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diff --git a/2123-0.txt b/2123-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d31b8d --- /dev/null +++ b/2123-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7840 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard, by Anatole France + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard + +Author: Anatole France + +Release Date: March, 2000 [EBook #2123] +Last Updated: October 5, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD *** + + + + +Produced by Brett Fishburne + + + + + + + +THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD + +By Anatole France + + + + +PART I--THE LOG + + + + +December 24, 1849. + + +I had put on my slippers and my dressing-gown. I wiped away a tear with +which the north wind blowing over the quay had obscured my vision. A +bright fire was leaping in the chimney of my study. Ice-crystals, shaped +like fern-leaves, were sprouting over the windowpanes and concealed from +me the Seine with its bridges and the Louvre of the Valois. + +I drew up my easy-chair to the hearth, and my table-volante, and took +up so much of my place by the fire as Hamilcar deigned to allow me. +Hamilcar was lying in front of the andirons, curled up on a cushion, +with his nose between his paws. His think find fur rose and fell with +his regular breathing. At my coming, he slowly slipped a glance of his +agate eyes at me from between his half-opened lids, which he closed +again almost at once, thinking to himself, “It is nothing; it is only my +friend.” + +“Hamilcar,” I said to him, as I stretched my legs--“Hamilcar, somnolent +Prince of the City of Books--thou guardian nocturnal! Like that Divine +Cat who combated the impious in Heliopolis--in the night of the great +combat--thou dost defend from vile nibblers those books which the old +savant acquired at the cost of his slender savings and indefatigable +zeal. Sleep, Hamilcar, softly as a sultana, in this library, that +shelters thy military virtues; for verily in thy person are united the +formidable aspect of a Tatar warrior and the slumbrous grace of a +woman of the Orient. Sleep, thou heroic and voluptuous Hamilcar, while +awaiting the moonlight hour in which the mice will come forth to dance +before the Acta Sanctorum of the learned Bolandists!” + +The beginning of this discourse pleased Hamilcar, who accompanied it +with a throat-sound like the song of a kettle on the fire. But as my +voice waxed louder, Hamilcar notified me by lowering his ears and by +wrinkling the striped skin of his brow that it was bad taste on my part +so to declaim. + +“This old-book man,” evidently thought Hamilcar, “talks to no purpose at +all while our housekeeper never utters a word which is not full of good +sense, full of significance--containing either the announcement of a +meal or the promise of a whipping. One knows what she says. But this old +man puts together a lot of sounds signifying nothing.” + +So thought Hamilcar to himself. Leaving him to his reflections, I opened +a book, which I began to read with interest; for it was a catalogue of +manuscripts. I do not know any reading more easy, more fascinating, more +delightful than that of a catalogue. The one which I was reading--edited +in 1824 by Mr. Thompson, librarian to Sir Thomas Raleigh--sins, it +is true, by excess of brevity, and does not offer that character of +exactitude which the archivists of my own generation were the first to +introduce into works upon diplomatics and paleography. It leaves a good +deal to be desired and to be divined. This is perhaps why I find +myself aware, while reading it, of a state of mind which in nature more +imaginative than mine might be called reverie. I had allowed myself +to drift away this gently upon the current of my thoughts, when my +housekeeper announced, in a tone of ill-humor, that Monsieur Coccoz +desired to speak with me. + +In fact, some one had slipped into the library after her. He was a +little man--a poor little man of puny appearance, wearing a thin jacket. +He approached me with a number of little bows and smiles. But he was +very pale, and, although still young and alert, he looked ill. I thought +as I looked at him, of a wounded squirrel. He carried under his arm a +green toilette, which he put upon a chair; then unfastening the four +corners of the toilette, he uncovered a heap of little yellow books. + +“Monsieur,” he then said to me, “I have not the honour to be known to +you. I am a book-agent, Monsieur. I represent the leading houses of +the capital, and in the hope that you will kindly honour me with your +confidence, I take the liberty to offer you a few novelties.” + +Kind gods! just gods! such novelties as the homunculus Coccoz showed me! +The first volume that he put in my hand was “L’Histoire de la Tour +de Nesle,” with the amours of Marguerite de Bourgogne and the Captain +Buridan. + +“It is a historical book,” he said to me, with a smile--“a book of real +history.” + +“In that case,” I replied, “it must be very tiresome; for all the +historical books which contain no lies are extremely tedious. I write +some authentic ones myself; and if you were unlucky enough to carry a +copy of any of them from door to door you would run the risk of keeping +it all your life in that green baize of yours, without ever finding even +a cook foolish enough to buy it from you.” + +“Certainly Monsieur,” the little man answered, out of pure good-nature. + +And, all smiling again, he offered me the “Amours d’Heloise et +d’Abeilard”; but I made him understand that, at my age, I had no use for +love-stories. + +Still smiling, he proposed me the “Regle des Jeux de la +Societe”--piquet, bezique, ecarte, whist, dice, draughts, and chess. + +“Alas!” I said to him, “if you want to make me remember the rules of +bezique, give me back my old friend Bignan, with whom I used to play +cards every evening before the Five Academies solemnly escorted him +to the cemetery; or else bring down to the frivolous level of human +amusements the grave intelligence of Hamilcar, whom you see on that +cushion, for he is the sole companion of my evenings.” + +The little man’s smile became vague and uneasy. + +“Here,” he said, “is a new collection of society amusements--jokes and +puns--with a receipt for changing a red rose to a white rose.” + +I told him that I had fallen out with the roses for a long time, and +that, as to jokes, I was satisfied with those which I unconsciously +permitted myself to make in the course of my scientific labours. + +The homunculus offered me his last book, with his last smile. He said to +me: + +“Here is the Clef des Songes--the ‘Key of Dreams’--with the explanation +of any dreams that anybody can have; dreams of gold, dreams of robbers, +dreams of death, dreams of falling from the top of a tower.... It is +exhaustive.” + +I had taken hold of the tongs, and, brandishing them energetically, I +replied to my commercial visitor: + +“Yes, my friend; but those dreams and a thousand others, joyous or +tragic, are all summed up in one--the Dream of Life; is your little +yellow book able to give me the key to that?” + +“Yes, Monsieur,” answered the homunculus; “the book is complete, and it +is not dear--one franc twenty-five centimes, Monsieur.” + +I called my housekeeper--for there is no bell in my room--and said to +her: + +“Therese, Monsieur Coccoz--whom I am going to ask you to show out--has a +book here which might interest you: the ‘Key of Dreams.’ I shall be very +glad to buy it for you.” + +My housekeeper responded: + +“Monsieur, when one has not even time to dream awake, one has still less +time to dream asleep. Thank God, my days are just enough for my work and +my work for my days, and I am able to say every night, ‘Lord, bless Thou +the rest which I am going to take.’ I never dream, either on my feet or +in bed; and I never mistake my eider-down coverlet for a devil, as my +cousin did; and, if you will allow me to give my opinion about it, +I think you have books enough here now. Monsieur has thousands and +thousands of books, which simply turn his head; and as for me, I have +just tow, which are quite enough for all my wants and purposes--my +Catholic prayer-book and my Cuisiniere Bourgeoise.” + +And with those words my housekeeper helped the little man to fasten up +his stock again within the green toilette. + +The homunculus Coccoz had ceased to smile. His relaxed features took +such an expression of suffering that I felt sorry to have made fun of +so unhappy a man. I called him back, and told him that I had caught a +glimpse of a copy of the “Histoire d’Estelle et de Nemorin,” which +he had among his books; that I was very fond of shepherds and +shepherdesses, and that I would be quite willing to purchase, at a +reasonable price, the story of these two perfect lovers. + +“I will sell you that book for one franc twenty-five centimes, +Monsieur,” replied Coccoz, whose face at once beamed with joy. “It is +historical; and you will be pleased with it. I know now just what suits +you. I see that you are a connoisseur. To-morrow I will bring you +the Crimes des Papes. It is a good book. I will bring you the edition +d’amateur, with coloured plates.” + +I begged him not to do anything of the sort, and sent him away happy. +When the green toilette and the agent had disappeared in the shadow of +the corridor I asked my housekeeper whence this little man had dropped +upon us. + +“Dropped is the word,” she answered; “he dropped on us from the roof, +Monsieur, where he lives with his wife.” + +“You say he has a wife, Therese? That is marvelous! Women are very +strange creatures! This one must be a very unfortunate little woman.” + +“I don’t really know what she is,” answered Therese; “but every morning +I see her trailing a silk dress covered with grease-spots over the +stairs. She makes soft eyes at people. And, in the name of common sense! +does it become a woman that has been received here out of charity to +make eyes and to wear dresses like that? For they allowed the couple +to occupy the attic during the time the roof was being repaired, in +consideration of the fact that the husband is sick and the wife in an +interesting condition. The concierge even says that the pain came on +her this morning, and that she is now confined. They must have been very +badly off for a child!” + +“Therese,” I replied, “they had no need of a child, doubtless. But +Nature had decided that they should bring one into the world; Nature +made them fall into her snare. One must have exceptional prudence to +defeat Nature’s schemes. Let us be sorry for them and not blame them! +As for silk dresses, there is no young woman who does not like them. +The daughters of Eve adore adornment. You yourself, Therese--who are so +serious and sensible--what a fuss you make when you have no white apron +to wait at table in! But, tell me, have they got everything necessary in +their attic?” + +“How could they have it, Monsieur?” my housekeeper made answer. “The +husband, whom you have just seen, used to be a jewellery-peddler--at +least, so the concierge tells me--and nobody knows why he stopped +selling watches, you have just seen that his is now selling almanacs. +That is no way to make an honest living, and I never will believe that +God’s blessing can come to an almanac-peddler. Between ourselves, +the wife looks to me for all the world like a good-for-nothing--a +Marie-couche toi-la. I think she would be just as capable of bringing up +a child as I should be of playing the guitar. Nobody seems to know where +they came from; but I am sure they must have come by Misery’s coach from +the country of Sans-souci.” + +“Wherever they have come from, Therese, they are unfortunate; and their +attic is cold.” + +“Pardi!--the roof is broken in several places and the rain comes through +in streams. They have neither furniture nor clothing. I don’t think +cabinet-makers and weavers work much for Christians of that sect!” + +“That is very sad, Therese; a Christian woman much less well provided +for than this pagan, Hamilcar here!--what does she have to say?” + +“Monsieur, I never speak to those people; I don’t know what she says or +what she sings. But she sings all day long; I hear her from the stairway +whenever I am going out or coming in.” + +“Well! the heir of the Coccoz family will be able to say, like the Egg +in the village riddle: Ma mere me fit en chantant. [“My mother sang when +she brought me into the world.”] The like happened in the case of Henry +IV. When Jeanne d’Albret felt herself about to be confined she began to +sing an old Bearnaise canticle: + + “Notre-Dame du bout du pont, + Venez a mon aide en cette heure! + Priez le Dieu du ciel + Qu’il me delivre vite, + Qu’il me donne un garcon! + +“It is certainly unreasonable to bring little unfortunates into the +world. But the thing is done every day, my dear Therese and all the +philosophers on earth will never be able to reform the silly custom. +Madame Coccoz has followed it, and she sings. This is creditable at +all events! But, tell me, Therese, have you not put the soup to boil +to-day?” + +“Yes, Monsieur; and it is time for me to go and skim it.” + +“Good! but don’t forget, Therese, to take a good bowl of soup out of the +pot and carry it to Madame Coccoz, our attic neighbor.” + +My housekeeper was on the point of leaving the room when I added, just +in time: + +“Therese, before you do anything else, please call your friend the +porter, and tell him to take a good bundle of wood out of our stock and +carry it up to the attic of those Coccoz folks. See, above all, that +he puts a first-class log in the lot--a real Christmas log. As for the +homunculus, if he comes back again, do not allow either himself or any +of his yellow books to come in here.” + +Having taken all these little precautions with the refined egotism of an +old bachelor, I returned to my catalogue again. + +With what surprise, with what emotion, with what anxiety did I therein +discover the following mention, which I cannot even now copy without +feeling my hand tremble: + +“LA LEGENDE DOREE DE JACQUES DE GENES (Jacques de Voragine);--traduction +francaise, petit in-4. + +“This MS. of the fourteenth century contains, besides the tolerably +complete translation of the celebrated work of Jacques de Voragine, +1. The Legends of Saints Ferreol, Ferrution, Germain, Vincent, +and Droctoveus; 2. A poem ‘On the Miraculous Burial of Monsieur +Saint-Germain of Auxerre.’ This translation, as well as the legends and +the poem, are due to the Clerk Alexander. + +“This MS. is written upon vellum. It contains a great number of +illuminated letters, and two finely executed miniatures, in a rather +imperfect state of preservation:--one represents the Purification of the +Virgin, and the other the Coronation of Proserpine.” + +What a discovery! Perspiration moistened my forehead, and a veil seemed +to come before my eyes. I trembled; I flushed; and, without being able +to speak, I felt a sudden impulse to cry out at the top of my voice. + +What a treasure! For more than forty years I had been making a special +study of the history of Christian Gaul, and particularly of that +glorious Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Pres, whence issued forth those +King-Monks who founded our national dynasty. Now, despite the culpable +insufficiency of the description given, it was evident to me that +the MS. of the Clerk Alexander must have come from the great Abbey. +Everything proved this fact. All the legends added by the translator +related to the pious foundation of the Abbey by King Childebert. Then +the legend of Saint-Droctoveus was particularly significant; being the +legend of the first abbot of my dear Abbey. The poem in French verse +on the burial of Saint-Germain led me actually into the nave of that +venerable basilica which was the umbilicus of Christian Gaul. + +The “Golden Legend” is in itself a vast and gracious work. Jacques de +Voragine, Definitor of the Order of Saint-Dominic, and Archbishop +of Genoa, collected in the thirteenth century the various legends of +Catholic saints, and formed so rich a compilation that from all the +monasteries and castles of the time there arouse the cry: “This is the +‘Golden Legend.’” The “Legende Doree” was especially opulent in Roman +hagiography. Edited by an Italian monk, it reveals its best merits in +the treatment of matters relating to the terrestrial domains of Saint +Peter. Voragine can only perceive the greater saints of the Occident +as through a cold mist. For this reason the Aquitanian and Saxon +translators of the good legend-writer were careful to add to his recital +the lives of their own national saints. + +I have read and collated a great many manuscripts of the “Golden +Legend.” I know all those described by my learned colleague, M. Paulin +Paris, in his handsome catalogue of the MSS. of the Biblotheque du Roi. +There were two among them which especially drew my attention. One is +of the fourteenth century and contains a translation by Jean Belet; the +other, younger by a century, presents the version of Jacques Vignay. +Both come from the Colbert collection, and were placed on the shelves of +that glorious Colbertine library by the Librarian Baluze--whose name I +can never pronounce without uncovering my head; for even in the century +of the giants of erudition, Baluze astounds by his greatness. I know +also a very curious codex in the Bigot collection; I know seventy-four +printed editions of the work, commencing with the venerable ancestor of +all--the Gothic of Strasburg, begun in 1471, and finished in 1475. But +no one of those MSS., no one of those editions, contains the legends +of Saints Ferreol, Ferrution, Germain, Vincent, and Droctoveus; no one +bears the name of the Clerk Alexander; no one, in find, came from the +Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Compared with the MS. described by Mr. +Thompson, they are only as straw to gold. I have seen with my eyes, +I have touched with my fingers, an incontrovertible testimony to the +existence of this document. But the document itself--what has become of +it? Sir Thomas Raleigh went to end his days by the shores of the Lake of +Como, whither he carried with him a part of his literary wealth. Where +did the books go after the death of that aristocratic collector? Where +could the manuscript of the Clerk Alexander have gone? + +“And why,” I asked myself, “why should I have learned that this precious +book exists, if I am never to possess it--never even to see it? I would +go to seek it in the burning heart of Africa, or in the icy regions of +the Pole if I knew it were there. But I do not know where it is. I do +not know if it be guarded in a triple-locked iron case by some jealous +biblomaniac. I do not know if it be growing mouldy in the attic of some +ignoramus. I shudder at the thought that perhaps its tore-out leaves may +have been used to cover the pickle-jars of some housekeeper.” + + + + +August 30, 1850 + + +The heavy heat compelled me to walk slowly. I kept close to the walls of +the north quays; and, in the lukewarm shade, the shops of the dealers +in old books, engravings, and antiquated furniture drew my eyes and +appealed to my fancy. Rummaging and idling among these, I hastily +enjoyed some verses spiritedly thrown off by a poet of the Pleiad. I +examined an elegant Masquerade by Watteau. I felt, with my eye, the +weight of a two-handed sword, a steel gorgerin, a morion. What a thick +helmet! What a ponderous breastplate--Seigneur! A giant’s garb? No--the +carapace of an insect. The men of those days were cuirassed like +beetles; their weakness was within them. To-day, on the contrary, our +strength is interior, and our armed souls dwell in feeble bodies. + +...Here is a pastel-portrait of a lady of the old time--the face, vague +like a shadow, smiles; and a hand, gloved with an openwork mitten, +retains upon her satiny knees a lap-dog, with a ribbon about its neck. +That picture fills me with a sort of charming melancholy. Let those who +have no half-effaced pastels in their own hearts laugh at me! Like the +horse that scents the stable, I hasten my pace as I near my lodgings. +There it is--that great human hive, in which I have a cell, for the +purpose of therein distilling the somewhat acrid honey of erudition. I +climb the stairs with slow effort. Only a few steps more, and I shall be +at my own door. But I divine, rather than see, a robe descending with a +sound of rustling silk. I stop, and press myself against the balustrade +to make room. The lady who is coming down is bareheaded; she is young; +she sings; her eyes and teeth gleam in the shadow, for she laughs with +lips and eyes at the same time. She is certainly a neighbor, and a very +familiar one. She holds in her arms a pretty child, a little boy--quite +naked, like the son of a goddess; he has a medal hung round his neck +by a little silver chain. I see him sucking his thumb and looking at +me with those big eyes so newly opened on this old universe. The mother +simultaneously looks at me in a sly, mysterious way; she stops--I think +blushes a little--and holds out the little creature to me. The baby has +a pretty wrinkle between wrist and arm, a pretty wrinkle about his neck, +and all over him, from head to foot, the daintiest dimples laugh in his +rosy flesh. + +The mamma shows him to me with pride. + +“Monsieur,” she says, “don’t you think he is very pretty--my little +boy?” + +She takes one tiny hand, lifts it to the child’s own lips, and, drawing +out the darling pink fingers again towards me, says, + +“Baby, throw the gentleman a kiss.” + +Then, folding the little being in her arms, she flees away with the +agility of a cat, and is lost to sight in a corridor which, judging by +the odour, must lead to some kitchen. + +I enter my own quarters. + +“Therese, who can that young mother be whom I saw bareheaded on the +stairs just now, with a pretty little boy?” + +And Therese replies that it was Madame Coccoz. + +I stare up at the ceiling, as if trying to obtain some further +illumination. Therese then recalls to me the little book-peddler who +tried to sell me almanacs last year, while his wife was lying in. + +“And Coccoz himself?” I asked. + +I was answered that I would never see him again. The poor little man had +been laid away underground, without my knowledge, and, indeed, with the +knowledge of very few people, on a short time after the happy delivery +of Madame Coccoz. I leaned that his wife had been able to console +herself: I did likewise. + +“But, Therese,” I asked, “has Madame Coccoz got everything she needs in +that attic of hers?” + +“You would be a great dupe, Monsieur,” replied my housekeeper, “if you +should bother yourself about that creature. They gave her notice to quit +the attic when the roof was repaired. But she stays there yet--in spite +of the proprietor, the agent, the concierge, and the bailiffs. I think +she has bewitched every one of them. She will leave the attic when she +pleases, Monsieur; but she is going to leave in her own carriage. Let me +tell you that!” + +Therese reflected for a moment; and then uttered these words: + +“A pretty face is a curse from Heaven.” + +“Then I ought to thank Heaven for having spared me that curse. But here! +put my hat and cane away. I am going to amuse myself with a few pages +of Moreri. If I can trust my old fox-nose, we are going to have a nicely +flavoured pullet for dinner. Look after that estimable fowl, my girl, +and spare your neighbors, so that you and your old master may be spared +by them in turn.” + +Having thus spoken, I proceeded to follow out the tufted ramifications +of a princely genealogy. + + + + +May 7, 1851 + + +I have passed the winter according to the ideal of the sages, in angello +cum libello; and now the swallows of the Quai Malaquais find me on their +return about as when they left me. He who lives little, changes little; +and it is scarcely living at all to use up one’s days over old texts. + +Yet I feel myself to-day a little more deeply impregnated than ever +before with that vague melancholy which life distils. The economy of +my intelligence (I dare scarcely confess it to myself!) has remained +disturbed ever since that momentous hour in which the existence of the +manuscript of the Clerk Alexander was first revealed to me. + +It is strange that I should have lost my rest simply on account of a few +old sheets of parchment; but it is unquestionably true. The poor man who +has no desires possesses the greatest of riches; he possesses himself. +The rich man who desires something is only a wretched slave. I am just +such a slave. The sweetest pleasures--those of converse with some one +of a delicate and well-balanced mind, or dining out with a friend--are +insufficient to enable me to forget the manuscript which I know that I +want, and have been wanting from the moment I knew of its existence. I +feel the want of it by day and by night: I feel the want of it in all my +joys and pains; I feel the want of it while at work or asleep. + +I recall my desires as a child. How well I can now comprehend the +intense wishes of my early years! + +I can see once more, with astonishing vividness, a certain doll which, +when I was eight years old, used to be displayed in the window of an +ugly little shop of the Rue de Seine. I cannot tell how it happened +that this doll attracted me. I was very proud of being a boy; I despised +little girls; and I longed impatiently for the day (which alas! has +come) when a strong beard should bristle on my chin. I played at being +a soldier; and, under the pretext of obtaining forage for my +rocking-horse, I used to make sad havoc among the plants my poor mother +delighted to keep on her window-sill. Manly amusements those, I +should say! And, nevertheless, I was consumed with longing for a doll. +Characters like Hercules have such weaknesses occasionally. Was the one +I had fallen in love with at all beautiful? No. I can see her now. She +had a splotch of vermilion on either cheek, short soft arms, horrible +wooden hands, and long sprawling legs. Her flowered petticoat was +fastened at the waist with two pins. Even now I cans see the black +heads of those two pins. It was a decidedly vulgar doll--smelt of the +faubourg. I remember perfectly well that, child as I was then, before +I had put on my first pair of trousers, I was quite conscious in my own +way that this doll lacked grace and style--that she was gross, that she +was course. But I loved her in spite of that; I loved her just for that; +I loved her only; I wanted her. My soldiers and my drums had become as +nothing in my eyes, I ceased to stick sprigs of heliotrope and veronica +into the mouth of my rocking-horse. That doll was all the world to me. I +invented ruses worthy of a savage to oblige Virginie, my nurse, to take +me by the little shop in the Rue de Seine. I would press my nose against +the window until my nurse had to take my arm and drag me away. “Monsieur +Sylvestre, it is late, and your mamma will scold you.” Monsieur +Sylvestre in those days made very little of either scoldings or +whippings. But his nurse lifted him up like a feather, and Monsieur +Sylvestre yielded to force. In after-years, with age, he degenerated, +and sometimes yielded to fear. But at that time he used to fear nothing. + +I was unhappy. An unreasoning but irresistible shame prevented me from +telling my mother about the object of my love. Thence all my sufferings. +For many days that doll, incessantly present in fancy, danced before +my eyes, stared at me fixedly, opened her arms to me, assuming in my +imagination a sort of life which made her appear at once mysterious and +weird, and thereby all the more charming and desirable. + +Finally, one day--a day I shall never forget--my nurse took me to see my +uncle, Captain Victor, who had invited me to lunch. I admired my uncle +a great deal, as much because he had fired the last French cartridge +at Waterloo, as because he used to prepare with his own hands, at my +mother’s table, certain chapons-a-l’ail [Crust on which garlic has been +rubbed], which he afterwards put in the chicory salad. I thought that +was very fine! My Uncle Victor also inspired me with much respect by +his frogged coat, and still more by his way of turning the whole house +upside down from the moment he came into it. Even now I cannot tell just +how he managed it, but I can affirm that whenever my Uncle Victor found +himself in any assembly of twenty persons, it was impossible to see or +to hear anybody but him. My excellent father, I have reason to believe, +never shared my admiration for Uncle Victor, who used to sicken him with +his pipe, give him great thumps in the back by way of friendliness, +and accuse him of lacking energy. My mother, though always showing a +sister’s indulgence to the Captain, sometimes advised him to fold the +brandy-bottle a little less frequently. But I had no part either in +these repugnances or these reproaches, and Uncle Victor inspired me with +the purest enthusiasm. It was therefore with a feeling of pride that I +entered into the little lodging he occupied in the Rue Guenegaud. The +entire lunch, served on a small table close to the fireplace, consisted +of cold meats and confectionery. + +The Captain stuffed me with cakes and undiluted wine. He told me of +numberless injustices to which he had been a victim. He complained +particularly of the Bourbons; and as he neglected to tell me who the +Bourbons were, I got the idea--I can’t tell how--that the Bourbons +were horse-dealers established at Waterloo. The Captain, who never +interrupted his talk except for the purpose of pouring out wine, +furthermore made charges against a number of dirty scoundrels, +blackguards, and good-for-nothings whom I did not know anything about, +but whom I hated from the bottom of my heart. At dessert I thought I +heard the Captain say my father was a man who could be led anywhere by +the nose; but I am not quite sure that I understood him. I had a buzzing +in my ears; and it seemed to me that the table was dancing. + +My uncle put on his frogged coat, took his bell shaped hat, and we +descended to the street, which seemed to me singularly changed. It +looked to me as if I had not been in it before for ever so long a time. +Nevertheless, when we came to the Rue de Seine, the idea of my doll +suddenly returned to my mind and excited me in an extraordinary way. My +head was on fire. I resolved upon a desperate expedient. We were passing +before the window. She was there, behind the glass--with her red checks, +and her flowered petticoat, and her long legs. + +“Uncle,” I said, with a great effort, “will you buy that doll for me?” + +And I waited. + +“Buy a doll for a boy--sacrebleu!” cried my uncle, in a voice of +thunder. “Do you wish to dishonour yourself? And it is that old Mag +there that you want! Well, I must compliment you, my young fellow! If +you grow up with such tastes as that, you will never have any pleasure +in life; and your comrades will call you a precious ninny. If you asked +me for a sword or a gun, my boy, I would buy them for you with the last +silver crown of my pension. But to buy a doll for you--by all that’s +holy!--to disgrace you! Never in the world! Why, if I were ever to see +you playing with a puppet rigged out like that, Monsieur, my sister’s +son, I would disown you for my nephew!” + +On hearing these words, I felt my heart so wrung that nothing but +pride--a diabolical pride--kept me from crying. + +My uncle, suddenly calming down, returned to his ideas about the +Bourbons; but I, still smarting under the weight of his indignation, +felt an unspeakable shame. My resolve was quickly made. I promised +myself never to disgrace myself--I firmly and for ever renounced that +red-cheeked doll. + +I felt that day, for the first time, the austere sweetness of sacrifice. + +Captain, though it be true that all your life you swore like a pagan, +smoked like a beadle, and drank like a bell-ringer, be your memory +nevertheless honoured--not merely because you were a brave soldier, +but also because you revealed to your little nephew in petticoats +the sentiment of heroism! Pride and laziness had made you almost +insupportable, Uncle Victor!--but a great heart used to beat under those +frogs upon your coat. You always used to wear, I now remember, a rose +in your button-hole. That rose which you offered so readily to the +shop-girls--that large, open-hearted flower, scattering its petals +to all the winds, was the symbol of your glorious youth. You despised +neither wine nor tobacco; but you despised life. Neither delicacy nor +common sense could have been learned from you, Captain; but you taught +me, even at an age when my nurse had to wipe my nose, a lesson of honour +and self-abrogation that I shall never forget. + +You have now been sleeping for many years in the Cemetery of +Mont-Parnasse, under a plain slab bearing the epitaph: + + CI-GIT + ARISTIDE VICTOR MALDENT, + Capitaine d’Infanterie, + Chevalier de la Legion d’Honneur. + +But such, Captain, was not the inscription devised by yourself to be +placed above those old bones of yours--knocked about so long on fields +of battle and in haunts of pleasure. Among your papers was found this +proud and bitter epitaph, which, despite your last will none could have +ventured to put upon your tomb: + + CI-GIT + UN BRIGAND DE LA LOIRE + +“Therese, we will get a wreath of immortelles to-morrow, and lay them on +the tomb of the Brigand of the Loire.”... + +But Therese is not here. And how, indeed, could she be near me, +seeing that I am at the rondpoint of the Champs-Elysees? There, at the +termination of the avenue, the Arc de Triomphe, which bears under its +vaults the names of Uncle Victor’s companions-in-arms, opens its giant +gate against the sky. The trees of the avenue are unfolding to the sun +of spring their first leaves, still all pale and chilly. Beside me the +carriages keep rolling by to the Bois de Boulogne. Unconsciously I have +wandered into this fashionable avenue on my promenade, and halted, quite +stupidly, in front of a booth stocked with gingerbread and decanters of +liquorice-water, each topped by a lemon. A miserable little boy, covered +with rags, which expose his chapped skin, stares with widely opened +eyes at those sumptuous sweets which are not for such as he. With the +shamelessness of innocence he betrays his longing. His round, fixed eyes +contemplate a certain gingerbread man of lofty stature. It is a general, +and it looks a little like Uncle Victor. I take it, I pay for it, +and present it to the little pauper, who dares not extend his hand to +receive it--for, by reason of precocious experience, he cannot believe +in luck; he looks at me, in the same way that certain big dogs do, with +the air of one saying, “You are cruel to make fun of me like that!” + +“Come, little stupid,” I say to him, in that rough tone I am accustomed +to use, “take it--take it, and eat it; for you, happier than I was +at your age, you can satisfy your tastes without disgracing +yourself.”...And you, Uncle Victor--you, whose manly figure has been +recalled to me by that gingerbread general, come, glorious Shadow, help +me to forget my new doll. We remain for ever children, and are always +running after new toys. + + + +Same day. + + +In the oddest way that Coccoz family has become associated in my mind +with the Clerk Alexander. + +“Therese,” I said, as I threw myself into my easy-chair, “tell me if the +little Coccoz is well, and whether he has got his first teeth yet--and +bring me my slippers.” + +“He ought to have them by this time, Monsieur,” replied Therese; “but I +never saw them. The very first fine day of spring the mother disappeared +with the child, leaving furniture and clothes and everything behind her. +They found thirty-eight empty pomade-pots in the attic. It passes all +belief! She had visitors latterly; and you may be quite sure she is not +now in a convent of nuns. The niece of the concierge says she saw her +driving about in a carriage on the boulevards. I always told you she +would end badly.” + +“Therese,” I replied, “that young woman has not ended either badly or +well as yet. Wait until the term of her life is over before you judge +her. And be careful not to talk too much with that concierge. It seemed +to me--though I only saw her for a moment on the stairs--that Madame +Coccoz was very fond of her child. For that mother’s love at least, she +deserves credit.” + +“As far as that goes, Monsieur, certainly the little one never wanted +for anything. In all the Quarter one could not have found a child better +kept, or better nourished, or more petted and coddled. Every day that +God makes she puts a clean bib on him, and sings to him to make him +laugh from morning till night.” + +“Therese, a poet has said, ‘That child whose mother has never smiled +upon him is worthy neither of the table of the gods nor of the couch of +the goddesses.’” + + + + +July 8, 1852. + + +Having been informed that the Chapel of the Virgin at +Saint-Germain-des-Pres was being repaved, I entered the church with +the hope of discovering some old inscriptions, possibly exposed by the +labours of the workmen. I was not disappointed. The architect kindly +showed me a stone which he had just had raised up against the wall. +I knelt down to look at the inscription engraved upon that stone; and +then, half aloud, I read in the shadow of the old apsis these words, +which made my heart leap: + +“Cy-gist Alexandre, moyne de ceste eglise, qui fist mettre en argent le +menton de Saint-Vincent et de Saint-Amant et le pie des Innocens; qui +toujours en son vivant fut preud’homme et vayllant. Priez pour l’ame de +lui.” + +I wiped gently away with my handkerchief the dust covering that +gravestone; I could have kissed it. + +“It is he! it is Alexander!” I cried out; and from the height of the +vaults the name fell back upon me with a clang, as if broken. + +The silent severity of the beadle, whom I saw advancing towards me, +made me ashamed of my enthusiasm; and I fled between the two holy water +sprinklers with which tow rival “rats d’eglise” seemed desirous of +barring my way. + +At all events it was certainly my own Alexander! there could be no more +doubt possible; the translator of the “Golden Legend,” the author of +the saints lives of Saints Germain, Vincent, Ferreol, Ferrution, +and Droctoveus was, just as I had supposed, a monk of +Saint-Germain-des-Pres. And what a monk, too--pious and generous! He +had a silver chin, a silver head, and a silver foot made, that certain +precious remains should be covered with an incorruptible envelope! But +shall I never be able to view his handiwork? or is this new discovery +only destined to increase my regrets? + + + + +August 20, 1859. + + + “I, that please some, try all; both joy and terror + Of good and bad; that make and unfold error-- + Now take upon me, in the name of Time + To use my wings. Impute it not a crime + To me or my swift passage, that I slide + O’er years.” + + Who speaks thus? ‘Tis an old man whom I know too well. It is Time. + +Shakespeare, after having terminated the third act of the “Winter’s +Tale,” pauses in order to leave time for little Perdita to grow up in +wisdom and in beauty; and when he raises the curtain again he evokes the +ancient Scythe-bearer upon the stage to render account to the audience +of those many long days which have weighted down upon the head of the +jealous Leontes. + +Like Shakespeare in his play, I have left in this diary of mine a long +interval to oblivion; and after the fashion of the poet, I make Time +himself intervene to explain the omission of ten whole years. Ten whole +years, indeed, have passed since I wrote one single line in this diary; +and now that I take up the pen again, I have not the pleasure, alas! +to describe a Perdita “now grown in grace.” Youth and beauty are the +faithful companions of poets; but those charming phantoms scarcely visit +the rest of us, even for the space of a season. We do not know how to +retain them with us. If the fair shade of some Perdita should ever, +through some inconceivable whim, take a notion to traverse my brain, she +would hurt herself horribly against heaps of dog-eared parchments. Happy +the poets!--their white hairs never scare away the hovering shades of +Helens, Francescas, Juliets, Julias, and Dorotheas! But the nose alone +of Sylvestre Bonnard would put to flight the whole swarm of love’s +heroines. + +Yet I, like others, have felt beauty; I have known that mysterious charm +which Nature has lent to animate form; and the clay which lives has +given to me that shudder of delight which makes the lover and the poet. +But I have never known either how to love or how to sing. Now in my +memory--all encumbered as it is with the rubbish of old texts--I can +discern again, like a miniature forgotten in some attic, a certain +bright young face, with violet eyes.... Why, Bonnard, my friend, what +an old fool you are becoming! Read that catalogue which a Florentine +bookseller sent you this very morning. It is a catalogue of Manuscripts; +and he promises you a description of several famous ones, long preserved +by the collectors of Italy and Sicily. There is something better suited +to you, something more in keeping with your present appearance. + +I read; I cry out! Hamilcar, who has assumed with the approach of age an +air of gravity that intimidates me, looks at me reproachfully, and seems +to ask me whether there is any rest in this world, since he cannot enjoy +it beside me, who am old also like himself. + +In the sudden joy of my discovery, I need a confidant; and it is to the +sceptic Hamilcar that I address myself with all the effusion of a happy +man. + +“No, Hamilcar! no,” I said to him; “there is no rest in this world, and +the quietude which you long for is incompatible with the duties of +life. And you say that we are old, indeed! Listen to what I read in this +catalogue, and then tell me whether this is a time to be reposing: + +“‘LA LEGENDE DOREE DE JACQUES DE VORAGINE;--traduction francaise du +quatorzieme sicle, par le Clerc Alexandre. + +“‘Superb MS., ornamented with two miniatures, wonderfully executed, and +in a perfect state of preservation:--one representing the Purification +of the Virgin; the other the Coronation of Proserpine. + +“‘At the termination of the “Legende Doree” are the Legends of Saints +Ferreol, Ferrution, Germain, and Droctoveus (xxxviii pp.) and the +Miraculous Sepulture of Monsieur Saint-Germain d’Auxerre (xii pp.). + +“‘This rare manuscript, which formed part of the collection of Sir +Thomas Raleigh, is now in the private study of Signor Michel-Angelo +Polizzi, of Girgenti.’” + +“You hear that, Hamilcar? The manuscript of the Clerk Alexander is in +Sicily, at the house of Michel-Angelo Polizzi. Heaven grant he may be a +friend of learned men! I am going to write him!” + +Which I did forthwith. In my letter I requested Signor Polizzi to allow +me to examine the manuscript of Clerk Alexander, stating on what grounds +I ventured to consider myself worthy of so great a favour. I offered at +the same time to put at his disposal several unpublished texts in my +own possession, not devoid of interest. I begged him to favour me with +a prompt reply, and below my signature I wrote down all my honorary +titles. + +“Monsieur! Monsieur! where are you running like that?” cried Therese, +quite alarmed, coming down the stairs in pursuit of me, four steps at a +time, with my hat in her hand. + +“I am going to post a letter, Therese.” + +“Good God! is that a way to run out in the street, bareheaded, like a +crazy man?” + +“I am crazy, I know, Therese. But who is not? Give me my hat, quick!” + +“And your gloves, Monsieur! and your umbrella!” + +I had reached the bottom of the stairs, but still heard her protesting +and lamenting. + + + + +October 10, 1859. + + +I awaited Signor Polizzi’s reply with ill-contained impatience. I could +not even remain quiet; I would make sudden nervous gestures--open books +and violently close them again. One day I happened to upset a book +with my elbow--a volume of Moreri. Hamilcar, who was washing himself, +suddenly stopped, and looked angrily at me, with his paw over his ear. +Was this the tumultuous existence he must expect under my roof? Had +there not been a tacit understanding between us that we should live a +peaceful life? I had broken the covenant. + +“My poor dear comrade,” I made answer, “I am the victim of a violent +passion, which agitates and masters me. The passions are enemies of +peace and quiet, I acknowledge; but without them there would be no arts +or industries in the world. Everybody would sleep naked on a dung-heap; +and you would not be able, Hamilcar, to repose all day on a silken +cushion, in the City of Books.” + +I expatiated no further to Hamilcar on the theory of the passions, +however, because my housekeeper brought me a letter. It bore the +postmark of Naples and read as follows: + +“Most Illustrious Sir,--I do indeed possess that incomparable manuscript +of the ‘Golden Legend’ which could not escape your keen observation. +All-important reasons, however, forbid me, imperiously, tyrannically, to +let the manuscript go out of my possession for a single day, for even a +single minute. It will be a joy and pride for me to have you examine it +in my humble home in Girgenti, which will be embellished and illuminated +by your presence. It is with the most anxious expectation of your visit +that I presume to sign myself, Seigneur Academician, + +“Your humble and devoted servant + +“Michel-Angelo Polizzi, + +“Wine-merchant and Archaeologist at Girgenti, Sicily.” + + +Well, then! I will go to Sicily: + +“Extremum hunc, Arethusa, mihi concede laborem.” + + + + +October 25, 1859. + + +My resolve had been taken and my preparations made; it only remained +for me to notify my housekeeper. I must acknowledge it was a long time +before I could make up my mind to tell her I was going away. I feared +her remonstrances, her railleries, her objurgations, her tears. “She is +a good, kind girl,” I said to myself; “she is attacked to me; she will +want to prevent me from going; and the Lord knows that when she has her +mind set upon anything, gestures and cries cost her no effort. In this +instance she will be sure to call the concierge, the scrubber, the +mattress-maker, and the seven sons of the fruit-seller; they will all +kneel down in a circle around me; they will begin to cry, and then they +will look so ugly that I shall be obliged to yield, so as not to have +the pain of seeing them any more.” + +Such were the awful images, the sick dreams, which fear marshaled before +my imagination. Yes, fear--“fecund Fear,” as the poet says--gave +birth to these monstrosities in my brain. For--I may as well make the +confession in these private pages--I am afraid of my housekeeper. I am +aware that she knows I am weak; and this fact alone is sufficient to +dispel all my courage in any contest with her. Contests are of frequent +occurrence; and I invariably succumb. + +But for all that, I had to announce my departure to Therese. She came +into the library with an armful of wood to make a little fire--“une +flambe,” she said. For the mornings are chilly. I watched her out of the +corner of my eye while she crouched down at the hearth, with her head in +the opening of the fireplace. I do not know how I then found the courage +to speak, but I did so without much hesitation. I got up, and, walking +up and down the room, observed in a careless tone, with that swaggering +manner characteristic of cowards, + +“By the way, Therese, I am going to Sicily.” + +Having thus spoken, I awaited the consequence with great anxiety. +Therese did not reply. Her head and her vast cap remained buried in the +fireplace; and nothing in her person, which I closely watched, betrayed +the least emotion. She poked some paper under the wood, and blew up the +fire. That was all! + +Finally I saw her face again;--it was calm--so calm that it made me +vexed. “Surely,” I thought to myself, “this old maid has no heart. She +lets me go away without saying so much as AH! Can the absence of her old +master really affect her so little?” + +“Well, then go, Monsieur,” she answered at last, “only be back here by +six o’clock! There is a dish for dinner to-day which will not wait for +anybody.” + + + + +Naples, November 10, 1859. + + +“Co tra calle vive, magna, e lave a faccia.” + +I understand, my friend--for three centimes I can eat, drink, and wash +my face, all by means of one of those slices of watermelon you display +there on a little table. But Occidental prejudices would prevent me from +enjoying that simple pleasure freely and frankly. And how could I suck +a watermelon? I have enough to do merely to keep on my feet in this +crowd. What a luminous, noisy night in the Strada di Porto! Mountains of +fruit tower up in the shops, illuminated by multicoloured lanterns. Upon +charcoal furnaces lighted in the open air water boils and steams, and +ragouts are singing in frying-pans. The