AT THE POTTER'S WHEEL.

Otago Witness, Issue 2046, 11 May 1893, Page 40

AT THE POTTER'S WHEEL.

"Voila! Jeanne," said M. Damasin, the foreman, " here is your new fellow workman. He will keep your clay moist and make the lumps ready for your pretty fingers, and you must teach him yourself how it is to be done." " The wheel stopped, and Jeanne Carteret glanced up from her task at her future helpmate. Her grey eyes had a preoccupied look, but when they fell upon the quaint figure standing apologetically before her, they forthwith danced with merriment. For lo 1 he was none other than the strange, mystical M. Personne— M. Personne, about whom every tongue in the little village had been waggirig for many a day, and who was in himself a veritable enigma.

For in the springtime, when the world was all young, and Nature laughed aloud in sheer delight of being, there strode into the little township of Arranches (which lies, as all the world knows, just across the Swiss frontier under the shadow of the Jura) a stranger. He was very tall and thin, and though his face was strangely' refined and his eyes gentle and luminous, his hair beneath the shabby hat was long and unkempt, and his beard was ragged. His clothes he might have exchanged with the first scarecrow to the detriment of the latter. His boots were travel-stained and worn, and he carried in his hands the attenuated valise with which (and the blessing of bis priest) a Frenchman would start to the North Pole. He had evidently walked far, and was very weary. A strange apparition, truly, and one which scarcely recommended itself to mine host of the Three Squirrels, where in a singularly soft voice, and with a bow which would have fitted an ambassador, thewande.er requested ?a bed for the night and some supper. The landlord hesitated; but the casual production of a little bag of golden louis allayed his apprehension, and convinced him that his guest was, after all, one of those strange people with whom the outward evidences of respectability carry little weight. So the enigmatical traveller found shelter. Not for one night only, but for many days he continued to stay at the Three Squirrels, paying each evening the charges for the day, and exciting an interest in the little town of which he was fortunately in no wise cognisant. For, cnrious as was his appearance, his mode of life was no less unconventional. At noon each day emerged from the inn, mounted the steep hillside behind the town, and shading his keen dark eyes, scanned the glaring white roads that lay right and left in endless prospective. Then he would press his hand upon his forehead, heave a sigh of relief, and return to the porch of the Three Squirrels. He gave no name, hence the gossips in the village christened him M. Personne ; nor did he once betray whither he was going, or whence he came ; but his 3Cant store of linen was of an exquisite texture, and hi 3 shabby brown wideawake hat bore the name of a Paris manufacturer. He talked to few, and only when forced into conversation. His remarks upon intellectual generalities, when, for example, chatting with the village cure, were brilliant and instructive ; but of the subject 3in which most are interested, contemporary politics, literature, and the like, he was strangely ignorant. But to all alike, rich or poor, he invariably evinced the most exquisite courtesy ; and the children of Arranches simply worshipped him. Thus matters went on for several weeks, until the landlord of the Three Squirrels had long since ceased to trouble his busy brain about the mysterious M. Petsonne, or to doubi that the store of golden louis was not inexhaustible.

This condition, however, of beautiful trustfulness was doomed to be rudely shattered, for one morning M. Personne entered the laadlord's little bureau, and said very simply :

"My good landlord, I fear my most agreeable sojourn is at an end. I have but 10 louis left, and I suppose I must go somewhere else ; unless — unless," he added hesitatingly, and looked half pathetically at the landlord's face.

Bat the latter did not give his luckless guest time to state the hypothetical alternative.

"He was desoU— completely desole. He loved monsieur greatly ; monsieur was good and kind. But times were so hard, and the Communal foxes so high, and the phylloxera had so ravaged the vineyards, that, in fact "

" So be it, friend," said M. Personne sadly. "I will wander forth once more, with 10 noble louis in my purse, and sweet recollections of little Arranches and the Three

Squirrels in my heart. Yet gladly would I stay," he continued, as he darted a quick glance down the long road, and gave an involuntary little shudder. "I am very happy. Could I not earn some money somewhere — somehow ? I am strong, though I am so thin, and once on a day knew something— at least, I fancy so." The landlord shook his head. Those white hands had never done manual labour, and there was no demand for such intellectual skill as M. Personne no doubt possessed. And yet what; a customer he had been I- four francs a day, and always paid at nightfall. And so gentle, and so magnanimous in the matter of " extras." It were a pity to lose him.

Now it so happened that on that very evening there came to the Three Squirrels M. Damasin, the foreman of the pottery works which form the industry in Arranches. They were but poor little works wherein was made just simple ware in use among the peasants of the district. But M. Damasin was a prescient and ambitious man, and foresaw possibilities of greatness in the Arranches pottery. The little town had already been discovered by the globe-trottiDg English, whither they sought shelter from the scjrching heat of Geneva; and wherever English people go they buy things. The clay of the district was singularly good. And, lastly, M. Damasin had discoverer 1 that he possessed among his work-people one true artist, whose exquisite skill, recognised by himself alone, was wasted, but who could ba depended upon to rife to her opportunities. Thi3 girl, Jeanne Carfceret, had for the last two years " thrown " most of the pottery in the Arranches works — that is to say, hers was the task of moulding the lump of wet clay as it lay upon the potter's wheel into the cup, saucer, ewer, or whatever was being made — a delicate arb, truly, and one for which the poor peasant girl was rarely gifted. Her control over the plastic mass as it was whirled upwards on the revolving disc waß complete, the manipulation of her fingers most dexterous; above all, her sense of form was poetical and true. The command in the works of labour was as yec limited, and hitherto Jeanne Carteret had herself apportioned the lumps of clay ready to be cast on the potter's wheel. For the future this was to be changed, and she was to apply herself entirely to the one branch of art for which she, though but a poor peasant, was so exceptionally endowed. To find an assistant, however, was no easy task. The knack of exactly forming the lump to suit the intended article, so that the oven be not encumbered with superfluous clay, was an intuitive faculty granted to few— certainly not easily to be discovered among ronghhanded oitvriers ; so, at least, said M. Damasin to a select audience that evening at the Three Squirrels, as he disclosed to their wondering ears his cherished scheme.

But his difficulty was the landlord's opportunity. Why not give the mysterious M. Personne a chance 1 He was clearly a man of education and refinement. His hands were strong and lithe. He was an honest man, and was not such a fool as he looked — and — he desired immediate employment.

M. Damasin was astonished at the proposal; he liked not mysterious strangers; but then, after all, a workman's value depended on his skill, not his antecedents, and the more he turned it over the more reasonable did the proposal appear, and so eventually he decided to giant the cadaverous stranger a trial. Thus was it tbat the wandering scholar and the simple peasant girl sat side by side at the potter's wheel.

"And now, monsieur," said Jeanne, on the very first morning of his education, " what am I to call thee 1 "

The stranger started, placed his hand across his forehead, and thought. Then his brow grew dark and his eyes troubled, and he Baid : " Ah, mademoiselle, what you will. It is all so strange — so strange 1 "

" Then," said Jeanne, with a merry laugh, " I shall call thee what the children do— M. Personne."

"Do they call ma that 1 " he replied with a sad little laugh. "M. Personne ; it is well, then. I fancy I was once some one, but now —well— l am— nobody."

" And now, Monsieur Nobody, you must do just what I tell you, and I will teach thee how to make lumps of clay, which is a beautiful art in itself — at least so M. Damasin says," and Jeanne stole a look at M. Personne's bewildered face and laughed again.

And he, when he saw her sweet piquante face and merry smile, also laughed, a laugh so soft and musical that Jeanne wondered thereat, as do they who hear for the first timea very sweet melody.

And forthwith she taught him the rudiments of his trade — the consistency at which he was to constantly keep the clay, and the approximate size of the lumps for each particular vessel, and so apt did he become under her gentle tutelage, and so nicely did his long white hands adjudge the weight of clay, that many a day Jeanne had done her allotted task while yet the sun was high in the heavens. And then, when enough of the rough ware had been " thrown " as conld be baked and glazed, she would bring forth the beautiful designs of Etrurian and Pompeiian lamps which M. Damasin had brought her from Paris, and work till closing time for sheer love of art. And the kindly-natured manager danced with ecstasy as the beautiful form grew into shape round the long prehensile fingers, and the graceful neck flaw upwards from the outward compression, or a dexterous little tap made the sjft-lipped mouth. Moreover, he had ever a kindly word for her strange assistant, whose workman's blouse so belied his gentleness of speech, and whose labour was ever so ungrudgingly profferred. Then in the eventide M. Personne would escort his workmate to her home, and leaving her with a profound bow would betake himself to the little garret wbich the good-natured landlord of the Three Squirrels had paced at his disposal. " Mon Dieu," said Jeanne to her friends, " but he is droll I When he bands me the clay he does it like a Grand Duke, and his bows 1 and his ' Bon soir, mademoiselle ; may the angels protect thee ! ' Ah, had I not to work, work, work, I could laugh all day.' But the day came when Jeanne no longer laughed. For, chancing to ask him some trifling question about a vase, he began to tell her many strange things of that world of art of which she was so ignorant, and yet with true artistic instinct craved to know, And then, again, how strange was

his method of imparting this delightful knowledge I—that1 — that in itself was interesting. For sometimes he would talk with freedom of beautiful things he had seen in Rome or Florence, and then suddenly he would stop, maks the gesture she knew so well of pressing his hand on his forehead, and then relapse into silence. That he had travelled much she could see, but much of what he related was vague and inconsequent, and yet, oh ! so absorbing ! So no longer did Jeanne laugh at him and make mock of him in the workroom; but, rather, when all around were jesting, she would strive to draw out the treasures of that capricious, inexplicable mind. His courtesy, too, so out of place in the rough workroom, no longer moved her merriment, but became a sweet accompaniment of her life, and the hours he sat beside the potter's wheel a tender interlude in her sordid surroundings. Above all, she felt that beautiful protective sense that goodnatured women, however lowly born, feel for those who are weak or suffering. And so it happened that when summer changed to autumn, and the shadows on the hillside grew daily shorter, and the leaves fell apace, Jeanne began to feel a strange achiDg void when the ragged M. Personne was away, and a sweeb calm when he was by her side.

" Thou, too, wilt be the Grand Duchess, petite" said the other girls. " Ah ! take care, Jeanne; lovers who come from nowhere fly away to nowhere."

And Jeanne would blush, and make light of their jesting, and in her own tender heart cherished her simple secret.

Would he ever know ? thought she. Ah, no ; she was but a poor peasant girl, and he was surely a great gentleman, for all hia ragged clothes. And so every day she bent over her wheai, and beside her on his settle aat the man she had grown to love.

Bat one morning he did not come ; the hours passed, and the clay remained unformed ; and at last the strange news arrived that, the night before, two men had come to the Three Squirrels and carried away with them M. Personne. The landlord would te)l nothing; but the good folk of Arranches knew full well that no one can be removed by force unless the law permits, and they made strange remarks which cat Jeanne to the very heart, and the girls laughed and reminded her of their prophecy.

She said little, but worked and worked all day with desperate intensity. At first she used to cry silently, and her hot tears fell one by one upon the wet clay : but not for long. One cannot indulge in the more tender emotion on 20fr a week and only one good meal a day. And, after all, there was always the strange hope, to which all women cling, that he would some day come back to her. But her face grew thin and wan, and her grey eyes larger than ever. And good M. Damasin cursed the day he admitted the white-handed scarecrow into his works, and he resolved to distract her thoughts from her hopeless love.

"Jeanne," said he one day, "we have taught you all we know, and thero is no scope here for further improvement. We are going to extend the works next year, and in the meantime I shall send you to Paris, so that you may learn how to ' throw ' really artistic work before that time comes."

And so in the springtime Jeanne Carteret left her native home and went out to the great world of Paris, and though her heart still ached, she felt a restless longing for the new life of art and toil.

Now it happened that one Sunday in May the kind, good landlady with whom she lived suggested they should go iato the Bois do Boulogne and see all the grand folk go to the races. Jeanne was nothing lotb, and so they went forth and watched the stream of carriages and horsemen. O• c by one they drove by, and Jeanne looked and wondered at the prancing horses and the beautiful dresses of the ladies. Then suddenly a Bplen-didly-appointed carriage dashed by them, and Jeanne felt her heart beat and the blood surge to her cheek. For sitting in it, by the side of a beautiful lady, was M. Personne. He was dressed in the height of fashion, his beard was trimmed, but Jeanne recognised him in an instant.

"Madame," cried the poor girl with an effort, " who is that— that gentleman there with the lady 1 See, he is bowing to the officer on horseback ? "

" Oh, that poor drole— that is the Dae de Champfleury; the mad duke they call him. Five years ago he was the most promising man in France, the most noble gentleman and the most accomplished; but he was hurt in the great railway accident at Basle— his brain was affected, and he lost hia memory. For some time he was under restraint, not indeed that he was ever violent, but because he scarcely realised where he was, or indeed who he was, and unprincipled people could influence him for harm ; but he escaped in a very wonderful way, and for many months eluded his keepers ; they could not discover his whereabouts, but now they say he is almost well again, and his wife, the lady beside him— why, Jeanne, my child, are you fainting 1 Ah, mon Dieu, it is the sun I "

It was not the sun, nor did Jeanne Carteret faint. She merely pressed her hand against her beating heart, and returned home sorrowing.

— Mother : "Do you know why your father called Mr Blowhard a story-teller, Tommy?" Tommy: "Yee, mother; he's a smaller man than pa." — The Greek Government have voted 300,000 drachmas to be expended on the reproduction of anbique works of art for the World's Fair. — In the reign of Henry V a law was passed against the perusal of the Bible in English. It was enacted "That whosoever they were that should read the Scriptures in the mother tongue, they should forfeit lande, catel, lif, and godes, from theyre heyres for ever ; and so be condemned for heretykes to God, enemies to the crowne, and most arrant traitors to the lande."