M.E. Braddon - "Birds of Prey"

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Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1




The woman, as soon as Mad. de Rosier had drunk the water, inquired if she
should send for a coach for her, or could do any thing to serve her.

The extreme good-nature of the tone in which this was spoken seemed to
revive Mad. de Rosier; she told her that she was searching for an only
son, whom she had for nearly two years believed to be dead: she showed
the paper on which his name was written: the woman could not read--her
husband read the name, but he shook his head--"he knew of no lad who
answered to the description."

Whilst they were speaking, a little boy came into the shop with a bit of
small iron wire in his hand, and, twitching the skirt of the ironmonger's
coat to attract his attention, asked if he had any such wire as that in
his shop. When the ironmonger went to get down a roll of wire, the little
boy had a full view of Mad. de Rosier. Though she was naturally disposed
to take notice of children, yet now she was so intent upon her own
thoughts that she did not observe him till he had bowed several times
just opposite to her.

"Are you bowing to me, my good boy?" said she--"you mistake me for
somebody else; I don't know you;" and she looked down again upon the
paper, on which she had written the name of her son.

"But, indeed, ma'am, I know _you_," said the little boy: "aren't you the
lady that was with the good-natured young gentleman, who met me going out
of the pastry-cook's shop, and gave me the two buns?"

Mad. de Rosier now looked in his face; the shop was so dark that she
could not distinguish his features, but she recollected his voice, and
knew him to be the little boy belonging to the dulcimer man.

"Father would have come again to your house," said the boy, who did not
perceive her inattention--"Father would have come to your house again, to
play the tune the young gentleman fancied so much, but our dulcimer is
broken."

"Is it? I am sorry for it," said Mad. de Rosier. "But can you tell me,"
continued she to the ironmonger, "whether any emigrants lodge in the
street to the left of your house?" The master of the shop tried to
recollect: she again repeated the name and description of her son.

"I know a young French lad of that make," said the little dulcimer boy.

"Do you?--Where is he? Where does he lodge?" cried Mad. de Rosier.

"I am not speaking as to his name, for I never heard his name," said the
little boy; "but I'll tell you how I came to know him. One day lately--"

Mad. de Rosier interrupted him with questions concerning the figure,
height, age, eyes, of the French lad.

The little dulcimer boy, by his answers, sometimes made her doubt, and
sometimes made her certain, that he was her son.

"Tell me," said she, "where he lodges; I must see him immediately."

"I am just come from him, and I'm going back to him with the wire; I'll
show the way with pleasure; he is the best-natured lad in the world; he
is mending my dulcimer; he deserves to be a great gentleman, and I
thought he was not what he seemed," continued the little boy, as he
walked on, scarcely able to keep before Mad. de Rosier.

"This way, ma'am--this way--he lives in the corner house, turning into
Golden-square." It was a stationer's.

"I have called at this house already," said Mad. de Rosier; but she
recollected that it was when the family were at dinner, and that a stupid
maid had not understood her questions. She was unable to speak, through
extreme agitation, when she came to the shop: the little dulcimer boy
walked straight forward, and gently drew back the short curtain that hung
before a glass door, opening into a back parlour. Mad. de Rosier sprang
forward to the door, looked through the glass, and was alarmed to see a
young man taller than her son; he was at work; his back was towards her.

When he heard the noise of some one trying to open the door, he turned
and saw his mother's face! The tools dropped from his hands, and the
dulcimer boy was the only person present who had strength enough to open
the door.

How sudden! how powerful is the effect of joy! The mother, restored to
her son, in a moment felt herself invigorated--and, forgetful of her
fatigue, she felt herself another being. When she was left alone with her
son, she looked round his little workshop with a mixture of pain and
pleasure. She saw one of his unfinished boxes on the window-seat, which
served him for a work-bench; his tools were upon the floor. "These have
been my support," said her son, taking them up: "how much am I obliged to
my dear father for teaching me early how to use them!"

