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diff --git a/40618-8.txt b/40618-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8b999db..0000000 --- a/40618-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6941 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Surprises of Life, by Georges Clemenceau - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Surprises of Life - -Author: Georges Clemenceau - -Translator: Grace Hall - -Release Date: August 29, 2012 [EBook #40618] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SURPRISES OF LIFE *** - - - - -Produced by sp1nd, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE SURPRISES OF LIFE - - BY GEORGES CLEMENCEAU - - - TRANSLATED BY - GRACE HALL - - GARDEN CITY NEW YORK - - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY - 1920 - - COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION - INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. MOKOUBAMBA'S FETISH 3 - - II. A DESCENDANT OF TIMON 19 - - III. MALUS VICINUS 31 - - IV. AUNT ROSALIE'S INHERITANCE 45 - - V. GIDEON IN HIS GRAVE 61 - - VI. SIMON, SON OF SIMON 73 - - VII. AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS 87 - - VIII. EVIL BENEFICENCE 101 - - IX. A MAD THINKER 113 - - X. BETTER THAN STEALING 125 - - XI. THE GRAY FOX 137 - - XII. THE ADVENTURE OF MY CURÉ 149 - - XIII. MASTER BAPTIST, JUDGE 161 - - XIV. THE BULLFINCH AND THE MAKER OF WOODEN SHOES 173 - - XV. ABOUT NESTS 185 - - XVI. A DOMESTIC DRAMA 197 - - XVII. SIX CENTS 209 - - XVIII. FLOWER O' THE WHEAT 221 - - XIX. JEAN PIOT'S FEAST 233 - - XX. THE TREASURE OF ST. BARTHOLEMEW 249 - - XXI. A HAPPY UNION 263 - - XXII. A WELL-ASSORTED COUPLE 275 - - XXIII. LOVERS IN FLORENCE 287 - - XXIV. A HUNTING ACCIDENT 301 - - XXV. GIAMBOLO 313 - - - - -THE SURPRISES OF LIFE - - - - -I - -MOKOUBAMBA'S FETISH - - -It may be that you knew Mokoubamba who became famous in Passy for his -labours as a reseater of rush-bottomed chairs, weaver of mats, of -baskets and hampers, mender of all things breakable, teller of tales, -entertainer of the passerby, lover of all haunts where poor mortality -resorts to eat and drink. He was an old Negro from the coast of Guinea, -very black as to skin, wholly white as to hair, with great velvety black -eyes and the jaws of a crocodile whence issued childlike laughter. He -used to honour me with his visits on his way home at evening when he had -not sold quite all his wares. With abundance of words and gestures, he -would explain to me how fortunate I was to need precisely the article of -which by an unforeseen and kindly chance he was the owner. And as he saw -that I delighted in his talk, he gave free rein to that spirited -eloquence which never failed to bring him more or less remuneration. - -Our latest "reformers" having put intoxication by the juice of the grape -within reach of all, Mokoubamba died on the fourteenth of last July, -from having too copiously celebrated the taking of the Bastille. No more -will Passy see Mokoubamba, with his white _burnous_, his scarlet -_chechia_, his green boots, and his drum-major's staff. A genuine loss -to the truly Parisian picturesqueness of this quarter. As for me, how -should I not miss the rare companion who had seen so many lands, -consorted with so many sages, and collected so many strange teachings? - -"Mokoubamba knows the whole earth," he was wont to say, candidly adding: -"Mokoubamba knows everything that man can know." - -And the generosity of this primitive nature will be seen in the fact of -his not keeping his hoard of knowledge to himself, but lavishing it upon -all comers. He was equally willing to announce what the weather would be -on the morrow and what it had been on the day before. By means of -cabalistic signs on a very grimy bit of parchment he foretold any man's -destiny: a choice destiny, indeed, of whose felicities he was never -known to be niggardly. - -The poor were informed that a rich inheritance awaited them, the rich -saw their fortunes increased by unlooked-for events, love knocked at the -door of the young, children came into the world who were to be the pride -of their families, the old, beloved for their own sakes, saw their -lives stretch out indefinitely: Mokoubamba kept a Paradise shop. - -One day I made bold to call him to account for this, claiming that life -held in store for us disappointments, here and there, for the purpose of -giving an edge to our pleasures, and that there must from time to time -be a discrepancy between the sovereign bliss of which he so freely held -out the hope and the sum of realized joys. - -"Life," replied the wise Mokoubamba, "is a procession of delights. As -soon as one has disappeared, another has started upon its way. It may be -a more or less long time in arriving, but no one will begrudge waiting -for it, and the waiting is often the best a man gets out of it." - -For a chairmender this saying seemed to me fairly profound. - -"Who taught you this?" I asked. - -"A fakir from Benares from whom the heavens withheld no secrets." - -"You have been in India?" - -"I have been everywhere." - -"Mokoubamba, my friend, yours is no ordinary life. Will you not tell me -something of it? The past interests me more than the future." - -"If you will order them to give me coffee and cigarettes, and if I may -drink and smoke as long as I talk, you shall have my entire history." - -I nodded in assent, and Mokoubamba, taking possession of my verandah, -squatted upon one of his own mats, inhaled the perfume of Arabia, -exhaled three puffs of curly blue smoke, and seemed to lose himself in -the search for a starting point. - -"What was your first occupation?" I asked by way of helping him on. - -"The easiest of all," said he, with a shamefaced air. "I began by being -a minister." - -"Minister!" I cried in high surprise. "Minister to whom? Minister of -what?" - -"Minister to the great King Matori. Down there--down there--beyond the -Niger." - -"Truly! My compliments to His Excellency! And you say the profession -seemed an easy one to you? Your colleagues up here would scarcely agree -with you." - -"I speak of what I have seen. In my country those who are the masters -are always in the right. Tell me if you know of a place on earth where -it is any different? I did not know how to do anything. I could not even -have braided a mat in those days. Well, then, all that I said was -admirable, and as soon as I had given an order it was considered the -best in the world. I was myself a Fetish, my mother having given me -birth on a day of rain after a long drought which had reduced our -villages to famine." - -"And what were your functions?" - -"The same as elsewhere. I was purveyor of provisions to the royal -household and I reserved a just share for myself. Matori loved me very -much. But I had enemies. They persuaded him that my Fetish was stronger -than his, and as he feared my power, he sold me to an English trader who -needed carriers for his ivory. It was a long journey to the coast. If a -man fell he was gently dispatched on the spot, so that he might not be -eaten alive by the beasts, and his load was distributed among the rest -of us. Without my Fetish I should have been left behind. I may add that -being beaten with a stick helped to keep up my courage." - -"And what is your Fetish?" - -"At that time I did not know, but I felt it without knowing. In time we -arrived among the English. I was not a slave. Oh, no! but I had been -'engaged,' and in order that I might better fill my 'engagement' they -fastened me, with many others, to the wall of a courtyard, by an iron -chain." - -"Poor Mokoubamba!" - -"I was not unhappy, for they fed me very well. They wished to have us in -good condition so as to get rid of us. It was there that I learned the -art of weaving reeds and rattan, and carving curious designs upon wood. -My neighbour, the man chained beside me, was a great sorcerer in his own -land. He could carve bamboo, he could cook; he was skilled in hammering -red-hot iron, in stitching leather, in dancing; he could call up -spirits. They took very good care of him. They did not sell him, of -course, since there existed no slavery, but they bartered him for two -dozen bottles of French brandy. There was a price for you! Matori had -handed me over for a single calabash of rum and a copper trumpet." - -"Poor Mokoubamba!" - -"Yes, you are right! It was a paltry price. I was humiliated by it for a -long time. But as my new master used to say, I must learn to overcome -the demon of pride." - -"Your new master used to say that?" - -"It was like this. I was quietly sitting at my chain one day, making a -large basket, when a man dressed in black, with an edge of white around -his neck, came near me and said: 'My brother, what have you done with -your soul?' I had learned a few words of English on the journey. -However, I asked my visitor to repeat his question. He repeated it again -and again, and I finally understood that he was talking about my Fetish, -and that he wished to know what I had done with it. I answered that it -was a sacred thing, and that I had it with me, but that I would -willingly employ it in his service if he would acquire me for a sum of -money. My answer had the good fortune to please him, it seems, for on -that very evening the excellent Reverend Ebenezer Jones installed me in -his parsonage. He taught me about his great Fetish, who did not much -differ from Matori's. Is not a Fetish always something that we do not -know and that works us either good or evil? We ask it for good, and it -does not always grant it. But as I was just saying, we go on expecting -it, and that keeps us in patience. - -"Ebenezer Jones told me beautiful tales full of marvels, and he always -ended with the question: 'Dost thou believe?' - -"How should I not have believed him? So good a man, who daily let me -have soup with meat in it. I was baptized by him with a fine ceremony. -Before long he was so pleased with me that he made me his sexton. I was -the edification of the faithful, everyone brought me gifts, and I was -able, unknown to the Right Reverend, to treat myself to a superior brand -of _tafia_. - -"Ebenezer Jones travelled about the country preaching his Fetish, and I -accompanied him. I had ended by knowing his discourses by heart, and -often at gatherings I recited portions of them after he had finished -speaking. People understood me better than they did him, which was not -to be wondered at. My 'spiritual guide' owed to me most of the success -that made him famous in his own country. This lasted for nearly ten -years. - -"One day, Ebenezer having been called back to London proposed that I -should follow him. I did it joyfully, and I must say that the six weeks -I spent in that capital were one long-drawn-out feast. I was exhibited -at the Missionary Society as a model among converts. At dessert I would -rise and speak of my complete happiness, which was but natural after so -good a meal. People wept with emotion, and so did I myself. In that -country the religious fervour of elderly gentlewomen is extraordinary. -Between puddings and mince pies, it was one stream of gifts of food. -Never have I eaten so well or drunk so much. - -"There, however, I was surprised to find that the English no more than -the Negroes are all of one mind with regard to their Fetishes, which I -ought to have expected. In Africa, at a six days' journey from our -church, there was a Catholic Mission. I was careful never to go near it, -since Ebenezer had warned me that they worked evil spells there upon the -poor Negroes who let themselves be deceived. - -"But one afternoon in London, I was accosted by a big devil of an Irish -priest who had heard of my religious zeal. He was greatly perturbed by -the glory which the Missionary Society owed to me. He had determined to -snatch me away from Ebenezer Jones. I let him take me home with him, -where I found a table abundantly spread. Meat, pies, and preserves, and -liqueurs, oh, such liqueurs! I was deeply shaken, and could not disguise -the fact from my new friend, Father Joseph O'Meara. He increased his -efforts, and so successfully explained to me the superiority of his -Fetishes over Ebenezer's that I was obliged to agree he was right. No -sooner had I uttered the word than he baptized me on the spot, gave me a -good bed to sleep in, and on the morrow celebrated my reconversion with -a ceremony even finer than the former one. There were Fetishes -everywhere surrounded by lights. Joseph O'Meara wept for joy and so did -I. That evening there was a magnificent banquet, ... just like the -others. They had taught me a speech, but as the generous potations had -slightly clouded my memory, I was able to utter but one sentence: -'Mokoubamba is very happy, very happy.' - -"And that was no lie. - -"The trouble was now that Ebenezer Jones, ashamed of having allowed -Mokoubamba to be stolen from him, wished to get me back. But Joseph -O'Meara was not the man to let any such trick be played upon him. I was -treated like a prince, and kept well in sight for fifteen glorious days. -Then it was explained to me that I must go to another country so as to -escape from the machinations of the 'Evil One,' which was the name of -Ebenezer's bad Fetish. I was consequently hurried off to a mission in -Bombay where the religion was very different. Here were priests who -fasted all day long. A moiety of rice, much dust, and as much warm water -as I cared to consume. This did not suit me in the least. I wandered -about the streets looking for some Fetish willing to take an interest in -me. There are all manner of people out there. I questioned concerning -their Fetishes a Parsee, a fire-worshipper who had nothing to cook in -his dish, and a Chinaman who considering my appetite told me that I -should be born again in the form of a shark. None of them showed any -care to convert me. A Mahomedan alone seemed disposed to win me over to -his Fetish, but he wished first to take from me a portion of something -which I at that time considered very desirable. That ended it. - -"I travelled, weaving baskets and mats, even as I do to-day. I lived -very poorly. Everyone in that country cares above all things for his own -Fetish, and will not change it. There is no work there for Ebenezer -Jones or Joseph O'Meara. And yet their Fetishes leave the people in -great misery. They let them starve by the hundred thousand, yet no one -has the slightest idea of turning to those Fetishes through whom other -peoples live in abundance. - -"I laid this question before a fakir of Benares who was said to possess -supreme wisdom. His Fetish was a wooden bowl behind which he squatted at -the roadside by way of adoration. Looking at the thing casually, you -would have seen in it nothing extraordinary. And yet that bowl had the -property of attracting money because of the belief established by the -fakir that it brought good luck to the giver. Indeed, I have found the -same thing true here in your country. But the mendicant fakir class of -India is here divided in two classes: the beggar by trade, to whom you -give nothing because he is not 'respectable,' and the professional fakir -to whom you give everything because your success may depend on his -favour. - -"The man of Benares knew this and much besides. He became my friend -because of the very simplicity of my questions. At evening he would -bestow on me the alms of a bowl of rice. Often he let me spread my -litter in his reed hut. At night under the stars he taught me concerning -the creation, and imparted to me his knowledge of all things. It was he -who expounded to me the great mystery of Fetishes, since which I have -lived without care for the morrow. Later, a Parsee, a great grain -merchant, took me to your Algiers, and thence brought me here, where I -have remained. But all that I have seen of the world has but confirmed -my belief in the profound wisdom of the illustrious fakir of Benares." - -"Good. But what did he tell you about Fetishes?" - -"You see ... I have no more coffee...." - -"There you are, and how about this little glass of brandy?" - -"With pleasure. And anyway it can be summed up in one word. The fakir -told me that the universe is but one huge agglomeration of Fetishes. -There are as many as there are creatures alive. Some are strong and some -are weak. It is a great battle as to which shall come out on top. The -wicked are those who work evil on others to get the upper hand. The -good are those who use gentleness, persuasion, art. One had better be on -the side of the good unless one is stronger than they." - -"I see. But was the fakir speaking of Fetishes or of men?" - -"Ha-ha! You want to know all of it! Another little glass and you shall -have your answer. Excellent! I can refuse you nothing. Well, then, the -fakir affirmed that Fetish and man are one and the same thing, for every -man makes his Fetish according to the strength of his interest in -himself, and the will power he expends in satisfying it. That is why I -am not deceiving when I foretell a happy fortune for people. It but -strengthens their Fetish, their chance of happiness is increased, they -enjoy it in anticipation." - -"Then, Mokoubamba, under varying forms and shifting denominations, you -maintain that the only Fetish to whom you have remained unalterably -faithful, and which has rewarded your fidelity by pulling you through -everything in the world----" - -"Is Mokoubamba himself. There is the great secret. Meditate upon it, -like the fakir----" - -"I shall meditate upon it, have no fear. But do you suppose this great -secret is known in Benares alone?" - -"I have often asked myself that question. Judging by actions, everyone -seems perfectly aware of what he is about. But I have never known any -one except the fakir of Benares to state things as they are." - -Thus spake Mokoubamba, reseater of rush-bottomed chairs in Passy, mender -of all things breakable, entertainer of the passerby, teller of fanciful -tales. - - - - -II - -A DESCENDANT OF TIMON - - -Timon of Athens hated all men because he had once too greatly loved -them. To whom shall the fault be ascribed, to mankind, or to Timon of -Athens? The long-standing open question does not yet appear to have been -answered. The human race continues to lay the blame on its detractors, -and the descendants of Timon, who was above all a disappointed lover of -his kind, have not ceased to find good reasons for their censure. - -The special descendant of Timon who trotted me on his knee when I was a -child was an old navy doctor retired from service after a severe wound -received at Navarino. If I close my eyes, the better to call up my -memories, there arises before me a long, gaunt silhouette surmounted by -a bald head, the entire figure running to length, which is, they say, -the mark of an immoderate idealism. I remember his small, mocking green -eyes, sunk behind the brush of his formidable eyebrows. The long, white -side-whiskers, the carefully shaven lips that would stretch to his ears -in a grin like Voltaire's, accompanied by a dry chuckle, have remained -alive in my memory, as have also his wide, incoördinate gestures, his -dry, harsh voice, and his biting, wrathful utterances. - -I should find it impossible at this distance to trace the life history -of Doctor Jean du Pouët, known over the entire Plain, from Sainte -Hermine to Fontenay-le-Comte, under the familiar yet respectful title of -"The Doctor." All I can say is that the Doctor, hailing originally from -L'Aiguillon, a little port of the Vendée at the mouth of the Lay, had -sailed every sea, landed on every island, visited every coast of every -continent, and made his studies of all nations on earth from life, which -enabled him to criticise his neighbours at every turn by comparing them, -disastrously for them, with heaven knows what abominable savages, in -which comparison the latter were always found far superior, with regard -to the point under discussion, to the men of the Vendée, from the Plain, -the Woodland, and the Marsh, all put together. - -It was in the very heart of the Plain, in the village of Ecoulandres, -that the "Doctor" had come to settle, brought there by an inheritance -from a cousin, who had left him lord and master of an old middle-class -dwelling with large tile-paved rooms in which hung panoplies of -tomahawks, javelins, bucklers, boomerangs, in warlike wreaths around -monstrous idols, whose barbaric names, impressively enumerated by the -traveller, aroused a holy terror in the soul of the peaceable tillers of -the soil. - -A little wood of elms, a great curiosity in a region where not a tree is -to be seen, surrounded the domain. It was a thin copse, the layer of -soil making but a shallow covering to the underlying limestone. This did -not prevent our stern censor from taking a certain pride in his "grove," -without its like to the furthermost boundary of the horizon. I must even -confess that the doctor, like any other true son of the Vendée, had a -very well-developed sense of landed proprietorship. Money ran through -his fingers, and no outstretched palm ever sought his help in vain. But -the possessive pronoun rose readily to his lips when talk turned upon -the land. "My dung," "my stones," "my nettles," he was wont to say. He -adored his Plain--"Green in springtime, in summer gold," where fleecy -crops rippled under the great blue canopy,--pierced along the horizon by -steeples suggestive of distant shipping. Flights of plovers in January -and ducks in September engaged the doctor's attention. He watched for -them from a murderous shooting shelter, and invented incredible ruses to -allure them nearer. The rest of his time was spent scouring the -countryside in a jolting rural trap, hastening to the bedside of the -sick, who sent for him on any and all occasions, but did not greatly -value his visits, as he never required payment, or administered to his -patients that accompanying dose of legitimate charlatanism which forms -the chief factor in so many cures. - -For the doctor was above all things outspoken. I am unaware whether some -great disappointment had driven him to misanthropy, or whether he had -merely given way to the natural bent of his character. Whatever may have -been his soul's history, it is certain that he at every opportunity -exercised his fine capacity for indignation against mankind in general, -and with particular delight against the specimens of it who happened to -be present. Never any coarse rudeness, however, and absolutely never any -active ill will. He was not to be taken at his word, his pleasure -consisting merely in satanic thoughts, the cruel expression of which -sufficed for the satisfaction of his ferocity. - -You should have heard him on the subject of love, of friendship, of -gratitude. It was his joy to demonstrate that every form of courtesy -concealed a lie, by which he was no more deceived than was the person -favouring him with it. It was no pleasure trip, coming to thank him for -having saved a sick man's life. The patient and his friends heard -startling things concerning the self-interest at bottom of their -thoughts. - -"Are you so glad, then, not to get your inheritance?" he would say to a -son who came to tell him of his old father's complete return to health. - -And he would cite living parallels, drawn from the life of neighbouring -villages, calling the characters by name, to demonstrate what a -foundation of selfishness was covered by the veneer of affection people -are so fond of exhibiting. The peasant would listen silently, wearing a -foolish grin, pretending to be stupid in order to escape the necessity -of answering, and admitting in the depth of his inmost heart that the -doctor read him like an open book, and that one could have no secrets -from that devil of a man. - -His talk upon marriage, the family, religion, property, the judiciary, -the administration itself, was directed by the blackest psychology. But -his chief victim was the _curé_ of Ecoulandres, an old friend who did -not take abuse without virulent retaliation, which led to curious -fencing bouts between the two. - -The truth is that the two men had a great liking for each other. Both of -them were remnants of the France of the eighteenth century, both -suffering from the same stab of disillusion which the Revolution and the -Empire had driven into their fondest dreams. The doctor found vent in -wrath, the Abbé in resignation. Fundamentally alike in their wounded -ideality, they sought each other out in the obstinate hope of agreeing, -yet met only to offend, and to spend their strength in painful and -useless strife, parting with bruised hearts and great oaths never to -meet again, only to rush together on the following day. - -The Abbé Jaud, like his inseparable enemy, was of more than ordinary -height, and without the cassock clinging to his lean sides might at -fifty paces have been taken for him. The doctor's excuse for -frequenting the Abbé was that he could talk to him without stooping. -When the two tall silhouettes were outlined against the horizon at the -edge of the plain they might have been taken for one and the same man. -They were, in truth, one man in two persons. - -In their last years death naturally formed the inexhaustible topic of -their conversation. The doctor had, he used to say, determined to die -before the Abbé, in order to force him to perform an act of supreme -hypocrisy by obliging him to bury with every formality the man who, -having proclaimed himself an atheist all his days, had refused with his -latest breath to put himself in order with the Church. - -"One talks like that," said the Abbé. "When on the verge of the great -step, one changes one's mind." - -"Mine will not change." - -"Then, my dear Doctor, I shall be under the painful necessity of letting -you go unaccompanied to the grave." - -"Not so. You will accompany me. You will mutter your Pater Nosters, let -me assure you. You will sprinkle my coffin with holy water. You will -sing psalms, clad in your finest stole. You will say a mass with all the -fallals, and you will not leave me until you have provided me with a -proper passport in due form." - -"Cease blaspheming, or I must refuse to listen." - -"A fine way to dispose of a difficulty! Do you know where I wish to be -buried by your good agency, Abbé? In the unconsecrated part of the -graveyard. Once upon a time the earth as well as the skies belonged to -you. You laid claims to this planet as your property, and no one had the -right to rot under ground save by your leave. Six feet of sod had to be -wrested from you by main force to bury Molière! To-day, at last, we have -taken back control over our earth. We have conquered the right to a -peaceful return to nothingness. And now, to foster the illusion of -getting even, and to shut yourselves to the very end in your secular -spirit, you have devised nothing better than to create an unhallowed -portion in the field of eternal rest. The other day, when I went there -to select a spot to my liking, did not a fool of a peasant say to me: -'You mustn't be buried there, Doctor, that corner is reserved for those -condemned to death.' To be 'condemned to death' seemed to that idiot the -utmost of horror. He does not realize that he--that they--that you--that -we are all in the same case, my poor Abbé. Well, I chose my spot. I had -a great stake driven there, so that there should be no mistake. Go and -have a look at it, Abbé, for it is there that you will with pomp and -ceremony, according to your rites, deposit me in unhallowed ground." - -"That will never be, my dear Doctor." - -"That will surely be, my dear Abbé." - -A few months later, the doctor, after lying in wait for plovers on the -Plain (it was Christmas Eve, and he was then more than eighty years -old), returned home shivering with fever. A pleurisy set in on the -following day, and soon death was rapidly nearing. - -The Abbé was by his bedside, as will have been surmised. When he saw -that there was no hope of recovery: - -"Come, my dear friend," he began, having sent away the bystanders, "do -you not think it fitting, in this hour, to speak seriously of serious -things?" - -"Hush," said the dying man, placing a thin, feverish finger on the -priest's lips. "We have said all there was to be said, and there is -nothing more to say. Take the key under my pillow--open that drawer--and -give me my will--the drawer on the left--hand me also a pen--I wish to -add a line." - -The Abbé did as he was requested. The trembling hand wrote a few words, -then the head fell back on the pillow. The old man was dying. An hour -later Doctor Jean du Pouët had breathed his last. - -The will when opened ran thus: - -"I die in absolute unbelief, refusing to perform any act of faith. I -bequeathe my fortune, which amounts approximately to 100,000 francs, to -the church of Ecoulandres, for the purchase, under the direction of M. -the Abbé Jaud, of ornaments of the cult, as sumptuous as the sum -permits. This in the hope that the sight of such wealth in contrast -with their own poverty will awaken appropriate sentiment in the souls -of my fellow citizens. I desire to be buried in the unconsecrated part -of the cemetery, in the spot where six months ago I caused a stake to be -driven. If the Church should refuse me her prayers, the disposition -above described will be held null and void. In that case I name as my -sole legatee Toussaint Giraudeau, apothecary of Sainte Hermine, and -President of the Masonic Lodge named 'Fraternity.' I desire him to -distribute the inheritance as he shall think best among those Masonic -activities most especially directed against superstition and mummery." - -Under the signature were added these words: - -"I shall be dead within the hour. Nothing to change," and the name, in a -large, shaky handwriting, which, by the emphasis of the downward stroke -told, however, of an inflexible will. - -The Abbé Jaud's first impulse was one of haughty refusal, but his second -was to go and consult his bishop, who made clear to him that highest -duty lay in presenting every obstacle to Free Masonry. He was obliged to -obey. The doctor in his grave had the last word, his face twisted with -sardonic laughter under the holy water sprinkled by the discomfited -Abbé. - -The infants born before their time who filled in the cemetery of -Ecoulandres, "the corner reserved for those condemned to death," gained -this much by the event, that the earth they lay in was blessed. In that -respect, at least, one of the doctor's predictions was unfulfilled. - -But the Abbé's real revenge, although he was perhaps unaware of it, was -that the sight of the magnificent golden chalices and monstrances -ornamented with precious stones, far from arousing rebellion in the -hearts of the poor, as the doctor had intended, only increased the -fervour of the faithful, and provoked the piety of the indifferent by -wonder at the splendour in which the power of the Invisible revealed -itself. Victory and defeat on both sides. Blows struck in the darkness -of the Unknown. And so passes the life of man. - - - - -III - -MALUS VICINUS - - -Saint-juirs is the name of a village in the canton of Sainte Hermine. -Lying on the slope of a hill, it overlooks a fresh, grassy valley -planted with poplars and watered by a brook which has no recorded name. -A very modest Romanesque church laboriously hoists skyward a heavy stone -belfry amid a clump of elm and nut trees. The ruins of an old castle -degenerated from the dignity of a stronghold to the simple rank of a -country residence testifies that here, possibly, some notable event may -have taken place. But as the inhabitants have forgotten it, and have no -care to search it out, they live in absolute indifference to a thing -that is not their direct business. Their village appears to them like -all other villages, their church, their houses, their fields, their -beasts, like all other churches and houses and fields and beasts. They -only vaguely take in the idea of other countries on the earth. The -newspapers tell them of unknown lands and of strange doings; it all -seems to belong to some other world. What does it matter to them, -anyhow, since they have no intention of ever stirring, and since -nothing will ever happen to them? For them the past is without interest, -and the future does not mar the peace of their slumbers. The present -means the crops, the flocks, and the weather. For the things of Heaven -there is the _curé_, for the things of earth there are the mayor, the -notary, the customs officer, and the tax collector: a simplification of -life. - -Markets and fairs purvey to the restless cravings of such as are curious -about outside happenings, but no inhabitant of Saint-Juirs would -entertain the absurd idea that any trace of an event worth relating was -to be found in his own village. Love itself is without drama, owing to -the lack of stiffness in rustic morals, which precludes excesses of -imagination by reducing to the proportions of newspaper items the -conjunctions natural to our kind. There are, doubtless, disputes in -Saint-Juirs as elsewhere, in connection with property rights, for -"thine" and "mine," which are the foundation of "social order," are -likewise a permanent cause of disorder among men. Trespassing in a -pasture, the use of a well, a right of way, the branch of a tree -reaching beyond a line, a hedge encroaching upon a ditch, result in -quarrels, lawsuits, and dissension in families, the importance of which -is no less to the small townspeople than was the feud between Capulets -and Montagues to Verona. Centuries pass, the man of the past and the man -of to-day meet on common ground in displaying the same old violence, to -which sometimes even the excuse of interests involved is wanting, as -happened when Benvolio drew his sword upon a burgher of Verona who had -taken the liberty to cough in the street, and thereby waked his dog -asleep in the sunshine. - -The peaceful inhabitant of Saint-Juirs is a stranger to such vagaries. -Yet a Latin inscription above a door on the church square testifies to -the fact that a local scholar took to heart those neighbourly quarrels -to the point of wishing to leave some memory of them to posterity. A -plain stone door-frame gives access to a little garden surrounded by -high walls. Behind box hedges a house may be seen, rather broad than -high, built apparently as far back as the last century, and looking much -like other houses of the period. A servant comes out carrying a laundry -basket. A woman is sewing at the window. The door closes again. Nothing -more. Mechanically the eye travels back to the cracked stone whereon -stands deeply engraved the following wise epigraph: "Malus vicinus est -grande malum." - -I have often passed by, and while freely granting that a bad neighbour -is indeed a great evil, have always wondered what epic strife was -recorded by this dolorous exclamation. Was the inscription the vengeance -of the impotent, the amiable irony of a philosopher, resigned to the -inevitable, or the triumphant cry of the unrighteous, eager to deceive -by blaming for his own fault the inoffensive being who had no choice -but to remain silent? I gazed at the house of God, twenty paces distant. -I wondered whether this ecclesiastical Latin might not be ascribed to -some man of the church. Who else would know the sacred language -sufficiently well to attain this degree of epigraphic platitude? Was -there not in the mildness of the method of revenge a flavour of the -seminary? A real man harassed by a bad neighbour would have responded by -blows in kind. A priest was more likely to strike back with a sentence -out of the breviary. So I reflected, questioning the unanswering stone, -and never dreaming that chance would one day bring me the solution of -the problem. - -Chance knocked at my door a few years ago in the shape of a little -account book found in the study of a lawyer, my neighbour, and fallen -through inheritance into the possession of a friend of mine. It is a -manuscript copy-book of which only a dozen pages are covered by -accounts. On the parchment cover the two words "Malus vicinus" met my -eye. Turning over the blank pages I discovered that the little notebook -had been commenced at both ends--accounts at the front, and notes at the -back of the volume. I found various items of information concerning -births, deaths, and inheritances. At the beginning the date 1811. The -well-known names of several Saint-Juirs families passed under my eyes. -Then came the fateful title "Malus vicinus," followed by a long and -terribly tangled story. It was the secret of the door that was there -revealed to me. A priests' quarrel, as I had fancied. - -The Abbé Gobert and the Abbé Rousseau, both natives of Saint-Juirs, had -been ordained upon leaving the seminary of Luçon, in about 1760. The -book contains nothing concerning their families. One may suppose them -both to have been of good middle-class origin. Each manifestly had "a -certain place in the sun." They were warm friends up to the time of -their ordination, which brought about inevitable separation. Abbé Gobert -was installed as vicar at Vieux Pouzauges whose _curé_ was to sit in the -Constituency among the partisans of the new order; Abbé Rousseau was -sent to Mortagne-sur-Sèvres, in the heart of what was destined to be the -territory of the Chouans. - -Concerning their life up to the beginning of the Revolution we know -nothing, except that they remained on friendly terms. They often visited -each other. The walk from Pouzauges to Mortagne following the ridge of -the hills of the Woodland is one of the most picturesque in our lovely -western France, so rich in beautiful landscapes. Very pleasant are its -valleys, watered by crystalline brooks flowing musically over pebbly -beds; they are everywhere intersected by hedges behind which in serried -ranks rise shady thickets, inviolate sanctuary of rural peace. There -might the peasant be born and die with never the least knowledge of the -outer world. Thirty years ago specimens of the kind were still to be -found. If, however, you follow one of the road-cuts under the heavy, -overarching boughs and laboriously climb the steep rise amid granite -rocks and thick tufts of gorse mingling with brambles, which drape -themselves from one to another tree stump centuries old, you emerge -suddenly and as if miraculously into the very sky, whence all the earth -is visible. Northward as far as the Loire, where rise the towers of -Saint Peter's in Nantes, westward as far as the sea, stretches an -immense garden of verdure bathed in that translucent bluish light which -unites earth and sky and gives the sense of our planet launched in -infinite space. But to this day man and beast contemplate this -marvellous spectacle with the same indifferent eye. - -In those days, the preaching of the Gospel to peasants still stupefied -from serfdom, by a clergy whose leaders prided themselves upon their -unbelief, in nowise resembled the stultifying mummeries of to-day. When -Abbé Gobert and Abbé Rousseau, arm in arm, stopped at some farmhouse for -noonday rest after a frugal meal, their free speech would doubtless -startle many a modern seminarist. Their views of the future were perhaps -not very different. The ardent liberalism of the good _curé_ of -Pouzauges could not have been unknown to his vicar, and how could the -latter, open as he was to the new ideas, have refrained from unbosoming -himself to his friend? - -Meanwhile, every day witnessed the rising of the revolutionary tide. -Under a tranquil surface, unknown forces were gathering for the -devastating tempests soon to rage. Finally the hurricane broke loose, -and its tornadoes of fire and iron shook the quiet Woodland. There was -no time for reflection. Everyone was swept into the conflict without a -chance to know his own mind. Abbé Rousseau, belonging to the "White -Vendée," could not refuse to follow his boys when they asked him to -accompany them, declaring that they were "going to fight God's battle." -Abbé Gobert of the "Blue Vendée" found nothing to answer when his -compatriots told him that they refused to make common cause with the -foreigner against France, and that the Revolution was nothing more or -less than the fulfilment of the Gospels on earth, despite the Pharisees -of the ancient order, who while invoking the name of heaven appropriated -all earthly privileges. - -The adventures of the two Abbés during the war are not set down in the -manuscript. There is mention of Abbé Rousseau being transferred to -Stofflet's army, but no comment. Further on a note of three short lines -in telegraphic style tells us that Abbé Gobert, "following his fatal -bent," secularized himself, took up arms, and was left for dead at the -taking of Fontenay. We are not told what saved him. - -The writer of the little book now makes a jump to the Consulate, and we -learn that the "reëstablishment of the cult," at the Concordat, resulted -in the installation of Abbé Rousseau as officiating priest in his native -place of Saint-Juirs. Three years later, Gobert, then a "refugee in -Paris," where he "was writing for the newspapers," returned to his old -home, his fortune having been increased by an inheritance from his uncle -Jean Renaud, owner of the house now adorned by the Latin inscription. -Destiny, after having violently separated the two men and set them at -odds in a bitter war, now suddenly brought them together in their native -place, where they might have the opportunity for an honest searching of -their consciences, for justifications, and, before the end of life, -possibly, reconciliation. - -On the day after his arrival Gobert came face to face with Abbé Rousseau -in the church square. He went straight to him, with hands outstretched. -The other, not having had time to put himself on guard, was unable to -withstand a friendly impulse. The eyes of each scrutinizingly questioned -the other, but every dangerous word was avoided. The Abbé, moreover, cut -short the interview with the excuse of being expected at the bedside of -a sick man. They had parted with the understanding that they should soon -see each other again, but two days later, Gobert, going up to the Abbé -who was passing, received a curt bow from him, unaccompanied by a word -of even perfunctory courtesy. It meant the end of friendly intercourse. -The meeting between the "annointed of the Lord" and the "unfrocked -priest" had created a scandal in the community of the faithful, and -Master Pierre Gaborit, President of the vestry board, had called his -_curé_ roundly to account. Could a chaplain of the King's armies afford -to be seen consorting with a tool of Satan, a renegade living amid the -filth of apostasy, a man who, the report ran, had danced the Carmagnole -at the foot of the scaffold? - -The disconcerted Abbé listened, shaking his head. - -"He was a good fellow, and a godly one, when I knew him formerly, at the -seminary. He is perhaps not as guilty as they say--I hoped to bring him -back into the fold----" - -"One does not bring back the Devil," replied Gaborit, violently. "You do -not wish to be a stumbling block, do you, _Monsieur le Curé_?" - -"No--no----" replied the Abbé, who already saw himself denounced, -excommunicated, damned. - -From that day onward relations between the priest and his ancient -comrade limited themselves to a mutual raising of the hat, for the Abbé -never found the courage to ignore "the renegade," as Gaborit would have -wished him to. That is why the latter conceived the plan of forestalling -any eventual relapse into weakness by fostering between the man of God -and the man of the Devil every possible cause for enmity. - -Abbé Rousseau owned the house next to Gobert's, and Gaborit had rented -it for his newly married son. A party wall, a common well, contiguous -fields and rights of way through them, were more than sufficient to give -rise to daily friction. After some resistance, Abbé Rousseau, under the -pretext that he could have "no dealings with Satan's