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diff --git a/25406-8.txt b/25406-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a60c44 --- /dev/null +++ b/25406-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1273 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Marguerite, by Anatole France + +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: Marguerite + 1921 + +Author: Anatole France + +Illustrator: Simeon + +Translator: J. Lewis May + +Release Date: May 9, 2008 [EBook #25406] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARGUERITE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + + + + +MARGUERITE + +By Anatole France + +Translated From The French By J. Lewis May + +With Twenty-Nine Original Woodcuts By Simeon + +London, John Lane Company, MCMXXI + + +[Illustration: titlepage 010] + + + + +PREFATORY LETTER + +Publish Marguerite, dear Monsieur André Coq, if you so desire, but pray +relieve me from all responsibility in the matter. + +It would argue too much literary conceit on my part were I anxious to +restore it to the light of day. It would argue, perhaps, still more did +I endeavour to keep it in obscurity. You will not succeed in wresting it +for long from the eternal oblivion where-unto it is destined. Ay me, how +old it is! I had lost all recollection of it. I have just read it over, +without fear or favour, as I should a work unknown to me, and it does +not seem to me that I have lighted upon a masterpiece. It would ill +beseem me to say more about it than that. My only pleasure as I read it +was derived from the proof it afforded that, even in those far-off days, +when I was writing this little trifle, I was no great lover of the Third +Republic with its pinchbeck virtues, its militarist imperialism, its +ideas of conquest, its love of money, its contempt for the handicrafts, +its unswerving predilection for the unlovely. Its leaders caused me +terrible misgivings. And the event has surpassed my apprehensions. + +But it was not in my calculations to make myself a laughing-stock, by +taking Marguerite as a text for generalizations on French politics of +the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. + +The specimens of type and the woodcuts you have shown me promise a very +comely little book. + +Believe me, dear Monsieur Coq, + +Yours sincerely, + +Anatole France. + +La Béchellerie, 16th April, 1920. + + + + +MARGUERITE + +[Illustration: 018] + + + + +5th July + +As I left the Palais-Bourbon at five o'clock that afternoon, it rejoiced +my heart to breathe in the sunny air. The sky was bland, the river +gleamed, the foliage was fresh and green. Everything seemed to whisper +an invitation to idleness. Along the Pont de la Concorde, in the +direction of the Champs-Elysées, victorias and landaus kept rolling by. +In the shadow of the lowered carriage-hoods, women's faces gleamed clear +and radiant and I felt a thrill of pleasure as I watched them flash by +like hopes vanishing and reappearing in endless succession. Every woman +as she passed by left me with an impression of light and perfume. +I think a man, if he is wise, will not ask much more than that of a +beautiful woman. A gleam and a perfume! Many a love-affair leaves even +less behind it. Moreover, that day, if Fortune herself had run with her +wheel a-spinning before my very nose along the pavement of the Pont +de la Concorde, I should not have so much as stretched forth an arm to +pluck her by her golden hair. I lacked nothing that day; all was mine. +It was five o'clock and I was free till dinner-time. Yes, free! Free +to saunter at will, to breathe at my ease for two hours, to look on at +things and not have to talk, to let my thoughts wander as I listed. All +was mine, I say again. My happiness was making me a selfish man. I +gazed at everything about me as though it were all a picture, a splendid +moving pageant, arranged for my own particular delectation. It seemed +to me as though the sun were shining for me alone, as though it were +pouring down its torrents of flame upon the river for my special +gratification. I somehow thought that all this motley throng was +swarming gaily around me for the sole purpose of animating, without +destroying, my solitude. And so I almost got the notion that the +people about me were quite small, that their apparent size was only an +illusion, that they were but puppets; the sort of thoughts a man has +when he has nothing to think about. But you must not be angry on that +score with a poor man who has had his head crammed chock-full for ten +years on end with politics and law making and is wearing away his life +with those trivial preoccupations men call affairs of state. + +In the popular imagination, a law is something abstract, without form or +colour. For me a law is a green baize table, sealing-wax, paper, pens, +ink-stains, green-shaded candles, books bound in calf, papers yet damp +from the printer's and all smelling of printer's ink, conversations +in green papered offices, files, bundles of documents, a stuffy smell, +speeches, newspapers; a law, in short, is all the hundred and one +things, the hundred and one tasks you have to fulfil at all hours, the +grey and gentle hours of the morning, the white hours of middle day, the +purple hours of evening, the silent, meditative hours of night; +tasks which leave you no soul to call your own and rob you of the +consciousness of your own identity. + +Yes, it is so. I have left my own _ego_ behind me there. It is scattered +up and down among all sorts of memoranda and reports. Industrious junior +clerks have put away a parcel of it in each one of their beautiful green +filing cases. And so I have had to go on living without my _ego_, +which, moreover, is how all politicians have to live. But an _ego_ is a +strangely subtle thing. And wonder of wonders! mine came back to me just +now on the Pont de la Concorde. 