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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:07 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:07 -0700 |
| commit | 22e61fda7c4e728b8b8e5407de6e026089733301 (patch) | |
| tree | acca23bcf988090e45e10feee50e03c00f609fcc /1428-h | |
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diff --git a/1428-h/1428-h.htm b/1428-h/1428-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..370e2c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/1428-h/1428-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1133 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + La Grenadiere, by Honore de Balzac + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1428 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + LA GRENADIERE + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Honore De Balzac + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated By Ellen Marriage + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + To D. W. + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> LA GRENADIERE </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> ADDENDUM </a> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + LA GRENADIERE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + La Grenadiere is a little house on the right bank of the Loire as you go + down stream, about a mile below the bridge of Tours. At this point the + river, broad as a lake, and covered with scattered green islands, flows + between two lines of cliff, where country houses built uniformly of white + stone stand among their gardens and vineyards. The finest fruit in the + world ripens there with a southern exposure. The patient toil of many + generations has cut terraces in the cliff, so that the face of the rock + reflects the rays of the sun, and the produce of hot climates may be grown + out of doors in an artificially high temperature. + </p> + <p> + A church spire, rising out of one of the shallower dips in the line of + cliffs, marks the little village of Saint-Cyr, to which the scattered + houses all belong. And yet a little further the Choisille flows into the + Loire, through a fertile valley cut in the long low downs. + </p> + <p> + La Grenadiere itself, half-way up the hillside, and about a hundred paces + from the church, is one of those old-fashioned houses dating back some two + or three hundred years, which you find in every picturesque spot in + Touraine. A fissure in the rock affords convenient space for a flight of + steps descending gradually to the “dike”—the local name for the + embankment made at the foot of the cliffs to keep the Loire in its bed, + and serve as a causeway for the highroad from Paris to Nantes. At the top + of the steps a gate opens upon a narrow stony footpath between two + terraces, for here the soil is banked up, and walls are built to prevent + landslips. These earthworks, as it were, are crowned with trellises and + espaliers, so that the steep path that lies at the foot of the upper wall + is almost hidden by the trees that grow on the top of the lower, upon + which it lies. The view of the river widens out before you at every step + as you climb to the house. + </p> + <p> + At the end you come to a second gateway, a Gothic archway covered with + simple ornament, now crumbling into ruin and overgrown with wildflowers—moss + and ivy, wallflowers and pellitory. Every stone wall on the hillside is + decked with this ineradicable plant-life, which springs up along the + cracks afresh with new wreaths for every time of year. + </p> + <p> + The worm-eaten gate gives into a little garden, a strip of turf, a few + trees, and a wilderness of flowers and rose bushes—a garden won from + the rock on the highest terrace of all, with the dark, old balustrade + along its edge. Opposite the gateway, a wooden summer-house stands against + the neighboring wall, the posts are covered with jessamine and + honeysuckle, vines and clematis. + </p> + <p> + The house itself stands in the middle of this highest garden, above a + vine-covered flight of steps, with an arched doorway beneath that leads to + vast cellars hollowed out in the rock. All about the dwelling trellised + vines and pomegranate-trees (the <i>grenadiers</i>, which give the name to + the little close) are growing out in the open air. The front of the house + consists of two large windows on either side of a very rustic-looking + house door, and three dormer windows in the roof—a slate roof with + two gables, prodigiously high-pitched in proportion to the low + ground-floor. The house walls are washed with yellow color; and door, and + first-floor shutters, all the Venetian shutters of the attic windows, all + are painted green. + </p> + <p> + Entering the house, you find yourself in a little lobby with a crooked + staircase straight in front of you. It is a crazy wooden structure, the + spiral balusters are brown with age, and the steps themselves take a new + angle at every turn. The great old-fashioned paneled dining-room, floored + with square white tiles from Chateau-Regnault, is on your right; to the + left is the sitting-room, equally large, but here the walls are not + paneled; they have been covered instead with a saffron-colored paper, + bordered with green. The walnut-wood rafters are left visible, and the + intervening spaces filled with a kind of white plaster. + </p> + <p> + The first story consists of two large whitewashed bedrooms with stone + chimney-pieces, less elaborately carved than those in the rooms beneath. + Every door and window is on the south side of the house, save a single + door to the north, contrived behind the staircase to give access to the + vineyard. Against the western wall stands a supplementary timber-framed + structure, all the woodwork exposed to the weather being fledged with + slates, so that the walls are checkered with bluish lines. This shed (for + it is little more) is the kitchen of the establishment. You can pass from + it into the house without going outside; but, nevertheless, it boasts an + entrance door of its own, and a short flight of steps that brings you to a + deep well, and a very rustical-looking pump, half hidden by water-plants + and savin bushes and tall grasses. The kitchen is a modern addition, + proving beyond doubt that La Grenadiere was originally nothing but a + simple <i>vendangeoir</i>—a vintage-house belonging to townsfolk in + Tours, from which Saint-Cyr is separated by the vast river-bed of the + Loire. The owners only came over for the day for a picnic, or at the + vintage-time, sending provisions across in the morning, and scarcely ever + spent the night there except during the grape harvest; but the English + settled down on Touraine like a cloud of locusts, and La Grenadiere must, + of course, be completed if it was to find tenants. Luckily, however, this + recent appendage is hidden from sight by the first two trees of a + lime-tree avenue planted in a gully below the vineyards. + </p> + <p> + There are only two acres of vineyard at