emissary," let -himself be convinced that he must refuse all customary "rights" to the -"enemy." Gobert's remonstrances obtained no attention, and thereupon -followed lawsuits. A bucket of lime was thrown into his well. The trees -in his orchard were hacked with a bill hook. His hens disappeared. -Investigation by a bailiff ensued, and the arrival of the police, who -had first been to take instructions at the rectory. For a trifling -bribe, the servant of the "accused" permitted the "revolutionary" cow to -stray into the clerical hay field. This time Abbé Rousseau could do no -less than to denounce the crime from the pulpit. A somewhat distorted -version of the entire Revolution was rehearsed. - -Gobert, who like Talleyrand, similarly unfrocked, would perhaps have -ended in the arms of the Church, had he been important enough to -stimulate the zeal of a Dupanloup, experienced more surprise than anger -at all these vexations. What surprised him most was to find that justice -was unjust. Having become a philosopher, however, he resigned himself. -Only the loss of his friend caused him grief. He ended by suspecting -Gaborit's manoeuvres, and several times sought opportunity for an -explanation with Abbé Rousseau himself, but was met by obstinate -silence. - -It was then that, for the sake of reaching his former fellow student in -spite of everything, by a word in the language familiar to both, he had -had engraved on the lintel of his door the inscription which denounced -Gaborit as the cause of their common misfortune. Daily, as he came out -of his rectory, Abbé Rousseau could read the touching appeal which laid -his guilt upon another. But the "glory of God" never permitted him to -answer, as in the depth of his heart he would have liked to do. - -He was the first to die. To the great scandal of all Gobert, "the -excommunicated," followed him to the grave. On the very next day he gave -orders to have the inscription removed, since it served no further -purpose. The masons were soon at work, and a clumsy blow had already -split the stone, when the ex-abbé was carried off suddenly by a -pernicious fever. Things remained as they may be seen at the present -day. Gobert went without church ceremonies to rest in the graveyard, not -far from his old friend. They are still neighbours, but good neighbours, -now, and for a long time! - - - - -IV - -AUNT ROSALIE'S INHERITANCE - - -Mademoiselle Rosalie Rigal was by unanimous admission the most important -person in the village. And yet the hamlet of St. Martin-en-Pareds, in -the Woodland of the Vendée, boasts a former court notary who without -great difficulty was allowed to drop out of the profession, and a -retired sergeant of police who keeps the tobacconist's shop. Around -these dignitaries are grouped a few well-to-do farmers and a dozen or -more small landowners who, although obliged to work for a living, have a -sense of their importance in the State. When they speak of "my field," -"my cow," "my fence," the ring of their voice expresses the elation of -the conqueror who in this infinite universe has set his clutch upon a -portion of the planet and has no intention of letting go. - -No one is unaware that the chief joy of country people is to surround -themselves with hedges or walls, and to despise those who cannot do as -much. That their admiration, their esteem, their respect, go out -automatically to wealth is a trait they share with city people, which -spares us the necessity of a detailed psychological analysis. Who, -then, shall explain the unanimous deference with which St. -Martin-en-Pareds honoured Miss Rosalie Rigal? - -The aged spinster--she was entering upon her seventieth year--possessed -nothing under the sun but a tiny cottage, not in very good repair, but -shining and spotless from front door steps to roof tiles, at the end of -a narrow little garden scarcely wider than the path to her door. Such a -domain was not calculated to attract to its mistress the admiring -attention of her fellow townsmen. The interior of the dwelling was -extremely modest. A large oaken bedstead with carved posts, a common -deal dining table, a few rush-bottomed chairs and Miss Rosalie's -armchair, were all the furniture of the room in which she lived. On the -walls were holy pictures. On the mantelpiece a tarnished bronze gilt -clock, representing a savage Turk carrying off on his galloping steed a -weeping Christian maiden, had as far back as any one could remember -pointed to a quarter before twelve. - -At the window-door leading to the street and letting in the light of day -Miss Rosalie sat with her knitting from sun-up to sun-down. Hence arose -difficulties of entrance and exit. When a visitor appeared, Miss Rosalie -would call Victorine. The servant would come, help her mistress to rise, -as she did slowly and stiffly, move the armchair, settle the old woman -in it again, propping her with special cushions in stated places, move -the foot stool or the foot warmer, push out of the way the little stand -which served as a work table, and open the door with endless excuses for -the delay. - -No fewer ceremonies were necessary than in seeking an audience with the -Sun-God. If Victorine were busy with the housework, she sometimes -obliged a caller to wait. Which gave Miss Rosalie's door step a -reputation as the most favourable spot in the entire canton for catching -cold. - -In spite of these inconveniences visitors were not wanting. Foremost -among the assiduous ones were the notary and the _curé_. Monsieur -Loiseau, the retired notary, was the friend of the house. A stout man, -with a florid, smooth shaven face, and a head even smoother than his -chin, always in a good humour, always full of amusing stories, yet -concealing under his idle tales and his laughter a professional man's -concern with serious matters, as was betokened by the ever-present white -cravat, badge of his dignity, which added an official touch even to his -hunting costume and to the undress of his gardening or vintaging attire. - -The love of gardening was well developed in Monsieur Loiseau, and as he -was especially fond of Miss Rosalie, he delighted in coming to hoe her -flower beds, to tend her plants and water them, chatting with her the -while. The old lady during this would be seated in the garden, near a -spot where a deep niche in the wall had made it possible to cut a -loophole commanding the street. From her point of vantage she could -watch all St. Martin, and without moving keep in touch with its daily -events, which gave her inexhaustible food for comment. - -So close became the friendship between these two, that the notary one -day announced that if certain old documents once seen by him at the -county town could be trusted, there was no doubt that their two families -were related. From that moment Miss Rosalie Rigal became "Aunt Rosalie" -to Monsieur Loiseau, and as the relationship was one which anybody might -claim, Miss Rosalie soon found herself "Aunt" to the entire village. She -duly appreciated the honour of this large connection, and with pride in -the universal friendliness, which seemed to her a natural return for her -own rather indiscriminate good will toward all, she let herself softly -float on the pleasure of being held in veneration by everyone in St. -Martin, which for her represented the universe. - -The _curé_, who lived at two kilometers' distance, could come to see her -only at irregular intervals. But a lift in a carriage, or even a -friendly cart, often facilitated the journey, and although Aunt Rosalie -was not in the least devout, despite the saintly pictures on her walls, -the long conversations between her and the _curé_, from which the notary -was excluded, gave rise to the popular belief that they had "secrets" -together. - -And the supposition was correct. There were "secrets" between Aunt -Rosalie and the priest. There were likewise "secrets" between Aunt -Rosalie and the notary, and they were, to be plain, money secrets. For -the irresistible attraction which drew all St. Martin-en-Pareds to Aunt -Rosalie's feet must here be explained. The simple-minded old spinster -supposed it the most natural thing in the world; she fancied her amiable -qualities sufficient to engage the benevolent affection of all who knew -her. Undeniably Aunt Rosalie's good humour and quiet fun were infinitely -calculated to foster friendly neighbourly relations. But there was more -to it than the uninquiring good soul suspected. - -Aunt Rosalie was a poor relation of certain enormously rich people in -the neighbouring canton. She was a grand niece of the famous Jean -Bretaud, whose lucky speculations had made him the most important man in -the district. The Bretauds had entirely forgotten the relationship and, -taking the opposite course from the notary, would probably have denied -it had Aunt Rosalie claimed it. - -Aunt Rosalie claimed nothing, but she did not forget her family. When -evening fell, and the blinds were closed, and the doors securely locked: -"Victorine, go and bring the documents," she would say, after a glance -all around to make sure that no one could spy on her in the mysterious -elaborations of the work under way. At these words, Victorine, with -sudden gravity, would extract from the wardrobe a little flat box, -cunningly tied with string, and place it respectfully on the table, -after having with much ado untied the knots and unrolled the complicated -wrappings which guarded the treasure from the gaze of the profane. - -The treasure was simply a genealogy of the Bretauds with authentic -documents to support it. As soon as the papers had been spread out under -the lamplight, and set in order, the work would begin. The point was to -discover what catastrophes would have to occur in the Bretaud family -before the millions could fall into Aunt Rosalie's purse. A considerable -number of combinations were conceivable, and it was to the examination -of them all that Aunt Rosalie and Victorine devoted their nightly -labour. A quantity of sheets of white paper covered with pencil -scribbling showed incredible entanglements of calculation and -rudimentary arithmetical systems. - -"Well, now, how far had we got?" said Aunt Rosalie. - -"We had ended with the death of your grand niece Eulalie, Miss," said -Victorine. - -"Ah, yes, the dear child. The fact is, that if she were to die it would -help greatly. There are still two cousins left who would have claims -prior to mine, it is true. But they have very poor health in that branch -of the family." - -"I heard the other day that there was an epidemic of scarlet fever in -their neighbourhood." - -"Ah! Ah!" - -"And then they go to Paris so often. A railway accident might so easily -happen." - -"Ah, yes! It is a matter of a minute----" - -And they would continue in that tone for a good hour, warming up to it, -comparing the advantages between the demise of this one and that one. - -As soon as a Bretaud received a hypothetical inheritance from some -relative, he was set down on Victorine's slip of paper as deceased. -Presently there was strewn around these gentle maniacs on the subject of -inheritance a very hecatomb of Bretauds, such as the eruption of -Vesuvius which blotted out Pompeii would not more than have sufficed to -bring about. Herself on the edge of the grave, this septuagenarian built -up her future on the dead bodies of children, youths, men and women in -the flower of life, whom she theoretically massacred nightly, with a -quiet conscience, before going to sleep, she who would not willingly -have hurt the smallest fly! - -When Aunt Rosalie's table had assumed the aspect of a vast cemetery, -they began their reckonings. If only eleven people were to die in a -certain order, Aunt Rosalie would get so and so much. If fourteen, she -would acquire another and fatter sum. Change the order, and there would -be a new combination. They assessed fortunes, and if they did not agree -in their valuations, they split the difference. But whatever happened, -the discussion always ended by Aunt Rosalie receiving an enormous -inheritance. Be it noted that whenever a real death or birth took place, -the combinations were disturbed, the game had to be commenced all over -on a new basis. This afforded fresh pleasure. - -But the supreme joy lay in the distribution of the heritage. Neither -Aunt Rosalie nor Victorine had any use for their treasures. Without -personal needs, the harmless yet implacable dreamers experienced before -the fantastic riches fallen to them from Heaven the delightful -embarrassment of human creatures provided with the chance to be a -shining example of all the virtues at very small cost to themselves. -Victorine had never cared to receive her wages, and did not dream of -claiming them, living as she did in the constant vision of barrelfuls of -gold. Set down in the will for 50,000 francs, no more, she was only too -happy to participate royally in her mistress's generosities. - -Two account books were ready at hand. One for the distribution of -legacies, and the other for "investments." Both presented an -inextricable tangle of figures scratched out, rewritten, and then again -scratched out for fresh modifications. - -"Yesterday," said Rosalie, "we gave 100,000 francs to the hospital at La -Roche-sur-Yon. That is a great deal." - -"Not enough, Miss," took up Victorine. "I meant to speak of it; 100,000 -for the sick! What can they do with that?" - -"Perhaps you are right. Let us say 150,000." - -"No, Miss, 200,000." - -"Very well, say 200,000. I do not wish to distress you for so little." - -"And the Church?" - -"Ah, yes, the Church----" - -"You cannot refuse to give God His share, Miss, after He has given you -so much!" - -"Quite true. Next week I shall add something in my will." - -And for an hour the discussion would continue in this tone. The results -were duly consigned to the secret account book, and then would follow -the question of investments. - -"Monsieur Loiseau tells me that the Western Railway shares have dropped. -He advises me to buy Northern. He says that Northern means Rothschild, -which means a good deal, you understand, Victorine." - -"That Monsieur Loiseau knows everything! You must do as he says. Me, I -don't know anything about such things." - -"Well, then, put down Northern instead of Western shares. As for the -dividends, they talk of changing the rate of interest." - -"What does that mean?" - -"It is just a way of making us lose money." - -"What then?" - -"Well, then, we may have to get rid of our stock. I will talk it over -with Monsieur Loiseau to-morrow, and perhaps also with the good _curé_ -who is very well informed in these matters. Make a cross before those -shares, so that I may not forget." - -And Aunt Rosalie actually did ply notary and _curé_ with questions about -her investments, and the use to be made of her fortune after her death. - -These two had acquired a liking for the topic. On the day when Aunt -Rosalie, questioned by him with regard to her direct heirs, declared -that as she had seen none of the Bretauds for more than forty years she -"had decided not to leave any of them a penny's worth of her property," -the _curé_ began pleading for the Church, for the Pope, and for his -charities. His efforts were amply rewarded, for Aunt Rosalie, though not -perhaps satisfying all his demands, generously wrote him down for large -sums, of which she handed him the list, with great mystery. In return -for which she received the confidential assurance of eternal felicity, -although she never performed any of her religious duties. - -The notary, scenting something of this in the air, before long -insinuated delicately that he would be glad of a "remembrance" from his -old friend. How could she refuse, when his suggestions in the matter of -investments were so valuable? - -"Give me good information and advice, Monsieur Loiseau," said Aunt -Rosalie, with a kind smile. "You shall be rewarded. I will not forget -you." - -And from time to time, by a codicil, of which he had taught her the -form, she would add something in her will to the sum she intended for -the good notary. Whereupon he would exert himself with renewed diligence -in her garden, which he jovially called "hoeing Aunt Rosalie's will." - -Such things could not be kept secret. St. Martin-en-Pareds soon knew -that Aunt Rosalie had great wealth, which they surmised had come to her -through the generosity of her great uncle Bretaud. Having quarrelled -with her "heirs," she would leave everything to her "friends." Who could -withstand such generous affection as was exhibited toward her? Following -the example of the notary, all St. Martin had by the claim of friendship -become relatives. And visits were paid her, and good wishes expressed, -accompanied by gifts in produce, eggs, fruits, vegetables, bacon, or -chickens, all of which the good "Aunt" accepted with a pretty nodding of -her head, accompanied by an "I shall not forget you!" which everyone -stored in memory as something very precious. - -Aunt Rosalie constantly received, and never gave. Even the poor got only -promises for the future. Nothing did so much to rivet her in the public -esteem. Her reputation for blackest avarice was the surest guarantee -that the hoard would be enormous. - -Things had gone on like this for more than thirty years, when Aunt -Rosalie was carried off in two days by an inflammation of the lungs. -Victorine, in stupefaction, watched her die, thinking of the inheritance -which had not come, but which could not have failed to come eventually, -if only the old Aunt had continued to live. When the dead woman was -cold, Victorine, who was alone with her in the middle of night, ran to -the box of documents, muttering over and over, in an access of positive -madness: "No one will get anything, no one will get anything!" and threw -the box into the fire. - -As she stood poking the bundle to make it kindle, a flame caught her -petticoats. The wretched creature was burned alive, without a soul to -bring her help. - -Monsieur Loiseau, anxious for news, arrived on the spot at dawn and -discovered the horrible sight. The fire had crept to the bed. Sheets of -charred paper covered with figures fluttering about the room exposed -Victorine's crime, which had been followed by punishment so swift. When -the official seals had been removed, after the funeral, no trace of -funds could be found, nor any last will and testament. All the notary's -searching led to nothing. - -It was concluded that Victorine, an "agent of the Bretauds," had made -everything disappear. Wrath ran high. There rose a chorus of angry -wailing and gnashing of teeth. - -"Ah, the money will not be lost!" people said, heaping maledictions upon -the "thief." "The Bretauds will know, well enough, where to look for the -treasure!" - -"Poor dear Aunt!" each of them added, mentally. "So rich, so kindly -disposed toward us! And that beast of a servant had to go and----" - -As a sort of protest against the Bretauds, Aunt Rosalie was provided by -subscription with a beautiful white marble grave stone, while the -charred remains of Victorine, thrust in a despised corner of the -cemetery, were consigned to public contempt. - -Such is the world's justice. - - - - -V - -GIDEON IN HIS GRAVE - - -Everyone connected with the Cloth Market of Cracow still remembers -Gideon the Rich, son of Manasseh, who excelled in the cloth trade and -died in the pathways of the Lord. Not only for his prosperity was Gideon -notable. He was universally regarded as "a character," and the man truly -had been gifted by Heaven with a combination of qualities--whether good -or bad, yet well balanced--setting him apart from the common herd. - -Gideon was a thick, rotund little Jew, amiable in appearance to the -point of joviality, with a fresh pink and white face in which two large -emotional blue eyes, always looking ready to brim over, bathed his least -words, whether of pity or business, with generous passions. Being an -orthodox Jew, he naturally wore a long, black levitical coat which -concealed his swinging woollen fringes. Where his abundant gray hair met -with his silky beard (unprofaned by shears) hung the two long _paillès_, -cabalistic locks which Jehovah loves to see brushing the temples of the -faithful. When the whole was topped by a tall hat, impeccably lustrous, -and Gideon appeared in the Soukinitza, silence spread, as all gazed at -the noble great-coat (of silk or of cloth, according to the season) -whose pockets offered a safe asylum to the mysteries of universal trade. - -Never suppose that such authority was a result of chance or any sudden -bold grasping of advantage. It was the fruit of long endeavour, -continually fortunate because he never embarked on an enterprise or a -combination without laborious calculations, in which all chances -favourable or adverse had been duly weighed. Manasseh had acquired a -very modest competence in the old clothes business, and everyone knows -that the old clothes of the Polish Jews are young when the rest of -mankind consider them past usefulness. One cannot accumulate any great -fortune in this business, which is why Gideon, at Manasseh's death, sold -his paternal inheritance and went unostentatiously to occupy the meanest -booth in the Cloth Market. - -At first no one took any notice of him. The shops in that market are -little more than wardrobes. The doors fold back and become show-cases. -The proprietor sits on a chair in the middle, and the passer will hardly -get by without being deluged with reasons for buying exactly the entire -contents of the shelves. Gideon, at the front of his black cave, lighted -only by the big, hollow, smouldering eyes of his mother, seated -motionless for hours on a heap of rags, thought himself in a palace fit -for kings. Dazzled but calm, he skillfully spread his striking wares to -tempt the passer. Others ran after possible purchasers, soliciting them, -bothering them. The modest display which depended upon nothing but its -attractiveness obtained favour. "It may be cheaper in there," people -said, and submitted to persuasion. It was the beginning of a great -destiny. - -Twenty years later Gideon, now surnamed "the Rich," had a wife and -children, whom he kept busy under the noisy arcade brightened by the -rainbow colours of silks for sale. He had clung to his humble counter -and was never willing to change it for another. He himself was seldom -found there; he was elsewhere occupied with large transactions planned -in the silence of the night. Rachel and his two sons, Daniel and Nathan, -represented him at the Soukinitza, where he only showed himself to -inquire concerning orders. There he would chatter for hours with the -peasants on market days, to make a difference of a few kreutzers in the -price of a piece of gossamer silk. No profit is too small to be worth -making. This is the principle of successful firms. His conduct excited -the admiration of all. How, furthermore, begrudge to Gideon his dues in -honour, when he was constantly bestowing hundreds of florins upon -schools, synagogues, and every sort of charitable institution? - -For Gideon had a dual nature, as, brethren, is the case with many of -us. In business the subtle art of his absorbing rapacity circumvented -any attempt to lessen his profits by the shaving of a copper. "It is not -for myself that I work," he used to say, "it is for the poor." And as -this came near being the truth, people were afraid of appearing -heartless if they opposed him. They let themselves be caught by his -smiling good humour, his friendly familiar talk, and they were, after -all, not much deceived in him, for Gideon, though a victor in life's -bitter struggle, was happiest when stretching out a brotherly hand to -the vanquished. In the same way, those American billionaires whose -immoderate accumulations of wealth spread ruin all around them will -anxiously question the first comer as to the most humanitarian way of -spending the fortune thus acquired. I know of someone who when asked by -that foolish ogre, Carnegie, what he should do with his money, answered: -"Return it to those from whom you took it!" - -Gideon could hardly have looked upon the matter in that light. He would -never have asked advice of any one in reference either to amassing or to -returning money. His chief interest, very nearly as important as his -business schemes, was religion. The poetry of Judaism roused in him an -ardour that nothing could satisfy but the feeling of substantially -contributing to the traditional work of his fathers. His charitable -gifts were simply a result. His object was the fulfilment of "the Law." - -Daniel and Nathan, brought up in the same ideas, lived in silent respect -for their father's authority. In Israel, ever since the days of the -patriarchs, the head of the house has been, as with all Oriental -peoples, an absolute monarch. The sons of Gideon could therefore feel no -regret at their father's generosities. Like their father, they placed -the service of Jehovah above everything else. Having, however, been -reared by him, and taught all the combinations of exchange by which you -get as much and give as little as you can, they were conscious of -possessing invincible capacities for acquisition. - -"They have something better than money," Gideon would say, "they know -how to make it." - -On one point alone could, possibly, some ferment of dissension in the -family have been found. Gideon took a rich man's pride in living -modestly. He never would have more than one servant in the house. The -young men, with vanity of a different kind, would have delighted in -dazzling the twelve tribes. As they were not given the necessary means, -they made up their minds to migrate. During the long evenings of whole -winter nothing else was talked of. Gideon did not begrudge the very -considerable outlay involved, knowing that it was a good investment. -Only one consideration troubled him at the thought of launching his -progeny "in the cities of the West." Under penalty of closing the -avenues to social success, they would be obliged to relinquish the -orthodox long coat and clip off the two corkscrew locks on their -temples. Without attaching too much importance to these outward signs, -Gideon grieved over what seemed to him a humiliating concession. - -"Father," said Daniel, "in Russia the orthodox Jews are obliged to cut -their hair, in conformity with an edict of the Czar. But even without -_paillès_ Jehovah receives them in his bosom, for it is a case of -superior force." - -"Yes, that is it, superior force," said Gideon, nodding assent. "The -only thing that troubles me is that I have always noticed that one -concession leads to another. Where shall you stop? One of these days you -may think it necessary to your social success to become Christians!" - -"That!... Never!" cried Daniel and Nathan in one voice, horror-stricken. - -"I know, I know that you have no such intention. Like me, you are -penetrated by the greatness of our race, and like me you stand in -admiration before the miracles of destiny. By their holy books the Jews -have conquered the West. Upon our thought the thought of our rulers has -been modelled. That, you must know, is the fundamental reason for their -reviling us; they are aware of having nothing but brutal force to help -them, and of living upon our genius. Though vanquished, we are their -masters. Even in their heresy, which is a Jewish heresy, they proclaim -the superiority of the children of Jehovah. When their God was incarnate -in man, his choice fell upon a Jewish woman. He was born a Jew. He -promised the fulfilment of the Law. His apostles were Jews. Go into -their temples. You will see nothing but statues of Jews which they -worship on their knees. How sad a thing it is, when signs of our grace -are so striking on all sides, to see the wealthiest among us seeking -alliances with the barbarous aristocracy who subjugated us. Some of -them, while remaining Jews, make donations to the church of Christ, so -as to win the favour of nations and kings. Others submit to the disgrace -of baptism. Should you, Daniel, or you, Nathan, commit such a crime, I -should curse you, if living; if dead, I should turn in my grave." - -Terrified by this portentous threat, Daniel and Nathan, rising with a -common impulse, swore, calling upon the Lord, to live as good Jews, like -their forefathers. - -"That is well done," said Gideon. "I accept your oath. Remember that if -you break it, I shall turn in my grave." - -Nathan and Daniel acquired great wealth by every means that the law -tolerates. Gideon was gathered to his fathers. In accordance with his -will, the greater part of his fortune was distributed in charities. A -considerable sum, however, fell to each of his sons, accompanied by a -letter in which affection had dictated final injunctions. The last word -was still: "If ever one of you should become a Christian,--forswear the -pure faith of Abraham for Christian idolatry, I should turn in my -grave." - -Time passed. Daniel and Nathan, loaded with riches, had friends in -society, at court, and most especially among those great lords who in -the midst of their reckless magnificence may sometimes be accommodated -by a pecuniary service. Daniel wished to marry. The daughter of an -impoverished prince was opportunely at hand. But his conversion was -required. The Vatican conferred a title upon him. From the class of mere -manipulators of money, the son of the Cloth Market was raised to the -higher sphere of world politics. Daniel did not hesitate. His absent -brother coming home found him turned into a Christian count. - -No violent scene ensued between the two sons of Gideon. Nathan -understood perfectly. One thought, however, tormented him. - -"I agree with you," he said, "that the Christians are but a sect of -Israel, that they are sons of the synagogue, and that you remain loyal -in spirit to our faith, though overlaid by debatable additions. The fact -none the less remains that we had given our oath to our father.... He -foresaw only too well the thing that has occurred. And you know what he -said: 'I shall turn in my grave.'" - -"One says that sort of thing----" - -"Gideon, son of Manasseh, was not the man to speak idle words. Think of -it, Daniel, if we were to lift the grave stone and our eyes were to -behold----" - -"Nathan, say no more, I beg of you. The mere thought turns me cold with -fear." - -The two brothers, formerly indissolubly united, drew away from each -other little by little: Daniel, forgetful, cheerfully disposed, a -nobleman not altogether free from arrogance, amiably deceived by his -Christian spouse, but with or without this assistance becoming the -founder of a great family; Nathan, morose, restless, smoulderingly -envious of a happiness paid too high for, in his opinion. When a -question of interest brought them together for a day, Nathan always -ended by returning to his theme: - -"Our father said: 'I shall turn in my grave!'" - -Whereupon Daniel, finding nothing to reply, cut short the interview. - -Then, suddenly, Nathan dropped sadness for mirth, severity for -indulgence, stopped sermonizing and smiled instead at other people's -faults. The change struck Daniel the more from twice meeting his brother -without a word being spoken about their father and his terrible threat. -Finally he found the key to the mystery: Nathan had in his turn received -baptism and was about to become the happy bridegroom of a widow without -fortune whom an act of the royal sovereign authorized to bestow upon her -consort a feudal title threatened with falling to female succession. In -gratitude, Nathan had promised that Daniel and he would "supervise" a -future loan. - -"So!" cried Daniel in anger, when he heard the great news. "You are -becoming a Christian, too, after viciously tormenting me on every -occasion, and reminding me of our father who on my account had 'turned -in his grave.' And I was filled with remorse. Yes, I may have seemed -happy, but my sleep was troubled. I did not know what to do. There were -times when I even contemplated returning to the synagogue. Well, then, -if what you tell me is true, if our father actually has turned in his -grave, you will admit that you are now to blame as well as I. Come, -speak, what have you to say?" - -"I say," replied Nathan, undisturbed, "that I have shown myself in this -the more devoted son of the two. I take back nothing of what I said. It -is you assuredly who caused Gideon, son of Manasseh, to turn in his -grave. About that there is no doubt whatever. But thanks to the act to -which I have resigned myself, he has undoubtedly turned back again, -according to his solemn promise, and there he lies henceforth just as we -buried him, and as he must remain forever. I have retrieved your fault. -Our father forgives you. I accept your thanks." - - - - -VI - -SIMON, SON OF SIMON - - -Simon, son of Simon, was nearing the end of his career without having -tasted the fruits of his untiring effort to acquire the riches which may -be said to represent happiness. Whether we be the sons of Shem or of -Japheth, each of us strives for the representative symbol of the -satisfaction of his particular cravings. Not that Simon, son of Simon, -of the tribe of Judah, had ever given much thought to the joys that were -to come from his possession of treasure. No, the question of the -possible use to be made of a pile of money had never occupied his active -but simple mind. The satisfaction of money-lust having been his single -aim, he had never looked forward to any enjoyment other than that of -successful money getting. Fine raiment appealed to him not at all. The -safest thing, after snaring wealth on the wing, is to conceal it under -poverty, lest we lead into temptation the wicked, ever ready to -appropriate the goods of their neighbours. Jewels, rare gems, precious -vessels, delicate porcelain, rugs, tapestries, luxurious dwellings, -horses, none of these awakened his desire. He cared nothing for them, -and had no understanding of the vain-glorious joys to be derived from -their possession. Neither did he yearn for fair persons--sometimes -containing a soul--obtainable at a price for ineffable delight. Simon, -son of Simon, had a very vague notion of the esthetic superiority of one -daughter of Eve above another, and would not have given a farthing for -the difference between any two of them. - -His ingenuous desire was concerned solely with coined metal. Gold, -silver, bronze, cut into disks and stamped with an effigy, seemed to -him, as in fact they are, the greatest marvel of the world. The thought -of collecting them, carefully counted in bags--making high brown, white, -or yellow piles of them in coffers with intricate locks--filled him with -superhuman joy. And so great is the miracle of metal, even when absent -and represented only by a sheet of paper supplied with the necessary -formulæ and bearing imposing signatures along with the stamp of Cæsar, -that the delight of it in that form was no less. Some, with a cultivated -taste in such matters, tell us indeed that the delight is enhanced by -the thought of safeguarding from the world's cupidity so great a -treasure in a bulk so small. - -All of this, however, Simon, son of Simon, had tasted only in dream -visions, finding it infinitely delectable even so. How would he have -felt, had reality kept pace with the flight of a delirious imagination? -But such happiness seemed not to be the portion of the miserable Jew, -who had so far vainly exerted himself to win gold. Gold for the sake of -gold, not for the vain pleasures, the empty shells, for which fools give -it in exchange. Gold was beautiful, gold was mighty, gold was sovereign -of the world. If Simon, son of Simon, had attempted to picture Jehovah, -he would have conceived of him as gold stretching out to infinity, -filling all space! Meanwhile, he trailed shocking old slippers through -the mud of his Galician village, and arrayed himself in a greasy, ragged -garment on which the far-spaced clean places stood out like spots. He -was a poor man, you would have thought him an afflicted one, but the -golden rays of an indefatigable hope lighted his life. - -He walked by the guidance of a star, the golden star of a dream which -would end only with the dreamer. He was always busy. Always on the eve -of some lucky stroke. Never on the day after it. The things he had -attempted, the combinations he had constructed, the traps he had set for -human folly, would worthily fill a volume. It seemed as if his genius -lacked nothing necessary for success. Yet he always failed, and had -acquired a reputation for bad luck. He had travelled much; taken part in -large enterprises, to which he contributed ideas that proved profitable -to someone else. He could buy and sell on the largest or the smallest -scale. He dealt in every ware that is sold in the open market as well -as every one that is bargained for in secret, from honours--and -honour--to living flesh, from glory to love. And now, here he was, -stripped of illusions--I mean illusions on the subject of his -fellowman--dreaming for the thousandth time of holding a winning hand in -the game. - -The sole confidant of his dreams was his son Ochosias, a youth of great -promise, initiated by him into all the mysteries of commerce. Ochosias -profited by his lessons and was not lacking in gifts, but never rose to -his father's sublime heights. He had a preference for the money trade. - -"Money," said he, "is the finest merchandise of all. Purchase, sale, -loan, are all profitable for one knowing how to handle it. If you will -give your consent, father, I will establish myself as a banker--by the -week." - -"You are crazy," answered Simon, son of Simon. "The money trade -certainly has advantages perceptible even to the dullest wit. But in -order to deal with capital, capital you must have, or else find some -innocent Gentile to lend it you at an easy rate. Before doing this, -however, he will ask for securities. Where are your securities?" - -And as the other shrugged his shoulders-- - -"Listen," continued the man of experience, "the time has come to submit -to you a plan that has been haunting me and from which I expect a rare -profit." - -"Speak, speak, father," cried Ochosias, eagerly, with such a racial -quiver at the words "rare profit" as a war-horse's at a bugle call. - -"Listen," said Simon with deliberation, "I have long revolved in my mind -the history of my life. I can say without vanity that nowhere is Simon, -son of Simon, surpassed in business ability. Should you, Ochosias, live -to be the age of the patriarchs, you might meet with one more fortunate -than your father, but one more expert in trade--never. And yet I have -not been successful ... at least, not up to the present time. For the -future is in the hands of Jehovah alone by whom all things are decided." - -The two men bowed devoutly in token of submission to the Lord. - -"What, then, has been wanting?" continued Simon, son of Simon, following -up his thought. "Nothing within myself, I say it without any uncertainty -as to my pride being justifiable. Nothing within myself, everything -outside of myself. It is no secret. Everyone proclaims it aloud. Ask -anybody you please. Everyone will tell you: 'Simon, son of Simon, is no -ordinary Jew.' Some will even add: 'He is the greatest Jew of his time.' -I do not go as far as that. We must always leave room for another. But -you will find opinion unanimous in respect to one curious statement: -'Simon, son of Simon, has no luck. All that he has lacked is luck,' -There you have the simple truth. There is nothing further to say." - -"Well----?" inquired Ochosias, breathlessly, scenting something new in -the air. - -"Well, one must have luck, that is the secret, and, I tell you plainly, -I mean to have it." - -"How?" - -"It is within reach of all, my child. You cannot fail to see it. A state -institution, through the care of the Emperor Francis Joseph, Christian -of Christ, distributes good luck impartially to every subject of the -Empire, whether Christian, Jew, or Mahomedan." - -"The lottery?" asked Ochosias, and pouted his lips disdainfully. - -"The lottery, you have said it, the lottery which graciously offers us -every day a chance of which we neglect to avail ourselves." - -"Unless, of course," mused the youth, with a brightening countenance, -"you know of some way to draw the winning number----" - -"Good. I was sure that blood would presently speak. You are not far from -guessing right." - -"But, come now. Seriously. You know of some such means?" - -"Perhaps. Tell me, who is the master of luck?" - -"Jehovah. You yourself just said so." - -"Yes, Jehovah, or some god of the outsiders, if any there be mightier -than Jehovah, which I cannot believe." - -"Other gods may be mighty, like Baal, or like Mammon, who ought by no -means to be despised. But Jehovah is the greatest of all. He said: 'I am -the Eternal.' And He is." - -"Doubtless. There are, however, more mysteries in this world than we can -grasp, and Jehovah permits strange usurpations by other Celestial -Powers." - -"It is for the purpose of trying us." - -"I believe it to be so. But I have no more time to waste in mistakes. -And so I have said to myself: 'Adonai, the Master, holds luck in his -hands. According to my belief, that master is Jehovah. He just might, -however, be Christ, or Allah, or another. I shall, if necessary, exhaust -the dictionary of the Gods of mankind, which is, I am told, a bulky -volume. Whoever is the mightiest God, him must we tempt, seduce, or, to -speak plainly, buy.' That is what I have resolved to do. I shall -naturally begin the experiment with Jehovah, the God of Abraham and of -Solomon, whom I worship above all others. To-morrow is the Sabbath. -To-day I will go and purchase a ticket for the imperial lottery, the -grand prize of which is five hundred thousand florins, and to-morrow, -bowed beneath the veil, in the temple of the Lord, I shall promise to -give him, if I win----" - -"Ten thousand florins!" Ochosias bravely proposed. - -"Ten thousand grains of sand!" cried Simon, son of Simon. "Would you be -stingy toward your Creator? Ten thousand florins! Do you think that in -the world we live in one can subsidize a Divinity, a first-class one, -for that price? Triple donkey! Know that I shall offer Jehovah one -hundred thousand florins! One hundred thousand florins! What do you -think of it? That is how one behaves when he is moved by religious -sentiments." - -The amazed Ochosias was silent. After a pause, however, he murmured: - -"You are right, father, in these days one cannot get a God, a real one, -under that figure. But a hundred thousand florins! You must own that it -is frightful to hand over such a pile of money even to Jehovah." - -"Ochosias, in business one must know how to be lavish. With your ten -thousand florins I should never win the grand prize. Whilst with my -hundred thousand----We shall see." - -And Simon, son of Simon, did as he had said. He bought his lottery -ticket, he took a solemn oath before the Thorah to devote, should he -win, a hundred thousand florins to Jehovah, and then he waited quietly -for three months, to learn that his was not the winning number. - -Ochosias and Simon, son of Simon, thereupon deliberated. To which God -should they next turn their attention? For some reason Jehovah had lost -power. Was it possible that the centuries had strengthened some other -God against him? Strange things happen. Still, Ochosias ventured the -suggestion that Jehovah with the best will in the world might have been -bound by some previous engagement. - -"Any other Jew to have promised a hundred thousand florins to the -Eternal?" uttered Simon, son of Simon, sententiously. "No! I am the only -one capable of a stroke of business such as that!" - -But upon the insistence of Ochosias, whose faith in Jehovah remained -unshaken, he was willing to try again. This time he waited six -months ... with the same result. - -It then became necessary to make a decision, and the two