'Really!'
'Yes,' continued the smith, proudly, 'we have amongst us musicians, quite capable of tempting us to dance. Moreover, twice a week, nearly all of us sing in chorus—men, women, and children. Unfortunately, this week, some disputes that have arisen in the factory have prevented our concerts.'
'So many voices! that must be superb.'
'It is very fine, I assure you. M. Hardy has always encouraged this amusement amongst us, which has, he says—and he is right—so powerful an effect on the mind and the manners. One winter, he sent for two pupils of the celebrated Wilhelm, and, since then, our school has made great progress. I assure you, Mdlle. Angela, that, without flattering ourselves, there is something truly exciting in the sound of two hundred voices, singing in chorus some hymn to Labor or Freedom. You shall hear it, and you will, I think, acknowledge that there is something great and elevating in the heart of man, in this fraternal harmony of voices, blending in one grave, sonorous, imposing sound.'
'Oh! I believe it. But what happiness to inhabit here. It is a life of joy; for labor, mixed with recreation, becomes itself a pleasure.'
'Alas! here, as everywhere, there are tears and sorrows,' replied Agricola, sadly. 'Do you see that isolated building, in a very exposed situation?'
'Yes; what is it?'
'That is our hospital for the sick. Happily, thanks to our healthy mode of life, it is not often full; an annual subscription enables us to have a good doctor. Moreover, a mutual benefit society is arranged in such a manner amongst us, that any one of us, in case of illness, receives two thirds of what he would have gained in health.'
'How well it is all managed! And there, M. Agricola, on the other side of the grass-plot?'
'That is the wash-house, with water laid on, cold and hot; and under yonder shed is the drying-place: further on, you see the stables, and the lofts and granaries for the provender of the factory horses.'
'But M. Agricola, will you tell me the secret of all these wonders?'
'In ten minutes you shall understand it all, mademoiselle.'
Unfortunately, Angela's curiosity was for a while disappointed. The girl was now standing with Agricola close to the iron gate, which shut in the garden from the broad avenue that separated the factory from the Common Dwelling-house. Suddenly, the wind brought from the distance the sound of trumpets and military music; then was heard the gallop of two horses, approaching rapidly, and soon after a general officer made his appearance, mounted on a fine black charger, with a long flowing tail and crimson housings; he wore cavalry boots and white breeches, after the fashion of the empire; his uniform glittered with gold embroidery, the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor was passed over his right epaulet, with its four silver stars, and his hat had a broad gold border, and was crowned with a white plume, the distinctive sign reserved for the marshals of France. No warrior could have had a more martial and chivalrous air, or have sat more proudly on his war-horse. At the moment Marshal Simon (for it was he) arrived opposite the place where Angela and Agricola were standing, he drew up his horse suddenly, sprang lightly to the ground, and threw the golden reins to a servant in livery, who followed also on horseback.
'Where shall I wait for your grace?' asked the groom.
'At the end of the avenue,' said the marshal.
And, uncovering his head respectfully, he advanced hastily with his hat in his hand, to meet a person whom Angela and Agricola had not previously perceived. This person soon appeared at a turn of the avenue; he was an old man, with an energetic, intelligent countenance. He wore a very neat blouse, and a cloth cap over his long, white hair. With his hands in his pocket, he was quietly smoking an old meerschaum pipe.
'Good-morning, father,' said the marshal, respectfully, as he affectionately embraced the old workman, who, having tenderly returned the pressure, said to him: 'Put on your hat, my boy. But how gay we are!' added he, with a smile.
'I have just been to a review, father, close by; and I took the opportunity to call on you as soon as possible.'
'But shall I then not see my granddaughters to-day, as I do every Sunday?'
'They are coming in a carriage, father, and Dagobert accompanies them.'
'But what is the matter? you appear full of thought.'
'Indeed, father,' said the marshal, with a somewhat agitated air, 'I have serious things to talk about.'
'Come in, then,' said the old man, with some anxiety. The marshal and his father disappeared at the turn of the avenue.
Angela had been struck with amazement at seeing this brilliant General, who was entitled 'your grace,' salute an old workman in a blouse as his father; and, looking at Agricola with a confused air she said to him: 'What, M. Agricola! this old workman—'
'Is the father of Marshal Duke de Ligny—the friend—yes, I may say the friend,' added Agricola, with emotion, 'of my father, who for twenty years served under him in war.'
'To be placed so high, and yet to be so respectful and tender to his father!' said Angela. 'The marshal must have a very noble heart; but why does he let his father remain a workman?'
'Because Father Simon will not quit his trade and the factory for anything in the world. He was born a workman, and he will die a workman, though he is the father of a duke and marshal of France.'
(29) See Adolphe Bobierre 'On Air and Health,' Paris, 1844.
CHAPTER LI. THE SECRET.
When the very natural astonishment which the arrival of Marshal Simon had caused in Angela had passed away, Agricola said to her with a smile: 'I do not wish to take advantage of this circumstance, Mdlle. Angela, to spare you the account of the secret, by which all the wonders of our Common Dwelling-house are brought to pass.'
'Oh! I should not have let you forget your promise, M. Agricola,' answered Angela, 'what you have already told me interests me too much for that.'
'Listen, then. M. Hardy, like a true magician, has pronounced three cabalistic words: ASSOCIATION— COMMUNITY—FRATERNITY. We have understood the sense of these words, and the wonders you have seen have sprung from them, to our great advantage; and also, I repeat, to the great advantage of M. Hardy.'
'It is that which appears so extraordinary, M. Agricola.'
'Suppose, mademoiselle, that M. Hardy, instead of being what he is, had only been a cold-hearted speculator, looking merely to the profit, and saying to himself: 'To make the most of my factory, what is needed? Good work— great economy in the raw material—full employment of the workman's time; in a word, cheapness of manufacture, in order to produce cheaply—excellence of the thing produced, in order to sell dear.''
'Truly, M. Agricola, no manufacturer could desire more.'
'Well, mademoiselle, these conditions might have been fulfilled, as they have been, but how? Had M. Hardy only been a speculator, he might have said: 'At a distance from my factory, my workmen might have trouble to get there: rising earlier, they will sleep less; it is a bad economy to take from the sleep so necessary to those who toil. When they get feeble, the work suffers for it; then the inclemency of the seasons makes it worse; the workman arrives wet, trembling with cold, enervated before he begins to work—and then, what work!''
'It is unfortunately but too true, M. Agricola. At Lille, when I reached the factory, wet through with a cold rain, I used sometimes to shiver all day long at my work.'
'Therefore, Mdlle. Angela, the speculator might say: 'To lodge my workmen close to the door of my factory would obviate this inconvenience. Let us make the calculation. In Paris the married workman pays about two hundred and fifty francs a-year,(30) for one or two wretched rooms and a closet, dark, small, unhealthy, in a narrow, miserable street; there he lives pell-mell with his family. What ruined constitutions are the consequence! and what sort of work can you expect from a feverish and diseased creature? As for the single men, they pay for a smaller, and quite as unwholesome lodging, about one hundred and fifty francs a-year. Now, let us make the addition. I employ one hundred and forty-six married workmen, who pay together, for their wretched holes, thirty- six thousand five hundred francs; I employ also one hundred and fifteen bachelors, who pay at the rate of seventeen thousand two hundred and eighty francs; the total will amount to about fifty thousand francs per annum, the interest on a million.''
'Dear me, M. Agricola! what a sum to be produced by uniting all these little rents together!'
'You see, mademoiselle, that fifty thousand francs a-year is a millionaire's rent. Now, what says our