smell of fried fish and hot +meats tickles my nose and makes me sneeze. At this moment I find that my +handkerchief has left the pocket of my frock-coat. I am pushed, +lifted up, and turned about in every direction by the gayest, the most +talkative, the most animated and the most adroit populace possible to +imagine; and suddenly a young woman of the people, while I am admiring +her magnificent hair, with a single shock of her powerful elastic +shoulder, pushes me staggering three paces back at least, without +injury, into the arms of a maccaroni-eater, who receives me with a +smile. + +I am in Naples. How I ever managed to arrive here, with a few mutilated +and shapeless remains of baggage, I cannot tell, because I am no longer +myself. I have been travelling in a condition of perpetual fright; and I +think that I must have looked awhile ago in this bright city like an owl +bewildered by sunshine. To-night it is much worse! Wishing to obtain a +glimpse of popular manners, I went to the Strada di Porto, where I now +am. All about me animated throngs of people crowd and press before the +eating-places; and I float like a waif among these living surges, which, +even while they submerge you, still caress. For this Neopolitan people +has, in its very vivacity, something indescribably gentle and polite. +I am not roughly jostled, I am merely swayed about; and I think that +by dint of thus rocking me to and fro, these good folks want to lull +me asleep on my feet. I admire, as I tread the lava pavements of the +strada, those porters and fishermen who move by me chatting, singing, +smoking, gesticulating, quarrelling, and embracing each other the next +moment with astonishing versatility of mood. They live through all their +sense at the same time; and, being philosophers without knowing it, keep +the measure of their desires in accordance with the brevity of life. I +approach a much-patronised tavern, and see inscribed above the entrance +this quatrain in Neopolitan patois: + + + “Amice, alliegre magnammo e bevimmo + N fin che n’ce stace noglio a la lucerna: + Chi sa s’a l’autro munno n’ce verdimmo? + Chi sa s’a l’autro munno n’ce taverna?” + [“Friends, let us merrily eat and drink + as long as oil remains in the lamp: + Who knows if we shall meet again in another world? + Who knows if in the other world there will be a tavern?”] + + +Even such counsels was Horace wont to give to his friends. You received +them, Posthumus; you heard them also, Leuconoe, perverse beauty who +wished to know the secrets of the future. That future is now the past, +and we know it well. Of a truth you were foolish to worry yourselves +about so small a matter; and your friend showed his good sense when he +told you to take life wisely and to filter your Greek wines--“Sapias, +vina liques.” Even thus the sight of a fair land under a spotless sky +urges to the pursuit of quiet pleasures, but there are souls for ever +harassed by some sublime discontent; those are the noblest. You were +of such, Leuconoe; and I, visiting for the first time, in my declining +years, that city where your beauty was famed of old, I salute with +deep respect your melancholy memory. Those souls of kin to your own +who appeared in the age of Christianity were souls of saints; and the +“Golden Legend” is full of the miracles they wrought. Your friend Horace +left a less noble posterity, and I see one of his descendants in the +person of that tavern poet, who at this moment is serving out wine in +cups under the epicurean motto of his sign. + +And yet life decides in favour of friend Flaccus, and his philosophy +is the only one which adapts itself to the course of events. There is a +fellow leaning against that trellis-work covered with vine-leaves, and +eating an ice, while watching the stars. He would not stoop even to +pick up the old manuscript I am going to seek with so much trouble and +fatigue. And in truth man is made rather to eat ices than to pore over +old texts. + +I continued to wander about among the drinkers and the singers. There +were lovers biting into beautiful fruit, each with an arm about the +other’s waist. Man must be naturally bad; for all this strange joy only +evoked in me a feeling of uttermost despondency. That thronging populace +displayed such artless delight in the simple act of living, that all the +shynesses begotten by my old habits as an author awoke and intensified +into something like fright. Furthermore, I found myself much discouraged +by my inability to understand a word of all the storm of chatter about +me. It was a humiliating experience for a philologist. Thus I had begun +to feel quite sulky, when I was startled to hear someone behind me +observe: + +“Dimitri, that old man is certainly a Frenchman. He looks so bewildered +that I really fell sorry for him. Shall I speak to him? ...He has such +a goo-natured look, with that round back of his--do you not think so, +Dimitri?” + +It was said in French by a woman’s voice. For the moment it was +disagreeable to hear myself spoken of as an old man. Is a man old at +sixty-two? Only the other day, on the Pont des Arts, my colleague Perrot +d’Avrignac complimented me on my youthful appearance; and I should think +him a better authority about one’s age than that young chatterbox who +has taken it on herself to make remarks about my back. My back is round, +she says. Ah! ah! I had some suspicion myself to that effect, but I +am not going now to believe it at all, since it is the opinion of a +giddy-headed young woman. Certainly I will not turn my head round to see +who it was that spoke; but I am sure it was a pretty woman. Why? Because +she talks like a capricious person and like a spoiled child. Ugly women +may be naturally quite as capricious as pretty ones; but as they are +never petted and spoiled, and as no allowances are made for them, they +soon find themselves obliged either to suppress their whims or to hide +them. On the other hand, the pretty women can be just as fantastical as +they please. My neighbour is evidently one of the latter.... But, after +all, coming to think it over, she really did nothing worse than to +express, in her own way, a kindly thought about me, for which I ought to +feel grateful. + +These reflections--include the last and decisive one--passed through my +mind in less than a second; and if I have taken a whole minute to tell +them, it is characteristic of most philologists. In less than a second, +therefore, after the voice had ceased, I did turn round, and saw a +pretty little woman--a sprightly brunette. + +“Madame,” I said, with a bow, “excuse my involuntary indiscretion. I +could not help overhearing what you have just said. You would like to +be of service to a poor old man. And the wish, Madame, has already been +fulfilled--the mere sound of a French voice has given me such pleasure +that I must thank you.” + +I bowed again, and turned to go away; but my foot slipped upon a +melon-rind, and I should certainly have embraced the Parthenopean soil +had not the young lady put out her hand and caught me. + +There is a force in circumstances--even in the very smallest +circumstances--against which resistance is vain. I resigned myself to +remain the protege of the fair unknown. + +“It is late,” she said; “do you not wish to go back to your hotel, which +must be quite close to ours--unless it be the same one?” + +“Madame,” I replied, “I do not know what time it is, because somebody +has stolen my watch; but I think, as you say, that it must be time to +retire; and I shall be very glad to regain my hotel in the company of +such courteous compatriots.” + +So saying, I bowed once more to the young lady, and also saluted her +companion, a silent colossus with a gentle and melancholy face. + +After having gone a little way with them, I learned, among other +matters, that my new acquaintances were the Prince and Princess Trepof, +and that they were making a trip round the world for the purpose of +finding match-boxes, of which they were making a collection. + +We proceeded along a narrow, tortuous vicoletto, lighted only by +a single lamp burning in the niche of a Madonna. The purity and +transparency of the air gave a celestial softness and clearness to the +very darkness itself; and one could find one’s way without difficulty +under such a limpid night. But in a little while we began to pass +through a “venella,” or, in Neopolitan parlance, a sottoportico, which +led under so many archways and so many far-projecting balconies that no +gleam of light from the sky could reach us. My young guide had made us +take this route as a short cut, she assured us; but I think she did so +quite as much simply in order to show that she felt at home in Naples, +and knew the city thoroughly. Indeed, she needed to know it very +thoroughly to venture by night into that labyrinth of subterranean +alleys and flights of steps. If ever any many showed absolute docility +in allowing himself to be guided, that man was myself. Dante never +followed the steps of Beatrice with more confidence than I felt in +following those of Princess Trepof. + +The lady appeared to find some pleasure in my conversation, for she +invited me to take a carriage-drive with her on the morrow to visit the +grotto of Posilippo and the tomb of Virgil. She declared she had seen me +somewhere before; but she could not remember if it had been a Stockholm +or at Canton. In the former event I was a very celebrated professor of +geology; in the latter, a provision-merchant whose courtesy and kindness +had been much appreciated. One thing certain was that she had seen my +back somewhere before. + +“Excuse me,” she added; “we are continually travelling, my husband and +I, to collect match-boxes and to change our ennui by changing country. +Perhaps it would be more reasonable to content ourselves with a single +variety of ennui. But we have made all our preparations and arrangements +for travelling: all our plans have been laid out in advance, and it +gives us no trouble, whereas it would be very troublesome for us to +stop anywhere in particular. I tell you all this so that you many not +be surprised if my recollections have become a little mixed up. But from +the moment I first saw you at a distance this evening, I felt--in fact +I knew--that I had seen you before. Now the question is, ‘Where was +it that I saw you?’ You are not then, either the geologist or the +provision-merchant?” + +“No, Madame,” I replied, “I am neither the one nor the other; and I am +sorry for it--since you have had reason to esteem them. There is really +nothing about me worthy of your interest. I have spent all my life +poring over books, and I have never traveled: you might have known that +from my bewilderment, which excited your compassion. I am a member of +the Institute.” + +“You are a member of the Institute! How nice! Will you not write +something for me in my album? Do you know Chinese? I would like so much +to have you write something in Chinese or Persian in my album. I will +introduce you to my friend, Miss Fergusson, who travels everywhere +to see all the famous people in the world. She will be delighted.... +Dimitri, did you hear that?--this gentleman is a member of the +Institute, and he has passed all his life over books.” + +The prince nodded approval. + +“Monsieur,” I said, trying to engage him in our conversation, “it is +true that something can be learned from books; but a great deal more can +be learned by travelling, and I regret that I have not been able to +go round the world like you. I have lived in the same house for thirty +years and I scarcely every go out.” + +“Lived in the same house for thirty years!” cried Madame Trepof; “is it +possible?” + +“Yes, Madame,” I answered. “But you must know the house is situated on +the bank of the Seine, and in the very handsomest and most famous part +of the world. From my window I can see the Tuileries and the Louvre, +the Pont-Neuf, the towers of Notre-Dame, the turrets of the Palais de +Justice, and the spire of the Sainte-Chapelle. All those stones speak to +me; they tell me stories about the days of Saint-Louis, of the Valois, +of Henri IV., and of Louis XIV. I understand them, and I love them all. +It is only a very small corner of the world, but honestly, Madame, where +is there a more glorious spot?” + +At this moment we found ourselves upon a public square--a largo steeped +in the soft glow of the night. Madame Trepof looked at me in an uneasy +manner; her lifted eyebrows almost touched the black curls about her +forehead. + +“Where do you live then?” she demanded brusquely. + +“On the Quai Malaquais, Madame, and my name is Bonnard. It is not a name +very widely known, but I am contented if my friends do not forget it.” + +This revelation, unimportant as it was, produced an extraordinary effect +upon Madame Trepof. She immediately turned her back upon me and caught +her husband’s arm. + +“Come, Dimitri!” she exclaimed, “do walk a little faster. I am horribly +tired, and you will not hurry yourself in the least. We shall never get +home.... As for you, monsieur, your way lies over there!” + +She made a vague gesture in the direction of some dark vicolo, pushed +her husband the opposite way, and called to me, without even turning her +head. + +“Adieu, Monsieur! We shall not go to Posilippo to-morrow, nor the +day after, either. I have a frightful headache!... Dimitri, you are +unendurable! will you not walk faster?” + +I remained for the moment stupefied, vainly trying to think what I could +have done to offend Madame Trepof. I had also lost my way, and seemed +doomed to wander about all night. In order to ask my way, I would have +to see somebody; and it did not seem likely that I should find a single +human being who could understand me. In my despair I entered a street +at random--a street, or rather a horrible alley that had the look of a +murderous place. It proved so in fact, for I had not been two minutes in +it before I saw two men fighting with knives. They were attacking each +other more fiercely with their tongues than with their weapons; and I +concluded from the nature of the abuse they were showering upon each +other that it was a love affair. I prudently made my way into a side +alley while those two good fellows were still much too busy with their +own affairs to think about mine. I wandered hopelessly about for a +while, and at last sat down, completely discouraged, on a stone bench, +inwardly cursing the strange caprices of Madame Trepof. + +“How are you, Signor? Are you back from San Carlo? Did you hear the diva +sing? It is only at Naples you can hear singing like hers.” + +I looked up, and recognised my host. I had seated myself with my back to +the facade of my hotel, under the window of my own room. + + + + +Monte-Allegro, November 30, 1859. + + +We were all resting--myself, my guides, and their mules--on a road +from Sciacca to Girgenti, at a tavern in the miserable village of +Monte-Allegro, whose inhabitants, consumed by the mal aria, continually +shiver in the sun. But nevertheless they are Greeks, and their gaiety +triumphs over all circumstances. A few gather about the tavern, full of +smiling curiosity. One good story would have sufficed, had I known how +to tell it to them, to make them forget all the woes of life. They had +all a look of intelligence! and their women, although tanned and faded, +wore their long black cloaks with much grace. + +Before me I could see old ruins whitened by the sea-wind--ruins about +which no grass ever grows. The dismal melancholy of deserts prevails +over this arid land, whose cracked surface can barely nourish a few +shriveled mimosas, cacti, and dwarf palms. Twenty yards away, along the +course of a ravine, stones were gleaming whitely like a long line of +scattered bones. They told me that was the bed of a stream. + +I had been fifteen days in Sicily. On coming into the Bay of +Palermo--which opens between the two mighty naked masses of the +Pelligrino and the Catalfano, and extends inward along the “Golden +Conch”--the view inspired me with such admiration that I resolved to +travel a little in this island, so ennobled by historic memories, and +rendered so beautiful by the outlines of its hills, which reveal the +principles of Greek art. Old pilgrim though I was, grown hoary in +the Gothic Occident--I dared to venture upon that classic soil; and, +securing a guide, I went from Palermo to Trapani, from Trapani to +Selinonte, from Selinonte to Sciacca--which I left this morning to go to +Girgenti, where I am to find the MS. of Clerk Alexander. The beautiful +things I have seen are still so vivid in my mind that I feel the task of +writing them would be a useless fatigue. Why spoil my pleasure-trip +by collecting notes? Lovers who love truly do not write down their +happiness. + +Wholly absorbed by the melancholy of the present and the poetry of +the past, my thoughts people with beautiful shapes, and my eyes ever +gratified by the pure and harmonious lines of the landscape, I was +resting in the tavern at Monte-Allegro, sipping a glass of heavy, fiery +wine, when I saw two persons enter the waiting-room, whom, after a +moment’s hesitation, I recognised as the Prince and Princess Trepof. + +This time I saw the princess in the light--and what a light! He who has +known that of Sicily can better comprehend the words of Sophocles: +“Oh holy light!... Eye of the Golden Day!” Madame Trepof, dressed in a +brown-holland and wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat, appeared to me a +very pretty woman of about twenty-eight. Her eyes were luminous as a +child’s; but her slightly plump chin indicated the age of plenitude. +She is, I must confess it, quite an attractive person. She is supple +and changeful; her mood is like water itself--and, thank Heaven! I am +no navigator. I thought I discerned in her manner a sort of ill-humour, +which I attributed presently, by reason of some observations she uttered +at random, to the fact that she had met no brigands upon her route. + +“Such things only happen to us!” she exclaimed, with a gesture of +discouragement. + +She called for a glass of iced water, which the landlord presented to +her with a gesture that recalled to me those scenes of funeral offerings +painted upon Greek vases. + +I was in no hurry to introduce myself to a lady who had so abruptly +dropped my acquaintance in the public square at Naples; but she +perceived me in my corner, and her frown notified me very plainly that +our accidental meeting was disagreeable to her. + +After she had sipper her ice-water for a few moments--whether because +her whim had suddenly changed, or because my loneliness aroused her +pity, I did not know--she walked directly to me. + +“Good-day, Monsieur Bonnard,” she said. “How do you do? What strange +chance enables us to meet again in this frightful country?” + +“This country is not frightful, Madame,” I replied. “Beauty is so great +and so august a quality that centuries of barbarism cannot efface it +so completely that adorable vestiges of it will not always remain. The +majesty of the antique Ceres still overshadows these arid valleys; and +that Greek Muse who made Arethusa and Maenalus ring with her divine +accents, still sings for my ears upon the barren mountain and in the +place of the dried-up spring. Yes, Madame, when our globe, no longer +inhabited, shall, like the moon, roll a wan corpse through space, the +soil which bears the ruins of Selinonte will still keep the seal of +beauty in the midst of universal death; and then, then, at least +there will be no frivolous mouth to blaspheme the grandeur of these +solitudes.” + +I knew well enough that my words were beyond the comprehension of the +pretty little empty-head which heard them. But an old fellow like myself +who has worn out his life over books does not know how to adapt his tone +to circumstances. Besides I wished to give Madame Trepof a lesson in +politeness. She received it with so much submission, and with such +an air of comprehension, that I hastened to add, as good-naturedly as +possible, + +“As to whether the chance which has enabled me to meet you again be +lucky or unlucky, I cannot decide the question until I am sure that my +presence be not disagreeable to you. You appeared to become weary of my +company very suddenly at Naples the other day. I can only attribute that +misfortune to my naturally unpleasant manner--since, on that occasion, I +had had the honour of meeting you for the first time in my life.” + +These words seem to cause her inexplicable joy. She smiled upon me in +the most gracious, mischievous way, and said very earnestly, holding out +her hand, which I touched with my lips, + +“Monsieur Bonnard, do not refuse to accept a seat in my carriage. You +can chat with me on the way about antiquity, and that will amuse me ever +so much.” + +“My dear,” exclaimed the prince, “you can do just as you please; but +you ought to remember that one is horribly cramped in that carriage of +yours; and I fear that you are only offering Monsieur Bonnard the chance +of getting a frightful attack of lumbago.” + +Madame Trepof simply shook her head by way of explaining that such +considerations had no weight with her whatever; then she untied her hat. +The darkness of her black curls descended over her eyes, and bathed them +in velvety shadow. She remained a little while quite motionless, and her +face assumed a surprising expression of reverie. But all of a sudden she +darted at some oranges which the tavern-keeper had brought in a basket, +and began to throw them, one by one, into a fold of her dress. + +“These will be nice on the road,” she said. “We are going just where you +are going--to Girgenti. I must tell you all about it; you know that +my husband is making a collection of match-boxes. We bought thirteen +hundred match-boxes at Marseilles. But we heard there was a factory of +them at Girgenti. According to what we were told, it is a very small +factory, and its products--which are very ugly--never go outside +the city and its suburbs. So we are going to Girgenti just to buy +match-boxes. Dimitri has been a collector of all sorts of things; but +the only kind of collection which can now interest him is a collection +of match-boxes. He has already got five thousand two hundred and +fourteen different kinds. Some of them gave us frightful trouble to +find. For instance, we knew that at Naples boxes were once made with +the portraits of Mazzini and Garibaldi on them; and that the police had +seized the plates from which the portraits were printed, and put the +manufacturer in gaol. Well, by dint of searching and inquiring for ever +so long a while, we found one of those boxes at last for sale at one +hundred francs, instead of two sous. It was not really too dear at +that price; but we were denounced for buying it. We were taken for +conspirators. All our baggage was searched; they could not find the box, +because I had hidden it so well; but they found my jewels, and carried +them off. They have them still. The incident made quite a sensation, and +we were going to get arrested. But the king was displeased about it, and +he ordered them to leave us alone. Up to that time, I used to think it +was very stupid to collect match-boxes; but when I found that there were +risks of losing liberty, and perhaps even life, by doing it, I began to +feel a taste for it. Now I am an absolute fanatic on the subject. We +are going to Sweden next summer to complete our series.... Are we not, +Dimitri?” + +I felt--must I confess it?--a thorough sympathy with these intrepid +collectors. No doubt I would rather have found Monsieur and Madame +Trepof engaged in collecting antique marbles or painted vases in +Sicily. I should have like to have found them interested in the ruins +of Syracuse, or the poetical traditions of the Eryx. But at all events, +they were making some sort of a collection--they belonged to the great +confraternity--and I could not possibly make fun of them without making +fun of myself. Besides, Madame Trepof had spoken of her collection +with such an odd mingling of irony and enthusiasm that I could not help +finding the idea a very good one. + +We were getting ready to leave the tavern, when we noticed some people +coming downstairs from the upper room, carrying carbines under their +dark cloaks, to me they had the look of thorough bandits; and after they +were gone I told Monsieur Trepof my opinion of them. He answered me, +very quietly, that he also thought they were regular bandits; and the +guides begged us to apply for an escort of gendarmes, but Madame Trepof +besought us not to do anything of the kind. She declared that we must +not “spoil her journey.” + +Then, turning her persuasive eyes upon me, she asked, + +“Do you not believe, Monsieur Bonnard, that there is nothing in life +worth having except sensations?” + +“Why, certainly, Madame,” I answered; “but then we must take into +consideration the nature of the sensations themselves. Those which a +noble memory or a grand spectacle creates within us certainly represent +what is best in human life; but those merely resulting from the menace +of danger seem to me sensations which one should be very careful to +avoid as much as possible. For example, would you think it a very +pleasant thing, Madame, while travelling over the mountains at midnight, +to find the muzzle of a carbine suddenly pressed against your forehead?” + +“Oh, no!” she replied; “the comic-operas have made carbines absolutely +ridiculous, and it would be a great misfortune to any young woman to +find herself in danger from an absurd weapon. But it would be quite +different with a knife--a very cold and very bright knife blade, which +makes a cold shudder go right through one’s heart.” + +She shuddered even as she spoke; closed her eyes, and threw her head +back. Then she resumed: + +“People like you are so happy! You can interest yourselves in all sorts +of things!” + +She gave a sidelong look at her husband, who was talking with the +innkeeper. Then she leaned towards me, and murmured very low: + +“You see, Dimitri and I, we are both suffering from ennui! We have +still the match-boxes. But at last one gets tired even of match-boxes. +Besides, our collection will soon be complete. And then what are we +going to do?” + +“Oh, Madame!” I exclaimed, touched by the moral unhappiness of this +pretty person, “if you only had a son, then you would know what to do. +You would then learn the purpose of your life, and your thoughts would +become at once more serious and yet more cheerful.” + +“But I have a son,” she replied. “He is a big boy; he is eleven years +old, and he suffers from ennui like the rest of us. Yes, my George has +ennui, too; he is tired of everything. It is very wretched.” + +She glanced again towards her husband, who was superintending the +harnessing of the mules on the road outside--testing the condition of +girths and straps. Then she asked me whether there had been many changes +on the Quai Malaquais during the past ten years. She declared she never +visited that neighbourhood because it was too far way. + +“Too far from Monte Allegro?” I queried. + +“Why, no!” she replied. “Too far from the Avenue des Champs Elysees, +where we live.” + +And she murmured over again, as if talking to herself, “Too far!--too +far!” in a tone of reverie which I could not possibly account for. All +at once she smiled again, and said to me, + +“I like you, Monsieur Bonnard!--I like you very, very much!” + +The mules had been harnessed. The young woman hastily picked up a few +oranges which had rolled off her lap; rose up; looked at me, and burst +out laughing. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed, “how I should like to see you grappling with the +brigands! You would say such extraordinary things to them!... Please +take my hat, and hold my umbrella for me, Monsieur Bonnard.” + +“What a strange little mind!” I thought to myself, as I followed her. +“It could only have been in a moment of inexcusable thoughtlessness that +Nature gave a child to such a giddy little woman!” + + + + +Girgenti. Same day. + + +Her manners had shocked me. I left her to arrange herself in her +lettica, and I made myself as comfortable as I could in my own. These +vehicles, which have no wheels, are carried by two mules--one before and +one behind. This kind of litter, or chaise, is of ancient origin. I had +often seen representations of similar ones in the French MSS. of the +fourteenth century. I had no idea then that one of those vehicles would +be at a future day placed at my own disposal. We must never be too sure +of anything. + +For three hours the mules sounded their little bells, and thumped the +calcined ground with their hoofs. On either hand there slowly defiled by +us the barren monstrous shapes of a nature totally African. + +Half-way we made a halt to allow our animals to recover breath. + +Madame Trepof came to me on the road, took my arm, and drew me a little +away from the party. Then, very suddenly, she said to me in a tone of +voice I had never heard before: + +“Do not think that I am a wicked woman. My George knows that I am a good +mother.” + +We walked side by side for a moment in silence. She looked up, and I saw +that she was crying. + +“Madame,” I said to her, “look at this soil which has been burned and +cracked by five long months of fiery heat. A little white lily has +sprung up from it.” + +And I pointed with my cane to the frail stalk, tipped by a double +blossom. + +“Your heart,” I said, “however arid it be, bears also its white lily; +and that is reason enough why I do not believe that you are what you +say--a wicked woman.” + +“Yes, yes, yes!” she cried, with the obstinacy of a child--“I am a +wicked woman. But I am ashamed to appear so before you who are so +good--so very, very good.” + +“You do not know anything at all about it,” I said to her. + +“I know it! I know all about you, Monsieur Bonnard!” she declared, with +a smile. + +And she jumped back into her lettica. + + + + +Girgenti, November 30, 1859. + + +I awoke the following morning in the House of Gellias. Gellias was a +rich citizen of ancient Agrigentum. He was equally celebrated for his +generosity and for his wealth; and he endowed his native city with a +great number of free inns. Gellias has been dead for thirteen hundred +years; and nowadays there is no gratuitous hospitality among civilised +peoples. But the name of Gellias has become that of a hotel in which, by +reason of fatigue, I was able to obtain one good night’s sleep. + +The modern Girgenti lifts its high, narrow, solid streets, dominated +by a sombre Spanish cathedral, upon the side of the acropolis of the +antique Agrigentum. I can see from my windows, half-way on the hillside +towards the sea, the white range of temples partially destroyed. The +ruins alone have some aspect of coolness. All the rest is arid. Water +and life have forsaken Agrigentine. Water--the divine Nestis of the +Agrigentine Empedocles--is so necessary to animated beings that nothing +can live far from the rivers and the springs. But the port of Girgenti, +situated at a distance of three kilometres from the city, has a great +commerce. “And it is in this dismal city,” I said to myself, “upon +this precipitous rock, that the manuscript of Clerk Alexander is to be +found!” I asked my way to the house of Signor Michel-Angelo Polizzi, and +proceeded thither. + +I found Signor Polizzi, dressed all in white from head to feet, busy +cooking sausages in a frying-pan. At the sight of me, he let go the +frying-pan, threw up his arms in the air, and uttered shrieks of +enthusiasm. He was a little man whose pimply features, aquiline nose, +round eyes, and projecting chin formed a very expressive physiognomy. + +He called me “Excellence,” said he was going to mark the day with a +white stone, and made me sit down. The hall in which we were represented +the union of the kitchen, reception-room, bedchamber, studio, and +wine-cellar. There were charcoal furnaces visible, a bed, paintings, an +easel, bottles, strings of onions, and a magnificent lustre of coloured +glass pendants. I glanced at the paintings on the wall. + +“The arts! the arts!” cried Signor Polizzi, throwing up his arms again +to heaven--“the arts! What dignity! what consolation! Excellence, I am a +painter!” + +And he showed me an unfinished Saint-Francis, which indeed could very +well remain unfinished for ever without any loss to religion or to art. +Next he showed me some old paintings of a better style, but apparently +restored after a decidedly reckless manner. + +“I repair,” he said--“I repair old paintings. Oh, the Old Masters! What +genius, what soul!” + +“Why, then,” I said to him, “you must be a painter, an archaeologist, +and a wine-merchant all in one?” + +“At your service, Excellence,” he answered. “I have a zucco here at this +very moment--a zucco of which every single drop is a pearl of fire. I +want your Lordship to taste of it.” + +“I esteem the wines of Sicily,” I responded, “but it was not for the +sake of your flagons that I came to see you, Signor Polizzi.” + +He: “Then you have come to see me about paintings. You are an amateur. +It is an immense delight for me to receive amateurs. I am going to show +you the chef-d’oeuvre of Monrealese; yes, Excellence, his chef-d’oeuvre! +An Adoration of Shepherds! It is the pearl of the whole Sicilian +school!” + +I: “Later on I will be glad to see the chef-d’oeuvre; but let us first +talk about the business which brings me here.” + +His little quick bright eyes watched my face curiously; and I perceived, +with anguish, that he had not the least suspicion of the purpose of my +visit. + +A cold sweat broke out over my forehead; and in the bewilderment of my +anxiety I stammered out something to this effect: + +“I have come from Paris expressly to look at a manuscript of the Legende +Doree, which you informed me was in your possession.” + +At these words he threw up his arms, opened his mouth and eyes to the +widest possible extent, and betrayed every sign of extreme nervousness. + +“Oh! the manuscript of the ‘Golden Legend!’ A pearl, Excellence! a ruby, +a diamond! Two miniatures so perfect that they give one the feeling +of glimpses of Paradise! What suavity! Those colours ravished from the +corollas of flowers make a honey for the eyes! Even a Sicilian could +have done no better!” + +“Let me see it, then,” I asked; unable to conceal either my anxiety or +my hope. + +“Let you see it!” cried Polizzi. “But how can I, Excellence? I have not +got it any longer! I have not got it!” + +And he seemed determined to tear out his hair. He might indeed have +pulled every hair in his head out of his hide before I should have tried +to prevent him. But he stopped of his own accord, before he had done +himself any grievous harm. + +“What!” I cried out in anger--“what! you make me come all the way from +Paris to Girgenti, by promising to show me a manuscript, and now, when I +come, you tell me you have not got it! It is simply infamous, Monsieur! +I shall leave your conduct to be judged by all honest men!” + +Anybody who could have seen me at that moment would have been able to +form a good idea of the aspect of a furious sheep. + +“It is infamous! it is infamous!” I repeated, waving my arms, which +trembled from anger. + +Then Michel-Angelo Polizzi let himself fall into a chair in the attitude +of a dying hero. I saw his eyes fill with tears, and his hair--until +then flamboyant and erect upon his head--fall down in limp disorder over +his brow. + +“I am a father, Excellence! I am a father!” he groaned, wringing his +hands. + +He continued, sobbing: + +“My son Rafael--the son of my poor wife, for whose death I have been +mourning fifteen years--Rafael, Excellence, wanted to settle at Paris; +he hired a shop in the Rue Lafitte for the sale of curiosities. I gave +him everything precious which I had--I gave him my finest majolicas; +my most beautiful Urbino ware; my masterpieces of art; what paintings, +Signor! Even now they dazzle me with I see them only in imagination! And +all of them signed! Finally, I gave him the manuscript of the ‘Golden +Legend’! I would have given him my flesh and my blood! An only son, +Signor! the son of my poor saintly wife!” + +“So,” I said, “while I--relying on your written word, Monsieur--was +travelling to the very heart of Sicily to find the manuscript of the +Clerk Alexander, the same manuscript was actually exposed for sale in a +window in the Rue Lafitte, only fifteen hundred yards from my house?” + +“Yes, it was there! that is positively true!” exclaimed Signor Polizzi, +suddenly growing calm again; “and it is there still--at least I hope it +is, Excellence.” + +He took a card from a shelf as he spoke, and offered it to me, saying, + +“Here is the address of my son. Make it known to your friends, and you +will oblige me. Faience and enameled wares; hangings; pictures. He has +a complete stock of objects of art--all at the fairest possible +prices--and everything authentic, I can vouch for it, upon my honour! Go +and see him. He will show you the manuscript of the ‘Golden Legend.’ Two +miniatures miraculously fresh in colour!” + +I was feeble enough to take the card he held out to me. + +The fellow was taking further advantage of my weakness to make me +circulate the name of Rafael Polizzi among the Societies of the learned! + +My hand was already on the door-knob, when the Sicilian caught me by the +arm; he had a look as of sudden inspiration. + +“Ah! Excellence!” he cried, “what a city is this city of ours! It gave +birth to Empedocles! Empedocles! What a great man what a great citizen! +What audacity of thought! what virtue! what soul! At the port over there +is a statue of Empedocles, before which I bare my head each time that I +pass by! When Rafael, my son, was going away to found an establishment +of antiquities in the Rue Lafitte, at Paris, I took him to the port, and +there, at the foot of that statue of Empedocles, I bestowed upon him my +paternal benediction! ‘Always remember Empedocles!’ I said to him. Ah! +Signor, what our unhappy country needs to-day is a new Empedocles! Would +you not like me to show you the way to his statue, Excellence? I will +be your guide among the ruins here. I will show you the temple of +Castor and Pollux, the temple of the Olympian Jupiter, the temple of +the Lucinian Juno, the antique well, the tomb of Theron, and the Gate +of Gold! All the professional guides are asses; but we--we shall make +excavations, if you are willing--and we shall discover treasures! I know +the science of discovering hidden treasures--the secret art of finding +their whereabouts--a gift from Heaven!” + +I succeeded in tearing myself away from his grasp. But he ran after me +again, stopped me at the foot of the stairs, and said in my ear, + +“Listen, Excellence. I will conduct you about the city; I will introduce +you to some Girgentines! What a race! what types! what forms! Sicilian +girls, Signor!--the antique beauty itself!” + +“Go to the devil!” I cried at last, in anger, and rushed into the +street, leaving him still writhing in the loftiness of his enthusiasm. + +When I had got out of his sight, I sank down upon a stone, and began to +think, with my face in my hands. + +“And it was for this,” I said to myself--“it was to hear such +propositions as this that I came to Sicily! That Polizzi is simply a +scoundrel, and his son another; and they made a plan together to ruin +me.” But what was their scheme? I could not unravel it. Meanwhile, it +may be imagined how discouraged and humiliated I felt. + +A merry burst of laughter caused me to turn my head, and I saw Madame +Trepof running in advance of her husband, and holding up something which +I could not distinguish clearly. + +She sat down beside me, and showed me--laughing more merrily all the +while--an abominable little paste-board box, on which was printed a +red and blue face, which the inscription declared to be the face of +Empedocles. + +“Yes, Madame,” I said, “but that abominable Polizzi, to whom I advise +you not to send Monsieur Trepof, has made me fall out for ever with +Empedocles; and this portrait is not at all of a nature to make me feel +more kindly to the ancient philosopher.” + +“Oh!” declared Madame Trepof, “it is ugly, but it is rare! These boxes +are not exported at all; you can buy them only where they are made. +Dimitri has six others just like this in his pocket. We got them so as +to exchange with other collectors. You understand? At none o’clock this +morning we were at the factory. You see we did not waste our time.” + +“So I certainly perceive, Madame,” I replied, bitterly; “but I have lost +mine.” + +I then saw that she was a naturally good-hearted woman. All her +merriment vanished. + +“Poor Monsieur Bonnard! poor Monsieur Bonnard!” she murmured. + +And, taking my hand in hers, she added: + +“Tell me about your troubles.” + +I told her about them. My story was long; but she was evidently touched +by it, for she asked me quite a number of circumstantial questions, +which I took for proof of her friendly interest. She wanted to know the +exact title of the manuscript, its shape, its appearance, and its age; +she asked me for the address of Signor Rafael Polizzi. + +And I gave it to her; thus doing (O destiny!) precisely what the +abominable Polizzi had told me to do. + +It is sometimes difficult to check oneself. I recommenced my plaints and +my imprecations. But this time Madame Trepof only burst out laughing. + +“Why do you laugh?” I asked her. + +“Because I am a wicked woman,” she answered. + +And she fled away, leaving me all disheartened on my stone. + + + + +Paris, December 8, 1859. + + +My unpacked trunks still encumbered the hall. I was seated at a tabled +covered with all those good things which the land of France produces for +the delectation of gourmets. I was eating a pate le Chartres, which +is alone sufficient to make one love one’s country. Therese, standing +before me with her hands joined over her white apron, was looking at +me with benignity, with anxiety, and with pity. Hamilcar was rubbing +himself against my legs, wild with delight. + +These words of an old poet came back to my memory: + +“Happy is he who, like Ulysses, hath made a goodly journey.” + +...“Well,” I thought to myself, “I travelled to no purpose; I have come +back with empty hands; but, like Ulysses, I made a goodly journey.” + +And having taken my last sip of coffee, I asked Therese for my hat and +cane, which she gave me not without dire suspicions; she feared I might +be going upon another journey. But I reassured her by telling her to +have dinner ready at six o’clock. + +It had always been a keen pleasure for me to breathe the air in +those Parisian streets whose every paving-slab and every stone I love +devotedly. But I had an end in view, and I took my way straight to the +Rue Lafitte. I was not long in find the establishment of Signor Rafael +Polizzi. It was distinguishable by a great display of old paintings +which, although all bearing the signature of some illustrious artist, +had a certain family air of resemblance that might have suggested some +touching idea about the fraternity of genius, had it not still more +forcibly suggested the professional tricks of Polizzi senior. Enriched +by these doubtful works of art, the shop was further rendered attractive +by various petty curiosities: poniards, drinking-vessels, goblets, +figulines, brass guadrons, and Hispano-Arabian wares of metallic lustre. + +Upon a Portuguese arm-chair, decorated with an escutcheon, lay a copy of +the “Heures” of Simon Vostre, open at the page which has an astrological +figure on it; and an old Vitruvius, placed upon a quaint chest, +displayed its masterly engravings of caryatides and telamones. This +apparent disorder which only masked cunning arrangement, this factitious +hazard which had placed the best objects in the most favourable light, +would have increased my distrust of the place, but that the distrust +which the mere name of Polizzi had already inspired could not have been +increased by any circumstances--being already infinite. + +Signor Rafael, who sat there as the presiding genius of all these vague +and incongruous shapes, impressed me as a phlegmatic young man, with +a sort of English character, he betrayed no sign whatever of those +transcendent faculties displayed by his father in the arts of mimicry and +declamation. + +I told him what I had come for; he opened a cabinet and drew from it +a manuscript, which he placed on a table that I might examine it at my +leisure. + +Never in my life did I experience such an emotion--except, indeed, +during some few brief months of my youth, months whose memories, though +I should live a hundred years, would remain as fresh at my last hour as +in the first day they came to me. + +It was, indeed, the very manuscript described by the librarian of Sir +Thomas Raleigh; it was, indeed, the manuscript of the Clerk Alexander +which I saw, which I touched! The work of Voragine himself had been +perceptibly abridged; but that made little difference to me. All the +inestimable additions of the monk of Saint-Germain-des-Pres were there. +That was the main point! I tried to read the Legend of Saint Droctoveus; +but I could not--all the lines of the page quivered before my eyes, and +there was a sound in my ears like the noise of a windmill in the country +at night. Nevertheless, I was able to see that the manuscript offered +every evidence of indubitable authenticity. The two drawings of the +Purification of the Virgin and the Coronation of Proserpine were meagre +in design and vulgar in violence of colouring. Considerably damaged +in 1824, as attested by the catalogue of Sir Thomas, they had obtained +during the interval a new aspect of freshness. But this miracle did +not surprise me at all. And, besides, what did I care about the two +miniatures? The legends and the poem of Alexander--those alone formed +the treasure I desired. My eyes devoured as much of it as they had the +power to absorb. + +I affected indifference while asking Signor Polizzi the price of the +manuscript; and, while awaiting his reply, I offered up a secret +prayer that the price might not exceed the amount of ready money at my +disposal--already much diminished by the cost of my expensive voyage. +Signor Polizzi, however, informed me that he was not at liberty to +dispose of the article, inasmuch as it did not belong to him, and was +to be sold at auction shortly, at the Hotel des Ventes, with a number of +other MSS. and several incunabula. + +This was a severe blow to me. It tried to preserve my calmness, +notwithstanding, and replied somewhat to this effect: + +“You surprise me, Monsieur! Your father, whom I talked with recently at +Girgenti, told me positively that the manuscript was yours. You cannot +now attempt to make me discredit your father’s word.” + +“I DID own the manuscript, indeed,” answered Signor Rafael with absolute +frankness; “but I do not own it any longer. I sold that manuscript--the +remarkable interest of which you have not failed to perceive--to an +amateur whom I am forbidden to name, and who, for reasons which I am not +at liberty to mention, finds himself obliged to sell his collection. I +am honoured with the confidence of my customer, and was commissioned by +him to draw up the catalogue and manage the sale, which takes place +the 24th of December. Now, if you will be kind enough to give me your +address, I shall have the pleasure of sending you the catalogue, which +is already in the press; you fill find the ‘Legende Doree’ described in +it as ‘No. 42.’” + +I gave my address, and left the shop. + +The polite gravity of the son impressed me quite as disagreeably as the +impudent buffoonery of the father. I hated, from the bottom of my heart, +the tricks of the vile hagglers! It was perfectly evident that the +two rascals had a secret understanding, and had only devised this +auction-sale, with the aid of a professional appraiser, to force the +bidding on the manuscript I wanted so much up to an outrageous figure. +I was completely at their mercy. There is one evil in all passionate +desires, even the noblest--namely, that they leave us subject to the +will of others, and in so far dependent. This reflection made me suffer +cruelly; but it did not conquer my longing to won the work of Clerk +Alexander. While I was thus meditating, I heard a coachman swear. And I +discovered it was I whom he was swearing at only when I felt the pole of +a carriage poke me in the ribs. I started aside, barely in time to save +myself from being run over; and whom did I perceive through the windows +of the coupe? Madame Trepof, being taken by two beautiful horses, and +a coachman all wrapped up in furs like a Russian Boyard, into the very +street I had just left. She did not notice me; she was laughing to +herself with that artless grace of expression which still preserved for +her, at thirty years, all the charm of her early youth. + +“Well, well!” I said to myself, “she is laughing! I suppose she must +have just found another match-box.” + +And I made my way back to the Ponts, feeling very miserable. + +Nature, eternally indifferent, neither hastened nor hurried the +twenty-fourth day of December. I went to the Hotel Bullion, and took +my place in Salle No. 4, immediately below the high desk at which the +auctioneer Boulouze and the expert Polizzi were to sit. I saw the hall +gradually fill with familiar faces. I shook hands with several old +booksellers of the quays; but that prudence which any large interest +inspires in even the most self-assured caused me to keep silence in +regard to the reason of my unaccustomed presence in the halls of the +Hotel Bullion. On the other hand, I questioned those gentlemen at the +auction sale; and I had the satisfaction of finding them all interested +about matters in no wise related to my affair. + +Little by little the hall became thronged with interested or merely +curious spectators; and, after half an hour’s delay, the auctioneer with +his ivory hammer, the clerk with his bundle of memorandum-papers, and +the crier, carrying his collection-box fixed to the end of a pole, all +took their places on the platform in the most solemn business manner. +The attendants ranged themselves at the foot of the desk. The presiding +officer having declared the sale open, a partial hush followed. + +A commonplace series of Preces dia, with miniatures, were first sold off +at mediocre prices. Needless to say, the illuminations of these books +were in perfect condition! + +The lowness of the bids gave courage to the gathering of second-hand +booksellers present, who began to mingle with us, and become more +familiar. The dealers in old brass and bric-a-brac pressed forward in +their tun, waiting for the doors of an adjoining room to be opened; and +the voice of the auctioneer was drowned by the jests of the Auvergnats. + +A magnificent codex of the “Guerre des Juifs” revived attention. It was +long disputed for. “Five thousand francs! five thousand!” called the +crier, while the bric-a-brac dealers remained silent with admiration. +Then seven or eight antiphonaries brought us back again to low prices. +A fat old woman, in a loose gown, bareheaded--a dealer in second-hand +goods--encouraged by the size of the books and the low prices bidden, +had one of the antiphonaries knocked down to her for thirty francs. + +At last the expert Polizzi announced No. 42: “The ‘Golden Legend’; +French MS.; unpublished; two superb miniatures, with a starting bid of +three thousand francs.” + +“Three thousand! three thousand bid!” yelled the crier. + +“Three thousand!” dryly repeated the auctioneer. + +There was a buzzing in my head, and, as through a cloud, I saw a host +of curious faces all turning towards the manuscript, which a boy was +carrying open through the audience. + +“Three thousand and fifty!” I said. + +I was frightened by the sound of my own voice, and further confused by +seeing, or thinking that I saw, all eyes turned on me. + +“Three thousand and fifty on the right!” called the crier, taking up my +bid. + +“Three thousand one hundred!” responded Signor Polizzi. + +Then began a heroic duel between the expert and myself. + +“Three thousand five hundred!” + +“Six hundred!” + +“Seven hundred!” + +“Four thousand!” + +“Four thousand five hundred.” + +Then by a sudden bold stroke, Signor Polizzi raised the bid at once to +six thousand. + +Six thousand francs was all the money I could dispose of. It represented +the possible. I risked the impossible. + +“Six thousand one hundred!” + +Alas! even the impossible did not suffice. + +“Six thousand five hundred!” replied Signor Polizzi, with calm. + +I bowed my head and sat there stupefied, unable to answer either yes or +no to the crier, who called to me: + +“Six thousand five hundred, by me--not by you on the right there!