The Adventures of François Read online

  *I*

  _Of how Francois the foundling was cared for by the good fathers of theBenedictine Asylum for Orphans, and of what manner of lad he was._

  In the summer of the year 1777 a lad of about ten years, clad in a suitof gray, was playing in the high-walled garden of the Benedictine Asylumfor Orphans in Paris. The sun was pleasant, the birds sang overhead,the roses were many, for the month was June. A hundred lads werenoisily running about. They had the look of being well fed, decentlyclothed, and kindly cared for. An old priest walked to and fro, attimes looking up from his breviary to say a pleasant word or to checksome threatening quarrel.

  Presently he paused beside the boy who was at the moment intentlywatching a bird on a branch overhead. As the priest turned, the boy hadthrown himself on the grass and was laughing heartily.

  "What amuses thee, my son?" said the father.

  "I am laughing at the birds."

  "And why do they make thee laugh, Francois!"

  "I do not know."

  "And I," said the priest, "do not know why the birds sing, nor why thoudost laugh. Thou hast a talent that way. The good God grant theealways cause"; and with his eyes on his breviary, and his lips moving inprayer, he walked away.

  The lad fell back again on the grass, and laughed anew, as if overcomewith some jest he shared with no one but the birds overhead. This was akindly little waif brought hither from the Enfants Trouves, namelessexcept for the card pinned on the basket in which he lay when theunknown mother left him, a red-faced baby, to the charity of asylumlife.

  His constant mirthfulness was a sad cross to some of the good fathers,for neither punishment, fast, nor penance got the better of this gaiety,nor served to repress its instinctive expression. He had, too,--what israre in childhood,--quick powers of observation, and a certain joy inthe world of nature, liking to lie on his back and watch the birds atwork, or pleased to note the daily changes of flowers or the puzzlingjourneys of the ants which had their crowded homes beneath the lilacs inundisturbed corners of the garden. His nearest mother, Nature, meantthe boy to be one of those rare beings who find happiness in the use ofkeen senses and in a wakeful mind, which might have been trained toemploy its powers for the partial conquest of some of her many kingdoms.But no friendly hand was here to guide, no example present to incite orlift him. The simple diet provided for the intellect of these littleones was like the diet of their table--the same for one and for all.

  His head was high, his face long; all his features were of unusual size,the mouth and ears of disproportionate magnitude; altogether, a quaintface, not quite of to-day, a something Gothic and medieval in itsgeneral expression.

  The dull round of matins and vespers, the routine of lessons, the silentrefectory meals, went on year after year with little variation. The boyFrancois simply accepted them as did the rest; but, unlike some of hiscomrades, he found food for mirth, silent, gentle, or boisterous, whereno other saw cause for amusement.

  Once a week a sober line of gray-clad boys, with here and there awatchful priest, filed through the gay streets to mass at St. Eustacheor Notre Dame. He learned, as he grew, to value these chances, and tolook forward with eager anticipation to what they brought him. Duringthese walks the quick-minded Francois saw and heard a hundred thingswhich aroused his curiosity. The broad gardens of the Luxembourg, theyoung fellows at unrestricted play, the river and the boats, by degreesfilled him with keen desire to see more of this outer world, and to haveeasy freedom to roam at will. It was the first flutter of wings longingfor natural flight. Before they set out on these journeys, a goodfather at the great gateway said to them as they went by: "Look neitherto the right nor to the left, my children. 'T is a day of prayer.Remember!" Alas! what eyes so busy as those of Francois? "Look atthis--at that," he would cry to the lads close to him. "Be quiet,there!" said the priests' low voices; and on this Francis's droll facewould begin to express the unspoken delight he found in the outer worldof men and things. This naughty outside world kept calling him to shareits liberty. The boy liked best the choir, where his was the mostpromising voice. Here was happiness such as the use of dexterous handsor observant eyes also gave him. Religion was to him largely a matterof formal service. But in this, as in secular education, theindividuality of the creature may not be set aside without risk ofdisaster. For all alike there was the same dull round, the sameinstruction. Nevertheless, the vast influence of these repeatedservices, and of the constant catechism, he continued to feel to hislatest day.

  He was emotional and imaginative, fond of color, and sensitive to music;but the higher lessons of the church, which should control the life ofaction, were without effect on a character which was naturally one ofexceptional levity. Such a mind has small power to apply to the conductof life the mere rules laid down for its guidance, and is apt to acceptas personally useful only what comes from the lessons of experience.