III. PASSAGES FOR TRANSLATION INTO FRENCH

JUSTIN SÉGOL

I SHALL never forget Justin Ségol's first appearance at our little school. He was a dark boy, strongly built, and very much developed for his âge. A mère nothing of a moustache cast a shadow over his lip, but that shadow dazzled us. In the playground we used to divide ourselves into two camps : on the right, the sons of good families ; on the left, the sons of tradespeople, and then we used to shy cherry-stones at one another. Justin Ségol soon made up his mind ; he hurled his cherry-stones at the shopkeepers.

During school-hours he worked steadily, but fruitlessly ; he was never satisfied, and he was never disheartened. We used to work togethcr, and I was quite sorry to sce him struggling in vain with his difficulties without ever complaining. There was nothing to be got out of this Ségol. In every respect I feit lie was différent from me ; he was as thoughtful, persistent, and cautious as a grown-up man. " Well, Justin, what do you intend to be ?" — "That dépends," he rcplied, "we shall see; I do not know cxactly." — "But, suppose you were givcn your choice ? " — " Why, a lawyer," he dcclared.

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Years hâve passecl, and I hâve taken my degree. I met a chum at Toulouse who gave me news of Justin. \Ve vvere talking about the last exam. " What became of Ormières ? " — " Got through." — " And Jaï ? "'— " Ploughed in the written work." — "And Ségol ? " — " Hopelessly ploughed." — "I am not astonished.'' Ploughed in the autumn term, ploughed at Easter, ploughed in the summer term, always ploughed, poor Ségol is likely to become historical. Tired of the struggle, he décides to give up the law ; he is going to be a chemist. By some miracle he passed his written exam., and hère he is in the examinationroom waiting for his viVa. The examiners come in. " Justin Ségol ? " He stands up. " Go to the blackboard." He goes, writes, gets confused, and ends by smashingthe chalk. At last one of the examiners dismissed him with " That is enough," and the poor fellow sank helplessly into his seat.

A little later we students went off arm-in-arm to Biscaye's, the fashionable café, to celebrate our successes. We were telling one another stories. " Come now, Ségol, it's your turn ! Give us one." Instead of answering, Justin took my hand and made me feel his puise. He was in a high fever, so I took him away, and had some difficulty in getting him to bed. In bed he became delirious, — went through problems, dates in history, bits of botany, and then, by a sudden transition, he was amid scènes of his childhood with one word ever on his lips — Mataléno !

When I saw him the next day, he was not alone. An old woman in a white cap was praying at the foot of the bed. His poor mother ! Summoned by a wire, she had come in great haste to nurse her son. But how many sleepless nights were to be spent before he recovered ! When he was strong enough, he was taken away to his home at le Garric, where there was good wine, good bread,

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and as much fresh air as he wanted, There hc spcnt his time watching the reapers, there he forgot his ambitions projects, and there he had opportunities of seeing the girl he loved — Mataléno. One evening he declared he would take a wife and settle at le Garric. But his father answered with an oath, " You idiot ! That girl is not for you. I hâve not had you taught Latin and Greek for you to marry a country-girl. Now that you hâve recovered, make up your mind what you are going to be, and when you hâve decided, clear out of this, straight."

The next time I met Justin, he told me he had given up Mataléno and was paying attentions to a Mlle Bovis, the only daughter of a chemist's widow. He hoped soon to become a chemist, with a second-class diploma. One day I was passing the chemist's shop, Justin called me in. *'Sit down," he said, "I hâve almost finished." It appeared that Justin had received permission to keep a chemist's shop with the help of a certificated assistant, and now he had only his exams. to pass. "In three years," said he, " your friend Ségol will be a chemist, and he will marry Mlle Bovis." — " What does your mother think of the plan ?" I asked. " Oh, it is ail the same to her ; she loves me so much," he replied. At this point he was interrupted by a custoriier, then another, thcn two at once. Ségol rubbed his hands and said : " Things are going on splendidly ; and they will go on better still when I hâve made some repairs."

