Part 1

Wanderings of French Ed by Joseph Adelard René Published 1899 Wright & Company, New York

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

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

When about twenty years of age, Edward Cottret was at the end of his schooldays, and the desire to realize an old cherished dream was uppermost 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 it was learned that old man Cottret had decided to let his boy Ed go to the States. Some blamed him, others thought it was proper, but they all joined in wishing the boy godspeed and good luck.

The day to depart had arrived, and at the little station parents and friends were assembled to bid him farewell. His mother and sister were taking turns kissing him, while crying, and his father, sad but solemn, stood by, waiting for a last chance to give him, his only son, fatherly advice. The shrill whistle of the locomotive was heard, and then it was like the last part of a funeral ceremony, and even Edward, who up to this time had succeeded in hiding his emotion, felt his heart growing too big for his chest, and when he held the quivering hand of Marie Louise, his sweetheart, he completely lost the power of speech, and when she said: "Ed, don't forget me," he could 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 his eyes. The last seconds were painful to all, and it almost seemed a relief when the train moved and handkerchiefs fluttered in the air his last farewell. Had it not been for the noise made by the moving train his sobbing would have been heard by those on the platform.

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

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

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

The big fellow look puzzled at first, then smiling, he said: "Talk United 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 same place. "Don't you want to get off here?" asked the conductor.

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

After finding his way out of the station, Edward stopped an instant to look around and immediately he was surrounded by a lot of cabmen yelling, gesticulating and wanting to take hold of some of the boy's parcels. Surprised and almost scared he tried to make them understand something in French, but failed, and he was getting in a rather embarrassing situation, when an old gentleman, who had witnessed the proceedings, stepped up to him and asked him in broken French where he wanted to go. "God bless you!" thought Edward as he looked up into the kind old gentleman's face, and told him where he wanted to be directed to.

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

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

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

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

That night he went to bed earlier than usual, not to sleep, but to cry in despair. In the stillness of the night he thought he could hear the sobbing of his old mother, and in the darkness of his little room he imagined he could see the sad face of his blue-eyed sweetheart. He had never thought that life could be so bitter, and to his 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 large package of frames. Edward was attracted by the strange and unhappy light in the young man's eyes, and the hyper-sympathetic nature of the French lad made him forget his own misfortunes while looking at the newcomer. There is a certain affinity between unfortunates--miserables. After placing his package on the floor the stranger sat down near Edward, and after rolling a cigarette he turned toward Edward and asked him for a match, which was handed to him, and this proved to be the beginning of an acquaintanceship which brought about a friendship of the kind that endures, and is one of the greatest gifts to humanity.

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

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

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

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

The brotherly love that had sprung up between these two young men was the result of a condition of circumstances that brought this mystic virtue in all its purity. It came to their souls like a soothing balm, and it gave birth to ambitions that otherwise would never have been felt.

They were each other's confidant. Their interests were mutual, and in their friendship they found the nucleus of courage to hold them up in days of adversity.

Edward's old dreams of fortune came back, and he succeeded in getting his new friend to share some of them. A partnership was arranged between the two, and from this time Edward began to peddle frames from house to house. It was hard and far from the realization of his old dreams, but it was better than starvation, and the hope of better days, combined with the example of the Russian, gave him courage to follow this rather humble trade.

At times, when they met at night, after a lucky day and counted their receipts, they were elated, while other times, not being so fortunate, they felt discouraged. More than once, Edward decided to write home for money, but at the last minute his pride stopped him.

"No, never! I will not let them know that I am poor, humiliated, a failure!"

It had been decided that they would go west as soon as they would have saved the necessary capital, and at last, after three months of hard work and close economy, they found that they had enough money to abandon the frame business and start for the West.

Edward was all excitement. His golden dreams had all come back. After buying a new suit, he went and had his picture taken, sent one home, another to Marie Louise, and told them of the wonderful things he was to accomplish out West. Preparations were made and tickets bought for St. Paul, Minnesota, and as he stepped aboard the train to leave Worcester he could not help but think of the difference between his departure from home and his leaving Worcester now. His heart was overflowing with gladness, and there was nothing but happy tidings in his soul. There was no sad parting at the station. No, his only friend was going along with him, and he felt a keen pleasure in leaving a city which had been so ungrateful to him. The luxurious palace car was a revelation to him, who had never seen anything like it, and he felt like a man who is traveling toward success. He could hardly refrain himself from singing when the train started, but his friend Benjamin was indifferent, and when Edward began to speak about the wonderful things they were to do out West, Benjamin simply smiled.

"Won't we be happy, Ben, when we have lots of money?" asked Edward.

"I may find distraction in making money, and pleasure in seeing you happy, Ed, but there cannot be any happiness for me," answered the Russian, with sadness. Then he spoke of his dead mother feelingly. As to his father, it was a queer anomaly, but the Russian had none of that filial love of which Edward's heart was so full. No; there was some mysterious cloud between Benjamin and his father, and Edward pitied his friend from the bottom of his heart.