'Twas he without a doubt and, would +you believe it, he had not suffered so very much from his sojourn among +those musty papers. The very moment he arrived I found myself again, I +recognized my own existence, whereof I had not been conscious these +ten years. "Ha ha!" said I to myself, "since I exist, I am just as well +pleased to know it. Behold I will set forth here and now to improve this +new acquaintance by strolling, with a lover's thoughts in my heart, down +the Champs-Elysées." + +And this is why I am here, at this hour, beneath the sculptured +steeds of Marly, more high-spirited than those aristocratic quadrupeds +themselves; this is why I am setting foot in the avenue whose entrance +is marked by their hoofs of stone perpetually poised in air. The +carriages flow past endlessly, like a sombre scintillating stream of +lava or molten asphalt, whereon the hats of the women seem borne along +like so many flowers, and like everything else one sees in Paris, at +once extravagant and pretty. I light up a cigar and looking at nothing, +behold everything. So intense is my joy that it scares me. It is the +first cigar I have smoked for ten years. Oh yes, I grant I have begun +as many as ten a day in my room; but those I scorched, bit, chewed and +threw away; I never smoked them. This one I am really and truly smoking +and the smoke it exhales is a cloud of poesy spreading grace and charm +about it. What an interest I take in all I see. These little shops, +which display at regular intervals their motley assortment of wares, +fill me with delight. Here especially is one which I cannot forbear +stopping to look at. What I chiefly delight to contemplate there is a +decanter with lemonade in it. The decanter reflects in miniature on its +polished sides the trees around it and the women that pass by and the +skies. It has a lemon on the top of it which gives it a sort of oriental +air. However, it is not its shape nor its colour that is the attraction +in my eyes; I cannot keep my gaze from it because it reminds me of +my childhood. At the sight of it, innumerable delightful scenes come +thronging into my memory. Once again do I behold those shining hours, +those hours divine of early childhood. Ah, what would I not give to be +again the little boy of those days and to drink once more a glass of +that precious liquid! + +[Illustration: 024] + +In that little shop, I find once more, besides the lemonade and the +gooseberry syrup, all those divers things wherein my childhood took +delight. Here be whips, trumpets, swords, guns, cartridge-pouches, +belts, scabbards, sabretaches, all those magic toys which, from five +to nine years old, made me feel that I was fulfilling the destiny of +a Napoleon. I played that mighty rôle, in my tenpenny soldier's kit, +I played it from start to finish, bating only Waterloo and the years of +exile. For, mark you, I was always the victor. Here, too, are coloured +prints from Épinal. It was on them that I began to spell out those signs +which to the learned reveal a few faint traces of the Mighty Riddle. +Yes, the sorriest little coloured daub that ever came out of a village +in the Vosges consists of print and pictures, and what is the sum and +substance of Science after all but just pictures and print? + +From those Épinal prints I learned things far finer and more useful +than anything I ever got from the little grammar and history books my +schoolmasters gave me to pore over. Épinal prints, you see, are stories, +and stories are mirrors of destiny. Blessed is the child that is brought +up on fairy-tales. His riper years should prove rich in wisdom and +imagination. And see! here is my own favourite story _The Blue Bird_. I +know him by his outspread tail. 'Tis he right enough. It is as much as +I can do to prevent myself flinging my arms round the old shop-woman's +neck and kissing her flabby cheeks. The Blue Bird, ah me, what a debt +I owe him! If I have ever wrought any good in my life, it is all due to +him. Whenever we were drafting a Bill with our Chief, the memory of +the Blue Bird would steal into my mind amid the heaps of legal and +parliamentary documents by which I was hemmed in. I used to reflect +then that the human soul contained infinite desires, unimaginable +metamorphoses and hallowed sorrows, and if, under the spell of such +thoughts, I gave to the clause I chanced to be engaged upon an ampler, a +humaner sense, an added respect for the soul and its rights, and for +the universal order of things, that clause would never fail to encounter +vigorous opposition in the Chamber. The counsels of the Blue Bird seldom +prevailed in the committee stage. Howbeit some did manage to get through +Parliament. + +I now perceive that I am not the only one inspecting the little stall: +a little girl has come to a halt in front of the brilliant display. I +am looking at her from behind. Her long, bright hair comes tumbling