From the French of le Comte Alfred de Vigny.

I.

I was brought up in the village of Montreuil, by the curÉ of the place. The happiest period of my life was that time when I was a choir-boy, with plump, rosy cheeks, a clear voice, and fair hair, wearing blouse and sabots. As I had given evidence of possessing a musical ear, the good father, who had himself been in former days a notable singer and choir-master at Notre Dame, kindly taught me my notes.

"Listen, Mathurin," he said to me one day: "you are only a peasant's son, but you know well your catechism and sol-fa, and some day, perhaps, if you are good and industrious, you may become a great musician."

This speech filled me with pleasure and pride, and I twanged more frequently and vigorously than ever upon my teacher's shrill and discordant old harp.

The favourite recreation of my leisure hours was to walk to the farther end of the park of Montreuil, and to eat my dinner there with the workmen who were building, in the avenue of Versailles, a little music pavilion, by order of the Queen. It was a charming spot.

I used to take with me upon these excursions a little girl of my own age, named Pierrette, who, because she had such a pretty voice, was also taught to sing by the curÉ. In her hand she would carry a large slice of bread-and-butter, with which her mother, who was the curÉ's housekeeper, had provided her. Together we watched with great interest the growth of the pretty little house.

Pierrette and I were at that time about thirteen years of age. She was already so beautiful that strangers would pause by the way to pay her compliments, and I have seen grand ladies descend from their carriages in order to caress her. She loved me as a brother.

From our infancy we had walked always hand-in-hand, and this grew into such a settled habit that in all her life I cannot remember once giving her my arm. Our visits to our favourite spot won for us the friendship of a young stone-cutter, some eight or ten years older than ourselves. He was a gentle-natured fellow, sometimes, but not often, mildly gay. While he worked, we would sit beside him upon a stone or on the ground. He had made a little song about the stones that he cut, in which he said that they were harder than the heart of Pierrette, and he played in a hundred ways upon the words Pierre, Pierrette, Pierrerie, and Pierrot, to our endless amusement and delight. For our new friend was a poet. His father had been an architect, but in some way (I know not how) had come to ruin, and it fell to Michel to retrieve the family fortune. With his rule and hammer he supported a mother and two little brothers. He worked bravely at his stones, making couplets all the time; with each large block he would begin a new poem. His full name was Michel Jean Sedaine.

II.

My parents I had never known, for they had died in my infancy, both about the same time, of the small-pox. But the curÉ had been a good father to me. At the age of sixteen I was wild and foolish, but I knew a little Latin and much about music, and was, moreover, a fairly skilful gardener. My life was a very happy one, for it was passed at the side of Pierrette.

One day, as I was engaged in lopping off the branches of one of the beeches in the park and tying them together into a small bundle, Pierrette suddenly exclaimed:—

"Oh, Mathurin! I am so frightened! Look at those fine ladies coming towards us through the alley? What can they be going to do?"

Looking in the direction she indicated, I saw two young women, who were walking at a rapid pace over the dead leaves. One, who was a trifle taller than the other, wore a gown of rose-coloured silk. She ran rather than walked, and her companion kept just a little behind. Like the poor peasant lad I was, I was seized with a kind of instinctive panic, and said to Pierrette:—

"Let us hide ourselves!"

But for that there was now no time, and my terror was redoubled when I saw the rose-coloured lady making signs to my blushing Pierrette, who remained as if rooted to the spot, grasping my hand tightly. I pulled off my cap, and stood leaning against the tree.

This lady came straight up to Pierrette, and, touching her under the chin, as if to show her to her friend, said:—

"Was I not right? Is this not the very thing for my milkmaid's costume on Thursday? What a pretty little girl it is! My child, will you give all your clothes, just as they are now, to the servants whom I will send for them? I will send you mine in exchange."

"Oh, madame!" was all that Pierrette could say.

