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diff --git a/22069-8.txt b/22069-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..83585ac --- /dev/null +++ b/22069-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13260 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Volume VIII., by +Guy de Maupassant + +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 Works of Guy de Maupassant, Volume VIII. + +Author: Guy de Maupassant + +Release Date: July 14, 2007 [EBook #22069] +Last updated: January 18, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + The Works of + + Guy de Maupassant + + + + + VOLUME VIII + + + + PIERRE ET JEAN + + AND OTHER STORIES + + + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + + + + NATIONAL LIBRARY COMPANY + + NEW YORK + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY + + BIGELOW, SMITH & CO. + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PIERRE ET JEAN. + +DREAMS + +MOONLIGHT + +THE CORSICAN BANDIT + +A DEAD WOMAN'S SECRET + +THE CAKE + +A LIVELY FRIEND + +THE ORPHAN + +THE BLIND MAN + +A WIFE'S CONFESSION + +RELICS OF THE PAST + +THE PEDDLER + +THE AVENGER + +ALL OVER + +LETTER FOUND ON A DROWNED MAN + +MOTHER AND SON + +THE SPASM + +A DUEL + +THE LOVE OF LONG AGO + +AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED + +A WARNING NOTE + +THE HORRIBLE + +A NEW YEAR'S GIFT + +BESIDE A DEAD MAN + +AFTER + +A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS + +BOITELLE + + * * * * * + + + + +OF "THE NOVEL" + + +I do not intend in these pages to put in a plea for this little novel. +On the contrary, the ideas I shall try to set forth will rather +involve a criticism of the class of psychological analysis which I +have undertaken in _Pierre et Jean_. I propose to treat of novels in +general. + +I am not the only writer who finds himself taken to task in the same +terms each time he brings out a new book. Among many laudatory +phrases, I invariably meet with this observation, penned by the same +critics: "The greatest fault of this book is that it is not, strictly +speaking, a novel." + +The same form might be adopted in reply: + +"The greatest fault of the writer who does me the honor to review me +is that he is not a critic." + +For what are, in fact, the essential characteristics of a critic? + +It is necessary that, without preconceived notions, prejudices of +"School," or partisanship for any class of artists, he should +appreciate, distinguish, and explain the most antagonistic tendencies +and the most dissimilar temperaments, recognizing and accepting the +most varied efforts of art. + +Now the Critic who, after reading _Manon Lescaut_, _Paul and +Virginia_, _Don Quixote_, _Les Liaisons dangereuses_, _Werther_, +_Elective Affinities_ (_Wahlverwandschaften_), _Clarissa Harlowe_, +_Émile_, _Candide_, _Cinq-Mars_, _René_, _Les Trois Mousquetaires_, +_Mauprat_, _Le Père Goriot_, _La Cousine Bette_, _Colomba_, _Le Rouge +et le Noir_, _Mademoiselle de Maupin_, _Notre-Dame de Paris_, +_Salammbo_, _Madame Bovary_, _Adolphe_, _M. de Camors_, _l'Assommoir_, +_Sapho_, etc., still can be so bold as to write "This or that is, or +is not, a novel," seems to me to be gifted with a perspicacity +strangely akin to incompetence. Such a critic commonly understands by +a novel a more or less improbable narrative of adventure, elaborated +after the fashion of a piece for the stage, in three acts, of which +the first contains the exposition, the second the action, and the +third the catastrophe or _dénouement_. + +And this method of construction is perfectly admissible, but on +condition that all others are accepted on equal terms. + +Are there any rules for the making of a novel, which, if we neglect, +the tale must be called by another name? If _Don Quixote_ is a novel, +then is _Le Rouge et le Noir_ a novel? If _Monte Christo_ is a novel, +is _l'Assommoir_? Can any conclusive comparison be drawn between +Goethe's _Elective Affinities_, _The Three Mousqueteers_, by Dumas, +Flaubert's _Madame Bovary_, _M. de Camors_ by Octave Feuillet, and +_Germinal_, by Zola? Which of them all is The Novel? What are these +famous rules? Where did they originate? Who laid them down? And in +virtue of what principle, of whose authority, and of what reasoning? + +And yet, as it would appear, these critics know in some positive and +indisputable way what constitutes a novel, and what distinguishes it +from other tales which are not novels. What this amounts to is that +without being producers themselves they are enrolled under a School, +and that, like the writers of novels, they reject all work which is +conceived and executed outside the pale of their esthetics. An +intelligent critic ought, on the contrary, to seek out everything +which least resembles the novels already written, and urge young +authors as much as possible to try fresh paths. + +All writers, Victor Hugo as much as M. Zola, have insistently claimed +the absolute and incontrovertible right to compose--that is to say, to +imagine or observe--in accordance with their individual conception of +originality, and that is a special manner of thinking, seeing, +understanding, and judging. Now the critic who assumes that "the +novel" can be defined in conformity with the ideas he has based on the +novels he prefers, and that certain immutable rules of construction +can be laid down, will always find himself at war with the artistic +temperament of a writer who introduces a new manner of work. A critic +really worthy of the name ought to be an analyst, devoid of +preferences or passions; like an expert in pictures, he should simply +estimate the artistic value of the object of art submitted to him. His +intelligence, open to everything, must so far supersede his +individuality as to leave him free to discover and praise books which +as a man he may not like, but which as a judge he must duly +appreciate. + +But critics, for the most part, are only readers; whence it comes that +they almost always find fault with us on wrong grounds, or compliment +us without reserve or measure. + +The reader, who looks for no more in a book than that it should +satisfy the natural tendencies of his own mind, wants the writer to +respond to his predominant taste, and he invariably praises a work or +a passage which appeals to his imagination, whether idealistic, gay, +licentious, melancholy, dreamy, or positive, as "striking" or "well +written." + +The public as a whole is composed of various groups, whose cry to us +writers is: + +"Comfort me." + +"Amuse me." + +"Touch me." + +"Make me dream." + +"Make me laugh." + +"Make me shudder." + +"Make me weep." + +"Make me think." + +And only a few chosen spirits say to the artist: + +"Give me something fine in any form which may suit you best, according +to your own temperament." + +The artist makes the attempt; succeeds or fails. + +The critic ought to judge the result only in relation to the nature of +the attempt; he has no right to concern himself about tendencies. This +has been said a thousand times already; it will always need repeating. + +Thus, after a succession of literary schools which have given us +deformed, superhuman, poetical, pathetic, charming or magnificent +pictures of life, a realistic or naturalistic school has arisen, which +asserts that it shows us the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but +the truth. + +All these theories of art must be recognized as of equal interest, and +we must judge the works which are their outcome solely from the point +of view of artistic value, with an _a priori_ acceptance of the +general notions which gave birth to each. To dispute the author's +right to produce a poetical work or a realistic work, is to endeavor +to coerce his temperament, to take exception to his originality, to +forbid his using the eyes and wits bestowed on him by Nature. To +blame him for seeing things as beautiful or ugly, as mean or epic, as +gracious or sinister, is to reproach him for not being made on this or +that pattern, and for having eyes which do not see exactly as ours +see. + +Let him be free by all means to conceive of things as he pleases, +provided he is an artist. Let us rise to poetic heights to judge an +idealist, and then prove to him that his dream is commonplace, +ordinary, not mad or magnificent enough. But if we judge a +materialistic writer, let us show him wherein the truth of life +differs from the truth in his book. + +It is self-evident that schools so widely different must have adopted +diametrically opposite processes in composition. + +The novelist who transforms truth--immutable, uncompromising, and +displeasing as it is--to extract from it an exceptional and delightful +plot, must necessarily manipulate events without an exaggerated +respect for probability, molding them to his will, dressing and +arranging them so as to attract, excite, or affect the reader. The +scheme of his romance is no more than a series of ingenious +combinations, skillfully leading to the issue. The incidents are +planned and graduated up to the culminating point and effect of the +conclusion, which is the crowning and fatal result, satisfying the +curiosity aroused from the first, closing the interest, and ending the +story so completely that we have no further wish to know what happened +on the morrow to the most engaging actors in it. + +The novelist who, on the other hand, proposes to give us an accurate +picture of life, must carefully eschew any concatenation of events +which might seem exceptional. His aim is not to tell a story to amuse +us, or to appeal to our feelings, but to compel us to reflect, and to +understand the occult and deeper meaning of events. By dint of seeing +and meditating he has come to regard the world, facts, men, and things +in a way peculiar to himself, which is the outcome of the sum total of +his studious observation. It is this personal view of the world which +he strives to communicate to us by reproducing it in a book. To make +the spectacle of life as moving to us as it has been to him, he must +bring it before our eyes with scrupulous exactitude. Hence he must +construct his work with such skill, it must be so artful under so +simple a guise, that it is impossible to detect and sketch the plan, +or discern the writer's purpose. + +Instead of manipulating an adventure and working it out in such a way +as to make it interesting to the last, he will take his actor or +actors at a certain period of their lives, and lead them by natural +stages to the next. In this way he will show either how men's minds +are modified by the influence of their environment, or how their +passions and sentiments are evolved; how they love or hate, how they +struggle in every sphere of society, and how their interests +clash--social interests, pecuniary interests, family interests, +political interests. The skill of his plan will not consist in +emotional power or charm, in an attractive opening or a stirring +catastrophe, but in the happy grouping of small but constant facts +from which the final purpose of the work may be discerned. If within +three hundred pages he depicts ten years of a life so as to show what +its individual and characteristic significance may have been in the +midst of all the other human beings which surrounded it, he ought to +know how to eliminate from among the numberless trivial incidents of +daily life all which do not serve his end, and how to set in a special +light all those which might have remained invisible to less +clear-sighted observers, and which give his book caliber and value as +a whole. + +It is intelligible that this method of construction, so unlike the old +manner which was patent to all, must often mislead the critics, and +that they will not all detect the subtle and secret wires--almost +invisibly fine--which certain modern artists use instead of the one +string formerly known as the "plot." + +In a word, while the novelist of yesterday preferred to relate the +crises of life, the acute phases of the mind and heart, the novelist +of to-day writes the history of the heart, soul, and intellect in +their normal condition. To achieve the effects he aims at--that is to +say, the sense of simple reality, and to point the artistic lesson he +endeavors to draw from it--that is to say, a revelation of what his +contemporary man is before his very eyes, he must bring forward no +facts that are not irrefragible and invariable. + +But even when we place ourselves at the same point of view as these +realistic artists, we may discuss and dispute their theory, which +seems to be comprehensively stated in these words: "The whole Truth +and nothing but the Truth." Since the end they have in view is to +bring out the philosophy of certain constant and current facts, they +must often correct events in favor of probability and to the detriment +of truth; for + +"Le vrai peut quelquefois, n'être pas le vraisemblable." (Truth may +sometimes not seem probable.) + +The realist, if he is an artist, will endeavor not to show us a +commonplace photograph of life, but to give us a presentment of it +which shall be more complete, more striking, more cogent than reality +itself. To tell everything is out of the question; it would require at +least a volume for each day to enumerate the endless, insignificant +incidents which crowd our existence. A choice must be made--and this +is the first blow to the theory of "the whole truth." + +Life, moreover, is composed of the most dissimilar things, the most +unforeseen, the most contradictory, the most incongruous; it is +merciless, without sequence or connection, full of inexplicable, +illogical, and contradictory catastrophes, such as can only be classed +as miscellaneous facts. This is why the artist, having chosen his +subject, can only select such characteristic details as are of use to +it, from this life overladen with chances and trifles, and reject +everything else, everything by the way. + +To give an instance from among a thousand. The number of persons who, +every day, meet with an accidental death, all over the world, is very +considerable. But how can we bring a tile onto the head of an +important character, or fling him under the wheels of a vehicle in the +middle of a story, under the pretext that accident must have its due? + +Again, in life there is no difference of foreground and distance, and +events are sometimes hurried on, sometimes left to linger +indefinitely. Art, on the contrary, consists in the employment of +foresight, and elaboration in arranging skillful and ingenious +transitions, in setting essential events in a strong light, simply by +the craft of composition, and giving all else the degree of relief, in +proportion to their importance, requisite to produce a convincing +sense of the special truth to be conveyed. + +"Truth" in such work consists in producing a complete illusion by +following the common logic of facts and not by transcribing them +pell-mell, as they succeed each other. + +Whence I conclude that the higher order of Realists should rather call +themselves Illusionists. + +How childish it is, indeed, to believe in this reality, since to each +of us the truth is in his own mind, his own organs. Our own eyes and +ears, taste and smell, create as many different truths as there are +human beings on earth. And our brains, duly and differently informed +by those organs, apprehend, analyze, and decide as differently as if +each of us were a being of an alien race. Each of us, then, has simply +his own illusion of the world--poetical, sentimental, cheerful, +melancholy, foul, or gloomy, according to his nature. And the writer +has no other mission than faithfully to reproduce this illusion, with +all the elaborations of art which he may have learnt and have at his +command. The illusion of beauty--which is merely a conventional term +invented by man! The illusion of ugliness--which is a matter of +varying opinion! The illusion of truth--never immutable! The illusion +of depravity--which fascinates so many minds! All the great artists +are those who can make other men see their own particular illusion. + +Then we must not be wroth with any theory, since each is simply the +outcome, in generalizations, of a special temperament analyzing +itself. + +Two of these theories have more particularly been the subject of +discussion, and set up in opposition to each other instead of being +admitted on an equal footing: that of the purely analytical novel, +and that of the objective novel. + +The partisans of analysis require the writer to devote himself to +indicating the smallest evolutions of a soul, and all the most secret +motives of our every action, giving but a quite secondary importance +to the act and fact in itself. It is but the goal, a simple milestone, +the excuse for the book. According to them, these works, at once exact +and visionary, in which imagination merges into observation, are to be +written after the fashion in which a philosopher composes a treatise +on psychology, seeking out causes in their remotest origin, telling +the why and wherefore of every impulse, and detecting every reaction +of the soul's movements under the promptings of interest, passion, or +instinct. + +The partisans of objectivity--odious word--aiming, on the contrary, at +giving us an exact presentment of all that happens in life, carefully +avoid all complicated explanations, all disquisitions on motive, and +confine themselves to let persons and events pass before our eyes. In +their opinion, psychology should be concealed in the book, as it is in +reality, under the facts of existence. + +The novel as conceived of on these lines gains in interest; there is +more movement in the narrative, more color, more of the stir of life. + +Hence, instead of giving long explanations of the state of mind of an +actor in the tale, the objective writer tries to discover the action +or gesture which that state of mind must inevitably lead to in that +personage, under certain given circumstances. And he makes him so +demean himself from one end of the volume to the other, that all his +actions, all his movements shall be the expression of his inmost +nature, of all his thoughts, and all his impulses or hesitancies. Thus +they conceal psychology instead of flaunting it; they use it as the +skeleton of the work, just as the invisible bony framework is the +skeleton of the human body. The artist who paints our portrait does +not display our bones. + +To me it seems that the novel executed on this principle gains also in +sincerity. It is, in the first place, more probable, for the persons +we see moving about us do not divulge to us the motives from which +they act. + +We must also take into account the fact that, even if by close +observation of men and women we can so exactly ascertain their +characters as to predict their behavior under almost any +circumstances, if we can say decisively: "Such a man, of such a +temperament, in such a case, will do this or that"; yet it does not +follow that we could lay a finger, one by one, on all the secret +evolutions of his mind--which is not our own; all the mysterious +pleadings of his instincts--which are not the same as ours; all the +mingled promptings of his nature--in which the organs, nerves, blood, +and flesh are different from ours. + +However great the genius of a gentle, delicate man, guileless of +passions and devoted to science and work, he never can so completely +transfuse himself into the body of a dashing, sensual, and violent +man, of exuberant vitality, torn by every desire or even by every +vice, as to understand and delineate the inmost impulses and +sensations of a being so unlike himself, even though he may very +adequately foresee and relate all the actions of his life. + +In short, the man who writes pure psychology can do no more than put +himself in the place of all his puppets in the various situations in +which he places them. It is impossible that he should change his +organs, which are the sole intermediary between external life and +ourselves, which constrain us by their perceptions, circumscribe our +sensibilities, and create in each of us a soul essentially dissimilar +to all those about us. Our purview and knowledge of the world, and our +ideas of life, are acquired by the aid of our senses, and we cannot +help transferring them, in some degree, to all the personages whose +secret and unknown nature we propose to reveal. Thus, it is always +ourselves that we disclose in the body of a king or an assassin, a +robber or an honest man, a courtesan, a nun, a young girl, or a coarse +market woman; for we are compelled to put the problem in this personal +form: "If _I_ were a king, a murderer, a prostitute, a nun, or a +market woman, what should _I_ do, what should _I_ think, how should +_I_ act?" We can only vary our characters by altering the age, the +sex, the social position, and all the circumstances of life, of that +_ego_ which nature has in fact inclosed in an insurmountable barrier +of organs of sense. Skill consists in not betraying this _ego_ to the +reader, under the various masks which we employ to cover it. + +Still, though on the point of absolute exactitude, pure psychological +analysis is impregnable, it can nevertheless produce works of art as +fine as any other method of work. + +Here, for instance we have the _Symbolists_. And why not? Their +artistic dream is a worthy one; and they have this especially +interesting feature: that they know and proclaim the extreme +difficulty of art. + +And, indeed, a man must be very daring or foolish to write at all +nowadays. And so many and such various masters of the craft, of such +multifarious genius, what remains to be done that has not been done, +or what to say that has not been said? Which of us all can boast of +having written a page, a phrase, which is not to be found--or +something very like it--in some other book? When we read, we who are +so soaked in (French) literature that our whole body seems as it were +a mere compound of words, do we ever light on a line, a thought, which +is not familiar to us, or of which we have not had at least some vague +forecast? + +The man who only tries to amuse his public by familiar methods, writes +confidently, in his candid mediocrity, works intended only for the +ignorant and idle crowd. But those who are conscious of the weight of +centuries of past literature, whom nothing satisfies, whom everything +disgusts because they dream of something better, to whom the bloom is +off everything, and who always are impressed with the uselessness, the +commonness of their own achievements--these come to regard literary +art as a thing unattainable and mysterious, scarcely to be detected +save in a few pages by the greatest masters. + +A score of phrases suddenly discovered thrill us to the heart like a +startling revelation; but the lines which follow are just like all +other verse, the further flow of prose is like all other prose. + +Men of genius, no doubt, escape this anguish and torment because they +bear within themselves an irresistible creative power. They do not sit +in judgment on themselves. The rest of us, who are no more than +persevering and conscientious workers, can only contend against +invincible discouragement by unremitting effort. + +Two men by their simple and lucid teaching gave me the strength to try +again and again: Louis Bouilhet and Gustave Flaubert. + +If I here speak of myself in connection with them, it is because their +counsels, as summed up in a few lines, may prove useful to some young +writers who may be less self-confident than most are when they make +their _début_ in print. Bouilhet, whom I first came to know somewhat +intimately about two years before I gained the friendship of Flaubert, +by dint of telling me that a hundred lines--or less--if they are +without a flaw and contain the very essence of the talent and +originality of even a second-rate man, are enough to establish an +artist's reputation, made me understand that persistent toil and a +thorough knowledge of the craft, might, in some happy hour of +lucidity, power, and enthusiasm, by the fortunate occurrence of a +subject in perfect concord with the tendency of our mind, lead to the +production of a single work, short but as perfect as we can make it. +Then I learned to see that the best-known writers have hardly ever +left us more than one such volume; and that needful above all else is +the good fortune which leads us to hit upon and discern, amid the +multifarious matter which offers itself for selection, the subject +which will absorb all our faculties, all that is of worth in us, all +our artistic powers. + +At a later date, Flaubert, whom I had occasionally met, took a fancy +to me. I ventured to show him a few attempts. He read them kindly and +replied: "I cannot tell whether you will have any talent. What you +have brought me proves a certain intelligence; but never forget this, +young man: talent--as Chateaubriand[1] says--is nothing but long +patience. Go and work." + +[Footnote 1: The idea did not originate with Chateaubriand.] + +I worked; and I often went to see him, feeling that he liked me, for +he had taken to calling me, in jest, his disciple. For seven years I +wrote verses, I wrote tales, I even wrote a villainous play. Nothing +of all this remains. The master read it all; then, the next Sunday +while we breakfasted together, he would give me his criticisms, +driving into me by degrees two or three principles which sum up the +drift of his long and patient exhortations: "If you have any +originality," said he, "you must above all things bring it out; if you +have not you must acquire it." + +Talent is long patience. + +Everything you want to express must be considered so long, and so +attentively, as to enable you to find some aspect of it which no one +has yet seen and expressed. There is an unexplored side to everything, +because we are wont never to use our eyes but with the memory of what +others before us have thought of the things we see. The smallest thing +has something unknown in it; we must find it. To describe a blazing +fire, a tree in a plain, we must stand face to face with that fire or +that tree, till to us they are wholly unlike any other fire or tree. +Thus we may become original. + +Then, having established the truth that there are not in the whole +world two grains of sand, two flies, two hands, or two noses +absolutely alike, he would make me describe in a few sentences some +person or object, in such a way as to define it exactly, and +distinguish it from every other of the same race or species. + +"When you pass a grocer sitting in his doorway," he would say, "a +porter smoking his pipe, or a cab stand, show me that grocer and that +porter, their attitude and their whole physical aspect, including, as +indicated by the skill of the portrait, their whole moral nature, in +such a way that I could never mistake them for any other grocer or +porter; and by a single word give me to understand wherein one cab +horse differs from fifty others before or behind it." + +I have explained his notions of style at greater length in another +place; they bear a marked relation to the theory of observation I have +just laid down. Whatever the thing we wish to say, there is but one +word to express it, but one verb to give it movement, but one +adjective to qualify it. We must seek till we find this noun, this +verb, and this adjective, and never be content with getting very near +it, never allow ourselves to play tricks, even happy ones, or have +recourse to sleights of language to avoid a difficulty. The subtlest +things may be rendered and suggested by applying the hint conveyed in +Boileau's line: + +"D'un mot mis en sa place enseigna le pouvoir." "He taught the power +of a word put in the right place." + +There is no need for an eccentric vocabulary to formulate every shade +of thought--the complicated, multifarious, and outlandish words which +are put upon us nowadays in the name of artistic writing; but every +modification of the value of a word by the place it fills must be +distinguished with extreme clearness. Give us fewer nouns, verbs, and +adjectives, with almost inscrutable shades of meaning, and let us have +a greater variety of phrases, more variously constructed, ingeniously +divided, full of sonority and learned rhythm. Let us strive to be +admirable in style, rather than curious in collecting rare words. + +It is in fact more difficult to bend a sentence to one's will and make +it express everything--even what it does not say, to fill it full of +implications of covert and inexplicit suggestions, than to invent new +expressions, or seek out in old and forgotten books all those which +have fallen into disuse and lost their meaning, so that to us they are +as a dead language. + +The French tongue, to be sure, is a pure stream, which affected +writers never have and never can trouble. Each age has flung into the +limpid waters its pretentious archaisms and euphuisms, but nothing has +remained on the surface to perpetuate these futile attempts and +impotent efforts. It is the nature of the language to be clear, +logical, and vigorous. It does not lend itself to weakness, obscurity, +or corruption. + +Those who describe without duly heeding abstract terms, those who make +rain and hail fall on the _cleanliness_ of the window panes, may throw +stones at the simplicity of their brothers of the pen. The stones may +indeed hit their brothers, who have a body, but will never hurt +simplicity--which has none. + +GUY DE MAUPASSANT. + +LA GUILLETTE, ETRETAT, September, 1887. + + + + +PIERRE ET JEAN + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +"Tschah!" exclaimed old Roland suddenly, after he had remained +motionless for a quarter of an hour, his eyes fixed on the water, +while now and again he very slightly lifted his line sunk in the sea. + +Madame Roland, dozing in the stern by the side of Madame Rosémilly, +who had been invited to join the fishing-party, woke up, and turning +her head to look at her husband, said: + +"Well, well! Gérome." + +And the old fellow replied in a fury: + +"They do not bite at all. I have taken nothing since noon. Only men +should ever go fishing. Women always delay the start till it is too +late." + +His two sons, Pierre and Jean, who each held a line twisted round his +forefinger, one to port and one to starboard, both began to laugh, and +Jean remarked: + +"You are not very polite to our guest, father." + +M. Roland was abashed, and apologized. + +"I beg your pardon, Madame Rosémilly, but that is just like me. I +invite ladies because I like to be with them, and then, as soon as I +feel the water beneath me, I think of nothing but the fish." + +Madame Roland was now quite awake, and gazing with a softened look at +the wide horizon of cliff and sea. + +"You have had good sport, all the same," she murmured. + +But her husband shook his head in denial, though at the same time he +glanced complacently at the basket where the fish caught by the three +men were still breathing spasmodically, with a low rustle of clammy +scales and struggling fins, and dull, ineffectual efforts, gasping in +the fatal air. Old Roland took the basket between his knees and tilted +it up, making the silver heap of creatures slide to the edge that he +might see those lying at the bottom, and their death-throes became +more convulsive, while the strong smell of their bodies, a wholesome +reek of brine, came up from the full depths of the creel. The old +fisherman sniffed it eagerly, as we smell at roses, and exclaimed: + +"Cristi! But they are fresh enough!" and he went on: "How many did you +pull out, doctor?" + +His eldest son, Pierre, a man of thirty, with black whiskers trimmed +square like a lawyer's, his moustache and beard shaved away, replied: + +"Oh, not many; three or four." + +The father turned to the younger. "And you, Jean?" said he. + +Jean, a tall fellow, much younger than his brother, fair, with a full +beard, smiled and murmured: + +"Much the same as Pierre--four or five." + +Every time they told the same fib, which delighted father Roland. He +had hitched his line round a row-lock, and folding his arms he +announced: + +"I will never again try to fish after noon. After ten in the morning +it is all over. The lazy brutes will not bite; they are taking their +siesta in the sun." And he looked round at the sea on all sides, with +the satisfied air of a proprietor. + +He was a retired jeweler who had been led by an inordinate love of +seafaring and fishing to fly from the shop as soon as he had made +enough money to live in modest comfort on the interest of his savings. +He retired to le Havre, bought a boat, and became an amateur skipper. +His two sons, Pierre et Jean, had remained at Paris to continue their +studies, and came for the holidays from time to time to share their +father's amusements. + +On leaving school, Pierre, the elder, five years older than Jean, had +felt a vocation to various professions and had tried half a dozen in +succession, but, soon disgusted with each in turn, he started afresh +with new hopes. Medicine had been his last fancy, and he had set to +work with so much ardor that he had just qualified after an unusually +short course of study, by a special remission of time from the +minister. He was enthusiastic, intelligent, fickle, but obstinate, +full of Utopias and philosophical notions. + +Jean, who was as fair as his brother was dark, as deliberate as his +brother was vehement, as gentle as his brother was unforgiving, had +quietly gone through his studies for the law and had just taken his +diploma as a licentiate, at the time when Pierre had taken his in +medicine. So they were now having a little rest at home, and both +looked forward to settling at Havre if they could find a satisfactory +opening. + +But a vague jealousy, one of those dormant jealousies which grow up +between brothers or sisters and slowly ripen till they burst, on the +occasion of a marriage perhaps, or of some good fortune happening to +one of them, kept them on the alert in a sort of brotherly and +non-aggressive animosity. They were fond of each other, it is true, +but they watched each other. Pierre, five years old when Jean was +born, had looked with the eyes of a little petted animal at that other +little animal which had suddenly come to lie in his father's and +mother's arms and to be loved and fondled by them. Jean, from his +birth, had always been a pattern of sweetness, gentleness, and good +temper, and Pierre had by degrees begun to chafe at everlastingly +hearing the praises of this great lad whose sweetness in his eyes was +indolence, whose gentleness was stupidity, and whose kindliness was +blindness. His parents, whose dream for their sons was some +respectable and undistinguished calling, blamed him for so often +changing his mind, for his fits of enthusiasm, his abortive +beginnings, and all his ineffectual impulses toward generous ideas and +the liberal professions. + +Since he had grown to manhood they no longer said in so many words: +"Look at Jean and follow his example," but every time he heard them +say "Jean did this--Jean does that," he understood their meaning and +the hint the words conveyed. + +Their mother, an orderly soul, a thrifty and rather sentimental woman +of the middle class, with the soul of a soft-hearted book-keeper, was +constantly quenching the little rivalries between her two big sons to +which the petty events of their life in common gave rise day by day. +Another little circumstance, too, just now disturbed her peace of +mind, and she was in fear of some complication; for in the course of +the winter, while her boys were finishing their studies, each in his +own line, she had made the acquaintance of a neighbor, Mme. Rosémilly, +the widow of a captain of a merchantman who had died at sea two years +before. The young widow--quite young, only three-and-twenty--a woman +of strong intellect who knew life by instinct as the free animals do, +as though she had seen, gone through, understood, and weighed every +conceivable contingency, and judged them with a wholesome, strict, and +benevolent mind, had fallen into the habit of calling to work or chat +for an hour in the evening with these friendly neighbors, who would +give her a cup of tea. + +Father Roland, always goaded on by his seafaring craze, would question +their new friend about the departed captain; and she would talk of +him, and his voyages, and his old-world tales, without hesitation, +like a resigned and reasonable woman who loves life and respects +death. + +The two sons on their return, finding the pretty widow quite at home +in the house forthwith began to court her, less from any wish to charm +her than from the desire to cut each other out. + +Their mother, being practical and prudent, sincerely hoped that one of +them might win the young widow, for she was rich; and then she would +have liked that the other should not be grieved. + +Mme. Rosémilly was fair, with blue eyes, a mass of light waving hair, +fluttering at the least breath of wind, and an alert, daring, +pugnacious little way with her, which did not in the least answer to +the sober method of her mind. + +She already seemed to like Jean best, attracted, no doubt, by an +affinity of nature. This preference, however, she betrayed only by an +almost imperceptible difference of voice and look and also by +occasionally asking his opinion. She seemed to guess that Jean's views +would support her own, while those of Pierre must inevitably be +different. When she spoke of the doctor's ideas on politics, art, +philosophy, or morals, she would sometimes say: "Your crotchets." Then +he would look at her with the cold gleam of an accuser drawing up an +indictment against woman--all women, poor weak things. + +Never till his sons came home had M. Roland invited her to join his +fishing expeditions, nor had he ever taken his wife; for he liked to +put off before daybreak, with his ally, Captain Beausire, a master +mariner retired, whom he had first met on the quay at high tides and +with whom he had struck up an intimacy, and the old sailor Papagris, +known as Jean Bart, in whose charge the boat was left. + +But one evening of the week before, as Mme. Rosémilly, who had been +dining with them, remarked, "It must be great fun to go out fishing," +the jeweler, flattered on his passion, and suddenly fired with the +wish to impart it, to make a convert after the manner of priests, +exclaimed: "Would you like to come?" + +"To be sure I should." + +"Next Tuesday?" + +"Yes, next Tuesday." + +"Are you the woman to be ready to start at five in the morning?" + +She exclaimed in horror: + +"No, indeed: that is too much." + +He was disappointed and chilled, suddenly doubting her true vocation. +However, he said: + +"At what hour can you be ready?" + +"Well--at nine?" + +"Not before?" + +"No, not before. Even that is very early." + +The old fellow hesitated; he certainly would catch nothing, for when +the sun has warmed the sea the fish bite no more; but the two brothers +had eagerly pressed the scheme, and organized and arranged everything +there and then. + +So on the following Tuesday the _Pearl_ had dropped anchor under the +white rocks of Cape la Héve; they had fished till mid-day, then they +had slept awhile, and then fished again without catching anything; and +then it was that father Roland, perceiving, rather late, that all that +Mme. Rosémilly really enjoyed and cared for was the sail on the sea, +and seeing that his lines hung motionless, had uttered in a spirit of +unreasonable annoyance, that vehement "Tschah!" which applied as much +to the pathetic widow as to the creatures he could not catch. + +Now he contemplated the spoil--his fish--with the joyful thrill of a +miser; and seeing as he looked up at the sky that the sun was getting +low: "Well, boys," said he, "suppose we turn homeward." + +The young men hauled in their lines, coiled them up, cleaned the hooks +and stuck them into corks, and sat waiting. + +Roland stood up to look out like a captain: + +"No wind," said he. "You will have to pull, young 'uns." + +And suddenly extending one arm to the northward, he exclaimed: + +"Here comes the packet from Southampton." + +Away over the level sea, spread out like a blue sheet, vast and +sheeny and shot with flame and gold, an inky cloud was visible against +the rosy sky in the quarter to which he pointed, and below it they +could make out the hull of the steamer, which looked tiny at such a +distance. And to the southward other wreaths of smoke, numbers of +them, could be seen, all converging toward the Havre pier, now +scarcely visible as a white streak with the light-house, upright, like +a horn, at the end of it. + +Roland asked: "Is not the _Normandie_ due to-day?" And Jean replied: + +"Yes, to-day." + +"Give me my glass. I fancy I see her out there." + +The father pulled out the copper tube, adjusted it to his eye, sought +the speck, and then, delighted to have seen it, exclaimed: + +"Yes, yes, there she is. I know her two funnels. Would you like to +look, Mme. Rosémilly?" + +She took the telescope and directed it toward the Atlantic horizon, +without being able, however, to find the vessel, for she could +distinguish nothing--nothing but blue, with a colored halo round it, a +circular rainbow--and then all manner of queer things, winking +eclipses which made her feel sick. + +She said as she returned the glass: + +"I never could see with that thing. It used to put my husband in quite +a rage; he would stand for hours at the window watching the ships +pass." + +Old Roland, much put out, retorted: + +"Then it must be some defect in your eye, for my glass is a very good +one." + +Then he offered it to his wife. + +"Would you like to look?" + +"No, thank you. I know beforehand that I could not see through it." + +Mme. Roland, a woman of eight-and-forty, but who did not look it, +seemed to be enjoying this excursion and this waning day more than any +of the party. + +Her chestnut hair was only just beginning to show streaks of white. +She had a calm, reasonable face, a kind and happy way with her which +it was a pleasure to see. Her son Pierre was wont to say that she knew +the value of money, but this did not hinder her from enjoying the +delights of dreaming. She was fond of reading, of novels and poetry, +not for their value as works of art, but for the sake of the tender +melancholy mood they would induce in her. A line of poetry, often but +a poor one, often a bad one, would touch the little chord, as she +expressed it, and give her the sense of some mysterious desire almost +realized. And she delighted in these faint emotions which brought a +little flutter to her soul, otherwise as strictly kept as a ledger. + +Since settling at Havre she had become perceptibly stouter, and her +figure, which had been very supple and slight, had grown heavier. + +This day on the sea had been delightful to her. Her husband, without +being brutal, was rough with her, as a man who is the despot of his +shop is apt to be rough, without anger or hatred; to such men to give +an order is to swear. He controlled himself in the presence of +strangers, but in private he let loose and gave himself terrible vent, +though he was himself afraid of every one. She, in sheer horror of the +turmoil, of scenes, of useless explanations, always gave way and never +asked for anything; for a very long time she had not ventured to ask +Roland to take her out in the boat. So she had joyfully hailed this +opportunity, and was keenly enjoying the rare and new pleasure. + +From the moment when they started she surrendered herself completely +body and soul, to the soft, gliding motion over the waves. She was not +thinking; her mind was not wandering through either memories or hopes; +it seemed to her as though her heart, like her body, was floating on +something soft and liquid and delicious which rocked and lulled it. + +When their father gave the word to return, "Come, take your places at +the oars!" she smiled to see her sons, her two great boys, take off +their jackets and roll up their shirt-sleeves on their bare arms. + +Pierre, who was the nearest to the two women, took the stroke oar, +Jean the other, and they sat waiting till the skipper should say: +"Give way!" For he insisted on everything being done according to +strict rule. + +Both at once, as if by a single effort, they dipped the oars and lay +back, pulling with all their might, and then a struggle began to +display their strength. They had come out easily, under sail, but the +breeze had died away, and the masculine pride of the two brothers was +suddenly aroused by the prospect of measuring their powers. When they +went out alone with their father they plied the oars without any +steering, for Roland would be busy getting the lines ready, while he +kept a lookout in the boat's course, guiding it by a sign or a word: +"Easy, Jean, and you, Pierre, put your back into it." Or he would say, +"Now, then, number one; come, number two--a little elbow grease." +Then the one who had been dreaming pulled harder, the one who had got +excited eased down, and the boat's head came round. + +But to-day they meant to display their biceps. Pierre's arms were +hairy, somewhat lean but sinewy; Jean's were round and white and rosy, +and the knot of muscles moved under the skin. + +At first Pierre had the advantage. With his teeth set, his brow knit, +his legs rigid, his hands clenched on the oar, he made it bend from +end to end at every stroke, and the _Pearl_ was veering landward. +Father Roland, sitting in the bows, so as to leave the stern seat to +the two women, wasted his breath shouting, "Easy, number one; pull +harder, number two!" Pierre pulled harder in his frenzy, and "number +two" could not keep time with his wild stroke. + +At last the skipper cried: "Stop her!" The two oars were lifted +simultaneously, and then by his father's orders Jean pulled alone for +a few minutes. But from that moment he had it all his own way; he grew +eager and warmed to his work, while Pierre, out of breath and +exhausted by his first vigorous spurt, was lax and panting. Four times +running father Roland made them stop while the elder took breath, so +as to get the boat into her right course again. Then the doctor +humiliated and fuming, his forehead dropping with sweat, his cheeks +white, stammered out: + +"I cannot think what has come over me; I have a stitch in my side. I +started very well, but it has pulled me up." + +Jean asked: "Shall I pull alone with both oars for a time?" + +"No, thanks, it will go off." + +And their mother, somewhat vexed, said: + +"Why, Pierre, what rhyme or reason is there in getting in such a +state. You are not a child." + +And he shrugged his shoulders and set to once more. + +Mme. Rosémilly pretended not to see, not to understand, not to hear. +Her fair head went back with an engaging little jerk every time the +boat moved forward, making the fine wayward hairs flutter about her +temples. + +But father Roland presently called out: + +"Look, the _Prince Albert_ is catching us up!" + +They all looked round. Long and low in the water, with her two raking +funnels and two yellow paddle-boxes like two round cheeks, the +Southampton packet came plowing on at full steam, crowded with +passengers under open parasols. Its hurrying, noisy paddle-wheels +beating up the water, which fell again in foam, gave it an appearance +of haste as of a courier pressed for time, and the upright stem cut +through the water, throwing up two thin translucent waves which glided +off along the hull. + +When it had come quite near the _Pearl_, father Roland lifted his hat, +the ladies shook their handkerchiefs, and half a dozen parasols +eagerly waved on board the steamboat responded to this salute as she +went on her way, leaving behind her a few broad undulations on the +still and glassy surface of the sea. + +There were other vessels, each with its smoky cap, coming in from +every part of the horizon toward the short white jetty, which +swallowed them up, one after another, like a mouth. And the fishing +barks and lighter craft with broad sails and slender masts, stealing +across the sky in tow of inconspicuous tugs, were coming in, faster +and slower, toward the devouring ogre, who from time to time seemed to +have had a surfeit, and spewed out to the open sea another fleet of +steamers, brigs, schooners, and three-masted vessels with their +top-weight of tangled antlers. The hurrying steam-ships flew off to +the right and left over the smooth bosom of the ocean, while sailing +vessels, cast off by the pilot-tugs which had hauled them out, lay +motionless, dressing themselves from the mainmast to the fore-top in +canvas, white or brown, and ruddy in the setting sun. + +Mme. Roland, with her eyes half-shut, murmured: "Good heavens, how +beautiful the sea is!" + +And Mme. Rosémilly replied with a long sigh, which, however, had no +sadness in it: + +"Yes, but it is sometimes very cruel, all the same." + +Roland exclaimed: + +"Look, there is the _Normandie_ just going in. A big ship, isn't she?" + +Then he described the coast opposite, far, far away, on the other side +of the mouth of the Seine--that mouth extended over twenty kilometers, +said he. He pointed out Villerville, Trouville, Houlgate, Luc, +Arromanches, the little river of Caen, and the rocks of Calvados which +make the coast unsafe as far as Cherbourg. Then he enlarged on the +question of the sand banks in the Seine, which shift at every tide so +that the pilots of Quilleboeuf are at fault if they do not survey +the channel every day. He bid them notice how the town of Havre +divided Upper from Lower Normandy. In Lower Normandy the shore sloped +down to the sea in pasture-lands, fields, and meadows. The coast of +Upper Normandy, on the contrary, was steep, a high cliff, ravined, +cleft and towering, forming an immense white rampart all the way to +Dunkirk, while in each hollow a village or a port lay hidden: Etretat, +Fécamp, Saint-Valery, Tréport, Dieppe, and the rest. + +The two women did not listen. Torpid with comfort and impressed by the +sight of the ocean covered with vessels rushing to and fro like wild +beasts about their den, they sat speechless, somewhat awed by the +soothing and gorgeous sunset. Roland alone talked on without end; he +was one of those whom nothing can disturb. Women, whose nerves are +more sensitive, sometimes feel, without knowing why, that the sound of +useless speech is as irritating as an insult. + +Pierre and Jean, who had calmed down, were rowing slowly, and the +_Pearl_ was making for the harbor, a tiny thing among those huge +vessels. + +When they came alongside of the quay, Papagris, who was waiting there, +gave his hand to the ladies to help them out, and they took the way +into the town. A large crowd--the crowd which haunts the pier every +day at high tide--was also drifting homeward. Mme. Roland and Mme. +Rosémilly led the way, followed by the three men. As they went up the +rue de Paris they stopped now and then in front of a milliner's or +jeweler's shop, to look at a bonnet or an ornament; then after making +their comments they went on again. In front of the Place de la Bourse +Roland paused, as he did every day, to gaze at the docks full of +vessels--the _Bassin du Commerce_, with other docks beyond, where the +huge hulls lay side by side, closely packed in rows, four or five +deep. And masts innumerable; along several kilometers of quays the +endless masts, with their yards, poles, and rigging, gave this great +gap in the heart of the town the look of a dead forest. Above this +leafless forest the gulls were wheeling, and watching to pounce, like +a falling stone, on any scraps flung overboard; a sailor boy, fixing a +pulley to a cross-beam, looked as if he had gone up there +bird's-nesting. + +"Will you dine with us without any sort of ceremony, just that we may +end the day together?" said Mme. Roland to her friend. + +"To be sure I will, with pleasure; I accept equally without ceremony. +It would be dismal to go home and be alone this evening." + +Pierre, who had heard, and who was beginning to be restless under the +young woman's indifference, muttered to himself: "Well, the widow is +taking root now, it would seem." For some days past he had spoken of +her as "the widow." The word, harmless in itself, irritated Jean +merely by the tone given to it, which to him seemed spiteful and +offensive. + +The three men spoke not another word till they reached the threshold +of their own house. It was a narrow one, consisting of a ground-floor +and two floors above, in the rue Belle-Normande. The maid, Joséphine, +a girl of nineteen, a rustic servant-of-all-work at low wages, gifted +to excess with the startled, animal expression of a peasant, opened +the door, went upstairs at her master's heels to the drawing-room, +which was on the first floor, and then said: + +"A gentleman called--three times." + +Old Roland, who never spoke to her without shouting and swearing, +cried out: + +"Who do you say called, in the devil's name?" + +She never winced at her master's roaring voice, and replied: + +"A gentleman from the lawyer's." + +"What lawyer?" + +"Why M'sieu' Canu--who else?" + +"And what did this gentleman say?" + +"That M'sieu' Canu will call in himself in the course of the evening." + +Maître Lecanu was M. Roland's lawyer, and in a way his friend, +managing his business for him. For him to send word that he would call +in the evening, something urgent and important must be in the wind; +and the four Rolands looked at each other, disturbed by the +announcement as folks of small fortune are wont to be at any +intervention of a lawyer, with its suggestions of contracts, +inheritance, law-suits--all sorts of desirable or formidable +contingencies. The father, after a few moments of silence, muttered: + +"What on earth can it mean?" + +Mme. Rosémilly began to laugh. + +"Why, a legacy, of course. I am sure of it. I bring good luck." + +But they did not expect the death of any one who might leave them +anything. + +Mme. Roland who had a good memory for relationships, began to think +over all their connections on her husband's side and on her own, to +trace up pedigrees and the ramifications of cousinship. + +Before even taking off her bonnet she said: + +"I say, father" (she called her husband "Father" at home, and +sometimes "Monsieur Roland" before strangers), "tell me, do you +remember who it was that Joseph Lebru married for the second time?" + +"Yes--a little girl named Dumenil, stationer's daughter." + +"Had they any children?" + +"I should think so! four or five at least." + +"Not from that quarter, then." + +She was quite eager already in her search; she caught at the hope of +some added ease dropping from the sky. But Pierre, who was very fond +of his mother, who knew her to be somewhat visionary and feared she +might be disappointed, a little grieved, a little saddened if the news +were bad instead of good, checked her: + +"Do not get excited, mother; there is no rich American uncle. For my +part I should sooner fancy that it is about a marriage for Jean." + +Every one was surprised at the suggestion, and Jean was a little +ruffled by his brother's having spoken of it before Madame Rosémilly. + +"And why for me rather than for you? The hypothesis is very +disputable. You are the elder; you, therefore, would be the first to +be thought of. Besides, I do not wish to marry." + +Pierre smiled sneeringly: + +"Are you in love, then?" + +And the other, much put out, retorted: + +"Is it necessary that a man should be in love because he does not care +to marry yet?" + +"Ah, there you are! That 'yet' sets it right; you are waiting." + +"Granted that I am waiting, if you will have it so." + +But old Roland who had been listening and cogitating, suddenly hit +upon the most probable solution. + +"Bless me! what fools we are to be racking our brains. Maître Lecanu +is our very good friend; he knows that Pierre is looking out for a +medical partnership and Jean for a lawyer's office, and he has found +something to suit one of you." + +This was so obvious and likely that every one accepted it. + +"Dinner is ready," said the maid. And they all hurried off to their +rooms to wash their hands before sitting down to table. + +Ten minutes after they were at dinner in the little dining-room on the +ground-floor. + +At first they were silent; but presently Roland began again in +amazement at this lawyer's visit. + +"For after all, why did he not write? Why should he have sent his +clerk three times? Why is he coming himself?" + +Pierre thought it quite natural. + +"An immediate decision is required, no doubt; and perhaps there are +certain confidential conditions which it does not do to put into +writing." + +Still, they were all puzzled, and all four a little annoyed at having +invited a stranger, who would be in the way of their discussing and +deciding on what should be done. + +They had just gone upstairs again when the lawyer was announced. +Roland flew to meet him: + +"Good-evening, my dear Maître," said he, giving his visitor the title +which in France is the official prefix to the name of every lawyer. + +Mme. Rosémilly rose. + +"I am going," she said. "I am very tired." + +A faint attempt was made to detain her; but she would not consent, and +went home without either of the three men offering to escort her as +they always had done. + +Mme. Roland did the honors eagerly to their visitor. + +"A cup of coffee, Monsieur?" + +"No, thank you. I have this moment done dinner." + +"A cup of tea, then?" + +"Thank you, I will not refuse presently. First we must attend to +business." + +The total silence which succeeded this remark was broken only by the +regular ticking of the clock, and below stairs the clatter of +saucepans which the girl was cleaning--too stupid even to listen at +the door. + +The lawyer went on: + +"Did you, in Paris, know a certain M. Maréchal--Léon Maréchal?" + +M. and Mme. Roland both exclaimed at once: "I should think so!" + +"He was a friend of yours?" + +Roland replied: "Our best friend, monsieur, but a fanatic for Paris; +never to be got away from the boulevard. He was head clerk in the +exchequer office. I have never seen him since I left the capital, and +latterly we had ceased writing to each other. When people are far +apart, you know--" + +The lawyer gravely put in: + +"M. Maréchal is deceased." + +Both man and wife responded with the little movement of pained +surprise, genuine or false, but always ready, with which such news is +received. + +Maître Lecanu went on: + +"My colleague in Paris has just communicated to me the main item of +his will, by which he makes your son Jean--Monsieur Jean Roland--his +sole legatee." + +They were all too much amazed to utter a single word. Mme. Roland was +the first to control her emotions and stammered out: + +"Good heavens! Poor Léon--our poor friend! Dear me! Dear me! Dead!" + +The tears started to her eyes, a woman's silent tears, drops of grief +from her very soul, which trickle down her cheeks and seem so very +sad, being so clear. But Roland was thinking less of the loss than of +the prospect announced. Still, he dared not at once inquire into the +clauses of the will and the amount of the fortune, so to work around +to these interesting facts he asked. + +"And what did he die of, poor Maréchal?" + +Maître Lecanu did not know in the least. + +"All I know is," said he, "that, dying without any direct heirs, he +has left the whole of his fortune--about twenty thousand francs a year +($3,840) in three per cents--to your second son, whom he has known +from his birth up, and judges worthy of the legacy. If M. Jean should +refuse the money, it is to go to the foundling hospitals." + +Old Roland could not conceal his delight and exclaimed: + +"Sacristi! It is the thought of a kind heart. And if I had no heir I +would not have forgotten him; he was a true friend." + +The lawyer smiled. + +"I was very glad," he said, "to announce the event to you myself. It +is always a pleasure to be the bearer of good news." + +It had not struck him that this good news was that of the death of a +friend, of Roland's best friend; and the old man himself had suddenly +forgotten the intimacy he had just spoken of with so much conviction. + +Only Mme. Roland and her sons still looked mournful. She, indeed, was +still shedding a few tears, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, +which she then pressed to her lips to smother her deep sobs. + +The doctor murmured: + +"He was a good fellow, very affectionate. He often invited us to dine +with him--my brother and me." + +Jean, with wide-open, glittering eyes, laid his hand on his handsome +fair beard, a familiar gesture with him, and drew his fingers down it +to the tip of the last hairs, as if to pull it longer and thinner. +Twice his lips parted to utter some decent remark, but after long +meditation he could only say this: + +"Yes, he was certainly fond of me. He would always embrace me when I +went to see him." + +But his father's thoughts had set off at a gallop--galloping round +this inheritance to come; nay, already in hand; this money lurking +behind the door which would walk in quite soon, to-morrow, at a word +of consent. + +"And there is no possible difficulty in the way?" he asked. "No +lawsuit--no one to dispute it?" + +Maître Lecanu seemed quite easy. + +"No; my Paris correspondent states that everything is quite clear. M. +Jean has only to sign his acceptance." + +"Good. Then--then the fortune is quite clear?" + +"Perfectly clear." + +"All the necessary formalities have been gone through?" + +"All." + +Suddenly the old jeweler had an impulse of shame--obscure, +instinctive, and fleeting; shame of his eagerness to be informed, and +he added: + +"You understand when I ask all these questions so immediately it is to +save my son disagreeables which he might not foresee. Sometimes there +are debts, embarrassing liabilities, what not! And a legatee finds +himself in an inextricable thorn bush. After all, I am not the +heir--but I think first of the little 'un." + +They were accustomed to speak of Jean among themselves as the "little +one," though he was much bigger than Pierre. + +Suddenly Mme. Roland seemed to wake from a dream, to recall some +remote fact, a thing almost forgotten that she had heard long ago, and +of which she was not altogether sure. She inquired doubtingly: + +"Were you not saying that our poor friend Maréchal had left his +fortune to my little Jean?" + +"Yes, madame." + +And she went on simply: + +"I am much pleased to hear it; it proves that he was attached to us." + +Roland had risen. + +"And would you wish, my dear sir, that my son should at once sign his +acceptance?" + +"No--no, M. Roland. To-morrow, at my office to-morrow, at two o'clock, +if that suits you." + +"Yes, to be sure--yes, indeed, I should think so." + +Then Mme. Roland, who had also risen and who was smiling after her +tears, went up to the lawyer, and laying her hand on the back of his +chair while she looked at him with the pathetic eyes of a grateful +mother, she said: + +"And now for that cup of tea, Monsieur Lecanu?" + +"Now I will accept it with pleasure, madame." + +The maid, on being summoned, brought in first some dry biscuits in +deep tin boxes, those crisp, insipid English cakes which seem to have +been made for a parrot's beak, and soldered into metal cases for a +voyage round the world. Next she fetched some little gray linen +doilies, folded square, those tea-napkins which in thrifty families +never get washed. A third time she came in with the sugar basin and +cups; then she departed to heat the water. They sat waiting. + +No one could talk; they had too much to think about and nothing to +say. Mme. Roland alone attempted a few commonplace remarks. She gave +an account of the fishing excursion, and sang the praises of the +_Pearl_ and of Mme. Rosémilly. + +"Charming! charming!" the lawyer said again and again. + +Roland, leaning against the marble mantelshelf as if it were winter +and the fire burning, with his hands in his pockets and his lips +puckered for a whistle, could not keep still, tortured by the +invincible desire to give vent to his delight. The two brothers, in +two armchairs that matched, one on each side of the center-table, +stared in front of them, in similar attitudes full of dissimilar +expression. + +At last the tea appeared. The lawyer took a cup, sugared it, and drank +it, after having crumbled into it a little cake which was too hard to +crunch. Then he rose, shook hands, and departed. + +"Then it is understood," repeated Roland. "To-morrow, at your place, +at two?" + +"Quite so. To-morrow, at two." + +Jean had not spoken a word. + +When their guest had gone, silence fell again till father Roland +clapped his two hands on his younger son's shoulders, crying: + +"Well, you devilish lucky dog! You don't embrace me!" + +Then Jean smiled. He embraced his father, saying: + +"It had not struck me as indispensable." + +The old man was beside himself with glee. He walked about the room, +strummed on the furniture with his clumsy nails, turned about on his +heels, and kept saying: + +"What luck! what luck! Now, that is really what I call luck!" + +Pierre asked: + +"Then you used to know this Maréchal well?" + +And his father replied: + +"I believe you! Why, he used to spend every evening at our house. +Surely you remember he used to fetch you from school on half-holidays, +and often took you back again after dinner. Why, the very day when +Jean was born it was he who went for the doctor. He had been +breakfasting with us when your mother was taken ill. Of course we knew +at once what it meant, and he set off post-haste. In his hurry he took +my hat instead of his own. I remember that because we had a good laugh +over it afterward. It is very likely that he may have thought of that +when he was dying, and as he had no heir he may have said to himself: +'I remember helping to bring that youngster into the world, so I will +leave him my savings.'" + +Mme. Roland, sunk in a deep chair, seemed lost in reminiscences once +more. She murmured, as though she were thinking aloud: + +"Ah, he was a good friend, very devoted, very faithful, a rare soul in +these days." + +Jean got up. + +"I shall go out for a little walk," he said. + +His father was surprised and tried to keep him; they had much to talk +about, plans to be made, decisions to be formed. But the young man +insisted, declaring that he had an engagement. Besides, there would be +time for settling everything before he came into possession of his +inheritance. So he went away, for he wished to be alone to reflect. +Pierre, on his part, said that he too was going out, and after a few +minutes followed his brother. + +As soon as he was alone with his wife, father Roland took her in his +arms, kissed her a dozen times on each cheek, and replying to a +reproach she had often brought against him, said: + +"You see, my dearest, it would have been of no good to stay any longer +in Paris and work for the children till I dropped, instead of coming +here to recruit my health, since fortune drops on us from the skies." + +She was quite serious. + +"It drops from the skies on Jean," she said. "But Pierre?" + +"Pierre? But he is a doctor; he will make plenty of money; besides, +his brother will surely do something for him." + +"No, he would not take it. Besides, this legacy is for Jean, only for +Jean. Pierre will find himself at a great disadvantage." + +The old fellow seemed perplexed: "Well, then, we will leave him rather +more in our will." + +"No; that again would not be quite just." + +"Drat it all!" he exclaimed. "What do you want me to do in the matter? +You always hit on a whole heap of disagreeable ideas. You must spoil +all my pleasures. Well, I am going to bed. Good-night. All the same, I +call it good luck, jolly good luck!" + +And he went off, delighted in spite of everything, and without a word +of regret for the friend so generous in his death. + +Mme. Roland sat thinking again, in front of the lamp which was burning +out. + + +CHAPTER II + +As soon as he got out, Pierre made his way to the Rue de Paris, the +high-street of Havre, brightly lighted up, lively and noisy. The +rather sharp air of the seacoast kissed his face, and he walked +slowly, his stick under his arm and his hands behind his back. He was +ill at ease, oppressed, out of heart, as one is after hearing +unpleasant tidings. He was not distressed by any definite thought, and +he would have been puzzled to account, on the spur of the moment, for +this dejection of spirit and heaviness of limb. He was hurt somewhere, +without knowing where; somewhere within him there was a pin-point of +pain--one of these almost imperceptible wounds which we cannot lay a +finger on, but which incommode us, tire us, depress us, irritate us--a +slight and occult pang, as it were a small seed of distress. + +When he reached the square in front of the theater, he was attracted +by the lights in the Café Tortoni, and slowly bent his steps to the +dazzling façade; but just as he was going in he reflected that he +would meet friends there and acquaintances--people he would be +obliged to talk to; and fierce repugnance surged up in him for this +commonplace good-fellowship over coffee cups and liqueur glasses. So, +retracing his steps, he went back to the high-street leading to the +harbor. + +"Where shall I go?" he asked himself, trying to think of a spot he +liked which would agree with his frame of mind. He could not think of +one, for being alone made him feel fractious, yet he could not bear to +meet any one. As he came out on the Grand Quay he hesitated once more; +then he turned toward the pier; he had chosen solitude. + +Going close by a bench on the breakwater he sat down, tired already of +walking and out of humor with his stroll before he had taken it. + +He said to himself: "What is the matter with me this evening?" And he +began to search in his memory for what vexation had crossed him, as we +question a sick man to discover the cause of his fever. + +His mind was at once irritable and sober; he got excited, then he +reasoned, approving or blaming his impulses; but in time primitive +nature at last proved the stronger; the sensitive man always had the +upper hand over the intellectual man. So he tried to discover what had +induced this irascible mood, this craving to be moving without wanting +anything, this desire to meet some one for the sake of differing from +him, and at the same time this aversion for the people he might see +and the things they might say to him. + +And then he put the question to himself, "Can it be Jean's +inheritance?" + +Yes, it was certainly possible. When the lawyer had announced the news +he had felt his heart beat a little faster. For, indeed, one is not +always master of one's self; there are sudden and pertinacious +emotions against which a man struggles in vain. + +He fell into meditation on the physiological problem of the impression +produced on the instinctive element in man, and giving rise to a +current of