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diff --git a/old/21993-h/21993-h.htm b/old/21993-h/21993-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..524a631 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/21993-h/21993-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5254 @@ +<?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> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Devil's Pool, by George Sand + </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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Devil's Pool, by George Sand + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Devil's Pool + +Author: George Sand + +Illustrator: E. Abot + +Translator: Jane Minot Sedgwick And Ellery Sedgwick + +Release Date: July 4, 2007 [EBook #21993] +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEVIL'S POOL *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE DEVIL'S POOL + </h1> + <h2> + By George Sand + </h2> + <h3> + Translated From The French By Jane Minot Sedgwick And Ellery Sedgwick + <br /> <br /> With An Etching By E. Abot <br /> <br /> <br /> 1901 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="frontispiece (66K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="titlepage (27K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0001"> <b>THE DEVIL'S POOL</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0002"> I — The Tillage of the Soil </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0003"> II — Father Maurice </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0004"> III — Germain, the Skilled + Husbandman </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0005"> IV — Mother Guillette </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0006"> V — Petit-Pierre </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0007"> VI — On the Heath </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0008"> VII — Underneath the Big Oaks </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0009"> VIII — The Evening Prayer </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0010"> IX — Despite the Cold </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0011"> X — Beneath the Stars </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0012"> XI — The Belle of the Village </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0013"> XII — The Master </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0014"> XIII — The Old Woman </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0015"> XIV — The Return to the Farm </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0016"> XV — Mother Maurice </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0017"> XVI — Little Marie </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_APPE"> <b>APPENDIX</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0019"> II — The Wedding Favors </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0020"> III — The Wedding </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linklink2H_4_0021"> IV — The Cabbage </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0001" id="linklink2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE DEVIL'S POOL + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="page7 (97K)" src="images/page7.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> THE AUTHOR TO THE READER + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>A la sueur de ton visaige, + Tu gagnerais ta pauvre vie. + Après long travail et usaige, + Voicy la mort qui te convie.</i> * +</pre> + <p> + THIS quaint old French verse, written under one of Holbein's pictures, is + profoundly melancholy. The engraving represents a laborer driving his plow + through the middle of a field. Beyond him stretches a vast horizon, dotted + with wretched huts; the sun is sinking behind the hill. It is the end of a + hard day's work. The peasant is old, bent, and clothed in rags. He is + urging onward a team of four thin and exhausted horses; the plowshare + sinks into a stony and ungrateful soil. One being only is active and alert + in this scene of toil and sorrow. It is a fantastic creature. A skeleton + armed with a whip, who acts as plowboy to the old laborer, and running + along through the furrow beside the terrified horses, goads them on. This + is the specter Death, whom Holbein has introduced allegorically into that + series of religious and philosophic subjects, at once melancholy and + grotesque, entitled “The Dance of Death.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * In toil and sorrow thou shalt eat + The bitter bread of poverty. + After the burden and the heat, + Lo! it is Death who calls for thee. +</pre> + <p> + In this collection, or rather this mighty composition, where Death, who + plays his part on every page, is the connecting link and predominating + thought, Holbein has called up kings, popes, lovers, gamesters, drunkards, + nuns, courtesans, thieves, warriors, monks, Jews, and travelers,—all + the people of his time and our own; and everywhere the specter Death is + among them, taunting, threatening, and triumphing. He is absent from one + picture only, where Lazarus, lying on a dunghill at the rich man's door, + declares that the specter has no terrors for him; probably because he has + nothing to lose, and his existence is already a life in death. + </p> + <p> + Is there comfort in this stoical thought of the half-pagan Christianity of + the Renaissance, and does it satisfy religious souls? The upstart, the + rogue, the tyrant, the rake, and all those haughty sinners who make an ill + use of life, and whose steps are dogged by Death, will be surely punished; + but can the reflection that death is no evil make amends for the long + hardships of the blind man, the beggar, the madman, and the poor peasant? + No! An inexorable sadness, an appalling fatality brood over the artist's + work. It is like a bitter curse, hurled against the fate of humanity. + </p> + <p> + Holbein's faithful delineation of the society in which he lived is, + indeed, painful satire. His attention was engrossed by crime and calamity; + but what shall we, who are artists of a later date, portray? Shall we look + to find the reward of the human beings of to-day in the contemplation of + death, and shall we invoke it as the penalty of unrighteousness and the + compensation of suffering? + </p> + <p> + No, henceforth, our business is not with death, but with life. We believe + no longer in the nothingness of the grave, nor in safety bought with the + price of a forced renunciation; life must be enjoyed in order to be + fruitful. Lazarus must leave his dunghill, so that the poor need no longer + exult in the death of the rich. All must be made happy, that the good + fortune of a few may not be a crime and a curse. As the laborer sows his + wheat, he must know that he is helping forward the work of life, instead + of rejoicing that Death walks at his side. We may no longer consider death + as the chastisement of prosperity or the consolation of distress, for God + has decreed it neither as the punishment nor the compensation of life. + Life has been blessed by Him, and it is no longer permissible for us to + leave the grave as the only refuge for those whom we are unwilling to make + happy. + </p> + <p> + There are some artists of our own day, who, after a serious survey of + their surroundings, take pleasure in painting misery, the sordidness of + poverty, and the dunghill of Lazarus. This may belong to the domain of art + and philosophy; but by depicting poverty as so hideous, so degraded, and + sometimes so vicious and criminal, do they gain their end, and is that end + as salutary as they would wish? We dare not pronounce judgment. They may + answer that they terrify the unjust rich man by pointing out to him the + yawning pit that lies beneath the frail covering of wealth; just as in the + time of the Dance of Death, they showed him his gaping grave, and Death + standing ready to fold him in an impure embrace. Now, they show him the + thief breaking open his doors, and the murderer stealthily watching his + sleep. We confess we cannot understand how we can reconcile him to the + human nature he despises, or make him sensible of the sufferings of the + poor wretch whom he dreads, by showing him this wretch in the guise of the + escaped convict or the nocturnal burglar. The hideous phantom Death, under + the repulsive aspect in which he has been represented by Holbein and his + predecessors, gnashing his teeth and playing the fiddle, has been + powerless to convert the wicked and console their victims. And does not + our literature employ the same means as the artists of the Middle Ages and + the Renaissance? + </p> + <p> + The revelers of Holbein fill their glasses in a frenzy to dispel the idea + of Death, who is their cup-bearer, though they do not see him. The unjust + rich of our own day demand cannon and barricades to drive out the idea of + an insurrection of the people which Art shows them as slowly working in + the dark, getting ready to burst upon the State. The Church of the Middle + Ages met the terrors of the great of the earth with the sale of + indulgences. The government of to-day soothes the uneasiness of the rich + by exacting from them large sums for the support of policemen, jailors, + bayonets, and prisons. + </p> + <p> + Albert Durer, Michael Angelo, Holbein, Callot, and Goya have made powerful + satires on the evils of their times and countries, and their immortal + works are historical documents of unquestionable value. We shall not + refuse to artists the right to probe the wounds of society and lay them + bare to our eyes; but is the only function of art still to threaten and + appall? In the literature of the mysteries of iniquity, which talent and + imagination have brought into fashion, we prefer the sweet and gentle + characters, which can attempt and effect conversions, to the melodramatic + villains, who inspire terror; for terror never cures selfishness, but + increases it. + </p> + <p> + We believe that the mission of art is a mission of sentiment and love, + that the novel of to-day should take the place of the parable and the + fable of early times, and that the artist has a larger and more poetic + task than that of suggesting certain prudential and conciliatory measures + for the purpose of diminishing the fright caused by his pictures. His aim + should be to render attractive the objects he has at heart, and, if + necessary, I have no objection to his embellishing them a little. Art is + not the study of positive reality, but the search for ideal truth, and the + “Vicar of Wakefield” was a more useful and healthy book than the “Paysan + Perverti,” or the “Liaisons Dangereuses.” + </p> + <p> + Forgive these reflections of mine, kind reader, and let them stand as a + preface, for there will be no other to the little story I am going to + relate to you. My tale is to be so short and so simple, that I felt + obliged to make you my apologies for it beforehand, by telling you what I + think of the literature of terror. + </p> + <p> + I have allowed myself to be drawn into this digression for the sake of a + laborer; and it is the story of a laborer which I have been meaning to + tell you, and which I shall now tell you at once. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0002" id="linklink2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="page15 (110K)" src="images/page15.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + I — The Tillage of the Soil + </h2> + <p> + I HAD just been looking long and sadly at Holbein's plowman, and was + walking through the fields, musing on rustic life and the destiny of the + husbandman. It is certainly tragic for him to spend his days and his + strength delving in the jealous earth, that so reluctantly yields up her + rich treasures when a morsel of coarse black bread, at the end of the + day's work, is the sole reward and profit to be reaped from such arduous + toil. The wealth of the soil, the harvests, the fruits, the splendid + cattle that grow sleek and fat in the luxuriant grass, are the property of + the few, and but instruments of the drudgery and slavery of the many. The + man of leisure seldom loves, for their own sake, the fields and meadows, + the landscape, or the noble animals which are to be converted into gold + for his use. He comes to the country for his health or for change of air, + but goes back to town to spend the fruit of his vassal's labor. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, the peasant is too abject, too wretched, and too + fearful of the future to enjoy the beauty of the country and the charms of + pastoral life. To him, also, the yellow harvest-fields, the rich meadows, + the fine cattle represent bags of gold; but he knows that only an + infinitesimal part of their contents, insufficient for his daily needs, + will ever fall to his share. Yet year by year he must fill those accursed + bags, to please his master and buy the right of living on his land in + sordid wretchedness. Yet nature is eternally young, beautiful, and + generous. She pours forth poetry and beauty on all creatures and all + plants that are allowed free development. + </p> + <p> + She owns the secret of happiness, of which no one has ever robbed her. The + happiest of men would be he who, knowing the full meaning of his labor, + should, while working with his hands, find his happiness and his freedom + in the exercise of his intelligence, and, having his heart in unison with + his brain, should at once understand his own work and love that of God, + The artist has such delights as these in contemplating and reproducing the + beauties of nature; but if his heart be true and tender, his pleasure is + disturbed when he sees the miseries of the men who people this paradise of + earth. True happiness will be theirs when mind, heart, and hand shall work + in concert in the sight of Heaven, and there shall be a sacred harmony + between God's goodness and the joys of his creatures. Then, instead of the + pitiable and frightful figure of Death stalking, whip in hand, across the + fields, the painter of allegories may place beside the peasant a radiant + angel, sowing the blessed grain broadcast in the smoking furrow. The dream + of a serene, free, poetic, laborious, and simple life for the tiller of + the soil is not so impossible that we should banish it as a chimera. The + sweet, sad words of Virgil: “Oh, happy the peasants of the field, if they + knew their own blessings!” is a regret, but, like all regrets, it is also + a prophecy. The day will come when the laborer too may be an artist, and + may at least feel what is beautiful, if he cannot express it,—a + matter of far less importance. Do not we know that this mysterious poetic + intuition is already his, in the form of instinct and vague reverie? Among + those peasants who possess some of the comforts of life, and whose moral + and intellectual development is not entirely stifled by extreme + wretchedness, pure happiness that can be felt and appreciated exists in + the elementary stage; and, moreover, since poets have already raised their + voices out of the lap of pain and of weariness, why should we say that the + labor of the hands excludes the working of the soul? Without doubt this + exclusion is the common result of excessive toil and of deep misery; but + let it not be said that when men shall work moderately and usefully there + will be nothing but bad workers and bad poets. The man who draws in noble + joy from the poetic feeling is a true poet, though he has never written a + verse all his life. + </p> + <p> + My thoughts had flown in this direction, without my perceiving that my + confidence in the capacity of man for education was strengthened by + external influences. I was walking along the edge of a field, which some + peasants were preparing to sow. The space was vast as that in Holbein's + picture; the landscape, too, was vast and framed in a great sweep of + green, slightly reddened by the approach of autumn. Here and there in the + great russet field, slender rivulets of water left in the furrows by the + late rains sparkled in the sunlight like silver threads. The day was clear + and mild, and the soil, freshly cleft by the plowshare, sent up a light + steam. At the other extremity of the field, an old man, whose broad + shoulders and stern face recalled Holbein's plowman, but whose clothes + carried no suggestion of poverty, was gravely driving his plow of antique + shape, drawn by two placid oxen, true patriarchs of the meadow, tall and + rather thin, with pale yellow coats and long, drooping horns. They were + those old workers who, through long habit, have grown to be <i>brothers</i>, + as they are called in our country, and who, when one loses the other, + refuse to work with a new comrade, and pine away with grief. People who + are unfamiliar with the country call the love of the ox for his + yoke-fellow a fable. Let them come and see in the corner of the stable one + of these poor beasts, thin and wasted, restlessly lashing his lean flanks + with his tail, violently breathing with mingled terror and disdain on the + food offered him, his eyes always turned toward the door, scratching with + his hoof the empty place at his side, sniffing the yokes and chains which + his fellow used to wear, and incessantly calling him with melancholy + lowings. The ox-herd will say: “There is a pair of oxen gone;' this one + will work no more, for his brother is dead. We ought to fatten him for the + market, but he will not eat, and will soon starve himself to death.” The + old laborer worked slowly, silently, and without waste of effort His + docile team were in no greater haste than he; but, thanks to the + undistracted steadiness of his toil and the judicious expenditure of his + strength, his furrow was as soon plowed as that of his son, who was + driving, at some distance from him, four less vigorous oxen through a more + stubborn and stony piece of ground. + </p> + <p> + My attention was next caught by a fine spectacle, a truly noble subject + for a painter. At the other end of the field a fine-looking youth was + driving a magnificent team of four pairs of young oxen, through whose + somber coats glanced a ruddy, glow-like name. They had the short, curry + heads that belong to the wild bull, the same large, fierce eyes and jerky + movements; they worked in an abrupt, nervous way that showed how they + still rebelled against the yoke and goad, and trembled with anger as they + obeyed the authority so recently imposed. They were what is called “newly + yoked” oxen. The man who drove them had to clear a corner of the field + that had formerly been given up to pasture, and was filled with old + tree-stumps; and his youth and energy, and his eight half-broken animals, + hardly sufficed for the Herculean task. + </p> + <p> + A child of six or seven years old, lovely as an angel, wearing round his + shoulders, over his blouse, a sheepskin that made him look like a little + Saint John the Baptist out of a Renaissance picture, was running along in + the furrow beside the plow, pricking the flanks of the oxen with a long, + light goad but slightly sharpened. The spirited animals quivered under the + child's light touch, making their yokes and head-bands creak, and shaking + the pole violently. Whenever a root stopped the advance of the plowshare, + the laborer would call every animal by name in his powerful voice, trying + to calm rather than to excite them; for the oxen, irritated by the sudden + resistance, bounded, pawed the ground with their great cloven hoofs, and + would have jumped aside and dragged the plow across the fields, if the + young man had not kept the first four in order with his voice and goad, + while the child controlled the four others. The little fellow shouted too, + but the voice which he tried to make of terrible effect, was as sweet as + his angelic face. The whole scene was beautiful in its grace and strength; + the landscape, the man, the child, the oxen under the yoke; and in spite + of the mighty struggle by which the earth was subdued, a deep feeling of + peace and sweetness reigned over all. Each time that an obstacle was + surmounted and the plow resumed its even, solemn progress, the laborer, + whose pretended violence was but a trial of his strength, and an outlet + for his energy, instantly regained that serenity which is the right of + simple souls, and looked with fatherly pleasure toward his child, who + turned to smile back at him. Then the young father would raise his manly + voice in the solemn and melancholy chant that ancient tradition transmits, + not indeed to all plowmen indiscriminately, but to those who are most + perfect in the art of exciting and sustaining the spirit of cattle while + at work. This song, which was probably sacred in its origin, and to which + mysterious influences must once have been attributed, is still thought to + possess the virtue of putting animals on their mettle, allaying their + irritation, and of beguiling the weariness of their long, hard toil. It is + not enough to guide them skilfully, to trace a perfectly straight furrow, + and to lighten their labor by raising the plowshare or driving it into the + earth; no man can be a consummate husbandman who does not know how to sing + to his oxen, and that is an art that requires taste and especial gifts. To + tell the truth, this chant is only a recitative, broken off and taken up + at pleasure. Its irregular form and its intonations that violate all the + rules of musical art make it impossible to describe. + </p> + <p> + But it is none the less a noble song, and so appropriate is it to the + nature of the work it accompanies, to the gait of the oxen, to the peace + of the fields, and to the simplicity of the men who sing it, that no + genius unfamiliar with the tillage of the earth, and no man except an + accomplished laborer of our part of the country, could repeat it. At the + season of the year when there is no work or stir afoot except that of the + plowman, this strong, sweet refrain rises like the voice of the breeze, to + which the key it is sung in gives it some resemblance. Each phrase ends + with a long trill, the final note of which is held with incredible + strength of breath, and rises a quarter of a tone, sharping + systematically. It is barbaric, but possesses an unspeakable charm, and + anybody, once accustomed to hear it, cannot conceive of another song + taking its place at the same hour and in the same place, without striking + a discord. + </p> + <p> + So it was that I had before my eyes a picture the reverse of that of + Holbein, although the scene was similar. Instead of a wretched old man, a + young and active one; instead of a team of weary and emaciated horses, + four yoke of robust and fiery oxen; instead of death, a beautiful child; + instead of despair and destruction, energy and the possibility of + happiness. + </p> + <p> + Then the old French verse, “À la sueur de ton vis-aige,” etc., and + Virgil's “O fortunatos... agricolas,” returned to my mind, and seeing this + lovely child and his father, under such poetic conditions, and with so + much grace and strength, accomplish a task full of such grand and solemn + suggestions, I was conscious of deep pity and involuntary respect. Happy + the peasant of the fields! Yes, and so too should I be in his place, if my + arm and voice could be endowed with sudden strength, and I could help to + make Nature fruitful, and sing of her gifts, without ceasing to see with + my eyes or understand with my brain harmonious colors and sounds, delicate + shades and graceful outlines; in short, the mysterious beauty of all + things. And above all, if my heart continued to beat in concert with the + divine sentiment that presided over the immortal sublimity of creation. + </p> + <p> + But, alas! this man has never understood the mystery of beauty; this child + will never understand it. God forbid that I should not think them superior + to the animals which are subject to them, or that they have not moments of + rapturous insight that soothe their toil and lull their cares to sleep. I + see the seal of the Lord upon their noble brows, for they were born to + inherit the earth far more truly than those who have bought and paid for + it. The proof that they feel this is that they cannot be exiled with + impunity, that they love the soil they have watered with their tears, and + that the true peasant dies of homesickness under the arms of a soldier far + from his native field. But he lacks some of my enjoyments, those pure + delights which should be his by right, as a workman in that immense temple + which the sky only is vast enough to embrace. He lacks the consciousness + of his sentiment. Those who condemned him to slavery from his mother's + womb, being unable to rob him of his vague dreams, took away from him the + power of reflection. + </p> + <p> + Yet, imperfect being that he is, sentenced to eternal childhood, he is + nobler than the man in whom knowledge has stifled feeling. Do not set + yourselves above him, you who believe yourselves invested with a lawful + and inalienable right to rule over him, for your terrible mistake shows + that your brain has destroyed your heart, and that you are the blindest + and most incomplete of men! I love the simplicity of his soul more than + the false lights of yours; and if I had to narrate the story of his life, + the pleasure I should take in bringing out the tender and touching side of + it would be greater than your merit in painting the degradation and + contempt into which he is cast by your social code. + </p> + <p> + I knew the young man and the beautiful child; I knew their history, for + they had a history. Everybody has his own, and could make the romance of + his life interesting, if he could but understand it. Although but a + peasant and a laborer, Germain had always been aware of his duties and + affections. He had related them to me clearly and ingenuously, and I had + listened with interest. After some time spent in watching him plow, it + occurred to me that I might write his story, though that story were as + simple, as straightforward, and unadorned as the furrow he was tracing. + </p> + <p> + Next year that furrow will be filled and covered by a fresh one. Thus + disappear most of the footprints made by man in the field of human life. A + little earth obliterates them, and the furrows we have dug succeed one + another like graves in a cemetery. Is not the furrow of the laborer of as + much value as that of the idler, even if that idler, by some absurd + chance, have made a little noise in the world, and left behind him an + abiding name? + </p> + <p> + I mean, if possible, to save from oblivion the furrow of Germain, the + skilled husbandman. He will never know nor care, but I shall take pleasure + in my talk. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0003" id="linklink2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II — Father Maurice + </h2> + <p> + “GERMAIN,” said his father-in-law one day, “you must decide about marrying + again. It is almost two years now since you lost my daughter, and your + eldest boy is seven years old! You are almost thirty, my boy, and you know + that in our country a man is considered too old to go to housekeeping + again after that age; you have three nice children, and thus far they have + not proved a burden to us at all. My wife and my daughter-in-law have + looked after them as well as they could, and loved them as they ought. + Here is Petit-Pierre almost grown up. He goads the oxen very well; he + knows how to look after the cattle; and he is strong enough to drive the + horses to the trough. So it is not he that worries us. But the other two, + love them though we do, God knows the poor little innocents give us + trouble enough this year; my daughter-in-law is about to lie in, and she + has yet another baby to attend to. When the child we are expecting comes, + she will not be able to look after your little Solange, and above all your + Sylvain, who is not four years old, and who is never quiet day or night. + He has a restless disposition like yours; that will make a good workman of + him, but it makes a dreadful child, and my old wife cannot run fast enough + to save him when he almost tumbles into the ditch, or when he throws + himself in front of the tramping cattle. And then with this other that my + daughter-in-law is going to bring into the world, for a month at least her + next older child will fall on my wife's hands. Besides, your children + worry us, and give us too much to do; we hate to see children badly looked + after, and when we think of the accidents that may befall them, for want + of care, we cannot rest. So you need another wife, and I another + daughter-in-law. Think this over, my son. I have called it to your mind + before. Time flies, and the years will not wait a moment for you. It is + your duty to your children and to the rest of us, who wish all well at + home, to marry as soon as you can.” “Very well, father,” answered the + son-in-law, “if you really wish it, I must do as you say. But I do not + wish to hide it from you that it will make me very sad, and that I hardly + wish tor anything but to drown myself. We know who it is we lose, we never + know whom we find. I had a good wife, a pretty wife, sweet, brave, good to + her father and mother, good to her husband, good to her children, good to + toil in the fields and in the house, well fitted to work,—in short, + good for everything; and when you had given her to me, and I took her, we + did not place it among our promises that I should go and forget about her + if I had the misfortune to lose her.