Trash. A tale of Brittany, etc

Chapter I. Trash

This was the only name the child ever had ! He did not know where he was born or who his parents were, but ever since he was old enough to remember anything he had belonged to a troupe of French acrobats, with whom he wandered about the country in com pany with a performing dog, a dancing mon key, and a donkey who stood upon his head. Every day Trash had his joints bent until it seemed as if they must break. He had to learn to smile when he was trembling with fright — he had to twist himself round Trash. 8 like a hoop, and bend himself backwards like a snake, and if he stopped one moment too soon he was beaten more severely than the donkey or the dog. Yes ; Trash was beaten for everything. He was the scapegoat of the troupe, and if the rain prevented them from putting up their tent, or the money did not come in as quickly as it ought, Trash was beaten.

He was always being beaten ; not for any particular reason, but just because he belonged to no body and had no one belonging to him — just because he was only Trash. He never complained, because he was used to it, and constant suffering had made him feeble and timid. He was too much subdued even to think of running away ; besides, never having known any one else, he looked up with a certain amount of awe and admiration to the mountebanks who fed him and taught him his tricks, cruel as they often were. He had very vague ideas about fathers and mothers, for family ties were not much respected amongst his set, and he seldom Trash. 9 troubled himself to think what kind of a mother his had been. Perhaps some gipsy who had strayed away from her band and had deserted him as soon as he was born. Who was his father ?

Possibly a pickpocket. What was the use of troubling about either of his parents ? What good could they ever do him ? He must accept his life and make the best of it. He could never be anything different to what he was, only he wanted to be quick and grow up and learn every trick that had to be learnt. When he knew how to balance himself upon a rolling ball and how to climb up a ladder, which the giant of the troupe held between his teeth, perhaps they would not beat him quite so often. " Oh ! when I am quite grown up," thought he, "who knows, some day perhaps it will be my turn to be master." Poor little man ! He had no idea of right and wrong. No one had ever talked to him about God, and he would as soon have dared to have walked into one of the king's palaces Trash. 10 as venture inside a church.

He had listened to oaths and blasphemy all his little life, and he used bad language with a child's uncon sciousness of evil. His happiest moments were spent slumbering upon the heath when the troupe camped out in the sweet summer nights, and he lay dreaming beneath the stars with the light breezes fanning his cheeks, and the chirp of the grasshopper and the song of the nightingales mingling with his dreams. The night wind refreshed his weary little soul— the birds' song spoke to him in an unknown language, but it sounded sweeter in his ears than the harsh guttural tones of the chief of his band. So when Trash had gone through his exercises and played trick after trick again and again, according to the whim of his master, and at last was left to himself, he used to steal away and roll in the long grass and bury his hot face in tufts of sweet flowers and talk to them as if they were friends.

Or sometimes, lying beneath the shadow of the forest trees, he would sing Trash, 11 himself to sleep with songs without words which he had learnt from the birds, and when they themselves woke him in the morning, he would plunge into the blue water, dry himself upon the grass and for get for a time his aches and pains and hunger. So the years passed on, and he grew in height but not in strength. He was oppressed with the feverish languor of a growing lad, and his nerves and muscles refused to do their daily tasks. He was too weak to go through his usual perform ances, and even hard blows could not force him to do his work. As he was so useless his master scarcely gave him anything to eat — he even begrudged him the crusts and bones which he shared with the dog, and he grew weaker day by day.

One night they camped out just at the edge of a thick wood. Trash was very tired, and he slept soundly. It was late when he opened his eyes in the morning, and he started up suddenly, rubbed them, and Trash 12 looked wildly all round him. There was not a sign of tent, caravan, or donkey, or a single member of the troupe anywhere to be seen. All at once it came into his mind that they had left him behind on purpose — that he was only Trash, and they wanted to get rid of him. He burst into tears, for, strange to say, he felt sorry to lose his com panions, rough and savage as they were. He had known no others, and, after all, habit is second nature. Where was he ? He did not know. He only knew that he was in France, and it seemed a large country. Now that he was all alone it seemed larger than ever.