painful or pleasurable sensations diametrically opposed to +those which the thinking man desires, aims at, and regards as right +and wholesome, when he has risen superior to himself by the +cultivation of his intellect. He tried to picture to himself the frame +of mind of a son who has inherited a vast fortune, and who, thanks to +that wealth, may now know many long-wished-for delights which the +avarice of his father had prohibited--a father, nevertheless, beloved +and regretted. + +He got up and walked on to the end of the pier. He felt better, and +glad to have understood, to have detected himself, to have unmasked +_the other_ which lurks in us. + +"Then I was jealous of Jean," thought he. "That is really vilely mean. +And I am sure of it now, for the first idea which came into my head +was that he would marry Madame Rosémilly. And yet I am not in love +myself with that priggish little goose, who is just the woman to +disgust a man with good sense and good conduct. So it is the most +gratuitous jealousy, the very essence of jealousy, which is merely +because it is! I must keep an eye on that!" + +By this time he was in front of the flagstaff, whence the depth of +water in the harbor is signaled, and he struck a match to read the +list of vessels signaled in the roadstead and coming in with the next +high tide. Ships were due from Brazil, from La Plata, from Chili and +Japan, two Danish brigs, a Norwegian schooner, and a Turkish +steamship--which startled Pierre as much as if it had read a Swiss +steamship; and in a whimsical vision he pictured a great vessel +crowded with men in turbans climbing the shrouds in loose trousers. + +"How absurd," thought he. "But the Turks are a maritime people, too." + +A few steps further on he stopped again, looking out at the roads. On +the right, above Sainte-Adresse, the two electric lights of Cape la +Hève, like monstrous twin Cyclops, shot their long and powerful beams +across the sea. Starting from two neighboring centers, the two +parallel shafts of light, like the colossal tails of two comets, fell +in a straight and endless slope from the top of the cliff to the +uttermost horizon. Then, on the two piers, two more lights, the +children of these giants, marked the entrance to the harbor; and far +away on the other side of the Seine others were in sight, many others, +steady or winking, flashing or revolving, opening and shutting like +eyes--the eyes of the ports--yellow, red, and green, watching the +night-wrapped sea covered with ships; the living eyes of the +hospitable shore saying, merely by the mechanical and regular movement +of their eyelids: "I am here. I am Trouville; I am Honfleur; I am the +Audemer River." And high above all the rest, so high that from this +distance it might be taken for a planet, the airy light-house of +Etouville showed the way to Rouen across the sand banks at the mouth +of the great river. + +Out on the deep water, the limitless water, darker than the sky, stars +seemed to have fallen here and there. They twinkled in the night haze, +small, close to shore or far away--white, red, and green, too. Most +of them were motionless; some, however, seemed to be scudding onward. +These were the lights of the ships at anchor or moving about in search +of moorings. + +Just at this moment the moon rose behind the town; and it, too, looked +like some huge, divine pharos lighted up in the heavens to guide the +countless fleet of stars in the sky. Pierre murmured, almost speaking +aloud: "Look at that! And we let our bile rise for two-pence!" + +On a sudden, close to him, in the wide, dark ditch between the two +piers, a shadow stole up, a large shadow of fantastic shape. Leaning +over the granite parapet, he saw that a fishing-boat had glided in, +without the sound of a voice or the splash of a ripple, or the plunge +of an oar, softly borne in by its broad, tawny sail spread to the +breeze from the open sea. + +He thought to himself: "If one could but live on board that boat, what +peace it would be--perhaps!" + +And then a few steps further again, he saw a man sitting at the very +end of the breakwater. + +A dreamer, a lover, a sage--a happy or a desperate man? Who was it? He +went forward, curious to see the face of this lonely individual, and +he recognized his brother. + +"What, is it you, Jean?" + +"Pierre! You? What has brought you here?" + +"I came out to get some fresh air. And you?" + +Jean began to laugh. + +"I too came out for fresh air." And Pierre sat down by his brother's +side. + +"Lovely--isn't it?" + +"Oh, yes, lovely." + +He understood from the tone of voice that Jean had not looked at +anything. He went on: + +"For my part, whenever I come here I am seized with a wild desire to +be off with all those boats, to the north or the south. Only to think +that all those little sparks out there have just come from the +uttermost ends of the earth, from the lands of great flowers and +beautiful olive or copper colored girls, the lands of humming-birds, +of elephants, of roaming lions, of negro kings, from all the lands +which are like fairy tales to us who no longer believe in the White +Cat or the Sleeping Beauty. It would be awfully jolly to be able to +treat one's self to an excursion out there; but, then, it would cost a +great deal of money, no end--" + +He broke off abruptly, remembering that his brother had that money +now; and released from care, released from laboring for his daily +bread, free, unfettered, happy, and light-hearted, he might go whither +he listed, to find the fair-haired Swedes or the brown damsels of +Havana. And then one of those involuntary flashes which were common +with him, so sudden and swift that he could neither anticipate them, +nor stop them, nor qualify them, communicated, as it seemed to him, +from some second, independent, and violent soul, shot through his +brain. + +"Bah! He is too great a simpleton; he will marry that little +Rosémilly." He was standing up now. "I will leave you to dream of the +future. I want to be moving." He grasped his brother's hand and added +in a heavy tone: + +"Well, my dear old boy, you are a rich man. I am very glad to have +come upon you this evening to tell you how pleased I am about it, how +truly I congratulate you, and how much I care for you." + +Jean, tender and soft-hearted, was deeply touched. + +"Thank you, my good brother--thank you!" he stammered. + +And Pierre turned away with his slow step, his stick under his arm, +and his hands behind his back. + +Back in the town again, he once more wondered what he should do, being +disappointed of his walk and deprived of the company of the sea by his +brother's presence. He had an inspiration. "I will go and take a glass +of liqueur with old Marowsko," and he went off toward the quarter of +the town known as Ingouville. + +He had known old Marowsko--_le père Marowsko_, he called him--in the +hospitals in Paris. He was a Pole, an old refugee, it was said, who +had gone through terrible things out there, and who had come to ply +his calling as a chemist and druggist in France after passing a fresh +examination. Nothing was known of his early life, and all sorts of +legends had been current among the indoor and outdoor patients and +afterwards among his neighbors. This reputation as a terrible +conspirator, a nihilist, a regicide, a patriot ready for anything and +everything, who had escaped death by a miracle, had bewitched Pierre +Roland's lively and bold imagination; he had made friends with the old +Pole, without, however, having ever extracted from him any revelation +as to his former career. It was owing to the young doctor that this +worthy had come to settle at Havre, counting on the large custom which +the rising practitioner would secure him. Meanwhile he lived very +poorly in his little shop, selling medicines to the small tradesmen +and workmen in his part of the town. + +Pierre often went to see him and chat with him for an hour after +dinner, for he liked Marowsko's calm look and rare speech, and +attributed great depth to his long spells of silence. + +A single gas-burner was alight over the counter crowded with phials. +Those in the window were not lighted, from motives of economy. Behind +the counter, sitting on a chair with his legs stretched out and +crossed, an old man, quite bald, with a large beak of a nose which, as +a prolongation of his hairless forehead, gave him a melancholy +likeness to a parrot, was sleeping soundly, his chin resting on his +breast. He woke at the sound of the shop-bell, and recognizing the +doctor, came forward to meet him, holding out both hands. + +His black frock coat, streaked with stains of acids and syrups, was +much too wide for his lean little person, and looked like a shabby old +cassock; and the man spoke with a strong Polish accent which gave a +childlike character to his thin voice, the lisping note and +intonations of a young thing learning to speak. + +Pierre sat down, and Marowsko asked him: "What news, dear doctor?" + +"None. Everything as usual, everywhere." + +"You do not look very gay this evening." + +"I am not often gay." + +"Come, come, you must shake that off. Will you try a glass of +liqueur?" + +"Yes, I do not mind." + +"Then I will give you something new to try. For these two months I +have been trying to extract something from currants, of which only a +syrup has been made hitherto--well, and I have done it. I have +invented a very good liqueur--very good indeed; very good." + +And quite delighted, he went to a cupboard, opened it, and picked out +a bottle which he brought forth. He moved and did everything in jerky +gestures, always incomplete; he never quite stretched out his arm, nor +quite put out his legs; nor made any broad and definite movements. His +ideas seemed to be like his actions; he suggested them, promised them, +sketched them, hinted at them, but never fully uttered them. + +And indeed, his great end in life seemed to be the concoction of +syrups and liqueurs. "A good syrup or a good liqueur is enough to make +a fortune," he would often say. + +He had compounded hundreds of these sweet mixtures without ever +succeeding in floating one of them. Pierre declared that Marowsko +always reminded him of Marat. + +Two little glasses were fetched out of the back shop and placed on the +mixing-board. Then the two men scrutinized the color of the fluid by +holding it up to the gas. + +"A fine ruby," Pierre declared. + +"Isn't it?" Marowsko's old parrot-face beamed with satisfaction. + +The doctor tasted, smacked his lips, meditated, tasted again, +meditated again, and spoke: + +"Very good--capital; and quite new in flavor. It is a find, my dear +fellow." + +"Ah, really? Well, I am very glad." + +Then Marowsko took counsel as to baptizing the new liqueur. He wanted +to call it "Extract of currants," or else "_Fine Groseille_," or +"_Grosélia_," or again "_Groséline_." Pierre did not approve of either +of these names. + +Then the old man had an idea: + +"What you said just now would be very good, very good: 'Fine Ruby.'" +But the doctor disputed the merit of this name, though it had +originated with him. He recommended simply "Groseillette," which +Marowsko thought admirable. + +Then they were silent, and sat for some minutes without a word under +the solitary gas-lamp. At last Pierre began, almost in spite of +himself: "A queer thing has happened at home this evening. A friend of +my father's, who is lately dead, has left his fortune to my brother." + +The druggist did not at first seem to understand, but after thinking +it over he hoped that the doctor had half the inheritance. When the +matter was clearly explained to him he appeared surprised and vexed; +and to express his dissatisfaction at finding that his young friend +had been sacrificed, he said several times over: + +"It will not look well." + +Pierre, who was relapsing into nervous irritation, wanted to know what +Marowsko meant by this phrase. + +Why would it not look well? What was there to look badly in the fact +that his brother had come into the money of a friend of the family? + +But the cautious old man would not explain further. + +"In such a case the money is left equally to the two brothers, and I +tell you, it will not look well." + +And the doctor, out of all patience, went away, returned to his +father's house, and went to bed. For some time yet he could hear Jean +moving softly about the adjoining room, and then, after drinking two +glasses of water, he fell asleep. + + +CHAPTER III + +The doctor awoke next morning firmly resolved to make his fortune. +Several times already he had come to the same determination without +following up the reality. At the outset of all his trials of some new +career the hopes of rapidly acquired riches kept up his efforts and +confidence, till the first obstacle, the first check, threw him into a +fresh path. Snug in bed between the warm sheets, he lay meditating. +How many medical men had become wealthy in quite a short time! All +that was needed was a little knowledge of the world; for in the course +of his studies he had learnt to estimate the most famous physicians, +and he judged them all to be asses. He was certainly as good as they, +if not better. If by any means he could secure a practice among the +wealth and fashion of Havre, he could easily make a hundred thousand +francs a year. And he calculated with great exactitude what his +certain profits must be. He would go out in the mornings to visit his +patients; at the very moderate average of ten a day, at twenty francs +each, that would mount up to seventy-two thousand francs a year at +least, or even seventy-five thousand; for ten patients was certainly +below the mark. In the afternoon he would be at home to, say, another +ten patients, at ten francs each--thirty-six thousand francs. Here, +then, in round numbers, was an income of twenty thousand francs. Old +patients, or friends whom he would charge only ten francs for a visit, +or see at home for five, would perhaps make a slight reduction on +this sum total, but consultations with other physicians and various +incidental fees would make up for that. + +Nothing would be easier than to achieve this by skillful advertising +remarks in the _Figaro_ to the effect that the scientific faculty of +Paris had their eye on him, and were interested in the cures effected +by the modest young practitioner of Havre! And he would be richer than +his brother, richer and more famous; and satisfied with himself, for +he would owe his fortune solely to his own exertions; and liberal to +his old parents, who would be justly proud of his fame. He would not +marry, would not burden his life with a wife who would be in his way, +but then he might make love. He felt so sure of success that he sprang +out of bed as though to grasp it on the spot, and he dressed to go and +search through the town for rooms to suit him. + +Then, as he wandered about the streets, he reflected how slight are +the causes which determine our actions. Any time these three weeks he +might and ought to have come to this decision, which, beyond a doubt, +the news of his brother's inheritance had abruptly given rise to. + +He stopped before every door where a placard proclaimed that "fine +apartments" or "handsome rooms" were to be let; announcements without +an adjective he turned from with scorn. Then he inspected them with a +lofty air, measuring the height of the rooms, sketching the plan in +his note-book, with the passages, the arrangements of the exits, +explaining that he was a medical man and had many visitors. He must +have a broad and well-kept staircase; nor could he be any higher up +than the first floor. + +After having written down seven or eight addresses and scribbled two +hundred notes, he got home to breakfast a quarter of an hour too late. + +In the hall he heard the clatter of plates. Then they had begun +without him! Why? They were never wont to be so punctual. He was +nettled and put out, for he was somewhat thin-skinned. As he went in +Roland said to him: + +"Come, Pierre, make haste, devil take you! You know we have to be at +the lawyer's at two o'clock. This is not the day to be dawdling +about." + +Pierre sat down without replying, after kissing his mother and shaking +hands with his father and brother; and he helped himself from the deep +dish in the middle of the table to the cutlet which had been kept for +him. It was cold and dry, probably the least tempting of them all. He +thought that they might have left it on the hot plate till he came in, +and not lose their heads so completely as to have forgotten their +other son, their eldest. + +The conversation, which his entrance had interrupted, was taken up +again at the point where it had ceased. + +"In your place," Mme. Roland was saying to Jean, "I will tell you what +I should do at once. I should settle in handsome rooms so as to +attract attention; I should rise on horseback and select one or two +interesting cases to defend and make a mark in court. I would be a +sort of amateur lawyer, and very select. Thank God you are out of all +danger of want, and if you pursue a profession, it is, after all, only +that you may not lose the benefit of your studies, and because a man +ought never to sit idle." + +Old Roland, who was peeling a pear, exclaimed: + +"Christi! In your place I should buy a nice yacht, a cutter on the +build of our pilot-boats. I would sail as far as Senegal in such a +boat as that." + +Pierre, in his turn, spoke his views. After all, said he, it was not +his wealth which made the moral worth, the intellectual worth of a +man. To a man of inferior mind it was only a means of degradation, +while in the hands of a strong man it was a powerful lever. They, to +be sure, were rare. If Jean were a really superior man, now that he +could never want he might prove it. But then he must work a hundred +times harder than he would have done in other circumstances. His +business now must be not to argue for or against the widow and the +orphan, and pocket his fees for every case he gained, but to become a +really eminent legal authority, a luminary of the law. And he added in +conclusion: + +"If I were rich wouldn't I dissect no end of bodies!" + +Father Roland shrugged his shoulders. + +"That is all very fine," he said. "But the wisest way of life is to +take it easy. We are not beasts of burden, but men. If you are born +poor you must work; well, so much the worse; and you do work. But +where you have dividends! You must be a flat if you grind yourself to +death." + +Pierre replied haughtily: + +"Our notions differ. For my part, I respect nothing on earth but +learning and intellect; everything else is beneath contempt." + +Mme. Roland always tried to deaden the constant shocks between father +and son; she turned the conversation, and began talking of a murder +committed the week before at Bolbec Nointot. Their minds were +immediately full of the circumstances under which the crime had been +committed, and absorbed by the interesting horror, the attractive +mystery of crime, which, however commonplace, shameful, and +disgusting, exercises a strange and universal fascination over the +curiosity of mankind. Now and again, however, old Roland looked at his +watch. "Come," said he, "it is time to be going." + +Pierre sneered. + +"It is not yet one o'clock," he said. "It really was hardly worth +while to condemn me to eat a cold cutlet." + +"Are you coming to the lawyer's?" his mother asked. + +"I? No. What for?" he replied dryly. "My presence is quite +unnecessary." + +Jean sat silent, as though he had no concern in the matter. When they +were discussing the murder at Bolbec he, as a legal authority, had put +forward some opinions and uttered some reflections on crime and +criminals. Now he spoke no more; but the sparkle in his eye, the +bright color in his cheeks, the very gloss of his beard seemed to +proclaim his happiness. + +When the family had gone, Pierre, alone once more, resumed his +investigations in the apartments to let. After two or three hours +spent in going up and down stairs, he at last found, in the Boulevard +François, a pretty set of rooms; a spacious entresol with two doors on +two different streets, two drawing-rooms, a glass corridor, where his +patients while they waited, might walk among flowers, and a delightful +dining-room with a bow-window looking out over the sea. + +When it came to taking it, the terms--three thousand francs--pulled +him up; the first quarter must be paid in advance, and he had nothing, +not a penny to call his own. + +The little fortune his father had saved brought him in about eight +thousand francs a year, and Pierre had often blamed himself for having +placed his parents in difficulties by his long delay in deciding on a +profession, by forfeiting his attempts and beginning fresh courses of +study. So he went away, promising to send his answer within two days, +and it occurred to him to ask Jean to lend him the amount of this +quarter's rent, or even of a half-year, fifteen hundred francs, as +soon as Jean should have come into possession. + +"It will be a loan for a few months at most," he thought. "I shall +repay him, very likely, before the end of the year. It is a simple +matter, and he will be glad to do so much for me." + +As it was not yet four o'clock, and he had nothing to do, absolutely +nothing, he went to sit in the public gardens; and he remained a long +time on a bench, without an idea in his brain, his eyes fixed on the +ground, crushed by weariness amounting to distress. + +And yet this was how he had been living all these days since his +return home, without suffering so acutely from the vacuity of his +existence and from inaction. How had he spent his time from rising in +the morning till bed-time? + +He had loafed on the pier at high tide, loafed in the streets, loafed +in the cafés, loafed at Marowsko's, loafed everywhere. And on a sudden +this life, which he had endured till now, had become odious, +intolerable. If he had had any pocket-money he would have taken a +carriage for a long drive in the country, along by the farm-ditches +shaded by beech and elm trees; but he had to think twice of the cost +of a glass of beer or a postage-stamp, and such an indulgence was out +of his ken. It suddenly struck him how hard it was for a man of past +thirty to be reduced to ask his mother, with a blush, for a +twenty-franc piece every now and then; and he muttered, as he scored +the gravel with the ferrule of his stick: + +"Christi, if I only had money!" + +And again the thought of his brother's legacy came into his head like +the sting of a wasp; but he drove it out indignantly, not choosing to +allow himself to slip down that descent to jealousy. + +Some children were playing about in the dusty paths. They were fair +little things with long hair, and they were making little mounds of +sand with the greatest gravity and careful attention, to crush them at +once by stamping on them. + +It was one of those gloomy days with Pierre when we pry into every +corner of our souls and shake out every crease. + +"All our endeavors are like the labors of those babies," thought he. +And then he wondered whether the wisest thing in life were not to +beget two or three of these little creatures and watch them grow up +with complacent curiosity. A longing for marriage breathed on his +soul. A man is not so lost when he is not alone. At any rate, he hears +some one stirring at his side in hours of trouble or of uncertainty; +and it is something only to be able to speak on equal terms to a woman +when one is suffering. + +Then he began thinking of women. He knew very little of them, never +having had any but very transient connections as a medical student, +broken off as soon as the month's allowance was spent, and renewed or +replaced by another the following month. And yet there must be some +very kind, gentle, and comforting creatures among them. Had not his +mother been the good sense and saving grace of his own home? How glad +he would be to know a woman, a true woman. + +He started up with a sudden determination to go and call on Mme. +Rosémilly. But he promptly sat down again. He did not like that woman. +Why not? She had too much vulgar and sordid common sense; besides, did +she not seem to prefer Jean? Without confessing it to himself too +bluntly, this preference had a great deal to do with his low opinion +of the widow's intellect; for, though he loved his brother, he could +not help thinking him somewhat mediocre and believing himself the +superior. However, he was not going to sit there till nightfall; and +as he had done on the previous evening, he anxiously asked himself: +"What am I going to do?" + +At this moment he felt in his soul the need of a melting mood, of +being embraced and comforted. Comforted--for what? He could not have +put it into words; but he was in one of those hours of weakness and +exhaustion when a woman's presence, a woman's kiss, the touch of a +hand, the rustle of a petticoat, a soft look out of black or blue +eyes, seem the one thing needful, there and then, to our heart. And +the memory flashed upon him of a little barmaid at a beer-house, whom +he had walked home with one evening, and seen again from time to time. + +So once more he rose, to go and drink a bock with the girl. What +should he say to her? What would she say to him? Nothing, probably. +But what did that matter? He would hold her hand for a few seconds. +She seemed to have a fancy for him. Why, then, did he not go to see +her oftener? + +He found her dozing on a chair in the beer-shop, which was almost +deserted. Three men were drinking and smoking with their elbows on the +oak tables; the book-keeper in her desk was reading a novel, while the +master, in his shirt-sleeves, lay sound asleep on a bench. + +As soon as she saw him the girl rose eagerly, and coming to meet him, +said: + +"Good-day, monsieur--how are you?" + +"Pretty well; and you?" + +"I--oh, very well. How scarce you make yourself." + +"Yes. I have very little time to myself. I am a doctor, you know." + +"Indeed! You never told me. If I had known that--I was out of sorts +last week and I would have sent for you. What will you take?" + +"A bock. And you?" + +"I will have a bock too since you are game to treat me." + +She had addressed him with the familiar _tu_, and continued to use it, +as if the offer of a drink had tacitly conveyed permission. Then, +sitting down opposite each other, they talked for a while. Every now +and then she took his hand with the light familiarity of girls whose +kisses are for sale, and looking at him with inviting eyes, she said: + +"Why don't you come here oftener? I like you very much, sweetheart." + +He was already disgusted with her; he saw how stupid she was, and +common, smacking of low life. A woman, he told himself, should appear +to us in a dream, or such a glory as may poetize her vulgarity. + +Next she asked him: + +"You went by the other morning with a handsome fair man, wearing a big +beard. Is he your brother?" + +"Yes, he is my brother." + +"Awfully good-looking." + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes, indeed; and he looks like a man who enjoys life, too." + +What strange craving impelled him on a sudden to tell this +tavern-wench about Jean's legacy? Why should this thing, which he kept +at arm's-length when he was alone, which he drove from him for fear of +the torment it brought upon his soul, rise to his lips at this moment? +And why did he allow it to overflow them, as if he needed once more to +empty out his heart to some one, gorged as it was with bitterness? + +He crossed his legs and said: + +"He has wonderful luck, that brother of mine. He has just come into a +legacy of twenty thousand francs a year." + +She opened those covetous blue eyes of hers very wide. + +"Oh! and who left him that? His grandmother or his aunt?" + +"No. An old friend of my parents'." + +"Only a friend! Impossible! And you--did he leave you nothing?" + +"No. I knew him very slightly." + +She sat thinking some minutes; then, with an odd smile on her lips, +she said: + +"Well, he is a lucky dog, that brother of yours, to have friends of +that pattern. My word! and no wonder he is so unlike you." + +He longed to slap her, without knowing why; and he asked with pinched +lips: "And what do you mean by saying that?" + +She had put on a stolid, innocent face. + +"O--h, nothing. I mean he has better luck than you." + +He tossed a franc piece on the table and went out. + +Now he kept repeating the phrase: "No wonder he is so unlike you." + +What had her thought been, what had been her meaning under those +words? There was certainly some malice, some spite, something shameful +in it. Yes, that hussy must have fancied, no doubt, that Jean was +Maréchal's son. The agitation which came over him at the notion of +this suspicion cast at his mother was so violent that he stood still, +looking about him for some place where he might sit down. In front of +him was another café. He went in, took a chair, and as the waiter came +up, "A bock," he said. + +He felt his heart beating, his skin was goose-flesh. And then the +recollection flashed upon him of what Marowsko had said the evening +before. "It will not look well." Had he had the same thought, the same +suspicion as this baggage? Hanging his head over the glass, he watched +the white froth as the bubbles rose and burst, asking himself: "Is it +possible that such a thing should be believed?" + +But the reasons which might give rise to this horrible doubt in other +men's minds now struck him, one after another, as plain, obvious, and +exasperating. That a childless old bachelor should leave his fortune +to a friend's two sons was the most simple and natural thing in the +world; but that he should leave the whole of it to one alone--of +course people would wonder, and whisper, and end by smiling. How was +it that he had not foreseen this, that his father had not felt it? How +was it that his mother had not guessed it? No; they had been too +delighted at this unhoped-for wealth for the idea to come near them. +And besides, how should these worthy souls have ever dreamed of +anything so ignominious? + +But the public--their neighbors, the shopkeepers, their own tradesmen, +all who knew them--would not they repeat the abominable thing, laugh +at it, enjoy it, make game of his father and despise his mother? + +And the barmaid's remark that Jean was fair and he dark, that they +were not in the least alike in face, manner, figure, or intelligence, +would now strike every eye and every mind. When any one spoke of +Roland's son, the question would be: "Which, the real or the false?" + +He rose, firmly resolved to warn Jean, and put him on his guard +against the frightful danger which threatened their mother's honor. + +But what could Jean do? The simplest thing, no doubt, would be to +refuse the inheritance, which would then go to the poor, and to tell +all friends or acquaintances who had heard of the bequest that the +will contained clauses and conditions impossible to subscribe to, +which would have made Jean not inheritor but merely a trustee. + +As he made his way home he was thinking that he must see his brother +alone, so as not to speak of such a matter in the presence of his +parents. On reaching the door he heard a great noise of voices and +laughter in the drawing-room, and when he went in he found Captain +Beausire and Mme. Rosémilly, whom his father had brought home and +engaged to dine with them in honor of the good news. Vermouth and +absinthe had been served to whet their appetites, and every one had +been at once put into good spirits. Captain Beausire, a funny little +man who had become quite round by dint of being rolled about at sea, +and whose ideas also seemed to have been worn round, like the pebbles +of a beach, while he laughed with his throat full of _r_'s, looked +upon life as a capital thing, in which everything that might turn up +was good to take. He clinked his glass against father Roland's, while +Jean was offering two freshly filled glasses to the ladies. Mme. +Rosémilly refused, till Captain Beausire, who had known her husband, +cried: + +"Come, come, madame, _bis repetita placent_, as we say in the lingo, +which is as much as to say two glasses of vermouth never hurt any one. +Look at me; since I have left the sea, in this way I give myself an +artificial roll or two every day before dinner; I add a little +pitching after my coffee, and that keeps things lively for the rest of +the evening. I never rise to a hurricane, mind you, never, never. I am +too much afraid of damage." + +Roland, whose nautical mania was humored by the old mariner, laughed +heartily, his face flushed already and his eye watery from the +absinthe. He had a burly shopkeeping stomach--nothing but stomach--in +which the rest of his body seemed to have got stowed away; the flabby +paunch of men who spend their lives sitting, and who have neither +thighs, nor chest, nor arms, nor neck; the seat of their chairs having +accumulated all their substance in one spot. Beausire, on the +contrary, though short and stout, was as tight as an egg and as hard +as a cannon-ball. + +Mme. Roland had not emptied her glass and was gazing at her son Jean +with sparkling eyes, happiness had brought a color to her cheeks. + +In him too the fullness of joy had now blazed out. It was a settled +thing, signed and sealed; he had twenty thousand francs a year. In the +sound of his laugh, in the fuller voice with which he spoke, in his +way of looking at the others, his more positive manners, his greater +confidence, the assurance given by money was at once perceptible. + +Dinner was announced, and as the old man was about to offer his arm to +Mme. Rosémilly, his wife exclaimed: + +"No, no, father. Everything is for Jean to-day." + +Unwonted luxury graced the table. In front of Jean, who sat in his +father's place, an enormous bouquet of flowers intermingled with +ribbon favors--a bouquet for a really great occasion--stood up like a +cupola dressed with flags, and was flanked by four high dishes, one +containing a pyramid of splendid peaches; the second, a monumental +cake gorged with whipped cream and covered with pinnacles of sugar--a +cathedral in confectionery; the third, slices of pine-apple floating +in clear syrup; and the fourth unheard-of lavishness--black grapes +brought from the warmer south. + +"The devil!" exclaimed Pierre as he sat down. "We are celebrating the +accession of Jean the Rich." + +After the soup, Madeira was passed round, and already every one was +talking at once. Beausire was giving the history of a dinner he had +eaten at San Domingo at the table of a negro general. Old Roland was +listening, and at the same time trying to get in, between the +sentences, his account of another dinner, given by a friend of his at +Mendon, after which every guest was ill for a fortnight. Mme. +Rosémilly, Jean, and his mother were planning an excursion to +breakfast at Saint Jouin, from which they promised themselves the +greatest pleasure; and Pierre was only sorry that he had not dined +alone in some pot-house by the sea, so as to escape all this noise and +laughter and glee which fretted him. He was wondering how he could now +set to work to confide his fears to his brother, and induce him to +renounce the fortune he had already accepted and of which he was +enjoying the intoxicating foretaste. It would be hard on him, no +doubt; but it must be done; he could not hesitate; their mother's +reputation was at stake. + +The appearance of an enormous shade-fish threw Roland back on fishing +stories. Beausire told some wonderful tales of adventure on the +Gaboon, at Sainte-Marie, in Madagascar, and above all, off the coasts +of China and Japan, where the fish are as queer-looking as the +natives. And he described the appearance of these fishes--their goggle +gold eyes, their blue or red bellies, their fantastic fins like fans, +their eccentric crescent-shaped tails--with such droll gesticulation +that they all laughed till they cried as they listened. + +Pierre alone seemed incredulous, muttering to himself: "True enough, +the Normans are the Gascons of the north!" + +After the fish came a vol-au-vent; then a roast fowl, a salad, French +beans with a Pithiviers lark-pie. Mme. Rosémilly's maid-servant helped +to wait on them, and the fun rose with the number of glasses of wine +they drank. When the cork of the first champagne bottle was drawn +with a pop, father Roland, highly excited, imitated the noise with his +tongue and then declared: "I like that noise better than a +pistol-shot." + +Pierre, more and more fractious every moment, retorted with a sneer: + +"And yet it is perhaps a greater danger for you." + +Roland, who was on the point of drinking, set his full glass down on +the table again, and asked: + +"Why?" + +He had for some time been complaining of his health, of heaviness, +giddiness, frequent and unaccountable discomfort. The doctor replied: + +"Because the bullet might very possibly miss you, while the glass of +wine is dead certain to hit you in the stomach." + +"And what then?" + +"Then it scorches your inside, upsets your nervous system, makes the +circulation sluggish, and leads the way to the apoplectic fit which +always threatens a man of your build." + +The jeweler's incipient intoxication had vanished like smoke before +the wind. He looked at his son with fixed, uneasy eyes, trying to +discover whether he was making game of him. + +But Beausire exclaimed: + +"Oh, these confounded doctors! They all sing the same tune; eat +nothing, drink nothing, never make love or enjoy yourself; it all +plays the devil with your precious health. Well, all I can say is I +have done all these things, sir, in every quarter of the globe, +wherever and as often as I have had the chance, and I am none the +worse." + +Pierre answered with some asperity: + +"In the first place, captain, you are a stronger man than my father; +and in the next, all free livers talk as you do till the day +when--when they come back no more to say to the cautious doctor: 'You +were right.' When I see my father doing what is worst and most +dangerous for him, it is but natural that I should warn him. I should +be a bad son if I did otherwise." + +Mme. Roland, much distressed, now put in her word: "Come, Pierre, what +ails you? For once it cannot hurt him? Think of what an occasion it is +for him, for all of us. You will spoil his pleasure and make us all +unhappy. It is too bad of you to do such a thing." + +He muttered, as he shrugged his shoulders: + +"He can do as he pleases. I have warned him." + +But father Roland did not drink. He sat looking at his glass full of +the clear and luminous liquor while its light soul, its intoxicating +soul, flew off in tiny bubbles mounting from its depths in hurried +succession to die on the surface. He looked at it with the suspicious +eye of a fox smelling at a dead hen and suspecting a trap. He asked +doubtfully: "Do you think it will really do me much harm?" Pierre had +a pang of remorse and blamed himself for letting his ill-humor punish +the rest: + +"No," said he. "Just for once you may drink it; but do not take too +much, or get into the habit of it." + +Then old Roland raised his glass, but still he could not make up his +mind to put it to his lips. He contemplated it regretfully, with +longing and with fear; then he smelt it, tasted it, drank it in sips, +swallowing them slowly, his heart full of terrors, of weakness and +greediness; and then, when he had drained the last drop, of regret. + +Pierre's eye suddenly met that of Mme. Rosémilly; it rested on him +clear and blue, far-seeing and hard. And he read, he knew, the precise +thought which lurked in that look, the indignant thought of this +simple and right-minded little woman; for the look said: "You are +jealous--that is what you are. Shameful!" + +He bent his head and went on with his dinner. + +He was not hungry and found nothing nice. A longing to be off harassed +him, a craving to be away from these people, to hear no more of their +talking, jests, and laughter. + +Father Roland meanwhile, to whose head the fumes of the wine were +rising once more, had already forgotten his son's advice and was +eyeing a champagne-bottle with a tender leer as it stood, still nearly +full, by the side of his plate. He dared not touch it for fear of +being lectured again, and he was wondering by what device or trick he +could possess himself of it without exciting Pierre's remark. A ruse +occurred to him, the simplest possible. He took up the bottle with an +air of indifference, and holding it by the neck, stretched his arm +across the table to fill the doctor's glass, which was empty; then he +filled up all the other glasses, and when he came to his own he began +talking very loud, so that if he poured anything into it they might +have sworn it was done inadvertently. And in fact no one took any +notice. + +Pierre, without observing it, was drinking a good deal. Nervous and +fretted, he every minute raised to his lips the tall crystal funnel +where the bubbles were dancing in the living, translucent fluid. He +let the wine slip very slowly over his tongue, that he might feel the +little sugary sting of the fixed air as it evaporated. + +Gradually a pleasant warmth glowed in his frame. Starting from the +stomach as from a focus, it spread to his chest, took possession of +his limbs, and diffused itself throughout his flesh, like a warm and +comforting tide, bringing pleasure with it. He felt better now, less +impatient, less annoyed, and his determination to speak to his brother +that very evening faded away; not that he thought for a moment of +giving it up, but simply not to disturb the happy mood in which he +found himself. + +Beausire presently arose to propose a toast. Having bowed to the +company, he began: + +"Most gracious ladies and gentlemen, we have met to do honor to a +happy event which has befallen one of our friends. It used to be said +that Fortune was blind, but I believe that she is only short-sighted +or tricksy, and that she has lately brought a good pair of glasses +which enabled her to discover in the town of Havre the son of our +worthy friend Roland, skipper of the _Pearl_." + +Every one cried bravo and clapped their hands, and the elder Roland +rose to reply. After clearing his throat, for it felt thick and his +tongue was heavy, he stammered out: + +"Thank you, captain, thank you--for myself and my son. I shall never +forget your behavior on this occasion. Here's good luck to you!" + +His eyes and nose were full of tears, and he sat down, finding nothing +more to say. + +Jean, who was laughing, spoke in his turn: + +"It is I," said he, "who ought to thank my friends here, my excellent +friends," and he glanced at Mme. Rosémilly, "who have given me such a +touching evidence of their affection. But it is not by words that I +can prove my gratitude. I will prove it to-morrow, every hour of my +life, always, for our friendship is not one of those which fade away." + +His mother, deeply moved, murmured: "Well said, my boy." + +But Beausire cried out: + +"Come, Mme. Rosémilly, speak on behalf of the fair sex." + +She raised her glass, and in a pretty voice, slightly touched with +sadness, she said: "I will pledge you to the memory of Monsieur +Maréchal." + +There was a few moments' lull, a pause for decent meditation, as after +prayer. Beausire, who always had a flow of compliment, remarked: + +"Only a woman ever thinks of these refinements." Then turning to +father Roland: "And who was this Maréchal, after all? You must have +been very intimate with him." + +The old man, emotional with drink, began to whimper, and in a broken +voice he said: + +"Like a brother, you know. Such a friend as one does not make +twice--we were always together--he dined with us every evening--and +would treat us to the play--I need say no more--no more--no more. A +true friend--a real true friend--wasn't he, Louise?" + +His wife merely answered: "Yes; he was a faithful friend." + +Pierre looked at his father and then at his mother, then, as the +subject changed, he drank some more wine. He scarcely remembered the +remainder of the evening. They had coffee, then liqueurs, and they +laughed and joked a great deal. At about midnight he went to bed, his +mind confused and his head heavy; and he slept like a brute till nine +next morning. + + +CHAPTER IV + +These slumbers, lapped in champagne and chartreuse, had soothed and +calmed him, no doubt, for he awoke in a very benevolent frame of mind. +While he was dressing he appraised, weighed, and summed up the +agitations of the past day, trying to bring out quite clearly and +fully their real and occult causes, those personal to himself as well +as those from outside. + +It was, in fact, possible that the girl at the beer-shop had had an +evil suspicion--a suspicion worthy of such a hussy--on hearing that +only one of the Roland brothers had been made heir to a stranger; but +have not such natures as she always similar notions, without a shadow +of foundation, about every honest woman? Do they not, whenever they +speak, vilify, calumniate, and abuse all whom they believe to be +blameless? Whenever a woman who is above imputation is mentioned in +their presence, they are as angry as if they were being insulted, and +exclaim: "Ah, yes, I know your married women; a pretty sort they are! +Why, they have more lovers than we have, only they conceal it because +they are such hypocrites. Oh, yes, a pretty sort, indeed!" + +Under any other circumstances he would certainly not have understood, +not have imagined the possibility of such an insinuation against his +poor mother, who was so kind, so simple, so excellent. But his spirit +seethed with the leaven of jealousy that was fermenting within him. +His own excited mind, on the scent, as it were, in spite of himself, +for all that could damage his brother, had even perhaps attributed to +the tavern barmaid an odious intention of which she was innocent. It +was possible that his imagination had, unaided, invented this dreadful +doubt--his imagination, which he never controlled, which constantly +evaded his will and went off, unfettered, audacious, adventurous, and +stealthy, into the infinite world of ideas, bringing back now and then +some which were shameless and repulsive, and which it buried in him, +in the depths of his soul, in its most fathomless recesses, like +something stolen. His heart, most certainly, his own heart had secrets +from him; and had not that wounded heart discerned in this atrocious +doubt a means of depriving his brother of the inheritance of which he +was jealous? He suspected himself now, cross-examining all the +mysteries of his mind as bigots search their consciences. + +Mme. Rosémilly, though her intelligence was limited, had certainly a +woman's instinct, scent, and subtle intuitions. And this notion had +never entered her head, since she had, with perfect simplicity, drunk +the blessed memory of the deceased Maréchal. She was not the woman to +have done this if she had had the faintest suspicion. Now he doubted +no longer; his involuntary displeasure at his brother's windfall of +fortune and his religious affection for his mother had magnified his +scruples--very pious and respectable scruples, but exaggerated. As he +put this conclusion into words in his own mind he felt happy, as at +the doing of a good action; and he resolved to be nice to every one +beginning with his father, whose manias, and silly statements, and +vulgar opinions, and too conspicuous mediocrity were a constant +irritation to him. + +He came in not late for breakfast, and amused all the family by his +fun and good-humor. + +His mother, quite delighted, said to him: + +"My little Pierre, you have no notion how humorous and clever you can +be when you choose." + +And he talked, putting things in a witty way, and making them laugh by +ingenious hits at their friends. Beausire was his butt, and Mme. +Rosémilly a little, but in a very judicious way, not too spiteful. And +he thought as he looked at his brother: "Stand up for her, you muff. +You may be as rich as you please, I can always eclipse you when I take +the trouble." + +As they drank their coffee he said to his father: + +"Are you going out in the _Pearl_ to-day?" + +"No, my boy." + +"May I have her with Jean Bart?" + +"To be sure, as long as you like." + +He bought a good cigar at the first tobacconist's and went down to the +quay with a light step. He glanced up at the sky, which was clear and +luminous, of a pale blue, freshly swept by the sea breeze. + +Papagris, the boatman, commonly called Jean Bart, was dozing in the +bottom of the boat, which he was required to have in readiness every +day at noon when they had not been out fishing in the morning. + +"You and I together, mate," cried Pierre. He went down the iron ladder +of the quay and leaped into the vessel. + +"Which way is the wind?" he asked. + +"Due east still, M'sieu Pierre. A fine breeze out at sea." + +"Well, then, old man, off we go!" + +They hoisted the foresail and weighed anchor; and the boat, feeling +herself free, glided slowly down toward the jetty on the still water +of the harbor. The breath of wind that came down the street caught the +top of the sail so lightly as to be imperceptible, and the _Pearl_ +seemed endowed with life--the life of a vessel driven on by a +mysterious latent power. Pierre took the tiller, and, holding his +cigar between his teeth, he stretched his legs on the bunk, and with +his eyes half-shut in the blinding sunshine, he watched the great +tarred timbers of the breakwater as they glided past. + +When they reached the open sea, round the nose of the north pier which +had sheltered them, the fresher breeze puffed in the doctor's face and +on his hands, like a somewhat icy caress, filled his chest, which rose +with a long sigh to drink it in, and swelling the tawny sail, tilted +the _Pearl_ on her beam and made her more lively. Jean Bart hastily +hauled up the jib, and the triangle of canvas, full of wind, looked +like a wing; then, with two strides to the stern, he let out the +spanker, which was close-reefed against its mast. + +Then, along the hull of the boat, which suddenly heeled over and was +running at top speed, there was a soft, crisp sound of water hissing +and rushing past. The prow ripped up the sea like the share of a +plough gone mad, and the yielding water it turned up curled over and +fell white with foam, as the ploughed soil, heavy and brown, rolls and +falls in a ridge. At each wave they met--and there was a short, +chopping sea--the _Pearl_ shivered from the point of the bowsprit to +the rudder, which trembled under Pierre's hand; when the wind blew +harder in gusts, the swell rose to the gunwale as if it would overflow +into the boat. A coal brig from Liverpool was lying at anchor, waiting +for the tide; they made a sweep round her stern and went to look at +each of the vessels in the roads one after another; then they put +further out to look at the unfolding line of coast. + +For three hours Pierre, easy, calm, and happy, wandered to and fro +over the dancing waters, guiding the thing of wood and canvas, which +came and went at his will, under the pressure of his hand, as if it +were a swift and docile winged creature. + +He was lost in day-dreams, the dreams one has on horseback or on the +deck of a boat; thinking of his future, which should be brilliant, and +the joys of living intelligently. On the morrow he would ask his +brother to lend him fifteen hundred francs for three months, that he +might settle at once in the pretty rooms on the Boulevard François, +1er. + +Suddenly the sailor said: "The fog is coming up, M'sieu Pierre. We +must go in." + +He looked up and saw to the northward a gray shade, filmy but dense, +blotting out the sky and covering the sea; it was sweeping down on +them like a cloud fallen from above. He tacked for the land and made +for the pier, scudding before the wind and followed by the flying fog, +which gained upon them. When it reached the _Pearl_, wrapping her in +its intangible density, a cold shudder ran over Pierre's limbs, and a +smell of smoke and mold, the peculiar smell of a sea fog, made him +close his mouth that he might not taste the cold, wet vapor. By the +time the boat was at her usual moorings in the harbor the whole town +was buried in this fine mist, which did not fall but yet wetted +everything like rain, and glided and rolled along the roofs and +streets like the flow of a river. Pierre, with his hands and feet +frozen, made haste home and threw himself on his bed to take a nap +till dinner-time. When he made his appearance in the dining-room his +mother was saying to Jean: + +"The glass corridor will be lovely. We will fill it with flowers. You +will see. I will undertake to care for them and renew them. When you +give a party the effect will be quite fairy like." + +"What in the world are you talking about?" the doctor asked. + +"Of a delightful apartment I have just taken for your brother. It is +quite a find; an entresol looking out on two streets. There are two +drawing-rooms, a glass passage, and a little circular dining-room, +perfectly charming for a bachelor's quarters." + +Pierre turned pale. + +"Where is it?" he asked. + +"Boulevard François, 1er." + +There was no possibility for doubt. He took his seat in such a state +of exasperation that he longed to exclaim: "This is really too much! +Is there nothing for any one but him?" + +His mother, beaming, went on talking: "And only fancy, I got it for +two thousand eight hundred francs a year. They asked three thousand, +but I got a reduction of two hundred francs on taking for three, six, +or nine years. Your brother will be delightfully housed there. An +elegant home is enough to make the fortune of a lawyer. It attracts +clients, charms them, holds them fast, commands respect, and shows +them that a man who lives in such good style expects a good price for +his words." + +She was silent for a few seconds and then went on: + +"We must look out for something suitable for you; much less +pretentious, since you have nothing, but nice and pretty all the same. +I assure you it will be to your advantage." + +Pierre replied contemptuously: + +"For me! Oh, I shall make my way by hard work and learning." + +But his mother insisted: "Yes, but I assure you that to be well lodged +will be of use to you nevertheless." + +About half-way through the meal he suddenly asked: + +"How did you first come to know this man Maréchal?" + +Old Roland looked up and racked his memory: + +"Wait a bit; I scarcely recollect. It is such an old story now. Ah, +yes, I remember. It was your mother who made acquaintance with him in +the shop, was it not, Louise? He first came to order something, and +then he called frequently. We knew him as a customer before we knew +him as a friend." + +Pierre, who was eating beans, sticking his fork into them one by one +as if he were spitting them, went on: + +"And when was it that you made his acquaintance?" + +Again Roland sat thinking, but he could remember no more and appealed +to his wife's better memory. + +"In what year was it, Louise? You surely have not forgotten, you who +remember everything. Let me see--it was in--in--in fifty-five or +fifty-six? Try to remember. You ought to know better than I." + +She did in fact think it over for some minutes, and then replied in a +steady voice and with calm decision: + +"It was in fifty-eight, old man. Pierre was three years old. I am +quite sure that I am not mistaken, for it was in that year that the +child had scarlet fever, and Maréchal, whom we then knew but very +little, was of the greatest service to us." + +Roland exclaimed: + +"To be sure--very true; he was really invaluable. When your mother was +half-dead with fatigue and I had to attend to the shop, he would go to +the chemist's to fetch your medicine. He really had the kindest heart! +And when you were well again, you cannot think how glad he was and how +he petted you. It was from that time that we became such great +friends." + +And this thought rushed into Pierre's soul, as abrupt and violent as a +cannon-ball rending and piercing it: "Since he knew me first, since he +was so devoted to me, since he was so fond of me and petted me so +much, since I--_I_ was the cause of this great intimacy with my +parents, why did he leave all his money to my brother and nothing to +me?" + +He asked no more questions and remained gloomy; absent-minded rather +than thoughtful, feeling in his soul a new anxiety as yet undefined, +the secret germ of a new pain. + +He went out early, wandering about the streets once more. They were +shrouded in the fog which made the night heavy, opaque, and nauseous. +It was like a pestilential rock dropped on earth. It could be seen +swirling past the gas-lights, which it seemed to put out at intervals. +The pavement was as slippery as on a frosty night after a rain, and +all sorts of evil smells seemed to come up from the bowels of the +houses--the stench of cellars, drains, sewers, squalid kitchens--to +mingle with the horrible savor of this wandering fog. + +Pierre, with his shoulders up and his hands in his pockets, not caring +to remain out of doors in the cold, turned into Marowsko's. The +druggist was asleep as usual under the gas-light, which kept watch. On +recognizing Pierre, for whom he had the affection of a faithful dog, +he shook off his drowsiness, went for two glasses, and brought out the +_Groseillette_. + +"Well," said the doctor, "how is the liqueur getting on?" + +The Pole explained that four of the chief cafés in the town had agreed +to have it on sale, and that two papers, the _Northcoast Pharos_ and +the _Havre Semaphore_, would advertise it, in return for certain +chemical preparations to be supplied to the editors. + +After a long silence Marowsko asked whether Jean had come definitely +into possession of his fortune; and then he put two or three other +questions vaguely referring to the same subject. His jealous devotion +to Pierre rebelled against this preference. And Pierre felt as though +he could hear him thinking; he guessed and understood, read in his +averted eyes and in the hesitancy of his tone, the words which rose to +his lips but were not spoken--which the druggist was too timid or too +prudent and cautious to utter. + +At this moment, he felt sure, the old man was thinking: "You ought not +to have suffered him to accept this inheritance which will make people +speak ill of your mother." + +Perhaps, indeed, Marowsko believed that Jean was Maréchal's son. Of +course he believed it! How could he help believing it when the thing +must seem so possible, so probable, self-evident? Why, he himself, +Pierre, her son--had not he been for these three days past fighting +with all the subtlety at his command to cheat his reason, fighting +against this hideous suspicion? + +And suddenly the need to be alone, to reflect, to discuss the matter +with himself--to face boldly, without scruple or weakness, this +possible but monstrous thing--came upon him anew, and so imperative +that he rose without even drinking his glass of _Groseillette_, shook +hands with the astounded druggist and plunged out into the foggy +streets again. + +He asked himself: "What made this Maréchal leave all his fortune to +Jean?" + +It was not jealousy now which made him dwell on this question, not the +rather mean but natural envy which he knew lurked within him, and with +which he had been struggling these three days, but the dread of an +overpowering horror; the dread that he himself should believe Jean, +his brother, was that man's son. + +No. He did not believe it; he could not even ask himself the question +which was a crime! Meanwhile he must get rid of this faint suspicion, +improbable as it was, utterly and for ever. He craved for light, for +certainty--he must win absolute security in his heart, for he loved no +one in the world but his mother. And as he wandered alone through the +darkness he would rack his memory and his reason with a minute search +that should bring out the blazing truth. Then there would be an end to +the matter; he would not think of it again--never. He would go and +sleep. + +He argued thus: "Let me see: first to examine the facts; then I will +recall all I know about him, his behavior to my brother and to me. I +will seek out the causes which might have given rise to this +preference. He knew Jean from his birth? Yes, but he had known me +first. If he had loved my mother silently, unselfishly, he would +surely have chosen me, since it was through me, through my scarlet +fever, that he became so intimate with my parents. Logically, then, he +ought to have preferred me, to have had a keener affection for +me--unless it were that he felt an instinctive attraction and +predilection for my brother as he watched him grow up." + +Then, with desperate tension of brain and of all the powers of his +intellect, he strove to reconstitute from memory the image of this +Maréchal, to see him, to know him, to penetrate the man whom he had +seen pass by him, indifferent to his heart during all those years in +Paris. + +But he perceived that the slight exertion of walking somewhat +disturbed his ideas, dislocated their continuity, weakened their +precision, clouded his recollection. To enable him to look at the past +and at unknown events with so keen an eye that nothing should escape +it, he must be motionless in a vast and empty space. And he made up +his mind to go and sit on the jetty as he had done that other night. +As he approached the harbor he heard, out at sea, a lugubrious and +sinister wail like the bellowing of a bull, but more long-drawn and +steady. It was the roar of a fog-horn, the cry of a ship lost in the +fog. A shiver ran through him, chilling his heart; so deeply did this +cry of distress thrill his soul and nerves that he felt as if he had +uttered it himself. Another and a similar voice answered with such +another moan, but further away; then, close by, the fog-horn on the +pier gave out a fearful sound in answer. Pierre made for the jetty +with long steps, thinking no more of anything, content to walk on into +this ominous and bellowing darkness. + +When he had seated himself at the end of the breakwater he closed his +eyes, that he might not see the two electric lights, now blurred by +the fog, which make the harbor accessible at night, and the red glare +of the light on the south pier, which was, however, scarcely visible. +Turning half-round, he rested his elbows on the granite and hid his +face in his hands. + +Though he did not pronounce the word with his lips, his mind kept +repeating: "Maréchal--Maréchal," as if to raise and challenge the +shade. And on the black background of his closed eyelids, he suddenly +saw him as he had known him: a man of about sixty, with a white beard +cut in a point and very thick eyebrows, also white. He was neither +tall nor short, his manner was pleasant, his eyes gray and soft, his +movements gentle, his whole appearance that of a good fellow, simple +and kindly. He called Pierre et Jean "my dear children," and had never +seemed to prefer either, asking them both together to dine with him. +And then Pierre, with the pertinacity of a dog seeking a lost scent, +tried to recall the words, gestures, tones, looks, of this man who had +vanished from the world. By degrees he saw him quite clearly in his +rooms in the rue Tronchet, where he received his brother and himself +at dinner. + +He was waited on by two maids, both old women who had been in the +habit--a very old one, no doubt--of saying "Monsieur Pierre" and +"Monsieur Jean." Maréchal would hold out both hands, the right hand +to one of the young men, the left to the other, as they happened to +come in. + +"How are you, my children?" he would say. "Have you any news of your +parents? As for me, they never write to me." + +The talk was quiet and intimate, of commonplace matters. There was +nothing remarkable in the man's mind, but much that was winning, +charming, and gracious. He had certainly been a good friend to them, +one of those good friends of whom we think the less because we feel +sure of them. + +Now, reminiscences came readily to Pierre's mind. Having seen him +anxious from time to time, and suspecting his student's +impecuniousness, Maréchal had of his own accord offered and lent him +money, a few hundred francs perhaps, forgotten by both, and never +repaid. Then this man must always have been fond of him, always have +taken an interest in him, since he thought of his needs. Well +then--well then--why leave his whole fortune to Jean? No, he had never +shown any more marked affection for the younger than for the elder, +had never been more interested in one than in the other, or seemed to +care more tenderly for this one or that one. Well then--well then--he +must have had some strong secret reason for leaving everything to +Jean--everything--and nothing to Pierre. + +The more he thought, the more he recalled the past few years, the more +extraordinary, the more incredible was it that he should have made +such a difference between them. And an agonizing pang of unspeakable +anguish piercing his bosom made his heart beat like a fluttering rag. +Its springs seemed broken, and the blood rushed through in a flood, +unchecked, tossing it with wild surges. + +Then in an undertone, as a man speaks in a nightmare, he muttered: "I +must know. My God! I must know." + +He looked further back now, to an earlier time, when his parents had +lived in Paris. But the faces escaped him, and this confused his +recollections. He struggled above all to see Maréchal with light, or +brown, or black hair. But he could not; the later image, his face as +an old man, blotted out all others. However, he remembered that he had +been slighter, and had a soft hand, and that he often brought flowers. +Very often--for his father would constantly say: "What, another +bouquet! But this is madness, my dear fellow; you will ruin yourself +in roses." And Maréchal would say: "No matter; I like it." + +And suddenly his mother's voice and accent, his mother's as she smiled +and said: "Thank you, my kind friend," flashed on his brain, so +clearly that he could have believed he heard her. She must have spoken +those words very often that they should remain thus graven on her +son's memory. + +So Maréchal brought flowers; he, the gentleman, the rich man, the +customer, to the humble shop-keeper, the jeweler's wife. Had he loved +her? Why should he have made friends with these tradespeople if he had +not been in love with the wife? He was a man of education and fairly +refined tastes. How many a time had he discussed poets and poetry with +Pierre. He did not appreciate these writers from an artistic point of +view, but with sympathetic and responsive feeling. The doctor had +often smiled at his emotions which had struck him as rather silly; now +he plainly saw that this sentimental soul could never, never have been +the friend of his father, who was so matter-of-fact, so narrow, so +heavy, to whom the word "Poetry" meant idiocy. + +This Maréchal then, being young, free, rich, ready for any form of +tenderness, went by chance into the shop one day, having perhaps +observed its pretty mistress. He had bought something, had come again, +had chatted, more intimately each time, paying by frequent purchases +for the right of a seat in the family, of smiling at the young wife +and shaking hands with the husband. + +And what next--what next--good God--what next? + +He had loved and petted the first child, the jeweler's child, till the +second was born; then, till death, he had remained impenetrable; and +when his grave was closed, his flesh dust, his name erased from the +list of the living, when he himself was quiet and forever gone, having +nothing to scheme for, to dread or to hide, he had given his whole +fortune to the second child! Why? + +The man had all his wits; he must have understood and foreseen that he +might, that he almost infallibly must, give grounds for the +supposition that the child was his. He was casting obloquy on a woman. +How could he have done this if Jean were not his son? + +And suddenly a clear and fearful recollection shot through his brain. +Maréchal was fair--fair like Jean. He now remembered a little +miniature portrait he had seen formerly in Paris, on the drawing-room +chimney-shelf, and which had since disappeared. Where was it? Lost, or +hidden away? Oh, if he could but have it in his hands for one minute! +His mother kept it perhaps in the unconfessed drawer where love-tokens +were treasured. + +His misery at this thought was so intense that he uttered a groan, one +of those brief moans wrung from the breast by a too intolerable pang. +And immediately, as if it had heard him, as if it had understood and +answered him, the fog-horn on the pier bellowed out close to him. Its +voice, like that of a fiendish monster, more resonant than thunder--a +savage and appalling roar contrived to drown the clamor of the wind +and waves--spread through the darkness, across the sea, which was +invisible under its shroud of fog. And again, through the mist, far +and near, responsive cries went up to the night. They were terrifying, +these calls given forth by the great blind steam-ships. + +Then all was silent once more. + +Pierre had opened his eyes and was looking about him, startled to find +himself here, roused from his nightmare. + +"I am mad," thought he, "I suspect my mother." And a surge of love and +emotion, of repentance and prayer and grief, welled up in his heart. +His mother! Knowing her as he knew her, how could he ever have +suspected her? Was not the soul, was not the life of this +simple-minded, chaste, and loyal woman clearer than water? Could any +one who had seen and known her ever think of her but as above +suspicion? And he, her son, had doubted her! Oh, if he could but have +taken her in his arms at that moment, how he would have kissed and +caressed her, and gone on his knees to crave pardon. + +Would she have deceived his father--she? + +His father!--A very worthy man no doubt, upright and honest in +business, but with a mind which had never gone beyond the horizon of +his shop. How was it that this woman, who must have been very +pretty--as he knew, and it could still be seen--gifted, too, with a +delicate, tender, emotional soul, have accepted a man so unlike +herself as a suitor and a husband? Why inquire? She had married, as +young French girls do marry, the youth with a little fortune proposed +to her by their relations. They had settled at once in their shop in +the Rue Montmartre; and the young wife, ruling over the desk, inspired +by the feeling of a new home, and the subtle and sacred sense of +interests in common which fills the place of love, and even of regard, +by the domestic hearth of most of the commercial houses of Paris, had +set to work with all her superior and active intelligence, to make the +fortune they hoped for. And so her life had flowed on, uniform, +peaceful and respectable, but loveless. + +Loveless?