The other young lady now came forward, and, laying her hand upon Pierrette's bare arm, encouraged her with gentle words, telling her that, this lady was one whom everybody obeyed. Then Madame Rose-colour spoke again:—

"Be sure that you alter nothing in your costume, little one," said she, shaking at the girl her dainty Malacca cane. "See! Here is a handsome fellow who will be a soldier, and to whom I will marry you."

So beautiful was she that I almost went on my knees to her. She had the appearance of a little, good fairy.

She talked fast and gaily. Bestowing a playful pat upon Pierrette's cheek, she turned and tripped away, followed by her companion. Hand-in-hand, according to our custom, we returned home, in silence, but with happy hearts.

I went straight to the curÉ, and said to him: "Monsieur le curÉ, I wish to be a soldier."

The good man was astounded.

"How is it, my dear child," said he, "that you desire to leave me? Do you no longer love me? Do you no longer love Pierrette? What have we done to you that you have grown tired of us? And is all the education I have given you to be thrown away? Answer, you naughty boy!" he commanded, with a shake of my arm.

With my eyes fixed upon my shoes, I repeated:—

"I wish to be a soldier."

Pierrette's mother, who had brought in a glassful of water to cool the curÉ's agitation, began to cry. Pierrette wept also, but she was not angry with me, for she knew well it was in order to marry her that I wished to go away.

At this moment appeared two tall, powdered lackeys and a lady's-maid, who inquired whether the little girl had got ready the costume asked for by the Queen and the Princess de Lamballe.

When these visitors had gone, and the commotion they caused had subsided, I was left alone with the curÉ, Pierrette and her mother having withdrawn in great excitement to "try on" the contents of the box which the Queen had sent in exchange for the little girl's frock and cap.

My guardian then requested me to relate to him the occurrences of the morning, which I did, somewhat more briefly than I have told them here.

"And it is for this you would leave us, my son?" said my old friend, when I had ended my recital, holding my hands in his. For a long time he pleaded earnestly with me, setting forth the numerous hardships, perils, and temptations of a soldier's life, which, said he, would unfit me for becoming the husband of such a good, pure little being as Pierrette.

To all which I replied, doggedly:—

"I wish to be a soldier."

I had my way.

III.

I enlisted into the noble corps of the Royal Auvergne. My training began, and I was promised that, if I behaved well, I should be admitted by-and-by into the first company of Grenadiers. I soon had a powdered queue falling in an imposing fashion over my white vest, but I no longer had Pierrette, or her mother, or the curÉ of Montreuil, and I made no more music.

One fine day, when I, confined to the barracks, was undergoing some absurd little punishment for having made three errors in the management of my arms, I received a visit from Michel.

"Ah, Mathurin!" he said to me, "you are well punished for having left Montreuil. You enjoy no longer the counsel and instruction of the good curÉ, and you are fast forgetting the music which you used to love so well."

"No matter," said I; "I have my wish."

"You no longer tend the fruit trees and gather the peaches of Montreuil with your Pierrette, who is as fresh and sweet as they."

"No matter," said I; "I have my wish."

"You will have to work hard for a very long time before you can become even a corporal."

"No matter," said I, again; "when I am a sergeant, I will marry Pierrette."

"Ah, Mathurin!" continued my friend; "believe me, you are unwise. You have too much ambition and pride. Would you not like someone to buy you out, so that you might return to marry Pierrette?"

"Michel! Michel!" I cried; "have you not often told me yourself, 'Each one must make his own lot'? I do not choose to marry Pierrette with the money of others, and I am making my own lot, as you see. Besides, it was the Queen who put this idea into my head, and the Queen must know best. She said: 'He will be a soldier, and I will marry you to him.' She did not say, 'He will return after having been a soldier.'"

"But suppose," said Michel, "the Queen were to provide you with the means of marrying, would you not accept her bounty?"

"No, Michel! Even if such an unlikely thing were to happen, I would not take her money."

