"Marie's New Year's Day"

by G.W.B., January 1877

A French nursemaid is helped by the people who have come to love her. Quite typical inspirational fiction from the period.

Marie, a sweet-faced French girl, was our children's nurse. Her father, an Austrian, had, when a young man, left his native village and traveled to a little town in France. Here he married, and his wanderings ceased. Years rolled on, time wrought its changes, and at last his eldest daughter came to this country. She had been but a few days in New York when we engaged her, and she had but few acquaintances, but her modest appearance, her bright cheerful face, were sufficiently good recommendations, and she was soon transferred to our home. Immediately she won a warm place in the affections of the children, so that to listen to French stories, or to chat in French with Marie, was to them no task.

Performing her slight household duties, she chanted gay little airs of her native land, in a sweet voice that made the canary wild with rivalry, while everywhere her presence was like sunshine.

Winter passed,—the sunny days of spring,—and when the heats of summer came we left the city. How happy was Marie in our country home! The squirrel and the robin were not more gay than she, and the honey-bee not more industrious. She was delighted when the gardener allowed her to assist him; but, working or playing, she was always happy. Under the tall pines, and beneath the beeches, her rippling alughter echoed, while tha chattering jay-birds ceased their scoldings to listen to its music.

But there came a sad day for our poor Française. In the performance of some duty, she went into the laundry, her light dress came in contact with the fire—a shriek, a sudden bound, and she stood upon the breezy lawn, enveloped in flames. With desperation she tore away the blazing fabric; help soon came, but not to save her from dreadful injury. Her face was not harmed, but her arms were shockingly burned.

Her first utterance was: "Oh, Madame B.! Madame B.! je ne pourrais plus jamais, jamais travailler!"

Kind nursing and tender care were not wanting; the best medical skill was employed; but to save her life it was decided that her right arm must be taken off near the shoulder. Through all her distress and pain the poor girl bore herself with fortitude that awoke the admiration of all who saw her. The amputation took place at the hospital, and it was only during the Christmas week that she came back to us—pale and worn, her merry smiles all changed into a look of anxiety.

During her absence it had been suggested that a little fund be got together for her benefit. Kind hearts who heard her sad story gave freely, and before New Year's Day there was a nice sum in hand for her benefit. The glad morning, and the usual little presents of the happy day had been exchanged. Marie received many little souvenirs, had given the children some simple tokens of her love and gratitude, and was quite cheerful. About the house, however, there was an air of mystery.

After the holiday dinner, many children of the neighborhood, whom Marie knew, came dropping in, all with some kind word for her, until twenty or thirty were assembled, and playing merry games. Marie, with her black dress, white apron, and white bonnet, with its single rose, moved around among them interesting herself in their play, until once more the color faintly showed itself in her pale cheeks.

Suddenly, there appears from an adjoining room, an elephant (improvised—two boys and a shawl) bearing with its trunk a white envelope, and this elephant said: "Marie Schalner! où est elle?"

Going to where she stood, the envelope was held out to the astonished girl, and she saw the inscription: "Pour Marie! 500 francs."

Five hundred francs! Who can picture her surprise, the clapping of hands, and the joy of the children as they crowded around her while the elephant disappeared in rather a disordered condition.

Quiet came, the plays went on, when Marie was asked to run upstairs and bring a little box. She tripped away and brought it. It was opened. "Quelque chose pour vous, Marie," and, behold, another envelope with "500 francs! Pour l'amour de Jesus." Again, laughter and joy and clapping of hands, when appears upon the scene a little old lady, with antique dress, who demands Marie Schalner, for she has again 500 francs, with the motto: "Dieu vous gardera toujours." The poor girl is silent. She cannot express her feelings. She is asked to pass a paper from the piano. Beneath it is another envelope: "Pour Marie! 500 francs! Nous vous aimons beaucoup!" Tears, unbidden, will come to her eyes. She brushes them away bravely, for she had shed none in all her great distress. Now comes the boy—her favorite—with knapsack, his uncle's war-worn epaulets and sword: "Je suis soldat de la France! Où est Marie?" And once more: "Pour Marie! 500 francs." Le Bon Dieu vous n'oublier jamais!"

The rush of joy, the strain, was too great,—from sheer happiness she burst into tears. Mrs. B. could wait no longer. Running to their depository, she seized the remaining packages, and placed them all in the lap of the trembling girl.

"Here, Marie! The good God has not forgotten you. Here arc five thousand francs! all yours, and with them you have the kind love and sympathy of all who know you!"

Laughter and tears,—how closely they are allied! and how they mingled on that happy day!

Again the holiday games went on, again song and story, till the shadows fell, ending the beautiful New Year's Day.

Now Marie has resumed her wonted place. She has become quite skillful in the use of her artificial arm, with her left hand writes long letters home, and uses her needle deftly. She arranges her simple toilet jauntily, ties her tasty neck-ribbons without assistance, does a thousand things that would seem impossible, and again the house is musical with her merry songs, which the canary in vain attempts to rival.