--was it possible then that a woman should not love? That a +young and pretty woman, living in Paris, reading books, applauding +actresses for dying of passion on the stage, could live from youth to +old age, without once feeling her heart touched? He would not believe +it of any one else; why should she be different from all others, +though she was his mother? + +She had been young, with all the poetic weaknesses which agitate the +heart of a young creature. Shut up, imprisoned in the shop, by the +side of a vulgar husband who always talked of trade, she had dreamed +of moonlight nights, of voyages, of kisses exchanged in the shades of +evening. And then, one day a man had come in, as lovers do in books, +and had talked as they talk. + +She had loved him. Why not? She was his mother. What then? Must a man +be blind and stupid to the point of rejecting evidence because it +concerns his mother? And she had been frail. Why, yes, since this man +had had no other love, since he had remained faithful to her when she +was far away and growing old. Why yes, since he had left all his +fortune to his son--their son! + +And Pierre started to his feet, quivering with such rage that he +longed to kill some one. With his arm outstretched, his hand wide +open, he wanted to hit, to bruise, to smash, to strangle! Whom? +Everyone; his father, his brother, the dead man, his mother! + +He hurried off homeward. What was he going to do? + +As he passed a turret close to the signal mast the strident howl of +the fog-horn went off in his very face. He was so startled that he +nearly fell, and shrank back as far as the granite parapet. The +steamer which was the first to reply seemed to be quite near and was +already at the entrance, the tide having risen. + +Pierre turned round and could discern its red eye dim through the fog. +Then, in the broad light of the electric lanterns, a huge black shadow +crept up between the piers. Behind him the voice of the lookout man, +the hoarse voice of an old retired sea-captain, shouted: + +"What ship?" And out of the fog the voice of the pilot standing on +deck--not less hoarse--replied: + +"The Santa Lucia." + +"Where from?" + +"Italy." + +"What port?" + +"Naples." + +And before Pierre's bewildered eyes rose as he fancied, the fiery +pennon of Vesuvius, while, at the foot of the volcano, fire-flies +danced in the orange-groves of Sorrento or Castellamare. How often had +he dreamed of these familiar names as if he knew the scenery. Oh, if +he might but go away, now at once, never mind whither, and never come +back, never write, never let any one know what had become of him! But +no, he must go home--home to his father's house, and go to bed. + +He would not. Come what might he would not go in; he would stay there +till daybreak. He liked the roar of the fog-horns. He pulled himself +together and began to walk up and down like an officer on watch. + +Another vessel was coming in behind the other, huge and mysterious. An +English Indiaman, homeward bound. + +He saw several more come in, one after another, out of the +impenetrable vapor. Then, as the damp became quite intolerable, Pierre +set out toward the town. He was so cold that he went into a sailors' +tavern to drink a glass of grog, and when the hot and pungent liquor +had scorched his mouth and throat he felt a hope revive within him. + +Perhaps he was mistaken. He knew his own vagabond unreason so well! No +doubt he was mistaken. He had piled up the evidence as a charge is +drawn up against an innocent person, whom it is always so easy to +convict when we wish to think him guilty. When he should have slept he +would think differently. + +Then he went in and to bed, and by sheer force of will he at last +dropped asleep. + + +CHAPTER V + +But the doctor's frame lay scarcely more than an hour or two in the +torpor of troubled slumbers. When he awoke in the darkness of his +warm, closed room, he was aware, even before thought was awake in him, +of the painful oppression, the sickness of heart which the sorrow we +have slept on leaves behind it. It is as though the disaster of which +the shock merely jarred us at first, had, during sleep, stolen into +our very flesh, bruising and exhausting it like a fever. Memory +returned to him like a blow, and he sat up in bed. Then slowly, one by +one, he again went through all the arguments which had wrung his heart +on the jetty while the fog-horns were bellowing. The more he thought +the less he doubted. He felt himself dragged along by his logic to the +inevitable certainty, as by a clutching, strangling hand. + +He was thirsty and hot, his heart beat wildly. He got up to open his +window and breathe the fresh air, and as he stood there a low sound +fell on his ear through the wall. Jean was sleeping peacefully, and +gently snoring. He could sleep! He had no presentiment, no suspicions! +A man who had known their mother left him all his fortune; he took the +money and thought it quite fair and natural! He was sleeping, rich and +contented, not knowing that his brother was gasping with anguish and +distress. And rage boiled up in him against this heedless and happy +sleeper. + +Only yesterday he would have knocked at his door, have gone in, and +sitting by the bed, would have said to Jean, scared by the sudden +waking: + +"Jean, you must not keep this legacy which by to-morrow may have +brought suspicion and dishonor on our mother." + +But to-day he could say nothing; he could not tell Jean that he did +not believe him to be their father's son. Now he must guard, must bury +the shame he had discovered, hide from every eye the stain which he +had detected and which no one must perceive, not even his +brother--especially not his brother. + +He no longer thought about the vain respect of public opinion. He +would have been glad that all the world should accuse his mother if +only he, he alone, knew her to be innocent! How could he bear to live +with her every day, believing as he looked at her that his brother was +the child of a stranger? + +And how calm and serene she was, nevertheless, how sure of herself she +always seemed! Was it possible that such a woman as she, pure of soul +and upright in heart, should fall, dragged astray by passion, and yet +nothing ever appear afterward of her remorse and the stings of a +troubled conscience? Ah, but remorse must have tortured her, long ago +in the earlier days, and then have faded out, as everything fades. She +had surely bewailed her sin, and then, little by little, had almost +forgotten it. Have not all women, all, this fault of prodigious +forgetfulness which enables them, after a few years, hardly to +recognize the man to whose kisses they have lent their lips? The kiss +strikes like a thunder-bolt, the love passes away like a storm, and +then life, like the sky, is calm once more, and begins again as it +was before. Do you ever remember a cloud? + +Pierre could no longer endure to stay in the room! This house, his +father's house, crushed him. He felt the roof weigh on his head, and +the walls suffocate him. And as he was very thirsty he lighted his +candle to go to drink a glass of fresh water from the filter in the +kitchen. + +He went down the two flights of stairs; then, as he was coming up +again with the water-bottle filled, he sat down, in his nightshirt, on +a step of the stairs where there was a draught, and drank, without a +tumbler, in long pulls like a runner who is out of breath. When he +ceased to move the silence of the house touched his feelings; then, +one by one, he could distinguish the faintest sounds. First there was +the ticking of the clock in the dining-room which seemed to grow +louder every second. Then he heard another snore, an old man's snore, +short, labored and hard, his father beyond doubt; and he writhed at +the idea, as if it had but this moment sprung upon him, that these two +men, sleeping under the same roof--father and son--were nothing to +each other! Not a tie, not the very slightest, bound them together, +and they did not know it! They spoke to each other affectionately, +they embraced each other, they rejoiced and lamented together over the +same things, just as if the same blood flowed in their veins. And two +men born at opposite ends of the earth could not be more alien to each +other than this father and son. They believed they loved each other, +because a lie had grown up between them. This paternal love, this +filial love, were the outcome of a lie--a lie which could not be +unmasked, and which no one would ever know but he, the true son. + +But yet, but yet--if he were mistaken? How could he make sure? Oh, if +only some likeness, however slight, could be traced between his father +and Jean, one of those mysterious resemblances which run from an +ancestor to the great-great-grandson, showing that the whole race are +the offspring of the same kiss. To him, a medical man, so little would +suffice to enable him to discern this--the curve of a nostril, the +space between the eyes, the character of the teeth or hair; nay +less--a gesture, a trick, a habit, an inherited taste, any mark or +token which a practiced eye might recognize as characteristic. + +He thought long, but could remember nothing; no, nothing. But he had +looked carelessly, observed badly, having no reason for spying such +imperceptible indications. + +He got up to go back to his room and mounted the stairs with a slow +step, still lost in thought. As he passed the door of his brother's +room he stood stock still, his hand put out to open it. An imperative +need had just come over him to see Jean at once, to look at him at his +leisure, to surprise him in his sleep, while the calm countenance and +relaxed features were at rest and all the grimace of life put off. +Thus he might catch the dormant secret of his physiognomy, and if any +appreciable likeness existed it would not escape him. + +But supposing Jean were to wake, what could he say? How could he +explain this intrusion? + +He stood still, his fingers clenched on the door-handle, trying to +devise a reason, an excuse. Then he remembered that a week ago he had +lent his brother a phial of laudanum to relieve a fit of toothache. +He might himself have been in pain this night and have come to find +the drug. So he went in with a stealthy step, like a robber. Jean, his +mouth open, was sunk in deep, animal slumbers. His beard and fair hair +made a golden patch on the white linen; he did not wake, but he ceased +snoring. + +Pierre, leaning over him, gazed at him with hungry eagerness. No, this +youngster was not in the least like Roland; and for the second time +the recollection of the little portrait of Maréchal, which had +vanished, recurred to his mind. He must find it! When he should see it +perhaps he should cease to doubt! + +His brother stirred, conscious no doubt of a presence, or disturbed by +the light of the taper on his eyelids. The doctor retired on tiptoe to +the door which he noiselessly closed; then he went back to his room, +but not to bed again. + +Day was long in coming. The hours struck one after another on the +dining-room clock, and its tone was a deep and solemn one, as though +the little piece of clockwork had swallowed a cathedral bell. The +sound rose through the empty staircase, penetrating through walls and +doors, and dying away in the rooms where it fell on the torpid ears of +the sleeping household. Pierre had taken to walking to and fro between +his bed and the window. What was he going to do? He was too much upset +to spend this day at home. He wanted still to be alone, at any rate +till the next day, to reflect, to compose himself, to strengthen +himself for the common every-day life which he must take up again. + +Well, he would go over to Trouville to see the swarming crowd on the +sands. That would amuse him, change the air of his thoughts, and give +him time to inure himself to the horrible thing he had discovered. As +soon as morning dawned he made his toilet and dressed. The fog had +vanished and it was fine, very fine. As the boat for Trouville did not +start till nine, it struck the doctor that he must greet his mother +before starting. + +He waited till the hour at which she was accustomed to get up, and +then went downstairs. His heart beat so violently as he touched her +door that he paused for breath. His hand as it lay on the lock was +limp and tremulous, almost incapable of the slight effort of turning +the handle to open it. He knocked. His mother's voice inquired: + +"Who is there?" + +"I--Pierre." + +"What do you want?" + +"Only to say good morning, because I am going to spend the day at +Trouville with some friends." + +"But I am still in bed." + +"Very well, do not disturb yourself. I shall see you this evening, +when I come in." + +He hoped to get off without seeing her, without pressing on her cheek +the false kiss which it made his heart sick to think of. But she +replied: + +"No. Wait a moment. I will let you in. Wait till I get into bed +again." + +He heard her bare feet on the floor and the sound of the bolt drawn +back. Then she called out: + +"Come in." + +He went in. She was sitting up in bed, while, by her side, Roland, +with a silk handkerchief by way of nightcap and his face to the wall, +still lay sleeping. Nothing ever woke him but a shaking hard enough to +pull his arm off. On the days when he went fishing it was Joséphine, +rung up by Papagris at the hour fixed, who roused her master from his +stubborn slumbers. + +Pierre as he went toward his mother, looked at her with a sudden sense +of never having seen her before. She held up her face, he kissed each +cheek, and then sat down in a low chair. + +"It was last evening that you decided on this excursion?" she asked. + +"Yes, last evening." + +"Will you return to dinner?" + +"I do not know. At any rate do not wait for me." + +He looked at her with stupefied curiosity. This woman was his mother! +All those features, seen daily from childhood, from the time when his +eye could first distinguish things, that smile, that voice--so well +known, so familiar, abruptly struck him as new, different from what +they had always been to him hitherto. He understood now that, loving +her, he had never looked at her. All the same it was very really she, +and he knew every little detail of her face; still, it was the first +time he clearly identified them all. His anxious attention, +scrutinizing her face which he loved, recalled a difference, a +physiognomy he had never before discerned. + +He rose to go; then, suddenly yielding to the invincible longing to +know which had been gnawing at him since yesterday, he said: + +"By the way, I fancy I remember that you used to have, in Paris, a +little portrait of Maréchal, in the drawing-room." + +She hesitated for a second or two, or at least he fancied she +hesitated; then she said: + +"To be sure." + +"What has become of the portrait?" + +She might have replied more readily: + +"That portrait--stay; I don't exactly know--perhaps it is in my desk." + +"It would be kind of you to find it." + +"Yes, I will look for it. What do you want it for?" + +"Oh, it was not for myself. I thought it would be a natural thing to +give it to Jean, and that he would be pleased to have it." + +"Yes, you are right; that is a good idea. I will look for it, as soon +as I am up." + +And he went out. + +It was a blue day, without a breath of wind. The folks in the streets +seemed in good spirits, the merchants going to business, the clerks +going to their office, the girls going to their shop. Some sang as +they went, exhilarated by the bright weather. + +The passengers were already going on board the Trouville boat; Pierre +took a seat aft on a wooden bench. + +He asked himself: + +"Now was she uneasy at my asking for the portrait or only surprised? +Has she mislaid it, or has she hidden it? Does she know where it is, +or does she not? If she has hidden it--why?" + +And his mind, still following up the same line of thought from one +deduction to another, came to this conclusion: + +That portrait--of a friend, of a lover, had remained in the +drawing-room in a conspicuous place, till one day when the wife and +mother perceived, first of all and before any one else, that it bore a +likeness to her son. Without doubt she had for a long time been on the +watch for this resemblance; then, having detected it, having noticed +its beginnings, and understanding that any one might, any day, observe +it too, she had one evening removed the perilous little picture and +had hidden it, not daring to destroy it. + +Pierre recollected quite clearly now that it was long, long before +they left Paris that the miniature had vanished. It had disappeared, +he thought, about the time when Jean's beard was beginning to grow, +which had made him suddenly and wonderfully like the fair young man +who smiled from the picture frame. + +The motion of the boat as it put off disturbed and dissipated his +meditations. He stood up and looked at the sea. The little steamer, +once outside the piers, turned to the left, and puffing and snorting +and quivering, made for a distant point visible through the morning +haze. The red sail of a heavy fishing-bark, lying motionless on the +level waters, looked like a large rock standing up out of the sea. And +the Seine, rolling down from Rouen, seemed a wide inlet dividing two +neighboring lands. They reached the harbor of Trouville in less than +an hour, and as it was the time of day when the world was bathing, +Pierre went to the shore. + +From a distance it looked like a garden full of gaudy flowers. All +along the stretch of yellow sand, from the pier as far as the Roches +Noires, sunshades of every hue, hats of every shape, dresses of every +color, in groups outside the bathing huts, in long rows by the margin +of the waves, or scattered here and there, really looked like immense +bouquets on a vast meadow. And the Babel of sounds--voices near and +far ringing thin in the light atmosphere, shouts and cries of children +being bathed, clear laughter of women--all made a pleasant, continuous +din, mingling with the unheeding breeze, and breathed with the air +itself. + +Pierre walked on among all this throng, more lost, more remote from +them, more isolated, more drowned in his torturing thoughts, than if +he had been flung overboard from the deck of a ship a hundred miles +from shore. He passed by them and heard a few sentences without +listening; and he saw, without looking, how the men spoke to the +women, and the women smiled at the men. Then, suddenly, as if he had +awoke, he perceived them all; and hatred of them all surged up in his +soul, for they seemed happy and content. + +Now, as he went, he studied the groups, wandering round them full of a +fresh set of ideas. All these many-hued dresses which covered the +sands like nosegays, these pretty stuffs, those showy parasols, the +fictitious grace of tightened waists, all the ingenious devices of +fashion from the smart little shoe to the extravagant hat, the +insinuating charm of gesture, voice and smile, all the coquettish airs +in short displayed on this sea-shore, suddenly struck him as +stupendous efflorescences of female depravity. All these bedizened +women aimed at pleasing, bewitching, and deluding some man. They had +dressed themselves out for men--for all men--all excepting the husband +whom they no longer needed to conquer. They had dressed themselves out +for the lover of yesterday and the lover of to-morrow, for the +stranger they might meet and notice or were perhaps on the lookout +for. + +And these men sitting close to them, eye to eye and mouth to mouth, +invited them, hunted them like game, coy and furtive notwithstanding +that it seemed so near and so easy to capture. This wide shore was, +then, no more than a love-market--some drove a hard bargain for their +kisses while others only promised them. And he reflected that it was +everywhere the same, all the world over. + +His mother had done what others did--that was all. Others? No. For +there were exceptions--many, very many. These women he saw about him, +rich, giddy, love-seeking, belonged on the whole to the class of +fashionable and showy women of the world, some indeed to the less +respectable sisterhood, for on these sands, trampled by the legion of +idlers, the tribe of virtuous, home-keeping women were not to be seen. + +The tide was rising, driving the foremost rank of visitors gradually +landward. He saw the various groups jump up and fly, carrying their +chairs with them, before the yellow waves as they rolled up edged with +a lacelike frill of foam. The bathing-machines too were being pulled +up by horses, and along the planked way which formed the promenade +running along the shore from end to end, there was now an increasing +flow, slow and dense, of well-dressed people in two opposite streams +elbowing and mingling. Pierre, made nervous and exasperated by this +bustle, made his escape into the town, and went to get his breakfast +at a modest tavern on the skirts of the fields. + +When he had finished with coffee, he stretched his legs on a couple +of chairs under a lime tree in front of the house, and as he had +hardly slept the night before, he presently fell into a doze. After +resting for some hours he shook himself, and finding that it was time +to go on board again he set out, tormented by a sudden stiffness which +had come upon him during his long nap. Now he was eager to be at home +again; to know whether his mother had found the portrait of Maréchal. +Would she be the first to speak of it, or would he be obliged to ask +for it again? If she waited to be questioned further it must be +because she had some secret reason for not showing the miniature. + +But when he was at home again, and in his room, he hesitated about +going down to dinner. He was too wretched. His revolted soul had not +yet had time to calm down. However, he made up his mind to it, and +appeared in the dining-room just as they were sitting down. + +All their faces were beaming. + +"Well," said Roland, "are you getting on with your purchases? I do not +want to see anything till it is all in its place." + +And his wife replied: "Oh, yes. We are getting on. But it takes much +consideration to avoid buying things that do not match. The furniture +question is an absorbing one." + +She had spent the day in going with Jean to cabinet-makers and +upholsterers. Her fancy was for rich materials, rather splendid, to +strike the eye at once. Her son, on the contrary, wished for something +simple and elegant. So in front of everything put before them they had +each repeated their arguments. She declared that a client, a +defendant, must be impressed; that as soon as he is shown into his +counsel's waiting-room he should have a sense of wealth. + +Jean, on the other hand, wishing to attract only an elegant and +opulent class, was anxious to captivate persons of refinement by his +quiet and perfect taste. + +And this discussion, which had gone on all day, began again with the +soup. + +Roland had no opinion. He repeated: "I do not want to hear anything +about it. I will go and see it when it is all finished." + +Mme. Roland appealed to the judgment of her elder son. + +"And you, Pierre, what do you think of the matter?" + +His nerves were in a state of such intense excitement that he would +have liked to reply with an oath. However, he only answered in a dry +tone quivering with annoyance: + +"Oh, I am quite of Jean's mind. I like nothing so well as simplicity, +which, in matters of taste, is equivalent to rectitude in matters of +conduct." + +His mother went on: + +"You must remember that we live in a city of commercial men, where +good taste is not to be met with at every turn." + +Pierre replied: + +"What does that matter? Is that a reason for living as fools do? If my +fellow-townsmen are stupid and ill-bred, need I follow their example? +A woman does not misconduct herself because her neighbor has a +lover." + +Jean began to laugh. + +"You argue by comparisons which seem to have been borrowed from the +maxims of a moralist." + +Pierre made no reply. His mother and his brother reverted to the +question of stuffs and armchairs. + +He sat looking at them, as he had looked at his mother in the morning +before starting for Trouville; looking at them as a stranger who would +study them, and he felt as though he had really suddenly come into a +family of which he knew nothing. + +His father, above all, amazed his eye and his mind. That flabby, burly +man, happy and besotted, was his own father! No, no; Jean was not in +the least like him. + +His family! + +Within these two days an unknown and malignant hand, the hand of a +dead man, had torn asunder and broken, one by one, all the ties which +had held these four human beings together. It was all over, all +ruined. He had now no mother--for he could no longer love her now that +he could not revere her with that perfect, tender, and pious respect +which a son's love demands; no brother--since his brother was the +child of a stranger; nothing was left him but his father, that coarse +man whom he could not love in spite of himself. + +And he suddenly broke out: + +"I say, mother, have you found that portrait?" + +She opened her eyes in surprise. + +"What portrait?" + +"The portrait of Maréchal." + +"No--that is to say--yes--I have not found it, but I think I know +where it is." + +"What is that?" asked Roland. And Pierre answered: + +"A little likeness of Maréchal which used to be in the drawing-room in +Paris. I thought that Jean might be glad to have it." + +Roland exclaimed: + +"Why, yes, to be sure; I remember it perfectly. I saw it again last +week. Your mother found it in her desk when she was tidying the +papers. It was on Thursday or Friday. Do you remember, Louise? I was +shaving myself when you took it out and laid it on a chair by your +side with a pile of letters of which you burnt half. Strange, isn't +it, that you should have come across that portrait only two or three +days before Jean heard of his legacy? If I believed in presentiments I +should think that this was one." + +Mme. Roland calmly replied: + +"Yes, I know where it is. I will fetch it presently." + +Then she had lied! When she had said that very morning to her son, who +had asked her what had become of the miniature: "I don't exactly +know--perhaps it is in my desk"--it was a lie! She had seen it, +touched it, handled it, gazed at it but a few days since; and then she +had hidden it away again in the secret drawer with those letters--his +letters. + +Pierre looked at the mother who had lied to him; looked at her with +the concentrated fury of a son who had been cheated, robbed of his +most sacred affection, and with the jealous wrath of a man who, after +long being blind, at last discovers a disgraceful betrayal. If he had +been that woman's husband--and not her child--he would have gripped +her by the wrists, seized her by the shoulders or the hair, have flung +her on the ground, have hit her, hurt her, crushed her! And he might +say nothing, do nothing, show nothing, reveal nothing. He was her son; +he had no vengeance to take. And he had not been deceived. + +Nay, but she had deceived his tenderness, his pious respect. She owed +to him to be without reproach, as all mothers owe it to their +children. If the fury that boiled within him verged on hatred it was +that he felt her to be even more guilty toward him than toward his +father. + +The love of man and wife is a voluntary compact in which the one who +proves weak is guilty only of perfidy; but when the wife is a mother +her duty is a higher one, since nature has intrusted her with a race. +If she fails then she is cowardly, worthless, infamous. + +"I do not care," said Roland suddenly, stretching out his legs under +the table, as he did every evening while he sipped his glass of +black-currant brandy, "You may do worse than live idle when you have a +snug little income. I hope Jean will have us to dinner in style now. +Hang it all! if I have an indigestion now and then I cannot help it." + +Then turning to his wife he added: + +"Go and fetch that portrait, little woman, as you have done your +dinner. I should like to see it again myself." + +She rose, took a taper, and went. Then, after an absence which Pierre +thought long, though she was not away more than three minutes, Mme. +Roland returned smiling, and holding an old-fashioned gilt frame by +the ring. + +"Here it is," said she, "I found it at once." + +The doctor was the first to put forth his hand; he took the picture, +and holding it a little away from him, he examined it. Then, fully +aware that his mother was looking at him, he slowly raised his eyes +and fixed them on his brother to compare the faces. He could hardly +refrain, in his violence, from saying: "Dear me! How like Jean!" And +though he dared not utter the terrible words, he betrayed his thought +by his manner of comparing the living face with the painted one. + +They had, no doubt, details in common; the same beard, the same brow; +but nothing sufficiently marked to justify the assertion: "This is the +father and that the son." It was rather a family likeness, a +relationship of physiognomies in which the same blood courses. But +what to Pierre was far more decisive than the common aspect of the +faces, was that his mother had risen, had turned her back, and was +pretending, too deliberately, to be putting the sugar basin and the +liqueur bottle away in a cupboard. She understood that he knew, or at +any rate had his suspicions. + +"Hand it on to me," said Roland. + +Pierre held out the miniature and his father drew the candle toward +him to see it better; then he murmured in a pathetic tone: + +"Poor fellow! To think that he was like that when we first knew him! +Cristi! How time flies! He was a good-looking man, too, in those days, +and with such a pleasant manner--was not he, Louise?" + +As his wife made no answer he went on: + +"And what an even temper! I never saw him put out. And now it is all +at an end--nothing left of him--but what he bequeathed to Jean. Well, +at any rate you may take your oath that that man was a good and +faithful friend to the last. Even on his deathbed he did not forget +us." + +Jean, in his turn, held out his hand for the picture. He gazed at it +for a few minutes and then said regretfully: + +"I do not recognize it at all. I only remember him with white hair." + +He returned the miniature to his mother. She cast a hasty glance at +it, looking away again as if she were frightened; then in her usual +voice, she said: + +"It belongs to you now, my little Jean, as you are his heir. We will +take it to your new rooms." And when they went into the drawing-room +she placed the picture on the chimney-shelf by the clock, where it had +formerly stood. + +Roland filled his pipe; Pierre and Jean lighted cigarettes. They +commonly smoked them, Pierre while he paced the room, Jean, sunk in a +deep armchair, with his legs crossed. Their father always sat astride +on a chair and spit from afar into the fireplace. + +Mme. Roland, on a low seat by a little table on which the lamp stood, +embroidered, or knitted, or marked linen. + +This evening she was beginning a piece of worsted work, intended for +Jean's lodgings. It was a difficult and complicated pattern, and +required all her attention. Still, now and again, her eye, which was +counting the stitches, glanced up swiftly and furtively at the little +portrait of the dead as it leaned against the clock. And the doctor, +who was striding to and fro across the little room in four or five +steps, met his mother's look at each turn. + +It was as though they were spying on each other; and acute uneasiness, +intolerable to be borne, clutched at Pierre's heart. He was saying to +himself--at once tortured and glad: + +"She must be in misery at this moment if she knows that I guess!" And +each time he reached the fireplace he stopped for a few seconds to +look at Maréchal's fair hair, and show quite plainly that he was +haunted by a fixed idea. So that this little portrait, smaller than an +opened palm, was like a living being, malignant and threatening, +suddenly brought into this house and this family. + +Presently the street-door bell rang. Mme. Roland, always so +self-possessed, started violently, betraying to her doctor son the +anguish of her nerves. Then she said: "It must be Mme. Rosémilly"; and +her eye again anxiously turned to the mantelshelf. + +Pierre understood, or thought he understood, her fears and misery. A +woman's eye is keen, a woman's wit is nimble, and her instincts +suspicious. When this woman who was coming in should see the miniature +of a man she did not know, she might perhaps at the first glance +discover the likeness between this face and Jean. Then she would know +and understand everything. + +He was seized with a dread, a sudden and horrible dread of this shame +being unveiled, and, turning about just as the door opened, he took +the little painting and slipped it under the clock without being seen +by his father and brother. + +When he met his mother's eyes again they seemed to him altered, dim, +and haggard. + +"Good evening," said Mme. Rosémilly. "I have come to ask you for a cup +of tea." + +But while they were bustling about her and asking after her health, +Pierre made off, the door having been left open. + +When his absence was perceived they were all surprised. Jean, annoyed +for the young widow, who, he thought, would be hurt, muttered: "What a +bear!" + +Mme. Roland replied: "You must not be vexed with him; he is not very +well to-day and tired with his excursion to Trouville." + +"Never mind," said Roland, "that is no reason for taking himself off +like a savage." + +Mme. Rosémilly tried to smooth matters by saying: + +"Not at all, not at all. He has gone away in the English fashion; +people always disappear in that way in fashionable circles if they +want to leave early." + +"Oh, in fashionable circles, I dare say," replied Jean. "But a man +does not treat his family _à l'Anglaise_, and my brother has done +nothing else for some time past." + + +CHAPTER VI + +For a week or two nothing occurred at the Rolands'. The father went +fishing; Jean, with his mother's help, was furnishing and settling +himself; Pierre, very gloomy, never was seen excepting at mealtimes. + +His father having asked him one evening: + +"Why the deuce do you always come in with a face as cheerful as a +funeral? This is not the first time I have remarked it"--the doctor +replied: + +"The fact is I am terribly conscious of the burden of life." + +The old man had not a notion what he meant, and with an aggrieved +look he went on: "It really is too bad. Ever since we had the good +luck to come into this legacy, every one seems unhappy. It is as +though some accident had befallen us, as if we were in mourning for +some one." + +"I am in mourning for some one," said Pierre. + +"You are? For whom?" + +"For some one you never knew, and of whom I was too fond." + +Roland imagined that his son alluded to some girl with whom he had had +some love passages, and he said: + +"A woman, I suppose." + +"Yes, a woman." + +"Dead?" + +"No. Worse. Ruined!" + +"Ah!" + +Though he was startled by this unexpected confidence, in his wife's +presence too, and by his son's strange tone about it, the old man made +no further inquiries, for in his opinion such affairs did not concern +a third person. + +Mme. Roland affected not to hear; she seemed ill and was very pale. +Several times already her husband, surprised to see her sit down as if +she were dropping into her chair, and to hear her gasp as if she could +not draw her breath, had said: + +"Really, Louise, you look very ill; you tire yourself too much with +helping Jean. Give yourself a little rest. Sacristi! The rascal is in +no hurry, as he is a rich man." + +She shook her head without a word. + +But to-day her pallor was so great that Roland remarked on it again. + +"Come, come," said he, "this will not do at all, my dear old woman. +You must take care of yourself." Then, addressing his son, "You surely +must see that your mother is ill. Have you questioned her, at any +rate?" + +Pierre replied: "No; I had not noticed that there was anything the +matter with her." + +At this Roland was angry. + +"But it stares you in the face, confound you! What on earth is the +good of your being a doctor if you cannot even see that your mother is +out of sorts? Why, look at her, just look at her. Really, a man might +die under his very eyes and this doctor would never think there was +anything the matter!" + +Mme. Roland was panting for breath, and so white that her husband +exclaimed: + +"She is going to faint." + +"No, no, it is nothing--I shall get better directly--it is nothing." + +Pierre had gone up to her and was looking at her steadily. + +"What ails you?" he said. And she repeated in an undertone: + +"Nothing, nothing--I assure you, nothing." + +Roland had gone to fetch some vinegar; he now returned and handing the +bottle to his son he said: + +"Here--do something to ease her. Have you felt her heart?" + +As Pierre bent over to feel her pulse she pulled away her hand so +vehemently that she struck it against a chair which was standing by. + +"Come," said he in icy tones, "let me see what I can do for you, as +you are ill." + +Then she raised her arm and held it out to him. Her skin was burning, +the blood throbbing in short irregular leaps. + +"You are certainly ill," he murmured. "You must take something to +quiet you. I will write you a prescription." And as he wrote, stooping +over the paper, a low sound of choked sighs, smothered, quick +breathing and suppressed sobs made him suddenly look round at her. She +was weeping, her hands covering her face. + +Roland, quite distracted, asked her: + +"Louise, Louise, what is the matter with you? What on earth ails you?" + +She did not answer, but seemed racked by some deep and dreadful grief. +Her husband tried to take her hands from her face, but she resisted +him, repeating: + +"No, no, no." + +He appealed to his son. + +"But what is the matter with her? I never saw her like this." + +"It is nothing," said Pierre, "she is a little hysterical." + +And he felt as if it were a comfort to him to see her suffering thus, +as if this anguish mitigated his resentment and diminished his +mother's load of opprobrium. He looked at her as a judge satisfied +with his day's work. + +Suddenly she rose, rushed to the door with such a swift impulse that +it was impossible to forestall or to stop her, and ran off to lock +herself into her room. + +Roland and the doctor were left face to face. + +"Can you make head or tail of it?" said the father. + +"Oh, yes," said the other. "It is a little nervous disturbance, not +alarming or surprising; such attacks may very likely recur from time +to time." + +They did in fact recur, almost every day; and Pierre seemed to bring +them on with a word, as if he had the clue to her strange and new +disorder. He would discern in her face a lucid interval of peace and +with the willingness of a torturer would, with a word, revive the +anguish that had been lulled for a moment. + +But he, too, was suffering, as cruelly as she. It was dreadful pain to +him that he could no longer love her nor respect her, that he must put +her on the rack. When he had laid bare the bleeding wound which he had +opened in her woman's, her mother's heart, when he felt how wretched +and desperate she was, he would go out alone, wander about the town, +so torn by remorse, so broken by pity, so grieved to have thus +hammered her with his scorn as her son, that he longed to fling +himself into the sea and put an end to it all by drowning himself. + +Ah! How gladly, now, would he have forgiven her. But he could not, for +he was incapable of forgetting. If only he could have desisted from +making her suffer; but this again he could not, suffering as he did +himself. He went home to his meals, full of relenting resolutions; +then, as soon as he saw her, as soon as he met her eye--formerly so +clear and frank, now so evasive, frightened, and bewildered--he struck +at her in spite of himself, unable to suppress the treacherous words +which would rise to his lips. + +The disgraceful secret, known to them alone, goaded him up against +her. It was as a poison flowing in his veins and giving him an impulse +to bite like a mad dog. + +And there was no one in the way now to hinder his reading her; Jean +lived almost entirely in his new apartments, and only came home to +dinner and to sleep every night at his father's. + +He frequently observed his brother's bitterness and violence, and +attributed them to jealousy. He promised himself that some day he +would teach him his place and give him a lesson, for life at home was +becoming very painful as a result of these constant scenes. But as he +now lived apart he suffered less from this brutal conduct, and his +love of peace prompted him to patience. His good fortune, too, had +turned his head, and he scarcely paused to think of anything which had +no direct interest for himself. He would come in full of fresh little +anxieties, full of the cut of a morning-coat, of the shape of a felt +hat, of the proper size for his visiting-cards. And he talked +incessantly of all the details of his house--the shelves fixed in his +bedroom cupboard to keep linen on, the pegs to be put up in the +entrance hall, the electric bells contrived to prevent illicit +visitors to his lodgings. + +It had been settled that on the day when he should take up his abode +there they should make an excursion to Saint Jouin, and return after +dining there, to drink tea in his rooms. Roland wanted to go by water, +but the distance and the uncertainty of reaching it in a sailing-boat +if there should be a head-wind, made them reject his plan, and a break +was hired for the day. + +They started by ten to get there to breakfast. The dusty high road lay +across the plain of Normandy, which, by its gentle undulations, dotted +with farms embowered in trees, wears the aspect of an endless park. In +the vehicle, as it jogged on at the slow trot of a pair of heavy +horses, sat the four Rolands, Mme. Rosémilly, and Captain Beausire, +all silent, deafened by the rumble of the wheels, and with their eyes +shut to keep out the clouds of dust. + +It was harvest-time. Alternating with the dark hue of clover and the +raw green of beetroot, the yellow corn lighted up the landscape with +gleams of pale gold; the fields looked as if they had drunk in the +sunshine which poured down on them. Here and there the reapers were at +work, and in the plots where the scythe had been put in the men might +be seen see-sawing as they swept the level soil with the broad, +wing-shaped blade. + +After a two-hours' drive the break turned off to the left, past a +windmill at work--a melancholy, gray wreck, half rotten and doomed, +the last survivor of its ancient race; then it went into a pretty inn +yard, and drew up at the door of a smart little house, a hostelry +famous in those parts. + +The mistress, well known as "La belle Alphonsine," came smiling to the +threshold, and held out her hand to the two ladies who hesitated to +take the high step. + +Some strangers were already at breakfast under a tent by a grass plot +shaded by apple trees--Parisians, who had come from Etretat; and from +the house came sounds of voices, laughter, and the clatter of plates +and pans. + +They were eating in a room, as the outer dining halls were all full. +Roland suddenly caught sight of some shrimping nets hanging against +the wall. + +"Ah! ha!" cried he, "you catch prawns here?" + +"Yes," replied Beausire. "Indeed it is the place on all the coast +where most are taken." + +"First rate! Suppose we try to catch some after breakfast." + +As it happened it would be low tide at three o'clock, so it was +settled that they should all spend the afternoon among the rocks, +hunting prawns. + +They made a light breakfast, as a precaution against the tendency of +blood to the head when they should have their feet in the water. They +also wished to reserve an appetite for dinner, which had been ordered +on a grand scale and to be ready at six o'clock, when they came in. + +Roland could not sit still for impatience. He wanted to buy the nets +specially constructed for fishing prawns, not unlike those used for +catching butterflies in the country. Their name on the French coast is +_lanets_; they are netted bags on a circular wooden frame, at the end +of a long pole. Alphonsine, still smiling, was happy to lend them. +Then she helped the two ladies to make an impromptu change of toilet, +so as not to spoil their dresses. She offered them skirts, coarse +worsted stockings and hemp shoes. The men took off their socks and +went to the shoemaker's to buy wooden shoes instead. + +Then they set out, the nets over their shoulders and creels on their +backs. Mme. Rosémilly was quite sweet in this costume, with an +unexpected charm of countrified audacity. The skirt which Alphonsine +had lent her, coquettishly tucked up and firmly stitched so as to +allow of her running and jumping fearlessly on the rocks, displayed +her ankle and lower calf--the firm calf of a strong and agile little +woman. Her dress was loose to give freedom to her movements, and to +cover her head she had found an enormous garden hat of coarse yellow +straw with an extravagantly broad brim; and to this, a bunch of +tamarisk pinned in to cock it on one side, gave a very dashing and +military effect. + +Jean, since he had come into his fortune, had asked himself every day +whether or no he should marry her. Each time he saw her he made up his +mind to ask her to be his wife, and then, as soon as he was alone +again, he considered that by waiting he would have time to reflect. +She was now less rich than he, for she had but twelve thousand francs +a year; but it was in real estate, in farms and lands near the docks +in Havre; and this by-and-by might be worth a great deal. Their +fortunes were thus approximately equal, and certainly the young widow +attracted him greatly. + +As he watched her walking in front of him that day he said to himself: + +"I must really decide; I cannot do better, I am sure." + +They went down a little ravine, sloping from the village to the cliff, +and the cliff, at the end of this comb, rose about eighty meters above +the sea. Framed between the green slopes to the right and left, a +great triangle of silvery blue water could be seen in the distance, +and a sail, scarcely visible, looked like an insect out there. The +sky, pale with light, was so merged into one with the water that it +was impossible to see where one ended and the other began; and the two +women, walking in front of the men, stood out against this bright +background, their shapes clearly defined in their closely-fitting +dresses. + +Jean, with a sparkle in his eye, watched the smart ankle, the neat +leg, the supple waist, and the coquettish broad hat of Mme. Rosémilly +as they fled away before him. And this flight fired his ardor, urging +him on to the sudden determination which comes to hesitating and timid +natures. The warm air, fragrant with seacoast odors--gorse, clover +and thyme, mingling with the salt smell of the rocks at low +tide--excited him still more, mounting to his brain; and every moment +he felt a little more determined, at every step, at every glance he +cast at the alert figure; he made up his mind to delay no longer, to +tell her that he loved her and hoped to marry her. The prawn-fishing +would favor him by affording him an opportunity; and it would be a +pretty scene too, a pretty spot for love-making--their feet in a pool +of limpid water while they watched the long feelers of the shrimps +lurking under the wrack. + +When they had reached the end of the comb and the edge of cliff, they +saw a little footpath slanting down the face of it; and below them, +about half-way between the sea and the foot of the precipice, an +amazing chaos of enormous boulders tumbled over and piled one above +the other on a sort of grassy and undulating plain which extended as +far as they could see to the southward, formed by an ancient landslip. +On this long shelf of brushwood and grass, disrupted, as it seemed, by +the shocks of a volcano, the fallen rocks seemed the wreck of a great +ruined city which had once looked out on the ocean, sheltered by the +long white wall of the overhanging cliff. + +"That is fine!" exclaimed Mme. Rosémilly, standing still. Jean had +come up with her, and with a beating heart offered his hand to help +her down the narrow steps cut in the rock. + +They went on in front, while Beausire, squaring himself on his little +legs, gave his arm to Mme. Roland, who felt giddy at the gulf before +her. + +The two young people who led the way, went fast till on a sudden they +saw, by the side of a wooden bench which afforded a resting place +about half-way down the slope, a thread of clear water, springing from +a crevice in the cliff. It fell into a hollow as large as a washing +basin which it had worn in the stone; then, falling in a cascade, +hardly two feet high, it trickled across the footpath, which it had +carpeted with cresses, and was lost among the briars and grass on the +raised shelf where the boulders were piled. + +"Oh, I am so thirsty!" cried Mme. Rosémilly. + +But how could she drink? She tried to catch the water in her hand, but +it slipped away between her fingers. Jean had an idea; he placed a +stone on the path and on this she knelt down to put her lips to the +spring itself, which was thus on the same level. + +When she raised her head, covered with myriads of tiny drops, +sprinkled all over her face, her hair, her eyelashes, and her dress, +Jean bent over her and murmured: "How pretty you look!" + +She answered in the tone in which she might have scolded a child: + +"Will you be quiet!" + +These were the first words of flirtation they had ever exchanged. + +"Come," said Jean, much agitated. "Let us go on before they come up +with us." + +For in fact they could see quite near them now, Captain Beausire's +back as he came down, stern foremost, so as to give both hands to Mme. +Roland; and further up, further off, Roland still letting himself +slip, lowering himself on his hams and clinging on with both his hand +and elbows at the speed of a tortoise, Pierre keeping in front of him +to watch his movements. + +The path, now less steep, was here almost a road, zigzagging between +the huge rocks which had at some former time rolled from the hilltop. +Mme. Rosémilly and Jean set off at a run and they were soon on the +beach. They crossed it and reached the rocks, which stretched in a +long and flat expanse covered with seaweed, and broken by endless +gleaming pools. The ebbed waters lay beyond, very far away, across +this plain of slimy weed, of a black and shining olive-green. + +Jean rolled up his trousers above his calf, and his sleeves to his +elbows, that he might get wet without caring; then saying: "Forward!" +he leaped boldly into the first tidepool they came to. + +The lady, more cautious, though fully intending to go in too, +presently, made her way round the little pond, stepping timidly, for +she slipped on the grassy weed. + +"Do you see anything?" she asked. + +"Yes, I see your face reflected in the water." + +"If that is all you see, you will not have good fishing." + +He murmured tenderly in reply: + +"Of all fishing it is that I should like best to succeed in." + +She laughed: "Try; you will see how it will slip through your net." + +"But yet--if you will?" + +"I will see you catch prawns--and nothing else--for the moment." + +"You are cruel--let us go a little further; there are none here." + +He gave her his hand to steady her on the slippery rocks. She leaned +on him rather timidly, and he suddenly felt himself overpowered by +love and insurgent with passion, as if the fever that had been +incubating in him had waited till to-day to declare its presence. + +They soon came to a deeper rift, in which long slender weeds, +fantastically tinted, like floating green and rose-colored hair, were +swaying under the quivering water as it trickled off to the distant +sea through some invisible crevice. + +Mme. Rosémilly cried out: "Look, look, I see one, a big one. A very +big one, just there!" He saw it too, and stepped boldly into the pool +though he got wet up to the waist. But the creature, waving its long +whiskers, gently retired in front of the net. Jean drove it toward the +seaweed, making sure of his prey. When it found itself blockaded it +rose with a dart over the net, shot across the mere, and was gone. The +young woman, who was watching the chase in great excitement, could not +help exclaiming: "Oh! Clumsy!" + +He was vexed, and without a moment's thought dragged his net over a +hole full of weed. As he brought it to the surface again he saw in it +three large transparent prawns, caught blindfold in their hiding +place. + +He offered them in triumph to Mme. Rosémilly, who was afraid to touch +them, for fear of the sharp, serrated crest which arms their heads. +However, she made up her mind to it, and taking them up by the tips of +their long whiskers she dropped them one by one into her creel, with a +little seaweed to keep them alive. Then, having found a shallower pool +of water, she stepped in with some hesitation, for the cold plunge of +her feet took her breath away, and began to fish on her own account. +She was dextrous and artful, with the light hand and the hunter's +instinct, which are indispensable. At almost every dip she caught up +some prawns, beguiled and surprised by her ingeniously gentle +pursuit. + +Jean now caught nothing; but he followed her, step by step, touched +her now and again, bent over her, pretended great distress at his own +awkwardness, and besought her to teach him. + +"Show me," he kept saying. "Show me how." + +And then, as their two faces were reflected side by side in water so +clear that the black weeds at the bottom made a mirror, Jean smiled at +the face which looked up at him from the depth, and now and then from +his finger tips blew it a kiss which seemed to light upon it. + +"Oh! how tiresome you are!" she exclaimed. "My dear fellow, you should +never do two things at once." + +He replied: "I am only doing one--loving you." + +She drew herself up and said gravely: + +"What has come over you these ten minutes; have you lost your wits?" + +"No, I have not lost my wits. I love you, and at last I dare to tell +you so." + +They were at this moment both standing in the salt pool wet half-way +up to their knees and with dripping hands, holding their nets. They +looked into each other's eyes. + +She went on in a tone of amused annoyance. + +"How very ill-advised to tell me so here and now. Could you not wait +till another day instead of spoiling my fishing?" + +"Forgive me," he murmured, "but I could not longer hold my peace. I +have loved you a long time. To-day you have intoxicated me and I lost +my reason." + +Then suddenly she seemed to have resigned herself to talk business and +think no more of pleasure. + +"Let us sit down on that stone," said she, "we can talk more +comfortably." They scrambled up a rather high boulder, and when they +had settled themselves side by side in the bright sunshine, she began +again: + +"My good friend, you are no longer a child, and I am not a young girl. +We both know perfectly well what we are about and we can weigh the +consequences of our actions. If you have made up your mind to make +love to me to-day I must naturally infer that you wish to marry me." + +He was not prepared for this matter-of-fact statement of the case, and +he answered blandly: + +"Why, yes." + +"Have you mentioned it to your father and mother?" + +"No; I wanted to know first whether you would accept me." + +She held out her hand, which was still wet, and as he eagerly clasped +it: + +"I am ready and willing," she said. "I believe you to be kind and +true-hearted. But remember, I should not like to displease your +parents." + +"Oh, do you think that my mother has never foreseen it, or that she +would be as fond of you as she is if she did not hope that you and I +should marry?" + +"That is true. I am a little disturbed." + +They said no more. He, for his part, was amazed at her being so little +disturbed, so rational. He had expected pretty little flirting ways, +refusals which meant yes, a whole coquettish comedy of love chequered +by prawn-fishing in the splashing water. And it was all over; he was +pledged, married with twenty words. They had no more to say about it +since they were agreed, and they now sat, both somewhat embarrassed by +what had so swiftly passed between them; a little perplexed, indeed, +not daring to speak, not daring to fish, not knowing what to do. + +Roland's voice rescued them. + +"This way, this way, children. Come and watch Beausire. The fellow is +positively clearing out the sea!" + +The captain had, in fact, had a wonderful haul. Wet above his hips, he +waded from pool to pool, recognizing the likeliest spots at a glance, +and searching all the hollows hidden under seaweed, with a steady slow +sweep of his net. And the beautiful transparent, sandy-gray prawns +skipped in his palm as he picked them out of the net with a dry jerk +and put them into his creel. Mme. Rosémilly, surprised and delighted, +remained at his side, almost forgetful of her promise to Jean, who +followed them in a dream, giving herself up entirely to the childish +enjoyment of pulling the creatures out from among the waving +seagrasses. + +Roland suddenly exclaimed: + +"Ah, here comes Mme. Roland to join us." + +She had remained at first on the beach with Pierre, for they had +neither of them any wish to play at running about among the rocks and +paddling in the tide-pools; and yet they had felt doubtful about +staying together. She was afraid of him, and her son was afraid of her +and of himself; afraid of his own cruelty, which he could not control. +But they sat down side by side on the stones. And both of them, under +the heat of the sun, mitigated by the sea breeze, gazing at the wide, +fair horizon of blue water streaked and shot with silver, thought as +if in unison: "How delightful this would have been--once." + +She did not venture to speak to Pierre, knowing that he would return +some hard answer; and he dared not address his mother, knowing that in +spite of himself he should speak violently. He sat twitching the +water-worn pebbles with the end of his cane, switching them and +turning them over. She, with a vague look in her eyes, had picked up +three or four little stones and was slowly and mechanically dropping +them from one hand into the other. Then her unsettled gaze, wandering +over the scene before her, discerned, among the weedy rocks, her son +Jean fishing with Mme. Rosémilly. She looked at them, watching their +movements, dimly understanding, with motherly instinct, that they were +talking as they did not talk every day. She saw them leaning over side +by side when they looked into the water, standing face to face when +they questioned their hearts, then scrambled up the rock and seated +themselves to come to an understanding. Their figures stood out very +sharply, looking as if they were alone in the middle of the wide +horizon, and assuming a sort of symbolic dignity in that vast expanse +of sky and sea and cliff. + +Pierre, too, was looking at them, and a harsh laugh suddenly broke +from his lips. Without turning to him Mme. Roland said: + +"What is it?" + +He spoke with a sneer. + +"I am learning. Learning how a man lays himself out to be cozened by +his wife." + +She flushed with rage, exasperated by the insinuation she believed was +intended. + +"In whose name do you say that?" + +"In Jean's, by heaven! It is immensely funny to see those two." + +She murmured in a low voice, tremulous with feeling: "O Pierre, how +cruel you are. That woman is honesty itself. Your brother could not +find a better." + +He laughed aloud, a hard, satirical laugh: + +"Ha! hah! hah! Honesty itself! All wives are honesty itself,--and all +husbands are--betrayed." And he shouted with laughter. + +She made no reply, but rose, hastily went down the sloping beach, and +at the risk of tumbling into one of the rifts hidden by the seaweed, +of breaking a leg or an arm, she hastened, almost running, plunging +through the pools without looking, straight to her other son. + +Seeing her approach, Jean called out: + +"Well, mother? So you have made the effort?" + +Without a word she seized him by the arm, as if to say: "Save me, +protect me!" + +He saw her agitation, and greatly surprised he said: + +"How pale you are; what is the matter?" + +She stammered out: + +"I was nearly falling; I was frightened at the rocks." + +So then Jean guided her, supported her, explained the sport to her +that she might take an interest in it. But as she scarcely heeded him, +and as he was bursting with the desire to confide in some one, he led +her away and in a low voice said to her: + +"Guess what I have done!" + +"But--what--I don't know." + +"Guess." + +"I cannot. I don't know." + +"Well, I have told Mme. Rosémilly that I wish to marry her." + +She did not answer, for her brain was buzzing, her mind in such +distress that she could scarcely take it in. She echoed: "Marry her?" + +"Yes. Have I done well? She is charming, do not you think?" + +"Yes, charming. You have done very well." + +"Then you approve?" + +"Yes, I approve." + +"But how strangely you say so. I could fancy that--that you were not +glad." + +"Yes, indeed, I am--very glad." + +"Really and truly?" + +"Really and truly." + +And to prove it she threw her arms round him and kissed him heartily +with warm motherly kisses. Then, when she had wiped her eyes, which +were full of tears, she observed upon the beach a man lying flat at +full length like a dead body, his face hidden against the stones; it +was the other one, Pierre, sunk in thought and desperation. + +At this she led her little Jean further away, quite to the edge of the +waves, and there they talked for a long time of this marriage on which +he had set his heart. + +The rising tide drove them back to rejoin the fishers, and then they +all made their way to the shore. They roused Pierre, who pretended to +be sleeping; and then came a long dinner washed down with many kinds +of wine. + + +CHAPTER VII + +In the break, on their way home, all the men dozed excepting Jean. +Beausire and Roland dropped every five minutes on to a neighbor's +shoulder which repelled them with a shove. Then they sat up, ceased to +snore, opened their eyes, muttered "a lovely evening!" and almost +immediately fell over on the other side. + +By the time they reached Havre their drowsiness was so heavy that they +had great difficulty in shaking it off, and Beausire even refused to +go to Jean's rooms where tea was waiting for them. He had to be set +down at his own door. + +The young lawyer was to sleep in his new abode for the first time; and +he was full of rather puerile glee which had suddenly come over him, +at being able, that very evening to show his betrothed the rooms she +was so soon to inhabit. + +The maid had gone to bed, Mme. Roland having declared that she herself +would boil the water and make the tea, for she did not like the +servants to be kept up for fear of fire. + +No one had yet been into the lodgings but herself, Jean, and the +workmen, that the surprise might be the greater at their being so +pretty. + +Jean begged them all to wait a moment in the ante-room. He wanted to +light the lamps and candles, and he left Mme. Rosémilly in the dark +with his father and brother; then he cried! "Come in!" opening the +double door to its full width. + +The glass gallery, lighted by a chandelier and little colored lamps +hidden among palms, india-rubber plants and flowers, was first seen +like a scene on the stage. There was a spasm of surprise. Roland, +dazzled by such luxury, muttered an oath, and felt inclined to clap +his hands as if it were a pantomime scene. They then went into the +first drawing-room, a small room hung with dead gold and furnished to +match. The larger drawing-room--the lawyer's consulting-room, very +simple, hung with light salmon-color, was dignified in style. + +Jean sat down in his armchair in front of his writing-table loaded +with books, and in a solemn, rather stilted tone, he began: + +"Yes, madame, the letter of the law is explicit, and, assuming the +consent I promised you, it affords me absolute certainty that the +matter we discussed will come to a happy conclusion within three +months." + +He looked at Mme. Rosémilly, who began to smile and glanced at Mme. +Roland. Madame Roland took her hand and pressed it. Jean, in high +spirits, cut a caper like a schoolboy, exclaiming: "Hah! How well the +voice carries in this room; it would be capital for speaking in." + +And he declaimed: + +"If humanity alone, if the instinct of natural benevolence which we +feel toward all who suffer, were the motive of the acquittal we expect +of you, I should appeal to your compassion, gentlemen of the jury, to +your hearts as fathers and as men; but we have law on our side, and it +is the point of law only which we shall submit to your judgment." + +Pierre was looking at this home which might have been his, and he was +restive under his brother's frolics, thinking him really too silly and +witless. + +Mme. Roland opened a door on the right. + +"This is the bedroom," said she. + +She had devoted herself to its decoration with all her mother's love. +The hangings were of Rouen cretonne imitating old Normandy chintz, and +the Louis XV design--a shepherdess, in a medallion held in the beaks +of a pair of doves--gave the walls, curtains, bed, and armchairs a +festive, rustic style that was extremely pretty! + +"Oh, how charming!" Mme. Rosémilly exclaimed, becoming a little +serious as they entered the room. + +"Do you like it?" asked Jean. + +"Immensely." + +"You cannot imagine how glad I am." + +They looked at each other for a second, with confiding tenderness in +the depths of their eyes. + +She had felt a little awkward, however, a little abashed, in this room +which was to be hers. She noticed as she went in that the bed was a +large one, quite a family bed, chosen by Mme. Roland, who had no doubt +foreseen and hoped that her son should soon marry; and this motherly +foresight pleased her, for it seemed to tell her that she was expected +in the family. + +When they had returned to the drawing-room Jean abruptly threw open +the door to the left, showing the circular dining-room with three +windows, and decorated to imitate a Chinese lantern. Mother and son +had here lavished all the fancy of which they were capable, and the +room, with its bamboo furniture, its mandarins, jars, silk hangings +glistening with gold, transparent blinds threaded with beads looking +like drops of water, fans nailed to the wall to drape the hangings +on, screens, swords, masks, cranes made of real feathers, and a myriad +trifles in china, wood, paper, ivory, mother of pearl, and bronze, had +the pretentious and extravagant aspect which unpracticed hands and +uneducated eyes inevitably stamp on things which need the utmost tact, +taste, and artistic education. Nevertheless it was the most admired; +only Pierre made some observations with rather bitter irony which hurt +his brother's feelings. + +Pyramids of fruit stood on the table and monuments of cakes. No one +was hungry; they picked at the fruit and nibbled at the cakes rather +than ate them. Then, at the end of about an hour, Mme. Rosémilly +begged to take leave. It was decided that old Roland should accompany +her home and set out with her forthwith; while Madame Roland, in the +maid's absence, should cast a maternal eye over the house and see that +her son had all he needed. + +"Shall I come back for you?" asked Roland. + +She hesitated a moment and then said: "No, dear old man; go to bed. +Pierre will see me home." + +As soon as they were gone she blew out the candles, locked up the +cakes, the sugar, and liqueurs in a cupboard of which she gave the key +to Jean; then she went into the bedroom, turned down the bed, saw that +there was fresh water in the water-bottle, and that the window was +properly closed. + +Pierre and Jean had remained in the little outer drawing-room; the +younger still sore under the criticism passed on his taste, and the +elder chafing more and more at seeing his brother in this abode. They +both sat smoking without a word. Pierre suddenly started to his feet. + +"Cristi!" he exclaimed. "The widow looked very jaded this evening. +Long excursions do not improve her." + +Jean felt his spirit rising with one of those sudden and furious rages +which boil up in easy-going natures when they are wounded to the +quick. He could hardly find breath to speak, so fierce was his +excitement, and he stammered out: + +"I forbid you ever again to say 'the widow' when you speak of Mme. +Rosémilly." + +Pierre turned on him haughtily: + +"You are giving me an order, I believe. Are you gone mad by any +chance?" + +Jean had pulled himself up. + +"I am not gone mad, but I have had enough of your manners to me." + +Pierre sneered: "To you? And are you any part of Mme. Rosémilly?" + +"You are to know that Mme. Rosémilly is about to become my wife." + +Pierre laughed the louder. + +"Ah! ha! Very good. I understand now why I should no longer speak of +her as 'the widow.' But you have taken a strange way of announcing +your engagement." + +"I forbid any jesting about it. Do you hear? I forbid it." + +Jean had come close up to him, pale, and his voice quivering with +exasperation at this irony leveled at the woman he loved and had +chosen. + +But on a sudden Pierre turned equally furious. All the accumulation of +impotent rage, of suppressed malignity, of rebellion choked down for +so long past, all his unspoken despair mounted to his brain, +bewildering it like a fit. + +"How dare you? How dare you? I order you to hold your tongue--do you +hear? I order you." + +Jean, startled by his violence, was silent for a few seconds, trying +in the confusion of mind which comes of rage to hit on the thing, the +phrase, the word, which might stab his brother to the heart. He went +on, with an effort to control himself that he might aim true, and to +speak slowly that the words might hit more keenly: + +"I have known for a long time that you were jealous of me, ever since +the day when you first began to talk of 'the widow' because you knew +it annoyed me." + +Pierre broke into one of those strident and scornful laughs which were +common with him: + +"Ah! ah! Good Heavens! Jealous of you? I? I? And of what? Good God! Of +your person or your mind?" + +But Jean knew full well that he had touched the wound in his soul. + +"Yes, jealous of me--jealous from your childhood up. And it became +fury when you saw that this woman liked me best and would have nothing +to say to you." + +Pierre, stung to the quick by this assumption, stuttered out: + +"I? I? Jealous of you? And for the sake of that goose, that gaby, that +simpleton?" + +Jean, seeing that he was aiming true, went on: + +"And how about the day when you tried to pull me round in the +_Pearl_? And all you said in her presence to show off? Why you are +bursting with jealousy? And when this money was left to me you were +maddened, you hated me, you showed it in every possible way, and made +every one suffer for it; not an hour passes that you do not spit out +the bile that is choking you." + +Pierre clenched his fist in his fury with an almost irresistible +impulse to fly at his brother and seize him by the throat. + +"Hold your tongue," he cried. "At least say nothing about that money." + +Jean went on: + +"Why your jealousy oozes out at every pore. You never say a word to my +father, my mother, or me that does not declare it plainly. You pretend +to despise me because you are jealous. You try to pick a quarrel with +every one because you are jealous. And now that I am rich you can no +longer contain yourself; you have become venomous, you torture our +poor mother as if she were to blame!" + +Pierre had retired step by step as far as the fireplace, his mouth +half open, his eyes glaring, a prey to one of those mad fits of +passion in which crime is committed. + +He said again in a lower tone, gasping for breath: "Hold your +tongue--for God's sake hold your tongue!" + +"No! For a long time I have been wanting to give you my whole mind! +you have given me an opening--so much the worse for you. I love the +woman; you know it, and laugh her to scorn in my presence--so much the +worse for you. But I will break your viper's fangs, I tell you. I +will make you treat me with respect." + +"With respect--you?" + +"Yes--me." + +"Respect you? You who have brought shame on us all by your greed." + +"You say--? Say it again--again." + +"I say that it does not do to accept one man's fortune when another is +reputed to be your father." + +Jean stood rigid, not understanding, dazed by the insinuation he +scented. + +"What? Repeat that once more." + +"I say--what everybody is muttering, what every gossip is +blabbing--that you are the son of the man who left you his fortune. +Well, then--a decent man does not take money which brings dishonor on +his mother." + +"Pierre! Pierre! Pierre! Think what you are saying. You? It is you who +give utterance to this infamous thing?" + +"Yes, I. It is I. Have you not seen me crushed with woe this month +past, spending my nights without sleep and my days in lurking out of +sight like an animal? I hardly know what I am doing or what will +become of me, so miserable am I, so crazed with shame and grief; for +first I guessed--and now I know it." + +"Pierre! Be silent. Mother is in the next room. Remember she may +hear--she must hear." + +But Pierre felt that he must unburden his heart. He told Jean all his +suspicions, his arguments, his struggles, his assurance, and the +history of the portrait--which had again disappeared. He spoke in +short broken sentences almost without coherence--the language of a +sleep-walker. + +He seemed to have quite forgotten Jean, and his mother in the +adjoining room. He talked as if no one were listening, because he must +talk, because he had suffered too much and smothered and closed the +wound too tightly. It had festered like an abscess and the abscess had +burst, splashing every one. He was pacing the room in the way he +almost always did, his eyes fixed on vacancy, gesticulating in a +frenzy of despair, his voice choked with tearless sobs and revulsions +of self-loathing; he spoke as if he were making a confession of his +own misery and that of his nearest kin, as though he were casting his +woes to the deaf, invisible winds which bore away his words. + +Jean, distracted and almost convinced on a sudden by his brother's +blind vehemence, was leaning against the door behind which, as he +guessed, their mother had heard them. + +She could not get out, she must come through this room. She had not +come; then it was because she dared not. + +Suddenly Pierre stamped his foot: + +"I am a brute," he cried, "to have told you this." + +And he fled, bare-headed, down the stairs. + +The noise of the front-door closing with a slam roused Jean from the +deep stupor into which he had fallen. Some seconds had elapsed, longer +than hours, and his spirit had sunk into the numb torpor of idiocy. He +was conscious, indeed, that he must presently think and act, but he +would wait, refusing to understand, to know, to remember, out of fear, +weakness, cowardice. He was one of those procrastinators who put +everything off till the morrow; and when he was compelled to come to a +decision then and there, still he instinctively tried to gain a few +minutes. + +But the perfect silence which now reigned, after Pierre's +vociferations, the sudden stillness of walls and furniture, with the +bright light of six wax candles and two lamps, terrified him so +greatly that he suddenly longed to make his escape too. + +Then he roused his brain, roused his heart, and tried to reflect. + +Never in his life had he had to face a difficulty. There are men who +let themselves glide onward like running water. He had been duteous +over his tasks for fear of punishment, and had got through his legal +studies with credit because his existence was tranquil. Everything in +the world seemed to him quite natural and never aroused his particular +attention. He loved order, steadiness, and peace, by temperament, his +nature having no complications; and face to face with this +catastrophe, he found himself like a man who has fallen into the water +and cannot swim. + +At first he tried to be incredulous. His brother had told a lie, out +of hatred and jealousy. But yet, how could he have been so vile as to +say such a thing of their mother if he had not himself been distraught +by despair? Besides, stamped on Jean's ear, on his sight, on his +nerves, on the inmost fibers of his flesh, were certain words, certain +tones of anguish, certain gestures of Pierre's, so full of suffering +that they were irresistibly convincing; as incontrovertible as +certainty itself. + +He was too much crushed to stir or even to will. His distress became +unbearable; and he knew that behind the door was his mother who had +heard everything and was waiting. + +What was she doing? Not a movement, not a shudder, not a breath, not a +sigh revealed the presence of a living creature behind that panel. +Could she have run away? But how? If she had run away--she must have +jumped out of the window into the street. A shock of terror roused +him--so violent and imperious that he drove the door in rather than +opened it, and flung himself into the bedroom. + +It was apparently empty, lighted by a single candle standing on the +chest of drawers. + +Jean flew to the window, it was shut and the shutters bolted. He +looked about him, peering into the dark corners with anxious eyes, and +he then noticed that the bed-curtains were drawn. He ran forward and +opened them. His mother was lying on the bed, her face buried in the +pillow which she had pulled up over her ears that she might hear no +more. + +At first he thought she had smothered herself. Then taking her by the +shoulders, he turned her over without her leaving go of the pillow, +which covered her face, and in which she had set her teeth to keep +herself from crying out. + +But the mere touch of this rigid form, of those arms so convulsively +clenched, communicated to him the shock of her unspeakable torture. +The strength and determination with which she clutched the linen case +full of feathers with her hands and teeth, over her mouth and eyes and +ears, that he might neither see her nor speak to her, gave him an +idea, by the turmoil it roused in him, of the pitch suffering may rise +to, and his heart, his simple heart, was torn with pity. He was no +judge, not he; not even a merciful judge; he was a man full of +weakness and a son full of love. He remembered nothing of what his +brother had told him; he neither reasoned nor argued, he merely laid +his two hands on his mother's inert body, and not being able to pull +the pillow away, he exclaimed, kissing her dress: + +"Mother, mother, my poor mother, look at me." + +She would have seemed to be dead but that an almost imperceptible +shudder ran through all her limbs, the vibration of a strained cord. +And he repeated: + +"Mother, mother, listen to me. It is not true. I know that it is not +true." + +A spasm seemed to come over her, a fit of suffocation; then she +suddenly began to sob into the pillow. Her sinews relaxed, her rigid +muscles yielded, her fingers gave way and left go of the linen; and he +uncovered her face. + +She was pale, quite colorless; and from under her closed lids tears +were stealing. He threw his arms round her neck and kissed her eyes, +slowly, with long heart-broken kisses, wet with her tears; and he said +again and again: + +"Mother, my dear mother, I know it is not true. Do not cry; I know it. +It is not true." + +She raised herself, she sat up, looked in his face, and with an effort +of courage such as it must cost in some cases to kill one's self, she +said: + +"No, my child; it is true." + +And they remained speechless, each in the presence of the other. For +some minutes she seemed again to be suffocating, craning her throat +and throwing back her head to get breath; then she once more mastered +herself and went on: + +"It is true, my child. Why lie about it? It is true. You would not +believe me if I denied it." + +She looked like a crazy creature. Overcome by alarm, he fell on his +knees by the bedside murmuring: + +"Hush, mother, be silent." She stood up with terrible determination +and energy. + +"I have nothing more to say, my child. Good-by." And she went toward +the door. + +He threw his arms about her exclaiming: + +"What are you doing, mother; where are you going?" + +"I do not know. How should I know--There is nothing left for me to do, +now that I am alone." + +She struggled to be released. Holding her firmly, he could find only +words to say again and again: + +"Mother, mother, mother!" And through all her efforts to free herself +she was saying: + +"No, no. I am not your mother now. I am nothing to you, to +anybody--nothing, nothing. You have neither father nor mother now, +poor boy--good-by." + +It struck him clearly that if he let her go now he should never see +her again; lifting her up in his arms he carried her to an armchair, +forced her into it, and kneeling down in front of her barred her in +with his arms. + +"You shall not quit this spot, mother. I love you and I will keep you! +I will keep you always--I love you and you are mine." + +She murmured in a dejected tone: + +"No, my poor boy, it is impossible. You weep to-night, but to-morrow +you would turn me out of the house. You, even you, could not forgive +me." + +He replied: "I? I? How little you know me!" with such a burst of +genuine affection that with a cry, she seized his head by the hair +with both hands, and dragging him violently to her kissed him +distractedly all over the face. + +Then she sat still, her cheek against his, feeling the warmth of his +skin through his beard, and she whispered in his ear: "No, my little +Jean, you would not forgive me to-morrow. You think so, but you +deceive yourself. You have forgiven me this evening, and that +forgiveness has saved my life; but you must never see me again." + +And he repeated, clasping her in his arms: + +"Mother, do not say that." + +"Yes, my child, I must go away. I do not know where, nor how I shall +set about it, nor what I shall do; but it must be done. I could never +look at you, nor kiss you, do you understand?" + +Then he in his turn spoke into her ear: + +"My little mother, you are to stay, because I insist, because I want +you. And you must pledge your word to obey me, now at once." + +"No, my child." + +"Yes, mother, you must; do you hear? You must." + +"No, my child, it is impossible. It would be condemning us all to the +tortures of hell. I know what that torment is; I have known it this +month past. Your feelings are touched now, but when that is over, when +you look on me as Pierre does, when you remember what I have told +you--oh, my Jean, think--think--I am your mother!" + +"I will not let you leave me, mother. I have no one but you." + +"But think, my son, we can never see each other again without both of +us blushing, without my feeling that I must die of shame, without my +eyes falling before yours." + +"But it is not so mother." + +"Yes, yes, yes, it is so! Oh, I have understood all your poor +brother's struggles, believe me! All--from the very first day. Now +when I hear his step in the house my heart beats as if it would burst, +when I hear his voice I am ready to faint. I still had you; now I have +you no longer. Oh, my little Jean! Do you think I could live between +you two?" + +"Yes, I should love you so much that you would cease to think of it." + +"As if that were possible!" + +"But it is possible!" + +"How do you suppose that I could cease to think of it, with your +brother and you on each hand? Would you cease to think of it, I ask +you?" + +"I? I swear I should." + +"Why you would think of it at every hour of the day." + +"No, I swear it. Besides, listen, if you go away I will enlist and get +killed." + +This boyish threat quite overcame her; she clasped Jean in a +passionate and tender embrace. He went on: + +"I love you more than you think--ah much more, much more. Come, be +reasonable. Try to stay for only one week. Will you promise me one +week? You cannot refuse me that?" + +She laid her two hands on Jean's shoulders, and holding him at arm's +length she said: + +"My child, let us try and be calm and not give way to emotions. First, +listen to me. If I were ever to hear from your lips what I have heard +for this month past from your brother, if I were once to see in your +eyes what I read in his, if I could fancy from a word or a look that I +was as odious to you as I am to him--within one hour, mark me--within +one hour I should be gone forever." + +"Mother, I swear to you--" + +"Let me speak. For a month past I have suffered all that any creature +can suffer. From the moment when I perceived that your brother, my +other son, suspected me, that as the minutes went by, he guessed the +truth, every moment of my life has been a martyrdom which no words +could tell you." + +Her voice was so full of woe that the contagion of her misery brought +the tears to Jean's eyes. + +He tried to kiss her, but she held him off. + +"Leave me--listen; I still have so much to say to make you understand. +But you never can understand. You see, if I stayed--I must--no, no. I +cannot." + +"Speak on, mother, speak." + +"Yes, indeed, for at least I shall not have deceived you. You want me to +stay with you? For what--for us to be able to see each other, speak to +each other, meet at any hour of the day at home, for I no longer dare +open a door for fear of finding your brother behind it. If we are to do +that, you must not forgive me--nothing is so wounding as +forgiveness--but you must owe me no grudge for what I have done. You +must feel yourself strong enough, and so far unlike the rest of the +world, as to be able to say to yourself that you are not Roland's son +without blushing for the fact or despising me. I have suffered enough--I +have suffered too much; I can bear no more, no indeed, no more! And it +is not a thing of yesterday, mind you, but of long, long years. But you +could never understand that, how should you! If you and I are to live +together and kiss each other, my little Jean, you must believe that +though I was your father's mistress I was yet more truly his wife, his +real wife; that at the bottom of my heart, I cannot be ashamed of it; +that I have no regrets; that I love him still even in death; that I +shall always love him and never loved any other man; that he was my +life, my joy, my hope, my comfort, everything--everything in the world +to me for so long! Listen, my boy, before God, who hears me, I should +never have had a joy in my existence if I had not met him; never +anything--not a touch of tenderness or kindness, not one of those hours +which make us regret growing old,--nothing. I owe everything to him! I +had but him in the world, and you two boys, your brother and you. But +for you, all would have been empty, dark, and void as the night. I +should never have loved, or known, or cared for anything--I should not +even have wept--for I have wept, my little Jean; oh yes, and bitter +tears, since we came to Havre. I was his wholly and forever; for ten +years I was as much his wife as he was my husband before God who created +us for each other. And then I began to see that he loved me less. He was +always kind and courteous, but I was not what I had been to him. It was +all over! Oh, how I have cried! How dreadful and delusive life is! +Nothing lasts. Then we came here--I never saw him again; he never came. +He promised it in every letter. I was always expecting him, and I never +saw him again--and now he is dead! But he still cared for us since he +remembered you. I shall love him to my latest breath, and I never will +deny him, and I love you because you are his child, and I could never be +ashamed of him before you. Do you understand? I could not. So if you +wish me to remain you must accept the situation as his son, and we will +talk of him sometimes; and you must love him a little and we must think +of him when we look at each other. If you will not do this--if you +cannot--then good-by, my child; it is impossible that we should live +together. Now, I will act by your decision." + +Jean replied gently: + +"Stay, mother." + +She clasped him in her arms, and her tears flowed again; then, with +her face against his, she went on: + +"Well, but Pierre. What can we do about Pierre?" + +Jean murmured: + +"We will find some plan! You cannot live with him any longer." + +At the thought of her elder son she was convulsed with terror. + +"No, I cannot; no, no!" And throwing herself on Jean's breast she +cried in distress of mind: + +"Save me from him, you my little one. Save me; do something--I don't +know what. Think of something. Save me." + +"Yes, mother, I will think of something." + +"And at once. You must, this minute. Do not leave me. I am so afraid +of him--so afraid." + +"Yes, yes; I will hit on some plan. I promise you I will." + +"But at once; quick, quick! You cannot imagine what I feel when I see +him." + +Then she murmured softly in his ear: "Keep me here, with you." + +He paused, reflected, and with his blunt good-sense saw at once the +dangers of such an arrangement. But he had to argue for a long time, +combatting her scared, terror-stricken insistence. + +"Only for to-night," she said. "Only for to-night. And to-morrow +morning you can send word to Roland that I was taken ill." + +"That is out of the question, as Pierre left you here. Come take +courage. I will arrange everything, I promise you, to-morrow; I will +be with you by nine o'clock. Come, put on your bonnet. I will take you +home." + +"I will do just what you desire," she said with a childlike impulse of +timidity and gratitude. + +She tried to rise, but the shock had been too much for her, she could +not stand. + +He made her drink some sugared water and smell at some salts, while he +bathed her temples with vinegar. She let him do what he would, +exhausted but comforted, as after the pains of child-birth. At last +she could walk and she took his arm. The town hall clock struck three +as they went past. + +Outside their own door Jean kissed her, saying: + +"Good-night, mother, keep up your courage." + +She stealthily crept up the silent stairs, and into her room, +undressed quickly, and slipped into bed with a long-forgotten sense of +guilt. Roland was snoring. In all the house Pierre alone was awake, +and had heard her come in. + + +CHAPTER VIII + +When he got back to his lodgings Jean dropped on a sofa; for the +sorrows and anxieties which made his brother long to be moving, and to +flee like a hunted prey, acted differently on his torpid nature and +broke the strength of his arms and legs. He felt too limp to stir a +finger, even to get to bed; limp body and soul, crushed and +heart-broken. He had not been hit, as Pierre had been, in the purity +of filial love, in the secret dignity which is the refuge of a proud +heart; he was overwhelmed by the stroke of fate which, at the same +time threatened his own nearest interests. + +When at last his spirit was calmer, when his thoughts had settled like +water that has been stirred and lashed, he could contemplate the +situation which had come before him. If he had learned the secret of +his birth through any other channel he would assuredly have been very +wroth and very deeply pained, but after his quarrel with his brother, +after the violent and brutal betrayal which had shaken his nerves, the +agonizing emotion of his mother's confession had so bereft him of +energy that he could not rebel. The shock to his feelings had been so +great as to sweep away in an irresistible tide of pathos, all +prejudice, and all the sacred delicacy of natural morality. Besides, +he was not a man made for resistance. He did not like contending +against any one, least of all against himself, so he resigned himself +at once; and by instinctive tendency, a congenital love of peace, and +of easy and tranquil life, he began to anticipate the agitations which +must surge up around him and at once be his ruin. He foresaw that +they were inevitable, and to avert them he made up his mind to +superhuman efforts of energy and activity. The knot must be cut +immediately, this very day; for even he had fits of that imperious +demand for a swift solution which is the only strength of weak +natures, incapable of a prolonged effort of will. His lawyer's mind, +accustomed as it was to disentangling and studying complicated +situations and questions of domestic difficulties in families that had +got out of gear, at once foresaw the more immediate consequences of +his brother's state of mind. In spite of himself, he looked at the +issue from an almost professional point of view, as though he had to +legislate for the future relations of certain clients after a moral +disaster. Constant friction against Pierre had certainly become +unendurable. He could easily evade it, no doubt, by living in his own +lodgings; but even then it was not possible that their mother should +live under the same roof with her elder son. For a long time he sat +meditating, motionless, on the cushions, devising and rejecting +various possibilities, and finding nothing that satisfied him. + +But suddenly an idea took him by storm. This fortune which had come to +him. Would an honest man keep it? + +"No," was the first immediate answer, and he made up his mind that it +must go to the poor. It was hard, but it could not be helped. He would +sell his furniture and work like any other man, like any other +beginner. This manful and painful resolution spurred his courage; he +rose and went to the window, leaning his forehead against the pane. He +had been poor; he could become poor again. After all, he should not +die of it. His eyes were fixed on the gas lamp burning at the +opposite side of the street. A woman, much belated, happened to pass; +suddenly he thought of Mme. Rosémilly with the pang at his heart, the +shock of deep feeling which comes of a cruel suggestion. All the dire +results of his decision rose up before him together. He would have to +renounce his marriage, renounce happiness, renounce everything. Could +he do such a thing after having pledged himself to her? She had +accepted him knowing him to be rich. She would take him still if he +were poor; but had he any right to demand such a sacrifice? Would it +not be better to keep this money in trust, to be restored to the poor +at some future date? + +And in his soul, where selfishness put on a guise of honesty, all +these specious interests were struggling and contending. His first +scruples yielded to ingenious reasoning, then came to the top again, +and again disappeared. + +He sat down again, seeking some decisive motive, some all-sufficient +pretext to solve his hesitancy and convince his natural rectitude. +Twenty times over had he asked himself this question: "Since I am this +man's son, since I know and acknowledge it, is it not natural that I +should also accept the inheritance?" + +But even this argument could not suppress the "No" murmured by his +inmost conscience. + +Then came the thought: "Since I am not the son of the man I always +believed to be my father, I can take nothing from him, neither during +his lifetime nor after his death. It would be neither dignified nor +equitable. It would be robbing my brother." + +This new view of the matter having relieved him and quieted his +conscience, he went to the window again. + +"Yes," he said to himself, "I must give up my share of the family +inheritance. I must let Pierre have the whole of it, since I am not +his father's son. That is but just. Then is it not just that I should +keep my father's money?" + +Having discerned that he could take nothing of Roland's savings, +having decided on giving up the whole of this money, he agreed; he +resigned himself to keeping Maréchal's; for if he rejected both he +would find himself reduced to beggary. + +This delicate question being thus disposed of, he came back to that of +Pierre's presence in the family. How was he to be got rid of? He was +giving up his search for any practical solution when the whistle of a +steam-vessel coming into port seemed to blow him an answer by +suggesting a scheme. + +Then he threw himself on his bed without undressing, and dozed and +dreamed until daybreak. + +At a little before nine he went out to ascertain whether his plans +were feasible. Then, after making sundry inquiries and calls, he went +to his old home. His mother was waiting for him in her room. + +"If you had not come," she said, "I should never have dared to go +down." + +In a minute Roland's voice was heard on the stairs: "Are we to have +nothing to eat to-day, hang it all!" + +There was no answer, and he roared out, with a thundering oath this +time: "Joséphine, what the devil are you about?" + +The girl's voice came up from the depths of the basement: + +"Yes, m'sieu--what is it?" + +"Where is your Miss'es?" + +"Madame is upstairs with M'sieu Jean." + +Then he shouted, looking up at the higher floor: "Louise!" + +Mme. Roland half opened her door and answered: + +"What is it, my dear?" + +"Are we to have nothing to eat to-day, hang it all!" + +"Yes, my dear, I am coming." + +And she went down, followed by Jean. + +Roland, as soon as he saw him, exclaimed: + +"Hallo! There you are! Sick of your home already?" + +"No, father, but I had something to talk over with mother this +morning." + +Jean went forward holding out his hand, and when he felt his fingers +in the old man's fatherly clasp, a strange, unforeseen emotion +thrilled through him, and a sense as of parting and farewell without +return. + +Mme. Roland asked: + +"Pierre is not come down?" + +Her husband shrugged his shoulders: + +"No, but never mind him; he is always behind hand. We will begin +without him." + +She turned to Jean: + +"You had better go to call him, my child; it hurts his feelings if we +do not wait for him." + +"Yes, mother. I will go." + +And the young man went. He mounted the stairs with the fevered +determination of a man who is about to fight a duel and who is in a +fright. When he knocked at the door Pierre said: + +"Come in." + +He went in. The elder was writing, leaning over his table. + +"Good morning," said Jean. + +Pierre rose. + +"Good morning," and they shook hands as if nothing had occurred. + +"Are you not coming down to breakfast?" + +"Well--you see--I have a good deal to do." The elder brother's voice +was tremulous, and his anxious eye asked his younger brother what he +meant to do. + +"They are waiting for you." + +"Oh! There is--is my mother down?" + +"Yes, it was she who sent me to fetch you." + +"Ah, very well; then I will come." + +At the door of the dining-room he paused, doubtful about going in +first; then he abruptly opened the door and saw his father and mother +seated at the table opposite each other. + +He went straight up to her without looking at her or saying a word, +and bending over her offered his forehead for her to kiss, as he had +done for some time past, instead of kissing her on both cheeks as of +old. He supposed that she put her lips near, but he did not feel them +on his brow, and he straightened himself with a throbbing heart after +this feint of a caress. And he wondered: + +"What did they say to each other after I had left?" + +Jean constantly addressed her tenderly as "mother," or "dear mother," +took care of her, waited on her, and poured out her wine. + +Then Pierre understood that they had wept together, but he could not +read their minds. Did Jean believe in his mother's guilt, or think his +brother a base wretch? + +And all his self-reproach for having uttered the horrible thing came +upon him again, choking his throat and his tongue, and preventing his +either eating or speaking. + +He was now a prey to an intolerable desire to fly, to leave the house +which was his home no longer, and these persons who were bound to him +by such imperceptible ties. He would gladly have been off that moment, +no matter whither, feeling that everything was over, that he could not +endure to stay with them, that his presence was torture to them, and +that they would bring on him incessant suffering too great to endure. +Jean was talking, chatting with Roland. Pierre, as he did not listen, +did not hear. But he presently was aware of a pointed tone in his +brother's voice and paid more attention to his words. Jean was saying: + +"She will be the finest ship in their fleet. They say she is of 6,500 +tons. She is to make her first trip next month." + +Roland was amazed. + +"So soon? I thought she was not to be ready for sea this summer." + +"Yes. The work has been pushed forward very vigorously, to get her +through her first voyage before the autumn. I looked in at the +Company's office this morning, and was talking with one of the +directors." + +"Indeed! Which of them?" + +"M. Marchand, who is a great friend of the Chairman of the Board." + +"Oh! Do you know him?" + +"Yes. And I wanted to ask him a favor." + +"Then you will get me leave to go over every part of the _Lorraine_ as +soon as she comes into port?" + +"To be sure, nothing can be easier." + +Then Jean seemed to hesitate, to be weighing his words, and to want +to lead up to a difficult subject. He went on: + +"On the whole, life is very endurable on board those great +Transatlantic liners. More than half the time is spent on shore in two +splendid cities--New York and Havre; and the remainder at sea with +delightful company. In fact, very pleasant acquaintances are sometimes +made among the passengers, and very useful in after-life--yes, really +very useful. Only think, the captain, with his perquisites on coal, +can make as much as twenty-five thousand francs a year or more." + +Roland muttered an oath followed by a whistle, which testified to his +deep respect both for the sum and the captain. + +Jean went on: + +"The purser makes as much as ten thousand, and the doctor has a fixed +salary of five thousand, with lodgings, keep, light, firing, service, +and everything, which makes it up to ten thousand at least. That is +very good pay." + +Pierre, raising his eyes, met his brother's and understood. + +Then, after some hesitation, he asked: + +"Is it very hard to get a place as medical man on board a +Transatlantic liner?" + +"Yes--and no. It all depends on circumstances and recommendation." + +There was a long pause; then the doctor began again. + +"Next month, you say, the _Lorraine_ is to sail?" + +"Yes. On the 7th." + +And they said no more. + +Pierre was considering. It certainly would be a way out of many +difficulties if he could embark as medical officer on board the +steamship. By-and-by he could see; he might perhaps give it up. +Meanwhile he would be gaining a living, and asking for nothing from +his parents. Only two days since he had been forced to sell his watch, +for he would no longer hold out his hand to beg of his mother. So he +had no other resource left, no opening to enable him to eat the bread +of any house but this which had become uninhabitable, or sleep in any +other bed, or under any other roof. He presently said with some little +hesitation: + +"If I could, I would very gladly sail in her." + +Jean asked: + +"What should hinder you?" + +"I know no one in the Transatlantic Shipping Company." + +Roland was astounded: + +"And what has become of all your fine schemes for getting on?" + +Pierre replied in a low voice: + +"There are times when we must bring ourselves to sacrifice everything +and renounce our fondest hopes. And after all it is only to make a +beginning, a way of saving a few thousand francs to start fair with +afterward." + +His father was promptly convinced. + +"That is very true. In a couple of years you can put by six or seven +thousand francs, and that well laid out, will go a long way. What do +you think of the matter, Louise?" + +She replied in a voice so low as to be scarcely audible: + +"I think Pierre is right." + +Roland exclaimed: + +"I will go and talk it over with M. Poulin; I know him very well. He +is assessor of the Chamber of Commerce and takes an interest in the +affairs of the Company. There is M. Lenient, too, the ship-owner, who +is intimate with one of the vice-chairmen." + +Jean asked his brother: + +"Would you like me to feel my way with M. Marchand at once?" + +"Yes, I should be very glad." + +After thinking a few minutes, Pierre added: + +"The best thing I can do, perhaps, will be to write to my professors +at the College of Medicine who had a great regard for me. Very +inferior men are sometimes shipped on board those vessels. Letters of +strong recommendation from such professors as Mas-Roussel, Rémusot, +Flache, and Borriquel would do more for me in an hour than all the +doubtful introductions in the world. It would be enough if your friend +M. Marchand would lay them before the board." + +Jean approved heartily. + +"Your idea is really capital." And he smiled, quite reassured, almost +happy, sure of success and incapable of allowing himself to be unhappy +for long. + +"You will write to-day?" he said. + +"Directly. Now; at once. I will go and do so. I do not care for any +coffee this morning; I am too nervous." + +He rose and left the room. + +Then Jean turned to his mother: + +"And you, mother, what are you going to do?" + +"Nothing. I do not know." + +"Will you come with me to call on Mme. Rosémilly?" + +"Why, yes--yes." + +"You know I must positively go to see her to-day." + +"Yes, yes. To be sure." + +"Why must you positively?" asked Roland, whose habit it was never to +understand what was said in his presence. + +"Because I promised her I would." + +"Oh, very well. That alters the case." And he began to fill his pipe, +while the mother and son went upstairs to make ready. + +When they were in the street Jean said: + +"Will you take my arm, mother?" + +He was never accustomed to offer it, for they were in the habit of +walking side by side. She accepted, and leaned on him. + +For some time they did not speak; then he said: + +"You see that Pierre is quite ready and willing to go away." + +She murmured: + +"Poor boy." + +"But why 'poor boy'? He will not be in the least unhappy on board the +_Lorraine_!" + +"No--I know. But I was thinking of so many things." + +And she thought for a long time, her head bent, accommodating her step +to her son's; then, in the peculiar voice in which we sometimes give +utterance to the conclusion of long and secret meditations, she +exclaimed: + +"How horrible life is! If by any chance we come across any sweetness +in it, we sin in letting ourselves be happy, and pay dearly for it +afterward." + +He said in a whisper: + +"Do not speak of that any more, mother." + +"Is that possible? I think of nothing else." + +"You will forget it." + +Again she was silent; then with deep regret she said: + +"How happy I might have been, married to another man." + +She was visiting it on Roland now, throwing all the responsibility of +her sin on his ugliness, his stupidity, his clumsiness, the heaviness +of his intellect, and the vulgarity of his person. It was to this that +it was owing that she had betrayed him, had driven one son to +desperation, and had been forced to utter to the other the most +agonizing confession that can make a mother's heart bleed. She +muttered: "It is so frightful for a young girl to have to marry such a +husband as mine." + +Jean made no reply. He was thinking of the man he had hitherto +believed to be his father; and possibly the vague notion he had long +since conceived, of that father's inferiority, with his brother's +constant irony, the scornful indifference of others, and the very +maid-servant's contempt for Roland, had somewhat prepared his mind for +his mother's terrible avowal. It had all made it less dreadful to him +to find that he was another man's son; and if, after the great shock +and agitation of the previous evening, he had not suffered the +reaction of rage, indignation, and rebellion which Mme. Roland had +feared, it was because he had long been unconsciously chafing under +the sense of being the child of this well-meaning lout. + +They had now reached the dwelling of Mme. Rosémilly. + +She lived on the road to Sainte-Adresse, on the second floor of a +large tenement which she owned. The windows commanded a view of the +whole roadstead. + +On seeing Mme. Roland, who entered first, instead of merely holding +out her hands as usual, she put her arms round her and kissed her, for +she divined the purpose of her visit. + +The furniture of this drawing-room, all in stamped velvet, was always +shrouded in chair-covers. The walls, hung with flowered paper, were +graced by four engravings, the purchase of her late husband, the +captain. They represented sentimental scenes of seafaring life. In the +first, a fisherman's wife was seen, waving a handkerchief on shore, +while the vessel which bore away her husband vanished on the horizon. +In the second, the same woman on her knees on the same shore, under a +sky shot with lightning, wrung her arms as she gazed into the distance +at her husband's boat, which was going to the bottom amid impossible +waves. + +The others represented similar scenes in a higher rank of society. A +young lady with fair hair, resting her elbows on the edge of a large +steamship quitting the shore, gazed at the already distant coast with +eyes full of tears and regret. Whom is she leaving behind? + +Then the same young lady sitting by an open window with a view of the +sea, had fainted in an armchair; a letter she had dropped lay at her +feet. So he is dead! What despair! + +Visitors were generally much moved and charmed by the commonplace +pathos of these obvious and sentimental works. They were at once +intelligible without question or explanation, and the poor women were +to be pitied, though the nature of the grief of the more elegant of +the two was not precisely known. But this very doubt contributed to +the sentiment. She had, no doubt, lost her lover. On entering the room +the eye was immediately attracted to these four pictures, and riveted +as if fascinated. If it wandered it was only to return and contemplate +the four expressions on the faces of the two women, who were as like +each other as two sisters. And the very style of these works, in their +shining frames, crisp, sharp, and highly finished, with the elegance +of a fashion plate, suggested a sense of cleanliness and propriety +which was confirmed by the rest of the fittings. The seats were always +in precisely the same order, some against the wall and some round the +circular center-table. The immaculately white curtains hung in such +straight and regular pleats that one longed to crumple them a little; +and never did a grain of dust rest on the shade under which the gilt +clock, in the taste of the first empire--a terrestrial globe supported +by Atlas on his knees--looked like a melon left there to ripen. + +The two women as they sat down somewhat altered the normal position of +their chairs. + +"You have not been out this morning?" asked Mme. Roland. + +"No. I must own to being rather tired." + +And she spoke as if in gratitude to Jean and his mother, of all the +pleasure she had derived from the expedition and the prawn-fishing. + +"I ate my prawns this morning," she added, "and they were excellent. +If you felt inclined we might go again one of these days." + +The young man interrupted her: + +"Before we start on a second fishing excursion, suppose we complete +the first?" + +"Complete it? It seems to me quite finished." + +"Nay, madame, I, for my part, caught something on the rocks of Saint +Jouin which I am anxious to carry home with me." + +She put on an innocent and knowing look. + +"You? What can it be? What can you have found?" + +"A wife. And my mother and I have come to ask you whether she has +changed her mind this morning." + +She smiled: "No, monsieur. I never change my mind." + +And then he held out his hand, wide open, and she put hers into it +with a quick, determined movement. Then he said: "As soon as possible, +I hope." + +"As soon as you like." + +"In six weeks?" + +"I have no opinion. What does my future mother-in-law say?" + +Mme. Roland replied with a rather melancholy smile: + +"I? Oh, I can say nothing. I can only thank you for having accepted +Jean, for you will make him very happy." + +"We will do our best, mamma." + +Somewhat overcome, for the first time, Mme. Rosémilly rose, and +throwing her arms round Mme. Roland, kissed her a long time as a child +of her own might have done; and under this new embrace the poor +woman's sick heart swelled with deep emotion. She could not have +expressed the feeling; it was at once sad and sweet. She had lost her +son, her big boy, but in return she had found a daughter, a grown-up +daughter. + +When they faced each other again, and were seated, they took hands and +remained so, looking at each other and smiling, while they seemed to +have forgotten Jean. + +Then they discussed a number of things which had to be thought of in +view of an early marriage, and when everything was settled and decided +Mme. Rosémilly seemed suddenly to remember a further detail and asked: +"You have consulted M. Roland, I suppose?" + +A flush of color mounted at the same instant to the face of both +mother and son. It was the mother who replied: + +"Oh, no, it is quite unnecessary!" Then she hesitated, feeling that +some explanation was needed, and added: "We do everything without +saying anything to him. It is enough to tell him what we have decided +on." + +Mme. Rosémilly, not in the least surprised, only smiled, taking it as +a matter of course, for the good man counted for so little. + +When Mme. Roland was in the street again with her son she said: + +"Suppose we go to your rooms for a little while. I should be glad to +rest." + +She felt herself homeless, shelterless, her own house being a terror +to her. + +They went into Jean's apartments. + +As soon as the door was closed upon her she heaved a deep sigh, as if +that bolt had placed her in safety, but then, instead of resting as +she had said, she began to open the cupboards, to count the piles of +linen, the pocket handkerchiefs, and socks. She changed the +arrangement to place them in more harmonious order, more pleasing to +her housekeeper's eye; and when she had put everything to her mind, +laying out the towels, the shirts, and the drawers on their several +shelves and dividing all the linen into three principal classes, +body-linen, household linen, and table-linen, she drew back and +contemplated the results, and called out: + +"Come here, Jean, and see how nice it looks." + +He went and admired it to please her. + +On a sudden, when he had sat down again, she came softly up behind his +armchair, and putting her right arm round his neck she kissed him, +while she laid on the chimney shelf a small packet wrapped in white +paper which she held in the other hand. + +"What is that?" he asked. Then, as she made no reply, he understood, +recognizing the shape of the frame. + +"Give it to me!" he said. + +She pretended not to hear him, and went back to the linen cupboards. +He got up hastily, took the melancholy relic, and going across the +room, put it in the drawer of his writing table which he locked and +doubled locked. She wiped away a tear with the tip of her finger, and +said in a rather quavering voice: "Now I am going to see whether your +new servant keeps the kitchen in good order. As she is out I can look +into everything and make sure." + + +CHAPTER IX + +Letters of recommendation from Professors Mas-Roussel, Rémusot, +Flache, and Borriquel, written in the most flattering terms with +regard to Doctor Pierre Roland, their pupil, had been submitted by +Monsieur Marchand to the directors of the Transatlantic Shipping +Company, seconded by M. Poulin, judge of the Chamber of Commerce, M. +Lenient, a great ship-owner, and M. Marival, deputy to the Mayor of +Havre, and a particular friend of Captain Beausire's. It proved that +no medical officer had yet been appointed to the _Lorraine_, and +Pierre was lucky enough to be nominated within a few days. + +The letter announcing it was handed to him one morning by Joséphine, +just as he was dressed. His first feeling was that of a man condemned +to death who is told that his sentence is commuted; he had an +immediate sense of relief at the thought of his early departure and of +the peaceful life on board, cradled by the rolling waves, always +wandering, always moving. His life under his father's roof was now +that of a stranger, silent and reserved. Ever since the evening when +he allowed the shameful secret he had discovered to escape him in his +brother's presence, he had felt that the last ties to his kindred were +broken. He was harassed by remorse for having told this thing to Jean. +He felt that it was odious, indecent, and brutal, and yet it was a +relief to him to have uttered it. + +He never met the eyes either of his mother or his brother; to avoid +his gaze theirs had become surprisingly alert, with the cunning of +foes who fear to cross each other. He was always wondering: "What can +she have said to Jean? Did she confess or deny it? What does my +brother believe? What does he think of her--what does he think of me?" +He could not guess, and it drove him to frenzy. And he scarcely ever +spoke to them, excepting when Roland was by, to avoid his questioning. + +As soon as he received the letter announcing his appointment he showed +it at once to his family. His father, who was prone to rejoicing over +everything, clapped his hands. Jean spoke seriously, though his heart +was full of gladness: "I congratulate you with all my heart, for I +know there were several other candidates. You certainly owe it to your +professors' letters." + +His mother bent her head and murmured: + +"I am very glad you have been successful." + +After breakfast he went to the Company's offices to obtain information +on various particulars, and he asked the name of the doctor on board +the _Picardie_, which was to sail next day, to inquire of him as to +the details of his new life and any details he might think useful. + +Doctor Pirette having gone on board, Pierre went to the ship, where he +was received in a little stateroom by a young man with a fair beard, +not unlike his brother. They talked together a long time. + +In the hollow depths of the huge ship they could hear a confused and +continuous commotion; the noise of bales and cases pitched down into +the hold mingling with footsteps, voices, the creaking of the +machinery lowering the freight, the boatswain's whistle, and the +clatter of chains dragged or wound onto capstans by the snorting and +panting engine which sent a slight vibration from end to end of the +great vessel. + +But when Pierre had left his colleague and found himself in the street +once more, a new form of melancholy came down on him, enveloping him +like the fogs which roll over the sea, coming up from the ends of the +world and holding in their intangible density something mysteriously +impure, as it were the pestilential breath of a far-away, unhealthy +land. + +In his hours of greatest suffering he had never felt himself so sunk +in a foul pit of misery. It was as though he had given the last +wrench; there was no fiber of attachment left. In tearing up the +roots of every affection he had not hitherto had the distressful +feeling which now came over him, like that of a lost dog. It was no +longer a torturing mortal pain, but the frenzy of a forlorn and +homeless animal, the physical anguish of a vagabond creature without a +roof for shelter, lashed by the rain, the wind, the storm, all the +brutal forces of the universe. As he set foot on the vessel, as he +went into the cabin rocked by the waves, the very flesh of the man, +who had always slept in a motionless and steady bed, had risen up +against the insecurity henceforth of all his morrows. Till now that +flesh had been protected by a solid wall built into the earth which +held it, by the certainty of resting in the same spot, under a roof +which could resist the gale. Now all that, which it was a pleasure to +defy in the warmth of home, must become a peril and a constant +discomfort. No earth under foot, only the greedy, heaving, complaining +sea; no space around for walking, running, losing the way, only a few +yards of planks to pace like a convict among other prisoners; no +trees, no gardens, no streets, no houses; nothing but water and +clouds. And the ceaseless motion of the ship beneath his feet. On +stormy days he must lean against the wainscot, hold on to the doors, +cling to the edge of the narrow berth to save himself from rolling +out. On calm days he would hear the snorting throb of the screw, and +feel the swift flight of the ship, bearing him on in its unpausing, +regular, exasperating race. + +And he was a prey to this vagabond convict's life solely because his +mother had sinned. + +He walked on, his heart sinking with the despairing sorrow of those +who are doomed to exile. He no longer felt a haughty disdain and +scornful hatred of the strangers he met, but a woeful impulse to speak +to them, to tell them all that he had to quit France, to be listened +to and comforted. There was in the very depths of his heart the +shamefaced need of a beggar who would fain hold out his hand--a timid +but urgent need to feel that some one would grieve at his departing. + +He thought of Marowsko. The old Pole was the only person who loved him +well enough to feel true and keen emotion, and the doctor at once +determined to go and see him. + +When he entered the shop, the druggist, who was pounding powders in a +marble mortar, started and left his work: + +"You are never to be seen nowadays," said he. + +Pierre explained that he had had a great many serious matters to +attend to, but without giving the reason, and he took a seat, asking: + +"Well, and how is business doing?" + +Business was not doing at all. Competition was fearful, and rich folks +rare in that workman's quarter. Nothing would sell but cheap drugs, +and the doctors did not prescribe the costlier and more complicated +remedies on which a profit is made of five hundred per cent. The old +fellow ended by saying: "If this goes on for three months I shall shut +up shop. If I did not count on you, dear good doctor, I should have +turned shoeblack by this time." + +Pierre felt a pang, and made up his mind to deal the blow at once, +since it must be done. + +"I--oh, I cannot be of any use to you. I am leaving Havre early next +month." + +Marowsko took off his spectacles, so great was his agitation. + +"You! You! What are you saying?" + +"I say that I am going away, my poor friend." + +The old man was stricken, feeling his last hope slipping from under +him, and he suddenly turned against this man, whom he had followed, +whom he loved, whom he had so implicitly trusted, and who forsook him +thus. + +He stammered out: + +"You are surely not going to play me false--you?" + +Pierre was so deeply touched that he felt inclined to embrace the old +fellow. + +"I am not playing you false. I have not found anything to do here, and +I am going as medical officer on board a transatlantic passenger +boat." + +"O Monsieur Pierre! And you always promised you would help me to make +a living!" + +"What can I do? I must make my own living. I have not a farthing in +the world." + +Marowsko said: "It is wrong; what you are doing is very wrong. There +is nothing for me but to die of hunger. At my age this is the end of +all things. It is wrong. You are forsaking a poor old man who came +here to be with you. It is wrong." + +Pierre tried to explain, to protest, to give reasons, to prove that he +could not have done otherwise; the Pole, enraged by his desertion, +would not listen to him, and he ended by saying, with an allusion no +doubt to political events: + +"You French--you never keep your word!" + +At this Pierre rose, offended on his part, and taking rather a high +tone he said: + +"You are unjust, père Marowsko; a man must have very strong motives to +act as I have done, and you ought to understand that. Au revoir--I +hope I may find you more reasonable." And he went away. + +"Well, well," he thought, "not a soul will feel a sincere regret for +me." + +His mind sought through all the people he knew or had known, and among +the faces which crossed his memory he saw that of the girl at the +tavern who led him to doubt his mother. + +He hesitated, having still an instinctive grudge against her, then +suddenly reflected on the other hand: "After all, she was right." And +he looked about him to find the turning. + +The beer-shop, as it happened, was full of people, and also full of +smoke. The customers, tradesmen, and laborers, for it was a holiday, +were shouting, calling, laughing, and the master himself was waiting +on them, running from table to table, carrying away empty glasses and +returning them crowned with froth. + +When Pierre had found a seat not far from the desk he waited, hoping +that the girl would see him and recognize him. But she passed him +again and again as she went to and fro, pattering her feet under her +skirts with a smart little strut. At last he rapped a coin on the +table, and she hurried up. + +"What will you take, sir?" + +She did not look at him; her mind was absorbed in calculations of the +liquor she had served. + +"Well," said he, "this is a pretty way of greeting a friend." + +She fixed her eyes on his face: "Ah!" said she hurriedly. "Is it you? +You are pretty well? But I have not a minute to-day. A bock did you +wish for?" + +"Yes, a bock!" + +When she brought it he said: + +"I have come to say good-by. I am going away." + +And she replied indifferently: + +"Indeed. Where are you going?" + +"To America." + +"A very fine country, they say." + +And that was all! + +Really he was very ill-advised to address her on such a busy day; +there were too many people in the café. + +Pierre went down to the sea. As he reached the jetty he descried the +_Pearl_; his father and Beausire were coming in. Papagris was pulling, +and the two men, seated in the stern, smoked their pipes with a look +of perfect happiness. As they went past, the doctor said to himself: +"Blessed are the simple-minded!" And he sat down on one of the benches +on the breakwater, to try to lull himself in animal drowsiness. + +When he went home in the evening his mother said, without daring to +lift her eyes to his face: + +"You will want a heap of things to take with you. I have ordered your +underlinen, and I went into the tailor shop about cloth clothes; but +is there nothing else you need--things which I, perhaps, know nothing +about?" + +His lips parted to say, "No, nothing." But he reflected that he must +accept the means of getting a decent outfit, and he replied in a very +calm voice: "I hardly know myself, yet. I will make inquiries at the +office." + +He inquired, and they gave him a list of indispensable necessaries. +His mother, as she took it from his hand, looked up at him for the +first time for very long, and in the depths of her eyes there was the +humble expression, gentle, sad, and beseeching, of a dog that has been +beaten and begs forgiveness. + +On the 1st of October the _Lorraine_ from Saint-Nazaire, came into the +harbor of Havre to sail on the 7th, bound for New York, and Pierre +Roland was to take possession of the little floating cabin in which +henceforth his life was to be confined. + +Next day as he was going out, he met his mother on the stairs waiting +for him, to murmur in an almost inaudible voice: + +"You would not like me to help you to put things to rights on board?" + +"No, thank you. Everything is done." + +Then she said: + +"I should have liked to see your cabin." + +"There is nothing to see. It is very small and very ugly." + +And he went downstairs, leaving her stricken, leaning against the wall +with a wan face. + +Now Roland, who had gone over the _Lorraine_ that very day, could talk +of nothing all dinner time but this splendid vessel, and wondered that +his wife should not care to see it as their son was to sail on board. + +Pierre had scarcely any intercourse with his family during the days +which followed. He was nervous, irritable, hard, and his rough speech +seemed to lash every one indiscriminately. But the day before he left +he was suddenly quite changed, and much softened. As he embraced his +parents before going to sleep on board for the first time he said: + +"You will come to say good-by to me on board, will you not?" + +Roland exclaimed: + +"Why, yes, of course--of course, Louise?" + +"Certainly, certainly," she said in a low voice. + +Pierre went on: "We sail at eleven precisely. You must be there by +half-past nine at the latest." + +"Hah!" cried his father. "A good idea! As soon as we have bid you +good-bye, we will make haste on board the _Pearl_, and look out for +you beyond the jetty, so as to see you once more. What do you say, +Louise?" + +"Certainly." + +Roland went on: "And in that way you will not lose sight of us among +the crowd which throngs the breakwater when the great liners sail. It +is impossible to distinguish your own friends in the mob. Does that +meet your views?" + +"Yes, to be sure; that is settled." + +An hour later he was lying in his berth--a little crib as long and +narrow as a coffin. There he remained with his eyes wide open for a +long time, thinking over all that had happened during the last two +months of his life, especially in his own soul. By dint of suffering +and making others suffer, his aggressive and revengeful anguish had +lost its edge, like a blunted sword. He scarcely had the heart left in +him to owe any one or anything a grudge; he let his rebellious wrath +float away down stream, as his life must. He was so weary of +wrestling, weary of fighting, weary of hating, weary of everything, +that he was quite worn out; and tried to stupefy his heart with +forgetfulness as he dropped asleep. He heard vaguely, all about him, +the unwonted noises of the ship, slight noises, and scarcely audible +on this calm night in port; and he felt no more of the dreadful wound +which had tortured him hitherto but the discomfort and strain of its +healing. + +He had been sleeping soundly when the stir of the crew roused him. It +was day; the tidal train had come down to the pier bringing the +passengers from Paris. Then he wandered about the vessel among all +these busy, bustling folks inquiring for their cabins, questioning and +answering each other at random, in the scare and fuss of a voyage +already begun. After greeting the captain and shaking hands with his +comrade the purser, he went into the saloon where some Englishmen were +already asleep in the corners. The large low room, with its white +marble panels framed in gilt beading, was furnished with +looking-glasses, which prolonged, in endless perspective, the long +tables flanked by pivot-seats covered with red velvet. It was fit, +indeed, to be the vast floating cosmopolitan dining hall, where the +rich natives of two continents might eat in common. Its magnificent +luxury was that of great hotels, and theaters, and public rooms; the +imposing and commonplace luxury which appeals to the eye of the +millionaire. + +The doctor was on the point of turning into the second-class saloon, +when he remembered that a large cargo of emigrants had come on board +the night before, and he went down to the lower deck. There, in a sort +of basement, low and dark, like a gallery in a mine, Pierre could +discern some hundreds of men, women, and children, stretched on +shelves fixed one above another, or lying on the floor in heaps. He +could not see their faces, but could dimly make out this squalid, +ragged crowd of wretches, beaten in the struggle for life, worn out +and crushed, setting forth, each with a starving wife and weakly +children, for an unknown land where they hoped, perhaps, not to die +of hunger. And as he thought of their past labor--wasted labor, and +barren effort--of the mortal struggle taken up afresh and in vain each +day, of the energy expended by this tattered crew who were going to +begin again, not knowing where, this life of hideous misery, he longed +to cry out to them: + +"Tumble yourselves overboard, rather, with your women and your little +ones." And his heart ached so with pity that he went away unable to +endure the sight. + +He found his father, his mother, Jean, and Mme. Rosémilly waiting for +him in his cabin. + +"So early!" he exclaimed. + +"Yes," said Mme. Roland in a trembling voice. "We wanted to have a +little time to see you." + +He looked at her. She was dressed all in black as if she were in +mourning, and he noticed that her hair, which only a month ago had +been gray, was now almost white. It was very difficult to find space +for four persons to sit down in the little room, and he himself got +onto his bed. The door was left open, and they could see a great crowd +hurrying by, as if it were a street on a holiday, for all the friends +of the passengers and a host of inquisitive visitors had invaded the +huge vessel. They pervaded the passages, the saloons, every corner of +the ship; and heads peered in at the doorway while a voice murmured +outside: "That is the doctor's cabin." + +Then Pierre shut the door; but no sooner was he shut in with his own +party than he longed to open it again, for the bustle outside covered +their agitation and want of words. + +Mme. Rosémilly at last felt she must speak. + +"Very little air comes in through those little windows." + +"Portholes," said Pierre. He showed her how thick the glass was, to +enable it to resist the most violent shocks, and took a long time +explaining the fastening. Roland presently asked: "And you have your +doctor's shop here?" + +The doctor opened a cupboard and displayed an array of phials ticketed +with Latin names on white paper labels. He took one out and enumerated +the properties of its contents; then a second and a third, a perfect +lecture on therapeutics, to which they all listened with great +attention. Roland, shaking his head, said again and again: "How very +interesting." There was a tap at the door. + +"Come in," said Pierre, and Captain Beausire appeared. + +"I am late," he said as he shook hands, "I did not want to be in the +way." He too sat down on the bed and silence fell once more. + +Suddenly the captain pricked his ears. He could hear orders being +given, and he said: + +"It is time for us to be off if we mean to get on board the _Pearl_ to +see you once more outside, and bid you good-by out on the open sea." + +Old Roland was very eager about this, to impress the voyagers on board +the _Lorraine_, no doubt, and he rose in haste. + +"Good-by, my boy." He kissed Pierre on the whiskers and then opened +the door. + +Mme. Roland had not stirred, but sat with downcast eyes, very pale. +Her husband touched her arm: + +"Come," he said, "we must make haste, we have not a minute to spare." + +She pulled herself up, went to her son and offered him first one and +then another cheek of white wax which he kissed without saying a word. +Then he shook hands with Mme. Rosémilly and his brother, asking: + +"And when is the wedding to be?" + +"I do not know yet exactly. We will make it fit in with one of your +return voyages." + +At last they were all out of the cabin, and up on deck among the crowd +of visitors, porters and sailors. The steam was snorting in the huge +belly of the vessel which seemed to quiver with impatience. + +"Good-by," said Roland in a great bustle. + +"Good-by," replied Pierre, standing on one of the landing-planks lying +between the deck of the _Lorraine_ and the quay. He shook hands all +round once more, and they were gone. + +"Make haste, jump into the carriage," cried the father. + +A fly was waiting for them and took them to the outer harbor, where +Papagris had the _Pearl_ in readiness to put out to sea. + +There was not a breath of air; it was one of those crisp, still autumn +days, when the sheeny sea looks as cold and hard as polished steel. + +Jean took one oar, the sailor seized the other and they pulled off. On +the breakwater, on the piers, even on the granite parapets, a crowd +stood packed, hustling and noisy, to see the _Lorraine_ come out. The +_Pearl_ glided down between these two waves of humanity and was soon +outside the mole. + +Captain Beausire, seated between the two women, held the tiller, and +he said: + +"You will see, we shall be close in her way ---- close." + +And the two oarsmen pulled with all their might to get out as far as +possible. Suddenly Roland cried out: + +"Here she comes! I see her masts and her two funnels! She is coming +out of the inner harbor." + +"Cheerily, lads!" cried Beausire. + +Mme. Roland took out her handkerchief and held it to her eyes. + +Roland stood up, clinging to the mast, and answered: + +"At this minute she is working round in the outer harbor. She is +standing still--now she moves again! She was taking the tow-rope on +board, no doubt. There she goes. Bravo! She is between the piers! Do +you hear the crowd shouting? Bravo! The _Neptune_ has her in tow. Now +I see her bows--here she comes--here she is! Gracious heavens, what a +ship! Look! look!" + +Mme. Rosémilly and Beausire looked up behind them, the oarsmen ceased +pulling; only Mme. Roland did not stir. + +The immense steamship, towed by a powerful tug, which, in front of +her, looked like a caterpillar, came slowly and majestically out of +the harbor. And the good people of Havre, who crowded the piers, the +beach, and the windows, carried away by a burst of patriotic +enthusiasm, cried: "_Vive la Lorraine!