in +cascades from under her red velvet hood and spreads out on her broad +lace collar and on her dress, which is the same colour as her hood. +Impossible to say what is the colour of her hair (there is no colour so +beautiful) but one can describe the lights in it; they are bright and +pure and changing, fair as the sun's rays, pale as a beam of starlight. +Nay, more than that, they shine, yes; but they flow also. They possess +the splendour of light, and the charm of pleasant waters. Methinks that, +were I a poet, I should write as many sonnets on those tresses as M. +José Maria de Heredia composed concerning the Conquerors of Castille +d'Or. They would not be so fine, but they would be sweeter. The child, +so far as I can judge, is between four and five years old. All I can see +of her face is the tip of her ear, daintier than the daintiest jewel, +and the innocent curve of her cheek. She does not stir; she is holding +her hoop in her left hand; her right is at her lips as though she were +biting her nails in her eager contemplation. What is it she is gazing +at so longingly? The shop contains other things besides the arms and the +gear of fighting men. Balls and skipping ropes are suspended from the +awning. On the stall are baby dolls with bodies made of grey cardboard, +smiling after the manner of idols, monstrous and serene as they. Little +six-penny dolls, dressed like servant girls, stretch out their arms, +little stumpy arms so flimsy that the least breath of air sets them +a-tremble. But the little maid whose hair is made of liquid light, has +no eyes for these dolls and puppets. Her whole soul hangs upon the lips +of a beautiful baby doll that seems to be calling her his mummy. He +is hitched on to one of the poles of the booth all by himself. He +dominates, he effaces everything else. Once you have beheld him, you see +naught else save him. + +Bolt upright in his warm wraps, a little swansdown tucker under his +chin, he is stretching out his little chubby arms for some one to take +him. He speaks straight to the little maid's heart. He appeals to her +by every maternal instinct she possesses. He is enchanting. His face has +three little dots, two black ones for the eyes, and one red one for the +mouth. But his eyes speak, his mouth invites you. He is alive. + +Philosophers are a heedless race. They pass by dolls with never a +thought. Nevertheless the doll is more than the statue, more than the +idol. It finds its way to the heart of woman, long ere she be a woman. +It gives her the first thrill of maternity. The doll is a thing august. +Wherefore cannot one of our great sculptors be so very kind as to take +the trouble to model dolls whose lineaments, coming to life beneath his +fingers, would tell of wisdom and of beauty? + +At last the little girl awakens from her silent day-dream. She turns +round and shows her violet eyes made bigger still with wonder, her nose +which makes you smile to look at it, her tiny nose, quite white, that +reminds you of a little pug dog's black one, her solemn mouth, her +shapely but too delicate chin, her cheeks a shade too pale. I recognize +her. Oh yes! I recognize her with that instinctive certainty that is +stronger than all convictions supported by all the proofs imaginable. Oh +yes, 'tis she, 'tis indeed she and all that remains of the most charming +of women. I try to hasten away but I cannot leave her. That hair of +living gold, it is her mother's hair; those violet eyes, they are her +mother's own; Oh, child of my dreams, child of my despair! I long to +gather you to my arms, to steal you, to bear you away. + +But a governess draws near, calls the child and leads her away: "Come, +Marguerite, come along, it's time to go home." + +And Marguerite, casting a look of sad farewell at the baby with its +outstretched arms, reluctantly follows in the footsteps of a tall woman +clad in black with ostrich feathers in her hat. + +[Illustration: Endpiece 033] + + +[Illustration: 034] + + + + +10th July + +"Jean, bring me file 117.... Now then, M. Boscheron, let's get this +circular done. Take this down: _I draw your special attention, M. le +Préfet, to the following point. An end must be put at the earliest +possible moment to an abuse which, if suffered to continue, would tend +to--tend to--I draw your special attention to the following point, M. le +Préfet. An end must be put as soon as possible to an abuse_. Take that +down, M. Boscheron." + +But M. Boscheron, my secretary, respectfully remarks that I keep on +dictating the same sentence. Jean deferentially places a file on my +table. + +"What's that, Jean?" + +"File number 117. You asked me to fetch it, sir." + +"I asked you for file number 117?