O mothers, ye do make us what ye please! Your
tears and caresses are the rain and the sun that mature the seed which
time and the accidents of life sow in our tender minds! She filled him
with pride,--which is a cardinal virtue, let theologians say what they
will,--and kept him aloof from the little blackguards who toss and
tumble over the curb-stones, losing that dignity which is man's
chastity, and removing one barrier between them and crime.
He was, even in his earlier years, exquisitely sensitive. La Blache, the
famous singer, occupied a suite of rooms in the house of which his
father was porter. One day La Blache's daughter, (now Madame Thalberg,)
who was confined to her rooms by a fall which had dislocated her ankle,
sent for the sprightly lad. He was in love with her, just as boys will
adore a pretty face without counting years or differences of position
(at that happy age a statesman and a stage-driver seem equal,--if,
indeed, the latter does not appear to occupy the more enviable position
in life). He dressed himself with all the elegance he could command, and
obeyed Mademoiselle La Blache's summons, building all sorts of castles
in the air as he arranged his toilet and while he was climbing the
staircase.
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