"And if Pierrette herself earned her dot?"

"Then, Michel, I would marry her at once."

"Well!" returned he, "I will tell that to the Queen."

"Are you crazy?" I said to him, "or are you now a servant in her house?"

"Neither the one nor the other, Mathurin, although I no longer cut stone."

"What do you cut, then?" asked I.

"I cut pieces, out of paper and ink."

"Is it possible?"

"Yes, my boy; I write simple little plays, easy to be understood. Some day, perhaps, you shall see one."

IV.

Meanwhile, my faithful Pierrette did not forget me. And one day a wonderful thing happened to her. She told me all about it afterwards.

It was Easter Monday. Pierrette was sitting before the curÉ's door, working and singing, when she saw a gorgeous carriage, drawn by six horses, coming through the avenue. It rolled right up to the curÉ's house, and then stopped. Pierrette now saw that the carriage was empty. As she was gazing with all her eyes, the equerry, taking off his hat with great politeness, begged her to enter the vehicle.

Pierrette had too much good sense to make any needless fuss. She simply slipped off her sabots, put on her shoes with the silver buckles, folded her work, and, assisted by the footman's arm, stepped into the carriage as if to the manner born.

Soon she found herself at Trianon, where she was conducted through gilded apartments into the Queen's presence. With the Queen was Madame de Lamballe, seated in an embrasure of a window, before an easel.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Queen, gaily, "here she is!" And she ran up to Pierrette, and took both her hands in her own. "How pretty she is!" she went on; "what a dear little model she will be for you! Sit there, my child."

With these words, Marie Antoinette gently pushed the bewildered Pierrette into a very high chair, where she sat with her pretty feet dangling.

"Now listen to me, little one," continued the Queen. "Two gentlemen will shortly be coming here. Whether you do or do not recognise one of them is no matter, but whatever they tell you, that you must do. You will have to sing; I know that you can sing. Whenever they tell you to enter or to depart, to go or to come, you will obey them exactly. Do you understand me? All this will be for your good. This lady and I will help the gentlemen to teach you, and all that we ask in return for our pains is that, for one hour every day, you will sit for madame. You will not consider that any great hardship?"

Pierrette was so much more than satisfied with the bargain that she could have embraced the Queen in the exuberance of her gratitude.

As she was posing for Madame de Lamballe two men entered the room. One was stout, the other tall. At sight of the tall one she exclaimed: "Why! it is——" then stopped herself.

"Well, gentlemen," said Marie Antoinette, "what do you think of her? Was I not right?"

"It is Rose herself!" replied Sedaine.

"A single note, madame," said the other, M. GrÉvey, "and I shall know if she be as perfectly Monsigny's Rose as she is Sedaine's."

Then, turning to Pierrette, he said to her:—

"Sing the scale after me thus: Ut, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol."

The girl repeated his notes.

"She has a divine voice, madame!" was his verdict.

The Queen clapped her hands and jumped for joy, as she exclaimed:—

"She will gain her dot!"

V.

Of all these gay proceedings I, of course, was ignorant. Ever since Michel's visit I had felt very wretched. I had no further tidings of my friends at Montreuil, and began to think that Pierrette must have quite forgotten me. The regiment remained at Orleans three months, and I had a bad fit of home-sickness which affected my physical health.

One day, in the street, an officer of our company called me to him, and pointing to a huge play-bill, said:—

"Read that, Mathurin."

This is what I read:—

"By order.

"On Monday next will be given a special performance of 'Irene,' the new work of M. de Voltaire, to be followed by 'Rose and Colas,' an operetta by M. Sedaine and M. de Monsigny, for the benefit of Mademoiselle Colombe, of the ComÉdie Italienne, who will appear in the second piece. Her Majesty the Queen has graciously promised to be present."

"What has that to do with me, my Captain?" inquired I.

"You are a good-looking fellow," said the officer. "I will get you powdered and frizzed out a bit, and station you at the door of the Royal box."