They had left the poor little boy fast asleep with nothing in the world but just the mountebank's dress he had on. Worn out and weary, he had lain down in his faded pink tights and blue velvet trunk hose with his flaxen curls bound round with a spangled turban. For nearly an hour he sat with his head buried in his hands wondering what he should do. He would never be able to Trash 13 play any more tricks. How was he to live ? Although he owed little enough to the mountebanks, still they had kept him alive. Must he die in a ditch ? After a little while he roused himself, and shaking off his first feeling of utter despair, he crept along under the shadow of the great trees, going he knew not whither. H e walked a long way, seeing nothing but trees, until at last he came to a woodcutter's hut, where he saw three little children sitting outside the door, eating bread and honey.

They were so surprised at the mountebank's dress that they jumped up to look at him, and began to laugh and make fun of him. Then one little girl saw his face was very sad, and that he did not smile in return, but looked tired and hungry, so she crept shyly up to him and gave him her slice of bread and honey. He could only thank her with a kiss as he took it to eat on the way. He walked all day and slept at night, under the trees, for he was still in the forest. All the next day he wandered on, but he Trash. 14 met no kind children to give him bread and honey — only a shepherd boy, who, thinking he was some forest sprite, threw stones at him and ran away. He felt that his mountebank's dress made people fear and despise him, and bitterly he regretted that the only trade he knew was utterly useless to him in the country.

All that day he had nothing to eat, but some wild apples and berries, which he gathered in the woods. He was so weak and tired that he could scarcely put one foot before the other as he dragged himself wearily along, leaning on a thick stick which he had cut from the hedge. He came to the end of the forest at last, and found himself in the open fields. The harvest was just gathered in and the v/hole country seemed deserted. He did not even meet a shepherd or a woodcutter. He felt sick and giddy, and the hot sun nearly blinded him ; but he thought he heard church bells in the distance, and if so there must be a village not very far off, so on he went until he came to a shady lane, where there was a cottage Trash. 15 with blue smoke curling up from its chimney. There was a deafening sound of hammering, and the din in his ears made his head so round and round, so that before he could quite reach the door of the cottage he staggered and fell fainting to the ground, uttering, as he did so, a little plaintive cry like some animal in distress.

The sound was heard by two little girls, who came running out of the cottage. They were fair, pretty children, and the tears came into their eyes when they saw the poor little mountebank lying pale and lifeless upon the dusty road. These were the first tears that had ever been shed for Trash ! The elder one, who was called Rose, bent over him and tried to lift him up, whilst her little sister Julie ran back into the house to find her mother. Presently the mother and child came out together, and the woman, who was fair and pale, with a sad, kind face, took the fainting boy up in her arms and carried him on to one of her children's beds, and Trash. 16 bathed his forehead with fresh water until he opened his eyes, murmuring faintly, " I am very hungry." Then she brought him bread and milk, which he ate ravenously, and little Julie presented him with a rosy-cheeked apple.

"Thank you very, very much," he said, leaning against the foot of the bed and looking round regretfully at the tidy little room and the smiling faces of the children. " Now I must go." " Where are you going ? " asked the woman. ' I do not know." ' Where do you come from ? ' From the streets." Where are your parents ? " " I never had any. You kiss your children, but no one ever kissed me, so I can never have had a mother. The people who brought me up have deserted me because I am no longer strong enough to go through my tricks, and instead of earning money for them I should only be an expense to keep, Trash. \ 17 so they left me behind on the road, like a bundle of rubbish." " And have you no other clothes ? " "No," replied the boy, blushing with shame. " Listen ! " said the woman. " My husband is rough.

I do not mean that he is bad, but he is harsh, and he must not see you here when he comes in to supper this evening. Go in there into the shed with the goats. I will give you some clean hay for a bed, and bring you some supper ; and for one night at least you shall sleep beneath a Christian roof." " You are very kind ! " said Trash. At that moment Madame Jacques (that was the woman's name) thought she heard her husband coming in, so she opened a door quickly and led Trash across the yard and pushed him hurriedly into the shed with the goats, who soon made friends with him by licking- his hands and face. Then she went back into the house and brought out of the cup board a quantity of cast-off clothes, which she began to cut down and patch and make c Trash up into a suit of clothes for the poor boy.