"Your father!" said Mad. de Rosier--"I wish he could have lived to he
rewarded as I am! But tell me your history, from the moment you were
taken from me to prison: it is nearly two years ago,--how did you escape?
how have you supported yourself since? Sit down, and speak again, that I
may be sure that I hear your voice."

"You shall hear my voice, then, my dear mother," said her son, "for at
least half an hour, if that will not tire you. I have a long story to
tell you. In the first place, you know that I was taken to prison; three
months I spent in the Conciergerie, expecting every day to be ordered out
to the guillotine. The gaoler's son, a boy about my own age, who was
sometimes employed to bring me food, seemed to look upon me with
compassion; I had several opportunities of obliging him: his father often
gave him long returns of the names of the prisoners, and various
accounts, to copy into a large book; the young gentleman did not like
this work; he was much fonder of exercising as a soldier with some boys
in the neighbourhood, who were learning the national exercise; he
frequently employed me to copy his lists for him, and this I performed to
his satisfaction: but what completely won his heart was my mending the
lock of his fusil. One evening he came to me in a new uniform, and in
high spirits; he was just made a captain, by the unanimous voice of his
corps; and he talked of _his_ men, and _his_ orders, with prodigious
fluency; he then played _his_ march upon his drum, and insisted upon
teaching it to me; he was much pleased with my performance, and, suddenly
embracing me, he exclaimed, 'I have thought of an excellent thing for
you; stay till I have arranged the plan in my head, and you shall see if
I am not a great general.' The next evening he did not come to me till it
was nearly dusk; he was in his new uniform; but out of a bag which he
brought in his hand, in which he used to carry his father's papers, he
produced his old uniform, rolled up into a surprisingly small compass. 'I
have arranged every thing,' said he; 'put on this old uniform of mine--we
are just of a size--by this light, nobody will perceive any difference:
take my drum and march out of the prison slowly; beat my march on the
drum as you go out; turn to the left, down to the Place de ----, where
I exercise my men. You'll meet with one of my soldiers there, ready to
forward your escape.' I hesitated; for I feared that I should endanger my
young general; but he assured me that he had taken his precautions so
'_admirably_,' that even after my escape should be discovered, no
suspicion would fall upon him. 'But, if you delay,' cried he, 'we are
both of us undone.' I hesitated not a moment longer, and never did I
change my clothes so expeditiously in my life: I obeyed my little captain
exactly, marched out of the prison slowly, playing deliberately the march
which I had been taught; turned to the left, according to orders, and saw
my punctual guide waiting for me on the Place de ----, just by the
broken statue of Henry the Fourth.

"'Follow me, fellow-citizen,' said he, in a low voice; 'we are not all
Robespierres.'"

Most joyfully I followed him. We walked on, in silence, till at length we
came to a narrow street, where the crowd was so great that I thought we
should both of us have been squeezed to death. I saw the guillotine at a
distance, and I felt sick.

"'Come on,' said my guide, who kept fast hold of me; and he turned sharp
into a yard, where I heard the noise of carts, and the voices of
muleteers. 'This man,' said he, leading me up to a muleteer, who seemed
to be just ready to depart, 'is my father; trust yourself to him.'

"I had nobody else to trust myself to. I got into the muleteer's covered
cart; he began a loud song; we proceeded through the square where the
crowd were assembled. The enthusiasm of the moment occupied them so
entirely, that we were fortunately disregarded. We got out of Paris
safely: I will not tire you with all my terrors and escapes. I, at
length, got on board a neutral vessel, and landed at Bristol. Escaped
from prison, and the fear of the guillotine, I thought myself happy; but
my happiness was not very lasting. I began to apprehend that I should be
starved to death; I had not eaten for many hours. I wandered through the
bustling streets of Bristol, where every body I met seemed to be full of
their own business, and brushed by me without seeing me. I was weak, and
I sat down upon a stone by the door of a public-house.