men agreed that -after Jehovah the honour of the next trial was due to his son Jesus, a -Jew, offspring of the Jew Joseph and the Jewess Mary. So Simon, son of -Simon, bought another lottery ticket and hastened to the church of -Christ where, having been properly sprinkled with holy water, he knelt -according to the custom of the place, and pledged himself solemnly, in -case he won the grand prize, to present the Crucified with a hundred -thousand florins. Having given his word, Simon, son of Simon, looked all -around him in the hope of some sign, but seeing nothing that could -concern him he retired, not without repeating his promise and gratifying -the Deity with a few supplementary genuflexions. - -Time passed. Simon, son of Simon, and Ochosias went about their ordinary -occupations, taking great care to utter no word that could give offence -to the Power whose favour they were seeking. Jehovah remained during -this long period exiled, as it were, from their thoughts. What if the -Other should be jealous? - -And then, of a sudden, the miracle! Simon, son of Simon, won the grand -prize. At first he doubted, fearing some trick of the invisible powers. -But in the end he was obliged to accept the evidence. The Most Catholic -bank paid the money, and soon the five hundred thousand florins were -safely bestowed. - -After a few twitches of nervous trembling, Simon, son of Simon, regained -command over himself. But he was visibly sunk in deep thought. Vainly -the agitated Ochosias plied him with questions. Such answers as he -obtained were vague and unsatisfactory. "Oh," and "Ah," and "Perhaps," -and "We shall see," which in no wise revealed what lay in the other's -mind. Finally, Ochosias could no longer restrain himself. He must know -what was going on in his father's soul, for his own was torn by a -dreadful doubt. The genius of Simon, son of Simon, was marvellous, it -had opened the way for him to recalcitrant fortune, and in the natural -course of things he, Ochosias, would presently through death's agency be -placed in possession of the treasure. But here was a difficulty. Could -one grant that Jehovah had no power left and that Christ was -all-powerful? Ochosias shuddered at the thought, for, after all, if -Christ had greater power than the One who was formerly all-powerful, if -supreme power had devolved upon Christ, then to Christ must one bow. -Conversion would be inevitable. To leave the temple of Jehovah for the -altars of his enemy and pay, into the bargain, an enormous fee? -Horrible! - -In hesitating and fragmentary talk Ochosias made the sorrowful avowal of -his anguish. - -"Must we believe that Jesus is mightier than Jehovah? What consequences -would such a belief involve! Is it possible that the religion of Jesus -is the true one? No, no, it cannot be! What are your thoughts on the -subject, father?" - -"Man of little faith, who hast doubted," spoke Simon, son of Simon, -softly, with a flash as of lightning in his eye. "Let me reassure thee -who have not doubted. Clearly I perceive the true significance of -events. Jehovah is not one whom we can deceive, even unintentionally. To -Him all things are known. He foresees all, and works accordingly. The -proof that He is mightier than Jesus is that He perfectly understood on -both occasions that I should never be able to part with the hundred -thousand florins I so rashly promised. He knows our hearts. He does not -expect the impossible. The Other was taken in by my good faith, which -deceived even myself. Jehovah alone is great, my son." - -"Jehovah alone is great," repeated Ochosias, his soul divinely eased by -the lifting off it of a great weight. - -And both men, with foreheads bowed before the Almighty, worshipped. - - - - -VII - -AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS - - -Buried in silence, the city slept under the friendly moon. With the -setting of the sun, activities had slowed, then halted in temporary -death, and over the noisy pavements had fallen the peace of the grave. -Divine sleep by oblivion shielded the children of men from evil and by -dreams comforted them with hope. Some of the windows, however, were kept -alight by love, or suffering, or labour. The hushed street, touched with -bluish light, emerged from shadow here and there, and as abruptly -dropped into it again. Where three converging roads ended in a public -square, the water of fountains murmured around the great stone base of a -bloodstained crucifix. - -The street of the people, "_everybody's street_," as it was also called, -was recognizable by its neglect of the customary city ordinances. A -narrow track of aggressive cobblestones, amid which the sewage trailed -its odours, wound between high, mouldy walls, and led from their dens to -the foot of the Divine Image the sad, long procession of those who are -not of the elect. The citizen's road, "_the middle road_," as some -called it, offered greater convenience to its travellers. Wide, airy, -drained according to the latest hygienic system, salubriously paved with -wood, bordered by sumptuous shops where all the pleasant things of life -were on sale, this road invited idleness to leisurely promenades, -invariably ending, however, at the foot of the cross. For greater -certainty, a moving platform took people thither, saving them the -trouble of exerting themselves. As to the way of the elect, likewise -called "_the way of the few_," it stretched along triumphantly, -indescribable in splendour, amid monuments of art, statues, marvellous -trees, blossoming bowers, fragrant lawns, singing birds, all that the -utmost refinement of luxury could devise for human felicity. There were -even, at stated hours, fair traffickers in delight, artfully adorned, -who moved about in accordance with a prescribed order, selling heaven on -earth to whomsoever had the price to pay. In commodious coaches drawn by -six gold-caparisoned horses these repaired like the rest to the -cross-roads where in His patient anguish the God awaited them. -Motionless, from the height of His gibbet, He gazed down upon it all -with ineffable sadness, as if He said: "Is this what I laboured for?" - -And now, on the three avenues which even during the hours of sleep -preserve their characteristics, shadows are seen moving. Their outlines -increase in distinctness, and one after the other three human figures -issue from the three roads into the flickering lamplight of the square. - -The man from "_the low road_," hugging the wall, advances timidly, with -hesitating step, yet like one driven by a higher power. A stranger to -fear, the man of "_the middle road_" advances with tranquil eye, -securely bold, knowing that others have care for his safety. _Incessu -patuit Homo._ The man from "_the road of the few_" treads the earth as -if he owned it, and seems to call the stars to witness that he is the -supreme justification of the universe. Each with his different gait, -they proceed toward their goal, which fate has made identical. At the -foot of the cross, whose massive base had until that moment concealed -them from one another, they suddenly come face to face, under the gaze -of Him whom their ancestors nailed to the ignominious tree. - -Three simultaneous cries cross in the air. - -"Ephraim!" - -"Samuel!" - -"Mordecai!" - -"What are you doing here?" - -"And you?" - -"And you?" - -Silence falls, as each waits for an answer. - -"Three Jews at the foot of the cross!" said Ephraim _of the low road_. - -"Three renegade Jews," said Mordecai _of the tribe of the few_, below -breath. "For we are Christians." - -"Renegade is not the word, brother," objected Samuel _of the middle -class_, softly. "Apostasy is the name for those who go over to the -beliefs of the minority. The others are converts." - -"Admirably expressed, Samuel," said Ephraim. "You are a wise man. Why -should I take the trouble to lie to you? I have come here alone, by -night, because having changed Lord, I need compensating gifts, and--God, -though He has become Jesus, son of Joseph, cannot hear me when His crowd -of courtiers is besieging Him with clamorous petitions. Therefore I come -sometimes to speak to Him as man to God. And who knows? Perhaps if I -help myself sufficiently my words will be heard." - -"I will not deny," said Samuel, "that I am here with the same object." - -"My case differs in nothing from yours," Mordecai readily owned. - -"You, then, are a believer?" asked Ephraim, as if really curious, and at -the same time anxious to avoid facing the same question. - -"I must be ... since I am converted," answered each of the others. - -"Sensible words," observed Ephraim, after a thoughtful pause. "To -believe is to observe the forms of worship. In men's eyes, as in those -of God himself, the ceremonies of the cult class one as a believer, and -society first, Heaven later, will show approval by favours." - -"As far as men are concerned, it is not difficult to satisfy them," -spoke Mordecai. "You go to the temple at prescribed times, you perform -the rites scrupulously, with proper manifestations of zeal. And this, I -dare say, is equally satisfactory to the God." - -"Certainly," said Ephraim. "But He is Jesus, son of Joseph, a Jewish God -still, and sent by Jehovah, as is proved by His success. He must be a -jealous God. Cleverness is necessary, and in my conferences with Him, -when we are alone----" - -"That is it! That is it!" exclaimed the other two. - -"Brother," said Samuel, "what was it that led to your--conversion?" - -"It came about very naturally," replied Ephraim, "the reason for it -being the great, the only motive of men's actions: self-interest. -Self-interest, which it is the fashion among Christians to decry in -words, while adhering to it strictly in action. When it became plain to -me that the sons of Jehovah, to whom the earth was promised, were not -masters of the earth, the holy promises notwithstanding, doubts entered -my mind, which were only augmented by reflection. If Jehovah does not -keep His promises, thought I, what right has He to the fidelity of those -whom He leaves unrewarded? Give and receive is the rule. If I receive -nothing, God himself has no claim to anything from me. On the other -hand, I observed that the followers of Jesus possessed the earth, -conquered treasures which they reserved strictly for themselves, being -forever anxious to proclaim their indifference to worldly goods while -inordinately preoccupied with collecting them. Their success seemed to -me a sign. And when, after having burned, tortured, and in a thousand -ways persecuted us during the dark ages, I saw them inaugurating the -reign of justice and liberty by a return to persecution, I saw that the -hour had come. I could not, however, decide immediately. A foolish -self-respect held me back, I blush to own it. But then the head of the -commercial house in which I am employed, doing justice to my talents, -said to me: - -"'What a pity that you are a Jew, Ephraim. I would gladly turn over my -business to you, but all our customers would forsake us.' - -"'If that is all that stands in the way, I am a Christian.' - -"'A Christian?' - -"'Yes.' - -"And, the day after, I was a Christian. Six months later I married his -daughter. My signature is honoured at the bank and at the church. I am -president of the Anti-semitic Committee of my district." - -"That is going somewhat far," remarked Samuel. - -"Jews who remain Jews are inexcusable!" said Ephraim, in irritation -against his people. "What is asked of them? A little salt water on their -heads. A great matter! Is there any question of denying Jehovah? None, -for it is our God whom, by our holy book, we have imposed upon the -Gallic barbarians. In all the temples it is Jehovah they worship. Why -should we refuse to enter? Whose effigies are they, if you please, on -the altars, in the niches? Those of Jews. All Jews! Peter, the first -pope--nothing less!--Paul, Joseph, Simon, Thomas, all the apostles. Even -to the Jewess Mary and her mother Anna, who are regularly worshipped and -who obtain favours from their son and grandson, Jesus, who Himself -proclaimed that He had come to fulfill the law of Moses. Now there is -not and there cannot be any other law than to vanquish one's rivals, and -the victory of Christ is manifestly the victory of Jehovah himself. -Christianity is the finest flower of Israel. It is the most flourishing -among the Jewish sects, and in it nothing is changed but certain words. -Shall we for the sake of a word or two forego that which makes life on -earth beautiful? The Jews will come to understand this, and if they -delay much longer the anti-semites will make them understand it." - -The other two were silent in admiration. - -"I suppose, brother," said Samuel after a time to Mordecai, "that your -story is practically the same." - -"Not at all," replied Mordecai, curtly. "My case is wholly different. I -was rich from birth. My ancestors, a beggarly lot, I admit, had by -filing away at Christian coins made Jewish ingots, which I found in my -inheritance, and was able to increase considerably by analogous methods. -Hence, the idea could never have occurred to me to be--converted--for -the sake of gain." (This shaft was accompanied by a sidelong glance at -Ephraim, who did not flinch.) "I lived in peaceful enjoyment of the -things money can give, and it can give almost everything, as you know. -Sovereigns loved me. I entertained them in my various dwellings. They -pushed friendliness to the point of borrowing money from me which they -forgot to return. I had the friendship besides of all those -aristocracies that draw near at the sound of clinking coin, as serpents -do at the sound of the charmer's flute. Good priests came to my -antechamber on begging missions for the restoration or completion of -their cathedrals." - -"I fail to see what more you could want," said Samuel. - -"I wanted nothing. You have said it, brother. Count Mordecai of Brussels -was the equal of earth's kings. More princes applied for the hand of my -daughters than I had time to refuse." - -"Well?" - -"Well, Jehovah, or Christ, or both, placed an extinguisher over this too -bright happiness of mine." - -"You are ruined?" - -"Oh, no, on the contrary. Only, the wind changed. To divert the -attention of the crowd from a demagogue who shouted, 'Clericalism is the -great enemy!' the Jesuits devised the plan of raising a cry in -opposition: 'The great enemy is Semitism!' And as the Jesuits had the -whole Church behind them, and the demagogue controlled nothing but a -fluctuating crowd, a very feather in the wind, anti-semitism prospered. -Thereupon arose from somewhere or other certain so-called -"intellectuals," who defended us in the name of their "ideas." What -clumsy nonsense! And they could not be hushed up. They being our -defenders, others for that very reason attacked us. Whereas, had we, -according to our traditions, offered our backs to their blows, our -enemies would presently have desisted, from weariness. Now the harm is -done. We are contemned. No more priests after that sat on my benches. My -noble friends deserted my drawing rooms, leaving their unpaid notes in -my pocketbook. I went hunting with no company but the two hundred -gamekeepers for the battue. Society forsook me. I was no longer -"esteemed." Now, let me declare to you that there is no more exquisite -torture than to see the friendship of the great go up in smoke. -Unhesitatingly, therefore, resolutely, with the object of reinstating -myself in public favour, I turned Christian. It means nothing, as -Ephraim here demonstrated. My Christian friends came back, with -contribution boxes outstretched, just as in earlier days. My generosity -has ceased to be obnoxious. Now, as before, I build churches. So there -is nothing really new in my estate. When I shall have received some -honorary employment from the Vatican there will be nothing left to wish -for. I have all that is needed for winning in the game. As it is wise, -however, to neglect no detail, I thought that the intervention of the -Master----" - -He indicated the Crucified. But Samuel gave him no time to finish. - -"Brothers," he cried, "I pity you! Conversion in itself means nothing, I -agree. It is none the less true that there are traditions worthy of -respect, which one must not renounce without serious reasons. A base -money lust guided you, Ephraim. And you, Mordecai, were moved by love of -the approbation of the majority. Which shows that man is never satisfied -on earth. One for material advantages, the other for a thing as illusory -as imprisoning the wind, you have sacrificed the ideal by which alone -humanity is strong----" - -"But you?" cried the others. "Why were you converted?" - -"Because of opinion. I came here even now to seek fuller light from----" - -"What? What is that you say? Say it over again!" - -"I have changed my religion simply because my convictions have -changed." - -At these words Ephraim and Mordecai were unable to contain themselves. -Leaning for support against the stone pile, they burst into laughter so -wild, so loud, at the madness of the statement, that the neighbouring -windows shook. They uttered guttural cries, they tossed into the -affrighted air grunts of raucous merriment, before the unheard-of -monstrosity of the case. There were Ohs and Ahs and Hoo-hoos and -Hee-hees, interrupted by fits of coughing brought on by strangling -laughter. Then of a sudden, reflection, following upon amusement, turned -into fury. - -"Villain! Are you making fools of us? Perhaps you think us such -simpletons as to swallow your lie. Dog! Reprobate! Accursed! Bad Jew! -Raca! Raca! Take that for your belief, your convictions!" - -And they fell to beating him. - -"What's the matter?" cried the watchman, arriving on the scene, -attracted by the noise. "You, over there! Stop pommeling one another, or -you will go to jail. Move on! Move on!" - -In less time than it takes to tell it, the three men had quieted down. -They separated hastily, without good-night, and each with nimble foot -went home to bed. - -The fourth Israelite, Jesus, son of Joseph, was left alone beneath the -stars. He is still there. Without disrespect, I blame Him for not having -on this occasion put in a word. - - - - -VIII - -EVIL BENEFICENCE - - -Beneficence is a virtue: no one will deny it. But let no one deny, -either, that there are benefactors maleficent in the extreme, through -the stupidity of their benefactions. - -In the distant days of my youth there flourished in the Woodland of the -Vendée a highly respected couple, who during a period of fifty years -wearied three cantons with their "kindness." - -These excellent people were, of course, possessed of great wealth, for -in order to pester one's fellowman with generosity one must have -received the means for it from heaven. They were, on top of that, pious, -again as a matter of course, for the preacher's promise of eternal -reward has killed in man the beautiful disinterestedness that is the -fine flower of charity. - -The Baron de Grillères was a small noble of large fortune. Formerly a -member of the body guard of Charles X, he had little care for "Divine -Right" or a return to the splendours of the old régime, as he proved by -accepting a captaincy in the militia called out by Louis Philippe to -crush the royalist attempt at an uprising in the Vendée, in which the -Duchesse de Berry so miserably failed. I have seen in the Baron's study -a shining panoply in which his epaulettes of a royal guardsman -eloquently fraternized with his collar piece of a captain of the -National Guard in arms against the King. In the centre were two crossed -swords, one of them formerly worn in the service of the legitimate -sovereign anointed at Rheims, the other drawn from its scabbard against -that same legitimacy, to uphold the rights of the usurper. - -It is certain that the excellent soldier had never perceived anything -contradictory in these two manifestations of a martial spirit. He had -consistently upheld established order, that is to say, the régime which -assured him the peaceful enjoyment of his property, and the logic of his -conduct seemed to him unquestionable, for what in the world could be -more sacred than that which promoted the quietness of his life? Totally -uneducated, barely able to write his name, he was never troubled by any -longings after learning. The Church answered for everything; he referred -everything to the Church. This principle has the great advantage of -dispensing one from any effort to think for himself. - -The Baroness, of middle-class origin, and doubtless for that reason very -proud of the three gates on her escutcheon, lived solely, as she was -pleased to say, "for the glory of God." Divinity, according to this -simple soul, needed the Baroness de Grillères in order to attain the -fullness of glory. It is a common idea among believers that the Creator -of the Universe is open to receiving from His creatures pleasant or -unpleasant impressions, just as we are from our fellow-beings. These -estimable people are convinced that the Good Lord of All is pleased or -angered accordingly as they act thus or so. They hold Providence in such -small esteem as to believe that It needs defending by those same human -beings whom It could with a gesture reduce to the original dust. Do we -not often hear it said that such and such a minister or party is bent on -"driving out God" from somewhere or other, and that they would in all -likelihood succeed but for some paladin, ecclesiastical or military, -stepping in to defend the Supreme Being, unequal, apparently, to -defending Himself? This Baroness of the Vendée, dwelling in perpetual -colloquy with the Eternal, either directly or through the mediation of -the divine functionaries delegated for that purpose, had taken as her -special mission to "contribute to the Glory of God." In some nebulous -way it seemed to her that if she gave an example of all the virtues, the -Sovereign Artificer, like Vaucanson, delighted with himself on account -of his famous mechanical duck, would be puffed up with pride at His -success in producing so perfect a human specimen, and that the -admiration of the world for the genius capable of such a masterpiece -would deliciously tickle the conceit of the Almighty. One might -attribute to the Master of the Infinite less human causes of -satisfaction. But, might one say, what matter, if this rather earthly -view of Divinity incited the devout Baroness to the practice of the -virtues? - -"The virtues," when one has an income of 80,000 francs, and no personal -tastes, no passion of mind or heart to satisfy, do not seem beyond human -reach. For "the glory of God" the Baroness de Grillères was in life as -chaste as an iceberg, and at death bequeathed her wealth to the rich. - -God, the Holy Virgin, and the Saints bid us to give. More especially, -they are pleased if we give first of all to the Church. Chapels sprang -up in the Baroness's footprints. After a consultation with her spiritual -adviser, she had dedicated her husband to Saint Joseph. The Saint and -the Baron exchanged a thousand amenities. The one received statues and -prayers, the other, the highest example of resignation. Wherever two -avenues crossed in the park, stood a group of the Holy Family, with an -inscription showing that the Baron and Baroness de Grillères aspired to -linking their names in the public memory with those of the pair -conspicuous for the greatest miracle known on earth. - -Upon every religious establishment in the surrounding country -successively were bestowed sums of money, in exchange for which the -pious donors desired nothing but a marble tablet, placed well in view, -whereon was published in golden letters that Christian charity in -connection with which the Master has said that the right hand must not -know what is done by the left. Of course, the presence of the poor, the -sick, and the infirm, in an institution conducted by some congregation, -did not actually constitute a reason in the minds of the Baron and -Baroness for withholding their gifts. They considered, however, that -direct service to God and the Saints must be given precedence, for the -heavenly powers were the ones who dispensed rewards; it might, moreover, -be feared that there was a sort of impiety in thwarting the unfathomable -designs of Providence, by attempting to alleviate the trials It had seen -fit to impose upon human beings. - -When the mayor of La Fougeraie, a notorious Free Mason, headed a -subscription for setting up a public fountain in the village square, the -lord and lady of the château refused to contribute, but immediately -devoted 2,000 francs to purchasing a holy water font of Carrara marble, -on which might be seen a flight of angels carrying heavenward the -escutcheon with the three gates. - -As for the poor who did not shrink from personally soliciting alms, the -Baron and Baroness alike held them in profound contempt. In the history -of every wretched beggar there invariably turned out to be some fault in -conduct making him unworthy of charity. One of them had got drunk last -Sunday at the tavern, one was accused of stealing potatoes, another had -been mixed up in a brawl at the village festival. How could disorderly -living of this sort lead to anything but mendicancy? "You ought to go to -work, my good man," they would say. "Look for employment. Do you so much -as go to mass? Do you keep Lent? Go and see the _curé_. It is to him we -give our alms, for the whole countryside knows we keep nothing for -ourselves of what the Good God has given us. It is not to the deceitful -riches of this earth that we must cling, my poor friend; for heavenly -things only must we strive. Go and see the _curé_, he is so kind. He -will know how to minister to the needs of your soul." - -Sometimes the gift of a little brass medal with the image of Saint -Joseph or the Virgin Mary would accompany this homily, and the beggar, -however hardened in his evil ways, would depart with humble salutations -and a melancholy thankfulness. - -It is true that vice deserves hate, but can it be denied that certain -aspects of virtue are utterly hateful? Vice, not unlikely to bring about -humility and repentance, is sometimes capable of generous actions -without hope of reward. The selfish goodness of calculating virtue sees -in Christian charity the opening of a bank account with the Creator, and -while making lavish gifts, forfeits the merit of giving, by the avowed -exaction of a profit immeasurably greater than the amount paid. The -Baron and Baroness de Grillères basked in the delight of hearing -themselves praised from the pulpit. No flattering hyperbole seemed to -them excessive, for, as they sowed money on all sides, they looked for a -great harvest of splendidly ostentatious veneration. All they lacked in -order to be loved was that they should first love a little. - -Of family life they never knew anything but the companionship of two -egoisms, both fiercely straining toward an incomprehensible future -felicity, to be earned by the application of a language of love, in -which was wrapped their lust of eternity. They had for incidental -diversion the base adulation of poor relations, whose mean calculations -did not, however, escape them. But the habit of hearing, at every step, -every conceivable virtue attributed to them, was an agreeable one, and -although they knew that money counted for something in the outpouring of -eulogistic superlatives of which they were the objects, they lent -themselves easily to the sweet belief that they did, in fact, achieve -prodigies of kindness every hour of their lives. No need to say that -they never made a gift of three shirts or a pair of shoes to a grand -nephew without the fact being trumpeted abroad. - -A delightful game, for the Baroness, was distributing legacies among her -relatives. Not a piece of furniture, of jewellery, or of silver, did she -possess, not a single object of commonest use, that she had not in -theory and in anticipation given to some one of her heirs. She would -open a wardrobe and show the happy prospective owner a label posted on -the inside of the door: "I bequeathe this piece of furniture, which came -to me from my dear Mamma, to my good little cousin Mary, whom I love -with all my heart." Picture the embraces, the ensuing effusions of -tenderness! Further on, the corner of a bit of paper would stick out -from under the pedestal of a clock. "I bequeathe this clock, which was -the property of my beloved Grandmother, to my grandnephew, Charles, who -will pray for his good aunt." With what ecstasy little grandnephew -Charles, led with much mystery to the spot, would with his own eyes read -the text naming him possessor of the treasure! No member of the family -was without his allotted share. - -Only, the capricious Baroness, whom it was very easy to annoy, was -perpetually taking offence. For a delayed letter, for thanks which -seemed insufficient tribute to her generosity, she would declare that -Mary or Charles no longer loved her, and as she looked upon affection -merely as a marketable commodity, the little slips of paper referring to -heirship were immediately replaced by others. Mary's wardrobe would fall -to Selina. Charles's clock would leap into John's inheritance, who would -be apprised of the fact in deep secret, until presently, for some -unconscious fault, the clock would be temporarily bestowed upon -Alphonse, and the wardrobe upon Rose. Variable book-keeping, which -kindled among relatives inextinguishable hatreds. But the Baroness' -masterpiece was the marriage between John and Rose. - -John was an overseer of highway and bridge construction. He loved his -cousin Mary, who contributed by her needlework to the slender family -earnings. The young people had been betrothed six months, when one fine -day, without any known reason, the Baroness declared that Rose was the -one for John, and John exactly suited to Rose. Great commotion. The fear -of being disinherited kept every one concerned in subjection to the -"dearly beloved Aunt." Mary, desperately weeping, was preached into -promising to enter a convent, the Baroness paying her dowry; this for -the dear sake of John, whose name she might unite in her prayers with -that of the Providential Aunt, who mercifully opened the way of -salvation to her. John, alas, was more easily persuaded than she, when -he learned that he and Rose together would be chief heirs; and Rose, who -had ideas of grandeur, and dreamt of nothing less than going on to the -stage, lent herself with her whole heart to the comedy of love fatly -remunerative. John was invited to give up his work and "live like a -gentleman," and Rose's natural tendencies coöperating, the young couple, -loaded down with gifts of sounding specie, spread themselves gloriously, -under the happy eyes of the Baroness, in every description of silly -extravagance. - -The Baron died of an attack of gout, a disease unknown to clodhoppers. -His wealth passed to his wife. Rose and John had received on their -marriage an income of only 10,000 francs, but they had the formal -promise of the entire inheritance. Unfortunately, a week before her -death, the Baroness was shocked by "a lack of regard" on Rose's part, -which consisted in not having evinced a sufficiently vociferous despair -at the recital of her Aunt's sufferings! By a will made in her last -moments everything was bequeathed to the Church, in payment for -numberless ceremonies whereby the utmost of celestial bliss was to be -secured for the dying woman. - -Rose and John, after a torrent of invectives, left that part of the -country. An income of 10,000 francs signified poverty for them. They -fled to Paris, where in less than a year John lost down to his last -penny in speculations. After that they went their respective ways, Rose -to sing in a café-concert of the Faubourg St. Martin, John to take -employment with a booking agency for the races. He has as yet only been -sentenced to one month's imprisonment for a swindling card-game. - -Admirable results of an Evil Beneficence! - - - - -IX - -A MAD THINKER - - -Among the wise, some will perhaps agree with me, the maddest madmen are -not those who are commonly called so. In great walled and barred and -guarded buildings--prisons where people who are condemned by "science," -just as elsewhere people are condemned by "law," expiate the crime of a -psychological disorder greater than that of the majority--unfortunate -beings are kept behind bolts and triple locks, for the incoherence of -their syllogisms, while fellow mortals no more mentally stable are -allowed to do their raving out on the world's stage. - -For one whole year in my youth I dwelt among the lunatics of Bicêtre. I -had many interviews with "impulsives," whom a sudden disturbance of the -organism had made dangerously violent, and who talked pathetically about -their "illness," believing it cured, whereas it was not. I held -discussions with patients suffering from more or less specific -delusions. From those now long-past associations I have retained a habit -of comparing the mentalities inside asylums with those outside, which -proceeding leads rather to the proposal than the solution of problems. - -What seems clear, however, is that we have not discovered a standard of -good sense, a way of measuring reason, by which we could definitely -separate sane from morbid psychology; that, furthermore, such a method, -had we discovered it, would not help us much, considering the -disconcerting ease with which men pass from the normal to the -pathological state, and vice versa. We should need too many asylums, and -there would be too continual a coming and going in and out of them. We -should not have time, between sojourns there, to study what we wanted to -learn, to teach what we knew, to prove to each other that we are all -afloat in a sea of errors, to quarrel, to vote, to kill one another, and -to reproduce ourselves for the sake of perpetuating the balance of -unbalance amid which fate has placed us. - -Let us then accept the human phenomenon as it stands, and beware of -classifications which might lead us to believe that the mere fact of -being at liberty on the public highways is a guarantee of sound mind. -Whoever doubts this may wisely consider the judgments men are pleased to -pass upon one another. Question the Christian with regard to the -atheist, he will tell you that one must be totally devoid of common -sense to deny evidence that to him seems conclusive. The Mahomedan will -not conceal from you, if you discuss Christianity with him, that one -must unmistakably be mad, to identify three in one, and believe in a -physical manifestation of God to man. The Buddhist will look upon the -Mussulman as feeble in reasoning power, and the practiser of fetishism -on the coast of Africa or of Australasia will declare all these sects -foolish, since to him the only rational thing is to worship his -fetishes, which are, strangely enough, matched in our religion by the -many miraculous statues. Lastly, let me mention the philosophers, who -agree in regarding all those people as affected with morbid -degeneration, while pitying one another because of the mutual imputation -of diseased understanding. - -At the time when I, like so many others, was seeking for the absolute -truth which should give me the key to all knowledge, I made the -acquaintance of one of those same seekers, possibly mad, or possibly -gifted with more than ordinary intelligence, who applied all his mental -energy to the solution of the problem of the construction of the world, -and to answering the questions raised by the presence of man on earth. -He was one of those "unfrocked priests" whom people usually blame -because they refuse to preach what seems to them a lie. I do not give -his name, his express desire having been to pass unknown among men. He -left the priesthood quietly, and after a fairly long stay in Paris, -during which he studied medicine, returned to his native village, where -two small farms brought an income more than sufficient for his needs. - -He lived alone, despised by pious relatives, who besieged him with -flattering attentions aimed at his inheritance, but were kept at a -respectful distance by his witty and well-directed shafts of sarcasm. A -veritable Doctor Faustus. Fifty years he spent in assiduous study of the -great minds that make up the history of human thought. His door was open -to the poor, but he did not seek them out, absorbed as he was in -problems allowing him neither diversion nor respite. He had no curiosity -as to what was going on in the world. His spirit lived in the perpetual -tension of reaching out toward the unknown, feverishly importuned to -deliver up its mystery, and he did not wish to know anything of men, -their conflicts, their often contradictory efforts to better their fate. -Had he lived in the midst of the Siberian steppes, or on some Malay -Island, he would not have been more entirely cut off from the -surrounding social life. The Franco-Prussian war and the Commune were as -remote from him in the depths of the Vendée as Alexander's expedition to -the Indies. When one of the farmers once tried to recall that period to -his mind: "Yes, yes, I remember," he answered, "all the fruit was frozen -that year." It was the only vestige in his memory of those terrific -storms. - -He was naturally considered mad, but it could not be denied that he -reasoned pertinently on all subjects. Absorbed in books, he had for -sole company the men of all time, and felt himself far better acquainted -with Leucippus, Democritus, Epicurus, Newton, Laplace, Darwin, and -Auguste Comte than with Bismarck or General Trochu. Shut up day and -night in a great room to which no one had admittance, he lived over with -delight the vast poem of the creation of the world. In waking to -consciousness, the universe, he was wont to say, had set us a riddle, -after the manner of the Sphinx, and he, a new Oedipus, was challenging -the monster. He would tear out its secret, he would proclaim it from the -earth to the stars, while disdaining the glory dear to ordinary mortals. -For he had taken every precaution to ensure the author's name remaining -absolutely unknown when his great work should be published. In order to -avert suspicion, the book was first to be printed in a foreign tongue. - -If the Abbé was mad--the peasants still called him by his ecclesiastical -title, either from old habit, or respect for his mysterious -investigations--his madness was certainly not a mania for -self-aggrandizement. Disinterested truth, truth with no other reward -than success in the effort to reach it, was the single impulse moving -this monkishly cloistered existence. One might say that there was proof -of an unbalanced mind. I will not argue the point. Absolute truth is -undoubtedly beyond our reach. It is none the less true that the -sustained effort to attain truth remains the noblest distinction of -man. If it is reasonable to desire to know, who shall say at what point -it becomes folly, through aspiration outstripping the possibility of -satisfaction? Since, furthermore, this possibility increases with the -progressive evolution of the mind, might not it follow that one who had -been thought mad, in olden days, would be called wise to-day and that -the madman of to-day will in future ages be a prodigy of luminous -intellect? Find the boundary line between reason and unreason in this -inextricable tangle! - -But to return to our excellent "Abbé," with whom, by a curious chance, I -became intimately acquainted, a few months before his death, I must say -that he never troubled himself with these considerations, to him inane. -He did not deny that there were maladies of the mind, but he professed -complete scorn for the "collection of low prejudices" to which the name -of "reason" was given by the general public. "I have come too soon," he -said to me. "In a few thousand years they will erect statues to the man -who will be a repetition of me. So far, men have parted at the -cross-roads where the paths of science and faith diverge. Some day there -will be one broad highroad to knowledge. The time has not come to lay -that road. As barbarism covered over the premature flowering of Greek -thought, so our present savagery would soon crowd out truths too newly -arrived at, which only very gradually will take root in men's minds." - -"Tell me," I said to him one day, "since you stand on such a height that -you are free from the pride of the precursor, that you are insensible to -human glory, that you do not even intend to leave to posterity your name -as a seeker, have you never, alone with your conscience, and stripped of -all personal interest, asked yourself whether you were sure, after all, -entirely sure, of possessing this total and absolute truth?" - -The Abbé's little gray eyes twinkled. He answered with a melancholy -smile: "The final and irreparable failure of my religious faith was a -fearful blow to me. I no longer believed. What had appeared to me good -evidence on the day before looked to me from that day onward like the -irrational wanderings of delirium. But I realize to-day, after so many -years of meditation, that although my old conceptions of existence could -not stand the test of experience, yet the framework of my mind has -remained the same. I had abandoned the Theological Absolute; I was in -search of a Scientific Absolute, no more to be found than the other. I -do not regret my error, for I owe to it the greatest joys of my life. -For thirty years the marvel of seeing the veil of Isis slowly raised, -and the world, bit by bit, taken to pieces and put together again, -according to infallible laws, brought me the supreme delight of -grasping the world by thought. When I had exhausted analysis and -synthesis, I undertook to tell my discoveries, and such was my mastery -of my subject that in ten years I wrote a volume of five hundred pages, -in which, I can say it now, for I have burned it, was contained what, in -incalculable centuries to come, will be considered the treasure of human -knowledge." - -"You burned this work of yours?" - -"Yes, to replace it by another." - -"And is this other one final?" - -"You want my complete confession? I am so near death that I will afford -you this pleasure. Having finished my book, I decided to devote the rest -of my life to going over it, pen in hand, and annotating it. Alas! When -I became my own critic I found the fine frenzy of creation replaced by a -power of keenly reasoning destructiveness which I had up to that time -not suspected in myself. The creators of systems in the past were only -gifted with the power of induction and prophecy. I had the power to -dissect, to undermine my own inductions and prophecies. What we term -truth is but an elimination of errors. I thought, I still think, that I -had attained truth, pure and simple, but the edifice so laboriously -built could not escape the pitiless criticism of the builder. The same -mental gymnastics which had led to my replacing former doubts by -demonstrated affirmations now raised fresh doubts in the face of my new -demonstrations. What would have been their effect upon the unprepared -intelligences for which the result of my labour was intended? I spent -five years of painful spiritual tension in rewriting and condensing my -work." - -"And this time you were satisfied?" - -"No more than before. While I am writing, I am, in spite of myself, -possessed by the absolute. I take too vaulting a leap toward truth. Then -I realize that men will shrug their shoulders and call me mad, and I -question whether it is not in fact madness to try to bring to -intelligences of to-day knowledge which belongs to the far future. -Furthermore, no matter how strongly I have felt myself fortified on all -sides by evidence, a fury of criticism has hurled me to the attack of my -fortress of truth. It took two years to reduce my five-hundred-page book -to two hundred pages. Four more years of work--and a notebook of perhaps -fifty