use of a familiar expression, this figure came so happily, that even an experienced painter would not have been ashamed to own it.

With a mind absorbed in reflection, JosÉ painted on almost without heeding what he did, and it was not until he rose up, when all was completed, that he perceived that the last touches seemed to have been given by the hand of a master, rather than by that of a pupil. His first feeling was one of intense joy, but it was soon overshadowed by the thought of Francisco. He felt that the prize was his, but soon one of those noble inspirations which elevated minds alone receive in their happiest moments, presented itself to his imagination, and showed him that the safety of his friend depended solely upon him.

By one of the old rules of the professors, the pupil who presented his picture with a figure completely erased, or otherwise defaced, was on this account excluded from the competition; his picture was exhibited with the others, but was not taken into account in the awarding of the prizes, even though it were a masterpiece in comparison with the rest. This rule, which it was found rarely necessary to apply, was unknown to most of the students. JosÉ had become informed of it during his residence at M. Barbe's, but he was quite sure that Francisco knew nothing about it. His friend's picture was the best, after his own; and by having the courage to destroy the figure of Aricia, which alone would have ensured the prize to a work of less merit, Francisco would remain without a rival.

At first JosÉ seized upon this idea with all the warmth of generous affection, but, on raising his eyes to his work, he began to think the sacrifice beyond his strength. Pacing his cell with agitation, he thought of the honour of being crowned at the age of sixteen, of the pleasure of going to Italy, and of the advantage his studies would derive from the journey.

"But," said he, turning his back upon his picture, "Francisco needs it almost as much as myself; the means of his parents are almost exhausted by the efforts they have made for his education; his mother's health requires a warmer climate; if Francisco gains the prize his family will follow him,..." and JosÉ again approached his easel.

"Francisco is nearly twenty," he continued; "he has already obtained a second prize, and thus cannot have it again; his age will soon exclude him from the competition, while I have still two or three years before me; moreover, he spoke to me of a vague hope which he entertained of a happy marriage, to which his want of fortune might one day be the only obstacle. If a brilliant success were to overcome this obstacle? If the happiness of his future life depended upon what I am about to do?..." JosÉ trembled, opened a box, took out his palette knife, and approached the head of the charming Aricia—but again he paused.

"If I were only to injure it a little," he thought, "alas! it would still be better than my poor friend's!"... and he cast a look of approbation upon the canvas. But soon a thought presented itself, which dispelled his irresolution, and strengthened his wavering heroism. He recalled that painful moment when, despised, falsely accused, on the point of being driven from the house by Barbe, and without hope of justification, Francisco did not fear to own the truth, and to re-establish, at his own cost, the honour of the poor little Savoyard. The honourable career which was now before him commenced from that moment; all that he was, all that he hoped to be, sprang, in the first instance, from Francisco's generous confession.... JosÉ no longer hesitated, he resumed his knife, and with a firm hand so erased the figure that nothing but the sketch remained—and thus nobly repaid the debt of friendship formerly contracted to his young companion.

Satisfied with himself, and more calm after this trial of strength—an act of high virtue in a young man of sixteen—JosÉ gave the last touches to the other parts of his picture, and so cleverly managed the erasure, that nothing more could be inferred from it, than one of those movements of irritability by no means uncommon among students. He kept his secret until the day previous to the one on which the pictures were to be removed. He then called upon Francisco at his father's, and told him that his figure of Aricia was unfinished, and indeed in a great measure effaced, and that there was not time to repaint it. Francisco, recovered from his unjust displeasure, grieved for and blamed his friend; but, being ignorant of the rule of exclusion, he assured him that the prize would still be his, and JosÉ did not attempt to remove his impression.

But JosÉ had still severe trials to encounter: he foresaw the grief of Dame Robert, Gabri's disappointment, and finally a whole year's work before he could again reach the desired goal, which he had so nearly attained; but the most painful moment was past, and he awaited that in which Francisco should be triumphant, as the only compensation worthy of him.

The exhibition of pictures was held, as usual, in a small room on the basement floor, now appropriated to another use. The artistic crowd arrived, and was constantly renewed during three entire days; and the young students, mingling with it, heard alike the censure and praise unreservedly bestowed, and often even with the knowledge that the young authors of the works were present. The universal opinion was in favour of the pictures of JosÉ and Francisco; but the spectators were constantly heard to exclaim, "A figure erased! what a pity! what madness!"

At length, on the fourth day, after a private conference, the professors summoned before them the trembling candidates, and JosÉ's sacrifice did not prove unavailing. He heard Francisco Enguehard proclaimed for the first prize, Rivol for the second, and he scarcely heard the honourable mention made of himself, notwithstanding the fatal figure which had excluded him from the competition.

Francisco, surprised and bewildered at such unexpected happiness, scarcely knew what he was about; he did not hear the felicitations of his companions, but allowed himself to be led away by JosÉ, who made him run until he reached his father's house.

"He has gained the prize!" cried JosÉ, at the foot of the stairs, "Francisco has gained the prize!" and seeing his friend in the arms of his parents, who wept while they blessed him, this noble youth was rewarded by a pleasure more intense and more elevated than any which his own triumph could have afforded him.

Leaving Francisco in the arms of his happy mother, who was never weary of looking at him, and who even thought him handsomer, now that the laurel decked his brow, JosÉ bent his steps homeward, and perceived in the distance Dame Robert and Gabri anxiously awaiting his return.

"He walks rapidly," said Dame Robert; "so much the better, he bears us good news."—"He looks happy," continued Gabri: "Oh, if he has gained the prize! at sixteen, too!" and already a smile of joy shone upon the countenance of this excellent man.

