The Village Rector | Page 6

by an
iron chain which long usage had polished till it shone like steel; a
jacket with short tails, also of velveteen, like that of the trousers; and
around his neck a printed cotton cravat much frayed by the rubbing of
his beard.
On Sundays and fete-days Sauviat wore a frock-coat of maroon cloth,
so well taken care of that two new ones were all he bought in twenty
years. The living of galley-slaves would be thought sumptuous in
comparison with that of the Sauviats, who never ate meat except on the
great festivals of the Church. Before paying out the money absolutely
needed for their daily subsistence, Madame Sauviat would feel in the
two pockets hidden between her gown and petticoat, and bring forth a
single well-scraped coin,--a crown of six francs, or perhaps a piece of
fifty-five sous,--which she would gaze at for a long time before she
could bring herself to change it. As a general thing the Sauviats ate
herrings, dried peas, cheese, hard eggs in salad, vegetables seasoned in
the cheapest manner. Never did they lay in provisions, except perhaps a
bunch of garlic or onions, which could not spoil and cost but little. The
small amount of wood they burned in winter they bought of itinerant
sellers day by day. By seven in winter, by nine in summer, the
household was in bed, and the shop was closed and guarded by a huge
dog, which got its living from the kitchens in the neighborhood.
Madame Sauviat used about three francs' worth of candles in the course

of the year.
The sober, toilsome life of these persons was brightened by one joy, but
that was a natural joy, and for it they made their only known outlays. In
May, 1802, Madame Sauviat gave birth to a daughter. She was
confined all alone, and went about her household work five days later.
She nursed her child in the open air, seated as usual in her chair by the
corner pillar, continuing to sell old iron while the infant sucked. Her
milk cost nothing, and she let her little daughter feed on it for two years,
neither of them being the worse for the long nursing.
Veronique (that was the infant's name) became the handsomest child in
the Lower town, and every one who saw her stopped to look at her. The
neighbors then noticed for the first time a trace of feeling in the old
Sauviats, of which they had supposed them devoid. While the wife
cooked the dinner the husband held the little one, or rocked it to the
tune of an Auvergnat song. The workmen as they passed sometimes
saw him motionless gazing at Veronique asleep on her mother's knees.
He softened his harsh voice when he spoke to her, and wiped his hands
on his trousers before taking her up. When Veronique tried to walk, the
father bent his legs and stood at a little distance holding out his arms
and making little grimaces which contrasted funnily with the rigid
furrows of his stern, hard face. The man of iron, brass, and lead became
a being of flesh and blood and bones. If he happened to be standing
with his back against the corner pillar motionless, a cry from Veronique
would agitate him and send him flying over the mounds of iron
fragments to find her; for she spent her childhood playing with the
wreck of ancient castles heaped in the depths of that old shop. There
were other days on which she went to play in the street or with the
neighboring children; but even then her mother's eye was always on
her.
It is not unimportant to say here that the Sauviats were eminently
religious. At the very height of the Revolution they observed both
Sunday and fete-days. Twice Sauviat came near having his head cut off
for hearing mass from an unsworn priest. He was put in prison, being
justly accused of helping a bishop, whose life he saved, to fly the
country. Fortunately the old-iron dealer, who knew the ways of bolts
and bars, was able to escape; nevertheless he was condemned to death
by default, and as, by the bye, he never purged himself of that contempt,

he may be said to have died dead.
His wife shared his piety. The avariciousness of the household yielded
to the demands of religion. The old-iron dealers gave their alms
punctually at the sacrament and to all the collections in church. When
the vicar of Saint-Etienne called to ask help for his poor, Sauviat or his
wife fetched at once without reluctance or sour faces the sum they
thought their fair share of the parish duties. The mutilated Virgin on
their corner pillar never failed (after 1799) to be wreathed with holly at