"A woman was twirling a mop at the door. I wiped away the drops with
which I was sprinkled by this operation. I was too weak to be angry; but
a hairdresser, who was passing by, and who had a nicely powdered wig
poised upon his hand, was furiously enraged, because a few drops of the
shower which had sprinkled me reached the wig. He expressed his anger
half in French and half in English; but at last I observed to him in
French, that the wig was still '_bien poudree_'--this calmed his rage;
and he remarked that I also had been _horribly_ drenched by the shower. I
assured him that this was a trifle in comparison with my other
sufferings.

"He begged to hear my misfortunes, because I spoke French; and as I
followed him to the place where he was going with the wig, I told him
that I had not eaten for many hours; that I was a stranger in Bristol,
and had no means of earning any food. He advised me to go to a tavern,
which he pointed out to me--'The Rummer;'--he told me a circumstance,
which convinced me of the humanity of the master of the house.[4]

[Footnote 4: During Christmas week it is the custom in Bristol to keep a
cheap ordinary in taverns: the master of the Rummer observed a stranger,
meanly dressed, who constantly frequented the public table. It was
suspected that he carried away some of the provision, and a waiter at
length communicated his suspicions to the master of the house. He watched
the stranger, and actually detected him putting a large mince-pie into
his pocket. Instead of publicly exposing him, the landlord, who judged
from the stranger's manner that he was not an ordinary pilferer, called
the man aside as he was going away, and charged him with the fact,
demanding of him what could tempt him to such meanness. The poor man
immediately acknowledged that he had for several days carried off
precisely what he would have eaten himself for his starving wife, but he
had eaten nothing. The humane, considerate landlord gently reproved him
for his conduct, and soon found means to have him usefully and profitably
employed.]

"I resolved to apply to this benevolent man. When I first went into his
kitchen, I saw his cook, a man with a very important face, serving out a
large turtle. Several people were waiting with covered dishes, for turtle
soup and turtle, which had been bespoken in different parts of the city.
The dishes, as fast as they were filled, continually passed by me,
tantalizing me by their savoury odours. I sat down upon a stool near the
fire--I saw food within my reach that honesty forbade me to touch, though
I was starving: how easy is it to the rich to be honest! I was at this
time so weak, that my ideas began to be confused--my head grew dizzy---I
felt the heat of the kitchen fire extremely disagreeable to me. I do not
know what happened afterward; but when I came to myself, I found that I
was leaning against some one who supported me near an open window: it was
the master of the house. I do not know why I was ashamed to ask him for
food; his humanity, however, prevented me. He first gave me a small basin
of broth, and afterwards a little bit of bread, assuring me, with
infinite good nature, that he gave me food in such small quantities,
because he was afraid that it would hurt me to satisfy my hunger at
once--a worthy, humane physician, he said, had told him, that persons in
my situation should be treated in this manner. I thanked him for his
kindness, adding, that I did not mean to encroach upon his hospitality.
He pressed me to stay at his house for some days, but I could not think
of being a burden to him, when I had strength enough to maintain myself.

"In the window of the little parlour, where I ate my broth, I saw a
novel, which had been left there by the landlord's daughter, and in the
beginning of this book was pasted a direction to the circulating library
in Bristol. I was in hopes that I might earn my bread as a scribe. The
landlord of the Rummer told me that he was acquainted with the master of
the library, and that I might easily procure employment from him on
reasonable terms.

"Mr. S----, for that was the name of the master of the library, received
me with an air of encouraging benevolence, and finding that I could read
and write English tolerably well, he gave me a manuscript to copy, which
he was preparing for the press. I worked hard, and made, as I fancied, a
beautiful copy; but the printers complained of my upright French hand,
which they could not easily decipher:--I began to new-model my writing,
to please the taste of my employers; and as I had sufficient motives to
make me take pains, I at last succeeded. I found it a great advantage to
be able to read and write the English language fluently; and when my
employers perceived my education had not been neglected, and that I had
some knowledge of literature, their confidence in my abilities increased.
I hope you will not think me vain if I add, that I could perceive my
manners were advantageous to me. I was known to be a gentleman's son; and
even those who set but little value upon _manners_ seemed to be
influenced by them, without perceiving it. But, without pronouncing my
own eulogium, let me content myself with telling you my history.

