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THE YOUNG ARTIST, Page 66. THE YOUNG ARTIST: A STORY OF CHRISTMAS EVE. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE BASKET OF FLOWERS," ETC. EDINBURGH: WILLIAM OLIPHANT & COMPANY. EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY SCHENCK AND M'IFARLANE, ST JAMES' SQUARE. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. THE CHRISTMAS HYMN, CHAPTER II. ANTONY'S STORY,. . CHAPTER III. THE FORESTER'S FAMILY, CHAPTER IV. ANTONY'S GOOD FORTUNE, . CHAPTER V. THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT, . CHAPTER VI. FORTUNE AND MISFORTUNE, CHAPTER VII MORE MISFORTUNE, . CHAPTER VIII. A GLAD SURPRISE, PAGE 7 19 * 35 47 S 63 S 78 93 105 '- -_" i - . j,. -, .- . . . ''\ -~^ : '-:- _ THE YOUNG ARTIST. CHAPTER I. THE CHRISTMAS HYMN. NE C. I ;l eve, many years ago, Antony Kroner, a fine lad about eight years old, was walking across the country, which was thickly covered with snow. To protect his flaxen curls, which were drenched with moisture, the poor lad had nothing but his thin straw hat, black with the summer's wear; his teeth chattered, and his cheeks were purple with cold. His dress had something military about it, for he wore a smart scarlet hussar coat. In his left hand he held a thick thorn walking- stick, and on his back he carried a small parcel containing all he possessed in the world. But, 8 THE YOUNG ARTIST notwithstanding his sad situation, he seemed to be cheerful and in good spirits. In the meantime, the sun was disappearing below the horizon.. The plants and the branches of the trees, covered with hoar-frost, glittered with a thousand sparkles, and the tops of the neighboring tall pines were gilt with the rays of the departing luminary. Antony thought that he should still be able easily to reach the village at the other side of the forest before long, and he resolutely entered into the thickness of the dark wood. He reckoned upon enjoying the splendid festivities of Christmas in the village, for he had heard tell that the people in it were rich and charitable. After walking, however, for a quarter of an hour, he lost his way, and wandered amongst the ravines in the wildest part of the forest. He had to walk continually in the midst of thick snow, and many times he fell into ditches and quagmires that were hidden by it. Night came on, and a cold wind arose. Clouds covered the sky, and veiled the feeble stars that had been THE YOUNG ARTIST shining through the dark branches of the pine trees. The darkness was profound, and the snow began to fall again heavily. The poor boy had lost all trace of his way, and did not know whither to direct his steps. Fatigued with wandering in vain from side to side, he found himself unable to proceed any further. He stopped, trembling with cold, and began to weep bitterly. He placed his small parcel on the ground and knelt down. Taking off his hat, and lifting up towards heaven his frozen hands, he offered up this prayer, mingled with tears : Oh Father who art in heaven, do not leave me to perish in the midst of this wild forest, on this cold and freezing night. I am a poor orphan. I have neither father nor mother. I have nobody but Thee. Do not allow me to perish of cold. Have pity upon a child. Remember that this is the night Thy well-beloved Son was born. Listen to me, for love of Him. Oh! do not permit that, on this night, a poor child should perish alone in the midst of a forest." He rested his weary head 10 THE YOUNG ARTIST upon the little parcel, and sobbed, and shed bitter tears. On a sudden, from the height of a hill proceeded sweet sounds, like the notes of a harp; and a hymn of sweet melody arose, making the rocks re-echo. It seemed to the poor boy as though he .heard the angels of heaven singing. He stood up and listened, with his hands clasped together. The wind had gone down, and there was not the least movement in the air. The hymn came forth with infinite grace in the midst of the darkness and the silence of the forest. Antony distinctly heard the following words : "Say to the great, Ope wide your door, To orphans and the homeless poor: And let your own hearth's gentle heat Warm their little frozen feet.' " Then silence succeeded, and nothing was heard but some light strains, like a feeble echo. Poor Antony felt his heart comforted. "Ah " said he, "such must have been the joy of the shepherds of Bethlehem, when, on this holy night, they heard the heavenly songs. I will resume my courage and my cheerfulness. It is THE YOUNG ARTIST very certain that there are, in this neighbourhood, worthy people who will receive me; for I think that, if they sing like angels, they must be as good and as kind as angels." He took up his parcel, and resumed his walk, following the direction of the song which he had heard. He had scarcely proceeded a few paces through the brushwood, when he perceived a vivid light, that immediately disappeared; then shone again, after a few minutes to disappear, and then to appear again. Antony advanced, with joy in his heart, and at length came to a house that stood alone in the midst of the forest. He knocked twice at the door in vain. He heard joyful voices within the house; but no one answered him. He then attempted to open the door, which was only fastened with a simple latch. He entered, and he felt in the dark for a long time, in an obscure passage, trying to find the door of the apartment where the people were. He found it, at last, and opened it, and then stood like one stupified. A multitude of lights dazzled him by their bril- 12 THE YOUNG ARTIST liancy. It seemed to him as though the heavens were opened, and he was looking into paradise. In a corner of the apartment, between the two windows, he saw a landscape, painted with much skill. It was a view of a mountainous country, with lofty rocks covered with moss, green forests of pine trees, cottages, flocks that the shepherds were watching in the pastures, and a little city on the top of the mountain. In the middle of the landscape was a cavern, in which were seen the infant Jesus, the Virgin, Joseph, and the shepherds, all in prayer. Above them choirs of seraphims, singing the praises of God. The whole landscape was illuminated with a magical light. It was spangled with a multitude of little stars, that shone like the foliage of trees and the moss on rocks, when they are covered with abundant dew, on a fine morning in spring. The inhabitants of the house were assembled to see the infant Jesus in His manger. On one side was seated the father, with a harp upon his knees on the other side, the mother, with the THE YOUNG ARTIST. youngest of her children upon her bosom. Be- tween them were standing two pretty children, a boy and a girl. They were contemplating with devotion the cradle of the Saviour; and they joined their hands, like the pious shepherds, on their knees before the manger. The father began to play again upon the harp; and the mother sang with the voice of an angel, the hymn of which Antony had already heard some words. The two children joined their clear and sweet voices; and the father accompanied them with his fine bass voice and the notes of his harp. These were the words of their hymn : Holy Child, whom angels praise, Watch Thou over all our ways. As those who Thee in heaven attend, So I to Thee my knees now bend. Saviour, Thou, of heavenly birth, To those that are oppressed on earth, Dost hope of victory impart, And faith to cheer their drooping heart. Say to the great, Ope wide your door To orphans and the homeless poor; And let your own hearth's gentle heat Warm their little frozen feet." 14 THE YOUNG ARTIST Holy Child, whom angels praise, Watch Thou over all our ways. As those who Thee in-heaven attend, So I to Thee my knees now bend. Antony was still standing on the threshold of the door, holding the latch in one hand, and in the other his hat and his stick. His eyes were fixed upon the manger of the Saviour; and he listened, with open mouth, to the hymn and the notes of the harp. No one had noticed him; but the mother felt the cold that came into the room and suddenly turned her eyes towards the half-open door. Heaven preserve us !" she exclaimed; "whence comes that poor child, in the midst of this forest, and on this dark night ? My poor boy, you must surely have lost your way." Alas yes," said Antony; "I have lost my way in the wood." They all turned their eyes towards him. The two children felt strongly moved at the sight of the young lad: but they did not dare to approach him, because he was a stranger. The mother went towards him, with the child in her arms, TIE YOUNG ARTIST. and asked him, with kindness, "Where did you come from, poor child? What do they call you; and what are your parents ?" "Alas !" replied Antony, with tears in his eyes, "I have no country. I am called Antony Kroner. My father was killed in the war; and my mother died last year, of misery and grief. I am a stranger in this part of the country; I am going through the world like a wandering sheep, picking up food and lodging any way I can." He then began to give an account of the dis- tress that he had suffered in the forest, and how he had heard their song, and had been enabled to find the way to their house. He would have continued, but his speech failed him, he was so very cold. He trembled, and his teeth chat- tered. Poor boy," said the mother to him ; "the cold hinders you from speaking. You must be very much fatigued and very hungry. Put down your parcel, and take a seat. I will get you some good warm soup, and a little supper." 16 THE YOUNG ARTIST Touched with compassion, the two children, Christian and Catherine, relieved him of his hat, his stick, and his parcel. Christian hung up his hat, and put his stick in a corner. They then seated their little guest at the table; and the mother brought him some soup and a large slice of cake, with some cooked plums. She seated herself at the other end of the table, and could not help smiling, when she saw the good appetite of Antony. The warm soup came very seasonably for poor Antony, who was benumbed with cold; and the genial warmth of the apartment soon completed his revival. He "recovered all his cheerfulness. " But what a wonderful thing you have there in the corner!" he said, after a few moments. Already, while he was eating, he had not ceased to cast his eyes upon the manger: It is spring in the middle of winter," he continued. I have never seen anything so beautiful. I should like, however, to look at it closer." Having said these words, he approached it; and the children followed him. THE YOUNG ARTIST. "But do you know what all that represents?" asked Catherine. "Certainly," replied Antony; "it is the birth of Jesus." "But that is not the true child Jesus," said Catherine. "Jesus is no longer a child. It is a long time since He ascended to heaven." " I know that well," said Antony. Do you take me for a heathen ? It is nearly two thou- sand years since Jesus was born in a manger. And that city, above, is Bethlehem, if I am not mistaken." Catherine made a sign that it was so. "You see," said Antony, "that I know it all. My poor dead mother used to tell me often about Jesus, and what He did while He was on earth." The children smiled, and then they pointed out to Antony a number of little particulars, to which they ascribed the utmost importance. "See there, Antony," said Catherine, that beautiful white sheep, with curly wool, and look at those two little lambs by its side. Look! the rest of the flock are