This occupied her until supper-time, when her husband came staggering in with a heavy tread. One glance at his face told her that he had been drinking, and she was thankful that the children were asleep. He grumbled at his supper, the cider was bad, everything was wrong ; he swore at his wife, but she never complained. She was used to it, and took it all as a matter of course. After she had cleared the table she put some bones upon a plate and went to the door calling "Spark! Spark," but the dog did not come as usual for his supper. Then she opened the door of the forge and looked in, and just by the threshold lay the dead body of poor Spark, with his head crushed by the heavy blacksmith's hammer which lay by his side. This was the end of the faithful dog who had served his master well for many a long year, and because he had begged for his supper that night instead of going back into the wheel the Trash. \ 19 moment he bid him to do so, he had killed him in his fit of drunken rage.

Two tears stole down the pale cheeks of Madame Jacques, as she tenderly lifted up the dead dog, and, wrapping him in her apron, she carried him a little distance along the road and buried him by the moonlight underneath an old oak in the meadow. When she came back her husband was sleeping heavily, and, fearful of waking him, she moved about the room cautiously whilst she collected some scraps of cold meat and bread and poured out a glass of milk for Trash's supper. She dared only stay in the shed just long enough to put the things down by his side with the suit of clothes she had patched up for him. Then she hurried away without waiting to hear one word of thanks. When he awoke in the morning he won dered where he was, and it seemed as if he must be dreaming still ; when Madame Jacques came in, followed by Rose, carrying a basin of bread and milk.

He had slept c Trash, 20 well upon the sweet hay, and had had plea sant dreams, always of a gentle pale-faced woman, who had smiled kindly at him and spoken to him in a sad low voice. He took the basin from Rose, and did not quite know how to express his thanks. Whilst he ate his breakfast the woman and child sat beside him on the hay and stroked the silky hair of the goats. " These clothes are for you," said Madame Jacques, when he had finished. " I cannot bear the idea of any Christian child going about in such a garb as this. Come ! let me dress you ; and see, here are fifteen sous ready in your pocket, so you need not starve. Make your way to the town and get some work." " What work can I get ? I am only a mountebank, and I know nothing-." "Poor little fellow!" she said, sighing deeply.

" Never mind. God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." " Oh ! can't you keep me here. Do — pray do," exclaimed the boy, passionately. Trash 21 " Alas ! my child, I dare not." He hung his head, and the tears rolled down his cheeks as she combed out his fair tangled curls, and dressed him in his new suit, saying, as she fastened the last button, — " Now you must follow me out and start upon your journey. Here are your mountebank's clothes in this parcel. Take them with you, but I hope you may never need them again." Silently and sorrowfully he followed her across the yard, and just at the corner they came face to face with her husband, Jacques the blacksmith, who was quite sober, but scowled angrily at them both. " Who is this brat ? " he asked, sternly. " A poor deserted boy whom I found yesterday fainting from hunger outside our door."

" And he has been lodged and fed at my expense, I suppose ? " " He is poorer than we are, Jacques." " And I was only yesterday complaining of hard times and the household expenses ; Trash, 22 and now you are doing your best to increase them," he roared, seizing the trembling boy by the shoulders and shaking him lustily. " What is your name, you young vagabond ? Where are your parents ? " " I never had any parents. I am a mountebank, and my name is Trash." Jacques burst into a fit of loud, coarse laughter, and opening the door of the forge, he called to his two apprentices. " I say, you two, come here a minute. Here's a joke ! Here's a boy called Trash. Nothing but Trash ! " Two grimy, stalwart, hideous creatures came out and eyed him curiously, and they too burst into fits of harsh, discordant laughter.

" Where do you live? " continued Jacques. " Nowhere." " Do you like this house ? " Trash looked back at Madame Jacques and the children with a longing look as he murmured, — " Oh ! yes, indeed." Trash. 23 "All right, then," said Jacques; "you shall stay then." " I may stay ? " exclaimed the boy, his face radiant with joy. " But do you really mean it ? " interrupted the woman, in astonishment. "Certainly. You took upon yourself to introduce the boy here, and to feed him at my expense. I am simply following your good example." She stood speechless with astonishment. For Jacques to do an act of charity was more than she could understand, and she trembled for the ultimate fate of the boy, wondering whether it would not, perhaps, have been better for him if she had left him to die quietly upon the road where she had found him.