_" with acclamations and +applause for this magnificent beginning, this birth of the beautiful +daughter given to the sea by the great maritime town. + +She, as soon as she had passed beyond the narrow channel between the +two granite walls, feeling herself free at last, cast off the +tow-ropes and went off alone, like a monstrous creature walking on the +waters. + +"Here she is--here she comes, straight down on us!" Roland kept +shouting; and Beausire, beaming, exclaimed: "What did I promise you! +Heh! Do I know the way?" + +Jean in a low tone said to his mother: "Look, mother, she is close +upon us!" And Mme. Roland uncovered her eyes, blinded by tears. + +The _Lorraine_ came on, still under the impetus of her swift exit from +the harbor, in the brilliant, calm weather. Beausire, with his glass +to his eye, called out: + +"Look out! M. Pierre is at the stern, all alone, plainly to be seen! +Look out!" + +The ship was almost touching the _Pearl_ now, as tall as a mountain +and as swift as a train. Mme. Roland, distraught and desperate, held +out her arms toward it; and she saw her son, her Pierre, with his +officer's cap on, throwing kisses to her with both hands. + +But he was going away, flying, vanishing, a tiny speck already, no +more than an imperceptible spot on the enormous vessel. She tried +still to distinguish him, but she could not. + +Jean took her hand: + +"You saw?" he said. + +"Yes, I saw. How good he is!" + +And they turned to go home. + +"Cristi! How fast she goes!" exclaimed Roland with enthusiastic +conviction. + +The steamer, in fact, was shrinking every second, as though she were +melting away in the ocean. Mme. Roland, turning back to look at her, +watched her disappearing on the horizon, on her way to an unknown land +at the other side of the world. + +In that vessel which nothing could stay, that vessel which she soon +would see no more, was her son, her poor son. And she felt as though +half her heart had gone with him; she felt, too, as if her life were +ended; yes, and she felt as though she would never see the child +again. + +"Why are you crying?" asked her husband, "when you know he will be +back again within a month." + +She stammered out: "I don't know, I cry because I am hurt." + +When they had landed, Beausire at once took leave of them to go to +breakfast with a friend. Then Jean led the way with Mme. Rosémilly, +and Roland said to his wife: + +"A very fine fellow, all the same, is our Jean." + +"Yes," replied the mother. + +And her mind being too much bewildered to think of what she was +saying, she went on: + +"I am very glad that he is to marry Mme. Rosémilly." + +The worthy man was astounded. + +"Heh? What? He is to marry Mme. Rosémilly?" + +"Yes, we meant to ask your opinion about it this very day." + +"Bless me. And has this engagement been long in the wind?" + +"Oh, no, only a very few days. Jean wished to make sure that she would +accept him before consulting you." + +Roland rubbed his hands. + +"Very good. Very good. It is capital. I entirely approve." + +As they were about to turn off from the quay down the Boulevard +François 1er, his wife once more looked back to cast a last look at +the high seas, but she could see nothing now but a puff of gray smoke, +so far away, so faint that it looked like a film of haze. + + + + +DREAMS + + +It was after a dinner of friends, of old friends. There were five of +them, a writer, a doctor, and three rich bachelors without any +profession. + +They had talked about everything, and a feeling of lassitude came on, +that feeling of lassitude which precedes and leads to the departure of +guests after festive gatherings. One of those present, who had for the +last five minutes been gazing silently at the surging boulevard +starred with gas-lamps, and rattling with vehicles, said suddenly: + +"When you've nothing to do from morning till night, the days are +long." + +"And the nights, too," assented the guest who sat next to him. "I +sleep very little; pleasures fatigue me; conversation is monotonous. +Never do I come across a new idea, and I feel, before talking to +anyone, a violent longing to say nothing and listen to nothing. I +don't know what to do with my evenings." + +And the third idler remarked: + +"I would pay a great deal for anything that would enable me to pass +merely two pleasant hours every day." + +Then the writer, who had just thrown his overcoat across his arm, +turned round to them and said: + +"The man who could discover a new vice, and introduce it among his +fellow-creatures, even though it were to shorten their lives, would +render a greater service to humanity than the man who found the means +of securing to them eternal salvation and eternal youth." + +The doctor burst out laughing, and, while he chewed his cigar, he +said: + +"Yes, but 'tis not so easy as that to discover it. Men have, however +crudely, been seeking for and working for the object you refer to +since the beginning of the world. The men who came first reached +perfection at once in this way. We are hardly equal to them." + +One of the three idlers murmured: + +"'Tis a pity!" + +Then, after a minute's pause, he added: + +"If we could only sleep, sleep well without feeling hot or cold, sleep +with that perfect unconsciousness we experience on nights when we are +thoroughly fatigued, sleep without dreams." + +"Why without dreams?" asked the guest sitting next to him. + +The other replied: + +"Because dreams are not always pleasant, and they are always +fantastic, improbable, disconnected, and because when we are asleep we +cannot have the sort of dreams we like. We require to be awake when we +dream." + +"And what's to prevent you from being so?" asked the writer. + +The doctor flung away the end of his cigar. + +"My dear fellow, in order to dream when you are awake you need great +power and great exercise of will, and when you try to do it, great +weariness is the result. Now, real dreaming, that journey of our +thoughts through delightful visions, is assuredly the sweetest +experience in the world; but it must come naturally, it must not be +provoked in a painful manner, and must be accompanied by absolute +bodily comfort. This power of dreaming I can give you provided you +promise that you will not abuse it." + +The writer shrugged his shoulders: + +"Ah! yes, I know--haschich, opium, green tea--artificial paradises. I +have read Baudelaire, and I even tasted the famous drug, which made me +very sick." + +But the doctor, without stirring from his seat, said: + +"No: ether, nothing but ether, and I would suggest that you literary +men ought to use it sometimes." + +The three rich men drew closer to the doctor. + +One of them said: + +"Explain to us the effects of it." + +And the doctor replied: + +"Let us put aside big words, shall we not? I am not talking of +medicine or morality; I am talking of pleasure. You give yourselves up +every day to excesses which consume your lives. I want to indicate to +you a new sensation, only possible to intelligent men, let us say even +very intelligent men, dangerous, like everything that overexcites our +organs, but exquisite. I might add that you would require a certain +preparation, that is to say, a practice, to feel in all their +completeness the singular effects of ether. + +"They are different from the effects of haschich, from the effects of +opium and morphia, and they cease as soon as the absorption of the +drug is interrupted, while the other generators of day dreams continue +their action for hours. + +"I am now going to try to analyze as clearly as possible the way one +feels. But the thing is not easy, so facile, so delicate, so almost +imperceptible, are these sensations. + +"It was when I was attacked by violent neuralgia that I made use of +this remedy, which perhaps I have since slightly abused. + +"I had in my head and in my neck acute pains, and an intolerable heat +of the skin, a feverish restlessness. I took up a large flagon of +ether, and lying down, I began to inhale it slowly. + +"At the end of some minutes, I thought I heard a vague murmur, which +ere long became a sort of humming, and it seemed to me that all the +interior of my body had become light, light as air, that it was +dissolving into vapor. + +"Then came a sort of torpor of the soul, a somnolent sense of comfort +in spite of the pains which still continued, but which, however, had +ceased to make themselves felt. It was one of those sensations which +we are willing to endure and not any of those frightful wrenches +against which our tortured body protests. + +"Soon, the strange and delightful sense of emptiness which I felt in +my chest extended to my limbs, which, in their turn, became light, as +light as if the flesh and the bones had been melted and the skin only +were left, the skin necessary to enable me to realize the sweetness of +living, of bathing in this well-being. Then I perceived that I was no +longer suffering. The pain had gone, melted also, evaporated. And I +heard voices, four voices, two dialogues, without understanding what +was said. At one time, there were only indistinct sounds, at another +time a word reached my ear. But I recognized that this was only the +humming I had heard before, accentuated. I was not asleep; I was not +awake; I comprehended, I felt, I reasoned with the utmost clearness +and depth, with extraordinary energy and intellectual pleasure, with a +singular intoxication arising from this separation of my mental +faculties. + +"It was not like the dreams caused by haschich or the somewhat sickly +visions that come from opium; it was an amazing acuteness of +reasoning, a new way of seeing, judging, and appreciating the things +of life, and with the certainty, the absolute consciousness that this +was the true way. + +"And the old image of the Scriptures suddenly came back to my mind. It +seemed to me that I had tasted of the Tree of Knowledge, that all the +mysteries were unveiled, so much did I find myself under the sway of a +new, strange, and irrefutable logic. And arguments, reasonings, +proofs, rose up in a heap before my brain only to be immediately +displaced by some stronger proof, reasoning, argument. My head had in +fact, become a battle-ground of ideas. I was a superior being, armed +with invincible intelligence, and I experienced a huge delight at the +manifestation of my power. + +"It lasted a long, long time. I still kept inhaling the ether from the +opening of my flagon. Suddenly I perceived that it was empty." + +The four men exclaimed at the same time: + +"Doctor, a prescription at once for a liter of ether!" + +But the doctor, putting on his hat, replied: + +"As for that, certainly not; go and get poisoned by others!" + +And he left them. + +Ladies and gentlemen, what is your idea on the subject? + + + + +MOONLIGHT + + +Madame Julie Roubere was awaiting her elder sister, Madame Henriette +Letore, who had just returned after a trip to Switzerland. + +The Letore household had left nearly five weeks ago. Madame Henriette +had allowed her husband to return alone to their estate in Calvados, +where some matters of business required his attention, and come to +spend a few days in Paris with her sister. Night came on. In the quiet +parlor, darkened by twilight shadows, Madame Roubere was reading, in +an absent-minded fashion, raising her eyes whenever she heard a sound. + +At last, she heard a ring at the door, and presently her sister +appeared, wrapped in a traveling cloak. And immediately without any +formal greeting, they clasped each other ardently, only desisting for +a moment to begin embracing each other over again. Then they talked, +asking questions about each other's health, about their respective +families, and a thousand other things, gossiping, jerking out hurried, +broken sentences and rushing about while Madame Henriette was removing +her hat and veil. + +It was now quite dark. Madame Roubere rang for a lamp, and as soon as +it was brought in, she scanned her sister's face, and was on the point +of embracing her once more. But she held back, scared and astonished +at the other's appearance. Around her temples, Madame Letore had two +long locks of white hair. All the rest of her hair was of a glossy, +raven-black hue; but there alone, at each side of her head, ran as it +were, two silvery streams which were immediately lost in the black +mass surrounding them. She was nevertheless only twenty-four years +old, and this change had come on suddenly since her departure for +Switzerland. + +Without moving, Madame Roubere gazed at her in amazement, tears rising +to her eyes, as she thought that some mysterious and terrible calamity +must have fallen on her sister. She asked: + +"What is the matter with you, Henriette?" + +Smiling with a sad face, the smile of one who is heartsick, the other +replied: + +"Why nothing I assure you. Were you noticing my white hair?" + +But Madame Roubere impetuously seized her by the shoulders, and with a +searching glance at her repeated: + +"What is the matter with you? Tell me what is the matter with you. And +if you tell me a falsehood, I'll soon find it out." + +They remained face to face, and Madame Henriette, who became so pale +that she was near fainting, had two pearly tears at each corner of her +drooping eyes. + +Her sister went on asking: + +"What has happened to you? What is the matter with you? Answer me!" + +Then, in a subdued voice, the other murmured: + +"I have--I have a lover." + +And, hiding her forehead on the shoulder of her younger sister, she +sobbed. + +Then, when she had grown a little calmer, when the heaving of her +breast had subsided, she commenced to unbosom herself, as if to cast +forth this secret from herself, to empty this sorrow of hers into a +sympathetic heart. + +Thereupon, holding each other's hands tightly grasped, the two women +went over to a sofa in a dark corner of the room, into which they +sank, and the younger sister, passing her arm over the elder one's +neck, and drawing her close to her heart, listened. + + * * * * * + +"Oh! I recognize that there was no excuse for one; I do not understand +myself, and since that day I feel as if I were mad. Be careful my +child, about yourself--be careful! If you only knew how weak we are, +how quickly we yield, we fall. All it needs is a nothing, so little, +so little, a moment of tenderness, one of those sudden fits of +melancholy which steal into your soul, one of those longings to open +your arms, to love, to embrace, which we all have at certain moments. + +"You know my husband, and you know how fond of him I am; but he is +mature and sensible, and cannot even comprehend the tender vibrations +of a woman's heart. He is always, always the same, always good, always +smiling, always kind, always perfect. Oh! how I sometimes have wished +that he would roughly clasp me in his arms, that he would embrace me +with those slow, sweet kisses which make two beings intermingle, which +are like mute confidences! How I wished that he was self-abandoned and +even weak, so that he should have need of me, of my caress, of my +tears! + +"This all seems very silly; but we women are made like that. How can +we help it? + +"And yet the thought of deceiving never came near me. To-day, it has +happened, without love, without reason, without anything, simply +because the moon shone one night on the Lake of Lucerne. + +"During the month when we were traveling together, my husband, with +his calm indifference, paralyzed my enthusiasm, extinguished my poetic +ardor. When we were descending the mountain paths at sun-rise, when as +the four horses galloped along with the diligence, we saw, in the +transparent morning haze, valleys, woods, streams, and villages, I +clasped my hands with delight, and said to him: 'What a beautiful +scene, darling! Kiss me now!' He only answered with a smile of +chilling kindliness: 'There is no reason why we should kiss each other +because you like the landscape.' + +"And his words froze me to the heart. It seems to me that when people +love each other, they ought to feel more moved by love than ever in +the presence of beautiful scenes. + +"Indeed he prevented the effervescent poetry that bubbled up within me +from gushing out. How can I express it? I was almost like a boiler, +filled with steam and hermetically sealed. + +"One evening (we had been for four days staying in the Hotel de +Fluelen), Robert, having got one of his sick headaches, went to bed +immediately after dinner, and I went to take a walk all alone along +the edge of the lake. + +"It was a night such as one might read of in a fairy tale. The full +moon showed itself in the middle of the sky; the tall mountains, with +their snowy crests seemed to wear silver crowns; the waters of the +lake glittered with tiny rippling motions. The air was mild, with that +kind of penetrating freshness which softens us till we seem to be +swooning, to be deeply affected without any apparent cause. But how +sensitive, how vibrating, the heart is at such moments! How quickly it +leaps up, and how intense are its emotions! + +"I sat down on the grass, and gazed at that vast lake so melancholy +and so fascinating, and a strange thing passed into me; I became +possessed with an insatiable need of love, a revolt against the gloomy +dullness of my life. What! Would it never be my fate to be clasped in +the arms of a man whom I loved on a bank like this under the glowing +moonlight? Was I never then, to feel on my lips those kisses so deep, +delicious, and intoxicating which lovers exchange on nights that seem +to have been made by God for passionate embraces? Was I never to know +such ardent, feverish love in the moonlit shadows of a summer's night? + +"And I burst out weeping like a woman who has lost her reason. I heard +some person stirring behind me. A man was intently gazing at me. When +I turned my head round, he recognized me, and, advancing, said: + +"'You are weeping, Madame?' + +"It was a young barrister who was traveling with his mother, and whom +we had often met. His eyes had frequently followed me. + +"I was so much confused that I did not know what answer to give or +what to think of the situation. I told him I felt ill. + +"He walked on by my side in a natural and respectable fashion, and +began talking to me about what we had seen during our trip. All that I +had felt he translated into words; everything that made me thrill he +understood perfectly, better than I did myself. And all of a sudden +he recited some verses of Alfred de Musset. I felt myself choking, +seized with indescribable emotion. It seemed to me that the mountains +themselves, the lake, the moonlight, were singing to me about things +ineffably sweet. + +"And it happened, I don't know how, I don't know why, in a sort of +hallucination. + +"As for him I did not see him again till the morning of his departure. + +"He gave me his card!" + + * * * * * + +And, sinking into her sister's arms, Madame Letore, broke into +groans--almost into shrieks. + +Then, Madame Roubere, with a self-contained and serious air, said very +gently: + +"You see, sister, very often it is not a man that we love, but love. +And your real lover that night was the moonlight." + + + + +THE CORSICAN BANDIT + + +The road with a gentle winding reached the middle of the forest. The +huge pine-trees spread above our heads a mournful-looking vault, and +gave forth a kind of long, sad wail, while at either side their +straight slender trunks formed, as it were, an army of organ-pipes, +from which seemed to issue that monotonous music of the wind through +the tree-tops. + +After three hours' walking there was an opening in this row of tangled +branches. Here and there an enormous pine-parasol, separated from the +others, opening like an immense umbrella, displayed its dome of dark +green; then, all of a sudden, we gained the boundary of the forest, +some hundreds of meters below the defile which leads into the wild +valley of Niolo. + +On the two projecting heights which commanded a view of this pass, +some old trees grotesquely twisted, seemed to have mounted with +painful efforts, like scouts who had started in advance of the +multitude heaped together in the rear. When we turned round, we saw +the entire forest stretched beneath our feet, like a gigantic basin of +verdure, whose edges, which seemed to reach the sky, were composed of +bare rocks shutting in on every side. + +We resumed our walk, and, ten minutes later, we found ourselves in the +defile. + +Then I beheld an astonishing landscape. Beyond another forest, a +valley, but a valley such as I had never seen before, a solitude of +stone ten leagues long, hollowed out between two high mountains, +without a field or a tree to be seen. This was the Niolo valley, the +fatherland of Corsican liberty, the inaccessible citadel, from which +the invaders had never been able to drive out the mountaineers. + +My companion said to me: "Is it here, too, that all our bandits have +taken refuge?" + +Ere long we were at the further end of this chasm so wild, so +inconceivably beautiful. + +Not a blade of grass, not a plant--nothing but granite. As far as our +eyes could reach, we saw in front of us a desert of glittering stone, +heated like an oven by a burning sun, which seemed to hang for that +very purpose right above the gorge. When we raised our eyes towards +the crests, we stood dazzled and stupefied by what we saw. They looked +red and notched like festoons of coral, for all the summits are made +of porphyry; and the sky overhead seemed violet, lilac, discolored by +the vicinity of these strange mountains. Lower down the granite was of +scintillating gray, and under our feet it seemed rasped, pounded; we +were walking over shining powder. At our right, along a long and +irregular course, a tumultuous torrent ran with a continuous roar. And +we staggered along under this heat, in this light, in this burning, +arid, desolate valley cut by this ravine of turbulent water which +seemed to be ever hurrying onward, without being able to fertilize +these rocks, lost in this furnace which greedily drank it up without +being penetrated or refreshed by it. + +But suddenly there was visible at our right a little wooden cross sunk +in a little heap of stones. A man had been killed there; and I said +to my companion: + +"Tell me about your bandits." + +He replied: + +"I knew the most celebrated of them, the terrible St. Lucia. I will +tell you his history. + +"His father was killed in a quarrel by a young man of the same +district, it is said; and St. Lucia was left alone with his sister. He +was a weak and timid youth, small, often ill, without any energy. He +did not proclaim the vendetta against the assassin of his father. All +his relatives came to see him, and implored of him to take vengeance; +he remained deaf to their menaces and their supplications. + +"Then, following the old Corsican custom, his sister, in her +indignation, carried away his black clothes, in order that he might +not wear mourning for a dead man who had not been avenged. He was +insensible to even this outrage, and rather than take down from the +rack his father's gun, which was still loaded, he shut himself up, not +daring to brave the looks of the young men of the district. + +"He seemed to have even forgotten the crime and he lived with his +sister in the obscurity of their dwelling. + +"But, one day, the man who was suspected of having committed the +murder, was about to get married. St. Lucia did not appear to be moved +by this news, but, no doubt, out of sheer bravado, the bridegroom, on +his way to the church, passed before the two orphans' house. + +"The brother and the sister, at their window, were eating little fried +cakes when the young man saw the bridal procession moving past the +house. Suddenly he began to tremble, rose up without uttering a word, +made the sign of the cross, took the gun which was hanging over the +fireplace, and he went out. + +"When he spoke of this later on, he said: 'I don't know what was the +matter with me; it was like fire in my blood; I felt that I should do +it, that in spite of everything I could not resist, and I concealed +the gun in a cave on the road to Corte.' + +"An hour later, he came back, with nothing in his hand, and with his +habitual air of sad weariness. His sister believed that there was +nothing further in his thoughts. + +"But when night fell he disappeared. + +"His enemy had, the same evening, to repair to Corte on foot, +accompanied by his two bridesmen. + +"He was pursuing his way, singing as he went, when St. Lucia stood +before him, and looking straight in the murderer's face, exclaimed: +'Now is the time!' and shot him point-blank in the chest. + +"One of the bridesmen fled; the other stared at the young man saying: + +"'What have you done, St. Lucia?' + +"Then he was going to hasten to Corte for help, but St. Lucia said in +stern tone: + +"'If you move another step, I'll shoot you through the legs.' + +"The other, aware that till now he had always appeared timid, said to +him: 'You would not dare to do it!' and he was hurrying off when he +fell instantaneously, his thigh shattered by a bullet. + +"And St. Lucia, coming over to where he lay, said: + +"'I am going to look at your wound; if it is not serious, I'll leave +you there; if it is mortal I'll finish you off.' + +"He inspected the wound, considered it mortal, and slowly re-loading +his gun, told the wounded man to say a prayer, and shot him through +the head. + +"Next day he was in the mountains. + +"And do you know what this St. Lucia did after this? + +"All his family were arrested by the gendarmes. His uncle, the curé, +who was suspected of having incited him to this deed of vengeance, was +himself put into prison, and accused by the dead man's relatives. But +he escaped, took a gun in his turn, and went to join his nephew in the +cave. + +"Next, St. Lucia killed, one after the other, his uncle's accusers, +and tore out their eyes to teach the others never to state what they +had seen with their eyes. + +"He killed all the relatives, all the connections of his enemy's +family. He massacred during his life fourteen gendarmes, burned down +the houses of his adversaries, and was up to the day of his death the +most terrible of the bandits, whose memory we have preserved." + + * * * * * + +The sun disappeared behind Monte Cinto and the tall shadow of the +granite mountain went to sleep on the granite of the valley. We +quickened our pace in order to reach before night the little village +of Albertaccio, nothing better than a heap of stones welded beside the +stone flanks of a wild gorge. And I said as I thought of the bandit: + +"What a terrible custom your vendetta is!" + +My companion answered with an air of resignation: + +"What, would you have? A man must do his duty!" + + + + +A DEAD WOMAN'S SECRET + + +She had died painlessly, tranquilly, like a woman whose life was +irreproachable, and she now lay on her back in bed, with closed eyes, +calm features, her long white hair carefully arranged as if she had +again made her toilet ten minutes before her death, all her pale +physiognomy so composed, now that she had passed away, so resigned +that one felt sure a sweet soul had dwelt in that body, that this +serene grandmother had spent an untroubled existence, that this +virtuous woman had ended her life without any shock, without any +remorse. + +On his knees, beside the bed, her son, a magistrate of inflexible +principles, and her daughter Marguerite, in religion, Sister Eulalie, +were weeping distractedly. She had from the time of their infancy +armed them with an inflexible code of morality, teaching them a +religion without weakness and a sense of duty without any compromise. +He, the son, had become a magistrate, and, wielding the weapon of the +law, he struck down without pity the feeble and the erring. She, the +daughter, quite penetrated with the virtue that had bathed her in this +austere family, had become the spouse of God through disgust with men. + +They had scarcely known their father; all they knew was that he had +made their mother unhappy without learning any further details. The +nun passionately kissed one hand of her dead mother, which hung down, +a hand of ivory like that of Christ in the large crucifix which lay +on the bed. At the opposite side of the prostrate body, the other hand +seemed still to grasp the rumpled sheet with that wandering movement +which is called the fold of the dying, and the lines had retained +little wavy creases as a memento of those last motions which precede +the eternal motionlessness. A few light taps at the door caused the +two sobbing heads to rise up, and the priest who had just dined, +entered the apartment. He was flushed, a little puffed, from the +effects of the process of digestion which had just commenced; for he +had put a good dash of brandy into his coffee in order to counteract +the fatigue caused by the last nights he had remained up and that +which he anticipated from the night that was still in store for him. +He had put on a look of sadness, that simulated sadness of the priest +to whom death is a means of livelihood. He made the sign of the cross, +and coming over to them with his professional gesture said: + +"Well, my poor children, I have come to help you to pass these +mournful hours." + +But Sister Eulalie suddenly rose up. + +"Thanks, father, but my brother and I would like to be left alone with +her. These are the last moments that we now have for seeing her; so we +want to feel ourselves once more, the three of us, just as we were +years ago when we--we--we were only children, and our poor--poor +mother--" + +She was unable to finish with the flood of tears that gushed from her +eyes, and the sobs that were choking her. + +But the priest bowed, with a more serene look on his face, for he was +thinking of his bed. "Just as you please, my children." + +Then, he knelt down, again crossed himself, prayed, rose up, and +softly stole away murmuring as he went: "She was a saint." + +They were left alone, the dead woman and her children. A hidden +timepiece kept regularly ticking in its dark corner, and through the +open window the soft odors of hay and of woods penetrated with faint +gleams of moonlight. No sound in the fields outside, save the +wandering notes of toads and now and then the humming of some +nocturnal insect darting into like a ball, and knocking itself against +the wall. + +An infinite peace, a divine melancholy, a silent serenity surrounded +this dead woman, seemed to emanate from her, to evaporate from her +into the atmosphere outside and to calm Nature itself. + +Then the magistrate, still on his knees, his head pressed against the +bed-clothes, in a far-off, heart-broken voice that pierced through the +sheets and the coverlet, exclaimed: + +"Mamma, mamma, mamma!" And the sister, sinking down on the floor, +striking the wood with her forehead fanatically, twisting herself +about and quivering like a person in an epileptic fit, groaned: +"Jesus, Jesus--mamma--Jesus!" + +And both of them shaken by a hurricane of grief panted with a rattling +in their throats. + +Then the fit gradually subsided, and they now wept in a less violent +fashion, like the rainy calm that follows a squall on a storm-beaten +sea. Then, after some time, they rose, and fixed their glances on the +beloved corpse. And memories, those memories of the past, so sweet, so +torturing to-day, came back to their minds with all those little +forgotten details, those little details so intimate and familiar, +which make the being who is no more live over again. They recalled +circumstances, words, smiles, certain intonations of voice which +belonged to one whom they should hear speaking to them again. They saw +her once more happy and calm, and phrases she used in ordinary +conversation rose to their lips. They even remembered a little +movement of the hand peculiar to her, as if she were keeping time when +she was saying something of importance. + +And they loved her as they had never before loved her. And by the +depth of their despair they realized how strongly they had been +attached to her, and how desolate they would find themselves now. + +She had been their mainstay, their guide, the best part of their +youth, of that happy portion of their lives which had vanished; she +had been the bond that united them to existence, the mother, the +mamma, the creative flesh, the tie that bound them to their ancestors. +They would henceforth be solitary, isolated; they would have nothing +on earth to look back upon. + +The nun said to her brother: + +"You know how mamma used always to read over her old letters. They are +all there in her drawer. Suppose we read them in our turn, and so +revive all her life this night by her side? It would be like a kind of +road of the cross, like making the acquaintance of her mother, of +grandparents whom we never knew, whose letters are there, and of whom +she has so often talked to us, you remember?" + + * * * * * + +And they drew forth from the drawer a dozen little packets of yellow +paper, carefully tied up and placed close to one another. They flung +these relics on the bed, and selecting one of them on which the word +"Father" was written, they opened and read what was in it. + +It consisted of those very old letters which are to be found in old +family writing-desks, those letters which have the flavor of another +century. The first said, "My darling," another "My beautiful little +girl," then others "My dear child," and then again "My dear daughter." +And suddenly the nun began reading aloud, reading for the dead her own +history, all her tender souvenirs. And the magistrate listened, while +he leaned on the bed, with his eyes on his mother's face. And the +motionless corpse seemed happy. + +Sister Eulalie, interrupting herself, said: "We ought to put them into +the grave with her, to make a winding-sheet of them, and bury them +with her." + +And then she took up another packet, on which the descriptive word did +not appear. + +And in a loud tone she began: "My adored one, I love you to +distraction. Since yesterday I have been suffering like a damned soul +burned by the recollection of you. I feel your lips on mine, your eyes +under my eyes, your flesh under my flesh. I love you! I love you! You +have made me mad! My arms open! I pant with an immense desire to +possess you again. My whole body calls out to you, wants you. I have +kept in my mouth the taste of your kisses." + +The magistrate rose up; the nun stopped reading. He snatched the +letter from her, and sought for the signature. There was none, save +under the words, "He who adores you," the name "Henry." Their father's +name was René. So then he was not the man. + +Then, the son, with rapid fingers, fumbled in the packet of letters +took another of them, and read: "I can do without your caresses no +longer." + +And, standing up, with the severity of a judge passing sentence, he +gazed at the impassive face of the dead woman. + +The nun, straight as a statue, with teardrops standing at each corner +of her eyes, looked at her brother, waiting to see what he meant to +do. Then he crossed the room, slowly reached the window, and looked +out thoughtfully into the night. + +When he turned back, Sister Eulalie, her eyes now quite dry, still +remained standing near the bed, with a downcast look. + +He went over to the drawer and flung in the letters which he had +picked up from the floor. Then he drew the curtains round the bed. + +And when the dawn made the candles on the table look pale, the son +rose from his armchair, and without even a parting glance at the +mother whom he had separated from them and condemned, he said slowly: + +"Now, my sister, let us leave the room." + + + + +THE CAKE + + +Let us say that her name was Madame Anserre so as not to reveal her +real name. + +She was one of those Parisian comets which leave, as it were, a trail +of fire behind them. She wrote verses and novels; she had a poetic +heart, and was ravishingly beautiful. She opened her doors to very +few--only to exceptional people, those who are commonly described as +princes of something or other. + +To be a visitor at her house constituted a claim, a genuine claim of +intellect: at least this was the estimate set on her invitations. + +Her husband played the part of an obscure satellite. To be the husband +of a star is not an easy thing. This husband had, however, an original +idea, that of creating a State within a State, of possessing a merit +of his own, a merit of the second order; it is true; but he did, in +fact, in this fashion, on the days when his wife held receptions, hold +receptions also on his own account. He had his special set who +appreciated him, listened to him, and bestowed on him more attention +than they did on his brilliant partner. + +He had devoted himself to agriculture--to agriculture in the Chamber. +There are in the same way generals in the Chamber--those who are born, +who live, and who die, on the round leather chairs of the War Office, +are all of this sort, are they not? Sailors in the Chambers--viz., in +the Admiralty--Colonizers in the Chamber, etc., etc. So he had studied +agriculture, indeed he had studied it deeply, in its relations with +the other sciences, with political economy, with the Fine Arts--we +dress up the Fine Arts with every kind of science, since we even call +the horrible railway bridges "works of art." At length he reached the +point when it was said of him: "He is a man of ability." He was quoted +in the Technical Reviews; his wife had succeeded in getting him +appointed a member of a committee at the Ministry of Agriculture. + +This latest glory was quite sufficient for him. + +Under the pretext of diminishing the expenses, he sent out invitations +to his friends for the day when his wife received hers, so that they +associated together, or rather they did not--they formed two groups. +Madame, with her escort of artists, academicians, and Ministers, +occupied a kind of gallery, furnished and decorated in the style of +the Empire. Monsieur generally withdrew with his agriculturists into a +smaller portion of the house used as a smoking-room and ironically +described by Madame Anserre as the Salon of Agriculture. + +The two camps were clearly separated. Monsieur, without jealousy, +moreover, sometimes penetrated into the Academy, and cordial +handshakings were exchanged, but the Academy entertained infinite +contempt for the Salon of Agriculture, and it was rarely that one of +the princes of science, of thought, or of anything else mingled with +the agriculturists. + +These receptions occasioned little expense--a cup of tea, a cake, that +was all. Monsieur, at an earlier period, had claimed two cakes, one +for the academy, and one for the agriculturists, but Madame having +rightly suggested that this way of acting seemed to indicate two +camps, two receptions, two parties, Monsieur did not press the matter, +so that they used only one cake, of which Madame Anserre did the +honors at the Academy, and which then passed into the Salon de +Agriculture. + +Now, this cake was soon, for the Academy, a subject of observation +well calculated to arouse curiosity. Madame Anserre never cut it +herself. That function always fell to the lot of one or other of the +illustrious guests. The particular duty, which was supposed to carry +with it honorable distinction, was performed by each person for a +pretty long period, in one case for three months, scarcely ever for +more; and it was noticed that the privilege of "cutting the cake" +carried with it a heap of other marks of superiority--a sort of +royalty, or rather very accentuated vice-royalty. + +The reigning cutter spoke in a haughty tone, with an air of marked +command; and all the favors of the mistress of the house were for him +alone. + +These happy individuals were in moments of intimacy described in +hushed tones behind doors as the "favorites of the cake," and every +change of favorite introduced into the Academy a sort of revolution. +The knife was a scepter, the pastry an emblem; the chosen ones were +congratulated. The agriculturists never cut the cake. Monsieur himself +was always excluded, although he ate his share. + +The cake was cut in succession by poets, by painters, and by +novelists. A great musician had the privilege of measuring the +portions of the cake for some time; an ambassador succeeded him. +Sometimes a man less well-known, but elegant and sought after, one of +those who are called according to the different epochs, "true +gentleman," or "perfect knight," or "dandy," or something else, seated +himself, in his turn, before the symbolic cake. Each of them, during +his ephemeral reign, exhibited greater consideration towards the +husband; then, when the hour of his fall had arrived, he passed on the +knife towards the other and mingled once more with the crowd of +followers and admirers of the "beautiful Madame Anserre." + +This state of things lasted a long time, but comets do not always +shine with the same brilliance. Everything gets worn out in society. +One would have said that gradually the eagerness of the cutters grew +feebler; they seemed to hesitate at times when the tray was held out +to them; this office, once so much coveted, became less and less +desired. It was retained for a shorter time; they appeared to be less +proud of it. + +Madame Anserre was prodigal of smiles and civilities. Alas! no one was +found any longer to cut it voluntarily. The new comers seemed to +decline the honor. The "old favorites" reappeared one by one like +dethroned princes who have been replaced for a brief spell in power. +Then, the chosen ones became few, very few. For a month (O, prodigy!) +M. Anserre cut open the cake; then he looked as if he were getting +tired of it; and one evening Madame Anserre, the beautiful Madame +Anserre, was seen cutting it herself. But this appeared to be very +wearisome to her, and, next day, she urged one of her guests so +strongly to do it that he did not dare to refuse. + +The symbol was too well-known, however; the guests stared at one +another with scared anxious faces. To cut the cake was nothing, but +the privileges to which this favor had always given a claim now +frightened people; therefore, the moment the dish made its appearance +the academicians rushed pell-mell into the Salon of Agriculture, as if +to shelter themselves behind the husband, who was perpetually smiling. +And when Madame Anserre, in a state of anxiety, presented herself at +the door with a cake in one hand and the knife in the other, they all +seemed to form a circle around her husband as if to appeal to him for +protection. + +Some years more passed. Nobody cut the cake now; but yielding to an +old inveterate habit, the lady who had always been gallantly called +"the beautiful Madame Anserre" looked out each evening for some +devotee to take the knife, and each time the same movement took place +around her, a general flight, skillfully arranged, and full of +combined maneuvers that showed great cleverness, in order to avoid the +offer that was rising to her lips. + +But, one evening, a young man presented himself at her reception--an +innocent, unsophisticated youth. He knew nothing about the mystery of +the cake; accordingly, when it appeared, and when all the rest ran +away, when Madame Anserre took from the man-servant's hands the dish +and the pastry, he remained quietly by her side. + +She thought that perhaps he knew about the matter; she smiled, and in +a tone which showed some emotion, said: + +"Will you be kind enough, dear Monsieur, to cut this cake?" + +He displayed the utmost readiness, and took off his gloves, flattered +at such an honor being conferred on him. + +"Oh, to be sure Madame, with the greatest pleasure." + +Some distance away in the corner of the gallery, in the frame of the +door which led into the Salon of the Agriculturists, faces which +expressed utter amazement were staring at him. Then, when the +spectators saw the new comer cutting without any hesitation, they +quickly came forward. + +An old poet jocosely slapped the neophyte on the shoulder. + +"Bravo, young man!" he whispered in his ear. + +The others gazed at him with curiosity. Even the husband appeared to +be surprised. As for the young man, he was astonished at the +consideration which they suddenly seemed to show towards him; above +all, he failed to comprehend the marked attentions, the manifest +favor, and the species of mute gratitude which the mistress of the +house bestowed on him. + +It appears, however, that he eventually found out. + +At what moment, in what place, was the revelation made to him? Nobody +could tell; but, when he again presented himself at the reception, he +had a preoccupied air, almost a shamefaced look, and he cast around +him a glance of uneasiness. + +The bell rang for tea. The man-servant appeared. Madame Anserre, with +a smile, seized the dish, casting a look about her for her young +friend; but he had fled so precipitately that no trace of him could be +seen any longer. Then, she went looking everywhere for him, and ere +long she discovered him in the Salon of the Agriculturists. With his +arm locked in that of the husband, he was consulting that gentleman as +to the means employed for destroying phylloxera. + +"My dear Monsieur," she said to him, "will you be so kind as to cut +this cake for me?" + +He reddened to the roots of his hair, and hanging down his head, +stammered out some excuses. Thereupon M. Anserre took pity on him, and +turning towards his wife, said: + +"My dear, you might have the goodness not to disturb us. We are +talking about agriculture. So get your cake cut by Baptiste." + +And since that day nobody has ever cut Madame Anserre's cake. + + + + +A LIVELY FRIEND + + +They had been constantly in each other's society for a whole winter in +Paris. After having lost sight of each other, as generally happens in +such cases, after leaving college, the two friends met again one +night, long years after, already old and white-haired, the one a +bachelor, the other married. + +M. de Meroul lived six months in Paris and six months in his little +chateau of Tourbeville. Having married the daughter of a gentleman in +the district, he had lived a peaceful, happy life with the indolence +of a man who has nothing to do. With a calm temperament and a sedate +mind, without any intellectual audacity or tendency towards +revolutionary independence of thought, he passed his time in mildly +regretting the past, in deploring the morals and the institutions of +to-day, and in repeating every moment to his wife, who raised her eyes +to Heaven, and sometimes her hands also, in token of energetic assent: + +"Under what a government do we live, great God!" + +Madame de Meroul mentally resembled her husband, just as if they had +been brother and sister. She knew by tradition that one ought, first +of all, to reverence the Pope and the King! + +And she loved them and respected them from the bottom of her heart, +without knowing them, with a poetic exaltation, with a hereditary +devotion, with all the sensibility of a well-born woman. She was +kindly in every fold of her soul. She had no child, and was +incessantly regretting it. + +When M. de Meroul came across his old school fellow Joseph Mouradour +at a ball, he experienced from this meeting a profound and genuine +delight, for they had been very fond of one another in their youth. + +After exclamations of astonishment over the changes caused by age in +their bodies and their faces, they had asked one another a number of +questions as to their respective careers. + +Joseph Mouradour, a native of the South of France, had become a +Councilor General in his own neighborhood. Frank in his manners, he +spoke briskly and without any circumspection telling all his thoughts +with sheer indifference to prudential considerations. He was a +Republican, of that race of good-natured Republicans who make their +own ease the law of their existence, and who carry freedom of speech +to the verge of brutality. + +He called at his friend's address in Paris, and was immediately a +favorite, on account of his easy cordiality, in spite of his advanced +opinions. Madame de Meroul exclaimed: + +"What a pity! such a charming man!" + +M. de Meroul said to his friend, in a sincere and confidential tone: +"You cannot imagine what a wrong you do to our country." He was +attached to his friend nevertheless, for no bonds are more solid than +those of childhood renewed in later life. Joseph Mouradour chaffed the +husband and wife, called them "my loving turtles," and occasionally +gave vent to loud declarations against people who were behind the age, +against all sorts of prejudices and traditions. + +When he thus directed the flood of his democratic eloquence, the +married pair, feeling ill at ease, kept silent through a sense of +propriety and good-breeding; then the husband tried to turn off the +conversation, in order to avoid any friction. Joseph Mouradour did not +want to know anyone unless he was free to say what he liked. + +Summer came round. The Merouls knew no greater pleasure than to +receive their old friends in their country house at Tourbeville. It +was an intimate and healthy pleasure, the pleasure of homely +gentlefolk who had spent most of their lives in the country. They used +to go to the nearest railway station to meet some of their guests, and +drove them to the house in their carriage, watching for compliments on +their district, on the rapid vegetation, on the condition of the roads +in the department, on the cleanliness of the peasants' houses, on the +bigness of the cattle they saw in the fields, on everything that met +the eye as far as the edge of the horizon. + +They liked to have it noticed that their horse trotted in a wonderful +manner for an animal employed a part of the year in field-work; and +they awaited, with anxiety the newcomer's opinion on their family +estate, sensitive to the slightest word, grateful for the slightest +gracious attention. + +Joseph Mouradour was invited, and he announced his arrival. + +The wife and the husband came to meet the train, delighted to have the +opportunity of doing the honors of their house. + +As soon as he perceived them, Joseph Mouradour jumped out of his +carriage with a vivacity which increased their satisfaction. He +grasped their hands warmly, congratulated them, and intoxicated them +with compliments. + +He was quite charming in his manner as they drove along the road to +the house; he expressed astonishment at the height of the trees, the +excellence of the crops, and the quickness of the horse. + +When he placed his foot on the steps in front of the chateau, M. de +Meroul said to him with a certain friendly solemnity: + +"Now you are at home." + +Joseph Mouradour answered: "Thanks old fellow; I counted on that. For +my part, besides, I never put myself out with my friends. That's the +only hospitality I understand." + +Then, he went up to his own room, where he put on the costume of a +peasant, as he was pleased to describe it, and he came down again not +very long after, attired in blue linen, with yellow boots, in the +careless rig-out of a Parisian out for a holiday. He seemed, too to +have become more common, more jolly, more familiar, having assumed +along with his would-be rustic garb a free and easy swagger which he +thought suited the style of dress. His new apparel somewhat shocked M. +and Madame de Meroul who even at home on their estate always remained +serious and respectable, as the particle "de" before their name +exacted a certain amount of ceremonial even with their intimate +friends. + +After lunch, they went to visit the farms; and the Parisian stupefied +the respectable peasants by talking to them as if he were a comrade of +theirs. + +In the evening, the curé dined at the house--a fat old priest, +wearing his Sunday suit, who had been specially asked that day in +order to meet the newcomer. + +When Joseph saw him he made a grimace, then he stared at the priest in +astonishment as if he belonged to some peculiar race of beings, the +like of which he had never seen before at such close quarters. He told +a few smutty stories allowable enough with a friend after dinner, but +apparently somewhat out of place in the presence of an ecclesiastic. +He did not say, "Monsieur l'Abbe," but merely "Monsieur"; and he +embarrassed the priest with philosophical views as to the various +superstitions that prevailed on the surface of the globe. + +He remarked: + +"Your God, monsieur, is one of those persons whom we must respect, but +also one of those who must be discussed. Mine is called Reason; he has +from time immemorial been the enemy of yours." + +The Merouls, greatly put out, attempted to divert his thoughts. + +The curé left very early. + +Then the husband gently remarked: + +"You went a little too far with that priest." + +But Joseph immediately replied: + +"That's a very good joke, too! Am I to bother my brains about a +devil-dodger? At any rate, do me the favor of not ever again having +such an old fogy to dinner. Curses on his impudence!" + +"But, my friend, remember his sacred character." + +Joseph Mouradour interrupted him: + +"Yes, I know. We must treat them like girls, who get roses for being +well behaved! That's all right, my boy! When these people respect my +convictions, I will respect theirs!" + +This was all that happened that day. + +Next morning, Madame de Meroul, on entering her drawing-room, saw +lying on the table three newspapers which made her draw back in +horror. "Le Voltaire," "Le Republique Francaise," and "La Justice." + +Presently, Joseph Mouradour, still in his blue blouse, appeared on the +threshold, reading "L'Intransigeant" attentively. He exclaimed: + +"There is a splendid article by Rochefort. This fellow is marvelous." + +He read the article in a loud voice, laying so much stress on its most +striking passages that he did not notice the entrance of his friend. + +M. de Meroul had a paper in each hand. "Le Gaulois" for himself and +"Le Clarion" for his wife. + +The ardent prose of the master-writer who overthrew the empire, +violently declaimed, recited in the accent of the South, rang through +the peaceful drawing-room, shook the old curtains with their rigid +folds, seemed to splash the walls, the large upholstered chairs, the +solemn furniture fixed in the same position for the past century, with +a hail of words, rebounding, impudent, ironical and crushing. + +The husband and the wife, the one standing, the other seated, listened +in a state of stupor, so scandalized that they no longer even ventured +to make a gesture. Mouradour launched out the concluding passage in +the article as one lets forth a jet of fireworks, then in an emphatic +tone remarked: + +"That's a stinger, eh?" + +But suddenly he perceived the two prints belonging to his friend, and +he seemed himself for a moment overcome with astonishment. Then, he +came across to his host with great strides, demanding in angry tone: + +"What do you want to do with these papers?" M. de Meroul replied in a +hesitating voice: + +"Why, these--these are my--my newspapers." + +"Your newspapers! Look here, now, you are only laughing at me! You +will do me the favor to read mine, to stir you up with a few new +ideas, and, as for yours--this is what I do with them--" + +And before his host, filled with confusion, could prevent him, he +seized the two newspapers and flung them out through the window. Then +he gravely placed "La Justice" in the hands of Madame de Meroul and +"Le Voltaire" in those of her husband, and he sank into an armchair to +finish "L'Intransigeant." + +The husband and the wife, through feelings of delicacy, made a show of +reading a little, then they handed back the Republican newspapers, +which they touched with their finger-tips as if they had been +poisoned. + +Then he burst out laughing, and said: + +"A week of this sort of nourishment, and I'll have you converted to my +ideas." + +At the end of the week, in fact, he ruled the house. He had shut the +door on the curé, whom Madame Meroul went to see in secret. He gave +orders that neither the "Gaulois" nor the "Clarion" were to be +admitted into the house, which a man-servant went to get in a +mysterious fashion at the post-office, and which, on his entrance, +were hidden away under the sofa cushions. He regulated everything +just as he liked, always charming, always good-natured, a jovial and +all powerful tyrant. + +Other friends were about to come on a visit, religious people with +Legitimist opinions. The master and mistress of the chateau considered +it would be impossible to let them meet their lively guest, and, not +knowing what to do, announced to Joseph Mouradour one evening that +they were obliged to go away from home for a few days about a little +matter of business, and they begged of him to remain in the house +alone. + +He showed no trace of emotion, and replied: + +"Very well; 'tis all the same to me; I'll wait here for you as long as +you like. What I say is this--there need be no ceremony between +friends. You're quite right to look after your own affairs--why the +devil shouldn't you? I'll not take offense at your doing that, quite +the contrary. It only makes me feel quite at my ease with you. Go, my +friends--I'll wait for you." + +M. and Madame Meroul started next morning. + +He is waiting for them. + + + + +THE ORPHAN + + +Mademoiselle Source had adopted this boy under very sad circumstances. +She was at the time thirty-six years old. She was deformed, having in +her infancy slipped off her nurse's lap into the fireplace, and +getting her face so shockingly burned that it ever afterwards +presented a frightful appearance. This deformity had made her resolve +not to marry, for she did not want any man to marry her for her money. + +A female neighbor of hers, being left a widow during her pregnancy, +died in child-birth, without leaving a sou. Mademoiselle Source took +the new-born child, put him out to nurse, reared him, sent him to a +boarding-school, then brought him home in his fourteenth year, in +order to have in her empty house somebody who would love her, who +would look after her, who would make her old age pleasant. + +She resided on a little property four leagues away from Rennes, and +she now dispensed with a servant. The expenses having increased to +more than double what they had been since this orphan's arrival, her +income of three thousand francs was no longer sufficient to support +three persons. + +She attended to the housekeeping and the cooking herself, and she sent +out the boy on errands, letting him further occupy himself with +cultivating the garden. He was gentle, timid, silent, and caressing. +And she experienced a deep joy, a fresh joy at being embraced by him, +without any apparent surprise or repugnance being exhibited by him on +account of her ugliness. He called her "Aunt" and treated her as a +mother. + +In the evening they both sat down at the fireside, and she got nice +things ready for him. She heated some wine and toasted a slice of +bread, and it made a charming little meal before going to bed. She +often took him on her knees and covered him with kisses, murmuring in +his ear with passionate tenderness. She called him: "My little flower, +my cherub, my adored angel, my divine jewel." He softly accepted her +caresses, concealing his head on the old maid's shoulder. Although he +was now nearly fifteen years old, he had remained small and weak, and +had a rather sickly appearance. + +Sometimes Mademoiselle Source brought him to the city, to see two +married female relatives of hers, distant cousins, who were living in +the suburbs, and who were the only members of her family in existence. +The two women had always found fault with her for having adopted this +boy on account of the inheritance; but for all that they gave her a +cordial welcome, having still hopes of getting a share for themselves, +a third, no doubt, if what she possessed were only equally divided. + +She was happy, very happy, always taken up with her adopted child. She +bought books for him to improve his mind, and he devoted himself +ardently to reading. + +He no longer now climbed on her knees to fondle her as he had formerly +done; but instead would go and sit down in his little chair in the +chimney-corner and open a volume. The lamp placed at the edge of the +little table, above his head, shone on his curly hair, and on a +portion of his forehead; he did not move, he did not raise his eyes, +he did not make any gesture. He read on, interested, entirely absorbed +in the adventures which formed the subject of the book. + +She, seated opposite to him, gazed at him with an eager, steady look, +astonished at his studiousness, often on the point of bursting into +tears. + +She said to him now and then: "You will fatigue yourself, my +treasure!" in the hope that he would raise his head, and come across +to embrace her; but he did not even answer her; he had not heard or +understood what she was saying; he paid no attention to anything save +what he read in these pages. + +For two years he devoured an incalculable number of volumes. His +character changed. + +After this, he asked Mademoiselle Source many times for money, which +she gave him. As he always wanted more, she ended by refusing, for she +was both regular and energetic, and knew how to act rationally when it +was necessary to do so. By dint of entreaties he obtained a large sum +one night from her; but when he urged her to give him another sum a +few days later, she showed herself inflexible, and did not give way to +him further, in fact. + +He appeared to be satisfied with her decision. + +He again became quiet, as he had formerly been, loving to remain +seated for entire hours, without moving, plunged in deep reverie. He +now did not even talk to Madame Source, merely answering her remarks +with short, formal words. Nevertheless, he was agreeable and attentive +in his manner towards her; but he never embraced her now. + +She had by this time grown slightly afraid of him when they sat facing +one another at night at opposite sides of the chimney-piece. She +wanted to wake him up, to make him say something, no matter what, that +would break this dreadful silence, which was like the darkness of a +wood. But he did not appear to listen to her, and she shuddered with +the terror of a poor feeble woman when she had spoken to him five or +six times successively without being able to get a word out of him. + +What was the matter with him? What was going on in that closed up +head? When she had been thus two or three hours sitting opposite him, +she felt herself getting daft, and longed to rush away and to escape +into the open country in order to avoid that mute, eternal +companionship and also some vague danger, which she could not define, +but of which she had a presentiment. + +She frequently shed tears when she was alone. What was the matter with +him? When she gave expression to a desire, he unmurmuringly carried it +into execution. When she wanted to have anything brought to her from +the city, he immediately went there to procure it. She had no +complaint to make of him; no, indeed! And yet.... + +Another year flitted by, and it seemed to her that a new modification +had taken place in the mind of the young man. She perceived it; she +felt it; she divined it. How? No matter! She was sure she was not +mistaken; but she could not have explained in what the unknown +thoughts of this strange youth had changed. + +It seemed to her that till now he had been like a person in a +hesitating frame of mind who had suddenly arrived at a determination. +This idea came to her one evening as she met his glance, a fixed +singular glance which she had not seen in his face before. + +Then, he commenced to watch her incessantly and she wished she could +hide herself in order to avoid that cold eye, riveted on her. + +He kept staring at her, evening after evening for hours together, only +averting his eyes when she said, utterly unnerved: + +"Do not look at me like that, my child!" + +Then he hung down his head. + +But, the moment her back was turned, she once more felt that his eyes +were upon her. Wherever she went he pursued her with his persistent +gaze. + +Sometimes, when she was walking in her little garden, she suddenly +noticed him squatted on the stump of a tree as if he were lying in +wait for her; and again when she sat in front of the house mending +stockings while he was digging some cabbage-bed, he kept watching her, +as he worked, in a sly, continuous fashion. + +It was in vain that she asked him: + +"What's the matter with you, my boy? For the last three years you have +become very different. I don't find you the same. Tell me what ails +you, and what you are thinking of, I beg of you." + +He invariably replied, in a quiet, weary tone: + +"Why, nothing ails me, Aunt!" + +And when she persisted, appealing to him thus: + +"Ah! my child, answer me, answer me when I speak to you. If you knew +what grief you caused me, you would always answer, and you would not +look at me that way. Have you any trouble? Tell me! I'll console you!" + +He went away with a tired air, murmuring: + +"But there is nothing the matter with me, I assure you." + +He had not grown much, having always a childish aspect, although the +features of his face were those of a man. They were, however, hard and +badly-cut. He seemed incomplete, abortive, only half-finished, and +disquieting as a mystery. He was a close, impenetrable being, in whom +there seemed always to be some active, dangerous mental travail taking +place. + +Mademoiselle Source was quite conscious of all this, and she could not +from that time forth, sleep at night, so great was her anxiety. +Frightful terrors, dreadful nightmares assailed her. She shut herself +up in her own room, and barricaded the door, tortured by fear. + +What was she afraid of? She could not tell. + +Fear of everything, of the night, of the walls, of the shadows thrown +by the moon on the white curtains of the windows, and above all, fear +of him. + +Why? + +What had she to fear? Did she know what it was? + +She could live this way no longer! She felt certain that a misfortune +threatened her, a frightful misfortune. + +She set forth secretly one morning, and went into the city to see her +relatives. She told them about the matter in a gasping voice. The two +women thought she was going mad and tried to reassure her. + +She said: + +"If you knew the way he looks at me from morning till night. He never +takes his eyes off me! At times, I feel a longing to cry for help, to +call in the neighbors, so much am I afraid. But what could I say to +them? He does nothing to me except to keep looking at me." + +The two female cousins asked: + +"Is he ever brutal to you? Does he give you sharp answers?" + +She replied: + +"No, never; he does everything I wish; he works hard; he is steady; +but I am so frightened I don't mind that much. He has something in his +head, I am certain of that--quite certain. I don't care to remain all +alone like that with him in the country." + +The relatives, scared by her words, declared to her that they were +astonished, and could not understand her; and they advised her to keep +silent about her fears and her plans, without, however, dissuading her +from coming to reside in the city, hoping in that way that the entire +inheritance would eventually fall into their hands. + +They even promised to assist her in selling her house and in finding +another near them. + +Mademoiselle Source returned home. But her mind was so much upset that +she trembled at the slightest noise, and her hands shook whenever any +trifling disturbance agitated her. + +Twice she went again to consult her relatives, quite determined now +not to remain any longer in this way in her lonely dwelling. At last, +she found a little cottage in the suburbs, which suited her, and she +privately bought it. + +The signature of the contract took place on a Tuesday morning, and +Mademoiselle Source devoted the rest of the day to the preparations +for her change of residence. + +At eight o'clock in the evening she got into the diligence which +passed within a few hundred yards of her house, and she told the +conductor to let her down in the place where it was his custom to stop +for her. The man called out to her as he whipped his horses: + +"Good evening, Mademoiselle Source--good night!" + +She replied as she walked on: + +"Good evening, Pere Joseph." Next morning, at half-past seven, the +postman who conveyed letters to the village, noticed at the +cross-road, not far from the high road, a large splash of blood not +yet dry. He said to himself: "Hallo! some boozer must have got a +bleeding in the nose." + +But he perceived ten paces farther on a pocket-handkerchief also +stained with blood. He picked it up. The linen was fine, and the +postman in alarm, made his way over to the dike, where he fancied he +saw a strange object. + +Mademoiselle Source was lying at the bottom on the grass, her throat +cut open with a knife. + +An hour later, the gendarmes, the examining magistrate, and other +authorities made an inquiry as to the cause of death. + +The two female relatives, called as witnesses, told all about the old +maid's fears and her last plans. + +The orphan was arrested. Since the death of the woman who had adopted +him, he wept from morning till night, plunged at least to all +appearance, in the most violent grief. + +He proved that he had spent the evening up to eleven o'clock in a +café. Ten persons had seen him, having remained there till his +departure. + +Now the driver of the diligence stated that he had set down the +murdered woman on the road between half-past nine and ten o'clock. + +The accused was acquitted. A will, a long time made, which had been +left in the hands of a notary in Rennes, made him universal legatee. +So he inherited everything. + +For a long time, the people of the country put him into a quarantine, +as they still suspected him. His house, which was that of the dead +woman, was looked upon as accursed. People avoided him in the street. + +But he showed himself so good-natured, so open, so familiar, that +gradually these horrible doubts were forgotten. He was generous, +obliging, ready to talk to the humblest about anything as long as they +cared to talk to him. + +The notary, Maitre Rameay, was one of the first to take his part, +attracted by his smiling loquacity. He said one evening at a dinner at +the tax-collector's house: + +"A man who speaks with such facility and who is always in good humor +could not have such a crime on his conscience." + +Touched by his argument, the others who were present reflected, and +they recalled to mind the long conversations with this man who made +them stop almost by force at the road corners to communicate his ideas +to them, who insisted on their going into his house when they were +passing by his garden, who could crack a joke better than the +lieutenant of the gendarmes himself, and who possessed such contagious +gayety that, in spite of the repugnance with which he inspired them, +they could not keep from always laughing in his company. + +All doors were opened to him, after a time. + +He is, to-day, the mayor of his own township. + + + + +THE BLIND MAN + + +How is it that the sunlight gives us such joy? Why does this radiance +when it falls on the earth fill us with so much delight of living? The +sky is all blue, the fields are all green, the houses all white; and +our ravished eyes drink in those bright colors which bring +mirthfulness to our souls. And then there springs up in our hearts a +desire to dance, a desire to run, a desire to sing, a happy lightness +of thought, a sort of enlarged tenderness; we feel a longing to +embrace the sun. + +The blind, as they sit in the doorways, impassive in their eternal +darkness, remain as calm as ever in the midst of this fresh gayety, +and, not comprehending what is taking place around them, they keep +every moment stopping their dogs from gamboling. + +When, at the close of the day, they are returning home on the arm of a +young brother or a little sister, if the child says: "It was a very +fine day!" the other answers: "I could notice that 'twas fine. Loulou +wouldn't keep quiet." + +I have known one of these men whose life was one of the most cruel +martyrdoms that could possibly be conceived. + +He was a peasant, the son of a Norman farmer. As long as his father +and mother lived, he was more or less taken care of; he suffered +little save from his horrible infirmity; but as soon as the old people +were gone, an atrocious life of misery commenced for him. A dependent +on a sister of his, everybody in the farmhouse treated him as a beggar +who is eating the bread of others. At every meal the very food he +swallowed was made a subject of reproach against him; he was called a +drone, a clown; and although his brother-in-law had taken possession +of his portion of the inheritance, the soup was given to him +grudgingly--just enough to save him from dying. + +His face was very pale, and his two big white eyes were like wafers; +and he remained unmoved in spite of the insults inflicted upon him, so +shut up in himself that one could not tell whether he felt them at +all. + +Moreover, he had never known any tenderness, his mother having always +treated him unkindly, and caring scarcely at all for him; for in +country places the useless are obnoxious, and the peasants would be +glad, like hens, to kill the infirm of their species. + +As soon as the soup had been gulped down, he went to the door in +summer-time and sat down, to the chimney-corner in winter time, and, +after that, never stirred all night. He made no gesture, no movement; +only his eyelids, quivering from some nervous affection, fell down +sometimes over his white, sightless orbs. Had he any intellect, any +thinking faculty, any consciousness of his own existence? Nobody cared +to inquire as to whether he had or no. + +For some years things went on in this fashion. But his incapacity for +doing anything as well as his impassiveness eventually exasperated his +relatives, and he became a laughing-stock, a sort of martyred buffoon, +a prey given over to native ferocity, to the savage gaiety of the +brutes who surrounded him. + +It is easy to imagine all the cruel practical jokes inspired by his +blindness. And, in order to have some fun in return for feeding him, +they now converted his meals into hours of pleasure for the neighbors +and of punishment for the helpless creature himself. + +The peasants from the nearest houses came to this entertainment; it +was talked about from door to door, and every day the kitchen of the +farmhouse was full of people. Sometimes they put on the table, in +front of his plate, when he was beginning to take the soup, some cat +or some dog. The animal instinctively scented out the man's infirmity, +and, softly approaching, commenced eating noiselessly, lapping up the +soup daintily; and, when a rather loud licking of the tongue awakened +the poor fellow's attention, it would prudently scamper away to avoid +the blow of the spoon directed at it by the blind man at random! + +Then the