pages is all that is left--the bone and marrow of the whole -matter, for my aim has been to eliminate, one by one, every element of -possible uncertainty." - -"And now there remains no doubt, I suppose?" - -"Nay, doubt remains. Is it strength or weakness of mind? I cannot say. -If I have time to go on working, nothing will be left of my work, and I -shall have made the great journey, from reason that seeks to folly that -finds, and from folly that knows to reason which, very wisely, still -doubts." - -The Abbé died six months later, leaving all he had to the poor. Besides -his will, not a single page of writing was found among his belongings. - -The village priest came to see him in his last hour. He spoke to him of -God--bade him believe, alleging that science led to doubt--whereas -faith---- - -"Then you yourself are sure, are you?" asked the dying man. - -"Certainly--I know with absolute certainty." - -"Reverend sir, I once spoke as you are speaking. Only ignorance is -capable of such proud utterances. Grant to a dying man the privilege of -delivering this lesson. I who have aspired to know, know that you know -no more than I--even less--I dare affirm it. It is really not enough to -justify taking up so much room in the sunshine!" - - - - -X - -BETTER THAN STEALING - - -The man from Paris is a natural object of hatred to the poacher. I refer -to the hunting man from Paris, who raises game for his own sport in -carefully preserved enclosures. This ostentatious personage, who comes -and fills the countryside with special guards to keep the aggrieved -pedestrian out of glades and plains and bypaths, seems to the rustics a -pernicious intruder, in a state of legal warfare against the countryman, -who feels himself the friend and legitimate owner of the animals, furry -or feathered, with whom his labour in the fields has made him well -acquainted. All is fair play against this "maker of trouble." The only -thing is not to get "pinched." - -Then begins a warfare of ambushes and ruses with the band of -gamekeepers, who, having the law on their side, always end by getting -the better of those whose only argument of defence is the "natural -right" of a man to destroy wild life. - -During the season there are almost daily exchanges of shot. Often a man -is killed, which means jail, penitentiary, scaffold. All for a miserable -rabbit! Remnants of the feudalism of birth which the effort of -revolutions has merely replaced by the feudalism of money. - -The worst of it is that gamekeepers and poachers, mutually exasperated, -cling to their quarrel, and that a taste for brigandage develops in men -diverted from the unremunerative tilling of the soil by the daily -temptation of booty. Deal as harshly as you may with the poacher, you -will not succeed in discouraging him. Has anything ever cured a devotee -of roulette? And to the excitement of gambling, in this case, is added -the attraction of danger. There is no cure for it. The question of -increasing the penalty for poaching often comes up. There will be long -discussion before anything is ever done. The discrepancy would be too -great between the misdeed and the punishment. And the matter of -elections enters into it. No one is anxious to make too violent enemies -among the citizen electors. - -Entirely different is the question of poaching in the happy -regions--there are not many left in France--where preserved hunting is -still at the rhetorical stage. There the poacher is merely a hunter -without a permit, and as no such thing exists as a peasant whom a hare -has never tempted to use his gun, and as a natural understanding unites -all those who are compelled to pay taxes against the State which -represents taxation and statute labour, never will you find a field -labourer ready to admit that a shot, in order to be lawful, needs the -seal of a tax gatherer. - -The poacher on free territory, therefore, does not hide as does the -poacher on preserved lands. He plays a sort of tag with the rural guard, -who is by no means eager to meet him, and with the occasional -_gendarmes_, whose cocked hats and baldricks make them conspicuous from -afar. Following along hedges, looking for burrows, keeping his eyes -steadfastly on the ground, he scents out the wild creatures and knows -the art of capturing them. - -How often, in the days of my youth, have I accompanied the redoubtable -Janière on his Sunday expeditions, when he would ostensibly leave the -village by the highroad, his hands in his pockets, then dash into the -fields, and miraculously find his gun hidden in a bush, a few feet from -a rabbit hole. Nor man nor beast was ever known to get the better of -him. He was an old Chouan of 1815 who, having been a poacher all his -days, and a marauder now and then, died without ever having had a writ -served on him. The entire district took pride in Janière. When he left -us for a better world: "He never once went to prison," said the peasants -by way of funeral oration. What that man could deduce from a blade of -grass lying over on one side or the other at the edge of a thicket -really approached the miraculous. He would consult the wind, the sun, -and would construct for me the train of reasoning which must have -brought the hare to the precise spot where we invariably found him. His -accommodating gun made no more noise than the cracking of a whip. The -victim, hidden in the hollow of a pollard, would at nightfall find its -way under Janière's blouse. - -But whither have I let myself wander? It was of the water poacher that I -meant to speak. He, one might say, is the enemy of no man on earth. -Fish, of dubious morals we are assured, find no such personal sympathy -among us as do the furry and feathered folk. A carp, gasping on the -grass, does not bring tears to our eyes, he seems to belong to a -different world, and the police officer at war against illicit fishing, -backed up by more or less convincing arguments relating to the -restocking of rivers, has no one on his side. For this reason, my -compatriot Simon Grelu counted as many friends as there were inhabitants -in the canton. The killing of a hare in his lair rouses enmity among the -poachers who alike had their eye on him. No quarrel results from a tench -landed. Simon Grelu, besides fishing at once for profit and the love of -it, gave freely of his catch, whence came the universal good-will -accompanying him on his nightly or daily expeditions. - -Our river in the Vendée, the Lay, wends its leisurely way amid reeds and -waterlilies, sometimes narrowing between rocks covered with broom and -furze and oak trees, sometimes widening under overarching alders, -onward to the meadows, where it attracts the flocks. Everywhere are -mills with their gates. It is a populous river, and no one could be said -to "populate" it more than Simon Grelu, nominally a miller's assistant, -living in the ruin of what was thought to have been a mill at the time -of the wars between the Blues and the Whites. - -Simon Grelu is a great tall fellow, all legs and arms and joints, with a -long neck leading up to a long nose, which gives him the look of a -heron. From the Marshland to the Woodland there is no more noted spoiler -of rivers; he is celebrated for the constancy of his relations with the -police. Hampered by his lengthy appendages, he is perpetually letting -himself be caught, and disdaining what will be thought of it. Every -angle of every rock, every stump by the water's edge, is so familiar and -homelike to him that he cannot bear to leave his river, and rather than -make good his escape on land, prefers to have a warrant served on him, -secure in the fact that he has nothing wherewith to pay a fine. - -When the police sergeant rebukes his men for their laziness, they cry -with one accord: - -"Let us go and look up Grelu!" - -They go, and find him without the least trouble. - -That was what happened last week, and owing to it I had the pleasure of -witnessing the interview I am about to relate. I was taking a walk with -the Mayor, when Simon Grelu suddenly stood before us. More elongated -than ever, with his bony, sallow face, his pointed skull topped by a -little tuft of white hair, his mouth open in a smile truly formidable -from the threat of a single great black tooth which the slightest cough -would inevitably have flung in one's face, the heron-man stood before -us, motionless in his wooden shoes. - -"I have come for my certificate, _monsieur le maire_," said he with a -sort of clucking which might express either mirth or despair. - -"What certificate?" - -"Why, my certificate of mendicancy, as usual, when I am caught." - -"What! Again? Is there no end to it?" - -"It is better than stealing, isn't it, _monsieur le maire_?" - -"But you have not the choice between poaching and stealing only, Simon. -You could work." - -"And do you suppose I don't work? Many thanks! Who drudges more than I -do? The whole night in the water! Those accursed policemen played a -trick on me!" - -"They caught you?" - -"That's nothing. They made a fool of me, _monsieur le maire_. No, it -can't be called anything else. I shall never forgive myself for being -made a fool of----" - -"What happened?" - -"What happened is that those policemen laughed at me all the way up and -down the river. They were half a mile away, and I could still hear them -roaring with laughter. No, I never knew I was such a dunderhead." - -"But, come to the point, what did they do to you?" - -"Ah--the villains! Imagine, _monsieur le maire_, it was just before -daylight, and I was quietly fishing below the mill of La Rochette. The -idea, anyway, of forbidding fishing before sunrise! Is it my fault if -fishes come out to play at night?" - -"Well--what happened?" - -"I was in my boat----" - -"You have a boat, then?" - -"No, _monsieur le maire_, I may as well tell you, for you'll know it -to-morrow, anyway, that it was your boat, which I had taken from your -dike by the big pasture." - -"And where did you get the key?" - -"Ah--you know--with a nail--and there is no chain----But I shut -everything up again without damaging the lock. I should not like to give -you any trouble. I washed the boat, too, where the fish had left it -muddy." - -"You had caught a great deal of fish?" - -"No. Ten pounds, perhaps. I had only just begun." - -"I never caught that much fish in my life. How do you do it?" - -"Oh--they know me. As I was telling you, I was in my--in your boat, when -I heard those d----policemen calling me. 'Hey! Grelu, come ashore! We -are serving your warrant on you!' Well, I landed, of course. I am used -to it. We chatted like friends. They carried away my fish to fry for -themselves. You won't tell me there is any justice in that, will you, -_monsieur le maire_?" - -"Is that the trick they played on you?" - -"Oh, no! When the police had gone, I said to myself: 'Now I'm fined, I -may as well go on fishing. I shan't be able to pay the fine, whether I -do or not. So I'll stay.' I fished and I fished. I was doing first rate. -I was happy. When, suddenly, I hear voices. The police again! Two -warrants in one night! I couldn't have that! The boat was giving me -away. But they might think I had left it there. So I hide in the water, -with nothing out but my head, and I wait. What do you think they do? -They stretch out on the grass, they light their pipes, and they begin to -talk. They had got lost, the idiots! And finding themselves back at the -mill, were looking for me to ask their way. - -"As for me, I was none too comfortable in the mud. Those loafers -wouldn't go away. When one pipe went out, they lighted another. I saw -there was going to be nothing for it but to get caught again. Suddenly -one of the men says: 'Father Grelu,' says he, 'you must be cold in -there. Come and warm yourself at my pipe.' I come out, all covered with -mud, and I shake my fist at him. 'If you serve another warrant on -me----!' says I to him. 'A second warrant?' says he. 'No danger of that. -The law prevents it. We can only serve one warrant in twenty-four hours -on the same person for the same offence. What! You didn't know that, -Grelu? And that is why you stayed in the water? We were just saying: "I -wonder why he does that?" Ah, Father Grelu, we are sorry! We thought you -knew better.' And they laughed. And they laughed. I was in no mood for -laughing. Did you know that, _monsieur le maire_, that two warrants -could not be served at once?" - -"No." - -"Well, I know it for another time, you may be sure. And now, may I have -my certificate of mendicancy, which releases me from liability to fine?" - -"Very well. Your bath might have given you pneumonia. How old are you?" - -"Over seventy. No harm will ever come to me from water." - -"Nor from wine, eh? It is funny, all the same, to be giving you a -certificate of destitution when I see you so often at the tavern." - -"They give me credit, _monsieur le maire_. I pay them in fish. It is -better than stealing, anyway." - - - - -XI - -THE GRAY FOX - - -After the poacher the vagabond has the place of honour in the disfavour -of the licensed citizen. A man without an abode inscribed in the tax -collector's book comes near to being a man without a country, in the -eyes of the bourgeois, inclined to regard the land of his fathers as -exclusively what one of them has frankly called it, "the native land of -the landed proprietor." - -It is easy to pronounce against the unfortunate nomad the withering -sentence: "He pays no taxes." No taxes, the barefoot tramp who halts on -the edge of a ditch to eat his succinct meal? I defy him to spend the -penny just tossed him, without the State stepping in between him and his -poor bite and taking a portion of it away. How can he be fed, clothed, -and warmed without the State making its existence felt by the exaction -of a tithe? Merely tithes levied upon beggars would amount to a -considerable revenue. The beggar takes no pride in this fact, being -carelessly ungrudging of the sacrifices demanded by public duty, and -this very modesty does him wrong, for under the pretext that he is of no -social utility, householders, under-prefects, army corps commanders, -and directors of the Bank of France, all unite in imputing to him most -of the evils from which they are supposed to protect us. - -In country places, the blame for whatever happens falls on the -vagabonds. Theft, arson, trespassing, who could be guilty of these -offences, if not the homeless wanderers going over the roads afoot, when -all self-respecting men have at least the use of an automobile? What -trade can they ply but taking other people's belongings, seeing that -they have nothing of their own? Hence the execration of those who have -belongings. I once knew an old philosopher who maintained that it was -better to throw bread than stones at them. Ordinarily stones are readier -to hand. When there are enough of them, the tramp gathers them into a -pile at the roadside and breaks them for honest wages. Never for a -moment believe that any one, from the President of the Republic down to -the road mender, will express the slightest gratitude to him. Like Timon -of Athens, he expects nothing from human kind. - -And yet, his defence, should he take the trouble to make one, would not -be lacking in interest. Lost sentinel of the army of labour, he might -relate strange adventures in the industrial warfare, no less cruel than -the other warfare. He might find it difficult to deny a share of -shortcomings on his side--but what of the consciences of "the -righteous," oftentimes, if one could see them in nakedness? - -Humanity means weakness. If the vagabond can own as much for himself, he -can bear witness to the same in the case of others. Oftener, perhaps, -than is generally believed, for peasants, like city people, are tempted -by their neighbours' property, and as the caught thief always accuses -some unknown personage of the crime attributed to him, the vagabond is -in all countries the easy expiatory victim of "the respectable." - -Something of the kind happened in the affair of the "Gray Fox," which -once upon a time set my village in uproar. At that distant date one of -the notables of the hamlet, a locksmith by trade, who had "inherited -property," was Claude Guillorit. Without vanity in his Roman Emperor's -name, he carried it with the quiet dignity of a man whose future is -assured. He was a "scholar," incredibly learned in the accumulation of -miscellaneous facts which almanacs spread even in the remotest -districts. He quoted proverbs, was full of strange saws, foretold the -future--approximately. He was to be met with by night, carrying a large -basket, in search of simples, which have special virtues when gathered -after sun-down. He brewed philters for the benefit of man and beast, and -cured fevers, I must admit, more easily than he did locks. - -For, in spite of his explicit locksmith's sign, locks were wrapped in -mystery for Claudit--so called "for short." Village housewives, whose -furniture knows not intricate locks, are at the end of their resources -when they have cleaned the rust off their keys, or smeared a creaky lock -with oil. If the evil persisted, in those days, the cry of supreme -distress used to be: "Go and get Claudit," even as Napoleon's cry was: -"Send forward the guard!" when he was at the end of his genius. - -Accompanied by a formidable clatter of ironware, a little slim, spare, -sharp man would approach, with long gray locks swinging about his face, -after straggling from under a black round of which no one could have -declared with any certainty whether it had been a hat or a cap at the -time of the Revolution. But it was not his headgear that held the eye. -What struck one, what fixed the attention, what filled even a person -unacquainted with him with a sort of superstitious uneasiness, was the -black dart of two small, lustreless eyes, which entered one's very soul -and stuck there. When the shaft of Claudit's glance had pierced one, it -was not to be plucked from the memory. The man, however, did not concern -himself with the impression he produced; he never broke the silence -except from necessity, and then spoke only of things pertaining to lock -mending. - -When he had arrived before the recalcitrant lock, he would throw on the -ground--together with the great basket from which he was never -separated, and which no one ever saw open except on one memorable -occasion--an iron hoop, whence hung an extraordinary number of queerly -wrought and bent hooks; then he would kneel down as if in prayer, and -apply his eye to the keyhole. After a moment of scientific examination: - -"_Pardine!_" he would cry--it was his favourite oath--"I see nothing at -all." - -In which there was nothing surprising. Claudit seemed, none the less, to -experience great relief from this first ascertainment. Then followed -questions regarding the piece of furniture, what was its history, and -the probable age of its lock, then groans over the wretched work done in -olden days. And now the moment had come for the diagnosis. Every lock -may be afflicted with any one of numerous ailments. Claudit would -enumerate them with great erudition, giving his client his choice among -the various evils. - -"It may be that, or it may be something else. I am no wizard. We shall -see." - -Thereupon a storm of hammerblows would beat upon the wood and the iron. -The cloudburst over, the key would function no better. - -He would have to resort to subtler methods. Unperturbed, Claudit would -brandish his hoop with the pendent hooks, and having examined each with -care, would select one and insert it very deliberately, with appropriate -contortions, into the orifice where lay the seat of the trouble. -Creakings would ensue beyond anything ever heard. Up and down, down and -up, from left to right, and right to left, and all around the compass, -he would turn and twist and rub the rusty point, would force it to the -exhaustion of human strength, and, since the truth must be told, I will -confess that I have seen locks which under this violent treatment took -the provisional course of behaving themselves. Claudit would exhibit no -pride. Such triumphs of his art were not calculated to surprise him. - -When the lock seemed to be entirely bedevilled, Claudit would draw from -his pocket a two-penny knife, the blade of which had gained a saw-edge -from much usage, and for the final satisfaction of conscience would do -what he could by "rummaging" with it. After that it was finished. - -"The King himself could do no more," he would declare, fully assured -that Louis Philippe would have succeeded no better than he. "If you -like, I will make you a new lock." - -Do not imagine that the manufacture of this lock would give Claudit any -great trouble. He sent to Nantes for his locks. He unscrewed one, and -screwed on another, and by this simple performance acquired the -reputation of a "skilled workman." - -A little forge was attached to his house. It was littered with iron -junk. But no man alive ever saw it lighted, so that hens had formed the -habit of making their nest amid the cinders of the hearth, and the white -gleam of eggs was pleasant to see at the bottom of the crater where one -looked for glowing coals. I have seen as many as ten, for Claudit, owing -to an extreme love of poultry, permitted large numbers of hens to wander -at will about his dwelling. - -In reality, the mending of locks and the brewing of healing philters -were merely the recreations of his life. Its passion was "the little -hen," as he tenderly called her. One of those silent passions deeply -rooted in our inmost being, for the satisfaction of which the Evil One -besieges us with temptations. It is certain that between Claudit and the -gallinaceous tribe obscure affinities existed. On Claudit's side the -sentiment might be explained by an appetite for toothsome eating. But -why did the hen feel Claudit's fascination? Why did she stand there, -stupidly motionless, fastened to the ground by the magnetism of that -black eye? They say that hypnotized hens will drop of themselves into -the fox's jaws. To quote Hamlet: "There are more things in heaven and -earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy." - -Curious as it may seem, Claudit was not the only one in our village to -cultivate a fondness for poultry. From time immemorial housewives on all -sides had complained of missing hens. Everyone blamed it on the tramps, -who were never there to answer back. Claudit more than any other -suffered from these thefts, and bewailed his losses at every street -corner. His white hen gone, his black hen and his yellow hen gone, the -thieves were cleaning him out--and the neighbours got Christian -consolation in their misfortunes from the reflection that Claudit was -even more cruelly hit than they. - -Claudit, as may be imagined, was on the lookout for marauders, but in -vain. One day he saw one, but was unable to catch up with him. It was a -bent old man, dragging along a bag, full of hens, no doubt. "A regular -gray fox," muttered the wronged and indignant Claudit. - -The name stuck to the unknown. His description was given to the police, -and a warning was sent out by the authorities, against the despoiler of -farms, and chief of a band of marauders, known under the name of "Gray -Fox." - -One day Claudit, on his way home from a heated battle with a stubborn -lock, was crossing the village, when he stopped at sight of a crowd. An -aged tramp, bent double under the weight of a coarse canvas bag, was -struggling with the rural guard, who had found him lying asleep beside a -ditch and was accusing him of all the vague crimes reported over the -whole canton. The women had come running out of their houses, and each -of them had some accusation to bring against the malefactor. One in -particular was making an outcry: - -"My cuckoo hen was stolen this morning. He took it! Come, now, give me -back my hen and go get yourself hanged elsewhere!" - -"Ah! So you stole a hen, did you?" exclaimed the rural guard. "I knew -there was something wrong." - -Then addressing the crowd: "The bent old man with a bag is the 'Gray -Fox,' isn't he? You are the 'Gray Fox,' aren't you? You may as well -confess." - -It was here that Claudit arrived upon the scene, by good luck, for -having once seen the thief, he could identify him better than any one -else. Way was made for him, and the entire village, hanging on his lips, -waited to hear what he would say. - -"_Pardine!_" said Claudit, scratching his ear, "I believe we've got him -this time. Yes, yes, I recognize him. He is the 'Gray Fox.'" - -"Hoo--hoo! To prison with the Gray Fox!" howled the delirious crowd. - -"Give me back my cuckoo hen!" screamed the housewife. - -But the man, not in the least agitated, straightened up and said: - -"So I am the Gray Fox, am I? My word! You are too great fools! Often -enough, from the other side of a hedge, I have seen him at work, your -Gray Fox. I know him. Do you want me to show him to you?" - -And with a kick he overturned Claudit's basket, whence fell the dead -body of the much-lamented cuckoo hen. - -The entire canton still echoes with this spectacular stroke. With blows -and kicks the Gray Fox, the real one, was led back to his lair, and -there, in a secret cellar, was discovered a collection of stolen hens, -peacefully awaiting their turn to be cooked with accompaniment of -cabbage. Everyone recognized his own hen, and everyone hastily seized -it. Even Claudit's legitimate hens went by that road. But he was not the -man to let himself be despoiled in silence. - -"You say these hens are yours!" he cried. "I know nothing about it. I am -willing to give them to you. But I shall let nobody steal the hens that -belong to me." - -And before a week had passed, Claudit had, by the power of speech, got -back all his hens, with, it was said, a few of doubtful ownership into -the bargain. - -To this insistence and its success he owed a return of public esteem. -But when a lock thereafter required his attention he was emphatically -bidden to leave his basket at home. - - - - -XII - -THE ADVENTURE OF MY CURÉ - - -I have had no very consecutive relations with the _curé_ of my village. -Many things stand between us. Our age, our occupations, our ideas. He -follows one path, I another. Which does not prevent our occasionally -meeting out in the country, or at the cross roads. We exchange greetings -which vary according to the time of day; we occasionally talk of the -weather, as it is, and as it should be to satisfy the peasants. In the -crops we find yet another subject for a brief conversation. But we -rarely venture beyond this circle of observations. His breviary claims -him, and the finger marking the page of his interrupted reading is a -delicate hint that the talk had best be brief. I have partridges to -deliver, and must not linger, either. There is a slight awkwardness -between us, even in saying good-bye. I am anxious not to say anything -that may offend the simplicity of his faith, but I always fear one of -those somewhat indiscreet suggestions which priests regard as part of -their duty. On his side, it is evident that he dreads my so far -forgetting myself as to make remarks which will oblige him to stand on -the defensive. I cannot help seeing that I am an incomprehensible enigma -to him, whereas his state of mind is not in the least puzzling to me. -How can I explain this mystery to him, without cruelly wounding him? We -therefore part, after a few conventional words, regretting the necessity -to stop short on the verge of a conversation which tempts us both, and -aware that we have something to say to each other which we shall never -say. To his last day he will undoubtedly regard me as an agent of the -Devil. And on my side I can only silently sympathize with his sorrow in -the recesses of my mind. - -Abbé Mignot is a tall, robust, florid Burgundian, whose muscular frame -seems better suited to field labour than to the unctuous gestures of the -sacred ministry. The son of a vintner, he had begun life as a plowboy, -when an aged singer, who had been a great sinner while she trod the -boards of light opera in Paris, returned to her native village, there to -acquire spiritual merit by good works, which the remuneration for vice -out in the world enabled her to do. She reared altars, and munificently -endowed them. She enriched the church with incomparable raiment. The -pulpit praised the zeal of the excellent donor, who was earning Heaven -by the virtues belonging to old age, and by preaching austerity to -others. - -One day this saintly lady, in quest of redemption, met at the edge of -the village a dishevelled boy who was subduing the fierceness of a -young bullock by the aid of sounding oaths and a shower of blows. The -picture seemed to her beautiful, even though the music was profane. She -questioned the child, whose precocious adolescence called up distant -memories connected with this same muddy, rustic setting, and being -suddenly vouchsafed light from on high, she conceived the plan of -redeeming her very earliest sin (which had led to so many others), by -means of the young bullock driver who seemed to her on the brink of -perdition. Providence, and not chance, had set on her path this -innocence to be saved from imminent peril. What an admirable priest the -youth would make, when properly scrubbed, with his great clear eyes, his -blond curls, his laughing insolence of a conquering hero! So the sinner -who had turned away so many souls from the path to Heaven would redeem -the past forever by leaving behind her an authentic servant of God, to -keep up the necessary expiatory work after her death. - -All would have been well had not the vintner hung mightily back. His son -had cost him "a lot of money." He was just about to "bring him in -something" now. This was not the time for sending him away. - -"If he goes," he said, "I shall have to hire a servant.... That costs a -great deal, counting his food. I can't afford it." - -But the more obdurate the peasant was, the more obstinate became the -devout lady in her resolve to accomplish the duty laid upon her by -Heaven, as she declared. Negotiations were difficult, for Father Mignot -had no liking for "skullcaps," as he called priests, and a double -argument had to be used: one bag of money to repay him for his -"pecuniary loss," and a second bag to allay the scruples of -anticlericalism, aggravated by the circumstances. And this is what was -called "The vocation of Arsène Mignot." - -More than twenty years later, Abbé Mignot came to us with the remnants -of his family: a widowed sister and three nephews without means of -support. As I am telling nothing but what is strictly true, I have to -admit that he met with a chilly reception. The old _curé_, whom we had -just lost, had had enough to do to guard his eighty years from the heat -and the cold, and to quaver out his masses. Our peasants are not fond of -being too closely questioned. When they saw this new man, still under -forty, carrying his need for action into their very houses, breaking, -from one day to the next, the happy-go-lucky traditions which had made -his predecessor popular, they silently assumed the attitude of -self-defence. But the _curé_, being a peasant, knew his peasants. When -he discovered his mistake, he had the sense to change his course, and to -win back the discontented, one by one, without noise or waste of words. - -And so, our village would have had no story, but for a hospital -belonging to it, and standing in a hamlet two miles away. This hospital, -privately endowed, was tended by four nuns of I know not what order. -Disease, however, never marred the spot by its presence. Against the -express wish of the founder, a school had been established in it, and -any sick person coming to ask admission was told that his presence would -be dangerous to the school children, upon which he obediently went to -die elsewhere. Two elderly spinsters, who did the work of servants, -figured in the Sisters' conversation as "our incurables." By this means -they were entitled to retain the inscription on the wall, announcing -that hospital care might there be obtained. - -Concerning the Sisters themselves there is nothing to say. They taught -the catechism, sang off the key at mass, and made a great show of zeal -toward the one they called "Mother." Their chief entertainment was -luncheon at the _curé's_ on Sunday after church. A sweet dish and a -little glass of Chartreuse crowned this extravagance. Then there would -be much puerile chatter on topics drawn chiefly from the _Religious -Weekly_. New recruits were proudly enumerated, eyes were rolled -heavenward at talk of "apostates," and the latest miracles were related -in minutest detail. A touch of politics occasionally spiced the heroic -resolution to brave martyrdom. At parting, all were in a state of -edification. - -The trouble was that Abbé Mignot, without income, had four mouths to -feed. The cost of the luncheon could not be brought within the limits of -his budget. He made a frank confession of this to the "Mother," who -answered haughtily that privation was the luxury of her estate, and that -the Sisters would uncomplainingly return to sharing the "bread of the -sick," at the hospital. Her words came true, for the very next week -there was a patient at the hospital: the "Mother" herself, whom an -attack of erysipelas carried off in three days. The school had to be -dismissed and everything scientifically disinfected, before the scholars -could return. This duty fell upon the new Mother, a charming young nun, -whose beautiful eyes, gentle speech, and affable manners, created a -sensation in the countryside. - -Mother Rosalie was gifted with a beautiful soprano voice, which proved -to be a source of divine refreshment to Abbé Mignot, who was fond of -playing the organ. There can be no music without work. Work at their -music threw the Mother and the _curé_ together. And as one study leads -to another, the visits of Mother Rosalie to Abbé Mignot came to be -fairly frequent. Presently there was gossip, and after a time what had -at first been a playful buzzing became rumblings of scandal. Is it -credible? The first threat of a storm came from the three Sisters at the -hospital. These old maids, who had until that moment been totally -insignificant, felt surging in them, of a sudden, an irrepressible wave -of spleen, intensified and again intensified by the acid of celibacy. -Although touched in a sensitive spot by the discontinuance of luncheon -at the rectory on Sundays, sole amusement of their lives, they had made -no sign. But the moment their one-time host laid himself open to -criticism, the hurricane burst, and the flood of heinous words came -beating against the very walls of the sacred edifice. - -Nothing can be hidden in a village. Life is carried on in broad -daylight. The ditches, the stones, the bushes have eyes. Everyone knew -very well that Abbé Mignot and "the pretty Mother," as she was currently -called, had never met anywhere but in the church, the door of which was -open to all. The pealing of the organ and the pure voice rising to the -rafters ought, it would seem, to have counteracted the poison of -malevolent insinuations. - -"Certainly," said the peasants, "they are doing no harm, _as long as -they keep on singing_!" - -Occasionally, when the organ was silent, Mother Rosalie knelt in the -confessional. Busybodies, stationed behind pillars, considered that she -remained there too long, and that she confessed oftener than necessary. -This was all that any one could find to say against them. I did my best -to defend them, when occasion arose, but the only effect of my pleading, -I fear, was to give more importance to the spiteful words. - -Meanwhile, Abbé Mignot and Mother Rosalie continued happy in their music -and their friendship. I never knew Mother Rosalie, and will not invent a -psychology for her. We exchanged a few words on several occasions, and I -received the impression of a remarkably refined nature. Whatever I might -say beyond this would be drawn from my imagination. With regard to the -Abbé, the reader is as well qualified to judge him as I. Bound over to -continence by an adept in the reverse, he resigned himself to inevitable -fate, the cruelty of which he had recognized when it was too late. -Heaven, chance, or destiny had thrown a friendly soul in his path, a -prisoner of the same destiny. He surrendered to the delight of the -association, happy to come out of himself, to give a little of his life, -to receive something of a human life in return, and to feel his pleasure -shared. They did not conceal themselves, having nothing to conceal. This -seemed to them a safeguard, under the eyes of their brothers in -humanity. - -The "scandal" lasted three months. One fine day, without warning, an -elderly, hunchbacked Sister descended from the coach, and having entered -the hospital, exhibited, along with her titles as the new "Mother," the -order to "Sister Rosalie" to return _within the hour_ to the convent. -Sister Rosalie bowed her head in submission, asked whether time would be -allowed her for one leave-taking, and upon receiving a negative answer, -retired to her chamber, "to pray and to obey." She came out with -faltering steps, and departed never to return. - -The following day was Sunday. The event had been kept secret for the -sake of a more dramatic climax. When the priest, coming before the -altar, met the shock of the sardonic joy twisting the lips of the -hunchbacked Mother and her three acolytes in the charity of the Lord, he -fell a step backward, as if mocked by Satan himself. Pale, shaken, he -was unable to restrain the trembling of his lips. The thunderbolt had -struck. In the anguish of death he retained the appearance of life, and -must play the part of a living man. By an heroic effort he regained self -command. Violently the _Introit_ rang out, as if from depths beyond the -grave, and in it were mingled the tragedy of the man and of the God. - -There was but one word at the end of mass: - -"_Monsieur le curé_ made the pretty Mother sing too much. She has gone -away to rest." - -Last month I met Abbé Mignot out among the rocks of Deux Fontaines. He -sat with knitted brows at the foot of a bush, and nervously turned the -pages of his breviary. He was evidently making a desperate effort to -fasten down his wandering attention. He did not notice me, and had not -my dog run up to him, I should have turned and walked away, to avoid -disturbing him in his lonely struggle. When he saw me he rose, afraid of -having been caught betraying something of himself. I held out my hand -in friendship, and this time I would gladly have stopped for a talk had -I not seemed to read in his eyes an entreaty to pass on without -speaking. I obeyed the silent appeal. But yielding to an obscure need-- - -"_Monsieur le curé_," I said, "you ought to be careful. There are snakes -among those stones. You must have been warned before?" - -"Yes, I know," he answered in a muffled voice. "This place is infested -with vipers--most pernicious beasts, _Monsieur_. I hope that on your -side you will be able to guard against them." - - - - -XIII - -MASTER BAPTIST, JUDGE - - -What kind of justice did Saint Louis dispense under his oak tree? -History does not tell us that he was a doctor of law. Everything leads -us to suppose that he owed extremely little if anything at all to -Papinian, Ulpian, or Tribonian. He was, of course, a Saint, and those -among us chosen by Providence to make Its Supreme Will known receive -appropriate inspiration from on high. King Solomon, like other Asiatic -kings, who are by their people regarded as mouthpieces of divine wisdom, -consulted no text when he spoke the famous judgment upon which his glory -still rests. - -Jews or Christians, the ancient leaders of the people judged in equity, -and without too great difficulty arrived at an approximate justice, -superior to the "judgments of God," which had too often what looked like -the iniquitous unfairness of chance. Codes, by their inflexible rules -applied to every case, have overthrown the ancient order, under which an -arbitrary procedure fitted the law to each individual transgression. -Laws and judges have since become more flexible, they would otherwise be -intolerable, but they are still too rigid to bend felicitously to the -modifications by which natural right might be promoted. In addition to -which, gratuitous "justice" not infrequently ruins the person seeking -it. - -For all these reasons--fear of the law, which pounces upon poor people -they know not whence, fear of the hardened judge who refers the case to -his learning rather than to his conscience--our peasants in Western -France with difficulty make up their minds to set in motion the -so-called "protective" machinery of the law. Even the settlement of a -dispute before a justice of the peace seems an extreme measure, and they -have recourse to it only under great stress, which is a matter for -rejoicing, for such is the "social order," that without this fortunate -tendency, mankind, being entirely composed of people who complain, or -have reason to complain, law courts would need to be made big enough to -accommodate the entire human race. - -In the country, sources of disagreement abound. The limb of a tree -stretching beyond a fixed boundary, a vagrant root, a fruit dropping on -the wrong side of a hedge, the use of a stream, a right of way, may -bring up interpretations of customs giving to conflicting interests -occasion for dispute. Before coming to the last expedient of going to -law, quarrels, insults, and blows perform their office of preparing the -way for reconciliation, which eventually results from nervous or -muscular exhaustion. A good hand-to-hand fight would constitute a -"judgment of God" not without its merits, but for the temptation to -"appeal" by nocturnal reprisals on innocent crops. - -All that might take one very far. Which is the reason why we often find -in country districts certain natural-born arbiters, who bear the same -relation to judges that sorcerers do to doctors. The judge is the -Hippocrates of social maladies, even as the physician is the judge of -physiological disorders. The power to judge and the power to heal are -acquired by some mysterious method concerning which rustic clients and -patients have very misty notions. Judge and physician often make -mistakes, and these create in men's minds a dismay greater than the -comfort induced by their most authentic successes. - -Is even learning absolutely necessary to make one competent to judge and -to heal? In olden days this ability was a gift from heaven, a matter -exclusively of divine inspiration, which invested a man with the -requisite faculties. Why should it no longer be the same? The peasant's -slow wit still clings to the old conceptions and retains the imprint of -past beliefs. He therefore prefers the wizard to the doctor, whom -science has stripped of the prestige of mysteriousness. In the same way, -he prefers--rather than to seek advice from competent sources--to -consult concerning his rights, or the conduct of his affairs, one of his -own sort, totally ignorant, and playing the part of doctor of law from -inspiration. - -I once knew, long, long ago, alas, one of these improvised Solomons, -whose reputation for legal knowledge had spread from parish to parish -over a considerable area of the Woodland of the Vendée. Baptist Merian, -better known by the name of Master Baptist, was a peasant of uncouth -appearance, who personally looked after the property apportioned to him -by heaven and the inheritance laws. He was a big fellow whose -once-powerful muscles were becoming overlaid with fat as he neared his -seventieth year, the period when I first happened upon him in the -exercise of his functions. His purplish, pockmarked face very nearly -concealed in its fleshy folds two small gray eyes which pierced an -interlocutor directly through. He had a voice of thunder, and the -gestures of a thunderer. He had