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diff --git a/old/24350-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/24350-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ab5a7f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/24350-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,1547 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Kerfol, by Edith Wharton + </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 Kerfol, by Edith Wharton + +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: Kerfol + 1916 + +Author: Edith Wharton + +Release Date: January 17, 2008 [EBook #24350] +Last Updated: October 3, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KERFOL *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + KERFOL + </h1> + <h2> + By Edith Wharton + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Copyright, 1916, By Charles Scribner’s Sons + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + “You ought to buy it,” said my host; “its Just the place for a + solitary-minded devil like you. And it would be rather worth while to own + the most romantic house in Brittany. The present people are dead broke, + and it’s going for a song—you ought to buy it.” + </p> + <p> + It was not with the least idea of living up to the character my friend + Lanrivain ascribed to me (as a matter of fact, under my unsociable + exterior I have always had secret yearnings for domesticity) that I took + his hint one autumn afternoon and went to Kerfol. My friend was motoring + over to Quimper on business: he dropped me on the way, at a cross-road on + a heath, and said: “First turn to the right and second to the left. Then + straight ahead till you see an avenue. If you meet any peasants, don’t ask + your way. They don’t understand French, and they would pretend they did + and mix you up. I’ll be back for you here by sunset—and don’t forget + the tombs in the chapel.” + </p> + <p> + I followed Lanrivain’s directions with the hesitation occasioned by the + usual difficulty of remembering whether he had said the first turn to the + right and second to the left, or the contrary. If I had met a peasant I + should certainly have asked, and probably been sent astray; but I had the + desert landscape to myself, and so stumbled on the right turn and walked + across the heath till I came to an avenue. It was so unlike any other + avenue I have ever seen that I instantly knew it must be <i>the</i> + avenue. The grey-trunked trees sprang up straight to a great height and + then interwove their pale-grey branches in a long tunnel through which the + autumn light fell faintly. I know most trees by name, but I haven’t to + this day been able to decide what those trees were. They had the tall + curve of elms, the tenuity of poplars, the ashen colour of olives under a + rainy sky; and they stretched ahead of me for half a mile or more without + a break in their arch. If ever I saw an avenue that unmistakably led to + something, it was the avenue at Kerfol. My heart beat a little as I began + to walk down it. + </p> + <p> + Presently the trees ended and I came to a fortified gate in a long wall. + Between me and the wall was an open space of grass, with other grey + avenues radiating from it. Behind the wall were tall slate roofs mossed + with silver, a chapel belfry, the top of a keep. A moat filled with wild + shrubs and brambles surrounded the place; the drawbridge had been replaced + by a stone arch, and the portcullis by an iron gate. I stood for a long + time on the hither side of the moat, gazing about me, and letting the + influence of the place sink in. I said to myself: “If I wait long enough, + the guardian will turn up and show me the tombs—” and I rather hoped + he wouldn’t turn up too soon. + </p> + <p> + I sat down on a stone and lit a cigarette. As soon as I had done it, it + struck me as a puerile and portentous thing to do, with that great blind + house looking down at me, and all the empty avenues converging on me. It + may have been the depth of the silence that made me so conscious of my + gesture. The squeak of my match sounded as loud as the scraping of a + brake, and I almost fancied I heard it fall when I tossed it onto the + grass. But there was more than that: a sense of irrelevance, of + littleness, of futile bravado, in sitting there puffing my cigarette-smoke + into the face of such a past. + </p> + <p> + I knew nothing of the history of Kerfol—I was new to Brittany, and + Lanrivain had never mentioned the name to me till the day before—but + one couldn’t as much as glance at that pile without feeling in it a long + accumulation of history. What kind of history I was not prepared to guess: + perhaps only that sheer weight of many associated lives and deaths which + gives a majesty to all old houses. But the aspect of Kerfol suggested + something more—a perspective of stern and cruel memories stretching + away, like its own grey avenues, into a blur of darkness. + </p> + <p> + Certainly no house had ever more completely and finally broken with the + present. As it stood there, lifting its proud roofs and gables to the sky, + it might have been its own funeral monument. “Tombs in the chapel? The + whole place is a tomb!” I reflected. I hoped more and more that the + guardian would not come. The details of the place, however striking, would + seem trivial compared with its collective impressiveness; and I wanted + only to sit there and be penetrated by the weight of its silence. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the very place for you!” Lanrivain had said; and I was overcome by + the almost blasphemous frivolity of suggesting to any living being that + Kerfol was the place for him. “Is it possible that any one could <i>not</i> + See—?” I wondered. I did not finish the thought: what I meant was + undefinable. I stood up and wandered toward the gate. I was beginning to + want to know more; not to <i>see</i> more—I was by now so sure it + was not a question of seeing—but to feel more: feel all the place + had to communicate. “But to get in one will have to rout out the keeper,” + I thought reluctantly, and hesitated. Finally I crossed the bridge and + tried the iron gate. It yielded, and I walked through the tunnel formed by + the thickness of the <i>chemin de ronde</i>. At the farther end, a wooden + barricade had been laid across the entrance, and beyond it was a court + enclosed in noble architecture. The main building faced me; and I now saw + that one half was a mere ruined front, with gaping windows through which + the wild growths of the moat and the trees of the park were visible. The + rest of the house was still in its robust beauty. One end abutted on the + round tower, the other on the small traceried chapel, and in an angle of + the building stood a graceful well-head crowned with mossy urns. A few + roses grew against the walls, and