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Jean gives me an anxious glance and retires. + +"Where were we, M. Boscheron?" + +"An end must be put as soon as possible to an abuse . . . ." + +"That's right... _an abuse which would tend to diminish popular respect +for government servants and to transform_... transform, what a wealth +of hidden things that word conceals. I cannot so much as pronounce it +but a world of ideas and sentiments come thronging pell-mell to invade +the secret recesses of my being." "I beg pardon, monsieur?" "What did +you say, M. Boscheron?" "Please repeat, monsieur; I didn't quite follow +you." + +"Really, Monsieur Boscheron? Possibly I was not very clear. Well, well! +we will stop there if you like. Give me what I have dictated, I will +finish it myself." + +[Illustration: 036] + +M. Boscheron gives me his notes, gathers up his papers, bows and +retires. Left alone in my office, I fall to examining the wallpaper with +a sort of idiotic minuteness. It has the appearance of green felt with +here and there a yellow stain; I begin to draw little men on my paper; +I make an effort to write; for the fact is my Chief has asked for the +circular three times and has promised the government deputies that it +shall go to the prefects forthwith. I am bound to let him have it. I +begin reading it through: _to diminish popular respect for government +servants and to transform them_. I make a blot; then with my pen I +adorn it with hair. I transform it into a comet. I dream of Marguerite's +tresses. The other day, in the Champs-Elysées, little filaments of gold, +little delicate spirals stood out from the rest of her graceful tresses, +with a singular brightness. You can see their like in fifteenth century +miniatures, also in some of an earlier date. Dante says in his _Vita +Nuova_: "One day when I was busy drawing angel's heads . . ." And now +here am I trying to draw angels' heads on a government circular. Come +now, we must get on with it: _government servants and to transform +them--transform them_ . . . How is it I simply cannot write a single +word after that? How is it I am here dreaming still, as I have been ever +since I rediscovered my _ego_ on the Pont de la Concorde that evening +of the lovely sunset? Transform, did I say? O God of mystery, nature, +truth, if she whose name even now after four years I dare not utter, if +she died in giving life to Marguerite, I should believe, I should know +with the certainty of instinct, that the soul of the mother had passed +into the daughter and that they are one and the same being. + +[Illustration: 040] + + +[Illustration: 042] + + + + +1st November + +All's well. I have lost my _ego_ again. It has gone back into the green +filing cases. Number 117 contains a good part of it. I have finished my +circular. It is drawn up in good official style. We have a fine piece of +legislation to get off before the holidays. My Chief speaks every day in +the House. Every night I correct the proofs of his speeches. If the +Blue Bird comes to see me now and again in the small hall of the Palais +Bourbon, it is merely to advise me to tone down some rather too forcible +expression and he never addresses himself to my imagination. I don't +know whether I am living happily or unhappily since I don't know that +I am living at all. I do not even recognize my own clothes. I picked up +the hat of the Comte de Mérodac a little while ago and wore it for three +days without knowing it, yet it is a romantic sombrero-like +sort of thing worn nowadays by no one save this elderly nobleman. I cut +an astounding figure they told me, but I never noticed myself, and, +if by chance I had, I should not have heeded what I saw since it had +nothing to do with politics. I am no longer a person; I am a piece of +the official machine. To-night I have neither proofs to correct nor +official reception to attend. I have put on my slippers. There is always +a tiny bit of my _ego_ hidden away in these slippers. I am in my room +seated by the fire and I am conscious of being there. By heaven I wonder +whether I should know myself in the glass. Let's have a look. Hum! not +so very ... I didn't think I was so grave and respectable looking. I +quite see that I shall have to take myself seriously. I have been a long +time about it, but then it wasn't for me to begin. + +I am a man of weight and I account myself such. But, alas, I do not know +myself. And I am not anxious to acquire the knowledge; it would be a +tedious business. No, I haven't the smallest desire to hold converse +with the grave and frigid gentleman who mimics all my movements. On the +other hand, did I but dare, what a happy time I should have with that +little fellow whose miniature I see there in that locket hanging against +the frame of the mirror. He is building a house with dominoes. What a +nice little chap. I feel like calling him and saying "Let's go and have +a game together shall we?" But, alas, he is far away, very far away. That +little boy is myself as I was forty years ago. He is dead, just as dead +as if I were lying beneath the sod, sealed up in a leaden coffin. For +what have we in common, he and I? In what respect does he survive in me +to-day? In what do my castles of cards resemble his tower of dominoes? + +We say that we live, we miserable beings, because we keep dying over and +over again. + +[Illustration: 046] + +I remember, it is true, how I used to play my games of an evening what +time my mother sat sewing at the table and gazed at me, now and again, +with a look full of that beautiful and simple tenderness that makes one +adore life, bless God and gives one courage enough to fight a score of +battles. Ah yes, hallowed memories, I shall treasure you in my heart +like a precious balm which, till my days are done, will have power to +soothe all bitterness and soften the very agony of death. But does the +child that I then was survive in me today? No. He is a stranger to me; +I feel that I can love him without selfishness and weep for him without +unmanliness. He is dead and gone, and has taken away with him my +innocent simplicities and my boundless hopes. We all of us die in +swaddling clothes. Little Marguerite, that delightful image of unfolding +life, how many times has she not died and what profound depths of +irrevocable memories, what a grave of dead thoughts and emotions has not +already been delved within her, though she is but five years old. I, +a stranger, a passer-by, know more of her life than she does and, in +consequence, I am more truly she than she herself. After that let him +who will prate of the feeling of identity and the consciousness of self. + +Oh, gracious Heaven, what things we mortals be and into what an abyss +of terrors we should be for ever plunging if we had but time to think, +instead of making laws or planting cabbages. I feel like pulling my +slippers off my feet and pitching them out of the window, since they +have called me back to the consciousness of my existence. Our lives are +only bearable provided we do not think about them. + +[Illustration: 049] + + +[Illustration: 050] + + + + +5th July + +It is a year ago to-day since I fell in with that little girl in front +of a toyshop in the Champs-Elysées, the child of her who first awakened +in me the sense of beauty. + +I was happy before I saw her; but the poetry of the wide world was +unknown to me, nor had I had experience of the dolorous joys of love. +The first time I saw Marie was one Good Friday at a classical concert +to which her father, an old diplomat with a passion for music, who had +heard the finest orchestras of every Court in Europe, had conducted her +attired in stately weeds of solemn black. Her mourning garb only +served to accentuate her radiant beauty. The sight of her aroused in +me feelings which bore, I think, a close resemblance to religious +exaltation. I was no longer very young. The uncertainty of my worldly +position, dependent as it then was upon the vicissitudes of a political +party, combined with my natural timidity to deprive me of all hope of +figuring as a successful suitor. I often saw her at her father's and she +treated me with an air of open friendliness that did not encourage me to +foster higher ambitions. It was clear I did not impress her as the sort +of man with whom she could fall in love. As for me, the sight of her +and the sound of her voice produced in me such a state of delicious +agitation that the mere memory of it, mingled though it be with grief, +still avails to make me in love with life. + +[Illustration: 052] + +Nevertheless, shall I avow it? I longed to hear her and to see her +always; I would have died in rapture at her side, but I was never fain +to wed her. No, some instinct of harmony held desire remote from my +heart. "It was not love then," some one will say. I know not what it +was, but I know that it filled my soul. + +Clearly, however, the feelings I experienced cannot have been strange +to the heart of man, since I have found them expressed with power and +sweetness in the works of the poets, in Virgil, in Racine and Lamartine. +They have given utterance to the emotions which I but felt. I could not +break silence. The miracles wrought in my soul by this young girl will +remain for ever unrevealed. For two years I lived an enchanted life; +then, one day, she told me she was going to be married. My feelings, as +I have said, bear a strong resemblance to religious emotion. They +are sad, but in their sadness they still preserve their charm. Grief +corrupts them not. From suffering they derive a wholesome bitterness +that lends them strength. I listened to her with that gentle courage +which comes with renunciation. She was marrying a man senior to myself, +a widower, almost an old man, whose birth and fortune had marked him +out for the public career in which he had displayed a haughtiness of +disposition and much misplaced courage. Although I moved in a lower +sphere, I came in contact with him on several important occasions. I +belonged to a political group with views very similar to his own, but we +had never been able to meet without considerable friction and, although +the newspapers treated us with the same approval or, as was more often +the case, with the same hostility, we were not friends, far from it, and +we avoided each other with sedulous care. + +I was present at the wedding. I saw, and I shall ever see Marie, wearing +her white dress and lace veil. She was a little pale and very lovely. I +was struck, without apparent reason, by the impression of fragility with +which this girl who was animated by so poetic a soul seemed to give one. +This impression, which I think occurred to no one but myself, was only +too well founded. I never saw Marie again. + +She died after three years of married life, leaving a little girl ten +months old. An indescribable feeling of tender affection has always +drawn me to this child, to Marie's Marguerite. An unconquerable desire +to see her took possession of me. + +She was being brought up at ------ near Melun, where her father had a +château standing in the midst of a magnificent park. One day I went to +------ and wandered for hours, like a thief, about the park bound-aries. +At last, through a gap in the trees, I caught sight of Marguerite in the +arms of her nurse, who was dressed in black. She was wearing a hat with +white plumes and an embroidered pelisse. I cannot say in what respect +she differed from any other child, but I thought she