the imposing utterance of one passing -absolute judgments on men and things. He was like Zeus whose frown shook -Olympus, when he gave orders to take the mare to pasture or harness the -oxen to the plough. And yet he was at bottom a timorous spirit, very -attentive to the suggestions of prudence, and careful never to push any -matter to a violent issue. - -His adversary, whoever contradicted him, was generally called a -"blockhead," and when Master Baptist had thus pronounced himself nothing -remained for the sentenced one but to bow his head in silence, which was -what all around him were in the habit of doing. No one could have told -whence he derived his legal authority. He made no claim to anything so -contemptible as a knowledge of the law, for he could scarcely read, and -with difficulty could sign his name. He was none too pleasant a -neighbour, and had on various occasions started lawsuits which he had -wisely brought to a close by a more or less advantageous settlement, -giving as his reason that the judge in his opinion was a "blockhead." -The consideration he enjoyed was not lessened by this, for he continued -to speak of his litigations as if he had won his cases; it was even -noticeable that the magistrate who had earned that unpleasant epithet -from his client lost, to a certain extent, the respect in which the -community had held him. - -Master Baptist was not one of those geniuses who need to blow their -horn. Respectful of everybody's right to manage his own affairs, he -never ventured to offer advice to any one. At the most, if he saw a -field which did not carry out his idea of a proper rotation of crops, or -a field badly fenced, or an animal in poor condition, he would express -his view that the owner was a "blockhead," and public opinion could do -nothing but record the condemnation, from which there was no appeal. Far -from protesting against Master Baptist's uniform verdicts, people would -at the least disagreement, the first difficulty, come running to him to -explain their case, inquire what their chances were of success, and -often beg him to arbitrate. - -With great dignity, with benevolence, even, he would receive these -visitors--if it were winter, by the hearth in the kitchen, which is the -countryman's parlour; if warm weather, by the house door, a few feet -from the black drain into which the sink emptied the odoriferous extract -of culinary operations. Comfortably seated in a quaint semicircular -armchair, the wool-stuffed cushion of which was covered with ticking, he -would listen to the men who had come to consult him and who remained -standing, cap in hand, while they told their interminable and tangled -stories. When they stopped for lack of breath, Master Baptist would ask -questions, which usually called forth prolix replies. Finally he would -speak: - -"Peter, it is you who are the blockhead." And Peter would have no choice -but to submit to John. Both would then pull their blue caps over their -ears and sit down for a glass of white wine, which by a reversal of -ancient custom constituted the fee of judge to litigants. Often they -came from a great distance to find out which was the blockhead, and -having found out, departed content, glad to have ended the quarrel -without assistance from the omniscient bench. - -It was something of an undertaking at that time to reach the -out-of-the-way hamlet where Master Baptist uttered his oracles. Now, -country roads connect "The Pines" with the rest of the world. I used to -reach it in those days by way of the rocky ridge stretching for two -miles between Mouilleron-en-Pareds and La Chataignerie. "The Rocks," as -the ridge is locally called, form the last buttress of the Woodland -hills. From the top a vast wooded stretch is visible, every field being -enclosed by a belt of tall trees. The rocks themselves are covered with -gorse and furze, and giant chestnut trees, twisted and gnarled by old -storms. Suddenly the rocks part, and in the hollow they reveal lie -meadows enlivened by the song of running water. There humble huts group -themselves in hamlets, concealed by the high trees. "The Pines," Master -Baptist's domain, was doubtless distinguished in former days by the -presence of a pine tree. The tree disappeared under the axe of time. But -a cluster of houses remains, sheltered from the world by the high -rampart of "The Rocks." - -One day, as I was hunting in that neighbourhood, I suddenly from my -hill-top perceived the roofs of "The Pines," before anything had -betrayed the fact that a human habitation was at hand. The strangeness -of the place, as a place to live in, aroused my curiosity. I had met -Master Baptist at Mouilleron. The occasion seemed propitious for a -renewal of the acquaintance. I entered a courtyard littered with manure, -and there, behind a yoke of oxen drinking at a trough, I discovered the -master of the house, seated in his dooryard, surrounded by his poultry, -and busy as usual dealing justice. - -It was vacation time. Baptist's son, a law student at Poitiers and a -prospective notary, was cheerfully loading dung into a cart (no one -dreamed of calling upon him for enlightenment), while the unlettered -father learnedly dispensed the law. In front of the solemn arbitrator, -and at a respectful distance from him, a man stood waiting open mouthed -for the solicited verdict. With a kindly wave of the hand, Master -Baptist motioned to me to wait until the audience should be closed. I -therefore remained where I was, and watched the plaintiff--a big, -gray-headed fellow who was mechanically twisting between his hands the -greasy crown of a brimless hat. - -"You are sure that all you have told me is true?" Master Baptist was -saying, and I could see that he was inclined to apply his epithet of -"blockhead" to the absent party in the dispute. - -"I have told you everything just as it is," answered the other. - -"Then you may tell Michael that he is a blockhead. Be sure you tell him -so, will you?" - -"Yes, Master Baptist, I will tell him this very evening. But what if he -says it isn't so?" - -"If he answers that it isn't so, no later than to-morrow you will have -notice served on him." - -The idea of sending his adversary a stamped document seemed to fill the -plaintiff with keen joy. - -"I surely will serve notice on him!" he gleefully exclaimed. - -Then, scratching his head: "But suppose he won't have notice served on -him, what then?" - -At these words Master Baptist rose on a gust of excitement. I am not -aware what his idea was of a man "who will not have notice served on -him." But the case manifestly appeared to him out of all measure -horrific. An agonized silence followed. Then the storm burst. - -"If he refuses to have notice served on him," thundered Master Baptist, -"you may take your two hoofs and give him a couple of swift kicks in the -shins." - -Everyone heaved a sigh of relief. The point of law was solved. The -plaintiff, his spirit forever at rest, vigorously fell upon his judge's -hand and pressed it, along with what was left of his hat. - -"That's it! That's it! My two hoofs--I will not fail!" - -As for me, I was filled with admiration at the point chosen for giving -full force to the arguments of jurisprudence--the part of the leg where, -just under the skin, the tibia presents a collection of nervous fibres -which a nimble wooden shoe can crush against the bone, is certainly a -well-chosen spot, and calculated to give effectiveness to the energy of -the opposing party. - -The white wine was brought. The student of law left his dung heap to -come and clink glasses. - -"All the same," said the good client, dropping into his chair, "I should -like to know a question for which Master Baptist would have no answer." - -"Oh, well," replied the judge, modestly, "one sees so many things. That -is how one learns." - - - - -XIV - -THE BULLFINCH AND THE MAKER OF WOODEN SHOES - - -In connection with the scandalous conduct of a lady pigeon I shall -presently speak of comparative psychology in the world of animals. The -capacity of animals for emotion and sentiment is naturally the first -psychic phenomenon presenting itself to the observer. Their manner of -expressing the sensations received from the exterior world, and the -impulses resulting from those sensations constitute what may without -derision be called the moral life of animals, leading, just as it does -in the case of man, to the best adjustment possible between the -individual organism and surrounding conditions. - -Many good people will doubtless be distressed by the idea that morality, -in which they take such pride, though not always preaching it by -example, instead of falling from heaven in the form of indisputable -commands, has its roots far down in the animate hierarchy. If they were -willing to reflect, they would be able to understand that undeniable -analogies of organism involve a corresponding analogy of function. -Nothing further is necessary to show the high significance of a study -of comparative sentimentality and the morality illustrating it, -determined by the organism that the great mass of living creatures have -in common. The amusing side of the thing is that the majority of those -who will cry out against this statement will in the same breath speak of -the "intelligence" of animals, and will quote some story about a dog or -cat or elephant, without suspecting that their very manner of presenting -the problem solves the question of its principle, and leaves them with -the sole resource of rebelling against the consequences of that -principle. - -But it is not my intention to speak, as the reader may be thinking, of -Montargis' dog, or any other animal known to history, for the -astonishing proofs of sagacity he may have given. As I mean to relate a -very simple but authentic story of brotherly love between a bullfinch -and a maker of wooden shoes, my subject is more particularly the -exchange of sentiments between two species of animal, a phenomenon in -which the kinship of souls is very clearly demonstrated. - -It is common enough for man to give affection to the animals that -surround him, an affection generally proportioned to the service he -expects of them. Disinterestedness is rarely coupled with power. - -Man having made himself the strongest of living creatures, annexes and -subordinates such animals as he needs for the satisfaction of his wants. -The hunter loves his dog, but if the latter fails to retrieve, what -harsh words are showered on him, to say nothing of blows, the danger of -which perpetually hangs over a dog. Friendship between man and man is -all too often based upon arrangements in some way profitable to both. Is -it surprising, then, if an analysis of the affections of the more -elementary orders of the living hierarchy explains the condescension of -the strong for the defenceless weak by attributing it to self-interest? -And may not the devotion of the weak to the strong arise partly from a -need for protection? But self-interest does not account for -everything--whatever utilitarian philosophy may say. - -I once knew a cock whose favourite haunt was the back of a Percheron -mare in the stable. It may be that the bird's greed relieved the -quadruped of certain irritating parasites. But why did the cock never -turn to any other than his special friend, the mare? And why would any -other fowl have been swiftly shaken off her back? The two animals "took -to each other," that is all one can say. You should have seen the mare -look over her shoulder with beatific eyes when her cock appeared, and -seen him stand on her complaisant rump, flapping his wings and crowing -triumphantly. - -I say nothing of the animals in our menageries, who are trained to -tolerate one another for the astonishment of the idle spectator. They -exemplify a distortion of nature. But we see daily very strong -attachments between cats and dogs, who are natural enemies. Is the dog, -whom we accuse of servility for licking the hand of the master who beats -him, above or beneath the dignity of friendship? He is certainly not -moved by cowardice, for he will hurl himself against anyone attacking -that same brutal man of whom he might justly complain. Is it, then, that -the forgiveness preached by the Gospel is easier for him than for us? -Are dogs more "Christian" than men? That would make obvious the reason -why men often misinterpret dogs. - -We cannot deny that signs of altruism, born principally of love, -manifest themselves on all sides in the animal world. The defence of the -young is the commonest instance of it. The courtship of the male is also -marked by exhibitions of generosity, even as it is on the Boulevard. -When a cock finds a worm, does he not summon his entire harem, and -magnificently toss the savoury morsel to them? - -The bullfinch and the maker of wooden shoes who loved each other -tenderly had no remotest expectation of reward beside the pleasure of -living and telling their love, each in his own language at first, and -later, each, as far as he could, in the language of the other. I have -forgotten the shoemaker's name, but I could go blindfold to his house on -the main street of the village in the Vendée where I used yearly to -spend a happy month of vacation. I can see his white sign board with a -magnificent yellow wooden shoe agreeably surrounded by decorative -additions. I can see the little door with glass panes, giving access to -the shop, hardly larger than a wardrobe, where rows of wooden shoes hung -from the ceiling, were hooked to the walls, littered the floor, and even -overran into the street. - -The little court behind the shop has remained particularly vivid in my -memory. That was the workshop. There, with both hands clasped around the -tool that flung chips into his face, the artist would miraculously draw -from a block of wood braced against his chest the form of a wooden shoe. -Julius II, watching the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel as they sprang -from Michael Angelo's brush, could not have been more impressed than was -my youth before the prodigies performed by the shoemaker. - -He, for the increase of my pleasure, seemed to share it; he accompanied -the manoeuvres of his adze with commentaries calculated to drive well -into my soul the particular merits of his work. He was a poor, pale, -thin, fragile being, himself carved down as if by an adze, rubbed flat -and hollowed out by sickness. Folds of white skin below his hairless -chin trembled when he moved. His eyes were of no colour. He had a nasal, -far-away voice, like that of a consumptive ventriloquist. I never knew -anything about him. I do not believe he had any family--I never saw a -petticoat that seemed to belong in the house. All day long he worked at -his wooden shoes without a word, perhaps without a thought, happy in his -little friend the bullfinch on whom were centred all the emotions of his -existence. - -Although I have forgotten the man's name, I remember the bullfinch's. It -was Mignon. There was nothing to make him look different from the rest -of his kind. As you entered the shop, you saw against the wall a large -cage decorated with rude carvings, on which the shoemaker had lavished -all the fancy of his art. In this, hopping from one wooden bar to the -other, was a little bright red ball with a black head, lighted by two -jet-black eyes gleaming with intelligence. The tiny hooked beak -retreating into the throat did not appear fashioned for conversation, -yet if during the shoemaker's absence you crossed the threshold, a -muffled voice, which seemed to issue from the depths of the walls, -greeted you with a cry, repeated over and over: "Someone in the shop, -someone in the shop," etc., etc. By the smothered quality, the nasal -tone, you recognized the master's voice. But it was not he who spoke, -for you could see him coming from the courtyard with his mouth shut, -while the sentinel's warning continued. It was the bullfinch, who with -unfailing vigilance stood guard over the rows of wooden shoes. - -For Mignon talked like a "real person," with a dainty articulation much -clearer than that of the most accomplished parrot. The shoemaker had, I -suppose, taken him from the nest, and taught him from tenderest infancy. -In close association with, and under the suggestion of, a mentality -which spared no pains in the education of a friend, the bird had by a -loving effort raised himself to the level of the man who had lagged -behind in the evolution of his own race. They had met on the same plane, -and both having capacity for affection had seized upon each other with -atomic grapnels better than they might have done had both been human. - -To please his friend, Mignon had accepted articulate speech as a means -of communication, for, needless to say, his vocabulary was not limited -to the sentry challenge: "Who goes there?" but grew daily more -extensive. On the other side, which was no less remarkable, the human -teacher had let himself be taught the fluty language of his woodland -friend. When the shoemaker wished to convey something to his feathered -comrade, he would break forth in "twee-twees," accompanied by a sort of -hoarse, throaty trill whose slightest inflection is comprehensible to -all the bullfinches in the world. They had thus two languages at their -disposal from which each could draw according to the inspiration of the -moment. A strange dialogue, in which it was often the man who said -"twee-twee," while the bird answered with dictionary words. - -The door of the cage always stood open. But Mignon loved the peace of -his home. In his natural state the bullfinch prefers the most secluded -and silent spot in the forest. His character is both trusting and -contemplative. I remember once finding a nest of bullfinches in an -ancient oak. The father and mother could not believe that I was an -enemy. They perched on a bough at hardly more than a yard's distance -from me, without a flutter or a note of alarm, as if to give me time and -opportunity to admire their little ones. They made no sound until my -departure, when, as if to do the honours of the thicket, they uttered -farewell "twee-twees." As he was afraid of cats and dogs, Mignon never -went into the street. The shop and the courtyard were his whole domain, -with the cage for meals and meditation. - -In the courtyard, among the reddish alder logs, Mignon would come and go -with evident enjoyment, scratching the wood to whet his beak, or -searching it for dainty bits. I can still see those splendid shafts, -golden yellow, marbled with sanguine red, on which the bird would -sometimes stand motionless, swelling his copper-coloured throat, or at -other times hop and flutter and cheep and softly twitter, to win a -glance or a silent smile from his friend. Then he would fly straight to -the shoemaker's shoulder and peck his face and say: "Good morning, my -friend, I love you, indeed I do. Have you slept well?" The answer to -which would be given in human "twee-twees," until the neglected wooden -shoe recalled the forgetful workman to his duty. - -Best of all was the song and dance. - -"Come now, Mignon, dance the polka for your friend." - -Mignon would stretch himself proudly to his full height, uttering three -rhythmic "twee-twees," and hop from one foot to the other, keeping -perfect time. He seemed to enjoy himself hugely, and the shoemaker, who -supplemented the music by an exact imitation of it, expressed boundless -delight by the contortions of his colourless face. - -A childish amusement, some will say. Yet what is more important than -loving? And if we love, what matters the way of expressing a deep mutual -tenderness? The shoemaker did not exhibit his friend's accomplishments -to the casual or the indifferent. The desire to "show off" was foreign -to these two. They simply lived for each other, and their intimacy -behind closed doors, far from jealous eyes, must have had exquisite -sweetness. - -I am aware that there should be some effective ending to my story. The -truth is that I know nothing beyond what I have told. The maker of -wooden shoes and the bullfinch have remained very much alive in my -memory--the end of the episode has escaped it. Did I go there one day -and not find them? Or is it not more likely that I ceased to go there? -It was all so long ago! - -I am certain that whichever of them went first was not long survived by -the other. At least, I like to think so, for if the shoemaker had -replaced Mignon by another bullfinch, or if Mignon had found it in his -heart to dance the polka for Brossard, the nailer, who used to make such -a racket on the other side of the street, I should lose a supreme -illusion concerning the heart of man and bird. If we lose our faith in -man, whom experience may lead us to suspect of selfishness, let us -retain our respectful esteem for animals. - - - - -XV - -ABOUT NESTS - - -Children are always interested in nests--thrilled by the mystery of -them, filled with admiring wonder at the cunning of the little feathered -creature in concealing its brood from the enemy, whether it be man or -hawk, crow or magpie. The impulse to appropriate any living thing (an -instinct inherited from his carnivorous ancestors), indeed, a whole -collection of irresistible impulses direct the murderous sporting -instinct of the future lord of creation toward the delicate feathery -structure. Sympathy is as yet non-existent in the child man, for he has -never suffered. He is carried away by delight in the unknown, his eyes -widen with wonder, his hands reach out, and at the first touch -irretrievable harm is done. - -But no sooner has the nest been torn from the branch, and no sooner are -the little ones, hideous in their grotesque nudity, scattered on the -ground, than he is filled with dismay, like the school boy with all the -parts of his watch spread on the table before him. Having looked at -everything, analyzed it, touched it, he could go his way with a light -heart if only he were able to fit the pieces together again, and -reconstruct a whole. But it is too late. Our first impulse is a -death-dealing one. A sense of the uselessness of destruction is -necessary to awaken pity in us for whatever has life. I have sometimes -seen those very school boys who massacre birds for fun, go back, ashamed -of the stupid wrong committed, and awkwardly try to put the nest in its -place, with the little ones in it, then go away, looking over their -shoulder to witness the gratitude due to them from the despairing family -for their generous effort. On the following day the boys return to look, -and find a graveyard. - -Many birds forsake their progeny at the least break in the usual course -of things. Unaccountable panic seizes them, abruptly quenching the -overmastering love that before had governed the activities of the pair. -If you merely touch a young pigeon, the parents will from that moment -onward hear his clamour for food with indifference--they will let him -starve, while the drama of rearing new young dimly takes shape in their -mysterious minds. Other more courageous birds will fight to the end -without yielding, they will fly into snares in the attempt to reach -their brood, they will come daily to feed their young in the cage, and -if a strange egg has been introduced into their nest, whether by the -hand of man or the cunning of the cuckoo, they will make no difference -between the bastard and their legitimate offspring. - -I have witnessed some fierce battles, notably that of a pair of warblers -against a magpie, who, undeterred by the stones I was throwing, managed -in less than five minutes to remove from their nest into her own, as a -treat for her young magpies, all the little warblers just full-fed with -succulent insects. Whither turn for help against the rivalry of -appetites organized by Providence? "The reason of the strongest is -always the best," sadly observes the poet philosopher. A sorrowful -avowal, that, which leaves us, for sole comfort, the hypothetical -felicity of another world. But what could be more unjust than to exclude -from a celestial paradise these secondary creatures, victims of our -common fate, who in the beginning possessed the earthly paradise, and -were driven from it in the company of our erring ancestors, without -having followed their sinful example? - -Until the order of things changes, all that the weak can do is to cry -out their protest, their vain appeal to universal justice, which, deaf, -insensible, and paralyzed, sits in mute contemplation of the disorder -composing the order of the world. - -Man, the supreme arbiter of the destinies of his inferiors, has -arrogated all rights. The child who lets a bird flutter at the end of a -string only to jerk it to the ground when the poor creature finally -thought itself free, lives in his own person the evolution from the -frank cruelty of the savage to the decent hypocrisies of civilized -barbarism. Man is, indeed, the first one whom animals learn to guard -against. Wherever there are no men, or few, birds are among the first to -become fearless. I have seen nests built in wide recesses and fully -exposed to view, amid the desert ruins of the citadel of Corinth. - -Better still, I once knew--it is now more than fifty years ago--a -wonderful garden, in part cultivated, in part allowed to follow the -fancies of vegetation running wild, where two old people, of beloved -memory, used to walk and take their last pleasures as life neared its -close. A large, typically French garden, with symmetrical flower beds -bordered with box. A long arbour formed a wall at the farther side, and -had at each end a circular bower, bright in springtime with the rosy -blaze of Judas trees. In the centre was a fountain covered by a high -white dome upheld by three slender Ionic columns, delicately mottled -with rose-coloured lichens. At the summit of the dome the sculptor had -carved a vase of formal shape, from which sprang a sheaf of flowers that -took from the mosses overgrowing it an appearance of life. Under the -arch was a bird with spread wings, bearing the motto of the former -masters of the domain, whose name you will find in Hozier: "Altiora -contendimus omnes." The monument dated from the end of the 16th century. -Its remains, scattered in "artistic ruins," now decorate an ornamental -grove. - -Never was a spot less disturbed by the activities of the world, nowhere -was solitude more calculated to win man from his fellows and leave him -to the companionship of trees and animals. Beyond the arbour lay a -meadow, a brook, woods. No human habitation anywhere near. Peace--the -great peace of nature. Sheltered by the high wall, animals lived happy -and unafraid of man, from whom they received only kindness. I can -remember goldfinch nests among the rose bushes within reach of my hand. -I was early taught to touch them only with my eyes. - -In her very bedroom, the lady of the manor gave shelter to swallows. -Traces of nests may still be seen on the great rafters of the ceiling. -In spring, one day at dawn, the travellers, arriving from their great -journey, would come tapping with beak and claw at the high windows. The -aged dame would immediately rise and let in her friends. Greetings would -ensue--enthusiastic greetings after the long separation. Three or four -birds, sometimes half a dozen, would wheel about the vast chamber, with -little sharp cries expressing joy in their return and their hospitable -reception. They perched on the great wardrobes, and twittered for -happiness, their little ruby throats swelling below their black hoods. -All day long they came and went. Soon, one might see a swallow drop on -to the water of a trench, and rest there with wings outspread, then rise -into the air, and gather on her wet feathers the dust of earth needed to -make mortar for her nest. Then began the work of masonry. The -basket-shaped wall rose quickly, formed of thin layers of clay, one -above another, and as soon as the nest was finished, an indentation -fashioned in the edge by the dainty black beak informed one that the -laying of eggs had begun. - -Three or four nests among the rafters became in time a whole aviary, for -the young birds, returning the following year, often selected their -birthplace as a home. There they reared their family. At first peep of -dawn, the father from outside and the mother from inside begged to have -the window opened. They met each other with expressions of delight and -flew skyward in quest of the supply of insects imperiously demanded by -the noisy and hungry nestlings. As soon as the successful hunter -appeared, and before he could fairly get his claws into the earthen -parapet, six gaping throats were outstretched to catch the prey. This -business filled the day. A newspaper, spread on the floor, received all -incongruous happenings. In the evening, when the lamp was lighted, we -were sometimes startled by a sudden outburst of quarrelling up among the -rafters. It might be that a small bird was out of his customary place, -and was beginning his apprenticeship in life by defending his rights, -as well as he could, against the selfish infringements of an -enterprising brother. A muffled call from the mother stilled the tumult, -and fear of punishment brought the children back to moderation, or -perhaps resignation. And then autumn took on the sharpness of winter, -and all the swallows, assembled on the summit of a neighbouring elm, -held a great council of departure. They talked the whole day. But their -discussion, unlike ours, was a preface to action. They started before -sunrise of the day after. Sadly their old friend bade them farewell: -"Go, my dear ones, you intend to come back, but the time is not far when -I shall no longer be here to open the window at your home coming!" The -swallows still return. But for a long time, a very long time, the window -has not been opened. - -Alas! the loveliest part of the setting has likewise disappeared. The -white dome of the fountain, with its rosy colonnade, has been broken up, -and replaced by a hideous rockery in the style of Chatou. The seemly -classic rectangular flower beds, with their severe arrangement, have -made room for a wide lawn dotted with artistic plots of shrubbery. The -long arbour and the Judas trees have blazed in the fireplace on winter -evenings. But, near or far, imagination can restore them. I find myself -walking through twisted underbrush to spy upon domestic scenes in nests. -I have retained a particularly vivid memory of the tragedy which -revealed to me for the first time the distressing vicissitudes of the -struggle for life. - -At the foot of the long arbour lay a dying birdling. He had as yet no -feathers, but a thin black down covered his bluish skin now painfully -heaving with the last spasms of agony. My first motion was to climb in -search of the nest from which the victim had fallen. I had not mounted a -yard from the ground before I found a little dead body similar to the -one I had just seen, and while I peered upward into the shadow, what -should tumble on to my head but a third member of the same brood. I -finally distinguished the nest, and soon little, stifled cries warned me -of something going on in it. I bent to one side, to get a better view, -and discovered in the midst of the down-lined dwelling a great grayish -black bird surrounded by three wretched wee ones who had not as yet been -tossed into the abyss, but who were rendered miserably uncomfortable by -the inordinate growth of their big brother. - -A cuckoo had deposited her egg there, and the parents, stupidly -deceived, lavishing the same care upon the intruder as upon their own -young, had succeeded only in absurdly favouring the strongest. -Meanwhile, he had grown to twice or thrice the size of his "brothers," -and without, presumably, seeking any satisfaction but his "liberty," as -the economists put it, he was taking up the room of others, for the sole -reason that the development of his organs required it. - -Like all young birds, the baby cuckoo automatically flapped his wings, -to exercise his joints. In a normal nest, this movement of each inmate -is limited and regulated by the same movement on the part of the others. -But here, too great strength was in conflict with too great weakness, -and the cuckoo's thick, stumpy wings, on which feathers were already -appearing, spread to the very edge of the nest, lifting the feeble -little ones on to the monster's back, whence a shake flung them -overboard. The crime occurred even while I watched. The worst of it was -seeing the stupid parents, in spite of all, diligently feeding the -infamous fratricide. Careless of the lamentations of their own children, -they could see in the nest only the huge hollow of a voracious beak, -which gobbled whatever they brought, notwithstanding the timid efforts -of the competitors, doomed beforehand to defeat. And so the -disproportion in growth augmented daily, the one taking everything, and -the others condemned to watch him helplessly. The social question is -repeated in every thicket on earth! - -_For the principle of the thing_, I replaced two little birds in the -nest. They were promptly hurled to the ground. Next day, the whole crime -was accomplished, and the false father and the false mother were still -idiotically wearing themselves out to nourish their children's murderer. -What to do about it? How many human stories there are, in the likeness -of that incident! One cannot even justly blame the cuckoo, if the great -principle: "Remove yourself, that I may have your place!" remains in -this universe the watchword added by Providence to the express -recommendation to love one another. - - - - -XVI - -A DOMESTIC DRAMA - - -I am fond of observing animals, real ones, whose spirit has not been -perverted by the insufferable pretence and affectations which are all -too often accompaniments of the human form. Whoever watches them with a -seeing eye may gather deep lessons from the activities of animal life. -In man and beast the motions of being are governed by one philosophy, -however much trouble the sacristans of letters may take to separate -under the heads of "instinct" and "thought" phenomena differing in -degree but identical in nature. - -Analogies of structure and function in the entire hierarchy of the -organic world were one day perceived, and Lamarck and Darwin drew from -these their well-known conclusions, to the confusion of biblical -tradition. Comparative anatomy and comparative physiology are now -flourishing sciences of which academicians find it less easy to -assimilate the results than to proclaim the failure. At the point we -have reached in the knowledge of vital manifestations all along the -scale of living creatures, unlimited material is day by day accumulating -for the science of comparative psychology which will soon be -established. - -While experts are elaborating general laws, the profane may be permitted -to set down the observations suggested to them by the passing show of -life. In this character I wish to relate a domestic drama the scene of -which, I grieve to say, was my own garden. The actors, fair readers, -were simple pigeons. The difference between feathers and hair will -perhaps seem to you to excuse many things. You shall compare and judge. -My only ambition is to point out analogies resulting from the nature of -things, and lead such of my contemporaries as do me the honour to read -what I write, to a wider comprehension of the human soul. - -Our natural tendency is to observe the thoughts and feelings of our -equals rather than those of animals. They touch us more nearly, and we -often need, in the course of our study of humanity, to balance the -indulgence of our judgments upon ourselves by the severity of our -judgments upon others. Only, man under observation has the advantage of -articulate speech, which is, of course, a disadvantage to the observer. -For everyone will agree that man makes use of this chiefly to pervert, -to conceal, or at the very least to disguise, the truth. Hence arise -difficulties of analysis, which are not encountered among the innocent -beasts of the field whom the imperfection of their organism obliges to -show themselves as nature made them. In defining the characteristics of -man, it has been said that he alone among animals is gifted with -laughter, with ability to light a fire, and to state abstractions by -means of articulate speech. We must not neglect to mention his -conspicuous faculty for lying. Animals can dissimulate, for the purpose -of seizing the weaker, or escaping from the stronger. Man alone has -received from Providence the gift of a perfect mendacity. So he often -disparages animals, and accuses them of cynicism! Ah--if dogs could -speak! - -But this tale is concerned with pigeons, and when I tell you that -sitting at my work table I have my dovecote all day under my eyes, you -will understand that I am necessarily familiar with the manoeuvres of -the amorous tribe. The pigeon has a reputation for sentimentality. He is -inclined toward voluptuousness, and has officially but one mate. His -fidelity has been sufficient to arouse the wonder of man. Poetry, music, -and art, after long centuries, still find a rich subject in the -attachment of turtle doves. - -"Two pigeons loved with a tender love----" - -It is still usual for the fruit vender in Rue St. Denis, swooning in the -conjugal arms, to call her spouse "My pigeon!" and for him to answer in -a sigh, "My dove!" Well--at the risk of bringing disillusion to these -ingenuous souls, and driving them to search for other comparisons, I -feel obliged to establish facts in their truth, and show pigeons guilty -of human frailty. - -The ones whose story it is my sad duty to record were two big blue -"Romans," united by the most demonstrative tenderness. They had no other -occupation than to bill and coo all day long. After their eggs had been -laid, they took turns at sitting on them, each for half a day at a -time--and as soon as the little ones had their first feathers, returned -to their ardent lovemaking. - -One day I perceived on a chestnut tree belonging to me a big white -pigeon who seemed to find the neighbourhood to its liking. After a few -short turns about the place, the newcomer, in the course of its search -for food, settled upon the home of the two Romans, and deliberately -entered it, attracted by the buckwheat and corn. Mr. Pigeon drove the -intruder out. He returned, and the performance of expulsion began over -again. This game lasted all day. - -The obstinacy of the newcomer seemed to me to indicate the weaker -sex--which diagnosis was confirmed by my recognition that the Roman -pigeon, while upholding his rights as first occupant, merely went -through the motions of battle, and never effectively attacked his -opponent. For eight days this proceeding continued. Several hundred -times a day the white pigeon flew from the tree to the dovecote, only to -turn back at the first threat of the tenant's beak, and then return at -once from her branch to the blue pigeon's door, where, owing to his -prompt hostility, she would barely alight. - -Wearying of the performance, I, finally, with a desire to protect my -friends, the Romans, caught the white bird, and presented it to a friend -who was improving some property in the wilds of Sannois. My chestnut -tree relapsed into peace, and the feathered pair continued to taste the -joys of love. - -Two months later, to my surprise, I perceived my white visitor on the -chestnut tree. She had already recommenced her visits to the Roman -family, and seemed very little affected by the hostile reception given -to her persistent offers of friendship. At the same time a letter from -Sannois informed me that the prisoner, taking advantage of a hole in the -netting, had escaped. Touched by the sentiment that had brought a -wandering soul back from such a distance to the home of her choice, I -resolved worthily to exercise the hospitality so perseveringly demanded -of me. I had a new house built, and I gave a beautiful husband to the -lady whose heart was so obviously oppressed by the weight of solitude. -Peace settled upon the amorous pigeon world. Each bent his energies, in -accordance with established order, to the occupation of reproducing -himself, and seemed to find happiness therein. - -Who does not know that the joys of this world are brief? - -One day the white lady's husband was found dead, without having given -any sign of illness. His funeral was scarcely over, I blush to say, -before the light creature began visiting the Roman pair again. I soon -noticed that the male pigeon had reached a sort of reconcilement to -those obstinate visits. He continued, to be sure, to drive the intruder -away, but so nervelessly that she returned after a few flaps of her -wings, without even bothering to go back as far as the chestnut tree. - -Soon, I realized that the fascinating person with the white plumage had -free access to the home of her neighbours. When I inquired into the -reason for the Roman not barring his entrance to the stranger, I found -that his mate, hunched in a ball, was seriously ill, and that the -perturbed husband would not leave her. I greatly admired this exemplary -conduct. The trouble was that the stranger, taking advantage of the open -door, formed the annoying habit of perching there inside, day and night. -The pigeon stayed close by his mate, and hunched himself also in a ball -to express his sympathy, while the stranger looked, dry-eyed, on the -ruin of the home, and waited for her day. - -As this day was long in coming, the hussy ventured to intrude upon the -sorrow of the suffering couple. Thereupon, the sick nurse, listening -only to the voice of duty, hurled himself upon the wicked beast, and -with beak and claw drove her across the threshold--even a little way -beyond. Alas! this was precisely the object of her detestable -machinations. The widow wished to be pursued. She succeeded, returning -incessantly to the charge--which obliged the pigeon to escort her out of -the house--and defending herself only enough to lend vivacity to the -encounter. Then, when the moment seemed opportune, she abruptly ceased -to resist, and crouching down, half spread her wings, asking that the -battle of conjugal duty be transformed into a lovers' contest. Rarely -has human creature given such an exhibition of immoral conduct. - -I must say that the virtuous pigeon at first expressed his indignation -by coos expressive of fury. But what can you expect? The flesh is weak. -When temptation is offered every minute of the day there is some excuse -for stumbling. I was a witness of my Roman pigeon's weakening. I saw him -finally succumb to the suggestions of the wanton, and fall into sin! It -is true that, ashamed of his weakness, he immediately chastised vice by -pecking the one who had just given him delight, and quickly flew back to -the bed of straw where the invalid lay wondering at his prolonged -absence. - -Every creature has its destiny. The betrayed wife refused to die. She -remained motionless all day long, ate copiously, in spite of her -illness, and did not waste away. Little by little the gallant husband -formed the habit of infidelity, and even ended by showing a grievous -alacrity in evil doing. I must, however, say to his credit, that if he -found the attraction of sin stronger now than the call of duty, he never -ceased to observe the strictest decorum under the conjugal roof. He -always treated the one responsible for his fall as a courtesan whose -acquaintance was not to be acknowledged. As soon as they were inside the -dovecote, the two accomplices were not acquainted. The Roman pigeon -lived faithfully at the side of his Roman wife. The white pigeon would -go to roost, with an assumption of indifference, on the highest perch. -Bourgeois decency was preserved. As we see it daily among human beings, -respectability among animals may be coupled with scandalous debauchery. -The sad, confiding little invalid seemed to express gratitude to her -spouse, by