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say shows your good heart, Germain,” answered Father Maurice. “I + know that you loved my daughter and that you made her happy, and that had + you been able to satisfy Death by going in her place, Catherine would be + alive today, and you would be in the graveyard. She deserved all your + love, and if you are not consoled, neither are we. But I do not speak to + you of forgetting her: God wished her to leave us, and we do not let a day + go by without telling him in our prayers and thoughts, and words and + actions, that we keep her memory and still sorrow for her loss. But if she + could speak to you from the other world, and let you know what she wishes, + she would tell you to find a mother for her little orphans. So the + question is to find a woman who will be worthy to take her place. It will + not be easy, but it is not impossible. And when we shall find her for you, + you will love her as you used to love my daughter, because you are a good + man, and because you will be thankful to her for helping us and for loving + your children.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Father Maurice, I shall do as you wish, as I have always + done.” + </p> + <p> + “It is only justice, my son, to say that you have always listened to the + friendly advice and good judgment of the head of the house. So let us + consult about your choice of a new wife. First, I don't advise you to take + a young girl. That is not what you need. Youth is careless, and, as it is + hard work to bring up three children, especially when they are of another + bed, you must have a good soul, wise and gentle, and well used to work. If + your wife is not about the same age as you, she will have no reason to + accept such a duty. She will find you too old and your children too young. + She will be complaining, and your children will suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “This is just what makes me uneasy. Suppose the poor little things should + be badly treated, hated, beaten?” + </p> + <p> + “God grant not,” answered the old man. “But bad women are more rare with + us than good, and we shall be stupid if we cannot pick out somebody who + will suit us.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, father. There are good girls in our village. There is + Louise, Sylvaine, Claudie, Marguerite—yes, anybody you want.” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, gently, my boy. All these girls are too young, or too poof, or + too pretty; for surely we must think of that top, my son. A pretty woman + is not always as well behaved as another!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you wish me to take an ugly wife?” said Germain, a little uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “No, not ugly at all, for this woman will bear you other children, and + there is nothing more miserable than to have children who are ugly and + weak and sickly. But a woman still fresh and in good health, who is + neither pretty nor ugly, would suit you exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite sure,” said Germain, smiling rather sadly, “that to get such a + woman as you wish, you must have her made to order. All the more because + you don't wish her to be poor, and the rich are not easy to get, + particularly for a widower.” + </p> + <p> + “And suppose she were a widow herself, Germain? A widow without children + and with a good portion?” + </p> + <p> + “For the moment, I cannot think of anybody like this in our parish.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I either. But there are others elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “You have somebody in mind, father. Then tell me, at once, who it is.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0004" id="linklink2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III — Germain, the Skilled Husbandman + </h2> + <p> + “YES, I have somebody in mind,” replied Father Maurice. “It is a Leonard, + the widow of a Guérin. She lives at Fourche.” + </p> + <p> + “I know neither the woman nor the place,” answered Germain, resigned, but + growing more and more melancholy. + </p> + <p> + “Her name is Catherine, like your dead wife's.” + </p> + <p> + “Catherine? Yes, I shall be glad to have to pronounce that name, + Catherine; and yet if I cannot love one as much as the other, it will pain + me all the more. It will bring her to my mind more often.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, you will love her. She is a good soul, a woman with a warm + heart. I have not seen her for a long time. She was not an ugly girl then. + But she is no longer young. She is thirty-two. She comes of a good family, + honest people all of them, and for property she has eight or ten thousand + francs in land which she would sell gladly in order to invest in the place + where she settles. For she, too, is thinking of marrying again, and I know + that if your character pleases her, she will not be dissatisfied with your + situation.” + </p> + <p> + “So you have made all the arrangements?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, except that I have not had an opinion from either of you, and that + is what you must ask each other when you meet. The woman's father is a + distant connection of mine, and he has been a good friend to me. You know + Father Leonard well?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have seen you two talking at the market, and at the last you + lunched together. Then it was about her that he spoke to you so long?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. He watched you selling your cattle and saw that you drove a + shrewd bargain, and that you were a good-looking fellow and appeared + active and intelligent; and when I told him what a good fellow you were + and how well you have behaved toward us, without one word of vexation or + anger during the eight years we have been living and working together, he + took it into his head to marry you to his daughter. This suits me, too, I + admit, when I think of her good reputation and the honesty of her family + and the prosperous condition I know her affairs are in.” + </p> + <p> + “I see, Father Maurice, that you have an eye to money.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do; you have, too, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I do look toward it, if you wish, for your sake; but you know that, for + my own part, I don't worry whether I gain or not in what we make. I don't + understand about profit-sharing; I have no head for that sort of thing. I + understand the ground; I understand cattle, horses, carts, sowing, + threshing, and provender. As for sheep, and vineyards, and vegetables, + petty profits, and fine gardening, you know that is your son's business. I + don't have much to do with it. As to money, my memory is short, and I + should rather give up everything than fight about what is yours and what + is mine. I should be afraid of making some mistake and claiming what does + not belong to me, and if business were not so clear and simple I should + never find my way in it.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse, my son; and this is the reason I wish you to have a + wife with a clear head to fill my place when I am gone. You never wished + to understand our accounts, and this might lead you into a quarrel with my + son, when you don't have me any longer to keep you in harmony and decide + what is each one's share.” + </p> + <p> + “May you live long, Father Maurice. But do not worry about what will + happen when you die. I shall never quarrel with your son. I trust Jacques + as I do you; and as I have no property of my own, and all that might + accrue to me comes from your daughter and belongs to our children, I can + rest easy, and you, too. Jacques would never rob his sister's children for + the sake of his own, for he loves them all equally.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Germain. Jacques is a good son, a good brother, and a man + who loves the truth. But Jacques may die before you, before your children + grow up; and in a family we must always remember never to leave children + without a head to look after them and govern their disagreements; + otherwise, the lawyer-people mix themselves up in it, stir them up to + fight, and make them eat up everything in law-suits. So we ought not to + think of bringing home another person, man or woman, without remembering + that some day or other that person may have to control the behavior and + business of twenty or thirty children and grandchildren, sons-in-law and + daughters-in-law. We never know how big a family can grow, and when a hive + is so full that the bees must form new swarms, each one wishes to carry + off her share of the honey. When I took you for my son, although my + daughter was rich and you were poor, I never reproached her for choosing + you. I saw that you were a hard worker, and I knew very well that the best + fortune for people in such a country as ours is a pair of arms and a heart + like yours. When a man brings these into a family, he brings enough. But + with a woman it is different. Her work indoors saves, but it does not + gain. Besides, now that you are a father, looking for a second wife, you + must remember that your new children will have no claim on the property of + your children by another wife; and if you should happen to die they might + suffer very much—at least, if your wife had no money in her own + right. And then the children which you will add to our colony will cost + something to bring up. If that fell on us alone, we should surely take + care of them without a word of complaint; but the comfort of everybody + would suffer, and your eldest children would bear their share of hardship. + When families grow too large, if money does not keep pace, misery comes, + no matter how bravely you bear up. This is what I wished to say, Germain; + think it over, and try to make the widow Guérin like you; for her + discretion and her dollars will help us now and make us feel easy about + the future.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, Father. I shall try to please her and to like her.” + </p> + <p> + “To do that you must go to find her, and see her.” + </p> + <p> + “At her own place? At Fourche? That is a great way from here, is it not? + And we scarcely have time to run off at this season of the year.” + </p> + <p> + “When it is a question of a love-match you must make up your mind to lose + time, but when it is a sensible marriage of two people, who take no sudden + fancies and know what they want, it is very soon decided. To-morrow is + Saturday; you will make your day's work a little shorter than usual. You + must start after dinner about two o'clock. You will be at Fourche by + nightfall. The moon rises early. The roads are good, and it is not more + than three leagues distant. It is near Magnier. Besides, you will take the + mare.” + </p> + <p> + “I had just as lief go afoot in this cool weather.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but the mare is pretty, and a suitor looks better when he comes well + mounted. You must put on your new clothes and carry a nice present of game + to Father Leonard. You will come from me and talk with him, pass all of + Sunday with his daughter, and come back Monday morning with a yes or no.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” answered Germain calmly, and yet he did not feel very calm. + </p> + <p> + Germain had always lived soberly, as industrious peasants do. Married at + twenty, he had loved but one woman in his life, and after her death, + impulsive and gay as his nature was, he had never played nor trifled with + another. He had borne a real sorrow faithfully in his heart, and it was + not without misgiving nor without sadness that he yielded to his + father-in-law; but that father had always governed the family wisely, and + Germain, entirely devoted as he was to the common welfare and so, by + consequence, to the head of the house, who represented it, could not + understand that he might have wronged his own good sense and hurt the + interests of all. Nevertheless, he was sad. Few days went by when he did + not cry in secret, for his wife, and although loneliness began to weigh on + him, he was more afraid of entering into a new marriage than desirous of + finding a support in his sorrow. He had a vague idea that love might have + consoled him by coming to him of a sudden, for this is the only way love + can console. We never find it when we seek it; it comes over us unawares. + </p> + <p> + This cold-blooded scheme of marriage that Father Maurice had opened to + him, this unknown woman he was to take for his bride, perhaps even all + that had been said to him of her virtue and good sense, made him pause to + think. And he went away musing as men do whose thoughts are too few to + divide into hostile factions, not scraping up fine arguments for rebellion + and selfishness but suffering from a dull grief, submissive to ills from + which there is no escape. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Father Maurice had returned to the farm, while Germain, between + sunset and dark, spent the closing hour of the day in repairing gaps the + sheep had made in the hedge of a yard near the farm-buildings. He lifted + up the branches of the thorn-bushes and held them in place with clods of + earth, whilst the thrushes chattered in the neighboring thicket and seemed + to call to him to hurry, for they were eager to come and see his work as + soon as he had gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0005" id="linklink2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV — Mother Guillette + </h2> + <p> + FATHER MAURICE found at his house an old neighbor who had come to talk + with his wife, seeking at the same time to secure a few embers to light + her fire. Mother Guillette lived in a wretched hut two gunshots away from + the farm. Still she was a willing and an orderly woman. Her poor dwelling + was clean and neat, and the care with which her clothes were mended showed + that she respected herself in the midst of her penury. + </p> + <p> + “You have come to fetch your evening fire, Mother Guillette,” said the old + man to her. “Is there anything else you want?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Father Maurice,” answered she; “nothing for the present. I am no + beggar, as you know, and I take care not to abuse the kindness of my + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very true. Besides, your friends are always ready to do you a + service.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just talking to your wife, and I was asking her if Germain had + finally decided to marry again.” + </p> + <p> + “You are no gossip,” replied Father Maurice; “we can talk in your presence + without having any foolish tale-bearing to fear. So I will tell my wife + and you that Germain has made up his mind absolutely. To-morrow morning he + starts for the farm at Fourche.” + </p> + <p> + “Good enough!” cried Mother Maurice; “poor child! God grant he may find a + woman as good and true as he.” + </p> + <p> + “So he is going to Fourche?” remarked Mother Guillette; “how lucky that + is! It is exactly what I want. And since you were just asking me if there + were anything I wished for, I am going to tell you, Father Maurice, how + you can do me a service.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what it is; we like to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Germain would be so kind as to take my daughter along with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Where? To Fourche?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not to Fourche, but to Ormeaux. She is to stay there the rest of the + year.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” exclaimed Mother Maurice, “are you going to separate from your + daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “She must go out to work and earn her living. I am sorry enough, and she + is too, poor soul. We could not make up our minds to part Saint John's + Day, but now that Saint Martin's is upon us, she finds a good place as + shepherdess at the farms at Ormeaux. On his way home from the fair the + other day, the farmer passed by here. He caught sight of my little Marie + tending her three sheep on the common. + </p> + <p> + “'You have hardly enough to do, my little girl,' said he; 'three sheep are + not enough for a shepherdess: would you like to take care of a hundred? I + will take you along. Our shepherdess has fallen sick. She is going back to + her family, and if you will be at our farm before a week is over, you + shall have fifty francs for the rest of the year up to Saint John's Day.' + </p> + <p> + “The child refused, but she could not help thinking it over and telling me + about it, when she came home in the evening, and found me downhearted and + worried about the winter, which was sure to be hard and long; for this + year the cranes and wild ducks were seen crossing the sky a whole month + before they generally do. We both of us cried, but after a time we took + heart. We knew that we could not stay together, since it is hard enough + for one person to get a living from our little patch of ground. Then since + Marie is old enough,—for she is going on to sixteen,—she must + do like the rest, earn her own living and help her poor mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother Guillette,” said the old laborer, “if it were only fifty francs + you needed to help you out of your trouble, and save you from sending away + your daughter, I should certainly find them for you, although fifty francs + is no trifle for people like us. But in everything we must consult common + sense as well as friendship. To be saved from want this year will not keep + you from want in the future, and the longer your daughter takes to make up + her mind, the harder you both will find it to part. Little Marie is + growing tall and strong. She has not enough at home to keep her busy. She + might get into lazy habits...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am not afraid of that!” exclaimed Mother Guillette. “Marie is as + active as a rich girl at the head of a large family can be. She never sits + still with her arms folded for an instant, and when we have no work to do, + she keeps dusting and polishing our old furniture until it shines like a + mirror. The child is worth her weight in gold, and I should much rather + have her enter your service as a shepherdess than go so far away to people + I don't know. You would have taken her at Saint John's Day; but now you + have hired all your hands, and we cannot think of that till Saint John's + Day next year.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I consent with all my heart, Guillette. I shall be very glad to take + her. But in the mean time she will do well to learn her work, and accustom + herself to obey others.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is true, no doubt. The die is cast. The farmer at Ormeaux sent + to ask about her this morning; we consented, and she must go. But the poor + child does not know the way, and I should not like to send her so far + alone. Since your son-in-law goes to Fourche to-morrow, perhaps he can + take her. It seems that Fourche is close to her journey's end. At least, + so they tell me, for I have never made the trip myself.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very near indeed, and my son will show her the way. Naturally, he + might even take her up behind him on the mare. That will save her shoes. + Here he comes for supper. Tell me, Germain, Mother Guillette's little + Marie is going to become a shepherdess at Ormeaux. Will you take her there + on your horse?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” answered Germain, who, troubled as he was, never felt + indisposed to do a kindness to his neighbor. + </p> + <p> + In our community a mother would not think of such a thing as to trust a + girl of sixteen to a man of twenty-eight. For Germain was really but + twenty-eight, and although according to the notions of the country people + he was considered rather old to marry, he was still the best-looking man + in the neighborhood. Toil had not wrinkled and worn him as it does most + peasants who have passed ten years in till-ing the soil. He was strong + enough to labor for ten more years without showing signs of age, and the + prejudices of her time must have weighed heavily on the mind of a young + girl to prevent her from seeing that Germain had a fresh complexion, eyes + sparkling and blue as skies in May, ruddy lips, fine teeth, and a body + well shaped and lithe as a young horse that has never yet left his + pasture. + </p> + <p> + But purity of manners is a sacred custom in some districts far distant + from the corrupted life of great cities, and amongst all the households of + Belair, the family of Maurice was known to be honest and truth-loving. + Germain was on his way to find a wife. Marie was a child, too young and + too poor to be thought of in this light, and unless he were a heartless + and a bad man he could not entertain one evil thought concerning her. + Father Maurice felt no uneasiness at seeing him take the pretty girl on + the crupper. Mother Guillette would have thought herself doing him a wrong + had she asked him to respect her daughter as his sister. Marie embraced + her mother and her young friends twenty times, and then mounted the mare + in tears. Germain, sad on his own account, felt all the more sympathy for + her sorrow, and rode away with a melancholy air, while all the people of + the neighborhood waved good-by to Marie without a thought of harm. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0006" id="linklink2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V — Petit-Pierre + </h2> + <p> + THE gray was young, good-looking, and strong. She carried her double + burden with ease, laying back her ears and champing her bit like the + high-spirited mare she was. Passing in front of the pasture, she caught + sight of her mother, whose name was the Old Gray as hers was the Young + Gray, and she whinnied in token of good-by. The Old Gray came nearer the + hedge, and striking her shoes together she tried to gallop along the edge + of the field in order to follow her daughter; then seeing her fall into a + sharp trot, the mare whinnied in her turn and stood in an uneasy attitude, + her nose in the air and her mouth filled with grass that she had no + thought of eating. + </p> + <p> + “That poor beast always knows her offspring,” said Germain, trying to keep + Marie's thoughts from her troubles. “That reminds me, I never kissed + Petit-Pierre before I started. The naughty boy was not there. Last night + he wished to make me promise to take him along, and he wept for an hour in + bed. This morning again, he tried everything to persuade me. Oh, how sly + and coaxing he is! But when he saw that he could not gain his point, the + young gentleman got into a temper. He went off to the fields, and I have + not seen him all day.” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen him,” said little Marie, striving to keep back her tears; “he + was running toward the clearing with Soulas' children, and I felt sure + that he had been away from home a long time, for he was hungry and was + eating wild plums and blackberries. I gave him the bread I had for lunch, + and he said, 'Thank you, dear Marie; when you come to our house, I will + give you some cake.' He is a dear little child, Germain.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is,” answered the laborer; “and there is nothing I would not do + for him. If his grandmother had not more sense than I, I could not have + helped taking him with me, when I saw him crying as though his poor little + heart would burst.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you not take him, Germain? He, would have been very little + trouble. He is so good when you please him.” + </p> + <p> + “He would probably have been in the way in the place where I am going. At + least Father Maurice thought so. On the other hand, I should have thought + it well to see how they received him. For no one could help being kind to + such a nice child. But at home they said that I must not begin by showing + off all the cares of the household. I don't know why I speak of this to + you, little Marie; you can't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do; I know that you are going away to marry; my mother spoke + to me about it, and told me not to mention it to a soul, either at home or + at my destination, and you need not be afraid; I shall not breathe a word + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very right. For the deed is n't done yet. Perhaps I shall not + suit this woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will, Germain; why should you not suit her?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? I have three children, and that is a heavy burden for a woman + who is not their mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true. But are not your children like other children?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “They are lovely as little angels, and so well brought up that you can't + find better children.” + </p> + <p> + “There 's Sylvain. He is none too obedient.” + </p> + <p> + “He is so very little. He can't help being naughty. But he is very + bright.” + </p> + <p> + “He is bright it is true, and very brave. He is not afraid of cows nor + bulls, and if he were given his own way, he would be climbing on horseback + already with his elder brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Had I been in your place, I would have taken the eldest boy along. Surely + people would have liked you at once for having such a pretty child.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if a woman is fond of children. But if she is not.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there women who don't love children?” + </p> + <p> + “Not many, I think, but still there are some, and that is what troubles + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know this woman at all, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No more than you, and I fear that I shall not know her better after I + have seen her. I am not suspicious. When people say nice things to me, I + believe them, but more than once I have had good reason to repent, for + words are not deeds.” + </p> + <p> + “They say that she is a very good woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Who says so? Father Maurice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your father-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all very well. But he knows her no more than I.