"Congratulate me, my friends," cried JosÉ, as he approached them; "I am happy in my failure; Francisco has gained the prize!"

"Francisco!" exclaimed Dame Robert, letting fall her arms, already extended to embrace him; "and you? Have you gained nothing? On my word there must be some abominable trickery in the affair."

"No," replied JosÉ smiling, "but be comforted, my good mother, I am neither depressed nor discouraged, and next year you shall see the laurels on my brow."

"But," said Gabri, in a tone of vexation, "who obtained the second prize?"

"Rivol," replied JosÉ; "and I might perhaps have had it if ..." and he looked timidly at Gabri, "if I had not erased my figure of Aricia."

"Yes!" exclaimed Gabri, as if talking to himself, "I was sure of it, I suspected as much at the exhibition.... JosÉ, JosÉ, embrace me, my son. Gracious Heaven! this is the first day I have passed without regretting the loss of my own noble boys."

Gabri was too familiar with artistic matters not to have divined the sacrifice which JosÉ's friendship had induced him to make, and his heart was capable of appreciating and rejoicing in it; but Dame Robert, who understood nothing of the matter, save that her boy was rejected, gave free vent to her dissatisfaction.

"Indeed, M. Gabri, it is very fine to pet him up after such a failure as that. Who would have thought it? It was well worth while to be shut up for two months without uttering a syllable, to let others walk off with the prize; still your picture was very fine, my boy, though, to tell you the truth, your female figure was too pale. I told you, however, not to spare your colours, but young people will always have their own way."

JosÉ smiled, and hastened to tranquillize the good woman. So far as concerned himself he succeeded without much difficulty; but she was for some time out of humour with Gabri, whose triumphant air annoyed her, because she did not understand it. Nor did she gain any information on the subject, for Gabri was discreet, and would not divulge JosÉ's secret; he did not even seek an explanation from the lad himself; but his marks of friendship were increased, and he more frequently repeated, "My son JosÉ!"

At the annual meeting of the Academy, when the students publicly receive the laurel crown, awarded for the merits of their works, JosÉ appeared more pleased than Francisco. He was restless, busying himself with his friend's toilet, &c.; and, placed in a corner of the room during the ceremony, the spectators might have imagined, from his excitement and his looks, when Francisco Enguehard was proclaimed, that he was the happy father of the young laureate, were it not that his almost childish features precluded the supposition.

A month after this great epoch for the two friends, they were separated; Francisco and his parents took the route to Italy; and JosÉ having returned to his studies, pursued them with ardour and contentment in thinking of the happiness which he had been the means of securing to three persons.

The year passed, and when again about to compete for the prize, JosÉ wrote to his friend, and told him to expect him in three months from that date. He felt confidence in himself, and had acquired so much power, that notwithstanding the merits of seven competitors, all older than himself, his picture was unanimously declared the best. It was even so superior to anything usually seen at these competitions, that it was thought proper to allow the exhibition to remain open several days longer than usual, in order to gratify the crowd of amateurs who flocked to see it. Dame Robert fully enjoyed JosÉ's triumph, and the almost equal pleasure of relating its history to her neighbours. Gabri rubbed his hands, and bent his head while listening to the praises of the young artist, and the honest Barbe exultingly boasted of having supplied for this famous picture the finest and the best canvas in his shop.

JosÉ, overwhelmed with honours, and full of joy, set out on his way to Rome, where he found Francisco, who had still four years remaining of the five granted by the government. Monsieur and Madame Enguehard received JosÉ as a second son; he lived in the same house with them, and enjoyed, in all its fulness, the delights of a life devoted to friendship and the fine arts, in that beautiful land where these arts so naturally flourish.

Many years have passed away since these events took place. Monsieur and Madame Barbe, grown rich and old, have retired, and given up their business to the excellent Gabri. A new generation of artists and students frequents the shop, and pursues pretty nearly the same habits as that which preceded it. But it is not in the same spot; the theatre of JosÉ's first exploits no longer exists. The two large posts may still, indeed, be seen; but Barbe's house has been taken down, and in its place monkeys and learned birds, attract by their various tricks, numerous spectators. Francisco Enguehard, steady and talented, is married, as he wished, to the only daughter of a rich antiquary, who desired to have for a son-in-law, a man of genius. Dame Robert has given up her business to her eldest son, and rests her fingers, if not her tongue, for she is never weary of relating to any one who will listen to her, how that JosÉ was a poor orphan, how she took him and put him to sleep on her counter, &c., &c. Philip, a worthy fellow, and a passable tailor, is married and settled, as he says, in his wife's native province, that is to say in the Marais. The poor Angevin, still a bad painter, notwithstanding all his efforts and perseverance, has returned to Angers. There, at least, he has talent, and directs in his turn the same school which sent him to Paris. He who was called poor JosÉ is now one of our most distinguished artists. He possesses a respectable fortune, acquired by his talents, and, what is far more valuable to him, the universal esteem granted to the most noble character and the most irreproachable conduct. Faithful alike to delicacy and friendship, Francisco never knew the sacrifice which obtained for him his crown. JosÉ's laurels are suspended in his magnificent studio, beside his first palette, and his shoeblack's knife. He watches over Gabri, as a son over a father; listens to the long stories of the good old Dame Robert, without the least sign of impatience; and, finally, though young, handsome, and sought after, he always wears clothes made by Philip, and boasting of little elegance, with shoes of the same kind from Dame Robert's shop: and this is not the least remarkable trait in his history.

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