most, the ground rising at the + back of the house so steeply that it is no very easy matter to scramble up + among the vines. The slope, covered with green trailing shoots, ends + within about five feet of the house wall in a ditch-like passage always + damp and cold and full of strong growing green things, fed by the drainage + of the highly cultivated ground above, for rainy weather washes down the + manure into the garden on the terrace. + </p> + <p> + A vinedresser’s cottage also leans against the western gable, and is in + some sort a continuation of the kitchen. Stone walls or espaliers surround + the property, and all sorts of fruit-trees are planted among the vines; in + short, not an inch of this precious soil is wasted. If by chance man + overlooks some dry cranny in the rocks, Nature puts in a fig-tree, or sows + wildflowers or strawberries in sheltered nooks among the stones. + </p> + <p> + Nowhere else in all the world will you find a human dwelling so humble and + yet so imposing, so rich in fruit, and fragrant scents, and wide views of + country. Here is a miniature Touraine in the heart of Touraine—all + its flowers and fruits and all the characteristic beauty of the land are + fully represented. Here are grapes of every district, figs and peaches and + pears of every kind; melons are grown out of doors as easily as licorice + plants, Spanish broom, Italian oleanders, and jessamines from the Azores. + The Loire lies at your feet. You look down from the terrace upon the + ever-changing river nearly two hundred feet below; and in the evening the + breeze brings a fresh scent of the sea, with the fragrance of far-off + flowers gathered upon its way. Some cloud wandering in space, changing its + color and form at every moment as it crosses the pure blue of the sky, can + alter every detail in the widespread wonderful landscape in a thousand + ways, from every point of view. The eye embraces first of all the south + bank of the Loire, stretching away as far as Amboise, then Tours with its + suburbs and buildings, and the Plessis rising out of the fertile plain; + further away, between Vouvray and Saint-Symphorien, you see a sort of + crescent of gray cliff full of sunny vineyards; the only limits to your + view are the low, rich hills along the Cher, a bluish line of horizon + broken by many a chateau and the wooded masses of many a park. Out to the + west you lose yourself in the immense river, where vessels come and go, + spreading their white sails to the winds which seldom fail them in the + wide Loire basin. A prince might build a summer palace at La Grenadiere, + but certainly it will always be the home of a poet’s desire, and the + sweetest of retreats for two young lovers—for this vintage house, + which belongs to a substantial burgess of Tours, has charms for every + imagination, for the humblest and dullest as well as for the most + impassioned and lofty. No one can dwell there without feeling that + happiness is in the air, without a glimpse of all that is meant by a + peaceful life without care or ambition. There is that in the air and the + sound of the river that sets you dreaming; the sands have a language, and + are joyous or dreary, golden or wan; and the owner of the vineyard may sit + motionless amid perennial flowers and tempting fruit, and feel all the + stir of the world about him. + </p> + <p> + If an Englishman takes the house for the summer, he is asked a thousand + francs for six months, the produce of the vineyard not included. If the + tenant wishes for the orchard fruit, the rent is doubled; for the vintage, + it is doubled again. What can La Grenadiere be worth, you wonder; La + Grenadiere, with its stone staircase, its beaten path and triple terrace, + its two acres of vineyard, its flowering roses about the balustrades, its + worn steps, well-head, rampant clematis, and cosmopolitan trees? It is + idle to make a bid! La Grenadiere will never be in the market; it was + brought once and sold, but that was in 1690; and the owner parted with it + for forty thousand francs, reluctant as any Arab of the desert to + relinquish a favorite horse. Since then it has remained in the same + family, its pride, its patrimonial jewel, its Regent diamond. “While you + behold, you have and hold,” says the bard. And from La Grenadiere you + behold three valleys of Touraine and the cathedral towers aloft in air + like a bit of filigree work. How can one pay for such treasures? Could one + ever pay for the health recovered there under the linden-trees? + </p> + <p> + In the spring of one of the brightest years of the Restoration, a lady + with her housekeeper and her two children (the oldest a boy thirteen years + old, the youngest apparently about eight) came to Tours to look for a + house. She saw La Grenadiere and took it. Perhaps the distance from the + town was an inducement to live there. + </p> + <p> + She made a bedroom of the drawing-room, gave the children the two rooms + above, and the housekeeper slept in a closet behind the kitchen. The + dining-room was sitting-room and drawing-room all in one for the little + family. The house was furnished very simply but tastefully; there was + nothing superfluous in it, and no trace of luxury. The walnut-wood + furniture chosen by the stranger lady was perfectly plain, and the whole + charm of the house consisted in its neatness and harmony with its + surroundings. + </p> + <p> + It was rather difficult, therefore, to say whether the strange lady (Mme. + Willemsens, as she styled herself) belonged to the upper middle or higher + classes, or to an equivocal, unclassified feminine species. Her plain + dress gave rise to the most contradictory suppositions, but her manners + might be held to confirm those favorable to her. She had not lived at + Saint-Cyr, moreover, for very long before her reserve excited the + curiosity of idle people, who always, and especially in the country, watch + anybody or anything that promises to bring some interest into their narrow + lives. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Willemsens was rather tall; she was thin and slender, but delicately + shaped. She had pretty feet, more remarkable for the grace of her instep + and ankle than for the more ordinary merit of slenderness; her gloved + hands, too, were shapely. There were flitting patches of deep red in a + pale face, which must have been fresh and softly colored once. Premature + wrinkles had withered the delicately modeled forehead beneath the coronet + of soft, well-set chestnut hair, invariably wound about her head in two + plaits, a girlish coiffure which suited the melancholy face. There was a + deceptive look of calm in the dark eyes, with the hollow, shadowy circles + about them; sometimes, when she was off her guard, their expression told + of secret anguish. The oval of her face was somewhat long; but happiness + and health had perhaps filled and perfected the outlines. A forced smile, + full of quiet sadness, hovered continually on her pale lips; but when the + children, who were always with her, looked up at their mother, or asked + one of the incessant idle questions which convey so much to a mother’s + ears, then the smile brightened, and expressed the joys of a mother’s + love. Her gait was slow and dignified. Her dress never varied; evidently + she had made up her mind to think no more of her toilette, and to forget a + world by which she meant no doubt to be forgotten. She wore a long, black + gown, confined at the waist by a watered-silk ribbon, and by way of scarf + a lawn handkerchief with a broad hem, the two ends passed carelessly + through her waistband. The instinct of dress showed itself in that she was + daintily shod, and gray silk stockings carried out the suggestion of + mourning in this unvarying costume. Lastly, she always wore a bonnet after + the English fashion, always of the same shape and the same gray material, + and a black veil. Her health apparently was extremely weak; she looked + very ill. On fine evenings she would take her only walk, down to the + bridge of Tours, bringing the two children with her to breathe the fresh, + cool air along the Loire, and to watch the sunset effects on a landscape + as wide as the Bay of Naples or the Lake of Geneva. + </p> + <p> + During the whole time of her stay at La Grenadiere she went but twice into + Tours; once to call on the headmaster of the school, to ask him to give + her the names of the best masters of Latin, drawing, and mathematics; and + a second time to make arrangements for the children’s lessons. But her + appearance on the bridge of an evening, once or twice a week, was quite + enough to excite the interest of almost all the inhabitants of Tours, who + make a regular promenade of the bridge. Still, in spite of a kind of spy + system, by which no harm is meant, a provincial habit bred of want of + occupation and the restless inquisitiveness of the principal society, + nothing was known for certain of the newcomer’s rank, fortune, or real + condition. Only, the owner of La Grenadiere told one or two of his friends + that the name under which the stranger had signed the lease (her real + name, therefore, in all probability) was Augusta Willemsens, Countess of + Brandon. This, of course, must be her husband’s name. Events, which will + be narrated in their place, confirmed this revelation; but it went no + further than the little world of men of business known to the landlord. + </p> + <p> + So Madame Willemsens was a continual mystery to people of condition. Hers + was no ordinary nature; her manners were simple and delightfully natural, + the tones of her voice were divinely sweet,—this was all that she + suffered others to discover. In her complete seclusion, her sadness, her + beauty so passionately obscured, nay, almost blighted, there was so much + to charm, that several young gentlemen fell in love; but the more sincere + the lover, the more timid he became; and besides, the lady inspired awe, + and it was a difficult matter to find enough courage to speak to her. + Finally, if a few of the bolder sort wrote to her, their letters must have + been burned unread. It was Mme. Willemsens’ practice to throw all the + letters which she received into the fire, as if she meant that the time + spent in Touraine should be untroubled by any outside cares even of the + slightest. She might have come to the enchanting retreat to give herself + up wholly to the joy of living. + </p> + <p> + The three masters whose presence was allowed at La Grenadiere spoke with + something like admiring reverence of the touching picture that they saw + there of the close, unclouded intimacy of the life led by this woman and + the children. + </p> + <p> + The two little boys also aroused no small interest. Mothers could not see + them without a feeling of envy. Both children were like Mme. Willemsens, + who was, in fact, their mother. They had the transparent complexion and + bright color, the clear, liquid eyes, the long lashes, the fresh outlines, + the dazzling characteristics of childish beauty. + </p> + <p> + The elder, Louis-Gaston, had dark hair and fearless eyes. Everything about + him spoke as plainly of robust, physical health as his broad, high brow, + with its gracious curves, spoke of energy of character. He was quick and + alert in his movements, and strong of limb, without a trace of + awkwardness. Nothing took him unawares, and he seemed to think about + everything that he saw. + </p> + <p> + Marie-Gaston, the other child, had hair that was almost golden, though a + lock here and there had deepened to the mother’s chestnut tint. + Marie-Gaston was slender; he had the delicate features and the subtle + grace so charming in Mme. Willemsens. He did not look strong. There was a + gentle look in his gray eyes; his face was pale, there was something + feminine about the child. He still wore his hair in long, wavy curls, and + his mother would not have him give up embroidered collars, and little + jackets fastened with frogs and spindle-shaped buttons; evidently she took + a thoroughly feminine pleasure in the costume, a source of as much + interest to the mother as to the child. The elder boy’s plain white + collar, turned down over a closely fitting jacket, made a contrast with + his brother’s clothing, but the color and material were the same; the two + brothers were otherwise dressed alike, and looked alike. + </p> + <p> + No one could see them without feeling touched by the way in which Louis + took care of Marie. There was an almost fatherly look in the older boy’s + eyes; and Marie, child though he was, seemed to be full of gratitude to + Louis. They were like two buds, scarcely separated from the stem that bore + them, swayed by the same breeze, lying in the same ray of sunlight; but + the one was a brightly colored flower, the other somewhat bleached and + pale. At a glance, a word, an inflection in their mother’s voice, they + grew heedful, turned to look at her and listened, and did at once what + they were bidden, or asked, or recommended to do. Mme. Willemsens had so + accustomed them to understand her wishes and desires, that the three + seemed to have their thoughts in common. When they went for a walk, and + the children, absorbed in their play, ran away to gather a flower or to + look at some insect, she watched them with such deep tenderness in her + eyes, that the most indifferent passer-by would feel moved, and stop and + smile at the children, and give the mother a glance of friendly greeting. + Who would not have admired the dainty neatness of their dress, their + sweet, childish voices, the grace of their movements, the promise in their + faces, the innate something that told of careful training from the cradle? + They seemed as if they had never shed tears nor wailed like other + children. Their mother knew, as it were, by electrically swift intuition, + the desires and the pains which she anticipated and relieved. She seemed + to dread a complaint from one of them more than the loss of her soul. + Everything in her children