feeding all around it; 18 THE YOUNG ARTIST and the shepherd is sitting down below and playing the flute. It is in that pretty little red hut upon wheels, that he passes the night. There below, a shepherdess is descending a steep flight of steps, and carrying a covered basket upon her head. It contains apples or eggs, that she is carrying to the manger." "And, further on," added Christian, "do you see that man in the ravine below, who is as- cending the mountain with a sack upon a wheel- barrow ? But I cannot imagine what he has in the sack." And so the children chatted on for a time. Antony was a very intelligent boy for his years; and, by his artless, but thoughtful remarks, he soon interested the inmates of the house in his history. CHAPTER II. ANTONY'S STORY. HE master of the house where Antony had been received so unexpectedly, and with so much cordiality, was the keeper of the forest. While the children were chattering with each other, he remained seated in his arm-chair, near the fire-place, and appeared to be in profound meditation. His wife, with her youngest child in her arms, sat on a chair by his side; and, after a pause, she said to him, "Why are you keeping silence, husband, and what are you thinking of?" I was thinking," he said, of the last couplet of the hymn that we have just been singing. You have done what is recommended in it. You have 20 THE YOUNG ARTIST. fed and warmed the poor child; but I think that we should be able to do more still. This is Christmas Eve. We celebrate this as the night on which the Son of God came into the world, for our salvation, and for that of all men. And behold this very night God has sent us a child that we may save him also. Jesus came upon the earth as a stranger, and He did not know where to rest His head; as if He were desirous of making trial of the hospitality of men. The inhabitants of Bethlehem failed under the trial; and, from His birth, they banished Him into the midst of the animals in the stable. Shall we treat this poor, fatherless boy in the same manner? Tell me freely, wife, what you think of it. What ought we to do?" "Make the child welcome," replied the wife, immediately, with kindness. That which ye do to the least of these my brethren, ye do to Me also.' These are the very words of Him who was born on this night. Antony appears to me to be a good and virtuous boy, endowed with a good character. Piety and innocence THE YOUNG ARTIST. are imprinted upon his features; and, although he is a beggar, he has neither effrontery nor impudence. No doubt, his parents were worthy people. He expresses himself in a becoming manner; and although his red coat is a little worn, it is, nevertheless, of good cloth. Where there is food for five, there is food for six. Let us keep him." You are a good and charitable woman," said the forester, pressing her hand. God will re- compense us for it, and will return to our chil- dren the good that we will do to a stranger. But first of all, we should assure ourselves that the child deserves that we should be interested in him." "Antony, come here !" said the forester, in a loud voice. Antony ran, and placed himself before him, fixed and immovable, like a soldier in the presence of his superior. "So, then," said the forester to him, "your father was a soldier, and died for his country? That is a misfortune for you, it is true; but it is an honour and a glory for him. Give us some 22 THE YOUNG ARTIST. particulars of your parents. Where were you during the war? How did your father perish? What was the cause of the death of your mother? By what chance did you find yourself in the midst of the forest ? Let us hear all about it." Antony related the following narrative: "My father was a quartermaster of hussars. As far as I am able to recollect, his regiment was in garrison at Glatz, in Silesia. My mother, who was a skilful seamstress, was very industrious, and earned a great deal of money. "One day, my father came in very hastily, and exclaimed, War is declared; we set out to-morrow !' He was brave, and was pleased with the news; but my mother, on the contrary, was frightened, and wept bitterly. She was not willing to let him go alone; for the idea of sepa- ration threw her into consternation; and, after much entreaty, my father at length consented to take us with him. We went a great way, a very great way; and suddenly we were informed that the enemy were approaching. The regiment of my father had to advance. My mother and THE YOUNG ARTIST myself remained in the rear. Our terror was great, when we heard, in the distance, the fright- ful sound of the firing. Alas !' said my mother to me, 'every volley pierces me to the heart. Who knows if a ball may not cross the heart of your father?' "As long as the firing continued, we did not cease to weep and to pray. My father, how- ever, came back safe and sound. This scene was often renewed; but, one day after a skir- mish, a hussar came galloping into the village, and leading by the bridle my father's horse. He informed us that my father was severelywounded; that he was left upon the field of battle, half a league from the village; and that there was very little hope of saving him. We ran thither with the utmost speed, and found him laid at the foot of a tree. An old soldier, on his knees near him, was holding him in his arms, in such a manner, that my father was able to lean his head upon the breast of his comrade. There were also two other soldiers. My poor father had his breast pierced with a ball; and the paleness of 24 THE YOUNG ARTIST. death was upon his face. We saw that he had something to say to us; but not being able to speak, he sadly cast his dying eyes upon me, then turned them towards my mother, and at last towards heaven. Some moments afterwards he was no more. My mother and myself were bathed in tears. They interred his remains in the neighboring cemetery. Some officers and a great number of soldiers attended the funeral. I think I still hear the strange and mournful sound of the trumpets when they paid the last honours over his grave. My mother wished to return to her own country. 'I have no parents, it is true,' said she; 'but I have a devoted friend. I think that she will not refuse to receive us; and then, thanks to my labour, I shall be able to supply our wants.' After a few days' journey, however, she fell sick; and it was with great difficulty that we reached a little hamlet. Nobody there was will- ing to receive us, and we were obliged, at last, to take shelter in a barn, 'It is a hard trial,' said THE YOUNG ARTIST. my mother : 'but the Virgin Mary was not more happy. She was not able to find a lodging any- where, and was obliged to pass the night in a stable.' In the meantime, her disorder increased from hour to hour. She had a clergyman called to her, and prepared herself for death. When night came on, the farmer to whom the barn belonged, said to her, 'You are very ill. It is at least necessary that I should do something for you.' He went out, and brought back with him an old stable lantern, in which a smoky lamp was burning, and which he hung up to a beam. That was all that he did. He wished us good evening, and did not trouble himself any more about us. Left alone with my mother, I seated myself near her, upon a little straw, and wept bitterly. Towards midnight, as well as I was able to judge from the feeble light of the lamp, she grew more and more pale, and sighed deeply, at intervals. I was shedding torrents of tears. She held out her hand to me, and said, Do not weep, dear Antony. Continue to be prudent and pious. 26 THE YOUNG ARTIST Attend to prayer. Remember that you are always in the presence of God, and shun what's evil. God will give you another father and another mother.' These were her words; but, alas!" continued Antony, with his cheeks bathed with tears, I shall never again find so good a mother. After that," he proceeded, "she kept her eyes fixed upon heaven, and prayed in silence. She blessed me with her dying hands and expired. I could do nothing but weep. "The farmer and his wife had promised my mother that they would take care of me, and treat me as their son. They took the little money which my mother had left, but three weeks had not passed by before they sent me away; telling me that I had cost them three times as much money as my mother had left, and that they could keep me no longer. I set out with the intention of joining my schoolfellows at Glatz; but the farmers were unable to point out the road to me; and now I am going through the country as a beggar. Alas What else can I do ?" IHE YOUNG ARTIST. The wife of the keeper was sensibly affected by this narrative; and, with tears in her eyes, she said to her children, See my dears, such might be your condition. You might lose us; and then what would become of you? Pray, then, every day, that God will preserve to you your father and your mother." "From what I see," said the forester, "you had virtuous parents, my poor Antony; but have you no papers ?" Oh yes, I have," said Antony; and he drew a portfolio from his parcel. "It was on her deathbed that my mother gave me these papers. She recommended me to take great care of them, and not to give them to any one, whoever it might be; but for you, I may well allow you to see them." They were the certificates of the marriage of his parents, of his own baptism, and of the inter- ment of his father. The latter had been delivered by the chaplain of the regiment; and the colonel had added to it, in his own writing, a certificate, bearing testimony, in the most honourable man- 28 THE YOUNG ARTIST. ner, to the bravery and generosity of the quarter- master, and to the irreproachable conduct of his widow. It is all right," said the forester; "and now, tell me, Antony, how do you like being with us ?" "Very well," replied Antony, with gratitude, "so well that it seems to me as if I were at home again with my parents." "Would you be willing to remain with us?" inquired the forester. "Oh! that I gladly would," answered the child. "Your wife is as good as my mother; and you are as brave as my father, for you wear moustaches like him." The forester smiled, and passed his hand over his beard. Oh well, my boy; he said; "you shall remain with us. I will take the place of your father, and my wife will be a mother to you. Show yourself a good son. Love your brother and your sisters, and never give them any pain. Do you understand me? From this day for- ward you are my son, Antony." The child stood in amazement, and stared at THE YOUNG ARTIST. the forester with his eyes wide open ; for he did not know whether he was speaking seriously. Poor Antony was so much accustomed to see himself the object of ill treatment, that he was scarcely able to believe that the forester was willing to adopt him as his son. "Oh! well !" said the keeper, holding out his hand; will not that do for you?" Antony burst into tears, and held out his hand to the forester. He kissed that of his wife, and showed a thousand kind- nesses towards the two children, and also to the youngest, although it was not able to understand what was going on, as its brother and sister did. Christian and Catherine exhibited the greatest delight at keeping Antony with them. How very amusing it will be," said Christian. "At least, when we wish to play a game, there will be three of us." "See, my child," said the keeper, taking a serious tone, see how God takes care of you. The blessing of your good parents rests upon your head. God has heard the prayer that