A year later I met him again. He pretended not to see me. " What is the matter with you ? What has happcned ? " — "Nothingnew," he said, " I came to grief yesterday; they ploughed me again. Besides that, Mlle Bovis and my assistant hâve been sending one another love-letters ; and as for Mataléno, she married six months ago. There is only one thing to be done now, and that is very simple. GoofJ-bye." A few hours later, Justin .Ségol was dead.

LISE

It is in the neighbourhood of the Pyrénées that they hunt for ring-doves The plan is very simple. Tame doves, acting as decoys, play about the tops of the trees, while at the foot others feed on corn and attract whole flocks into the hunter's nets. My friend Silvère is very fond of this amusement. One day he took me out hunting, and explained to me what I had to do. •' Put your gun across your shoulders," he said, " and follow me ; mount this ladder and take great care." The ladder led to a hiding-place among the branches of a tree from which we were to shoot the doves. I was amusing myself watching the other birds, when suddenly the doves appeared in sight. " Are you ready ? " said Silvère, " one, two, three, fire ! " and two doves fell to the ground dead. In my excitement I fell too. '• Gently ! " shouted Silvère, who was coming down the rungs of the ladder one by one. His advice came rather late ; I had sprained my ankle.

Silvère came to my help. The question was to get out of the forest ; once on the road, means would soon be found for conveying me to Mazeral. When we arrived, Aunt Reine was there to receive us. " Oh, you wretched créatures !" she cried, "what will become of us .^ Quick, Belotte, bring the red water ! " She was a curious old lady, always out of breath and trotting about ail the same, packing, labelling, tying and untying from morning till night. Presently, M. Lanion, the village doctor, arrived, and examined me. " Bed," said he, " absolute rest ; and apply this ointment three times a day." When he had gone, Aunt Reine burst out : " That thing a doctor ! As if red water was not enough for a sprain. I know as much about it as he does ; Belotte and I will answer for you." — "Are you in pain ? " asked Silvère in a low voice. " A little," I replied. In a few minutes I was fast asleep.

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The next day my fever had gone down, thanks to the red water of course ; it is irue, it had made my ankle swell and had irritated the sprain. "That is a proof that it is acting," said Aunt Reine. Meantime it was impossible to move. Having nothing better to do I examined my prison, a very old room with a heap of useless things hanging on the walls — disused fishing-rods, a collection of butterflies, eaten to the pin by maggots. There was also a bookcase, but the shelves were filled with theological works which did not interest me at ail. After some time, I was allowed to get up, and then I spent my days at the window. Not a soûl in the street, as a rule ; perhaps a dog begging for a bone from door to door, or a swallow up above gliding over the roofs, One day, two women in mourning crossed the Street and passed through the garden-gate opposite. The younger of them, the daughter probably, was slender and fair, and was leaning on the other's shoulder. As she raised her eyes towards my window, lier mother called to

VU

I grew quite interested in the occupants of the house opposite. If I wanted to know what Lise was doing I had only to consult the clock. At six they woke up, opened ' the shutters and the white curtains, and at nine they came down. At twelve the little family dined, and at one they half-closed the shutters during their siesta. At three o'clock it was time to go into the garden where they knitted or read ; at nightfall they went back into the house, and at nine the lights were put out and the house slept. A regular convent life ! Was it the loss of the father that had put them into this state ? I was in love with Lise ; I thought so, at any rate. I was also afraid of Aunt Reine. Suppose she discovered that I was deceiving her, and was prolonging my illness on purpose ! However, we became close friands. She used to corne and gossip with me for

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hours logether. One day she said : " It will be very dull for us when you are gone. Do you know what you ought to do, my boy ? You ought to get married at Mazeral, There are dark girls and fair girls ; you can bave your choice. Oh, if you had known our Httle neighbour, Lisfî, tvvo years ago ! Poor child, she bas lost much since then. Ruined by her father first of ail, and then "

At that moment Aunt Reine vvas called down to the kitchen, and had not time to tell me any more. After her departure I resumed my post at the window, and a little before nightfall Lise, alone this time, crossed the street and opened the garden-door. I saw her enter the avenue, and pïuck, as she felt her way, a blade of grass from the edge of a clump of shrubs. With a gesture of pain, she pressed it to her lips, and raising her eyes for the last time towards my window, she went back to the bouse. Wondering what this could mean, I walked up and down my room, forgetting ail about my sprain. I was just finishing dressing, when Silvère suddenly came in. "Give me your arm," I said, " and let us go down." My appearance downstairs caused a sensation. " It is the red water ►that bas cured him," cried Aunt Reine, and she clapped her hands like a child.