"I used often, in carrying my day's work to the printer's, to pass
through a part of the town of Bristol which has been allotted to poor
emigrants, and there I saw a variety of little ingenious toys, which were
sold at a high price, or at a price which appeared to me to be high. I
began to consider that I might earn money by invention, as well as by
mere manual labour; but before I gave up any part of my time to my new
schemes, I regularly wrote as much each day as was sufficient to maintain
me. Now it was that I felt the advantage of having been taught, when I
was a boy, the use of carpenters' tools, and some degree of mechanical
dexterity. I made several clumsy toys, and I tried various unsuccessful
experiments, but I was not discouraged. One day I heard a dispute near me
about some trinket--a toothpick-case, I believe--which was thought by the
purchaser to be too highly priced; the man who made it repeatedly said,
in recommendation of the toy--'Why, sir, you could not know it from
tortoise-shell.'

"I, at this instant, recollected to have seen, at the Rummer, a great
heap of broken shells, which the cook had thrown aside, as if they were
of no value. Upon inquiry, I found that there was part of the inside
shell which was thought to be useless--it occurred to me that I might
possibly make it useful. The good-natured landlord ordered that all this
part of the shells should be carefully collected and given to me. I tried
to polish it for many hours in vain. I was often tempted to abandon my
project--there was a want of _finish_, as the workmen call it, in my
manufacture, which made me despair of its being saleable. I will not
weary you with a history of all my unsuccessful processes; it was
fortunate for me, my dear mother, that I remembered one of the principles
which you taught me when I was a child, that it is not _genius_, but
perseverance, which brings things to perfection. I persevered, and though
I did not bring my manufacture to _perfection_, I actually succeeded so
far as to make a very neat-looking box out of my refuse shells. I offered
it for sale--it was liked: I made several more, and they were quickly
sold for me, most advantageously, by my good friend, Mr. S----. He
advised me to make them in the shape of netting-boxes; I did so, and
their sale extended rapidly.

"Some benevolent lady, about this time, raised a subscription for me; but
as I had now an easy means of supporting myself, and as I every day
beheld numbers of my countrymen, nearly in the condition in which I was
when I first went to the Rummer, I thought it was not fit to accept of
the charitable assistance, which could be so much better bestowed upon
others. Mr. S---- told me, that the lady who raised the contribution, so
far from being offended, was pleased by my conduct in declining her
bounty, and she undertook to dispose of as many of my netting-boxes as I
could finish. She was one of the patronesses of a repository in London,
which has lately been opened, called the 'Repository for Ingenious
Works.' When she left Bristol, she desired Mr. S---- to send my boxes
thither.

"My little manufacture continued to prosper--by practice I grew more and
more expert, and I had no longer any fears that I should not be able to
maintain myself. It was fortunate for me that I was obliged to he
constantly employed: whenever I was not actually at hard work, whenever I
had leisure for reflection, I was unhappy.

"A friend of Mr. S----, who was going to London, offered to take me with
him--I had some curiosity to see this celebrated metropolis, and I had
hopes of meeting with some of my friends amongst the emigrants in this
city--amongst all the emigrants at Bristol there was not one person with
whom I had been acquainted in France.

"Impelled by these hopes, I quitted Bristol, and arrived a few weeks ago
in London. Mr. S---- gave me a direction to a cabinet-maker in Leicester
Fields, and I was able to pay for a decent lodging, for I was now master
of what appeared to me a large sum of money--seven guineas.