did honor to their mother’s training. Their + threefold life, seemingly one life, called up vague, fond thoughts; it was + like a vision of the dreamed-of bliss of a better world. And the three, so + attuned to each other, lived in truth such a life as one might picture for + them at first sight—the ordered, simple, and regular life best + suited for a child’s education. + </p> + <p> + Both children rose an hour after daybreak and repeated a short prayer, a + habit learned in their babyhood. For seven years the sincere petition had + been put up every morning on their mother’s bed, and begun and ended by a + kiss. Then the two brothers went through their morning toilet as + scrupulously as any pretty woman; doubtless they had been trained in + habits of minute attention to the person, so necessary to health of body + and mind, habits in some sort conducive to a sense of wellbeing. + Conscientiously they went through their duties, so afraid were they lest + their mother should say when she kissed them at breakfast-time, “My + darling children, where can you have been to have such black finger-nails + already?” Then the two went out into the garden and shook off the dreams + of the night in the morning air and dew, until sweeping and dusting + operations were completed, and they could learn their lessons in the + sitting-room until their mother joined them. But although it was + understood that they must not go to their mother’s room before a certain + hour, they peeped in at the door continually; and these morning inroads, + made in defiance of the original compact, were delicious moments for all + three. Marie sprang upon the bed to put his arms around his idolized + mother, and Louis, kneeling by the pillow, took her hand in his. Then came + inquiries, anxious as a lover’s, followed by angelic laughter, passionate + childish kisses, eloquent silences, lisping words, and the little ones’ + stories interrupted and resumed by a kiss, stories seldom finished, though + the listener’s interest never failed. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been industrious?” their mother would ask, but in tones so sweet + and so kindly that she seemed ready to pity laziness as a misfortune, and + to glance through tears at the child who was satisfied with himself. + </p> + <p> + She knew that the thought of pleasing her put energy into the children’s + work; and they knew that their mother lived for them, and that all her + thoughts and her time were given to them. A wonderful instinct, neither + selfishness nor reason, perhaps the first innocent beginnings of sentiment + teaches children to know whether or not they are the first and sole + thought, to find out those who love to think of them and for them. If you + really love children, the dear little ones, with open hearts and unerring + sense of justice, are marvelously ready to respond to love. Their love + knows passion and jealousy and the most gracious delicacy of feeling; they + find the tenderest words of expression; they trust you—put an entire + belief in you. Perhaps there are no undutiful children without undutiful + mothers, for a child’s affection is always in proportion to the affection + that it receives—in early care, in the first words that it hears, in + the response of the eyes to which a child first looks for love and life. + All these things draw them closer to the mother or drive them apart. God + lays the child under the mother’s heart, that she may learn that for a + long time to come her heart must be its home. And yet—there are + mothers cruelly slighted, mothers whose sublime, pathetic tenderness meets + only a harsh return, a hideous ingratitude which shows how difficult it is + to lay down hard-and-fast rules in matters of feeling. + </p> + <p> + Here, not one of all the thousand heart ties that bind child and mother + had been broken. The three were alone in the world; they lived one life, a + life of close sympathy. If Mme. Willemsens was silent in the morning, + Louis and Marie would not speak, respecting everything in her, even those + thoughts which they did not share. But the older boy, with a precocious + power of thought, would not rest satisfied with his mother’s assertion + that she was perfectly well. He scanned her face with uneasy forebodings; + the exact danger he did not know, but dimly he felt it threatening in + those purple rings about her eyes, in the deepening hollows under them, + and the feverish red that deepened in her face. If Marie’s play began to + tire her, his sensitive tact was quick to discover this, and he would call + to his brother: + </p> + <p> + “Come, Marie! let us run in to breakfast, I am hungry!” + </p> + <p> + But when they reached the door, he would look back to catch the expression + on his mother’s face. She still could find a smile for him, nay, often + there were tears in her eyes when some little thing revealed her child’s + exquisite feeling, a too early comprehension of sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Willemsens dressed during the children’s early breakfast and game of + play; she was coquettish for her darlings; she wished to be pleasing in + their eyes; for them she would fain be in all things lovely, a gracious + vision, with the charm of some sweet perfume of which one can never have + enough. + </p> + <p> + She was always dressed in time to hear their lessons, which lasted from + ten till three, with an interval at noon for lunch, the three taking the + meal together in the summer-house. After lunch the children played for an + hour, while she—poor woman and happy mother—lay on a long sofa + in the summer-house, so placed that she could look out over the soft, + ever-changing country of Touraine, a land that you learn to see afresh in + all the thousand chance effects produced by daylight and sky and the time + of year. + </p> + <p> + The children scampered through the orchard, scrambled about the terraces, + chased the lizards, scarcely less nimble than they; investigating flowers + and seeds and insects, continually referring all questions to their + mother, running to and fro between the garden and the summer-house. + Children have no need of toys in the country, everything amuses them. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Willemsens sat at her embroidery during their lessons. She never + spoke, nor did she look at masters or pupils; but she followed attentively + all that was said, striving to gather the sense of the words to gain a + general idea of Louis’ progress. If Louis asked a question that puzzled + his master, his mother’s eyes suddenly lighted up, and she would smile and + glance at him with hope in her eyes. Of Marie she asked little. Her desire + was with her eldest son. Already she treated him, as it were, + respectfully, using all a woman’s, all a mother’s tact to arouse the + spirit of high endeavor in the boy, to teach him to think of himself as + capable of great things. She did this with a secret purpose, which Louis + was to understand in the future; nay, he understood it already. + </p> + <p> + Always, the lesson over, she went as far as the gate with the master, and + asked strict account of Louis’ progress. So kindly and so winning was her + manner, that his tutors told her the truth, pointing out where Louis was + weak, so that she might help him in his lessons. Then came dinner, and + play after dinner, then a walk, and lessons were learned till bedtime. + </p> + <p> + So their days went. It was a uniform but full life; work and amusements + left them not a dull hour in the day. Discouragement and quarreling were + impossible. The mother’s boundless love made everything smooth. She taught + her little sons moderation by refusing them nothing, and submission by + making them see underlying Necessity in its many forms; she put heart into + them with timely praise; developing and strengthening all that was best in + their natures with the care of a good fairy. Tears sometimes rose to her + burning eyes as she watched them play, and thought how they had never + caused her the slightest vexation. Happiness so far-reaching and complete + brings such tears, because for us it represents the dim imaginings of + Heaven which we all of us form in our minds. + </p> + <p> + Those were delicious hours spent on that sofa in the garden-house, in + looking out on sunny days over the wide stretches of river and the + picturesque landscape, listening to the sound of her children’s voices as + they laughed at their own laughter, to the little quarrels that told most + plainly of their union of heart, of Louis’ paternal care of Marie, of the + love that both of them felt for her. They spoke English and French equally + well (they had had an English nurse since their babyhood), so their mother + talked to them in both languages; directing the bent of their childish + minds with admirable skill, admitting no fallacious reasoning, no bad + principle. She ruled by kindness, concealing nothing, explaining + everything. If Louis wished for books, she was careful to give him + interesting yet accurate books—books of biography, the lives of + great seamen, great captains, and famous men, for little incidents in + their history gave her numberless opportunities of explaining the world + and life to her children. She would point out the ways in which men, + really great in themselves, had risen from obscurity; how they had started + from the lowest ranks of society, with no one to look to but themselves, + and achieved noble destinies. + </p> + <p> + These readings, and they were not the least useful of Louis’ lessons, took + place while little Marie slept on his mother’s knee in the quiet of the + summer night, and the Loire reflected the sky; but when they ended, this + adorable woman’s sadness always seemed to be doubled; she would cease to + speak, and sit motionless and pensive, and her eyes would fill with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, why are you crying?” Louis asked one balmy June evening, just as + the twilight of a soft-lit night succeeded to a hot day. + </p> + <p> + Deeply moved by his trouble, she put her arm about the child’s neck and + drew him to her. + </p> + <p> + “Because, my boy, the lot of Jameray Duval, the poor and friendless lad + who succeeded at last, will be your lot, yours and your brother’s, and I + have brought it upon you. Before very long, dear child, you will be alone + in the world, with no one to help or befriend you. While you are still + children, I shall leave you, and yet, if only I could wait till you are + big enough and know enough to be Marie’s guardian! But I shall not live so + long. I love you so much that it makes me very unhappy to think of it. + Dear children, if only you do not curse me some day!——” + </p> + <p> + “But why should I curse you some day, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Some day,” she said, kissing him on the forehead, “you will find out that + I have wronged you. I am going to leave you, here, without money, without”—and + she hesitated—“without a father,” she added, and at the word she + burst into tears and put the boy from her gently. A sort of intuition told + Louis that his mother wished to be alone, and he carried off Marie, now + half awake. An hour later, when his brother was in bed, he stole down and + out to the summer-house where his mother was sitting. + </p> + <p> + “Louis! come here.” + </p> + <p> + The words were spoken in tones delicious to his heart. The boy sprang to + his mother’s arms, and the two held each other in an almost convulsive + embrace. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Cherie</i>,” he said at last, the name by which he often called her, + finding that even loving words were too weak to express his feeling, “<i>cherie</i>, + why are you afraid that you are going to die?” + </p> + <p> + “I am ill, my poor darling; every day I am losing strength, and there is + no cure for my illness; I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Something that I ought to forget; something that you must never know.—You + must not know what caused my death.” + </p> + <p> + The boy was silent for a while. He stole a glance now and again at his + mother; and she, with her eyes raised to the sky, was watching the clouds. + It was a sad, sweet moment. Louis could not believe that his mother would + die soon, but instinctively he felt trouble which he could not guess. He + respected her long musings. If he had been rather older, he would have + read happy memories blended with thoughts of repentance, the whole story + of a woman’s life in that sublime face—the careless childhood, the + loveless marriage, a terrible passion, flowers springing up in storm and + struck down by the thunderbolt into an abyss from which there is no + return. + </p> + <p> + “Darling mother,” Louis said at last, “why do you hide your pain from me?” + </p> + <p> + “My boy, we ought to hide our troubles from strangers,” she said; “we + should show them a smiling face, never speak of ourselves to them, nor + think about ourselves; and these rules, put in practice in family life, + conduce to its happiness. You will have much to bear one day! Ah me! then + think of your poor mother who died smiling before your eyes, hiding her + sufferings from you, and you will take courage to endure the ills of + life.” + </p> + <p> + She choked back her tears, and tried to make the boy understand the + mechanism of existence, the value of money, the standing and consideration + that it gives, and its bearing on social position; the honorable means of + gaining a livelihood, and the necessity of a training. Then she told him + that one of the chief causes of her sadness and her tears was the thought + that, on the morrow of her death, he and Marie would be left almost + resourceless, with but a slender stock of money, and no friend but God. + </p> + <p> + “How quick I must be about learning!” cried Louis, giving her a piteous, + searching look. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! how happy I am!” she said, showering kisses and tears on her son. “He + understands me!