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Wanderings of French Ed

J. Adelard René



  Produced by Jerry Kuntz

  Wanderings of French Edby Joseph Adelard RenePublished 1899Wright & Company, New York

  The beginning of life is like the morning of a spring day and dreamsare to one's soul what sunshine is to that day--often too brilliantto last; but human nature needs a stimulant, and that stimulant isthe ideal which takes place in the soul of every human being whenambition for the future is born.

  Who does not remember nursing golden dreams in days gone by? Such isthe human heart; it lives on fiction, and feeds on happy dreams forthe future.

  When about twenty years of age, Edward Cottret was at the end of hisschooldays, and the desire to realize an old cherished dream wasuppermost in his soul. That old dream was to go to the United States,make a fortune, come back home and astonish the natives.

  The little village where Edward was living was all excitement when itwas learned that old man Cottret had decided to let his boy Ed go tothe States. Some blamed him, others thought it was proper, but theyall joined in wishing the boy godspeed and good luck.

  The day to depart had arrived, and at the little station parents andfriends were assembled to bid him farewell. His mother and sisterwere taking turns kissing him, while crying, and his father, sad butsolemn, stood by, waiting for a last chance to give him, his onlyson, fatherly advice. The shrill whistle of the locomotive was heard,and then it was like the last part of a funeral ceremony, and evenEdward, who up to this time had succeeded in hiding his emotion, felthis heart growing too big for his chest, and when he held thequivering hand of Marie Louise, his sweetheart, he completely lostthe power of speech, and when she said: "Ed, don't forget me," hecould only stare at her.

  The train was now ready to start, and standing at the end of the car,Edward was holding his father's hand, who also felt tears in hiseyes. The last seconds were painful to all, and it almost seemed arelief when the train moved and handkerchiefs fluttered in the airhis last farewell. Had it not been for the noise made by the movingtrain his sobbing would have been heard by those on the platform.

  The last ones to leave the station were his father, his mother, andhis sweetheart. They stood there until the smoke from the locomotivecould be seen no more. Edward saw the last houses of his nativevillage grow smaller, and long after he could not see them he stoodat the end of the car while tears were coursing down his cheeks. Whenhe went inside he felt a strange sensation of loneliness which seemedto increase as the distance grew between him and his village. Whenthe train stopped at the next small station Edward was tempted to getout and walk back home; but at this his pride revolted, and the trainas it moved again seemed to mock him.

  Try as he might he could not revive in his soul the old dreams forthe future, and when night came, stretched on the hard benches of thesecond class coach, he slept just long enough to dream of his motherand his village. Once he woke up, thinking he held the quivering handof his blue-eyed sweetheart.

  After a restless night, morning found him aching in every limb in hisbody, but glad that he was nearing his destination. Worcester, Mass.,was the city where he expected to first walk upon American soil, andafter searching in vain upon the yellow time-table to find the exacttime he would arrive, he turned to a fellow-passenger, a big fatfellow, whom he addressed in French, saying: "A quelle heurearriverons nous a Wor-ces-ter?"

  The big fellow look puzzled at first, then smiling, he said: "TalkUnited States."

  Edward failed to understand the meaning of "talking United States,"but answered "thank you," trying to look satisfied with the answer.

  About two hours later the conductor came in and said: "Worster!Worster!" and shortly after the train stopped in a large depot.Almost everyone stepped out except Edward, who had no idea that"Worster," as the conductor called it, and "Worcester" were the sameplace. "Don't you want to get off here?" asked the conductor.

  "No, I am going to Worcester," answered the French lad, but theconductor picked up some of his things and smilingly informed himthat he was at the end of his trip.

  After finding his way out of the station, Edward stopped an instantto look around and immediately he was surrounded by a lot of cabmenyelling, gesticulating and wanting to take hold of some of the boy'sparcels. Surprised and almost scared he tried to make them understandsomething in French, but failed, and he was getting in a ratherembarrassing situation, when an old gentleman, who had witnessed theproceedings, stepped up to him and asked him in broken French wherehe wanted to go. "God bless you!" thought Edward as he looked up intothe kind old gentleman's face, and told him where he wanted to bedirected to.

  The old gentleman walked part way with him, and then gave himdirections to find a hotel kept by a Frenchman, where he said Edwardwould be well treated. After a few minutes Edward found himself infront of a cheap-looking boarding house, bearing the name "Hotel deMontreal," and he walked in. Every one in the place spoke French, andhe felt at once like a new man. His face brightened up and hisold-time courage came back as he told the proprietor that we wanted tostop there for a few days.

  The remainder of that day was spent in sight-seeing and in gatheringinformation about addresses given him by his father and friends ofsome compatriots in business in that city, from whom Edward expectedto receive employment and get his start in American life.

  Early the next day he started to call at each place, sure that hewould have no trouble in finding employment, but his enthusiasm wassomewhat cooled when compatriots in business informed him carelesslythat they could do nothing for him. At each succeeding place he metwith the same fate, until a call had been made at every address.

  His modest pocketbook was depleted, and the light of hope that bumsin every man's soul was getting dim, and its rays were like those ofa flickering candle. Golden dreams had left his heart one by one tomake room for the cold and cruel reality. Was that the United Stateshe had read and heard so much about? Where every one could makemoney? True, there was much activity, but it broke his heart to thinkhe had no part in it. He felt small and lost among these strangerswho passed by him without noticing him; he, who in his native villagewas used to be quite an important personage. He would have given tenyears of his life to be back home, but alas! his money was now nearlyall gone.

  That night he went to bed earlier than usual, not to sleep, but tocry in despair. In the stillness of the night he thought he couldhear the sobbing of his old mother, and in the darkness of his littleroom he imagined he could see the sad face of his blue-eyedsweetheart. He had never thought that life could be so bitter, and tohis young soul the weight of his sorrow was indeed great.

  The next morning, sitting in what they called "the-waiting room,"Edward noticed a young man enter, carrying under his arm a largepackage of frames. Edward was attracted by the strange and unhappylight in the young man's eyes, and the hyper-sympathetic nature ofthe French lad made him forget his own misfortunes while looking atthe newcomer. There is a certain affinity betweenunfortunates--miserables. After placing his package on the floor thestranger sat down near Edward, and after rolling a cigarette he turnedtoward Edward and asked him for a match, which was handed to him, andthis proved to be the beginning of an acquaintanceship which broughtabout a friendship of the kind that endures, and is one of the greatestgifts to humanity.

  Misery accelerates acquaintanceship, and in a very short time theyknew all about each other. Edward's new-made friend was a Russian,and his limited knowledge of the French language was a great help intheir conversation.

  Benjamin Oresky, his new friend, told him his story, and with all theimpulsive generosity of his nature, the French lad felt a great waveof sympathy in his soul for the young Russian. Poor Ben! Afterrunning away from Russia, on account of some trivial politicaltrouble, he had learned that
the government had arrested his father,accusing him of helping his son to run away to America, and as aresult of this trouble, his mother had died; and he felt guilty ofher death.

  After learning the Russian's sad story Edward felt that his ownmisfortune was not near so great as Ben's, and he decided to do allin his power to help his new friend, at least in a moral way.

  Benjamin Oresky was twenty-one years old; indescribable suffering hadcaused premature wrinkles in his handsome face, and the streaks ofsilver in his black curly hair told of unhappiness, while in hisbrown eyes shone a light born of martyrdom.

  The brotherly love that had sprung up between these two young men wasthe result of a condition of circumstances that brought this mysticvirtue in all its purity. It came to their souls like a soothingbalm, and it gave birth to ambitions that otherwise would never havebeen felt.

  They were each other's confidant.