"Some time after I came to town, as I was returning from a visit to an
emigrant, with whom I had become acquainted, I was stopped at the corner
of a street by a crowd of people--_a mob_, as I have been taught to call
it, since I came to England--who had gathered round a blind man, a little
boy, and a virago of a woman, who stood upon the steps before a
print-shop door. The woman accused the boy of being a thief. The boy
protested that he was innocent, and his ingenuous countenance spoke
strongly in his favour. He belonged to the blind man, who, as soon as he
could make himself heard, complained bitterly of the damage which had
been done to his dulcimer. The mob, in their first fury, had broken it. I
was interested for the man but more for the boy. Perhaps, said I to
myself, he has neither father nor mother!

"When the woman, who was standing yet furious at the shop-door, had no
more words for utterance, the little boy was suffered to speak in his own
defence. He said, that, as he was passing by the open window of the
print-shop, he put his hand in to give part of a bun which he was eating
to a little dog, who was sitting on the counter, near the window; and who
looked thin and miserable, as if he was half-starved. 'But,' continued
the little boy, 'when I put the bun to the dog's mouth, he did not eat
it; I gave him a little push to make him mind me, and he fell out of the
window into my hands; and then I found that it was not a real dog, but
only the picture of a dog, painted upon pasteboard. The mistress of the
shop saw the dog in my hand, and snatched it away, and accused me of
being a thief; so then, with the noise she made, the chairmen, who were
near the door, came up, and the mob gathered, and our dulcimer was
broken, and I'm very sorry for it.' The mistress of the print-shop
observed, in a loud and contemptuous tone, 'that all this must be a lie,
for that _such a one as_ he could not have buns to give away to
dogs!'--Here the blind man vindicated his boy, by assuring us that 'he
came honestly by the bun--that two buns had been given to him about an
hour before this time by a young gentleman, who met him as he was coming
out of a pastry-cook's shop.' When the mob heard this explanation, they
were sorry for the mischief they had done to the blind man's dulcimer;
and, after examining it with expressions of sorrow, they quietly
dispersed. I thought that I could perhaps mend the dulcimer, and I
offered my services; they were gladly accepted, and I desired the man to
leave it at the cabinet-maker's, in Leicester Fields, where I lodged. In
the meantime the little boy, whilst I had been examining the dulcimer,
had been wiping the dirt from off the pasteboard dog, which, during the
fray, had fallen into the street--'Is it not like a real dog?' said the
boy, 'Was it not enough to deceive any body?'

"It was, indeed, extremely like a _real_ dog--like my dog, Caesar, whom I
had taken care of from the time I was five years old, and whom I was
obliged to leave at our house in Paris, when I was dragged to prison. The
more I looked at this pasteboard image, the more I was convinced that the
picture must have been drawn from the life. Every streak, every spot,
every shade of its brown coat I remembered. Its extreme thinness was
the only circumstance in which the picture was unlike my Caesar. I
inquired from the scolding woman of the shop how she came by this
picture--'Honestly,' was her laconic answer; but when I asked whether it
were to be sold, and when I paid its price, the lady changed her tone; no
longer considering me as the partisan of the little boy, against whom she
was enraged, but rather looking upon me as a customer, who had paid too
much for her goods, she condescended to inform me that the dog was
painted by one of the _poor_ French emigrants, who lived in her
neighbourhood. She directed me to the house, and I discovered the man to
be my father's old servant Michael. He was overjoyed at the sight of me;
he was infirm, and unequal to any laborious employment; he had supported
himself with great difficulty by painting toys, and various figures of
men, women, and animals, upon pasteboard. He showed me two excellent
figures of French poissardes, and also a good cat, of his doing;--but my
Caesar was the best of his works.

"My lodgings at the cabinet-maker's were too small to accommodate
Michael; and yet I wished to have him with me, for he seemed so infirm as
to want assistance. I consequently left my cabinet-maker, and took
lodgings with this stationer; he and his wife are quiet people, and I
hope poor Michael has been happier since he came to me; he has, however,
been for some days confined to his bed, and I have been so busy, that I
have not been able to stir from home. To-day the poor little boy called
for his dulcimer; I must own that I found it a more difficult job to mend
it than I had expected. I could not match the wire, and I sent the boy
out to an ironmonger's a few hours ago. How little did I expect to see
him return with--my mother!"