your mother offered up on her deathbed. He has 30 THE YOUNG ARTIST granted the wishes that you addressed to Him in the forest, when you were on your knees in the snow, and trembling with cold. He has guided your steps to us, and has led you under our roof. If you had not heard our hymn, you would have gone to sleep upon your parcel. You then would have perished with cold; and I should have found you dead in the forest. God has chosen a propitious moment to save you. On this holy night, when our hearts were so profoundly moved by the goodness of God, who gave us His only Son, the Lord has guided you to our lonely dwelling in the midst of the forest, which you could scarcely have discerned even by daylight. It is to God and His well-beloved Son that you are indebted for having found an asylum. Be deeply grateful to the goodness of the Lord. Take care that you never forget it. During the course of an active life, always have God present to your mind, and conduct your- self as a good Christian." With tears in his eyes, Antony promised to do so. Oh! God !" he said, raising his eyes THE YOUNG ARTIST. up towards heaven, "Thou hast, with faithful- ness, fulfilled the last wishes of my mother. I have found a father and a mother. I desire to observe, also, her last words. I will obey Thy holy commandments, especially the fifth, to- wards my new parents." "That is right, Antony," said the forester. "Do what you say; and you cannot fail to be happy." The wife of the keeper showed Antony a small chamber in which was a comfortable little bed; and the whole household went to rest with satisfaction. The next morning, the children hastened to meet before the picture of Jesus in the manger. It was their only amusement on Christmas day, and on the festival days which followed it. But that innocent pleasure was not without its alloy. One day a young man, who was very fond of hunting, and who often came to see the keeper, entered the apartment. He indulged himself in all sorts of ironical observations on that method of representing to children the manger of 32 THE YOUNG ARTIST. Jesus; and he inquired of what use such cus- toms were. Of what use ?" said the forester. "Look out at the window, my young sir. Behold a thick snow covers the ground; and the trees of the forest groan under its weight. We cannot see any flowers, except that the flowers formed by the hoar frost sparkle upon the frozen glass of the windows. The fruit trees that shade my dwelling have neither apples nor pears. We cannot even see a green leaf upon them. All the branches, all the sprays, are covered with hoar frost; and long icicles hang from the roof. The poor children are detained in the apart- ment, like prisoners; and they dare not venture a step out of doors. Well and what can there be wrong in good parents obtaining for their family, in this rigorous season, a kind of spring in a well-warmed apartment ? During the whole of the winter almost the only amusement of these poor children is derived from that repre- sentation, in miniature, of nature in the season of spring, with its green forests, its enamelled THE YOUNG ARTIST. meadows, and the flocks feeding under the guidance of the shepherds. But that is the least advantage of it. There is another that is much more important. Dur- ing the holy days of Christmas, we celebrate the goodness of God, who, in the person of His Son, condescended to reveal Himself to us in the human form; and we wish that our children should, in like manner, partake of our joy. I am well aware that painters of the first rank have made this the subject of pictures that have for ages excited the admiration of the world. I myself, when on my travels, have many times admired them. But the reproach that you cast upon my imitation-no doubt very defective- of the manger, would equally apply, after all, to that magnificent picture, if one considers it independently of its value as a work of art. Therefore your objection is without foundation. Besides, paintings so valuable are only produced for great noblemen, and would be entirely out of place in the hands of children. And I engage that my children would not exchange their C 34 THE YOUNG ARTIST manger for the most celebrated picture that ever was painted. "So, my dear young friend, you must not object to the inhabitants of this forest, if they do hold to the ancient customs of their fathers. I still remember that a manger which my father painted was one of the greatest pleasures of my childhood, and that it was to me the source of much thankfulness to God. May it be to my children the occasion of joy and blessing." 1,,,a)' :: _l,'i CHAPTER III. THE FORESTER'S FAMILY. HE forester who had adopted the poor orphan was a sterling honest man. He was, as he used to say of himself, a man of the old stamp. Of fervent piety, and of the greatest benevolence towards everybody, he was indefatigable in the service of his prince, and his fidelity had been thoroughly proved. The worthy man religiously preserved all the manners of his ancestors, that he was still acquainted with; and of his parents, who had retained the sentiments of the latter. In the morning his first occupation was to give himself up to prayer, in company with his wife and children; and the evening was closed with the same exercise. 36 THE YOUNG ARTIST. "Ought we not," he would say, "to com- mence and close the day by thinking of Him who preserves us every day of our existence, and who gives us our daily bread?" It must be a very touching spectacle for the angels themselves, to see a father and mother, surrounded by their children, on their knees before God, and all of them, even the youngest, lifting up their hands to heaven, with prayers of gratitude. Our heavenly Father cannot but bestow His blessing upon them. It was with the same feelings of piety that the forester prayed with his family, before and after their meals. One day, he brought back with him, from the chase, the young man mentioned in the last chapter, and whose name was De Schilf; and, as they were about to serve up the soup, he invited his companion to dinner. The young man immediately seated himself at the table, without thinking of offering up a prayer, but the forester-who had the habit, as he used to say of himself, of calling things by their right names-said to him in a very serious tone, THE YOUNG ARTIST. "Fie my young sir; the wild boars of the forest would not do otherwise. They devour the acorns, without regarding whence they fall." The young man hazarded some objections, and pretended that prayer in connection with meals was of no great importance. That which is able to make us better," re- plied the forester, laying a stress upon his words, "is always of importance. Piety has never been known to injure any one. Forgetfulness of God, on the contrary, has never produced, as far as I know, good fruits. So far from it, it has often given rise to very bad results. Pray with us, as it becomes a Christian, and a reason- able young man; or this will be the last time that we shall meet together in the chase. I do not wish to have any business with a Pagan; and I shall carefully guard myself against eating at the same table with him. I know, however," he continued, in a milder tone, that you have never reflected upon these things. You have seen, no doubt, the young people of the great world seat themselves at table without prayer; 38 THE YOUNG ARTIST. and you have imitated them, without reflecting any more about it. You have thought that it would thus give you a distinguished air. Never- theless, my dear sir, do not resemble the empty and unsubstantial reed, that is blown about by the least wind." M. de Schilf arose, and was willing to take part in the prayer; but he did so, less from a feeling of devotion than from a love for the chase. The greatest happiness of the forester was to find himself in the midst of his family. "Why should I seek my pleasure abroad," he would say, "when I can find it at home, and so much better into the bargain ?" Thus, after having finished the labours of the day, he would remain at home, drinking his mug of beer (on Sundays it was a glass of wine), and either conversing with his wife, or relating amusing and instructive stories to his children. When he found himself in a particularly good humour, he would take his harp. "See !" he would say; "this is what stands us instead of a concert and the opera, during the THE YOUNG ARTIST long evenings in winter, in the midst of this wild forest." His wife was acquainted with a great number of pretty songs; and her husband accompanied her. The children, on their part, had learned some little songs suitable to their tender age ; and they sang them together, like the birds of the forest. The forester sent them to a school in the next parish; and, after the festivities of Christmas were over, and when the roads of the forest had become passable, Christian and Catherine went there every day. It was with joyful gladness that Antony accompanied them thither; and he very soon surpassed his schoolfellows. His assiduity and his natural inclination for learning were most remarkable. The forester, on his return from hunting, would take his place in his arm-chair, near the grate, in which a good fire was burning. His children would then tell him of their progress at school, and show what they had written. Antony had always the most to tell. His writing was always the most beauti- ful; and he was soon able to read with the 40 THE YOUNG ARTIST greatest facility. After supper the children would read, but it was Antony that they lis- tened to with the most pleasure. "He reads with a readiness that is astonishing," the keeper's wife would say. If one did not see the book in his hand, one could never believe that he was reading a history, but that he well understood the subject, and that he was relating it to us from memory." The most delightful day for the children was Sunday. On- that day the forester did not follow the chase, and his children did not leave him. "I consecrate," he would say, "without relaxation, and with a willing heart, six days of the week to the service of my master, but the Sunday is reserved for the service of a greater Master. Besides, it is necessary that I and my wood-cutters should have one day of rest, after six days of labour." On the Sunday morning, with his mind filled with tranquillity and gratitude, he would go, with all his family, to the church near the school. This was, to the children, one of their greatest THE YOUNG ARTIST enjoyments, especially in the spring and summer. The road passed, sometimes over hills covered with bushes, and sometimes across valleys of verdure, surrounded by wood-crowned rocks and lofty trees. How beautiful the forest is 1" Antony would exclaim. "Truly, on a Sunday, the forest seems to me to be more beautiful than on other days. One might say that the verdure is more brilliant. The birds in the branches sing with greater gaiety in the midst of the universal silence. One hears neither the round of the hatchet nor of carriages, nor the discharge of fowling pieces. The bells of the church alone are heard in the distance; and all is as calm and silent as in the church itself." "All nature is as solemn as a temple," the forester would reply. "The forest itself is the temple of the Lord. By His almighty power, He has planted these trees like columns, and has rounded their branches into arches. Every- thing, from the immense oak covered with moss, to the humble lily of the valley that lies hid at 42 THE