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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a94042e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65926 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65926) diff --git a/old/65926-0.txt b/old/65926-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 49db624..0000000 --- a/old/65926-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9401 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Madeleine: One of Love's Jansenists, -by Hope Mirrlees - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Madeleine: One of Love's Jansenists - -Author: Hope Mirrlees - -Release Date: July 26, 2021 [eBook #65926] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Mary Glenn Krause, Shawna Milam and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was - produced from images made available by the HathiTrust - Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADELEINE: ONE OF LOVE'S -JANSENISTS *** - - - - - - -MADELEINE - -ONE OF LOVE’S JANSENISTS - - - - - THE HISTORY OF RUHLEBEN - BY JOSEPH POWELL (CAPTAIN OF THE CAMP) - AND FRANCIS GRIBBLE 10/6 _net_ - - OVER AND ABOVE - BY J. E. GURDON 7/6 _net_ - - NEW WINE - BY AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE 7/- _net_ - - THE YOUNG PHYSICIAN - BY FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG 7/- _net_ - - TRUE LOVE - BY ALLAN MONKHOUSE 7/- _net_ - - A GARDEN OF PEACE - BY F. LITTLEMORE 10/6 _net_ - - COLLINS—LONDON - - - - - MADELEINE - ONE OF LOVE’S JANSENISTS - - BY - HOPE MIRRLEES - - ‘_Aux falseurs ou falseuses de Romans,_ - _l’historie de ma vie et celle de ma mort._’ - - Le Testament de Clyante. - - [Illustration] - - LONDON: 48 PALL MALL - W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD. - GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND - - Copyright - - First Impression, October 1919 - Second ” October 1919 - - - - -TO MY MOTHER - - - - -PREFACE - - -Fiction—to adapt a famous definition of law—is the meeting-point of Life -and Art. Life is like a blind and limitless expanse of sky, for ever -dividing into tiny drops of circumstances that rain down, thick and fast, -on the just and unjust alike. Art is like the dauntless, plastic force -that builds up stubborn, amorphous substance cell by cell, into the frail -geometry of a shell. These two things are poles apart—how are they to -meet in the same work of fiction? - -One way is to fling down, _pêle-mêle_, a handful of separate acts and -words, and then to turn on them the constructive force of a human -consciousness that will arrange them into the pattern of logic or of -drama. - -Thus, in this book, Madeleine sees the trivial, disorderly happenings -of her life as a momentous battle waged between a kindly Power who had -written on tablets of gold before the world began that she should win -her heart’s desire, and a sterner and mightier Power who had written -on tablets of iron that all her hopes should be frustrated, so that, -finally, naked and bleeding, she might turn to Him. And having this -conception of life all her acquaintances become minor _daimones_, -friendly or hostile, according as they seem to serve one power or the -other. - -The other way is to turn from time to time upon the action the fantastic -limelight of eternity, with a sudden effect of unreality and the hint -of a world within a world. My plot—that is to say, the building of the -shell—takes place in this inner world and is summed up in the words that -dog the dreams of Madeleine—_per hunc in invisibilium amorem rapiamur_. -In the outer world there is nothing but the ceaseless, meaningless drip -of circumstances, in the inner world—a silent, ineluctable march towards -a predestined climax. - -I have had the epilogue printed in italics to suggest that the action has -now moved completely on to the stage of the inner world. In the outer -world Madeleine might with time have jettisoned the perilous stuff of -youth and have sailed serenely the rough, fresh sea of facts. In the -inner world, there was one thing and one thing only that could happen to -her: life is the province of free-will, art the province of fate. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PART I - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. THE DINNER AT MADAME PILOU’S 3 - - II. A PARTIAL CONFESSION 22 - - III. A SUPPLEMENT TO THE CONFESSION 34 - - IV. THE SIN OF NARCISSUS 48 - - V. AN INVITATION 63 - - VI. THE GRECIAN PROTOTYPE 72 - - VII. THE MERCHANTS OF DAMASCUS AND DAN 77 - - VIII. ‘RITE DE PASSAGE’ 84 - - IX. AT THE HÔTEL DE RAMBOUILLET 94 - - X. AFTERWARDS 115 - - XI. REBUILDING THE HOUSE OF CARDS 122 - - PART II - - XII. THE FÊTE-DIEU 129 - - XIII. ROBERT PILOU’S SCREEN 133 - - XIV. A DEMONSTRATION IN FAITH 141 - - XV. MOLOCH 148 - - XVI. A VISIT TO THE ABBAYE OF PORT-ROYAL 154 - - XVII. ‘HYLAS, THE MOCKING SHEPHERD’ 166 - - XVIII. A DISAPPOINTMENT 171 - - XIX. THE PLEASURES OF DESPAIR 178 - - XX. FRESH HOPE 185 - - PART III - - XXI. ‘WHAT IS CARTESIANISM?’ 