Thus it came to pass that the night of the performance found me in the theatre, resplendent in full uniform, standing upon a blue carpet, and surrounded on all sides by flowers and festoons.

While awaiting the Queen's arrival, I overheard a conversation between M. de GrÉvey and the manager of the theatre. The latter seemed anxious concerning the qualifications of Mademoiselle Colombe, who, apparently, was quite unknown to him, while the other reassured him upon that point, and conveyed to him Her Majesty's guarantee that a sum equal to the half of the night's receipts should be paid to him for the use of his theatre. Evidently, the whole affair had been got up by the Queen.

Their dialogue was interrupted by a sudden bustle and commotion, and the Queen entered so quickly that I had barely time to present arms. With her was the other young lady whom I had seen at Montreuil.

The performance commenced at once. All the time that 'Irene' was going on, the Queen laughed and chattered, but as soon as the operetta began, she was all attention, her example, of course, being followed by everyone in her box.

Suddenly I heard a woman's voice which thrilled me to the heart, and set me trembling so that I could scarcely hold my gun. Surely there was but one voice like that in all the world!

Through the gauze curtain drawn across the tiny window of the box, I got a glimpse of the performers. It was a little lady who was singing:—

Why! this charming Rose was just like Pierrette! She had her figure, her red and blue frock, her white petticoat, her pretty simple manner, her small shoes with the silver buckles, her red and blue stockings!

"Dear me!" said I to myself, "these actresses must be clever indeed to be able to make themselves look so much like other folks! Here is this famous Mademoiselle Colombe, who, no doubt, lives in a fine house, has several men-servants, and goes about in Paris dressed like a duchess, and she is exactly like Pierrette! But my poor little girl could not sing so well, although her voice may be quite as pretty."

I was so fascinated that I could not turn my head away from the glass, and presently the door of the box struck me in the face. Someone had opened it, because Her Majesty complained of the heat. I heard her say:—

"I am perfectly satisfied. My first gentleman-in-waiting may tell Mademoiselle Colombe that she will not repent having left to me the management of this affair. Ah! it amuses me so much!"

"There is no doubt, madame," said the Princess de Lamballe, "that your good deed is a complete success. Everyone is here. See, all the good townsfolk of Orleans are enchanted with this splendid singer, and the whole court is ready to applaud her."

She gave the signal for applause, and the audience, who, according to custom, had hitherto remained silent out of respect for the Queen, gave full vent to their enthusiasm. From that moment, scarcely a word of Rose's was allowed to pass without tremendous clapping. The Queen was delighted.

At the end of the piece the ladies threw their bouquets to Rose.

"Where is the real lover?" inquired the Queen of the Duc de Lauzun, who thereupon left the box, and beckoned to my captain in the corridor.

Again the nervous trembling seized me, for I felt that something—I could not guess what—was about to happen to me.

My captain bowed respectfully, and conversed in a low tone with M. de Lauzun. Marie Antoinette was looking at me! I leaned against the wall to keep myself from falling. There were footsteps upon the staircase, and I saw Michel Sedaine, followed by GrÉvey and the podgy and pompous manager; and they were bringing Pierrette, the real Pierrette, my Pierrette, to me—my sister, my wife, my Pierrette of Montreuil!

The manager was exclaiming joyfully:—

"Here is a good night's work! Eighteen thousand francs!"

The Queen now came forward, and, taking Pierrette's hand, said in her gay, kindly manner:—

"You see, my child, there was no other way in which you could honourably earn your dot in a single hour. To-morrow I shall take you back to the curÉ of Montreuil, who will, I trust, absolve us both. He will forgive you for playing in a comedy once in your life."

Here the Queen, with a gracious bow, turned to me. To poor, bewildered, stupid me!

"I hope," said she, "that M. Mathurin will deign to accept Pierrette's fortune. I have added nothing to it; she has earned it all herself!"