spectators huddled against the walls burst out laughing, +nudged each other, and stamped their feet on the floor. And he, +without ever uttering a word, would continue eating with the aid of +his right hand, while stretching out his left to protect and defend +his plate. + +At another time they made him chew corks, bits of wood, leaves, or +even filth, which he was unable to distinguish. + +After this, they got tired even of these practical jokes; and the +brother-in-law, mad at having to support him always, struck him, +cuffed him incessantly, laughing at the useless efforts of the other +to ward off or return the blows. Then came a new pleasure--the +pleasure of smacking his face. And the plough-men, the servant girls, +and even every passing vagabond were every moment giving him cuffs, +which caused his eyelashes to twitch spasmodically. He did not know +where to hide himself, and remained with his arms always held out to +guard against people coming too close to him. + +At last he was forced to beg. + +He was placed somewhere on the high-road on market-days, and as soon +as he heard the sound of footsteps or the rolling of a vehicle, he +reached out his hat, stammering:-- + +"Charity, if you please!" + +But the peasant is not lavish, and for whole weeks he did not bring +back a sou. + +Then he became the victim of furious, pitiless hatred. And this is how +he died. + +One winter the ground was covered with snow, and it froze horribly. +Now his brother-in-law led him one morning at this season a great +distance along the high-road in order that he might solicit alms. The +blind man was left there all day, and when night came on, the +brother-in-law told the people of his house that he could find no +trace of the mendicant. Then he added: + +"Pooh! best not bother about him! He was cold, and got someone to take +him away. Never fear! he's not lost. He'll turn up soon enough +to-morrow to eat the soup." + +Next day, he did not come back. + +After long hours of waiting, stiffened with the cold, feeling that he +was dying, the blind man began to walk. Being unable to find his way +along the road, owing to its thick coating of ice, he went on at +random, falling into dykes, getting up again, without uttering a +sound, his sole object being to find some house where he could take +shelter. + +But by degrees the descending snow made a numbness steal over him, and +his feeble limbs being incapable of carrying him farther, he had to +sit down in the middle of an open field. He did not get up again. + +The white flakes which kept continually falling buried him, so that +his body, quite stiff and stark, disappeared under the incessant +accumulation of their rapidly thickening mass; and nothing any longer +indicated the place where the corpse was lying. + +His relatives made pretense of inquiring about him and searching for +him for about a week. They even made a show of weeping. + +The winter was severe, and the thaw did not set in quickly. Now, one +Sunday, on their way to mass, the farmers noticed a great flight of +crows, who were whirling endlessly above the open field, and then, +like a shower of black rain, descended in a heap at the same spot, +ever going and coming. + +The following week these gloomy birds were still there. There was a +crowd of them up in the air, as if they had gathered from all corners +of the horizon; and they swooped down with a great cawing into the +shining snow, which they filled curiously with patches of black, and +in which they kept rummaging obstinately. A young fellow went to see +what they were doing, and discovered the body of the blind man, +already half devoured, mangled. His wan eyes had disappeared, pecked +out by the long, voracious beaks. + +And I can never feel the glad radiance of sunlit days without sadly +remembering and gloomily pondering over the fate of the beggar so +disinherited in life that his horrible death was a relief for all +those who had known him. + + + + +A WIFE'S CONFESSION + + +My friend, you have asked me to relate to you the liveliest +recollections of my life. I am very old, without relatives, without +children; so I am free to make a confession to you. Promise me one +thing--never to reveal my name. + +I have been much loved, as you know; I have often myself loved. I was +very beautiful; I may say this to-day, when my beauty is gone. Love +was for me the life of the soul, just as the air is the life of the +body. I would have preferred to die rather than exist without +affection, without having somebody always to care for me. Women often +pretend to love only once with all the strength of their hearts; it +has often happened to be so violent in one of my attachments that I +thought it would be impossible for my transports ever to end. However, +they always died out in a natural fashion, like a fire when it has no +more fuel. + +I will tell you to-day the first of my adventures, in which I was very +innocent, but which led to the others. The horrible vengeance of that +dreadful chemist of Pecq recalls to me the shocking drama of which I +was, in spite of myself, a spectator. + +I had been a year married to a rich man, Comte Herve de Ker---- a +Breton of ancient family, whom I did not love, you understand. True +love needs, I believe at any rate, freedom and impediments at the same +time. The love which is imposed, sanctioned by law, and blessed by the +priest--can we really call that love? A legal kiss is never as good +as a stolen kiss. My husband was tall in stature, elegant, and a +really fine gentleman in his manners. But he lacked intelligence. He +spoke in a downright fashion, and uttered opinions that cut like the +blade of a knife. He created the impression that his mind was full of +ready-made views instilled into him by his father and mother, who had +themselves got them from their ancestors. He never hesitated, but on +every subject immediately made narrow-minded suggestions, without +showing any embarrassment and without realizing that there might be +other ways of looking at things. One felt that his head was closed up, +that no ideas circulated in it, none of those ideas which renew a +man's mind and make it sound, like a breath of fresh air passing +through an open window into a house. + +The chateau in which we lived was situated in the midst of a desolate +tract of country. It was a large, melancholy structure, surrounded by +enormous trees, with tufts of moss on it resembling old men's white +beards. The park, a real forest, was enclosed in a deep trench called +the ha-ha; and at its extremity, near the moorland, we had big ponds +full of reeds and floating grass. Between the two, at the edge of a +stream which connected them, my husband had got a little hut built for +shooting wild ducks. + +We had, in addition to our ordinary servants, a keeper, a sort of +brute devoted to my husband to the death, and a chambermaid, almost a +friend, passionately attached to me. I had brought her back from Spain +with me five years before. She was a deserted child. She might have +been taken for a gipsy with her dusky skin, her dark eyes, her hair +thick as a wood and always clustering around her forehead. She was at +the time sixteen years old, but she looked twenty. + +The autumn was beginning. We hunted much, sometimes on neighboring +estates, sometimes on our own; and I noticed a young man, the Baron de +C----, whose visits at the chateau became singularly frequent. Then he +ceased to come; I thought no more about it; but I perceived that my +husband changed in his demeanor towards me. + +He seemed taciturn and preoccupied; he did not kiss me; and, in spite +of the fact that he did not come into my room, as I insisted on +separate apartments in order to live a little alone, I often at night +heard a furtive step drawing near my door, and withdrawing a few +minutes after. + +As my window was on the ground-floor I thought I had also often heard +someone prowling in the shadow around the chateau. I told my husband +about it, and, having looked at me intently for some seconds, he +answered: + +"It is nothing--it is the keeper." + + * * * * * + +Now, one evening, just after dinner, Herve, who appeared to be +extraordinarily gay, with a sly sort of gaiety, said to me: + +"Would you like to spend three hours out with the guns, in order to +shoot a fox who comes every evening to eat my hens?" + +I was surprised. I hesitated; but, as he kept staring at me with +singular persistency, I ended by replying: + +"Why, certainly, my friend." I must tell you that I hunted like a man +the wolf and the wild boar. So it was quite natural that he should +suggest this shooting expedition to me. + +But my husband, all of a sudden, had a curiously nervous look; and all +the evening he seemed agitated, rising up and sitting down feverishly. + +About ten o'clock, he suddenly said to me: + +"Are you ready?" + +I rose; and, as he was bringing me my gun himself, I asked: + +"Are we to load with bullets or with deershot?" + +He showed some astonishment; then he rejoined: + +"Oh! only with deershot; make your mind easy! that will be enough." + +Then, after some seconds, he added in a peculiar tone: + +"You may boast of having splendid coolness." + +I burst out laughing. + +"I? Why, pray? Coolness because I went to kill a fox? But what are you +thinking of, my friend?" + +And we quietly made our way across the park. All the household slept. +The full moon seemed to give a yellow tint to the old gloomy building, +whose slate roof glittered brightly. The two turrets that flanked it +had two plates of light on their summits, and no noise disturbed the +silence of this clear, sad night, sweet and still, which seemed in a +death-trance. Not a breath of air, not a shriek from a toad, not a +hoot from an owl; a melancholy numbness lay heavy on everything. When +we were under the trees in the park, a sense of freshness stole over +me, together with the odor of fallen leaves. My husband said nothing; +but he was listening, he was watching, he seemed to be smelling about +in the shadows, possessed from head to foot by the passion for the +chase. + +We soon reached the edges of the ponds. + +Their tufts of rushes remained motionless; not a breath of air +caressed it; but movements which were scarcely perceptible ran through +the water. Sometimes the surface was stirred by something, and light +circles gathered around, like luminous wrinkles enlarging +indefinitely. + +When we reached the hut where we were to lie in wait, my husband made +me go in first; then he slowly loaded his gun, and the dry cracking of +the powder produced a strange effect on me. He saw that I was +shuddering, and asked: + +"Does this trial happen to be quite enough for you? If so, go back." + +I was much surprised, and I replied: + +"Not at all. I did not come to go back without doing anything. You +seem queer this evening." + +He murmured, "As you wish," and we remained there without moving. + +At the end of about half-an-hour, as nothing broke the oppressive +stillness of this bright autumn night, I said, in a low tone: + +"Are you quite sure he is passing this way?" + +Herve winced as if I had bitten him, and with his mouth close to my +ear, he said: + +"Make no mistake about it. I am quite sure." + +And once more there was silence. + +I believe I was beginning to get drowsy when my husband pressed my +arm, and his voice, changed to a hiss, said: + +"Do you see him over there under the trees?" + +I looked in vain; I could distinguish nothing. And slowly Herve now +cocked his gun, all the time fixing his eyes on my face. + +I was myself making ready to fire, and suddenly, thirty paces in front +of us, appeared in the full light of the moon a man who was hurrying +forward with rapid movements, his body bent, as if he were trying to +escape. + +I was so stupefied that I uttered a loud cry; but, before I could turn +round, there was a flash before my eyes; I heard a deafening report, +and I saw the man rolling on the ground, like a wolf hit by a bullet. + +I burst into dreadful shrieks, terrified, almost going mad; then a +furious hand--it was Herve's--seized me by the throat. I was flung +down on the ground, then carried off by his strong arms. He ran, +holding me up, till we reached the body lying on the grass, and he +threw me on top of it violently, as if he wanted to break my head. + +I thought I was lost; he was going to kill me; and he had just raised +his heel up to my forehead when, in his turn, he was gripped, knocked +down before I could yet realize what had happened. + +I rose up abruptly, and I saw kneeling on top of him Porquita, my +maid, clinging like a wild cat to him with desperate energy, tearing +off his beard, his moustache, and the skin of his face. + +Then, as if another idea had suddenly taken hold of her mind, she rose +up, and, flinging herself on the corpse, she threw her arms around the +dead man, kissing his eyes and his mouth, opening the dead lips with +her own lips, trying to find in them a breath and a long, long kiss of +lovers. + +My husband, picking himself up, gazed at me. He understood, and +falling at my feet, said: + +"Oh! forgive me, my darling, I suspected you, and I killed this girl's +lover. It was my keeper that deceived me." + +But I was watching the strange kisses of that dead man and that living +woman, and her sobs and her writhings of sorrowing love-- + +And at that moment I understood that I might be unfaithful to my +husband. + + + + +RELICS OF THE PAST + + +My dear Colette,--I do not know whether you remember a verse of M. +Sainte-Beuve which we have read together, and which has remained fixed +in my memory; for me this verse speaks eloquently; and it has very +often reassured my poor heart, especially for some time past. Here it +is: + +"To be born, to live, and die in the same house." + +I am now all alone in this house where I was born, where I have lived, +and where I hope to die. It is not gay every day, but it is pleasant; +for there I have souvenirs all around me. + +My son Henri is a barrister; he comes to see me twice a year. Jeanne +is living with her husband at the other end of France, and it is I who +go to see her each autumn. So here I am, all, all alone, but +surrounded by familiar objects which incessantly speak to me about my +own people, the dead, and the living separated from me by distance. + +I no longer read much; I am too old for that; but I am constantly +thinking, or rather dreaming. I do not dream as I used to do long ago. +You may recall to mind any wild fancies, the adventures our brains +concocted when we were twenty, and all the horizons of happiness that +dawned upon us! + +Nothing out of all our dreaming has been realized, or rather it is +quite a different thing that has happened, less charming, less poetic, +but sufficient for those who know how to accept their lot in this +world bravely. + +Do you know why we women are so often unhappy? It is because we are +taught in our youth to believe too much in happiness! We are never +brought up with the idea of fighting, of striving, of suffering. And, +at the first shock, our hearts are broken; we look forward, with blind +faith, to cascades of fortunate events. What does happen is at best +but a partial happiness, and thereupon we burst out sobbing. +Happiness, the real happiness that we dream of, I have come to know +what that is. It does not consist in the arrival of great bliss, for +any great bliss that falls to our share is to be found in the infinite +expectation of a succession of joys to which we never attain. +Happiness is happy expectation; it is the horizon of hope; it is, +therefore, endless illusion; and, old as I am, I create illusions for +myself still, in fact, every day I live; only their object is changed, +my desires being no longer the same. I have told you that I spend my +brightest hours in dreaming. What else should I do? + +I have two ways of doing this. I am going to tell you what they are; +they may perhaps prove useful to you. + +Oh! the first is very simple; it consists in sitting down before my +fire in a low armchair made soft for my old bones, and looking back at +the things that have been put aside. + +One life is so short, especially a life entirely spent in the same +spot: + +"To be born, to live, and die in the same house." + +The things that bring back the past to our recollection are heaped, +pressed together; and, we are old, it sometimes seems no more than ten +days since we were young. Yes; everything slips away from us, as if +life itself were but a single day: morning, evening, and then comes +night--a night without a dawn! + +When I gaze into the fire, for hours and hours, the past rises up +before me as though it were but yesterday. I no longer think of my +present existence; reverie carries me away; once more I pass through +all the changes of my life. + +And I often am possessed by the illusion that I am a young girl, so +many breaths of bygone days are wafted back to me, so many youthful +sensations and even impulses, so many throbbings of my young +heart--all the passionate ardor of eighteen; and I have clear, as +fresh realities, visions of forgotten things. Oh! how vividly, above +all, do the memories of my walks as a young girl come back to me! +There, in the armchair of mine, before the fire, I saw once more, a +few nights since, a sunset on Mont Saint-Michel, and immediately +afterwards I was riding on horseback through the forest of Uville with +the odors of the damp sand and of the flowers steeped in dew, and the +evening star sending its burning reflection through the water and +bathing my face in its rays as I galloped through the copse. And all I +thought of then, my poetic enthusiasm at the sight of the boundless +sea, my keen delight at the rustling of the branches as I passed, my +most trivial impressions, every fragment of thought, desire, or +feeling, all, all came back to me as if I were there still, as if +fifty years had not glided by since then, to chill my blood and +moderate my hopes. But my other way of reviving the long ago is much +better. + +You know, or you do not know, my dear Colette, that we destroy nothing +in the house. We have upstairs, under the roof, a large room for +cast-off things which we call "the lumber-room." Everything which is +no longer used is thrown there. I often go up there, and gaze around +me. Then I find once more a heap of nothings that I had ceased to +think about, and that recalled a heap of things to my mind. They are +not those beloved articles of furniture which we have known since our +childhood and to which are attached recollections of events of joys or +sorrows, dates in our history, which, from the fact of being +intermingled with our lives, have assumed a kind of personality, a +physiognomy, which are the companions of our pleasant or gloomy house, +the only companions, alas! that we are sure not to lose, the only ones +that will not die, like the others--those whose features, whose loving +eyes, whose lips, whose voices, have vanished for ever. But I find +instead among the medley of worn-out gewgaws those little old +insignificant objects which have hung on by our side for forty years +without ever having been noticed by us, and which, when we suddenly +lay eyes on them again, have somehow the importance, the significance +of relics of the past. They produce on my mind the effect of those +people--whom we have known for a very long time without ever having +seen them as they really are, and who, all of a sudden, some evening, +quite unexpectedly, break out into a stream of interminable talk, and +tell us all about themselves down to their most hidden secrets, of +which we had never even suspected the existence. + +And I move about from one object to the other with a little thrill in +my heart every time something fixes my attention. I say to myself: +"See there! I broke that the night Paul started for Lyons;" or else, +"Ah! there is mamma's little lantern, which she used to carry with +her going to her evening devotions on dark winter nights." There are +even things in this room which have no story to tell me, which have +come down from my grandparents, things therefore, whose history and +adventures are utterly unknown to those who are living to-day, and +whose very owners nobody knows now. Nobody has seen the hands that +used to touch them or the eyes that used to gaze at them. These are +the things that make me have long, long dreams. They represent to my +mind desolate people whose last remaining friend is dead. You, my dear +Colette, can scarcely comprehend all this, and you will smile at my +simplicity, my childish, sentimental whims. You are a Parisian, and +you Parisians do not understand this interior life, those eternal +echoes of one's own heart. You live in the outer world, with all your +thoughts in the open. Living alone as I do, I can only speak about +myself. When you are answering this letter, tell me a little about +yourself, that I may also be able to put myself in your place, as you +will be able to put yourself in mine to-morrow. + +But you will never completely understand M. de Sainte Beuve's verse: + + "To be born, to live, and to die in one house." + +A thousand kisses, my old friend, + +ADELAIDE. + + + + +THE PEDDLER + + +How many trifling occurrences, things which have left only a passing +impression on our minds, humble dramas of which we have got a mere +glimpse so that we have to guess at or suspect their real nature, are, +while we are still young and inexperienced, threads, so to speak, +guiding us, step by step, towards a knowledge of the painful truth! + +Every moment, when I am retracing my steps during the long wandering +reveries which distract my thoughts along the path through which I +saunter at random, my soul takes wing, and suddenly I recall little +incidents of a gay or sinister character which, emerging from the +shades of the past, flit before my memory as the birds flit through +the bushes before my eyes. + +This summer, I wandered along a road in Savoy which commands a view of +the right bank of the Lake of Bourget, and, while my glance floated +over that mass of water, mirror-like and blue, with a unique blue, +pale, tinted with glittering beams by the setting sun, I felt my heart +stirred by that attachment which I have had since my childhood for the +surface of lakes, for rivers, and for the sea. On the opposite bank of +the vast liquid plate, so wide that you did not see the ends of it, +one vanishing in the Rhone, and the other in the Bourget, rose the +high mountain, jagged like a crest up to the topmast peak of the +"Cats's Tooth." On either side of the road, vines, trailing from tree +to tree, choked under their leaves their slender supporting branches, +and they extended in garlands through the fields, green, yellow, and +red garlands, festooning from one trunk to the other, and spotted with +clusters of dark grapes. + +The road was deserted, white, and dusty. All of a sudden, a man +emerged out of the thicket of large trees which shuts in the village +of Saint-Innocent, and, bending under a load, he came towards me, +leaning on a stick. + +When he had come closer to me, I discovered that he was a peddler, one +of those itinerant dealers who go about the country from door to door, +selling paltry objects cheaply, and thereupon a reminiscence of long +ago arose up in my mind, a mere nothing almost, the recollection +simply of an accidental meeting I had one night between Argenteuil and +Paris when I was twenty-one. + +All the happiness of my life, at this period, was derived from +boating. I had taken a room in an obscure inn at Argenteuil, and, +every evening, I took the Government clerks' train, that long slow +train which, in its course, sets down at different stations a crowd of +men with little parcels, fat and heavy, for they scarcely walk at all, +so that their trousers are always baggy owing to their constant +occupation of the office-stool. This train, in which it seemed to me I +could even sniff the odor of the writing-desk, of official documents +and boxes, deposited me at Argenteuil. My boat was waiting for me, +ready to glide over the water. And I rapidly plied my oar so that I +might get out and dine at Bezons or Chatou or Epinay or Saint-Ouen. +Then I came back, put up my boat, and made my way back on foot to +Paris with the moon shining down on me. + +Well, one night on the white road I perceived just in front of me a +man walking. Oh! I was constantly meeting those night travelers of the +Parisian suburbs so much dreaded by belated citizens. This man went on +slowly before me with a heavy load on his shoulders. + +I came right up to him by quickening my pace so much that my footsteps +rang on the road. He stopped and turned round; then, as I kept +approaching nearer and nearer, he crossed to the opposite side of the +road. + +As I rapidly passed him, he called out to me: + +"Hallo! good evening, monsieur." + +I responded: + +"Good evening, mate." + +He went on: + +"Are you going far?" + +"I am going to Paris." + +"You won't be long getting there; you're going at a good pace. As for +me, I have too big a load on my shoulders to walk so quickly." + +I slackened my pace. Why had this man spoken to me? What was he +carrying in this big pack? Vague suspicions of crime sprang up in my +mind, and rendered me curious. The columns of the newspapers every +morning contain so many accounts of crimes committed in this place, +the peninsula of Gennevilliers, that some of them must be true. Such +things are not invented merely to amuse readers--all this catalogue of +arrests and varied misdeeds with which the reports of the law courts +are filled. + +However, this man's voice seemed rather timid than bold, and up to the +present his manner had been more discreet than aggressive. + +In my turn I began to question him: + +"And you--are you going far?" + +"Not farther than Asnieres." + +"Is Asnieres your place of abode?" + +"Yes, monsieur, I am a peddler by occupation, and I live at Asnieres." + +He had quitted the sidewalk, where pedestrians move along in the +daytime under the shadows of the trees, and he was soon in the middle +of the road. I followed his example. We kept staring at each other +suspiciously, each of us holding his stick in his hand. When I was +sufficiently close to him, I felt less distrustful. He evidently was +disposed to assume the same attitude towards me, for he asked: + +"Would you mind going a little more slowly?" + +"Why do you say this?" + +"Because I don't care for this road by night. I have goods on my back, +and two are always better than one. When two men are together, people +don't attack them." + +I felt that he was speaking truly, and that he was afraid. So I +yielded to his wishes, and the pair of us walked on, side by side, +this stranger and I, at one o'clock in the morning, along the road +leading from Argenteuil to Asnieres. + +"Why are you going home so late when it is so dangerous?" I asked my +companion. + +He told me his history. He had not intended to return home this +evening, as he had brought with him that very morning a stock of goods +to last him three or four days. But he had been so fortunate in +disposing of them that he found it necessary to get back to his abode +without delay in order to deliver next day a number of things which +had been bought on credit. + +He explained to me with genuine satisfaction that he had managed the +business very well, having a tendency to talk confidentially, and +that the knick-knacks he displayed were useful to him in getting rid, +while gossiping, of other things which he could not easily sell. + +He added: + +"I have a shop in Asnieres. 'Tis my wife keeps it." + +"Ah! So you're married?" + +"Yes, m'sieur, for the last fifteen months. I have got a very nice +wife. She'll get a surprise when she sees me coming home to-night." + +He then gave me an account of his marriage. He had been after this +young girl for two years, but she had taken time to make up her mind. + +She had, since her childhood, kept a little shop at the corner of a +street, where she sold all sorts of things--ribbons, flowers in +summer, and principally pretty little shoe-buckles, and many other +gewgaws, in which, owing to the favor of a manufacturer, she enjoyed a +speciality. She was well-known in Asnieres as "La Bluette." This name +was given to her because she often dressed in blue. And she made +money, as she was very skillful in everything she did. His impression +was that she was not very well at the present moment; he believed she +was in the family way, but he was not quite sure. Their business was +prospering; and he traveled about exhibiting samples to all the small +traders in the adjoining districts. He had become a sort of traveling +commission-agent for some of the manufacturers, working at the same +time for them and for himself. + +"And you--what are you," he said. + +I answered him with an air of embarrassment. I explained that I had a +sailing-boat and two yawls in Argenteuil, that I came for a row every +evening, and that, as I was fond of exercise, I sometimes walked back +to Paris, where I had a profession, which--I led him to infer--was a +lucrative one. + +He remarked: + +"Faith, if I had spondulics like you, I wouldn't amuse myself by +trudging that way along the roads at night--'Tisn't safe along here." + +He gave me a sidelong glance, and I asked myself whether he might not +all the same, be a criminal of the sneaking type who did not want to +run any fruitless risk. + +Then he restored my confidence when he murmured: + +"A little less quickly, if you please. This pack of mine is heavy." + +The sight of a group of houses showed that we had reached Asnieres. + +"I am nearly at home," he said. "We don't sleep in the shop; it is +watched at night by a dog, but a dog who is worth four men. And then +it costs too much to live in the center of the town. But listen to me, +monsieur! You have rendered me a precious service, for I don't feel my +mind at ease when I'm traveling with my pack along the roads. Well, +now you must come in with me, and drink a glass of mulled wine with my +wife if she hasn't gone to bed, for she is a sound sleeper, and +doesn't like to be waked up. Besides, I'm not a bit afraid without my +pack, and so I'll see you to the gates of the city with a cudgel in my +hand." + +I declined the invitation; he insisted on my coming in; I still held +back; he pressed me with so much eagerness, with such an air of real +disappointment, such expressions of deep regret--for he had the art of +expressing himself very forcibly--asking me in the tone of one who +felt wounded "whether I objected to have a drink with a man like +him," that I finally gave way and followed him up a lonely road +towards one of those big dilapidated houses which are to be found on +the outskirts of suburbs. + +In front of this dwelling I hesitated. This high barrack of plaster +looked like a den for vagabonds, a hiding-place for suburban brigands. +But he pushed forward a door which had not been locked, and made me go +in before him. He led me forward by the shoulders, through profound +darkness, towards a staircase where I had to feel my way with my hands +and feet, with a well-grounded apprehension of tumbling into some +gaping cellar. + +When I had reached the first landing, he said to me: "Go on up! 'Tis +the sixth story." + +I searched my pockets, and, finding there a box of vestas, I lighted +the way up the ascent. He followed me, puffing under his pack, +repeating: + +"Tis high! 'tis high!" + +When we were at the top of the house, he drew forth from one of his +inside pockets a key attached to a thread, and unlocking his door he +made me enter. + +It was a little whitewashed room, with a table in the center, six +chairs, and a kitchen-cupboard close to the wall. + +"I am going to wake up my wife," he said; "then I am going down to the +cellar to fetch some wine; it doesn't keep here." + +He approached one of the two doors which opened out of this apartment, +and exclaimed: + +"Bluette! Bluette!" Bluette did not reply. He called out in a louder +tone: "Bluette! Bluette!" + +Then knocking at the partition with his fist, he growled: "Will you +wake up in God's name?" + +He waited, glued his ear to the key-hole, and muttered, in a calmer +tone: "Pooh! if she is asleep, she must be let sleep! I'll go and get +the wine: wait a couple of minutes for me." + +He disappeared. I sat down and made the best of it. + +What had I come to this place for? All of a sudden, I gave a start, +for I heard people talking in low tones, and moving about quietly, +almost noiselessly, in the room where the wife slept. + +Deuce take it! Had I fallen into some cursed trap? Why had this +woman--this Bluette--not been awakened by the loud knocking of her +husband at the doorway leading into her room; could it have been +merely a signal conveying to accomplices: "There's a mouse in the +trap! I'm going to look out to prevent him escaping. 'Tis for you to +do the rest!" + +Certainly, there was more stir than before now in the inner room; I +heard the door opening from within. My heart throbbed. I retreated +towards the further end of the apartment, saying to myself: "I must +make a fight of it!" and, catching hold of the back of a chair with +both hands, I prepared for a desperate struggle. + +The door was half opened, a hand appeared which kept it ajar; then a +head, a man's head covered with a billycock hat, slipped through the +folding-doors, and I saw two eyes staring hard at me. Then so quickly +that I had not time to make a single movement by way of defense, the +individual, the supposed criminal, a tall young fellow in his bare +feet with his shoes in his hands, a good looking chap, I must +admit--half a gentleman, in fact, made a dash for the outer door, and +rushed down the stairs. + +I resumed my seat. The adventure was assuming a humorous aspect. And I +waited for the husband, who took a long time fetching the wine. At +last I heard him coming up the stairs, and the sound of his footsteps +made me laugh, with one of those solitary laughs which it is hard to +restrain. + +He entered with two bottles in his hands. Then he asked me: + +"Is my wife still asleep? You didn't hear her stirring--did you?" + +I knew instinctively that there was an ear pasted against the other +side of the partition-door, and I said: "No, not at all." + +And now he again called out: + +"Pauline!" + +She made no reply, and did not even move. + +He came back to me, and explained: + +"You see, she doesn't like me to come home at night, and take a drop +with a friend." + +"So then you believe she was not asleep?" + +He wore an air of dissatisfaction. + +"Well, at any rate," he said, "let us have a drink together." + +And immediately he showed a disposition to empty the two bottles one +after the other without more ado. + +This time I did display some energy. When I had swallowed one glass I +rose up to leave. He no longer spoke of accompanying me, and with a +sullen scowl, the scowl of a common man in an angry mood, the scowl of +a brute whose violence is only slumbering, in the direction of his +wife's sleeping apartment, he muttered: + +"She'll have to open that door when you've gone." + +I stared at this poltroon, who had worked himself into a fit of rage +without knowing why, perhaps, owing to an obscure presentiment, the +instinct of the deceived male who does not like closed doors. He had +talked about her to me in a tender strain; now assuredly he was going +to beat her. + +He exclaimed, as he shook the lock once more: + +"Pauline!" + +A voice like that of a woman waking out of her sleep, replied from +behind the partition: + +"Eh! what?" + +"Didn't you hear me coming in?" + +"No, I was asleep! Let me rest." + +"Open the door!" + +"Yes, when you're alone. I don't like you to be bringing home fellows +at night to drink with you." + +Then I took myself off, stumbling down the stairs, as the other man, +of whom I had been the accomplice had done. And, as I resumed my +journey toward Paris, I realized that I had just witnessed in that +wretched abode a scene of the eternal drama which is being acted every +day, under every form, and among every class. + + + + +THE AVENGER + + +When M. Antoine Leuillet married the Widow Mathilde Souris, he had +been in love with her for nearly ten years. + +M. Souris had been his friend, his old college chum. Leuillet was very +fond of him, but found him rather a muff. He often used to say: "That +poor Souris will never set the Seine on fire." + +When Souris married Mdlle. Mathilde Duval, Leuillet was surprised and +somewhat vexed, for he had a slight weakness for her. She was the +daughter of a neighbor of his, a retired haberdasher with a good bit +of money. She was pretty, well-mannered, and intelligent. She accepted +Souris on account of his money. + +Then Leuillet cherished hopes of another sort. He began paying +attentions to his friend's wife. He was a handsome man, not at all +stupid, and also well off. He was confident that he would succeed; he +failed. Then he fell really in love with her, and he was the sort of +lover who is rendered timid, prudent, and embarrassed by intimacy with +the husband. Mme. Souris fancied that he no longer meant anything +serious by his attentions to her, and she became simply his friend. +This state of affairs lasted nine years. + +Now, one morning, Leuillet received a startling communication from the +poor woman. Souris had died suddenly of aneurism of the heart. + +He got a terrible shock, for they were of the same age; but the very +next moment, a sensation of profound joy, of infinite relief of +deliverance, penetrated his body and soul. Mme. Souris was free. + +He had the tact, however, to make such a display of grief as the +occasion required; he waited for the proper time to elapse, and +attended to all the conventional usages. At the end of fifteen months +he married the widow. + +His conduct was regarded as not only natural but generous. He had +acted like a good friend and an honest man. In short he was happy, +quite happy. + +They lived on terms of the closest confidence, having from the first +understood and appreciated each other. One kept nothing secret from +the other, and they told each other their inmost thoughts. Leuillet +now loved his wife with a calm trustful affection; he loved her as a +tender, devoted partner, who is an equal and a confidante. But there +still lingered in his soul a singular and unaccountable grudge against +the deceased Souris, who had been the first to possess this woman, who +had had the flower of her youth and of her soul, and who had even +robbed her of her poetic attributes. The memory of the dead husband +spoiled the happiness of the living husband; and this posthumous +jealousy now began to torment Leuillet's heart day and night. + +The result was that he was incessantly talking about Souris, asking a +thousand minute and intimate questions about him, and seeking for +information as to all his habits and personal characteristics. And he +pursued him with railleries even into the depths of the tomb, +recalling with self-satisfaction his oddities, emphasizing his +absurdities, and pointing out his defects. + +Every minute he kept calling out to his wife from one end to the other +of the house: + +"Hallo, Mathilde!" + +"Here am I, dear." + +"Come and let us have a chat." + +She always came over to him, smiling, well aware that Souris was to be +the subject of the chat, and anxious to gratify her second husband's +harmless fad. + +"I say! do you remember how Souris wanted, one day, to prove to me +that small men are always better loved than big men?" + +And he launched out into reflections unfavorable to the defunct +husband, who was small, and discreetly complimentary to himself, as he +happened to be tall. + +And Mme. Leuillet let him think that he was quite right; and she +laughed very heartily, turned the first husband into ridicule in a +playful fashion for the amusement of his successor, who always ended +by remarking: + +"Never mind! Souris was a muff!" + +They were happy, quite happy. And Leuillet never ceased to testify his +unabated attachment to his wife by all the usual manifestations. + +Now, one night when they happened to be both kept awake by the renewal +of youthful ardor, Leuillet, who held his wife clasped tightly in his +arms, and had his lips glued to hers, said: + +"Tell me this, darling." + +"What?" + +"Souris--'tisn't easy to put the question--was he very--very amorous?" + +She gave him a warm kiss, as she murmured: + +"Not so much as you, my duck." + +His male vanity was flattered, and he went on: + +"He must have been--rather a flat--eh?" + +She did not answer. There was merely a sly little laugh on her face, +which she pressed close to her husband's neck. + +He persisted in his questions: + +"Come now! Don't deny that he was a flat--well, I mean, rather an +awkward sort of fellow?" + +She nodded slightly. + +"Well, yes, rather awkward." + +He went on: + +"I'm sure he used to weary you many a night--isn't that so?" + +This time, she had an access of frankness, and she replied: + +"Oh! yes." + +He embraced her once more when she made this acknowledgment, and +murmured: + +"What an ass he was! You were not happy with him?" + +She answered: + +"No. He was not always jolly." + +Leuillet felt quite delighted, making a comparison in his own mind +between his wife's former situation and her present one. + +He remained silent for some time: then, with a fresh outburst of +merit, he said: + +"Tell me this!" + +"What?" + +"Will you be quite candid--quite candid with me?" + +"Certainly, dear." + +"Well, look here! Have you never been tempted to--to deceive this +imbecile, Souris?" + +Mme. Leuillet uttered a little "Oh!" in a shamefaced way, and again +cuddled her face closer to her husband's chest. But he could see that +she was laughing. + +He persisted: + +"Come now, confess it! He had a head just suited for a cuckold, this +blockhead! It would be so funny! This good Souris! Oh! I say, darling, +you might tell it to me--only to me!" + +He emphasized the words "to me," feeling certain that if she wanted to +show any taste when she deceived her husband, he, Leuillet, would have +been the man; and he quivered with joy at the expectation of this +avowal, sure that if she had not been the virtuous woman she was he +could have had her then. + +But she did not reply, laughing incessantly as if at the recollection +of something infinitely comic. + +Leuillet, in his turn, burst out laughing at the notion that he might +have made a cuckold of Souris. What a good joke! What a capital bit of +fun, to be sure! + +He exclaimed in a voice broken by convulsions of laughter. + +"Oh! poor Souris! poor Souris! Ah! yes, he had that sort of head--oh, +certainly he had!" + +And Mme. Leuillet now twisted herself under the sheets, laughing till +the tears almost came into her eyes. + +And Leuillet repeated: "Come, confess it! confess it! Be candid. You +must know that it cannot be unpleasant to me to hear such a thing." + +Then she stammered, still choking with laughter. + +"Yes, yes." + +Her husband pressed her for an answer. + +"Yes, what? Look here! tell me everything." + +She was now laughing in a more subdued fashion, and, raising her mouth +up to Leuillet's ear, which was held towards her in anticipation of +some pleasant piece of confidence, she whispered--"Yes, I did deceive +him!" + +He felt a cold shiver down his back, and utterly dumbfounded, he +gasped. + +"You--you--did--really--deceive him?" + +She was still under the impression that he thought the thing +infinitely pleasant, and replied. + +"Yes--really--really." + +He was obliged to sit up in bed so great was the shock he received, +holding his breath, just as overwhelmed as if he had just been told +that he was a cuckold himself. At first, he was unable to articulate +properly; then after the lapse of a minute or so, he merely +ejaculated. + +"Ah!" + +She, too, had stopped laughing now, realizing her mistake too late. + +Leuillet, at length asked. + +"And with whom?" + +She kept silent, cudgeling her brain to find some excuse. + +He repeated his question. + +"With whom?" + +At last, she said. + +"With a young man." + +He turned towards her abruptly, and in a dry tone, said. + +"Well, I suppose it wasn't with some kitchen wench. I ask you who was +the young man--do you understand?" + +She did not answer. He tore away the sheet which she had drawn over +her head, and pushed her into the middle of the bed, repeating. + +"I want to know with what young man--do you understand?" + +Then, she replied with some difficulty in uttering the words. + +"I only wanted to laugh." But he fairly shook with rage: "What? How is +that? You only wanted to laugh? So then you were making game of me? +I'm not going to be satisfied with these evasions, let me tell you! I +ask you what was the young man's name?" + +She did not reply, but lay motionless on her back. + +He caught hold of her arm and pressed it tightly. + +"Do you hear me, I say? I want you to give me an answer when I speak +to you." + +Then, she said, in nervous tones. + +"I think you must be going mad! Let me alone!" + +He trembled with fury, so exasperated that he scarcely knew what he +was saying, and, shaking her with all his strength, he repeated. + +"Do you hear me? do you hear me?" + +She wrenched herself out of his grasp with a sudden movement, and with +the tips of her fingers slapped her husband on the nose. He entirely +lost his temper, feeling that he had been struck, and angrily pounced +down on her. + +He now held her under him, boxing her ears in a most violent manner, +and exclaiming: + +"Take that--and that--and that--there you are, you trollop!" + +Then, when he was out of breath, exhausted from beating her, he got +up, and went over to the chest of drawers to get himself a glass of +sugared orange-water for he was almost ready to faint after his +exertion. + +And she lay huddled up in bed, crying and heaving great sobs, feeling +that there was an end of her happiness, and that it was all her own +fault. + +Then, in the midst of her tears, she faltered: + +"Listen, Antoine, come here! I told you a lie--listen! I'll explain it +to you." + +And now, prepared to defend herself, armed with excuses and +subterfuges, she slightly raised her head all tangled under her +crumpled nightcap. + +And he, turning towards her, drew close to her, ashamed at having +whacked her, but feeling intensely still in his heart's core as a +husband an inexhaustible hatred against that woman who had deceived +his predecessor, Souris. + + + + +ALL OVER + + +The Comte de Lormerin had just finished dressing himself. He cast a +parting glance at the large glass, which occupied an entire panel of +his dressing-room, and smiled. + +He was really a fine-looking man still, though he was quite gray. +Tall, slight, elegant, with no projecting paunch, with a scanty +moustache of doubtful shade in his thin face, which seemed fair rather +than white, he had presence, that "chic" in short, that indescribable +something which establishes between two men more difference than +millions. + +He murmured, "Lormerin is still alive!" + +And he made his way into the drawing-room where his correspondence +awaited him. + +On his table, where everything had its place, the work-table of the +gentleman who never works, there were a dozen letters lying beside +three newspapers of different opinions. With a single touch of the +finger he exposed to view all these letters, like a gambler giving the +choice of a card; and he scanned the handwriting, a thing he did each +morning before tearing open the envelopes. + +It was for him a moment of delightful expectancy, of inquiry and vague +anxiety. What did these sealed mysterious papers bring him? What did +they contain of pleasure, of happiness, or of grief? He surveyed them +with a rapid sweep of the eye, recognizing in each case the hand that +wrote them, selecting them, making two or three lots, according to +what he expected from them. Here, friends; there, persons to whom he +was indifferent; further on, strangers. The last kind always gave him +a little uneasiness. What did they want from him? What hand had traced +those curious characters full of thoughts, promises, or threats? + +This day one letter in particular caught his eye. It was simple +nevertheless, without seeming to reveal anything; but he regarded it +with disquietude, with a sort of internal shiver. + +He thought: "From whom can it be? I certainly know this writing, and +yet I can't identify it." + +He raised it to a level with his face, holding it delicately between +two fingers, striving to read through the envelope without making up +his mind to open it. + +Then he smelled it, and snatched up from the table a little magnifying +glass which he used in studying all the niceties of handwriting. He +suddenly felt unnerved. "Who is it from? This hand is familiar to me, +very familiar. I must have often read its prosings, yes, very often. +But this must have been a long, long time ago. Who the deuce can it be +from? Pooh! 'tis only from somebody asking for money." + +And he tore open the letter. Then he read. + + "My dear Friend,--You have, without doubt, forgotten me, for + it is now twenty-five years since we saw each other. I was + young; I am old. When I bade you farewell, I quitted Paris + in order to follow into the provinces my husband, my old + husband, whom you used to call 'my hospital.' Do you + remember him? He died five years ago, and now, I am + returning to Paris to get my daughter married, for I have a + daughter, a beautiful girl of eighteen, whom you have never + seen. I informed you about her entrance into the world, but + you certainly did not pay much attention to so trifling an + event. + + "You, you are always the handsome Lormerin; so I have been + told. Well, if you still recollect little Lise, whom you + used to call Lison, come and dine this evening with her, + with the elderly Baronne de Vance, your ever faithful + friend, who, with some emotion, stretches out to you, + without complaining of her lot, a devoted hand, which you + must clasp, but no longer kiss, my poor Jaquelet. + + "Lise de Vance." + +Lormerin's heart began to throb. He remained sunk in his armchair, +with the letter on his knees, staring straight before him, overcome by +poignant feelings that made the tears mount up to his eyes! + +If he had ever loved a woman in his life it was this one, little Lise, +Lise de Vance, whom he called "Cinder-Flower" on account of the +strange color of her hair, and the pale gray of her eyes. Oh! what a +fine, pretty, charming creature she was, this frail Baronne, the wife +of that, gouty, pimply Baron, who had abruptly carried her off to the +provinces, shut her up, kept her apart through jealousy, through +jealousy of the handsome Lormerin. + +Yes, he had loved her, and he believed that he, too, had been truly +loved. She familiarly gave him the name of Jaquelet, and she used to +pronounce that word in an exquisite fashion. + +A thousand memories that had been effaced came back to him, far off +and sweet and melancholy now. One evening, she called on him on her +way home from a ball, and they went out for a stroll in the Bois de +Boulogne, she in evening dress, he in his dressing-jacket. It was +springtime; the weather was beautiful. The odor of her bodice embalmed +the warm air--the odor of her bodice, and also a little, the odor of +her skin. What a divine night! When they reached the lake, as the +moon's rays fell across the branches into the water, she began to +weep. A little surprised, he asked her why. + +She replied: + +"I don't know. 'Tis the moon and the water that have affected me. +Every time I see poetic things, they seize hold of my heart, and I +have to cry." + +He smiled, moved himself, considering her feminine emotion +charming--the emotion of a poor little woman whom every sensation +overwhelms. And he embraced her passionately, stammering: + +"My little Lise, you are exquisite." + +What a charming love affair short-lived and dainty it had been, and +all over too so quickly, cut short in the midst of its ardor by this +old brute of a Baron, who had carried off his wife, and never shown +her afterwards to anyone! + +Lormerin had forgotten, in good sooth, at the end of two or three +months. One woman drives out the other so quickly in Paris when one is +a bachelor! No matter he had kept a little chapel for her in his +heart, for he had loved her alone! He assured himself now that this +was so. + +He rose up, and said: "Certainly, I will go and dine with her this +evening!" + +And instinctively he turned round towards the glass in order to +inspect himself from head to foot. He reflected: "She must have grown +old unpleasantly, more than I have!" And he felt gratified at the +thought of showing himself to her still handsome, still fresh, of +astonishing her, perhaps of filling her with emotion, and making her +regret those bygone days so far, far distant! + +He turned his attention to the other letters. They were not of +importance. + +The whole day, he kept thinking of this phantom. What was she like +now? How funny it was to meet in this way after twenty-five years! +Would he alone recognize her? + +He made his toilet with feminine coquetry, put on a white waistcoat, +which suited him better with the coat, sent for the hairdresser to +give him a finishing touch with the curling-iron, for he had preserved +his hair, and started very early in order to show his eagerness to see +her. + +The first thing he saw on entering a pretty drawing-room freshly +furnished, was his own portrait, an old faded photograph, dating from +the days of his good-fortune, hanging on the wall in an antique silk +frame. + +He sat down and waited. A door opened behind him. He rose up abruptly, +and, turning round, beheld an old woman with white hair who extended +both hands towards him. + +He seized them, kissed them one after the other with long, long +kisses, then, lifting up his head, he gazed at the woman he had loved. + +Yes, it was an old lady, an old lady whom he did not recognize, and +who, while she smiled, seemed ready to weep. + +He could not abstain from murmuring: + +"It is you, Lise?" + +She replied: + +"Yes, it is I; it is I, indeed. You would not have known me, isn't +that so? I have had so much sorrow--so much sorrow. Sorrow has +consumed my life. Look at me now--or rather don't look at me! But how +handsome you have kept--and young! If I had by chance met you in the +street, I would have cried, 'Jaquelet!' Now sit down and let us, first +of all, have a chat. And then I'll show you my daughter, my grown-up +daughter. You'll see how she resembles me--or rather how I resemble +her--no, it is not quite that: she is just like the 'me' of former +days--you shall see! But I wanted to be alone with you first. I feared +that there would be some emotion on my side, at the first moment. Now +it is all over; it is past. Pray be seated, my friend." + +He sat down beside her, holding her hand; but he did not know what to +say; he did not know this woman--it seemed to him that he had never +seen her before. What had he come to do in this house? Of what could +he speak? Of the long-ago? What was there in common between him and +her? He could no longer recall anything to mind in the presence of +this grandmotherly face. He could no longer recall to mind all the +nice, tender things so sweet, so bitter, that had assailed his heart, +some time since, when he thought of the other, of little Lise, of the +dainty Cinder-Flower. What then had become of her, the former one, the +one he had loved? that woman of far-off dreams, the blonde with gray +eyes, the young one who used to call him "Jaquelet" so prettily? + +They remained side by side, motionless, both constrained, troubled, +profoundly ill at ease. + +As they only talked in commonplace phrases, broken and slow, she rose +up, and pressed the button of the bell. + +"I am going to call Renee," she said. + +There was a tap at the door, then the rustle of a dress; next, a young +voice exclaimed: + +"Here I am, mamma!" + +Lormerin remained scared, as if at the sight of an apparition. + +He stammered: + +"Good-day, Mademoiselle." + +Then, turning towards the mother: + +"Oh! it is you!..." + +In fact, it was she, she whom he had known in bygone days, the Lise +who had vanished and come back! In her he found the woman he had won +twenty-five years before. This one was even younger still, fresher, +more childlike. + +He felt a wild desire to open his arms, to clasp her to his heart +again, murmuring in her ear: + +"Good-day, Lison!" + +A man-servant announced: + +"Dinner is ready, Madame." + +And they proceeded towards the dining-room. + +What passed at this dinner? What did they say to him, and what could +he say in reply? He found himself plunged in one of those strange +dreams which border on insanity. He gazed at the two women with a +fixed idea in his mind, a morbid, self-contradictory idea: + +"Which is the real one?" + +The mother smiled, repeating over and over again: + +"Do you remember?" And it was in the bright eye of the young girl that +he found again his memories of the past. Twenty times he opened his +mouth to say to her: "Do you remember, Lison?--" forgetting this +white-haired lady who was regarding him with looks of tenderness. + +And yet there were moments when he no longer felt sure, when he lost +his head. He could see that the woman of to-day was not exactly the +woman of long ago. The other one, the former one, had in her voice, in +her glance, in her entire being, something which he did not find +again. And he made prodigious efforts of mind to recall his lady love, +to seize again what had escaped from her to him, what this +resuscitated one did not possess. + +The Baronne said: + +"You have lost your old sprightliness, my poor friend." + +He murmured: + +"There are many other things that I have lost!" + +But in his heart touched with emotion, he felt his old love springing +to life once more, like an awakened wild beast ready to bite him. + +The young girl went on chattering, and every now and then some +familiar phrase of her mother which she had borrowed, a certain style +of speaking and thinking, that resemblance of mind and manner which +people acquire by living together, shook Lormerin from head to foot. +All these things penetrated him, making the reopened wound of his +passion bleed anew. + +He got away early, and took a turn along the boulevard. But the image +of this young girl pursued him, haunted him, quickened his heart, +inflamed his blood. Apart from the two women, he now saw only one, a +young one, the one of former days returned, and he loved her as he had +loved her in bygone years. He loved her with greater ardor, after an +interval of twenty-five years. + +He went home to reflect on this strange and terrible thing, and to +think on what he should do. + +But, as he was passing, with a wax candle in his hand, before the +glass, the large glass in which he had contemplated himself and +admired himself before he started, he saw reflected there an elderly, +gray-haired man; and suddenly he recollected what he had been in olden +days, in the days of little Lise. He saw himself charming and +handsome, as he had been when he was loved! Then, drawing the light +nearer, he looked at himself more closely, as one inspects a strange +thing with a magnifying glass, tracing the wrinkles, discovering those +frightful ravages, which he had not perceived till now. + +And he sat down, crushed at the sight of himself, at the sight of his +lamentable image, murmuring: + +"All over, Lormerin!" + + + + +LETTER FOUND ON A DROWNED MAN + + +You ask me, madame, whether I am laughing at you? You cannot believe +that a man has never been smitten with love. Well, no, I have never +loved, never! + +What is the cause of this? I really cannot tell. Never have I been +under the influence of that sort of intoxication of the heart which we +call love! Never have I lived in that dream, in that exaltation, in +that state of madness into which the image of a woman casts us. I have +never been pursued, haunted, roused to fever-heat, lifted up to +Paradise by the thought of meeting, or by the possession of, a being +who had suddenly become for me more desirable than any good fortune, +more beautiful than any other creature, more important than the whole +world! I have never wept, I have never suffered, on account of any of +you. I have not passed my nights thinking of one woman without closing +my eyes. I have no experience of waking up with the thought and the +memory of her shedding their illumination on me. I have never known +the wild desperation of hope when she was about to come, or the divine +sadness of regret when she parted with me, leaving behind her in the +room a delicate odor of violet powder and flesh. + +I have never been in love. + +I, too, have often asked myself why is this. And truly I can scarcely +tell. Nevertheless, I have found some reasons for it; but they are of +a metaphysical character, and perhaps you will not be able to +appreciate them. + +I suppose I sit too much in judgment on women to submit much to their +fascination. I ask you to forgive me for this remark. I am going to +explain what I mean. In every creature there is a moral being and a +physical being. In order to love, it would be necessary for me to find +a harmony between these two beings which I have never found. One has +always too great a predominance over the other, sometimes the moral, +sometimes the physical. + +The intellect which we have a right to require in a woman, in order to +love her, is not the same as virile intellect. It is more and it is +less. A woman must have a mind open, delicate, sensitive, refined, +impressionable. She has no need of either power or initiative in +thought, but she must have kindness, elegance, tenderness, coquetry, +and that faculty of assimilation which, in a little while, raises her +to an equality with him who shared her life. Her greatest quality must +be tact, that subtle sense which is to the mind what touch is to the +body. It reveals to her a thousand little things, contours, angles, +and forms in the intellectual order. + +Very frequently pretty women have not intellect to correspond with +their personal charms. Now the slightest lack of harmony strikes me +and pains me at the first glance. In friendship, this is not of +importance. Friendship is a compact in which one fairly divides +defects and merits. We may judge of friends, whether man or woman, +take into account the good they possess, neglect the evil that is in +them, and appreciate their value exactly, while giving ourselves up to +an intimate sympathy of a deep and fascinating character. + +In order to love, one must be blind, surrender oneself absolutely, see +nothing, reason on nothing, understand nothing. One must adorn the +weakness as well as the beauty of the beloved object, renounce all +judgment, all reflection, all perspicacity. + +I am incapable of such blindness, and rebel against a seductiveness +not founded on reason. This is not all. I have such a high and subtle +idea of harmony, that nothing can ever realize my ideal. But you will +call me a madman. Listen to me. A woman, in my opinion, may have an +exquisite soul and a charming body, without that body and that soul +being in perfect accord with one another. I mean that persons who have +noses made in a certain shape are not to be expected to think in a +certain fashion. The fat have no right to make use of the same words +and phrases as the thin. You, who have blue eyes, madame, cannot look +at life, and judge of things and events as if you had black eyes. The +shades of your eyes should correspond, by a sort of fatality, with the +shades of your thought. In perceiving these things I have the scent of +a bloodhound. Laugh if you like, but it is so. + +And yet I imagined that I was in love for an hour, for a day. I had +foolishly yielded to the influence of surrounding circumstances. I +allowed myself to be beguiled by the mirage of an aurora. Would you +like me to relate for you this short history? + + * * * * * + +I met, one evening, a pretty enthusiastic woman who wanted, for the +purpose of humoring a poetic fancy, to spend a night with me in a boat +on a river. I would have preferred a room and a bed; however, I +consented to take instead the river and the boat. + +It was in the month of June. My fair companion chose a moonlight night +in order to excite her imagination all the better. + +We had dined at a riverside inn, and then we set out in the boat about +ten o'clock. I thought it a rather foolish kind of adventure; but as +my companion pleased me I did not bother myself too much about this. I +sat down on the seat facing her; I seized the oars, and off we +started. + +I could not deny that the scene was picturesque. We glided past a +wooded isle full of nightingales, and the current carried us rapidly +over the river covered with silvery ripples. The toads uttered their +shrill, monotonous cry; the frogs croaked in the grass by the river's +bank, and the lapping of the water as it flowed on made around us a +kind of confused murmur almost imperceptible, disquieting, and gave us +a vague sensation of mysterious fear. + +The sweet charm of warm nights and of streams glittering in the +moonlight penetrated us. It seemed bliss to live and to float thus, +and to dream and to feel by one's side a young woman sympathetic and +beautiful. + +I was somewhat affected, somewhat agitated, somewhat intoxicated by +the pale brightness of the night and the consciousness of my proximity +to a lovely woman. + +"Come and sit beside me," she said. + +I obeyed. + +She went on: + +"Recite some verses for me." + +This appeared to be rather too much. I declined; she persisted. She +certainly wanted to have the utmost pleasure, the whole orchestra of +sentiment, from the moon to the rhymes of poets. In the end, I had to +yield, and, as if in mockery, I recited for her a charming little poem +by Louis Bouilbet, of which the following are a few strophes: + + "I hate the poet who with tearful eye + Murmurs some name while gazing tow'rds a star, + Who sees no magic in the earth or sky, + Unless Lizette or Ninon be not far. + + "The bard who in all Nature nothing sees + Divine, unless a petticoat he ties + Amorously to the branches of the trees + Or nightcap to the grass, is scarcely wise. + + "He has not heard the eternal's thunder tone, + The voice of Nature in her various moods, + Who cannot tread the dim ravines alone, + And of no woman dream 'mid whispering woods." + +I expected some reproaches. Nothing of the sort. She murmured: + +"How true it is!" + +I remained stupefied. Had she understood? + +Our boat was gradually drawing nearer to the bank, and got entangled +under a willow which impeded its progress. I drew my arm around my +companion's waist, and very gently moved my lips towards her neck. But +she repulsed me with an abrupt, angry movement: + +"Have done, pray! You are rude!" + +I tried to draw her towards me. She resisted, caught hold of the tree, +and was near flinging us both into the water. I deemed it the prudent +course to cease my importunities. + +She said: + +"I would rather have you capsized. I feel so happy. I want to +dream--that is so nice." Then, in a slightly malicious tone, she +added: + +"Have you, then, already forgotten the verses you recited for me just +now?" + +She was right. I became silent. + +She went on: + +"Come! row!" + +And I plied the oars once more. + +I began to find the night long and to see the absurdity of my conduct. + +My companion said to me: + +"Will you make me a promise?" + +"Yes. What is it?" + +"To remain quiet, well-behaved, and discreet, if I permit you--" + +"What? Say what you mean!" + +"Here is what I mean! I want to lie down on my back at the bottom of +the boat with you by my side. But I forbid you to touch me, to embrace +me--in short to--to caress me." + +I promised. She warned me: + +"If you move, I'll capsize the boat." + +And then we lay down side by side, our eyes turned towards the sky, +while the boat glided slowly through the water. We were rocked by the +gentle movements of the shallop. The light sounds of the night came to +us more distinctly in the bottom of the boat, sometimes causing us to +start. And I felt springing up within me a strange, poignant emotion, +an infinite tenderness, something like an irresistible impulse to open +my arms in order to embrace, to open my heart in order to love, to +give myself, to give my thoughts, my body, my life, my entire being to +someone. + +My companion murmured, like one in a dream: + +"Where are we? Where are we going? It seems to me that I am quitting +the earth. How sweet it is! Ah! if you loved me--a little!!!" + +My heart began to throb. I had no answer to give. It seemed to me that +I loved her. I had no longer any violent desire. I felt happy there by +her side, and that was enough for me. + +And thus we remained for a long, long time without stirring. We caught +each other's hands; some delightful force rendered us motionless, an +unknown force stronger than ourselves, an alliance, chaste, intimate, +absolute of our persons lying there side by side which belonged to +each other without touching. What was this? How do I know. Love, +perhaps? + +Little by little, the dawn appeared. It was three o'clock in the +morning. Slowly, a great brightness spread over the sky. The boat +knocked against something. I rose up. We had come close to a tiny +islet. + +But I remained ravished, in a state of ecstasy. In front of us +stretched the shining firmament, red, rosy, violet, spotted with fiery +clouds resembling golden vapors. The river was glowing with purple, +and three houses on one side of it seemed to be burning. + +I bent towards my companion. I was going to say: "Oh! look!" But I +held my tongue, quite dazed, and I could no longer see anything except +her. She, too, was rosy, with the rosy flesh tints with which must +have mingled a little the hue of the sky. Her tresses were rosy; her +eyes were rosy; her teeth were rosy; here dress, her laces, her +smile, all were rosy. And in truth I believed, so overpowering was the +illusion, that the aurora was there before me. + +She rose softly to her feet, holding out her lips to me; and I moved +towards her, trembling, delirious, feeling indeed that I was going to +kiss Heaven, to kiss happiness, to kiss a dream which had become a +woman, to kiss the ideal which had descended into human flesh. + +She said to me: "You have a caterpillar in your hair." And suddenly I +felt myself becoming as sad as if I had lost all hope in life. + +That is all, madame. It is puerile, silly, stupid. But I am sure that +since that day it would be impossible for me to love. And yet--who can +tell? + +[The young man upon whom this letter was found was yesterday taken out +of the Seine between Bougival and Marly. An obliging bargeman, who had +searched the pockets in order to ascertain the name of the deceased, +brought this paper to the author.] + + + + +MOTHER