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diff --git a/old/1428-0.txt b/old/1428-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9389e26 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1428-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1351 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of La Grenadiere, by Honore de Balzac + +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: La Grenadiere + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Ellen Marriage + +Release Date: August, 1998 [Etext #1428] +Posting Date: February 24, 2010 +Last Updated: November 22, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA GRENADIERE *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny + + + + + +LA GRENADIERE + + +By Honore De Balzac + + + +Translated By Ellen Marriage + + + + To D. W. + + + + + +LA GRENADIERE + + +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. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _grenadiers_, 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. + +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. + +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 _vendangeoir_--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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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: + +“Come, Marie! let us run in to breakfast, I am hungry!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +Deeply moved by his trouble, she put her arm about the child’s neck and +drew him to her. + +“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!----” + +“But why should I curse you some day, mother?” + +“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. + +“Louis! come here.” + +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. + +“_Cherie_,” he said at last, the name by which he often called her, +finding that even loving words were too weak to express his feeling, +“_cherie_, why are you afraid that you are going to die?” + +“I am ill, my poor darling; every day I am losing strength, and there is +no cure for my illness; I know that.” + +“What is the matter with you?” + +“Something that I ought to forget; something that you must never +know.--You must not know what caused my death.” + +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. + +“Darling mother,” Louis said at last, “why do you hide your pain from +me?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“How quick I must be about learning!” cried Louis, giving her a piteous, +searching look. + +“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!” + +“Yes, I promise,” he said; “but you are not going to die yet--say that +you are not going to die!” + +“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----” + +“You make me love Touraine more than ever,” said the child. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +When the doctor had gone, she turned to the older boy. + +“Louis,” she said, “take me out on the terrace, so that I may see my +country once more.” + +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. + +“‘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?” + +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. + +“If only I could take that smile with me!” she said, drying her eyes. + +Then she went into the house and took to the bed, which she would only +leave for her coffin. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“What is it, mother?” + +“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.” + +“Here they are, mother.” + +“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?” + +“Yes, mother,” and Louis began to read, “_Marie Willemsens, born +at_----” + +“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.” + +When she saw that he was ready to begin, and turned towards her for the +words, they came from her quietly:-- + +“Monsieur le Comte, your wife, Lady Brandon, died at Saint-Cyr, near +Tours, in the department of Indre-et-Loire. She forgave you.” + +“Sign yourself----” she stopped, hesitating and perturbed. + +“Are you feeling worse?” asked Louis. + +“Put ‘Louis-Gaston,’” she went on. + +She sighed, then she went on. + +“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----” + +“My father,” cried the boy, “where is he?” + +“He is dead,” she said, laying her finger on her lips; “he died to save +my honor and my life.” + +She looked upwards. If any tears had been left to her, she would have +wept for pain. + +“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.” + +“Yes, mother.” + +“Kiss me, dear angel.” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Mother, your face is growing pale!” cried the lad. + +“Some one must go for a priest,” she answered, with a dying voice. + +Louis wakened Annette, and the terrified old woman hurried to the +parsonage at Saint-Cyr. + +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. + +“This woman has suffered greatly!” the old cure said in his simple way. + +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. + +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. + +A simple, wooden cross, set up to mark her grave, bore this inscription, +due to the cure of Saint-Cyr:-- + + HERE LIES + AN UNHAPPY WOMAN, + WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF THIRTY-SIX. + KNOWN IN HEAVEN BY THE NAME OF AUGUSTA. + _Pray for her!_ + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“Mamma used to come there!” Marie said when they reached the bridge. + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +“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. + +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. + + +ANGOULEME, August, 1832. + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + + 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 + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of La Grenadiere, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA GRENADIERE *** + +***** This file should be named 1428-0.txt or 1428-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/2/1428/ + +Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny + +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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