--it is +my bid--no mistake! Six thousand five hundred!” + +“Perfectly understood!” declared the auctioneer. “Six thousand five +hundred. Perfectly clear; perfectly plain.... Any more bids? The last +bid is six thousand five hundred francs.” + +A solemn silence prevailed. Suddenly I felt as if my head had burst +open. It was the hammer of the officiant, who, with a loud blow on the +platform, adjudged No. 42 irrevocably to Signor Polizzi. Forthwith the +pen of the clerk, coursing over the papier-timbre, registered that great +fact in a single line. + +I was absolutely prostrated, and I felt the utmost need of rest and +quiet. Nevertheless, I did not leave my seat. My powers of reflection +slowly returned. Hope is tenacious. I had one more hope. It occurred to +me that the new owner of the “Legende Doree” might be some intelligent +and liberal bibliophile who would allow me to examine the MS., and +perhaps even to publish the more important parts. And, with this idea, +as soon as the sale was over I approached the expert as he was leaving +the platform. + +“Monsieur,” I asked him, “did you buy in No. 42 on your own account, or +on commission?” + +“On commission. I was instructed not to let it go at any price.” + +“Can you tell me the name of the purchaser?” + +“Monsieur, I regret that I cannot serve you in that respect. I have been +strictly forbidden to mention the name.” + +I went home in despair. + + + + +December 30, 1859. + + +“Therese! don’t you hear the bell? Somebody has been ringing at the door +for the last quarter of an hour?” + +Therese does not answer. She is chattering downstairs with the +concierge, for sure. So that is the way you observe your old master’s +birthday? You desert me even on the eve of Saint-Sylvestre! Alas! if I +am to hear any kind wishes to-day, they must come up from the ground; +for all who love me have long been buried. I really don’t know what I +am still living for. There is the bell again!... I get up slowly from +my seat at the fire, with my shoulders still bent from stooping over it, +and go to the door myself. Whom do I see at the threshold? It is not +a dripping love, and I am not an old Anacreon; but it is a very pretty +little boy of about ten years old. He is alone; he raises his face to +look at me. His cheeks are blushing; but his little pert nose gives one +an idea of mischievous pleasantry. He has feathers in his cap, and a +great lace-ruff on his jacket. The pretty little fellow! He holds in +both arms a bundle as big as himself, and asks me if I am Monsieur +Sylvestre Bonnard. I tell him yes; he gives me the bundle, tells me his +mamma sent it to me, and then he runs downstairs. + +I go down a few steps; I lean over the balustrade, and see the little +cap whirling down the spiral of the stairway like a feather in the wind. +“Good-bye, my little boy!” I should have liked so much to question him. +But what, after all, could I have asked? It is not polite to question +children. Besides, the package itself will probably give me more +information than the messenger could. + +It is a very big bundle, but not very heavy. I take it into my library, +and there untie the ribbons and unfasten the paper wrappings; and I +see--what? a log! a first-class log! a real Christmas log, but so light +that I know it must be hollow. Then I find that it is indeed composed of +two separate pieces, opening on hinges, and fastened with hooks. I slip +the hooks back, and find myself inundated with violets! Violets! they +pour over my table, over my knees, over the carpet. They tumble into my +vest, into my sleeves. I am all perfumed with them. + +“Therese! Therese! fill me some vases with water, and bring them here, +quick! Here are violets sent to us I know not from what country nor +by what hand; but it must be from a perfumed country, and by a very +gracious hand.... Do you hear me, old crow?” + +I have put all the violets on my table--now completely covered by +the odorous mass. But there is still something in the log...a book--a +manuscript. It is...I cannot believe it, and yet I cannot doubt it.... +It is the “Legende Doree”!--It is the manuscript of the Clerk Alexander! +Here is the “Purification of the Virgin” and the “Coronation of +Proserpine”;--here is the legend of Saint Droctoveus. I contemplate this +violet-perfumed relic. I turn the leaves of it--between which the dark +rich blossoms have slipped in here and there; and, right opposite the +legend of Saint-Cecilia, I find a card bearing this name: + +“Princess Trepof.” + +Princess Trepof!--you who laughed and wept by turns so sweetly under the +fair sky of Agrigentum!--you, whom a cross old man believed to be only a +foolish little woman!--to-day I am convinced of your rare and beautiful +folly; and the old fellow whom you now overwhelm with happiness will +go to kiss your hand, and give you back, in another form, this precious +manuscript, of which both he and science owe you an exact and sumptuous +publication! + +Therese entered my study just at that moment; she seemed to be very much +excited. + +“Monsieur!” she cried, “guess whom I saw just now in a carriage, with a +coat-of-arms painted on it, that was stopping before the door?” + +“Parbleu!--Madame Trepof,” I exclaimed. + +“I don’t know anything about any Madame Trepof,” answered my +housekeeper. “The woman I saw just now was dressed like a duchess, and +had a little boy with her, with lace-frills all along the seams of his +clothes. And it was that same little Madame Coccoz you once sent a log +to, when she was lying-in here about eleven years ago. I recognized her +at once.” + +“What!” I exclaimed, “you mean to say it was Madame Coccoz, the widow of +the almanac-peddler?” + +“Herself, Monsieur! The carriage-door was open for a minute to let +her little boy, who had just come from I don’t know where, get in. +She hasn’t changed scarcely at all. Well, why should those women +change?--they never worry themselves about anything. Only the Coccoz +woman looks a little fatter than she used to be. And the idea of a +woman that was taken in here out of pure charity coming to show off her +velvets and diamonds in a carriage with a crest painted on it! Isn’t it +shameful!” + +“Therese!” I cried, in a terrible voice, “if you ever speak to me again +about that lady except in terms of the deepest respect, you and I will +fall out!...Bring me the Sevres vases to put those violets in, which now +give the City of Books a charm it never had before.” + +While Therese went off with a sigh to get the Sevres vases, I continued +to contemplate those beautiful scattered violets, whose odour spread all +about me like the perfume of some sweet presence, some charming soul; +and I asked myself how it had been possible for me never to recognise +Madame Coccoz in the person of the Princess Trepof. But that vision of +the young widow, showing me her little child on the stairs, had been +a very rapid one. I had much more reason to reproach myself for having +passed by a gracious and lovely soul without knowing it. + +“Bonnard,” I said to myself, “thou knowest how to decipher old texts; +but thou dost not know how to read in the Book of Life. That giddy +little Madame Trepof, whom thou once believed to possess no more soul +than a bird, has expended, in pure gratitude, more zeal and finer tact +than thou didst ever show for anybody’s sake. Right royally hath she +repaid thee for the log-fire of her churching-day! + +“Therese! Awhile ago you were a magpie; now you are becoming a tortoise! +Come and give some water to these Parmese violets.” + + + + + +PART II--THE DAUGHTER OF CLEMENTINE + + + + +Chapter I--The Fairy + + +When I left the train at the Melun station, night had already spread its +peace over the silent country. The soil, heated through all the long +day by a strong sun--by a “gros soleil,” as the harvesters of the Val de +Vire say--still exhaled a warm heavy smell. Lush dense odours of grass +passed over the level of the fields. I brushed away the dust of +the railway carriage, and joyfully inhaled the pure air. My +travelling-bag--filled by my housekeeper wit linen and various small +toilet articles, munditiis, seemed so light in my hand that I swung it +about just as a schoolboy swings his strapped package of rudimentary +books when the class is let out. + +Would to Heaven that I were again a little urchin at school! But it is +fully fifty years since my good dead mother made me some tartines of +bread and preserves, and placed them in a basket of which she slipped +the handle over my arm, and then led me, thus prepared, to the school +kept by Monsieur Douloir, at a corner of the Passage du Commerce well +known to the sparrows, between a court and a garden. The enormous +Monsieur Douloir smiled upon us genially, and patted my cheek to show, +no doubt, the affectionate interest which my first appearance had +inspired. But when my mother had passed out of the court, startling the +sparrows as she went, Monsieur Douloir ceased to smile--he showed no +more affectionate interest; he appeared, on the contrary, to consider +me as a very troublesome little fellow. I discovered, later on, that +he entertained the same feelings towards all his pupils. He distributed +whacks of his ferule with an agility no one could have expected on the +part of so corpulent a person. But his first aspect of tender interest +invariably reappeared when he spoke to any of our mothers in our +presence; and always at such times, while warmly praising our remarkable +aptitudes, he would cast down upon us a look of intense affection. +Still, those were happy days which I passed on the benches of the +Monsieur Couloir with my little playfellows, who, like myself, cried and +laughed by turns with all their might, from morning till evening. + +After a whole half-century these souvenirs float up again, fresh and +bright as ever, to the surface of memory, under this starry sky, whose +face has in no wise changed since then, and whose serene and immutable +lights will doubtless see many other schoolboys such as I was slowly +turn into grey-headed servants, afflicted with catarrh. + +Stars, who have shown down upon each wise or foolish head among all my +forgotten ancestors, it is under your soft light that I now feel stir +within me a certain poignant regret! I would that I could have a son who +might be able to see you when I shall see you no more. How I should love +him! Ah! such a son would--what am I saying?--why, he would be no just +twenty years old if you had only been willing, Clementine--you whose +cheeks used to look so ruddy under your pink hood! But you are married +to that young bank clerk, Noel Alexandre, who made so many millions +afterwards! I never met you again after your marriage, Clementine, but I +can see you now, with your bright curls and your pink hood. + +A looking-glass! a looking-glass! a looking-glass! Really, it would +be curious to see what I look like now, with my white hair, sighing +Clementine’s name to the stars! Still, it is not right to end with +sterile irony the thought begun in the spirit of faith and love. No, +Clementine, if your name came to my lips by chance this beautiful night, +be it for ever blessed, your dear name! and may you ever, as a happy +mother, a happy grandmother, enjoy to the very end of life with your +rich husband the utmost degree of that happiness which you had the right +to believe you could not win with the poor young scholar who loved you! +If--though I cannot even now imagine it--if your beautiful hair has +become white, Clementine, bear worthily the bundle of keys confided to +you by Noel Alexandre, and impart to your grandchildren the knowledge of +all domestic virtues! + +Ah! beautiful Night! She rules, with such noble repose, over men and +animals alike, kindly loosed by her from the yoke of daily toil; and +even I feel her beneficent influence, although my habits of sixty years +have so changed me that I can feel most things only through the signs +which represent them. My world is wholly formed of words--so much of a +philologist I have become! Each one dreams the dream of life in his own +way. I have dreamed it in my library; and when the hour shall come in +which I must leave this world, may it please God to take me from my +ladder--from before my shelves of books!... + +“Well, well! it is really himself, pardieu! How are you, Monsieur +Sylvestre Bonnard? And where have you been travelling to all this time, +over the country, while I was waiting for you at the station with my +cabriolet? You missed me when the train came in, and I was driving back, +quite disappointed, to Lusance. Give me your valise, and get up here +beside me in the carriage. Why, do you know it is fully seven kilometres +from here to the chateau?” + +Who addresses me thus, at the very top of his voice from the height +of his cabriolet? Monsieur Paul de Gabry, nephew and heir of Monsieur +Honore de Gabry, peer of France in 1842, who recently died at Monaco. +And it was precisely to Monsieur Paul de Gabry’s house that I was going +with that valise of mine, so carefully strapped by my housekeeper. +This excellent young man has just inherited, conjointly with his two +brothers-in-law, the property of his uncle, who, belonging to a very +ancient family of distinguished lawyers, had accumulated in his chateau +at Lusance a library rich in MSS., some dating back to the fourteenth +century. It was for the purpose of making an inventory and catalogue of +these MSS. that I had come to Lusance at the urgent request of Monsieur +Paul de Gabry, whose father, a perfect gentleman and distinguished +bibliophile, had maintained the most pleasant relations with me during +his lifetime. To tell the truth, Monsieur Paul has not inherited the +fine tastes of his father. Monsieur Paul likes sporting; he is a great +authority on horses and dogs; and I much fear that of all the sciences +capable of satisfying or of duping the inexhaustible curiosity of +mankind, those of the stable and the dog-kennel are the only ones +thoroughly mastered by him. + +I cannot say I was surprised to meet him, since we had made a +rendezvous; but I acknowledge that I had become so preoccupied with my +own thoughts that I had forgotten all about the Chateau de Lusance and +its inhabitants, and that the voice of the gentleman calling out to me +as I started to follow the country road winding away before me--“un bon +ruban de queue,” as they say--had given me quite a start. + +I fear my face must have betrayed my incongruous distraction by a +certain stupid expression which it is apt to assume in most of my social +transactions. My valise was pulled up into the carriage, and I followed +my valise. My host pleased me by his straightforward simplicity. + +“I don’t know anything myself about your old parchments,” he said; “but +I think you will find some folks to talk to at the house. Besides the +cure, who writes books himself, and the doctor, who is a very good +fellow--although a radical--you will meet somebody able to keep your +company. I mean my wife. She is not a very learned woman, but there are +few things which she can’t divine pretty well. Then I count upon +being able to keep you with us long enough to make you acquainted with +Mademoiselle Jeanne, who has the fingers of a magician and the soul of +an angel.” + +“And is this delightfully gifted young lady one of your family?” I +asked. + +“Not at all,” replied Monsieur Paul. + +“Then she is just a friend of yours?” I persisted, rather stupidly. + +“She has lost both her father and mother,” answered Monsieur de Gabry, +keeping his eyes fixed upon the ears of his horse, whose hoofs rang +loudly over the road blue-tinted by the moonshine. “Her father managed +to get us into some very serious trouble; and we did not get off with a +fright either!” + +Then he shook his head, and changed the subject. He gave me due warning +of the ruinous condition in which I should find the chateau and the +park; they had been absolutely deserted for thirty-two years. + +I learned from him that Monsieur Honore de Gabry, his uncle, had been +on very bad terms with some poachers, whom he used to shoot at like +rabbits. One of them, a vindictive peasant, who had received a whole +charge of shot in his face, lay in wait for the Seigneur one evening +behind the trees of the mall, and very nearly succeeded in killing him, +for the ball took off the tip of his ear. + +“My uncle,” Monsieur Paul continued, “tried to discover who had fired +the shot; but he could not see any one, and he walked back slowly to the +house. The day after he called his steward and ordered him to close up +the manor and the park, and allow no living soul to enter. He expressly +forbade that anything should be touched, or looked after, or any repairs +made on the estate during his absence. He added, between his teeth, that +he would return at Easter, or Trinity Sunday, as they say in the song; +and, just as the song has it, Trinity Sunday passed without a sign of +him. He died last year at Monaco; my brother-in-law and myself were the +first to enter the chateau after it had been abandoned for thirty-two +years. We found a chestnut-tree growing in the middle of the parlour. As +for the park, it was useless trying to visit it, because there were no +longer any paths or alleys.” + +My companion ceased to speak; and only the regular hoof-beat of the +trotting horse, and the chirping of insects in the grass, broke the +silence. On either hand, the sheaves standing in the fields took, in the +vague moonlight, the appearance of tall white women kneeling down; and +I abandoned myself awhile to those wonderful childish fancies which the +charm of night always suggests. After driving under the heavy shadows +of the mall, we turned to the right and rolled up a lordly avenue at +the end of which the chateau suddenly rose into view--a black mass, with +turrets en poivriere. We followed a sort of causeway, which gave access +to the court-of-honor, and which, passing over a moat full of running +water, doubtless replaced a long-vanished drawbridge. The loss of that +draw-bridge must have been, I think, the first of various humiliations +to which the warlike manor had been subjected ere being reduced to that +pacific aspect with which it received me. The stars reflected themselves +with marvelous clearness in the dark water. Monsieur Paul, like a +courteous host, escorted me to my chamber at the very top of the +building, at the end of a long corridor; and then, excusing himself for +not presenting me at once to his wife by reason of the lateness of the +hour, bade me good-night. + +My apartment, painted in white and hung with chintz, seemed to keep some +traces of the elegant gallantry of the eighteenth century. A heap +of still-glowing ashes--which testified to the pains taken to dispel +humidity--filled the fireplace, whose marble mantlepiece supported +a bust of Marie Antoinette in bisuit. Attached to the frame of the +tarnished and discoloured mirror, two brass hooks, that had once +doubtless served the ladies of old-fashioned days to hang their +chatelaines on, seemed to offer a very opportune means of suspending +my watch, which I took care to wind up beforehand; for, contrary to the +opinion of the Thelemites, I hold that man is only master of time, +which is Life itself, when he has divided it into hours, minutes and +seconds--that is to say, into parts proportioned to the brevity of human +existence. + +And I thought to myself that life really seems short to us only because +we measure it irrationally by our own mad hopes. We have all of us, like +the old man in the fable, a new wing to add to our building. I want, +for example, before I die, to finish my “History of the Abbots of +Saint-Germain-de-Pres.” The time God allots to each one of us is like a +precious tissue which we embroider as we best know how. I had begun my +woof with all sorts of philological illustrations.... So my thoughts +wandered on; and at last, as I bound my foulard about my head, the +notion of Time led me back to the past; and for the second time within +the same round of the dial I thought of you, Clementine--to bless you +again in your prosperity, if you have any, before blowing out my candle +and falling asleep amid the chanting of the frogs. + + + + +Chapter II + + +During breakfast I had many opportunities to appreciate the good taste, +tact, and intelligence of Madame de Gabry, who told me that the +chateau had its ghosts, and was especially haunted by the +“Lady-with-three-wrinkles-in-her-back,” a prisoner during her lifetime, +and thereafter a Soul-in-pain. I could never describe how much wit and +animation she gave to this old nurse’s tale. We took out, coffee on +the terrace, whose balusters, clasped and forcibly torn away from their +stone coping by a vigorous growth of ivy, remained suspended in the +grasp of the amorous plant like bewildered Athenian women in the arms of +ravishing Centaurs. + +The chateau, shaped something like a four-wheeled wagon, with a turret +at each of the four angles, had lost all original character by reason of +repeated remodellings. It was merely a fine spacious building, nothing +more. It did not appear to me to have suffered much damage during its +abandonment of thirty-two years. But when Madame de Gabry conducted me +into the great salon of the ground-floor, I saw that the planking was +bulged in and out, the plinths rotten, the wainscotings split apart, the +paintings of the piers turned black and hanging more than half out of +their settings. A chestnut-tree, after forcing up the planks of the +floor, had grown tall under the ceiling, and was reaching out its +large-leaved branches towards the glassless windows. + +This spectacle was not devoid of charm; but I could not look at it +without anxiety as I remembered that the rich library of Monsieur Honore +de Gabry, in an adjoining apartment, must have been exposed for the +same length of time to the same forces of decay. Yet, as I looked at the +young chestnut-tree in the salon, I could not but admire the magnificent +vigour of Nature, and that resistless power which forces every germ +to develop into life. On the other hand I felt saddened to think that, +whatever effort we scholars may make to preserve dead things from +passing away, we are labouring painfully in vain. Whatever has lived +becomes the necessary food of new existences. And the Arab who builds +himself a hut out of the marble fragments of a Palmyra temple is really +more of a philosopher than all the guardians of museums at London, +Munich, or Paris. + + + +August 11. + + +All day long I have been classifying MSS.... The sun came in through +the loft uncurtained windows; and, during my reading, often very +interesting, I could hear the languid bumblebees bump heavily against +the windows, and the flies intoxicated with light and heat, making their +wings hum in circles around my head. So loud became their humming +about three o’clock that I looked up from the document I was reading--a +document containing very precious materials for the history of Melun in +the thirteenth century--to watch the concentric movements of those tiny +creatures. “Bestions,” Lafontaine calls them: he found this form of +the word in the old popular speech, whence also the term, +tapisserie-a-bestions, applied to figured tapestry. I was compelled +to confess that the effect of heat upon the wings of a fly is totally +different from that it exerts upon the brain of a paleographical +archivist; for I found it very difficult to think, and a rather pleasant +languor weighing upon me, from which I could rouse myself only by a very +determined effort. The dinner-bell then startled me in the midst of my +labours; and I had barely time to put on my new dress-coat, so as to +make a respectable appearance before Madame de Gabry. + +The repast, generously served, seemed to prolong itself for my benefit. +I am more than a fair judge of wine; and my hostess, who discovered my +knowledge in this regard, was friendly enough to open a certain bottle +of Chateau-Margaux in my honour. With deep respect I drank of this +famous and knightly old wine, which comes from the slopes of Bordeaux, +and of which the flavour and exhilarating power are beyond praise. +The ardour of it spread gently through my veins, and filled me with an +almost juvenile animation. Seated beside Madame de Gabry on the terrace, +in the gloaming which gave a charming melancholy to the park, and lent +to every object an air of mystery, I took pleasure in communicating +my impression of the scene to my hostess. I discoursed with a vivacity +quite remarkable on the part of a man so devoid of imagination as I am. +I described to her spontaneously, without quoting from an old texts, the +caressing melancholy of the evening, and the beauty of that natal earth +which feeds us, not only with bread and wine, but also with ideas, +sentiments, and beliefs, and which will at last take us all back to her +maternal breast again, like so many tired little children at the close +of a long day. + +“Monsieur,” said the kind lady, “you see these old towers, those trees, +that sky; is it not quite natural that the personage of the popular +tales and folk-songs should have been evoked by such scenes? Why, over +there is the very path which Little Red Riding-hood followed when she +went to the woods to pick nuts. Across this changeful and always vapoury +sky the fairy chariots used to roll; and the north tower might have +sheltered under its pointed roof that same old spinning woman whose +distaff picked the Sleeping Beauty in the Wood.” + +I continued to muse upon her pretty fancies, while Monsieur Paul related +to me, as he puffed a very strong cigar, the history of some suit he +had brought against the commune about a water-right. Madame de Gabry, +feeling the chill night air, began to shiver under the shawl her husband +had wrapped about her, and left us to go to her room. I then decided, +instead of going to my own, to return to the library and continue my +examination of the manuscripts. In spite of the protests of Monsieur +Paul, I entered what I may call, in old-fashioned phrase, “the +book-room,” and started to work by the light of a lamp. + +After having read fifteen pages, evidently written by some ignorant and +careless scribe, for I could scarcely discern their meaning, I plunged +my hand into the pocket of my coat to get my snuff-box; but this +movement, usually so natural and almost instinctive, this time cost me +some effort and even fatigue. Nevertheless, I got out the silver box, +and took from it a pinch of the odorous powder, which, somehow or other, +I managed to spill all over my shirt-bosom under my baffled nose. I am +sure my nose must have expressed its disappointment, for it is a very +expressive nose. More than once it has betrayed my secret thoughts, and +especially upon a certain occasion at the public library of Coutances, +where I discovered, right in front of my colleague Brioux, the +“Cartulary of Notre-Dame-des-Anges.” + +What a delight! My little eyes remained as dull and expressionless as +ever behind my spectacles. But at the mere sight of my thick pug-nose, +which quivered with joy and pride, Brioux knew that I had found +something. He noted the volume I was looking at, observed the place +where I put it back, pounced upon it as soon as I turned my heel, copied +it secretly, and published in haste, for the sake of playing me a +trick. But his edition swarms with errors, and I had the satisfaction of +afterwards criticising some of the gross blunders he made. + +But to come back to the point at which I left off: I began to suspect +that I was getting very sleepy indeed. I was looking at a chart of which +the interest may be divined from the fact that it contained mention of +a hutch sold to Jehan d’Estonville, priest, in 1312. But although, even +then, I could recognise the importance of the document, I did not give +it that attention it so strongly invited. My eyes would keep turning, +against my will, towards a certain corner of the table where there was +nothing whatever interesting to a learned mind. There was only a big +German book there, bound in pigskin, with brass studs on the sides, and +very thick cording upon the back. It was a find copy of a compilation +which has little to recommend it except the wood engravings it contains, +and which is known as the “Cosmography of Munster.” This volume, with +its covers slightly open, was placed upon edge with the back upwards. + +I could not say for how long I had been staring causelessly at the +sixteenth-century folio, when my eyes were captivated by a sight so +extraordinary that even a person as devoid of imagination as I could not +but have been greatly astonished by it. + +I perceived, all of a sudden, without having noticed her coming into the +room, a little creature seated on the back of the book, with one knee +bent and one leg hanging down--somewhat in the attitude of the amazons +of Hyde Park or the Bois de Boulogne on horseback. She was so small that +her swinging foot did not reach the table, over which the trail of her +dress extended in a serpentine line. But her face and figure were those +of an adult. The fulness of her corsage and the roundness of her waist +could leave no doubt of that, even for an old savant like myself. I will +venture to add that she was very handsome, with a proud mien; for my +iconographic studies have long accustomed me to recognise at once the +perfection of a type and the character of a physiognomy. The countenance +of this lady who had seated herself inopportunely on the back of +“Cosmography of Munster” expressed a mingling of haughtiness and +mischievousness. She had the air of a queen, but a capricious queen; and +I judged, from the mere expression of her eyes, that she was accustomed +to wield great authority somewhere, in a very whimsical manner. Her +mouth was imperious and mocking, and those blue eyes of hers seemed to +laugh in a disquieting way under her finely arched black eyebrows. I +have always heard that black eyebrows are very becoming to blondes; but +this lady was very blonde. On the whole, the impression she gave me was +one of greatness. + +It may seem odd to say that a person who was no taller than a +wine-bottle, and who might have been hidden in my coat pocket--but +that it would have been very disrespectful to put her in it--gave me +precisely an idea of greatness. But in the fine proportions of the +lady seated upon the “Cosmography of Munster” there was such a proud +elegance, such a harmonious majesty, and she maintained an attitude at +once so easy and so noble, that she really seemed to me a very great +person. Although my ink-bottle, which she examined with an expression of +such mockery as appeared to indicate that she knew in advance every word +that would come out of it at the end of my pen, was for her a deep basin +in which she would have blackened her gold-clocked pink stockings up to +the garter, I can assure you that she was great, and imposing even in +her sprightliness. + +Her costume, worthy of her face, was extremely magnificent; it consisted +of a robe of gold-and-silver brocade, and a mantle of nacarat velvet, +lined with vair. Her head-dress was a sort of hennin, with two high +points; and pearls of splendid lustre made it bright and luminous as +a crescent moon. Her little white hand held a wand. That wand drew my +attention very strongly, because my archaeological studies had taught me +to recognise with certainty every sign by which the notable personages +of legend and of history are distinguished. This knowledge came to my +aid during various very queer conjectures with which I was labouring. +I examined the wand, and saw that it appeared to have been cut from a +branch of hazel. + +“Then its a fairy’s wand,” I said to myself; “consequently the lady who +carries it is a fairy.” + +Happy at thus discovering what sort of a person was before me, I tried +to collect my mind sufficiently to make her a graceful compliment. It +would have given me much satisfaction, I confess, if I could have talked +to her about the part taken by her people, not less in the life of the +Saxon and Germanic races, than in that of the Latin Occident. Such a +dissertation, it appeared to me, would have been an ingenious method of +thanking the lady for having thus appeared to an old scholar, contrary +to the invariable custom of her kindred, who never show themselves but +to innocent children or ignorant village-folk. + +Because one happens to be a fairy, one is none the less a woman, I said +to myself; and since Madame Recamier, according to what I heard J. J. +Ampere say, used to blush with pleasure when the little chimney-sweeps +opened their eyes as wide as they could to look at her, surely the +supernatural lady seated upon the “Cosmography of Munster” might feel +flattered to hear an erudite man discourse learnedly about her, as about +a medal, a seal, a fibula, or a token. But such an undertaking, which +would have cost my timidity a great deal, became totally out of the +question when I observed the Lady of the Cosmography suddenly take from +an alms purse hanging at her girdle the very smallest of nuts I had ever +seen, crack the shells between her teeth, and throw them at my nose, +while she nibbled the kernels with the gravity of a sucking child. + +At this conjuncture, I did what the dignity of science demanded of me--I +remained silent. But the nut-shells caused such a painful tickling that +I put up my hand to my nose, and found, to my great surprise, that my +spectacles were straddling the very end of it--so that I was actually +looking at the lady, not through my spectacles, but over them. This +was incomprehensible, because my eyes, worn out over old texts, cannot +ordinarily distinguish anything without glasses--could not tell a melon +from a decanter, though the two were placed close up to my nose. + +That nose of mine, remarkable for its size, its shape, and its +coloration, legitimately attracted the attention of the fairy; for she +seized my goose-quill pen, which was sticking up from the ink-bottle +like a plume, and she began to pass the feather-end of that pen over +my nose. I had had more than once, in company, occasion to suffer +cheerfully from the innocent mischief of young ladies, who made me join +their games, and would offer me their cheeks to kiss through the back +of a chair, or invite me to blow out a candle which they would lift +suddenly above the range of my breath. But until that moment no person +of the fair sex had ever subjected me to such a whimsical piece of +familiarity as that of tickling my nose with my own feather pen. Happily +I remembered the maxim of my late grandfather, who was accustomed to say +that everything was permissible on the part of ladies, and that whatever +they do to us is to be regarded as a grace and a favour. Therefore, as a +grace and a favour I received the nutshells and the titillations with my +own pen, and I tried to smile. Much more!--I even found speech. + +“Madame,” I said, with dignified politeness, “you accord the honour of +a visit not to a silly child, not to a boor, but to a bibliophile who +is very happy to make your acquaintance, and who knows that long ago you +used to make elf-knots in the manes of mares at the crib, drink the milk +from the skimming-pails, slip graines-a-gratter down the backs of our +great-grandmothers, make the hearth sputter in the faces of the old +folks, and, in short, fill the house with disorder and gaiety. You +can also boast of giving the nicest frights in the world to lovers who +stayed out in the woods too late of evenings. But I thought you had +vanished out of existence at least three centuries ago. Can it really +be, Madame, that you are still to be seen in this age of railways and +telegraphs? My concierge, who used to be a nurse in her young days, does +not know your story; and my little boy-neighbour, whose nose is still +wiped for him by his bonne, declares that you do not exist.” + +“What do you yourself think about it?” she cried, in a silvery voice, +straightening up her royal little figure in a very haughty fashion, and +whipping the back of the “Cosmography of Munster” as though it were a +hippogriff. + +“I don’t really know,” I answered rubbing my eyes. + +This reply, indicating a deeply scientific scepticism, had the most +deplorable effect upon my questioner. + +“Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard,” she said to me, “you are nothing but an +old pedant. I always suspected as much. The smallest little ragamuffin +who goes along the road with his shirt-tail sticking out through a hole +in his pantaloons knows more about me than all the old spectacled folks +in your Institutes and your Academies. To know is nothing at all; to +imagine is everything. Nothing exists except that which is imagined. I +am imaginary. That is what it is to exist, I should think! I am dreamed +of, and I appear. Everything is only dream; and as nobody ever dreams +about you, Sylvestre Bonnard, it is YOU who do not exist. I charm the +world; I am everywhere--on a moon-beam, in the trembling of a hidden +spring, in the moving of leaves that murmur, in the white vapours +that rise each morning from the hollow meadow, in the thickets of pink +brier--everywhere!... I am seen; I am loved. There are sighs uttered, +weird thrills of pleasure felt by those who follow the light print of +my feet, as I make the dead leaves whisper. I make the little children +smile; I give wit to the dullest-minded nurses. Leaning above the +cradles, I play, I comfort, I lull to sleep--and you doubt whether I +exist! Sylvestre Bonnard, your warm coat covers the hide of an ass!” + +She ceased speaking; her delicate nostrils swelled with indignation; and +while I admired, despite my vexation, the heroic anger of this little +person, she pushed my pen about in the ink-bottle, backward and forward, +like an oar, and then suddenly threw it at my nose, point first. + +I rubbed by face, and felt it all covered with ink. She had disappeared. +My lamp was extinguished. A ray of moonlight streamed down through a +window and descended upon the “Cosmography of Munster.” A strong cool +wind, which had arisen very suddenly without my knowledge, was blowing +my papers, pens, and wafers about. My table was all stained with ink. I +had left my window open during the storm. What an imprudence! + + + + +Chapter III + + +I wrote to my housekeeper, as I promised, that I was safe and sound. But +I took good care not to tell her that I had caught a cold from going to +sleep in the library at night with the window open; for the good woman +would have been as unsparing in her remonstrances to me as parliaments +to kings. “At your age, Monsieur,” she would have been sure to say, “one +ought to have more sense.” She is simple enough to believe that sense +grows with age. I seem to her an exception to this rule. + +Not having any similar motive for concealing my experiences from Madame +de Gabry, I told her all about my vision, which she seemed to enjoy very +much. + +“Why, that was a charming dream of yours,” she said; “and one must have +real genius to dream such a dream.” + +“Then I am a real genius when I am asleep,” I responded. + +“When you dream,” she replied; “and you are always dreaming.” + +I know that Madame de Gabry, in making this remark, only wished to +please me; but that intention alone deserves my utmost gratitude; and it +is therefore in a spirit of thankfulness and kindliest remembrance that +I write down her words, which I will read over and over again until my +dying day, and which will never be read by any one save myself. + +I passed the next few days in completing the inventory of the +manuscripts in the Lusance library. Certain confidential observations +dropped by Monsieur Paul de Gabry, however, caused me some painful +surprise, and made me decide to pursue the work after a different manner +from that in which I had begun it. From those few words I learned that +the fortune of Monsieur Honore de Gabry, which had been badly managed +for many years, and subsequently swept away to a large extent through +the failure of a banker whose name I do not know, had been transmitted +to the heirs of the old French nobleman only under the form of mortgaged +real estate and irrecoverable assets. + +Monsieur Paul, by agreement with his joint heirs, had decided to sell +the library, and I was intrusted with the task of making arrangements to +have the sale effected upon advantageous terms. But totally ignorant as +I was of all the business methods and trade-customs, I thought it best +to get the advice of a publisher who was one of my private friends. I +wrote him at once to come and join me at Lusance; and while waiting +for his arrival I took my hat and cane and made visits to the different +churches of the diocese, in several of which I knew there were certain +mortuary inscriptions to be found which had never been correctly copied. + +So I left my hosts and departed my pilgrimage. Exploring the churches +and the cemeteries every day, visiting the parish priests and the +village notaries, supping at the public inns with peddlers and +cattle-dealers, sleeping at night between sheets scented with lavender, +I passed one whole week in the quiet but profound enjoyment of observing +the living engaged in their various daily occupations even while I was +thinking of the dead. As for the purpose of my researches, I made only +a few mediocre discoveries, which caused me only a mediocre joy, and +one therefore salubrious and not at all fatiguing. I copied a few +interesting epitaphs; and I added to this little collection a few +recipes for cooking country dishes, which a certain good priest kindly +gave me. + +With these riches, I returned to Lusance; and I crossed the +court-of-honour with such secret satisfaction as a bourgeois fells on +entering his own home. This was the effect of the kindness of my hosts; +and the impression I received on crossing their threshold proves, better +than any reasoning could do, the excellence of their hospitality. + +I entered the great parlour without meeting anybody; and the young +chestnut-tree there spreading out its broad leaves seemed to me like an +old friend. But the next thing which I saw--on the pier-table--caused me +such a shock of surprise that I readjusted my glasses upon my nose with +both hands at once, and then felt myself over so as to get at least some +superficial proof of my own existence. In less than one second there +thronged from my mind twenty different conjectures--the most rational of +which was that I had suddenly become crazy. It seemed to me absolutely +impossible that what I was looking at could exist; yet it was equally +impossible for me not to see it as a thing actually existing. What +caused my surprise was resting on the pier-table, above which rose a +great dull speckled mirror. + +I saw myself in that mirror; and I can say that I saw for once in my +life the perfect image of stupefaction. But I made proper allowance for +myself; I approved myself for being so stupefied by a really stupefying +thing. + +The object I was thus examining with a degree of astonishment that all +my reasoning power failed to lessen, obtruded itself on my attention +though quite motionless. The persistence and fixity of the phenomenon +excluded any idea of hallucination. I am totally exempt from all nervous +disorders capable of influencing the sense of sight. The cause of such +visual disturbance is, I think, generally due to stomach trouble; and, +thank God! I have an excellent stomach. Moreover, visual illusions are +accompanied with special abnormal conditions which impress the victims +of hallucination themselves, and inspire them with a sort of terror. +Now, I felt nothing of this kind; the object which I saw, although +seemingly impossible in itself, appeared to me under all the natural +conditions of reality. I observed that it had three dimensions, and +colours, and that it cast a shadow. Ah! how I stared at it! The water +came into my eyes so that I had to wipe the glasses of my spectacles. + +Finally I found myself obliged to yield to the evidence, and to affirm +that I had really before my eyes the Fairy, the very same Fairy I had +been dreaming of in the library a few evenings before. It was she, it +was her very self, I assure you! She had the same air of child-queen, +the same proud supple poise; she held the same hazel wand in her hand; +she still wore her double-peaked head-dress, and the train of her long +brocade robe undulated about her little feet. Same face, same figure. It +was she indeed; and to prevent any possible doubt of it, she was +seated on the back of a huge old-fashioned book strongly resembling the +“Cosmography of Munster.” Her immobility but half reassured me; I was +really afraid that she was going to take some more nuts out of her +alms-purse and throw the shells at my face. + +I was standing there, waving my hands and gaping, when the musical and +laughing voice of Madame de Gabry suddenly rang in my ears. + +“So you are examining your fairy, Monsieur Bonnard!” said my hostess. +“Well, do you think the resemblance good?” + +It was very quickly said; but even while hearing it I had time to +perceive that my fairy was a statuette in coloured wax, modeled with +much taste and spirit by some novice hand. But the phenomenon, even thus +reduced by a rational explanation, did not cease to excite my surprise. +How, and by whom, had the Lady of the Cosmography been enabled to assume +plastic existence? That was what remained for me to learn. + +Turning towards Madame de Gabry, I perceived that she was not alone. +A young girl dressed in black was standing beside her. She had large +intelligent eyes, of a grey as sweet as that of the sky of the Isle of +France, and at once artless and characteristic in their expression. +At the extremities of her rather thin arms were fidgeting uneasily two +slender hands, supple but slightly red, as it becomes the hands of young +girls to be. Sheathed in her closely fitting merino robe, she had the +slim grace of a young tree; and her large mouth bespoke frankness. I +could not describe how much the child pleased me at first sight! She was +not beautiful; but the three dimples of her cheeks and chin seemed +to laugh, and her whole person, which revealed the awkwardness of +innocence, had something in it indescribably good and sincere. + +My gaze alternated from the statuette to the young girl; and I saw her +blush--so frankly and fully!