AND SON!!! + + +We were chatting in the smoking-room after a dinner at which only men +were present. We talked about unexpected legacies, strange +inheritances. Then M. le Brument, who was sometimes called "the +illustrious master" and at other times the "illustrious advocate," +came and stood with his back to the fire. + +"I have," he said, "just now to search for an heir who disappeared +under peculiarly terrible circumstances. It is one of those simple and +ferocious dramas of ordinary life, a thing which possibly happens +every day, and which is nevertheless one of the most dreadful things I +know. Here are the facts: + +"Nearly six months ago I got a message to come to the side of a dying +woman. She said to me: + +"'Monsieur, I want to entrust to you the most delicate, the most +difficult, and the most wearisome mission that can be conceived. Be +good enough to take cognizance of my will, which is there on the +table. A sum of five thousand francs is left to you as a fee if you do +not succeed, and of a hundred thousand francs if you do succeed. I +want to have my son found after my death.' + +"She asked me to assist her to sit up in the bed, in order that she +might be able to speak with greater ease, for her voice, broken and +gasping, was gurgling in her throat. + +"I saw that I was in the house of a very rich person. The luxurious +apartment, with a certain simplicity in its luxury, was upholstered +with materials solid as the walls, and their soft surface imparted a +caressing sensation, so that every word uttered seemed to penetrate +their silent depths and to disappear and die there. + +"The dying woman went on: + +"'You are the first to hear my horrible story. I will try to have +strength enough to go on to the end of it. You must know everything so +that you, whom I know to be a kind-hearted man as well as a man of the +world, should have a sincere desire to aid me with all your power. + +"'Listen to me. + +"'Before my marriage, I loved a young man, whose suit was rejected by +my family because he was not rich enough. Not long afterwards, I +married a man of great wealth. I married him through ignorance, +through obedience, through indifference, as young girls do marry. + +"'I had a child, a boy. My husband died in the course of a few years. + +"'He whom I had loved had got married, in his turn. When he saw that I +was a widow, he was crushed by horrible grief at knowing he was not +free. He came to see me; he wept and sobbed so bitterly before my eyes +that it was enough to break my heart. He at first came to see me as a +friend. Perhaps I ought not to have seen him. What would you have? I +was alone, so sad, so solitary, so hopeless! And I loved him still. +What sufferings we women have sometimes to endure! + +"'I had only him in the world, my parents also being dead. He came +frequently; he spent whole evenings with me. I should not have let him +come so often, seeing that he was married. But I had not enough of +will-power to prevent him from coming. + +"'How am I to tell you what next happened?... He became my lover. How +did this come about? Can I explain it? Can anyone explain such things? +Do you think it could be otherwise when two human beings are drawn +towards each other by the irresistible force of a passion by which +each of them is possessed? Do you believe, monsieur, that it is always +in our power to resist, that we can keep up the struggle for ever, and +refuse to yield to the prayers, the supplications, the tears, the +frenzied words, the appeals on bended knees, the transports of +passion, with which we are pursued by the man we adore, whom we want +to gratify even in his slightest wishes, whom we desire to crown with +every possible happiness, and whom, if we are to be guided by a +worldly code of honor, we must drive to despair. What strength would +it not require? What a renunciation of happiness? what self-denial? +and even what virtuous selfishness? + +"'In short, monsieur, I was his mistress; and I was happy. I +became--and this was my greatest weakness and my greatest piece of +cowardice--I became his wife's friend. + +"'We brought up my son together; we made a man of him, a thorough man, +intelligent, full of sense and resolution, of large and generous +ideas. The boy reached the age of seventeen. + +"'He, the young man, was fond of my--my lover, almost as fond of him +as I was myself, for he had been equally cherished and cared for by +both of us. He used to call him his "dear friend," and respected him +immensely, having never received from him anything but wise counsels, +and a good example of rectitude, honor, and probity. He looked upon +him as an old, loyal and devoted comrade of his mother, as a sort of +moral father, tutor, protector--how am I to describe it? + +"'Perhaps the reason why he never asked any questions was that he had +been accustomed from his earliest years to see this man in the house, +by his side, and by my side, always concerned about us both. + +"'One evening the three of us were to dine together (these were my +principal festive occasions), and I waited for the two of them, asking +myself which of them would be the first to arrive. The door opened; it +was my old friend. I went towards him, with outstretched arms; and he +drew his lips towards mine in a long, delicious kiss. + +"'All of a sudden, a sound, a rustling which was barely audible, that +mysterious sensation which indicates the presence of another person, +made us start and turn round with a quick movement. Jean, my son, +stood there, livid, staring at us. + +"'There was a moment of atrocious confusion. I drew back, holding out +my hand towards my son as if in supplication; but I could see him no +longer. He had gone. + +"'We remained facing each other--my lover and I--crushed, unable to +utter a word. I sank down on an armchair, and I felt a desire, a +vague, powerful desire to fly, to go out into the night, and to +disappear for ever. Then, convulsive sobs rose up in my throat, and I +wept, shaken with spasms, with my heart torn asunder, all my nerves +writhing with the horrible sensation of an irremediable misfortune, +and with that dreadful sense of shame which, in such moments as this, +falls on a mother's heart. + +"'He looked at me in a scared fashion, not venturing to approach me or +to speak to me or to touch me, for fear of the boy's return. At last +he said: + +"'"I am going to follow him--to talk to him--to explain matters to +him. In short, I must see him and let him know--" + +"'And he hurried away. + +"'I waited--I waited in a distracted frame of mind, trembling at the +least sound, convulsed with terror, and filled with some unutterably +strange and intolerable emotion by every slight crackling of the fire +in the grate. + +"'I waited for an hour, for two hours, feeling my heart swell with a +dread I had never before experienced, such an anguish that I would not +wish the greatest of criminals to have ten minutes of such misery. +Where was my son? What was he doing? + +"'About midnight, a messenger brought me a note from my lover. I still +know its contents by heart: + +"'"Has your son returned? I did not find him. I am down here. I do not +want to go up at this hour." + +"'I wrote in pencil on the same slip of paper: + +"'"Jean has not returned. You must go and find him." + +"'And I remained all night in the armchair, waiting for him. + +"'I felt as if I were going mad. I longed to have to run wildly about, +to roll myself on the ground. And yet I did not even stir, but kept +waiting hour after hour. What was going to happen? I tried to imagine, +to guess. But I could form no conception, in spite of my efforts, in +spite of the tortures of my soul! + +"'And now my apprehension was lest they might meet. What would they do +in that case? What would my son do? My mind was lacerated by fearful +doubts, by terrible suppositions. + +"'You understand what I mean, do you not, monsieur? + +"'My chambermaid, who knew nothing, who understood nothing, was coming +in every moment, believing, naturally, that I had lost my reason. I +sent her away with a word or a movement of the hand. She went for the +doctor, who found me in the throes of a nervous fit. + +"'I was put to bed. I got an attack of brain-fever. + +"'When I regained consciousness, after a long illness, I saw beside my +bed my--lover--alone. + +"'I exclaimed: + +"'"My son? Where is my son?" + +"'He replied: + +"'"No, no, I assure you every effort has been made by me to find him, +but I have failed!" + +"'Then, becoming suddenly exasperated and even indignant--for women +are subject to such outbursts of unaccountable and unreasoning +anger--I said: + +"'"I forbid you to come near me or to see me again unless you find +him. Go away!" + +"'He did go away. + +"'I have never seen one or the other of them since, monsieur, and thus +I have lived for the last twenty years. + +"'Can you imagine what all this meant to me? Can you understand this +monstrous punishment, this slow perpetual laceration of a mother's +heart, this abominable, endless waiting? Endless, did I say? No: it is +about to end, for I am dying. I am dying without ever again seeing +either of them--either one or the other! + +"'He--the man I loved--has written to me every day for the last twenty +years; and I--I have never consented to see him, even for one second; +for I had a strange feeling that, if he came back here, it would be at +that very moment my son would again make his appearance! Ah! my son! +my son! Is he dead? Is he living? Where is he hiding? Over there, +perhaps, at the other side of the ocean, in some country so far away +that even its very name is unknown to me! Does he ever think of me? +Ah! if he only knew! How cruel children are! Did he understand to what +frightful suffering he condemned me, into what depths of despair, into +what tortures, he cast me while I was still in the prime of life, +leaving me to suffer like this even to this moment, when I am going to +die--me, his mother, who loved him with all the violence of a mother's +love! Oh! isn't it cruel, cruel? + +"'You will tell him all this, monsieur--will you not? You will repeat +for him my last words: + +"'My child, my dear, dear child, be less harsh towards poor women! +Life is already brutal and savage enough in its dealings with them. My +dear son, think of what the existence of your poor mother has been +ever since the day when you left her. My dear child, forgive her, and +love her, now that she is dead, for she has had to endure the most +frightful penance ever inflicted on a woman.' + +"She gasped for breath, shuddering, as if she had addressed the last +words to her son and as if he stood by her bedside. + +"Then she added: + +"'You will tell him also, monsieur, that I never again saw--the +other.' + +"Once more she ceased speaking, then, in a broken voice she said: + +"'Leave me now, I beg of you. I want to die all alone, since they are +not with me.'" + +Maitre Le Brument added: + +"And I left the house, messieurs, crying like a fool, so vehemently, +indeed, that my coachman turned round to stare at me. + +"And to think that, every day, heaps of dramas like this are being +enacted all around us! + +"I have not found the son--that son--well, say what you like about +him, but I call him that criminal son!" + + + + +THE SPASM + + +The hotel-guests slowly entered the dining-room, and sat down in their +places. The waiters began to attend on them in a leisurely fashion so +as to enable those who were late to arrive, and so as to avoid +bringing back the dishes; and the old bathers, the _habitués_, those +whose season was advancing, gazed with interest towards the door, +whenever it opened, with a desire to see new faces appearing. + +This is the principal distraction of health-resorts. People look +forward to the dinner-hour in order to inspect each day's new +arrivals, to find out who they are, what they do, and what they think. +A vague longing springs up in the mind, a longing for agreeable +meetings, for pleasant acquaintances, perhaps for love-adventures. In +this life of elbowings, not only those with whom we have come into +daily contact, but strangers, assume an extreme importance. Curiosity +is aroused, sympathy is ready to exhibit itself, and sociability is +the order of the day. + +We cherish antipathies for a week and friendships for a month; we see +other people with different eyes when we view them through the medium +of the acquaintanceship that is brought about at health-resorts. We +discover in men suddenly, after an hour's chat, in the evening after +dinner, under the trees in the park where the generous spring bubbles +up, a high intelligence and astonishing merits, and a month +afterwards, we have completely forgotten these new friends, so +fascinating when we first met them. + +There also are formed lasting and serious ties more quickly than +anywhere else. People see each other every day; they become acquainted +very quickly; and with the affection thus originated is mingled +something of the sweetness and self-abandonment of long-standing +intimacies. We cherish in after years the dear and tender memories of +those first hours of friendship, the memory of those first +conversations through which we have been able to unveil a soul, of +those first glances which interrogate and respond to the questions and +secret thoughts which the mouth has not as yet uttered, the memory of +that first cordial confidence, the memory of that delightful sensation +of opening our hearts to those who are willing to open theirs to us. + +And the melancholy of health-resorts, the monotony of days that are +all alike, help from hour to hour in this rapid development of +affection. + + * * * * * + +Well, this evening, as on every other evening, we awaited the +appearance of strange faces. + +Only two appeared, but very remarkable-looking, a man and a +woman--father and daughter. They immediately produced the same effect +on my mind as some of Edgar Poe's characters; and yet there was about +them a charm, the charm associated with misfortune. I looked upon them +as the victims of fatality. The man was very tall and thin, rather +stooping, with hair perfectly white, too white for his comparatively +youthful physiognomy; and there was in his bearing, and in his person +that austerity peculiar to Protestants. The daughter, who was +probably twenty-four or twenty-five, was small in stature, and was +also very thin, very pale, and she had the air of one who was worn out +with utter lassitude. We meet people like this from time to time who +seem too weak for the tasks and the needs of daily life, too weak to +move about, to walk, to do all that we do every day. This young girl +was very pretty, with the diaphanous beauty of a phantom; and she ate +with extreme slowness, as if she were almost incapable of moving her +arms. + +It must have been she assuredly who had come to take the waters. + +They found themselves facing me at the opposite side of the table; and +I at once noticed that the father had a very singular nervous spasm. + +Every time he wanted to reach an object, his hand made a hook-like +movement, a sort of irregular zigzig, before it succeeded in touching +what it was in search of; and, after a little while, this action was +so wearisome to me that I turned aside my head in order not to see it. + +I noticed, too, that the young girl, during meals, wore a glove on her +left hand. + +After dinner, I went for a stroll in the park of the thermal +establishment. This led towards the little Auvergnese station of +Chatel Guyot, hidden in a gorge at the foot of the high mountain, of +that mountain from which flow so many boiling springs, arising from +the deep bed of extinct volcanoes. Over there, above us, the domes, +which had once been craters, raised their mutilated heads on the +summit of the long chain. For Chatel Guyot is situated at the spot +where the region of domes begins. + +Beyond it, stretches out the region of peaks, and further on again the +region of precipices. + +The "Puy de Dome" is the highest of the domes, the Peak of Sancy is +the loftiest of the peaks, and Cantal is the most precipitous of these +mountain-heights. + +This evening it was very warm. I walked up and down a shady path, on +the side of the mountain overlooking the park, listening to the +opening strains of the Casino band. + +And I saw the father and the daughter advancing slowly in my +direction. I saluted them, as we are accustomed to salute our +hotel-companions at health resorts; and the man, coming to a sudden +halt, said to me, + +"Could you not, monsieur, point out to us a short walk, nice and easy, +if that is possible? and excuse my intrusion on you." + +I offered to show them the way towards the valley through which the +little river flowed, a deep valley forming a gorge between two tall +craggy, wooded slopes. + +They gladly accepted my offer. + +And we talked naturally about the virtues of the waters. + +"Oh!" he said, "My daughter has a strange malady, the seat of which is +unknown. She suffers from incomprehensible nervous disorders. At one +time, the doctors think she has an attack of heart disease, at another +time, they imagine it is some affection of the liver, and at another +time they declare it to be a disease of the spine. To-day, her +condition is attributed to the stomach, which is the great caldron and +regulator of the body, that Protean source of diseases with a thousand +forms and a thousand susceptibilities to attack. This is why we have +come here. For my part, I am rather inclined to think it is the +nerves. In any case it is very sad." + +Immediately the remembrance of the violent spasmodic movement of his +hand came back to my mind, and I asked him. + +"But is this not the result of heredity? Are not your own nerves +somewhat affected?" + +He replied calmly: + +"Mine? Oh! no--my nerves have always been very steady." + +Then suddenly, after a pause, he went on: + +"Ah! You were alluding to the spasm in my hand every time I want to +reach for anything? This arises from a terrible experience which I +had. Just imagine! this daughter of mine was actually buried alive?" + +I could only give utterance to the word "Ah!" so great were my +astonishment and emotion. + + * * * * * + +He continued: + +"Here is the story. It is simple. Juliette had been subject for some +time to serious attacks of the heart. We believed that she had disease +of that organ, and we were prepared for the worst. + +"One day she was carried into the house cold, lifeless, dead. She had +fallen down unconscious in the garden. The doctor certified that life +was extinct. I watched by her side for a day and two nights. I laid +her with my own hands in the coffin, which I accompanied to the +cemetery, where she was deposited in the family vault. It is situated +in the very heart of Lorraine. + +"I wished to have her interred with her jewels, bracelets, necklaces, +rings, all presents which she had got from me, and with her first +ball-dress on. + +"You may easily imagine the state of mind in which I was when I +returned home. She was the only one I had, for my wife has been dead +for many years. I found my way to my own apartment in a half +distracted condition, utterly exhausted, and I sank into my +easy-chair, without the capacity to think or the strength to move. I +was nothing better now than a suffering, vibrating machine, a human +being who had, as it were, been flayed alive; my soul was like a +living wound. + +"My old valet, Prosper, who had assisted me in placing Juliette in her +coffin, and preparing her for her last sleep, entered the room +noiselessly, and asked: + +"'Does monsieur want anything?' + +"I merely shook my head, by way of answering 'No.' + +"He urged, 'Monsieur is wrong. He will bring some illness on himself. +Would monsieur like me to put him to bed?' + +"I answered, 'No! let me alone!' + +"And he left the room. + +"I know not how many hours slipped away. Oh! what a night, what a +night! It was cold. My fire had died out in the huge grate; and the +wind, the winter wind, an icy wind, a hurricane accompanied by frost +and snow, kept blowing against the window with a sinister and regular +noise. + +"How many hours slipped away? There I was without sleeping, powerless, +crushed, my eyes wide open, my legs stretched out, my body limp, +inanimate, and my mind torpid with despair. Suddenly, the great bell +of the entrance gate, the great bell of the vestibule, rang out. + +"I got such a shock that my chair cracked under me. The solemn, +ponderous sound vibrated through the empty chateau as if through a +vault. I turned round to see what the hour was by the clock. It was +just two in the morning. Who could be coming at such an hour! + +"And abruptly the bell again rang twice. The servants, without doubt, +were afraid to get up. I took a wax-candle and descended the stairs. I +was on the point of asking, 'Who is there?' + +"Then I felt ashamed of my weakness, and I slowly opened the huge +door. My heart was throbbing wildly; I was frightened; I hurriedly +drew back the door, and in the darkness I distinguished a white +figure, standing erect, something that resembled an apparition. + +"I recoiled, petrified with horror, faltering: + +"'Who--who--who are you?' + +"A voice replied: + +"'It is I, father.' + +"It was my daughter. + +"I really thought I must be mad, and I retreated backwards before this +advancing specter. I kept moving away, making a sign with my hand, as +if to drive the phantom away, that gesture which you have +noticed--that gesture of which since then I have never got rid. + +"'Do not be afraid, papa; I was not dead. Somebody tried to steal my +rings, and cut one of my fingers, the blood began to flow, and this +reanimated me.' + +"And, in fact, I could see that her hand was covered with blood. + +"I fell on my knees, choking with sobs and with a rattling in my +throat. + +"Then, when I had somewhat collected my thoughts, though I was still +so much dismayed that I scarcely realized the gruesome good-fortune +that had fallen to my lot, I made her go up to my room, and sit down +in my easy-chair; then I ran excitedly for Prosper to get him to light +up the fire again and to get her some wine and summon the rest of the +servants to her assistance. + +"The man entered, stared at my daughter, opened his mouth with a gasp +of alarm and stupefaction, and then fell back insensible. + +"It was he who had opened the vault, and who had mutilated, and then +abandoned, my daughter, for he could not efface the traces of the +theft. He had not even taken the trouble to put back the coffin into +its place, feeling sure, besides, that he would not be suspected by +me, as I completely trusted him. + +"You see, Monsieur, that we are very unhappy people." + + * * * * * + +He stopped. + +The night had fallen, casting its shadows over the desolate, mournful +vale, and a sort of mysterious fear possessed me at finding myself by +the side of those strange beings, of this young girl who had come back +from the tomb and this father with his uncanny spasm. + +I found it impossible to make any comment on this dreadful story. I +only murmured: + +"What a horrible thing!" + +Then, after a minute's silence, I added: + +"Suppose we go back. I think it is getting cold." + +And we made our way back to the hotel. + + + + +A DUEL + + +The war was over. The Germans occupied France. The country was panting +like a wrestler lying under the knee of his successful opponent. + +The first trains from Paris, after the city's long agony of famine and +despair, were making their way to the new frontiers, slowly passing +through the country districts and the villages. The passengers gazed +through the windows at the ravaged fields and burnt hamlets. Prussian +soldiers, in their black helmets with brass spikes, were smoking their +pipes on horseback or sitting on chairs in front of the houses which +were still left standing. Others were working or talking just as if +they were members of the families. As you passed through the different +towns you saw entire regiments drilling in the squares, and, in spite +of the rumble of the carriage-wheels, you could every moment hear the +hoarse words of command. + +M. Dubuis, who during the entire siege, had served as one of the +National Guard in Paris, was going to join his wife and daughter, whom +he had prudently sent away to Switzerland before the invasion. + +Famine and hardship had not diminished his big paunch so +characteristic of the rich, peace-loving merchant. He had gone through +the terrible events of the past year with sorrowful resignation and +bitter complaints at the savagery of men. Now that he was journeying +to the frontier at the close of the war, he saw the Prussians for the +first time, although he had done his duty at the ramparts, and +staunchly mounted guard on cold nights. + +He stared with mingled fear and anger at those bearded, armed men, +installed all over French soil as if in their own homes, and he felt +in his soul a kind of fever of impotent patriotism even while he +yielded to that other instinct of discretion and self-preservation +which never leaves us. In the same compartment, two Englishmen, who +had come to the country as sight-seers, were gazing around with looks +of stolid curiosity. They were both also stout, and kept chattering in +their own language, sometimes referring to their guide-book, and +reading in loud tones the names of the places indicated. + +Suddenly, the train stopped at a little village station, and a +Prussian officer jumped up with a great clatter of his saber on the +double footboard of the railway-carriage. He was tall, wore a +tight-fitting uniform, and his face had a very shaggy aspect. His red +hair seemed to be on fire, and his long moustache, of a paler color, +was stuck out on both sides of his face, which it seemed to cut in +two. + +The Englishmen at once began staring at him with smiles of +newly-awakened interest, while M. Dubuis made a show of reading a +newspaper. He sat crouched in a corner, like a thief in the presence +of a gendarme. + +The train started again. The Englishmen went on chatting, and looking +out for the exact scene of different battles, and, all of a sudden, as +one of them stretched out his arm towards the horizon to indicate a +village, the Prussian officer remarked in French, extending his long +legs and lolling backwards: + +"We killed a dozen Frenchmen in that village, and took more than a +hundred prisoners." + +The Englishman, quite interested, immediately asked: + +"Ha! and what is the name of this village?" + +The Prussian replied: + +"Pharsbourg." + +He added: "We caught these French blackguards by the ears." + +And he glanced towards M. Dubuis, laughing into his moustache in an +insulting fashion. + +The train rolled on, always passing through hamlets occupied by the +victorious army. German soldiers could be seen along the roads, on the +edges of fields, standing in front of gates, or chatting outside +_cafés_. They covered the soil like African locusts. + +The officer said, with a wave of his hand: + +"If I were in command, I'd take Paris, burn everything, kill +everybody. No more France!" + +The Englishman, through politeness, replied simply: + +"Ah! yes." + +He went on: + +"In twenty years, all Europe, all of it, will belong to us. Prussia is +more than a match for all of them." + +The Englishmen, getting uneasy, said nothing in answer to this. Their +faces, which had become impassive, seemed made of wax behind their +long whiskers. Then, the Prussian officer began to laugh. And still, +lolling back, he began to sneer. He sneered at the downfall of France, +insulted the prostrate enemy; he sneered at Austria which had been +recently conquered; he sneered at the furious but fruitless defense of +the departments; he sneered at the Garde Mobile and at the useless +artillery. He announced that Bismarck was going to build a city of +iron with the captured cannon. And suddenly he pushed his boots +against the thigh of M. Dubuis, who turned his eyes round, reddening +to the roots of his hair. + +The Englishmen seemed to have assumed an air of complete indifference, +as if they had found themselves all at once shut up in their own +island, far from the din of the world. + +The officer took out his pipe, and looking fixedly at the Frenchman, +said: + +"You haven't any tobacco--have you?" + +M. Dubuis replied: + +"No, monsieur." + +The German said: + +"You might go and buy some for me when the train stops next." + +And he began laughing afresh, as he added: + +"I'll let you have the price of a drink." + +The train whistled, and slackened its pace. They had reached the +station which had been burnt down; and here there was a regular stop. + +The German opened the carriage-door, and, catching M. Dubuis by the +arm, said: + +"Go and do what I told you--quick, quick!" + +A Prussian detachment occupied the station. Other soldiers were +looking on from behind wooden gratings. The engine was already getting +up steam in order to start off again. Then M. Dubuis hurriedly jumped +on the platform, and, in spite of the warnings of the station master, +dashed into the adjoining compartment. + + * * * * * + +He was alone! He tore open his waistcoat, so rapidly did his heart +beat, and, panting for breath, he wiped the perspiration off his +forehead. + +The train drew up at another station. And suddenly the officer +appeared at the carriage-door, and jumped in, followed close behind by +the two Englishmen, who were impelled by curiosity. The German sat +facing the Frenchman, and, laughing still, said: + +"You did not want to do what I asked you?" + +M. Dubuis replied: + +"No, monsieur." + +The train had just left the station. + +The officer said: + +"I'll cut off your moustache to fill my pipe with." + +And he put out his hand towards the Frenchman's face. + +The Englishmen kept staring in the same impassive fashion with fixed +glances. + +Already the German had caught hold of the moustache and was tugging at +it, when M. Dubuis, with a back stroke of his hand, threw back the +officer's arm, and, seizing him by the collar, flung him down on the +seat. Then, excited to a pitch of fury, with his temples swollen and +his eyes glaring, he kept throttling the officer with one hand, while +with the other clenched, he began to strike him violent blows in the +face. The Prussian struggled, tried to draw his saber, and to get a +grip, while lying back, of his adversary. But M. Dubuis crushed him +with the enormous weight of his stomach, and kept hitting him without +taking breath or knowing where his blows fell. Blood flowed down the +face of the German, who, choking and with a rattling in his throat, +spat forth his broken teeth, and vainly strove to shake off this +infuriated man who was killing him. + +The Englishmen had got on their feet and came closer in order to see +better. They remained standing, full of mirth and curiosity, ready to +bet for or against each of the combatants. + +And suddenly M. Dubuis, exhausted by his violent efforts, went and +resumed his seat without uttering a word. + +The Prussian did not attack him, for the savage assault had scared and +terrified the officer. When he was able to breathe freely, he said: + +"Unless you give me satisfaction with pistols, I will kill you." + +M. Dubuis replied: + +"Whenever you like. I'm quite ready." + +The German said: + +"Here is the town of Strasbourg. I'll get two officers to be my +seconds, and there will be time before the train leaves the station." + +M. Dubuis, who was puffing as much as the engine, said to the +Englishmen: + +"Will you be my seconds?" They both answered together: + +"Ah! yes." + +And the train stopped. + +In a minute, the Prussian had found two comrades who carried pistols, +and they made their way towards the ramparts. + +The Englishmen were continually looking at their watches, shuffling +their feet, and hurrying on with the preparations, uneasy lest they +should be too late for the train. + +M. Dubuis had never fired a pistol in his life. + +They made him stand twenty paces away from his enemy. He was asked: + +"Are you ready?" + +While he was answering: "Yes, monsieur," he noticed that one of the +Englishmen had opened his umbrella in order to keep off the rays of +the sun. + +A voice gave the word of command: + +"Fire!" + +M. Dubuis fired at random without minding what he was doing, and he +was amazed to see the Prussian staggering in front of him, lifting up +his arms, and immediately afterwards, falling straight on his face. He +had killed the officer. + +One of the Englishmen ejaculated: "Ah!" quivering with delight, +satisfied curiosity, and joyous impatience. The other, who still kept +the watch in his hand, seized M. Dubuis's arm, and hurried him in +double-quick time towards the station, his fellow-countryman counting +their steps, with his arms pressed close to his sides--"One! two! one! +two!" + +And all three marching abreast they rapidly made their way to the +station like three grotesque figures in a comic newspaper. + +The train was on the point of starting. They sprang into their +carriage. Then, the Englishmen, taking off their traveling-caps, waved +them three times over their heads, exclaiming: + +"Hip! hip! hip! hurrah!" + +Then gravely, one after the other, they stretched out the right hand +to M. Dubuis, and they went back and sat in their own corner. + + + + +THE LOVE OF LONG AGO + + +The old-fashioned chateau was built on a wooded height. Tall trees +surrounded it with dark greenery; and the vast park extended its +vistas here over a deep forest and there over an open plain. Some +little distance from the front of the mansion stood a huge stone basin +in which marble nymphs were bathing. Other basins arranged in order +succeeded each other down as far as the foot of the slope, and a +hidden fountain sent cascades dancing from one to the other. + +From the manor-house which preserved the grace of a superannuated +coquette down to the grottos encrusted with shell-work, where +slumbered the loves of a bygone age, everything in this antique +demesne had retained the physiognomy of former days. Everything seemed +to speak still of ancient customs, of the manners of long ago, of +faded gallantries, and of the elegant trivialities so dear to our +grandmothers. + +In a parlor in the style of Louis XV, whose walls were covered with +shepherds paying court to shepherdesses, beautiful ladies in +hoop-petticoats, and gallant gentlemen in wigs, a very old woman who +seemed dead as soon as she ceased to move was almost lying down in a +large easy-chair, while her thin, mummy-like hands hung down, one at +each side of her. + +Her eyes were gazing languidly towards the distant horizon as if they +sought to follow through the park visions of her youth. Through the +open window every now and then came a breath of air laden with the +scent of grass and the perfume of flowers. It made her white locks +flutter around her wrinkled forehead and old memories, through her +brain. + +Beside her on a tapestried stool, a young girl with long, fair hair +hanging in plaits over her neck, was embroidering an altar-cloth. +There was a pensive expression in her eyes, and it was easy to see +that, while her agile fingers worked, her brain was busy with +thoughts. + +But the old lady suddenly turned round her head. + +"Berthe," she said, "read something out of the newspapers for me, so +that I may still know sometimes what is happening in the world." + +The young girl took up a newspaper, and cast a rapid glance over it. + +"There is a great deal about politics, grandmamma; am I to pass it +by?" + +"Yes, yes, darling. Are there no accounts of love affairs? Is +gallantry, then, dead in France, that they no longer talk about +abductions or adventures as they did formerly?" + +The girl made a long search through the columns of the newspaper. + +"Here is one," she said. "It is entitled: 'A Love-Drama!'" + +The old woman smiled through her wrinkles. "Read that for me," she +said. + +And Berthe commenced. It was a case of vitriol-throwing. A wife, in +order to avenge herself on her husband's mistress, had burned her face +and eyes. She had left the Assize Court acquitted, declared to be +innocent, amid the applause of the crowd. + +The grandmother moved about excitedly in her chair, and exclaimed: + +"This is horrible--why, it is perfectly horrible! See whether you can +find anything else to read for me, darling." + +Berthe again made a search; and further down in the reports of +criminal cases at which her attention was still directed. She read: + +"'Gloomy Drama.--A shop girl, no longer young, allowed herself to +yield to the embraces of a young man. Then, to avenge herself on her +lover, whose heart proved fickle, she shot him with a revolver. The +unhappy man is maimed for life. The Jury, consisting of men of moral +character, took the part of the murderess--regarding her as the victim +of illicit love, and honorably acquitted her.'" + +This time the old grandmother appeared quite shocked, and, in a +trembling voice, she said. + +"Why, you are mad, then, nowadays. You are mad! The good God has given +you love, the only allurement in life. Man has added to this +gallantry, the only distraction of our dull hours, and here are you +mixing up with it vitriol and revolvers, as if one were to put mud +into a flagon of Spanish wine." + +Berthe did not seem to understand her grandmother's indignation. + +"But grandmamma, this woman avenged herself. Remember she was married, +and her husband deceived her." + +The grandmother gave a start. + +"What ideas have they been filling your head with, you young girls of +to-day?" + +Berthe replied: + +"But marriage is sacred, grandmamma." + +The grandmother's heart, which had its birth in the great age of +gallantry, gave a sudden leap. + +"It is love that is sacred," she said, "Listen, child, to an old woman +who has seen three generations, and who has had a long, long +experience of men and women. Marriage and love have nothing in common. +We marry to found a family, and we form families in order to +constitute society. Society cannot dispense with marriage. If society +is a chain, each family is a link in that chain. In order to weld +those links, we always seek for metals of the same kind. When we +marry, we must bring together suitable conditions; we must combine +fortunes, unite similar races, and aim at the common interest, which +is riches and children. We marry only once, my child, because the +world requires us to do so, but we may love twenty times in one +lifetime because nature has made us like this. Marriage, you see, is +law, and love is an instinct, which impels us sometimes along a +straight and sometimes along a crooked path. The world has made laws +to combat our instincts--it was necessary to make them; but our +instincts are always stronger, and we ought not to resist them too +much, because they come from God, while the laws only come from men. +If we did not perfume life with love, as much love as possible, +darling, as we put sugar into drugs for children, nobody would care to +take it just as it is." + +Berthe opened her eyes widely in astonishment. She murmured: + +"Oh! grandmamma, we can only love once." + +The grandmother raised her trembling hands towards Heaven, as if +again to invoke the defunct God of gallantries. She exclaimed +indignantly: + +"You have become a race of serfs, a race of common people. Since the +Revolution, it is impossible any longer to recognize society. You have +attached big words to every action, and wearisome duties to every +corner of existence; you believe in equality and eternal passion. +People have written verses telling you that people have died of love. +In my time verses were written to teach men to love every woman. And +we! when we liked a gentleman, my child, we sent him a page. And when +a fresh caprice came into our hearts, we were not slow in getting rid +of the last lover--unless we kept both of them." + +The old woman smiled with a keen smile, and a gleam of roguery +twinkled in her gray eye, the sprightly, skeptical roguery of those +people who did not believe that they were made of the same clay as the +others, and who lived as masters for whom common beliefs were not +made. + +The young girl, turning very pale, faltered out: + +"So then women have no honor?" + +The grandmother ceased to smile. If she had kept in her soul some of +Voltaire's irony, she had also a little of Jean-Jaques's glowing +philosophy: "No honor! because we loved, and dared to say so, and even +boasted of it? But, my child, if one of us, among the greatest ladies +in France, were to live without a lover, she would have the entire +court laughing at her. Those who wished to live differently had only +to enter a convent. And you imagine, perhaps, that your husbands will +love you alone all their lives. As if, indeed, this could be the case. +I tell you that marriage is a thing necessary in order that Society +should exist, but it is not in the nature of our race, do you +understand? There is only one good thing in life, and that is love. +And how you misunderstand it! how you spoil it! You treat it as +something solemn like a sacrament, or something to be bought, like a +dress." + +The young girl caught the old woman's trembling hands in her own. + +"Hold your tongue, I beg of you, grandmamma!" + +And, on her knees, with tears in her eyes, she prayed to Heaven to +bestow on her a great passion, one eternal passion alone, in +accordance with the dream of modern poets, while the grandmother, +kissing her on the forehead, quite penetrated still by that charming, +healthy logic by which the philosophers of gallantry sprinkled salt +with the life of the eighteenth century, murmured: + +"Take care, my poor darling! If you believe in such follies as this, +you will be very unhappy." + + + + +AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED + + +One autumn I went to stay for the hunting-season with some friends in +a chateau in Picardy. + +My friends were fond of practical joking, as all my friends are. I do +not care to know any other sort of people. + +When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once +aroused distrust in my breast. We had some capital shooting. They +embraced me, they cajoled me, as if they expected to have great fun at +my expense. + +I said to myself: + +"Look out, old ferret! They have something in preparation for you." + +During the dinner, the mirth was excessive, far too great, in fact. I +thought: "Here are people who take a double share of amusement, and +apparently without reason. They must be looking out in their own minds +for some good bit of fun. Assuredly I am to be the victim of the joke. +Attention!" + +During the entire evening, everyone laughed in an exaggerated fashion. +I smelled a practical joke in the air, as a dog smells game. But what +was it? I was watchful, restless. I did not let a word or a meaning or +a gesture escape me. Everyone seemed to me an object of suspicion, and +I even looked distrustfully at the faces of the servants. + +The hour rang for going to bed, and the whole household came to escort +me to my room. Why? They called to me: "Good night." I entered the +apartment, shut the door, and remained standing, without moving a +single step, holding the wax candle in my hand. + +I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor. Without doubt they +were spying on me. I cast a glance around the walls, the furniture, +the ceiling, the hangings, the floor. I saw nothing to justify +suspicion. I heard persons moving about outside my door. I had no +doubt they were looking through the key-hole. + +An idea came into my head: "My candle may suddenly go out, and leave +me in darkness." + +Then I went across to the mantelpiece, and lighted all the wax candles +that were on it. After that, I cast another glance around me without +discovering anything. I advanced with short steps, carefully examining +the apartment. Nothing. I inspected every article one after the other. +Still nothing. I went over to the window. The shutters, large wooden +shutters, were open. I shut them with great care, and then drew the +curtains, enormous velvet curtains, and I placed a chair in front of +them, so as to have nothing to fear from without. + +Then I cautiously sat down. The armchair was solid. I did not venture +to get into the bed. However, time was flying; and I ended by coming +to the conclusion that I was ridiculous. If they were spying on me, as +I supposed, they must, while waiting for the success of the joke they +had been preparing for me, have been laughing enormously at my terror. +So I made up my mind to go to bed. But the bed was particularly +suspicious-looking. I pulled at the curtains. They seemed to be +secure. All the same, there was danger. I was going perhaps to +receive a cold shower-bath from overhead, or perhaps, the moment I +stretched myself out, to find myself sinking under the floor with my +mattress. I searched in my memory for all the practical jokes of which +I ever had experience. And I did not want to be caught. Ah! certainly +not! certainly not! Then I suddenly bethought myself of a precaution +which I consider one of extreme efficacy: I caught hold of the side of +the mattress gingerly, and very slowly drew it towards me. It came +away, followed by the sheet and the rest of the bed-clothes. I dragged +all these objects into the very middle of the room, facing the +entrance-door. I made my bed over again as best I could at some +distance from the suspected bedstead and the corner which had filled +me with such anxiety. Then, I extinguished all the candles, and, +groping my way, I slipped under the bed-clothes. + +For at least another hour I remained awake, starting at the slightest +sound. Everything seemed quiet in the chateau. I fell asleep. + +I must have been in a deep sleep for a long time, but all of a sudden, +I was awakened with a start by the fall of a heavy body tumbling right +on top of my own body, and, at the same time, I received on my face, +on my neck, and on my chest, a burning liquid which made me utter a +howl of pain. And a dreadful noise, as if a sideboard laden with +plates and dishes had fallen down, penetrated my ears. + +I felt myself suffocating under the weight that was crushing me and +preventing me from moving. I stretched out my hand to find out what +was the nature of this object. I felt a face, a nose, and whiskers. +Then with all my strength I launched out a blow over this face. But I +immediately received a hail of cuffings which made me jump straight +out of the soaked sheets, and rush in my night shirt into the +corridor, the door of which I found open. + +O stupor! it was broad daylight. The noise brought my friends hurrying +into the apartment, and we found, sprawling over my improvised bed, +the dismayed valet, who, while bringing me my morning cup of tea, had +tripped over this obstacle in the middle of the floor, and fallen on +his stomach, spilling, in spite of himself, my breakfast over my face. + +The precautions I had taken in closing the shutters and going to sleep +in the middle of the room had only brought about the interlude I had +been striving to avoid. + +Ah! how they all laughed that day! + + + + +A WARNING NOTE + + +I have received the following letter. Thinking that it may be +profitable to many readers, I make it my business to communicate it to +them: + +"Paris, November 15th, 1886. + +"Monsieur,--You often treat either in the shape of short stories or +chronicles, of subjects which have relation to what I may describe as +'current morals.' I am going to submit to you some reflections which +ought, it seems to me, to furnish you with the materials for one of +your tales. + +"I am not married; I am a bachelor, and, as it seems to me, a rather +simple man. But I fancy that many men, the greater part of men, are +simple in the way that I am. As I am always, or nearly always, a plain +dealer, I am not well able to see through the natural cunning of my +neighbors, and I go straight ahead, with my eyes open, without +sufficiently looking out for what is behind things and behind people's +external behavior. + +"We are nearly all accustomed, as a rule, to take appearances for +realities, and to look on people as what they pretend to be; and very +few possess that scent which enables certain men to divine the real +and hidden nature of others. From this peculiar and conventional +method of regarding life come the result that we pass, like moles, +through the midst of events; and that we never believe in what is, but +in what seems to be, that we declare a thing to be improbable as soon +as we are shown the fact behind the veil, and that everything which +displeases our idealistic morality is classed by us an exception, +without taking into account that these exceptions all brought together +constitute nearly the total number of cases. There further results +from it that credulous good people like me are deceived by everybody +and especially by women, who have a talent in this direction. + +"I have started far afield in order to come to the particular fact +which interests me. I have a mistress, a married woman. Like many +others, I imagined (do you understand?) that I had chanced on an +exception, on an unhappy little woman who was deceiving her husband +for the first time. I had paid attentions to her, or rather I had +looked on myself as having paid attention to her for a long time, as +having overcome her virtue by dint of kindness and love, and as having +triumphed by the sheer force of perseverance. In fact, I had made use +of a thousand precautions, a thousand devices, and a thousand subtle +dallyings in order to succeed in getting the better of her. + +"Now here is what happened last week: Her husband being absent for +some days, she suggested that we should both dine together, and that I +should attend on myself so as to avoid the presence of a man-servant. +She had a fixed idea which had haunted her for the last four or five +months: She wanted to get tipsy, but to get tipsy altogether without +being afraid of consequences, without having to go back home, speak to +her chambermaid, and walk before witnesses. She had often obtained +what she called 'a gay agitation' without going farther, and she had +found it delightful. So then she promised herself that she would get +tipsy once, only once, but thoroughly so. She pretended at her own +house that she was going to spend twenty-four hours with some friends +near Paris, and she reached my abode just about dinner-hour. + +"A woman naturally ought not to get fuddled except when she has had +too much champagne. She drinks a big glass of it fasting, and before +the oysters arrive, she begins to ramble in her talk. + +"We had a cold dinner prepared on a table behind me. It was enough for +me to stretch out my arms to take the dishes or the plates, and I +attended on myself as best I could while I listened to her chattering. + +"She kept swallowing glass after glass, haunted by her fixed idea. She +began by making me the recipient of meaningless and interminable +confidences with regard to her sensations as a young girl. She went on +and on, her eyes rather wandering, brilliant, her tongue untied, and +her light ideas rolling themselves out endlessly like the blue +telegraph-paper which is moved on without stopping by the bobbin and +which keeps extending its length to the click of the electric +apparatus which covers it with unknown words. + +"From time to time she asked me: + +"'Am I tipsy?' + +"'No, not yet.' + +"And she went on drinking. + +"She was so in a little while, not so tipsy as to lose her senses, but +tipsy enough to tell the truth, as it seemed to me. + +"To her confidences as to her emotions while a young girl succeeded +more intimate confidences as to her relations with her husband. She +made them to me without restraint till she wearied me with them, under +this pretext, which she repeated a hundred times: 'I can surely tell +everything to you. To whom could I tell everything if it were not to +you?' So I was made acquainted with all the habits, all the defects, +all the fads and the most secret fancies of her husband. + +"And by way of claiming my approval she asked: 'Isn't he a flat? Do +you think he has taken a feather out of me? eh? So, the first time I +saw you, I said to myself: "Let me see! I like him, and I'll take him +for my lover." It was then you began mashing me.' + +"I must have presented an odd face to her eyes at that moment, for she +could see it, tipsy though she was; and with great outbursts of +laughter, she exclaimed: 'Ah! you big simpleton, you did go about it +cautiously; but, when men pay attention to us, you dear blockhead, you +see we like it, and then they must make quick work of it, and not keep +us waiting. A man must be a ninny not to understand, by a mere glance +at us, that we mean "Yes." Ah! I believe I was waiting for you, you +stupid! I did not know what to do in order to make you see that I was +in a hurry. Oh! yes, flowers, verses, compliments, more verses, and +nothing else at all! I was very near letting you go, my fine fellow, +you were so long in making up your mind. And only to think that half +the men in the world are like you, while the other half, ha! ha! ha!' + +"This laugh of hers sent a cold shiver down my back. I stammered: 'The +other half--what about the other half?' + +"She still went on drinking, her eyes steeped in the fumes of +sparkling wine, her mind impelled by the imperious necessity for +telling the truth which sometimes takes possession of drunkards. + +"She replied: 'Ah! the other half makes quick work of it--too quick; +but, all the same, they are right. There are days when we don't hit it +off with them; but there are days, too, when it all goes right, in +spite of everything.... My dear, if you only knew how funny it is--the +way the two kinds of men act! You see, the timid ones, such as you, +you never could imagine what sort the others are and what they do, +immediately, as soon as they find themselves alone with us. They are +regular dare-devils! They get many a slap in the face from us, no +doubt of that, but what does that matter? They know we're the sort +that kiss and don't tell! They know us well, they do!' + +"I stared at her with the eyes of an Inquisitor, and with a mad desire +to make her speak, to learn everything from her. How often had I put +this question to myself: 'How do the other men behave towards the +women who belong to us?' I was fully conscious of the fact that, from +the way I saw two men talking to the same woman publicly in a +drawing-room, these two men, if they found themselves, one after the +other, all alone with her, would conduct themselves quite differently, +although they were both equally well acquainted with her. We can guess +at the first glance of the eye that certain beings, naturally endowed +with the power of seduction, or only more lively, more daring than we +are, reach after an hour's chat with a woman who pleases them, to a +degree of intimacy to which we would not attain in a year. Well, do +these men, these seducers, these bold adventurers, take, when the +occasion presents itself to them, liberties with their hands and lips +which to us, the timid ones, would appear odious outrages, but which +women perhaps look on merely as pardonable effrontery, as indecent +homages to their irresistible grace! + +"So I asked her: 'There are women, though, who think these men very +improper?' + +"She threw herself back on her chair in order to laugh more at her +ease, but with a nerveless, unhealthy laugh, one of those laughs which +ends in nervous fits, then, a little more calmly, she replied: 'Ha! +ha! my dear, improper? that is to say, that they dare everything, at +once, all, you understand, and many other things, too.' + +"I felt myself horrified as if she had just revealed to me a monstrous +thing. + +"'And you permit this, you women?' + +"'No, we don't permit it; we slap them in the face, but, for all that, +they amuse us! And then with them one is always afraid, one is never +easy. You must keep watching them the whole time; it is like fighting +a duel. You have to keep staring into their eyes to see what they are +thinking of or where they are putting their hands. They are +blackguards, if you like, but they love us better than you do.' + +"A singular and unexpected sensation stole over me. Although a +bachelor, and determined to remain a bachelor, I suddenly felt in my +breast the spirit of a husband in the face of this impudent +confidence. I felt myself the friend, the ally, the brother of all +these confiding men who are, if not robbed, at least defrauded by all +the rufflers of woman's waists. + +"It is this strange emotion, monsieur, that I am obeying at this +moment, in writing to you, and in begging of you to address a warning +note to the great army of easy-going husbands. + +"However, I had still some lingering doubts. This woman was drunk and +must be lying. + +"I went on to inquire: 'How is it that you never relate these +adventures to anyone, you women?' + +"She gazed at me with profound pity, and with such an air of sincerity +that, for the moment, I thought she had been soberized by +astonishment. + +"'We--But, my dear fellow, you are very foolish. Why do we never talk +to you about these things? Ha! ha! ha! Does your valet tell you about +his tips, his odd sous? Well, this is our little tip. The husband +ought not to complain when we don't go farther. But how dull you are! +To talk of these things would be to give the alarm to all ninnies! Ah! +how dull you are!... And then what harm does it do as long as we don't +yield?' + +"I felt myself in a great state of great confusion as I put this +question to her: + +"'So then you have often been embraced by men?' + +"She answered, with an air of sovereign contempt for the man who could +have any doubt on the subject: + +"'Faith!--Why, every woman has been often embraced.... Try it on with +any of them, no matter whom, in order to see for yourself, you great +goose! Look here! embrace Mme. de X! She is quite young, and quite +virtuous. Embrace, my friend--embrace, and touch, you shall see. Ha! +ha! ha!' + + * * * * * + +"All of a sudden she flung her glass straight at the chandelier. The +champagne fell down in a shower, extinguished three wax-candles, +stained the hangings, and deluged the table, while the broken glass +was scattered about the dining-room. Then, she made an effort to seize +the bottle to do the same with it, but I prevented her. After that, +she burst out crying in a very loud tone--the nervous fit had come on, +as I had anticipated.... + + * * * * * + +"Some days later, I had almost forgotten this avowal of a tipsy woman +when I chanced to find myself at an evening party with this Mme. de +X---- whom my mistress had advised me to embrace. As I lived in the +same direction as she did, I offered to drive her to her own door, for +she was alone this evening. She accepted my offer. + +"As soon as we were in the carriage, I said to myself: 'Come! I must +try it on!' But I had not the courage. I did not know how to make a +start, how to begin the attack. + +"Then suddenly, the desperate courage of cowards came to my aid. I +said to her: 'How pretty you were, this evening.' + +"She replied with a laugh: 'So then, this evening was an exception, +since you only remarked it for the first time.' + +"I did not know what rejoinder to make. Certainly my gallantry was not +making progress. After a little reflection, however, I managed to say: + +"'No, but I never dared to tell you.' + +"She was astonished: + +"'Why?' + +"'Because it is--it is a little difficult.' + +"'Difficult to tell a woman that she's pretty? Why, where did you +come from? You should always tell us so, even when you only half think +it ... because it always gives us pleasure to hear."... + +"I felt myself suddenly animated by a fantastic audacity, and, +catching her round the waist, I raised my lips towards her mouth. + +"Nevertheless I seemed to be rather nervous about it, and not to +appear so terrible to her. I must also have arranged and executed my +movement very badly, for she managed to turn her head aside so as to +avoid contact with my face, saying: + +"'Oh no--this is rather too much--too much.... You are too quick! Take +care of my hair. You cannot embrace a woman who has her hair dressed +like mine!'... + +"I resumed my former position in the carriage, disconcerted, unnerved +by this repulse. But the carriage drew up before her gate; and she, as +she stepped out of it, held out her hand to me, saying in her most +gracious tones: + +"'Thanks, dear monsieur, for having seen me home ... and don't forget +my advice!' + +"I saw her three days later. She had forgotten everything. + +"And I, monsieur, I am incessantly thinking of the other sort of +men--the sort of men to whom a lady's hair is no obstacle, and who +know how to seize every opportunity."... + + + + +THE HORRIBLE + + +The shadows of a balmy night were slowly falling. The women remained +in the drawing-room of the villa. The men, seated or astride on +garden-chairs, were smoking in front of the door, forming a circle +round a table laden with cups and wineglasses. + +Their cigars shone like eyes in the darkness which, minute by minute, +was growing thicker. They had been talking about a frightful accident +which had occurred the night before--two men and three women drowned +before the eyes of the guests in the river opposite. + +General de G---- remarked: + +"Yes, these things are affecting, but they are not horrible. + +"The horrible, that well-known word, means much more than the +terrible. A frightful accident like this moves, upsets, scares; it +does not horrify. In order that we should experience horror, something +more is needed than the excitation of the soul, something more than +the spectacle of the dreadful death; there must be a shuddering sense +of mystery or a sensation of abnormal terror beyond the limits of +nature. A man who dies, even in the most dramatic conditions, does not +excite horror; a field of battle is not horrible, blood is not +horrible; the vilest crimes are rarely horrible. + +"Hold on! here are two personal examples, which have shown me what is +the meaning of horror: + +"It was during the war of 1870. We were retreating towards +Pont-Audemer, after having passed through Rouen. The army, consisting +of about twenty thousand men, twenty thousand men in disorder, +disbanded, demoralized, exhausted, were going to re-form at Havre. + +"The earth was covered with snow. The night was falling. They had not +eaten anything since the day before. They were flying rapidly, the +Prussians not being far off. + +"All the Norman country, livid, dotted with the shadows of the trees +surrounding the farms, extended under a black sky, heavy and sinister. + +"Nothing else could be heard in the wan twilight save the confused +sound, soft and undefined, of a marching throng, an endless tramping, +mingled with the vague clink of pottingers or sabers. The men, bent, +round-shouldered, dirty, in many cases even in rags, dragged +themselves along, hurried through the snow, with a long, broken-backed +stride. + +"The skin of their hands stuck to the steel of their muskets' +butt-ends, for it was freezing dreadfully that night. I frequently saw +a little soldier take off his shoes in order to walk barefooted, so +much did his foot-gear bruise him; and with every step he left a +little track of blood. Then, after some time, he sat down in a field +for a few minutes' rest, and he never got up again. Every man who sat +down was a dead man. + +"Should we have left behind us those poor exhausted soldiers, who +fondly counted on being able to start afresh as soon as they had +somewhat refreshed their stiffened legs? Now, scarcely had they ceased +to move, and to make their almost frozen blood circulate in their +veins, than an unconquerable torpor congealed them, nailed them to +the ground, closed their eyes, and in one second collapsed this +overworked human mechanism. And they gradually sank down, their heads +falling towards their knees, without, however, quite tumbling over, +for their loins and their limbs lost their capacity for moving, and +became as hard as wood, impossible to bend or to set upright. + +"And the rest of us, more robust, kept still straggling on, chilled to +the marrow of our bones, advancing by dint of forced movement through +that night, through that snow, through that cold and deadly country, +crushed by pain, by defeat, by despair, above all overcome by the +abominable sensation of abandonment, of the end, of death, of +nothingness. + +"I saw two gendarmes holding by the arm a curious-looking little man, +old, beardless, of truly surprising aspect. + +"They were looking out for an officer, believing that they had caught +a spy. The word 'spy' at once spread through the midst of the +stragglers, and they gathered in a group round the prisoner. A voice +exclaimed: 'He must be shot!' And all these soldiers who were falling +from utter prostration, only holding themselves on their feet by +leaning on their guns, felt all of a sudden that thrill of furious and +bestial anger which urges on a mob to massacre. + +"I wanted to speak! I was at that time in command of a battalion; but +they no longer recognized the authority of their commanding officers; +they would have shot myself. + +"One of the gendarmes said: 'He has been following us for the last +three days. He has been asking information from everyone about the +artillery.' + +"I took it on myself to question this person. + +"'What are you doing? What do you want? Why are you accompanying the +army?' + +"He stammered out some words in some unintelligible dialect. He was, +indeed, a strange being, with narrow shoulders, a sly look, and such +an agitated air in my presence that I had no longer any real doubt +that he was a spy. He seemed very aged and feeble. He kept staring at +me from under his eyes with humble, stupid, and crafty air. + +The men all round us exclaimed: + +"'To the wall! to the wall!' + +"I said to the gendarmes: + +"'Do you answer for the prisoner?' + +"I had not ceased speaking when a terrible push threw me on my back, +and in a second I saw the man seized by the furious soldiers, thrown +down, struck, dragged along the side of the road, and flung against a +tree. He fell in the snow, nearly dead already. + +"And immediately they shot him. The soldiers fired at him, re-loaded +their guns, fired again with the desperate energy of brutes. They +fought with each other to have a shot at him, filed off in front of +the corpse, and kept firing on at him, as people at a funeral keep +sprinkling holy water in front of a coffin. + +"But suddenly a cry arose of: 'The Prussians! the Prussians!' + +"And all along the horizon I heard the great noise of this +panic-stricken army in full flight. + +"The panic, generated by these shots fired at this vagabond, had +filled his very executioners with terror; and, without realizing that +they were themselves the originators of the scare, rushed away and +disappeared in the darkness. + +"I remained alone in front of the corpse with the two gendarmes whom +their duty had compelled to stay with me. + +"They lifted up the riddled piece of flesh, bruised and bleeding. + +"'He must be examined,' said I to them. + +"And I handed them a box of vestas which I had in my pocket. One of +the soldiers had another box. I was standing between the two. + +"The gendarme, who was feeling the body, called out: + +"'Clothed in a blue blouse, a trousers, and a pair of shoes.' + +"The first match went out; we lighted a second. The man went on, as he +turned out his pockets: + +"'A horn knife, check handkerchief, a snuff-box, a bit of packthread, +a piece of bread.' + +"The second match went out; we lighted a third. The gendarme, after +having handled the corpse for a long time, said: + +"'That is all.' + +"I said: + +"'Strip him. We shall perhaps find something near the skin.' + +"And, in order that the two soldiers might help each other in this +task, I stood between them to give them light. I saw them, by the +rapid and speedily extinguished flash of the match, take off the +garments one by one, and expose to view that bleeding bundle of flesh +still warm, though lifeless. + +"And suddenly one of them exclaimed: + +"'Good God, General, it is a woman!' + +"I cannot describe to you the strange and poignant sensation of pain +that moved my heart. I could not believe it, and I knelt down in the +snow before this shapeless pulp of flesh to see for myself: it was a +woman. + +"The two gendarmes, speechless and stunned, waited for me to give my +opinion on the matter. But I did not know what to think, what theory +to adopt. + +"Then the brigadier slowly drawled out: + +"'Perhaps she came to look for a son of hers in the artillery, whom +she had not heard from.' + +"And the other chimed in: + +"'Perhaps indeed that is so.' + +"And I, who had seen some very terrible things in my time, began to +cry. And I felt, in the presence of this corpse, in that icy cold +night, the midst of that gloomy pain, at the sight of this mystery, at +the sight of this murdered stranger, the meaning of that word +'Horror.' + +"Now I had the same sensation last year while interrogating one of the +survivors of the Flatters Mission, an Algerian sharpshooter. + +"You know the details of this atrocious drama. It is possible, +however, that you are unacquainted with them. + +"The Colonel traveled through the desert into the Soudan, and passed +through the immense territory of the Touaregs, who are, in that great +ocean of sand which stretches from the Atlantic to Egypt and from the +Soudan to Algeria, a kind of pirates resembling those who ravaged the +seas in former days. + +"The guides who accompanied the column belonged to the tribe of +Chambaa, of Ouargla. + +"Now, one day, they pitched their camp in the middle of the desert, +and the Arabs declared that, as the spring was a little farther away, +they would go with all their camels to look for water. + +"Only one man warned the Colonel that he had been betrayed: Flatters +did not believe this, and accompanied the convoy with the engineers, +the doctors, and nearly all his officers. + +"They were massacred round the spring, and all the camels captured. + +"The Captain of the Arab Intelligence Department at Ouargla, who had +remained in the camp, took command of the survivors, spahis and +sharpshooters, and they commenced the retreat, leaving behind the +baggage and the provisions for want of camels to carry them. + +"Then they started on their journey through this solitude without +shade and without limits, under the devouring sun which burned them +from morning till night. + +"One tribe came to tender its submission and brought dates as a +tribute. They were poisoned. Nearly all the French died, and, among +them, the last officer. + +"There now only remained a few spahis with their quartermaster, +Pobequin, and some native sharpshooters of the Chambaa tribe. They had +still two camels left. They disappeared one night along with two +Arabs. + +"Then, the survivors understood that they were going to eat each other +up, and, as soon as they discovered the flight of the two men with the +two beasts, those who remained separated, and proceeded to march, one +by one, through the soft sand, under the glare of a scorching sun, at +a distance of more than a gunshot from each other. + +"So they went on all day, and, when they reached a spring, each of +them came to drink at it in turn as soon as each solitary marcher had +moved forward the number of yards arranged upon. And thus they +continued marching the whole day, raising, everywhere they passed, in +that level burnt-up expanse, those little columns of dust which, at a +distance, indicate those who are trudging through the desert. + +"But, one morning, one of the travelers made a sudden turn, and drew +nearer to his neighbor. And they all stopped to look. + +"The man toward whom the famished soldier drew near did not fly, but +lay flat on the ground, and took aim at the one who was coming on. +When he believed he was within gunshot, he fired. The other was not +hit, and he continued then to advance, and cocking his gun in turn, +killed his comrade. + +"Then from the entire horizon, the others rushed to seek their share. +And he who had killed the fallen man, cutting the corpse into pieces, +distributed it. + +"And they once more placed themselves at fixed distances, these +irreconcilable allies, preparing for the next murder which would bring +them together. + +"For two days, they lived on this human flesh which they divided +amongst each other. Then, the famine came back, and he who had killed +the first man began killing afresh. And again, like a butcher, he cut +up the corpse, and offered it to his comrades, keeping only his own +portion of it. + +"And so this retreat of cannibals continued. + +"The last Frenchman, Pobequin, was massacred at the side of a well, +the very night before the supplies arrived. + +"Do you understand now what I mean by the Horrible?" + +This was the story told us a few nights ago by General de G----. + + + + +A NEW YEAR'S GIFT + + +Jacques de Randal, having dined at home alone, told his valet he might +go, and then he sat down at a table to write his letters. + +He thus finished every year by writing and dreaming. He made for +himself a sort of review of things that had happened since last New +Year's Day, things that were now all over and dead; and, in proportion +as the faces of his friends rose up before his eyes, he wrote them a +few lines, a cordial "Good morning" on the 1st of January. + +So he sat down, opened a drawer, took out of it a woman's photograph, +gazed at it a few moments, and kissed it. Then, having laid it beside +a sheet of note-paper, he began: + +"My dear Irene.