Read Ebook: Jean Baptiste: A Story of French Canada by Le Rossignol James Edward Curtis Dora Illustrator

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Ebook has 1205 lines and 82602 words, and 25 pages

At the word "tonsure" the face of Jean Baptiste became suddenly pale. He had not yet thought of this aspect of his future career. The honour, the glory of it had appealed to him, but not the sacrifice, the renunciation. Unconsciously he passed his fingers through his luxuriant black hair.

"The tonsure, Pamphile, the tonsure? Truly, I cannot say. I do not know. I will ask Monsieur Paradis."

"You do not know, Monsieur the savant, Monseigneur the bishop, great fool, sacred sheep's head? Then I will tell you, simpleton. One wears the tonsure for the same reason that one has no beard, that one wears skirts, because one is no longer a man. Ah, Jean Baptiste Giroux, Girouette, you don't like that, eh? Ah, young priest! Ah, little saint! Ah, bah! I despise you. I spit upon you. There!"

Pamphile in his rage struck Jean in the face with his open hand.

In this Pamphile made a sad mistake, for Jean, usually of a peaceful disposition, was a lion when aroused. Forgetting his new dignity and all his holy aspirations, he flung himself upon his tormentor, seized him by the throat with both hands and shook him as a dog might shake a rat. Pamphile, in the fear of death, cried for mercy, and Jean, his anger giving way to contempt, threw him to the ground and walked away.

Presently, coming to himself, Jean ran back to Pamphile, helped him to rise, and said in a voice of great distress:

"Pamphile, I am a villain. I am sorry for this. You will forgive me, will you not, Pamphile, my friend?"

It was thus that Jean Baptiste made his first enemy.

At the same time Jean discovered that he had another enemy--himself. For some days he had smothered his misgivings under his pious desires, his respect for the priest, his love for his mother, the pride of his own heart and the force of will that attaches itself to a decision; but now these misgivings arose with renewed power, and would not be put down. To be a priest, to wear the soutane, the tonsure, to be separated from the world, to hear confessions, to stand between God and man--all this seemed to him terrible and impossible. Better than his fellows he might be, but he would like to prove his superiority man to man, as in the struggle with Pamphile, and not by wearing a holy garment and an affectation of sanctity. And the vocation--what was it after all? Because he had a strong desire to do some good in the world, must he separate himself from his fellows? Was there no other way?

But when Jean thought of Father Paradis, all his doubts seemed to dissolve like the mist of the valley in the light and warmth of the rising sun. There was a good man, a noble character. What piety, what amiability, what wisdom! How useful to the parish, to the world, a priest like this! To be like Father Paradis--that were an ambition worthy of any man, sufficient, surely, for a mere boy like himself.

Thus was Jean Baptiste, like thistle-down, blown about by every breeze, now rising, now falling, now suspended in mid-air, able neither to rise to the heavens nor to sink to rest on solid ground. It was a most unsatisfactory condition, and Jean found no peace for his soul. The decision that finally came to him is a curious example of the trifles that frequently determine the course of human life.

One afternoon, on his way home from school, where Mademoiselle Angers had been giving him advanced lessons in preparation for college, Jean was crossing the bridge of logs over the mountain torrent called La Branche, when he saw a little girl seated on the end of one of the logs, her feet dangling over the stream.

"Holloa, there, little red-head!" he called. "You will fall in the river if you don't take care. It is dangerous."

The "little red-head" made no reply, but gazed on the stream as though fascinated by the swirling water.

"Gabrielle, my little one," persisted Jean, "come away from that place. Are you not afraid of being drowned?"

"You know, Jean, you know very well that my hair is not red," said Gabrielle, looking up with a smile of mischief.

"Maybe not, Gabrielle. It is yellow, if you like, though it changes often. But come away at once. You frighten me."

"And I am not a 'little one' either, for I shall be ten years old to-morrow."

"True, Gabrielle, you are a young lady, almost. But do not fall in there, for the love of God."

"You are very strong and brave, Jean," said the little imp.

"It may be so, Gabrielle, but what of that?"

"You would save me if I fell in the river, would you not?"

"Gabrielle, you would not be so silly."

"Oh, I don't know. See me! One--two--three--away!" And Gabrielle was on the point of jumping into the stream, when Jean caught her, just in time.

"Little fool!" he said, pulling her up somewhat roughly and placing her in safety in the middle of the bridge. "Don't you know that it is dangerous, that place? See the deep pool and the big stones down there. It is not at all certain that I could have saved you. Never do that again. There now, don't cry. Run home to your mother, little one."

"You are rough, Jean, and cruel. Great beast! Leave me alone. I hate you." And Gabrielle turned away, weeping and sobbing.