--the crimson passing over her face as by +waves. + +“Well,” said my hostess, who had become sufficiently accustomed to my +distracted moods to put the same question to me twice, “is that the very +same lady who came in to see you through the window that you left open? +She was very saucy, but then you were quite imprudent! Anyhow, do you +recognise her?” + +“It is her very self,” I replied; “I see her now on that pier-table +precisely as I saw her on the table in the library.” + +“Then, if that be so,” replied Madame de Gabry, “you have to blame for +it, in the first place, yourself, as a man who, although devoid of all +imagination, to use your own words, knew how to depict your dream in +such vivid colours; in the second place, me, who was able to remember +and repeat faithfully all your dream; and lastly, Mademoiselle Jeanne, +whom I now introduce to you, for she herself modeled that wax figure +precisely according to my instructions.” + +Madame de Gabry had taken the young girl’s hand as she spoke; but +the latter had suddenly broken away from her, and was already running +through the park with the speed of a bird. + +“Little crazy creature!” Madame de Gabry cried after her. “How can one +be so shy? Come back here to be scolded and kissed!” + +But it was all of no avail; the frightened child disappeared among the +shrubbery. Madame de Gabry seated herself in the only chair remaining in +the dilapidated parlour. + +“I should be much surprised,” she said, “If my husband had not already +spoken to you of Jeanne. She is a sweet child, and we both lover her +very much. Tell me the plain truth; what do you think of her statuette?” + +I replied that the work was full of good taste and spirit, but that it +showed some want of study and practice on the author’s part; otherwise I +had been extremely touched to think that those young fingers should have +thus embroidered an old man’s rough sketch of fancy, and given form so +brilliantly to the dreams of a dotard like myself. + +“The reason I ask your opinion,” replied Madame de Gabry, seriously, “is +that Jeanne is a poor orphan. Do you think she could earn her living by +modelling statuettes like this one?” + +“As for that, no!” I replied; “and I think there is no reason to regret +the fact. You say the girl is affectionate and sensitive; I can +well believe you; I could believe it from her face alone. There are +excitements in artist-life which impel generous hearts to act out of all +rule and measure. This young creature is made to love; keep her for the +domestic hearth. There only is real happiness.” + +“But she has no dowry!” replied Madame de Gabry. + +Then, extending her hand to me, she continued: + +“You are our friend; I can tell you everything. The father of this +child was a banker, and one of our friends. He went into a colossal +speculation, and it ruined him. He survived only a few months after +his failure, in which, as Paul must have told you, three-fourths of my +uncle’s fortune were lost, and more than half of our own. + +“We had made his acquaintance at Manaco, during the winter we passed +there at my uncle’s house. He had an adventurous disposition, but such +an engaging manner! He deceived himself before ever he deceived others. +After all, it is in the ability to deceive oneself that the greatest +talent is shown, is it not? Well, we were captured--my husband, my +uncle, and I; and we risked much more than a reasonable amount in a very +hazardous undertaking. But, bah! as Paul says, since we have no children +we need not worry about it. Besides, we have the satisfaction of knowing +that the friend in whom we trusted was an honest man.... You must know +his name, it was so often in the papers an on public placards--Noel +Alexandre. His wife was a very sweet person. I knew her only when she +was already past her prime, with traces of having once been very +pretty, and a taste for fashionable style and display which seemed quite +becoming to her. She was naturally fond of social excitement; but +she showed a great deal of courage and dignity after the death of her +husband. She died a year after him, leaving Jeanne alone in the world.” + +“Clementine!” I cried out. + +And on thus learning what I had never imagined--the mere idea of which +would have set all the forces of my soul in revolt--upon hearing that +Clementine was no longer in this world, something like a great silence +came upon me; and the feeling which flooded my whole being was not a +keen, strong pain, but a quiet and solemn sorrow. Yet I was conscious of +some incomprehensible sense of alleviation, and my thought rose suddenly +to heights before unknown. + +“From wheresoever thou art at this moment, Clementine,” I said to +myself, “look down upon this old heart now indeed cooled by age, +yet whose blood once boiled for thy sake, and say whether it is not +reanimated by the mere thought of being able to love all that remains +of thee on earth. Everything passes away since thou thyself hast passed +away; but Life is immortal; it is that Life we must love in its forms +eternally renewed. All the rest is child’s play; and I myself, with +all my books, am only like a child playing with marbles. The purpose of +life--it is thou, Clementine, who has revealed it to me!”... + +Madame de Gabry aroused me from my thoughts by murmuring, + +“The child is poor.” + +“The daughter of Clementine is poor!” I exclaimed aloud; “how fortunate +that is so! I would not whish that any one by myself should proved for +her and dower her! No! the daughter of Clementine must not have her +dowry from any one but me.” + +And, approaching Madame de Gabry as she rose from her chair, I took her +right hand; I kissed that hand, and placed it on my arm, and said: + +“You will conduct me to the grave of the widow of Noel Alexandre.” + +And I heard Madame de Gabry asking me: + +“Why are you crying?” + + + + +Chapter IV--The Little Saint-George + + + + +April 16. + + +Saint Drocoveus and the early abbots of Saint-Germain-des-Pres have been +occupying me for the past forty years; but I do not know if I shall +be able to write their history before I go to join them. It is already +quite a long time since I became an old man. One day last year, on the +Pont des Arts, one of my fellow members at the Institute was lamenting +before me over the ennui of becoming old. + +“Still,” Saint-Beuve replied to him, “it is the only way that has yet +been found of living a long time.” + +I have tried this way, and I know just what it is worth. The trouble of +it is not that one lasts too long, but that one sees all about him pass +away--mother, wife, friends, children. Nature makes and unmakes all +these divine treasures with gloomy indifference, and at last we find +that we have not loved, we have only been embracing shadows. But how +sweet some shadows are! If ever creature glided like a shadow through +the life of a man, it was certainly that young girl whom I fell in love +with when--incredible though it now seems--I was myself a youth. + +A Christian sarcophagus from the catacombs of Rome bears a formula of +imprecation, the whole terrible meaning of which I only learned with +time. It says: “Whatsoever impious man violates this sepulchre, may he +die the last of his own people!” In my capacity of archaeologist, I +have opened tombs and disturbed ashes in order to collect the shreds of +apparel, metal ornaments, or gems that were mingled with those ashes. +But I did it only through that scientific curiosity which does not +exclude feelings of reverence and of piety. May that malediction graven +by some one of the first followers of the apostles upon a martyr’s tomb +never fall upon me! I ought not to fear to survive my own people so long +as there are men in the world; for there are always some whom one can +love. + +But the power of love itself weakens and gradually becomes lost with +age, like all the other energies of man. Example proves it; and it +is this which terrifies me. Am I sure that I have not myself already +suffered this great loss? I should surely have felt it, but for the +happy meeting which has rejuvenated me. Poets speak of the Fountain of +Youth; it does exist; it gushes up from the earth at every step we take. +And one passes by without drinking of it! + +The young girl I loved, married of her own choice to a rival, passed, +all grey-haired, into the eternal rest. I have found her daughter--so +that my life, which before seemed to me without utility, now once more +finds a purpose and a reason for being. + +To-day I “take the sun,” as they say in Provence; I take it on the +terrace of the Luxembourg, at the foot of the statue of Marguerite +de Navarre. It is a spring sun, intoxicating as young wine. I sit and +dream. My thoughts escape from my head like the foam from a bottle +of beer. They are light, and their fizzing amuses me. I dream; such +a pastime is certainly permissible to an old fellow who has published +thirty volumes of texts, and contributed to the ‘Journal des Savants’ +for twenty-six years. I have the satisfaction of feeling that I +performed my task as well as it was possible for me to do, and that I +utilised to their fullest extent those mediocre faculties with +which Nature endowed me. My efforts were not all in vain, and I have +contributed, in my own modest way, to that renaissance of historical +labours which will remain the honour of this restless century. I shall +certainly be counted among those ten or twelve who revealed to France +her own literary antiquities. My publication of the poetical works of +Gautier de Coincy inaugurated a judicious system and fixed a date. It +is in the austere calm of old age that I decree to myself this deserved +credit, and God, who sees my heart, knows whether pride or vanity have +aught to do with this self-award of justice. + +But I am tired; my eyes are dim; my hand trembles, and I see an image of +myself in those old me of Homer, whose weakness excluded them from the +battle, and who, seated upon the ramparts, lifted up their voices like +crickets among the leaves. + +So my thoughts were wandering when three young men seated themselves +near me. I do not know whether each one of them had come in three +boats, like the monkey of Lafontaine, but the three certainly displayed +themselves over the space of twelve chairs. I took pleasure in watching +them, not because they had anything very extraordinary about them, but +because I discerned in them that brave joyous manner which is natural to +youth. They were from the schools. I was less assured of it by the books +they were carrying than by the character of their physiognomy. For +all who busy themselves with the things of the mind can be at once +recognised by an indescribably something which is common to all of them. +I am very fond of young people; and these pleased me, in spite of a +certain provoking wild manner which recalled to me my own college days +with marvellous vividness. But they did not wear velvet doublets and +long hair, as we used to do; they did not walk about, as we used to do, +“Hell and malediction!” They were quite properly dressed, and neither +their costume nor their language had anything suggestive of the Middle +Ages. I must also add that they paid considerable attention to the women +passing on the terrace, and expressed their admiration of some of them +in very animated language. But their reflections, even on this subject, +were not of a character to oblige me to flee from my seat. Besides, so +long as youth is studious, I think it has a right to its gaieties. + +One of them, having made some gallant pleasantry which I forget, the +smallest and darkest of the three exclaimed, with a slight Gascon +accent, + +“What a thing to say! Only physiologists like us have any right to +occupy ourselves about living matter. As for you, Gelis, who only live +in the past--like all your fellow archivists and paleographers--you will +do better to confine yourself to those stone women over there, who are +your contemporaries.” + +And he pointed to the statues of the Ladies of Ancient France which +towered up, all white, in a half-circle under the trees of the terrace. +This joke, though in itself trifling, enabled me to know that the +young man called Gelis was a student at the Ecole des Chartes. From the +conversation which followed I was able to learn that his neighbor, blond +and wan almost to diaphaneity, taciturn and sarcastic was Boulmier, a +fellow student. Gelis and the future doctor (I hope he will become one +some day) discoursed together with much fantasy and spirit. In the midst +of the loftiest speculations they would play upon words, and make jokes +after the peculiar fashion of really witty persons--that is to say, in +a style of enormous absurdity. I need hardly say, I suppose, that they +only deigned to maintain the most monstrous kind of paradoxes. They +employed all their powers of imagination to make themselves as ludicrous +as possible, and all their powers of reasoning to assert the contrary of +common sense. All the better for them! I do not like to see young folks +too rational. + +The student of medicine, after glancing at the title of the book that +Boulmier held in his hand, exclaimed, + +“What!--you read Michelet--you?” + +“Yes,” replied Boulmier, very gravely. “I like novels.” + +Gelis, who dominated both by his fine stature, imperious gestures, and +ready wit, took the book, turned over a few pages rapidly, and said, + +“Michelet always had a great propensity to emotional tenderness. He +wept sweet tears over Maillard, that nice little man introduced la +paperasserie into the September massacres. But as emotional tenderness +leads to fury, he becomes all at once furious against the victims. There +was no help for it. It is the sentimentality of the age. The assassin +is pitied, but the victim is considered quite unpardonable. In his later +manner Michelet is more Michelet than ever before. There is no common +sense in it; it is simply wonderful! Neither art nor science, neither +criticism nor narrative; only furies and fainting-spells and +epileptic fits over matters which he never deigns to explain. Childish +outcries--envies de femme grosse!--and a style, my friends!--not a +single finished phrase! It is astounding!” + +And he handed the book back to his comrade. “This is amusing madness,” + I thought to myself, “and not quite so devoid of common sense as it +appears. This young man, though only playing has sharply touched the +defect in the cuirass.” + +But the Provencal student declared that history was a thoroughly +despicable exercise of rhetoric. According to him, the only true history +was the natural history of man. Michelet was in the right path when he +came in contact with the fistula of Louis XIV., but he fell back into +the old rut almost immediately afterwards. + +After this judicious expression of opinion, the young physiologist +went to join a party of passing friends. The two archivists, less +well acquainted in the neighbourhood of a garden so far from the Rue +Paradis-au-Marais, remained together, and began to chat about their +studies. Gelis, who had completed his third class-year, was preparing a +thesis on the subject of which he expatiated with youthful enthusiasm. +Indeed, I thought the subject a very good one, particularly because I +had recently thought myself called upon to treat a notable part of it. +It was the Monasticon Gallicanum. The young erudite (I give him the name +as a presage) wanted to describe all the engravings made about 1690 for +the work which Dom Michel Germain would have had printed but for the one +irremediable hindrance which is rarely foreseen and never avoided. +Dom Michel Germain would have had printed but for the one irremediable +hindrance which is rarely foreseen and never avoided. Dom Michel Germain +left his manuscript complete, however, and in good order when he died. +Shall I be able to do as much with mine?--but that is not the present +question. So far as I am able to understand, Monsieur Gelis intends to +devote a brief archaeological notice to each of the abbeys pictured by +the humble engravers of Dom Michel Germain. + +His friend asked him whether he was acquainted with all the manuscripts +and printed documents relating to the subject. It was then that I +pricked up my ears. They spoke at first of original sources; and I must +confess they did so in a satisfactory manner, despite their innumerable +and detestable puns. Then they began to speak about contemporary studies +on the subject. + +“Have you read,” asked Boulmier, “the notice of Courajod?” + +“Good!” I thought to myself. + +“Yes,” replied Gelis; “it is accurate.” + +“Have you read,” said Boulmier, “the article of Tamisey de Larroque in +the ‘Revue des Questions Historiques’?” + +“Good!” I thought to myself, for the second time. + +“Yes,” replied Gelis, “it is full of things.”... + +“Have you read,” said Boulmier, “the ‘Tableau des Abbayes Benedictines +en 1600,’ by Sylvestre Bonnard?” + +“Good!” I said to myself, for the third time. + +“Mai foi! no!” replied Gelis. “Bonnard is an idiot!” Turning my head, I +perceived that the shadow had reached the place where I was sitting. It +was growing chilly, and I thought to myself what a fool I was to have +remained sitting there, at the risk of getting rheumatism, just to +listen to the impertinence of those two young fellows! + +“Well! well!” I said to myself as I got up. “Let this prattling +fledgling write his thesis and sustain it! He will find my colleague, +Quicherat, or some other professor at the school, to show him what an +ignoramus he is. I consider him neither more nor less than a rascal; +and really, now that I come to think of it, what he said about Michelet +awhile ago was quite insufferable, outrageous! To talk in that way about +an old master replete with genius! It was simply abominable!” + + + + +April 17. + + +“Therese, give me my new hat, my best frock-coat, and my silver-headed +cane.” + +But Therese is deaf as a sack of charcoal and slow as Justice. Years +have made her so. The worst is that she thinks she can hear well and +move about well; and, proud of her sixty years of upright domesticity, +she serves her old master with the most vigilant despotism. + +“What did I tell you?”...And now she will not give me my silver-headed +cane, for fear that I might lose it! It is true that I often forget +umbrellas and walking-sticks in the omnibuses and booksellers’ shops. +But I have a special reason for wanting to take out with me to-day my +old cane with the engraved silver head representing Don Quixote charging +a windmill, lance in rest, while Sancho Panza, with uplifted arms, +vainly conjures him to a stop. That cane is all that came to me from the +heritage of my uncle, Captain Victor, who in his lifetime resembled Don +Quixote much more than Sancho Panza, and who loved blows quite as much +as most people fear them. + +For thirty years I have been in the habit of carrying this cane upon all +memorable or solemn visits which I make; and those two figures of knight +and squire give me inspiration and counsel. I imagine I can hear them +speak. Don Quixote says, + +“Think well about great things; and know that thought is the only +reality in this world. Lift up Nature to thine own stature; and let +the whole universe be for thee no more than the reflection of thine own +heroic soul. Combat for honour’s sake: that alone is worthy of a man! +and if it should fall thee to receive wounds, shed thy blood as a +beneficent dew, and smile.” + +And Sancho Panza says to me in his turn, + +“Remain just what heaven made thee, comrade! Prefer the bread-crust +which has become dry in thy wallet to all the partridges that roast in +the kitchen of lords. Obey thy master, whether he by a wise man or a +fool, and do not cumber thy brain with too many useless things. Fear +blows; ‘tis verily tempting God to seek after danger!” + +But if the incomparable knight and his matchless squire are imagined +only upon this cane of mine, they are realities to my inner conscience. +Within every one of us there lives both a Don Quixote and a Sancho Panza +to whom we hearken by turns; and though Sancho most persuades us, it is +Don Quixote that we find ourselves obliged to admire.... But a truce to +this dotage!--and let us go to see Madame de Gabry about some matters +more important than the everyday details of life.... + + +Same day. + + +I found Madame de Gabry dressed in black, just buttoning her gloves. + +“I am ready,” she said. + +Ready!--so I have always found her upon any occasion of doing a +kindness. + +After some compliments about the good health of her husband, who was +taking a walk at the time, we descended the stairs and got into the +carriage. + +I do not know what secret influence I feared to dissipate by breaking +silence, but we followed the great deserted drives without speaking, +looking at the crosses, the monumental columns, and the mortuary wreaths +awaiting sad purchasers. + +The vehicle at last halted at the extreme verge of the land of the +living, before the gate upon which words of hope are graven. + +“Follow me,” said Madame de Gabry, whose tall stature I noticed then for +the first time. She first walked down an alley of cypresses, and then +took a very narrow path contrived between the tombs. Finally, halting +before a plain slab, she said to me, + +“It is here.” + +And she knelt down. I could not help noticing the beautiful and easy +manner in which this Christian woman fell upon her knees, leaving the +folds of her robe to spread themselves at random about her. I had +never before seen any lady kneel down with such frankness and such +forgetfulness of self, except two fair Polish exiles, one evening long +ago, in a deserted church in Paris. + +This image passed like a flash; and I saw only the sloping stone on +which was graven the name of Clementine. What I then felt was something +so deep and vague that only the sound of some rich music could convey +the idea of it. I seemed to hear instruments of celestial sweetness +make harmony in my old heart. With the solemn accords of a funeral chant +there seemed to mingle the subdued melody of a song of love; for my +soul blended into one feeling the grave sadness of the present with the +familiar graces of the past. + +I cannot tell whether we had remained a long time at the tomb of +Clementine before Madame de Gabry arose. We passed through the cemetery +again without speaking to each other. Only when we found ourselves among +the living once more did I feel able to speak. + +“While following you there,” I said to Madame de Gabry, “I could not +help thinking of those angels with whom we are said to meet on the +mysterious confines of life and death. That tomb you led me to, of which +I knew nothing--as I know nothing, or scarcely anything, concerning +her whom it covers--brought back to me emotions which were unique in +my life, and which seem in the dullness of that life like some light +gleaming upon a dark road. The light recedes farther and farther away as +the journey lengthens; I have now almost reached the bottom of the last +slope; and, nevertheless, each time I turn to look back I see the glow +as bright as ever. + +“You, Madame, who knew Clementine as a young wife and mother after her +hair had become grey, you cannot imagine her as I see her still; a young +fair girl, all pink and white. Since you have been so kind as to be my +guide, dear Madame, I ought to tell you what feelings were awakened in +me by the sight of that grave to which you led me. Memories throng back +upon me. I feel myself like some old gnarled and mossy oak which awakens +a nestling world of birds by shaking its branches. Unfortunately +the song my birds sing is old as the world, and can amuse no one but +myself.” + +“Tell me your souvenirs,” said Madame de Gabry. “I cannot read your +books, because they are written only for scholars; but I like very much +to have you talk to me, because you know how to give interest to the +most ordinary things in life. And talk to me just as you would talk to +an old woman. This morning I found three grey threads in my hair.” + +“Let them come without regret, Madame,” I replied. “Time deals gently +only with those who take it gently. And when in some years more you will +have a silvery fringe under your black fillet, you will be reclothed +with a new beauty, less vivid but more touching than the first; and you +will find your husband admiring your grey tresses as much as he did that +black curl which you gave him when about to be married, and which he +preserves in a locket as a thing sacred.... These boulevards are broad +and very quiet. We can talk at our ease as we walk along. I will tell +you, to begin with, how I first made the acquaintance of Clementine’s +father. But you must not expect anything extraordinary, or anything even +remarkable; you would be greatly deceived. + +“Monsieur de Lessay used to live in the second storey of an old house in +the Avenue de l’Observatoire, having a stuccoed front, ornamented with +antique busts, and a large unkept garden attached to it. That facade and +that garden were the first images my child-eyes perceived; and they will +be the last, no doubt, which I still see through my closed eyelids when +the Inevitable Day comes. For it was in that house that I was born; it +was in that garden I first learned, while playing, to feel and know some +particles of this old universe. Magical hours!--sacred hours!--when the +soul, all fresh from the making, first discoveries the world, which +for its sake seems to assume such caressing brightness, such mysterious +charm! And that, Madame, is indeed because the universe itself is only +the reflection of our soul. + +“My mother was being very happily constituted. She rose with the sun, +like the birds; and she herself resembled the birds by her domestic +industry, by her maternal instinct, by her perpetual desire to sing, and +by a sort of brusque grace, which I could feel the of very well even +as a child. She was the soul of the house, which she filled with her +systematic and joyous activity. My father was just as slow as she was +brisk. I can recall very well that placid face of his, over which at +times an ironical smile used to flit. He was fatigued with active life; +and he loved his fatigue. Seated beside the fire in his big arm-chair, +he used to read from morning till night; and it is from him that I +inherit my love of books. I have in my library a Mably and a Raynal, +which he annotated with his own hand from beginning to end. But it +was utterly useless attempting to interest him in anything practical +whatever. When my mother would try, by all kinds of gracious little +ruses, to lure him out of his retirement, he would simply shake his head +with that inexorable gentleness which is the force of weak characters. +He used in this way greatly to worry the poor woman, who could not enter +at all into his own sphere of meditative wisdom, and could understand +nothing of life except its daily duties and the merry labour of each +hour. She thought him sick, and feared he was going to become still more +so. But his apathy had a different cause. + +“My father, entering the Naval office under Monsieur Decres, in 1801, +gave early proof of high administrative talent. There was a great deal +of activity in the marine department in those times; and in 1805 my +father was appointed chief of the Second Administrative Division. That +same year, the Emperor, whose attention had been called to him by the +Minister, ordered him to make a report upon the organisation of the +English navy. This work, which reflected a profoundly liberal and +philosophic spirit, of which the editor himself was unconscious, was +only finished in 1807--about eighteen months after the defeat of Admiral +Villeneuve at Trafalgar. Napoleon, who, from that disastrous day, never +wanted to hear the word ship mentioned in his presence, angrily +glanced over a few pages of the memoir, and then threw it in the +fire, vociferating, ‘Words!--words! I said once before that I hated +ideologists.’ My father was told afterwards that the Emperor’s anger was +so intense at the moment that he stamped the manuscript down into the +fire with his boot-heels. At all events, it was his habit, when very +much irritated, to poke down the fire with his boot-soles. My father +never fully recovered from this disgrace; and the fruitlessness of all +his efforts towards reform was certainly the cause of the apathy which +came upon him at a later day. Nevertheless, Napoleon, after his return +from Elba, sent for him, and ordered him to prepare some liberal and +patriotic bulletins and proclamations for the fleet. After Waterloo, my +father, whom the event had rather saddened than surprised, retired into +private life, and was not interfered with--except that it was generally +averred of him that he was a Jacobin, a buveur-de-sang--one of those +men with whom no one could afford to be on intimate terms. My mother’s +eldest brother, Victor Maldent, and infantry captain--retired on +half-pay in 1814, and disbanded in 1815--aggravated by his bad attitude +the situation in which the fall of the Empire had placed my father. +Captain Victor used to shout in the cafes and the public balls that the +Bourbons had sold France to the Cossacks. He used to show everybody a +tricoloured cockade hidden in the lining of his hat; and carried with +much ostentation a walking-stick, the handle of which had been so carved +that the shadow thrown by it made the silhouette of the Emperor. + +“Unless you have seen certain lithographs by Charlet, Madame, you could +form no idea of the physiognomy of my Uncle Victor, when he used to +stride about the garden of the Tuileries with a fiercely elegant manner +of his own--buttoned up in his frogged coat, with his cross-of-honour +upon his breast, and a bouquet of violets in his button-hole. + +“Idleness and intemperance greatly intensified the vulgar recklessness +of his political passions. He used to insult people whom he happened to +see reading the ‘Quotidienne,’ or the ‘Drapeau Blanc,’ and compel them +to fight with him. In this way he had the pain and the shame of wounding +a boy of sixteen in a duel. In short, my Uncle Victor was the very +reverse of a well-behaved person; and as he came to lunch and dine +at our house every blessed day in the year, his bad reputation became +attached to our family. My poor father suffered cruelly from some of his +guest’s pranks; but being very good-natured, he never made any remarks, +and continued to give the freedom of his house to the captain, who only +despised him for it. + +“All this which I have told you, Madame, was explained to me afterwards. +But at the time in question, my uncle the captain filled me with the +very enthusiasm of admiration, and I promised myself to try to become +some day as like him as possible. So one fine morning, in order to +begin the likeness, I put my arms akimbo, and swore like a trooper. My +excellent mother at once gave me such a box on the ear that I remained +half stupefied for some little while before I could even burst out +crying. I can still see the old arm-chair, covered with yellow Utrecht +velvet, behind which I wept innumerable tears that day. + +“I was a very little fellow then. One morning my father, lifting me +upon his knees, as he was in the habit of doing, smiled at me with that +slightly ironical smile which gave a certain piquancy to his perpetual +gentleness of manner. As I sat on his knee, playing with his long white +hair, he told me something which I did not understand very well, +but which interested me very much, for the simple reason that it was +mysterious to me. I think but am not quite sure, that he related to me +that morning the story of the little King of Yvetot, according to the +song. All of a sudden we heard a great report; and the windows rattled. +My father slipped me down gently on the floor at his feet; he threw up +his trembling arms, with a strange gesture; his face became all inert +and white, and his eyes seemed enormous. He tried to speak, but his +teeth were chattering. At last he murmured, ‘They have shot him!’ I did +not know what he meant, and felt only a vague terror. I knew afterwards, +however, that hew was speaking of Marshal Ney, who fell on the 7th of +December, 1815, under the wall enclosing some waste ground beside our +house. + +“About that time I used often to meet on the stairway an old man (or, +perhaps, not exactly an old man) with little black eyes which flashed +with extraordinary vivacity, and an impassive, swarthy face. He did not +seem to me alive--or at least he did not seem to me alive in the same +way that other men are alive. I had once seen, at the residence of +Monsieur Denon, where my father had taken me with him on a visit, a +mummy brought from Egypt; and I believed in good faith that Monsieur +Denon’s mummy used to get up when no one was looking, leave its gilded +case, put on a brown coat and powdered wig, and become transformed into +Monsieur de Lessay. And even to-day, dear Madame, while I reject that +opinion as being without foundation, I must confess that Monsieur de +Lessay bore a very strong resemblance to Monsieur Denon’s mummy. The +fact is enough to explain why this person inspired me with fantastic +terror. + +“In reality, Monsieur de Lessay was a small gentleman and a great +philosopher. As a disciple of Mably and Rousseau, he flattered himself +on being a man without any prejudices; and this pretension itself is a +very great prejudice. + +“He professed to hate fanaticism, yet was himself a fanatic on the topic +of toleration. I am telling you, Madame, about a character belonging to +an age that is past. I fear I may not be able to make you understand, +and I am sure I shall not be able to interest you. It was so long ago! +But I will abridge as much as possible: besides, I did not promise +you anything interesting; and you could not have expected to hear of +remarkable adventures in the life of Sylvestre Bonnard.” + +Madame de Gabry encouraged me to proceed, and I resumed: + +“Monsieur de Lessay was brusque with men and courteous to ladies. He +used to kiss the hand of my mother, whom the customs of the Republic and +the Empire had not habituated to such gallantry. In him, I touched the +age of Louis XVI. Monsieur de Lessay was a geographer; and nobody, I +believe, ever showed more pride then he in occupying himself with the +face of the earth. Under the Old Regime he had attempted philosophical +agriculture, and thus squandered his estates to the very last acre. When +he had ceased to own one square foot of ground, he took possession of +the whole globe, and prepared an extraordinary number of maps, based +upon the narratives of travellers. But as he had been mentally nourished +with the very marrow of the “Encyclopedie,” he was not satisfied with +merely parking off human beings within so many degrees, minutes, and +seconds of latitude and longitude, he also occupied himself, alas! with +the question of their happiness. It is worthy of remark, Madame, that +those who have given themselves the most concern about the happiness of +peoples have made their neighbors very miserable. Monsieur de +Lessay, who was more of a geometrician than D’Alembert, and more of a +philosopher than Jean Jacques, was also more of a royalist than Louis +XVIII. But his love for the King was nothing to his hate for the +Emperor. He had joined the conspiracy of Georges against the First +Consul; but in the framing of the indictment he was not included among +the inculpated parties, having been either ignored or despised, and +this injury he never could forgive Bonaparte, whom he called the Ogre +of Corsica, and to whom he used to say he would never have confided even +the command of a regiment, so pitiful a soldier he judged him to be. + +“In 1820, Monsieur de Lessay, who had then been a widower for many +years, married again, at the age of sixty, a very young woman, whom +he pitilessly kept at work preparing maps for him, and who gave him +a daughter some years after their marriage, and died in childbed. My +mother had nursed her during her brief illness, and had taken care of +the child. The name of that child was Clementine. + +“It was from the time of that birth and that death that the relations +between our family and Monsieur de Lessay began. In the meanwhile I had +been growing dull as I began to leave my true childhood behind me. I +had lost the charming power of being able to see and feel; and things no +longer caused me those delicious surprises which form the enchantment +of the more tender age. For the same reason, perhaps, I have no distinct +remembrance of the period following the birth of Clementine; I only know +that a few months afterwards I had a misfortune, the mere thought of +which still wrings my heart. I lost my mother. A great silence, a great +coldness, and a great darkness seemed all at once to fill the house. + +“I fell into a sort of torpor. My father sent me to the lycee, but I +could only arouse myself from my lethargy with the greatest of effort. + +“Still, I was not altogether a dullard, and my professors were able to +teach me almost everything they wanted, namely, a little Greek and a +great deal of Latin. My acquaintances were confined to the ancients. +I learned to esteem Miltiades, and to admire Themistocles. I became +familiar with Quintus Fabius, as far, at least, as it was possible +to become familiar with so great a Consul. Proud of these lofty +acquaintances, I scarcely ever condescended to notice little Clementine +and her old father, who, in any event, went away to Normandy one fine +morning without my having deigned to give a moment’s thought to their +possible return. + +“They came back, however, Madame, they came back! Influences of Heaven, +forces of nature, all ye mysterious powers which vouchsafe to man the +ability to love, you know how I again beheld Clementine! They re-entered +our melancholy home. Monsieur de Lessay no longer wore a wig. Bald, +with a few grey locks about his ruddy temples, he had all the aspect of +robust old age. But that divine being whom I saw all resplendent, as +she leaned upon his arm--she whose presence illuminated the old faded +parlour--she was not an apparition! It was Clementine herself! I am +speaking the simple truth: her violet eyes seemed to me in that moment +supernatural, and even to-day I cannot imagine how those two living +jewels could have endured the fatigues of life, or become subjected to +the corruption of death. + +“She betrayed a little shyness in greeting my father, whom she did +not remember. Her complexion was slightly pink, and her half-open lips +smiled with that smile which makes one think of the Infinite--perhaps +because it betrays no particular thought, and expresses only the joy +of living and the bliss of being beautiful. Under a pink hood her face +shone like a gem in an open casket; she wore a cashmere scarf over a +robe of white muslin plaited at the waist, from beneath which protruded +the tip of a little Morocco shoe.... Oh! you must not make fun of me, +dear Madame, that was the fashion of the time; and I do not know +whether our new fashions have nearly so much simplicity, brightness, and +decorous grace. + +“Monsieur de Lessay informed us that, in consequence of having +undertaken the publication of a historical atlas, he had come back +to live in Paris, and that he would be pleased to occupy his former +apartment, if it was still vacant. My father asked Mademoiselle de +Lessay whether she was pleased to visit the capital. She appeared to +be, for her smile blossomed out in reply. She smiled at the windows that +looked out upon the green and luminous garden; she smiled at the bronze +Marius seated among the ruins of Carthage above the dial of the clock; +she smiled a the old yellow-velveted arm-chairs, and at the poor student +who was afraid to lift his eyes to look at her. From that day--how I +loved her! + +“But here we are already a the Rue de Severs, and in a little while we +shall be in sight of your windows. I am a very bad story-teller; and if +I were--by some impossible chance--to take it into my head to compose +a novel, I know I should never succeed. I have been drawing out to +tiresome length a narrative which I must finish briefly; for there is +a certain delicacy, a certain grace of soul, which an old man could not +help offending by an complacent expatiation upon the sentiments of even +the purest love. Let us take a short turn on this boulevard, lined with +convents; and my recital will be easily finished within the distance +separating us from that little spire you see over there.... + +“Monsieur de Lessay, on finding that I had graduated at the Ecole des +Chartes, judged me worthy to assist him in preparing his historical +atlas. The plan was to illustrate, by a series of maps, what the old +philosopher termed the Vicissitudes of Empires from the time of Noah +down to that of Charlemagne. Monsieur de Lessay had stored up in his +head all the errors of the eighteenth century in regard to antiquity. +I belonged, so far as my historical studies were concerned, to the +new school; and I was just at that age when one does not know how to +dissemble. The manner in which the old man understood, or, rather, +misunderstood, the epoch of the Barbarians--his obstinate determination +to find in remote antiquity only ambitious princes, hypocritical and +avaricious prelates, virtuous citizens, poet-philosophers, and other +personages who never existed outside of the novels of Marmontel,--made +me dreadfully unhappy, and at first used to excite me into attempts +at argument,--rational enough, but perfectly useless and sometimes +dangerous, for Monsieur de Lessay was very irascible, and Clementine was +very beautiful. Between her and him I passed many hours of torment and +of delight. I was in love; I was a coward, and I granted to him all that +he demanded of me in regard to the political and historical aspect which +the Earth--that was at a later day to bear Clementine--presented in the +time of Abraham, of Menes, and of Deucalion. + +“As fast as we drew our maps, Mademoiselle de Lessay tinted them in +water-colours. Bending over the table, she held the brush lightly +between two fingers; the shadow of her eyelashes descended upon her +cheeks, and bather her half-closed eyes in a delicious penumbra. +Sometimes she would lift her head, and I would see her lips pout. There +was so much expression in her beauty that she could not breathe without +seeming to sigh; and her most ordinary poses used to throw me into the +deepest ecstasies of admiration. Whenever I gazed at her I fully agreed +with Monsieur de Lessay that Jupiter had once reigned as a despot-king +over the mountainous regions of Thessaly, and that Orpheus had committed +the imprudence of leaving the teaching of philosophy to the clergy. I am +not now quite sure whether I was a coward or a hero when I accorded al +this to the obstinate old man. + +“Mademoiselle de Lessay, I must acknowledge, paid very little attention +to me. But this indifference seemed to me so just and so natural that +I never even dreamed of thinking I had a right to complain about it; it +made me unhappy, but without my knowing that I was unhappy at the +time. I was hopeful;--we had then only got as far as the First Assyrian +Empire. + +“Monsieur de Lessay came every evening to take coffee with my father. +I do not know how they became such friends; for it would have been +difficult to find two characters more oppositely constituted. My father +was a man who admired very few things, but was still capable of excusing +a great many. Still, as he grew older, he evinced more and more dislike +of everything in the shape of exaggeration. He clothed his ideas with a +thousand delicate shades of expression, and never pronounced an opinion +without all sorts of reservations. These conversational habits, natural +to a finely trained mind, used greatly to irritate the dry, terse old +aristocrat, who was never in the least disarmed by the moderation of an +adversary--quite the contrary! I always foresaw one danger. That +danger was Bonaparte. My father had not himself retained an particular +affection for his memory; but, having worked under his direction, he +did not like to hear him abused, especially in favour of the Bourbons, +against whom he had serious reason to feel resentment. Monsieur de +Lessay, more of a Voltairean and a Legitimist than ever, now traced back +to Bonaparte the origin of every social, political, and religious +evil. Such being the situation, the idea of Uncle Victor made me +feel particularly uneasy. This terrible uncle had become absolutely +unsufferable now that his sister was no longer there to calm him down. +The harp of David was broken, and Saul was wholly delivered over to the +spirit of madness. The fall of Charles X. had increased the audacity of +the old Napoleonic veteran, who uttered all imaginable bravadoes. He no +longer frequented our house, which had become too silent for him. +But sometimes, at the dinner-hour, we would see him suddenly make his +appearance, all covered with flowers, like a mausoleum. Ordinarily he +would sit down to table with an oath, growled out from the very bottom +of his chest, and brag, between every two mouthfuls, of his good fortune +with the ladies as a vieux brave. Then, when the dinner was over, he +would fold up his napkin in the shape of a bishop’s mitre, gulp down +half a decanter of brandy, and rush away with the hurried air of a man +terrified at the mere idea of remaining for any length of time, without +drinking, in conversation with an old philosopher and a young scholar. I +felt perfectly sure that, if ever he and Monsieur de Lessay should come +together, all would be lost. But that day came, Madame! + +“The captain was almost hidden by flowers that day, and seemed so much +like a monument commemorating the glories of the Empire that one would +have liked to pass a garland of immortelles over each of his arms. He +was in an extraordinarily good humour; and the first person to profit by +that good humour was our cook--for he put his arm around her waist while +she was placing the roast on the table. + +“After dinner he pushed away the decanter presented to him, observing +that he was going to burn some brandy in his coffee later on. I asked +him tremblingly whether he would not prefer to have his coffee at once. +He was very suspicious, and not at all dull of comprehension--my Uncle +Victor. My precipitation seemed to him in very bad taste; for he looked +at me in a peculiar way, and said, + +“‘Patience! my nephew. It isn’t the business of the baby of the regiment +to sound the retreat! Devil take it! You must be in a great hurry, +Master Pedant, to see if I’ve got spurs on my boots!’ + +“It was evident the captain had divined that I wanted him to go. And I +knew him well enough to be sure that he was going to stay. He stayed. +The least circumstances of that evening remain impressed on my memory. +My uncle was extremely jovial. The mere idea of being in somebody’s way +was enough to keep him in good humour. He told us, in regular barrack +style, ma foi! a certain story about a monk, a trumpet, and five +bottles of Chambertin, which must have been much enjoyed in the garrison +society, but which I would not venture to repeat to you, Madame, even if +I could remember it. When we passed into the parlour, the captain called +attention to the bad condition of our andirons, and learnedly discoursed +on the merits of rotten-stone as a brass-polisher. Not a word on the +subject of politics. He was husbanding his forces. Eight o’clock sounded +from the ruins of Carthage on the mantlepiece. It was Monsieur de +Lessay’s hour. A few moments later he entered the parlour with his +daughter. The ordinary evening chat began. Clementine sat down and began +to work on some embroidery beside the lamp, whose shade left her pretty +head in a soft shadow, and threw down upon her fingers a radiance that +made them seem almost self-luminous. Monsieur de Lessay spoke of a comet +announced by the astronomers, and developed some theories in relation +to the subject, which, however audacious, betrayed at least a certain +degree of intellectual culture. My father, who knew a good deal about +astronomy, advanced some sound ideas of his own, which he ended up with +his eternal, ‘But what do we know about it, after all?’ In my turn I +cited the opinion of our neighbour of the Observatory--the great Arago. +My Uncle Victor declared that comets had a peculiar influence on +the quality of wines, and related in support of this view a jolly +tavern-story. I was so delighted with the turn the conversation had +taken that I did all in my power to maintain it in the same groove, with +the help of my most recent studies, by a long exposition of the chemical +composition of those nebulous bodies which, although extending over a +length of billions of leagues, could be contained in a small bottle. My +father, a little surprised at my unusual eloquence, watched me with +his peculiar, placid, ironical smile. But one cannot always remain +in heaven. I spoke, as I looked at Clementine, of a certain comete of +diamonds, which I had been admiring in a jeweller’s window the evening +before. It was a most unfortunate inspiration of mine. + +“‘Ah! my nephew,’ cried Uncle Victor, that “comete” of yours was nothing +to the one which the Empress Josephine wore in her hair when she came to +Strasburg to distribute crosses to the army.’ + +“‘That little Josephine was very fond of finery and display,’ observed +Monsieur de Lessay, between two sips of coffee. ‘I do not blame her for +it; she had good qualities, though rather frivolous in character. She +was a Tascher, and she conferred a great honour on Bonaparte by marrying +him. To say a Tascher does not, of course, mean a great deal; but to say +a Bonaparte simply means nothing at all.’ + +“‘What do you mean by that, Monsieur the Marquis?’ demanded Captain +Victor. + +“‘I am not a marquis,’ dryly responded Monsieur de Lessay; ‘and I mean +simply that Bonaparte would have been very well suited had he +married one of those cannibal women described by Captain Cook in his +voyages--naked, tattooed, with a ring in her nose--devouring with +delight putrefied human flesh.’ + +“I had foreseen it, and in my anguish (O pitiful human heart!) my first +idea was about the remarkable exactness of my anticipations. I must say +that the captain’s reply belonged to the sublime order. He put his arms +akimbo, eyed Monsieur de Lessay contemptuously from head to food, and +said, + +“‘Napoleon, Monsieur the Vidame, had another spouse besides Josephine, +another spouse besides Marie-Louise, that companion you know nothing +of; but I have seen her, close to me. She wears a mantle of azure gemmed +with stars; she is crowned with laurels; the Cross-of-Honour flames upon +her breast. Her name is GLORY!’ + +“Monsieur de Lessay set his cup on the mantlepiece and quietly observed, + +“‘Your Bonaparte was a blackguard!’ + +“My father rose up calmly, extended his arm, and said very softly to +Monsieur de Lessay, + +“Whatever the man was who died at St. Helena, I worked for ten years in +his government, and my brother-in-law was three times wounded under his +eagles. I beg of you, dear sir and friend, never to forget these facts +in future.’ + +“What the sublime and burlesque insolence of the captain could not do, +the courteous remonstrance of my father effected immediately, throwing +Monsieur de Lessay into a furious passion. + +“‘I did forget,’ he exclaimed, between his set teeth, livid in his rage, +and fairly foaming at the mouth; ‘the herring-cask always smells of +herring and when one has been in the service of rascals---’ + +“As he uttered the word, the Captain sprang at his throat; I am sure he +would have strangled him upon the spot but for his daughter and me. + +“My father, a little paler than his wont, stood there with his arms +folded, and watched the scene with a look of inexpressible pity. What +followed was still more lamentable--but why dwell further upon the folly +of two old men. Finally I succeeded in separating them. Monsieur +de Lessay made a sign to his daughter and left the room. As she was +following him, I ran out into the stairway after her. + +“‘Mademoiselle,’ I said to her, wildly, taking her hand as I spoke, ‘I +love you! I love you!’ + +“For a moment she pressed my hand; her lips opened. What was it that +she was going to say to me? But suddenly, lifting her eyes towards +her father ascending the stairs, she drew her hand away, and made me a +gesture of farewell. + +“I never saw her again. Her father went to live in the neighbourhood of +the Pantheon, in an apartment which he had rented for the sale of his +historical atlas. He died in a few months afterward of an apoplectic +stroke. His daughter, I was told, retired to Caen to live with some aged +relative. It was there that, later on, she married a bank-clerk, the +same Noel Alexandre who became so rich and died so poor. + +“As for me, Madame, I have lived alone, at peace with myself; my +existence, equally exempt from great pains and great joys, has been +tolerably happy. But for many years I could never see an empty chair +beside my own of a winter’s evening without feeling a sudden painful +sinking at my heart. Last year I learned from you, who had known her, +the story of her old age and death. I saw her daughter at your house. I +have seen her; but I cannot yet say like the aged mad of Scripture, ‘And +now, O Lord, let thy servant depart in peace!’ For if an old fellow like +me can be of any use to anybody, I would wish, with your help, to devote +my last energies and abilities to the care of this orphan.” + +I had uttered these last words in Madame de Gabry’s own vestibule; and I +was about to take leave of my kind guide when she said to me, + +“My dear Monsieur, I cannot help you in this matter as much as I would +like to do. Jeanne is an orphan and a minor. You cannot do anything for +her without the authorisation of her guardian.” + +“Ah!” I exclaimed, “I had not the least idea in the wold that Jeanne had +a guardian!” + +Madame de Gabry looked at me with visible surprise. She had not expected +to find the old man quite so simple. + +She resumed: + +“The guardian of Jeanne Alexandre is Maitre Mouche, notary at +Levallois-Perret. I am afraid you will not be able to come to any +understanding with him; for he is a very serious person.” + +“Why! good God!” I cried, “with what kind of people can you expect me to +have any sort of understanding at my age, except serious persons.” + +She smiled with a sweet mischievousness--just as my father used to +smile--and answered: + +“With those who are like you--the innocent folks who wear their hearts +on their sleeves. Monsieur Mouche is not exactly that kind. He is +cunning and light-fingered. But although I have very little liking +for him, we will go together and see him, if you wish, and ask his +permission to visit Jeanne, whom he has sent to a boarding-school at Les +Ternes, where she is very unhappy.” + +We agreed at once upon a day; I kissed Madame de Gabry’s hands, and we +bade each other good-bye. + + + + +From May 2 to May 5. + + +I have seen him in his office, Maitre Mouche, the guardian of Jeanne. +Small, thin, and dry; his complexion looks as if it was made out of the +dust of his pigeon-holes. He is a spectacled animal; for to imagine him +without his spectacles would be impossible. I have heard him speak, +this Maitre Mouche; he has a voice like a tin rattle, and he uses choice +phrases; but I should have been better pleased if he had not chosen his +phrases so carefully. I have observed him, this Maitre Mouche; he is +very ceremonious, and watches his visitors slyly out of the corner of +his eye. + +Maitre Mouche is quite pleased, he informs us; he is delighted to find +we have taken such an interest in his ward. But he does not think we are +placed in this world just to amuse ourselves. No: he does not believe +it; and I am free to acknowledge that anybody in his company is likely +to reach the same conclusion, so little is he capable of inspiring +joyfulness. He fears that it would be giving his dear ward a false and +pernicious idea of life to allow her too much enjoyment. It is for this +reason that he requests Madame de Gabry not to invite the young girl to +her house except at very long intervals. + +We left the dusty notary and his dusty study with a permit in due form +(everything which issues from the office of Maitre Mouche is in due +form) to visit Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexandre on the first Thursday of +each month at Mademoiselle Prefere’s private school, Rue Demours, Aux +Ternes. + +The first Thursday in May I set out to pay a visit to Mademoiselle +Prefere, whose establishment I discerned from afar off by a big sign, +painted with blue letters. That blue tint was the first indication I +received of Mademoiselle Prefere’s character, which I was able to see +more of later on. A scared-looking servant took my card, and abandoned +me without one word of hope at the door of a chilly parlour full of that +stale odour peculiar to the dining-rooms of educational establishments. +The floor of this parlour had been waxed with such pitiless energy, +that I remained for awhile in distress upon the threshold. But happily +observing that little strips of woollen carpet had been scattered over +the floor in front of each horse-hair chair, I succeeded, by cautiously +stepping from one carpet-island to another in reaching the angle of the +mantlepiece, where I sat down quite out of breath. + +Over the mantelpiece, in a large gilded frame, was a written document, +entitled in flamboyant Gothic lettering, Tableau d’Honneur, with a long +array of names underneath, among which I did not have the pleasure of +finding that of Jeanne Alexandre. After having read over several times +the names of those girl-pupils who had thus made themselves honoured in +the eyes of Mademoiselle Prefere, I began to feel uneasy at not hearing +any one coming. Mademoiselle Prefere would certainly have succeeded in +establishing the absolute silence of interstellar spaces throughout her +pedagogical domains, had it not been that the sparrows had chosen her +yard to assemble in by legions, and chirp at the top of their voices. +It was a pleasure to hear them. But there was no way of seeing +them--through the ground-glass windows. I had to content myself with the +sights of the parlour, decorated from floor to ceiling, on all of its +four walls, with drawings executed by the pupils of the institution. +There were Vestals, flowers, thatched cottages, column-capitals, and +an enormous head of Tatius, King of the Sabines, bearing the signature +Estelle Mouton. + +I had already passed some time in admiring the energy with which +Mademoiselle Mouton had delineated the bushy eyebrows and the fierce +gaze of the antique warrior, when a sound, faint like the rustling of +a dead leaf moved by the wind, caused me to turn my head. It was not a +dead leaf at all--it was Mademoiselle Prefere. With hands jointed before +her, she came gliding over the mirror-polish of that wonderful floor +as the Saints of the Golden Legend were wont to glide over the +crystal surface of the waters. But upon any other occasion, I am sure, +Mademoiselle Prefere would not have made me think in the least about +those virgins dear to mystical fancy. Her face rather gave me the +idea of a russet-apple preserved or a whole winter in an attic by +some economical housekeeper. Her shoulders were covered with a fringed +pelerine, which had nothing at all remarkable about it, but which she +wore as if it were a sacerdotal vestment, or the symbol of some high +civic function. + +I explained to her the purpose of my visit, and gave her my letter of +introduction. + +“Ah!--so you are Monsieur Mouche!” she exclaimed. “Is his health VERY +good? He is the most upright of men, the most---” + +She did not finish the phrase, but raised her eyes to the ceiling. My +own followed the direction of their gaze, and observed a little spiral +of paper lace, suspended from the place of the chandelier, which was +apparently destined, so far as I could discover, to attract the flies +away from the gilded mirror-frames and the Tableau d’Honneur. + +“I have met Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexandre,” I observed, “at the +residence of Madame de Gabry and had reason to appreciate the excellent +character and quick intelligence of the young girl. As I used to know +her parents very well, the friendship which I felt for them naturally +inclines me to take an interest in her.” + +Mademoiselle Prefere, in lieu of making any reply, sighed profoundly, +pressed her mysterious pelerine to her heart, and again contemplated the +paper spiral. + +At last she observed, + +“Since you were once the friend of Monsieur and Madame Alexandre, I hope +and trust that, like Monsieur Mouche and myself, you deplore those +crazy speculations which led them to ruin, and reduced their daughter to +absolute poverty!” + +I thought to myself, on hearing these words, how very wrong it is to +be unlucky, and how unpardonable such an error on the part of those +previously in a position worthy of envy. Their fall at once avenges and +flatters us; and we are wholly pitiless. + +After having answered, very frankly, that I knew nothing whatever about +the history of the bank, I asked the schoolmistress if she was satisfied +with Mademoiselle Alexandre. + +“That child is indomitable!” cried Mademoiselle Prefere. + +And she assumed an attitude of lofty resignation, to symbolise the +difficult situation she was placed in by a pupil so hard to train. Then, +with more calmness of manner, she added: + +“The young person is not unintelligent. But she cannot resign herself to +learn things by rule.” + +What a strange old maid was this Mademoiselle Prefere! She walked +without lifting her legs, and spoke without moving her lips! Without, +however, considering her peculiarities for more than a reasonable +instant, I replied that principles were, no doubt, very excellent +things, and that I could trust myself to her judgement in regard to +their value; but that, after all, when one had learned something, it +very little difference what method had been followed in the learning of +it. + +Mademoiselle made a slow gesture of dissent. Then with a sigh, she +declared, + +“Ah, Monsieur! those who do not understand educational methods are apt +to have very false ideas on these subjects. I am certain they express +their opinions with the best intentions in the world; but they would do +better, a great deal better, to leave all such questions to competent +people.” + +I did not attempt to argue further; and simply asked her whether I could +see Mademoiselle Alexandre at once. + +She looked at her pelerine, as if trying to read in the entanglements +of its fringes, as in a conjuring book, what sort of answer she ought to +make; then said, + +“Mademoiselle Alexandre has a penance to perform, and a class-lesson to +give; but I should be very sorry to let you put yourself to the trouble +of coming here all to no purpose. I am going to send for her. Only first +allow me, Monsieur--as is our custom--to put your name on the visitors’ +register.” + +She sat down at the table, opened a large copybook, and, taking out +Maitre Mouche’s letter again from under her pelerine, where she had +placed it, looked at it, and began to write. + +“‘Bonnard’--with a ‘d,’ is it not?” she asked. “Excuse me for being so +particular; but my opinion is that proper names have an orthography. +We have dictation-lessons in proper names, Monsieur, at this +school--historical proper names, of course!” + +After I had written down my name in a running hand, she inquired whether +she should not put down after it my profession, title, quality--such +as “retired merchant,” “employe,” “independent gentleman,” or something +else. There was a column in her register expressly for that purpose. + +“My goodness, Madame!” I said, “if you must absolutely fill that column +of yours, put down ‘Member of the Institute.’” + +It was still Mademoiselle Prefere’s pelerine I saw before me; but it was +not Mademoiselle Prefere who wore it; it was a totally different person, +obliging, gracious, caressing, radiant, happy. Her eyes, smiled; the +little wrinkles of her face (there were a vast number of them!) also +smiled; her mouth smiled likewise, but only on one side. I discovered +afterwards that was her best side. She spoke: her voice had also changed +with her manner; it was now sweet as honey. + +“You said, Monsieur, that our dear Jeanne was very intelligent. I +discovered the same thing myself, and I am proud of being able to +agree with you. This young girl has really made me feel a great deal of +interest in her. She has what I call a happy disposition.... But excuse +me for thus drawing upon your valuable time.” + +She summoned the servant-girl, who looked much more hurried and scared +than before, and who vanished with the order to go and tell Mademoiselle +Alexandre that Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard, Member of the Institute, was +waiting to see her in the parlour. + +Mademoiselle Prefere had barely time to confide in me that she had the +most profound respect for all decisions of the Institute--whatever they +might be--when Jeanne appeared, out of breath, red as a poppy, with +her eyes very wide open, and her arms dangling helplessly at her +sides--charming in her artless awkwardness. + +“What a state you are in, my dear child!” murmured Mademoiselle Prefere, +with maternal sweetness, as she arranged the girl’s collar. + +Jeanne certainly did present an odd aspect. Her hair combed back, and +imperfectly held by a net from which loose curls were escaping; her +slender arms, sheathed down to the elbows in lustring sleeves; her +hands, which she did not seem to know what to do with, all red with +chillblains; her dress, much too short, revealing that she had on +stockings much too large for her, and shoes worn down at the heel; and +a skipping-rope tied round her waist in lieu of a belt,--all combined to +lend Mademoiselle Jeanne an appearance the reverse of presentable. + +“Oh, you crazy girl!” sighed Mademoiselle Prefere, who now seemed no +longer like a mother, but rather like an elder sister. + +Then she suddenly left the room, gliding like a shadow over the polished +floor. + +I said to Jeanne, + +“Sit down, Jeanne, and talk to me as you would to a friend. Are you not +better satisfied here now than you were last year?” + +She hesitated; then answered with a good-natured smile of resignation, + +“Not much better.” + +I asked her to tell me about her school life. She began at once to +enumerate all her different studies--piano, style, chronology of the +Kings of France, sewing, drawing, catechism, deportment... I could never +remember them all! She still held in her hands, all unconsciously, the +two ends of her skipping-rope, and she raised and lowered them regularly +while making her enumeration. Then all at once she became conscious of +what she was doing, blushed, stammered, and became so confused that I +had to renounce my desire to know the full programme of study adopted in +the Prefere Institution. + +After having questioned Jeanne on various matters, and obtained only the +vaguest of answers, I perceived that her young mind was totally absorbed +by the skipping-rope, and I entered bravely into that grave subject. + +“So you have been skipping?” I said. “It is a very nice amusement, but +one that you must not exert yourself too much at; for any excessive +exercise of that kind might seriously injure your health, and I should +be very much grieved about it Jeanne--I should be very much grieved, +indeed!” + +“You are very kind, Monsieur,” the young girl said, “to have come to see +me and talk to me like this. I did not think about thanking you when +I came in, because I was too much surprised. Have you seen Madame de +Gabry? Please tell me something about her, Monsieur.” + +“Madame de Gabry,” I answered, “is very well. I can only tell you about +her, Jeanne, what an old gardener once said of the lady of the castle, +his mistress, when somebody anxiously inquired about her: ‘Madame is +in her road.’ Yes, Madame de Gabry is in her own road; and you know, +Jeanne, what a good road it is, and how steadily she can walk upon it. I +went out with her the other day, very, very far away from the house; +and we talked about you. We talked about you, my child, at your mother’s +grave.” + +“I am very glad,” said Jeanne. + +And then, all at once, she began to cry. + +I felt too much reverence for those generous tears to attempt in any way +to check the emotion that had evoked them. But in a little while, as the +girl wiped her eyes, I asked her, + +“Will you not tell me, Jeanne, why you were thinking so much about that +skipping-rope a little while ago?” + +“Why, indeed I will, Monsieur. It was only because I had no right to +come into the parlour with a skipping-rope. You know, of course, that I +am past the age for playing at skipping. But when the servant said there +was an old gentleman... oh!... I mean... that a gentleman was waiting for +me in the parlour, I was making the little girls jump. Then I tied the +rope round my waist in a hurry, so that it might not get lost. It was +wrong. But I have not been in the habit of having many people come to +see me. And Mademoiselle Prefere never lets us off if we commit any +breach of deportment: so I know she is going to punish me, and I am very +sorry about it.”... + +“That is too bad, Jeanne!” + +She became very grave, and said, + +“Yes, Monsieur, it is too bad; because when I am punished myself, I have +no more authority over the little girls.” + +I did not at once fully understand the nature of this unpleasantness; +but Jeanne explained to me that, as she was charged by Mademoiselle +Prefere with the duties of taking care of the youngest class, of washing +and dressing the children, of teaching them how to behave, how to sew, +how to say the alphabet, of showing them how to play, and, finally, of +putting them to bed at the close of the day, she could not make herself +obeyed by those turbulent little folks on the days she was condemned +to wear a night-cap in the class-room, or to eat her meals standing up, +from a plate turned upside down. + +Having secretly admired the punishments devised by the Lady of the +Enchanted Pelerine, I responded: + +“Then, if I understand you rightly, Jeanne, you are at once a pupil here +and a mistress? It is a condition of existence very common in the world. +You are punished, and you punish?” + +“Oh, Monsieur!” she exclaimed. “No! I never punish!” + +“Then, I suspect,” said I, “that your indulgence gets you many scoldings +from Mademoiselle Prefere?” + +She smiled, and blinked. + +Then I said to her that the troubles in which we often involve +ourselves, by trying to act according to our conscience and to do the +best we can, are never of the sort that totally dishearten and weary +us, but are, on the contrary, wholesome trials. This sort of philosophy +touched her very little. She even appeared totally unmoved by my moral +exhortations. But was not this quite natural on her part?--and ought I +not to have remembered that it is only those no longer innocent who can +find pleasure in the systems of moralists?... I had at least good sense +enough to cut short my sermonising. + +“Jeanne,” I said, “you were asking a moment ago about Madame de Gabry. +Let us talk about that Fairy of yours She was very prettily made. Do you +do any modelling in wax now?” + +“I have not a bit of wax,” she exclaimed, wringing her hands--“no wax at +all!” + +“No wax!” I cried--“in a republic of busy bees?” + +She laughed. + +“And, then, you see, Monsieur, my FIGURINES, as you call them, are not +in Mademoiselle Prefere’s programme. But I had begun to make a very +small Saint-George for Madame de Gabry--a tiny little Saint-George, +with a golden cuirass. Is not that right, Monsieur Bonnard--to give +Saint-George a gold cuirass?” + +“Quite right, Jeanne; but what became of it?” + +“I am going to tell you, I kept it in my pocket because I had no other +place to put it, and--and I sat down on it by mistake.” + +She drew out of her pocket a little wax figure, which had been squeezed +out of all resemblance to human form, and of which the dislocated limbs +were only attached to the body by their wire framework. At the sight of +her hero thus marred, she was seized at once with compassion and gaiety. +The latter feeling obtained the mastery, and she burst into a clear +laugh, which, however, stopped as suddenly as it had begun. + +Mademoiselle Prefere stood at the parlour door, smiling. + +“That dear child!” sighed the schoolmistress in her tenderest tone. “I +am afraid she will tire you. And, then, your time is so precious!” + +I begged Mademoiselle Prefere to dismiss that illusion, and, rising to +take my leave, I took from my pocket some chocolate-cakes and sweets +which I had brought with me. + +“That is so nice!” said Jeanne; “there will be enough to go round the +whole school.” + +The lady of the pelerine intervened. + +“Mademoiselle Alexandre,” she said, “thank Monsieur for his generosity.” + +Jeanne looked at her for an instant in a sullen way; then, turning to +me, said with remarkable firmness, + +“Monsieur, I thank you for your kindness in coming to see me.” + +“Jeanne,” I said, pressing both her hands, “remain always a good, +truthful, brave girl. Good-bye.” + +As she left the room with her packages of chocolate and confectionery, +she happened to strike the handles of her skipping-rope against the +back of a chair. Mademoiselle Prefere, full of indignation, pressed both +hands over her heart, under her pelerine; and I almost expected to see +her give up her scholastic ghost. + +When we found ourselves alone, she recovered her composure; and I must +say, without considering myself thereby flattered, that she smiled upon +me with one whole side of her face. + +“Mademoiselle,” I said, taking advantage of her good humour, “I noticed +that Jeanne Alexandre looks a little pale. You know better than I how +much consideration and care a young girl requires at her age. It would +only be doing you an injustice by implication to recommend her still +more earnestly to your vigilance.” + +These words seemed to ravish her with delight. She lifted her eyes, as +in ecstasy, to the paper spirals of the ceiling, and, clasping her hands +exclaimed, + +“How well these eminent men know the art of considering the most +trifling details!” + +I called her attention to the fact that the health of a young girl was +not a trifling detail, and made my farewell bow. But she stopped me on +the threshold to say to me, very confidentially, + +“You must excuse me, Monsieur. I am a woman, and I love glory. I cannot +conceal from you the fact that I feel myself greatly honoured by the +presence of a Member of the Institute in my humble institution.” + +I duly excused the weakness of Mademoiselle Prefere; and, thinking only +of Jeanne, with the blindness of egotism, kept asking myself all along +the road, “What are we going to do with this child?” + + + + +June 3. + + +I had escorted to the Cimetiere de Marnes that day a very aged colleague +of mine who, to use the words of Goethe, had consented to die. The great +Goethe, whose own vital force was something extraordinary, actually +believed that one never dies until one really wants to die--that is to +say, when all those energies which resist dissolution, and teh sum of +which make up life itself, have been totally destroyed. In other words, +he believed that people only die when it is no longer possible for them +to live. Good! it is merely a question of properly understanding one +another; and when fully comprehended, the magnificent idea of Goethe +only brings us quietly back to the song of La Palisse. + +Well, my excellent colleague had consented to die--thanks to several +successive attacks of extremely persuasive apoplexy--the last of which +proved unanswerable. I had been very little acquainted with him during +his lifetime; but it seems that I became his friend the moment he was +dead, for our colleagues assured me in a most serious manner, with +deeply sympathetic countenances, that I should act as one of the +pall-bearers, and deliver an address over the tomb. + +After having read very badly a short address I had written as well as I +could--which is not saying much for it--I started out for a walk in the +woods of Ville-d’Avray, and followed, without leaning too much on +the Captain’s cane, a shaded path on which the sunlight fell, through +foliage, in little discs of gold. Never had the scent of grass and fresh +leaves,--never had the beauty of the sky over the trees, and the serene +might of noble tree contours, so deeply affected my senses and all my +being; and the pleasure I felt in that silence, broken only by faintest +tinkling sounds, was at once of the senses and of the soul. + +I sat down in the shade of the roadside under a clump of young oaks. And +there I made a promise to myself not to die, or at least not to consent +to die, before I should be again able to sit down under and oak, +where--in the great peace of the open country--I could meditate on the +nature of the soul and the ultimate destiny of man. A bee, whose brown +breast-plate gleamed in the sun like armour of old gold, came to light +upon a mallow-flower close by me--darkly rich in colour, and fully +opened upon its tufted stalk. It was certainly not the first time I had +witnessed so common an incident; but it was the first time that I had +watched it with such comprehensive and friendly curiosity. I could +discern that there were all sorts of sympathies between the insect and +the flower--a thousand singular little relationships which I had never +before even suspected. + +Satiated with nectar, the insect rose and buzzed away in a straight +line, while I lifted myself up as best I could, and readjusted myself +upon my legs. + +“Adieu!” I said to the flower and to the bee. “Adieu! Heaven grant I +may live long enough to discover the secret of your harmonies. I am very +tired. But man is so made that he can only find relaxation from one kind +of labour by taking up another. The flowers and insects will give me +that relaxation, with God’s will, after my long researches in philology +and diplomatics. How full of meaning is that old myth of Antaeus! I have +touched the Earth and I am a new man; and now at seventy years of age, +new feelings of curiosity take birth in my mind, even as young shoots +sometimes spring up from the hollow trunk of an aged oak!” + + + + +June 4. + + +I like to look out of my window at the Seine and its quays on those +soft grey mornings which give such an infinite tenderness of tint to +everything. I have seen that azure sky which flings so luminous a calm +over the Bay of Naples. But our Parisian sky is more animated, more +kindly, more spiritual. It smiles, threatens, caresses--takes an aspect +of melancholy or a look of merriment like a human gaze. At this moment +it is pouring down a very gentle light on the men and beasts of the city +as they accomplish their daily tasks. Over there, on the opposite bank, +the stevedores of the Port Saint-Nicholas are unloading a cargo of cow’s +horns; while two men standing on a gangway are tossing sugar-loaves from +one to the other, and thence to somebody in the hold of a steamer. On +the north quay, the cab-horses, standing in a line under the shade of +the plane-trees each with its head in a nose-bag, are quietly munching +their oats, while the rubicund drivers are drinking at the counter of +the wine-seller opposite, but all the while keeping a sharp lookout for +early customers. + +The dealers in second-hand books put their boxes on the parapet. These +good retailers of Mind, who are always in the open air, with blouses +loose to the breeze, have become so weatherbeaten by the wind, the +rain, the frost, the snow, the fog, and the great sun, that they end +by looking very much like the old statues of cathedrals. They are all +friends of mine, and I scarcely ever pass by their boxes without picking +out of one of them some old book which I had always been in need of up +to that very moment, without any suspicion of the fact on my part. + +Then on my return home I have to endure the outcries of my housekeeper, +who accuses me of bursting all my pockets and filling the house with +waste paper to attract the rats. Therese is wise about that, and it +is because she is wise that I do not listen to her; for in spite of my +tranquil mien, I have always preferred the folly of the passions to the +wisdom of indifference. But just because my own passions are not of that +sort which burst out with violence to devastate and kill, the common +mind is not aware of their existence. Nevertheless, I am greatly moved +by them at times, and it has more than once been my fate to lose my +sleep for the sake of a few pages written by some forgotten monk or +printed by some humble apprentice of Peter Schaeffer. And if these +fierce enthusiasms are slowly being quenched in me, it is only because +I am being slowly quenched myself. Our passions are ourselves. My old +books are Me. I am just as old and thumb-worn as they are. + +A light breeze sweeps away, along with the dust of the pavements, the +winged seeds of the plane trees, and the fragments of hay dropped from +the mouths of the horses. The dust is nothing remarkable in itself; but +as I watch it flying, I remember a moment in my childhood when I watched +just such a swirl of dust; and my old Parisian soul is much affected by +that sudden recollection. All that I see from my window--that horizon +which extends to the left as far as the hills of Chaillot, and enables +me to distinguish the Arc de Triomphe like a die of stone, the Seine, +river of glory, and its bridges, the ash-trees of the terrace of +the Tuileries, the Louvre of the Renaissance, cut and graven like +goldsmith-work; and on my right, towards the Pont-Neuf (pons Lutetiae +Novus dictus, as it is named on old engravings), all the old and +venerable part of Paris, with its towers and spires:--all that is my +life, it is myself; and I should be nothing but for all those things +which are thus reflected in me through my thousand varying shades of +thought, inspiring me and animating me. That is why I love Paris with an +immense love. + +And nevertheless I am weary, and I know that there can be no rest for me +in the heart of this great city which thinks so much, which has taught +me to think, and which for ever urges me to think more. And how avoid +being exited among all these books which incessantly tempt my curiosity +without ever satisfying it? At one moment it is a date I have to look +for; at another it is the name of a place I have to make sure of, +or some quaint term of which it is important to determine the exact +meaning. Words?--why, yes! words. As a philologist, I am their +sovereign; they are my subjects, and, like a good king, I devote my +whole life to them. But shall I not be able to abdicate some day? I have +an idea that there is somewhere or other, quite far from here, a certain +little cottage where I could enjoy the quiet I so much need, while +awaiting that day in which a greater quiet--that which can be never +broken--shall come to wrap me all about. I dream of a bench before the +threshold, and of fields spreading away out of sight. But I must have a +fresh smiling young face beside me, to reflect and concentrate all that +freshness of nature. I could then imagine myself a grandfather, and all +the long void of my life would be filled.... + +I am not a violent man, and yet I become easily vexed, and all my works +have caused me quite as much pain as pleasure. And I do not know how +it is that I still keep thinking about that very conceited and very +inconsiderated impertinence which my young friend of the Luxembourg took +the liberty to utter about me some three months ago. I do not call him +“friend” in irony, for I love studious youth with all it temerities and +imaginative eccentricities. Still, my young friend certainly went beyond +all bounds. Master Ambroise Pare, who was the first to attempt the +ligature of arteries, and who, having commenced his profession at a time +when surgery was only performed by quack barbers, nevertheless succeeded +in lifting the science to the high place it now occupies, was assailed +in his old age by all the young sawbones’ apprentices. Being grossly +abused during a discussion by some young addlehead who might have +been the best son in the world, but who certainly lacked all sense of +respect, the old master answered him in his treatise De la Mumie, de la +Licorne, des Venins et de la Peste. “I pray him,” said the great man--“I +pray him, that if he desire to make any contradictions to my reply, he +abandon all animosities, and treat the good old man with gentleness.” + This answer seems admirable from the pen of Ambroise Pare; but even had +it been written by a village bonesetter, grown grey in his calling, and +mocked by some young stripling, it would still be worthy of all praise. + +It might perhaps seem that my memory of the incident had been kept alive +only by a base feeling of resentment. I thought so myself at first, and +reproached myself for thus dwelling on the saying of a boy who could +not yet know the meaning of his own words. But my reflections on this +subject subsequently took a better course: that is why I now note them +down in my diary. I remembered that one day when I was twenty years old +(that was more than half a century ago) I was walking about in that very +same garden of the Luxembourg with some comrades. We were talking about +our old professors; and one of us happened to name Monsieur Petit-Radel, +an estimable and learned man, who was the first to throw some light upon +the origins of early Etruscan civilisation, but who had been unfortunate +enough to prepare a chronological table of the lovers of Helen. We all +laughed a great deal about that chronological table; and I cried out, +“Petit-Radel is an ass, not in three letters, but in twelve whole +volumes!” + +This foolish speech of my adolescence was uttered too lightly to be a +weight on my conscience as an old man. May God kindly prove to me some +day that I never used an less innocent shaft of speech in the battle of +life! But I now ask myself whether I really never wrote, at any time in +my life, something quite as unconsciously absurd as the chronological +table of the lovers of Helen. The progress of science renders useless +the very books which have been the greatest aids to that progress. As +those works are no longer useful, modern youth is naturally inclined to +believe they never had any value; it despises them, and ridicules them +if they happen to contain any superannuated opinion whatever. That is +why, in my twentieth year, I amused myself at the expense of Monsieur +Petit-Radel and his chronological table; and that was why, the other +day, at the Luxembourg, my young and irreverent friend... + +“Rentre en toi-meme, Octave, et cesse de te plaindre. Quoi! tu veux +qu’on t’epargne et n’as rien epargne!” [ “Look into thyself, Octavius, +and cease complaining. What! thou wouldst be spared, and thou thyself +hast spared none!”] + + + + +June 6. + + +It was the first Thursday in June. I shut up my books and took my +leave of the holy abbot Droctoveus, who, being now in the enjoyment of +celestial bliss, cannot feel very impatient to behold his name and works +glorified on earth through the humble compilation being prepared by my +hands. Must I confess it? That mallow-plant I saw visited by a bee the +other day has been occupying my thoughts much more than all the ancient +abbots who ever bore croisers or wore mitres. There is in one of +Sprengel’s books which I read in my youth, at that time when I used +to read in my youth, at that time when I used to read anything and +everything, some ideas about “the loves of flowers” which now return to +memory after having been forgotten for half a century, and which +to-day interest me so much that I regret not to have devoted the humble +capacities of my mind to the study of insects and of plants. + +And only awhile ago my housekeeper surprised me at the kitchen window, +in the act of examining some wallflowers through a magnifying-glass.... + +It was while looking for my cravat that I made these reflections. But +after searching to no purpose in a great number of drawers, I found +myself obliged, after all, to have recourse to my housekeeper. Therese +came limping in. + +“Monsieur,” she said, “you ought to have told me you were going out, and +I would have given you your cravat!” + +“But Therese,” I replied, “would it not be a great deal better to put in +some place where I could find it without your help?” + +Therese did not deign to answer me. + +Therese no longer allows me to arrange anything. I cannot even have a +handkerchief without asking her for it; and as she is deaf, crippled, +and, what is worse, beginning to lose her memory, I languish in +perpetual destitution. But she exercises her domestic authority with +such quiet pride that I do not feel the courage to attempt a coup d’etat +against her government. + +“My cravat! Therese!--do you hear?--my cravat! if you drive me wild like +this with your slow ways, it will not be a cravat I shall need, but a +rope to hang myself!” + +“You must be in a very great hurry, Monsieur,” replied Therese. “Your +cravat is not lost. Nothing is ever lost in this house, because I have +charge of everything. But please allow me the time at least to find it.” + +“Yet here,” I thought to myself--“here is the result of half a century +of devotedness and self-sacrifice!... Ah! if by any happy chance this +inexorable Therese had once in her whole life, only once, failed in her +duty as a servant--if she had ever been at fault for one single instant, +she could never have assumed this inflexible authority over me, and I +should at least have the courage to resist her. But how can one resist +virtue? The people who have no weaknesses are terrible; there is no way +of taking advantage of them. Just look at Therese, for example; she +has not a single fault for which you can blame her! She has no doubt +of herself; nor of God, nor of the world. She is the valiant woman, the +wise virgin of Scripture; others may know nothing about her, but I +know her worth. In my fancy I always see her carrying a lamp, a humble +kitchen lamp, illuminating the beams of some rustic roof--a lamp which +will never go out while suspended from that meagre arm of hers, scraggy +and strong as a vine-branch. + +“Therese, my cravat! Don’t you know, wretched woman, that to-day is the +first Thursday in June, and that Mademoiselle Jeanne will be waiting for +me? The schoolmistress has certainly had the parlour floor vigorously +waxed: I am sure one can look at oneself in it now; and it will be quite +a consolation for me when I slip and break my old bones upon it--which +is sure to happen sooner or later--to see my rueful countenance +reflected in it as in a looking-glass. Then taking for my model that +amiable and admirable hero whose image is carved upon the handle of +Uncle Victor’s walking-stick, I will control myself so as not to make +too ugly a grimace.... See what a splendid sun! The quays are all gilded +by it, and the Seine smiles in countless little flashing wrinkles. The +city is gold: a dust-haze, blonde and gold-toned as a woman’s hair, +floats above its beautiful contours.... Therese, my cravat!... Ah! I +can now comprehend the wisdom of that old Chrysal who used to keep his +neckbands in a big Plutarch. Hereafter I shall follow his example by +laying all my neckties away between the leaves of the Acta Sanctorum.” + +Therese let me talk on, and keeps looking for the necktie in silence. I +hear a gentle ringing at our door-bell. + +“Therese,” I exclaim; “there is somebody ringing the bell! Give me my +cravat, and go to the door; or, rather, go to the door first, and then, +with the help of Heaven, you will give me my cravat. But please do +not stand there between the clothes-press and the door like an old +hack-horse between two saddles.” + +Therese marched to the door as if advancing upon the enemy. My excellent +housekeeper becomes more inhospitable the older she grows. Every +stranger is an object of suspicion to her. According to her own +assertion, this disposition is the result of a long experience with +human nature. I had not the time to consider whether the same experience +on the part of another experimenter would produce the same results. +Maitre Mouche was waiting to see me in the ante-room. + +Maitre Mouche is still more yellow than I had believed him to be. He +wears blue glasses, and his eyes keep moving uneasily behind them, like +mice running about behind a screen. + +Maitre Mouche excuses himself for having intruded upon me at a moment +when.... He does not characterise the moment; but I think he means to +say a moment in which I happen to be without my cravat. It is not my +fault, as you very well know. Maitre Mouche, who does not know, does not +appear to be at all shocked, however. He is only afraid that he might +have dropped in at the wrong moment. I succeeded in partially reassuring +him at once upon that point. He then tells me it is as guardian of +Mademoiselle Alexandre that he has come to talk with me. First of all, +he desires that I shall not hereafter pay any heed to those restrictions +he had at first deemed necessary to put upon the permit given to visit +Mademoiselle Jeanne at the boarding-school. Henceforth the establishment +of Mademoiselle Prefere will be open to me any day that I might choose +to call--between the hours of midday and four o’clock. Knowing the +interest I have taken in the young girl, he considers it his duty to +give me some information about the person to whom he has confided his +ward. Mademoiselle Prefere, whom he has known for many years, is in +possession of his utmost confidence. Mademoiselle Prefere is, in his +estimation, an enlightened person, of excellent morals, and capable of +giving excellent counsel. + +“Mademoiselle Prefer,” he said to me, “has principles; and principles +are rare these days, Monsieur. Everything has been totally changed; and +this epoch of ours cannot compare with the preceding ones.” + +“My stairway is a good example, Monsieur,” I replied; “twenty-five years +ago it used to allow me to climb it without any trouble, and now it +takes my breath away, and wears my legs out before I have climbed half +a dozen steps. It has had its character spoiled. Then there are +those journals and books I used once to devour without difficulty +by moonlight: to-day, even in the brightest sunlight, they mock my +curiosity, and exhibit nothing but a blur of white and black when I have +not got my spectacles on. Then the gout has got into my limbs. That is +another malicious trick of the times!” + +“Not only that, Monsieur,” gravely replied Maitre Mouche, “but what is +really unfortunate in our epoch is that no one is satisfied with his +position. From the top of society to the bottom, in every class, there +prevails a discontent, a restlessness, a love of comfort....” + +“Mon Dieu, Monsieur!” I exclaimed. “You think this love of comfort is a +sign of the times? Men have never had at any epoch a love of discomfort. +They have always tried to better their condition. This constant effort +produces constant changes, and the effort is always going on--that is +all there is about it!” + +“Ah! Monsieur,” replied Maitre Mouche, “it is easy to see that you live +in your books--out of the business world altogether. You do not see, as +I see them, the conflicts of interest, the struggle for money. It is +the same effervescence in all minds, great or small. The wildest +speculations are being everywhere indulged in. What I see around me +simply terrifies me!” + +I wondered within myself whether Maitre Mouche had called upon me only +for the purpose of expressing his virtuous misanthropy; but all at once +I heard words of a more consoling character issue from his lips. Maitre +Mouche began to speak to me of Virginie Prefere as a person worthy of +respect, of esteem, and of sympathy,--highly honourable, capable of +great devotedness, cultivated, discreet,--able to read aloud remarkably +well, extremely modest, and skillful in the art of applying blisters. +Then I began to understand that he had only been painting that dismal +picture of universal corruption in order the better to bring out, by +contrast, the virtues of the schoolmistress. I was further informed that +the institution in the Rue Demours was well patronised, prosperous, and +enjoyed a high reputation with the public. Maitre Mouche lifted up his +hand--with a black woollen glove on it--as if making oath to the truth +of these statements. Then he added: + +“I am enabled, by the very character of my profession, to know a great +deal about people. A notary is, to a certain extent, a father-confessor. + +“I deemed it my duty, Monsieur, to give you this agreeable information +at the moment when a lucky chance enabled you to meet Mademoiselle +Prefere. There is only one thing more which I would like to say. This +lady--who is, of course, quite unaware of my action in the matter--spoke +to me of you the other day in terms of deepest sympathy. I could only +weaken their expression by repeating them to you; and furthermore, +I could not repeat them without betraying, to a certain extent, the +confidence of Mademoiselle Prefere.” + +“Do not betray it, Monsieur; do not betray it!” I responded. “To tell +you the truth, I had no idea that Mademoiselle Prefere knew anything +whatever about me. But since you have the influence of an old friend +with her, I will take advantage of your good will, Monsieur, to ask you +to exercise that influence in behalf of Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexandre. +The child--for she is still a child--is overloaded with work. She is at +once a pupil and a mistress--she is overtasked. Besides, she is punished +in petty disgusting ways; and hers is one of those generous natures +which will be forced into revolt by such continual humiliation.” + +“Alas!” replied Maitre Mouche, “she must be trained to take her part in +the struggle of life. One does not come into this world simply to amuse +oneself, and to do just what one pleases.” + +“One comes into this world,” I responded, rather warmly, “to enjoy what +is beautiful and what is good, and to do as one pleases, when the things +one wants to do are noble, intelligent, and generous. An education which +does not cultivate the will, is an education that depraves the mind. It +is a teacher’s duty to teach the pupil HOW to will.” + +I perceived that Maitre Mouche began to think me a rather silly man. +With a great deal of quiet self-assurance, he proceeded: + +“You must remember, Monsieur, that the education of the poor has to be +conducted with a great deal of circumspection, and with a view to that +future state of dependence they must occupy in society. Perhaps you are +not aware that the late Noel Alexandre died a bankrupt, and that his +daughter is being educated almost by charity?” + +“Oh! Monsieur!” I exclaimed, “do not say it! To say it is to pay oneself +back, and then the statement ceases to be true.” + +“The liabilities of the estate,” continued the notary, “exceeded the +assets. But I was able to effect a settlement with the creditors in +favour of the minor.” + +He undertook to explain matters in detail. I declined to listen to +these explanations, being incapable of understanding business methods in +general, and those of Maitre Mouche in particular. The notary then took +it upon himself to justify Mademoiselle Prefere’s educational system, +and observed by way of conclusion, + +“It is not by amusing oneself that one can learn.” + +“It is only by amusing oneself that one can learn,” I replied. “The +whole art of teaching is only the art of awakening the natural curiosity +of young minds for the purpose of satisfying it afterwards; and +curiosity itself can be vivid and wholesome only in proportion as the +mind is contented and happy. Those acquirements crammed by force into +the minds of children simply clog and stifle intelligence. In order that +knowledge be properly digested, it must have been swallowed with a good +appetite. I know Jeanne! If that child were intrusted to my care, I +should make of her--not a learned woman, for I would look to her future +happiness only--but a child full of bright intelligence and full of +life, in whom everything beautiful in art or nature would awaken some +gentle responsive thrill. I would teach her to live in sympathy with +all that is beautiful--comely landscapes, the ideal scenes of poetry and +history, the emotional charm of noble music. I would make lovable to her +everything I would wish her to love. Even her needlework I would +make pleasurable to her, by a proper choice of fabrics, the style of +embroideries, the designs of lace. I would give her a beautiful dog, +and a pony to teach her how to manage animals; I would give her birds to +take care of, so that she could learn the value of even a drop of water +and a crumb of bread. And in order that she should have a still higher +pleasure, I would train her to find delight in exercising charity. +And inasmuch as none of us may escape pain, I should teach her that +Christian wisdom which elevates us above all suffering, and gives a +beauty even to grief itself. That is my idea of the right way to educate +a young girl.” + +“I yield, Monsieur,” replied Maitre Mouche, joining his black-gloved +hands together. + +And he rose. + +“Of course you understand,” I remarked, as I went to the door with him, +“that I do not pretend for a moment to impose my educational system +upon Mademoiselle Prefere; it is necessarily a private one, and quite +incompatible with the organisation of even the best-managed boarding +schools. I only ask you to persuade her to give Jeanne less work and +more play, and not to punish her except in case of absolute necessity, +and to let her have as much freedom of mind and body as the regulations +of the institution permit.” + +It was with a pale and mysterious smile that Maitre Mouche informed me +that my observations would be taken in good part, and should receive all +possible consideration. + +Therewith he made me a little bow, and took his departure, leaving me +with a peculiar feeling of discomfort and uneasiness. I have met a great +many strange characters in my time, but never any at all resembling +either this notary or this schoolmistress. + + + + +July 6. + + +Maitre Mouche has so much delayed me by his visit that I gave up going +to see Jeanne that day. Professional duties kept me very busy for the +rest of the week. Although at the age when most men retire altogether +from active life, I am still attached by a thousand ties to the society +in which I have lived. I have to reside at meetings of academies, +scientific congresses, assemblies of various learned bodies. I am +overburdened with honorary functions; I have seven of these in one +governmental department alone. The bureaux would be very glad to get rid +of them. But habit is stronger than both of us together, and I continue +to hobble up the stairs of various government buildings. Old clerks +point me out to each other as I go by like a ghost wandering through the +corridors. When one has become very old one finds it extremely difficult +to disappear. Nevertheless, it is time, as the old song says, “de +prendre ma retraite et de songer a faire un fin”--to retire on my +pension and prepare myself to die a good death. + +An old marchioness, who used to be a friend of Hevetius in her youth, +and whom I once met at my father’s house when a very old woman, was +visited during her last sickness by the priest of her parish, who wanted +to prepare her to die. + +“Is that really necessary?” she asked. “I see everybody else manage it +perfectly well the first time.” + +My father went to see her very soon afterwards and found her extremely +ill. + +“Good-evening, my friend!” she said, pressing his hand. “I am going to +see whether God improves upon acquaintance.” + +So were wont to die the belles amies of the philosophers. Such an end is +certainly not vulgar nor impertinent, and such levities are not of the +sort that emanate from dull minds. Nevertheless, they shock me. Neither +my fears nor my hopes could accommodate themselves to such a mode of +departure. I would like to make mine with a perfectly collected mind; +and that is why I must begin to think, in a year or two, about some +way of belonging to myself; otherwise, I should certainly risk.... But, +hush! let Him not hear His name and turn to look as He passes by! I can +still lift my fagot without His aid. + +... I found Jeanne very happy indeed. She told me that, on the Thursday +previous, after the visit of her guardian, Mademoiselle Prefere had +set her free from the ordinary regulations and lightened her tasks +in several ways. Since that lucky Thursday she could walk in the +garden--which only lacked leaves and flowers--as much as she liked; and +she had been given facilities to work at her unfortunate little figure +of Saint-George. + +She said to me, with a smile, + +“I know very well that I owe all of this to you.” + +I tried to talk with her about other matters, but I remarked that she +could not attend to what I was saying, in spite of her effort to do so. + +“I see you are thinking about something else,” I said. “Well, tell me +what it is; for, if you do not, we shall not be able to talk to each +other at all, which would be very unworthy of both of us.” + +She answered, + +“Oh! I was really listening to you, Monsieur; but it is true that I was +thinking about something else. You will excuse me, won’t you? I could +not help thinking that Mademoiselle Prefere must like you very, very +much indeed, to have become so good to me all of a sudden.” + +Then she looked at me in an odd, smiling, frightened way, which made me +laugh. + +“Does that surprise you?” I asked. + +“Very much,” she replied. + +“Please tell me why?” + +“Because I can see no reason, no reason at all... but there!... no reason +at all why you should please Mademoiselle Prefere so much.” + +“So, then, you think I am very displeasing, Jeanne?” + +She bit her lips, as if to punish them for having made a mistake; and +then, in a coaxing way, looking at me with great soft eyes, gentle and +beautiful as a spaniel’s, she said, + +“I know I said a foolish think; but, still, I do not see any reason why +you should be so pleasing to Mademoiselle Prefere. And, nevertheless, +you seem to please her a great deal--a very great deal. She called me +one day, and asked me all sorts of questions about you.” + +“Really?” + +“Yes; she wanted to find out all about your house. Just think! she even +asked me how old your servant was!” + +And Jeanne burst out laughing. + +“Well, what do you think about it?” I asked. + +She remained a long while with her eyes fixed on the worn-out cloth of +her shoes, and seemed to be thinking very deeply. Finally, looking up +again, she answered, + +“I am distrustful. Isn’t it very natural to feel uneasy about what one +cannot understand; I know I am foolish; but you won’t be offended with +me, will you?” + +“Why, certainly not, Jeanne. I am not a bit offended with you.” + +I must acknowledge that I was beginning to share her surprise; and I +began to turn over in my old head the singular thought of this young +girl--“One is uneasy about what one cannot understand.” + +But, with a fresh burst of merriment, she cried out, + +“She asked me...guess! I will give you a hundred guesses--a thousand +guesses. You give it up?... She asked me if you liked good eating.” + +“And how did you receive this shower of interrogations, Jeanne?” + +“I replied, ‘I don’t know, Mademoiselle.’ And Mademoiselle then said to +me, ‘You are a little fool. The least details of the life of an eminent +man ought to be observed. Please to know, Mademoiselle, that Monsieur +Sylvestre Bonnard is one of the glories of France!’” + +“Stuff!” I exclaimed. “And what did YOU think about it, Mademoiselle?” + +“I thought that Mademoiselle Prefere was right. But I don’t care at +all...(I know it is naughty what I am going to say)...I don’t care a +bit, not a bit, whether Mademoiselle Prefere is or is not right about +anything.” + +“Well, then, content yourself, Jeanne, Mademoiselle Prefere was not +right.” + +“Yes, yes, she was quite right that time; but I wanted to love everybody +who loved you--everybody without exception--and I cannot do it, because +it would never be possible for me to love Mademoiselle Prefere.” + +“Listen, Jeanne,” I answered, very seriously, “Mademoiselle Prefere has +become good to you; try now to be good to her.” + +She answered sharply, + +“It is very easy for Mademoiselle Prefere to be good to me, and it would +be very difficult indeed for me to be good to her.” + +I then said, in a still more serious tone: + +“My child, the authority of a teacher is sacred. You must consider your +schoolmistress as occupying the place to you of the mother whom you +lost.” + +I had scarcely uttered this solemn stupidity when I bitterly regretted +it. The child turned pale, and the tears sprang to her eyes. + +“Oh, Monsieur!” she cried, “how could you say such a thing--YOU? You +never knew mamma!” + +Ay, just Heaven! I did know her mamma. And how indeed could I have been +foolish enough to have said what I did? + +She repeated, as if to herself: + +“Mamma! my dear mamma! my poor mamma!” + +A lucky chance prevented me from playing the fool any further. I do not +know how it happened at that moment I looked as if I was going to cry. +At my age one does not cry. It must have been a bad cough which brought +the tears into my eyes. But, anyhow, appearances were in my favour. +Jeanne was deceived by them. Oh! what a pure and radiant smile suddenly +shone out under her beautiful wet eyelashes--like sunshine among +branches after a summer shower! We took each other by the hand and sat +a long while without saying a word--absolutely happy. Those celestial +harmonies which I once thought I heard thrilling through my soul while I +knelt before that tomb to which a saintly woman had guided me, suddenly +awoke again in my heart, slow-swelling through the blissful moments with +infinite softness. Doubtless the child whose hand pressed my own also +heard them; and then, elevated by their enchantment above the material +world, the poor old man and the artless young girl both knew that a +tender ghostly Presence was making sweetness all about them. + +“My child,” I said at last, “I am very old, and many secrets of life, +which you will only learn little by little, have been revealed to me. +Believe me, the future is shaped out of the past. Whatever you can do +to live contentedly here, without impatience and without fretting, will +help you live some future day in peace and joy in your own home. Be +gentle, and learn how to suffer. When one suffers patiently one suffers +less. If you should be badly treated, Madame de Gabry and I would both +consider ourselves badly treated in your person.”... + +“Is your health very good indeed, dear Monsieur?” + +It was Mademoiselle Prefere, approaching stealthily behind us, who had +asked the question with a peculiar smile. My first idea was to tell her +to go to the devil; my second, that her mouth was as little suited for +smiling as a frying-pan for musical purposes; my third was to answer her +politely and assure her that I hoped she was very well. + +She sent the young girl out to take a walk in the garden; then, pressing +one hand upon her pelerine and extending the other towards the Tableau +d’Honneur, she showed me the name of Jeanne Alexandre written at the +head of the list in large text. + +“I am very much pleased,” I said to her, “to find that you are satisfied +with the behaviour of that child. Nothing could delight me more; and +I am inclined to attribute this happy result to your affectionate +vigilance. I have taken the liberty to send you a few books which I +think may serve both to instruct and to amuse young girls. You will +be able to judge by glancing over them whether they are adapted to the +perusal of Mademoiselle Alexandre and her companions.” + +The gratitude of the schoolmistress not only overflowed in words, but +seemed about to take the form of tearful sensibility. In order to change +the subject I observed, + +“What a beautiful day this is!” + +“Yes,” she replied; “and if this weather continues, those dear children +will have a nice time for their enjoyment.” + +“I suppose you are referring to the holidays. But Mademoiselle +Alexandre, who has no relatives, cannot go away. What in the world is +she going to do all alone in this great big house?” + +“Oh, we will do everything we can to amuse her.... I will take her to +the museums and---” + +She hesitated, blushed, and continued, + +“--and to your house, if you will permit me.” + +“Why of course!” I exclaimed. “That is a first-rate idea.” + +We separated very good friends with one another. I with her, because I +had been able to obtain what I desired; she with me, for no appreciable +motive--which fact, according to Plato, elevated her into the highest +rank of the Hierarchy of Souls. + +... And nevertheless it is not without a presentiment of evil that I +find myself on the point of introducing this person into my house. And I +would be very glad indeed to see Jeanne in charge of anybody else rather +than of her. Maitre Mouche and Mademoiselle Prefere are characters whom +I cannot at all understand. I never can imagine why they say what they +do say, nor why they do what they do; they have a mysterious something +in common which makes me feel uneasy. As Jeanne said to me a little +while ago: “One is uneasy about what one cannot understand.” + +Alas! at my age one has learned only too well how little sincerity there +is in life; one has learned only too well how much one loses by living a +long time in this world; and one feels that one can no longer trust any +except the young. + + + + +August 12. + + +I waited for them. In fact, I waited for them very impatiently. I +exerted all my powers of insinuation and of coaxing to induce Therese to +receive them kindly; but my powers in this direction are very limited. +They came. Jeanne was neater and prettier than I had ever expected to +see her. She has not, it is true, anything approaching the charm of +her mother. But to-day, for the first time, I observed that she has a +pleasing face; and a pleasing face is of great advantage to a woman +in this world. I think that her hat was a little on one side; but she +smiled, and the City of Books was all illuminated by that smile. + +I watched Therese to see whether the rigid manners of the old +housekeeper would soften a little at the sight of the young girl. I saw +her turning her lustreless eyes upon Jeanne; I saw her long wrinkled +face, her toothless mouth, and that pointed chin of hers--like the chin +of some puissant old fairy. And that was all I could see. + +Mademoiselle Prefere made her appearance all in blue--advanced, +retreated, skipped, tripped, cried out, sighed, cast her eyes down, +rolled her eyes up, bewildered herself with excuses--said she dared +not, and nevertheless dared--said she would never dare again, and +nevertheless dared again--made courtesies innumerable--made, in short, +all the fuss she could. + +“What a lot of books!” she screamed. “And have you really read them all, +Monsieur Bonnard?” + +“Alas! I have,” I replied, “and that is just the reason that I do not +know anything; for there is not a single one of those books which does +not contradict some other book; so that by the time one has read them +all one does not know what to think about anything. That is just my +condition, Madame.” + +Thereupon she called Jeanne for the purpose of communicating her +impressions. But Jeanne was looking out of the window. + +“How beautiful it is!” she said to us. “How I love to see the river +flowing! It makes you think about all kinds of things.” + +Mademoiselle Prefere having removed her hat and exhibited a forehead +tricked out with blonde curls, my housekeeper sturdily snatched up the +hat at once, with the observation that she did not like to see people’s +clothes scattered over the furniture. Then she approached Jeanne and +asked her for her “things,” calling her “my little lady!” Where-upon +the little lady, giving up her cloak and hat, exposed to view a very +graceful neck and a lithe figure, whose outlines were beautifully +relieved against the great glow of the open window; and I could have +wished that some one else might have seen her at that moment--some one +very different from an aged housekeeper, a schoolmistress frizzled like +a sheep, and this old humbug of an archivist and paleographer. + +“So you are looking at the Seine,” I said to her. “See how it sparkles +in the sun!” + +“Yes,” she replied, leaning over the windowbar, “it looks like a flowing +of fire. But see how nice and cool it looks on the other side over +there under the shadow of the willows! That little spot there pleases me +better than all the rest.” + +“Good!” I answered. “I see that the river has a charm for you. How would +you like, with Mademoiselle Prefere’s permission, to make a trip to +Saint-Cloud? We should certainly be in time to catch the steamboat just +below the Pont-Royal.” + +Jeanne was delighted with my suggestion, and Mademoiselle Prefere +willing to make any sacrifice. But my housekeeper was not at all willing +to let us go off so unconcernedly. She summoned me into the dining-room, +whither I followed her in fear and trembling. + +“Monsieur,” she said to me as soon as we found ourselves alone, “you +never think about anything, and it is always I who have to think about +everything. Luckily for you I have a good memory.” + +I did not think that it was a favourable moment for any attempt to +dispel this wild illusion. She continued: + +“So you were going off without saying a word to me about what this +little lady likes to eat? At her age one does not know anything, one +does not care about anything in particular, one eats like a bird. You +yourself, Monsieur, are very difficult to please; but at least you know +what is good: it is very different with these young people--they do not +know anything about cooking. It is often the very best thing which +they think the worst, and what is bad seems to them good, because their +stomachs are not quite formed yet--so that one never knows just what to +do for them. Tell me if the little lady would like a pigeon cooked with +green peas, and whether she is fond of vanilla ice-cream.” + +“My good Therese,” I answered, “just do whatever you think best, and +whatever that may be I am sure it will be very nice. Those ladies will +be quite contented with our humble ordinary fare.” + +Therese replied, very dryly, + +“Monsieur, I am asking you about the little lady: she must not leave +this house without having enjoyed herself a little. As for that old +frizzle-headed thing, if she doesn’t like my dinner she can suck her +thumbs. I don’t care what she likes!” + +My mind being thus set at rest, I returned to the City of Books, where +Mademoiselle Prefere was crocheting as calmly as if she were at home. I +almost felt inclined myself to think she was. She did not take up much +room, it is true, in the angle of the window. But she had chosen her +chair and her footstool so well that those articles of furniture seemed +to have been made expressly for her. + +Jeanne, on the other hand, devoted her attention to the books and +pictures--gazing at them in a kindly, expressive, half-sad way, as if +she were bidding them an affectionate farewell. + +“Here,” I said to her, “amuse yourself with this book, which I am sure +you cannot help liking, because it is full of beautiful engravings.” And +I threw open before her Vecellio’s collection of costume-designs--not +the commonplace edition, by your leave, so meagrely reproduced by modern +artists, but in truth a magnificent and venerable copy of that editio +princeps which is noble as those noble dames who figure upon its +yellowed leaves, made beautiful by time. + +While turning over the engravings with artless curiosity, Jeanne said +to me, + +“We were talking about taking a walk; but this is a great journey you +are making me take. And I would like to travel very, very far away!” + +“In that case, Mademoiselle,” I said to her, “you must arrange yourself +as comfortably as possible for travelling. But you are now sitting on +one corner of your chair, so that the chair is standing upon only one +leg, and that Vecellio must tire your knees. Sit down comfortably; put +your chair on its four feet, and put your book on the table.” + +She obeyed me with a laugh. + +I watched her. She cried out suddenly, + +“Oh, come look at this beautiful costume!” (It was that of the wife of +a Doge of Venice.) “How noble it is! What magnificent ideas it gives one +of that life! Oh, I must tell you--I adore luxury!” + +“You must not express such thoughts as those, Mademoiselle,” said the +schoolmistress, lifting up her little shapeless nose from her work. + +“Nevertheless, it was a very innocent utterance,” I replied. “There +are splendid souls in whom the love of splendid things is natural and +inborn.” + +The little shapeless nose went down again. + +“Mademoiselle Prefere likes luxury too,” said Jeanne; “she cuts out +paper trimmings and shades for the lamps. It is economical luxury; but +it is luxury all the same.” + +Having returned to the subject of Venice, we were just about to make +the acquaintance of a certain patrician lady attired in an embroidered +dalmatic, when I heard the bell ring. I thought it was some peddler with +his basket; but the gate of the City of Books opened, and... Well, Master +Sylvestre Bonnard, you were wishing awhile ago that the grace of your +protegee might be observed by some other eyes than old withered ones +behind spectacles. Your wishes have been fulfilled in a most unexpected +manner, and a voice cries out to you as to the imprudent Theseus, + + “Craignez, Seigneur, craignez que le + Ciel rigoureux Ne vous Haisse assez pour exaucer vos voeux! + Souvent dans sa colere il recoit nos victimes, + Ses presents sont souvent la peine de nos crimes.” + + [“Beware my lord! Beware lest stern + Heaven hate you enough to hear your prayers! + Often ‘tis in wrath that Heaven receives our sacrifices: + its gifts are often the punishment of our crimes.”] + +The gate of the City of Books had opened, and a handsome young man made +his appearance, ushered in by Therese. That good old soul only knows how +to open the door for people and to shut it behind them; she has no idea +whatever of the tact requisite for the waiting-room and for the parlour. +It is not in her nature either to make any announcements or to make +anybody wait. She either throws people out on the lobby, or simply +pitches them at your head. + +And here is this handsome young man already inside; and I cannot really +take the girl at once and hide her like a secret treasure in the next +room. I wait for him to explain himself; he does it without the least +embarrassment; but it seems to me that he has already observed the +young girl who is still bending over the table looking at Vecellio. As +I observe the young man it occurs to me that I have seen him somewhere +before, or else I must be very much mistaken. His name is Gelis. That +is a name which I have heard somewhere,--I can’t remember where. At all +events, Monsieur Gelis (since there is a Gelis) is a fine-looking young +fellow. He tells me that this is his third class-year at the Ecole des +Chartes, and that he has been working for the past fifteen or eighteen +months upon his graduation thesis, the subject of which is the Condition +of the Benedictine Abbeys in 1700. He has just read my works upon the +“Monasticon”; and he is convinced that he cannot terminate this thesis +successfully without my advice, to begin with, and in the second place +without a certain manuscript which I possess, and which is nothing less +than the “Register of the Accounts of the Abbey of Citeaux from 1683 to +1704.” + +Having thus explained himself, he hands me a letter of introduction +bearing the signature of one of the most illustrious of my colleagues. + +Good! Now I know who he is! Monsieur Gelis is the very same young man +who last year under the chestnut-trees called me an idiot! And while +unfolding his letter of introduction I think to myself: + +“Aha! my unlucky youth, you are very far from suspecting that I +overheard what you said, and that I know what you think of me--or, at +least, what you did think of me that day, for these young minds are so +fickle? I have got you now, my friend! You have fallen into the lion’s +den, and so unexpectedly, in good sooth, that the astonished old lion +does not know what to do with his prey. But come now, old lion! do not +act like an idiot! Is it not possible that you were an idiot? If you +are not one now, you certainly were one! You were a fool to have been +listening to Monsieur Gelis at the foot of the statue of Marguerite de +Valois; you were doubly a fool to have heard what he said; and you were +trebly a fool not to have forgotten what it would have been much better +never to have heard.” + +Having thus scolded the old lion, I exhorted him to show clemency. +He did not appear to require much coaxing, and gradually became so +good-natured that he had some difficulty in restraining himself from +bursting out into joyous roarings. From the way in which I had read my +colleague’s letter one might have supposed me a man who did not know his +alphabet. I took a long while to read it; and Monsieur Gelis might have +become very tired under different circumstances; but he was watching +Jeanne, and endured the trial with exemplary patience. Jeanne +occasionally turned her face in our direction. Well you could not expect +a person to remain perfectly motionless, could you? Mademoiselle Prefere +was arranging her curls, and her bosom occasionally swelled with little +sighs. It may be observed that I have myself often been honoured with +those little sighs. + +“Monsieur,” I said, as I folded up the letter, “I shall be very happy +to be of any service to you. You are occupied with researches in which I +myself have always felt a very lively interest. I have done all that lay +in my power. I know, as you do--and still better than you can know--how +much there remains to do. The manuscript you asked for is at your +disposal; you may take it home with you, but it is not a manuscript of +the smallest kind, and I am afraid---” + +“Oh, Monsieur,” said Gelis, “big books have never been able to make me +afraid of them.” + +I begged the young man to wait for me, and I went into the next room to +get the Register, which I could not find at first, and which I almost +despaired of finding, as I discerned, from certain familiar signs, that +Therese had been setting the room in order. But the Register was so big +and so heavy that, luckily for me, Therese had not been able to put it +in order as she had doubtless wished to do. I could scarcely lift it up +myself; and I had the pleasure of finding it quite as heavy as I could +have hoped. + +“Wait, my boy,” I said, with a smile which must have been very +sarcastic--“wait! I am going to give you something to do which will +break your arms first, and afterwards your head. That will be the first +vengeance of Sylvestre Bonnard. Later on we shall see what else there is +to be done.” + +When I returned to the City of Books I heard Monsieur Gelis and +Mademoiselle Jeanne chatting--chatting together, if you please! as if +they were the best friends in the world. Mademoiselle Prefere, being +full of decorum, did not say anything; but the other two were chatting +like birds. And what about? About the blond tint used by Venetian +painters! Yes, about the “Venetian blond.” That little serpent of a +Gelis was telling Jeanne the secret of the dye with which, according to +the best authorities, the women of Titian and of Veronese tinted their +hair. And Mademoiselle Jeanne was expressing her opinion very prettily +about the honey tint and the golden tint. I understood that that scamp +of a Vecellio was responsible--that they had been bending over the book +together, and that they had been admiring either that Doge’s wife we had +been looking at awhile before, or some other patrician woman of Venice. + +Never mind! I appeared with my enormous old book, thinking that Gelis +was going to make a grimace. It was as much as one could have asked a +porter to carry, and my arms were stiff merely with lifting it. But the +young man caught it up like a feather, and slipped it under his arm +with a smile. Then he thanked me with that sort of brevity which I +like, reminded me that he had need of my advice, and, having made an +appointment to meet me another day, took his departure after bowing to +us with the most perfect self-possession conceivable. + +“He seems quite a decent lad,” I said. + +Jeanne turned over a few more pages of Vecellio, and made no answer. + +“Aha!” I thought to myself.... And then we went to Saint-Cloud. + + + + +September-December. + + +The regularity with which visit succeeded visit to the old man’s house +thereafter made me feel very grateful to Mademoiselle Prefere, who +succeeded at last in winning her right to occupy a special corner in +the City of Books. She now says “MY chair,” “MY footstool,” “MY pigeon +hole.” Her pigeon hole is really a small shelf properly belonging to the +poets of La Champagne, whom she expelled therefrom in order to obtain +a lodging for her work-bag. She is very amiable, and I must really be +a monster not to like her. I can only endure her--in the severest +signification of the word. But what would one not endure for Jeanne’s +sake? Her presence lends to the City of Books a charm which seems to +hover about it even after she has gone. She is very ignorant; but she +is so finely gifted that whenever I show her anything beautiful I am +astounded to find that I had never really seen it before, and that it is +she who makes me see it. I have found it impossible so far to make her +follow some of my ideas, but I have often found pleasure in following +the whimsical and delicate course of her own. + +A more practical man than I would attempt to teach her to make herself +useful; but is not the capacity of being amiable a useful think in life? +Without being pretty, she charms; and the power to charm is perhaps, +after all, worth quite as much as the ability to darn stockings. +Furthermore, I am not immortal; and I doubt whether she will have become +very old when my notary (who is not Maitre Mouche) shall read to her a +certain paper which I signed a little while ago. + +I do not wish that any one except myself should provide for her, and +give her her dowry. I am not, however, very rich, and the paternal +inheritance did not gain bulk in my hands. One does not accumulate money +by poring over old texts. But my books--at the price which such noble +merchandise fetches to-day--are worth something. Why, on that shelf +there are some poets of the sixteenth century for which bankers would +bid against princes! And I think that those “Heures” of Simon Vostre +would not be readily overlooked at the Hotel Sylvestre any more than +would those Preces Piae compiled for the use of Queen Claude. I have +taken great pains to collect and to preserve all those rare and curious +editions which people the City of Books; and for a long time I used to +believe that they were as necessary to my life as air and light. I have +loved them well, and even now I cannot prevent myself from smiling at +them and caressing them. Those morocco bindings are so delightful to the +eye! These old vellums are so soft to the touch! There is not a single +one among those books which is not worthy, by reason of some special +merit, to command the respect of an honourable man. What other owner +would ever know how to dip into hem in the proper way? Can I be even +sure that another owner would not leave them to decay in neglect, or +mutilate them at the prompting of some ignorant whim? Into whose +hands will fall that incomparable copy of the “Histoire de l’Abbaye de +Saint-Germain-des-Pres,” on the margins of which the author himself, in +the person of Jacques Bouillard, made such substantial notes in his +own handwriting?... Master Bonnard, you are an old fool! Your +housekeeper--poor soul!--is nailed down upon her bed with a merciless +attack of rheumatism. Jeanne is to come with her chaperon, and, instead +of thinking how you are going to receive them, you are thinking about +a thousand stupidities. Sylvestre Bonnard, you will never succeed at +anything in this world, and it is I myself who tell you so! + +And at this very moment I catch sight of them from my window, as they +get out of the omnibus. Jeanne leaps down lie a kitten; but Mademoiselle +Prefere intrusts herself to the strong arm of the conductor, with the +shy grace of a Virginia recovering after the shipwreck, and this time +quite resigned to being saved. Jeanne looks up, sees me, laughs, and +Mademoiselle Prefere has to prevent her from waving her umbrella at me +as a friendly signal. There is a certain stage of civilisation to which +Mademoiselle Jeanne never can be brought. You can teach her all the arts +if you like (it is not exactly to Mademoiselle Prefere that I am now +speaking); but you will never be able to teach her perfect manners. As +a charming child she makes the mistake of being charming only in her own +way. Only an old fool like myself could forgive her pranks. As for young +fools--and there are several of them still to be found--I do not know +what they would think about it; and what they might think is none of my +business. Just look at her running along the pavement, wrapped in her +cloak, with her hat tilted back on her head, and her feather fluttering +in the wind, like a schooner in full rig! And really she has a grace +of poise and motion which suggests a fine sailing-vessel--so much +so, indeed, that she makes me remember seeing one day, when I was at +Havre.... But, Bonnard, my friend, how many times is it necessary to +tell you that your housekeeper is in bed, and that you must go and open +the door yourself? + +Open, Old Man Winter! ‘tis Spring who rings the bell. + +It is Jeanne herself--Jeanne is all flushed like a rose. Mademoiselle +Prefere, indignant and out of breath, has still another whole flight to +climb before reaching our lobby. + +I explained the condition of my housekeeper, and proposed that we should +dine at a restaurant. But Therese--all-powerful still, even upon her +sick-bed--decided that we should dine at home, whether we wanted to +or no. Respectable people, in her opinion, never dined at restaurants. +Moreover, she had made all necessary arrangements--the dinner had been +bought; the concierge would cook it. + +The audacious Jeanne insisted upon going to see whether the old woman +wanted anything. As you might suppose, she was sent back to the parlour +with short shrift, but not so harshly as I had feared. + +“If I want anybody to do anything for me, which, thank God, I do not,” + Therese had replied, “I would get somebody less delicate and dainty than +you are. What I want is rest. That is a merchandise which is not sold +at fairs under the sign of ‘Motus with finger on lip.’ Go and have your +fun, and don’t stay here--for old age might be catching.” + +Jeanne, after telling us what she had said, added that she liked very +much to hear old Therese talk. Whereupon Mademoiselle Prefere reproached +her for expressing such unladylike tastes. + +I tried to excuse her by citing the example of Moliere. Just at that +moment it came to pass that, while climbing the ladder to get a book, +she upset a whole shelf-row. There was a heavy crash; and Mademoiselle +Prefere, being, of course, a very delicate person, almost fainted. +Jeanne quickly followed the books to the foot of the ladder. She made +one think of a kitten suddenly transformed into a woman, catching mice +which had been transformed into old books. While picking them up, she +found one which happened to interest her, and she began to read it, +squatting down upon her heels. It was the “Prince Grenouille,” she told +us. Mademoiselle Prefere took occasion to complain that Jeanne had so +little taste for poetry. It was impossible to get her to recite Casimir +Delavigne’s poem on the death of Joan of Arc without mistakes. It +was the very most she could do to learn “Le Petit Savoyard.” The +schoolmistress did not think that any one should read the “Prince +Grenouille” before learning by heart the stanzas to Duperrier; and, +carried away by her enthusiasm, she began to recite them in a voice +sweeter than the bleating of a sheep: + + “Ta douleur, Duperrier, sera donc eternelle, + Et les tristes discours + Que te met en l’esprit l’amitie paternelle + L’augmenteront toujours; + + . . . . . . . . . + + “Je sais de quels appas son enfance etait pleine, + Et n’ai pas entrepris, + Injurieux ami, de consoler ta peine + Avecque son mepris.” + +Then in ecstacy, she exclaimed, + +“How beautiful that is! What harmony! How is it possible for any one +not to admire such exquisite, such touching verses! But why did Malherbe +call that poor Monsieur Duperrier his injurieux ami at a time when +he had been so severely tied by the death of his daughter? Injurieux +ami--you must acknowledge that the term is very harsh.” + +I explained to this poetical person that the phrase “Injurieux ami,” + which shocked her so much, was in apposition, etc. etc. What I said, +however, had so little effect towards clearing her head that she was +seized with a severe and prolonged fit of sneezing. Meanwhile it was +evident that the history of “Prince Grenouille” had proved extremely +funny; for it was all that Jeanne could do, as she crouched down +there on the carpet, to keep herself from bursting into a wild fit of +laughter. But when she had finished with the prince and princess of the +story, and the multitude of their children, she assumed a very suppliant +expression, and begged me as a great favour to allow her to put on a +white apron and go to the kitchen to help in getting the dinner ready. + +“Jeanne,” I replied, with the gravity of a master, “I think that if +it is a question of breaking plates, knocking off the edges of dishes, +denting all the pans, and smashing all the skimmers, the person whom +Therese has set to work in the kitchen already will be able to perform +her task without assistance; for it seems to me at this very moment I +can hear disastrous noises in that kitchen. But anyhow, Jeanne, I will +charge you with the duty of preparing the dessert. So go and get your +white apron; I will tie it on for you.” + +Accordingly, I solemnly knotted the linen apron about her waist; and she +rushed into the kitchen, where she proceeded at once--as we discovered +later on--to prepare various dishes unknown to Vatel, unknown even to +that great Careme who began his treatise upon pieces montees with these +words: “The Fine Arts are five in number: Painting, Music, Poetry, +Sculpture, and Architecture--whereof the principal branch is +Confectionery.” But I had no reason to be pleased with this little +arrangement--for Mademoiselle Prefere, on finding herself alone with me, +began to act after a fashion which filled me with frightful anxiety. She +gazed upon me with eyes full of tears and flames, and uttered enormous +sighs. + +“Oh, how I pity you!” she said. “A man like you--a man so superior +as you are--having to live alone with a coarse servant (for she is +certainly coarse, that is incontestable)! How cruel such a life must +be! You have need of repose--you have need of comfort, of care, of every +kind of attention; you might fall sick. And yet there is no woman +who would not deem it an honour to bear your name, and to share your +existence. No, there is none; my own heart tells me so.” + +And she squeezed both hands over that heart of hers--always so ready to +fly away. + +I was driven almost to distraction. I tried to make Mademoiselle Prefere +comprehend that I had no intention whatever of changing my habits at so +advanced an age, and that I found just as much happiness in life as my +character and my circumstances rendered possible. + +“No, you are not happy!” she cried. “You need to have always beside you +a mind capable of comprehending your own. Shake off your lethargy, and +cast your eyes about you. Your professional connections are of the most +extended character, and you must have charming acquaintances. One cannot +be a Member of the Institute without going into society. See, judge, +compare. No sensible woman would refuse you her hand. I am a woman, +Monsieur; my instinct never deceives me--there is something within me +which assures me that you would find happiness in marriage. Women are so +devoted, so loving (not all, of course, but some)! And, then, they are +so sensitive to glory. Remember that at your age one has need, like +Oedipus, of an Egeria! Your cook is no longer able--she is deaf, she +is infirm. If anything should happen to you at night! Oh! it makes me +shudder even to think of it!” + +And she really shuddered--she closed her eyes, clenched her hands, +stamped on the floor. Great was my dismay. With awful intensity she +resumed, + +“Your health--your dear health! The health of a Member of the Institute! +How joyfully I would shed the very last drop of my blood to preserve the +life of a scholar, of a litterateur, of a man of worth. And any woman +who would not do as much, I should despise her! Let me tell you, +Monsieur--I used to know the wife of a great mathematician, a man who +used to fill whole note-books with calculations--so many note-books that +they filled all the cupboards in the house. He had heart-disease, and +he was visibly pining away. And I saw that wife of his, sitting there +beside him, perfectly calm! I could not endure it. I said to her one +day, ‘My dear, you have no heart! If I were in your place I should...I +should...I do not know what I should do!’” + +She paused for want of breath. My situation was terrible. As for telling +Mademoiselle Prefere what I really thought about her advice--that was +something which I could not even dream of daring to do. For to fall out +with her was to lose the chance of seeing Jeanne. So I resolved to take +the matter quietly. In any case, she was in my house: that consideration +helped me to treat her with something of courtesy. + +“I am very old, Mademoiselle,” I answered her, “and I am very much +afraid that your advice comes to me rather late in life. Still, I will +think about it. In the meanwhile let me beg of you to be calm. I think a +glass of eau sucree would do you good!” + +To my great surprise, these words calmed her at once; and I saw her +sit down very quietly in HER corner, close to HER pigeon-hole, upon HER +chair, with her feet upon HER footstool. + +The dinner was a complete failure. Mademoiselle Prefere, who seemed lost +in a brown study, never noticed the fact. As a rule I am very sensitive +about such misfortunes; but this one caused Jeanne so much delight that +at last I could not help enjoying it myself. Even at my age I had not +been able to learn before that a chicken, raw on one side and burned on +the other, was a funny thing; but Jeanne’s bursts of laughter taught me +that it was. That chicken caused us to say a thousand very witty +things, which I have forgotten; and I was enchanted that it had not been +properly cooked. Jeanne put it back to roast again; then she broiled it; +then she stewed it with butter. And every time it came back to the table +it was much less appetising and much more mirth-provoking than before. +When we did eat it, at last, it had become a thing for which there is no +name in any cuisine. + +The almond cake was much more extraordinary. It was brought to the table +in the pan, because it never could have got out of it. I invited Jeanne +to help us all to a piece thinking that I was going to embarrass her; +but she broke the pan and gave each of us a fragment. To think that +anybody at my age could eat such things was an idea possible only to +the very artless mind. Mademoiselle Prefere, suddenly awakened from her +dream, indignantly pushed away the sugary splinter of earthenware, +and deemed it opportune to inform me that she herself was exceedingly +skilful in making confectionery. + +“Ah!” exclaimed Jeanne, with an air of surprise not altogether without +malice. Then she wrapped all the fragments of the pan in a piece +of paper, for the purpose of giving them to her little +playmates--especially to the three little Mouton girls, who are +naturally inclined to gluttony. + +Secretly, however, I was beginning to feel very uneasy. It did not +now seem in any way possible to keep much longer upon good terms with +Mademoiselle Prefere since her matrimonial fury had this burst forth. +And that lady affronted, good-bye to Jeanne! I took advantage of a +moment while the sweet soul was busy putting on her cloak, in order to +ask Jeanne to tell me exactly what her own age was. She was eighteen +years and one month old. I counted on my fingers, and found she would +not come of age for another two years and eleven months. And how should +we be able to manage during all that time? + +At the door Mademoiselle Prefere squeezed my hand with so much meaning +that I fairly shook from head to foot. + +“Good-bye,” I said very gravely to the young girl. “But listen to me +a moment: your friend is very old, and might perhaps fail you when you +need him most. Promise me never to fail in your duty to yourself, and +then I shall have no fear. God keep you, my child!” + +After closing the door behind them, I opened the window to get a last +look at her as she was going away. But the night was dark, and I could +see only two vague shadows flitting across the quay. I heard the vast +deep hom of the city rising up about me; and I suddenly felt a great +sinking at my heart. + +Poor child! + + + + +December 15. + + +The King of Thule kept a goblet of gold which his dying mistress had +bequeathed him as a souvenir. When about to die himself, after having +drunk from it for the last time, he threw the goblet into the sea. And I +keep this diary of memories even as that old prince of the mist-haunted +seas kept his carven goblet; and even as he flung away at last his +love-pledge, so will I burn this book of souvenirs. Assuredly it is not +through any arrogant avarice nor through any egotistical pride, that I +shall destroy this record of a humble life--it is only because I fear +lest those things which are dear and sacred to me might appear +before others, because of my inartistic manner of expression, either +commonplace or absurd. + +I do not say this in view of what is going to follow. Absurd I certainly +must have been when, having been invited to dinner by Mademoiselle +Prefere, I took my seat in a bergere (it was really a bergere) at the +right hand of that alarming person. The table had been set in a little +parlour; and I could observe from the poor way in which it was set out +that the schoolmistress was one of those ethereal souls who soar above +terrestrial things. Chipped plates, unmatched glasses, knives with loose +handles, forks with yellow prongs--there was absolutely nothing wanting +to spoil the appetite of an honest man. + +I was assured that the dinner had been cooked for me--for me +alone--although Maitre Mouche had also been invited. Mademoiselle +Prefere must have imagined that I had Sarmatian tastes on the subject +of butter; for that which she offered me, served up in little thin pats, +was excessively rancid. + +The roast very nearly poisoned me. But I had the pleasure of hearing +Maitre Mouche and Mademoiselle Prefere discourse upon virtue. I said the +pleasure--I ought to have said the shame; for the sentiments to which +they gave expression soared far beyond the range of my vulgar nature. + +What they said proved to me as clear as day that devotedness was their +daily bread, and that self-sacrifice was not less necessary to +their existence than air and water. Observing that I was not eating, +Mademoiselle Prefere made a thousand efforts to overcome that which she +was good enough to term my “discretion.” Jeanne was not of the party, +because, I was told, her presence at it would have been contrary to the +rules, and would have wounded the feelings of the other school-children, +among whom it was necessary to maintain a certain equality. I secretly +congratulated her upon having escaped from the Merovingian butter; from +the huge radishes, empty as funeral-urns; form the leathery roast, and +from various other curiosities of diet to which I had exposed myself for +the love of her. + +The extremely disconsolate-looking servant served up some liquid to +which they gave the name of cream--I do not know why--and vanished away +like a ghost. + +Then Mademoiselle Prefere related to Maitre Mouche, with extraordinary +transports of emotion, all that she had said to me in the City of Books, +during the time that my housekeeper was sick in bed. Her admiration for +a Member of the Institute, her terror lest I should be taken ill while +unattended, and the certainty she felt that any intelligent woman would +be proud and happy to share my existence--she concealed nothing, but, +on the contrary, added many fresh follies to the recital. Maitre Mouche +kept nodding his head in approval while cracking nuts. Then, after all +this verbiage, he demanded, with an agreeable smile, what my answer had +been. + +Mademoiselle Prefere, pressing her hand upon her heart and extending the +other towards me, cried out, + +“He is so affectionate, so superior, so good, and so great! He +answered... But I could never, because I am only a humble woman--I could +never repeat the words of a Member of the Institute. I can only utter +the substance of them. He answered, ‘Yes, I understand you--yes.’” + +And with these words she reached out and seized one of my hands. Then +Maitre Mouche, also overwhelmed with emotion, arose and seized my other +hand. + +“Monsieur,” he said, “permit me to offer my congratulations.” + +Several times in my life I have known fear; but never before had I +experienced any fright of so nauseating a character. A sickening terror +came upon me. + +I disengaged by two hands, and, rising to my feet, so as to give all +possible seriousness to my words, I said, + +“Madame, either I explained myself very badly when you were at my house, +or I have totally misunderstood you here in your own. In either case, a +positive declaration is absolutely necessary. Permit me, Madame, to +make it now, very plainly. No--I never did understand you; I am totally +ignorant of the nature of this marriage project that you have been +planning for me--if you really have been planning one. In any event, I +should not think of marrying. It would be unpardonable folly at my age, +and even now, at this moment, I cannot conceive how a sensible person +like you could ever have advised me to marry. Indeed, I am strongly +inclined to believe that I must have been mistaken, and that you never +said anything of the kind before. In the latter case, please excuse an +old man totally unfamiliar with the usages of society, unaccustomed to +the conversation of ladies, and very contrite for his mistake.” + +Maitre Mouche went back very softly to his place, where, not finding any +more nuts to crack, he began to whittle a cork. + +Mademoiselle Prefere, after staring at me for a few moments with an +expression in her little round dry eyes which I had never seen there +before, suddenly resumed her customary sweetness and graciousness. Then +she cried out in honeyed tones, + +“Oh! these learned men!