was the fairest +in the world. It was autumn. The wind that was sighing in the trees +was whirling the dead leaves about in little eddies as they floated +to earth. Dead leaves covered all the long avenue in which the little +white-robed child was being carried up and down. An immense sadness +took possession of me. At the edge of a bed of flowers as white as the +raiment of Marguerite, an old gardener who was gathering up the fallen +leaves saluted his little mistress with a smile and, with his hand on +his rake and hat in hand, spoke to her with the gentle gaiety of old men +who are not overburdened with their thoughts. But she paid no heed to +him. With her little hand like to a star she sought her nurse's breast. +As I hurried away with grief in my heart, the nurse resumed her walk +and I heard the sound of the dead leaves sighing sorrowfully beneath her +steps. + +[Illustration: 058] + + +[Illustration: 060] + + + + +10th July + +The President of the Chamber rises and says: "The motion proposed by +Messrs. ------ and ------ is now put." + +The Prime Minister, without quitting his seat says: "The Government does +not assent to the motion." + +The President rings his bell and says: "A ballot has been demanded. A +ballot will therefore be taken. Those in favour of Messrs. ------ and +------'s motion must place a white paper in the urn; those who are +against it, a blue paper." + +There was a great movement in the hall. The deputies poured out in a +disorderly mob into the corridors, while the ushers passed the white +metal urn along the tiers of seats. The corridors were full of the +sound of shuffling feet, and of shouting and gesticulating people. Grave +looking young men and excited old ones went passing by. The air was +pierced with the sound of voices calling out figures: + +"Eleven votes." + +"No, nine." + +"They are being checked." + +"Eight against." + +"No, not at all; eight for." + +"What, the amendment is carried?" + +"Yes." + +"The Government is beaten?" + +"Yes." + +"Ah!" + +The President's bell is heard in the corridors. + +Slowly the hall fills again. + +The President standing up with a paper in his hand rings his bell for +the last time and says: + +"The following is the result of the ballot on the motion proposed by +Messrs. ------ and ------. Number of votes 470; for the motion 239 ; +against 231. The motion is carried." + +There is an immense sensation. The Ministers get up and leave their +seats. Two or three friends shake them timidly by the hand. It's all +over, they are beaten. They go under and I with them. I no longer count. +I make up my mind to it. To say that I am happy would be to go too +far. But it spells the end of my worries and bothers and toils. I have +regained my freedom, but not voluntarily. Repose and liberty, I've got +them back again, but it is to my defeat that I owe them. An honourable +defeat it is true, but painful all the same because our ideas suffer +with ourselves. How many things are involved in our fall, alas. +Economy, public security, tranquillity of conscience and that spirit of +prudence, that continuity of policy, which gives a nation its strength. +I hurried away to shake hands with the Chief of my department, proud of +having rendered faithful service to so upright a leader. Then, pushing +my way through the crowd that had gathered about the precincts of the +Palais Bourbon, I crossed the Seine and made my way slowly towards the +Madeleine. At the top of the boulevard there was a barrow of flowers +drawn up alongside the kerb. Between the two shafts was a young girl +making up bunches of violets. I went up to her and asked her for a +bunch. I then saw a little girl of four sitting on the barrow amid the +flowers. With her baby fingers she was trying to make bunches like her +mother. She raised her head at my approach and, with a smile, held out +all the flowers she had in her hands. When she had given them all to me, +she blew kisses. + +[Illustration: 064] + +I was extremely flattered. "I must have a kindly look about me," I said +to myself, "for a child to smile a welcome at me like that. What is your +name?" I asked her. + +"Marguerite," replied her mother. + +It was half-past six. There was a news-vendor's hard by. I bought a +paper. As soon as I glanced at it I saw that I was in for a wigging. The +political editor, having referred to my Chief as an individual of ill +omen, spoke of me too, on the first page, as a sinister creature. But, +after Marguerite's kisses, I could not believe it. I felt at once a +lightness and a sort of emptiness at heart; both glad and sorrowful. + +A week later found me on my way, to ------ near Melun, where I had taken +a little house hard by the Château of Marguerite's upbringing. In my +eyes it was the fairest region in the world. + +As we approached the station I looked out of the carriage window. +The silver river flowed in graceful curves between willows, until it +vanished from the sight. But long after it was lost to view one could +divine its course by the rows of poplars which lined its banks. A +weathercock and two towers visible amid the trees marked the site of the +town. Then I exclaimed, "Here is the resting place for me, here will I +lay my head." + +[Illustration: 067] + + +[Illustration: 068] + + + + +25th July + +The walk I love best is the walk to Saint-Jean, for there, about +a hundred yards from the town is a little