on an upper window-sill I remember + noticing a pot of fuchsias. + </p> + <p> + My sense of the pressure of the invisible began to yield to my + architectural interest. The building was so fine that I felt a desire to + explore it for its own sake. I looked about the court, wondering in which + corner the guardian lodged. Then I pushed open the barrier and went in. As + I did so, a dog barred my way. He was such a remarkably beautiful little + dog that for a moment he made me forget the splendid place he was + defending. I was not sure of his breed at the time, but have since learned + that it was Chinese, and that he was of a rare variety called the + “Sleeve-dog.” He was very small and golden brown, with large brown eyes + and a ruffled throat: he looked like a large tawny chrysanthemum. I said + to myself: “These little beasts always snap and scream, and somebody will + be out in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + The little animal stood before me, forbidding, almost menacing: there was + anger in his large brown eyes. But he made no sound, he came no nearer. + Instead, as I advanced, he gradually fell back, and I noticed that another + dog, a vague rough brindled thing, had limped up on a lame leg. “There’ll + be a hubbub now,” I thought; for at the same moment a third dog, a + long-haired white mongrel, slipped out of a doorway and joined the others. + All three stood looking at me with grave eyes; but not a sound came from + them. As I advanced they continued to fall back on muffled paws, still + watching me. “At a given point, they’ll all charge at my ankles: it’s one + of the jokes that dogs who live together put up on one,” I thought. I was + not alarmed, for they were neither large nor formidable. But they let me + wander about the court as I pleased, following me at a little distance—always + the same distance—and always keeping their eyes on me. Presently I + looked across at the ruined facade, and saw that in one of its empty + window-frames another dog stood: a white pointer with one brown ear. He + was an old grave dog, much more experienced than the others; and he seemed + to be observing me with a deeper intentness. “I’ll hear from <i>him</i>,” + I said to myself; but he stood in the window-frame, against the trees of + the park, and continued to watch me without moving. I stared back at him + for a time, to see if the sense that he was being watched would not rouse + him. Half the width of the court lay between us, and we gazed at each + other silently across it. But he did not stir, and at last I turned away. + Behind me I found the rest of the pack, with a newcomer added: a small + black greyhound with pale agate-coloured eyes. He was shivering a little, + and his expression was more timid than that of the others. I noticed that + he kept a little behind them. And still there was not a sound. + </p> + <p> + I stood there for fully five minutes, the circle about me—waiting, + as they seemed to be waiting. At last I went up to the little golden-brown + dog and stooped to pat him. As I did so, I heard myself give a nervous + laugh. The little dog did not start, or growl, or take his eyes from me—he + simply slipped back about a yard, and then paused and continued to look at + me. “Oh, hang it!” I exclaimed, and walked across the court toward the + well. + </p> + <p> + As I advanced, the dogs separated and slid away into different corners of + the court. I examined the urns on the well, tried a locked door or two, + and looked up and down the dumb façade; then I faced about toward the + chapel. When I turned I perceived that all the dogs had disappeared except + the old pointer, who still watched me from the window. It was rather a + relief to be rid of that cloud of witnesses; and I began to look about me + for a way to the back of the house. “Perhaps there’ll be somebody in the + garden,” I thought. I found a way across the moat, scrambled over a wall + smothered in brambles, and got into the garden. A few lean hydrangeas and + geraniums pined in the flower-beds, and the ancient house looked down on + them indifferently. Its garden side was plainer and severer than the + other: the long granite front, with its few windows and steep roof, looked + like a fortress-prison. I walked around the farther wing, went up some + disjointed steps, and entered the deep twilight of a narrow and incredibly + old box-walk. The walk was just wide enough for one person to slip + through, and its branches met overhead. It was like the ghost of a + box-walk, its lustrous green all turning to the shadowy greyness of the + avenues. I walked on and on, the branches hitting me in the face and + springing back with a dry rattle; and at length I came out on the grassy + top of the <i>chemin de ronde</i>. I walked along it to the gate-tower, + looking down into the court, which was just below me. Not a human being + was in sight; and neither were the dogs. I found a flight of steps in the + thickness of the wall and went down them; and when I emerged again into + the court, there stood the circle of dogs, the golden-brown one a little + ahead of the others, the black greyhound shivering in the rear. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang it—you uncomfortable beasts, you!” I exclaimed, my voice + startling me with a sudden echo. The dogs stood motionless, watching me. I + knew by this time that they would not try to prevent my approaching the + house, and the knowledge left me free to examine them. I had a feeling + that they must be horribly cowed to be so silent and inert. Yet they did + not look hungry or ill-treated. Their coats were smooth and they were not + thin, except the shivering greyhound. It was more as if they had lived a + long time with people who never spoke to them or looked at them: as though + the silence of the place had gradually benumbed their busy inquisitive + natures. And this strange passivity, this almost human lassitude, seemed + to me sadder than the misery of starved and beaten animals. I should have + liked to rouse them for a minute, to coax them into a game or a scamper; + but the longer I looked into their fixed and weary eyes the more + preposterous the idea became. With the windows of that house looking down + on us, how could I have imagined such a thing? The dogs knew better: <i>they</i> + knew what the house would tolerate and what it would not. I even fancied + that they knew what was passing through my mind, and pitied me for my + frivolity. But even that feeling probably reached them through a thick fog + of listlessness. I had an idea that their distance from me was as nothing + to my remoteness from them. The impression they produced was that of + having in common one memory so deep and dark that nothing that had + happened since was worth either a growl or a wag. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” I broke out abruptly, addressing myself to the dumb circle, “do + you know what you look like, the whole lot of you? You look as if you’d + seen a ghost—that’s how you look! I wonder if there <i>is</i> a + ghost here, and nobody but you left for it to appear to?” The dogs + continued to gaze at me without moving.... + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It was dark when I saw Lanrivain’s motor lamps at the cross-roads—and + I wasn’t exactly sorry to see them. I had the sense of having escaped from + the loneliest place in the whole world, and of not liking loneliness—to + that degree—as much as I had imagined I should. My friend had + brought his solicitor back from Quimper for the night, and seated beside a + fat and affable stranger I felt no inclination to talk of Kerfol.... + </p> + <p> + But that evening, when Lanrivain and the solicitor were closeted in the + study, Madame de Lanrivain began to question me in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “Well—are you going to buy Kerfol?” she asked, tilting up her gay + chin from her embroidery. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t decided yet. The fact is, I couldn’t get into the house,” I + said, as if I had simply postponed my decision, and meant to go back for + another look. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn’t get in? Why, what happened? The family are mad to sell the + place, and the old guardian has orders—” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely. But the old guardian wasn’t there.” + </p> + <p> + “What a pity! He must have gone to market. But his daughter—?” + </p> + <p> + “There was nobody about. At least I saw no one.” + </p> + <p> + “How extraordinary! Literally nobody?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody but a lot of dogs—a whole pack of them—who seemed to + have the place to themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Madame de Lanrivain let the embroidery slip to her knee and folded her + hands on it. For several minutes she looked at me thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “A pack of dogs—you <i>saw</i> them?” + </p> + <p> + “Saw them? I saw nothing else!” + </p> + <p> + “How many?” She dropped her voice a little. “I’ve always wondered—” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her with surprise: I had supposed the place to be familiar to + her. “Have you never been to Kerfol?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes: often. But never on that day.” + </p> + <p> + “What day?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d quite forgotten—and so had Hervé, I’m sure. If we’d remembered, + we never should have sent you to-day—but then, after all, one + doesn’t half believe that sort of thing, does one?” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of thing?” I asked, involuntarily sinking my voice to the level + of hers. Inwardly I was thinking: “I <i>knew</i> there was something....” + </p> + <p> + Madame de Lanrivain cleared her throat and produced a reassuring smile. + “Didn’t Hervé tell you the story of Kerfol? An ancestor of his was mixed + up in it. You know every Breton house has its ghost-story; and some of + them are rather unpleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but those dogs?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, those dogs are the ghosts of Kerfol. At least, the peasants say + there’s one day in the year when a lot of dogs appear there; and that day + the keeper and his daughter go off to Morlaix and get drunk. The women in + Brittany drink dreadfully.” She stooped to match a silk; then she lifted + her charming inquisitive Parisian face. “Did you <i>really</i> see a lot + of dogs? There isn’t one at Kerfol.” she said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Lanrivain, the next day, hunted out a shabby calf volume from the back of + an upper shelf of his library. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—here it is. What does it call itself? <i>A History of the + Assizes of the Duchy of Brittany. Quimper, 1702</i>. The book was written + about a hundred years later than the Kerfol affair; but I believe the + account is transcribed pretty literally from the judicial records. Anyhow, + it’s queer reading. And there’s a Hervé de Lanrivain mixed up in it—not + exactly <i>my</i> style, as you’ll see. But then he’s only a collateral. + Here, take the book up to bed with you. I don’t exactly remember the + details; but after you’ve read it I’ll bet anything you’ll leave your + light burning all night!” + </p> + <p> + I left my light burning all night, as he had predicted; but it was chiefly + because, till near dawn, I was absorbed in my reading. The account of the + trial of Anne de Cornault, wife of the lord of Kerfol, was long and + closely printed. It was, as my friend had said, probably an almost literal + transcription of what took place in the court-room; and the trial lasted + nearly a month. Besides, the type of the book was very bad.... + </p> + <p> + At first I thought of translating the old record. But it is full of + wearisome repetitions, and the main lines of the story are forever + straying off into side issues. So I have tried to disentangle it, and give + it here in a simpler form. At times, however, I have reverted to the text + because no other words could have conveyed so exactly the sense of what I + felt at Kerfol; and nowhere have I added anything of my own. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + It was in the year 16— that Yves de Cornault, lord of the domain of + Kerfol, went to the <i>pardon</i> of Locronan to perform his religious + duties. He was a rich and powerful noble, then in his sixty-second year, + but hale and sturdy, a great horseman and hunter and a pious man. So all + his neighbours attested. In appearance he was short and broad, with a + swarthy face, legs slightly bowed from the saddle, a hanging nose and + broad hands with black hairs on them. He had married young and lost his + wife and son soon after, and since then had lived alone at Kerfol. Twice a + year he went to Morlaix, where he had a handsome house by the river, and + spent a week or ten days there; and occasionally he rode to Rennes on + business. Witnesses were found to declare that during these absences he + led a life different from the one he was known to lead at Kerfol, where he + busied himself with his estate, attended mass daily, and found his only + amusement in hunting the wild boar and water-fowl. But these rumours are + not particularly relevant, and it is certain that among people of his own + class in the neighbourhood he passed for a stern and even austere man, + observant of his religious obligations, and keeping strictly to himself. + There was no talk of any familiarity with the women on his estate, though + at that time the nobility were very free with their peasants. Some