--these studious men! They are like children. +Yes, Monsieur Bonnard, you are a real child!” + +Then, turning to the notary, who still sat very quietly in his corner, +with his nose over his cork, she exclaimed, in beseeching tones, + +“Oh, do not accuse him! Do not accuse him! Do not think any evil of him, +I beg of you! Do not think it at all! Must I ask you upon my knees?” + +Maitre Mouche continued to examine all the various aspects and surfaces +of his cork without making any further manifestation. + +I was very indignant; and I know that my cheeks must have been extremely +red, if I could judge by the flush of heat which I felt rise to my +face. This would enable me to explain the words I heard through all the +buzzing in my ears: + +“I am frightened about him! our poor friend!... Monsieur Mouche, be kind +enough to open a window! It seems to me that a compress of arnica would +do him some good.” + +I rushed out into the street with an unspeakable feeling of shame. + +“My poor Jeanne!” + + + + +December 20. + + +I passed eight days without hearing anything further in regard to the +Prefere establishment. Then, feeling myself unable to remain any longer +without some news of Clementine’s daughter, and feeling furthermore that +I owed it as a duty to myself not to cease my visits with the school +without more serious cause, I took my way to Les Ternes. + +The parlour seemed to me more cold, more damp, more inhospitable, and +more insidious than ever before; and the servant much more silent and +much more scared. I asked to see Mademoiselle Jeanne; but, after a very +considerable time, it was Mademoiselle Prefere who made her appearance +instead--severe and pale, with lips compressed and a hard look in her +eyes. + +“Monsieur,” she said, folding her arms over her pelerine, “I regret very +much that I cannot allow you to see Mademoiselle Alexandre to-day; but I +cannot possibly do it.” + +“Why not?” I asked in astonishment. + +“Monsieur,” she replied, “the reasons which compel me to request that +your visits shall be less frequent hereafter are of an excessively +delicate nature; and I must beg you to spare me the unpleasantness of +mentioning them.” + +“Madame,” I replied, “I have been authorized by Jeanne’s guardian to +see his ward every day. Will you please to inform me of your reasons for +opposing the will of Monsieur Mouche?” + +“The guardian of Mademoiselle Alexandre,” she replied (and she dwelt +upon that word “guardian” as upon a solid support), “desires, quite as +strongly as I myself do, that your assiduities may come to an end as +soon as possible.” + +“Then, if that be the case,” I said, “be kind enough to let me know his +reasons and your own.” + +She looked up at the little spiral of paper on the ceiling, and then +replied, with stern composure, + +“You insist upon it? Well, although such explanations are very painful +for a woman to make, I will yield to your exaction. This house, Monsieur +is an honourable house. I have my responsibility. I have to watch like +a mother over each one of my pupils. Your assiduities in regard to +Mademoiselle Alexandre could not possibly be continued without serious +injury to the young girl herself; and it is my duty to insist that they +shall cease.” + +“I do not really understand you,” I replied--and I was telling the plain +truth. Then she deliberately resumed: + +“Your assiduities in this house are being interpreted, by the most +respectable and the least suspicious persons, in such a manner that I +find myself obliged, both in the interest of my establishment and in the +interest of Mademoiselle Alexandre, to see that they end at once.” + +“Madame,” I cried, “I have heard a great many silly things in my life, +but never anything so silly as what you have just said!” + +She answered me quietly, + +“Your words of abuse will not affect me in the slightest. When one has a +duty to accomplish, one is strong enough to endure all.” + +And she pressed her pelerine over her heart once more--not perhaps on +this occasion to restrain, but doubtless only to caress that generous +heart. + +“Madame,” I said, shaking my finger at her, “you have wantonly aroused +the indignation of an aged man. Be good enough to act in such a fashion +that the old man may be able at least to forget your existence, and do +not add fresh insults to those which I have already sustained from your +lips. I give you fair warning that I shall never cease to look after +Mademoiselle Alexandre; and that should you attempt to do her any harm, +in any manner whatsoever, you will have serious reason to regret it!” + +The more I became excited, the more she became cool; and she answered in +a tone of superb indifference: + +“Monsieur, I am much too well informed in regard to the nature of +the interest which you take in this young girl, not to withdraw her +immediately from that very surveillance with which you threaten me. +After observing the more than equivocal intimacy in which you are living +with your housekeeper, I ought to have taken measures at once to render +it impossible for you ever to come into contact with an innocent child. +In the future I shall certainly do it. If up to this time I have been +too trustful, it is for Mademoiselle Alexandre, and not for you, to +reproach me with it. But she is too artless and too pure--thanks to +me!--ever to have suspected the nature of that danger into which you +were trying to lead her. I scarcely suppose that you will place me under +the necessity of enlightening her upon the subject.” + +“Come, my poor old Bonnard,” I said to myself, as I shrugged my +shoulders--“so you had to live as long as this in order to learn for the +first time exactly what a wicked woman is. And now your knowledge of the +subject is complete.” + +I went out without replying; and I had the pleasure of observing, from +the sudden flush which overspread the face of the schoolmistress, that +my silence had wounded her far more than my words. + +As I passed through the court I looked about me in every direction for +Jeanne. She was watching for me, and she ran to me. + +“If anybody touches one little hair of your head, Jeanne, write to me! +Good-bye!” + +“No, not good-bye.” + +I replied, + +“Well, no--not good-bye! Write to me!” + + +I went straight to Madame de Gabry’s residence. + +“Madame is at Rome with Monsieur. Did not Monsieur know it?” + +“Why, yes,” I replied. “Madame wrote to me.”... + +She had indeed written to me in regard to her leaving home; but my head +must have become very much confused, so that I had forgotten all about +it. The servant seemed to be of the same opinion, for he looked at me +in a way that seemed to signify, “Monsieur Bonnard is doting”--and he +leaned down over the balustrade of the stairway to see if I was not +going to do something extraordinary before I got to the bottom. But I +descended the stairs rationally enough; and then he drew back his head +in disappointment. + +On returning home I was informed that Monsieur Gelis was waiting for +me in the parlour. (This young man has become a constant visitor. His +judgement is at fault at times; but his mind is not at all commonplace.) +On this occasion, however, his usually welcome visit only embarrassed +me. “Alas!” I thought to myself, “I shall be sure to say something +very stupid to my young friend to-day, and he also will think that my +facilities are becoming impaired. But still I cannot really explain to +him that I had first been demanded in wedlock, and subsequently traduced +as a man wholly devoid of morals--that even Therese had become an object +of suspicion--and that Jeanne remains in the power of the most rascally +woman on the face of the earth. I am certainly in an admirable state +of mind for conversing about Cistercian abbeys with a young and +mischievously minded man. Nevertheless, we shall see--we shall try.”... + +But Therese stopped me: + +“How red you are, Monsieur!” she exclaimed, in a tone of reproach. + +“It must be the spring,” I answered. + +She cried out, + +“The spring!--in the month of December?” + +That is a fact! this is December. Ah! what is the matter with my head? +what a fine help I am going to be to poor Jeanne! + +“Therese, take my cane; and put it, if you possibly can, in some place +where I shall be able to find it again. + +“Good-day, Monsieur Gelis. How are you?” + + +Undated. + + +Next morning the old boy wanted to get up; but the old boy could not +get up. A merciless invisible hand kept him down upon his bed. Finding +himself immovably riveted there, the old boy resigned himself to remain +motionless; but his thoughts kept running in all directions. + +He must have had a very violent fever; for Mademoiselle Prefere, the +Abbots of Saint-Germain-des-Pres, and the servant of Madame de Gabry +appeared to him in divers fantastic shapes. The figure of the servant +in particular lengthened weirdly over his head, grimacing like some +gargoyle of a cathedral. Then it seemed to me that there were a great +many people, much too many people, in my bedroom. + +This bedroom of mine is furnished after the antiquated fashion. The +portrait of my father in full uniform, and the portrait of my mother in +her cashmere dress, are suspended on the wall. The wall-paper is covered +with green foliage designs. I am aware of all this, and I am even +conscious that everything is faded, very much faded. But an old man’s +room does not require to be pretty; it is enough that it should be +clean, and Therese sees to that. At all events my room is sufficiently +decorated to please a mind like mine, which has always remained somewhat +childish and dreamy. There are things hanging on the wall or scattered +over the tables and shelves which usually please my fancy and amuse me. +But to-day it would seem as if all those objects had suddenly conceived +some kind of ill-will against me. They have all become garish, +grimacing, menacing. That statuette, modelled after one of the +Theological Virtues of Notre-Dame de Brou, always so ingenuously +graceful in its natural condition, is now making contortions and putting +out its tongue at me. And that beautiful miniature--in which one of the +most skilful pupils of Jehan Fouquet depicted himself, girdled with the +cord-girdle of the Sons of St. Francis, offering his book, on bended +knee, to the good Duc d’Angouleme--who has taken it out of its frame +and put in its place a great ugly cat’s head, which stares at me with +phosphorescent eyes. And the designs on the wall-paper have also turned +into heads--hideous green heads.... But no--I am sure that wall-paper +must have foliage-designs upon it at this moment just as it had twenty +years ago, and nothing else.... But no, again--I was right before--they +are heads, with eyes, noses, mouths--they are heads!... Ah! now I +understand! they are both heads and foliage-designs at the same time. I +wish I could not see them at all. + +And there, on my right, the pretty miniature of the Franciscan has come +back again; but it seems to me as if I can only keep it in its frame by +a tremendous effort of will, and that the moment I get tired the ugly +cat-head will appear in its place. Certainly I am not delirious; I can +see Therese very plainly, standing at the foot of my bed; I can hear her +speaking to me perfectly well, and I should be able to answer her +quite satisfactorily if I were not kept so busy in trying to compel the +various objects about me to maintain their natural aspect. + +Here is the doctor coming. I never sent for him, but it gives me +pleasure to see him. He is an old neighbor of mine; I have never been of +much service to him, but I like him very much. Even if I do not say much +to him, I have at least full possession of all my faculties, and I even +find myself extraordinarily crafty and observant to-day, for I note all +his gestures, his every look, the least wrinkling of his face. But the +doctor is very cunning, too, and I cannot really tell what he thinks +about me. The deep thought of Goethe suddenly comes to my mind and I +exclaim, + +“Doctor, the old man has consented to allow himself to become sick; but +he does not intend, this time at least, to make any further concessions +to nature.” + +Neither the doctor nor Therese laughs at my little joke. I suppose they +cannot have understood it. + +The doctor goes away; evening comes; and all sorts of strange shadows +begin to shape themselves about my bed-curtains, forming and dissolving +by turns. And other shadows--ghosts--throng by before me; and through +them I can see distinctively the impassive face of my faithful servant. +And suddenly a cry, a shrill cry, a great cry of distress, rends my +ears. Was it you who called me Jeanne? + +The day is over; and the shadows take their places at my bedside to +remain with me all through the long night. + +Then morning comes--I feel a peace, a vast peace, wrapping me all about. + +Art Thou about to take me into Thy rest, my dear Lord God? + + + + +February 186-. + + +The doctor is quite jovial. It seems that I am doing him a great deal +of credit by being able to get out of bed. If I must believe him, +innumerable disorders must have pounced down upon my poor old body all +at the same time. + +These disorders, which are the terror of ordinary mankind, have names +which are the terror of philologists. They are hybrid names, half Greek, +half Latin, with terminations in “itis,” indicating the inflammatory +condition, and in “algia,” indicating pain. The doctor gives me all +their names, together with a corresponding number of adjectives ending +in “ic,” which serve to characterise their detestable qualities. In +short, they represent a good half of that most perfect copy of the +Dictionary of Medicine contained in the too-authentic box of Pandora. + +“Doctor, what an excellent common-sense story the story of Pandora +is!--if I were a poet I would put it into French verse. Shake hands, +doctor! You have brought me back to life; I forgive you for it. You +have given me back to my friends; I thank you for it. You say I am quite +strong. That may be, that may be; but I have lasted a very long time. +I am a very old article of furniture; I might be very satisfactorily +compared to my father’s arm-chair. It was an arm-chair which the good +man had inherited, and in which he used to lounge from morning until +evening. Twenty times a day, when I was quite a baby, I used to climb up +and seat myself on one of the arms of that old-fashioned chair. So long +as the chair remained intact, nobody paid any particular attention to +it. But it began to limp on one foot and then folks began to say that it +was a very good chair. Afterwards it became lame in three legs, squeaked +with the fourth leg, and lost nearly half of both arms. Then everybody +would exclaim, ‘What a strong chair!’ They wondered how it was that +after its arms had been worn off and all its legs knocked out of +perpendicular, it could yet preserve the recognisable shape of a chair, +remains nearly erect, and still be of some service. The horse-hair came +out of its body at last, and it gave up the ghost. And when Cyprien, +our servant, sawed up its mutilated members for fire-wood, everybody +redoubled their cries of admiration. Oh! what an excellent--what a +marvellous chair! It was the chair of Pierre Sylvestre Bonnard, the +cloth merchant--of Epimenide Bonnard, his son--of Jean-Baptiste Bonnard, +the Pyrrhonian philosopher and Chief of the Third Maritime Division. +Oh! what a robust and venerable chair!’ In reality it was a dead chair. +Well, doctor, I am that chair. You think I am solid because I have been +able to resist an attack which would have killed many people, and which +only three-fourths killed me. Much obliged! I feel none the less that I +am something which has been irremediably damaged.” + +The doctor tries to prove to me, with the help of enormous Greek and +Latin words, that I am really in a very good condition. It would, of +course, be useless to attempt any demonstration of this kind in so lucid +a language as French. However, I allow him to persuade me at last; and I +see him to the door. + +“Good! good!” exclaimed Therese; “that is the way to put the doctor out +of the house! Just do the same thing once or twice again, and he will +not come to see you any more--and so much the better?” + +“Well, Therese, now that I have become such a hearty man again, do not +refuse to give me my letters. I am sure there must be quite a big bundle +of letters, and it would be very wicked to keep me any longer from +reading them.” + +Therese, after some little grumbling, gave me my letters. But what did +it matter?--I looked at all the envelopes, and saw that no one of them +had been addressed by the little hand which I so much wish I could see +here now, turning over the pages of the Vecellio. I pushed the whole +bundle of letters away: they had no more interest for me. + + + + +April-June + + +It was a hotly contested engagement. + +“Wait, Monsieur, until I have put on my clean things,” exclaimed +Therese, “and I will go out with you this time also; I will carry your +folding-stool as I have been doing these last few days, and we will go +and sit down somewhere in the sun.” + +Therese actually thinks me infirm. I have been sick, it is true, but +there is an end to all things! Madame Malady has taken her departure +quite awhile ago, and it is now more than three months since her pale +and gracious-visaged handmaid, Dame Convalescence, politely bade me +farewell. If I were to listen to my housekeeper, I should become a +veritable Monsieur Argant, and I should wear a nightcap with ribbons for +the rest of my life.... No more of this!--I propose to go out by myself! +Therese will not hear of it. She takes my folding-stool, and wants to +follow me. + +“Therese, to-morrow, if you like, we will take our seats on the sunny +side of the wall of La Petite Provence and stay there just as long as +you please. But to-day I have some very important affairs to attend to.” + +“So much the better! But your affairs are not the only affairs in this +world.” + +I beg; I scold; I make my escape. + +It is quite a pleasant day. With the aid of a cab and the help of +almighty God, I trust to be able to fulfil my purpose. + +There is the wall on which is painted in great blue letters the words +“Pensionnat de Demoiselles tenu par Mademoiselle Virginie Prefere.” + There is the iron gate which would give free entrance into the +court-yard if it were ever opened. But the lock is rusty, and sheets +of zinc put up behind the bars protect the indiscreet observation +those dear little souls to whom Mademoiselle Prefere doubtless teaches +modesty, sincerity, justice, and disinterestedness. There is a window, +with iron bars before it, and panes daubed over with white paint--the +window of the domestic offices, like a glazed eye--the only aperture +of the building opening upon the exterior world. As for the house-door, +through which I entered so often, but which is now closed against me for +ever, it is just as I saw it the last time, with its little iron-grated +wicket. The single stone step in front of it is deeply worn, and, +without having very good eyes behind my spectacles, I can see the little +white scratches on the stone which have been made by the nails in the +shoes of the girls going in and out. And why cannot I also go in? I +have a feeling that Jeanne must be suffering a great deal in this dismal +house, and that she calls my name in secret. I cannot go away from +the gate! A strange anxiety takes hold of me. I pull the bell. The +scared-looking servant comes to the door, even more scared-looking than +when I saw her the last time. Strict orders have been given; I am not to +be allowed to see Mademoiselle Jeanne. I beg the servant to be so kind +as to tell me how the child is. The servant, after looking to her right +and then to her left, tells me that Mademoiselle Jeanne is well, and +then shuts the door in my face. And I am all alone in the street again. + +How many times since then have I wandered in the same way under that +wall, and passed before the little door,--full of shame and despair to +find myself even weaker than that poor child, who has no other help of +friend except myself in the world! + +Finally I overcame my repugnance sufficiently to call upon Maitre +Mouche. The first thing I remarked was that his office is much more +dusty and much more mouldy this year that it was last year. The notary +made his appearance after a moment, with his familiar stiff gestures, +and his restless eyes quivering behind his eye-glasses. I made my +complaints to him. He answered me.... But why should I write down, even +in a notebook which I am going to burn, my recollections of a downright +scoundrel? He takes sides with Mademoiselle Prefere, whose intelligent +mind and irreproachable character he has long appreciated. He does +not feel himself in a position to decide the nature of the question at +issue; but he must assure me that appearances have been greatly against +me. That of course makes no difference to me. He adds--(and this does +make some sense to me)--that the small sum which had been placed in +his hands to defray the expenses of the education of his ward has been +expended, and that, in view of the circumstances, he cannot but gently +admire the disinterestedness of Mademoiselle Prefere in consenting to +allow Mademoiselle Jeanne to remain with her. + +A magnificent light, the light of a perfect day, floods the sordid place +with its incorruptible torrent, and illuminates teh person of that man! + +And outside it pours down its splendour upon all the wretchedness of a +populous quarter. + +How sweet it is,--this light with which my eyes have so long been +filled, and which ere long I must for ever cease to enjoy! I wander out +with my hands behind me, dreaming as I go, following the line of the +fortifications; and I find myself after awhile, I know not how, in an +out-of-the-way suburb full of miserable little gardens. By the dusty +roadside I observe a plant whose flower, at once dark and splendid, +seems worthy of association with the noblest and purest mourning for the +dead. It is a columbine. Our fathers called it “Our Lady’s Glove”--le +gant de Notre-Dame. Only such a “Notre-Dame” as might make herself very, +very small, for the sake of appearing to little children, could ever +slip her dainty fingers into the narrow capsue of that flower. + +And there is a big bumble-bee who tries to force himself into the +flower, brutally; but his mouth cannot reach the nectar, and the poor +glutton strives and strives in vain. He has to give up the attempt, and +comes out of the flower all smeared over with pollen. He flies off in +his own heavy lumbering way; but there are not many flowers in this +portion of the suburbs, which has been defiled by the soot and smoke +of factories. So he comes back to the columbine again, and this time he +pierces the corolla and sucks the honey through the little hole which +he has made; I should never have thought that a bumble-bee had so much +sense! Why, that is admirable! The more I observe, them, the more do +insects and flowers fill me with astonishment. I am like that good +Rollin who went wild with delight over the flowers of his peach-trees. I +wish I could have a fine garden, and live at the verge of a wood. + + + + +August, September. + + +It occurred to me one Sunday morning to watch for the moment when +Mademoiselle Prefere’s pupils were leaving the school in procession +to attend Mass at the parish church. I watched them passing two by +two,--the little ones first with very serious faces. There were three of +them all dressed exactly alike--dumpy, plump, important-looking little +creatures, whom I recognized at once as the Mouton girls. Their elder +sister is the artist who drew that terrible head of Tatius, King of +the Sabines. Beside the column, the assistant school-teacher, with her +prayer-book in her hand, was gesturing and frowning. Then came the next +oldest class, and finally the big girls, all whispering to each other, +as they went by. But I did not see Jeanne. + +I went to police-headquarters and inquired whether they chanced to +have, filed away somewhere or other, any information regarding the +establishment in the Rue Demours. I succeeded in inducing them to send +some female inspectors there. These returned bringing with them the most +favourable reports about the establishment. In their opinion the Prefere +School was a model school. It is evident that if I were to force an +investigation, Mademoiselle Prefere would receive academic honours. + + + + +October 3. + + +This Thursday being a school-holiday I had teh chance of meeting the +three little Mouton girls in the vicinity of the Rue Demours. After +bowing to their mother, I asked the eldest who appears to be about ten +years old, how was her playmate, Mademoiselle Jeanne Alexandre. + +The little Mouton girl answered me, all in a breath, + +“Jeanne Alexandre is not my playmate. She is only kept in the school for +charity--so they make her sweep the class-rooms. It was Mademoiselle who +said so. And Jeanne Alexandre is a bad girl; so they lock her up in the +dark room--and it serves her right--and I am a good girl--and I am never +locked up in the dark room.” + +The three little girls resumed their walk, and Madame Mouton followed +close behind them, looking back over her broad shoulder at me, in a very +suspicious manner. + +Alas! I find myself reduced to expedients of a questionable character. +Madame de Gabry will not come back to Paris for at least three months +more, at the very soonest. Without her, I have no tact, I have no common +sense--I am nothing but a cumbersome, clumsy, mischief-making machine. + +Nevertheless, I cannot possibly permit them to make Jeanne a +boarding-school servant! + + + + +December 28. + + +The idea that Jeanne was obliged to sweep the rooms had become +absolutely unbearable. + +The weather was dark and cold. Night had already begun. I rang the +school-door bell with the tranquillity of a resolute man. The moment +that the timid servant opened the door, I slipped a gold piece into her +hand, and promised her another if she would arrange matters so that I +could see Mademoiselle Alexandre. Her answer was, + +“In one hour from now, at the grated window.” + +And she slammed the door in my face so rudely that she knocked my +hat into the gutter. I waited for one very long hour in a violent +snow-storm; then I approached the window. Nothing! The wind raged, and +the snow fell heavily. Workmen passing by with their implements on their +shoulders, and their heads bent down to keep the snow from coming in +their faces, rudely jostled me. Still nothing. I began to fear I had +been observed. I knew that I had done wrong in bribing a servant, but +I was not a bit sorry for it. Woe to the man who does not know how to +break through social regulations in case of necessity! Another quarter +of an hour passed. Nothing. At last the window was partly opened. + +“Is that you, Monsieur Bonnard?” + +“Is that you, Jeanne?--tell me at once what has become of you.” + +“I am well--very well.” + +“But what else!” + +“They have put me in the kitchen, and I have to sweep the school-rooms.” + +“In the kitchen! Sweeping--you! Gracious goodness!” + +“Yes, because my guardian does not pay for my schooling any longer.” + +“Gracious goodness! Your guardian seems to me to be a thorough +scoundrel.” + +“Then you know---” + +“What?” + +“Oh! don’t ask me to tell you that!--but I would rather die than find +myself alone with him again.” + +“And why did you not write to me?” + +“I was watched.” + +At this instant I formed a resolve which nothing in this world could +have induced me to change. I did, indeed, have some idea that I might +be acting contrary to law; but I did not give myself the least concern +about that idea. And, being firmly resolved, I was able to be prudent. I +acted with remarkable coolness. + +“Jeanne,” I asked, “tell me! does that room you are in open into the +court-yard?” + +“Yes.” + +“Can you open the street-door from the inside yourself?” + +“Yes,--if there is nobody in the porter’s lodge.” + +“Go and see if there is any one there, and be careful that nobody +observes you.” + +Then I waited, keeping a watch on the door and window. + +In six or seven seconds Jeanne reappeared behind the bars, and said, + +“The servant is in the porter’s lodge.” + +“Very well,” I said, “have you a pen and ink?” + +“No.” + +“A pencil?” + +“Yes.” + +“Pass it out here.” + +I took an old newspaper out of my pocket, and--in a wind which blew +almost hard enough to put the street-lamps out, in a downpour of snow +which almost blinded me--I managed to wrap up and address that paper to +Mademoiselle Prefere. + +While I was writing I asked Jeanne, + +“When the postman passes he puts the papers and letters in the box, +doesn’t he? He rings the bell and goes away? Then the servant opens the +letter-box and takes whatever she finds there to Mademoiselle Prefere +immediately; is not that about the way the thing is managed whenever +anything comes by post?” + +Jeanne thought it was. + +“Then we shall soon see. Jeanne, go and watch again; and, as soon as the +servant leaves the lodge, open the door and come out here to me.” + +Having said this, I put my newspaper in the box, gave the bell a +tremendous pull, and then hid myself in the embrasure of a neighbouring +door. + +I might have been there several minutes, when the little door quivered, +then opened, and a young girl’s head made its appearance through the +opening. I took hold of it; I pulled it towards me. + +“Come, Jeanne! come!” + +She stared at me uneasily. Certainly she must have been afraid that I +had gone mad; but, on the contrary, I was very rational indeed. + +“Come, my child! come!” + +“Where?” + +“To Madame de Gabry’s.” + +Then she took my arm. For some time we ran like a couple of thieves. +But running is an exercise ill-suited to one as corpulent as I am, +and, finding myself out of breath at last, I stopped and leaned upon +something which turned out to be the stove of a dealer in roasted +chestnuts, who was doing business at the corner of a wine-seller’s shop, +where a number of cabmen were drinking. One of them asked us if we +did not want a cab. Most assuredly we wanted a cab! The driver, after +setting down his glass on the zinc counter, climbed upon his seat and +urged his horse forward. We were saved. + +“Phew!” I panted, wiping my forehead. For, in spite of the cold, I was +perspiring profusely. + +What seemed very odd was that Jeanne appeared to be much more conscious +than I was of the enormity which we had committed. She looked very +serious indeed, and was visibly uneasy. + +“In the kitchen!” I cried out, with indignation. + +She shook her head, as if to say, “Well, there or anywhere else, what +does it matter to me?” And by the light of the street-lamps, I observed +with pain that her face was very thin and her features all pinched. I +did not find in her any of that vivacity, any of those bright impulses, +any of that quickness of expression, which used to please me so much. +Her gaze had become timid, her gestures constrained, her whole attitude +melancholy. I took her hand--a little cold hand, which had become all +hardened and bruised. The poor child must have suffered very much. I +questioned her. She told me very quietly that Mademoiselle Prefere +had summoned her one day, and called her a little monster and a little +viper, for some reason which she had never been able to learn. + +She had added, “You shall not see Monsieur Bonnard any more; for he +has been giving you bad advice, and he has conducted himself in a most +shameful manner towards me.” “I then said to her, ‘That, Mademoiselle, +you will never be able to make me believe.’ Then Mademoiselle slapped my +face and sent me back to the school-room. The announcement that I should +never be allowed to see you again made me feel as if night had come down +upon me. Don’t you know those evenings when one feels so sad to see +the darkness come?--well, just imagine such a moment stretched out into +weeks--into whole months! Don’t you remember my little Saint-George? Up +to that time I had worked at it as well as I could--just simply to work +at it--just to amuse myself. But when I lost all hope of ever seeing you +again I took my little wax figure, and I began to work at it in quite +another way. I did not try to model it with wooden matches any more, as +I had been doing, but with hair pins. I even made use of epingles a la +neige. But perhaps you do not know what epingles a la neige are? Well, +I became more particular about than you can possibly imagine. I put a +dragon on Saint-George’s helmet; and I passed hours and hours in making +a head and eyes and tail for the dragon. Oh the eyes! the eyes, above +all! I never stopped working at them till I got them so that they had +red pupils and white eye-lids and eye-brows and everything! I know I am +very silly; I had an idea that I was going to die as soon as my little +Saint-George would be finished. I worked at it during recreation-hours, +and Mademoiselle Prefere used to let me alone. One day I learned that +you were in the parlour with the schoolmistress; I watched for you; we +said ‘Au revoir!’ that day to each other. I was a little consoled by +seeing you. But, some time after that, my guardian came and wanted to +make me go to his house,--but please don’t ask me why, Monsieur. He +answered me, quite gently, that I was a very whimsical little girl. And +then he left me alone. But the next day Mademoiselle Prefere came to me +with such a wicked look on her face that I was really afraid. She had +a letter in her hand. ‘Mademoiselle,’ she said to me, ‘I am informed +by your guardian that he has spent all the money which belonged to +you. Don’t be afraid! I do not intend to abandon you; but, you must +acknowledge yourself, it is only right that you should earn your own +livelihood.’ Then she put me to work house-cleaning; and whenever I made +a mistake she would lock me up in the garet for days together. And that +is what has happened to me since I saw you last. Even if I had been able +to write to you I do not know whether I should have done it, because I +did not think you could possibly take me away from the school; and, as +Maitre Mouche did not come back to see me, there was no hurry. I thought +I could wait for awhile in the garret and the kitchen. + +“Jeanne,” I cried, “even if we should have to flee to Oceania, the +abominable Prefere shall never get hold of you again. I will take a +great oath on that! And why should we not go to Oceania? The climate +is very healthy; and I read in a newspaper the other day that they have +pianos there. But, in the meantime, let us go to the house of Madame de +Gabry, who returned to Paris, as luck would have it, some three or four +days ago; for you and I are two innocent fools, and we have great need +of some one to help us.” + +Even as I was speaking Jeanne’s features suddenly became pale, and +seemed to shrink into lifelessness; her eyes became all dim; her lips, +half open, contracted with an expression of pain. Then her head sank +sideways on her shoulder;--she had fainted. + +I lifter her in my arms, and carried her up Madame de Gabry’s staircase +like a little baby asleep. But I was myself on the point of fainting +from emotional excitement and fatigue together, when she came to herself +again. + +“Ah! it is you.” she said: “so much the better!” + +Such was our condition when we rang our friend’s door-bell. + + +Same day. + + +It was eight o’clock. Madame de Gabry, as might be supposed, was very +much surprised by our unexpected appearance. But she welcomed the old +man and the child with that glad kindness which always expresses itself +in her beautiful gestures. It seems to me,--if I might use the language +of devotion so familiar to her,--it seems to me as though some heavenly +grace streams from her hands when ever she opens them; and even the +perfume which impregnates her robes seems to inspire the sweet calm zeal +of charity and good works. Surprised she certainly was; but she asked us +no question,--and that silence seemed to me admirable. + +“Madame,” I said to her, “we have both come to place ourselves under +your protection. And, first of all, we are going to ask you to give us +some super--or to give Jeanne some, at least; for a moment ago, in the +carriage, she fainted from weakness. As for myself, I could not eat a +bite at this late hour without passing a night of agony in consequence. +I hope that Monsieur de Gabry is well.” + +“Oh, he is here!” she said. + +And she called him immediately. + +“Come in here, Paul! Come and see Monsieur Bonnard and Mademoiselle +Alexandre.” + +He came. It was a pleasure for me to see his frank broad face, and to +press his strong square hand. Then we went, all four of us, into the +dining-room; and while some cold meat was being cut for Jeanne--which +she never touched notwithstanding--I related our adventure. Paul de +Gabry asked me permission to smoke his pipe, after which he listened to +me in silence. When I had finished my recital he scratched the short, +stiff beard upon his chin, and uttered a tremendous “Sacrebleu!” But, +seeing Jeanne stare at each of us in turn, with a frightened look in her +face, he added: + +“We will talk about this matter to-morrow morning. Come into my study +for a moment; I have an old book to show you that I want you to tell me +something about.” + +I followed him into his study, where the steel of guns and hunting +knives, suspended against the dark hangings, glimmered in the +lamp-light. There, pulling me down beside him upon a leather-covered +sofa, he exclaimed, + +“What have you done? Great God! Do you know what you have done? +Corruption of a minor, abduction, kidnapping! You have got yourself into +a nice mess! You have simply rendered yourself liable to a sentence of +imprisonment of not less than five nor more than ten years.” + +“Mercy on us!” I cried; “ten years imprisonment for having saved an +innocent child.” + +“That is the law!” answered Monsieur de Gabry. “You see, my dear +Monsieur Bonnard, I happen to know the Code pretty well--not because I +ever studied law as a profession, but because, as mayor of Lusance, I +was obliged to teach myself something about it in order to be able to +give information to my subordinates. Mouche is a rascal; that woman +Prefere is a vile hussy; and you are a...Well! I really cannot find a +word strong enough to signify what you are!” + +After opening his bookcase, where dog-collars, riding-whips, stirrups, +spurs, cigar-boxes, and a few books of reference were indiscriminately +stowed away, he took out of it a copy of the Code, and began to turn +over the leaves. + +“‘CRIMES AND MISDEMEANOURS’...’SEQUESTRATION OF PERSONS’--that is +not your case.... ‘ABDUCTION OF MINORS’--here we are....’ARTICLE +354’:--‘Whosever shall, either by fraud or violence, have abducted or +have caused to be abducted any minor or minors, or shall have enticed +them, or turned them away from, or forcibly removed them, or shall have +caused them to be enticed, or turned away from or forcibly removed from +the places in which they have been placed by those to whose authority or +direction they have been submitted or confided, shall be liable to the +penalty of imprisonment. See PENAL CODE, 21 and 28.’ Here is 21:--‘The +term of imprisonment shall not be less than five years.’ 28. ‘The +sentence of imprisonment shall be considered as involving a loss of +civil rights.’ Now all that is very plain, is it not, Monsieur Bonnard?” + +“Perfectly plain.” + +“Now let us go on: ‘ARTICLE 356’:--‘In case the abductor be under the +age of 21 years at the time of the offense, he shall only be punished +with’...But we certainly cannot invoke this article in your favour. +‘ARTICLE 357:’:--‘In case the abductor shall have married the girl +by him abducted, he can only be prosecuted at the insistence of such +persons as, according to the Civil Code, may have the right to demand +that the marriage shall be declared null; nor can he be condemned until +after the nullity of the marriage shall have been pronounced.’ I do not +know whether it is a part of your plans to marry Mademoiselle Alexandre! +You can see that the code is good-natured about it; it leaves you one +door of escape. But no--I ought not to joke with you, because really you +have put yourself in a very unfortunate position! And how could a man +like you imagine that here in Paris, in the middle of the nineteenth +century, a young girl can be abducted with absolute impunity? We are not +living in the Middle Ages now; and such things are no longer permitted +by law.” + +“You need not imagine,” I replied, “that abduction was lawful under the +ancient Code. You will find in Baluze a decree issued by King Cheldebert +at Cologne, either in 593 or 594, on the subject: moreover, everybody +knows that the famous ‘Ordonance de Blois,’ of May 1579, formally +enacted that any persons convicted of having suborned any son or +daughter under the age of twenty-five years, whether under promise of +marriage or otherwise, without the full knowledge, will, or consent of +the father, mother, and guardians, should be punished with death; and +the ordinance adds: ‘Et pareillement seront punis extraordinairement +tous ceux qui auront participe audit rapt, et qui auront prete conseil, +confort, et aide en aucune maniere que ce soit.’ (And in like manner +shall be extraordinarily punished all persons whomsoever, who shall have +participated in the said abduction, and who shall have given thereunto +counsel, succor, or aid in any manner whatsoever.) Those are the exact, +or very nearly the exact, terms of the ordinance. As for that article of +the Code-Napoleon which you have just told me of, and which excepts +from liability to prosecution the abductor who marries the young girl +abducted by him, it reminds me that according to the laws of Bretagne, +forcible abduction, followed by marriage, was not punished. But this +usage, which involved various abuses, was suppressed in 1720--at least I +give you the date within ten years. My memory is not very good now, +and the time is long passed when I could repeat by heart without even +stopping to take breath, fifteen hundred verses of Girart de Rousillon. + +“As far as regards the Capitulary of Charlemagne, which fixes the +compensation for abduction, I have not mentioned it because I am sure +that you must remember it. So, my dear Monsieur de Gabry, you see +abduction was considered as decidedly a punishable offense under the +three dynasties of Old France. It is a very great mistake to suppose +that the Middle Ages represent a period of social chaos. You must +remember, on the contrary---” + +Monsieur de Gabry here interrupted me: + +“So,” he exclaimed, “you know of the Ordonnacne de Blois, you know +Baluze, you know Childebert, you know the Capitularies--and you don’t +know anything about the Code-Napoleon!” + +I replied that, as a matter of fact, I never had read the Code; and he +looked very much surprised. + +“And now do you understand,” he asked, “the extreme gravity of the +action you have committed?” + +I had not indeed been yet able to understand it fully. But little by +little, with the aid of Monsieur Paul’s very sensible explanations, I +reached the conviction at last that I should not be judged in regard to +my motives, which were innocent, but only according to my action, which +was punishable. Thereupon I began to feel very despondent, and to utter +divers lamentations. + +“What am I to do?” I cried out, “what am I to do? Am I then +irretrievably ruined?