"But, Gabrielle, what is the matter? What have I done? Poor little Gabrielle, do not cry. I am indeed a beast. Do not cry, Gabrielle."

But Gabrielle continued to cry, while Jean tried to console her in his stupid way. Finally she said, between her sobs:

"You are going away, Jean. You are going to college. You will be a priest."

"Well, and why not, little one?"

"I, I don't like that at all. Do not be a priest, Jean. Please."

"But, Gabrielle, it is a great vocation, that. See! I shall be cur? of this parish, perhaps, and I will give you a lovely cross of gold, a pretty prayer-book and a rosary with beads of real pearls. And I will pardon all your sins, Gabrielle, if you have any, and not make you do any penance. Won't that be fine?"

"No, no, Jean. I don't want any of those things. What good would they be to me if you were not here?" Whereupon Gabrielle began to cry, more than ever, and would not stop until Jean promised, half in jest, half in earnest, that he would never be a priest, never in his life.

Then Gabrielle's tears disappeared, and she began to dance, and danced all the way home and into the house, chanting in joyful tones:

"Jean will not be a priest! Jean will not be a priest! He will stay with us! He will stay with us! Always! Always!"

"What is that you say, Gabrielle, mignonne?" said Madame Tach?.

"Jean told me so, truly. He doesn't want to be a priest, any more. And I, I am so happy."

"Be still, Gabrielle," said her mother, seriously. "That is too foolish. Jean will be a priest, of course, a bishop, too, perhaps, some day. Who can tell?"

Meanwhile Jean went along the road toward his home with brisker step and lighter heart than he had known for some days. He saw the blue sky, the fleecy clouds, the dancing water of the river, the greens and purples of the mountains, the greens and reds and yellows of the fields. He heard the sound of the rapids, the song of the birds, the rustling of the leaves, the joyous chirping of many insects. He took long breaths of the pure mountain air, faintly scented with the fragrance of sweet-brier and wild strawberry. The very dust of the road seemed pleasant underfoot. The joy of living was his once more, and as he went he sang a song of life and youth, gay and free in the spring-time of the world.

"Dans les prisons de Nantes, Dans les prisons de Nantes, Ya-t-un prisonnier, gai faluron, falurette, Ya-t-un prisonnier, gai, faluron, dond?.

"Que personn' ne va voir, Que personn' ne va voir, Que la fill' du ge?lier, gai, faluron, falurette, Que la fill' du ge?lier, gai, faluron, dond?.

"Elle lui porte ? boire, Elle lui porte ? boire, A boire et ? manger, gai, faluron, falurette, A boire et ? manger, gai, faluron, dond?."

"You sing, Jean," said his mother as she met him at the door. "You have good news to tell me, have you not? I like to hear you sing, Jean, my lad."

"Ah, my mother, I fear that it will not be good news to you, yet I know that you will understand. My mother, I cannot be a priest, never, never. I have wished to please you in this, but it is impossible. Do not be unhappy about it. You will not, will you, dear?"

"Jean, my son," said the good mother, "I am disappointed, of course, but that is nothing. If you do not wish it I do not wish it. It is your happiness that I desire, Jean, my lad, nothing else."

The same evening Jean made his explanations to Father Paradis. The cur? was sorry, for he had entertained ambitions for the lad, whom he regarded as a son, but he did not try to make him change his mind. On the contrary, he said:

"Jean, an ecclesiastical career without a vocation is terrible. I have known several of those unhappy priests, and I would not have you among the number. It is well that you have discovered the mistake before it is too late."

As Jean walked homeward in the evening twilight his joyous voice awoke the echoes of the hills as he sang over and over that fine old song about the prisoner of Nantes and the gaoler's daughter who set him free. That gentle maiden, was her name by any chance Gabrielle? Possibly, but it is not given in the song. Besides, the Gabrielle of whom he was thinking was only a little girl of ten years, and Jean himself was a mere boy as yet. But with the passing of the years what changes might one not see? Be that as it might, one had to sing the song as it was written:

"Que Dieu beniss' les filles, Qui Dieu beniss' les filles, Surtout cell' du ge?lier, gai, faluron, falurette, Surtout cell' du ge?lier, gai, faluron, dond?.

"Si je retourne ? Nantes, Si je retourne ? Nantes, Oui, je l'?pouserai! gai, faluron, falurette, Oui, je l'?pouserai! gai, faluron, dond?."

"What a big fool, that Jean Baptiste Giroux!" said M?re Tabeau, gossip and wise woman, as she sat on the doorstep of her cabin at the crossroads, smoking a black pipe and talking volubly to all the passers-by.

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