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you will soon see. Pay close attention, and let us hope that you + will not be deceived.” + </p> + <p> + “I have it. Little Marie, I should be very much obliged if you would come + into the house for a minute before you go straight on to Ormeaux. You are + quick-witted; you have always shown that you are not stupid, and nothing + escapes your notice. Should you see anything to rouse your suspicions, you + must warn me of it very quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no, Germain, I will not do that; I should be too much afraid of + making a mistake; and, besides, if a word lightly spoken were to turn you + against this marriage, your family would bear me a grudge, and I have + plenty of troubles now without bringing any more on my poor dear mother.” + </p> + <p> + As they were talking thus, the gray pricked up her ears and shied; then + returning on her steps, she approached the bushes, where she began to + recognize something which had frightened her at first. Germain cast his + eye over the thicket, and in a ditch, beneath the branches of a scrub-oak, + still thick and green, he saw something which he took for a lamb. + </p> + <p> + “The little creature is strayed or dead, for it does not move. Perhaps + some one is looking for it; we must see.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not an animal,” cried little Marie; “it is a sleeping child. It is + your Petit-Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” exclaimed Germain; “see the little scamp asleep so far away + from home, and in a ditch where a snake might bite him!” + </p> + <p> + He lifted up the child, who smiled as he opened his eyes and threw his + arms about his father's neck, saying: “Dear little father, you are going + to take me with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; always the same tune. What were you doing there, you naughty + Pierre?” + </p> + <p> + “I was waiting for my little father to go by. I was watching the road, and + I watched so hard that I fell asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I had passed by without seeing you, you would have been out of + doors all night, and a wolf would have eaten you up.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew very well that you would see me,” answered Petit-Pierre, + confidently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, kiss me now, bid me good-by, and run back quickly to the house, + unless you wish them to have supper without you.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you not going to take me, then?” cried the little boy, beginning to + rub his eyes to show that he was thinking of tears. + </p> + <p> + “You know very well that grandpapa and grand-mama do not wish it,” said + Germain, fortifying himself behind the authority of his elders, like a man + who distrusts his own. + </p> + <p> + The child would not listen. He began to cry with all his might, saying + that as long as his father was taking little Marie, he might just as well + take him too. They replied that they must pass through great woods filled + with wicked beasts who eat up little children. The gray would not carry + three people; she had said so when they were starting, and in the country + where they were going there was no bed and no supper for little boys. All + these good reasons could not persuade Petit-Pierre; he threw himself on + the ground, and rolled about, shrieking that his little father did not + love him any more, and that if he did not take him he would never go back + to the house at all, day or night. + </p> + <p> + Germain had a father's heart, as soft and weak as a woman's. His-wife's + death, and the care which he had been obliged to bestow all alone on his + little ones, as well as the thought that these poor motherless children + needed a great deal of love, combined to make him thus. So such a sharp + struggle went on within him, all the more because he was ashamed of his + weakness and tried to hide his confusion from little Marie, that the sweat + started out on his forehead, and his eyes grew red and almost ready to + weep. At last he tried to get angry, but as he turned toward little Marie + in order to let her witness his strength of mind, he saw that the good + girls face was wet with tears; all his courage forsook him and he could + not keep back his own, scold and threaten as he would. + </p> + <p> + “Truly your heart is too hard,” said little Marie at last, “and for myself + I know that I never could refuse a child who felt so badly. Come, Germain, + let 's take him. Your mare is well used to carrying two people and a + child, for you know that your brother-in-law and his wife, who is much + heavier than I, go to market every Saturday with their boy on this good + beast's back. Take him on the horse in front of you. Besides, I should + rather walk on foot all alone than give this little boy so much pain.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” answered Germain, who was dying to allow himself to give + way. “The gray is strong, and could carry two more if there were room on + her back. But what can we do with this child on the way? He will be cold + and hungry, and who will take care of him to-night and tomorrow, put him + to bed, wash him, and dress him? I don't dare give this trouble to a woman + I don't know, who will think, doubtless, that I am exceedingly free and + easy with her to begin with.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust me, Germain, you will know her at once by the kindness or the + impatience that she shows. If she does not care to receive your Pierre, I + will take charge of him myself. I will go to her house and dress him, and + I will take him to the fields with me to-morrow. I will amuse him all day + long, and take good care that he does not want for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “He will tire you, my poor girl, and give you trouble. A whole day is a + long time.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all; it will give me pleasure; he will keep me company, and that + will make me less sad the first day that I must pass in a new place. I + shall fancy that I am still at home.” + </p> + <p> + Seeing that little Marie was pleading for her, the child seized upon her + skirt and held it so tight that they must have hurt him in order to tear + it away. When he perceived that his father was weakening, he took Marie's + hand in both his tiny sunburned fists and kissed her, leaping for joy, and + pulling her toward the mare with the burning impatience children feel in + their desires. + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” said the young girl, lifting him in her arms; “let us try to + quiet his poor little heart. It is fluttering like a little bird; and if + you feel the cold when night comes on, tell me, my Pierre, and I will wrap + you in my cape. Kiss your little father, and beg his pardon for being + naughty. Tell him that you will never, never be so again. Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, provided that I always do just as he wishes. Is n't it so?” + said Germain, drying the little boy's eyes with his handkerchief. “Marie, + you are spoiling the little rascal. But really and truly, you are too + good, little Marie. I don't know why you did not come to us as shepherdess + last Saint John's Day. You would have taken care of my children, and I + should much rather pay a good price for their sake than try to find a + woman who will think, perhaps, she is doing me a great kindness if she + does not detest them.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not look on the dark side of things,” answered little Marie, + holding the horse's bridle while Germain placed his son in front of the + big pack-saddle covered with goatskin. “If your wife does not care for + children, take me into your service next year, and you may be sure I shall + amuse them so well that they will not notice anything.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0007" id="linklink2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI — On the Heath + </h2> + <p> + “DEAR ME,” said Germain, after they had gone a few steps farther, “what + will they think at home when they miss the little man? The family will be + worried, and will be looking everywhere for him.” + </p> + <p> + “You can tell the man who is mending the road up there that you are taking + him along, and ask him to speak to your people.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very true, Marie; you don't forget anything. It never occurred to + me that Jeannie must be there.” + </p> + <p> + “He lives close to the farm, and he will not fail to do your errand.” + </p> + <p> + When they had taken this precaution, Germain put the mare to a trot, and + Petit-Pierre was so overjoyed that for a time he forgot that he had gone + without his dinner; but the motion of the horse gave him a hollow feeling + in his stomach, and at the end of a league, he began to gape and grow + pale, and confessed that he was dying of hunger. + </p> + <p> + “This is the way it begins,” exclaimed Germain. “I was quite sure that we + should not go far without this young gentleman crying with hunger or + thirst.” + </p> + <p> + “I am thirsty, too!” said Petit-Pierre. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, let 's go to Mother Rebec's tavern at Corlay, the sign + of 'The Dawn'—a pretty sign, but a poor lodging. You will take + something to drink, too, will you not, Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I don't want anything. I will hold the mare while you go in with + the child.” + </p> + <p> + “But I remember, my good girl, that this morning you gave the bread from + your own breakfast to my Pierre. You have had nothing to eat. You would + not take dinner with us at home; you would do nothing but cry.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I was not hungry; I felt too sad, and I give you my word that even + now I have no desire to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “You must oblige yourself to eat, little girl, else you will fall sick. We + have a long way to go, and it will not do to arrive half-starved and beg + for bread before we say how d' ye do. I shall set you a good example + myself, although I am not very hungry: and I am sure that I can, for, + after all, I did not eat any dinner. I saw you crying, you and your + mother, and it made me feel sad. Come along. I am going to tie the gray at + the door. Get down; I wish you to.” + </p> + <p> + All three entered the inn, and in less than fifteen minutes the fat, lame + hostess was able to place before them a nice-looking omelette, some brown + bread, and a bottle of light wine. + </p> + <p> + Peasants do not eat quickly, and little Pierre had such a good appetite + that a whole hour passed before Germain could think of starting out again. + At first little Marie ate in order to be obliging; then little by little + she grew hungry. For, at sixteen, a girl cannot fast for long, and country + air is dictatorial. + </p> + <p> + The kind words with which Germain knew how to comfort her and strengthen + her courage, produced their effect. She tried hard to persuade herself + that seven months would soon be over, and to think of the pleasure in + store for her when she saw once more her family and her hamlet; for Father + Maurice and Germain had both promised to take her into their service. But + just as she began to cheer up and play with little Pierre, Germain was so + unfortunate as to point out to her from the inn window the lovely view of + the valley which can all be seen from this height, and which looks so + happy and green and fertile. + </p> + <p> + Marie looked and asked if the houses of Belair were in sight. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” said Germain, “and the farm, too, and even your house—see! + that tiny gray spot not far from Godard's big poplar, below the belfry.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see it,” said the little girl; and then she began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “I ought not to have made you think of it,” said Germain. “I can do + nothing but stupid things today. Come along, Marie; let 's start, and in + an hour, when the moon rises, it will not be hot.” + </p> + <p> + They resumed their journey across the great heath, and for fear of tiring + the young girl and the child by too rapid a trot, Germain did not make the + gray go very fast. The sun had set when they left the road to enter the + wood. + </p> + <p> + Germain knew the way as far as Magnier, but he thought it would be shorter + to avoid the Chantaloube road and descend by Presles and La Sépulture, a + route he was not in the habit of taking on his way to the fair. He lost + his way, and wasted more time before he reached the wood. Even then he did + not enter it on the right side, although he did not perceive his mistake, + so that he turned his back on Fourche, and took a direction higher up on + the way to Ardente. + </p> + <p> + He was prevented still further from finding his way by a thick mist which + rose as the night fell; one of those mists which come on autumn evenings + when the whiteness of the moonlight renders them more undefined and more + treacherous. The great pools of water scattered through the glades gave + forth a vapor so dense that when the gray crossed them, their presence was + known only by a splashing noise, and the difficulty with which she drew + her feet from the mud. + </p> + <p> + At last they found a good straight road, and when they came to the end of + it, and Germain tried to discover where he was, he saw that he was lost. + For Father Maurice had told him, when he explained the way, that on + leaving the wood he must descend a very steep hillside, cross a wide + meadow, and ford the river twice. He had even warned him to cross this + river carefully; for, early in the season, there had been great rains, and + the water might still be higher than usual. Seeing neither hillside nor + meadows, nor river, but a heath, level and white as a mantle of snow, + Germain stopped, looked about for a house, and waited for a passer-by, but + could find nothing to set him right. Then he retraced his steps and + reentered the wood. But the mist thickened yet more, the moon was + completely hidden, the roads were execrable, and the quagmires deep. Twice + the gray almost fell. Her heavy load made her lose courage, and although + she kept enough sagacity to avoid the tree-trunks, she could not prevent + her riders from striking the great branches which overhung the road at the + height of their heads and caused them great danger. In one of these + collisions Germain lost his hat, and only recovered it after much + difficulty. Petit-Pierre had fallen asleep, and, lying like a log in his + father's arms, hampered him so that he could no longer hold up nor direct + the horse. + </p> + <p> + “I believe we are bewitched,” exclaimed Germain, stopping; “for the wood + is not large enough to get lost in, if a man is not drunk, and here we + have been turning round and round for two hours at least, without finding + a way out. The gray has but one idea in her head, and that is to get home. + It is she who is deceiving me. If we wish to go home, we have only to give + her the bit. But when we are perhaps but two steps from our journey's end, + it would be foolish to give up and return such a long road; and yet I am + at a loss what to do. I cant see sky or earth, and I am afraid that the + child will catch the fever if we remain in this cursed fog, or that he + will be crushed beneath our weight if the horse falls forward.” + </p> + <p> + “We must not persist longer,” said little Marie. “Let 's dismount, + Germain. Give me the child; I can carry him perfectly well, and I know + better than you how to keep the cloak from falling open and leaving him + exposed. You lead the mare by her bridle. Perhaps we shall see more + clearly when we are nearer the ground.” + </p> + <p> + This precaution was of service only in saving them from a fall, for the + fog hung low and seemed to stick to the damp earth. + </p> + <p> + Their advance was painfully slow, and they were soon so weary that they + halted when they reached a dry spot beneath the great oaks. + </p> + <p> + Little Marie was in a violent sweat, but she uttered not a word of + complaint, nor did she worry about anything. Thinking only of the child, + she sat down on the sand and laid it upon her knees, while Germain + explored the neighborhood, after having fastened the gray's reins to the + branch of a tree. + </p> + <p> + But the gray was very dissatisfied with the journey. She reared suddenly, + broke the reins loose, burst her girths, and giving, by way of receipt, + half a dozen kicks higher than her head, she started across the clearing, + showing very plainly that she needed no one to show her the way home. + </p> + <p> + “Well, here we are afoot,” said Germain, after a vain attempt to catch the + horse, “and it would do us no good now if we were on the good road, for we + should have to ford the river on foot, and since these paths are filled + with water, we may be sure that the meadow is wholly submerged. We don't + know the other routes. We must wait until this fog clears. It can't last + more than an hour or two; as soon as we can see clearly, we shall look + about for a house, the first we come to near the edge of the wood. But for + the present we can't stir from here. There is a ditch and a pond over + there. Heaven knows what is in front of us, and what is behind us is more + than I can say now, for I have forgotten which way we came.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0008" id="linklink2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII — Underneath the Big Oaks + </h2> + <p> + “WELL, we must be patient, Germain,” said little Marie. “We are not badly + off on this little hillock. The rain does not pierce the leaves of these + big oaks, and we can light a fire, for I can feel old stumps which stir + readily and are dry enough to burn. You have a light, Germain, have you + not? You were smoking your pipe a few minutes ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I did have; my tinderbox was in my bag on the saddle with the game that I + was bringing to my bride that is to be, but that devilish mare has run + away with everything, even with my cloak, which she will lose and tear to + bits on every branch she comes to.” “No, no, Germain; saddle and cloak and + bag are all there on the ground at your feet. The gray burst her girths, + and threw off everything as she ran away.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true, thank God,” exclaimed the laborer; “if we can grope about + and find a little dead wood, we shall be able to dry ourselves and get + warm.” + </p> + <p> + “That 's not difficult,” said little Marie; “dead wood always cracks when + you step on it. But will you give me the saddle?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want of it?” + </p> + <p> + “To make a bed for the child. No, not that way. Upside down. He will not + roll off into the hollow, and it is still very warm from the horse's back. + Prop it up all around with the stones that you see there.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see a stone; you must have cat's eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “There, it is all done, Germain. Hand me your cloak so that you can wrap + up his little feet, and throw my cape over his body. Just see if he is not + as comfortable as though he were in his own bed, and feel how warm he is.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly know how to take care of children, Marie.” + </p> + <p> + “I need not be a witch to do that; now get your tinderbox from your bag, + and I will arrange the wood.” + </p> + <p> + “This wood will never catch fire; it is too damp.” + </p> + <p> + “You are always doubting, Germain. Don't you remember when you were a + shepherd, and made big fires in the fields right in the midst of the + rain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is a knack that belongs to children who take care of sheep; but + I was made to drive the oxen as soon as I could walk.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what has made your arms strong and your hands quick! Here, the + fire is built; you shall see whether it does not burn. Give me the light + and a handful of dry ferns. That is all right Now blow; you are not + consumptive, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of,” said Germain, blowing like a smith's bellows. In an + instant the flame leaped up, and throwing out a red glare, it rose finally + in pale blue jets under the oak branches, battling with the fog, and + gradually drying the atmosphere for ten feet around. + </p> + <p> + “Now I am going to sit by the child, so that the sparks may not fall on + him,” said the young girl. “Pile on the wood and stir up the fire, + Germain; we shall not catch cold nor fever here, I will answer for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, you are a clever girl,” said Germain; “and you know how to + make a fire like a little fairy of the night. I feel quite revived, and my + courage has come back again; for with my legs drenched up to the knees, + and with the thought of staying this way till daylight, I was in a very + bad temper just now.” + </p> + <p> + “And when people are in a bad temper they don't think of anything,” + answered little Marie. + </p> + <p> + “And are you never bad-tempered?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never; what is the good of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course, there is no good; but how can you help it when you have + troubles? Yet Heaven knows that you have not lacked them, my little girl; + for you have not always been happy.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true that my mother and I have suffered. We have had sorrows, but + we have never lost heart.” + </p> + <p> + “I should never lose heart, no matter how hard my work was,” said Germain, + “but poverty would make me very sad; for I have never wanted for anything. + My wife made me rich, and I am rich still; I shall be so as long as I work + on the farm; and that will be always, I hope. But everybody must suffer + his share! I have suffered in another way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you have lost your wife. That is very sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Is n't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Germain, I have wept for her many a time. She was so very kind! But + don't let us talk about her longer, for I shall burst out crying. All my + troubles are ready to come back to me to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, she loved you dearly, little Marie. She used to make a great + deal of you and your mother. Are you crying? Come, my girl, I don't want + to cry....” + </p> + <p> + “But you are crying, Germain! You are crying as hard as I. Why should a + man be ashamed to weep for his wife? Don't let me trouble you. That sorrow + is mine as well as yours.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a kind heart, Marie, and it does me good to weep with you. Put + your feet nearer the fire; your skirts are all soaked, too, poor little + girl. I am going to take your place by the boy. You move nearer the fire.” + </p> + <p> + “I am hot enough,” said Marie; “and if you wish to sit down, take a corner + of the cloak. I am perfectly comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + “The truth is that it is not so bad here,” said Germain, as he sat down + beside her. “Only I feel very hungry again. It is almost nine o'clock, and + I have had such hard work in walking over these vile roads that I feel + quite tired out. Are you not hungry, too, little Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “I?—not at all. I am not accustomed like you to four meals a day, + and I have been to bed so often without my supper that once more does not + trouble me.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman like you is very convenient; she costs nothing,” said Germain, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a woman,” exclaimed Marie, naïvely, without perceiving the + direction the husbandman's ideas had taken. “Are you dreaming?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe I must be dreaming,” answered Germain. “Perhaps hunger is + making my mind wander.” + </p> + <p> + “How greedy you are,” answered she, brightening in her turn. “Well, if you + can't live five or six hours without eating, have you not game in your bag + and fire to cook it?” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, that's a good idea! But how about the present to my future + father-in-law?” + </p> + <p> + “You have six partridges and a hare! I suppose you do not need all of them + to satisfy your appetite.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can we cook them without a spit or andirons. They will be burned + to a cinder!” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said little Marie; “I warrant that I can cook them for you + under the cinders without a taste of smoke. Have you never caught larks in + the fields, and cooked them between two stones? Oh! that is true—I + keep forgetting that you have never been a shepherd. Come, pluck the + partridge. Not so hard! You will tear the skin.” + </p> + <p> + “You might be plucking the other to show me how!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you wish to eat two? What an ogre you are! They are all plucked. I + am going to cook them.” + </p> + <p> + “You would make a perfect little sutler's girl, Marie, but unhappily you + have no canteen, and I shall have to drink water from this pool!” + </p> + <p> + “You would like some wine, would you not? Possibly you might prefer + coffee. You imagine yourself under the trees at the fair. Call out the + host. Some wine for the good husbandman of Belair!” + </p> + <p> + “You little witch, you are making fun of me! Would not you drink some wine + if you had it?” + </p> + <p> + “I? At Mother Rebec's, with you to-night, I drank some for the second time + in my life. But if you are very good, I shall give you a bottle almost + full, and excellent too.” + </p> + <p> + “What? Marie, I verily believe you are a witch!” + </p> + <p> + “Were you not foolish enough to ask for two bottles of wine at the inn? + You and your boy drank one, and the other you set before me. I hardly + drank three drops, yet you paid for both without looking.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I put the full one in my basket, because I thought that you or your + child would be thirsty on the journey. And here it is.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the most thoughtful girl I have ever met. Although the poor child + was crying when we left the inn, that did not prevent her from thinking of + others more than of herself. Little Marie, the man who marries you will be + no fool.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not, for I am not fond of fools. Come, eat up your partridges; + they are done to a turn; and for want of bread, you must be satisfied with + chestnuts.” + </p> + <p> + “Where the deuce did you find chestnuts, too?” + </p> + <p> + “It is extraordinary! All along the road I picked them off the branches as + we went along, and filled my pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “And are they cooked, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Where would my wits have been had I not had sense enough to put the + chestnuts in the fire as soon as it was lighted? That is the way we always + do in the fields.” + </p> + <p> + “So we are going to take supper together, little Marie. I want to drink + your health and wish you a good husband, just the sort of a man that will + suit you. Tell me what kind you want.” + </p> + <p> + “I should find that very difficult, Germain, for I have not thought about + it yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What, not at all? Never?” said Germain, as he began to eat with a + laborer's appetite, yet stopping to cut off the more tender morsels for + his companion, who persisted in refusing them and contented herself with a + few chestnuts. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, little Marie,” he went on, seeing that she had no intention of + answering him, “have you never thought of marrying? Yet you are old + enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she said, “but I am too poor. I need at least a hundred crowns + to marry, and I must work five or six years to scrape them together.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor girl, I wish Father Maurice were willing to give me a hundred crowns + to make you a present of.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly, Germain. What do you suppose people would say of me?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish them to say of you? They know very well that I am too + old to marry you. They would never believe that I—that you—” + </p> + <p> + “Look, Germain, your child is waking up,” said little Marie. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0009" id="linklink2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII — The Evening Prayer + </h2> + <p> + PETIT-PIERRE had raised his head and was looking about him with a + thoughtful air. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is the way he always does, whenever he hears the sound of + eating,” said Germain. “The explosion of a cannon would not rouse him, but + if you work your jaws near him, he opens his eyes at once.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have been just like him at his age,” said little Marie, with a + sly smile. “See! my Petit-Pierre, you are looking for your canopy. + To-night it is made all of green, my child; but your father eats his + supper none the less. Do you wish to sup with him? I have not eaten your + share; I thought that you might claim it.” + </p> + <p> + “Marie, I wish you to eat,” cried the husbandman; “I shall not touch + another morsel. I am a greedy glutton. You are depriving yourself for our + sake. It is not fair. I am ashamed. It takes away all my appetite. I will + not have my son eat his supper unless you take some too.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave us alone,” said little Marie; “you have not the key to our + appetites. Mine is tight shut to-day, but your Pierre's is as wide open as + a little wolfs. Just see how he seizes his food. He will be a strong + workman too, some day!” + </p> + <p> + In truth, Petit-Pierre showed very soon whose son he was, and though + scarcely awake and wholly at a loss to know where he was and how he had + come there, he began to eat ravenously. As soon as his hunger was + appeased, feeling excited as children do who break loose from their wonted + habits, he had more wit, more curiosity, and more good sense than usual. + He made them explain to him where he was, and when he found that he was in + the midst of a forest, he grew a little frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Are there wicked beasts in this forest?” he demanded of his father. + </p> + <p> + “No, none at all. Don't be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you told a story when you said that if I went with you into the + great forest, the wolves would carry me off.” + </p> + <p> + “Just see this logician,” said Germain, embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “He is right,” replied little Marie. “That is what you told him. He has a + good memory, and has not forgotten. But, little Pierre, you must learn + that your father never tells a story. We passed through the big forest + whilst you were sleeping, and now we are in the small forest where there + are no wicked beasts.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the little forest very far away from the big one?” + </p> + <p> + “Far enough; besides, the wolves never go out of the big forest. And then, + if some of them should come here, your father would kill them.” + </p> + <p> + “And you too, little Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we, too, for you would help also, my Pierre. You are not frightened, + are you? You would beat them soundly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed, I would,” said the child, proudly, as he struck a heroic + attitude; “we would kill them.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nobody like you for talking to children and for making them + listen to reason,” said Germain to little Marie. “To be sure, it is not + long ago since you were a small child yourself, and you have not forgotten + what your mother used to say to you. I believe that the younger one is, + the better one gets on with children. I am very much afraid that a woman + of thirty who does not yet know what it is to be a mother, would find it + hard to prattle to children and reason with them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Germain? I don't know why you have such a bad idea of this woman; + you will change your mind.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil take the woman!” exclaimed Germain. “I wish I were going away + from her forever. What do I want of a wife whom I don't know?” + </p> + <p> + “Little father,” said the child, “why is it that you speak so much of your + wife to-day, since she is dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have not forgotten your poor, dear mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No; for I saw her placed in a beautiful box of white wood, and my + grandmother led me up to her to kiss her and say good-by. She was very + white and very stiff, and every evening my aunt made me pray God that she + might go to him in Heaven and be warm. Do you think that she is there + now?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, my child; but you must always pray. It shows your mother that + you love her.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to say my prayers,” answered the boy. “I forgot them to-night. + But I can't say them all alone, for I always forget something. Little + Marie must help me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Pierre, I will help you,” said the young girl. “Come and kneel + down in my lap.” + </p> + <p> + The child knelt down on the girl's skirt. He clasped his little hands and + began to say his prayers, at first with great care and earnestness, for he + knew the beginning very well, then slowly and with more hesitation, and + finally repeating word by word after Marie, when he came to that place in + his prayer where sleep overtook him so invariably that he had never been + able to learn the end. This time again the effort of close attention and + the monotony of his own accent produced their wonted effect. He pronounced + the last syllables with great difficulty, and only after they were thrice + repeated. + </p> + <p> + His head grew heavy and fell on Marie's breast; his hands unclasped, + divided, and fell open on his knees. By the light of the camp-fire, + Germain watched his little darling hushed at the heart of the young girl, + who, as she held him in her arms and warmed his fair hair with her sweet + breath, had herself fallen into a holy reverie, and prayed in quiet for + the soul of Catherine. + </p> + <p> + Germain was touched. He tried to express to little Marie the grateful + esteem which he felt for her, but he could find no fitting words. + </p> + <p> + He approached her to kiss his son, whom she held close to her breast, and + he could scarcely raise his lips from little Pierre's brow. + </p> + <p> + “You kiss too hard,” said Marie, gently pushing away the husbandman's + head. “You will wake him. Let me put him back to bed, for the boy has left + us already for dreams of paradise.” + </p> + <p> + The child allowed Marie to lay him down, but feeling the goatskin on the + saddle, he asked if he were on the gray. Then opening his big blue eyes, + and keeping them fixed on the branches for a minute, he seemed to be + dreaming, wide-awake as he was, or to be struck with an idea which had + slipped his mind during the daytime, and only assumed a distinct form at + the approach of sleep. + </p> + <p> + “Little father,” said he, “if you wish to give me a new mother, I hope it + will be little Marie.” + </p> + <p> + And without waiting for an answer, he closed his eyes and slept. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0010" id="linklink2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX — Despite the Cold + </h2> + <p> + LITTLE MARIE seemed to give no more heed to the child's odd words than to + regard them as a proof of friendship. She wrapped him up with care, + stirred the fire, and as the fog resting on the neighboring pool gave no + sign of lifting, she advised Germain to lie near the fire and take a nap. + </p> + <p> + “I see that you are sleepy already,” said she, “for you don't say a word + and you gaze into the fire, just as your little boy was doing.” + </p> + <p> + “It is you who must sleep,” answered the husbandman, “and I will take care + of both of you, for I have never felt less sleepy than I do now. I have + fifty things to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty is a great many,” said the little girl, with a mocking accent. + “There are lots of people who would be delighted to have one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I am too stupid to have fifty, I have one, at least, which has + not left me for the past hour.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shall tell it to you as well as I told you those you thought of + before.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do tell me if you know, Marie. Tell me yourself. I shall be glad to + hear.” + </p> + <p> + “An hour ago,” she answered, “your idea was to eat—and now it is to + sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Marie, I am only an ox-driver, but, upon my word, you take me for an ox. + You are very perverse, and it is easy to see that you do not care to talk + to me, so go to sleep. That will be better than to pick flaws in a man who + is out of sorts.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to talk, let 's talk,” said the girl, half reclining near the + child and resting her head against the saddle. “You torment yourself, + Germain, and you do not show much courage for a man. What would n't I say + if I did n't do my best to fight my own troubles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's very true, and that 's just what I am thinking of, my poor + child. You are going to live, away from your friends, in a horrid country + full of moors and fens, where you will catch the autumn fevers. Sheep do + not pay well there, and this is always discouraging for a shepherdess if + she means well. Then you will be surrounded by strangers who may not be + kind to you and will not know how much you are worth. It makes me more + sorry than I can tell you, and I have a great desire to take you home to + your mother instead of going on to Fourche.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk very kindly, but there is no reason for your misgivings, my poor + Germain. You ought not to lose heart on your friend's account, and instead + of showing me the dark side of my lot, you should show me the bright side, + as you did after lunch at Rebec's.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do? That 's the way it appeared to me then, and now my ideas + are changed. It is best for you to take a husband.” + </p> + <p> + “That cannot be, Germain, and as it is out of the question, I think no + more about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet such a thing might happen. Perhaps if you told me what kind of a man + you want, I might imagine somebody.” + </p> + <p> + “Imagining is not finding. For myself, I never imagine, for it does no + good.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not looking for a rich man?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, for I am as poor as Job.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he were comfortably off, you would n't be sorry to have a good + house, and good food, and good clothes, and to live with an honest family + who would allow you to help your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes indeed! It is my own wish to help my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “And if this man were to turn up, you would not be too hard to please, + even if he were not so very young.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! There you must excuse me, Germain. That is just the point I insist + on. I could never love an old man.” + </p> + <p> + “An old man, of course not; but a man of my age, for example!” + </p> + <p> + “Your age is too old for me, Germain. I should like Bastien's age, though + Bastien is not so good-looking as you.” + </p> + <p> + “Should you rather have Bastien, the swineherd?” said Germain, + indignantly. “A fellow with eyes shaped like those of the pigs he drives!” + </p> + <p> + “I could excuse his eyes, because he is eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + Germain felt terribly jealous. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “it's clear that you want Bastien, but, none the less, it + 's a queer idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that would be a queer idea,” answered little Marie, bursting into + shouts of laughter, “and he would make a queer husband. You could gull him + to your heart's content. For instance, the other day, I had picked up a + tomato in the curate's garden. I told him that it was a fine, red apple, + and he bit into it like a glutton. If you had only seen what a face he + made. Heavens! how ugly he was!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't love him, since you are making fun of him.” + </p> + <p> + “That would n't be a reason. But I don't like him. He is unkind to his + little sister, and he is dirty.” “Don't you care for anybody else?” “How + does that concern you, Germain?” “Not at all, except that it gives me + something to talk about. I see very well, little girl, that you have a + sweetheart in your mind already.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Germain, you 're wrong. I have no sweetheart yet. Perhaps one may + come later, but since I cannot marry until I have something laid by, I am + destined to marry late in life and with an old man.” “Then take an old man + without delay.” “No. When I am no longer young, I shall not care; for the + present, it is different.” “I see that I displease you, Marie; that's + clear enough,” said Germain, impatiently, and without stopping to weigh + his words. + </p> + <p> + Little Marie did not answer. Germain bent over her. She was sleeping. She + had fallen back, overcome, stricken down, as it were, by slumber, as + children are who sleep before they cease to babble. + </p> + <p> + Germain was glad that she had not caught his last words. He felt that they + were unwise, and he turned his back to distract his attention and change + his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + It was all in vain. He could neither sleep nor think of anything except + the words he had just spoken. He walked about the fire twenty times; he + moved away; he came back. At last, feeling himself tremble as though he + had swallowed gunpowder, he leaned against the tree which sheltered the + two children, and watched them as they slept. + </p> + <p> + “I know not how it is,” thought he; “I have never noticed that little + Marie is the prettiest girl in the countryside. She has not much color, + but her little face is fresh as a wild rose. What a charming mouth she + has, and how pretty her little nose is! She is not large for her age, but + she is formed like a little quail and is as light as a bird. I cannot + understand why they made so much fuss at home over a big, fat woman with a + bright red face. My wife was rather slender and pale, and she pleased me + more than any one else. This girl is very frail, but she is healthy, and + she is pretty to watch as a white kid. And then she has such a gentle, + frank expression. You can read her good heart in her eyes even though they + are closed in sleep. As to wit, I must confess she has more than ever my + dear Catherine had, and she would never become wearisome. She is gay, + wise, industrious, loving, and she is amusing. I don't know what more I + could wish for.... + </p> + <p> + “But what is the use of thinking of all this?” Germain went on, trying to + look in another direction. “My father-in-law would not hear of it, and all + the family would think me mad! Besides, she would not have me herself, + poor child! She thinks me too old; she told me so. She is unselfish, and + does not mind poverty and worry, wearing old clothes, and suffering from + hunger for two or three months every year, so long as she can satisfy her + heart some day and give herself to the man she loves. She is right. I + should do the same in her place, and even now, if I had my own way, + instead of marrying a wife whom I don't care for, I would choose a girl + after my own heart.” + </p> + <p> + The more Germain tried to compose himself by reasoning, the further he was + from succeeding. He walked away a dozen steps, to lose himself in the fog; + then, all of a sudden, he found himself on his knees beside the two + sleeping children. Once he wished to kiss Petit-Pierre, who had one arm + about Marie's neck, and made such a mistake that Marie felt a breath, hot + as fire, cross her lips, and awaking, looked about her with a bewildered + expression, totally ignorant of all that was passing within his mind. + </p> + <p> + “I did n't see you, my poor children,” said Germain, retreating rapidly. + “I almost stumbled over you and hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + Little Marie was so innocent that she believed him, and fell asleep again. + Germain walked to the opposite side of the fire, and swore to God that he + would not stir until she had waked. He kept his word, but not without a + struggle. He thought that he would go mad. + </p> + <p> + At length, toward midnight, the fog lifted, and Germain could see the + stars shining through the trees. The moon freed herself from the mist + which had hidden her, and began to sow her diamonds over the damp moss. + The trunks of the oak-trees remained in impressive darkness, but beyond, + the white branches of the birch-trees seemed a long line of phantoms in + their shrouds. The fire cast its reflection in the pool; and the frogs, + growing accustomed to the light, hazarded a few shrill and uneasy notes; + the rugged branches of the old trees, bristling with dim-colored lichens, + crossed and intertwined themselves, like great gaunt arms, above the + travelers' heads. It was a lovely spot, but so lonely and so sad that + Germain, unable to endure it more, began to sing and throw stones into the + water to forget the dread weariness of solitude. He was anxious also to + wake little Marie, and when he saw her rise and look about at the weather, + he proposed that they start on their journey. + </p> + <p> + “In two hours,” said he, “the approach of morning will chill the air so + that we can't stay here in spite of our fire. Now we can see our way, and + we shall soon find a house which will open its doors to us, or at least a + barn where we can pass the rest of the night under shelter.” + </p> + <p> + Marie had no will of her own, and although she was longing to sleep, she + made ready to follow Germain. The husbandman took his boy in his arms + without awaking him, and beckoned Marie to come nearer, in order to cover + her with his cloak. For she would not take her own mantle, which was + wrapped about the child. + </p> + <p> + When he felt the young girl so close to him, Germain, who for a time had + succeeded in distracting his mind and raising his spirits, began to lose + his head once more. Two or three times he strode ahead abruptly, leaving + her to walk alone. Then seeing how hard it was for her to follow, he + waited, drew her quickly to his side, and pressed her so tight that she + was surprised, and even angry, though she dared not say so. + </p> + <p> + As they knew not the direction whence they had come, they had no idea of + that in which they were going. So they crossed the wood once more, and + found themselves afresh before the lonely moor. Then they retraced their + steps, and after much turning and twisting they spied a light across the + branches. + </p> + <p> + “Good enough! Here 's a house,” exclaimed Germain. “And the people are + already astir, for the fire is lighted. It must be very late.” + </p> + <p> + It was no house, but the camp-fire, which they had covered before they + left, and which had sprung up in the breeze. + </p> + <p> + They had tramped for two hours, only to find themselves at the very place + from which they had started. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0011" id="linklink2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X — Beneath the Stars + </h2> + <p> + “THIS time I give up,” said Germain, stamping I his foot. “We are + bewitched, that is certain, and we shall not get away from here before + broad day. The devil is in this place!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's of no use to get angry,” said Marie. “We must take what is + given us. Let us make a big fire. The child is so well wrapped up that he + is in no danger, and we shall not die from a single night out of doors. + Where have you hidden the saddle, Germain? Right in the midst of the + holly-bushes,—what a goose you are! It 's very convenient to get it + from there!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, child; hold the boy while I pull his bed from the thorns. I did n't + want you to scratch your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “It 's all done. Here 's the bed, and a few scratches are not saber-cuts,” + replied the brave girl. + </p> + <p> + She proceeded to put the child to bed again, and Petit-Pierre was so sound + asleep this time that he knew nothing of his last journey. Germain piled + so much wood on the fire that the forest all about glowed with the light. + </p> + <p> + Little Marie had come to the end of her powers, and although she did not + complain, her legs would support her no longer. She was white, and her + teeth chattered with cold and weakness. Germain took her in his arms to + warm her. The uneasiness, the compassion, the tenderness of movement he + could not repress, took possession of his heart and stilled his senses. As + by a miracle his tongue was loosened, and every feeling of shame vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Marie,” said he, “I like you, and I am very sorry that you don't like me. + If you would take me for your husband, there are no fathers, nor family, + nor neighbors, nor arguments which could prevent me from giving myself to + you. I know how happy you would make my children, and that you would teach + them to love the memory of their mother, and with a quiet conscience I + could satisfy the wishes of my heart. I have always been fond of you, and + now I love you so well that were you to ask me to spend all my life in + doing your pleasure, I would swear to do it on the instant. Please think + how much I love you, and try to forget my age. Think that it is a wrong + notion to believe that a man of thirty is old. Besides, I am but + twenty-eight. A young girl is afraid that people will talk about her if + she takes a man ten or twelve years older than she, simply because that is + not the custom in our country, but I have heard say that in other + countries people don't look at it in this light, and that they had rather + allow a sensible man of approved courage to support a young girl, than + trust her to a mere boy, who may go astray, and, from the honest fellow + they thought him, turn into a good-for-nothing. And then years don't + always make age. That depends on the health and strength a person has. + When a man is used up by overwork and poverty, or by a bad life, he is old + before twenty-five. While I—but Marie, you are not listening....” + “Yes I am, Germain; I hear you perfectly,” answered little Marie, “but I + am thinking over what my mother used to tell me so often: that a woman of + sixty is to be pitied greatly when her husband is seventy or seventy-five + and can no longer work to support her. He grows feeble, and it becomes her + duty to nurse him at the very age when she begins to feel great need of + care and rest herself, and so it is that the end comes in a garret.” + </p> + <p> + “Parents do well to say so, I admit,” answered Germain, “but then they + would sacrifice all their youth, the best years of their life, to + calculating what will become of them at the age when a person is no longer + good for anything, and when it is a matter of indifference which way death + comes. But I am in no danger of starving in my old age. I am even going to + lay by something, since I live with my wife's parents and spend nothing. + And then, you see, I shall love you so well that I can never grow old. + They say that when a man is happy he keeps sound, and I know well that in + love for you, I am younger than Bastien; for he does not love you; he is + too stupid, too much of a child to understand how pretty and how good you + are, and how you were made for people to court. Do not hate me, Marie. I + am not a bad man. I made my Catherine happy, and on her death-bed she + swore before God that she had had only happiness of me, and she asked me + to marry again. Her spirit must have spoken to her child to-night. Did you + not hear the words he said? How his little lips quivered as his eyes + stared upward, watching something that we could not see! He was surely + looking at his mother, and it was she who made him say that he wished you + to take her place.” + </p> + <p> + “Germain,” answered Marie, amazed and yet thoughtful, “you speak frankly, + and everything that you say is true. I am sure that I should do well to + love you if it did not displease your parents too much. But what can I do? + My heart does not speak for you. I am very fond of you, but though your + age does not make you ugly, it makes me afraid. It seems as if you were + some such relation to me, as an uncle or a godfather, that I must be + respectful toward you, and that there might be moments when you would + treat me like a little girl rather than like your wife and your equal. And + perhaps my friends would make fun of me, and although it would be silly to + give heed to that, I think that I should be a little sad on my + wedding-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are but childish reasons, Marie; you speak like a child.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is true; I am a child,” said she, “and it is on that account I + am afraid of too sensible a man. You must see that I am too young for you, + since you just found fault with me for speaking foolishly. I can't have + more sense than my age allows.” + </p> + <p> + “O Heavens! How unlucky I am to be so clumsy and to express so ill what I + think!” cried Germain. “Marie, you don't love me. That is the long and + short of it. You find me too simple and too dull. If you loved me at all, + you would not see my faults so clearly. But you do not love me. That is + the whole story.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not my fault,” answered she, a little hurt that he was speaking + with less tenderness. “I am doing my best to hear you, but the more I try + the less I can get it into my head that we ought to be husband and wife.” + </p> + <p> + Germain did not answer. His head dropped into his hands, and little Marie + could not tell whether he wept or sulked or was fast asleep. She felt + uneasy when she saw him so cast down, and could not guess what was passing + in his mind. But she dared not speak to him more, and as she was too + astonished at what had passed to have any desire to sleep, she waited + impatiently for dawn, tending the fire with care and watching over the + child, whose existence Germain appeared to forget. Yet Germain was not + asleep. He did not mope over his lot. He made no plans to encourage + himself, nor schemes to entrap the girl. He suffered; he felt a great + weight of grief at his heart. He wished that he were dead. The world + seemed to turn against him, and if he could have wept at all, his tears + would have come in floods. But mingled with his sorrow there was a feeling + of anger against himself, and he felt choked, without the power or the + wish to complain. + </p> + <p> + When morning came, and the sounds of the country brought it to Germain's + senses, he lifted his head from his hands and rose. He saw that little + Marie had slept no more than he, but he knew no words in which to tell her + of his anxiety. He was very discouraged. Hiding the gray's saddle once + more in the thicket, he slung his sack over his shoulder and took his son + by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Marie,” said he, “we are going to try to end our journey. Do you + wish me to take you to Ormeaux?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us leave the woods together,” answered she, “and when we know where + we are, we shall separate, and go our different ways.” + </p> + <p> + Germain did not answer. He felt hurt that the girl did not ask him to take + her as far as Ormeaux, and he did not notice that he had asked her in a + tone well fitted to provoke a refusal. + </p> + <p> + After a few hundred steps, they met a wood-cutter, who pointed out the + highroad, and told them that when they had crossed the plain, one must + turn to the right, the other to the left, to gain their different + destinations, which were so near together that the houses of Fourche were + in plain sight from the farm of Ormeaux, and <i>vice versa</i>. + </p> + <p> + When they had thanked him and passed on, the wood-cutter called them back + to ask whether they had not lost a horse. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I found a pretty gray mare in my yard, where perhaps a + wolf had driven her to seek refuge; my dogs barked the whole night long, + and at daybreak I saw the mare under my shed. She is there now. Come along + with me, and if you recognize her, you may take her.” + </p> + <p> + When Germain had given a description of the gray, and felt convinced that + it was really she, he started back to find his saddle. Little Marie + offered to take his child to Ormeaux, whither he might go to get him after + he had introduced himself at Fourche. + </p> + <p> + “He is rather dirty after the night that we have passed,” said she. “I + will brush his clothes, wash his pretty face, and comb his hair, and when + he looks neat and clean, you can present him to your new family.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that I wish to go to Fourche?” answered Germain, petulantly. + “Perhaps I shall not go.” + </p> + <p> + “But truly, Germain, it is your duty to go there. You will go there,” + replied the girl. + </p> + <p> + “You seem very anxious to have me married off, so that you may be quite + sure that I shall not trouble you again?” + </p> + <p> + “Germain, you must not think of that any more. It is an idea which came to + you in the night, because this unfortunate mishap took away your spirits. + But now you must come to your senses. I promise you to forget everything + that you said to me, and not to breathe it to a soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, say what you wish. It is not my custom to deny what I have spoken. + What I told you was true and honest, and I shall not blush for it before + anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but if your wife were to know that just before you came you were + thinking of another woman, it would prejudice her against you. So take + care how you speak now. Don't look at me before everybody with such a rapt + expression. Think of Father Maurice, who relies on your obedience, and who + would be enraged at me if I were to turn you from his will. Good-by, + Germain. I take Petit-Pierre in order to force you to go to Fourche. He is + a pledge which I keep on your behalf.” + </p> + <p> + “So you want to go with her?” said the husbandman to his son, seeing that + the boy had clasped Marie's hands and was following her resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father,” answered the child, who had heard the conversation and + understood after his own fashion the words spoken so unguardedly before + him. “I am going away with my dearest little Marie. You shall come to find + me when you have done marrying, but I wish Marie to be my little mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You see how much he wishes it,” said Germain to the girl. “Listen to me, + Petit-Pierre,” he added. “I wish her to be your mother and to stay with + you always. It is she who does not wish to. Try to make her grant you what + she has denied me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be afraid, father, I shall make her say yes. Little Marie does + everything that I wish.” + </p> + <p> + He walked away with the young girl. Germain stood alone, sadder and more + irresolute than ever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0012" id="linklink2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI — The Belle of the Village + </h2> + <p> + AND after all, when he had brushed the dust of travel from his clothes and + from his horse's harness, when he had mounted the gray, and when he had + learned the road, he felt that there was no retreat and that he must + forget that anxious night as though it had been a dangerous dream. + </p> + <p> + He found Father Leonard seated on a trim bench of spinach-green. The six + stone steps leading up to the door showed that the house had a cellar. The + walls of the garden and of the hemp-field were plastered with lime and + sand. It was a handsome house, and might almost have been mistaken for the + dwelling of a bourgeois. + </p> + <p> + Germain's future father-in-law came forward to meet him, and having plied + him, for five minutes, with questions concerning his entire family, he + added that conventional phrase with which one passer-by addresses another + concerning the object of his journey: “So you are taking a little trip in + this part of the country?” + </p> + <p> + “I have come to see you,” replied the husbandman, “to give you this little + present of game with my father's compliments, and to tell you from him + that you ought to know with what intentions I come to your house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ho!” said Father Leonard, laughing and tapping his capacious stomach, + “I see, I understand, I am with you, and,” he added with a wink, “you will + not be the only one to pay your court, young man. There are three already + in the house dancing attendance like you. I never turn anybody away, and I + should find it hard to say yes or no to any of them, for they are all good + matches. Yet, on account of Father Maurice and for the sake of the rich + fields you till, I hope that it may be you. But my daughter is of age and + mistress of her own affairs. She will do as she likes. Go in and introduce + yourself. I hope that you will draw the prize.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” answered Germain, amazed to find himself an extra + when he had counted on being alone in the field. “I was not aware that + your daughter was supplied already with suitors, and I did not come to + quarrel over her.” + </p> + <p> + “If you supposed that because you were slow in coming, my daughter would + be left unprovided for, you were greatly mistaken, my son,” replied Father + Leonard with unshaken good humor. “Catherine has the wherewithal to + attract suitors, and her only difficulty lies in choosing. But come in; + don't lose heart. The woman is worth, a struggle.” + </p> + <p> + And pushing in Germain by the shoulders with boisterous gaiety, he called + to his daughter as they entered the house: + </p> + <p> + “So, Catherine, here is another!” + </p> + <p> + This cordial but unmannerly method of introduction to the widow, in the + presence of her other devotees, completed Germain's distress and + embarrassment. He felt the awkwardness of his position, and stood for a + few moments without daring to look upon the beauty and her court. + </p> + <p> + The Widow Guérin had a good figure and did not lack freshness, but her + expression and her dress displeased Germain the instant he saw her. She + had a bold, self-satisfied look, and her cap, edged with three lace + flounces, her silk apron, and her fichu of fine black lace were little in + accord with the staid and sober widow he had pictured to himself. + </p> + <p> + Her elaborate dress and forward manners inclined Germain to judge the + widow old and ugly, although she was certainly not either. He thought that + such finery and playful manners might well suit little Marie's years and + wit, but that the widow's fun was labored and over bold, and that she wore + her fine clothes in bad taste. + </p> + <p> + The three suitors were seated at a table loaded with wines and meats which + were spread out for their use throughout the Sunday morning; for Father + Leonard liked to show off his wealth, and the widow was not sorry to + display her pretty china and keep a table like a rich lady. Germain, + simple and unsuspecting as he was, watched everything with a penetrating + glance, and for the first time in his life he kept on the defensive when + he drank. Father Leonard obliged him to sit down with his rivals, and + taking a chair opposite he treated him with great politeness, and talked + to him rather than to the others. + </p> + <p> + The present of game, despite the breach Germain had made on his own + account, was still plenteous enough to produce its effect. The widow did + not look unaware of its presence, and the suitors cast disdainful glances + in its direction. + </p> + <p> + Germain felt ill at ease in this company, and did not eat heartily. Father + Leonard poked fun at him. + </p> + <p> + “You look very melancholy,” said he, “and you are ill-using your glass. + You must not allow love to spoil your appetite, for a fasting lover can + make no such pretty speeches as he whose ideas are brightened with a drop + of wine.” + </p> + <p> + Germain was mortified at being thought already in love, and the artificial + manner of the widow, who kept lowering her eyes with a smile as a woman + does who is sure of her calculations, made him long to protest against his + pretended surrender; but fearing to appear uncivil, he smiled and held his + peace. + </p> + <p> + He thought the widow's beaus, three bumpkins. They must have been rich for + her to admit of their pretensions. One was over forty, and fat as Father + Leonard; another had lost an eye, and drank like a sot. The third was a + young fellow, and nice-looking too; but he kept insisting on displaying + his wit, and would say things so silly that they were painful to hear. Yet + the widow laughed as though she admired all his foolishness, and made + small proof of her good taste thereby. At first Germain thought her + infatuated with him, but soon he perceived that he himself was especially + encouraged, and that they wished him to make fresh advances. For this + reason he felt an increasing stiffness and severity which he took no pains + to conceal. + </p> + <p> + The time came for mass, and they rose from table to go thither in company. + It was necessary to walk as far as Mers, a good half-league away, and + Germain was so tired that he longed to take a nap before they went; but he + was not in the habit of missing mass, and he started with the others. + </p> + <p> + The roads were filled with people, and the widow marched proudly along, + escorted by her three suitors, taking an arm, first of one and then of + another, and carrying her head high with an air of importance. She was + eager to display the fourth to the eyes of the passers-by; but Germain + felt so ridiculous to be dragged along in the train of a petticoat where + all the world might see, that he kept at a respectable distance, chatting + with Father Leonard, and succeeded in occupying his attention so well that + they did not look at all as if they belonged to the party. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0013" id="linklink2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII — The Master + </h2> + <p> + WHEN they reached the village, the widow halted to allow them to catch up. + She was bent upon making her entry with all her train; but Germain, + denying her this pleasure, deserted Father Leonard, and after conversing + with several acquaintances, he entered the church by another door. The + widow was vexed. + </p> + <p> + When mass was over, she made her appearance in triumph on the lawn, where + dancing was going on, and she began her dance with her three lovers in + turn. Germain watched her and saw that she danced well, but with + affectation. + </p> + <p> + “So, you don't ask my daughter?” said Leonard, tapping him on the + shoulder. “You are too easily frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not danced since I lost my wife,” answered the husbandman. + </p> + <p> + “But now that you are looking for another, mourning 's over in heart as + well as in clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “That 's no reason, Father Leonard. Besides, I am too old and I don't care + for dancing.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said Father Leonard, drawing him toward a retired corner, “when + you entered my house you were vexed to see the place already besieged, and + I see that you are very proud. But that is not reasonable, my boy. My + daughter is used to a great deal of attention, particularly since she left + off her mourning two years ago, and it is not her place to lead you on.” + </p> + <p> + “Has your daughter been thinking of marrying for two years already without + making her choice?” asked Germain. + </p> + <p> + “She does n't wish to hurry, and she is right. Although she has lively + manners, and although you may not think that she reflects a great deal, + she is a woman of excellent common sense, and knows very well what she is + about.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not appear to me so,” said Germain ingenuously, “for she has + three suitors in her train, and if she knew her own mind, there are two of + them, at least, whom she would find superfluous and request to stay at + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Germain, you don't understand at all. She does n't wish the old man, + nor the blind man, nor the young man, I am quite certain; yet if she were + to turn them off, people would think that she wished to remain a widow, + and nobody else would come.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see. These three are used for a guide-post.” + </p> + <p> + “As you like. What is the harm if they are satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “Every man to his taste,” said Germain. + </p> + <p> + “I see that yours is different. Now supposing that you are chosen, then + they would leave the coast clear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, supposing! and meanwhile how much time should I have to whistle?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on your persuasive tongue, I suppose. Until now, my daughter + has always thought that she would pass the best part of her life while she + was being courted, and she is in no hurry to become the servant of one man + when she can order so many others about. So she will please herself as + long as the game amuses her; but if you please her more than the game, the + game will cease. Only you must not lose courage. Come back every Sunday, + dance with her, let her know that you are amongst her followers, and if + she finds you more agreeable and better bred than the others, some fine + day she will tell you so, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Father Leonard. Your daughter has the right to do as she + pleases, and it is not my business to blame her. If I were in her place, I + should do differently. I should be more frank, and should not waste the + time of men who have, doubtless, something better to do than dancing + attendance on a woman who makes fun of them. Still, if that is what amuses + her and makes her happy, it is no affair of mine. Only there is one thing + I must tell you which is a little embarrassing, since you have mistaken my + intentions from the start, for you are so sure of what is not so, that you + have given me no chance to explain. You must know, then, that I did not + come here to ask for your daughter in marriage, but merely to buy a pair + of oxen which you are going to take to market next week, and which my + father-in-law thinks will suit him.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand, Germain,” answered Leonard very calmly; “you changed your + plans when you saw my daughter with her admirers. It is as you please. It + seems that what attracts some people repels others, and you are perfectly + welcome to withdraw, for you have not declared your intentions. If you + wish seriously to buy my cattle, come and see them in the pasture, and + whether we make a bargain or not, you will come back to dinner with us + before you return.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wish to trouble you,” answered Germain. “Perhaps you have + something to do here. I myself am tired of watching the dancing and + standing idle. I will go to see your cattle, and I will soon join you at + your house.” + </p> + <p> + Then Germain made his escape, and walked away toward the meadows where + Leonard had pointed out to him some of his cattle. It was true that Father + Maurice intended to buy, and Germain thought that if he were to bring home + a fine pair of oxen at a reasonable price, he might more easily receive a + pardon for wilfully relinquishing the purpose of his journey. He walked + rapidly, and soon found himself at some distance from Ormeaux. Then of a + sudden, he felt a desire to kiss his son and to see little Marie once + again, although he had lost all hope and even had chased away the thought + that he might some day owe his happiness to her. Everything that he had + heard and seen: this woman, flirtatious and vain; this father, at once + shrewd and short-sighted, encouraging his daughter in habits of pride and + untruth; this city luxury, which seemed to him a transgression against the + dignity of country manners; this time wasted in foolish, empty words; this + home so different from his own; and above all, that deep uneasiness which + comes to a laborer of the fields when he leaves his accustomed toil: all + the trouble and annoyance of the past few hours made Germain long to be + with his child and with his little neighbor. Even had he not been in love, + he would have sought her to divert his mind and raise his spirits to their + wonted level. + </p> + <p> + But he looked in vain over the neighboring meadows. He saw neither little + Marie nor little Pierre, and yet it was the hour when shepherds are in the + fields. There was a large flock in a pasture. He asked of a young boy who + tended them whether the sheep belonged to the farm of Ormeaux. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the shepherd? Do boys tend the flocks of the farm, amongst you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am taking care of them to-day, because the shepherdess went away. + She was ill.” + </p> + <p> + “But have you not a new shepherdess, who came this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, surely; but she, too, has gone already.” + </p> + <p> + “What! gone? Did she not have a child with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a little boy who cried. They both went away after they had been here + two hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Went away! Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Where they came from, I suppose. I did n't ask them.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did they go away?” asked Germain, growing more and more uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “How the deuce do I know?” + </p> + <p> + “Did they not agree about wages? Yet that must have been settled before.” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you nothing about it I saw them come and go, nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + Germain walked toward the farm and questioned the farmer. Nobody could + give him an explanation; but after speaking with the farmer, he felt sure + that the girl had gone without saying a word, and had taken the weeping + child with her. + </p> + <p> + “Can they have been ill-treating my son?” cried Germain. + </p> + <p> + “It was your son, then? How did he happen to be with the little girl? + Where do you come from, and what is your name?” + </p> + <p> + Germain, seeing that after the fashion of the country they were answering + him with questions, stamped his foot impatiently, and asked to speak with + the master. + </p> + <p> + The master was away. Usually, he did not spend the whole day when he came + to the farm. He was on horseback, and he had ridden off to one of his + other farms. + </p> + <p> + “But, honestly,” said Germain, growing very anxious, “can't you tell me + why this girl left?” + </p> + <p> + The farmer and his wife exchanged an odd smile. Then the former answered + that he knew nothing, and that it was no business of his. All that Germain + could learn was that both girl and child had started off toward Fourche. + He rushed back to Fourche. The widow and her lovers were still away; so + was Father Leonard. The maid told him that a girl and a child had come to + ask for him, but that as she did not know them, she did not wish to let + them in, and had advised them to go to Mers. + </p> + <p> + “And why did you refuse to let them in?” said Germain, angrily. “People + are very suspicious in this country, where nobody opens the door to a + neighbor.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see,” answered the maid, “in a house as rich as this, I must keep + my eyes open. When the master is away, I am responsible for everything, + and I cannot open the door to the first person that comes along.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a bad custom,” said Germain, “and I had rather be poor than to live + in constant fear like that. Good-by to you, young woman, and good-by to + your vile country.” + </p> + <p> + He made inquiries at the neighboring house. The shepherdess and child had + been seen. As the boy had left Belair suddenly, carelessly dressed, with + his blouse torn, and his little lambskin over his shoulders, and as little + Marie was necessarily poorly clad at all times, they had been taken for + beggars. People had offered them bread. The girl had accepted a crust for + the child, who was hungry, then she had walked away with him very quickly, + and had entered the forest. + </p> + <p> + Germain thought a minute, then he asked whether the farmer of Ormeaux had + not been at Fourche. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” they answered, “he passed on horseback a few seconds after the + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he chasing her?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, so you understand?” answered the village publican, with a laugh. + “Certain it is that he is the devil of a fellow for running after girls. + But I don't believe that he caught her; though, after all, if he had seen + her—” + </p> + <p> + “That is enough, thank you!” And he flew rather than ran to Leonard's + stable. Throwing the saddle on the gray's back, he leaped upon it, and set + off at full gallop toward the wood of Chanteloube. + </p> + <p> + His heart beat hard with fear and anger; the sweat poured down his + forehead; he spurred the mare till the blood came, though the gray needed + no pressing when she felt herself on the road to her stable. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0014" id="linklink2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII — The Old Woman + </h2> + <p> + GERMAIN came soon to the spot where he had passed the night on the border + of the pool. The fire was smoking still. An old woman was gathering the + remnants of the wood little Marie had piled there. Germain stopped to + question her. She was deaf and mistook his inquiries. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my son,” said she, “this is the Devil's Pool. It is an evil spot, + and you must not approach it without throwing in three stones with your + left hand, while you cross yourself with the right. That drives away the + spirits. Otherwise trouble comes to those who go around it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not asking about that,” said Germain, moving nearer her, and + screaming at the top of his lungs. “Have you seen a girl and a child + walking through the wood?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the old woman, “a little child was drowned there.” + </p> + <p> + Germain shook from head to foot; but happily the hag added: + </p> + <p> + “That happened a long time ago. In memory of the accident they raised a + handsome cross there. But one stormy night, the bad spirits threw it into + the water. You can still see one end of it. If anybody were unlucky enough + to pass the night here, he could never find his way out before daylight. + He must walk and walk, and though he went two hundred leagues into the + forest, he must always return to the same place.” + </p> + <p> + The peasant's imagination was aroused in spite of himself, and the thought + of the evils that must come in order that the old woman's assertions might + be vindicated, took so firm a hold of his mind that he felt chilled + through and through. Hopeless of obtaining more news, he remounted, and + traversed the woods afresh, calling Pierre with all his might, whistling, + cracking his whip, and snapping the branches that the whole forest might + reëcho with the noise of his coming; then he listened for an answering + voice, but he heard no sound save the cowbells scattered through the + glades, and the wild cries of the swine as they fought over the acorns. + </p> + <p> + At length Germain heard behind him the noise of a horse following in his + traces, and a man of middle age, dark, sturdy, and dressed after the city + fashion, called to him to stop. Germain had never seen the farmer of + Ormeaux, but his instinctive rage told him at once that this was the man. + He turned, and eyeing him from head to foot, waited for him to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Have not you seen a young girl of fifteen or sixteen go by with a small + boy?” asked the farmer, with an assumed air of indifference, although he + was evidently ill at ease. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want of her?” answered Germain, taking no pains to conceal + his anger. + </p> + <p> + “I might tell you that that is none of your business, my friend. But as I + have no reasons for secrecy, I shall tell you that she is a shepherdess + whom I engaged for a year, before I knew her. When I saw her, she looked + too young and frail to work on the farm. I thanked her, but I wished to + pay the expenses of her short journey, and while my back was turned, she + went off in a huff. She was in such a hurry that she forgot even some of + her belongings and her purse, which has certainly not much in it, probably + but a few pennies; but since I was going in this direction, I hoped to + meet her, and give her back the things which she left behind, as well as + what I owe her.” + </p> + <p> + Germain had too honest a heart not to pause at hearing a story which, + however unlikely, was not impossible. He fastened his penetrating gaze on + the farmer, who submitted to the examination with a plentiful supply of + impudence or of good faith. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to get at the bottom of this matter,” said Germain; “and,” + continued he, suppressing his indignation, “the girl lives in my village. + I know her. She can't be far away. Let 's ride on together; we shall find + her, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said the farmer; “let's move on; but if we do not find + her before we reach the end of this road, I shall give up, for I must turn + off toward Ardentes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh!” thought the peasant, “I shall not part with you, even if I have + to follow you around the 'Devil's Pool for twenty-four hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” said Germain suddenly, fixing his eyes on a clump of broom which + waved in a peculiar manner. “Halloa! halloa! Petit Pierre, is that you, my + child?” + </p> + <p> + The boy recognized his father's voice, and came out from the broom leaping + like a young deer; but when he saw Germain in company with the farmer, he + stopped dismayed, and stood irresolute. “Come, my Pierre, come. It is I,” + cried the husbandman, as he leaped from his horse and ran toward his boy + to take him in his arms; “and where is little Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “She is hiding there, because she is afraid of that dreadful black man, + and so am I.” + </p> + <p> + “You need n't be afraid. I am here. Marie, Marie. It is I.” + </p> + <p> + Marie crept toward them, but the moment she saw Germain with the farmer + close behind, she sprang forward, and throwing herself into his arms, + clung to him as a daughter to her father. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my brave Germain!” she cried, “you will defend me. I am not afraid + when you are near.” + </p> + <p> + Germain shuddered. He looked at Marie. She was pale; her clothes were torn + by the thorns which had scratched her as she passed, rushing toward the + brake like a stag chased by the hunters. But neither shame nor despair + were in her face. + </p> + <p> + “Your master wishes to speak to you,” said he, his eyes fixed on her + features. + </p> + <p> + “My master!” she exclaimed fiercely; “that man is no master of mine, and + he never shall be. You, Germain, you are my master. I want you to take me + home with you. I will be your servant for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer advanced, feigning impatience. “Little girl,” said he, “you + left something behind at the farm, which I am bringing back to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you are not, sir,” answered little Marie. “I did n't forget anything, + and I have nothing to ask of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen a moment,” returned the farmer. “It 's I who have something to + tell you. Come with me. Don't be afraid. It's only a word or two.” + </p> + <p> + “You may say them aloud. I have no secrets with you.” + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, do take your money.” + </p> + <p> + “My money? You owe me nothing, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + “I suspected as much,” said Germain under his breath, “but I don't care, + Marie. Listen to what he has to say to you, for—I am curious to + know. You can tell me afterward. Go up to his horse. I shall not lose + sight of you.” + </p> + <p> + Marie took three steps toward the farmer. He bent over the pommel of his + saddle, and lowering his voice he said: + </p> + <p> + “Little girl, here is a bright golden louis for you. Don't say anything + about it; do you hear? I shall say that I found you too frail to work on + my farm. There will be no more talk about that. I shall be passing by your + house one of these days; and if you have not said anything, I will give + you something more; and then if you are more sensible, you have only to + speak. I will take you home with me, or I will come at dusk and talk with + you in the meadows. What present would you like me to bring you?” + </p> + <p> + “Here, sir, is the present I have for you,” answered little Marie, aloud, + as she threw the golden louis in his face with all her might. “I thank you + heartily, and I beg that if you come anywhere near our house, you will be + good enough to let me know. All the boys in the neighborhood will go out + to welcome you, because, where I live, we are very fond of gentlemen who + try to make love to poor girls. You shall see. They will be on the lookout + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie with your dirty tongue,” cried the farmer, raising his stick with + a dangerous air. “You wish to make people believe what is not so, but you + shall never get a penny out of me. We know what kind of a girl you are.” + </p> + <p> + Marie drew back, frightened, and Germain sprang to the bridle of the + farmer's horse and shook it violently. + </p> + <p> + “I understand now,” said he; “it is easy to see what is going on. Get + down, my man, get down; I want to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer was not eager to take up the quarrel. Anxious to escape, he set + spurs to his horse and tried to loosen the peasant's grasp by striking + down his hands with a cane; but Germain dodged the blow, and seizing hold + of his antagonist's leg, he unseated him and flung him to the earth. The + farmer regained his feet, but although he defended himself vigorously, he + was knocked down once more. Germain held him to the ground. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Poor coward, I could thrash you if I wished. But I don't want to do you + an injury, and, besides, no amount of punishment would help your + conscience—but you shall not stir from this spot until you beg the + girl's pardon, on your knees.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer understood this sort of thing, and wished to take it all as a + joke. He made believe that his offense was not serious, since it lay in + words alone, and protested that he was perfectly willing to ask her + pardon, provided he might kiss the girl afterward. Finally, he proposed + that they go and drink a pint of wine at the nearest tavern, and so part + good friends. + </p> + <p> + “You are disgusting!” answered Germain, rubbing his victim's head in the + dirt, “and I never wish to see your nasty face again. So blush, if you are + able, and when you come to our village, you had better slink along Sneak's + Alley.” * + </p> + <p> + He picked up the farmer's holly-stick, broke it over his knee to show the + strength of his wrists, and threw away the pieces with disgust Then giving + one hand to his son and the other to little Marie, he walked away, still + trembling with anger. + </p> + <p> + * This is the road, which, diverging from the principal street at the + entrance of villages, makes a circuit about them.. Persons who are in + dread off receiving some well deserved insult, are supposed to take this + route to escape attention. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0015" id="linklink2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV — The Return to the Farm + </h2> + <p> + AT the end of fifteen minutes they had left the heath behind them. They + trotted along the highroad, and the gray whinnied at each familiar object. + Petit-Pierre told his father as much as he could understand of what had + passed. + </p> + <p> + “When we reached the farm,” said he, “that man came to speak to my Marie + in the fold where we had gone to see the pretty sheep. I had climbed into + the manger to play, and that man did not see me. Then he said good morning + to Marie, and he kissed her.” + </p> + <p> + “You allowed him to kiss you, Marie?” said Germain, trembling with anger. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was a civility, a custom of the place to new-comers, just as + at your farm the grandmother kisses the young girls who enter her service + to show that she adopts them and will be a mother to them.” + </p> + <p> + “And next,” went on little Pierre, who was proud to have an adventure to + tell of, “<i>that man</i> told you something wicked, which you have told + me never to repeat and not even remember; so I forgot it right away. + Still, if father wishes, I will tell him what it was—” + </p> + <p> + “No, Pierre, I don't wish to hear, and I don't wish you ever to think of + it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will forget it all over again,” replied the child. “Next, <i>that + man</i> seemed to be growing angry because Marie told him that she was + going away. He told her he would give her whatever she wanted,—a + hundred francs! And my Marie grew angry too. Then he came toward her as if + he wished to hurt her. I was afraid, and I ran to Marie and cried. Then <i>that + man</i> said: 'What 's that? Where did that child come from? Put it out,' + and he raised his cane to beat me. But my Marie prevented him, and she + spoke to him this way: 'We will talk later, sir; now I must take this + child back to Fourche, and then I shall return.' And as soon as he had + left the fold, my Marie spoke to me this way: 'We must run, my Pierre; we + must get away as quickly as we can, for this is a wicked man and he is + trying to do us harm.' Then when we had gone back of the farm-houses, we + crossed a little meadow, and we went to Fourche to find you. But you were + not there, and they would n't let us wait. And then <i>that man</i>, + riding his black horse, came behind us, and we ran on as fast as we could + and hid in the woods. And then he followed us, and when we heard him + coming, we hid again. And then, when he had passed, we began to run toward + home, and then you came and found us, and that is how it all happened. I + have n't forgotten anything, have I, my Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my Pierre, that is the whole truth. Now, Germain, you must be my + witness, and tell everybody in the village that if I did not stay there it + was not from want of courage and industry.” + </p> + <p> + “And, Marie, I want to ask of you whether a man of twenty-eight is too old + when there is a woman to be defended and an insult to be revenged. I + should like to know whether Bastien or any other pretty boy, ten years + better off than I, would not have been knocked to pieces by <i>that man</i>, + as Petit-Pierre says. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Germain, that you have done me a great service, and that I shall + be grateful all my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “Little father,” said the child, “I forgot to ask little Marie what I + promised. I have not had time yet, but I will speak to her at home, and I + will speak to my grandmother too.” + </p> + <p> + The child's promise set Germain to thinking He must explain his conduct to + his family and give his objections to the widow Guam, and all the while + conceal the true reasons which had made him so judicious and so decided. + When a man is proud and happy, it seems an easy task to thrust his + happiness upon others, but to be repulsed on one side and blamed on the + other is not a very pleasant position. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, Petit-Pierre was fast asleep when they reached the farm, and + Germain put him to bed undisturbed. Then he began upon all sorts of + explanations, Father Maurice, seated on a three-legged stool before the + door, listened with gravity; and, although he was ill-content with the + result of the journey, when Germain told him about the widow's systematic + coquetry, and demanded of his father-in-law whether he had the time to go + and pay his court fifty-two Sundays in the year at the risk of being + dismissed in the end, the old man nodded his head in assent and answered: + “You were not wrong, Germain; that could never be.” And then, when Germain + described how he had been obliged to bring back little Marie, with the + utmost haste, in order to protect her from the insults or perhaps from the + violence of a wicked master, Father Maurice nodded approvingly again and + said: “You were not wrong, Germain; that was right.” + </p> + <p> + When Germain had told his story, and had set forth all his reasons, the + old farmer and his wife heaved deep, simultaneous sighs of resignation, + and looked at each other. Then the head of the house rose and said: “God's + will be done. Love can't be made to order.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to supper, Germain,” said his mother-in-law. “It is unfortunate that + this did not come to a better end, but, after all, it seems that God did + not wish it. We must look elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” added the old man, “as my wife says, we must look elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + There was no more noise at the house, and on the morrow, when Petit-Pierre + rose with the larks at dawn, he was no longer excited by the extraordinary + events of the preceding days. Like other little peasants of his age, he + became indifferent, forgot everything that had been running in his head, + and thought only of playing with his brothers, and of pretending to drive + the horses and oxen like a man. Germain plunged into his work, and tried + to forget, too; but he became so absent-minded and so sad that everybody + noticed it. He never spoke to little Marie, he never even looked at her, + and yet had anybody asked him in what meadow she was, or by what road she + had passed, there was not a moment in the day when he could not have + answered if he would. He dared not ask his family to take her in at the + farm during the winter, and yet he knew well how she must suffer from + want. But she did not suffer; and Mother Guillette could not understand + how her little store of wood never grew less, and how her shed was full in + the morning, although she had left it almost empty at night It was the + same with the wheat and potatoes. Somebody entered by the garret window, + and emptied a sack on the floor without awaking a soul or leaving a trace + of his coming. The widow was at once uneasy and delighted. She made her + daughter promise to tell nobody, and said that were people to know of the + miracle performed at her house they would take her for a witch. She felt + confident that the devil had a share in it, but she was in no hurry to + pick a quarrel with him by calling down the priest's exorcisms on the + house. It would be time enough, she said, when Satan should come to demand + her soul in return for his gifts. + </p> + <p> + Little Marie understood the truth better, but she dared not speak to + Germain, for fear of seeing him return to his dreams of marriage, and, + before him, she pretended to perceive nothing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0016" id="linklink2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV — Mother Maurice + </h2> + <p> + ONE day, Mother Maurice was alone in the orchard with Germain, and spoke + to him kindly: + </p> + <p> + “My poor son, I believe you are not well. You don't eat as well as usual; + you never laugh; you talk less and less. Perhaps one of us, or all of us, + have hurt your feelings, without knowing and without wishing it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my mother,” answered Germain, “you have always been as kind to me as + the mother who brought me into the world, and I should be very ungrateful + if I were to complain of you or your husband, or of anybody in the + household.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my child, it is the sorrow for your wife's death which comes back + to you. Instead of growing lighter with time, your grief becomes worse, + and as your father has said very wisely, it is absolutely necessary for + you to marry again.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my mother, that is my opinion, but the women whom you advised me to + ask don't suit me. Whenever I see them, instead of forgetting my + Catherine, I think of her all the more.” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently that 's because we have n't been able to understand your + taste. You must help us by telling us the truth. There must be a woman + somewhere who is made for you, for God does n't make anybody without + placing his happiness in somebody else. So if you know where to find this + woman whom you need, take her, and be she pretty or ugly, young or old, + rich or poor, we have made up our minds, my husband and I, to give our + consent, for we are tired of seeing you so sad, and we can never be happy + while you are sorrowful.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother, you are as kind as the kind Lord, and so is my father,” + answered Germain; “but your compassion brings small help to my troubles, + for the girl I love does n't care for me.” + </p> + <p> + “She is too young, then? It's foolish for you to love a young girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother dear, I have been foolish enough to love a young girl, and it + 's my fault. I do my best to stop thinking of it, but, working or + sleeping, at mass or in bed, with my children or with you, I can think of + nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it 's like a fate cast over you, Germain. There 's but one remedy, + and it is that this girl must change her mind and listen to you. It's my + duty to look into this, and see whether it 's practicable. Tell me where + she lives, and what 's her name.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear mother, I dare not,” said Germain, “because you will make fun + of me.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not make fun of you, Germain, because you are in trouble, and I + don't wish to make it harder for you. Is it Fanchette?” + </p> + <p> + “No, mother, of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “Or Rosette?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, then, for I shall never finish if I must name every girl in the + country-side.” + </p> + <p> + Germain bowed his head, and could not bring himself to answer. + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” said Mother Maurice, “I shall let you alone for to-day; + to-morrow, perhaps, you will be more confidential with me, or possibly + your sister-in-law will question you more cleverly.” And she picked up her + basket to go and spread her linen on the bushes. + </p> + <p> + Germain acted like children who make up their minds when they see that + they are no longer attracting attention. He followed his mother, and at + length, trembling, he named Marie of Guillette. + </p> + <p> + Great was the surprise of Mother Maurice. Marie was the last person she + would have dreamed of. But she had the delicacy not to cry out, and made + her comments to herself. Then seeing that her silence hurt Germain, she + stretched out her basket toward him and said: + </p> + <p> + “Is there any reason for not helping me at my work. Carry this load, and + come and talk with me. Have you reflected well, Germain? Are you fully + decided?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, dear mother, you must n't speak in that way. I should be decided if + I had a chance of success, but as I could never be heard, I have only made + up my mind to cure myself, if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you can't.” + </p> + <p> + “There is an end to everything, Mother Maurice: when the horse is laden + too heavily, he falls, and when the cow has nothing to eat, she dies.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you will die, if you do not succeed. God grant + not, Germain. I don't like to hear a man like you talk of those things; + for what he says, he thinks. You are very brave, and weakness is dangerous + for strong men. Take heart; I can't conceive that a poverty-stricken girl, + whom you have honored so much as to ask her to marry you, will refuse + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet it 's the truth: she does refuse me.” + </p> + <p> + “And what reasons does she give you?” + </p> + <p> + “That you have always been kind to her, and that her family owes a great + deal to yours, and that she does n't wish to displease you by turning me + away from a rich marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “If she says that, she proves her good sense, and shows what an honest + girl she is. But, Germain, she does n't cure you; for of course she tells + you that she loves you and would marry you if we were willing?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the worst part of all. She says that her heart can never be mine.” + </p> + <p> + “If she says what she does n't think in order to keep you at a safer + distance, the child deserves our love, and we should pass over her youth + on account of her great good sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Germain, struck by a hope he had never held before; “that + would be very wise and right of her! But if she is so sensible, I am sure + it is because I displease her.” + </p> + <p> + “Germain,” said Mother Maurice, “you must promise me not to worry for a + whole week. Keep from tormenting yourself, eat, sleep, and be as gay as + you used to be. For my part, I 'll speak to my husband, and if I gain his + consent, you shall know the girl's real feelings toward you.” + </p> + <p> + Germain promised, and the week passed without a single word in private + from Father Maurice, who seemed to suspect nothing. The husbandman did his + best to look calm, but he grew ever paler and more troubled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0017" id="linklink2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI — Little Marie + </h2> + <p> + AT length, on Sunday morning, when mass was over, his mother-in-law asked + Germain what encouragement he had had from his sweetheart since the + conversation in the orchard. + </p> + <p> + “Why, none at all,” answered he; “I have n't spoken to her.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you expect to win her if you don't speak to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I have spoken to her but once,” replied Germain. “That was when we were + together at Fourche, and since then I have n't said a single word. Her + refusal gave me so much pain that I had rather not hear her begin again to + tell me that she does n't love me.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my son, you must speak to her now; your father gives his approval. + So make up your mind. I tell you to do it, and, if need be, I shall order + you to do it, for you can't rest in this uncertainty.” + </p> + <p> + Germain obeyed. He reached Mother Guillette's house, hanging his head with + a hopeless air. Little Marie sat alone before the hearth so thoughtful + that she did not hear Germain's step. When she saw him before her, she + started from her chair in surprise and grew very red. + </p> + <p> + “Little Marie,” said he, sitting down near her, “I come to trouble you and + to give you pain. I know it very well, but the man and his wife at home + [it was thus after the peasant fashion that he designated the heads of the + house] wish me to speak to you, and beg you to marry me. You don't care + for me. I am prepared for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Germain,” answered little Marie, “are you sure that you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “It pains you, I know, but it is n't my fault. If you could change your + mind, I should be so very happy, and certain it is that I don't deserve + it. Look at me, Marie; am I very terrible?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Germain,” she answered, with a smile, “you are better looking than + I.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't make fun of me; look at me charitably; as yet, I have never lost a + single hair nor a single tooth. My eyes tell you plainly how much I love + you. Look straight into my eyes. It is written there, and every girl knows + how to read that writing.” + </p> + <p> + Marie looked into Germain's eyes with playful boldness; then of a sudden + she turned away her head and trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Good God,” exclaimed Germain, “I make you afraid; you look at me as + though I were the farmer of Ormeaux. Don't be afraid of me, please don't; + that hurts me too much. I shall not say any bad words to you, I shall not + kiss you if you will not have me, and when you wish me to go away, you + have only to show me the door. Must I go in order to stop your trembling?” + </p> + <p> + Marie held out her hand toward the husbandman, but without turning her + head, which was bent on the fireplace, and without saying a word. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Germain. “You pity me, for you are kind; you are + sorry to make me unhappy; but you cant love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say these things to me, Germain?” answered little Marie, after + a pause. “Do you wish to make me cry?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor little girl, you have a kind heart, I know; but you don't love me, + and you are hiding your face for fear of letting me see your dislike and + your repugnance. And I? I dare not even clasp your hand! In the forest, + when my boy was asleep and you were sleeping too, I almost kissed you very + gently. But I would have died of shame rather than ask it of you, and that + night I suffered as a man burning over a slow fire. Since that time I have + dreamed of you every night. Ah! how I have kissed you, Marie! Yet during + all that time you have slept without a dream. And now, do you know what I + think? I think that were you to turn and look at me with the eyes I have + for you, and were you to move your face close to mine, I believe I should + fall dead for joy. And you, you think that if such a thing were to happen, + you would die of anger and shame!” + </p> + <p> + Germain spoke as in a dream, not hearing the words he said. Little Marie + was trembling all the time, but he was shaking yet more and did not notice + it. Of a sudden, she turned. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she + looked at him reproachfully. The poor husbandman thought that this was the + last blow, and without waiting for his sentence, he rose to go, but the + girl stopped him, and throwing both her arms about him, she hid her face + in his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Germain,” she sobbed, “did n't you feel that I loved you?” + </p> + <p> + Then Germain had gone mad, if his son, who came galloping into the cottage + on a stick, with his little sister on the crupper, scourging the imaginary + steed with a willow branch, had not brought him to his senses. He lifted + the boy and placed him in the girl's arms. + </p> + <p> + “See,” said he, “by loving me, you have made more than one person happy.