Not Quite Eighteen
TWO PAIRS OF EYES.
Did it ever occur to you what a difference there is in the way in whichpeople use their eyes? I do not mean that some people squint, and somedo not; that some have short sight, and some long sight. These areaccidental differences; and the people who cannot see far, sometimes seemore, and more truly, than do other people whose vision is as keen asthe eagle's. No, the difference between people's eyes lies in the powerand the habit of observation.
Did you ever hear of the famous conjurer Robert Houdin, whose wonderfultricks and feats of magic were the astonishment of Europe a few yearsago? He tells us, in his autobiography, that to see everything at aglance, while seeming to see nothing, is the first requisite in theeducation of a "magician," and that the faculty of noticing rapidly andexactly can be trained like any other faculty. When he was fitting hislittle son to follow the same profession, he used to take him past ashop-window, at a quick walk, and then ask him how many objects in thewindow he could remember and describe. At first, the child could onlyrecollect three or four; but gradually he rose to ten, twelve, twenty,and, in the end, his eyes would note, and his memory retain, not lessthan forty articles, all caught in the few seconds which it took to passthe window at a rapid walk.
It is so more or less with us all. Few things are more surprising thanthe distinct picture which one mind will bring away from a place, andthe vague and blurred one which another mind will bring. Observation isone of the valuable faculties, and the lack of it a fault which peoplehave to pay for, in various ways, all their lives.
There were once two peasant boys in France, whose names were Jean andLouis Cardilliac. They were cousins; their mothers were both widows, andthey lived close to each other in a little village, near a great forest.They also looked much alike. Both had dark, closely shaven hair, oliveskins, and large, black eyes; but in spite of all their resemblances,Jean was always spoken of as "lucky," and Louis as "unlucky," forreasons which you will shortly see.
If the two boys were out together, in the forest or the fields, theywalked along quite differently. Louis dawdled in a sort of loose-jointedtrot, with his eyes fixed on whatever happened to be in his hand,--asling, perhaps, or a stick, or one of those snappers with which birdsare scared away from fruit. If it were the stick, he cracked it as hewent, or he snapped the snapper, and he whistled, as he did so, in anabsent-minded way. Jean's black eyes, on the contrary, were always onthe alert, and making discoveries. While Louis stared and puckered hislips up over the snapper or the sling, Jean would note, unconsciouslybut truly, the form of the clouds, the look of the sky in the rainywest, the wedge-shaped procession of the ducks through the air, and theway in which they used their wings, the bird-calls in the hedge. He wasquick to mark a strange leaf, or an unaccustomed fungus by the path, orany small article which had been dropped by the way. Once, he picked upa five-franc piece; once, a silver pencil-case which belonged to the_cure_, who was glad to get it again, and gave Jean ten sous by way ofreward. Louis would have liked ten sous very much, but somehow he neverfound any pencil-cases; and it seemed hard and unjust when his motherupbraided him for the fact, which, to his thinking, was rather hismisfortune than his fault.
"How can I help it?" he asked. "The saints are kind to Jean, and theyare not kind to me,--_voila tout_!"
"The saints help those who help themselves," retorted his mother. "Thouart a look-in-the-air. Jean keeps his eyes open, he has wit, and henotices."
But such reproaches did not help Louis, or teach him anything. Habit isso strong.
"There!" cried his mother one day, when he came in to supper. "Thycousin--thy lucky cousin--has again been lucky. He has found atruffle-bed, and thy aunt has sold the truffles to the man from Parisfor a hundred francs. A hundred francs! It will be long before thystupid fingers can earn the half of that!"
"Where did Jean find the bed?" asked Louis.
"In the oak copse near the brook, where thou mightest have found themas easily as he," retorted his mother. "He was walking along withDaudot, the wood cutter's dog--whose mother was a truffle-hunter--andDaudot began to point and scratch; and Jean suspected something, got aspade, dug, and crack! a hundred francs! Ah, _his_ mother is to beenvied!"
"The oak copse! Near the brook!" exclaimed Louis, too much excited tonote the reproach which concluded the sentence. "Why, I was there butthe other day with Daudot, and I remember now, he scratched and whined agreat deal, and tore at the ground. I didn't think anything about it atthe time."
"Oh, thou little imbecile--thou stupid!" cried his mother, angrily."There were the truffles, and the first chance was for thee. Didn'tthink anything about it! Thou never dost think, thou never wilt. Out ofmy sight, and do not let me see thee again till bedtime."
Supperless and disconsolate poor Louis slunk away. He called Daudot, andwent to the oak copse, resolved that if he saw any sign of excitement onthe part of the dog, to fetch a spade and instantly begin to dig. ButDaudot trotted along quietly, as if there were not a truffle left inFrance, and the walk was fruitless.
"If I had only," became a favorite sentence with Louis, as time went on."If I had only noticed this." "If I had only stopped then." But suchphrases are apt to come into the mind after something has been missed bynot noticing or not stopping, so they do little good to anybody.
Did it ever occur to you that what people call "lucky chances," thoughthey seem to come suddenly, are in reality prepared for by a longunconscious process of making ready on the part of those who profit bythem? Such a chance came at last to both Jean and Louis,--to Louis noless than to Jean; but one was prepared for it, and the other was not.
Professor Sylvestre, a famous naturalist from Toulouse, came to theforest village where the two boys lived, one summer. He wanted a boy toguide him about the country, carry his plant-cases and herbals, and helpin his search after rare flowers and birds, and he asked Madame Collot,the landlady of the inn, to recommend one. She named Jean and Louis;they were both good boys, she said.
So the professor sent for them to come and talk with him.
"Do you know the forest well, and the paths?" he asked.
Yes, both of them knew the forest very well.
"Are there any woodpeckers of such and such a species?" he asked next."Have you the large lunar moth here? Can you tell me where to look for_Campanila rhomboidalis_?" and he rapidly described the variety.
Louis shook his head. He knew nothing of any of these things. But Jeanat once waked up with interest. He knew a great deal aboutwoodpeckers,--not in a scientific way, but with the knowledge of one whohas watched and studied bird habits. He had quite a collection of lunarand other moths of his own, and though he did not recognize the rare_Campanila_ by its botanical title, he did as soon as the professordescribed the peculiarities of the leaf and blossom. So M. Sylvestreengaged him to be his guide so long as he stayed in the region, andagreed to pay him ten francs a week. And Mother Cardilliac wrung herhands, and exclaimed more piteously than ever over her boy's "ill luck"and his cousin's superior good fortune.
One can never tell how a "chance" may develop. Professor Sylvestre waswell off, and kind of heart. He had no children of his own, and he wasdevoted, above all other things, to the interest of science. He saw themaking of a first-rate naturalist in Jean Cardilliac, with his quickeyes, his close observation, his real interest in finding out and makingsure. He grew to an interest in and liking for the boy, which ripened,as the time drew near for him to return to his university, into an offerto take Jean with him, and provide for his education, on the conditionthat Jean, in return, should render him a certain amount of assistanceduring his out-of-school hours. It was, in effect, a kind of adoption,which might lead to almost anything; and Jean's mother was justified indeclaring, as she did, that his fortune was made.
"And for thee, thou canst stay at home, and dig potatoes for the rest ofthy sorry life," lamented the mother of Louis. "Well, let people saywhat they will, this is an unjust world; and, what is worse, the saintslook on, and do nothing to prevent
it. Heaven forgive me if it isblasphemous to speak so, but I cannot help it!"
But it was neither "luck" nor "injustice." It was merely the differencebetween "eyes and no eyes,"--a difference which will always exist andalways tell.