Louis MORAND, a young man about the age of nineteen, was sent by his father to Paris, many centuries ago, for the purpose of completing his studies. It is said his venerable parent soon after died in consequence of grief and mortification occasioned by the bad conduct of his son. Whatever might have been the cause, the young man derived but little advantage from his death: his patrimony proved to be a very small one, and consisted only of a small sum of money and a chest filled with old papers and decayed books.
Several years afterwards, Louis one evening resolved to examine the papers, contained in the chest, in the hopes of discovering something valuable. After burning a great many, which he deemed of no use he at last found a packet of letters all apparently written by the same person. He was about to throw them into the fire, when a few words which accidentally met his eye, gave him a desire of knowing their contents, and he at length determined to preserve with care, the whole of the letters which were found to be from an ancient friend, who seemed to have been much attached to his deceased father. "Since," wrote he, "you wish me to reserve for your son the wealth which I can and would willingly bestow upon you, send him to me when he shall have become twenty-five years of age. His character will then be fixed. If his principles and disposition are then good, I will take charge of his future fortunes; but if otherwise, I will be very cautious how I furnish him with wealth which will not only give him the means of gratifying his vicious or wicked inclinations, but which he might pervert to the injury of others."
Louis recognized the name of the writer as that of a man who was generally supposed to be a skilful magician. He laughed at the protection which was thus offered to him and threw the letters aside. The small sum of money which his father had left him was soon dissipated in the pursuit of vice and folly: his creditors became clamorous and a prison seemed about to be the end of his career. In this extremity, his thoughts reverted to the letters of the magician, and at length he resolved, as the last resort, to pay a visit to the man, who seemed to have both the power and disposition to extricate him from his difficulties.
He commenced his journey, and after a long and difficult search, arrived at the residence of the magician, which was situated on the side of a hill, in the midst of a dark and dreary forest. On knocking at the gate, it was opened by a little black slave, whose appearance startled him, for at that period persons were not accustomed to the sight of black people. The little body of the slave was entirely covered with gold and precious stones, and his small size and fantastic dress induced Louis to believe he was a gnome, one of those genii who are supposed to guard the treasures concealed in the bowels of the earth.
The countenance of the dwarf was not calculated to inspire confidence, and Louis trembled as he inquired for Master Guillaume. The dwarf immediately conducted him into an immense half, where the magician was reading by the light of a large fire. The aspect of the old man was venerable; he wore a long beard and his hoary locks were partly covered with a purple cap. The rest of his dress was such as was usually worn by the sages and learned men of that period. When Louis had announced his name, the old man embraced him affectionately, and spoke of his deceased father with tears in his eyes. After yielding to this effusion of affection, he directed dinner to be served. The repast was exquisite; the wines in particular were delicious. Louis, exhausted by his long and toilsome journey, ate and drank heartily. The old man ate only rice and drank nothing but water, and Louis thought that he two or three times saw his lip curled with a slight smile on seeing him repeatedly empty and replenish his glass: the remembrance of it was, however, so vague and indistinct that he was not certain whether it was really SO or not. "My son," said Master Guillaume, "your father was my dearest friend. His simple desires and contempt of the things of this world prevented him, during his life, from profiting by my friendship. If you are not a degenerate son of a virtuous man, you shall, as he desired, inherit what he declined, and this inheritance is not one to be despised, as you will hereafter learn. Let us descend to my laboratory: we will there converse upon the subject, and I will ascertain what is proper to be done for you."