—Louis,” she went on, “you will be your brother’s + guardian, will you not? You promise me that? You are no longer a child!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I promise,” he said; “but you are not going to die yet—say + that you are not going to die!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor little ones!” she replied, “love for you keeps the life in me. And + this country is so sunny, the air is so bracing, perhaps——” + </p> + <p> + “You make me love Touraine more than ever,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + From that day, when Mme. Willemsens, foreseeing the approach of death, + spoke to Louis of his future, he concentrated his attention on his work, + grew more industrious, and less inclined to play than heretofore. When he + had coaxed Marie to read a book and to give up boisterous games, there was + less noise in the hollow pathways and gardens and terraced walks of La + Grenadiere. They adapted their lives to their mother’s melancholy. Day by + day her face was growing pale and wan, there were hollows now in her + temples, the lines in her forehead grew deeper night after night. + </p> + <p> + August came. The little family had been five months at La Grenadiere, and + their whole life was changed. The old servant grew anxious and gloomy as + she watched the almost imperceptible symptoms of slow decline in the + mistress, who seemed to be kept in life by an impassioned soul and intense + love of her children. Old Annette seemed to see that death was very near. + That mistress, beautiful still, was more careful of her appearance than + she had ever been; she was at pains to adorn her wasted self, and wore + paint on her cheeks; but often while she walked on the upper terrace with + the children, Annette’s wrinkled face would peer out from between the + savin trees by the pump. The old woman would forget her work, and stand + with wet linen in her hands, scarce able to keep back her tears at the + sight of Mme. Willemsens, so little like the enchanting woman she once had + been. + </p> + <p> + The pretty house itself, once so gay and bright, looked melancholy; it was + a very quiet house now, and the family seldom left it, for the walk to the + bridge was too great an effort for Mme. Willemsens. Louis had almost + identified himself, as it were, with his mother, and with his suddenly + developed powers of imagination he saw the weariness and exhaustion under + the red color, and constantly found reasons for taking some shorter walk. + </p> + <p> + So happy couples coming to Saint-Cyr, then the Petite Courtille of Tours, + and knots of folk out for their evening walk along the “dike,” saw a pale, + thin figure dressed in black, a woman with a worn yet bright face, gliding + like a shadow along the terraces. Great suffering cannot be concealed. The + vinedresser’s household had grown quiet also. Sometimes the laborer and + his wife and children were gathered about the door of their cottage, while + Annette was washing linen at the well-head, and Mme. Willemsens and the + children sat in the summer-house, and there was not the faintest sound in + those gardens gay with flowers. Unknown to Mme. Willemsens, all eyes grew + pitiful at the sight of her, she was so good, so thoughtful, so dignified + with those with whom she came in contact. + </p> + <p> + And as for her.—When the autumn days came on, days so sunny and + bright in Touraine, bringing with them grapes and ripe fruits and + healthful influences which must surely prolong life in spite of the + ravages of mysterious disease—she saw no one but her children, + taking the utmost that the hour could give her, as if each hour had been + her last. + </p> + <p> + Louis had worked at night, unknown to his mother, and made immense + progress between June and September. In algebra he had come as far as + equations with two unknown quantities; he had studied descriptive + geometry, and drew admirably well; in fact, he was prepared to pass the + entrance examination of the Ecole polytechnique. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes of an evening he went down to the bridge of Tours. There was a + lieutenant there on half-pay, an Imperial naval officer, whose manly face, + medal, and gait had made an impression on the boy’s imagination, and the + officer on his side had taken a liking to the lad, whose eyes sparkled + with energy. Louis, hungering for tales of adventure, and eager for + information, used to follow in the lieutenant’s wake for the chance of a + chat with him. It so happened that the sailor had a friend and comrade in + the colonel of a regiment of infantry, struck off the rolls like himself; + and young Louis-Gaston had a chance of learning what life was like in camp + or on board a man-of-war. Of course, he plied the veterans with questions; + and when he had made up his mind to the hardships of their rough callings, + he asked his mother’s leave to take country walks by way of amusement. + Mme. Willemsens was beyond measure glad that he should ask; the boy’s + astonished masters had told her that he was overworking himself. So Louis + went for long walks. He tried to inure himself to fatigue, climbed the + tallest trees with incredible quickness, learned to swim, watched through + the night. He was not like the same boy; he was a young man already, with + a sunburned face, and a something in his expression that told of deep + purpose. + </p> + <p> + When October came, Mme. Willemsens could only rise at noon. The sunshine, + reflected by the surface of the Loire, and stored up by the rocks, raised + the temperature of the air till it was almost as warm and soft as the + atmosphere of the Bay of Naples, for which reason the faculty recommend + the place of abode. At mid-day she came out to sit under the shade of + green leaves with the two boys, who never wandered from her now. Lessons + had come to an end. Mother and children wished to live the life of heart + and heart together, with no disturbing element, no outside cares. No tears + now, no joyous outcries. The elder boy, lying in the grass at his mother’s + side, basked in her eyes like a lover and kissed her feet. Marie, the + restless one, gathered flowers for her, and brought them with a subdued + look, standing on tiptoe to put a girlish kiss on her lips. And the pale + woman, with the great tired eyes and languid movements, never uttered a + word of complaint, and smiled upon her children, so full of life and + health—it was a sublime picture, lacking no melancholy autumn pomp + of yellow leaves and half-despoiled branches, nor the softened sunlight + and pale clouds of the skies of Touraine. + </p> + <p> + At last the doctor forbade Mme. Willemsens to leave her room. Every day it + was brightened by the flowers that she loved, and her children were always + with her. One day, early in November, she sat at the piano for the last + time. A picture—a Swiss landscape—hung above the instrument; + and at the window she could