The rumbling noise of the fast train, as it moved toward the West, was music to Edward's ears, and he enjoyed it too much to be able to read, and while Benjamin was reading one of Tolstoi's novels, Edward rested his head on the back of his seat and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander in dreamland.

When night came they decided not to buy tickets for the sleeper, in order to economize, and both slept well, stretched upon the benches of the palace car. Morning found them both quite fresh, and the Russian went back to his novel, while Edward studied the faces around him.

There were all sorts of faces. Some told of happiness and health, others spoke plainly of sadness and misfortune; others still were enigmas--they told of nothing, and if they had known of stormy days, and drank of some of life's bitter cup, there were no traces left. A few seats ahead of him Edward noticed a tall chap with his arms around the waist of a woman with golden hair. Her face told of new matrimonial bliss and he seemed to be so happy that he was satisfied to look at his bride without speaking. Edward thought how he would like to have Marie Louise as his bride and going West also, when he heard something falling and turning around in the direction where the noise came from he saw a beautiful young girl who was vainly trying to pull off part of her sleeve from under the window-shade, which had just fallen, causing the noise. Edward hesitatingly got up, and succeeded in releasing the young lady from her awkward position. She thanked him, and when he looked into her large brown eyes he felt that they were the most beautiful he had seen in all his life. He went back to his seat, and felt sorry at once for not having spoken to her. The more he thought, the more he wanted to speak to her, until at last, he got up and boldly walked up to her seat, but imagine his surprise there--he found himself unable to say a word. She looked up, and seeing his embarrassment, said something that he failed to understand, but her kind smile brought back his courage and his power of speech. Picking up her things, she made room on her seat and he sat down and began the conversation in broken English.

A woman of twenty, with a mass of auburn hair-that color that is three in one, golden in the sun, brown in the shade, and dark in the evening. Her eyes were large and soft, shaded by long eyelashes. It was difficult to tell their color, but they possessed a magnetic power that Edward felt at once, and every time he looked in her eyes he felt dazed. His whole being seemed to become involved in a spell of strange happiness, and listening to her, he felt that she could make him her slave. When he told her of his going to St. Paul, Minnesota, she said that she had often been in that city, and had many friends living there. Her conversation was easy and fascinating, and Edward did not dare to make any comparison between her and Marie Louise, whose name came to his mind more than once. After an hour or so of conversation she told him that she could speak French, and immediately proceeded to talk that language, to his astonishment, and he mildly reproached her for not having spoken that language before.

"I just love to hear any one speak English the way you do," she said.

While talking French she held Edward spellbound. She spoke of Daudet, Zola, George Ohnet, Chartrand, and many other modern novelists of the French school, and it developed that her favorite authors were also his.

"Why don't you stop in Chicago and see the city?" she asked him, at the same time inviting him to call at her home, and giving him a dainty, engraved card upon which he read her name: "Nellie King," with her address written with a lead pencil.

Edward could hardly believe his ears, and said that he would be delighted to stop in Chicago, but he was not alone, and his friend might not want to.

"I am sure that you can induce your friend to stop a day or two, if you care to, and I would be very glad to entertain you while in the city," she said with her most winsome smile.

"If you really care to have me stop, I will, even if my friend does not want to," said Edward, entirely decided to do so.

He went over to his friend Ben, who was just awakening from a doze, and mentioned the idea of stopping in Chicago.

The Russian was surprised and said: "Why, Edward, we know no one in Chicago; what's the use to stop there and, spend time and money!"

"Yes, I do know some one there," answered Edward, blushing like a maiden. "I know a lovely girl who would like very much to have me stop."

The Russian looked surprised, and asked Edward where he had met that girl.

"Right in this car," answered Edward.

Ben smiled pitifully, and said: "Poor boy, you must not let your heart run away with your common sense; we cannot stop in Chicago."

Edward was thoughtful for a minute, and then said: "I will stop anyway, Ben--I have made up my mind to.

"Well, if you have, I will also stop; but Edward, look out, it is dangerous to get acquainted too quick with a girl, especially a Chicago girl," he added.

This last remark made Edward angry, and he was tempted to take offense, but he knew that his friend had no intention but to give him good advice, and then they were to stop in Chicago--that was what he wanted.

When they arrived at the great metropolis of the West, Edward offered to see Miss King to her home, while the Russian was to wait at the station until his return.

When Edward came back, his friend asked him: "Did she cry when you left her?"

"Ben, I don't like to hear you speak this way about her. No; I won't permit any joking about it."

"All right, Ed, but what do you know about her?"

"I know that she is a good girl, and that she is not making sport of me."

"How do you know it?"

"She told me so."

"Oh! la! la! la! She told you so, eh? Don't you know that women can say anything?"