tender, cuddling motions, to which, I prefer to believe, he -did not submit without some feeling of shame. I should think that the -victim would have suspected something, if only because the two culprits -looked so remarkably above suspicion. But there are especial immunities. - -This state of things might have endured indefinitely if the ill-starred -idea of an experiment had not come into my mind. I took away the sick -bird and isolated her for two days in a cage. I planned to observe the -psychology of her return home, fancying that a crisis would be -precipitated, from which virtue might issue triumphant. - -At first the widower wished to make sure of his "misfortune." He -searched the garden, then the neighbouring roofs where he had formerly -spent long periods in the company of his better half. When he finally -believed that his legitimate mate had vanished into nothingness, he -plunged into bottomless deeps of bliss with the illegitimate one. What -an example to the inhabitants of Passy! - -For two days a joy so scandalous reigned in the guilty establishment -that I could not resist the desire to break up the indecent festival. I -therefore took the unfortunate prisoner and exposed her well in view on -the lawn. As soon as the adulterous couple beheld her, the courtesan -hastened to the dovecote, doubtless to establish her rights of -proprietorship, and the faithless spouse fell furiously upon the wife -restored to his bosom. He beat her with wing and beak, uttering angry -coos. I supposed that he was calling her to account for her -disappearance, and reproaching her with what he might have considered a -prank, he whose heart should have been racked with remorse. It seemed to -me that he was driving her toward the dovecote, and thinking that it -might be well to sustain him in his demand that she resume her position -in the home, whence it was high time that the adventuress be expelled, I -myself put back the ailing pigeon in the spot from which I had taken her -three days before. - -I had scarcely left her when a terrible flutter of wings warned me that -something was happening. I hastened back. The irreproachable wife was -dead, killed by the lovers, whom two days had sufficed to unite in -indissoluble bonds of infamy. The unlucky creature lay with her skull -broken open by their beaks, and the murderers sated their ferocity upon -the dead body, which I had difficulty in wresting from them. - -There are no courts of law in the animal world, wherefore Providence had -no option but to crown the triumph of crime with happy peace. This it -did with its customary generosity. The two villains live happy in their -love. They have had, and will yet have, many children. - - - - -XVII - -SIX CENTS - - -Here is the history of a man without a history. As far back as I can -remember, I can see in the great court of honour of the Manor, devoted -to plebeian uses since the Revolution, Six Cents, the sawyer, silently -occupied with making boards out of the trunks of poplars, elms, and -oaks, which at the end of my last vacation I had left green and living, -filled with the song of birds, and whose corpses I found on my return -tragically piled up for the posthumous torture by which man pursues his -work of death-dealing civilization. - -Jacques Barbot, commonly called Six Cents, was in those days the -representative of industry in the rural world; he typified man in the -first stage above the purely agricultural labourer of olden times. To -prepare the raw material for the next man to use was his social -function. He had certainly never given thought to this, any more than to -the cruel fate which makes of man the first victim of his inventions, -pregnant though they be of future benefit. For how many centuries the -grinding of wheat chained the slave to the millstone, until the day -dawned when the beast of burden, the wind, water and steam, came to take -his place. Even to-day, how much serf's labour still awaits the -ingenuity of future liberators! - -It is certain that Six Cents, although he expressed his views to nobody, -for discretion of thought was chief among his characteristics, did not -feel himself a slave, in his quiet patience under the common subjugation -of labour. As it happened, the machine which set him free promptly dealt -him his death blow. - -Employee and employer as well, he hired a comrade, whose pay was nearly -equal to his own, and all the year round, in the cold and the rain, the -sun or the wind, he matched himself with untiring energy against the -wide-branched giants, and defeated those adversaries. The ever-renewed -struggle against the eternal resistance of the woody monsters made up -his entire life. Beyond that, no horizon, no thought; his was the -unconsciousness of the soul in the making. Gladstone, stupidly and -without the excuse of necessity, used to hack down the noble leafy -creations that form so great a part of the earth's beauty. Six Cents, as -insensible as he to the esthetic aspect of tree life, engaged in a -mortal combat to wrest his living from the obstinate fibres clinging to -life with obscure yet tenacious vitality. - -On winter days, favourable for felling trees, the executioners would -arrive on the spot, axe in hand, to carry out the death sentence -pronounced by interest against life and beauty. In the desolate country, -overflown by bands of crows with their ill-omened croaking, the strokes -of the sinister axe would echo far around, as they accomplished their -work of death. The tall trunk rocks at each deeper entering of the iron, -while the plumy branches beat the air in shudders of agony. The rope -fastened to the top of the tree grows taut--a sharp blow, followed by a -long wail, and the groaning colossus falls heavily to earth. Like a hero -on the fields of Ilion hurling himself upon the spoils of the vanquished -foe, Six Cents on the instant is chopping, cutting, trimming, drawing -lines where the saw is to divide the tree into logs. Soon the stripped -shaft, chained to the sawing trestle, will show on its length as well as -its girth black lines, drawn straight by aid of a string for the -sawyer's reliance in guiding the steel teeth. - -One man stands above and one below the trestle. The thin notched blade, -working its way forward with a soft swish muffled by the sawdust, rises -and falls with the rhythmic motion of the bodies alternately bending -down and straightening up. From a distance you see two men in front of -each other, one facing earthward, the other skyward, and perpetually -bowing as if in mutual greeting. When the entire existence of a human -being has for its sole activity an incessant bowing, not even to the -tree about to die, but to its corpse, into which he is driving the iron -a little further with each courteous gesture, there results a monotony -of sensation, of thought (if the two words may be used in this -connection,) progressively benumbing the spirit, or reducing it to the -minimum of cogitation compatible with a continuance of life. The inert -intelligence becomes atrophied. What is the mentality of the slave -harnessed to the millstone? Not greatly superior to that of the beast of -burden substituted for him. Six Cents, slaughtering his trees, took from -them only vegetative life. His victims unconsciously revenged themselves -by bringing him down through the continuity of enforced labour to the -lowest rank of conscious life. - -One must not suppose that Six Cents was stupid. His countenance, with -its regular features, was frank and open. His eyes, which though lacking -in fire were gentle and appeared to dwell on something far away, -reminded one of those of certain dogs, "very intelligent," but incapable -of any effort beyond primitive comprehension. He was not a mere animal, -but simply an undeveloped man. He did not know how to read, nor had he -ever stopped to wonder what might be contained in a book. To saw to-day, -to saw to-morrow: a narrow cycle of dull thoughts brought him -continually back to his starting point. The wide gray velvet trousers -from the pocket of which protruded the points of a pair of compasses -distinguished him from tillers of the soil. The stamp of science and -art was upon him, but so rudimentary, that the appropriate mechanical -gesture was the Ultima Thule of his attainment. The smooth-shaven face, -framed in long gray locks, under a cloth cap in the fashion of Louis XI, -inspired respect by its placid gravity. His slow, heavy step could be -heard on the road as he went silently to his work, whereas the plowmen, -exchanging greetings as they passed one another, urged on their beasts -with shouts, held them back with oaths, or brightened the day with love -songs. Presently, they would be turning over their furrows, still -shouting, still swearing, and still singing, followed by the feathered -host, to whom the plowshare furnishes inexhaustible feasts. During this, -Six Cents, at the foot of the trestle, gazing upward open mouthed, -without sound, his attention centred upon not departing from the -straight line, would stretch to full height with arms extended, then -stoop to the ground as if to touch it, bend over only to lift himself, -and lift himself only to bend again. - -And what of the interludes between work hours? There is the cheer of the -coarse but comforting repast, with the zest of its thin, sourish white -wine "warming to the heart"--the walk from work to food and from food to -work; sleep, when strength is spent, and rising when it would be -pleasant to go on sleeping. On Sundays, there is first and foremost the -joy of doing nothing, then there are the heavy conversations during -which no one has anything to say, each having no interest in any but his -own case, "feeling only his own ills," as the popular saying has it; -there is the talk about the weather, the tedium of an idle day, -occasionally the diversion of rural debate on the church square after -mass; there is communion with the blessed bottle, substituting a -paradise of dreams for the irksome reality of things. What further? - -Married in a purely animal sense, as is the case with the majority of -the human race, Six Cents lived in the relation of male to female with -his "good wife," finding in marriage the advantage of partnership in -labour. Were they faithful to each other? In a village these matters, -which create so much commotion in the city, have small importance. -People are too close to nature to resist the attraction of the moment. -And I cannot see that the dwellers in cities set them such a shining -example. The distraction of fairs is unknown to the sawyer who has -nothing to sell. Thefts are too common, crimes too rare, they are not -common subjects of conversation. Finally, to satisfy the rudimentary -urge of idealism, there are politics and religion, represented by the -mayor and the priest. From the pulpit fall incomprehensible words to -which no one pays attention, since no one can see that they have any -real effect upon anything whatsoever. Religion consists principally in -believing that we must by means of certain ceremonies get on the right -side of a God who will otherwise burn us up. At the approach of death -one tries to get the balance in his favour at all costs. But this -changes nothing in the conduct of life. Local politics are in general, -as they are everywhere, a matter of business. The calculation can -quickly be made as to the value of a vote on one side or the other. -There is no other problem. This is how a great many Frenchmen still -express the "national will" concerning the most important matters of -politics and sociology. The point ever present to the mind is the -question of remuneration. But the conditions determining the wages of -labour escape the power of analysis of such fellows as Six Cents. What -can they do but say "I work too much and earn too little," and stop, -amazed before the insoluble puzzle. - -One day, however, Six Cents heard news, when he happened to complain -that "Boards did not find as good market as they used to." He was told -about pines, and water power, and sawmills in Norway, and cheap -transportation, a tale which he did not entirely understand, but from -which he gathered that the evil was irremediable. He therefore resigned -himself as he had always done, bowing under the inevitable. He earned -less and still less, while working harder and harder because of arms -grown weaker, and back grown stiff with the years. In spite of the -kindly advice of philanthropical political economists, Six Cents, -wearing out his body by continual labour, had no savings. He had no old -sock filled with gold pieces against a rainy day, such as the simple -like to believe in. Why economize, when one knows that a lifetime of -pinching would lead to a ludicrously inadequate result? - -Old age is upon him. Pitiless progress has done its work. Humble village -craftsmen like Six Cents are out of date. The concentration of capital -demands the mustering of labourers in the all-devouring factory. Six -Cents looks on without understanding, without complaining. He has come -to poverty, want. Utter destitution as he nears the grave seems to him -but one fate-ordained calamity more to throw on the heap with the -others. Is any one surprised at heat in summer and cold in winter? We -must accept things as they come, and if nothing comes, still be content, -since we cannot change the actual course of things. It is the same -resignation as that of beasts under the whip. Six Cents' wife with a -sack on her back goes from door to door begging for a crust or a few -potatoes, grudgingly given to her. The sawyer does such small odd jobs -as he finds to do. They keep alive, and at times appear contented. -Seated on a stone at the threshold of his hut, Six Cents watches the -world go by. The young come, merry, wilful, noisy. The aged pass, -dejected, resigned, silent. - -"With all the boards I have sawed," said he, the other day, "it will -certainly be strange if four cannot be found to make my last home." - -The history of a man without a history I have called this. But even -without events, without passions, without desires, without revolts, -without search for better things, and with the apathy of lifelong labour -directed to no end, is it not still a history? The evolution of human -society cannot be denied. But the time seems distant when men shall keep -abreast in their progression. Up to the present time, what a lot of -laggards! Consider the mental development of the cave man, chipping his -flint, polishing his stone axe, sharpening his arrows, dividing his time -between hunting and fighting, defending his hearth with vigilant effort, -and trying to destroy the hearth of his neighbour, and then tell me -whether the wretched man who spends all the days of his life sawing the -same board, hammering the same iron-bar, turning the same crank of the -same machine all day long--whether this man is intellectually superior -to the cave man? All this, of course, must change. Let us, in order to -help on the good work, take account as we go of the temporary conditions -of human kind. - - - - -XVIII - -FLOWER O' THE WHEAT - - -Flower o' the Wheat was the prettiest girl in my village. Tall, well set -up, stepping along with a fine self-confidence, she brightened by her -clear laughter the fields, the woods, the deep road cuts of the Vendée. -With the first warm days of spring the milky whiteness of her skin would -be dotted over with a constellation of freckles. - -The peasants used to say: "The good Lord threw a handful of bran in her -face." - -Bran and flour, it would seem, for her face under the sun's rays -remained as white as if dusted over with the powder of bolted wheat. -Hence, perhaps, her surname, or possibly she owed it to her red hair, -matched rather unusually by tawny eyes. She gave one the impression of -being all of the beautiful gold-brown tone of ripe wheat. Flower o' the -Wheat was beautiful, and knew it because she was told so all day long. - -The man of the fields is not by a long way insensible to beauty. His -esthetic sense is not the same as ours. He is not moved by a line, a -contour, the grace of a moving form, but he is powerfully affected by -colour, as are all whom civilization has not overrefined. Flower o' the -Wheat being a creature of living colour, had, therefore, the pleasure of -hearing herself proclaimed fair, and of having to fend off the -playfulness, and occasionally the somewhat robust caresses, of manly -youth all the way from Sainte Hermine to Chantonnay. Plant a flower -wherever you will, there the bees will congregate. Wherever you meet -beauty, you will see men coming to forage, with eyes and hands and lips. -Between city and country there is only a difference of setting. - -As her fame spread beyond the borders of the canton, Flower o' the Wheat -had a throng of admirers such as had not been seen for many a day in our -neighbourhood. The pride of it shone in her eyes, dazzled by their own -attractiveness, and if she had been told of Cleopatra on whom was -centred the gaze of the world, it is not certain that she would have -thought the Egyptian queen had an advantage over the country maid. For -which I praise her, for enumerating a multitude of adorers is a foolish -pastime. Moreover, the queen was dead and the peasant girl alive: the -best argument of all. - -The delightful part of the story is that Flower o' the Wheat, while -permitting herself to be admired by every man, and envied by every -woman, kept her heart faithful to the friend who had known how to win -it, in which she differed notably from Cleopatra. Now, that friend, for -I must finally come to my confession, was none other than your humble -servant. I may be pardoned the pride of that avowal: I loved Flower o' -the Wheat, and Flower o' the Wheat entertained sentiments for me which -she was not in the least loth to exhibit. I used to follow her about the -fields with her dog, "Red Socks," so called because of his four tawny -paws, and while the flock browsed very improperly beyond the limit set -by the rural guard, I told her all about Nantes, where I had spent the -winter. I amazed her with tales from my books, or else she talked to me -about animals, what they did, what they thought; she told me -extraordinary stories. Our souls were very near to each other, I will -not say the same of our hearts, for the sad part of our love was, alas, -that she was twenty and I was six--or seven, if I stood on tiptoe. This -did not make it difficult for either of us, however, to hug the other. -It was only later that I realized my misfortune. - -Our best days were at harvest time. The abominable smoke of the -threshing machine had not yet invaded the countryside. The flail was -still in use. At dawn, men and women divided into groups would begin the -round of the threshing floor, their motions accompanied by the rhythmic -thud of the wooden flail, muffled by the straw on the ground; one half -of the quadrille would slowly retreat, while the other half gradually -advanced. The necessity for attention, and the sustained effort, obliged -them to be silent. But what a reaction of laughter and song when the -wooden pitch forks came into play, stacking the straw! Noonday would see -the ground strewn with harvesters taking their rest in the full glare of -the sun, for the peasant fears the treacherous shade. Upon the stroke of -a bell, the noisy concert of the flails would again fill the air on -every side. - -At evening there were dances, and there were songs, in which Flower o' -the Wheat excelled. She knew every song of that region, and would sing -in a nasal, untutored voice, delicious to the rustic ear, ingenuous -poems, in which "The King's Son," the "Nightingale," and the "Rose" -appeared in fantastic splendours, joyful or sad. A local bard had even -made about Flower o' the Wheat, a somewhat free and outspoken song in -dialect, the refrain of which said that the flower of the wheat -surrenders its grain under the harvester's flail. Flower o' the Wheat -without false shame celebrated herself in song, and there were fine -jostlings if some young fellow jokingly made believe to put the refrain -into action. - -Sooner or later, Flower o' the Wheat was bound to come under the -harvester's flail. And here I call the reader's attention to this story, -whose merit is that it is the story of everyone. I know of no greater -error than to suppose that extraordinary adventures are what make life -interesting. If one looks closely, one finds that the truly marvellous -things are those which happen to us every day, and that duels, dagger -thrusts, even automobile accidents, with accompanying hatred, jealousy, -betrayed love, and treachery, are in reality the vulgar incidents in the -enormous drama of our common life from birth to death. - -To bring, without any will of our own, our ego to the consciousness of -this world, be subject to a fatal concatenation of joys and sorrows -dealt by the hazard of fortune, and end in the slow decay which brings -us back to the condition preceding our existence, is not this the -supreme adventure? What more is needed to make us marvel? Some, who are -called pessimists, accept it with a certain amount of grumbling. Others, -regarded as optimists, consider their misfortune so great that they -eagerly add to it, by way of consolation, the dream of a celestial -adventure which everyone is free to embellish as much as he pleases. - -Flower o' the Wheat did not bother her head with any of this. She was -twenty, a more engrossing fact. She listened to the voice of her youth, -like the women gone before her, as well as those who will follow her on -this earth. In the fields, nature being so close, people are very little -hampered by the more or less fantastic social conventions, which -undertake to regulate the human relations between two young creatures -hungering and thirsting for each other. - -A special sort of cake called "_échaudé_" is the chief industrial -product of my village: a cake made of flour and eggs, very delectable -when fresh from the oven, but heavy, and cause of a formidable -thirstiness, by the time it has travelled through the bracken as far as -Niort, La Rochelle, or Fontenay. Its transportation is carried on by -night, in long carts drawn by a horse whose slow and steady gait rocks -the slumbers of the driver and of the woman who accompanies him to -preside over the sale of the cakes. These carts are terrible -go-betweens. The scent of fern is full of danger. The two lie down to -sleep, side by side, under the open sky. They do not always sleep, even -after a long day's labour. The market town is far away. The unkindly -disposed and censorious are shut within their own four walls. Temptation -is increased by the jolts that throw people one against the other. -Wherefore resist, since one must finally surrender? - -Flower o' the Wheat, who was in the service of a rich dealer in -_échaudés_, one fine day married her "master," after having given him, -to the surprise of no one, two unequivocal proofs of her aptitude for -the joys as well as duties of maternity. Her neighbours in the country -will tell you that there was nothing out of the ordinary in her life. -Her husband beat her only on Sundays, after vespers, when he had been -drinking too much, and she took no more revenge upon him than was -necessary to show outsiders that he did not have the last word. - -I saw her again, at that time, after a fairly long period of absence. -The handful of flour and bran was still there. Her eyes had kept their -lustre, and her hair still blazed under the fluttering white wings of -her coif. But her glance seemed to me sharper, and already the curve of -her lips betrayed weariness of life. Her pretty name still clung to her, -but the flower had lost its bloom. She still laughed, but she no longer -sang. Fortune had come to her, as rings and brooches and gold chains -attested. On Sundays she wore a silk skirt and apron to church, and -carried a gilded book, a thing found useful even by those who cannot -read, since it gives them the satisfaction of exciting their neighbours' -envy. - -My visits to the village had become brief and far spaced. We had lived -very far apart, when I met her one day, in one of our deep road cuts, -leading her cow to pasture. An old, wrinkled, broken, worn-out woman. We -stopped to chat. Her husband was dead and had left her with "property," -but the children were pressing her to make over everything to them. They -would have an allowance settled on her "at the notary's," they said. - -"I shall have to make up my mind to do it," she ended with a sigh. "Will -you believe that my son came near beating me yesterday, because I would -not say yes or no?" - -Ten more years passed. One day, as I was going through a neighbouring -hamlet, a tumble-down hovel was pointed out to me and I was told that -"the Barbotte" was ending her days there. Flower o' the Wheat was no -more. She was now "the Barbotte," from her husband's name, Barbot. - -I entered. In the half light, I could see, under the remnants of an old -mantle, the shaking head of an aged woman, with a dried-up, shrivelled -parchment face, pierced by two yellow eyes wherein slumbered the dim -vestiges of a glance. A neighbour told me all about it. The children did -not pay the allowance, which surprised no one. It was the usual thing. -From time to time, they brought her a crust of bread, occasionally soup, -or scraps of food on Sunday, after mass. The old woman was infirm, and -waited on herself with difficulty. A servant was supposed to come and -see her once a day. Often she forgot. - -"Why not make a complaint?" said I, thoughtlessly. - -"She spoke, one day, of letting the notary know. They beat her for it. -And who would be willing to take her message? No one is anxious to make -enemies. Her children are already none too well pleased that any one -should enter the hut. They do not want people meddling with their -affairs." - -During this talk tears were shining in the blinking yellow eyes. "The -Barbotte" had recognized me. - -"Don't be troubled on my account," she said in a thin voice that -betrayed the fear of being beaten. "I need nothing. My children are -very kind. They come every day. Maybe you are like the rest, sir, you -think I find time heavy on my hands. Do you know what I do, when I am -here alone? I sing, in my mind, all the songs of long ago. I had -forgotten them, and now they have come back to me. All day I sing them, -without making any noise. _I sing them inside._ One after the other. -When I have finished them all, I begin over again. It is like telling my -beads. It is funny, is it not?" - -And she tried to smile. - -"_Monsieur le curé_ scolds me," she took up again. "He wishes me to say -my prayers. But I have no sooner started on the prayers than back come -the songs. I cannot help it. You remember, don't you, 'The King's Son?' -Oh, the 'King's Son!' And the 'Nightingale?' And the 'Rose?' I want to -sing one for you. Out loud, instead of in my mind. Which one? 'Flower o' -the Wheat!' Flower o' the Wheat! Ah...." She seemed on the point of -singing, but dropping from it, exclaimed: "The flail of the harvester -came. The grain was taken. Nothing is left but the straw ... and that -badly damaged. It was threshed too much.... Dear sir, you who know -everything, can you tell me why we come into this world?" - -"I will tell you another day, my dear friend, when I come again." - -But I never went back. - - - - -XIX - -JEAN PIOT'S FEAST - - -Without examining the question whether life is sad or gay, without -attempting to say which is right, the groaning pessimist or the optimist -singing hymns of praise, one may be allowed the remark that a great many -people encounter between birth and death a great deal of trouble. -Conspicuous among them is the multitude of wretches who from morning -until night wear themselves out in ungrateful and monotonous labour for -which they receive just enough to enable them to continue wearing -themselves out without rest or reward. - -The "fortunate ones of the world," those whom the others call fortunate -because they are safe from cold and hunger day by day, readily believe -that men bowed all their lives in the slavery of labour can no more than -beasts of burden feel the cruelty of their fate. It is, in fact, a great -aid to optimism to believe that the small allowance of worldly good -which some of us can get along with, though we feel our share -insufficient, is not paid for by a corresponding amount of worldly evil -at the other end of the divinely instituted social scale. In so far as -he thinks at all, the peasant entertains the same idea about the -animals, whom he uses without forbearance, and beats unmercifully, -satisfied with the argument that "they cannot feel anything." As for -him, what exactly does he feel in connection with the good and evil of -life? In looking for an answer one should discriminate between the -peasant of the past and the peasant of to-day, who in a vague way has -been developed by military service, emancipated, not very coherently, by -the primary school and universal suffrage, to say nothing of the -railroads. - -When I look at the peasant of to-day, and compare him with the one I -knew in my youth, I realize that a breach has been made in the -impenetrable hedge that once closed his horizon. I do not know whether -he is happier or less happy. He has come into relation with the rest of -the world; that is the chief difference. I do not say that he personally -has even a dim conception of things in general. I do not believe he asks -himself any troublesome questions concerning the universe. But how many -inhabitants of cities are like him in that respect? Schools have -remained a place where words are taught. Barracks teach obedience and -discourage thought, agreeing in this with _Monsieur le Curé_, who exacts -blind faith, to the detriment of reason, that instrument of the devil. -Finally, the right to vote, which makes of men with such poor -preparation the sovereign arbiters of the most important social and -political questions, the right to vote so frequently reduces itself to a -simple matter of business or local interest, that the least daring -generalizations are beyond the understanding of the average peasant. - -So it happens that despite the daily advance of civilization the -countryman continues to lead an elementary kind of life, knowing little -of society save his obligation to pay taxes, finding nothing in life -beyond the necessity to work without sufficient remuneration to provide -for inevitable old age. His distractions, his pleasures, he finds in the -Church, in fairs and the shows attached, in markets and the drinking -appurtenant, with interludes of amorous expansion which will be granted -to the veriest slave by the harshest master, interested in the -continuance of a servile caste. - -It is true that aside from the joys of thought our average citizen, even -with theatres and music halls, attains to no higher pleasures. To eat, -to drink, to go out of their way to strip love of the dreams and -idealism which make it beautiful, these, when all is said, compose the -everlasting "life of pleasure" of our most assiduous "racketers." As -love among peasants is unhampered by idealism, the countryman has the -two other diversions left him, eating and drinking, which few mortals -hold in contempt, as anybody can see. - -My friend Jean Piot, who for many years honourably occupied in broad -sunlight a position between that of beggar and labourer by the day, or -"odd jobber," was never one of those good for nothings who grumble over -their task. In the wood yard he would do double work without flagging. -On the other hand, he would have been ashamed of himself had he not -taken as his legitimate reward an equivalent ration of "fun." Puritans, -turn away your heads! Jean Piot, after his enormous share of work, -exacted remuneration from Providence, in the shape of joys. - -In his youth, labour and joy went hand in hand. If the pay was not large -in spite of the excellence of the work, neither, on the other hand, is -the expense large, when a kiss only asks for a kiss in return, when the -soup of beans, cabbage, potatoes, and the bacon to go with it, are -plentiful, when the white wine demanded by the labourer with sweat on -his brow is grudged him by no one. Jean Piot had no trade, or rather he -had all trades. He was equally good as digger, teamster, herdsman, or -plowman, he took as much pleasure in all toil connected with the earth -as if he derived strength from it for his revels. - -Then old age came. Jean Piot performed fewer prodigies, and when he did -the work of one man only, the master rebuked his laziness. He had -encumbered himself on the way with a certain Jeanne, whom public opinion -reproached with having put the two or three children she had had before -her marriage into a Foundlings' Home--she was reproached, that is to -say, with having estimated that the Republic would provide better than -she could for their maintenance and education. The sin is not one for -which in the opinion of the village there is no remission. Jeanne having -become "the Piotte," showed no less ardour for work and no less love of -good cheer than did her legitimate spouse. But her best days were -already past. Illness overtook her. There were no savings. Jean Piot, -who still caroused, was now no better than an ordinary workman, and -sometimes complained of stiff muscles, though he continued to drive them -beyond their strength. - -Then came stark poverty. Alas! if the ability to work had diminished, -hunger and thirst, more pressing than ever, had not ceased to claim -their dues. Jean and his wife asked first one favour of their -neighbours, then another, and when they had worn these out they applied -to their friends, finally to strangers. Thus they passed by a scarcely -perceptible transition from salaried pride to resigned beggary. Jean -Piot and his Piotte were well thought of, never having had the -reputation of being sluggards. They had, to be sure, led a merry life, -fork and glass in hand. But which of their fellow labourers had never -been tempted to drown care in the cup? People helped them without too -bad a grace. From time to time they still worked when an opportunity -came not out of all proportion with their strength, sapped by work and -disease and white wine. - -Slowly, age increased the inconveniences of being alive. In spite of -all, the two seemed happy, unmindful of the humiliation of begging,--or -sometimes even taking without having begged--accepted by all as -established parasites, always ready to lend a hand if there were -pressing work. It is not certain that, counting fairly, the collected -gifts falling into Jean Piot and the Piotte's scrip amounted to more -than an equitable reward for services rendered. - -However that might be, no one seemed to complain of the state of things -brought about by the natural course of events, when a strange rumour -came from the county town. Jean Piot had inherited, it was said, -inherited from an unknown great uncle, who had "had property," and left -to his numerous relatives the task of dividing a "considerable" sum -among themselves. At this news, Jean Piot held up his head, and the -Piotte, going about with her crutch, asked for alms with a braver front. -Public opinion could but be favourably impressed by the great news. -Everybody's generosity suddenly increased, to the satisfaction of both -parties. - -"Well, and those potatoes that I offered you the other day? You did not -take them, my good woman--you must carry them home." The Piotte could -not remember anybody mentioning potatoes, but she trustfully took -whatever was offered. From all sides gifts poured in, along with -congratulations on the wealth to come, which was to raise the Piots from -the dignity of beggars to the higher functions of the idle living on the -labour of others. The news soon received confirmation that an -inheritance there was, of which Jean Piot was a beneficiary. Whether -large or small, no one knew. - -The heirs were said to be numerous, and the most contradictory reports -ran on the subject of the division. Jean Piot said nothing except -"perhaps," or "it is not impossible," which gave small satisfaction. -Everyone knew that he had been to see the lawyer, and that he had seemed -happy when he came home. The law does nothing quickly. There was a long -period of waiting, but public generosity did not weary, and Jean Piot -and his Piotte had easily fallen into the way of being received as "the -Lord's guests." - -Finally, the news burst upon the community that Jean Piot had inherited -500 francs, all told. The disappointment caused a violent reaction, and -from one day to the next, the couple found everywhere resisting doors -and frowning faces. But Jean Piot seemed not to notice them, and before -long his look of pleasure and his expressions of satisfaction gave rise -to the idea that there must be something more than appeared. "We do not -know the whole," people whispered, and each, to forestall the unknown, -entrenched himself in a position of benevolent neutrality. - -Five hundred francs was after all something, and as no one supposed that -Jean Piot intended to make a three per cent. investment, many wondered -if they might not draw some small advantage from the inheritance. - -"Jean," said the maker of wooden shoes, "your shoes are a sorry sight. I -will make you a pair, cheap, if you like." - -No representative of commerce or industry but came with offers of -obliging the "heir" with bargains in his wares. - -Jean Piot shook his head, with gracious thanks. That was not what he -wanted. - -Presently it was _Monsieur le curé's_ turn. - -"Jean Piot, do you ever give thought to your soul?" - -"Why, of course, _Monsieur le curé_, I am a good Christian, I think of -nothing else." - -"Well, and what do you do to save your soul from the mighty blaze of -hell? I never even see you at mass." - -"That is no fault of mine, _Monsieur le curé_, I have to earn my living. -You know very well that I go to the church door. On Sundays people are -readier to give alms than on week days." - -"You should not work on Sundays." - -"No danger. I can't work any more. Begging is not work." - -"Do you know what would be a good thing to do? You ought to have masses -said, to redeem your sins." - -"There's nothing I should like better. Will you say some for me?" - -"Good. How much will you give me?" - -"How much money? Does God ask for money, now, to save me from hell? Why, -then, did he not give me money to give him?" - -"Hush--wretched man----! You blaspheme! Have you not just inherited?" - -"Ah, you mean those five hundred francs? Wait a bit, _Monsieur le curé_, -you shall have your share." - -"You will have masses said?" - -"No, I have not enough for that." - -"But for the small sum of twenty francs, I will say----" - -"Impossible, _Monsieur le curé_, it is impossible." - -"You grieve me, Jean Piot. You will die like a heathen." - -"I wish you a good day, _Monsieur le curé_." - -When this conversation was retailed, everyone wondered. What! not even -twenty francs to the Church? Jean Piot surely had some plan. What was he -going to do? - -Soon they knew, for without solicitation orders began to be placed with -the best tradespeople. Jean Piot had engaged and paid for the largest -stable in the village. Tables were being set up in it, and covered with -a miscellaneous collection of dishes, as if for a Camacho's banquet, -such as was never seen outside of Cervantes' romance. - -The two village inn keepers had received gigantic orders for food and -drink. And Jean Piot, his eyes sparkling with pride, went with a kindly -smile from door to door, no longer to beg, but to let everyone know that -"in remembrance of their good friendship" he was going to treat the -entire countryside for three days. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday there -was feasting, junketing, merrymaking--and everyone invited! There were -cauldrons of soup; cabbage, potatoes, and beef at will, and fish, and -fowls, and cakes and coffee. As for wine, casks of it were tapped, and -it was of the best; on top of that, little glasses of spirits, "as much -as you liked." - -Amazement! Exclamations! Certainly Jean Piot was an extraordinary man. -It was perhaps unwise to spend all that money at once, when he must -necessarily be penniless on the day after. But who was there to blame -him, when everybody was taking his share of the feast? Only the _curé_ -shook his head, regretting his masses. But public opinion was set in -Jean Piot's favour, and not even the Church could swim against the -stream. - -At early dawn on Saturday Jean Piot and the Piotte settled themselves in -the middle seats at the table of honour, and the crowd having flocked -thither in their best attire, fell upon the victuals, and washed them -down with generous potations. At first they were too happy to speak, but -how everybody loved everybody else! How glad they were to say so! On all -sides handshaking--on all sides affectionate embraces--on all sides -cries of joy! And for Jean Piot and his Piotte, what kind and laudatory -expressions! What admiration! - -During three days the enormous festival took its tumultuous course, amid -the muffled crunching of jaws, the gurgling of jugs and bottles, mingled -with laughter and shouts and songs. Women, children, old -people--everyone gorged himself immoderately. When evening came, young -and old danced to the music of fiddles. The church, alas, was empty on -Sunday, and when the _curé_ came to fetch his flock--God forgive -me!