The next morning from my bedroom window I saw Lise and her mother start off as if on a long journey, and I had no chance of saying good-bye to her. Silvère, who was at my side, said : " She is much to be pitied, poor child ! And, unluckily, the case is incurable, unless the doctor performs a miracle." — "What doctor? What miracle?"! asked. " What, don't you know that Lise lost her sight two years ago ? " Lise blind ! What a blow !

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LE CLOCHER DE SAINT-PASTOUR

M. Tourtarel, the curé of Saint-Pastour, was beyond doubt a very happy man ; you could read it in his honest face. His parish was not a large one, he drcw tithcs froin ail directions, and he was invited everywhcre, and liked by ail. True, his church was not beautiful ; but in those good times our country priests had not got their heads full of archaeological ideas, and provided the Lord's house stood straight on its foundations they did not bother themselves about the rest. However, the archaeological mania was rapidly spreading through the country, demolishing old churches, and replacing them with new ones in the Gothic style. The curé of Saint-Pastour was one of the last to be attacked by the disease. The neighbouring churches had ail been restored or altered in one way or another, and one church in particular, that of Gyrtill, was always running in the curé's head. So, after due considération, M. Tourtarel resolvcd to build, not the whole édifice — that would cost too much — but the belfry. Provided the belfry just topped the crest of the hill, he would be satisfied. As for ornaments, should he hâve a wealher-cock ? Perhaps . . . yes, he was keen about a weather-cock.

The plan settled, the only thing left was to find the money. VVithout further dallying, the curé put on his Sunday cassock, and began his round of visits. First, he tried the castle, but at the mère mention of improvements, the châtelaine exclaimed : " What, touch our old church ! What a pity ! Certainly not ; I will never lend a hand to such a sacrilège ! " Then he tried the mayor. But he wanted time to think it over. A belfry was no small matter, and the parish was very poor. The curé was no more successful with his other neighbours ; they ail received him with

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opcn arms, but thcy only opened their arnis, their pockcts remained closed. Now M. Tourtarel was an obstinate man ; what he had resolved to do, he would do ; he would build the belfry with his own money, failing the money of other people. It was a hard task, but by economising, by sacrificing some of his pleasures and tastes, he thought he would succeed in the long run.

The effect of his calculations was first noticeable in his Thursday dinners. Once a month, on Thursday, he was in the habit of entertaining his brethren of the surrounding parishes. Thèse gentlemen began to notice the graduai disappearance of certain savoury dishes which once used to adorn the table. Becoming more simple from day to day, and so robbed of their charm, the Thursday dinners assumed a Lenten character. Some of the guests put it down to economy, others to avarice, and while they ail lamented the fact, Miïon, the curé's old servant, was beside herself with joy. For a long time she had regarded her master's extravagance with dissatisfaction, so now she entered gladly into his new plans without knowing the object of them. M. Tourtarel had made his calculations ; his expenditure was calculated to a centime, so much per year, so much per day. Thanks to his careful economy, he had the necessary amount a whole year before the time he had fixed for himself, and ail he had to do was to build.