Whilst she was thus wondering, Trash, overcome with joy at what he considered an unexpected piece of luck, had thrown him self at the feet of the big, burly blacksmith, and was trying to reach his hand to press it to his lips. Trash. 24 " Keep your paws off! " he said, roughly pushing him away. " I have lost Spark and I must have another dog. You shall take his place in the wheel."

Chapter II. Cyclops And Unicorn

Jacques the blacksmith's forge was in a cavern, and gave one at once the idea of that celebrated forge where Vulcan, in the good old days, used to mould the armour of Homer's heroes. Jacques, for a few crowns, had bought a piece of worthless, rocky ground by the roadside, and gradually and steadily he had hewn under the rocks for nearly a quarter of a mile, and made large workshops of the caverns. The one facing the road was the forge. The door and window were simply fissures in the rock, through which could be seen the huge glowing furnace and the anvil of the forge. Jacques himself was the big gest and strongest man in that part of the country, and many a tale was told of the Trash. marvellous feats of this village Samson — of how he could throw about huge masses of rock as if they were pebbles, and how he had once killed an infuriated bull just by giving him one blow on the forehead with his clenched fist.

He was certainly a formidable-looking man, with his coarse black hair and glaring eyes, and as he wielded the hammer with his black, brawny arms, like Thor the Scan dinavian god, he twisted thick bars of iron as easily as a child bending a rush. When the sparks flew about him, and the bellows groaned, and behind the light the dark caverns loomed in the distance, people felt that there was something uncanny about the whole place, and especially about Jacques himself. No one loved him, and every one shunned him. Women crossed themselves when they saw him coming down the road, and the children ran away from him screaming. He rather gloried in this, and never tried to conciliate his neighbours in any way. In fact he tried to make himself as terrible as possible, and, as if to add to the weirdness of his surroundings, he had taken two of the most grotesque-looking monsters ever seen in that part of the country as his apprentices.

They were known far and wide for their ugliness, and were nicknamed Cyclops and Unicorn. Cyclops had lost one eye, and the other was round, and had grown to an unusual size to make up for the missing one. He had a very low forehead and a bush of red hair, which stuck out wildly in all directions. He was very short, but broad and strong. Unicorn was tall and dark, and had a horn in the middle of his forehead. He was born with it, and no one could take it away. If cut it only grew longer, so he was obliged to put up with it, and however carefully he might try to arrange his shaggy black locks over it to try and hide it, there it was, plainly visible to all eyes. Like their master, Cyclops and Unicorn were often tipsy, and many a jug of cider they drank together in the forge in the even- Trash 28 ings whilst poor Madame Jacques sat alone knitting stockings by the side of her sleep ing children.

It was a terrible household for these gentle creatures ; but they never complained, although they often trembled when they heard the master's footstep. Such was Trash's new home, and he soon found out that the blacksmith was even a harder taskmaster than the leader of the mountebank troupe had been. Still he bore his fate with resignation. Was he not accustomed to hard words and cruel blows ? and if Jacques' voice was loud and harsh his wife's was sweet like music. The two little girls treated him like a brother. Often, when their father was not looking, they stole timidly into the forge and thrust some fruit into his little hot hands. He was only eleven years old, and yet he was tired of life, for he had to work so hard ; oh ! so hard. All day long he had to work the wheel, just like a squirrel, to blow the bellows.

He went on with the regularity of a machine, although the heat from the furnace singed his hair, and the noise of the hammer deafened him, and he was sick and giddy ; still he went on, and when dinner-time came for the two apprentices he only had a crust of bread thrown to him. Was he not doing a dog's work, and so he must be treated like a dog ? He was not even allowed to sleep in the shed with the goats. He had only a wooden bench in a dark corner of the forge for his bed, and he never saw the light of day. " Why cannot he have his meals with us ? " Madame Jacques timidly asked her lord and master. " Because you would spoil him ; and what business is it of yours, I should like to know ? The young vagabond is doing Spark's work, and what was good enough for Spark is good enough for him." " You are mistaken, Jacques," replied his wife, gravely.

