Friends and Neighbors Part 21

He was seated on a wooden stool, beside a hearth on which there was no fire, his eyes covered with a white bandage. On the floor an infant of three months was sleeping; a little girl of four years old was playing in the ashes; one, still older, was shivering opposite to her; and, in front of the fireplace, seated on the disordered bed, her arms hanging down, was the wife. What was left to be imagined in this spectacle was more than met the eye. One felt that for several hours, perhaps, no word had been spoken in this room. The wife was doing nothing, and seemed to have no care to do anything. They were not merely unfortunate, they seemed like condemned persons. At the sound of my footsteps they arose, but without speaking.

"'You are the blind man of the quarry?"

"'Yes, sir.'

"'I have come to see you.'

"'Thank you, sir.'

"'You met with a sad misfortune there.'

"'Yes, sir.'

"His voice was cold, short, without any emotion. He expected nothing from any one. I p.r.o.nounced the words 'a.s.sistance,' 'public compa.s.sion.'

"'a.s.sistance!' cried his wife, suddenly, with a tone of despair; 'they ought to give it to us; they must help us; we have done nothing to bring upon us this misfortune; they will not let my children die with hunger.'

"She asked for nothing--begged for nothing. She claimed help. This imperative beggary touched me more than the common lamentations of poverty, for it was the voice of despair; and I felt in my purse for some pieces of silver.

"The man then, who had till now been silent, said, with a hollow tone,

"'Your children must die, since I can no longer see.'

"There is a strange power in the human voice. My money fell back into my purse. I was ashamed of the precarious a.s.sistance. I felt that here was a call for something more than mere almsgiving--the charity of a day. I soon formed my resolution."

"But what could you do?" said the young man, to Mr. Desgranges.

"What could I do?" replied he, with animation. "Fifteen days after, James was saved. A year after, he gained his own living, and might be heard singing at his work."

"Saved! working! singing! but how?"

"How! by very natural means. But wait, I think I hear him. I will make him tell you his simple story. It will touch you more from his lips. It will embarra.s.s me less, and his cordial and ardent face will complete the work."

In fact, the noise of some one taking off his wooden shoes was heard at the door, and then a little tap.

"Come in, James;" and he entered with his wife,

"I have brought Juliana, my dear Mr. Desgranges, the poor woman--she must see you sometimes, must she not?"

"You did right, James. Sit down."

He came forward, pushing his stick before him, that he might not knock against a chair. He found one, and seated himself. He was young, small, vigorous, with black hair, a high and open forehead, a singularly expansive face for a blind man, and, as Rabelais says, a magnificent smile of thirty-two teeth. His wife remained standing behind him.

"James," said Mr. Desgranges to him, "here is one of my good friends, who is very desirous to see you."

"He is a good man, then, since he is your friend."

"Yes. Talk with him; I am going to see my geraniums. But do not be sad, you know I forbid you that."

"No, no, my dear friend, no!"

This tender and simple appellation seemed to charm the young man; and after the departure of his friend, approaching the blind man, he said,

"You are very fond of Mr. Desgranges?"

"Fond of him!" cried the blind man, with impetuosity; "he saved me from ruin, sir. It was all over with me; the thought of my children consumed me; I was dying because I could not see. He saved me."

"With a.s.sistance--with money?"

"Money! what is money? Everybody can give that. Yes, he clothed us, he fed us, he obtained a subscription of five hundred francs (about one hundred dollars) for me; but all this was as nothing; he did more--he cured my heart!"

"But how?"

"By his kind words, sir. Yes, he, a person of so much consequence in the world, he came every day into my poor house, he sat on my poor stool, he talked with me an hour, two hours, till I became quiet and easy."

"What did he say to you?"

"I do not know; I am but a foolish fellow, and he must tell you all he said to me; but they were things I had never heard before. He spoke to me of the good G.o.d better than a minister; and he brought sleep back to me."

"How was that?"

"It was two months since I had slept soundly. I would just doze, and then start up, saying,

"'James, you are blind,' and then my head would go round--round, like a madman; and this was killing me. One morning he came in, this dear friend, and said to me,

"'James, do you believe in G.o.d?'

"'Why do you ask that, Mr. Desgranges?'

"'Well, this night, when you wake, and the thought of your misfortune comes upon you, say aloud a prayer--then two--then three--and you will go to sleep.'"

"Yes," said the wife, with her calm voice, "the good G.o.d, He gives sleep."

"This is not all, sir. In my despair I would have killed myself. I said to myself, 'You are useless to your family, you are the woman of the house, and others support you.' But he was displeased--'Is it not you who support your family? If you had not been blind, would any one have given you the five hundred francs?'

"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.'

"'If you were not blind, would any one provide for your children?'

"'That is true, Mr. Desgranges.'

"'If you were not blind, would every one love you, as we love you?'

"'It is true, Mr. Desgranges, it is true.'

"'You see, James, there are misfortunes in all families. Misfortune is like rain; it must fall a little on everybody. If you were not blind, your wife would, perhaps, be sick; one of your children might have died. Instead of that, you have all the misfortune, my poor man; but they--they have none.'

"'True, true.' And I began to feel less sad. I was even happy to suffer for them. And then he added,