But at the last moment the curé changed his mind ; he thought it better to make the spire five mètres higher. This would cost still more. So he deprived himself of his coffee, and he took no more snuff. He uprooted his rosebushes, and planted cabbages and peas. He looked after his vines himself instead of employing a gardener, and won for himself the réputation of a miser. Even Miïon began

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to revolt, when the curé ordered lier to go and sell a couple of his fowls. " Sell fowls ! " she cried, " I vvould rather leave you than pass for the servant of a miser ! " — " Miser! " he replied. " Very well, my child, pack up your things and go ; I will not keep you." But he had felt the blow ; and when, shut up in his room, his eyes rested on the image of Christ hanging on the wall, he saw the mistake he had made. Pride and avwur-proprc had been his motives, not the glory of God. He spent the money in rebuilding a poor old woman's cottage which was almost in ruins. As it stands on a hill, it looks like a continuation of the church, and from a distance, you would think you were looking at the belfry of Saint-Pastour.

L'HALIOTIDE

I was ten years old, I was wearing my first pair of trousers, and I was going for the first time to spend a day in the country at Dr. Sébal's. Dr. Sébal was a village doctor, an old friend of my father's, and a very learned man. At the présent time he was studying the habits of river eels, and he was also deeply interested in the cultivation of apples. To avoid the heat, we started at daybreak, I astride a donkey. I remember very distinctly my first impression of the doctor's house. It was crammed with curiosities, — eeltubs, rat-traps, stuffed birds, rudimentary machines, in fact, ail the disorder of an old bachelor's inventive brain. But ail thèse curiosities were soon left behind when the doctor showed us his collection of shells. I hâve certainly seen finer things since, but nothing that has left such a delightful impression on my mind. What délicate pinks ! What intense blues ! What mother-of-pearl ! It was indeed a révélation in colour ! I was particularly dazzled by a sea haliotid ; and I made up my mind I would examine it for myself, if I had the chance.

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Soon afterwards my fatber and the doctor went ont, and a little later my fingers vvere caressing the precious shell. Just at that moment my mother called to me, " Stephen ! Stephen ! " Without thinking vvhat I was doing, I thrust the shell into my pocket and ran into the garden. The haliolid was still in my pocket when we took oui* leave. At home my father soon discovered it, and asked me vvhere it came from. I got out of it by a lie, and said the doctor had given it me. Not long afterwards the doctor came to dine with us, and, as ill-luck would hâve it, the conversation turned upon shells. " By the way, doctor," said my father, " what could hâve induced you to give that superb haliotid to Stephen ? " There was a dead silence. At last he replied, " Oh yes, the haliotid ; I thought no more about it. It is a very trifling matter." Then, taking my head in his hands, he made me look at him straight in the face, and went on, " Listen, Stephen ; since I hâve given you the shell, you must promise me something, — workhard at science, my child, and think no more of colours." I burst into tears.

LA MONNAIE DU PAPE

" Fricasse ! " cried the postmaster. " Yes, Monsieur Rispal," replied the coachman. "You know that His Holiness Plus VII. is coming to-morrow .-^ Well, listen, Fricasse. I know you are a good fellow and a bold postillion. You are to drive the holy father to the stage at Pontpertuzac. Does that suit you ? " — " Suit me ? I should think so, with a tip to earn ! " — " Very well, to-morrow at twelve punctually before the door of the bishop's palace. Do you hear ? " — "Oh, be easy. l'il be there." The next morning Fricasse was sitting, clean-shaved, with the reins in his hand, and new ribbons in his hat, on the box of the pontifical barouche. A quarter-past twelve and no Pope ! At last tRe cathedral clock struck the half-hour, and the door opcned. Out came

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the Pope, and entercd the barouche. The postillion gave a crack with his whip, the Pope gave his blessing, Fricasse swore an oath, and the carriage svvept rapidly along the Street. Arrived at Pontpertuzac, Fricasse jumps down from his box, and kneels before His HoHncss, waiting for the tip. But, unluckily, the Pope passes by without giving him anything but his blessing. No tip ! Why, what is the meaning of this ? Doubtless an oversight. But no, the Pope rcapi^ears, passes him again, and gives him his blessing as he gets into the carriage. Terribly vexed, but in a joking humour ail the samc, Fricasse went home in the evening. " Well, what did the Pope give you ? " cricd his wife, " show us your tip ! " — " Patience, please," he replied, " and obey me instantly. On your knees, everybody ! " — "WTiat for?" — "On your knees, I tell you. Quick ! " And when they were ail on their knees, wife and children, he assumed a majestic air, and, throwing back his head, with solemn and kindly gesture, he bestowed on each his blessing. " Take that, my children, and put it in your pockets. It's the Pope's money ! "