"Never mind, Ben, you are not my keeper. This is a personal matter."

Edward knew that his friend was an enemy of womankind, and therefore he saw fit to close the discussion as soon as possible.

They left their baggage in the check-room and went to a cheap hotel where they had lunch, and afterward the Russian asked Edward about the program for the afternoon.

"My program is already made," said Edward. "I shall call on Miss King." They walked together in the direction of her home, where they parted, after having agreed to meet later at the hotel.

When Edward rang the doorbell his heart was beating so hard that he could bear it, and when the colored servant came to take his card, he felt as if walking in a dream. The servant led him into a beautiful boudoir, where he sat waiting for Miss King, ho soon came in.

"I am so happy you came," she said as she entered.

Edward murmured something about being very happy himself, as he held her hand in his. Everything in the room was exceedingly rich and artistic. In one corner a Venus de Milo seemed to be smiling at him, while from another corner a Cupid was apparently ready to shoot at him. It was more luxury than Edward had ever thought of, and the whole thing was like a dream.

"Where are her father and mother?" he asked himself, and she seemed to guess his thoughts, and said: "I am Chez-moi, not Chez-nous; my family lives in Montreal, and I must tell you I am an actress."

"An actress!" he repeated, stupefied.

"Yes, an actress, and my name is not Nellie King; but I will tell you all about this later."

"How can you be an actress and live like this?" asked Edward, in his simplicity, looking around.

"Oh--I make lots of money--I have been successful," and then she told him her life.

Stage-struck, she had left her home three years before, and her parents knew not where she went. Her voice bad won great success for her from the beginning, but when the excitement of the first success had passed, she found herself lonesome, unhappy, craving for some one to love, some one who would care for her, and not for her success. She spoke of the men who sent her baskets of flowers and begged to be her slave; these men she despised, she said, "because they care for me only on account of my success--let my voice fail and they will stop sending flowers. It flatters them to be seen with me, because I am a success; but when I have grown old, and my voice will be gone, what will they care for me then?" and tears came to her eyes when she said these last words.

"Why don't you go back to your home in Canada?" asked Edward, feelingly.

"My mother has died since I left, and how I have cried! I have felt that I was the cause of her death, and I know that my father would never forgive me."

"Poor Nellie," Edward said, holding her hand, tempted to kiss it.

"Oh! Edward, motherless, and without any real true friends, don't you pity me? The only time I am happy is when I look back to the days of my childhood; then I smile as one must when dreaming a happy dream in the quiet of the night."

During all this time Edward had listened with tears in his eyes. His sympathetic nature had thrown open the doors of his heart and soul; he was enraptured, and it was all he could do not to fall at her feet and tell her of his love. He wanted to live his life with hers; he felt drawn toward that strange nature, and loved her intensely, as he sat there holding and pressing her hand. There seemed to be an established current of a mysterious magnetic fluid that drew his whole life to her.

"Have you ever loved any one, Edward?" she asked him, looking him in the eyes.

For an instant the name of Marie Louise fluttered in his mind, and then he said: "I don't believe I have until now."

She did not appear to take any notice of his last words, but a satisfied look came over her face. She changed the subject and asked him if he was going to St. Paul on the morrow.

"I will have to--my friend will not want to wait any longer."

"Let him go alone," she suggested.

"But what will I do here?"

"What will you do in St. Paul?"

"Well, I do not know--but we will likely go into some kind of business, my friend and I, and then I can come back and see you."

She looked at Edward for an instant, and a queer light came in her eyes, as she said: "You will not go; you can do just as well here as in St. Paul. As to your friend, let him go; or, if he will remain here, I will help him to find something to do."

Not go! It was a new turn of things, and Edward did not know what to say.

"Tell me that you are willing to remain in Chicago, Edward, and I will arrange the rest with your friend," pleaded Nellie.

"All right," said Edward, "if only you can induce him to stay, I will be glad."

It was decided that they should both walk to the hotel where Ben was waiting, and talk the matter over. Nellie went into the next room, and coming back in her street costume, they started at once to meet the Russian.

Edward was dubious. He feared that his friend would think him crazy, and he felt keenly the injustice of compelling him to remain in Chicago on his account, but love was in his heart, and he would have done anything rather than displease Nellie; in fact, he was no longer his own master--she held full sway over his mind.

When they arrived at the hotel, the Russian was much surprised to see Edward with a lady, and he was really embarrassed when Edward presented him to Miss King. Nellie sat in front of the Russian, and after a few moments of conventional talk the main subject was touched. At first the Russian could hardly grasp the idea. Why should they stop in Chicago, when they had taken their tickets for St. Paul?

"You can sell your tickets at a broker's office, at a small loss," said Nellie, "and the chances of finding employment are just as good here as in St. Paul, in fact, better, because I can help you here."

"You can help us? How?" asked the Russian.