see her children standing with their heads + close together. Again and again she looked from the children to the + landscape, and then again at the children. Her face flushed, her fingers + flew with passionate feeling over the ivory keys. This was her last great + day, an unmarked day of festival, held in her own soul by the spirit of + her memories. When the doctor came, he ordered her to stay in bed. The + alarming dictum was received with bewildered silence. + </p> + <p> + When the doctor had gone, she turned to the older boy. + </p> + <p> + “Louis,” she said, “take me out on the terrace, so that I may see my + country once more.” + </p> + <p> + The boy gave his arm at those simply uttered words, and brought his mother + out upon the terrace; but her eyes turned, perhaps unconsciously, to + heaven rather than to the earth, and indeed, it would have been hard to + say whether heaven or earth was the fairer—for the clouds traced + shadowy outlines, like the grandest Alpine glaciers, against the sky. Mme. + Willemsens’ brows contracted vehemently; there was a look of anguish and + remorse in her eyes. She caught the children’s hands, and clutched them to + a heavily-throbbing heart. + </p> + <p> + “‘Parentage unknown!’” she cried, with a look that went to their hearts. + “Poor angels, what will become of you? And when you are twenty years old, + what strict account may you not require of my life and your own?” + </p> + <p> + She put the children from her, and leaning her arms upon the balustrade, + stood for a while hiding her face, alone with herself, fearful of all + eyes. When she recovered from the paroxysm, she saw Louis and Marie + kneeling on either side of her, like two angels; they watched the + expression of her face, and smiled lovingly at her. + </p> + <p> + “If only I could take that smile with me!” she said, drying her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Then she went into the house and took to the bed, which she would only + leave for her coffin. + </p> + <p> + A week went by, one day exactly like another. Old Annette and Louis took + it in turns to sit up with Mme. Willemsens, never taking their eyes from + the invalid. It was the deeply tragical hour that comes in all our lives, + the hour of listening in terror to every deep breath lest it should be the + last, a dark hour protracted over many days. On the fifth day of that + fatal week the doctor interdicted flowers in the room. The illusions of + life were going one by one. + </p> + <p> + Then Marie and his brother felt their mother’s lips hot as fire beneath + their kisses; and at last, on the Saturday evening, Mme. Willemsens was + too ill to bear the slightest sound, and her room was left in disorder. + This neglect for a woman of refined taste, who clung so persistently to + the graces of life, meant the beginning of the death-agony. After this, + Louis refused to leave his mother. On Sunday night, in the midst of the + deepest silence, when Louis thought that she had grown drowsy, he saw a + white, moist hand move the curtain in the lamplight. + </p> + <p> + “My son!” she said. There was something so solemn in the dying woman’s + tones, that the power of her wrought-up soul produced a violent reaction + on the boy; he felt an intense heat pass through the marrow of his bones. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Listen! To-morrow all will be over for me. We shall see each other no + more. To-morrow you will be a man, my child. So I am obliged to make some + arrangements, which must remain a secret, known only to us. Take the key + of my little table. That is it. Now open the drawer. You will find two + sealed papers to the left. There is the name of LOUIS on one, and on the + other MARIE.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they are, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are your certificates of birth, darling; you will want them. Give + them to our poor, old Annette to keep for you; ask her for them when you + need them. Now,” she continued, “is there not another paper as well, + something in my handwriting?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” and Louis began to read, “<i>Marie Willemsens, born at</i>——” + </p> + <p> + “That is enough,” she broke in quickly, “do not go on. When I am dead, + give that paper, too, to Annette, and tell her to send it to the registrar + at Saint-Cyr; it will be wanted if my certificate of death is to be made + out in due form. Now find writing materials for a letter which I will + dictate to you.” + </p> + <p> + When she saw that he was ready to begin, and turned towards her for the + words, they came from her quietly:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Comte, your wife, Lady Brandon, died at Saint-Cyr, near + Tours, in the department of Indre-et-Loire. She forgave you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sign yourself——” she stopped, hesitating and perturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Are you feeling worse?” asked Louis. + </p> + <p> + “Put ‘Louis-Gaston,’” she went on. + </p> + <p> + She sighed, then she went on. + </p> + <p> + “Seal the letter, and direct it. To Lord Brandon, Brandon Square, Hyde + Park, London, Angleterre.—That is right. When I am dead, post the + letter in Tours, and prepay the postage.—Now,” she added, after a + pause, “take the little pocketbook that you know, and come here, my dear + child.... There are twelve thousand francs in it,” she said, when Louis + had returned to her side. “That is all your own. Oh me! you would have + been better off if your father——” + </p> + <p> + “My father,” cried the boy, “where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is dead,” she said, laying her finger on her lips; “he died to save my + honor and my life.” + </p> + <p> + She looked upwards. If any tears had been left to her, she would have wept + for pain. + </p> + <p> + “Louis,” she continued, “swear to me, as I lie here, that you will forget + all that you have written, all that I have told you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me, dear angel.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a long while, she seemed to be drawing strength from + God, and to be measuring her words by the life that remained in her. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” she began. “Those twelve thousand francs are all that you have + in the world. You must keep the money upon you, because when I am dead the + lawyers will come and seal everything up. Nothing will be yours then, not + even your mother. All that remains for you to do will be to go out, poor + orphan children, God knows where. I have made Annette’s future secure. She + will have an annuity of a hundred crowns, and she will stay at Tours no + doubt. But what will you do for yourself and your brother?” + </p> + <p> + She raised herself, and looked at the brave child, standing by her + bedside. There were drops of perspiration on his forehead, he was pale + with emotion, and his eyes were dim with tears. + </p> + <p> + “I have thought it over, mother,” he answered in a deep voice. “I will + take Marie to the school here in Tours. I will give ten thousand francs to + our old Annette, and ask her to take care of them, and to look after + Marie. Then, with the remaining two thousand francs, I will go to Brest, + and go to sea as an apprentice. While Marie is at school, I will rise to + be a lieutenant on board a man-of-war. There, after all, die in peace, my + mother; I shall come back again a rich man, and our little one shall go to + the Ecole polytechnique, and I will find a career to suit his bent.” + </p> + <p> + A gleam of joy shone in the dying woman’s eyes. Two tears brimmed over, + and fell over her fevered cheeks; then a deep sigh escaped between her + lips. The sudden joy of finding the father’s spirit in the son, who had + grown all at once to be a man, almost killed her. + </p> + <p> + “Angel of heaven,” she cried, weeping, “by one word you have effaced all + my sorrows. Ah! I can bear them.—This is my son,” she said, “I bore, + I reared this man,” and she raised her hands above her, and clasped them + as if in ecstasy, then she lay back on the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, your face is growing pale!” cried the lad. + </p> + <p> + “Some one must go for a priest,” she answered, with a dying voice. + </p> + <p> + Louis wakened Annette, and the terrified old woman hurried to the + parsonage at Saint-Cyr. + </p> + <p> + When morning came, Mme. Willemsens received the sacrament amid the most + touching surroundings. Her children were kneeling in the room, with + Annette and the vinedresser’s family, simple folk, who had already become + part of the household. The silver crucifix, carried by a chorister, a + peasant child from the village, was lifted up, and the dying mother + received the Viaticum from an aged priest. The Viaticum! sublime word, + containing an idea yet more sublime, an idea only possessed by the + apostolic religion of the Roman church. + </p> + <p> + “This woman has suffered greatly!” the old cure said in his simple way. + </p> + <p> + Marie Willemsens heard no voices now, but her eyes were still fixed upon + her children. Those about her listened in terror to her breathing in the + deep silence; already it came more slowly, though at intervals a deep sigh + told them that she still lived, and of a struggle within her; then at last + it ceased. Every one burst into tears except Marie. He, poor child, was + still too young to know what death meant. + </p> + <p> + Annette and the vinedresser’s wife closed the eyes of the adorable woman, + whose beauty shone out in all its radiance after death. Then the women + took possession of the chamber of death, removed the furniture, wrapped + the dead in her winding-sheet, and laid her upon the couch. They lit + tapers about her, and arranged everything—the crucifix, the sprigs + of box, and the holy-water stoup—after the custom of the + countryside, bolting the shutters and drawing the curtains. Later the + curate came to pass the night in prayer with Louis, who refused to leave + his mother. On Tuesday morning an old woman and two children and a + vinedresser’s wife followed the dead to her grave. These were the only + mourners. Yet this was a woman whose wit and beauty and charm had won a + European reputation, a woman whose funeral, if it had taken place in + London, would have been recorded in pompous newspaper paragraphs, as a + sort of aristocratic rite, if she had not committed the sweetest of + crimes, a crime always expiated in this world, so that the pardoned spirit + may enter heaven. Marie cried when they threw the earth on his mother’s + coffin; he understood that he should see her no more. + </p> + <p> + A simple, wooden cross, set up to mark her grave, bore this inscription, + due to the cure of Saint-Cyr:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HERE LIES + AN UNHAPPY WOMAN, + WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF THIRTY-SIX. + KNOWN IN HEAVEN BY THE NAME OF AUGUSTA. + <i>Pray for her!</i> +</pre> + <p> + When all was over, the children came back to La Grenadiere to take a last + look at their home; then, hand in hand, they turned to go with Annette, + leaving the vinedresser in charge, with directions to hand over everything + duly to the proper authorities. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, Annette called to Louis from the steps by the kitchen + door, and took him aside with, “Here is madame’s ring, Monsieur Louis.” + </p> + <p> + The sight of this vivid remembrance of his dead mother moved him so deeply + that he wept. In his fortitude, he had not even thought of this supreme + piety; and he flung his arms round the old woman’s neck. Then the three + set out down the beaten path, and the stone staircase, and so to Tours, + without turning their heads. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma used to come there!” Marie said when they reached the bridge. + </p> + <p> + Annette had a relative, a retired dressmaker, who lived in the Rue de la + Guerche. She took the two children to this cousin’s house, meaning that + they should live together thenceforth. But Louis told her of his plans, + gave Marie’s certificate of birth and the ten thousand francs into her + keeping, and the two went the next morning to take Marie to school. + </p> + <p> + Louis very briefly explained his position to the headmaster, and went. + Marie came with him as far as the gateway. There Louis gave solemn parting + words of the tenderest counsel, telling Marie that he would now be left + alone in the world. He looked at his brother for a moment, and put his + arms about him, took one more long look, brushed a tear from his eyes, and + went, turning again and again till the very last to see his brother + standing there in the gateway of the school. + </p> + <p> + A month later Louis-Gaston, now an apprentice on board a man-of-war, left + the harbor of Rochefort. Leaning over the bulwarks of the corvette Iris, + he watched the coast of France receding swiftly till it became + indistinguishable from the faint blue horizon line. In a little while he + felt that he was really alone, and lost in the wide ocean, lost and alone + in the world and in life. + </p> + <p> + “There is no need to cry, lad; there is a God for us all,” said an old + sailor, with rough kindliness in his thick voice. + </p> + <p> + The boy thanked him with pride in his eyes. Then he bowed his head, and + resigned himself to a sailor’s life. He was a father. + </p> + <p> + ANGOULEME, August, 1832. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> + <h3> + The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Brandon, Lady Marie Augusta + The Member for Arcis + The Lily of the Valley + La Grenadiere + + Gaston, Louis + La Grenadiere + Letters of Two Brides + + Gaston, Marie + La Grenadiere + Letters of Two Brides + The Member for Arcis +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1428 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |