A SOLDIER OF BRITTANY.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 45, 9 March 1894, Page 25

A SOLDIER OF BRITTANY.

(From the French of Jules Sandeau.) It was in the country, near the forest, not far from the Seine in the modest villa where I hoped to spead my old age, that I saw Jean de Thommeray for the first time. He Wi ß scarcely twenty-two Some pages signed with my name had won his heart to me, and he presented himself with no other recommendation than his good appearance and his desire to know me. The sympathy of tbe young has an irresistible attraction. It I 8 very b weet to be able to draw them when one n approaching the autumn of life. I was the more willing to give him a welcome that I could do so witboat any effort, for he was really charming. 1 see him now as he stood at my gate a Blender, noble-looking fellow, his face shadowed with the dawn' of yooth ; straight nosr, blue eyes, fair forehead ; his hair, fine and of an ashy blonde, waved above the temples. His ease and manner and language, the elegant simp'icity that showed in bis dress, everything reflected credit on the fireside by which hi had grown up. It was a clear April day ; we walked together in the woods of Meudon. Though maoy years divided us, we conversed like two friends. He had generous impulses, holy illusion, all the happy and ardent feelings of his age. He believed m the good, he admired the beautiful, he dreamed of love and glory. Where did he come from ? In what latitude was he born ? What star had shone over bis cradle 1 Who and what was this Jenn de Thommeray, who, at the end of an hour's talk had spoken neither of women nor horses, nor jet of his friends' incomes ? Thacks to ihe confidence he gave me without my asking, 1 soon found out all about him. ilia father, vv.o cauae of a goj.d old' Breton f«miiy, bad studied in Paris in the days whec patriotism and liberty ranked as high as letters and arts amon* the young men of modern ideas. The Bretuu gentleman felt the lcflaence of this awakening in the flood of thought, and, without giving up the traditions of honour in his family, he set sail with tbe current. He loved, with a pure, delicate, romantic lovr, a poor, young girl of good family, of Irish descent, and manied her. When his studies ended, he went back to Brittany. Tbe hereditary dom-iin that sheltered tbeir tender. nes« was in one of the wild and quiet valleys of O d Armorica. It consisted of a farm and manor, of a Cistle, which was protected by an old grove from the winds that sw.pt across tbe valley from the mountains. Here Monsieur deThommeray lived, like his forefathers the life of a country gent'emm, bunting, riding horseback, visiting neighbours, improving bis land ; while his wife, la belle Irlandaise as they called her, gave herself up to domestic affairs and governed her houaehold with grace and authority. Though be bad taken root in his primitive life, he was, faithful to the tastes and inclinations o' his youthful days. He never went beyond the circle of his remem. brances, and for him nothing beyond them seemed to exist. Time, which never Btope, seemed to have forgotten him on the way. It was a happy family—be, his wife, and three sods. The elder and the second son showed no taste for study of literature, but Jean, the little ooe, more delicate than his brothers, grew up under his mother's gentle wing with a strong sense of the beauties and harmonies of creation and a love of books. While his brothers walked and rode over tbe farm and led a hardy and rustic life, Jean read, dreamed, or composed little Breion poems that his mother proudly compared to " Moore's Irish Melodies," and that txcited tbe admiration of bis father. His brothers, too, were proud o£ his gifts aDd his charming ways, and even of his weakness when a little fellow, for that beamed to claim their proiection. But one morning, not long before the time I first met him, Jean embraced them all and set out for Paris, filled with the same illusions that his fath«r had had before him. Two or three years passed. 1 did not know what had become of Jean, I supposed that he must have left Parip, and that he was

living ppacef ally in his father's home. He had evidently forgotten me. I was not surprised at that. As for me, I thought of him from time to time. A journey I made into Brittany revived in my heart the memory of my young friend, when I learned one day that I wu only a few leagues from the Manor of Thommeray. I arrived at mgbtfall at the house I loved to think of a 8 the asylum of bappines.. I found .he family assembled, and not seeing Jean, naturally I asked lor him. M. de Thommeray answered me briefly. " Monsieur "he said, "we have only two sons now-tbose whom you Bee. We never speak of the one we nave lost." Was Jean dead ? No ; the attitude of M. de Thommeray, his voice his language, and his gesture were n>t those of a father who has buried his son. During my visit his mother found an opportumty of speaking ;0; 0 me alone. She told of her son and of the sorrow he had bron 2 ht upon tbem-how he compromised himself, falling lower and lower from day to day, in the wicked world of Pans, and bow his family no longer looked upon him as their own She made me promise to go to see him, to write to her aod to let me know bow he lived, to hide nothing from her. Conld this be the same Jean de Thommeray whom I had known ? How could be have fallen so low from the heights where I bad left him ? I went back to Paris. I found him living in richly furnished apartments, and he held out his hand to me with an easy grace, M if he bad not a pang in the world-as if the luxury, in the midst of which I had surprised him, had been bought by the efforts of • glorious and hooest labour, instead of the fruits of the gaming table He began to excuse himself for having bo long neglected me. " All that is excused," I said. " I have come from Brittany where I saw your pareots, aod as you have always spoken of them with respect, I am only fulfilling a duty when I come to tell you of the sad state in which I found them " •< Thanks, Monsieur, you need not go on." He interrupted me calmly, and with a tone of great urbanity. "It is nothing new you tell me. My way of living is a subject of scandal aod trouble to my family. My brothers d.s>wn me, my mother weeps in secret, my father no longer knows me. Well, air, be my judge. I am not a eaint. Not being able to reform the age, as I once thought of doing you remember, I have ended by accepting its wayo, and wearing its hvery. It seems to me that, in a society where money is a god, not to be rich would be an impiety. I have played, Ido not deny it, and I have always won. By my sk.lful playing I keep up the state of the house and belongings I won by my luck. My parents lived according to the manners of tneir time. I live according to the ways of my own.

(To be concluded.')