YOUNG ARTIST. our feet, proclaims His greatness and His good- ness. The whole earth, as far as the vault of heaven extends, is a temple erected to His mag- nificence. It is on the Sunday especially that we should adore Him, under this sacred dome, and contemplate, with gratitude, the wonders of His power. At this hour of the day, in the thousands of temples and churches throughout Christendom, His word is explained,and millions of men receive it with eagerness. You also, my children, be attentive to-day to every word from the Master, and keep it in your hearts." Such was their conversation on the way to church. On their return, they would speak of the service; and they all emulated each other in relating to their father that which had most struck them. It was on that day that the forester always exhibited the greatest cheerfulness at table. "Rarely," he would say, "have I the pleasure of dining with you during the week. Most fre- quently I eat my morsel in haste, in the forest; and, God be praised! my appetite never fails me; but on the Sunday, I always eat with a THE YOUNG ARTIST. better appetite-not that the dishes are more savoury, but because I dine in the midst of my own family, and in my own house. He delighted to attend to his children him- self. "Eat, eat," he often said, "and thank God for His gifts." After dinner he would walk with them into the forest, and would teach them to distinguish the different kinds of plants, trees, and shrubs, of which he praised the beauty and described the various properties. "Thus, as you see," he would remark, Provi- dence has bestowed a most particular care upon the smallest vegetable, and has destined it for the use of man. The forest is a book; and upon every one of its leaves we may read the wisdom and the goodness of God." In spring and summer, when the evenings were fine, the wife of the forester would lay the cloth at a little distance from the house, under a large linden tree, where a table and some seats had been set up. After supper, they would sing some beautiful and touching songs; the keeper playing on the harp, and the birds of the forest 44 THE YOUNG ARTIST. mingling their warblings with their songs and the notes of the instrument. Antony found himself very happy in the midst of these worthy people, amongst whom reigned piety, love, labour, and contentment. God has given me many blessings," he would often say. He could not have led me to live with better people on the face of the earth." The honest lad was also full of gratitude and attention to his adopted parents. In the evening, when the forester came home from his circuit, Antony would hasten to bring his slippers, and his old grey overcoat with green facings, which served him for a house-dress. When the forester's wife went to the fire-place, to attend to the cookery, Antony would bring her some chips of wood; and very often, in order to save her trouble, he would himself run into the garden, and fetch her the herbs and vegetables that she stood in need of. He would anticipate her in all her wishes, so far as he could ascertain them. His adopted father had also to praise him for his good offices of a particular description. He THE YOUNG ARTIST. was accustomed to draw plans of the forests that were entrusted to his care; and he coloured them in different colours, in order to give them a pleasing appearance. At the corner of each map he would inscribe, in large characters, the name of the forest; and, according to the de- scription of the wood, the name was surrounded with a wreath of pine branches or oak branches. Antony was soon able to copy with much skill and exactness the most complicated of these plans. As for the embellishments that he added, he designed them himself; and he succeeded so well, that the forester was astonished. Antony would, for example, draw the picture of a dog, upon which he would draw a shield, bearing the name of the forest; and, by its side, one might see a wild boar searching for acorns. Sometimes the name of the forest was inscribed upon a rock crowned with pine-trees, at the foot of which reposed a stag with forked antlers. At length he employed all his leisure moments in drawing or painting, sometimes landscapes and sometimes animals. He never found a scrap of 46 THE YOUNG ARTIST. paper, or the envelope of a letter, without tracing upon it a bird, a flower, or a branch. The forester and his wife never saw him unoccu- pied; they cherished him as their own son; and his example awakened feelings of emulation in their children, who, thanks to his behaviour, became more obliging and more attentive and industrious both in their studies and in their work. L--Y_ CHAPTER IV. ANTONY'S GOOD FORTUNE. NE day the forester directed Antony to carry some woodcocks to Felseck, the castle of the neighboring village, as the superintendent wished to entertain one of his friends who had come to see him. While on his way thither, Antony passed near a cas- cade, the water of which was precipitated, as white as snow, from the top of a rock, in the midst of the dark verdure of the pine trees. Not far from the spot was a stranger, who was dressed in a dark blue coat, and who was engaged in making a sketch of the cascade. Antony approached him unobserved, and, casting a fur- tive glance over the shoulders of the stranger, he 48 THE YOUNG ARTIST could not avoid exclaiming, Oh! how beautiful it is! what a fine picture!" He asked and obtained permission to get a nearer view of the picture. "One would think," he said, "that this can- vas was nothing but a mirror, in which the cascade, the rock, and trees were reflected. The stag there is the picture of life. The stags that I draw stand so badly on their legs, that I expect them to fall down every moment. I do not know how to give life to them." The painter took pleasure in the artless praises of the child, and especially in the love of art that he manifested. "And so, then," he said with a smile, "you are a little painter !" "Alas !" replied Antony, "I was always think- ing myself, not a little painter, but a very great painter; but now I see that I am only a dauber." "Nevertheless, I should like to see your draw- ings. I will come back, one of these days; and I hope you will show me them. What are your parents? And where do you come from?" "I am only a poor orphan. Mr Grunenwald, 7IHE YOUNG ARTIST. the keeper of the forest, has adopted me, and I live with him." "He is, then, one of your relations ; perhaps the brother of your father, or your mother ? " "Oh not at all. I entered his house, without his having ever seen or known me before. He and his wife have received me into their family, and have treated me as their own child." "It is well, very well, but tell me your his- tory." Antony related to him the particulars; and the painter, after having listened attentively, exclaimed, The forester and his wife are indeed very worthy people. Salute them, on my part; and tell them that to-morrow, during the day, I will come to see them, that I may thank them, and I hope you will soon be able to reward them for their kindness to you, for all that they have done for you." Mr Riedinger-that was the name of the painter-had come to the castle, a few days before, to repair some old pictures; he profited by the opportunity to take sketches of pictur- esque sites that he had noticed in the forest. D 50 THE YOUNG ARTIST. The very next day, towards evening, he went to see the keeper; and a friendship very soon sprang up between the two, who entertained many sentiments in common. The painter asked to see Antony's drawings. The forester praised them extravagantly, and declared them to be perfect; but Antony, on the contrary, was very bashful, and kept himself near the door. You will see," he said, blushing, that my drawings are very bad, and not to be compared with yours at all." The painter, however, prevailed upon him to show them; and Antony allowed him to see them. Mr Riedinger examined them with atten- tion, and smiled at many of the touches; but, notwithstanding numerous criticisms that he made, he appeared to be, on the whole, very well satisfied. In truth," he said to the forester, "this youth promises to become a good painter. Mr Grunenwald, confide him to me. You will never have cause to repent of it." I will take you at your word," replied the forester. For a long time, I have been racking THE YOUNG ARTIST. my brains to contrive something for him. He is thirteen years old; and the school in the village cannot any longer be of advantage to him. The employment of a forester does not at all suit either his physical strength or his gentle disposi- tion. He has more of the tender character of his mother, than of the impetuous courage of his father. So, then, if you believe that you will be able to make a good painter of him, take him under your direction. What will be the charge for your lessons?" "Oh as to that," replied the artist, leave it to me. Have not you shown me, by your gene- rous example, how we ought to entertain poor orphans? One good action always brings about another, as one torch lights another. All that will be arranged very easily, and is not worth the trouble of talking about. As soon as I shall have finished the work which I have undertaken at the castle, Antony, if he consents to it, shall accompany me to the city; and I will do all in my power to make him an artist." Antony leaped for joy; but, when the time 52 THE YOUNG ARTIST. for his departure arrived, and the painter, who had come to fetch him, was standing before the door, then the poor lad burst into tears. "Do not weep, Antony," said the forester to him. "It is but a short distance to the city. We shall come and see you ct'r -, ; and we shall expect you to come ?nd ee ii c Sundays and holidays. Yes, Mr ,.p.ei- -r, I r. impose upon you the following ccu' lh..:.o. .-\.:.y shall come to see us, sometimes, and shall pass the Christ- mas holidays in the bosom of our family. You will allow it, will you not?" "Willingly," replied the painter; "and if it will not be displeasing to you, I will always accompany him." They shook hands: and Antony feelingly ex- pressed his heartfelt gratitude to his adopted parents; who, on their part, urged him to love and venerate as a father the benefactor who was doing so much for him. Followed by the most sincere wishes for his welfare, Antony entered the carriage, and set out for the city in company with the painter. THE YOUNG ARTIST. The excellent Mr Riedinger kept his word in every respect; and it was a true pleasure to him to give lessons to so intelligent a pupil. They often went to see the forester; and they some- times passed several days in the neighbourhood, that they might draw some of the rural scenes of that mountainous and woody district. The master was always bestowing praises upon his pupil. Between ourselves," he said to the forester, "Antony will become an artist, whose colours I shall not be worthy to grind." Some years afterwards, Mr Riedinger, accom- panied by his pupil, went again to visit the forester, and passed the Christmas holidays at his house. Antony was then in the flower of his age. After supper, when the children of the keeper, and Antony, had retired to rest, there was a long conversation between the painter, the forester, and his wife. The couple had noticed that the painter had something important upon his _mind, and that he was desirous of communi- cating to them some proposal. Mr Riedinger at length said to them, "I have done all that I 54 THE YOUNG ARTISTIC am able to do for Antony, and now he ought to set out on his travels, and make a tour in Italy. No doubt it will be a great expense; but I believe that it is necessary for him. Never could capital be better invested; and I will guarantee you good interest. The expenses of the journey considerably surpass the fortune of a private individual; but I have well considered my plan. In the first place it is understood that Antony will not travel entirely at the expense of others; and that he must contribute something towards it, by his own labour. Notwithstanding this, a tolerably large sum is indispensable, to enable him to devote some time to the study of his art. As for myself, I will do all that I am able. Encouraged by your noble example, I resolved to make Antony an artist, without requiring any remuneration for my lessons. The pictures that he has painted, up to the present time, have always paid me very well. I have laid aside that money, and have destined it for the journey; but the sum is far from being sufficient. I ad- dress myself to your goodness for the surplus. THE YOUNG ARTIST The sacrifice that I ask of you is, no doubt, con- siderable; but ought you not to finish that which you have commenced?" It was with the most lively joy that the honest forester learned the good conduct and the rapid progress of Antony. Being in possession of a small fortune, he asked, with a significant look, the consent of his wife and, having obtained it, he pressed the hand of the painter, in token of his assent. "Well !" said he to him, "I will pay the sur- plus, if my means will allow me to do so." They made an approximative calculation of the expenses of the journey; and it was arranged that Antony should set out in the following spring. The next morning, Mr Riedinger and his pupil returned to the city. The forester and his wife employed themselves during the winter in making preparations for the journey of their adopted child. They bought cloth for his outfit. The keeper looked out for him his own trunk, and had it covered again with the skin of a roe- buck. His wife and his two daughters diligently 56 TIHE YOUNG ARTIST employed themselves with their needles, and took care to provide for Antony an ample ward- robe. The young artist passed the first days of the spring with the forester's family. The forester did not forget to give him some friendly counsels, recommending him to be pru- dent, obedient, and diligent. The worthy man had taken care to prepare the trunk himself; and every time the good mother sent Antony some article to pack up, the youth could not conceal his emotion. How very kind you are How much I am indebted to you I cannot tell 1" he would ex- claim. "My own parents, if they had been living, could not have done more for me." The trunk was sent to the address of a cele- brated painter, to whom Mr Riedinger had re- commended Antony; for the latter proposed to himself to make the whole journey on foot. Christian, his adopted brother, and his bosom friend, had the thoughtfulness to buy him a small knapsack, in which he could carry articles that he more immediately required. THE YOUNG ARTIST. At length, the day of departure arrived. An- tony manifested a desire to go first and bid fare- well to Mr Riedinger, and then to set out on his way immediately. The wife of the forester pre- pared a farewell dinner, at which all the family were present. It was a kindly and affecting entertainment. The keeper cast his eyes round upon the party, who were sitting in melancholy silence. "Do not be so sorrowful, my dear children," he said, "and you, wife, dry your tears. It is not as if Antony is never to come back again. When sons are come to the age of maturity, they must go out into the world; and you, my daughters, will also soon have to quit the pater- nal roof. Besides, though mountains and valleys separate us, our souls may and will, I hope, always remain united. Separation is, no doubt, very sorrowful; but the meeting again, here below or above, will be so much the more delightful." It was thus that the worthy man sought, by his consolatory conversation, to restore cheerful- 58 THE YOUNG ARTIST ness amongst his companions; and he brought in a bottle of old wine, that had been specially re- served for great occasions. He filled glasses for his wife and his two daughters, notwithstanding their refusal. "There ought to be wine for the afflicted," he said, smiling. Antony and Christian did not need to be entreated, and held out their glasses. The forester then took his own glass, and said, "To your health, Antony; a good journey, and a joyful return !" "May God grant it!" said the wife, touching glasses, and moistening her lips. Christian, Catherine, and Louisa, drank towards the health of the young man. Every one was in tears; and Antony was the most distressed of them all. He could not restrain his regret at parting; and he exclaimed- "Oh! my dear parents, what have you not done for me ? What should I have done without you? No I shall never be able to show myself sufficiently grateful. May God recompense you! May God put it in my power to prove, some THE YOUNG ARTIST. day, to you and to my brother and sisters, all my gratitude for the benefits that you have heaped upon me !" "Yes, my dear Antony," said the forester, "we are doing a great deal for you, I am forced to confess, and perhaps it may be too much, if we cast our eyes upon our own children. As to myself and my dear wife, our wants are very limited. Our hair is growing grey; and, as long as we live, we shall always have our daily'bread. But, my dear Antony, if it should happen that our children should fall into distress, do you then remember them, and assist them, as we assisted you, when you were in a state of desti- tution, and we relieved you in your misfortunes. Promise me, Antony, that you will never abandon your brother and sisters." Oh no oh no! my fatlier," exclaimed An- tony, holding out his hand. I should be the most ungrateful man that ever walked on the face of the earth, if I were to forget your kind- nesses. No never shall they depart from my memory I My greatest happiness will be to 60 THE YOUNG ARTIST. prove to you, and to all here, my gratitude and thankfulness." "I have faith in your words," said the keeper. "But it is time for us to separate." He then rose, saying, "Kneel, my dear child, that I may give you my paternal blessing." Antony threw himself upon his knees; and the forester raised his eyes towards heaven. There was something imposing and solemn in his demeanour and his countenance. After having blessed the young man, he said to him, "May God guard your steps. May He preserve you from sin; and may He bring you back, pure and untainted, to my arms." The good mother and his children stood around the forester, with their hands joined together, and their eyes full of tears. They all exclaimed, with voices trembling with emotion, "Amen !" The forester raised Antony, and pressed him to his heart. "Ah! well," he said, "go, and may God accompany you! Always think of Him; and do not forget that His eye follows you everywhere. Refrain from vice: the benefits THE YOUNG ARTIST. and the enjoyments of earth are too dearly paid for, if they are bought at the expense of con- science. Bear in mind that God has not made us solely for the few days that we have to pass here below, and that eternity awaits us. Not only shun what is evil, but also everything likely to cause you to fall into it. And now, once more, my son, farewell; and may God be ever with you !" The wife of the keeper, her eyes swollen with weeping, then said to him, "My dear Antony, look at these eyes that are red with tears, and at these wet cheeks. In the name of these, I con- jure you to remain always faithful to God, and never to wander from the path of virtue. In the hour of temptation, call to your recollection these tears. Up to this day, you have always been a source of happiness to us. You have never caused us sorrow. I am weeping now, it is true; but my heart is not devoid of consolation. If I should some day learn that you have given your- self up to vice, then my tears would be very bitter. Do not neglect the affectionate advice 62 THE YOUNG ARTIST that your father and mother have given you. Do not forget the last words of your poor mother on her death-bed. Never forget them. Fare- well !" All the family accompanied him as far as the outskirts of the forest, and the young man was filled with sorrowful emotions. At length the whole party bade him once more farewell. Antony left them, and the family of the forester stood looking after him. He turned round many times, and took off his hat. The keeper and his son replied in the same manner; and the wife and her daughters waved their white hand- kerchiefs, until, with his stick and his knapsack, he disappeared behind a woody hill. ;371 7 ; *j. ...'-' ih I .. ,: _ CHAPTER V. THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT. PWARDS of two years elapsed, and Christmas eve had arrived for the . third time since the departure of Antony. The keeper and his son Christian had returned home at an earlier hour than usual. The cold was intense. The setting sun was casting its purple tints upon the windows of the apartment, and the round panes, covered with hoar-frost, shone like rubies under the brilliancy of the flaming horizon. The forester was sitting in his arm-chair, near the fire-place, which he was supplying with billets of wood. The flame soon cast a bright light throughout the whole apart 64 THE YOUNG ARTIST ment, and was reflected upon the windows, the brilliancy of which was increased. While he was thus engaged, his wife came in. Has there no letter come from Antony ?" he asked "There has not, indeed," she replied, sorrow- fully. That is astonishing," said the forester, shak- ing his head. He has never failed to write to us at Christmas. His letters have been always so interesting, and have caused us the most lively joy. What can be the cause of his not writing?" The forester had scarcely uttered these words, when a messenger came in, with his hair whitened with hoar-frost. He held a letter in his hand, and carried on his back a new deal box. It was flat, but very large and high ; and he was obliged to stoop in order to enter the apartment with it. "There is, no doubt, a looking-glass in that box," exclaimed Catherine. The messenger gave the letter to the forester, and eased himself of his load. "The letter is from Mr Riedinger," said the THE YOUNG ARTIST. forester. "It is astonishing. I begin to fear that some misfortune must have happened to Antony." He hastened to open the letter, and eagerly ran his eyes over it by the light that came from the fire. "Would you believe it ?" he con- tinued, with delight, "Antony has sent us, from Rome, a painting for a Christmas present. He has sent it, rolled up, to Mr Riedinger, requesting him to have it handsomely framed, and to have it forwarded to us on this Christmas eve. According to what Mr Riedinger says, this picture is a true masterpiece. What a good young man this Antony is What a pleasure I should have in clasping him in my arms! Catherine," he added, "bring the worthy mes- senger a glass of wine, while he is waiting for supper. It will do him good; for it is terribly cold out of doors." The messenger accepted the wine, but declined the supper. "I have promised," he said, some of my relations in Aeschenthal, to pass this evening and Christmas day at their house." "It is well," replied the forester. He entreated E 66 THE YOUNG ARTIST him to empty his glass, paid him generously for the carriage, and dismissed him. Now," said the forester, "come near, all of you. See, here is a letter from Mr Riedinger, in which is inclosed another from Antony. I will read you the latter." But I will first fetch you a candle," said Louisa. "That is right," said the forester. "I shall read it more easily; but be quick." Louisa brought a candle, and all the family, eager for the news, ranged themselves in a circle. The forester then read the following letter: "My good parents, my dear brother and sisters I send you, as a Christmas present, a painting upon which I have bestowed my utmost pains. It represents the Saviour in the manger. Many artists have assured me that I have succeeded very well with it. If it should afford you only half the pleasure that I derived from seeing your picture of the manger of Jesus, when I entered your house for the first time, your joy will be very great. Oh that I could THE YOUNG ARTIST. set out with the picture, in order that I might present it to you in person ! The country where I now live is magnificent. At the moment at which I am writing to you, winter has been with you this long time,-even since the month of November. The roof of your house, and the pines and the oaks in the neighbourhood, are groaning beneath the weight of the snow. Here the citrons and the oranges, with their silver blossoms and their golden fruits, are still in bloom. Nevertheless, even in the beautiful scenery of this delightful climate, I sigh for the rustic hearth where I passed the happiest moments of my life. It is owing to your kindness that I now live under the beautiful sky of Italy, and that I have been able to become an artist,-if indeed I merit the name. That simple manner of representing the manger of Jesus to your children, however imperfect it may have been, is always awakening my natural desires, and is continually present to my eyes. I have seen the masterpieces of the world; but none of them have excited in me the 68 THE YOUNG ARTIST. same enthusiasm. Alas Nothing is equal to the happy hours of childhood Everything then assumes a magic brilliancy in the golden rays of the morning. Why have those hours fled away so rapidly? "Now that you are reading my letter, and contemplating my picture, I am in spirit in the midst of you. I carry myself back, with emo- tion, to the evening when I entered, half dead with cold, under your rustic roof; when my good mother restored me to life with good warm food; when you adopted me as your son; when Christian and Catherine, and Louisa, shared joyfully with me some of their playthings. 0 my well-beloved father, I kiss your hands with respect and gratitude, as well as those of my good mother. I embrace my brother and my sisters. I rejoice in the anticipation of being able to tell you, some years hence, not merely in spirit, and from a distance, but face to face, how much I am, from the bottom of my heart, "Yours devotedly and most affectionately, ANTONY." THE YOUNG ARTIST "What an affecting letter !" said the forester, wiping his eyes. No, truly; we have not done enough for Antony. I had built great hopes upon him; but he has surpassed them. I could never have believed that he would have caused me so much happiness. I think, however," he added, with a smile, "that it is time to go to supper. We will look at the picture afterwards." No, no !" exclaimed all the children at once; "let us see it immediately." The supper may wait," added Louisa; "I will run and fetch another candle, that we may be able to see it the better." Christian brought a chisel and mallet, and opened the box. "What a beautiful painting," they exclaimed all together; "what heavenly forms what admirable colours !" The forester placed the picture upon the table, between two lighted candles; and all their eyes were fixed upon it. The wife of the keeper piously joined her hands, and said, "In truth one could not have seen anything more beau- tiful It seems as though I were actually pre- sent before the manger of Jesus. With what 70 THE YOUNG ARTIST. sweetness and kindness, the Divine infant looks upon us One would say that, at His entrance into the world, He wishes us all a welcome. How Mary, on her knees near the manger, contem- plates Him with tenderness and with love With one hand she holds her son; with the other she calms the beating of her maternal heart; and in her joy, near the amiable Child, she forgets all the wretchedness of the stable. With what dignity Joseph stands near her! With what fervour, joining together his hands, he raises his looks towards heaven What a patriarchal air those shepherds have and with what veneration, with what gratitude, they have bowed themselves down! And the angels above! What heavenly beauty How lightly they hover over Him. The glory that encircles the head of the Child, what a vivid light it casts upon all the objects around it, and dims even the splendour of the angels ! In truth, a man must have a heart of stone if he is not sensibly moved at such a sight of the birth of the Saviour; and if one does not, with the angels, celebrate the glory of God !" THE YOUNG ARTIST. Hitherto the forester had not withdrawn his eyes from the picture, and had not uttered a word. He at length broke silence, as if he had awakened from a dream. "Yes, wife," he said, "you are right. That sacred history, so well painted here, and so well framed, leaves upon the heart an impression that is quite new, and altogether familiar. I will attempt to tell you all that I find in it, and all that it has made me feel." He brought forward his arm-chair, and seated himself at a distance of some paces from the painting, so that he might be able to see it in a better light. He then spoke in the following manner:- My dear children, let us turn our eyes to the Divine Infant in the manger. For some moments, we will lay aside His divine birth, and consider Him, first, as a human child. Feeble and helpless, see Him laid in poor swaddling clothes, on a little hay and straw! but His mother smiles tenderly upon Him, and prepares to lavish upon Him all her cares. His reputed father THE YOUNG ARTIST. stands near them, attentively looking on. His vigorous arm will protect the mother and child; and the labour of his hand will provide them food. A faithful father, a loving mother, and a child who will gratefully return the love of His parents, as soon as He attains a knowledge of Himself. See the most beautiful spectacle upon this earth, and one over which angels themselves rejoice in heaven. God Himself has formed that lovely trio,-a father, a mother, and their child. On seeing that infant in His manger, you say to yourselves: 'I myself have been a feeble child. I was cast upon the earth, at the mercy of men; and I should have perished in wretchedness, if my parents had not welcomed me with love. But it was with joy and with thanks to heaven that they received the young stranger! and everything was already prepared for its arrival. My mother clothed me in my first garments,-my swaddling clothes, which she had spun and washed, and sewn, with her own hands. Night and day she thought of nothing else but anticipating my least wants. When I THE YOUNG ARTISTIC was sleeping she would remain near my cradle. How many nights has she passed without sleep, solely from love to me 1 Our good father has partaken of her cares, and has laboured for both of us.' Repeat these words, my children, and thank God that He has given you such good parents; for it is He who, out of affection for us, has put something of His ineffable goodness into the heart of your mother. Never forget your parents. A son, a daughter, who should forget what their mother has suffered for them, and what their father has done to feed them, to clothe them, and to bring them up, would be un- natural children. And now, my children, having contemplated the holy family, let us raise our eyes to the angels who are hovering over them. Let us cast a look, also, upon the animals in the stable; and let us, in so doing, recognize the dignity and destiny of man. But let us once more admire the holy virgin, with her gentle countenance, stamped with heavenly innocence and ineffable affection. Consider the noble bearing of the 74 THE YOUNG ARTIST venerable Joseph;-how, in holy rapture, he *raises his looks towards heaven. Look at that beautiful child, whose countenance smiles with so much sweetness, and whose eyes shine like stars! Even the place in which we find the child and His parents-that wretched manger, that poor stable-is not without importance. Man has no need of a palace in order to fulfil his destiny. He may live happily, and die in peace, in the most humble cottage. In that stable everything indicates indigence and poverty. Man, in order to be truly happy-in order to be worthy of the most deserved honours and the most real nobility-has he need of silk or of velvet, of gold or of silver? In the most im- portant things, God has established no difference amongst men. A poor stable shelters the most perfect and the most pure beings that have ever appeared upon the earth. "All the promises that were contained in the manger of Jesus, Christ has realized, notwith- standing the unheard-of obstacles that the igno- THE YOUNG ARTIST. rance and prejudice of men opposed to Him; notwithstanding the great number of evils for which His birth and His death have been with- out a remedy, He founded a heavenly kingdom upon the earth, and His work continues. Many conquerors have founded empires; but those empires have not long survived them, and some- times have crumbled to dust even during their lives. Christianity alone, the kingdom of Jesus, still exists, and is always increasing. Whole peoples have been converted to its faith; and powerful monarchs ornament their crowns with His cross. The ancient barbarities of paganism, human sacrifices, and other atrocities, have dis- appeared in Christian countries. Christianity has erected a multitude of temples and of churches, in which the true God is worshipped, and in which holy truth is taught. An immense number of schools, houses of refuge, and hospi- tals, owe their existence to Christian charity. But for these pious foundations, how many children, and poor, and sick would have per- ished in ignorance, vice, and wretchedness! 76 THE YOUNG ARTIST Millions of men, oppressed by the weight of their sins, have recovered peace of conscience, and have returned to the paths of virtue. And at the present time, notwithstanding the pro- gress of infidelity and corruption, how many hearts there are that beat with this holy faith, and that derive strength from it in the midst of the troubles of life, and of the anguish of death! Even at the present day the Gospel is an- nounced as good news to idolaters; and hordes of savages have been converted to the faith; welcoming the holy truth with joy, and adopting manners more humane. Thus the day of the birth of Jesus is the most important epoch in the history of peoples; and it was with reason that our fathers, in their wisdom, made a new era from this day. "Every Christmas Eve ought, then, to recall to our minds that the day of the birth of Christ is that of the birth of light and salvation for those men who open to Him their eyes and their hearts; the day on which mankind found their true happiness, and were restored to light and their THE YOUNG ARTIST. primeval dignity. Thus, my children, during this evening and the day that follows it, let us render homage to the Saviour, and let us mingle our songs with those of the angels." Thus spoke the keeper. His wife added with emotion, "Yes, my children; let us follow the advice of your father. The precious painting that Antony has sent us, is the most beautiful Christmas present that he, or any one else, even were he a prince, could have sent us. The attention with which you have listened to the pious observations of your father, is the best manner of worthily celebrating this holy vigil. Let us receive, with gratitude, the salvation that God has prepared for us, by the birth of His Son. Then we shall be able to date our re- demption from the day of the birth of the Saviour." CHAPTER VI. FORTUNE AND MISFORTUNE. FTER the departure of Antony, the worthy forester had passed, in the bosom of his family, many years of peace and happiness. His children had grown up. Christian was now a strong young man. Catherine and Louisa were young women, in the flower of their age. All of them had been well brought up; and their conduct was irre- proachable. The good father felt, by little and little, the inconveniences of approaching old age; and he resolved to resign the duties of his office in favour of his son. Towards the autumn of every year, the Duke visited his castle at Felseck for some days ; and, in the midst of his numer- THE YOUNG ARTIST. ous occupations, he found recreation in the chase. Extremely affable and generous, he listened with attention to the least of his sub- jects, and did not disdain to converse with them. One day, when the Prince was on a visit at the castle, and the chase had been suc- cessful, he came up to the keeper, and slapping him on the shoulder, said to him, with kind- ness, "Well, my dear old friend, how are your affairs ?" "Sir," replied the keeper, "the fatigues of the day begin to press heavily upon my aged shoulders; and I wish to transfer the load to younger ones." "Well!" answered the Duke, "let your son Christian replace you. He is a good huntsman, and, what I like better, an excellent forester. The woods, as I have noticed during the chase, are in capital condition. Believe me, no one else shall have the place; and let him discharge the duty in the meantime. But I desire that you will, for some time longer, keep the upper hand, and the title of forester. The best sub- So THE YOUNG ARTIST jects easily become negligent and presumptuous, when the collars of their coats are adorned, at too early an hour, with borders of gold. It is to my advantage, and also to yours, that you should keep your office for some time longer." The forester thanked the Prince for the pro- mise that he had just made him, and added, "I have another favour to ask of you. My son could make, at the present time, a very suitable marriage, by espousing the daughter of one of the friends of my childhood, the forester Bousch, who has been dead these many years. The young girl has just lost her mother, and does not know where to go. She is poor, it is true, but pious and industrious. She is innocence, goodness, and modesty itself." "It is well," said the Prince. "I approve very much that in the choice of a wife, inno- cence and virtue are preferred to fortune. It is with pleasure that I give my consent, and the reversion of your office. I will take care that the warrant for his appointment shall be forwarded immediately." TEE YOUNG ARTIJS.I Christian, who was waiting, with anxiety, at a distance of some paces, the result of their con- versation, approached, at a sign that his father made to him, and thanked the Prince. The mar- riage took place; and the arrival of the gentle young woman was a new source of happiness in that home. Peace and harmony reigned under the roof of the good forester. The old man soon had the joy of seeing his grandchildren upon his knees, and his aged companion grew young again, in some sort, with the pleasure that she had in fondling them, and carrying them in her arms. The daughters treated their young sister- in-law as a sister; and all the family were happy. But a great misfortune fell upon the happy family. It took its rise in an old story, that the forester had almost forgotten. The young de Schilf, who formerly had accompanied the forester in the chase, soon allowed himself to go alone, without the authority of the keeper, and to fire, without pity, upon all the game that came before him. The forester met him, one day, in the wood, and said to him- 82 THE YOUNG ARTIST. "Poaching is severely prohibited. If you wish to enjoy the chase, my dear sir, come with me, as you have hitherto done. You shall accompany me; and I will point out to you the best places, where you may enjoy yourself to your heart's content. But I cannot allow you to follow your own fancies in the forest that is entrusted to my care." The young man was far from taking notice of this wise counsel. The keeper met him on another occasion, and seizing his fowling-piece, said to him- "God is my witness, that I do it with regret; but it is my duty. My orders are strict; and I cannot do otherwise. If I find you here again, I shall be obliged to inform against you, and then it will go ill with you." In addition to this, the worthy forester went to the elder de Schilf, and persuaded him to forbid his son following the chase. The old man had passed over many faults in his son; but he showed himself severe this time; for he feared disgrace. He threatened to disinherit him, if he continued to follow the chase, THE YOUNG ARTIST without being accompanied by the keeper; but the young man was accustomed to take very little notice of his father's remonstrances. Soon afterwards, the forester heard the dis- charge of a fowling-piece, and hastening to the spot, found de Schilf near a stag that he had just brought down. The keeper instituted proceedings against him; and the aged father hurried to the presence of the Prince, to implore pardon for his son. "According to the rigour of the law," said the Prince to him, your son ought to be condemned to imprisonment. I will, however, for this once, grant him my pardon; but, if he should be taken again, he shall suffer punishment. And you must be aware, that it is not to a place of imprisonment that I shall go to seek my coun- sellors and my other officers." The affair was thus settled; but the young de Schilf cherished a mortal hatred towards the forester; and though years ran by from that time, he burned with a desire for vengeance. In the meantime the Prince died. The heir 84 THE YOUNG ARTIST presumptive was a minor, and was at that time on his travels. A regency was appointed; a great change took place in the country. The young de Schilf, who was in the enjoyment of a large fortune, and who had relations high in office, was appointed keeper-general. He estab- lished himself in great pomp at the castle of Felseck, a part of which was assigned to him for his residence. He then became the superior of the worthy forester, and pleased himself with tormenting him in a thousand ways. He was continually heaping reproaches upon him. The keeper could never do anything right. The new Prince at length came to take the reins of government. The keeper-general de Schilf, very artful and very insinuating, was en- abled to gain, by his intrigues, the entire favour of the Grand Master of the waters and forests, who enjoyed the entire favour of the Prince. He availed himself of this, to make the poor forester feel still more all his arrogance and his animosity. "You are no more fit for service," he said to THE YOUNG ARTIST. him one day. "I will take care to have you replaced by a man who will know better how to watch over the management of this fine forest." I shall resign my functions with pleasure," replied the forester. I should have done so long ago, if the old Prince would have consented to it. And then my son will succeed me." "Your son ?" said de Schilf, ironically; "it seems to me that I ought to have a word or two to say about that." The forester mentioned the warrant that the prince had delivered to Christian, and by reason of which the latter had married. "Bah !" exclaimed M. de Schilf. "I know of your warrant. You interpret it very skilfully; but unfortunately for you, it is only a single pro- mise, on condition of good conduct. It was nothing more than that. Christian is good for nothing. I know how to make a better choice." The poor grey-headed old man attempted in vain to restrain a tear, and said- "Mr Keeper-general, pardon me, do not be unjust. At one time you felt yourself offended 86 THE YOUNG ARTIST: by me; but that should be a reason for your acting towards me with more circumspection." "How !" exclaimed de Schilf, his eyes flash- ing with anger; "is it you that remind me of your own rudeness ? Is it you that made me remember that, thanks to your malevolence, I was deprived of the only pleasure of my youth ? It was by you that I was slandered at the court. You are an insolent clown. You have never had any respect for the nobility; and you have associated with none but the vulgar. You have allowed your son to marry a girl that had not a penny, a very beggar; and the little fortune that you had, you have thrown away upon that vaga- bond Antony. You have not known how to manage your own property. How then will you be able to manage the property of others, and to watch over the interests of the prince ? Go, go, you are good for nothing. I expect that we shall soon have some great affair with each other; and then I shall be relieved from your presence." The forester left him. THE YOUNG ARTIST. "Well, well," said he to himself, on retiring; "the keeper-general is a fine fellow! The woods are in the finest condition in the world. I do not fear him, notwithstanding the desire that he has to injure me. We shall see." He did not speak to his family of the conver- sation that he had had with the keeper-general, in order that he might not distress them without cause. One day, the forester had returned from his rounds and had taken his seat in his arm-chair; when a messenger entered, and handed him a letter from the director-general of waters and forests. The letter stated that the forester Grunenwald, by virtue of an order from his superior, was dis- charged from his office, on account of his age, and the incapacity which it occasioned; and that the service of the forest would be, until the time when the vacancy should be filled up, con- fided to the neighboring keeper of Walden- bruck. As for a pension for the honest forester, and a place for his son, there was no mention 88 THE YOUNG ARTIST. made of either. The letter went on to say that, from the date when it should be received, the former forester was prohibited from firing a single shot in the forest, or even of showing himself there with fire-arms, on pain of forfeiting them. The old forester opened the letter, and was struck with consternation. His hand trembled. He restrained himself, however, and read the letter to his family who were employed around him in different household occupations. The aged mother and her two daughters became pale with affright. Christian could not conceal his anger on seeing the spitefulness of the keeper- general. His young wife kept silence for some moments, and then burst into tears. His child- ren, who were playing about the room, began to cry also, when they saw that their mother was crying. The whole family were plunged into sorrow. The aged forester was the only one amongst them who preserved his calmness. He said, "Never forget that there is still a good God. You first, my aged wife, wipe away your tears, and give to our children and our grandchildren THE YOUNG ARTIST. an example of confidence in God. If He is with us, the wicked will in vain attempt to injure us. This trial comes to us from Him; and it will, some day, turn to our advantage. Let us take courage. The Almighty protects us. If all the earth casts us off, He, at least, will not repulse us. He is our Father. His riches are infinite; and He will never allow us to want bread. Let us trust in Him. Be fearless ; and let us console ourselves in our adversity. I will not, however," he continued, "neglect anything. To-morrow I will go to see the Prince. He has all the generosity of his father. He will hear me notwithstanding the great number of affairs with which he is pressed at the commence- ment of his reign. He is just; and he will never permit an aged forester, who has faithfully served his masters for more than forty years, to be given up, without ceremony, with his wife, his children, and his grandchildren, to misery, and hunger, and death. Christian, you shall accompany me. We may now both of us very well absent our- selves, without the consent of the keeper-general. 