--You must have by this time the little souvenir which +I sent you. I have shut myself up this evening in order to tell you." + +The pen here ceased to move. Jacques rose up and began walking up and +down the room. + +For the last six months he had a mistress, not a mistress like the +others, a woman with whom one engages in a passing intrigue, of the +theatrical world or the "demi-monde, but a woman whom he loved and +won. He was no longer a young man, although he was still comparatively +young for a man, and he looked on life seriously in a positive and +practical spirit. + +Accordingly, he drew up the balance sheet of his passion, as he drew +up every year the balance sheet of friendships that were ended or +freshly contracted, of circumstances and persons that had entered into +his life. + +His first ardor of love having grown calmer, he asked himself with the +precision of a merchant making a calculation, what was the state of +his heart with regard to her, and he tried to form an idea of what it +would be in the future. + +He found there a great and deep affection, made up of tenderness, +gratitude, and the thousand subtle ties which give birth to long and +powerful attachments. + +A ring of the bell made him start. He hesitated. Would he open? But he +said to himself that it was his duty to open on this New Year's night, +to open to the Unknown who knocks while passing, no matter whom it may +be. + +So he took a wax candle, passed through the antechamber, removed the +bolts, turned the key, drew the door back, and saw his mistress +standing pale as a corpse, leaning against the wall. + +He stammered. + +"What is the matter with you?" + +She replied, + +"Are you alone?" + +"Yes." + +"Without servants?" + +"Yes." + +"You are not going out?" + +"No." + +She entered with the air of a woman who knew the house. As soon as she +was in the drawing-room, she sank into the sofa, and, covering her +face with her hands, began to weep dreadfully. + +He knelt down at her feet, seized hold of her hands to remove them +from her eyes, so that he might look at them, and exclaim, + +"Irene, Irene, what is the matter with you? I implore of you to tell +me what is the matter with you?" + +Then, in the midst of her sobs she murmured, + +"I can no longer live like this." + +He did not understand. + +"Live like this? What do you mean?"... + +"Yes. I can no longer live like this.... I have endured so much.... He +struck me this afternoon." + +"Who, your husband?" + +"Yes, my husband." + +"Ha!" + +He was astonished, having never suspected that her husband could be +brutal. He was a man of the world, of the better class, a clubman, a +lover of horses, a theater goer, and an expert swordsman; he was +known, talked about, appreciated everywhere, having very courteous +manners, a very mediocre intellect, an absence of education and of the +real culture needed in order to think like all well-bred people, and +finally a respect for all conventional prejudices. + +He appeared to devote himself to his wife, as a man ought to do in the +case of wealthy and well-bred people. He displayed enough of anxiety +about her wishes, her health, her dresses, and, beyond that, left her +perfectly free. + +Randal, having become Irene's friend, had a right to the affectionate +hand-clasp which every husband endowed with good manners owes to his +wife's intimate acquaintances. Then, when Jacques, after having been +for some time the friend, became the lover, his relations with the +husband were more cordial, as is fitting. + +Jacques had never dreamed that there were storms in this household, +and he was scared at this unexpected revelation. + +He asked, + +"How did it happen? tell me." + +Thereupon she related a long history, the entire history of her life +since the day of her marriage, the first discussion arising out of a +mere nothing, then accentuating itself with all the estrangement which +grows up each day between two opposite types of character. + +Then came quarrels, a complete separation, not apparent, but real; +next, her husband showed himself aggressive, suspicious, violent. Now, +he was jealous, jealous of Jacques, and this day even, after a scene, +he had struck her. + +She added with decision, "I will not go back to him. Do with me what +you like." + +Jacques sat down opposite to her, their knees touching each other. He +caught hold of her hands. + +"My dear love, you are going to commit a gross, an irreparable folly. +If you want to quit your husband, put wrongs on one side, so that your +situation as a woman of the world may be saved." + +She asked, as she cast at him a restless glance: + +"Then, what do you advise me?" + +"To go back home and to put up with your life there till the day when +you can obtain either a separation or a divorce, with the honors of +war." + +"Is not this thing which you advise me to do a little cowardly?" + +"No; it is wise and reasonable. You have a high position, a reputation +to safeguard, friends to preserve, and relations to deal with. You +must not lose all these through a mere caprice." + +She rose up and said with violence, + +"Well, no! I cannot have any more of it! It is at an end! it is at an +end!" + +Then, placing her two hands on her lover's shoulders, and looking at +him straight in the face, she asked, + +"Do you love me?" + +"Yes." + +"Really and truly?" + +"Yes." + +"Then keep me." + +He exclaimed, + +"Keep you? In my own house? Here? Why you are mad. It would mean +losing you for ever; losing you beyond hope of recall! You are mad!" + +She replied slowly and seriously, like a woman who feels the weight of +her words, + +"Listen, Jacques. He has forbidden me to see you again, and I will not +play this comedy of coming secretly to your house. You must either +lose me or take me." + +"My dear Irene, in that case, obtain your divorce, and I will marry +you." + +"Yes, you will marry me in--two years at the soonest. Yours is a +patient love." + +"Look here! Reflect! If you remain here, he'll come to-morrow to take +you away, and seeing that he is your husband, seeing that he has right +and law on his side." + +"I did not ask you to keep me in your own house, Jacques, but to take +me anywhere you like. I thought you loved me enough to do that. I have +made a mistake. Good-bye!" + +She turned round and went towards the door so quickly that he was only +able to catch hold of her when she was outside the room. + +"Listen, Irene." + +She struggled and did not want to listen to him any longer, her eyes +full of tears, and with these words only on her lips, + +"Let me alone! let me alone! let me alone!" + +He made her sit down by force, and falling once more on his knees at +her feet, he now brought forward a number of arguments and counsels to +make her understand the folly and terrible risk of her project. He +omitted nothing which he deemed it necessary to say to convince her, +finding even in his very affection for her motives of persuasion. + +As she remained silent and cold, he begged of her, implored of her to +listen to him, to trust him, to follow his advice. + +When he had finished speaking, she only replied: + +"Are you disposed to let me go away now? Take away your hands, so that +I may rise up." + +"Look here, Irene." + +"Will you let me go?" + +"Irene ... is your resolution irrevocable?" + +"Do let me go." + +"Tell me only whether this resolution, this foolish resolution of +yours, which you will bitterly regret, is irrevocable?" + +"Yes ... let me go!" + +"Then stay. You know well that you are at home here. We shall go away +to-morrow morning." + +She rose up in spite of him, and said in a hard tone: + +"No. It is too late. I do not want sacrifice; I do not want devotion." + +"Stay! I have done what I ought to do; I have said what I ought to +say. I have no further responsibility on your behalf. My conscience is +at peace. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will obey." + +She resumed her seat, looked at him for a long time, and then asked, +in a very calm voice: + +"Explain, then." + +"How is that? What do you wish me to explain?" + +"Everything--everything that you have thought about before coming to +this resolution. Then I will see what I ought to do." + +"But I have thought about nothing at all. I ought to warn you that you +are going to accomplish an act of folly. You persist; then I ask to +share in this act of folly, and I even insist on it." + +"It is not natural to change one's opinion so quickly." + +"Listen, my dear love. It is not a question here of sacrifice or +devotion. On the day when I realized that I loved you, I said this to +myself, which every lover ought to say to himself in the same case: +'The man who loves a woman, who makes an effort to win her, who gets +her, and who takes her, contracts so far as he is himself, and so far +as she is concerned, a sacred engagement. It is, mark you, a question +of dealing with a woman like you, and not with a woman of an impulsive +and yielding disposition. + +"Marriage which has a great social value, a great legal value, +possesses in my eyes only a very slight moral value, taking into +account the conditions under which it generally takes place. + +"Therefore, when a woman, united by this lawful bond, but having no +attachment to her husband, whom she cannot love, a woman whose heart +is free, meets a man whom she cares for, and gives herself to him, +when a man who has no other tie, takes a woman in this way, I say that +they pledge themselves towards each other by this mutual and free +agreement much more than by the 'Yes' uttered in the presence of the +Mayor's sash. + +"I say that, if they are both honorable persons, their union must be +more intimate, more real, more healthy, than if all the sacraments had +consecrated it. + +"This woman risks everything. And it is exactly because she knows it, +because she gives everything, her heart, her body, her soul, her +honor, her life, because she has foreseen all miseries, all dangers, +all catastrophies, because she dares to do a bold act, an intrepid +act, because she is prepared, determined to brave everything--her +husband who might kill her, and society which may cast her out. This +is why she is respectable in her conjugal infidelity, this is why her +lover, in taking her, must also have foreseen everything, and +preferred her to everything whatever may happen. I have nothing more +to say. I spoke in the beginning like a man of sense whose duty it was +to warn you; and now there is left in me only one man--the man who +loves you. Say, then, what am I to do!" + +Radiant, she closed his mouth with her lips; she said to him in a low +tone: + +"It is not true, darling! There is nothing the matter! My husband does +not suspect anything. But I wanted to see, I wanted to know, what you +would do. I wished for a New Year's gift--the gift of your +heart--another gift besides the necklace you have sent me. You have +given it to me. Thanks! Thanks!... God be thanked for the happiness +you have given me!" + + + + +BESIDE A DEAD MAN + + +He was slowly dying, as consumptives die. I saw him sitting down every +day at two o'clock under the windows of the hotel, facing the tranquil +sea on an open-air bench. He remained for some time without moving, in +the heat of the sun gazing mournfully at the Mediterranean. Every now +and then, he cast a glance at the lofty mountains with vaporous +summits which shuts in Mentone: then, with a very slow movement, he +crossed his long legs, so thin that they seemed two bones, around +which fluttered the cloth of his trousers, and he opened a book, which +was always the same. And then he did not stir any more, but read on, +read on with his eye and his mind; all his expiring body seemed to +read, all his soul plunged, lost itself, disappeared, in this book, up +to the hour when the cool air made him cough a little. Then, he got up +and re-entered the hotel. + +He was a tall German, with fair beard, who breakfasted and dined in +his own room, and spoke to nobody. + +A vague curiosity attracted me to him. One day I sat down by his side, +having taken up a book, too, to keep up appearances, a volume of De +Musset's poems. + +And I began to run through "Rolla." + +Suddenly my neighbor said to me, in good French: + +"Do you know German, monsieur?" + +"Not at all, monsieur." + +"I am sorry for that. Since chance has thrown us side by side, I +could have lent you, I could have shown you, an inestimable +thing--this book which I hold in my hand." + +"What is it pray?" + +"It is a copy of my master, Schopenhauer, annotated with his own hand. +All the margins, as you may see, are covered with his handwriting." + +I took the book from him reverently, and I gazed at those forms +incomprehensible to me, but which revealed the immortal thoughts of +the greatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth. + +And De Musset's verses arose in my memory: + + "Hast thou found out, Voltaire, that it is bliss to die, + Or does thy hideous smile over thy bleached bones fly?" + +And involuntarily I compared the childish sarcasm, the religious +sarcasm, of Voltaire with the irresistible irony of the German +philosopher whose influence is henceforth ineffaceable. + +Let us protest and let us be angry, let us be indignant or let us be +enthusiastic, Schopenhauer has marked humanity with the seal of his +disdain and of his disenchantment. + +A disabused pleasure-seeker, he overthrew beliefs, hopes, poetic +ideal, and chimeras, destroyed the aspirations, ravaged the confidence +of souls, killed love, dragged down the chivalrous worship of women, +crushed the illusions of hearts and accomplished the most gigantic +talk ever attempted by skepticism. He passed over everything with his +mocking spirit, and left everything empty. And even to-day those who +execrate him seem to carry portions of his thought, in spite of +themselves, in their own souls. + +"So, then, you were intimately acquainted with Schopenhauer?" I said +to the German. + +He smiled sadly. + +"Up to the time of his death, monsieur." + +And he spoke to me about the philosopher and told me about the almost +supernatural impression which this strange being made on all who came +near him. + +He gave me an account of the interview of the old iconoclast with a +French politician, a doctrinaire Republican, who wanted to get a +glimpse of this man, and found him in a noisy tavern, seated in the +midst of his disciples, dry, wrinkled, laughing with an unforgettable +laugh, eating and tearing ideas and beliefs with a single word, as a +dog tears with one bite of his teeth the tissues with which he plays. + +He repeated for me the comment of this Frenchman as he went away, +scared and terrified:--"I thought I had spent an hour with the devil." + +Then he added, + +"He had, indeed, monsieur, a frightful smile, which terrified us even +after his death. I can tell you an anecdote about it not generally +known, if it has any interest for you." + +And he began, in a tired voice, interrupted by frequent fits of +coughing. + +"Schopenhauer had just died, and it was arranged that we should watch, +in turn, two by two, till morning. + +"He was lying in a large apartment, very simple, vast, and gloomy. Two +wax candles were burning on the bedside stand. + +"It was midnight when I took up my task of watching along with one of +our comrades. The two friends whom we replaced had left the apartment, +and we came and sat down at the foot of the bed. + +"The face was not changed. It was laughing. That pucker which we knew +so well lingered still around the corners of the lips, and it seemed +to us that he was about to open his eyes, to move, and to speak. His +thought, or rather his thoughts, enveloped us. We felt ourselves more +than ever in the atmosphere of his genius, absorbed, possessed by him. +His domination seemed to be even more sovereign now that he was dead. +A sense of mystery was blended with the power of this incomparable +spirit. + +"The bodies of these men disappear, but they remain themselves; and in +the night which follows the stoppage of their heart's beatings, I +assure you, monsieur, they are terrifying. + +"And in hushed tones we talked about him, recalling to mind certain +sayings, certain formulas of his, those startling maxims which are +like jets of flame flung, by means of some words, into the darkness of +the Unknown Life. + +"'It seems to me that he is going to speak,' said my comrade. And we +stared with uneasiness bordering on fear at the motionless face with +its eternal laugh. Gradually, we began to feel ill at ease, oppressed, +on the point of fainting. I faltered: + +"'I don't know what is the matter with me, but, I assure you, I am not +well.' + +"And at that moment we noticed that there was an unpleasant odor from +the corpse. + +"Then, my comrade suggested that we should go into the adjoining +room, and leave the door open; and I assented to his proposal. + +"I took one of the wax candles which burned on the bedside stand, and +I left the second behind. Then we went and sat down at the other end +of the adjoining apartment, so as to be able to see from where we were +the bed and the corpse, clearly revealed by the light. + +"But he still held possession of us. One would have said that his +immaterial essence, liberated, free, all-powerful and dominating, was +flitting around us. And sometimes, too, the dreadful smell of the +decomposed body came towards us and penetrated us, sickening and +indefinable. + +"Suddenly a shiver passed through our bones: a sound, a slight sound, +came from the death-chamber. Immediately we fixed our glances on him, +and we saw, yes, monsieur, we saw distinctly, both of us, something +white flying over the bed, falling on the carpet, and vanishing under +an armchair. + +"We were on our feet before we had time to think of anything, +distracted by stupefying terror, ready to run away. Then we stared at +each other. We were horribly pale. Our hearts throbbed so fiercely +that our clothes swelled over our chests. I was the first to speak. + +"'You saw?' + +"'Yes, I saw.' + +"'Can it be that he is not dead?' + +"'Why not, when the body is putrefying?' + +"'What are we to do?' + +"My companion said in a hesitating tone: + +"'We must go and look.' + +"I took our wax candle and I entered first, searching with my eye +through all the large apartment with its dark corners. There was not +the least movement now, and I approached the bed. But I stood +transfixed with stupor and fright: Schopenhauer was no longer +laughing! He was grinning in a horrible fashion, with his lips pressed +together and deep hollows in his cheeks. I stammered out: + +"'He is not dead!' + +"But the terrible odor rose up to my nose and stifled me. And I no +longer moved, but kept staring fixedly at him, scared as if in the +presence of the apparition. + +"Then my companion, having seized the other wax candle, bent forward. +Then, he touched my arm without uttering a word. I followed his +glance, and I saw on the ground, under the armchair by the side of the +bed, all white on the dark carpet, open as if to bite, Schopenhauer's +set of artificial teeth. + +"The work of decomposition, loosening the jaws, had made it jump out +of his mouth. + +"I was really frightened that day, monsieur." + +And as the sun was sinking towards the glittering sea, the consumptive +German rose from his seat, gave me a parting bow, and retired into the +hotel. + + + + +AFTER + + +"My darlings," said the Comtesse, "you must go to bed." + +The three children, two girls and a boy, rose up, and went to kiss +their grandmother. + +Then, they came to say "Good night" to M. le Curé, who had dined at +the chateau, as he did every Thursday. + +The Abbé Mauduit put two of the young ones sitting on his knees, +passing his long arms clad in black behind the children's necks; and, +drawing their heads towards him with a paternal movement, he kissed +each of them on the forehead with a long, tender kiss. + +Then, he again set them down on the ground, and the little beings went +off, the boy in front, and the girls behind. + +"You are fond of children, M. le Curé," said the Comtesse. + +"Very fond, Madame." + +The old woman raised her bright eyes towards the priest. + +"And--has your solitude never weighed too heavily on you?" + +"Yes, sometimes." + +He became silent, hesitated, and then added: "But I was never made for +ordinary life." + +"What do you know about it?" + +"Oh! I know very well. I was made to be a priest: I followed my own +path." + +The Comtesse kept staring at him: + +"Look here, M. le Curé, tell me this--tell me how it was you resolved +to renounce for ever what makes us love life--the rest of us--all that +consoles and sustains us? What is it that drove you, impelled you, to +separate yourself from the great natural path of marriage and the +family. You are neither an enthusiast nor a fanatic, neither a gloomy +person nor a sad person. Was it some strange occurrence, some sorrow, +that led you to take life-long vows?" + +The Abbé Mauduit rose up and advanced towards the fire, then drew +towards the flames the big shoes such as country priests generally +wear. He seemed still hesitating as to what reply he should make. + +He was a tall old man with white hair, and for the last twenty years +he had been the pastor of the parish of Sainte-Antoine-du-Rocher. The +peasants said of him: "There's a good man for you!" And indeed he was +a good man, benevolent, friendly to all, gentle, and, to crown all, +generous. Like Saint Martin, he had cut his cloak in two. He freely +laughed, and wept too for very little, just like a woman,--a thing +that prejudiced him more or less in the hard minds of the country +people. + +The old Comtesse de Saville, living in retirement in her chateau of +Rocher, in order to bring up her grand-children, after the successive +deaths of her son and her daughter-in-law, was very much attached to +her curé, and used to say of him: "He has a kind heart!" + +He came every Thursday to spend the evening at the chateau, and they +were close friends, with the open and honest friendship of old people. + +She persisted: + +"Look here M. le Curé! 'tis your turn now to make a confession!" + +He repeated: "I was not made for a life like everybody else. I saw it +myself fortunately in time, and I have had many proofs since that I +had made no mistake on the point. + +"My parents, who were mercers in Verdiers, and rather rich, had much +ambition on my account. They sent me to a boarding-school while I was +very young. You cannot conceive what a boy may suffer at college, by +the mere fact of separation, of isolation. This monotonous life +without affection is good for some, and detestable for others. Young +people have often hearts more sensitive than one supposes, and by +shutting them up thus too soon, far from those they love, we may +develop to an excessive extent a sensibility which is of an overstrung +kind, and which becomes sickly and dangerous. + +"I scarcely ever played; I never had companions; I passed my hours in +looking back to my home with regret; I spent the whole night weeping +in my bed. I sought to bring up before my mind recollections of my own +home, trifling recollections of little things, little events. I +thought incessantly of all I had left behind there. I became almost +imperceptibly an over sensitive youth to whom the slightest annoyances +were dreadful griefs. + +"Together with this I remained taciturn, self-absorbed without +expansion, without confidants. This work of mental exaltation was +brought about obscurely but surely. The nerves of children are quickly +excited; one ought to have regard to the fact that they live in a +state of deep quiescence up to the time of their almost complete +development. But does anyone reflect that, for certain students, an +unjust imposition can be as great a pang as the death of a friend +afterwards? Does anyone render an exact account to himself of the fact +that certain young souls have with very little cause, terrible +emotions, and are in a very short time diseased and incurable souls? + +"This was my case. This faculty of regret developed itself in me in +such a fashion that my existence became a martyrdom. + +"I did not speak about it; I said nothing about it; but gradually I +acquired a sensibility, or rather a sensitivity so lively that my soul +resembled a living wound. Everything that touched it produced in it +twitchings of pain, frightful vibrations, and consequently true +ravages. Happy are the men whom nature has buttressed with +indifference and armed with stoicism. + +"I reached my sixteenth year. An excessive timidity had come to me +from this aptitude to suffer on account of everything. Feeling myself +unprotected against all the attacks of chance or fate, I feared every +contact, every approach, every event. I lived on the watch as if under +the constant threat of an unknown and always expected misfortune. I +did not feel enough of boldness either to speak or to act publicly. I +had, indeed, the sensation that life is a battle, a dreadful conflict +in which one receives terrible blows, grievous, mortal wounds. In +place of cherishing, like all men, the hope of good-fortune on the +morrow, I only kept a confused fear of it, and I felt in my own mind a +desire to conceal myself to avoid that combat in which I would be +vanquished and slain. + +"As soon as my studies were finished, they gave me six months' time +to choose a career. A very simple event made me see clearly all of a +sudden into myself, showed me the diseased condition of my mind, made +me understand the danger, and caused me to make up my mind to fly from +it. + +"Verdiers is a little town surrounded with plains and woods. In the +central streets stands my parents' house. I now passed my days far +from this dwelling which I had so much regretted, so much desired. +Dreams were awakened in me, and I walked all alone in the fields in +order to let them escape and fly away. My father and my mother, quite +occupied with business, and anxious about my future, talked to me only +about their profits or about my possible plans. They were fond of me +in the way that hard-headed, practical people are; they had more +reason than heart in their affection for me. I lived imprisoned in my +thoughts, and trembling with my eternal uneasiness. + +"Now, one evening, after a long walk, I saw, as I was making my way +home with great strides so as not to be late, a dog trotting towards +me. He was a species of red spaniel, very lean, with long curly ears. + +"When he was ten paces away from me he stopped. I did the same. Then +he began wagging his tail, and came over to me with short steps and +nervous movements of his whole body, going down on his paws as if +appealing to me, and softly shaking his head. He then made a show of +crawling with an air so humble, so sad, so suppliant, that I felt the +tears coming into my eyes. I came near him; he ran away, then he came +back again; and I bent down, trying to coax him to approach me with +soft words. At last, he was within reach of my hands, and I gently +caressed him with the most careful touch. + +"He grew bold, rose up bit by bit, laid his paws on my shoulders, and +began to lick my face. He followed me into the house. + +"This was really the first being I had passionately loved, because he +returned my affection. My attachment to this animal was certainly +exaggerated and ridiculous. It seemed to me in a confused sort of way +that we were two brothers, lost on this earth, and therefore isolated +and without defense, one as well as the other. He never again quitted +my side. He slept at the foot of my bed, ate at the table in spite of +the objections of my parents, and he followed me in my solitary walks. + +"I often stopped at the side of a ditch, and sat down in the grass. +Sam immediately rushed up, fell asleep on my knees, and lifted up my +hand with the end of his snout so that I might caress him. + +"One day towards the end of June, as we were on the road from +Saint-Pierre-de-Chavrol, I saw the diligence from Pavereau coming +along. Its four horses were going at a gallop with its yellow box +seat, and imperial crowned with black leather. The coachman cracked +his whip; a cloud of dust rose up under the wheels of the heavy +vehicle, then floated behind, just as a cloud would do. + +"And, all of a sudden, as the vehicle came close to me, Sam, perhaps +frightened by the noise and wishing to join me, jumped in front of it. +A horse's foot knocked him down. I saw him rolling over, turning +round, falling back again on all fours, and then the entire coach +gave two big shakes, and behind it I saw something quivering in the +dust on the road. He was nearly cut in two; all his intestines were +hanging through his stomach, which had been ripped open, and fell in +spurts of blood to the ground. He tried to get up, to walk, but he +could only move his two front paws, and scratch the ground with them, +as if to make a hole. The two others were already dead. And he howled +dreadfully, mad with pain. + +"He died in a few minutes. I cannot describe how much I felt and +suffered. I was confined to my own room for a month. + +"Now, one night, my father, enraged at seeing me in such a state for +so little, exclaimed: + +"'How then will it be when you have real griefs--if you lose your wife +or children?' + +"And I began to see clearly into myself. I understood why all the +small miseries of each day assumed in my eyes the importance of a +catastrophe; I saw that I was organized in such a way that I suffered +dreadfully from everything, that every painful impression was +multiplied by my diseased sensibility, and an atrocious fear of life +took possession of me. I was without passions, without ambitions; I +resolved to sacrifice possible joys in order to avoid sure sorrows. +Existence is short, but I made up my mind to spend it in the service +of others, in relieving their troubles and enjoying their happiness. +By having no direct experience of either one or the other, I would +only be conscious of passionless emotions. + +"And if you only knew how, in spite of this, misery tortures me, +ravages me! But what would be for me an intolerable affliction has +become commiseration, pity. + +"These sorrows which I have every day to concern myself about I could +not endure if they fell on my own heart. I could not have seen one of +my children die without dying myself. And I have, in spite of +everything, preserved such an obscure and penetrating fear of +circumstances, that the sight of the postman entering my house makes a +shiver pass every day through my veins, and yet I have nothing to be +afraid of now." + +The Abbé Mauduit ceased speaking. He stared into the fire in the huge +grate, as if he saw there mysterious things, all the unknown portion +of existence which he would have been able to live if he had been more +fearless in the face of suffering. + +He added, then, in a subdued tone: + +"I was right. I was not made for this world." + +The Comtesse said nothing at first; but at length, after a long +silence, she remarked: + +"For my part, if I had not my grand-children, I believe I would not +have the courage to live." + +And the curé rose up without saying another word. + +As the servants were asleep in the kitchen, she conducted him herself +to the door which looked out on the garden, and she saw his tall +shadow lit up by the reflection of the lamp disappearing through the +gloom of night. + +Then she came back and sat down before the fire, and she pondered over +many things on which we never think when we are young. + + + + +A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS + + +Maitre Saval, notary at Vernon, was passionately fond of music. Still +young, though already bald, always carefully shaved, a little +corpulent, as it was fitting, wearing a gold pince-nez instead of +old-fashioned spectacles, active, gallant, and joyous, he passed in +Vernon for an artist. He thrummed on the piano and played on the +violin, and gave musical evenings where interpretations were given of +new operas. + +He had even what is called a bit of a voice; nothing but a bit, a very +little bit of a voice; but he managed it with so much taste that cries +of "Bravo!" "Exquisite!" "Surprising!" "Adorable!" issued from every +throat as soon as he had murmured the last note. + +He was a subscriber to a music-publisher in Paris, who addressed new +pieces to him, and he sent from time to time to the high society of +the town, little notes something in this style: + +"You are invited to be present on Monday evening at the house of M. +Saval, notary, Vernon, at the first production of 'Sais.'" + +A few officers, gifted with good voices, formed the chorus. Two or +three of the vinedressers' families also sang. The notary filled the +part of leader of the orchestra with so much correctness that the +bandmaster of the 190th regiment of the line said to him, one day, at +the _Café_ de l'Europe: + +"Oh! M. Saval is a master. It is a great pity that he did not adopt +the career of an artist." + +When his name was mentioned in a drawing-room, there was always +somebody found to declare: "He is not an amateur; he is an artist, a +genuine artist." + +And two or three persons repeated, in a tone of profound conviction: + +"Oh! yes, a genuine artist," laying particular stress on the word +"genuine." + +Every time that a new work was interpreted at a big Parisian theater, +M. Saval paid a visit to the capital. + +Now, last year, according to his custom, he went to hear "Henry VIII." +He then took the express which arrives in Paris at 4:30 p.m., +intending to return by the 12:35 a.m. train so as not to have to sleep +at a hotel. He had put on evening dress, a black coat and white tie, +which he concealed under his overcoat with the collar turned up. + +As soon as he had planted his foot on the Rue d' Amsterdam, he felt +himself in quite a jovial mood. He said to himself: + +"Decidedly the air of Paris does not resemble any other air. It has in +it something indescribably stimulating, exciting, intoxicating, which +fills you with a strange longing to gambol and to do many other +things. As soon as I arrive here, it seems to me, all of a sudden, +that I have taken a bottle of champagne. What a life one can lead in +this city in the midst of artists! Happy are the elect, the great men +who enjoy renown in such a city! What an existence is theirs!" + +And he made plans; he would have liked to know some of those +celebrated men, to talk about them in Vernon, and to spend an evening +with them from time to time in Paris. + +But suddenly an idea struck him. He had heard allusions to little +_cafés_ in the outer boulevards at which well-known painters, men of +letters, and even musicians gathered, and he proceeded to go up to +Montmartre at a slow pace. + +He had two hours before him. He wanted to have a look-round. He passed +in front of taverns frequented by belated Bohemians gazing at the +different faces, seeking to discover the artists. Finally, he came to +the sign of "The Dead Rat," and allured by the name, he entered. + +Five or six women, with their elbows resting on the marble tables, +were talking in low tones about their love affairs, the quarrels of +Lucie and Hortense, and the scoundrelism of Octave. They were no +longer young, too fat or too thin, tired out, used up. You could see +that they were almost bald; and they drank bocks like men. + +M. Saval sat down at some distance from them, and waited, for the hour +for taking absinthe was at hand. + +A tall young man soon came in and took a seat beside him. The landlady +called him M. "Romantin." The notary quivered. Was this the Romantin +who had taken a medal at the last Salon? + +The young man made a sign to the waiter: + +"You will bring up my dinner at once, and then carry to my new studio, +15, Boulevard de Clinchy, thirty bottles of beer and the ham I ordered +this morning. We are going to have housewarming." + +M. Saval immediately ordered dinner. Then, he took off his overcoat, +so that his dress coat and his white tie could be seen. His neighbor +did not seem to notice him. He had taken up a newspaper, and was +reading it. M. Saval glanced sideways at him, burning with the desire +to speak to him. + +Two young men entered, in red vests, and peaked beards in the fashion +of Henry III. They sat down opposite Romantin. + +The first of the pair said: + +"It is for this evening?" + +Romantin pressed his hand. + +"T believe you, old chap, and everyone will be there, I have Bonnat, +Guillemet, Gervex, Beraud, Hebert, Duez, Clairin, and Jean-Paul +Laurens. It will be a glorious blow out! And women too! Wait till you +see! Every actress without exception--of course I mean, you know, all +those who have nothing to do this evening." + +The landlord of the establishment came across. + +"Do you often have this housewarming?" + +The painter replied: + +"I believe you, every three months, each quarter." + +M. Saval could not restrain himself any longer, and in a hesitating +voice said: + +"I beg your pardon for intruding on you, monsieur, but I heard your +name pronounced, and I would be very glad to know if you really are M. +Romantin, whose work in the last Salon I have so much admired?" + +The painter answered: + +"I am the very person, monsieur." + +The notary then paid the artist a very well-turned compliment, showing +that he was a man of culture. + +The painter, gratified, thanked him politely in reply. + +Then they chatted. Romantin returned to the subject of his +housewarming, going into details as to the magnificence of the +forthcoming entertainment. + +M. Saval questioned him as to all the men he was going to receive, +adding: + +"It would be an extraordinary piece of good fortune for a stranger to +meet at one time so many celebrities assembled in the studio of an +artist of your rank." + +Romantin, overcome, answered: + +"If it would be agreeable to you, come." + +M. Saval accepted the invitation with enthusiasm, reflecting: + +"I'll always have time enough to see 'Henri VIII.'" + +Both of them had finished their meal. The notary insisted on paying +the two bills, wishing to repay his neighbor's civilities. He also +paid for the drinks of the young fellows in red velvet; then he left +the establishment with the painter. + +They stopped in front of a very long house, by no means high, of which +all the first story had the appearance of an interminable +conservatory. Six studios stood in a row with their fronts facing the +boulevards. + +Romantin was the first to enter, and, ascending the stairs, he opened +a door, and lighted a match and then a candle. + +They found themselves in an immense apartment, the furniture of which +consisted of three chairs, two easels, and a few sketches lying on the +ground along the walls. M. Saval remained standing at the door in a +stupefied state of mind. + +The painter remarked: + +"Here you are! we've got to the spot; but everything has yet to be +done." + +Then, examining the high, bare apartment, whose ceiling was veiled in +shadows, he said: + +"We might make a great deal out of this studio." + +He walked round it, surveying it with the utmost attention, then went +on: + +"I have a mistress who might easily give a helping hand. Women are +incomparable for hanging drapery. But I sent her to the country for +to-day in order to get her off my hands this evening. It is not that +she bores me, but she is too much lacking in the ways of good society. +It would be embarrassing to my guests." + +He reflected for a few seconds, and then added: + +"She is a good girl, but not easy to deal with. If she knew that I was +holding a reception, she would tear out my eyes." + +M. Saval had not even moved; he did not understand. + +The artist came over to him. + +"Since I have invited you, you are going to give me some help." + +The notary said emphatically: + +"Make any use of me you please. I am at your disposal." + +Romantin took off his jacket. + +"Well, citizen, to work! We are first going to clean up." + +He went to the back of the easel, on which there was a canvas +representing a cat, and seized a very worn-out broom. + +"I say! Just brush up while I look after the lighting." + +M. Saval took the broom, inspected it, and then began to sweep the +floor very awkwardly, raising a whirlwind of dust. + +Romantin, disgusted, stopped him: "Deuce take it! you don't know how +to sweep the floor! Look at me!" + +And he began to roll before him a heap of grayish sweepings, as if he +had done nothing else all his life. Then, he gave back the broom to +the notary, who imitated him. + +In five minutes, such a cloud of dust filled the studio that Romantin +asked: + +"Where are you? I can't see you any longer." + +M. Saval, who was coughing, came near to him. The painter said to him: + +"How are you going to manage to get up a chandelier?" + +The other, stunned, asked: + +"What chandelier?" + +"Why, a chandelier to light--a chandelier with wax candles." + +The notary did not understand. + +He answered: "I don't know." + +The painter began to jump about, cracking his fingers. + +"Well, monseigneur, I have found out a way." + +Then he went more calmly: + +"Have you got five francs about you?" + +M. Saval replied: + +"Why, yes." + +The artist said: + +"Well! you'll go and buy for me five francs' worth of wax candles +while I go and see the cooper." + +And he pushed the notary in his evening coat into the street. At the +end of five minutes, they had returned one of them with the wax +candles, and the other with the hoop of a cask. Then Romantin plunged +his hand into a cupboard, and drew forth twenty empty bottles, which +he fixed in the form of a crown around the hoop. + +He then came down, and went to borrow a ladder from the door-keeper, +after having explained that he had obtained the favors of the old +woman by painting the portrait of her cat exhibited on the easel. + +When he mounted the ladder, he said to M. Saval: + +"Are you active?" + +The other, without understanding, answered: + +"Why, yes." + +"Well, you just climb up there, and fasten this chandelier for me to +the ring of the ceiling. Then, you must put a wax candle in each +bottle, and light it. I tell you I have a genius for lighting up. But +off with your coat, damn it! You are just like a Jeames." + +The door was opened brutally. A woman appeared, with her eyes +flashing, and remained standing on the threshold. + +Romantin gazed at her with a look of terror. + +She waited some seconds, crossing her arms over her breast, and then, +in a shrill, vibrating, exasperated voice, said: + +"Ha! you sniveler, is this the way you leave me?" + +Romantin made no reply. She went on: + +"Ha! you scoundrel! You are again doing the swell, while you pack me +off to the country. You'll soon see the way I'll settle your +jollification. Yes, I'm going to receive your friends." + +She grew warmer: + +"I'm going to slap their faces with the bottles and the wax +candles...." + +Romantin uttered one soft word: + +"Mathilde...." + +But she did not pay any attention to him; she went on: + +"Wait a little my fine fellow! wait a little!" + +Romantin went over to her, and tried to take her by the hands: + +"Mathilde...." + +But she was now fairly under way; and on she went, emptying the vials +of her wrath with strong words and reproaches. They flowed out of her +mouth, like a stream sweeping a heap of filth along with it. The words +hurled out, seemed struggling for exit. She stuttered, stammered, +yelled, suddenly recovering her voice to cast forth an insult or a +curse. + +He seized her hands without her having even noticed it. She did not +seem to see anything, so much occupied was she in holding forth and +relieving her heart. And suddenly she began to weep. The tears flowed +from her eyes without making her stem the tide of her complaints. But +her words had taken a howling, shrieking tone; they were a continuous +cry interrupted by sobbings. She commenced afresh twice or three +times, till she stopped as if something were choking her, and at last +she ceased with a regular flood of tears. + +Then he clasped her in his arms and kissed her hair, affected himself. + +"Mathilde, my little Mathilde, listen. You must be reasonable. You +know, if I give a supper-party to my friends, it is to thank these +gentlemen for the medal I got at the Salon. I cannot receive women. +You ought to understand that. It is not the same with artists as with +other people." + +She stammered in the midst of her tears: + +"Why didn't you tell me this?" + +He replied: + +"It was in order not to annoy you, not to give you pain. Listen, I'm +going to see you home. You will be very sensible, very nice; you will +remain quietly waiting for me in bed, and I'll come back as soon as +it's over." + +She murmured: + +"Yes, but you will not begin over again?" + +"No, I swear to you!" + +He turned towards M. Saval, who had at last hooked on the chandelier: + +"My dear friend, I am coming back in five minutes. If any one arrives +in my absence, do the honors for me, will you not?" + +And he carried off Mathilde, who kept drying her eyes with her +handkerchief as she went along. + +Left to himself, M. Saval succeeded in putting everything around him +in order. Then he lighted the wax candles, and waited. + +He waited for a quarter of an hour, half an hour, an hour. Romantin +did not return. Then, suddenly, there was a dreadful noise on the +stairs, a song shouted out in chorus by twenty mouths and a regular +march like that of a Prussian regiment. The whole house was shaken by +the steady tramp of feet. The door flew open, and a motley throng +appeared--men and women in a row, holding one another arm in arm, in +pairs, and kicking their heels on the ground, in proper time, advanced +into the studio like a snake uncoiling itself. They howled: + + "Come, and let us all be merry, + Pretty maids and soldiers gay!" + +M. Saval, thunderstruck, remained standing in evening dress under the +chandelier. The procession of revelers caught sight of him, and +uttered a shout: + +"A Jeames! A Jeames!" + +And they began whirling round him, surrounding him with a circle of +vociferations. Then they took each other by the hand and went dancing +about madly. + +He attempted to explain: + +"Messieurs--messieurs--mesdames--" + +But they did not listen to him. They whirled about, they jumped, they +brawled. + +At last, the dancing ceased. M. Saval uttered the word: + +"Messieurs--" + +A tall young fellow, fair-haired and bearded to the nose, interrupted +him: + +"What's your name, my friend?" + +The notary, quite scared, said: + +"I am M. Saval." + +A voice exclaimed: + +"You mean Baptiste." + +A woman said: + +"Let the poor waiter alone! You'll end by making him get angry. He's +paid to attend on us, and not to be laughed at by us." + +Then, M. Saval noticed that each guest had brought his own provisions. +One held a bottle of wine, and the other a pie. This one had a loaf +of bread, and one a ham. + +The tall, fair young fellow placed in his hands an enormous sausage, +and gave orders: + +"I say! Go and settle up the sideboard in the corner over there. You +are to put the bottles at the left and the provisions at the right." + +Saval, getting quite distracted, exclaimed: "But messieurs, I am a +notary!" + +There was a moment's silence, and then a wild outburst of laughter. +One suspicious gentleman asked: + +"How are you here?" + +He explained, telling about his project of going to the Opera, his +departure from Vernon, his arrival in Paris, and the way in which he +had spent the evening. + +They sat around him to listen to him; they greeted him with words of +applause, and called him Scheherazade. + +Romantin did not come back. Other guests arrived. M. Saval was +presented to them so that he might begin his story over again. He +declined; they forced him to relate it. They fixed him on one of the +three chairs between two women who kept constantly filling his glass. +He drank; he laughed; he talked; he sang, too. He tried to waltz with +his chair, and fell on the ground. + +From that moment, he forgot everything. It seemed to him, however, +that they undressed him, put him to bed, and that his stomach got +sick. + +When he awoke, it was broad daylight, and he lay stretched with his +feet against a cupboard, in a strange bed. + +An old woman with a broom in her hand was glaring angrily at him. At +last, she said: + +"Clear out, you blackguard! Clear out! What right has anyone to get +drunk like this?" + +He sat up in the bed, feeling very ill at ease. He asked: + +"Where am I?" + +"Where are you, you dirty scamp? You are drunk. Take your rotten +carcass out of here as quick as you can,--and lose no time about it!" + +He wanted to get up. He found that he was naked in the bed. His +clothes had disappeared. He blurted out: + +"Madame, I--" + +Then he remembered.... What was he to do? He asked: + +"Did Monsieur Romantin come back?" + +The door-keeper shouted: + +"Will you take your dirty carcass out of this so that he at any rate +may not catch you here?" + +M. Saval said, in a state of confusion: + +"I haven't got my clothes; they have been taken away from me." + +He had to wait, to explain his situation, give notice to his friends, +and borrow some money to buy clothes. He did not leave Paris till +evening. + +And, when people talk about music to him in his beautiful drawing-room +in Vernon, he declares with an air of authority that painting is a +very inferior art. + + + + +BOITELLE + + +Pere Boitelle (Antoine) had the reputation through the whole county of +a specialist in dirty jobs. Every time a pit, a dunghill, or a +cesspool required to be cleared away, or a dirt-hole to be cleansed +out he was the person employed to do it. + +He would come there with his nightman's tools and his wooden shoes +covered with muck, and would set to work, whining incessantly about +the nature of his occupation. When people asked him, then, why he did +this loathsome work, he would reply resignedly: + +"Faith, 'tis for my children whom I must support. This brings me in +more than anything else." + +He had, indeed, fourteen children. If anyone asked him what had become +of them, he would say with an air of indifference: + +"There are only eight of them left in the house. One is out at +service, and five are married." + +When the questioner wanted to know whether they were well married, he +replied vivaciously: + +"I did not cross them. I crossed them in nothing. They married just as +they pleased. We shouldn't go against people's likings, it turns out +badly. I am a night-cart-man because my parents went against my +likings. But for that I would have become a workman like the others." + +Here is the way his parents had thwarted him in his likings: + +He was at the time a soldier stationed at Havre, not more stupid than +another, or sharper either, a rather simple fellow, in truth. During +his hours of freedom his greatest pleasure was to walk along the quay, +where the bird-dealers congregate. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a +soldier from his own part of the country, he would slowly saunter +along by cages where the parrots with green backs and yellow heads +from the banks of the Amazon, the parrots with gray backs and red +heads from Senegal, enormous macaws, which look like birds brought up +in conservatories, with their flower-like feathers, their plumes and +their tufts, the paroquets of every shape, who seem painted with +minute care by that excellent miniaturist, God Almighty, and the +little ones, all the little young birds, hopping about, yellow, blue, +and variegated, mingling their cries with the noise of the quay, add +to the din caused by the unloading of the vessels, as well as by +passengers and vehicles, a violent clamor, loud, shrill, and +deafening, as if from some distant, monstrous forest. + +Boitelle would stop with stained eyes, wide-open mouth, laughing and +enraptured, showing his teeth to the captive cockatoos, who kept +nodding their white or yellow top-knots towards the glaring red of his +breeches and the copper buckle of his belt. When he found a bird that +could talk, he put questions to it, and if it happened at the time to +be disposed to reply and to hold a conversation with him, he would +remain there till nightfall, filled with gayety and contentment. He +also found heaps of fun in looking at the monkeys, and could conceive +no greater luxury for a rich man than to possess these animals, just +like cats and dogs. This kind of taste for the exotic he had in his +blood, as people have a taste for the chase, or for medicine, or for +the priesthood. He could not keep himself, every time the gates of the +barracks opened, from going back to the quay, as if he felt himself +drawn towards it by an irresistible longing. + +Now, on one occasion, having stopped almost in ecstacy before an +enormous araruna, which was swelling out its plumes, bending forward, +and bridling up again as if making the court-curtseys of parrot-land, +he saw the door of a little tavern adjoining the bird-dealer's shop +opening, and his attention was attracted by a young negress, with a +silk kerchief tied round her head, sweeping into the street the +rubbish and the sand of the establishment. + +Boitelle's attention was soon divided between the bird and the woman, +and he really could not tell which of these two beings he contemplated +with the greater astonishment and delight. + +The negress, having got rid of the sweepings of the tavern, raised her +eyes, and, in her turn, was dazzled by the soldier's uniform. There +she stood facing him with her broom in her hands as if she were +carrying arms for him, while the araruna continued making curtseys. +Now at the end of a few seconds the soldier began to get embarrassed +by this attention, and he walked away gingerly so as not to present +the appearance of beating a retreat. + +But he came back. Almost every day he passed in front of the Colonial +tavern, and often he could distinguish through the window-panes the +figure of the little black-skinned maid filling out "bocks" or glasses +of brandy for the sailors of the port. Frequently, too, she would come +out to the door on seeing him; soon, without even having exchanged a +word they smiled at one another like acquaintances; and Boitelle felt +his heart moved when he saw suddenly glittering between the dark lips +of the girl her shining row of white teeth. At length he ventured one +day to enter and was quite surprised to find that she could speak +French like everyone else. The bottle of lemonade, of which she was +good enough to accept a glassful, remained in the soldier's +recollection, memorably delicious; and it grew into custom with him to +come and absorb in this little tavern on the quay all the agreeable +drinks which he could afford. + +For him it was a treat, a happiness, on which his thoughts were +constantly dwelling, to watch the black hand of the little maid +pouring out something into his glass whilst her teeth, brighter than +her eyes, showed themselves as she laughed. When they had kept company +in this way for two months they became fast friends, and Boitelle, +after his first astonishment at discovering that this negress was in +her excellent principles as good as the best girls in the country, +that she exhibited a regard for economy, industry, religion, and good +conduct, loved her more on that account, and became so much smitten +with her that he wanted to marry her. + +He told her about his intentions, which made her dance with joy. +Besides, she had a little money, left her by a female oyster-dealer, +who had picked her up when she had been left on the quay at Havre by +an American captain. This captain had found her, when she was only +about six years old, lying on bales of cotton in the hold of his ship, +some hours after his departure from New York. On his arrival in Havre, +he there abandoned to the care of this compassionate oyster-dealer +the little black creature, who had been hidden on board his vessel, he +could not tell how or why. + +The oyster-woman having died, the young negress became a servant at +the Colonial tavern. + +Antoine Boitelle added: "This will be all right if the parents don't +go against it. I will never go against them, you understand never! I'm +going to say a word or two to them the first time I go back to the +country." + +On the following week, in fact, having obtained twenty-four hours' +leave, he went to see his family, who cultivate a little farm at +Tourteville near Yvetot. + +He waited till the meal was finished, the hour when the coffee +baptized with brandy makes people more open-hearted, before informing +his parents that he had found a girl answering so well to his likings +in every way that there could not exist any other in all the world so +perfectly suited to him. + +The old people, at this observation, immediately assumed a circumspect +air, and wanted explanations. Besides he had concealed nothing from +them except the color of her skin. + +She was a servant, without much means, but strong, thrifty, clean, +well-conducted, and sensible. All these things were better than money +would be in the hands of a bad housewife. Moreover, she had a few +sous, left her by a woman who had reared her, a good number of sous, +almost a little dowry, fifteen hundred francs in the savings' bank. +The old people, overcome by his talk, and relying, too, on their own +judgment, were gradually giving way, when he came to the delicate +point. Laughing in rather a constrained fashion, he said: + +"There is only one thing you may not like. She is not a white slip." + +They did not understand, and he had to explain at some length and very +cautiously, to avoid shocking them, that she belonged to the dusky +race of which they had only seen samples amongst figures exhibited at +Epinal. Then, they became restless, perplexed, alarmed, as if he had +proposed a union with the Devil. + +The mother said. "Black? How much of her is black? Is the whole of +her?" + +He replied, "Certainly. Everywhere, just as you are white everywhere." + +The father interposed, "Black? Is it as black as the pot?" + +The son answered "Perhaps a little less than that. She is black, but +not disgustingly black. The Curé's cassock is black; but it is not +uglier than a surplice, which is white." + +The father said, "Are there more black people besides her in her +country?" + +And the son, with an air of conviction, exclaimed, "Certainly!" + +But the old man shook his head. + +"This must be disagreeable?" + +And the son: + +"It isn't more disagreeable than anything else, seeing that you get +used to it in no time." + +The mother asked: + +"It doesn't soil linen more than other skins, this black skin?" + +"Not more than your own, as it is her proper color." + +Then after many other questions, it was agreed that the parents should +see this girl before coming to any decision and that the young +fellow, whose period of services was coming to an end in the course of +a month, should bring her to the house in order that they might +examine her, and decide by talking the matter over whether or not she +was too dark to enter the Boitelle family. + +Antoine accordingly announced that on Sunday, the 22nd of May, the day +of his discharge, he would start for Tourteville with his sweetheart. + +She had put on, for this journey to the house of her lover's parents, +her most beautiful and most gaudy clothes, in which yellow, red, and +blue were the prevailing colors, so that she had the appearance of one +adorned for a national fete. + +At the terminus, as they were leaving Havre, people stared at her very +much, and Boitelle was proud of giving his arm to a person who +commanded so much attention. Then, in the third-class carriage, in +which she took a seat by his side, she excited so much astonishment +among the peasants that the people in the adjoining compartments got +up on their benches to get a look at her, over the wooden partition, +which divided the different portions of the carriage from one another. +A child, at sight of her, began to cry with terror, another concealed +his face in his mother's apron. Everything went off well, however, up +to their arrival at their destination. But, when the train slackened +its rate of motion as they drew near Yvetot, Antoine felt ill at ease, +as he would have done at an inspection when he did not know his +drill-practice. Then, as he put his head out through the carriage +door, he recognized, some distance away, his father who was holding +the bridle of the horse yoked to a car, and his mother who had made +her way to the railed portion of the platform where a number of +spectators had gathered. + +He stepped out first, gave his hand to his sweetheart, and holding +himself erect, as if he were escorting a general, he advanced towards +his family. + +The mother, on seeing this black lady, in variegated costume in her +son's company, remained so stupefied that she could not open her +mouth; and the father found it hard to hold the horse, which the +engine or the negress caused to rear for some time without stopping. +But Antoine, suddenly seized with the unmingled joy of seeing once +more the old people, rushed forward with open arms, embraced his +mother, embraced his father, in spite of the nag's fright, and then +turning towards his companion, at whom the passengers on the platform +stopped to stare with amazement, he proceeded to explain: + +"Here she is! I told you that, at first sight, she is an odd piece; +but as soon as you know her, in very truth, there's not a better sort +in the whole world. Say good-morrow to her without making any pother +about it." + +Thereupon Mere Boitelle, herself nearly frightened out of her wits, +made a sort of curtsey, while the father took off his cap, murmuring: + +"I wish you good-luck!" + +Then, without further delay, they climbed up on the car, the two women +at the lower end on seats, which made them jump up and down, as the +vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men outside on the +front seat. + +Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his +father lashed the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the +corner, kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and +cheek-bones shone in the sunlight, like well-blacked shoes. + +Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round. + +"Well," said he, "we don't seem inclined to talk." + +"We must get time," replied the old woman. + +He went on: + +"Come! tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid +eight eggs." + +It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family. But, as his +mother still remained silent, paralyzed by emotion, he started the +talking himself, and narrated, with much laughter on his own part, +this memorable adventure. The father, who knew it by heart, brightened +at the opening words of the narrative; his wife soon followed his +example; and the negress herself, when he reached the drollest part of +it, suddenly gave vent to a laugh so noisy, rolling, and torrent-like +that the horse, becoming excited, broke into a gallop for a little +while. + +This served as the introduction to their acquaintanceship. The company +at length began to chat. + +On reaching the house when they had all alighted, and he had conducted +his sweetheart to a room, so that she might take off her dress, to +avoid staining it, while she would be preparing a good dish intended +to win the old people's affections while appealing to their stomachs, +he drew aside his parents, near the door, and with beating heart, +asked: + +"Well, what do you say now?" + +The father said nothing. The mother, less timid, exclaimed: + +"She is too black. No, indeed, this is too much for me. It turns my +blood." + +"That may be, but it is only for the moment." + +Then they made their way into the interior of the house, where the +good woman was somewhat affected at the spectacle of the negress +engaged in cooking. She at once proceeded to assist her, with +petticoats tucked up, active in spite of her age. + +The meal was an excellent one, very long, very enjoyable. When they +had afterwards taken a turn together, Antoine said to his father: + +"Well dad, what do you say to this?" + +The peasant took care never to compromise himself. + +"I have no opinion about it. Ask your mother." + +So Antoine went back to his mother, and leading her to the end of the +room, said: + +"Well mother, what do you think of her?" + +"My poor lad, she is really too black. If she were only a little less +black, I would not go against you, but this is too much. One would +think it was Satan!" + +He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the old woman had always +been, but he felt a tempest of disappointment sweeping over his heart. +He was turning over his mind what he ought to do, what plan he could +devise, surprised, moreover, that she had not conquered them already +as she had captivated himself. And they, all four, set out with slow +steps through the cornfields, having again relapsed into silence. +Whenever they passed a fence they saw a countryman sitting on the +stile, and a group of brats climbed up to stare at them and everyone +rushed out into the road to see the "black" whom young Boitelle had +brought home with him. At a distance they noticed people scampering +across the fields just as when the drum beats to draw public attention +to some living phenomenon. Pere and Mere Boitelle, scared by this +curiosity, which was exhibited everywhere through the country at their +approach, quickened their pace, walking side by side, and leaving far +behind their son, when his dark companion asked what his parents +thought of her. + +He hesitatingly replied that they had not yet made up their minds. + +But, on the village-green, people rushed out of all the houses in a +flutter of excitement; and, at the sight of the gathering rabble, old +Boitelle took to his heels and regained his abode, whilst Antoine, +swelling with rage, his sweetheart on his arm, advanced majestically +under the staring eyes which opened wide in amazement. + +He understood that it was at an end, and there was no hope for him, +that he could not marry his negress, she also understood it; and as +they drew near the farmhouse they both began to weep. As soon as they +had got back to the house, she once more took off her dress to aid the +mother in the household duties, and followed her everywhere to the +dairy, to the stable, to the hen-house, taking on herself the hardest +part of the work, repeating always, "Let me do it Madame Boitelle," so +that, when night came on, the old woman, touched but inexorable, said +to her son: "She is a good, all the same. 'Tis a pity she is so black; +but indeed she is too much so. I couldn't get used to it. She must go +back again. She is too, too black!" + +And young Boitelle said to his sweetheart: + +"She will not consent. She thinks you are too black. You must go back +again. I will go with you to the train. No matter--don't fret. I am +going to talk to them after you are started." + +He then conducted her to the railway-station, still cheering her with +hope, and, when he had kissed her, he put her into the train, which he +watched as it passed out of sight, his eyes swollen with tears. + +In vain did he appeal to the old people. They would never give their +consent. + +And when he had told this story, which was known all over the country, +Antoine Boitelle would always add: + +"From that time forward I have had no heart for anything--for anything +at all. No trade suited me any longer, and so I became what I am--a +nightcart-man." + +People would say to him: + +"Yet you got married." + +"Yes, and I can't say that my wife didn't please me, seeing that I've +got fourteen children; but she is not the other one, oh no--certainly +not! The other one, mark you, my negress, she had only to give me one +glance, and I felt as if I were in Heaven!" + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Volume +VIII., by Guy de Maupassant + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT *** + +***** This file should be named 22069-8.txt or 22069-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/0/6/22069/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +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. 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