Year: 1874

About the commencement of the thirteenth
century there lived in the city of Paris gold
smith, who, having come originally from
Tours, was called the Tourangean, though his
true name was Anselm. In consequence OF
his great honesty and his unrivalled skill as
jeweller he became not only proud burgess
of the city, but was admitted as a retainer of
the King, whose protection he purchased-as
was the custom in those days. He built him
self fine stone house, near the Church of st.
Elo, in the street of St. Dennis, where his
forge was we'll known by all the admirers of
fine jewelry. But, though beloved by the
King, patronized by the noblesse, at peace
with the clergy, and with a chest firmly Sc
cured with lock of his own contriving, which
said chest was we'll lined with gold and silver
crowns, Anselm remained bachelor, nor had
his heart ever futtered with the delicious
throbs of love. This was, perhaps, because
of his early poverty because when he came
to Paris, he was as poor as Job, and, also, it
might be from the character of the man, (for
he was like the metals he worked in, deter
mined and set in his purposes, like his own
anvil, and downright as his own hammer
Also, he was timid, retiring, and filled full of
poetic imaginings, which, instead of being
rendered into distiches and hemistitches, ap-
peared in the chasing and chiselings of his
jewels. The ardor of his nature found vent
in constant labor. In the old days of his
poverty, when he was simply workman, he
labored from morning till night. AS master,
he labored still, with the same vigor, seeking
new secrets, acquiring fresh skill, and inqui-
ring after new inventions of every kind. The
good folks who passed through the street St.
Dennis after nightfall, the jewellers or the
thieves, who made the dark hours hideous in
those days, saw perpetually the light of lamp
streaming throug gh the cross.shaped loop-holes
of the goldsmiths house, and the good master
Anselm working away, tapping, hammering,
filing, chiseling, engraving, Furnishing, all by
himself, doors closed, ears open. Misery is
the mother Of labor and labor is the mother
of wealth. Hear this, ye swells of Broadway,
who burn the candle at both ends and light
your cigars with greenbacks. If ever ideas
of love, if desire Of beauty at any time en-.
tered into the head of the Tourangean, they
were soon translated into delicate engravings,
little golden figures, fine forms Of silver ware,
with which he delighted the connoisseurs of
the Court. Add to this that Anselm was
very naive and simple, fearing God first, then
robbers, next the great lords, and tumults and
seditions especially. His art was the one
thing of his life, and any other thought was
quickly repressed. Because of his isolation
and his natural timidity, the priests and the
mel at arms did not think him very wise be-
cause he spoke little, and when he did speak
his voice was low and sweet like woman's.
But he had an annoying way when he ad-
dressed any one, of looking at him as if he
was far away, being indeed generally abstract
ed by considerations Of his art. He knew no
Latin, but his mother French he spoke cor
rectly. He had learned among the quick
wits of Paris to walk straight, to measure his
expenses by his incomings, not to turn the
grindstone to sharpen other peoples axes; not
to tell everybody what he was doing, and to
do what he said to keep his troubles to him.
self, also his money; not to stand gazing at
the clouds in the streets, and to sell his jewels
for more than they cost him. The strict ob-
servance of these wise maxims had given the
goldsmith so much practical wisdom that he
amassed a competency, and could live at his
ease. Many man, admiring his wealth and
his popularity, and his skill, would. say, on
seeing him at his work.table, "By my soul, I
would like to be that goldsmith, even if had
to live in the gutter first for year." But it
would have cost as little to be King of France,
and would have profted as much, seeing that
the Tourangean was one of ten thousand.
For his arms were marvels of strength--so
square, so nervous, so muscular. When he
closed his fists, the strongest comrade in his
shop, aided by any Implement could not have
made him open his hands. Isolated as an
oyster, with the strength of bear, the appe-
tite of wolf, and the digestion of an ostrich,
with the outward imperturbability of rhi-
noceros and with shoulders strong enough to
relieve Atlas of his load, he was the perfect
image of perfect man.


With all these perfections, how came it
about that the house of the goldsmith remain
ed without mistress? This is what the crit
les asked But did those wise gentlemen con-
slider what it is to love? Not at all. The
trade of a lover is not one suitable for busy
man. He must come and 60, listen, watch,
be SILENT talk, hide himself in a corner, swell
out like peacock, agree, disagree, argue,
count the spots of dust in sunbeam, seek for
flowers under the snow, repeat sonnets to the
moon, stroke the cats back, give dainty NOR
sells to the household dog, inquire after her
aunt's gout or catarrh, or rheumatism say
"You are looking we'll this morning." must
please all the relatives, must not tread on any
body's corns, nor break the glasses must be
able to say sweet nothings, be lavish in praise,
"How good this isl and again "Really,
Madame, you look exquisite in that dress" !"
And all these things have to be done and re-
DONE and done again in thousand different
fashions. Then the lover must be clean


shaved, dressed in the height of the fashion,
wear fine linen and metaphorical purple; be
ready of tongue, quick of hand, slow to anger,
enduring all misadventures with a pleasant
smile, burying deep in his heart all RACES and
cholers, holding his nature in tight leash.
He must make nice little presents to the
mother, also to the sister, also to the maiden
aunts, also to the waiting maid, also to Bob, the
groom also to Joe, who waits at the table, and
opens the door, and who carries bouquets and
slips an occasional letter. And do all this,
do it we'll for year, and if you slip up on a
single occasion, goodbye to your lily-love.
All is over with you, or has to be begun again.


Therefore, the goldsmith, working always
at his table surrounded by the trophies of his
art, blowing his bellows, heating his silver,
Furnishing his gold, had no time to make
love, or waste his time dancing attendance
upon a proud woman, and cudgeling his
brains to respond to her fantasies. But the
Tourangean was too much Of All artist not to
observe the beauty of the ladies of the Court
and the bourgeoisie who came to bargain with
him for his trinkets. Often when some
lady of resplendent charms would have coaxed