--and have I also ruined the poor child whom I +wanted to save?” + +Monsieur de Gabry silently filled his pipe, and lighted it so slowly +that his kind broad face remained for at least three or four minutes +glowing red behind the light, like a blacksmith’s in the gleam of his +forge-fire. Then he said, + +“You want to know what to do? Why, don’t do anything, my dear Monsieur +Bonnard! For God’s sake, and for your own sake, don’t do anything at +all! Your situation is bad enough as it is; don’t try to meddle with it +now, unless you want to create new difficulties for yourself. But you +must promise me to sustain me in any action that I may take. I shall go +to see Monsieur Mouche the very first thing to-morrow morning; and if +he turns out to be what I think he is--that is to say, a consummate +rascal--I shall very soon find means of making him harmless, even if the +devil himself should take sides with him. For everything depends on him. +As it is too late this evening to take Mademoiselle Jeanne back to her +boarding-school, my wife will keep the young lady here to-night. This of +course plainly constitues the misdemeanour of complicity; but it saves +the girl from anything like an equivocal position. As for you, my dear +Monsieur, you just go back to the Quai Malaquais as quickly as you can; +and if they come to look for Jeanne there, it will be very easy for you +to prove she is not in your house.” + +While we were thus talking, Madame de Gabry was preparing to make her +young lodger comfortable for the night. When she bade me good-bye at the +door, she was carrying a pair of clean sheets, scented with lavender, +thrown over her arm. + +“That,” I said, “is a sweet honest smell.” + +“Well, of course,” answered Madame de Gabry, “you must remember we are +peasants.” + +“Ah!” I answered her, “heaven grant that I also may be able one of these +days to become a peasant! Heaven grant that one of these days I may +be able, as you are at Lusance, to inhale the sweet fresh odour of the +country, and live in some little house all hidden among trees; and if +this wish of mine be too ambitious on the part of an old man whose life +is nearly closed, then I will only wish that my winding-sheet may be as +sweetly scented with lavender as that linen you have on your arm.” + +It was agreed that I should come to lunch the following morning. But +I was positively forbidden to show myself at the house before midday. +Jeanne, as she kissed me good-bye, begged me not to take her back to the +school any more. We felt much affected at parting, and very anxious. + +I found Therese waiting for me on the landing, in such a condition of +worry about me that it had made her furious. She talked of nothing less +than keeping me under lock and key in the future. + +What a night I passed! I never closed my eyes for one single instant. +From time to time I could not help laughing like a boy at the success of +my prank; and then again, an inexpressible feeling of horror would come +upon me at the thought of being dragged before some magistrate, and +having to take my place upon the prisoner’s bench, to answer for the +crime which I had so naturally committed. I was very much afraid; and +nevertheless I felt no remorse or regret whatever. The sun, coming into +my room at last, merrily lighted upon the foot of my bed, and then I +made this prayer: + +“My God, Thou who didst make the sky and the dew, as it is said in +‘Tristan,’ judge me in Thine equity, not indeed according unto my acts, +but according only to my motives, which Thou knowest have been upright +and pure; and I will say: Glory to Thee in heaven, and peace on earth to +men of good-will. I give into Thy hands the child I stole away. Do that +for her which I have not known how to do; guard for her from all her +enemies;--and blessed for ever be Thy name!” + + + + +December 29. + + +When I arrived at Madame de Gabry’s, I found Jeanne completely +transfigured. + +Had she also, like myself, at the very first light of dawn, called upon +Him who made the sky and the dew? She smiled with such a sweet calm +smile! + +Madame de Gabry called her away to arrange her hair for the amiable lady +had insisted upon combing and plaiting, with her own hands, the hair of +the child confided to her care. As I had come a little before the +hour agreed upon, I had interrupted this charming toilet. By way of +punishment I was told to go and wait in the parlour all by myself. +Monsieur de Gabry joined me there in a little while. He had evidently +just come in, for I could see on his forehead the mark left my +the lining of his hat. His frank face wore an expression of joyful +excitement. I thought I had better not ask him any questions; and we all +went to lunch. When the servants had finished waiting at table, Monsieur +Paul, who had been keeping his good story for the dessert, said to us, + +“Well! I went to Levallois.” + +“Did you see Maitre Mouche?” excitedly inquired Madame de Gabry. + +“No,” he replied, curiously watching the expression of disappointment +upon our faces. + +After having amused himself with our anxiety for a reasonable time, the +good fellow added: + +“Maitre Mouche is no longer at Levallois. Maitre Mouche has gone away +from France. The day after to-morrow will make just eight days since +he decamped, taking with him all the money of his clients--a tolerably +large sum. I found the office closed. A woman who lived close by told +me all about it with an abundance of curses and imprecations. The +notary did not take the 7:55 train all by himself; he took with him the +daughter of the hairdresser of Levallois, a young person quite famous in +that part of the country for her beauty and her accomplishments;--they +say she could shave better than her father. Well, anyhow Mouche has run +away with her; the Commissaire de Police confirmed the fact for me. Now, +really, could it have been possible for Maitre Mouche to have left the +country at a more opportune moment? If he had only deferred his escapade +one week longer, he would have been still the representative of society, +and would have had you dragged off to gaol, Monsieur Bonnard, like a +criminal. At present we have nothing whatever to fear from him. Here is +to the health of Maitre Mouche!” he cried, pouring out a glass of white +wine. + +I would like to live a long time if it were only to remember that +delightful morning. We four were all assembled in the big white +dining-room around the waxed oak table. Monsieur Paul’s mirth was’ +of the hearty kind,--even perhaps a little riotous; and the good man +quaffed deeply. Madame de Gabry smiled at me, with a smile so sweet, so +perfect, and so noble, that I thought such a woman ought to keep smiles +like that simply as a reward for good actions, and thus make everybody +who knew her do all the good of which they were capable. Then, to reward +us for our pains, Jeanne, who had regained something of her former +vivacity, asked us in less than a quarter of an hour one dozen +questions, to answer which would have required an exhaustive exposition +on the nature of man, the nature of the universe, the science of physics +and of metaphysics, the Macrocosm and the Microcosm--not to speak of the +Ineffable and the Unknowable. Then she drew out of her pocket her little +Saint-George, who had suffered most cruelly during our flight. His legs +and arms were gone; but he still had his gold helmet with the green +dragon on it. Jeanne solemnly pledged herself to make a restoration of +him in honour of Madame de Gabry. + +Delightful friends! I left them at last overwhelmed with fatigue and +joy. + + +On re-entering my lodgings I had to endure the very sharpest +remonstrances from Therese, who said she had given up trying to +understand my new way of living. In her opinion Monsieur had really lost +his mind. + +“Yes, Therese, I am a mad old man and you are a mad old woman. That +is certain! May the good God bless us both, Therese, and give us new +strength; for we now have new duties to perform, but let me lie down +upon the sofa; for I really cannot keep myself on my feet any longer.” + + + + +January 15, 186-. + + +“Good-morning, Monsieur,” said Jeanne, letting herself in; while Therese +remained grumbling in the corridor because she had not been able to get +to the door in time. + +“Mademoiselle, I beg you will be kind enough to address me very solemnly +by my title, and to say to me, ‘Good-morning, my guardian.’” + +“Then it has all been settled? Oh, how nice!” cried the child, clapping +her hands. + +“It has all been arranged, Mademoiselle, in the Salle-commune and before +the Justice of the Peace; and from to-day you are under my authority.... +What are you laughing about, my ward? I see it in your eyes. You have +some crazy idea in your head this very moment--some more nonsense, eh?” + +“Oh, no! Monsieur.... I mean, my guardian. I was looking at your white +hair. It curls out from under the edge of your hat like honeysuckle on a +balcony. It is very handsome, and I like it very much!” + +“Be good enough to sit down, my ward, and, if you can possibly help it, +stop saying ridiculous things, because I have some very serious things +to say to you. Listen. I suppose you are not going to insist upon being +sent back to the establishment of Mademoiselle Prefere?... No. Well, +then, what would you say if I should take you here to live with me, +and to finish your education, and keep you here until... what shall I +say?--for ever, as the song has it?” + +“Oh, Monsieur!” she cried, flushing crimson with pleasure. + +I continued, + +“Behind there we have a nice little room, which my housekeeper has +cleaned up and furnished for you. You are going to take the place of the +books which used to be in it; you will succeed them as the day succeeds +night. Go with Therese and look at it, and see if you think you will be +able to live in it. Madame de Gabry and I have made up our minds that +you can sleep there to-night.” + +She had already started to run; I called her back for a moment. + +“Jeanne, listen to me a moment longer! You have always until now made +yourself a favourite with my housekeeper, who, like all very old people, +is apt to be cross at times. Be gentle and forebearing. Make every +allowance for her. I have thought it my duty to make every allowance for +her myself, and to put up with all her fits of impatience. Now, let me +tell you, Jeanne:--Respect her! And when I say that, I do not forget +that she is my servant and yours; neither will she ever allow herself +to forget it for a moment. But what I want you to respect in her is her +great age and her great heart. She is a humble woman who has lived a +very, very long time in the habit of doing good; and she has become +hardened and stiffened in that habit. Bear patiently with the harsh ways +of that upright soul. If you know how to command, she will know how to +obey. Go now, my child; arrange your room in whatever way may seem to +you best suited for your studies and for your repose.” + +Having started Jeanne, with this viaticum, upon her domestic career, I +began to read a Review, which, although conducted by very young men, +is excellent. The tone of it is somewhat unpolished, but the spirit +is zealous. The article I read was certainly far superior, in point of +precision and positiveness, to anything of the sort ever written when I +was a young man. The author of the article, Monsieur Paul Meyer, points +out every error with a remarkably lucid power of incisive criticism. + +We used not in my time to criticise with such strict justice. Our +indulgence was vast. It went even so far as to confuse the scholar and +the ignoramus in the same burst of praise. And nevertheless one must +learn how to find fault; and it is even an imperative duty to blame when +the blame is deserved. + +I remember little Raymond (that was the name we gave him); he did not +know anything, and his mind was not a mind capable of absorbing any +solid learning; but he was very fond of his mother. We took very good +care never to utter a hint of the ignorance of so perfect a son; and, +thanks, to our forbearance, little Raymond made his way to the highest +positions. He had lost his mother then; but honours of all kinds were +showered upon him. He became omnipotent--to the grievous injury of +his colleagues and of science.... But here comes my young fiend of the +Luxembourg. + +“Good-evening, Gelis. You look very happy to-day. What good fortune has +come to you, my dear lad?” + +His good fortune is that he has been able to sustain his thesis very +credibly, and that he has taken high rank in his class. He tells me +this with the additional information that my own words, which were +incidentally referred to in the course of the examination, had been +spoken of by the college professors in terms of the most unqualified +praise. + +“That is very nice,” I replied; “and it makes me very happy, Gelis, to +find my old reputation thus associated with your own youthful honours. +I was very much interested, you know, in that thesis of yours;--but some +domestic arrangements have been keeping me so busy lately that I quite +forgot this was the day on which you were to sustain it.” + +Mademoiselle Jeanne made her appearance very opportunely, as if in order +to suggest to him something about the nature of those very domestic +arrangements. The giddy girl burst into the City of Books like a fresh +breeze, crying at the top of her voice that her room was a perfect +little wonder; then she became very red indeed on seeing Monsieur Gelis +there. But none of us can escape our destiny. + +Monsieur Gelis asked her how she was with the tone of a young fellow who +resumes upon a previous acquaintance, and who proposes to put himself +forward as an old friend. Oh, never fear!--she had not forgotten him +at all; that was very evident from the fact that then and there, right +under my nose, they resumed their last year’s conversation on the +subject of the “Venetian blond”! They continued the discussion after +quite an animated fashion. I began to ask myself what right I had to be +in the room at all. The only thing I could do in order to make myself +heard was to cough. As for getting in a word, they never even gave me a +chance. Gelis discoursed enthusiastically, not only about the Venetian +colourists, but also upon all other matters relating to nature or +to mankind. And Jeanne kept answering him, “Yes, Monsieur, you are +right.”.... “That is just what I supposed, Monsieur.”.... “Monsieur, +you express so beautifully just what I feel.”... “I am going to think a +great deal about what you have just told me, Monsieur.” + +When I speak, Mademoiselle never answers me in that tone. It is +only with the very tip of her tongue that she will even taste any +intellectual food which I set before her. Usually she will not touch +it at all. But Monsieur Gelis seems to be in her opinion the supreme +authority upon all subjects. It was always, “Oh, yes!”--“Oh, of +course!”--to all his empty chatter. And, then, the eyes of Jeanne! I +had never seen them look so large before; I had never before observed in +them such fixity of expression; but her gaze otherwise remained what it +always is--artless, frank, and brave. Gelis evidently pleased her; she +like Gelis, and her eyes betrayed the fact. They would have published it +to the entire universe! All very fine, Master Bonnard!--you have been so +deeply interested in observing your ward, that you have been forgetting +you are her guardian! You began only this morning to exercise that +function; and you can already see that it involves some very delicate +and difficult duties. Bonnard, you must really try to devise some means +of keeping that young man away from her; you really ought.... Eh! how am +I to know what I am to do?... + +I have picked up a book at random from the nearest shelf; I open it, and +I enter respectfully into the middle of a drama of Sophocles. The older +I grow, the more I learn to love the two civilisations of the antique +world; and now I always keep the poets of Italy and of Greece on a shelf +within easy reach of my arm in the City of Books. + +Monsieur and Mademoiselle finally condescend to take some notice of me, +now that I seem too busy to take any notice of them. I really think that +Mademoiselle Jeanne has even asked me what I am reading. No, indeed, I +will not tell her what it is. What I am reading, between ourselves, +is the change of that smooth and luminous Chorus which rolls out its +magnificent tunefulness through a scene of passionate violence--the +Chorus of the Old Men of Thebes--‘Erws avixate...’ “Invincible Love, +O thou who descendest upon rich houses,--Thou who dost rest upon the +delicate cheek of the maiden,--Thou who dost traverse all seas,--surely +none among the Immortals can escape Thee, nor indeed any among men who +live but for a little space; and he who is possessed by Thee, there is a +madness upon him.” And when I had re-read that delicious chant, the +face of Antigone appeared before me in all its passionless purity. What +images! Gods and goddesses who hover in the highest heights of Heaven! +The blind old man, the long-wandering beggar-king, led by Antigone, has +now been buried with holy rites; and his daughter, fair as the fairest +dream ever conceived by human soul, resists the will of the tyrant and +gives pious sepulture to her brother. She loves the son of the tyrant, +and that son loves her also. And as she goes on her way to execution, +the victim of her own sweet piety, the old men sing, “Invincible Love, +O Thou who dost descend upon rich houses,--Thou who dost rest upon the +delicate cheek of the maiden.”... + +“Mademoiselle Jeanne, are you really very anxious to know what I am +reading? I am reading, Mademoiselle--I am reading that Antigone, having +buried the blind old man, wove a fair tapestry embroidered with images +in the likeness of laughing faces.” + +“Ah!” said Gelis, as he burs out laughing “that is not in the text.” + +“It is a scholium,” I said. + +“Unpublished,” he added, getting up. + + +I am not an egotist. But I am prudent. I have to bring up this child; +she is much too young to be married now. No! I am not an egotist, but +I must certainly keep her with me for a few years more--keep her alone +with me. She can surely wait until I am dead! Fear not, Antigone, old +Oedipus will find holy burial soon enough. + +In the meanwhile, Antigone is helping our housekeeper to scrape the +carrots. She says she like to do it--that it is in her line, being +related to the art of sculpture. + + + + +May. + + +Who would recognise the City of Books now? There are flowers +everywhere--even upon all the articles of furniture. Jeanne was right: +those roses do look very nice in that blue china vase. She goes to +market every day with Therese, under the pretext of helping the old +servant to make her purchases, but she never brings anything back with +her except flowers. Flowers are really very charming creatures. And one +of these days, I must certainly carry out my plan, and devote myself to +the study of them, in their own natural domain, in the country--with all +the science and earnestness which I possess. + +For what have I to do here? Why should I burn my eyes out over these old +parchments which cannot now tell me anything worth knowing? I used to +study them, these old texts, with the most ardent enjoyment. What was +it which I was then so anxious to find in them? The date of a pious +foundation--the name of some monkish imagier or copyist--the price of +a loaf, of an ox, or of a field--some judicial or administrative +enactment--all that, and yet something more, a Something vaguely +mysterious and sublime which excited my enthusiasm. But for sixty years +I have been searching in vain for that Something. Better men than I--the +masters, the truly great, the Fauriels, the Thierrys, who found so many +things--died at their task without having been able, any more than I +have been, to find that Something which, being incorporeal, has no name, +and without which, nevertheless, no great mental work would ever be +undertaken in this world. And now that I am only looking for what I +should certainly be able to find, I cannot find anything at all; and +it is probable that I shall never be able to finish the history of the +Abbots of Saint-Germain-des-Pres. + +“Guardian, just guess what I have in my handkerchief.” + +“Judging from appearances, Jeanne, I should say flowers.” + +“Oh, no--not flowers. Look!” + +I look, and I see a little grey head poking itself out of the +handkerchief. It is the head of a little grey cat. The handkerchief +opens; the animal leaps down upon the carpet, shakes itself, pricks up +first one ear and then the other, and begins to examine with due caution +the locality and the inhabitants thereof. + +Therese, out of breath, with her basket on her arm, suddenly makes her +appearance in time to take an objective part in this examination, which +does not appear to result altogether in her favour; for the young cat +moves slowly away from her, without, however, venturing near my legs, or +approaching Jeanne, who displays extraordinary volubility in the use of +caressing appellations. Therese, whose chief fault is her inability +to hide her feelings, thereupon vehemently reproaches Mademoiselle for +bringing home a cat that she did not know anything about. Jeanne, in +order to justify herself, tells the whole story. While she was passing +with Therese before a chemist’s shop, she saw the assistant kick a +little cat into the street. The cat, astonished and frightened, seemed +to be asking itself whether to remain in the street where it was being +terrified and knocked about by the people passing by, or whether to go +back into the chemist’s even at the risk of being kicked out a second +time. Jeanne thought it was in a very critical position, and understood +its hesitation. It looked so stupid; and she knew it looked stupid only +because it could not decide what to do. So she took it up in her arms. +And as it had not been able to obtain any rest either indoors out +out-of-doors, it allowed her to hold it. Then she stroked and petted it +to keep it from being afraid, and boldly went to the chemist’s assistant +and said, + +“If you don’t like that animal, you mustn’t beat it; you must give it to +me.” + +“Take it,” said the assistant. + +... “Now there!” adds Jeanne, by way of conclusion; and then she changes +her voice again to a flute-tone in order to say all kinds of sweet +things to the cat. + +“He is horribly thin,” I observe, looking at the wretched +animal;--“moreover, he is horribly ugly.” Jeanne thinks he is not ugly +at all, but she acknowledges that he looks even more stupid than he +looked at first: this time she thinks it not indecision, but surprise, +which gives that unfortunate aspect to his countenance. She asks us to +imagine ourselves in his place;--then we are obliged to acknowledge that +he cannot possibly understand what has happened to him. And then we all +burst out laughing in the face of the poor little beast, which maintains +the most comical look of gravity. Jeanne wants to take him up; but he +hides himself under the table, and cannot even be tempted to come out by +the lure of a saucer of milk. + +We all turn our backs and promise not to look; when we inspect the +saucer again, we find it empty. + +“Jeanne,” I observe, “your protege has a decidedly tristful aspect of +countenance; he is of sly and suspicious disposition; I trust he is not +going to commit in the City of Books any such misdemeanours as might +render it necessary for us to send him back to his chemist’s shop. In +the meantime we must give him a name. Suppose we call him ‘Don Gris +de Gouttiere’; but perhaps that is too long. ‘Pill,’ ‘Drug,’ or +‘Castor-oil’ would be short enough, and would further serve to recall +his early condition in life. What do you think about it? + +“‘Pill’ would not sound bad,” answers Jeanne, “but it would be very +unkind to give him a name which would be always reminding him of the +misery from which we saved him. It would be making him pay too dearly +for our hospitality. Let us be more generous, and give him a pretty +name, in hopes that he is going to deserve it. See how he looks at us! +He knows that we are talking about him. And now that he is no longer +unhappy, he is beginning to look a great deal less stupid. I am not +joking! Unhappiness does make people look stupid,--I am perfectly sure +it does.” + +“Well, Jeanne, if you like, we will call your protege Hannibal. The +appropriateness of that name does not seem to strike you at once. But +the Angora cat who preceded him here as an intimate of the City of +Books, and to whom I was in the habit of telling all my secrets--for he +was a very wise and discreet person--used to be called Hamilcar. It is +natural that this name should beget the other, and that Hannibal should +succeed Hamilcar.” + +We all agreed upon this point. + +“Hannibal!” cried Jeanne, “come here!” + +Hannibal, greatly frightened by the strange sonority of his own name, +ran to hid himself under a bookcase in an orifice so small that a rat +could not have squeezed himself into it. + +A nice way of doing credit to so great a name! + + +I was in a good humour for working that day, and I had just dipped the +nib of my pen into the ink-bottle when I heard some one ring. Should any +one ever read these pages written by an unimaginative old man, he +will be sure to laugh at the way that bell keeps ringing through my +narrative, without ever announcing the arrival of a new personage or +introducing any unexpected incident. On the stage things are managed +on the reverse principle. Monsieur Scribe never has the curtain raised +without good reason, and for the greater enjoyment of ladies and young +misses. That is art! I would rather hang myself than write a play,--not +that I despise life, but because I should never be able to invent +anything amusing. Invent! In order to do that one must have received +the gift of inspiration. It would be a very unfortunate thing for me +to possess such a gift. Suppose I were to invent some monkling in my +history of the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Pres! What would our young +erudites say? What a scandal for the School! As for the Institute, it +would say nothing and probably not even think about the matter either. +Even if my colleagues still write a little sometimes, they never read. +They are of the opinion of Parny, who said, + + “Une paisible indifference + Est la plus sage des vertus.” + [“The most wise of the virtues is a calm indifference.”] + +To be the least wise in order to become the most wise--this is precisely +what those Buddhists are aiming at without knowing it. If there is any +wiser wisdom than that I will go to Rome to report upon it.... And all +this because Monsieur Gelis happened to ring the bell! + +This young man has latterly changed his manner completely with Jeanne. +He is now quite as serious as he used to be frivolous, and quite as +silent as he used to be chatty. And Jeanne follows his example. We have +reached the phase of passionate love under constraint. For, old as I +am, I cannot be deceived about it: these two children are violently +and sincerely in love with each other. Jeanne now avoids him--she hides +herself in her room when he comes into the library--but how well she +knows how to reach him when she is alone! alone at her piano! Every +evening she talks to him through the music she plays with a rich thrill +of passional feeling which is the new utterance of her new soul. + +Well, why should I not confess it? Why should I not avow my weakness? +Surely my egotism would not become any less blameworthy by keeping it +hidden from myself? So I will write it. Yes! I was hoping for something +else;--yes! I thought I was going to keep her all to myself, as my own +child, as my own daughter--not always, of course, not even perhaps for +very long, but just for a few short years more. I am so old! Could she +not wait? And, who knows? With the help of the gout, I would not have +imposed upon her patience too much. That was my wish; that was my hope. +I had made my plans--I had not reckoned upon the coming of this wild +young man. But the mistake is none the less cruel because my reckoning +happened to be wrong. And yet it seems to me that you are condemning +yourself very rashly, friend Sylvestre Bonnard: if you did want to keep +this young girl a few years longer, it was quite as much in her own +interest as in yours. She has a great deal to learn yet, and you are +not a master to be despised. When that miserable notary Mouche--who +subsequently committed his rascalities at so opportune a moment--paid +you the honour of a visit, you explained to him your ideas of education +with all the fervour of high enthusiasm. Then you attempted to put that +system of yours into practice;--Jeanne is certainly an ungrateful girl, +and Gelis a much too seductive young man! + +But still,--unless I put him out of the house, which would be a +detestably ill-mannered and ill-natured thing to do,--I must continue to +receive him. He has been waiting ever so long in my little parlour, in +front of those Sevres vases with which King Louis Philippe so graciously +presented me. The Moissonneurs and the Pecheurs of Leopold Robert are +painted upon those porcelain vases, which Gelis nevertheless dares to +call frightfully ugly, with the warm approval of Jeanne, whom he has +absolutely bewitched. + +“My dear lad, excuse me for having kept you waiting so long. I had a +little bit of work to finish.” + +I am telling the truth. Meditation is work, but of course Gelis does not +know what I mean; he thinks I am referring to something archaeological, +and, his question in regard to the health of Mademoiselle Jeanne having +been answered by a “Very well indeed,” uttered in that extremely dry +tone which reveals my moral authority as guardian, we begin to +converse about historical subjects. We first enter upon generalities. +Generalities are sometimes extremely serviceable. I try to inculcate +into Monsieur Gelis some respect for that generation of historians to +which I belong. I say to him, + +“History, which was formerly an art, and which afforded place for the +fullest exercise of the imagination, has in our time become a science, +the study of which demands absolute exactness of knowledge.” + +Gelis asks leave to differ from me on this subject. He tells me he does +not believe that history is a science, or that it could possibly ever +become a science. + +“In the first place,” he says to me, “what is history? The written +representation of past events. But what is an event? Is it merely +a commonplace fact? It is any fact? No! You say yourself it is a +noteworthy fact. Now, how is the historian to tell whether a fact is +noteworthy or not? He judges it arbitrarily, according to his tastes and +his caprices and his ideas--in short, as an artist? For facts cannot by +reason of their own intrinsic character be divided into historical facts +and non-historical facts. But any fact is something exceedingly complex. +Will the historian represent facts in all their complexity? No, that is +impossible. Then he will represent them stripped of the greater part +of the peculiarities which constituted them, and consequently +lopped, mutilated, different from what they really were. As for the +inter-relation of facts, needless to speak of it! If a so-called +historical fact be brought into notice--as is very possible--by one or +more facts which are not historical at all, and are for that very reason +unknown, how is the historian going to establish the relation of +these facts one to another? And in saying this, Monsieur Bonnard, I am +supposing that the historian has positive evidence before him, whereas +in reality he feels confidence only in such or such a witness for +sympathetic reasons. History is not a science; it is an art, and one +can succeed in that art only through the exercise of his faculty of +imagination.” + +Monsieur Gelis reminds me very much at this moment of a certain +young fool whom I heard talking wildly one day in the garden of the +Luxembourg, under the statue of Marguerite of Navarre. But at another +turn of the conversation we find ourselves face to face with Walter +Scott, whose work my disdainful young friend pleases to term “rococo, +troubadourish, and only fit to inspire somebody engaged in making +designs for cheap bronze clocks.” Those are his very words! + +“Why!” I exclaim, zealous to defend the magnificent creator of ‘The +Bride of Lammermoor’ and ‘The Fair Maid of Perth,’ “the whole past lives +in those admirable novels of his;--that is history, that is epic!” + +“It is frippery,” Gelis answers me. + +And,--will you believe it?--this crazy boy actually tells me that no +matter how learned one may be, one cannot possibly know just how men +used to live five or ten centuries ago, because it is only with the very +greatest difficulty that one can picture them to oneself even as they +were only ten or fifteen years ago. In his opinion, the historical poem, +the historical novel, the historical painting, are all, according to +their kind, abominably false as branches of art. + +“In all the arts,” he adds, “the artist can only reflect his own +soul. His work, no matter how it may be dressed up, is of necessity +contemporary with himself, being the reflection of his own mind. What do +we admire in the ‘Divine Comedy’ unless it be the great soul of Dante? +And the marbles of Michael Angelo, what do they represent to us that +is at all extraordinary unless it be Michael Angelo himself? The artist +either communicates his own life to his creations, or else merely +whittles out puppets and dresses up dolls.” + +What a torrent of paradoxes and irreverences! But boldness in a young +man is not displeasing to me. Gelis gets up from his chair and sits +down again. I know perfectly well what is worrying him, and whom he is +waiting for. And now he begins to talk to me about his being able to +make fifteen hundred francs a year, to which he can add the revenue +he derives from a little property that he has inherited--two thousand +francs a year more. And I am not in the least deceived as to the purpose +of these confidences on his part. I know perfectly well that he is only +making his little financial statements in order to persuade me that +he is comfortably circumstanced, steady, fond of home, comparatively +independent--or, to put the matter in the fewest words possible, able to +marry. Quod erat demonstrandum,--as the geometricians say. + +He has got up and sat down just twenty times. He now rises for the +twenty-first time; and, as he has not been able to see Jeanne, he goes +away feeling as unhappy as possible. + +The moment he has gone, Jeanne comes into the City of Books, under the +pretext of looking for Hannibal. She is also quite unhappy; and her +voice becomes singularly plaintive as she calls her pet to give him some +milk. Look at that sad little face, Bonnard! Tyrant, gaze upon thy work! +Thou hast been able to keep them from seeing each other; but they have +now both of them the same expression of countenance, and thou mayest +discern from that similarity of expression that in spite of thee they +are united in thought. Cassandra, be happy! Bartholo, rejoice! This is +what it means to be a guardian! Just see her kneeling down there on the +carpet with Hannibal’s head between her hands! + +Yes, caress the stupid animal!--pity him!--moan over him!--we know very +well, you little rogue, the real cause of all these sighs and plaints! +Nevertheless, it makes a very pretty picture. I look at it for a long +time; then, throwing a glance around my library, I exclaim, + +“Jeanne, I am tired of all those books; we must sell them.” + + + + +September 20. + + +It is done!--they are betrothed. Gelis, who is an orphan, as Jeanne is, +did not make his proposal to me in person. He got one of his professors, +an old colleague of mine, highly esteemed for his learning and +character, to come to me on his behalf. But what a love messenger! Great +Heavens! A bear--neat a bear of the Pyrenees, but a literary bear, and +this latter variety of bear is much more ferocious than the former. + +“Right or wrong (in my opinion wrong) Gelis says that he does not want +any dowry; he takes your ward with nothing but her chemise. Say yes, +and the thing is settled! Make haste about it! I want to show you two +or three very curious old tokens from Lorraine which I am sure you never +saw before.” + +That is literally what he said to me. I answered him that I would +consult Jeanne, and I found no small pleasure in telling him that my +ward had a dowry. + +Her dowry--there it is in front of me! It is my library. Henri and +Jeanne have not even the faintest suspicion about it; and the fact is I +am commonly believed to be much richer than I am. I have the face of +an old miser. It is certainly a lying face; but its untruthfulness has +often won for me a great deal of consideration. There is nobody so much +respected in this world as a stingy rich man. + +I have consulted Jeanne,--but what was the need of listening for her +answer? It is done! They are betrothed. + +It would ill become my character as well as my face to watch these young +people any longer for the mere purpose of noting down their words and +gestures. Noli me tangere:--that is the maxim for all charming love +affairs. I know my duty. It is to respect all the little secrets of that +innocent soul intrusted to me. Let these children love each other +all they can! Never a word of their fervent outpouring of mutual +confidences, never a hint of their artless self-betrayals, will be set +down in this diary by the old guardian whose authority was so gentle and +so brief. + +At all events, I am not going to remain with my arms folded; and if they +have their business to attend to, I have mine also. I am preparing a +catalogue of my books, with a view to having them all sold at auction. +It is a task which saddens and amuses me at the same time. I linger over +it, perhaps a good deal longer than I ought to do; turning the leaves +of all those works which have become so familiar to my thought, to my +touch, to my sight--even out of all necessity and reason. But it is +a farewell; and it has ever been in the nature of man to prolong a +farewell. + +This ponderous volume here, which has served me so much for thirty long +years, how can I leave it without according it every kindness that +a faithful servant deserves? And this one again, which has so often +consoled me by its wholesome doctrines, must I not bow down before it +for the last time, as to a Master? But each time that I meet with a +volume which led me into error, which ever afflicted me with false +dates, omissions, lies, and other plagues of the archaeologist, I say to +it with bitter joy: “Go! imposter, traitor, false-witness! flee thou far +away from me for ever;--vade retro! all absurdly covered with gold +as thou art! and I pray it may befall thee--thanks to thy usurped +reputation and thy comely morocco attire--to take thy place in the +cabinet of some banker-bibliomaniac, whom thou wilt never be able to +seduce as thou has seduced me, because he will never read one single +line of thee.” + +I laid aside some books I must always keep--those books which were given +to me as souvenirs. As I placed among them the manuscript of the +“Golden Legend,” I could not but kiss it in memory of Madame Trepof, +who remained grateful to me in spite of her high position and all her +wealth, and who became my benefactress merely to prove to me that she +felt I had once done her a kindness.... Thus I had made a reserve. It +was then that, for the first time, I felt myself inclined to commit +a deliberate crime. All through that night I was strongly tempted; by +morning the temptation had become irresistible. Everybody else in the +house was still asleep. I got out of bed and stole softly from my room. + +Ye powers of darkness! ye phantoms of the night! if while lingering +within my home after the crowing of the cock, you saw me stealing about +on tiptoe in the City of Books, you certainly never cried out, as Madame +Trepof did at Naples, “That old man has a good-natured round back!” I +entered the library; Hannibal, with his tail perpendicularly erected, +came to rub himself against my legs and purr. I seized a volume from +its shelf, some venerable Gothic text or some noble poet of the +Renaissance--the jewel, the treasure which I had been dreaming about +all night, I seized it and slipped it away into the very bottom of the +closet which I had reserved for those books I intended to retain, and +which soon became full almost to bursting. It is horrible to relate: +I was stealing from the dowry of Jeanne! And when the crime had been +consummated I set myself again sturdily to the task of cataloguing, +until Jeanne came to consult me in regard to something about a dress or +a trousseau. I could not possibly understand just what she was +talking about, through my total ignorance of the current vocabulary of +dress-making and linen-drapery. Ah! if a bride of the fourteenth century +had come to talk to me about the apparel of her epoch, then, indeed, I +should have been able to understand her language! But Jeanne does not +belong to my time, and I have to send her to Madame de Gabry, who on +this important occasion will take the place of her mother. + +... Night has come! Leaning from the window, we gaze at the vast sombre +stretch of the city below us, pierced with multitudinous points of +light. Jeanne presses her hand to her forehead as she leans upon the +window-bar, and seems a little sad. And I say to myself as I watch her: +All changes even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we +leave behind us is a part of ourselves: we must die to one life before +we can enter into another! + +And as if answering my thought, the young girl murmurs to me, + +“My guardian, I am so happy; and still I feel as if I wanted to cry!” + + + + +The Last Page + + + + +August 21, 1869. + +Page eighty-seven.... Only twenty lines more and I shall have finished +my book about insects and flowers. Page eighty-seventh and last.... “As +we have already seen, the visits of insects are of the utmost importance +to plants; since their duty is to carry to the pistils the pollen of +the stamens. It seems also that the flower itself is arranged and made +attractive for the purpose of inviting this nuptial visit. I think I +have been able to show that the nectary of the plant distils a sugary +liquid which attracts the insects and obliges it to aid unconsciously +in the work of direct or cross fertilisation. The last method of +fertilisation is the more common. I have shown that flowers are coloured +and perfumed so as to attract insects, and interiorly so constructed as +to offer those visitors such a mode of access that they cannot penetrate +into the corolla without depositing upon the stigma the pollen with +which they have been covered. My most venerated master Sprengel +observes in regard to that fine down which lines the corolla of the +wood-geranium: ‘The wise Author of Nature has never created a single +useless hair!’ I say in my turn: If that Lily of the Valley whereof the +Gospel makes mention is more richly clad than King Solomon in all his +glory, its mantle of purple is a wedding-garment, and that rich apparel +is necessary to the perpetuation of the species.” + +“Brolles, August 21, 1869.” + +[Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard was not aware that several very illustrious +naturalists were making researches at the same time as he in regard to +the relation between insects and plants. He was not acquainted with +the labours of Darwin, with those of Dr. Hermann Muller, nor with +the observations of Sir John Lubbock. It is worthy of note that the +conclusions of Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard are very nearly similar to +those reached by the three scientists above mentioned. Less important, +but perhaps equally interesting, is the fact that Sir John Lubbock is, +like Monsieur Bonnard, an archaeologist who began to devote himself only +late in life to the natural sciences.--Note by the French Editor.] + +Brolles! My house is the last one you pass in the single street of the +village, as you go to the woods. It is a gabled house with a slate roof, +which takes iridescent tints in the sun like a pigeon’s breast. The +weather-vane above that roof has won more consideration for me among the +country people than all my works upon history and philology. There is +not a single child who does not know Monsieur Bonnard’s weather-vane. It +is rusty, and squeaks very sharply in the wind. Sometimes it refuses +to do any work at all--just like Therese, who now allows herself to be +assisted by a young peasant girl--though she grumbles a good deal about +it. The house is not large, but I am very comfortable in it. My room +has two windows, and gets the sun in the morning. The children’s room is +upstairs. Jeanne and Henri come twice a year to occupy it. + +Little Sylvestre’s cradle used to be in it. He was a very pretty child, +but very pale. When he used to play on the grass, his mother would watch +him very anxiously; and every little while she would stop her sewing in +order to take him upon her lap. The poor little fellow never wanted to +go to sleep. He used to say that when he was asleep he would go away, +very far away, to some place where it was all dark, and where he saw +things that made him afraid--things he never wanted to see again. + +Then his mother would call me, and I would sit down beside his cradle. +He would take one of my fingers in his little dry warm hand, and say to +me, + +“Godfather, you must tell me a story.” + +Then I would tell him all kinds of stories, which he would listen to +very seriously. They all interested him, but there was one especially +which filled his little soul with delight. It was “The Blue Bird.” + Whenever I finished that, he would say to me, “Tell it again! tell it +again!” And I would tell it again until his little pale blue-veined head +sank back upon the pillow in slumber. + +The doctor used to answer all our questions by saying, + +“There is nothing extraordinary the matter with him!” + +No! There was nothing extraordinary the matter with little Sylvestre. +One evening last year his father called me. + +“Come,” he said, “the little one is still worse.” + +I approached the cradle over which the mother hung motionless, as if +tied down above it by all the powers of her soul. + +Little Sylvestre turned his eyes towards me; their pupils had already +rolled up beneath his eyelids, and could not descend again. + +“Godfather,” he said, “you are not to tell me any more stories.” + +No, I was not to tell him any more stories! + +Poor Jeanne!--poor mother! + +I am too old now to feel very deeply; but how strangely painful a +mystery is the death of a child! + + +To-day, the father and mother have come to pass six weeks under the old +man’s roof. I see them now returning from the woods, walking arm-in-arm. +Jeanne is closely wrapped in her black shawl, and Henri wears a crape +band on his straw hat; but they are both of them radiant with youth, +and they smile very sweetly at each other. They smile at the earth which +sustains them; they smile at the air which bathes them; they smile at +the light which each one sees in the eyes of the other. From my window I +wave my handkerchief at them,--and they smile at my old age. + +Jeanne comes running lightly up the stairs; she kisses me, and then +whispers in my ear something which I divine rather than hear. And I make +answer to her: “May God’s blessing be with you, Jeanne, and with your +husband, and with your children, and with your children’s children for +ever!”... Et nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine! + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard, by Anatole France + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD *** + +***** This file should be named 2123-0.txt or 2123-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/2/2123/ + +Produced by Brett Fishburne + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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