wood, or rather a little +half-wild cluster of hornbeams, maples, limes and lilac bushes, a +bouquet that murmurs in the breeze. The very first day I discovered it, +I felt its charm. I determined to make love to it; I made up my mind to +know it tree by tree, to search out its humblest plants, its vetches, +its saxifrages, and to see whether there was no Solomon's seal to be +found growing beneath the shade of the big trees. I kept my word and +now I am beginning to make acquaintance with the flora and fauna of my +little wood. I had been reclining on the grass to-day for the space of +an hour, book in hand, when I heard some one crying in a faint voice. +I looked up and beheld a little girl standing beside an elderly man and +weeping. The man was undeniably old. His face was long and pallid. +There was an expression of sadness in his eyes and his mouth drooped +mournfully. He had a skipping-rope in his hand and was looking fixedly +at the child. Then he turned aside to brush away a tear from his cheek. +It was then that I beheld him full face and saw that he was Marguerite's +father. I was shocked at the great change that illness and sorrow had +wrought in his haughty mien. Despair was graven on his countenance and +he seemed to be calling for help. + +[Illustration: 070] + +I went up to him and, in response to my offer to assist him in any way +possible, he explained with some embarrassment that a ball with which +his little girl had been playing had got caught in a tree and that +his stick, which he had thrown up in order to dislodge it, had become +entangled in the branches. He was at his wit's end. + +Only a few years before, this same man had circumvented the policy of +England and imparted a vigorous stimulus to French diplomacy in Europe. +Then he fell with honour, and was followed in his retirement by a +profound but honourable unpopularity. And now, behold his powers are +unequal to the task of dislodging a ball from a tree. Such is the +frailty of man. As for his daughter, Marie's daughter, a sort of +presentiment forbade me to look in her face. And then when at length +I did look at her, I could not tear myself away from such a sorrowful +object of contemplation. She was no longer the little pink and white +child I had seen in the Champs-Elysées; she had grown taller and +thinner, and her face was wan as a waxen taper. Her languid eyes were +encircled with blue rings. And her temples . . . what invisible hand had +laid those two sad violets upon her temples? + +"There! there! there!" cried the old man as he stretched forth a +trembling arm which pointed aimlessly in all directions. + +The first thing to be done was to help him. By means of a stone which I +threw up into the tree, I soon managed to bring the ball down. X . . . +witnessed its fall with childish delight. He had not recognized me. I +hurriedly escaped to spare him the trouble of thanking me and myself the +agony of seeing the change that had taken place in Marie's daughter. + +[Illustration: 074] + + +[Illustration: 076] + + + + +10th August + +I seldom go out. I am no longer moved by the beauty of things. Or to +speak more truly, the more pleasurable and splendid aspects of nature +give me pain. All day long I sully sheet after sheet of paper and +beguile the tedious hours with the half-faded recollections of my +childhood. What I am writing will be burned. I should be ashamed that +pages, tear-stained and dream-haunted, should fall beneath the eyes +of grave, sober-minded folk. What would they see in them? Naught but +childish faces. + +[Illustration: 078] + + + + +20th August + +To-dau I went for a stroll by the river in whose blue waters are +mirrored the willows and the houses that befringe its banks. There is a +seductive charm about running waters. They bear along with them as they +flow all those idlers who love to dream their time away. + +The river lured me as far as the château de- ------ which had witnessed +the betrothal and the death of Marie, and the birth of Marguerite. My +heart tolled a knell within me when I saw once more that peaceful abode, +which, despite the scenes of sorrow enacted within its walls, speaks, +with its white pillared façade, of naught save elegant opulence and +luxurious repose. I was so overcome that, to save myself from falling, +I clung to the bars of the park gate and gazed at the wide lawns which +stretched away as far as the flight of steps which the hem of Marie's +robe had kissed so often. I had been there some minutes when the gate +was opened and X ... came out. + +On this occasion, also, he was accompanied by his child: but this time +she was not walking. She was lying in a perambulator which was being +pushed by a governess. With her head resting on an embroidered pillow in +the shadow of the lowered hood, she resembled one of those little waxen +images of saint or martyr, embellished with silver filigree, on whose +wounds and gems the nuns of Spain are wont to pore in the solitude of +their cells. + +[Illustration: 080] + +Her father, elegantly dressed, presented a faded, tear-stained +countenance. He advanced towards me with little faltering steps, took me +by the hand and led me to his little girl. + +"Tell me," he said in the tone of a child asking a favour, "you don't +think she has changed since you last saw her, do you? It was the day she +threw her ball up into the tree." + +The perambulator which we