--they made him drink, and he, enkindled and set up, pressed Jean -Piot's two hands warmly to his heart. All the mean emotions of daily -life were forgotten, wiped away from the soul by this great human -communion. Tramps who were passing found themselves welcomed, stuffed to -capacity, beloved----And when the evening of the third day fell, not a -soul was there to mourn the too early close of an epic so glorious. The -entire village, exhausted, was asleep and snoring, fortifying itself by -dreams to meet the gloomy return to life's realities. - -When his heavy drunkenness was dispelled, Jean Piot realized, for the -first thing, that the Piotte's sleep would have no awakening. -Congestion had done for her. He had on the subject philosophical -thoughts to which he did not give utterance for fear of being -misunderstood. In the depth of his heart he felt that neither of them -had any further reason for living, since they had fully lived. - -And so, when, left alone, he saw gradual oblivion close over the -imposing revel of which he had been the hero, when the current of life -swept ever farther and farther from him that tiny fraction of humanity -which made up his universe, when countenances darkened at sight of him, -when doors closed and when he was reproached with having "wasted his -substance"--he was not surprised, and without a murmur accepted the -inevitable. - -For days and days he remained stretched on his straw, quiet, even happy, -it seemed, but without anything to eat. He starved, it is said. - -Two days before his death, the _curé_ had come to see him. - -"Well, Jean Piot, my friend, do you repent of your sins?" - -"Oh, yes, _Monsieur le curé_!" - -"You remember when I proposed to say masses for you? If you had listened -to me, you would not to-day be suffering remorse." - -"And why should I suffer remorse, _Monsieur le curé_? I have done no -harm to anybody. You see, I quite believe that the next world is -beautiful, as you say it is, but I wanted my share of this world. And I -had it. Rich people have theirs. It would not have been fair otherwise. -Ah, I can say that I was as happy as any rich man, not for so long, that -is all. And what does that matter, since it must end sometime anyhow? Do -you remember? You drank a glass, and you took both my hands, just as if -I had been a rich man, _Monsieur le curé_. We were like two brothers. If -you cannot say a mass for me without money, surely you will remember me -in your prayers, will you not?" - -"I promise to, Jean Piot," said the _curé_, who had grown -thoughtful. - - - - -XX - -THE TREASURE OF ST. BARTHOLEMEW - - -St. Bartholemew is a village in the Creuse, whose exact location I -abstain from indicating lest I disturb a peaceful community by calling -up unpleasant memories. St. Bartholemew is a village like any other. It -has its main street, with old sagging houses huddled one against the -other; here and there, the discordant note of a new building with -wrought-iron gateway and gateposts topped by cast-iron vases. There are -streets running at right angles, oozy with sewage, littered with manure, -where numerous chickens scratch for their living. There are little -gardens ornamented with bright shiny balls, reflecting people and -things, and making them look ugly at close range, beautiful in the -distance, even as our eyes do. - -As far as I have ever been able to judge, the inhabitants of St. -Bartholemew differ in no wise from those of other villages. There, as -everywhere in the world, people are born, they live, and they die, -without knowing exactly why, and without arriving at any reasonable -explanation of the strange event. They seem, however, quite untroubled -by the difficulty of the problem. When they come into the world, their -first business is to lament. All their life long, they lament over the -labour involved in preserving their lives, but when it comes to dying, -they cannot make up their minds to it without lamentation! What bonds -hold them so closely to earth? Although "gifted with reason," they could -not tell you. What do they see beyond the fatal impulsion which sets men -at odds in a fierce struggle for life, the results of which seem -uncommensurate with the effort expended? They have no idea. Man comes -into collision with brutal fact, and can see nothing beyond a conflict -of interests. Three persons there are, having a direct action upon him: -the _curé_, the mayor, and the rural guard, whose injunction will bring -him to court. - -The _curé_ is the purveyor of ideals appointed by the government. His -church, with its pictures, its gilded candlesticks, its tapers, and its -anthems, constitutes the only manifestation of art furnished by the -powers. It provides, in addition, a body of doctrine, texts, and -uplifting admonitions, the misfortune of which is, that although -everyone repeats them, no one pays any attention to them. The practice -of the cult seems to be the important thing. As to the precepts of which -that same cult is the support, everyone applies them to suit himself. -Gifts of money, a mechanical deathbed repentance, set the sinner on good -terms with the Master of the Beyond. With regard to the common events -of life, Lourdes and St. Anthony of Padua will attend to them for a -consideration. - -As the _curé_ fills the office of God's mayor on earth, so the mayor and -the rural guard are the _curés_ of that far-away terrestrial divinity -called: "the Government." What, exactly, that word means, no one has the -necessary learning to explain. All that is known (and nothing further is -required), is that it is a mysterious power, as implacable as the Other, -and that one cannot even acquire merit with it by offering one's money -willingly, for it has liberty to force open doors and drawers and take -at its convenience. No one loves it, by whatever fine name it may call -itself, for it has, like the Other, a court of demons, a fierce company -of bailiffs, attorneys, judges, and jailers, cruel and vindictive toward -poor people who have the misfortune to displease it. This conception of -the social order may not express a very elevated philosophy, but it has -the great advantage of being exactly adapted to the tangible realities -of daily life. - -If it were objected that at election time the "sovereign (!) voter" -might feel that he himself is the Government, I should answer that he -does not feel it for the simple reason that it is not so. To make it -true, an understanding of things and conditions would be necessary, -which the law may presuppose, but which it has not so far been able to -bring about, either among the people, or, for the greater part, among -the delegates of the people. Promises, of course, have not been wanting, -but what has followed? One is put in mind of a flock of sheep, given -their choice of tormentors, and as the personal interest of each, clear -and conspicuous, comes before the incomprehensible "general interest" (a -Pandora's box, concealing so many things!) the representative whom it is -good to elect is the one who will tear up the greatest number of legal -summonses and substitute for them the greatest number of office holders' -receipts and tobacconist shops. - -It will be admitted, I fancy, that the spiritual condition of St. -Bartholemew, as shown in all this, does not greatly differentiate it -from the rural communities known to each one of us. The special -attribute of the place, aside from its excellent _curé_, and no less -excellent mayor, was that it boasted a "fool." To be sure, St. -Bartholemew's was not the usual village fool. He was not one of those -fantastic creatures in novels, who, happening on the scene at the right -moment, save the virtuous maiden, and bring the villain to punishment -before he has carried out his dark designs. No. He was a thickset dwarf, -with a bestial, twisted face, whose peculiarity was that he never spoke. -"Yes," and "no" formed his entire vocabulary. This viaticum was, -however, sufficient to ensure his worldly prosperity, given his notions -of prosperity. His mother, who had been something of a simpleton -herself, and whom the birth of the dwarf had firmly established in the -character of a "witch," had had him, she said, by a passing travelling -salesman. The adventure was in no way novel, but the appearance of the -dwarf caused the more superstitious to believe that her travelling -salesman travelled for the house of Satan! - -This might have prejudiced the community against "Little Nick," as the -simpleton was called, had he not been gifted with more than ordinary -muscular strength, which impelled him to hurl himself with hyena howls -upon any one refusing him a bowl of soup, or straw to lie on in the -stable. Beside which, a strange lust for work possessed the diabolically -gnarled body. Hard physical labour was joy to Little Nick. He worked -gladly at any occupation whatsoever, even showing rudiments of art as a -carpenter or a blacksmith, which had given rise to the suspicion "that -he was not as stupid as he wished to be thought." But as he worked for -the love of it, and never demanded payment, he was universally judged to -be an "idiot," which did not keep the farmers from contending for his -favours. - -The mother lived "from door to door," begging her bread. People gave to -her chiefly from fear of her "casting an evil spell" upon them. But -Little Nick was everywhere received with open arms. A piece of bread and -three potatoes are not extravagant pay for a day's work from a man, and -Little Nick was as good as two men. From time to time he was given an -old pair of trousers, or a torn waistcoat, when his too-primitive -costume might have disgraced his fellow workers; on winter evenings he -had his place in the firecorner and good straw to sleep on in the stable -smelling of the friendly beasts. - -The legend ran, I must add, if I am to be a faithful reporter, that -Little Nick had sometimes taken shepherdesses unawares in thickets or -rocky solitudes. The victims of the "accident," if there had really been -any such, made no boast of it, and the dumb boy was impeccably discreet. -It is certain that Little Nick cast upon rustic beauty tender glances -which made him more grotesque still. Young women ran from him with -grimaces of disgust and cries of horror which he did not resent. The -young men were more reserved, out of respect for his formidable fists. - -Everything considered, Little Nick was one of the happiest among -mortals, practicing without effort the maxim of the wise, which is to -limit one's desire to one's means, and conceiving no destiny finer than -that with which a kind Providence had fitted him. And what proof is -there that his fellow citizens in St. Bartholemew were mentally so very -superior to him? Was it the part of wisdom to seek, or to despise, -money? The entire village was engaged in a bitter struggle for gain, and -the hardest worker rarely escaped want in old age. Little Nick worked -for the sole pleasure of using his strength, and without any effort of -his the rarest good fortune befell him. - -The witch having been found dead one morning, was expedited to the -cemetery with a more than usual perfunctory recommendation from the -Church to the Saints in Paradise. Little Nick, who had been sent for, -found half a dozen neighbours in his hovel "taking stock" of his -property. He was looking about the empty place without a word, when a -chest being moved aside, a stone was exposed to view, which had every -appearance of having recently been lifted. A spade inserted under the -edge disclosed a hoard of gold: a very burst of sunshine. With a single -cry, all hands were outstretched. But the warm emanation of the metal, -inflaming the desire of all, had also waked up Little Nick. With three -blows he had thrust everyone aside, with three kicks he had emptied the -house. Half an hour later, the entire village stood in front of his -locked and bolted door, waiting for the miracle that must issue from it. -The gossips, surrounded by the gaping populace, made their report: "A -great hole full of gold! How much could there be? Ten thousand francs, -at least," said some. "Twenty, thirty," declared others. - -"It would not surprise me if there were 100,000," opined one old woman. - -"And then, we did not see what might be under other stones----" - -"It must be the Devil's money," said the sexton. "I wouldn't take it if -it were given to me." - -"Nor I," said another. - -"Nor I." - -"Nor I." - -Everyone disdainfully refused what was not offered him. - -"All the same," said a peasant, "I am his nearest relative, I am his -guardian." - -"You are not!" said another, "It is I who am his guardian!" - -And the discussion was soon followed by a quarrel, concerning a -relationship which no one had ever before thought of. - -Presently the door opened, and Little Nick appeared. - -"Good morning, Little Nick, it is I, your good friend Pierre." - -"No, it is I, Jean, you know me, I am your uncle." - -"No, it is I, Matthew, you remember that good soup I gave you. Come with -me. You shall have a big piece of bacon." - -"Come with me!" "Come with me!" - -What a lot of friends! Little Nick growls with anger, and energetically -motions them all to be gone. They obey, each meaning to return later. - -On the following day, the many "guardians" betake themselves to the -justice of peace to explain matters, and lay claim to their "rights." - -The magistrate comes. - -"Little Nick, you have some gold pieces?" - -"Yes." - -"Will you tell me where you have put them?" - -"No." - -They rummage everywhere, and find nothing. Little Nick has spent the day -in the woods. Doubtless he has buried his treasure there. They will -follow him and discover his hiding place. They must wait until then. - -But already the "guardians" are wrangling over Little Nick, who does not -know which to listen to. The cleverest among them suggests his unloading -a cart of manure for him. That means pleasure. Little Nick runs to it, -and having finished his task finds himself seated at the table before a -dish of bacon and cabbage, beside his new cousin "Phemie." - -Phemie is a blonde. Phemie has blue eyes. Phemie has fresh, rosy cheeks, -and large caressing hands with which to fondle her "dear little cousin," -promoted to the dignity of "Nicholas." The "guardian" obligingly retires -after supper, leaving the two "cousins" to make acquaintance. Phemie -pours out a glass of a certain white wine for "Nicholas." - -On the following day the acquaintance has progressed so well that -Nicholas has no desire to leave. He has found his real guardian. Evil -tongues are busy, but Phemie holds on to Nicholas and will never let -go. - -"Have you some beautiful gold pieces?" she sometimes whispers in his -ear. - -"Yes." - -"Will you tell me where they are?" - -"No." - -But this "no" is feeble, and when Phemie adds: "If you don't tell me, I -sha'n't love you any more," Nicholas, by an expressive dumb show lets it -be known that above all things he wishes to be loved. - -Months pass, and years. Little Nick lives in an ecstasy of bliss. His -pleasure in work is less keen. But evidently he has compensations, for -the fair Phemie is always with him. It is now five years since the witch -rendered up her soul to the Devil. Not a day has passed, not a night, -without Phemie questioning Little Nick about the treasure. The "Beast's" -resistance has weakened to the point that when the "Beauty" asks him: -"Will you show me where the gold pieces are?" he now answers "Yes." - -"Come, let us go," says Phemie, redoubling her caresses. - -Little Nick motions to her to wait, but sometimes he takes a few steps -in the supposed direction of the treasure, and Phemie is convinced that -she will soon finally wrest from him the secret of the undiscoverable -hiding place. - -It is high time, for the woods around St. Bartholemew are incessantly -being searched by the villagers, and if Little Nick does not make up his -mind to speak, Phemie may be the victim of "thieves," for the gold -pieces are hers, are they not? She has surely earned them! Already, as -soon as a peasant buys a piece of property, everyone wonders whether he -may not have found the St. Bartholemew treasure. - -Finally Phemie has an idea. She has noticed that when she accompanies -Little Nick on his walks he avoids the river. She leads him thither, -saying: "Let us go and have a look at the gold pieces." - -Mechanically, Little Nick says "Yes" and obediently follows her. - -When they have reached the wildest spot, "Is it here?" asks she, -pointing at a cavity among the rocks, covered over with bushes. - -"No," says Little Nick. - -"Up there, then," she pursues, pointing at a sharp rock by the water's -edge. - -"Yes." - -"Come." - -And both of them, helping themselves with feet and knees and hands, torn -by the brambles and jagged edges, climb the steep slope to the top. - -"There?" breathes Phemie, panting. - -"Yes." - -And Little Nick, lying flat, hanging over the abyss, extracts from an -invisible hole in the rock, where it makes a straight wall to the river, -a handful of gold pieces, which he flings, laughing, at his beloved. - -There is a frightful scream. Phemie, mad with rage, rises like a fury -lusting for vengeance. The gold pieces are pasteboard, ironical gift of -the travelling salesman to the "witch," to overcome her last resistance, -and heritage of Nicholas, from which, it cannot be denied, the -"simpleton" has drawn his profit. - -"Beast! Beast!" shouts Phemie, foaming at the mouth. - -And as Nicholas tries to rise, she pushes him over the edge. He loses -his balance, but clinging to Phemie's skirt, drags her with him. - -The river is deep in that spot. Neither of them could swim. - -Their bodies were found at the foot of the rock, and the pasteboard gold -pieces scattered on the summit, whence their footprints showed that they -had fallen. - -"A trick of the Devil!" said the peasants. - -And there was, to be sure, something in that. - - - - -XXI - -A HAPPY UNION - - -There are happy marriages, whatever novelists say. There are married -couples who love each other, and live happily together to the end of -their days. The conditions of this happiness, the circumstances of this -harmony may not always, perhaps, be such as one solely interested in the -aesthetic aspects of society might advocate. But what can we do? For -many centimes there is no virtue but the loftiest minds have commended -it to the world with arguments as attractive in form as they have been -sublime in purport. And have they changed us? What is the history of the -past if not the history of to-day? - -There are happy unions. There are unions middling happy. And there are -unhappy unions. "I alone know where my shoe pinches," said a celebrated -American, when congratulated upon his happy home. Men or women, great -numbers can say the same, for Providence seems not to have cared to shoe -us all according to our measurements. Our subsequent behaviour is the -important thing. Advice on this point is not lacking, which is not -surprising, since we have expressly entrusted to a corps of celibates -the direction of domestic life, and the instruction of man and wife -separately in the most secret details of a relation which, by his very -profession, the instructor cannot practically know. - -The authority of this advice being all that gives it interest, each -takes as much of it as he sees fit, and goes on doing what he pleases. -One cries out and the other is silent. One philosophically resigns -himself to limping all the way to the grave. Another prefers amputation -and the hope of comparative comfort with a wooden leg. Who is right and -who is wrong? Let him decide who has attained certainty in such matters. -As for me, all I dare affirm is that it is easier to theorize than to -prove, considering the variety of the problems and the complexity of the -psychology in which their solution might be found. - -Let me, by way of example, briefly sketch the history, as simple as it -is true, of the happiest couple I have ever known. I will admit that it -is not a tale proper for publication in a Manual of Morals. Rarely do -bare facts, unembellished by fiction, authentically illustrate precepts -which we are more inclined to advocate than to follow. The sole merit of -this tale is that it is true, from first to last. I leave out nothing -and add nothing. I knew the people. I kept them in sight all along the -hard road that led them from crime to perfect conjugal felicity. I am -not attempting to prove any theory. I am telling what I have known and -seen. - -Adèle was a handsome girl according to country esthetics. Large, strong, -of brilliant colouring, with a mop of tangled red hair and iron-gray -eyes which never dropped before those of any man. She helped her father, -Girard the fishmonger, to carry on his business. In a lamentable old -broken-down cart, behind a small, knock-kneed horse, who knew no gait -but a walk, Girard would set out at nightfall for Luçon, the large town, -and come back in time to sell his fish before midday. Immediately upon -arrival, the fishmonger, his wife and their children, each loaded with a -basket of shell fish, mullet, sole, and whiting, packed under sticky -seaweed, would disperse over the village, the outlying hamlets, the -farms, and peddle their wares. - -This trade entails much travelling about and seeing many people. Bold, -and pleasant to the eye, Adèle was welcomed everywhere. No speech or -behaviour from the country lads was likely to fluster her. Peasants, who -are no more obtuse than city men, have long since recognized the value -in business of an agreeable young person to attract trade. Any country -inn that wants to prosper must first adorn itself with a pretty servant. -There is everywhere a demand for beauty. For lack of anything better, -men will philosophically fall back upon ugliness. Life takes upon itself -to accommodate almost everybody. - -Adèle, not being one of those young women who are only chosen when there -is scarcity, early became the blessing of her family. The fish in her -basket seemed to leap of its own accord into the frying pan, although -the pretty wheedler took pride in selling it at a high price. Any chance -meeting on the road furnished occasion for selling her wares. Often a -kiss was added as a premium. Occasionally something more. What she lost -or what she won at this game would to-day be hard to reckon. On Sunday, -at the fair, she exhibited herself in fine attire and ornaments: these -were her profit. Her name ran from mouth to mouth accompanied by tales -to which public malice did not always need to add lies: this was her -loss. But far from being disturbed by the "_chronique scandaleuse_" she -insolently gloried in it, declaring that the hard-favoured meddlers -would have been altogether too happy had she found a chance to talk -scandal about them. - -"When they are done tattling, they will stop," she used to say. - -Which proved true. So that one day, when there was nothing else that -Adèle could do to astonish people, the report spread that she was about -to become the legitimate wife of Hippolyte Morin, the shoemaker. I must -add that the event was accepted by all as a decent ending to a -tempestuous youth. - -"He will certainly beat her," thought the women, when they saw Morin's -infatuation. - -"He will not make a troublesome husband," said the men, as they looked -at the sallow and weakly though choleric shoemaker. - -Public approval was therefore unanimous. The circumstances of the -marriage were simple. Girard owed Morin 500 francs, and could not even -manage to pay the interest on them. Seeing his creditor prowling with -smouldering eyes about the stalwart Adèle, he had proposed to him to -marry the girl and give a receipted bill, and the shoemaker, overjoyed -at the thought of possessing such a marvel all to himself, had gladly -closed the bargain. As for Adèle, she had said yes without difficulty, -as she had to so many others. Hippolyte owned land. He was a good match. - -They had a fine wedding, and for a full half year happiness appeared to -reign in the new establishment. Six months of fidelity were surely, for -Adèle, a sufficient concession to _Monsieur le Maire's_ injunctions. -Presently lovers reappeared, to Morin's lively displeasure. Adèle was -thrashed, as the public had foreseen. The muscular young swains none the -less made game of the husband, at best a puny adversary, as public -opinion had equally foretold. The worst of it was that the -unaccommodating shoemaker had a way of watching his rivals with a -vicious eye, while drawing the sharp blade of his knife across the -whetstone. No one in a village is afraid of kicks and blows. But no one -likes the thought of steel coming into play. And so, when the belief -was established that Morin would some day "do something desperate," the -ardour of the followers began to abate. They gradually dropped away, and -it was Adèle's turn to experience the fiercest resentment against her -sullen lord. - -Three years passed in quarrels, in hourly battles. There were no -children. Grass does not grow on the high road, as Michelet observes. -One morning the news ran that Morin was seriously ill, then that he was -dead. On the day before, he had been playing bowls without any sign of -ill health. The doctor who had been sent for, shook his head gravely, -and asked to speak to Adèle in private. At the end of the interview the -bystanders noticed that Adèle kept out of sight, while the doctor, -without a word, poured the contents of the soup tureen into a jug, and -carried it away in his gig. That evening, two gendarmes came to arrest -"Hippolyte Morin's wife," accused of poisoning her husband. -Conversations in the village were not dull that evening. - -The inquiry was brief. Bits of the blue shards of cantharides floating -among the bread and potatoes in the soup permitted no denial. Adèle -confessed that passing under an ash tree, and seeing some of those -insects lying dead in the grass, she picked them up, "to play a joke on -her husband." Later on, after she had been instructed by her lawyer, -she said that the aphrodisiacal properties attributed to the beetle -gave the obvious reason for the matrimonial "joke." But it being proved -that her extra-*conjugal resources in that line were rather calculated -to foster a desire to rid herself of an inconvenient husband, the story -gained small credence. Morin, who had not consented to die, was the only -witness for the defence. - -"Of course it was a joke," he repeated, stupidly. "The proof of it is -that she had told me." - -"And you deliberately took the poison?" - -"As long as it was a joke, of course I did, your Honour." - -The jury, which readily absolves husbands for a too prompt use of the -revolver in the direction of their wives, always shows itself resolutely -hostile to women who attempt to rid themselves of their legitimate -master. Two years' imprisonment were considered by the representatives -of social order a just retribution for Adèle, as well as a practical -incentive to virtue in the home. - -Morin returned to his shoes, grieving over his long separation from -Adèle. - -"All that was our own affair," he said. "What business was it of the -judge's?" - -And many shared his opinion. A lot of noise about a "joke!" Adèle was -too good hearted a girl to have aroused any deep hatreds. As long as -Morin defended her, why should others hurl obloquy? Husbands looking at -their wives, and wives at their husbands, mostly refrained from comment. -Morin, furthermore, sure, now, of his wife's fidelity for at least two -years, poured himself out in eulogies of the great Adèle, and declared -that he had often been in the wrong. - -"To whom did she ever do any harm?" he would ask everyone that came -along. - -"Not to me!" "Not to me!" all would answer. - -The man had received the gift of a lofty philosophy or rather, he had a -dim feeling that from all this "fuss" a great good might result from his -wife and for himself. - -"When she comes back," he would say, "it will not be as it was before." - -"Surely," replied the others, "a little bad luck gives one a lot of -sense!" - -"Two years, that is not so much," answered Morin, who was counting the -days. - -Meanwhile Adèle was silently sewing shirts, and vaguely dreaming. It -would never have occurred to her to complain. She even found a certain -contentment in this quiet after the agitations of her youth. She -tranquilly awaited the release which would take her back to her friendly -village, and to that good Morin who loved her, and whom she loved, too, -in spite of all "the judges had done to cross them," as she said after -her trial. From the very first day, Morin placed to the account of the -prisoner all the money permitted by the regulations. But she rarely -touched it, and when, on his visits, he urged her to spend it: - -"I need nothing," she would say. "Keep it for yourself, my man. You must -not be ailing when I come out of jail." - -And this allusion to the past made them both laugh in great good humour. - -Finally the day of liberation came. Morin, as you would know, was on the -spot to fetch his wife. They flew to each other's arms, laughing aloud, -for lack of words to express their joy. It was Sunday. Adèle and her -husband reached home just as mass was over. In a twinkling they were -surrounded by the crowd, and acclaimed like conquerors. There was mutual -embracing and shedding of happy tears, and asking of a thousand absurd -questions from sheer need to talk and show how glad they were to see one -another again. Upon arrival at her house Adèle found the table spread; -at this, twenty guests sat down to celebrate her return with proper -ceremony. A grand feast, which lasted until daylight. At dessert, -friends came in, and merest acquaintances, too, swept along by the -current of universal sympathy. Bottle after bottle was emptied. There -was a great clinking of glasses. The women kissed Morin, and the men -Adèle. Never in their lives was there a more wonderful day. - -And yet, from that time forward, good days followed one another without -break. Adèle remained gay, easy, and approachable, quick in the uptake -of broad jests, but Morin had her heart, and never was word or deed -charged to her account which could have given umbrage to the most -suspicious husband. Her spouse, proud of his conquest, tasted the joys -of a well-earned happiness. - -They were during forty years the model of a perfect match. How many of -the people around them, with an irreproachable past, could boast an -advantage so rare? - - - - -XXII - -A WELL-ASSORTED COUPLE - - -They were not good. They were not bad. They had neither virtues nor -faults of their own from never having done or said anything except in -conformity with what others were doing or saying. Never had it entered -their minds to desire anything on their own initiative. Nothing had ever -made them reflect upon themselves, and take a decision according to an -idea, whether good or bad, that was the result of their own -individuality rather than "established opinions." - -He had been born into the cork business. She had seen the light of day -in the Elbeuf cloth trade. The arrest of a lawyer, unable to return -several millions to the people whom he had deprived of them, united -their parents in a common expression of indignation against impecunious -embezzlers. In court, under the eyes of the Christ who bids us forgive, -and amidst the encouragements of avenging law, cork and wool came -together to destroy the unfortunate lawyer whose activities were -proclaimed criminal because lacking the success which would have made -his reputation for integrity. The cork merchant and the cloth merchant, -both of them noisy about their small losses, conceived a "high" mutual -"esteem," which subsequent acquaintance converted into "friendship." - -The heir to corks was twenty-three years old. - -"A good sort of boy," said his father. - -He was, as a matter of fact, soft, flabby, and spiritless. - -The cloth heiress had just completed her twentieth year. - -"The sweetest child!" bleated her mother. - -The truth being that the girl's inertia took the impulsion of any -movement near her. - -They were married after magnificent promises on both sides of the house. -It later appeared that the manufacturer of corks was on the verge of -failure, and that the cloth business had long since gone into the hands -of a partner. As the fraud was reciprocal, there could be no reproaches -on either side. They remained "good friends," and from the remnants of -past splendour collected a small capital with which to set up the young -couple in the linen draper's business at Caen. - -The two young people, who were equally well fitted to manufacture butter -or deal in building stone, by scrupulously adhering to the rules and -regulations established for them, made a decent income from their -business. Their parents died, rather fortunately, before becoming a -burden and after inculcating into them those principles of public and -private morals which would enable them to reach the end of their career -without disaster. They had two daughters whom they married off, one into -"ribbons," the other into "hardware," while they themselves died, as -they had lived, in "linen." - -"Colourless lives," some will remark. - -Not everyone can write Hamlet, or discover the laws of universal -gravitation. The present order of nature stands upon a foundation of -passive beings, whence, from some combination of century-old heredities, -springs, now and then, the miracle of genius. What surprises for us, -could we examine the authentic genealogies of Shakespeare and Newton, -and see from what an accumulation of weaknesses their strength emerged! - -The _processus_ of any human life is, in truth, not less a marvel. Only, -from our low level we instinctively look toward the heights. And there -is no denying that the psychology of St. Francis of Assisi is more -interesting than that of the ordinary mortal. Still, if one examines -closely, one finds that the "great man" is not different in substance -from the little man: the principal difference is that in the two cases -the forces are differently related. Infinite are the transitional types -between the two extremes, and all are worthy of analysis as human -samples capable of furnishing, according to circumstances of time and -place, acts which would remove them from common mediocrity. - -What events would have been necessary to raise our two linen drapers -into the light of glory I cannot say. I should like to believe that a -great tragedy, public or private, might have called forth some act of -sublime devotion on their part, and made them illustrious in history. -But I will not conceal that nothing in their speech or actions ever -authorized such a hope. - -I speak of them because I met them on my path in life. I found it -entertaining to observe them as curious specimens of the class of human -beings whose passive mentality is close to that of beasts of burden, and -who yet are fairly remarkably individualized in the deep recesses of -their inner life. Cattle have, without any doubt, ideas at the back of -their heads, as is proved when we see the drove by tacit agreement -divide among themselves the task of watching all points of the horizon, -while with half-shut eyes they ruminate in the fields where nothing now -threatens them--which performance is a reminder of the days when the -great carnivorous enemies might at any time unexpectedly come down upon -them. Still, they know but one law, the goad that drives them to the -plow or to the shambles. Bovine man taking his part, with or without -reflection, in a more complex life, develops, in addition, despite the -weight of his mental inertia, a considerable capacity for emotion, for -personal activity outside of the rules of action imposed upon him by -society, whether through its laws or its customs. - -The two linen drapers of Caen, seen in the street, had the commonplace -appearance of the millions who make up the ordinary stock of humanity, -which is, in fact, what they represented. The chief trouble with -professional psychologists is that, the better to classify them, they -insist that men are all alike. It is not surprising that salient points -in character should be the first to strike the observer. The deep-seated -traits of "indeterminate" personalities are, however, worthy of -analysis, being, by the way of hereditary combinations, the productive -source of characterized energies. - -Who will not have concluded from the social passivity of this couple, -stupefied with "linen," that a corresponding somnolence prevailed among -their inward activities? Yet these two amorphous creatures, who had -unresistingly taken the imprint of surrounding wills, lived a life of -their own, remote from the public eye, and felt seething in the depth of -their being intense, at times even violent, passions, which made both -the charm and the torment of their days. - -Buying and selling linen had become like a physiological function of -their organs. Eating, drinking, sleeping, and dealing in linen, were all -on the same level in their minds. Both man and wife instinctively loved -money, "because one needs it in order to be honest," they used to say, -"honesty," to them, meaning keeping out of prison--but neither had even -the moderate initiative which would have increased their chances of -becoming rich. After reaching a medium degree of success in their -business, they stood still, evenly balanced between indifference and -cupidity. Outside of laws and customs, the opinion of the trade kept -them straight, like a steel corset. They went to church because "it is -customary." They even gave to the poor if someone were looking, as do so -many other charitable Christians. Then, when the doors were closed, and -their "young ladies" safely bestowed in the Convent of Mercy, where they -had been placed for the sake of "fine connections, useful in the -future," they could finally devote themselves to each other. - -I said that they were neither good nor bad, meaning that they were as -incapable of useless malice as of disinterestedness. But the fact that a -moral tendency is not expressed in action does not make the tendency any -better. In deference to the requirements of law and "social propriety" -the pair lived indissolubly united. There was no breaking of marriage -vows. The model wife was really a figure too far from esthetic to -inspire a temptation of a guilty thought in even the most abandoned of -men. Besides, all her activities were centred, conformably with the -precepts of the Church and the Code, upon her "legitimate spouse." As -for the faithful husband, he at all times abstained from "sin," whether -temporary or permanent, for the peremptory reason that the "crime" was -forbidden by law, as well as doctrinally "condemned by morality." Thus -held in check by external barriers, there remained for two souls so -virtuous nothing but to be absorbed in each other, and to seek in the -intimate contact of their respective susceptibilities the satisfaction -of an ideal compatible with their natures. This satisfaction was not -denied them. It was not to be found in love. They found it in a -powerfully concentrated hatred. When it is the dominant emotion of a -life, execration, in a heart convulsed with impotence, may afford the -full amount of violent sensation by which an inferior order of humanity -is reduced to replacing the joys of love. - -Husband and wife hated each other voluptuously, hated each other with a -crafty ferocity always on the alert to inflict more exquisite wounds. -And for what reason? They had perhaps never attempted to disentangle it. -A mutual disgust had come upon them in the very first days of their -marriage, upon discovering the double deception of the non-existent -marriage portions. Later on, it is true, they both resorted to identical -methods for decoying sons-in-law; they had none the less taken pleasure, -from the beginning, in secretly calling each other thieves. As, -furthermore, each had a very lively sense of the other's inferiority, -they mutually despised each other for the conspicuous inertia which -succeeded only in holding its own in the business, by the balance of -irresolution in their will. - -If they could have found the courage occasionally to discharge the -overflow of wrath that gathered in the depths of their mean souls! But -the effort involved with giving free course to the mounting flood of a -repressed detestation was outside of their possibilities. All they had -capacity for was silently forcing back the desire to insult which -contorted their lips, thus aggravating the repressed rage whose seething -constituted the bitter zest of life. A passion too mighty for their -weakness, impotent to control it. - -Unable to expend in speech the accumulating strength of their hatred, -they found in secret acts of aggression the only remaining outlet. How -much more satisfying than idle words was the joy of injuring each -other--outside of business, of course. When thus employed, they knew -what the object was of their living! They felt in those moments the -power of the bond that united them in the only passion for the -satisfaction of which they were necessary to each other. - -The details of the petty warfare with which they opened hostilities -would fill a volume. There was, at the beginning, a series of light -skirmishes in which the first thrusts might have seemed due to chance, -had not the one who received them recognized them as hurts he would -have liked to deal. The kitchen furnished excellent occasions for -feminine attack. Too much salt or pepper, tainted meat, cold soups, were -common occurrences during the early days. It would happen on this -particular day that Madame was not hungry, while Monsieur had a good -appetite owing to the more than frugal preceding meal. Monsieur was not, -however, defenceless. Madame had a "delicate chest," and dreaded -draughts above everything. But she was obliged to get used to them and -resign herself to coughing, for by incredible ill luck there was always -a door that would not close, or a broken window pane, which obliged her -to live in a perpetual whirlwind. To balance matters, when caught in a -shower, Monsieur would find his umbrella broken and come home chilled -through. Each cared to excel in the game. They invented a thousand -complicated traps requiring careful preparation. One night, Madame, -alone in bed, had her legs scalded by the stopper suddenly coming out of -the hot water bottle. Monsieur regretted the "accident," for he had to -do double work in the shop while Madame uncomplainingly awaited -recovery. A short time after, Monsieur, jumping out of bed, cut his foot -on a piece of glass. It was his turn to limp. - -So they continued, vying with each other, and increasing in efficiency. -Madame seemed to have a weakness for the elder of her two daughters. -Monsieur preferred the younger. A fine battlefield, where each could -stab the other through the innocent victim. The two marriages afforded -occasions for subtle persecution, which ended in the common regret of -feeling so good a weapon slip from the tormentors' hand. - -Left alone, face to face, the two, having exhausted their whole arsenal -of perfidy, stared at each other in the stupor of a paroxysm of hatred -that made them powerless to renew their warfare. What was to be done? -Something must be thought of. Madame was the first to hit upon it. -Monsieur, suddenly taken with a violent colic, passed in one night from -life to death. At the last moment he had a suspicion. A smell of matches -was exhaled from the decoction he had been taking. He blew out the -candle, and saw phosphorescence in the glass. In the same moment death -throes convulsed him with excruciating pain. He could only point out to -his wife the damning evidence, with a single word, accompanied by -hideous laughter. - -"The guillotine! the guillotine!" - -He died repeating it. Mad with terror, Madame fainted. She never -regained consciousness. The terrifying name of the engine of death -fluttered on her lips with her last breath. - -The tragic beauty of this ending excited the admiration of the entire -town. - -"How they loved each other!" people said. "Such a well-assorted -couple!" - - - - -XXIII - -LOVERS IN FLORENCE - - -The question of love and marriage has manifestly the most obsessing -interest for humankind. Presumably dissatisfied with the actual -experiences of life, men, women, old people and young, seek in fiction, -in dreams, the unattainable or the unattained. Life passes. Those among -us who, on the brink of the grave, question themselves honestly, -recognize that more chances of happiness were offered them than they, -fickle or wavering, made shift to grasp. - -Our excellent ancestors of the "lower" animal order have a fixed period -for the joys of love, and even in monogamy, as I demonstrated in the -story of my pigeons, do not pride themselves upon a "virtue" beyond -their power. The chief feature of the "higher perfection" to which we -aspire, in word if not in deed, seems to be that we are condemned by it -to an hypocrisy born of discrepancy between the ideal and our ability to -realize it. Marriage, when considered aside from its doctrinal aspect, -is found to be a fairly effectual pledge against the straying of the -imagination which is the forerunner of human weakness. To protect the -weak, that is to say the woman and child, against the caprice of the -strong, is assuredly the duty of society. But who will claim that -marriage, as the law has instituted it, and as custom practises it, -performs that office, and does not oftener than not result in the -triumph, whether just or unjust, of man? Have we not heard, in the -discussion of the divorce law, one of the chiefs of the "advanced" party -lending his eloquence to the furtherance of the doctrine of indissoluble -marriage, while a famous radical argued that there was no equality -between the adultery of the husband and that of the wife, when viewed as -a conjugal misdemeanour justifying final separation? - -The mistake lies in regarding as immutable, and acting upon it as such, -a thing that is, in fact, the most unstable and variable in the world, -viz.: the human being, in perpetual process of change. To ensure the -durability of a union for that lightning flash which we pompously term -"all time," the parallel development of two beings would be necessary, -two beings whom differing heredities in most cases predispose to the -most fatal divergences. One must admit that the chance of it is small. - -I discussed this topic, only a few days ago, with a charming woman, made -famous throughout Europe by her art, who has with the greatest dignity -practiced that free bounteousness of self which men audaciously claim as -their exclusive prerogative. She ingenuously maintained that the act -which men consider of no consequence when practised by themselves has no -importance either in the case of woman, except in the event of -maternity. - -"And," she said, "men take advantage of this iniquitous law of nature, -adding to it a corresponding social injustice which leaves us no choice -except between 'honour' and liberty. Fortunately life is mightier than -words, and women who are not by nature slaves will always have the -resource that masculine vanity has so foolishly made attractive by -making of it forbidden fruit." - -"You assert, then," I suggested with a certain timidity, "that all women -worthy of the name either do or should deceive their husbands?" - -"Oh, my assertion is merely that most women if deceived by their -husbands have the right to give back what they get. As for those who are -unfaithful to a faithful husband, I see no reason for your refusing them -the initiative you grant to the man who goes out on pleasure bent while -his chaste wife sits at home spinning her wool, and wiping her -children's noses." - -"That is practically what I said; that any woman with self-respect----" - -"--has the same rights as the man without self-respect----" - -"--and should use them----?" - -"--and may use them to suit herself without the least shadow of -remorse." - -"Complete liberty, then, for each to be unfaithful to the other." - -"Proclaim this maxim or not, the world has not waited for you to -formulate it before putting it into practice." - -"You think, then, that in reality most women are unfaithful to their -husbands?" - -"I think that in reality most men are unfaithful to their wives--and -their mistresses, too, as soon as the wife or mistress expects anything -from duty, even though unwritten duty, instead of the free attraction of -sentiment or of the flesh. I believe that most women who are unfaithful -to their husbands are unfaithful to their lovers under the same -circumstances, that is to say as soon as the lover imposes himself by -the rights of--morally--a husband, if the combination of words is -admissible. Worse than that! As fast as odious habit changes lover into -husband, and mistress into wife, the actual husband, who was the lover -in the first days of marriage, and the actual wife, who was the -legitimatized mistress upon leaving the church door, regain the -ascendency." - -"Too late." - -"Not always. Stop and think. Women more or less deceive their lovers -with their husbands. That is classic in happy homes." - -"So one hears. But how can one be sure?" - -"How many cases I might quote to bear me out! Shall I tell you a case I -have recently known?" - -"Pray do." - -"Very well. Last month in an Italian city----" - -"Florence, naturally, I notice that you frequently go there." - -"Yes, Florence. A friend of mine, a painter, went there to live three -years ago, with his wife, a woman who would not perhaps be called -beautiful, but who is really full of charm and grace. When my travels -bring me in their neighbourhood I never miss an occasion to see them, -for we are very old friends. He and I, you see, were young together for -six months. He tells me everything, and I tell him many things. Philip, -we will call him that, if you like, made a love match which, as it -happened, was excellent from a worldly standpoint, too. They were the -most utterly devoted couple for nearly four years. That is a long while. -Eighteen months ago, on one of those journeys to Florence which you have -noticed, I easily detected that Philip's wife had a lover. A young -fellow, an Italian noble with a great name and a slender purse, -beautiful as a young wild animal crouching for game--well dressed, -though not as quietly as could be, with a pretty talent for sculpture, -which he had the good sense never to mention. Their art had brought the -two men together, and Alice--we will take the chances of calling -Philip's wife by that name--had, I do not know exactly how, come under a -new attraction, the strength of which increased as time, through the -monotony of habit, blunted the formerly supreme charm of her husband. - -"On his side, Philip had gradually returned to studio 'affairs,' giving -as an excuse his research after forms, attitudes, and colours, during -that relaxing of the body which follows the strain of the model's pose, -and is like life after death. He confessed all this to me without -reserve, obviously satisfied that his wife, whose 'angelic sweetness' -and 'tact' he could not sufficiently praise--was willing to leave him a -free field for his fancies. - -"'I still love her!' he said, in all sincerity. 'But I have to think of -my painting, do I not?' - -"Giovanni, naturally, had a great admiration for Philip's talent, and -made no secret of it. As for Alice, she regarded her husband as nothing -less than a genius. When Philip was dissatisfied with his work he was -frankly unbearable. He indulged in grumbling and complaining and bursts -of anger, followed by long periods of depression. If, on the other hand, -he had succeeded in satisfying himself, it was worse still, for then one -had to endure the recital of the entire performance, down to the least -trifling detail of composition or execution. At first one might listen -with pleasure, or at least benevolence. But the wearisome repetition -from morning until night finally became tedious, even exasperating, when -Philip, with a childish insistence, invited replies, denials, the better -to confound his opponent. The docile Giovanni and the sincerely -admiring Alice lent themselves resignedly to these gymnastic exercises -of patience, but when days and days had been spent in the occupation, -both, exhausted by their efforts, must have longed in body and soul for -a distraction more or less in accordance with current social customs. As -might have been expected, they found it in each other, and from that -moment peace descended upon the happy home. - -"When I discovered the affair between Alice and Giovanni in the course -of a visit to Fiesole, where I came upon them suddenly in such a state -of blind absorption that they did not even raise their eyes at the sound -of my footsteps, I judged that passion was at flood tide. They did not -even trouble to conceal themselves, so that had I not been careful, I -should not have escaped the annoyance of an encounter, the revelations -of which could hardly have been blinked. I took the course of going -often to see Philip at his studio, where he had an important piece of -work under way, and I was able to leave town without disturbing the -happy quietude of all concerned. - -"On my return the following year it seemed to me at first that nothing -had changed in the arrangement of which I had the secret. Still, Philip -seemed to me less absorbed in his art. I often caught him with his eyes -obstinately fixed upon his wife, who, while avoiding them, seemed -troubled by the obsession of his gaze. Did he suspect something? I did -not long entertain this idea, for he talked to me with such warmth -about Alice, that I could not restrain an exclamation of surprise. - -"'God forgive me, Philip,' I cried. 'You are in love! And with your -wife! What has happened?' - -"'Nothing' he said. 'I have never ceased to love her.' - -"And one confidence leading to another, I learned that a flirtation by -every rule was going on between the two. For a year they had been living -in separate apartments. At first the doors had been on the latch, but -later they had definitely been locked. One day, for no particular -reason, Philip had wondered why, and found no answer. Alice, when -questioned, had had nothing to say, but 'Not now--later,' which could -not fill the function of reasons. That another should have won the heart -which belonged to him could never have occurred to Philip. But as his -mind and senses became insistent, sentiment woke up, too. So that the -inconstant husband began a definite siege of the unfaithful wife. - -"Alice appeared to be flattered by the homage, but held back by a sense -of duty toward her lover. As for Giovanni, confident in the stability of -his dominion, he was entertained by the performance in which his vanity -saw nothing but an innocent game started by Alice for the sake of -keeping him on the alert. It was Philip, and no longer Giovanni, who -filled Alice's drawing room with flowers. Giovanni amusingly called my -attention to this detail, with the fine confidence of a man sure of his -power. He was, after all, fond of Philip, and pitied him for his wasted -pains. - -"I went to spend six months in Rome, and on my way back to Paris, -stopped for a week in Florence. I was convinced at once and beyond a -doubt that the legitimate betrayal had been consummated, and that the -blind lover Giovanni was being cynically duped. Alice had become her -husband's mistress. I must add, that though the factors were inverted, -the sum of happiness appeared the same. Contentment continued to reign -in Philip's household, as it had not ceased to do since his wedding day, -thanks to the three successive combinations. I even judged that this -time there was a chance of it becoming a settled condition, for Philip -no longer bored us with his pictures, being completely absorbed in the -business of making himself agreeable to his wife, for whom the pleasure -of the conjugal affair was enhanced by the delicately perverse spice of -the secret connected with Giovanni. The value of his conquest rose -appreciably in Giovanni's eyes at sight of Philip in love, and he -peacefully admired as his achievement the perfect contentment of the -household. He was even beginning to cast his eyes about him, and I was -not too greatly surprised when I saw him disposed to make love to me. -Everybody's destiny was sealed. The divorce between Giovanni and Alice -which, I suppose, already existed in fact, would soon be formally -acknowledged. - -"I was in the habit of going at nightfall to sit in the Loggia dei Lanzi -to see all Florence pass on its way home, for has not the Piazza della -Signoria for centuries and centuries been the town's general meeting -ground? I have made curious observations there. After a glance at the -Perseus, I used to go and sit on the upper one of the steps that make -seats like those of an amphitheatre against the long back wall, and -there, hidden in the shadow, screened from view by the famous group of -the Rape of the Sabines, gaze about me, dream, and wait for chance to -send an inspiration or a friendly face to tear me from my thoughts. - -"One evening I had lingered in my hiding place. Darkness had come. -Ammanati's Neptune and Gian Bologna's Cosimo peopled the night with -motionless ghosts. Suddenly two shapes rose under the arches, a man and -a woman with arms entwined. They glided whispering toward the Sabine -voluptuously struggling in the arms of her new master, and there, out of -sight of the rare passers, but fully in my sight, clasped each other in -a long embrace. Finally I saw their faces. They were Philip and Alice, -who, driven from home by Giovanni's presence, had come to hide in the -public square and make love. - -"'Giovanni must have been surprised,' Philip was saying, 'at not -finding us in. But really, he is too indiscreet.' - -"'Do you know what you ought to do?' asked Alice, after a silence, 'You -ought to advise him to take a little journey to Rome--or elsewhere.' - -"'A good idea. I will do so.' - -"Two weeks later Giovanni came to see me in Paris, and made amorous -proposals to me. I still have to laugh when I think of his discomfited -face at the sweeping courtesy I made him. It happened only three days -ago. What do you say to my story?" - -"I should have to know the end of it." - -"Nothing ever ends. Everything keeps on." - -"Well, it is an exception, that is all I can say." - -"I admit it. But out of what are rules made, if you please? Is it not -out of exceptions when there are enough of them? I bring my -contribution. You ought in return to tell me some fine story of absolute -monogamic fidelity." - -"Such things exist." - -"Assuredly. I know a case. Never were two mortals more unhappy. Their -whole life was one prolonged battle." - -"From which you conclude----?" - -"That we are all exceptions, my dear friend, and that we all establish -our great intangible laws only for other people, reserving the right to -take or to leave as much of them for ourselves as we choose. Good luck. -Good-bye!" - - - - -XXIV - -A HUNTING ACCIDENT - - -I again met the charming woman to whom I owe the story of the Florentine -love affairs just related. - -"What news of Don Giovanni?" I asked. - -"I saw him yesterday, by chance. He confessed that he did not know the -reason of his exile. I gently insinuated that the husband might have -something to do with it. The idea made him laugh, and he answered: -'Anything is likelier than that!' which made me laugh in my turn." - -"All blind, then?" - -"And the result: Peace and happiness." - -"And clear vision?" - -"Clear vision would simply mean tragedy, because of each one regarding -his own infidelities as unimportant, only to reach the unexpected -conclusion that those of his partner are unforgivable crimes. Not -logical, but very human." - -"And do you not think that conjugal fidelity is human, too?" - -"Excuse me, I expressly told you that I had once seen a case of it." - -"And might one hear the story of this solitary case?" - -"An uneventful drama. Nothing is less romantic than virtue. You must be -aware of that." - -"But does happiness lie in romance?" - -"That I cannot say. Possibly, because the reality will never equal the -dream. At all events, my faithful pair were the most unhappy mortals I -have ever known." - -"Do tell me about them." - -"Oh, it is very simple. You know that I was brought up in England, near -the little town of Dorking. I still have friends there whom I visit -occasionally, when I want a change from Italy. Surrey is a picturesque -region, where lazy rivers wind their way to the sea between green banks, -through wide, fertile valleys at the foot of wooded hills. Everywhere -woods and streams, and ravines crested with yews and ancient oaks. Pale, -misty skies spread a mother-of-pearl canopy over the wide expanses of -thick grass. It is a fox hunting country, and I humbly confess that -there are to my mind few pleasures in life equal to the wild -intoxication of a mad, aimless gallop, in which, what with hedges and -ditches, rivers and precipices, one risks breaking one's neck a hundred -times a day. You will from current pictures of it get a fairly good idea -of the sport. It is a headlong rush to get--one does not clearly know -where. Nothing stops one, nothing furnishes a sufficient reason for -turning back. Onward, and still onward! The horses themselves are -infected with the general madness. Accidents make no difference. A -fallen horse scrambles to his feet again, an unseated rider gets back -into the saddle. Some are carried home on stretchers. At night the -fallen are counted. In three curt words their friends sympathize with -them for having to wait three weeks before going at it again. - -"A few years ago, in one of these hunting tumults, I stopped to get my -breath after a long gallop on my cob. I was on a wide heath overlooking -the valley that ends at the red spires of Dorking. A silvery river, -whose name I forget, and a sprinkling of pools set patches of sky in the -vast stretch of flowering green. At the horizon a tower is seen, famous -in the district, a memorial of the whimsey of a pious personage, who had -himself buried there head downward so as to find himself standing -upright on the day of the resurrection, when, it seems, the world will -be upside down. - -"I stood wondering at this ingenuous monument of human simplicity, when -I heard behind me the noise of frantic galloping. Before I could move or -cry out, a hunter and a maddened horse burst from the wood, within -gunshot, and plunged headlong down the steep bank that ended abruptly at -the gaping pit of an old quarry. What filled me with unspeakable horror -was that the rider was desperately spurring and lashing his horse, who -would have been unable anyhow to stop himself in his dizzy descent -toward death. In the twinkling of an eye the ground appeared to swallow -them both. Nothing was to be seen but heaven and earth smiling at each -other with the imperturbable smile of things that never end. - -"I finally regained the use of my senses. I jumped from my saddle, and I -know not how, reached the bottom of the quarry. The horse had been -killed outright. In a red pool lay a gasping, shattered man. It was an -old friend of mine, who had been kind to me in my early days in Dorking. -I called him. He opened his eyes. - -"'What!' he cried, 'it is not over?' - -"I questioned him in vain. - -"'It is not over! It is not over!' he repeated in vain despair, 'I shall -have to go through with it again!' - -"Not knowing what to do or say, I climbed to the top of the bank and -called for help. A farmer hastened to the spot. With infinite care, the -wounded man was lifted into a cart. By some miracle he had escaped -without mortal injury. Two months later he was in full convalescence. He -suspected before long that I had witnessed his leap, and my -embarrassment when he questioned me about our encounter at the bottom of -the quarry only confirmed him in his idea. One day, he could no longer -keep from speaking. - -"'You do not believe it was an accident, do you?' he said, looking me -squarely in the eyes. - -"'What do you mean?' I asked, avoiding the question. - -"'I mean that I must have passed close by you on my way to the quarry.' - -"'Yes,' I said, with a sudden resolve to tell the truth. - -"'You know my secret. I am sure, my dear child, that you will keep it. -Death would not take me. I shall go on living. But since there is now -one human being before whom I can pour out the overflow of my misery, -and since that one is yourself, for whom I have so long felt the warmest -friendship, I will tell you all.' - -"'Some other day. Later on.' - -"'No, let me speak. In the first place, let me reassure you, there is no -crime in my life.' - -"'What an idea!' - -"'No, I am merely unhappy. And my unhappiness is of a kind for which -there is no help. It seems to you that I have everything, does it not? -Wealth, a happy family life, beloved children. My wife, I am sure, seems -to you----' - -"'The best in the world.' - -"'Doubtless. And yet, she exactly is the cause of my wretchedness. She -loves me, and I hate her. It is horrible.' - -"'Oh, come. You do not hate your wife. That is impossible.' - -"'I repeat it. I hate her. I loved her when I married her. I was in love -at that time, for she was very beautiful. She has been a faithful wife, -and a good mother. What have I to complain of, except that she -mechanically has confined herself to the narrow performance of her -duties, and while doing it, has allowed us to become strangers? Is she -above or beneath me? What does it matter? We are not on the same mental -plane. I have by my side an inert, submissive creature, with an -exasperating sorrow in her eyes, for although she has never formulated -any complaint, she naturally holds me responsible for the -misunderstanding which has never been expressed in words. You look at me -as if you did not understand. You think me mad, probably. Shall I be -more explicit? Very well, I no longer love her. There you have it in a -nutshell. Gradually, habit and her flatly commonplace mind made her -indifferent to me. There is no sense in blaming her. Be the fault hers -or mine, I was estranged from her. What remedy was there for the brutal -fact? I had loved her, and I loved her no longer. We cannot love by -order of the sheriff or of the Bible. It is as if you should reproach me -with having white hair instead of blond, as I once had. What have you to -say to it?' - -"'Nothing at all, my dear and unhappy friend. If you wish me to speak -frankly, the idea had occurred to me that the lack of pleasure you took -in your excellent wife might come from the possibly unconscious pleasure -you took in someone else.' - -"'Your imagination anticipates the facts. As you suspect, I have not -finished my story. Since you call for an immediate confession, let me -tell you, that having been strictly brought up in the discipline of the -Church, I came to marriage with the perfect purity required by Christian -morality. Let me also tell you that, for whatever reason you -choose--ignorance of the strategy of intrigue, or timidity, or fear of -losing my self-respect--I have remained guiltless of the least departure -from the strictest marriage laws. I no longer loved my wife, but I was -her husband, her faithful husband. You will readily guess at the -wretched lapses into weakness confessed in that statement, followed by a -reaction of shame, and even of repulsion, which in spite of my best -efforts I could not disguise. - -"'I thought of going on a long journey. A year or two in India might, or -so I supposed, have brought me back to the woman from whom proximity was -daily separating me more widely. But she, not understanding this, raised -the most serious of all objections: the children needed my oversight. - -"'Take us with you,' she stupidly suggested. - -"'The die was cast. We remained where we were: chained together, each -horribly distressing the other, and, with each spasm of pain, deepening -our own hurt and that of our companion in irons. She, unfailingly -angelic, and I, unbalanced, full of whims, and doubtless unbearable. Who -knows? If it had been possible to her nature, a clap of thunder might -have scattered the contrary electric currents between us, and have -restored peace. But no. We were enemies always on the point of -grappling, with never the relief of a word or a gesture of battle. My -nerves were on the point of giving way, when the inevitable romance came -into my life.' - -"'You are still far from strong. Do not tell me any more to-day.' - -"'Nay, chance has forced this confession. Let us go through with it to -the end. After this, we will never refer to it again. The romance you -have guessed at was connected with a lovable and light-hearted girl. She -was a little intoxicated with her own youth, and full of the exquisite -charm which illusion had once lent to the woman I married, and in which -she was to me so lamentably lacking now. What shall I say? I loved and -was loved. Our passion was an ideal one, very sweet, very pure, carrying -with it no remorse. Were I to tell you the story of it, it might even -seem childish to you. It contained, however, the two happiest years of -my life. Two years that passed like a flash. Two years of silent -delight, ending one day in a definite avowal. No sooner had we uttered -the words, than fear of the sin we glimpsed assailed us, and we fell -back aghast into the depths of despair. Our only kiss was the kiss of -eternal farewell. - -"'I was left more broken and bleeding by the horrible fall than when you -found me on the stones of the quarry. She went away, and if I am to tell -the whole miserable truth, she has found comfort, she is married to a -boor, who, they say, makes her happy. Why should I care to appear better -than I am? I often regret the imbecile heroism prompting me, when to -save that shallow creature I made myself into the victim of an atrocious -fate. I spared her, and consequently am dying, while she, in the arms of -her hod carrier----Do not misjudge me. I have suffered. She had sworn to -love me forever. She is happy, and I--I who could have taken her and -broken her and made of the eventual harm to her an overwhelming joy, -while it lasted, have not even the right to proclaim her unworthy of my -foolish pity. I curse her, and I love her still. - -"'And my wife, my blameless wife, who guessed everything, I am sure, and -forgave it, either from incapacity to resent an outrage, or from -insulting pity for me, my wife to whom I owe this double disillusion in -love, who unwittingly tortures me, and whom I equally torture, I -execrate her, I hate her with all the intensity of my misery. Had I -yielded to the moment's temptation I might have returned to her sated -with happiness, or disenchanted, or remorseful. - -"'In my deepest misery I shall never forgive her the look of silent -anguish wherewith she stabs me. I shall never forgive her resignation, -the quiet submission which, together with her interest in her duties, -makes our tormented life bearable to her. She is not unaware, you may be -sure, that I have a hundred times thought of seeking oblivion in death. -She was no more taken in than you were by the accident on Dunley Hill. -She will never betray it by a word. She offers herself as a sacrifice, -and this magnanimity which fills me with despair constantly aggravates -the intolerable anguish of our daily association. I no longer love the -woman who loves me; I still love the one who loves me no longer. I have -committed no sin, I am even blameless. Will you deny that if I had given -myself cause for remorse I might also have suffered less, might have -even had chances of happiness?'" - -With a far-away look in her eyes, the narrator ended her story abruptly. - -"And what did you answer?" I questioned. - -"I answered that pain wears itself out no less than joy, that it is our -nature to regret the things that might have been, because they are so -different from reality. I answered that patience to live is the greatest -among the virtues." - - - - -XXV - -GIAMBOLO - - -I, too, have known the joys of travel! I, too, have left the easy slopes -of home for the steep ascents of foreign lands! Like many another -simpleton, sated with the familiar, I have enthusiastically crossed -frontiers in search of that something or other which might give me -unexpected sensations. - -After being tossed and jolted and bruised in the hard sleeping cars, I -have fallen into the hands of porters, or "_traegers_" or "_facchini_," -who bewildered me with their violent pantomime accompanied by -anti-French sounds, obliged me to follow them by going off with my wraps -and bags, and after an extortionate charge flung me on to the -sympathetically dejected cushions of the hotel omnibus, amid strange -companions. Next, a hideous rattling of iron and window glass, while a -gold-laced individual asks me simultaneously in three different -languages to account for my presence here, and say how I mean to spend -my time, telling me in the same breath the great advantage there would -be in doing something quite different from what I intend to do. -Presently the torture changes. A gigantic porter in an imperial great -coat transfers me to silent automata in black broadcloth and white tie, -who hand people and luggage from one to the next as far as the elevator. -Nothing more remains but to answer the chambermaid's investigations as -to my habits and tastes, my theory of existence, while by an error of -the hall boy my luggage is scattered in neighbouring rooms, and I am -burdened with someone else's. All is finally straightened out. Alone, at -last! - -Then comes a discreet knock at my door. It is the interpreter, the -guide, the cicerone, the indispensable man, who with touching -obsequiousness places his universal knowledge at my disposal for to-day, -to-morrow, or all time. Here follows a long enumeration of what custom -imposes upon the stranger. There is no question of breaking away from -tradition. There stand the monuments, and here are the roads leading to -them. One may begin the round by one or another. My liberty is limited -to the order in which I shall see them. The rest does not concern me. -Here is such and such a picture, there stands such and such a piece of -statuary. We shall cross the street or the square where such and such an -event took place. A date, the year, and month, and day, are supposed to -stamp the facts on my memory. Why did the men of the past choose this -precise spot to make history? I have no time to inquire, for in three -turns of the wheel I am in another and still more memorable place, where -other dates and other names are dextrously driven into the quick of my -memory. Galleries follow upon galleries, trips to rivers, to mountains. -A glimpse of a cool garden tempts me. How sweet to rest there for a -while, and dream! But where is one to find the time, when interpreter -and coachman are growing impatient because there is no more than time to -go to the Carthusian monastery, and get back before nightfall? - -The interminable road unfolds before me while I delve into my Baedeker -for the history of the monastery. Suddenly the coachman stops, points -with his whip at the horizon, and makes an emphatic, incomprehensible -speech. A battle was fought there in the time of the Risorgimento. His -little cousin's brother-in-law was wounded there, not mortally, though -his corporal had his leg cut off. How should one not be proud of such -memories? My guide says that his father was fond of telling that he had -seen it all from the top of a tower. He begins another version of the -story, which is interrupted by our arrival at the monastery, and taken -up again on the return journey. Next day in the train I shall have -leisure to think over all these things, if the complete confusion in my -memory leaves me capacity for anything but stupefaction. - -When we try to get at the reason for these extraordinary performances, -people offer different explanations. This one will call it "taking a -holiday." The other will say that he has had an unhappy love affair and -needs distraction. For the most part, people will confess that they are -trying to forget something--their wife, their children, their business. -All seem tormented by the same desire for novelty. What they are seeking -from men and monuments and places in foreign lands is something not yet -seen, a fresh enjoyment, a virgin impression which shall draw them -outside the circle of outworn sensations. It is something to rouse a -happy wonder, and fulfil a hope of pleasure that always keeps ahead of -any pleasure experienced. Do they find it? Everyone must answer for -himself. Many probably never ask themselves the question, lest they be -obliged to confess a weary disappointment. - -Before this procession of churches, statues, and pictures, where shall -we stop, what shall we try to retain? How shall we disentangle the -significance of things, the meaning and power and expressiveness of -which can only be grasped by deep study? It would be too simple, if one -need merely open one's eyes in order to understand. The work of art -speaks, but we must know its language. Not only is time wanting, -knowledge of the need of knowledge is wanting in most passers by, who -will never do anything but pass by. Their pride is satisfied when they -can say: "I have seen." That is the most definite part of their harvest -of pleasure. It is apparently a conscientious scruple that obliges them -to go out of their way to obtain it. - -"I am going to Rome," said a young Englishman to Miss Harriet Martineau, -"oh, just so as to be able to say that I have been there." - -"Why don't you say so without going?" was the simple reply. - -It is upon Italy particularly that the crowd hurls itself. Wherever you -may go in that classic land, you will be surrounded by an ever-rising -flood of the natives of every known continent, all seeking under new -skies for self-renewal. Silent, tired, their eyes straining at invisible -things, they file past with their shawls and veils and parasols, -levelling field glasses, marking maps, asking senseless questions, and -emitting exclamations expressive of an equal admiration for everything -they see. I have always pitied these poor people, dragged from their -native land by a force which their simple minds are unable to analyze. -They will never express their disappointment, most of them will never -realize it. But I feel it for them, and I pity their wasted effort. - -It was a consolation to me to find one day that there are people who -turn homeward satisfied, with the object of their desires attained, and -the happiness secured of having seen and felt what it is granted only to -a chosen few to see and feel. - -I was quite alone on the platform of the bell tower of Torcello, from -which the entire Venetian lagoon is visible at a glance. Sea, air, and -sky, all luminous and transparent, melted into one another, building a -vast dome of light. In the distance, bluish spots--islands, or perhaps -clouds--what cared I for names! Do clouds have names? Boats loaded with -fruit and vegetables streaked the bright mirror of the sea, and alone -reminded one of the reality of the earth. Not a sound. The desert calm -of sky and sea imposes silence. The lagoon has no song. - -I stood there, as if transfixed in the crystal of the universe, admiring -without reflection, when lo!--a group of Germans arriving, led by the -fever-shaken cicerone whose aid I had a little earlier refused. Here was -his chance for revenge. Immediately, without preamble, he gathers his -audience in a circle, and begins to "exhibit" the horizon. With -outstretched arms he throws at every point of the compass names, and -names, and then more names. From the top of the peaceful tower fly -sonorous sounds to the spots where his imperious gesture firmly fastens -them. Mountain, island, tower, village, indentations of the coast line, -everything has its turn, visible objects and objects that might be -visible. Men, women, and children, all Germany hangs upon the lips of -the voluble showman. At each name, as if at a military command, all -glances follow the pointing finger and take an anxious plunge into -space. For one must be sure to see the designated spot. Otherwise what -is the good of coming? But as soon as the eyes are settling down to -feed upon the sight just announced, a new command drags them all in -another direction. That blue line, that white gleam have a name, a -history--this is the name, and here is the history. Now let us go on to -the next thing. - -These people, marvellously disciplined, listen in admiring attitudes. A -student is taking notes, so as to impart his learning when he gets home. -But the end is not yet. The cicerone, suddenly silent, one hand -shielding his eyes, appears hypnotized by something at the horizon. The -attitude, the fixed stare, particularly the silence, keep the spectators -in suspense. The man has drawn from his pocket a battered opera glass -which, possibly, in the last century, contributed to the delight of some -noble dame at the Fenice. Its lenses acquire from being dextrously -rubbed with an accurately proportioned mixture of saliva and tobacco, -and then dried with a handkerchief reminiscent of fish fried in oil, and -of polenta, the unique property of making infinitely small objects at -the horizon visible--objects smaller than any other optical instrument -could enable one to see. The man brandishes the apparatus. - -"To-day Giambolo is visible," he says. "I am going to show you -Giambolo." - -Everyone exclaims joyously: "What! Is it possible? He is going to show -us Giambolo!" - -And the man on the bell tower of Torcello is as good as his word. -Pushing aside the German field glasses with a scornful gesture, he -thrusts his precious instrument upon the group. - -"Do you see, just above the horizon line, something white that seems to -move in a burst of light? Half close your eyes, in order to see farther. -By an uncommon piece of luck Giambolo is visible to-day. You cannot help -seeing it. I can even see it with my naked eye. But of course I know -where to look for it." - -The rigid German, ankylosed at his glass, suddenly straightens up. - -"Yes, yes, I saw it very well. It is all white, and there is something -shining." - -"That is it," answers the man of Torcello, satisfied. - -Then everyone took his turn. The women all saw it at the very first -glance; they even gave detailed descriptions of it. The student alone -could not see Giambolo. He confessed it with genuine humiliation, and -was looked upon with pitying disdain by all the others. - -"What is it like?" he asked of everyone. And everyone gave his own -description. There was a slight vapour at the top. A streak at the -right, said some, some said at the left; there was nothing of the kind, -according to the _pater familias_ who had had the distinction of being -the first to see Giambolo. - -The unfortunate student tried again and again, and went on exclaiming -in despair: "I can see nothing! I can see nothing!" - -The Italian shrugged his shoulders with a placid smile, the meaning of -which obviously was that some people had not the gift. - -"But," cried the exasperated youth, "what is Giambolo, will you tell me? -Is there any such thing, really, as Giambolo?" - -A unanimous cry of horror went up at this blasphemy. How could one see a -thing that did not exist? When half a dozen human beings have in good -faith seen Giambolo and are willing to swear before God that they have, -no further discussion is possible. - -"Then tell me what it is, since you have seen it." - -With a gesture the Italian checked all forthcoming answers. - -"Giambolo is Giambolo," he pronounced, with imposing solemnity. "One -cannot, unless one is mad, argue about it. Only, it is not granted to -everyone to see it." - -There was evidently on the bell tower of Torcello no one bereft of -reason, for silence followed this speech, and no one seemed inclined to -dispute a settled fact. Groaning under the weight of his shame, the -unfortunate young man who had not seen Giambolo gave the signal for -moving on, and the descent was made in the contented repose of mind that -attends the happy accomplishment of an act above the common. - -On the lowest step, the good Torcellian reaped in his discreetly -outstretched cap an abundant harvest of silver coins. It is hardly -possible to be niggardly with those who have shown one Giambolo. - -A few days later, on the roof of the Milan Cathedral, amid the thick -forest of statues which makes the place surprising, I saw a mustachioed -guide hurling at the marble multitude augmented by a flock of Cook's -tourists the names of the snowy summits composing the Alpine range along -the horizon. The memory of Torcello was so recent that I could not but -be struck by the identity of the scene. The same motions, same accent, -same voluble emphasis. The session was near its end. I was about to pass -on, when the man, after a moment's silent scrutiny, drew forth an opera -glass through which perhaps, in her day, Malibran was seen at the Scala; -he signified by a gesture that he had a supplementary communication to -make. All Cook's flock drew near, grave, anxious, open mouthed. Oh, -surprise! Like the man of Torcello, the Milanese had caught sight of -something not usually to be seen. With an authoritative gesture he -called upon the elements to deliver up their mystery, and extending a -finger with infallible accuracy toward a point known only to himself, -cast upon the wind a name the sonorous vibrations of which spread -through space. Was it an illusion? It seemed to me that the name was -Giambolo. - -Still Giambolo! Giambolo, visible from all heights. And the same scene -was enacted as on the lagoon at Venice. - -The magical glass passed from hand to hand; exclamations of joy and -surprise followed one another. Everybody wished to see and saw Giambolo. -They exchanged their impressions. - -"Did you see the little puff of vapour?" - -"Something white." - -"Yes--blue." - -"No--gray." - -"That is it! You have seen it!" - -And there was inexpressible delight. Only a few silent individuals -showed by their dejected attitude the humiliation they felt at not being -sure of what they had seen, or whether they had seen it. But no one took -any notice of this in the tumult of commentary. - -I looked at the happy group. Laughing faces, bright eyes, all the -weariness of travel wiped out. Some of the women grew quiet, the more -consciously to taste their joy. The men, more communicative, exchanged -opinions. They had seen Giambolo, and could not get over the wonder of -it. - -They had not come to Italy in vain. Which opinion was shared by the -excellent Lombardy guide, weighing in his palm the money accruing to him -from the sight of Giambolo. - -A week had passed without any notable event other than meeting -everywhere those pilgrim bands who spoil all pleasure in beautiful -things by the obsession of their ready-made admirations. From the outer -rotunda of the convent in Assisi I was letting my gaze wander over the -plain of Umbria, all the world in sight being an expanse of billowing -greenness. As if through a trap door a man sprang up at my side, then -two, then ten, then what seemed a thousand, for the platform on which I -had a moment before been walking alone under the sky was turned into a -clamorous ant hill. - -Voices on all sides exclaimed: "Here it is! Here is the place from which -we can see. Over there, there, the towers of Perugia. And the railway!" - -"What! The railway that brought us?" - -"Yes, really!" - -"How strange!" - -"Can you tell me, sir," said a fat man, puffing, "the name of yonder -village?" - -"No, sir." - -"Ah, and that other one?" - -"No, sir." - -There was a cry. Everyone rushed in the direction whence it came. I -feared that someone had fallen over the parapet. Not at all, it was the -call of the cicerone who had something to impart. As soon as he had -obtained silence: - -"Ladies and gentlemen," he began in ringing tones, "the day is -exceptionally favourable to show you, far away, beyond Perugia, -something which few travellers have had the good fortune to see from -here." - -The greasy opera glass came into sight, wrapped in a red handkerchief -together with cigarettes and divers odds and ends. The entire audience -was aquiver with suspense, keen to the point of anguish. - -"You shall now see," he cried. - -I fled. But I had finally begun to see the philosophy of the phenomenon. -In a word, Giambolo was a reality, since it was the thing that all these -people came in search of. What exactly was it? There was no advantage in -knowing, since, if Giambolo were within reach, all joy in it would be -lost. Giambolo stands for that which cannot be grasped. Giambolo stands -for the beyond--it is the door leading from the known to the Infinite. - -We leave our country, our home and friends, all to whom we give the best -of ourselves, all for whom we spend ourselves, and we go to foreign -lands in quest of that fascinating Giambolo which we do not find at -home, where strangers sometimes come in search of it. We wear ourselves -out in the quest. When we reach home again, we claim to have seen it. -Sometimes we are not sure of having done so. A monument, a statue, a -picture is too close. We can always, taking the word of fame, make -believe to discover what we in reality do not. But if we succeed in -deceiving others, it is harder in good faith to delude ourselves. -Whereas, from a height, through the blurred glass of faith, the little -white light, beyond the edge of the visible world, by which we are -enabled sincerely to see what we do not see brings us the surest -realization of human hope. - -And, kind readers, if any one of you ever has any doubts, even though -you sit in your armchair at home, follow the advice of the guide on the -Venetian lagoon: "Half close your eyes----" and you will see Giambolo. - - -THE END - - * * * * * - - - THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS - GARDEN CITY, N. 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