We shall not attempt to describe the alternate emotions of joy and sorrow
which quickly succeeded each other in Mad. de Rosier's heart, while she
listened to her son's little history. Impatient to communicate her
happiness to her friends, she took leave hastily of her beloved son,
promising to call for him early the next day. "Settle all your business
to-night," said she, "and I will introduce you to _my_ friends
to-morrow. _My_ friends, I say proudly--for I have made friends since I
came to England; and England, amongst other commodities excellent in
their kind, produces incomparable friends--friends in adversity. _We_
know their value. Adieu: settle all your affairs here expeditiously."

"I have no affairs, no business, my dear mother," interrupted Henry,
"except to mend the dulcimer, as I promised, and that I'll finish
directly. Adieu, till to-morrow morning! What a delightful sound!"

With all the alacrity of benevolence he returned to his work, and his
mother returned to Mrs. Harcourt's. It was nearly eight o'clock before
she arrived at home. Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda, met her with
inquiring eyes.

"She smiles," said Matilda; and Herbert, with a higher jump than he had
ever been known to make before, exclaimed, "She has found her son!--I am
sure of it!--I knew she would find him."

"Let her sit down," said Matilda, in a gentle voice.

Isabella brought her an excellent dish of coffee; and Mrs. Harcourt, with
kind reproaches, asked why she had not brought her son _home_ with her.
She rang the bell with as much vivacity as she spoke, ordered her coach
to be sent instantly to Golden-square, and wrote an order, as she called
it, for his coming _immediately_ to her, quitting all dulcimers and
dulcimer boys, under pain of his mother's displeasure. "Here, Mad. de
Rosier," said she, with peremptory playfulness, "countersign my order,
that I may be sure of my prisoner."

If you think books have dumbed down …
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He wrote it in just three weeks, furiously and loudly tap-tap-tapping away on his typewriter on 12ft long reels of paper so that he did not have to stop, just writing writing writing fuelled only, he said, by coffee…

It became one of the most important American novels of the last century and yesterday the original manuscript - a scroll taped together with eight reels of paper - of Jack Kerouac's On The Road was unfurled in the UK for the first time.
Fifty years after the novel which more or less defined the Beat generation, was published in Britain, the Barber Institute in Birmingham is showing what is now one of the most valuable literary manuscripts in existence as part of its exhibition Jack Kerouac: Back On the Road.

The exhibition's curator Professor Dick Ellis said there had been a lot of competition to get the scroll which is itself spending a lot of time on the move, having toured a string of US cities and hitting the road to Rome once this show is over. "We're very excited indeed," he said. "This is an iconic manuscript. It is a record of the huge effort Kerouac put into composing it. It was 20 days of typing 6,500 words a day, flat out, in spontaneous composition. He wanted to record things with the most possible accuracy using the spontaneous technique. His typewriter became a compositional instrument.

"Truman Capote once accused Kerouac of typing rather than writing, I would say he was learning the ability of using the typewriter like a jazz instrument, like a saxophone. He also had an incredible memory. And he had great speed at typing, he became a lightning typist. He came to be able to use a typewriter in a way that has not been seen before or since. Kerouac said he wrote fast because the road was fast."

About 22 of the scroll's 120ft will be on display in a specially built cabinet and while visitors will have to slightly tilt their heads, Ellis believes they will get a much deeper knowledge of what Kerouac was all about. It comes to Birmingham courtesy of Jim Irsay, owner of the Indianapolis Colts, who bought it for $2.4m (£1.6m) in 2001 before agreeing to a tour. Of course, in the published novel, there are paragraph breaks but in the scroll, there are none. Kerouac did not have the time. The exhibition runs until January 28.

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