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_APPE" id="linklink2H_APPE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APPENDIX + </h2> + <h3> + I — A Country Wedding + </h3> + <p> + HERE ends the history of Germain's marriage as he told it to me himself, + good husbandman that he is. I ask your forgiveness, kind reader, that I + know not how to translate it better; for it is a real translation that is + needed by this old-fashioned and artless language of the peasants of the + country “that I sing,” as they used to say. These people speak French that + is too true for us, and since Rabelais and Montaigne, the advance of the + language has lost for us many of its old riches. Thus it is with every + advance, and we must make the best of it. Yet it is a pleasure still to + hear those picturesque idioms used in the old districts in the center of + France; all the more because it is the genuine expression of the laughing, + quiet, and delightfully talkative character of the people who make use of + it. Touraine has preserved a certain precious number of patriarchal + phrases. But Touraine was civilized greatly during the Renaissance, and + since its decline she is filled with fine houses and highroads, with + foreigners and traffic. Berry remained as she was, and I think that after + Brittany and a few provinces in the far south of France, it is the best + preserved district to be found at the present day. Some of the costumes + are so strange and so curious that I hope to amuse you a few minutes more, + kind reader, if you will allow me to describe to you in detail a country + wedding—Germain's, for example—at which I had the pleasure of + assisting several years ago. + </p> + <p> + For, alas! everything passes. During my life alone, more change has taken + place in the ideas and in the customs of my village than had been seen in + the centuries before the Revolution. Already half the ceremonies, Celtic, + Pagan, or of the Middle Ages, that in my childhood I have seen in their + full vigor, have disappeared. In a year or two more, perhaps, the + railroads will lay their level tracks across our deep valleys, and will + carry away, with the swiftness of lightning, all our old traditions and + our wonderful legends. + </p> + <p> + It was in winter about the carnival season, the time of year when, in our + country, it is fitting and proper to have weddings. In summer the time can + hardly be spared, and the work of the farm cannot suffer three days' + delay, not to speak of the additional days impaired to a greater or to a + less degree by the moral and physical drunkenness which follows a + gala-day. I was seated beneath the great mantelpiece of the old-fashioned + kitchen fireplace when shots of pistols, barking of dogs, and the piercing + notes of the bagpipe told me that the bridal pair were approaching. Very + soon Father and Mother Maurice, Germain, and little Marie, followed by + Jacques and his wife, the closer relatives, and the godfathers and + godmothers of the bride and groom, all made their entry into the yard. + </p> + <p> + Little Marie had not yet received her wedding-gifts,—favors, as they + call them,—and was dressed in the best of her simple clothes, a + dress of dark, heavy cloth, a white fichu with great spots of brilliant + color, an apron of carnation,—an Indian red much in vogue at the + time, but despised nowadays,—a cap of very white muslin after that + pattern, happily still preserved, which calls to mind the head-dress of + Anne Boleyn and of Agnes Sorrel. She was fresh and laughing, but not at + all vain, though she had good reason to be so. Beside her was Germain, + serious and tender, like young Jacob greeting Rebecca at the wells of + Laban. Another girl would have assumed an important air and struck an + attitude of triumph, for in every rank it is something to be married for a + fair face alone. Yet the girl's eyes were moist and shone with tenderness. + It was plain that she was deep in love and had no time to think of the + opinions of others. Her little air of determination was not absent, but + everything about her denoted frankness and good-will. There was nothing + impertinent in her success, nothing selfish in her sense of power. Never + have I seen so lovely a bride, when she answered with frankness her young + friends who asked if she were happy: + </p> + <p> + “Surely I have nothing to complain of the good Lord.” + </p> + <p> + Father Maurice was spokesman. He came forward to pay his compliments, and + give the customary invitations. First he fastened to the mantelpiece a + branch of laurel decked out with ribbons; this is known as the <i>writ</i>—that + is to say, the letter of announcement. Next he gave to every guest a tiny + cross made of a bit of blue ribbon sewn to a transverse bit of pink ribbon—pink + for the bride, blue for the groom. The guests of both sexes were expected + to keep this badge to adorn their caps or their button-holes on the + wedding-day. This is the letter of invitation, the admission ticket. + </p> + <p> + Then Father Maurice paid his congratulations. He invited the head of the + house and all his <i>company</i>,—that is to say, all his children, + all his friends, and all his servants,—to the benediction, <i>to the + feast, to the sports, to the dance, and to everything that follows</i>. He + did not fail to say, “I have come <i>to do you the honor of inviting you</i>”; + a very right manner of speech, even though it appears to us to convey the + wrong meaning, for it expresses the idea of doing honor to those who seem + worthy of it. + </p> + <p> + Despite the generosity of the invitation carried from house to house + throughout the parish, politeness, which is very cautious amongst + peasants, demands that only two persons from each family take advantage of + it—one of the heads of the house, and one from the number of their + children. + </p> + <p> + After the invitations were made, the betrothed couple and their families + took dinner together at the farm. + </p> + <p> + Little Marie kept her three sheep on the common, and Germain tilled the + soil as though nothing had happened. + </p> + <p> + About two in the afternoon before the day set for the wedding, the music + came. The music means the players of the bagpipe and hurdy-gurdy, their + instruments decorated with long streaming ribbons, playing an appropriate + march to a measure which would have been rather slow for feet foreign to + the soil, but admirably adapted to the heavy ground and hilly roads of the + country. + </p> + <p> + Pistol-shots, fired by the young people and the children, announced the + beginning of the wedding ceremonies. Little by little the guests + assembled, and danced on the grass-plot before the house in order to enter + into the spirit of the occasion. When evening was come they began strange + preparations; they divided into two bands, and when night had settled down + they proceeded to the ceremony of the <i>favors</i>. + </p> + <p> + All this passed at the dwelling of the bride, Mother Guillette's cottage. + Mother Guillette took with her her daughter, a dozen pretty shepherdesses, + friends and relatives of her daughter, two or three respectable + housewives, talkative neighbors, quick of wit and strict guardians of + ancient customs. Next she chose a dozen stout fellows, her relatives and + friends; and last of all the parish hemp-dresser, a garrulous old man, and + as good a talker as ever there was. + </p> + <p> + The part which, in Brittany, is played by the bazvalon, the village + tailor, is taken in our part of the country by the hemp-dresser and the + wool-carder, two professions which are unusually combined in one. He is + present at all ceremonies, sad or gay, for he is very learned and a fluent + talker, and on these occasions he must always figure as spokesman, in + order to fulfil with exactitude certain formalities used from time + immemorial. Traveling occupations, which bring a man into the midst of + other families, without allowing him to shut himself up within his own, + are well fitted to make him talker, wit, storyteller, and singer. + </p> + <p> + The hemp-dresser is peculiarly skeptical. He and another village + functionary, of whom we have spoken before, the grave-digger, are always + the daring spirits of the neighborhood. They have talked so much about + ghosts, and they know so well all the tricks of which these malicious + spirits are capable, that they fear them scarcely at all. It is especially + at night that all of them—grave-diggers, hemp-dressers, and ghosts—do + their work. It is also at night when the hemp-dresser tells his melancholy + stories. Permit me to make a digression. + </p> + <p> + When the hemp has reached the right stage, that is to say, when it has + been steeped sufficiently in running water, and half dried on the bank, it + is brought into the yard and arranged in little upright sheaves, which, + with their stalks divided at the base, and their heads bound in balls, + bear in the dusk some small resemblance to a long procession of little + white phantoms, standing on their slender legs, and moving noiselessly + along the wall. + </p> + <p> + It is at the end of September, when the nights are still warm, that they + begin to beat it by the pale light of the moon. By day the hemp has been + heated in the oven; at night they take it out to beat it while it is still + hot. For this they use a kind of horse surmounted by a wooden lever which + falls into grooves and breaks the plant without cutting it. It is then + that you hear in the night that sudden, sharp noise of three blows in + quick succession. Then there is silence; it is the movement of the arm + drawing out the handful of hemp to break it in a fresh spot. The three + blows begin again; the other arm works the lever, and thus it goes on + until the moon is hidden by the early streaks of dawn. As the work + continues but a few days in the year, the dogs are not accustomed to it, + and yelp their plaintive howls toward every point of the horizon. + </p> + <p> + It is the time of unwonted and mysterious sounds in the country. The + migrating cranes fly so high that by day they are scarcely visible. By + night they are only heard, and their hoarse wailing voices, lost in the + clouds, sound like the parting cry of souls in torment, striving to find + the road to heaven, yet forced by an unconquerable fate to wander near the + earth about the haunts of men; for these errant birds have strange + uncertainties, and many a mysterious anxiety in the course of their airy + flight. Sometimes they lose the wind when the capricious gusts battle, or + come and go in the upper regions. When this confusion comes by day, you + can see the leader of the file fluttering aimlessly in the air, then turn + about and take his place at the tail of the triangular phalanx, while a + skilful manoeuver of his companions forms them soon in good order behind + him. Often, after vain efforts, the exhausted leader relinquishes the + guidance of the caravan; another comes forward, tries in his turn, and + yields his place to a third, who finds the breeze, and continues the march + in triumph. But what cries, what reproaches, what protests, what wild + curses or anxious questionings are exchanged in an unknown tongue amongst + these winged pilgrims! + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, in the resonant night, you can hear these sinister noises + whirling for a long time above the housetops, and as you can see nothing, + you feel, despite your efforts, a kind of dread and kindred discomfort, + until the sobbing multitude is lost in boundless space. + </p> + <p> + There are other noises too which belong to this time of year, and which + sound usually in the orchards. Gathering the fruit is not yet over, and + the thousand unaccustomed cracklings make the tree seem alive. A branch + groans as it bends beneath a burden which has reached, of a sudden, the + last stage of growth; or perhaps an apple breaks from the twig, and falls + on the damp earth at your feet with a dull sound. Then you hear rush by, + brushing the branches and the grass, a creature you cannot see; it is the + peasant's dog, that prowling and uneasy rover, at once impudent and + cowardly, always wandering, never sleeping, ever seeking you know not + what, spying upon you, hiding in the brush, and taking flight at the sound + of a falling apple, which he thinks a stone that you are throwing at him. + </p> + <p> + It is during those nights, nights misty and gray, that the hemp-dresser + tells his weird stories of will-o'-the-wisps and milk-white hares, of + souls in torment and wizards changed to wolves, of witches' vigils at the + cross-roads, and screech-owls, prophetesses of the graveyard. I remember + passing the early hours of such a night while the hemp-dressing was going + on, and the pitiless strokes, interrupting the dresser's story at its most + awful place, sent icy shivers through our veins. And often too the good + man continued his story as he worked, and four or five words were lost, + terrible words, no doubt, which we dared not make him repeat, and whose + omission added a mystery yet more fearful to the dark mysteries of the + story which had gone before. It was in vain the servants warned us that it + was too late to stay without doors, and that bedtime had sounded for us + long since; they too were dying to hear more; and then with what terror we + crossed the hamlet on our way home! How deep did the church porch appear + to us, and how thick and black the shadows of the old trees! The graveyard + we dared not see; we shut our eyes tight as we passed it. + </p> + <p> + But no more than the sacristan is the hemp-dresser gifted solely with the + desire of frightening; he loves to make people laugh; he is sarcastic and + sentimental at need, when love and marriage are to be sung. It is he who + collects and keeps stored in his memory the oldest songs, and who + transmits them to posterity. And so it is he who acts at weddings the part + we shall see him play at the presentation of little Marie's favors. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0019" id="linklink2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II — The Wedding Favors + </h2> + <p> + WHEN all the guests were met together in the house, the doors and windows + were closed with the utmost care; even the garret window was barricaded; + boards and benches, logs and tables were placed behind every entrance, + just as if the inhabitants were making ready to sustain a siege; and + within these fortifications solemn stillness prevailed until at a distance + were heard songs and laughter and the sounds of rustic music. It was the + band of the bridegroom, Germain at the head, followed by his most trusty + companions and by the grave-digger, relatives, friends, and servants, who + formed a compact and merry train. Meanwhile, as they came nearer the house + they slackened their pace, held a council of war, and became silent. The + girls, shut up in the house, had arranged little loop-holes at the windows + by which they could see the enemy approach and deploy in battle array. A + fine, cold rain was falling, which added zest to the situation, while a + great tire blazed on the hearth within. Marie wished to cut short the + inevitable slowness of this well-ordered siege; she had no desire to see + her lover catch cold, but not being in authority she had to take an + ostensible share in the mischievous cruelty of her companions. + </p> + <p> + When the two armies met, a discharge of firearms on the part of the + besiegers set all the dogs in the neighborhood to barking. Those within + the house dashed at the door with loud yelps, thinking that the attack was + in earnest, and the children, little reassured by the efforts of their + mothers, began to weep and to tremble. The whole scene was played so well + that a stranger would have been deceived, and would have made his + preparations to tight a band of brigands. Then the grave-digger, bard and + orator of the groom, took his stand before the door, and with a rueful + voice, exchanged the following dialogue with the hemp-dresser, who was + stationed above the same door: + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “Ah, my good people, my fellow-townsmen, for the + love of Heaven, open the door.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Who are you, and what right have you to call us + your dear fellow-townsmen? We don't know you.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “We are worthy folk in great distress. Don't be + afraid of us, my friends. Extend us your hospitality. Sleet is falling; + our poor feet are frozen, and our journey home has been so long that our + sabots are split.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “If your sabots are split, you can look on the + ground; you will find very soon a sprig of willow to make some <i>arcelets</i> + [small curved blades of iron which are fastened on split sabots to hold + them together].” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “Willow <i>arcelets</i> are scarcely strong + enough. You are making fun of us, good people, and you would do better to + open your doors. We can see a splendid fire blazing in your dwelling. The + spit must be turning, and we can make merry with you, heart and belly. So + open your doors to poor pilgrims who will die on the threshold if you are + not merciful.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Ah ha! so you are pilgrims? You never told us + that. And what pilgrimage do you come from, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “We shall tell you that when you open the door, + for we come from so far that you would never believe it.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Open the door to you? I rather think not. We + can't trust you. Tell us, is it from Saint Sylvain of Pouligny that you + come?” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “We have been at Saint Sylvain of Pouligny, but + we have been farther still.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Then you have been as far as Saint Solange?” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “At Saint Solange we have been, sure enough, but + we have been farther yet.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “You are lying. You have never been as far as + Saint Solange.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “We have been farther, for now we are come from + Saint Jacques of Compostelle.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “What absurdity are you telling us? We don't know + that parish. We can easily see that you are bad people, brigands, + nobodies, and liars. Go away with your nonsense. We are on our guard. You + can't come in.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “Ah, my poor fellow, take pity on us. We are not + pilgrims, as you have guessed, but we are unlucky poachers pursued by the + keepers. Even the police are after us, and if you don't hide us in your + hay-loft, we shall be taken and led off to prison.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “And who will prove you are what you say you are, + this time? For you have told us one lie already that you can't maintain.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “If you will let us in, we shall show you a + pretty piece of game we have killed.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Show it right away, for we have our suspicions.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “All right, open the door or a window to let us + pass the creature in.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Oh, no, not quite so foolish. I am looking at + you through a little chink, and I can see neither hunters nor game amongst + you.” + </p> + <p> + Here an ox-driver, a thick-set fellow of herculean strength, detached + himself from a group where he had stood unperceived, and raised toward the + window a plucked goose, spitted on a strong iron bar decorated with tufts + of straw and ribbons. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, ho!” cried the hemp-dresser, after cautiously extending an arm to + feel the roast. “That is n't a quail nor a partridge; it is n't a hare nor + a rabbit; it 's something like a goose or a turkey. Upon my word, you 're + clever hunters, and that game did n't make you run very far. Move on, you + rogues; we know all your lies, and you had best go home and cook your + supper. You are not going to eat ours.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “O Heavens, where can we go to cook our game? It + is very little for so many as we, and, besides, we have neither place nor + fire. At this time every door is closed, and every soul asleep. You are + the only people who are celebrating a wedding at home, and you must he + hardhearted indeed to let us freeze outside. Once again, good people, open + the door; we shall not cost you anything. You can see that we bring our + own meat; only a little room at your hearth, a little blaze to cook with, + and we shall go on our way rejoicing.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Do you suppose that we have too much room here, + and that wood is bought tor nothing?” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “We have here a small bundle of hay to make the + fire. We shall be satisfied with that; only grant us leave to place the + spit across your fireplace.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “That will never do. We are disgusted, and don't + pity you at all. It is my opinion that you are drunk, that you need + nothing, and that you only wish to come in and steal away our fire and our + daughters.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “Since you won't listen to reason, we shall make + our way in by force.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “Try, if you want; we are shut in well enough to + have no fear of you, and since you are impudent fellows, we shall not + answer you again.” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon the hemp-dresser shut the garret window with a bang, and came + down into the room below by a step-ladder. Then he took the bride by the + hand, the young people of both sexes followed, and they all began to sing + and chatter merrily, while the matrons sang in piercing voices, and + shrieked with laughter in derision and bravado at those without who were + attempting an attack. + </p> + <p> + The besiegers, on their side, made a great hubbub. They discharged their + pistols at the doors, made the dogs growl, whacked the walls, shook the + blinds, and uttered frightful shrieks. In short, there was such a + pandemonium that nobody could hear, and such a cloud of dust that nobody + could see. + </p> + <p> + And yet this attack was all a sham. The time had not come for breaking + through the etiquette. If, in prowling about, anybody were to find an + unguarded aperture, or any opening whatsoever, he might try to slip in + unobserved, and then, if the carrier of the spit succeeded in placing his + roast before the fire, and thus prove the capture of the hearth, the + comedy was over and the bridegroom had conquered. + </p> + <p> + The entrances of the house, however, were not numerous enough for any to + be neglected in the customary precautions, and nobody might use violence + before the moment fixed for the struggle. + </p> + <p> + When they were weary of dancing and screams, the hemp-dresser began to + think of capitulation. He went up to his window, opened it with + precaution, and greeted the baffled assailants with a burst of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my boys,” said he, “you look very sheep-faced. You thought there + was nothing easier than to come in, and you see that our defense is good. + But we are beginning to have pity on you, if you will submit and accept + our conditions.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “Speak, good people. Tell us what we must do to + approach your hearth.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: “You must sing, my friends; but sing a song we + don't know,—one that we can't answer by a better.” + </p> + <p> + “That 's not hard to do,” answered the grave-digger, and he thundered in a + powerful voice: “'Six months ago, 'twas in the spring...'” + </p> + <p> + “'I wandered through the sprouting grass,'” answered the hemp-dresser in a + slightly hoarse but terrible voice. “You must be jesting, my poor friends, + singing us such time-worn songs. You see very well that we can stop you at + the first word.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'She was a prince's daughter...'” + </pre> + <p> + “'Right gladly would she wed,'” answered the hemp-dresser. “Come, move on + to the next; we know that a little too well.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “How do you like this one?— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'As I was journeying home from Nantes.'” + </pre> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Weary, oh, weary, was I, was I.'” + </pre> + <p> + “That dates from my grandmother's time. Let's have another.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: + + “'One day I went a-walking...'” + </pre> + <p> + <i>The Hemp-dresser</i>: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Along a lovely wood!'” + </pre> + <p> + “That one is too stupid! Our little children would n't take the trouble to + answer you. What! Are these all you know?” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Grave-digger</i>: “Oh, we shall sing you so many that you will + never be able to hear them all.” + </p> + <p> + In this way a full hour passed. As the two antagonists were champions of + the country round in the matter of songs, and as their store seemed + inexhaustible, the contest might last all night with ease, all the more + because the hemp-dresser, with a touch of malice, allowed several ballads + of ten, twenty, or thirty couplets to be sung through, feigning by his + silence to admit his defeat. Then the bridegroom's camp rejoiced and sang + aloud in chorus, and thought that this time the foe was worsted; but at + the first line of the last couplet, they heard the hoarse croaking of the + old hemp-dresser bellow forth the second rhyme. Then he cried: + </p> + <p> + “You need not tire yourselves by singing such a long one, my children—we + know that one to our finger-tips.” + </p> + <p> + Once or twice, however, the hemp-dresser made a wry face, contracted his + brow, and turned toward the expectant housewives with a baffled air. The + grave-digger was singing something so old that his adversary had forgotten + it, or perhaps had never even heard it; but instantly the good gossips + chanted the victorious refrain through their noses with voices shrill as a + sea-mew's, and the grave-digger, forced to surrender, went on to fresh + attempts. + </p> + <p> + It would have taken too long to wait for a decision of the victory. The + bride's party declared itself disposed to be merciful, provided that the + bride were given a present worthy of her. + </p> + <p> + Then began the song of the favors to a tune solemn as a church chant. + </p> + <p> + The men without sang together in bass voices: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Open the door, true love, + Open the door; I have presents for you, love, + Oh, say not adieu, love.'” + </pre> + <p> + To this the women answered from within in falsetto, with mournful voices: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'My father is sorry, my mother is sad, + And I am a maiden too kind by far + At such an hour my gate to unbar.'” + </pre> + <p> + The men took up the first verse as far as the fourth line and modified it + thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'And a handkerchief new, love.'” + </pre> + <p> + But, on behalf of the bride, the women answered in the same way as at + first. + </p> + <p> + For twenty couplets, at least, the men enumerated all the + wedding-presents, always mentioning something new in the last line: a + handsome apron, pretty ribbons, a cloth dress, laces, a golden cross, and + even a hundred pins to complete the modest list of wedding-presents. The + refusal of the women could not be shaken, but at length the men decided to + speak of + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A good husband, too, love.” + </pre> + <p> + And the women answered, turning toward the bride and singing in unison + with the men: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Open the door, true love, + Open the door; + Here's a sweetheart for you, love, + Pray let us enter, too, love.'” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0020" id="linklink2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III — The Wedding + </h2> + <p> + IMMEDIATELY the hemp-dresser drew back the wooden bolt which barred the + door within. At this time it was still the only fastening known in most of + the dwellings of our hamlet. The groom's band burst into the bride's + house, but not without a struggle; for the young men quartered within, and + even the old hemp-dresser and the gossips, made it their duty to defend + the hearth. The spit-bearer, upheld by his supporters, had to plant the + roast before the fireplace. It was a regular battle, although people + abstained from striking, and there was no anger shown in this struggle. + But everybody was pushing and shoving so hard, and there was so much + playful pride in this display of muscular strength, that the results might + well have been serious, although they did not appear so across the laughs + and songs. The poor old hemp-dresser, fighting like a lion, was pinned to + the wall and squeezed by the crowd until his breath almost left him. More + than one champion was upset and trodden under foot involuntarily; more + than one hand, jammed against the spit, was covered with blood. These + games are dangerous, and latterly the accidents have been so severe that + our peasants have determined to allow the ceremony of the favors to fall + into disuse; I believe we saw the last at the marriage of François + Meillant, although there was no real struggle on that occasion. + </p> + <p> + The battle was earnest enough, however, at Germain's wedding. It was a + point of honor on one side to invade, on the other to defend, Mother + Guillette's hearth. The great spit was twisted like a screw beneath the + strong fists which fought for it A pistol-shot set fire to a small + quantity of hemp arranged in sheaves and laid on a wicker shelf near the + ceiling. This incident created a diversion, and while some of the company + crowded about to extinguish the sparks, the grave-digger, who had climbed + unbeknown into the garret, came down the chimney and seized the spit, at + the very moment when the ox-driver, who was defending it near the hearth, + raised it above his head to prevent it from being torn away. Some time + before the attack, the women had taken the precaution to put out the fire + lest in the struggle somebody should fall in and get burned. The jocular + grave-digger, in league with the ox-driver, grasped the trophy and tossed + it easily across the andirons. It was done! Nobody might interfere. The + grave-digger sprang to the middle of the room and lighted a few wisps of + straw, which he placed about the spit under pretense of cooking the roast, + for the goose was in pieces and the floor was strewn with its scattered + fragments. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a great deal of laughter and much boastful dispute. + Everybody showed the marks of the blows he had received, and as it was + often a friend's hand that had struck them, there was no word of complaint + nor of quarreling. The hemp-dresser, half flattened out, kept rubbing the + small of his back and saying that, although it made small difference to + him, he protested against the ruse of his friend, the grave-digger, and + that if he had not been half dead, the hearth had never been captured so + easily. The women swept the floor and order was restored. The table was + covered with jugs of new wine. When the contestants had drunk together and + taken breath, the bridegroom was led to the middle of the chamber, and, + armed with a wand, he was obliged to submit to a fresh trial. + </p> + <p> + During the struggle, the bride and three of her companions had been hidden + by her mother, godmother, and aunts, who had made the four girls sit down + in a remote corner of the room while they covered them with a large white + cloth. Three friends of Marie's height, with caps of a uniform size, were + chosen, so that when they were enveloped from head to toe by the cloth it + was impossible to tell them apart. + </p> + <p> + The bridegroom might not touch them, except with the tip of his staff, and + then merely to designate which he thought to be his wife. They allowed him + time enough to make an examination with no other help than his eyes + afforded, and the women, placed on either side, kept zealous watch lest + cheating should occur. Should he guess wrong, he might not dance, with his + bride, but only with her he had chosen by mistake. + </p> + <p> + When Germain stood in front of these ghosts wrapped in the same shroud, he + feared he should make a wrong choice; and, in truth, that had happened to + many another, so carefully and conscientiously were the precautions made. + His heart beat loud. Little Marie did her best to breathe hard and shake + the cloth a little, but her malicious companions followed her example, and + kept poking the cloth with their fingers, so that there were as many + mysterious signals as there were girls beneath the canopy. The square + head-dresses upheld the cloth so evenly that it was impossible to discern + the contour of a brow outlined by its folds. + </p> + <p> + After ten minutes' hesitation, Germain shut his eyes, commended his soul + to God, and stretched out the wand at random. It touched the forehead of + little Marie, who cast the cloth from her, and shouted with triumph. Then + it was his right to kiss her, and lifting her in his strong arms, he bore + her to the middle of the room, where together they opened the dance, which + lasted until two in the morning. The company separated to meet again at + eight. As many people had come from the country round, and as there were + not beds enough for everybody, each of the village maidens took to her bed + two or three other girls, while the men spread themselves pell-mell on the + hay in the barn-loft. You can imagine well that they had little sleep, for + they did nothing but wrestle and joke, and tell foolish stories. Properly, + there were three sleepless nights at weddings, and these we cannot regret. + </p> + <p> + At the time appointed for departure, when they had partaken of milk-soup, + seasoned with a strong dose of pepper to stimulate the appetite,—for + the wedding-feast gave promise of great bounty,—the guests assembled + in the farm-yard. Since our parish had been abolished, we had to go half a + league from home to receive the marriage blessing. It was cool and + pleasant weather, but the roads were in such wretched condition that + everybody was on horseback, and each man took a companion on his crupper, + whether she were young or old. Germain started on the gray, and the mare, + well-groomed, freshly shod, and decked out with ribbons, pranced about and + snorted fire from her nostrils. The husbandman went to the cottage for his + bride in company with his brother-in-law, Jacques, who rode the old gray, + and carried Mother Guillette on the crupper, while Germain returned to the + farm-yard in triumph, holding his dear little wife before him. + </p> + <p> + Then the merry cavalcade set out, escorted by the children, who ran ahead + and fired off their pistols to make the horses jump. Mother Maurice was + seated in a small cart, with Germain's three children and the fiddlers. + They led the march to the sound of their instruments. Petit-Pierre was so + handsome that his old grandmother was pride itself. But the eager child + did not stay long at her side. During a moment's halt made on the journey, + before passing through a difficult piece of road, he slipped away and ran + to beg his father to carry him in front on the gray. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” replied Germain, “that will call forth some disagreeable joke; + we must n't do it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's little that I care what the people of Saint Chartier say,” said + little Marie. “Take him up, Germain, please do; I shall be prouder of him + than I am of my wedding-gown.” + </p> + <p> + Germain yielded, and the pretty trio darted into the crowd borne by the + triumphant gallop of the gray. + </p> + <p> + And so it was; the people of Saint Chartier, although they were very + sarcastic, and somewhat disdainful of the neighboring parishes which had + been annexed to theirs, never thought of laughing when they saw such a + handsome husband, such a lovely wife, and a child that a king's wife might + court. Petit-Pierre was all dressed in light blue cloth, with a smart red + waistcoat so short that it descended scarcely below his chin. The village + tailor had fitted his armholes so tight that he could not bring his two + little hands together. But, oh, how proud he was! He wore a round hat, + with a black-and-gold cord, and a peacock's plume which stuck out proudly + from a tuft of guinea feathers. A bunch of flowers, bigger than his head, + covered his shoulder, and ribbons fluttered to his feet The hemp-dresser, + who was also the barber and hair-dresser of the district, had cut his hair + evenly, by covering his head with a bowl, and clipping off the protruding + locks, an infallible method for guiding the shears. Thus arrayed, the poor + child was less poetic, certainly, than with his curls streaming in the + wind, and his Saint John Baptist's sheepskin about him; but he knew + nothing of this, and everybody admired him and said that he had quite the + air of a little man. His beauty triumphed over everything, for what is + there over which the exceeding beauty of childhood could not triumph? + </p> + <p> + His little sister, Solange, had, for the first time in her life, a + peasant's cap in place of the calico hood which little girls wear until + they are two or three years old. And what a cap it was! Longer and larger + than the poor little thing's whole body. How beautiful she thought it! She + dared not even turn her head; so she kept quite still and thought the + people would take her for the bride. + </p> + <p> + As for little Sylvain, he was still in long clothes, and, fast asleep on + his grandmother's knees, he did not even know what a wedding was. + </p> + <p> + Germain looked at his children tenderly, and when they reached the town + hall, he said to his bride: + </p> + <p> + “Marie, I have come here with a happier heart than I had the day when I + brought you home from the forest of Chanteloube, thinking that you could + never love me. I took you in my arms to put you on the ground as I do + here; but I thought that never again should we be mounted on the good gray + with the child on our knees. I love you so dearly, I love these little + creatures so dearly, I am so happy that you love me and that you love + them, and that my family love you, and I love your mother so well and all + my friends so well, and everybody else so well today, that I wish I had + three or four hearts to fill all of them; for surely one is too small to + hold so much love and so much happiness. It almost makes my stomach ache.” + </p> + <p> + There was a crowd at the door of the town hall and another at the church + to see the pretty bride. Why should we not tell about her dress? it became + her so well. Her muslin cap, without spot and covered with embroidery, had + lappets trimmed with lace. At that time peasant women never allowed a + single lock to be seen, and, although they conceal beneath their caps + splendid coils of hair tied up with tape to hold the coif in place, even + to-day it would be thought a scandal and a shame for them to show + themselves bareheaded to men. Nowadays, however, they allow a slender + braid to appear over their foreheads, and this improves their appearance + very much. Yet I regret the classic head-dress of my time; its spotless + laces next the bare skin gave an effect of pristine purity which seemed to + me very solemn; and when a face looked beautiful thus it was with a beauty + of which nothing can express the charm and unaffected majesty. + </p> + <p> + Little Marie wore her cap thus, and her forehead was so white and so pure + that it defied the whiteness of linen to cast it in the shade. Although + she had not closed an eye the night before, the morning air and, yet more, + the joy within of a soul pure as the heaven, and, more than all, a small + secret flame guarded with the modesty of girlhood, caused a bloom to mount + to her cheeks delicate as the peach-blossom in the first beams of an April + sun. + </p> + <p> + Her white scarf, modestly crossed over her breast, left visible only the + soft curves of a neck rounded like a turtle-dove's; her home-made cloth + gown of myrtle-green outlined her pretty figure, which looked already + perfect, yet which must still grow and develop, for she was but seventeen. + She wore an apron of violet silk with the bib our peasant women were so + foolish as to suppress, which added so much elegance and decency to the + breast. Nowadays they display their scarfs more proudly, but there is no + longer in their dress that delicate flower of the purity of long ago, + which made them look like Holbein's virgins. They are more forward and + more profuse in their courtesies. The good old custom used to be a kind of + staid reserve which made their rare smile deeper and more ideal. + </p> + <p> + During the offertory, after the fashion of the day, Germain placed the + “thirteen”—that is to say, thirteen pieces of silver—in his + bride's hand. He slipped over her finger a silver ring of a form unchanged + for centuries, but which is replaced for henceforth by the golden + wedding-ring. As they walked out of church, Marie said in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “Is this really the ring I wanted? Is it the one I asked you for, + Germain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered he, “my Catherine wore it on her finger when she died. + There is but one ring for both my weddings.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Germain,” said the young woman, in a serious and impressive + tone. “I shall die with it on, and if I go before you, you must keep it + for the marriage of your little Solange.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linklink2H_4_0021" id="linklink2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV — The Cabbage + </h2> + <p> + THEY mounted and returned very quickly to Belair. The feast was bountiful, + and, mingled with songs and dances, it lasted until midnight. For fourteen + hours the old people did not leave the table. The grave-digger did the + cooking, and did it very well. He was celebrated for this, and he would + leave his fire to come in and dance and sing before and after every + course. And yet this poor Father Bontemps was epileptic. Who would have + thought it? He was fresh and strong, and merry as a young man. One day we + found him in a ditch, struck down by his malady at nightfall. We carried + him home with us, in a wheelbarrow, and we spent all night in caring for + him. Three days afterward, he was at a wedding, singing like a thrush, + jumping like a kid, and bustling about after his old fashion. When he left + a marriage, he would go to dig a grave, and nail up a coffin. Then he + would become very grave, and though nothing of this appeared in his gay + humor, it left a melancholy impression which hastened the return of his + attacks. His wife was paralyzed, and had not stirred from her chair for + twenty years. His mother is living yet, at a hundred and forty, but he, + poor man, so happy and good and amusing, was killed last year by falling + from his loft to the sidewalk. Doubtless he died a victim to a fatal + attack of his disease, and, as was his habit, had hidden in the hay, so as + not to frighten and distress his family. In this tragic manner he ended a + life strange as his disposition—a medley of things sad and mad, + awful and gay; and, in the midst of all, his heart was ever good and his + nature kind. + </p> + <p> + Now we come to the third day of the wedding, the most curious of all, + which is kept to-day in all its vigor. We shall not speak of the roast + which they carry to the bridal bed; it is a very silly custom, and hurts + the self-respect of the bride, while it tends to ruin the modesty of the + attendant girls. Besides, I believe that it is practised in all the + provinces, and does not belong peculiarly to our own. + </p> + <p> + Just as the ceremony of the wedding favors is a symbol that the heart and + home of the bride are won, that of the cabbage is a symbol of the + fruit-fulness of marriage. When breakfast is over on the day after the + wedding, this fantastic representation begins. Originally of Gallic + derivation, it has passed through primitive Christianity, and little by + little it has become a kind of mystery, or droll morality-play of the + Middle Ages. + </p> + <p> + Two boys, the merriest and most intelligent of the company, disappear from + breakfast, and after costuming themselves, return escorted by dogs, + children, and pistol-shots. They represent a pair of beggars—husband + and wife—dressed in rags. The husband is the filthier of the two; it + is vice which has brought him so low; the wife is unhappy and degraded + only through the misdeeds of her husband. + </p> + <p> + They are called the gardener and the gardener's wife, and they pretend it + is their duty to guard and care for the sacred cabbage. The husband has + several names, each with a meaning. Sometimes they call him the + “scarecrow,” because his head is covered with straw or hemp, and because + his legs and a portion of his body are surrounded with straw to hide his + nakedness, ill concealed by his rags. He has also a great belly, or hump, + constructed of straw or hay underneath his blouse. Then he is known as the + “ragamuffin,” on account of his covering of rags. Lastly he is termed the + “infidel,” and this is most significant of all, because by his cynicism + and his debauchery he is supposed to typify the opposite of every + Christian virtue. + </p> + <p> + He comes with his face all smeared with soot and the lees of wine, and + sometimes made yet more hideous by a grotesque mask. An earthenware cup, + notched and broken, or an old sabot attached to his girdle by a cord, + shows that he has come to beg for alms of wine. Nobody refuses him, and he + pretends to drink; then he pours the wine on the ground by way of + libation. At every step he falls, rolls in the mud, and feigns to be a + prey to the most shameful drunkenness. His poor wife runs after him, picks + him up, calls for help, arranges his hempen locks, which straggle forth in + unkempt wisps from beneath his filthy hat, sheds tears over her husband's + degradation, and pours forth pathetic reproaches. + </p> + <p> + “Wretched man,” she cries, “see the misery to which your wickedness has + brought us. I have to spend all my time sewing and working for you, + mending your clothes. You tear and bedraggle yourself incessantly. You + have eaten up all my little property; our six children lie on straw, and + we are living in a stable with the beasts. Here we are forced to beg for + alms, and, besides, you are so ugly and vile and despicable that very soon + they will be tossing us bread as if we were dogs. Ah, my poor people, take + pity on us! Take pity on me! I have n't deserved my lot, and never had + woman a more dirty and detestable husband. Help me to pick him up, else + the wagons will run over him as they run over broken bottles, and I shall + be a widow, and that will end by killing me with grief, though all the + world says it would be an excellent riddance for me.” Such is the part of + the gardener's wife, and her continued lamentations last during the entire + play. For it is a genuine spontaneous comedy acted on the spur of the + moment in the open air, along the roads and across the fields, aided by + every chance occurrence that presents itself. Everybody shares in the + acting, people within the wedding-party and people without, wayfarers and + dwellers in houses, for three or four hours of the day, as we shall see. + The theme is always the same, but the variations are infinite; and it is + here that we can see the instinct of mimicry, the abundance of droll + ideas, the fluency, the wit at repartee, and even the natural eloquence of + our peasants. + </p> + <p> + The rôle of gardener's wife is intrusted commonly to a slender man, + beardless and fresh of face, who can give a great appearance of truth to + his personification and plays the burlesque despair naturally enough to + make people sad and glad at once, as they are in real life. These thin, + beardless men are not rare among us, and, strangely enough, they are + sometimes most remarkable for their muscular strength. + </p> + <p> + When the wife's misfortunes have been explained, the young men of the + company try to persuade her to leave her drunken husband and to amuse + herself with them. They offer her their arms and drag her away. Little by + little she gives way; her spirits rise, and she begins to run about, first + with one and then with another, and grows more scandalous in her behavior: + a fresh “morality”; the ill-conduct of the husband excites and aggravates + the evil in the wife. + </p> + <p> + Then the “infidel” wakes from his drunkenness. He looks about for his + companion, arms himself with a rope and a stick and rushes after her. They + make him run, they hide, they pass the wife from one to another, they try + to divert her attention and to deceive her jealous spouse. His friends try + to get him drunk. At length he catches his unfaithful wife, and wishes to + beat her. What is truest and most carefully portrayed in this play is that + the jealous husband never attacks the men who carry off his wife. He is + very polite and prudent with them, and wishes only to take vengeance on + the sinning woman, because she is supposed to be too feeble to offer + resistance. + </p> + <p> + At the moment, however, when he raises his stick and prepares his cord to + strike the delinquent, all the men in the party interpose and throw + themselves between husband and wife. + </p> + <p> + “Don't strike her! Never strike your wife,” is the formula repeated to + satiety during these scenes. They disarm the husband, and force him to + pardon and to kiss his wife, and soon he pretends to love her better than + ever. He walks along, his arm linked in hers, singing and dancing until, + in a new access of drunkenness, he rolls upon the ground, and then begin + all over again the lamentations of the wife, her discouragements, her + pretended unfaithfulness, her husband's jealousy, the interference of the + neighbors, and the reconciliation. In all this there is a simple and even + coarse lesson, which, though it savors strongly of its Middle-Age origin, + does not fail to fix its impression if not on the married folk, who are + too loving or too sensible to have need of it, at least upon the children + and the young people. The “infidel,” racing after young girls and + pretending to wish to kiss them, frightens and disgusts them to such a + degree that they fly in unaffected terror. His dirty face and his great + stick, harmless as it is, make the children shriek aloud. It is the comedy + of customs in their most elementary but their most striking state. + </p> + <p> + When this farce is well under way, people make ready to hunt for the + cabbage. They bring a stretcher and place upon it the “infidel,” armed + with a spade, a cord, and a large basket. Four powerful men raise him on + their shoulders. His wife follows on foot, and after her come the “elders” + in a body with serious and thoughtful looks; then the wedding-march begins + by couples to a step tuned to music. Pistol-shots begin anew, and dogs + bark louder than ever at the sight of the filthy “infidel” borne aloft in + triumph. The children swing incense in derision with sabots fastened at + the end of a cord. + </p> + <p> + But why this ovation to an object so repulsive? They are marching to the + capture of the sacred cabbage, emblem of the fruitfulness of marriage, and + it is this drunkard alone who can bear the symbolic plant in his hand. + Doubtless, there is in it a pre-Christian mystery which recalls the + Saturnalian feasts or some rout of the Bacchanals. Perhaps this “infidel,” + who is, at the same time, preeminently a gardener, is none other than + Priapus himself, god of gardens and of drunkenness, a divinity who must + have been pure and serious in his origin as is the mystery of birth, but + who has been degraded bit by bit through license of manners and + distraction of thought. + </p> + <p> + However this may be, the triumphal procession arrives at the bride's + house, and enters the garden. Then they select the choicest cabbage, and + this is not done very quickly, for the old people keep consulting and + disputing interminably, each one pleading for the cabbage he thinks most + suitable. They put it to vote, and when the choice is made the gardener + fastens his cord to the stalk, and moves away as far as the size of the + garden permits. The gardener's wife takes care that the sacred vegetable + shall not be hurt in its fall. The wits of the wedding, the hemp-dresser, + the grave-digger, the carpenter, and the sabot-maker, form a ring about + the cabbage, for men who do not till the soil, but pass their lives in + other people's houses, are thought to be, and are really, wittier and more + talkative than simple farmhands. One digs, with a spade, a ditch deep + enough to uproot an oak. Another places on his nose a pair of wooden or + cardboard spectacles. He fulfils the duties of “engineer,” walks up and + down, constructs a plan, stares at the workmen through his glasses, plays + the pedant, cries out that everything will be spoiled, has the work + stopped and begun afresh as his fancy directs, and makes the whole + performance as long and ridiculous as he can. This is an addition to the + formula of an ancient ceremony held in mockery of theorists in general, + for peasants despise them royally, or from hatred of the surveyors who + decide boundaries and regulate taxes, or of the workmen employed on + bridges and causeways, who transform commons into highways, and suppress + old abuses which the peasants love. Be this as it may, this character in + the comedy is called the “geometrician,” and does his best to make himself + unbearable to those who are toiling with pickaxe and shovel. + </p> + <p> + After a quarter of an hour spent in mummery, and difficulties raised in + order to avoid cutting the roots, and to transplant the cabbage without + injury, while shovelfuls of dirt are tossed into the faces of the + onlookers,—so much the worse for him who does not retreat in time, + for were he bishop or prince he must receive the baptism of earth,—the + “infidel” pulls the rope, the “infidel's wife” holds her apron, and the + cabbage falls majestically amidst the applause of the spectators. Then a + basket is brought, and the “infidel” pair plant the cabbage therein with + every care and precaution. They surround it with fresh earth, and support + it with sticks and strings, such as city florists use for their splendid + potted camellias; they fix red apples to the points of the sticks, and + twist sprigs of thyme, sage, and laurel all about them; they bedeck the + whole with ribbons and streamers; they place the trophy upon the stretcher + with the “infidel,” whose duty it is to maintain its equilibrium and + preserve it from harm; and, at length, they move away from the garden in + good order and in marching step. + </p> + <p> + But when they are about to pass the gate, and again when they enter the + yard of the bridegroom's house, an imaginary obstacle blocks the way. The + bearers of the burden stagger, utter loud cries, retreat, advance once + more, and, as though crushed by a resistless force, they pretend to sink + beneath its weight. While this is going on, the bystanders shout loudly, + exciting and steadying this human team. + </p> + <p> + “Slowly, slowly, my child. There, there, courage! Look out! Be patient! + Lower your head; the door is too low! Close up; it's too narrow! A little + more to the left; now to the right; on with you; don't be afraid; you 're + almost there.” + </p> + <p> + Thus it is that in years of plentiful harvest, the ox-cart, loaded to + overflowing with hay or corn, is too broad or too high to enter the barn + door. Thus it is that the driver shouts at the strong beasts, to restrain + them or to urge them on; thus it is that with skill and mighty efforts + they force this mountain of riches beneath the rustic arch of triumph. It + is, above all, the last load, called “the cart of sheaves,” which requires + these precautions, for this is a rural festival, and the last sheaf lifted + from the last furrow is placed on the top of the cart-load ornamented with + ribbons and flowers, while the foreheads of the oxen and the whip of the + driver are decorated also. The triumphant and toilsome entry of the + cabbage into the house is a symbol of the prosperity and fruitfulness it + represents. + </p> + <p> + Safe within the bridegroom's yard, the cabbage is taken from its stretcher + and borne to the topmost peak of the house or barn. Whether it be a + chimney, a gable, or a dove-cote that crowns the roof, the burden must, at + any risk, be carried to the very highest point of the building. The + “infidel” accompanies it as far as this, sets it down securely, and waters + it with a great pitcher of wine, while a salvo of pistol-shots and + demonstrations of joy from the “infidel's wife” proclaim its inauguration. + </p> + <p> + Without delay, the same ceremony is repeated all over again. Another + cabbage is dug from the garden of the husband and is carried with the same + formalities and laid upon the roof which his wife has deserted to follow + him. These trophies remain in their places until the wind and the rain + destroy the baskets and carry away the cabbage. Yet their lives are long + enough to give some chance of fulfilment to the prophecies which the old + men and women make with bows and courtesies. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful cabbage,” they say, “live and flourish that our young bride may + have a fine baby before a year is over; for if you die too quickly it is a + sign of barrenness, and you will stick up there like an ill omen.” + </p> + <p> + The day is already far gone when all these things are accomplished. All + that remains undone is to take home the godfathers and godmothers of the + newly married couple. When the so-called parents dwell at a distance, they + are accompanied by the music and the whole wedding procession as far as + the limits of the parish; there they dance anew on the highroad, and + everybody kisses them good-by. The “infidel” and his wife are then washed + and dressed decently, if the fatigue of their parts has not already driven + them away to take a nap. + </p> + <p> + Everybody was still dancing and singing and eating in the Town Hall of + Belair at midnight on this third day of the wedding when Germain was + married. The old men at table could not stir, and for good reason. They + recovered neither their legs nor their wits until dawn on the morrow. + While they were regaining their dwellings, silently and with uncertain + steps, Germain, proud and active, went out to hitch his oxen, leaving his + young wife to slumber until daylight. The lark, caroling as it mounted to + the skies, seemed to him the voice of his heart returning thanks to + Providence. The hoar-frost, sparkling on the leafless bushes, seemed to + him the whiteness of April flowers that comes before the budding leaves. + Everything in nature was laughing and happy for him. Little Pierre had + laughed and jumped so much the evening before that he did not come to help + lead his oxen; but Germain was glad to be alone. He fell on his knees in + the furrow he was about to plow afresh, and said his morning prayer with + such a burst of feeling that two tears rolled down his cheeks, still moist + with sweat. + </p> + <p> + Afar off he heard the songs of the boys from neighboring villages, who + were starting on their return home, singing again in their hoarse voices + the happy tunes of the night before. + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Devil's Pool, by George Sand + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEVIL'S POOL *** + +***** This file should be named 21993-h.htm or 21993-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/9/9/21993/ + +Produced by David Widger + +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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