" This boy has a soul, and it is our duty to teach him that he has one ." Trash. 30 Jacques interrupted her speech by a heavy blow, muttering curses as he left the room. The poor woman did not know what to do for the best. It seemed to her a dreadful thing to be responsible for this child's soul, and yet to leave it in darkness. She was scarcely ever allowed to have an opportunity of talking to him, so how could she teach him anything. She could not even take him to church, for Sunday was no day of rest for Jacques and his apprentices. The furnace roared and the hammer fell just the same as on other days, and so the boy lived on like some chained beast, turning, turning ceaselessly in the wheel through the hot summer days, until December covered the earth with his mantle of snow. Still he turned the wheel from early morning until night, when he stretched himself out more dead than alive upon his wooden bed.

Thus two long years passed away, and all at once Jacques took it into his head that he might make more out of Trash than by just letting him turn the wheel. The lad seemed sharp and intelligent, and perhaps might be made into a useful tool instead of merely a machine. So one day Jacques went to the fair, and when he returned at night he brought a dog home with him. "He is to take your place," he said, abruptly, to the astonished Trash, who scarcely knew how to believe his own eyes. Was he really to be promoted so soon ? To be able at least to hold up his head instead of bending his back all day long inside that weary wheel ? It was, indeed, a fact ; but poor Trash did not find life much easier in consequence, for, as may be imagined, Cyclops and Unicorn were hard masters, and at first it seemed as if he could never learn their trade.

He tried hard, with all his might and main, and often he had to duck his head to avoid the heavy hammer thrown by their impatient hands, and often his flesh bore marks of the red-hot iron. Trash. 32 Still he plodded on, never complaining, until at last, as if to reward his patience, a ray of light broke into his life. He began to love his trade, and he made such rapid progress that soon Cyclops and Unicorn grew jealous of him. His nimble fingers were able to turn out more delicate workmanship than their strong, clumsy ones, and if a complicated lock or a delicate chain were required it was Trash who was set to work to execute the order. Altogether life was not quite so hard for him in his new position. He had more opportunities of playing with the children and talking to their mother. Sometimes he was sent out on errands, and oh ! what joy it was once more to breathe the fresh air and see the green fields and trees.

It seemed to make him wild with excitement, and inspire him with an uncontrollable wish for more liberty. One summer night, when the whole house hold were sleeping soundly, instead of lying down as usual upon his wooden bed, he called Spark (for the new dog bore the same name as his predecessor). " Now, Spark, lie still, good dog, and keep guard until I come back. Do not bark and do not follow me. I am going out ; but you must wait here until I come back." The dog licked his hand and wagged his tail, as if he quite understood his young com panion, and then curled himself round to go to sleep again. Trash opened the door very gently and strolled out. He was soon in the open fields. It was a lovely night, and the sky was sprinkled with a thousand stars. Once more he heard the voice of the night ingale, the murmuring of the stream, and felt himself surrounded by all the sweet scents and sounds once so familiar to his ear.

Again he rolled in the long grass, buried his face in the fragrant wild flowers, bathed in the ponds, and lay down to rest beneath the forest trees. The fresh air and exercise made his pulses throb and gave new life to his weary limbs. The calm of nature entered into his soul, and he seemed to live a double D Trash. 34 life. All day he was a slave ; but at night he was free. He strayed all about the country by moonlight, and soon learned to know each forest path, rock and tree. He made friends with the owls and beetles, and glittering lizards, and with all timid creatures that venture out only at night ; and as soon as the moon's rays faded in the glorious sun rise he returned to the forge and took up his hammer again with fresh vigour. Madame Jacques only knew the secret of Trash's nocturnal rambles, but she did not betray it, and he expressed his gratitude by placing bouquets of yellow broom or wreaths of purple heath outside her window.

He very rarely entered the house even now, as he still had his meals in the forge ; but sometimes, when his master was away on business, Madame Jacques would call him in to have a little chat. He used to look about him curiously, examining with interest the quaint old Breton furniture of oak and brass — the tall clock, the bright copper pots and pans, and the china ornaments upon the high chimney-piece. " Who is that ? " he asked one day, pointing to an image of the Virgin with the infant Saviour in her arms. " Is it a queen ? " " My child," answered Madame Jacques, " have you never heard of Jesus Christ and His holy Mother?" "He has had a mother ! I only seem never to have had one," said Trash, sadly. "She is your mother, too, poor boy," con tinued Madame Jacques, " and Christ died for you and me, and for all who suffer.