HORTIBUS

With doors open, flags at the windows, and people everywhcre, the little school had quite a fcstive look about it. What was the cause of it ail ? It was the distribution of prizes and the beginning of the holidays. But up thcre in the sanatorium there was a little patient waiting for some one, not the doctor, not the matron — no, but three country-people, his father, mother, and little sister. Prcsently they arrived. " Why, what is the matter with you, Tiennet ? " " Oh nothing, mother ; something in my forehead that weighs me down." — "But how long hâve you bcen ill?" — " Since I wrote my Latin prose paper. It will soon be ovcr." — "Sleep a little, my child ; it will do you good." Tiennet shut his eyes, wondering whethcr he would get the prizc for

Latin prose, and he dreamt that anotlier had won it, that his examination paper was covered with corrections, and that in the middle of them, underlined three times in red ink, stood the fearful expression : Hortibus ! The little patient avvoke just in time to receive his father and sister, who came in and placed the prize on his bed. He had won it after ail ! While they were ail embracing, the doctor came in. " Why, the child is better," he cried ; *' that prize has worked miracles already. He must hâve fresh air and exercise, and, above ail, no Latin prose. No Latin prose, do you hear?"

VIEUX-SAXE

" You will find what you want at the top of the street, the last house on the right. Knock twice ; the daughter knows you are coming." — '' And shall 1 see the spécimens of old Saxon porcelain ?" — " Mademoiselle will do what she can, but the old folk are not very obllging ; they live together, but they hâve not spoken to one another for ten years, and no one knows the reason. The old man keeps fowls in his room, and the old lady dogs in hers." Armed with this information, I made my way to the house, and, having mounted the staircase, I knocked. The knocker almost came ofîf, it was so rotten. It was the daughter who opened. She at once began to apologise for everything, — the stairs were in bad condition, the balustrade was rickety, and the paint on the walls was scalmg off. Then she left me to warn her father of my arrivai.

" I tell you she is going to lay ! " cried the old gentleman from the other side of the partition. " So much the worse for the fancier, he can come again. You know the fowl is frightened before strangers ! " At this moment the door opened, and mademoiselle beckoned me in. What confusion ! The room was littered with ail the necessary apparatus for breeding poultry. There were crusts of bread soaked in water in an old China plate, and on the mantelpiece there

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was a marquis in old poicelain, who seemcd as though he were offering the poullry corn out of his three-cornered hat. " Three eggs in two days ! " chuckled the old fellow, after putting his hand in the basket. " But, father, you forget, this gentleman has not come about the fowls," and she handed me the porcelain marquis. There was no doubt about it ; it was genuine Saxon. " Where is the marchioness ? " I queried, turning to the girl. " She is in my mother's room ; I will go and fetch her."

Presently she came back with empty hands, " Ah, you see," cried the old man, " she refuses ; what did I tell you ? " — " Nonsense, father, mother consents ; if this gentleman will kindly come with me, I will show him the porcelain." Thereupon I left the poultry-yard and entered the kennels. I had to look out for my calves, for a whole pack rushed at me. The old lady was in bed. I bowed, she yelped, or rather a dog did under the counterpane. There was the marchioness, not perfect, it is true, but very beautiful. After some talk, I took my leave, and on the landing I offered mademoiselle a certain price for the two figures. She expected it to be bigger, and looked disappointed. However, she would think it over and bring me her answer presently to Argance, the antiquary's. An hour later she entered the shop. It was ail over. The old pcople could not agrée about the price ; they had quarrelled and knocked over the marchioness, who was smashed in a thousand pièces. "Ah, sir," said the girl, ''if you had only known my father and mother ten years ago ! They adored one another." Then, as she left me, she added, " What misérable mortals we are when we get old ! "