people + said he had never looked at a woman since his wife’s death; but such + things are hard to prove, and the evidence on this point was not worth + much. + </p> + <p> + Well, in his sixty-second year, Yves de Cornault went to the <i>pardon</i> + at Locronan, and saw there a young lady of Douarnenez, who had ridden over + pillion behind her father to do her duty to the saint. Her name was Anne + de Barrigan, and she came of good old Breton stock, but much less great + and powerful than that of Yves de Cornault; and her father had squandered + his fortune at cards, and lived almost like a peasant in his little + granite manor on the moors.... I have said I would add nothing of my own + to this bald statement of a strange case; but I must interrupt myself here + to describe the young lady who rode up to the lych-gate of Locronan at the + very moment when the Baron de Cornault was also dismounting there. I take + my description from a faded drawing in red crayon, sober and truthful + enough to be by a late pupil of the Clouets, which hangs in Lanrivain’s + study, and is said to be a portrait of Anne de Barrigan. It is unsigned + and has no mark of identity but the initials A. B., and the date 16—, + the year after her marriage. It represents a young woman with a small oval + face, almost pointed, yet wide enough for a full mouth with a tender + depression at the corners. The nose is small, and the eyebrows are set + rather high, far apart, and as lightly pencilled as the eyebrows in a + Chinese painting. The forehead is high and serious, and the hair, which + one feels to be fine and thick and fair, is drawn off it and lies close + like a cap. The eyes are neither large nor small, hazel probably, with a + look at once shy and steady. A pair of beautiful long hands are crossed + below the lady’s breast.... + </p> + <p> + The chaplain of Kerfol, and other witnesses, averred that when the Baron + came back from Locronan he jumped from his horse, ordered another to be + instantly saddled, called to a young page to come with him, and rode away + that same evening to the south. His steward followed the next morning with + coffers laden on a pair of pack mules. The following week Yves de Cornault + rode back to Kerfol, sent for his vassals and tenants, and told them he + was to be married at All Saints to Anne de Barrigan of Douarnenez. And on + All Saints’ Day the marriage took place. + </p> + <p> + As to the next few years, the evidence on both sides seems to show that + they passed happily for the couple. No one was found to say that Yves de + Cornault had been unkind to his wife, and it was plain to all that he was + content with his bargain. Indeed, it was admitted by the chaplain and + other witnesses for the prosecution that the young lady had a softening + influence on her husband, and that he became less exacting with his + tenants, less harsh to peasants and dependents, and less subject to the + fits of gloomy silence which had darkened his widowhood. As to his wife, + the only grievance her champions could call up in her behalf was that + Kerfol was a lonely place, and that when her husband was away on business + at Bennes or Morlaix—whither she was never taken—she was not + allowed so much as to walk in the park unaccompanied. But no one asserted + that she was unhappy, though one servant-woman said she had surprised her + crying, and had heard her say that she was a woman accursed to have no + child, and nothing in life to call her own. But that was a natural enough + feeling in a wife attached to her husband; and certainly it must have been + a great grief to Yves de Cornault that she bore no son. Yet he never made + her feel her childlessness as a reproach—she admits this in her + evidence—but seemed to try to make her forget it by showering gifts + and favours on her. Rich though he was, he had never been openhanded; but + nothing was too fine for his wife, in the way of silks or gems or linen, + or whatever else she fancied. Every wandering merchant was welcome at + Kerfol, and when the master was called away he never came back without + bringing his wife a handsome present—something curious and + particular—from Morlaix or Rennes or Quimper. One of the + waiting-women gave, in cross-examination, an interesting list of one + year’s gifts, which I copy. From Morlaix, a carved ivory junk, with + Chinamen at the oars, that a strange sailor had brought back as a votive + offering for Notre Dame de la Clarté, above Ploumanac’h; from Quimper, an + embroidered gown, worked by the nuns of the Assumption; from Rennes, a + silver rose that opened and showed an amber Virgin with a crown of + garnets; from Morlaix, again, a length of Damascus velvet shot with gold, + bought of a Jew from Syria; and for Michaelmas that same year, from + Rennes, a necklet or bracelet of round stones—emeralds and pearls + and rubies—strung like beads on a fine gold chain. This was the + present that pleased the lady best, the woman said. Later on, as it + happened, it was produced at the trial, and appears to have struck the + Judges and the public as a curious and valuable jewel. + </p> + <p> + The very same winter, the Baron absented himself again, this time as far + as Bordeaux, and on his return he brought his wife something even odder + and prettier than the bracelet. It was a winter evening when he rode up to + Kerfol and, walking into the hall, found her sitting by the hearth, her + chin on her hand, looking into the fire. He carried a velvet box in his + hand and, setting it down, lifted the lid and let out a little + golden-brown dog. + </p> + <p> + Anne de Cornault exclaimed with pleasure as the little creature bounded + toward her. “Oh, it looks like a bird or a butterfly!” she cried as she + picked it up; and the dog put its paws on her shoulders and looked at her + with eyes “like a Christian’s.” After that she would never have it out of + her sight, and petted and talked to it as if it had been a child—as + indeed it was the nearest thing to a child she was to know. Yves de + Cornault was much pleased with his purchase. The dog had been brought to + him by a sailor from an East India merchantman, and the sailor had bought + it of a pilgrim in a bazaar at Jaffa, who had stolen it from a nobleman’s + wife in China: a perfectly permissible thing to do, since the pilgrim was + a Christian and the nobleman a heathen doomed to hell-fire. + </p> + <p> + Yves de Cornault had paid a long price for the dog, for they were + beginning to be in demand at the French court, and the sailor knew he had + got hold of a good thing; but Anne’s pleasure was so great that, to see + her laugh and play with the little animal, her husband would doubtless + have given twice the sum. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + So far, all the evidence is at one, and the narrative plain sailing; but + now the steering becomes difficult. I will try to keep as nearly as + possible to Anne’s own statements; though toward the end, poor thing.... + </p> + <p> + Well, to go back. The very year after the little brown dog was brought to + Kerfol, Yves de Cornault, one winter night, was found dead at the head of + a narrow flight of stairs leading down from his wife’s rooms to a door + opening on the court. It was his wife who found him and gave the alarm, so + distracted, poor wretch, with fear and horror—for his blood was all + over her—that at first the roused household could not make out what + she was saying, and thought she had suddenly gone mad. But there, sure + enough, at the top of the stairs lay her husband, stone dead, and head + foremost, the blood from his wounds dripping down to the steps below him. + He had been dreadfully scratched and gashed about the face and throat, as + if with curious pointed weapons; and one of his legs had a deep tear in it + which had cut an artery, and probably caused his death. But how did he + come there, and who had murdered him? + </p> + <p> + His wife declared that she had been asleep in her bed, and hearing his cry + had rushed out to find him lying on the stairs; but this was immediately + questioned. In the first place, it was proved that from her room she could + not have heard the struggle on the stairs, owing to the thickness of the + walls and the length of the intervening passage; then it was evident that + she had not been in bed and asleep, since she was dressed when she roused + the house, and her bed had not been slept in. Moreover, the door at the + bottom of the stairs was ajar, and it was noticed by the chaplain (an + observant man) that the dress she wore was stained with blood about the + knees, and that there were traces of small blood-stained hands low down on + the staircase walls, so that it was conjectured that she had really been + at the postern-door when her husband fell and, feeling her way up to him + in the darkness on her hands and knees, had been stained by his blood + dripping down on her. Of course it was argued on the other side that the + blood-marks on her dress might have been caused by her kneeling down by + her husband when she rushed out of her room; but there was the open door + below, and the fact that the finger-marks in the staircase all pointed + upward. + </p> + <p> + The accused held to her statement for the first two days, in spite of its + improbability; but on the third day word was brought to her that Hervé de + Lanrivain, a young nobleman of the neighbourhood, had been arrested for + complicity in the crime. Two or three witnesses thereupon came forward to + say that it was known throughout the country that Lanrivain had formerly + been on good terms with the lady of Cornault; but that he had been absent + from Brittany for over a year, and people had ceased to associate their + names. The witnesses who made this statement were not of a very reputable + sort. One was an old herb-gatherer suspected of witchcraft, another a + drunken clerk from a neighbouring parish, the third a half-witted shepherd + who could be made to say anything; and it was clear that the prosecution + was not satisfied with its case, and would have liked to find more + definite proof of Lanrivain’s complicity than the statement of the + herb-gatherer, who swore to having seen him climbing the wall of the park + on the night of the murder. One way of patching out incomplete proofs in + those days was to put some sort of pressure, moral or physical, on the + accused person. It is not clear what pressure was put on Anne de Cornault; + but on the third day, when she was brought in court, she “appeared weak + and wandering,” and after being encouraged to collect herself and speak + the truth, on her honour and the wounds of her Blessed Redeemer, she + confessed that she had in fact gone down the stairs to speak with Hervé de + Lanrivain (who denied everything), and had been surprised there by the + sound of her husband’s fall. That was better; and the prosecution rubbed + its hands with satisfaction. The satisfaction increased when various + dependents living at Kerfol were induced to say—with apparent + sincerity—that during the year or two preceding his death their + master had once more grown uncertain and irascible, and subject to the + fits of brooding silence which his household had learned to dread before + his second marriage. This seemed to show that things had not been going + well at Kerfol; though no one could be found to say that there had been + any signs of open disagreement between husband and wife. + </p> + <p> + Anne de Cornault, when questioned as to her reason for going down at night + to open the door to Hervé de Lanrivain, made an answer which must have + sent a smile around the court. She said it was because she was lonely and + wanted to talk with the young man. Was this the only reason? she was + asked; and replied: “Yes, by the Cross over your Lordships’ heads.” “But + why at midnight?” the court asked. “Because I could see him in no other + way.” I can see the exchange of glances across the ermine collars under + the Crucifix. + </p> + <p> + Anne de Cornault, further questioned, said that her married life had been + extremely lonely: “desolate” was the word she used. It was true that her + husband seldom spoke harshly to her; but there were days when he did not + speak at all. It was true that he had never struck or threatened her; but + he kept her like a prisoner at Kerfol, and when he rode away to Morlaix or + Quimper or Rennes he set so close a watch on her that she could not pick a + flower in the garden without having a waiting-woman at her heels. “I am no + Queen, to need such honours,” she once said to him; and he had answered + that a man who has a treasure does not leave the key in the lock when he + goes out. “Then take me with you,” she urged; but to this he said that + towns were pernicious places, and young wives better off at their own + firesides. + </p> + <p> + “But what did you want to say to Hervé de Lanrivain?” the court asked; and + she answered: “To ask him to take me away.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—you confess that you went down to him with adulterous thoughts?” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you want him to take you away?