were following in silence came to a halt in +the Bois Saint-Jean. The governess lowered the hood. Marguerite lay with +her head thrown back, her eyes big with terror, and she was stretching +out her arms to push aside something that we could not see. Oh, I +guessed well enough what invisible hand it was. The same hand that had +touched the mother was now laid upon the child. I fell on my knees. +But the phantom departed and Marguerite, raising her head, lay resting +peacefully. I gathered some flowers and laid them reverently beside her. +She smiled. Seeing her come back to life I gave her more flowers and +sang to her, endeavouring to beguile her. The air and the feeling of +happiness she now experienced brought back to her that desire to live +which had forsaken her. At the end of an hour her cheeks were almost +rosy. When it grew cool and we had to take the little suffering child +back to the château again, her father took my hand as we parted and, +pressing it, said in suppliant tones: + +"Come again to-morrow." + +[Illustration: 084] + + +[Illustration: 086] + + + + +21 st August + +I returned next day. On the steps of the Empire château I encountered +the family doctor. He is a spare, elderly man whom you meet wherever +there is good music to be heard. He seems like a man perpetually +listening to the harmonies of some inward concert. He is for ever under +the spell of sounds and lives by his ear alone. He is specially noted +for his treatment of nervous complaints. Some say he is a genius; +others that he is mad. Certainly there is something peculiar about him. +When I saw him he was coming down the steps; his feet, his finger and +his lips moving in time to some intricate measure. + +"Well, doctor," I said with an involuntary quaver in my voice, "and how +is your little patient?" + +"She means to live," he answered. + +"You will pull her through for us, won't you?" I said eagerly. + +"I tell you she means to live." + +"And you think, doctor, that people live just as long as they really +want to and that we do not die save with our own consent?" + +"Certainly." + +I walked with him along the gravel path. He stopped for a moment at the +gate, his head bowed as if in thought. + +"Certainly," he said again, "but they must really want to and not merely +think they want to. Conscious will is an illusion that can deceive none +save the vulgar. People who believe they will a thing because they say +they will it, are fools. The only genuine act of volition is that in +which all the obscure forces of our nature take part. That will is +unconscious, it is divine. It moulds the world. By it we exist, and +when it fails we cease to be. The world _wills_, otherwise it would not +exist." + +We walked on a few steps farther. + +"Look here," he exclaimed, tapping his stick against the bark of an oak +tree that spread out its broad canopy of grey branches above our heads, +"if that fellow there had not _willed_ to grow, I should like to know +what power could have made him do so." + +But I had ceased to listen. + +"So you have hopes," I said at length, "that Marguerite . . ." + +But he was a stubborn little old fellow. + +He murmured as he walked away: "The Will's crowning Victory is Love." + +And I stood and watched him as he departed with little quick steps, +beating time to a tune that was running in his head. + +I went quickly back to the château and found little Marguerite. The +moment I saw her, I realized that she had the will to live. She was +still very pale and very thin, but her eyes had more colour in them and +were not so big, and her lips, lately so dead-looking and so silent, +were gay with prattling talk. + +"You are late," she said. "Come here, see! I have a theatre and actors. +Play me a beautiful piece. They say that 'Hop o' my Thumb' is nice. Play +'Hop o' my Thumb' for me." + +[Illustration: 090] + +You may be sure I did not refuse. However, I encountered great +difficulties at the very outset of my undertaking. I pointed out to +Marguerite that the only actors she had were princes and princesses, +and that we wanted woodmen, cooks and a certain number of folks of all +sorts. + +She thought for a moment and then said: + +"A prince dressed like a cook; that one there looks like a cook, don't +you think?" + +"Yes, I think so too." + +"Well, then, we'll make woodmen and cooks out of all the princes we have +over." + +And that's what we did. O Wisdom, what a day we spent together! + +Many others like it followed in its train. I watched Marguerite taking +an ever firmer hold on life. Now she is quite well again. I had a share +in this miracle. I discovered a tiny portion of that gift wherein the +apostles so richly abounded when they healed the sick by the laying on +of hands. + + +_Editor's Note_.--I found this manuscript in a train on the Northern +Railway. I give it to the public without alteration of any sort, save +that, as the names were those of well-known persons, I have thought it +well to suppress them. + +Anatole France. + +[Illustration: 093] + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marguerite, by Anatole France + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARGUERITE *** + +***** This file should be named 25406-8.txt or 25406-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/4/0/25406/ + +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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