90 THE YOUNG ARTIST. Take care that we get ready to set out early to- morrow morning." The next morning the forester arose before it was day, and awoke his son. "I cannot wait for sunrise," he said ; "it is moonlight, and we know the way. Let us set out." Catherine brought their linen, and some pro- visions for the journey. Christian's wife and Louisa prepared the breakfast, and carried it into the apartment. The children were still asleep. "And when do you think of coming back?" asked the aged wife of her husband. I cannot exactly tell," he replied; probably in about eight days." "To-morrow fortnight is Christmas eve," said his wife. By that time, at least, you will have returned." "In eight days from to-morrow, if God wills it," said the keeper. "Besides, whatever may happen, I should wish to celebrate the holy day of Christmas with you." "Go," said his wife; "and may God preserve you both." THE YOUNG ARTIST "In the meantime," added the forester; "pray to God, and have confidence in Him. He will do everything for the best." The whole family accompanied the two travel- lers to the threshold of the door. It was still very dark; and there was nothing to indicate the approach of the dawn. They set out courageously in the middle of a cold and dark night in December. Our two travellers, and principally the aged father, excited the most lively solicitude in the whole family. The first week passed over in a sufficiently quiet manner; but when their absence was prolonged beyond that period, and the weather became worse and worse-the rain falling incessantly-they felt great uneasiness. Alas !" they said, Christian, with his robust health, will have already been exposed to much evil; but our aged father, how will he be able to endure it?" The two children of Christian were continually running to the door, to see whether their father and their grandfather were not returning. 92 THE YOUNG ARTIST. Thus, after the first week, a second succeeded; and it was full of sorrow and of anguish. Be- sides, some days after the departure of the two foresters, a huntsman of the keeper-general had brought an official letter. The aged mother did not venture to take upon herself to open it. She feared, however, some sorrowful news; for the huntsman had said, in a tone of irony, "What folly, on the part of the old forester, to have been running to the capital, with his blockhead of a son Monsieur the keeper-general is sure of his business. They will be put to expense, and will get nothing but shame and contempt." While they were thus waiting, the family prayed every day, that God would vouchsafe to the travellers favourable access to the Prince, and that He would bring them back safe and sound. The children themselves, of their own accord, joined in that prayer. I -.- ..- e I CHAPTER VII. MORE MISFORTUNE. NDER these sorrowful auspices came on the festival of Christmas. Night closed in at an early hour, and the sky was covered with dark clouds. The wind whistled through the old oaks, and made the pine-trees of the forest bend before it. So heavy were the rain and the snow, that the streams in the gut- ters roared like torrents falling from the tops of rocks. "Oh, my God !" said the aged dame, after having for a long time looked.out of the window, "one does not yet see them. If they do not come to-day, to celebrate Christmas, most surely some misfortune will have happened to them. I am in perfect agony. What weather! THE YOUNG ARTIST. One would not even turn a dog out of doors; and the roads must be very puddles. Alas! that they would arrive. The rest would be of little importance." She opened the casement, and looked out; and she then exclaimed, "God be praised, they are here !" All the family ran to the threshold of the door, to meet the two travellers; and they asked them, Well, has the journey been a happy one ?" I hope that everything will be ordered for the best," replied the aged forester. "Our long absence must have occasioned you much uneasi- ness. The journey made me a little indisposed, and thus deferred my departure. After I recovered, the rivers and the brooks had been so much swollen by the continual rains, that we were not able to set out until some days later. But, God be praised, we have now re- turned !" He entered, and changed his garments; and he then seated himself in his arm-chair, near the stove, in which a good fire was burning. His THE YOUNG ARTIST aged wife brought a bottle of wine and two glasses, with a lighted lamp. Come, this will restore you !" said she, filling the glasses. "You must be in need of it." In truth," said the forester, casting his eyes around him, by the light of the lamp, "how pleasant it is to be in your own home, in the midst of one's family, and to see all around nothing but cheerful and benevolent counte- nances !" The son of the forester, however, said to his wife, aside: Matters are going badly. We are in great risk of losing the place." This intelligence distressed her; and she com- municated it secretly to the other members of the family. On seeing their countenances sud- denly become darkened, and fear and affright painted upon all their features, the aged forester exclaimed : "What! has Christian, then, already been tattling? There is nothing to conceal. You shall know all; but do not despair. Remember that this is the night in which the Saviour was 96 THE YOUNG ARTIST born. Let us forget, in the presence of so great a joy, the pitiful cares of this earth. At least, let them not press too much on our hearts. "We arrived at the capital at a late hour of the night; and notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, I proceeded to the house of Mr Muller, the councillor of the waters and forests. He is an honest and virtuous man. He was formerly my keeper-general, and he has always displayed great friendship for me. The other councillors who had known me are either all dead or have retired. Although he has himself retired from business, by reason of his age, he was yet able to give me the best advice. In fact, the worthy man received me in the most affable manner. I made him acquainted with that which I had upon my heart. "' The keeper-general,' he said to me, 'is a dangerous enemy to you ; and, unfortunately, he has powerful friends. He wishes to obtain your situation for a young man who has been his domestic, and he makes the most unfavourable reports respecting you and your son. I very THE YOUNG ARTIST. much fear that he will succeed, and cause Chris- tian to lose his paternal employment.' Oh !' I answered him, the affair will not go so, for I intend to address myself directly to the Prince.' "'I advise you to do so,' said Mr Muller to me, 'and I will accompany you. But you have chosen a very bad time. The young Duke is overwhelmed with business, and you will find it difficult to obtain an audience. Do not forget also to see the Director-General and the coun- cillors of the waters and forests. I fear much that you will meet with a bad reception. M. de Schilf has gained them all in his favour.' These words were soon verified. I had much hardship to endure. The Director-Gene- ral received me in a very cold manner, and dis- missed me very quickly. The other councillors did not treat me much better. I found nothing but sour looks, and I heard nothing but hard words. I was not even received by the Prince, who was at that time with the Director-General. M. de Schilf had calumniated us with very great G 98 THE YOUNG ARTIST address. I abstain from giving you more ample particulars. They would be tedious. Besides, they relate to matters that you could not com- prehend. All that we can hope for is an inquiry; and that would probably fall into the hands of ,those who would be very little favourable to us. But conversation like this makes us sad; and this is an evening on which all Christians should rejoice. It is Christmas eve. Let us remember the birth of our Saviour. That will clear up our countenances." He cast a look at the picture of the manger that Antony had sent. It was hung in the place that the looking-glass had formerly occupied; and it was covered with a veil, that it might be preserved from all injury. Francis and Clara, the two grandchildren of the aged keeper, had been for many weeks rejoicing in the anticipation of Christmas eve. They rose hastily and wiped away the tears from their pretty faces, which were already smiling again. Grandmother," said little Francis, "take away the veil from the picture, and light the THE YOUNG ARTIST. candles as you did last year, that we may see it the better." Grandfather," said young Clara, take your harp. We should like to sing the pretty Christ- mas hymn." But tell me, first," said the forester, "if nothing has happened during my absence." "No," replied the aged female; but an ominous letter that came from the administration, immediately after your departure." She presented to him the sealed letter. The forester opened it. He grew pale, and lifted his face towards heaven. Oh! God," he exclaimed, "Thy will be done !" All the family, frightened and full of anguish, turned their eyes towards him. "Well, what is it ?" asked the aged woman. "We must leave this house," replied the forester. "We ought to have gone out of it already. The keeper-general orders us to evacuate the forester's home before Christmas, in order that the new keeper may enter into it in time for the festival. He threatens, in case of Ioo THE YOUNG ARTIST. disobedience, to have us expelled by the officers of the court. I am astonished that they have not yet arrived. At any moment they may come and turn us out of doors." "Oh heavens," exclaimed the wife of Chris- tian ; "in this terrible and stormy night! Do you hear how the wind blows, and the rain is falling in torrents ? Where shall we find a shelter from the wind and rain ?" She sank upon her chair, and pressed her two children to her bosom. God of goodness !" she said, groaning, have pity upon these innocent creatures !" Christian, without uttering a word, and with his hands joined together, stood before her, casting sorrowful looks upon his wife and children. "Oh! my God !" exclaimed the aged mother, sobbing, and wringing her hands, "to be driven in our old age, with our children and our grand- children from the house in which I was born, and where my father and my grandfather lived ! Such a thing was never heard of! Heavenly |