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I was afraid for my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Of whom were you afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Of my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Why were you afraid of your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he had strangled my little dog.” + </p> + <p> + Another smile must have passed around the courtroom: in days when any + nobleman had a right to hang his peasants—and most of them exercised + it—pinching a pet animal’s wind-pipe was nothing to make a fuss + about. + </p> + <p> + At this point one of the Judges, who appears to have had a certain + sympathy for the accused, suggested that she should be allowed to explain + herself in her own way; and she thereupon made the following statement. + </p> + <p> + The first years of her marriage had been lonely; but her husband had not + been unkind to her. If she had had a child she would not have been + unhappy; but the days were long, and it rained too much. + </p> + <p> + It was true that her husband, whenever he went away and left her, brought + her a handsome present on his return; but this did not make up for the + loneliness. At least nothing had, till he brought her the little brown dog + from the East: after that she was much less unhappy. Her husband seemed + pleased that she was so fond of the dog; he gave her leave to put her + jewelled bracelet around its neck, and to keep it always with her. + </p> + <p> + One day she had fallen asleep in her room, with the dog at her feet, as + his habit was. Her feet were bare and resting on his back. Suddenly she + was waked by her husband: he stood beside her, smiling not unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “You look like my great-grandmother, Juliane de Cornault, lying in the + chapel with her feet on a little dog,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The analogy sent a chill through her, but she laughed and answered: “Well, + when I am dead you must put me beside her, carved in marble, with my dog + at my feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho—we’ll wait and see,” he said, laughing also, but with his black + brows close together. “The dog is the emblem of fidelity.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you doubt my right to lie with mine at my feet?” + </p> + <p> + “When I’m in doubt I find out,” he answered. “I am an old man,” he added, + “and people say I make you lead a lonely life. But I swear you shall have + your monument if you earn it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I swear to be faithful,” she returned, “if only for the sake of + having my little dog at my feet.” + </p> + <p> + Not long afterward he went on business to the Quimper Assizes; and while + he was away his aunt, the widow of a great nobleman of the duchy, came to + spend a night at Kerfol on her way to the <i>pardon</i> of Ste. Barbe. She + was a woman of piety and consequence, and much respected by Yves de + Cornault, and when she proposed to Anne to go with her to Ste. Barbe no + one could object, and even the chaplain declared himself in favour of the + pilgrimage. So Anne set out for Ste. Barbe, and there for the first time + she talked with Hervé de Lanrivain. He had come once or twice to Kerfol + with his father, but she had never before exchanged a dozen words with + him. They did not talk for more than five minutes now: it was under the + chestnuts, as the procession was coming out of the chapel. He said: “I + pity you,” and she was surprised, for she had not supposed that any one + thought her an object of pity. He added: “Call for me when you need me,” + and she smiled a little, but was glad afterward, and thought often of the + meeting. + </p> + <p> + She confessed to having seen him three times afterward: not more. How or + where she would not say—one had the impression that she feared to + implicate some one. Their meetings had been rare and brief; and at the + last he had told her that he was starting the next day for a foreign + country, on a mission which was not without peril and might keep him for + many months absent. He asked her for a remembrance, and she had none to + give him but the collar about the little dog’s neck. She was sorry + afterward that she had given it, but he was so unhappy at going that she + had not had the courage to refuse. + </p> + <p> + Her husband was away at the time. When he returned a few days later he + picked up the animal to pet it, and noticed that its collar was missing. + His wife told him that the dog had lost it in the undergrowth of the park, + and that she and her maids had hunted a whole day for it. It was true, she + explained to the court, that she had made the maids search for the necklet—they + all believed the dog had lost it in the park.... + </p> + <p> + Her husband made no comment, and that evening at supper he was in his + usual mood, between good and bad: you could never tell which. He talked a + good deal, describing what he had seen and done at Rennes; but now and + then he stopped and looked hard at her, and when she went to bed she found + her little dog strangled on her pillow. The little thing was dead, but + still warm; she stooped to lift it, and her distress turned to horror when + she discovered that it had been strangled by twisting twice round its + throat the necklet she had given to Lanrivain. + </p> + <p> + The next morning at dawn she buried the dog in the garden, and hid the + necklet in her breast. She said nothing to her husband, then or later, and + he said nothing to her; but that day he had a peasant hanged for stealing + a faggot in the park, and the next day he nearly beat to death a young + horse he was breaking. + </p> + <p> + Winter set in, and the short days passed, and the long nights, one by one; + and she heard nothing of Hervé de Lanrivain. It might be that her husband + had killed him; or merely that he had been robbed of the necklet. Day + after day by the hearth among the spinning maids, night after night alone + on her bed, she wondered and trembled. Sometimes at table her husband + looked across at her and smiled; and then she felt sure that Lanrivain was + dead. She dared not try to get news of him, for she was sure her husband + would find out if she did: she had an idea that he could find out + anything. Even when a witchwoman who was a noted seer, and could show you + the whole world in her crystal, came to the castle for a night’s shelter, + and the maids flocked to her, Anne held back. + </p> + <p> + The winter was long and black and rainy. One day, in Yves de Cornault’s + absence, some gypsies came to Kerfol with a troop of performing dogs. Anne + bought the smallest and cleverest, a white dog with a feathery coat and + one blue and one brown eye. It seemed to have been ill-treated by the + gypsies, and clung to her plaintively when she took it from them. That + evening her husband came back, and when she went to bed she found the dog + strangled on her pillow. + </p> + <p> + After that she said to herself that she would never have another dog; but + one bitter cold evening a poor lean greyhound was found whining at the + castle-gate, and she took him in and forbade the maids to speak of him to + her husband. She hid him in a room that no one went to, smuggled food to + him from her own plate, made him a warm bed to lie on and petted him like + a child. + </p> + <p> + Yves de Cornault came home, and the next day she found the greyhound + strangled on her pillow. She wept in secret, but said nothing, and + resolved that even if she met a dog dying of hunger she would never bring + him into the castle; but one day she found a young sheepdog, a brindled + puppy with good blue eyes, lying with a broken leg in the snow of the + park. Yves de Cornault was at Bennes, and she brought the dog in, warmed + and fed it, tied up its leg and hid it in the castle till her husband’s + return. The day before, she gave it to a peasant woman who lived a long + way off, and paid her handsomely to care for it and say nothing; but that + night she heard a whining and scratching at her door, and when she opened + it the lame puppy, drenched and shivering, jumped up on her with little + sobbing barks. She hid him in her bed, and the next morning was about to + have him taken back to the peasant woman when she heard her husband ride + into the court. She shut the dog in a chest, and went down to receive him. + An hour or two later, when she returned to her room, the puppy lay + strangled on her pillow.... + </p> + <p> + After that she dared not make a pet of any other dog; and her loneliness + became almost unendurable. Sometimes, when she crossed the court of the + castle, and thought no one was looking, she stopped to pat the old pointer + at the gate. But one day as she was caressing him her husband came out of + the chapel; and the next day the old dog was gone.... + </p> + <p> + This curious narrative was not told in one sitting of the court, or + received without impatience and incredulous comment. It was plain that the + Judges were surprised by its puerility, and that it did not help the + accused in the eyes of the public. It was an odd tale, certainly; but what + did it prove? That Yves de Cornault disliked dogs, and that his wife, to + gratify her own fancy, persistently ignored this dislike. As for pleading + this trivial disagreement as an excuse for her relations—whatever + their nature—with her supposed accomplice, the argument was so + absurd that her own lawyer manifestly regretted having let her make use of + it, and tried several times to cut short her story. But she went on to the + end, with a kind of hypnotized insistence, as though the scenes she evoked + were so real to her that she had forgotten where she was and imagined + herself to be re-living them. + </p> + <p> + At length the Judge who had previously shown a certain kindness to her + said (leaning forward a little, one may suppose, from his row of dozing + colleagues): “Then you would have us believe that you murdered your + husband because he would not let you keep a pet dog?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not murder my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Who did, then? Hervé de Lanrivain?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Who then? Can you tell us?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can tell you. The dogs—” At that point she was carried out + of the court in a swoon. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It was evident that her lawyer tried to get her to abandon this line of + defense. Possibly her explanation, whatever it was, had seemed convincing + when she poured it out to him in the heat of their first private colloquy; + but now that it was exposed to the cold daylight of judicial scrutiny, and + the banter of the town, he was thoroughly ashamed of it, and would have + sacrificed her without a scruple to save his professional reputation. But + the obstinate Judge—who perhaps, after all, was more inquisitive + than kindly—evidently wanted to hear the story out, and she was + ordered, the next day, to continue her deposition. + </p> + <p> + She said that after the disappearance of the old watchdog nothing + particular happened for a month or two. Her husband was much as usual: she + did not remember any special incident. But one evening a pedlar woman came + to the castle and was selling trinkets to the maids. She had no heart for + trinkets, but she stood looking on while the women made their choice. And + then, she did not know how, but the pedlar coaxed her into buying for + herself a pear-shaped pomander with a strong scent in it—she had + once seen something of the kind on a gypsy woman. She had no desire for + the pomander, and did not know why she had bought it. The pedlar said that + whoever wore it had the power to read the future; but she did not really + believe that, or care much either. However, she bought the thing and took + it up to her room, where she sat turning it about in her hand. Then the + strange scent attracted her and she began to wonder what kind of spice was + in the box. She opened it and found a grey bean rolled in a strip of + paper; and on the paper she saw a sign she knew, and a message from Hervé + de Lanrivain, saying that he was at home again and would be at the door in + the court that night after the moon had set.... + </p> + <p> + She burned the paper and sat down to think. It was nightfall, and her + husband was at home.... She had no way of warning Lanrivain, and there was + nothing to do but to wait.... + </p> + <p> + At this point I fancy the drowsy court-room beginning to wake up. Even to + the oldest hand on the bench there must have been a certain relish in + picturing the feelings of a woman on receiving such a message at nightfall + from a man living twenty miles away, to whom she had no means of sending a + warning.... + </p> + <p> + She was not a clever woman, I imagine; and as the first result of her + cogitation she appears to have made the mistake of being, that evening, + too kind to her husband. She could not ply him with wine, according to the + traditional expedient, for though he drank heavily at times he had a + strong head; and when he drank beyond its strength it was because he chose + to, and not because a woman coaxed him. Not his wife, at any rate—she + was an old story by now. As I read the case, I fancy there was no feeling + for her left in him but the hatred occasioned by his supposed dishonour. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, she tried to call up her old graces; but early in the evening + he complained of pains and fever, and left the hall to go up to the closet + where he sometimes slept. His servant carried him a cup of hot wine, and + brought back word that he was sleeping and not to be disturbed; and an + hour later, when Anne lifted the tapestry and listened at his door, she + heard his loud regular breathing. She thought it might be a feint, and + stayed a long time barefooted in the passage, her ear to the crack; but + the breathing went on too steadily and naturally to be other than that of + a man in a sound sleep. She crept back to her room reassured, and stood in + the window watching the moon set through the trees of the park. The sky + was misty and starless, and after the moon went down the night was black + as pitch. She knew the time had come, and stole along the passage, past + her husband’s door—where she stopped again to listen to his + breathing—to the top of the stairs. There she paused a moment, and + assured herself that no one was following her; then she began to go down + the stairs in the darkness. They were so steep and winding that she had to + go very slowly, for fear of stumbling. Her one thought was to get the door + unbolted, tell Lanrivain to make his escape, and hasten back to her room. + She had tried the bolt earlier in the evening, and managed to put a little + grease on it; but nevertheless, when she drew it, it gave a squeak... not + loud, but it made her heart stop; and the next minute, overhead, she heard + a noise.... + </p> + <p> + “What noise?” the prosecution interposed. + </p> + <p> + “My husband’s voice calling out my name and cursing me.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you hear after that?” + </p> + <p> + “A terrible scream and a fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was Hervé de Lanrivain at this time?” + </p> + <p> + “He was standing outside in the court. I just made him out in the + darkness. I told him for God’s sake to go, and then I pushed the door + shut.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do next?” + </p> + <p> + “I stood at the foot of the stairs and listened.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard dogs snarling and panting.” (Visible discouragement of the bench, + boredom of the public, and exasperation of the lawyer for the defense. + Dogs again—! But the inquisitive Judge insisted.) + </p> + <p> + “What dogs?” + </p> + <p> + She bent her head and spoke so low that she had to be told to repeat her + answer: “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean—you don’t know?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what dogs....” + </p> + <p> + The Judge again intervened: “Try to tell us exactly what happened. How + long did you remain at the foot of the stairs?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was going on meanwhile overhead?” + </p> + <p> + “The dogs kept on snarling and panting. Once or twice he cried out. I + think he moaned once. Then he was quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I heard a sound like the noise of a pack when the wolf is thrown to + them—gulping and lapping.” + </p> + <p> + (There was a groan of disgust and repulsion through the court, and another + attempted intervention by the distracted lawyer. But the inquisitive Judge + was still inquisitive.) + </p> + <p> + “And all the while you did not go up?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I went up then—to drive them off.” + </p> + <p> + “The dogs?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—?” + </p> + <p> + “When I got there it was quite dark. I found my husband’s flint and steel + and struck a spark. I saw him lying there. He was dead.” + </p> + <p> + “And the dogs?” + </p> + <p> + “The dogs were gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone—whereto?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. There was no way out—and there were no dogs at + Kerfol.” + </p> + <p> + She straightened herself to her full height, threw her arms above her + head, and fell down on the stone floor with a long scream. There was a + moment of confusion in the court-room. Some one on the bench was heard to + say: “This is clearly a case for the ecclesiastical authorities”—and + the prisoner’s lawyer doubtless jumped at the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + After this, the trial loses itself in a maze of cross-questioning and + squabbling. Every witness who was called corroborated Anne de Cornault’s + statement that there were no dogs at Kerfol: had been none for several + months. The master of the house had taken a dislike to dogs, there was no + denying it But, on the other hand, at the inquest, there had been long and + bitter discussions as to the nature of the dead man’s wounds. One of the + surgeons called in had spoken of marks that looked like bites. The + suggestion of witchcraft was revived, and the opposing lawyers hurled + tomes of necromancy at each other. + </p> + <p> + At last Anne de Cornault was brought back into court—at the instance + of the same Judge—and asked if she knew where the dogs she spoke of + could have come from. On the body of her Redeemer she swore that she did + not. Then the Judge put his final question: “If the dogs you think you + heard had been known to you, do you think you would have recognized them + by their barking?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you recognize them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What dogs do you take them to have been?” + </p> + <p> + “My dead dogs,” she said in a whisper.... She was taken out of court, not + to reappear there again. There was some kind of ecclesiastical + investigation, and the end of the business was that the Judges disagreed + with each other, and with the ecclesiastical committee, and that + </p> + <p> + Anne de Cornault was finally handed over to the keeping of her husband’s + family, who shut her up in the keep of Kerfol, where she is said to have + died many years later, a harmless mad-woman. + </p> + <p> + So ends her story. As for that of Hervé de Lanrivain, I had only to apply + to his collateral descendant for its subsequent details. The evidence + against the young man being insufficient, and his family influence in the + duchy considerable, he was set free, and left soon afterward for Paris. He + was probably in no mood for a worldly life, and he appears to have come + almost immediately under the influence of the famous M. Arnauld d’Andilly + and the gentlemen of Port Royal. A year or two later he was received into + their Order, and without achieving any particular distinction he followed + its good and evil fortunes till his death some twenty years later. + Lanrivain showed me a portrait of him by a pupil of Philippe de + Champaigne: sad eyes, an impulsive mouth and a narrow brow. Poor Hervé de + Lanrivain: it was a grey ending. Yet as I looked at his stiff and sallow + effigy, in the dark dress of the Janséniste, I almost found myself envying + his fate. After all, in the course of his life two great things had + happened to him: he had loved romantically, and he must have talked with + Pascal.... + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Kerfol, by Edith Wharton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KERFOL *** + +***** This file should be named 24350-h.htm or 24350-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/3/5/24350/ + +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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