191 - - XXII. BEES-WAX 195 - - XXIII. MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDÉRY’S SATURDAY 200 - - XXIV. SELF-IMPOSED SLAVERY 216 - - XXV. THE SYMMETRY OF THE COMIC MUSE 219 - - XXVI. BERTHE’S STORY 224 - - XXVII. THE CHRISTIAN VENUS 231 - - XXVIII. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL 237 - - XXIX. THE BODY OF THE DRAGON 243 - - XXX. A JAR 244 - - XXXI. THE END OF THE ‘ROMAN’ 248 - - XXXII. ‘UN CADEAU’ 255 - - XXXIII. FACE TO FACE WITH FACTS 267 - - XXXIV. OUT INTO THE VOID 273 - - EPILOGUE. THE RAPE TO THE LOVE OF INVISIBLE THINGS 275 - - - - -PART I - - ‘_En effet, si on laisse aller le Christianisme sans - l’approfondir et le régénérer de temps en temps, il s’y fait - comme une infiltration croissants de bon sens humain, de - tolérance philosophique, de semi-Pélagianisme à quelque degré - que ce soit: la “folie de la Croix” s’atténue._’ - - SAINTE-BEUVE. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE DINNER AT MADAME PILOU’S - - -In the middle of the seventeenth century a family called Troqueville came -from Lyons to settle in Paris. Many years before, Monsieur Troqueville -had been one of the four hundred _procureurs_ of the Palais de Justice. -There were malicious rumours of disgraceful and Bacchic scenes in Court -which had led to his ejection from that respectable body. Whether the -rumours were true or not, Monsieur Troqueville had long ceased to be a -Paris _procureur_, and after having wandered about from town to town, he -had at last settled in Lyons, where by ‘devilling’ for a lawyer, writing -bombastic love-letters for shop apprentices, and playing Lasquinet with -country bumpkins, he managed to earn a precarious livelihood. When, a few -months before the opening of this story, he had been suddenly seized with -a feverish craving to return to Paris ‘and once more wear the glove of -my lady Jurisprudence in the tournay of the law-courts,’ as he put it, -his wife had regarded him with a frigid and sceptical surprise, as she -had long since given up trying to kindle in him one spark of ambition. -However, Madeleine, their only child, a girl of seventeen, expressed such -violent despair and disappointment when Madame Troqueville pronounced her -husband’s scheme to be vain and impracticable, that finally to Paris they -came—for to her mother, Madeleine’s happiness was the only thing of any -moment. - -They had taken rooms above a baker’s shop in the petite rue du Paon, in -the East end of the University quarter—the _Pays Latin_, where, for -many centuries, turbulent abstract youth had celebrated with Bacchic -orgies the cherub Contemplation, and strutting, ragged and debonair on -the razor’s edge of most unprofitable speculation, had demonstrated to -the gaping, well-fed burghers, that the intellect had its own heroisms -and its own virtues. At that time it was a neighbourhood of dark, -winding little streets, punctuated by the noble fabrics of colleges and -monasteries, and the open spaces of their fields and gardens—a symbol, as -it were, of contemporary learning, where crabbed scholasticism still held -its own beside the spacious theories of Descartes and Gassendi. - -Madame Troqueville had inherited a small fortune from her father, which -made it possible to tide over the period until her husband found regular -employment. - -She was by birth and upbringing a Parisian, her father having been a -Président de la Chambre des Comptes. As the daughter of a Judge, she -was a member of ‘la Noblesse de Robe,’ the name given to the class of -the high dignitaries of the _Parlement_, who, with their scarlet robes, -their ermine, and their lilies, their Latin periods and the portentous -solemnity of their manner, were at once ridiculous and awful. - -It cannot be wondered at that on her return to Paris she shrank from -renewing relations with old friends whose husbands numbered their legal -posts by the score and who drove about in fine coaches, ruthlessly -bespattering humble pedestrians with the foul mud of Paris. But for -Madeleine’s sake she put her pride in her pocket, and though some ignored -her overtures, others welcomed her back with genial condescension. - -The day that this story begins, the Troquevilles were going to dine -with the celebrated Madame Pilou, famous in ‘la Cour et la Ville’ for -her homespun wit and remarkably ill-favoured countenance—it would be -difficult to say of which of these two distinctions she was most proud -herself. Her career had been a social miracle. Though her husband had -been only a small attorney, there was not a Princess or Duchess who did -not claim her as an intimate friend, and many a word of counsel had she -given to the Regent herself. - -None of her mother’s old acquaintanceships did Madeleine urge her so -eagerly to renew as the one with Madame Pilou. In vain her mother assured -her that she was just a coarse, ugly old woman. - -‘So also are the Three Fates,’ said Jacques Tronchet (a nephew of Madame -Troqueville, who had come to live with them), and Madeleine had looked at -him, surprised and startled. - -Madame Pilou dined at midday, so Monsieur Troqueville and Jacques were -to go to her house direct from the Palais de Justice independently -of Madame Troqueville and Madeleine. Madeleine had been ready a full -half-hour before it was time to start. She had sat in the little parlour -for a quarter of an hour absolutely motionless. She was dressed in her -best clothes, a bodice of crimson serge, and an orange petticoat of -_camelot de Hollande_, the slender purse’s substitute for silk. A gauze -neckerchief threw a transparent veil over the extreme _décolletage_ of -her bodice. On her head was one of the new-fashioned _ténèbres_, a square -of black crape that tied under her chin, and took the place of a hat. She -wore a velvet mask and patches, in spite of the Sumptuary Laws, which -would reserve them for ladies of rank, and from behind the mask her clear -gray eyes, that never smiled and seldom blinked, looked out straight in -front of her. Her hands were folded on her lap. She had a remarkable gift -for absolute stillness. - -At the end of a quarter of an hour, she went to her mother, who was -preparing a cress salad in the kitchen, and said in a quiet, tense voice:— - -‘Maybe you would liefer not go to Madame Pilou’s this morning. If so, -tell me, and I will abandon it,’ then, with a sudden access of fury, ‘You -will make me hate you—you are for ever sacrificing matters of moment to -trifles. An you were to weigh the matter rightly, my having some pleasure -when I was young would seem of greater moment than there being a salad -for supper!’ - -‘Madame Pilou dines at twelve, and it is but a bare half-hour from our -house to hers, and it is now eleven,’ Madame Troqueville answered slowly, -emphasising each word. ‘But we will start now without fail, if ’tis your -wish, and arrive like true Provincials half an hour before we are due;’ -irritation now made the words come tumbling out, one on the top of the -other. Madeleine began to smile, and her mother went on with some heat, -but no longer with irritation. - -‘But why in the name of Jesus do you lash yourself into so strange a -humour before going to old Madame Pilou’s? One would think you were off -to the Palais Cardinal to wait on the Regent! She is but a plain old -woman; now if she were very learned, or——’ - -‘Oh, mother, let her be, and go and make your toilette,’ and Madame -Troqueville went off obediently to her room. - -Madeleine paced about like a restive horse until her mother was ready, -but did not dare to disturb her while she was dressing. It used -to surprise Madeleine that she should take such trouble over such -unfashionable toilettes. - -It was not long before she came in quite ready. She began to put -Madeleine’s collar straight, which, for some reason, annoyed Madeleine -extremely. At last they were out of the house. - -Madame Pilou lived on the other side of the river, in the rue Saint -Antoine, so there was a good walk before Madeleine and her mother, and -judging from Madeleine’s gloomy, abstracted expression, it did not -promise to be a very cheerful one. - -They threaded their way into the rue des Augustins, a narrow, cloistered -street flanked on the left by the long flat walls of the Monastery, over -which were wafted the sound of bells and the scent of early Spring. It -led straight out on to the Seine and the peaceful bustle of its still -rustic banks. They crossed it by the Pont-Neuf, that perennial Carnival -of all that Paris held of most picturesque and most disreputable. The -bombastic eloquence of the quacks extolling their panaceas and rattling -their necklaces of teeth; the indescribable foulness of the topical -songs in which hungry-looking bards celebrated to sweet ghostly airs of -Couperin and Cambert the last practical joke played by the Court on the -Town, or the latest extravagance of Mazarin; the whining litany of the -beggars; the plangent shrieks of strange shrill birds caught in American -forests—all these sounds fell unheard on at least one pair of ears. - -On they hurried, past the booths of the jugglers and comedians and the -stalls of the money-lenders, past the bronze equestrian statue of Henri -IV., watching with saturnine benevolence the gambols of the Gothic -vagabonds he had loved so dearly in life, cynically indifferent to the -discreet threats of his rival the water-house of the Samaritaine, which, -classical and chaste, hinted at a future little to the taste of the _Vert -Gallant_ and his vagabonds. - -From time to time Madame Troqueville glanced timidly at Madeleine but did -not like to break the silence. At last, as they walked down the right -bank of the Seine, the lovely town at once substantial and aerial, taking -the Spring as blithely as a meadow, filled her with such joy that she -cried out:— - -‘’Tis a delicate town, Paris! Are not you glad we came, my pretty one?’ - -‘Time will show if there be cause for gladness,’ Madeline answered -gloomily. - -‘There goes a fine lady! I wonder what Marquise or Duchesse she may be!’ -cried Madame Troqueville, wishing to distract her. Madeleine smiled -scornfully. - -‘No one of any note. Did you not remark it was a _hired_ coach? “_Les -honnêtes gens_” do not sacrifice to Saint Fiacre.’ - -Madame Troqueville gave rather a melancholy little smile, but her own -epigram had restored Madeleine, for the time being, to good humour. They -talked amicably together for a little, and then again fell into silence, -Madeleine wearing a look of intense concentration. - -Madame Pilou’s house was on the first floor above the shop of a -laundress. They were shown into her bedroom, the usual place of reception -in those days. The furniture was of walnut, in the massive style of Henri -IV., and covered with mustard-coloured serge. Heavy curtains of moquette -kept out the light and air, and enabled the room to preserve what -Madeleine called the ‘bourgeois smell.’ On the walls, however, was some -fine Belgian tapestry, on which was shown, with macabre Flemish realism, -the Seven Stations of the Cross. It had been chosen by the son Robert, -who was fanatically devout. - -Madame Pilou, dressed in a black dressing-gown lined with green plush, -and wearing a chaperon (a sort of cap worn in the old days by every -bourgeoise, but by that time rarely seen), was lying on the huge -carved bed. Her face, with its thick, gray beard, looming huge and -weather-beaten from under the tasselled canopy, was certainly very ugly, -but its expression was not unpleasing. Monsieur Troqueville and Jacques -had already arrived. Monsieur Troqueville was a man of about fifty, with -a long beard in the doctor’s mode, a very long nose, and small, excited -blue eyes, like a child’s. Jacques was rather a beautiful young man; -he was tall and slight, and had a pale, pointed face and a magnificent -chevelure of chestnut curls, and his light eyes slanting slightly up at -the corners gave him a Faun-like look. He was a little like Madeleine, -but he had a mercurial quality which was absent in her. Robert Pilou -was there too, standing before the chimney-piece; he was dressed in a -very rusty black garment, made to look as much like a priest’s cassock -as possible. Jacques said that with his spindly legs and red nose and -spectacles, he was exactly like old Gaultier-Garguille, a famous actor of -farce at the theatre of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, and as the slang name for -the Hôtel de Bourgogne was, for some unknown reason, the ‘Pois-Pilés,’ -Jacques, out of compliment to Robert’s appearance and Madame Pilou’s -beard, called their house the ‘Poil-Pilou.’ - -They were all sipping glasses of Hippocras and eating preserved fruit. -Jacques caught Madeleine’s eyes as she came in. His own slanting green -ones were dancing with pleasure, he was always in a state of suppressed -amusement at the Pilous, but there was no answering merriment in -Madeleine’s eyes. She gave one quick look round the room, and her face -fell. - -‘Well, my friends, you are exceeding welcome!’ bellowed Madame Pilou in -the voice of a Musketeer. ‘I am overjoyed at seeing you, and so is Robert -Pilou.’ Robert went as red as a turkey-cock, and muttered something -about ‘any one who comes to the house.’ ‘You see I have to say his -_fleurettes_ for him, and he does my praying for me; ’tis a bargain, -isn’t it, Maître Robert?’ Robert looked as if he were going to have a fit -with embarrassment, while Monsieur Troqueville bellowed with laughter, -and exclaimed, ‘Good! good! excellent!’ then spat several times to show -his approval. (This habit of his disgusted Madeleine: ‘He doesn’t even -spit high up on the wall like a grand seigneur,’ she would say peevishly.) - -‘Robert Pilou, give the ladies some Hippocras—Oh! I insist on your trying -it. My apothecary sends me a bottle every New Year; it’s all I ever -get out of him, though he gets enough out of me with his draughts and -clysters!’ This sally was also much appreciated by Monsieur Troqueville. - -Robert Pilou grudgingly helped each of them to as much Hippocras as would -fill a thimble, and then sat down on the chair farthest removed from -Madame Troqueville and Madeleine. - -When the Hippocras had been drunk, Madame Pilou bellowed across to him: -‘Now, Robert Pilou, it would be civil in you to show the young lady your -screen. He has covered a screen with sacred woodcuts, and the design -is most excellently conceived,’ she added in a proud aside to Madame -Troqueville. ‘No, no, young man, you sit down, I’m not going to have -the poor fellow made a fool of,’ as Jacques got up to follow the other -two into an adjoining closet. ‘But you, Troqueville, I think it might -be accordant with your humour—you can go.’ Monsieur Troqueville, always -ready to think himself flattered, threw a look of triumph at Jacques and -went into the closet. - -Madeleine was gazing at Robert with a look of rapt attention in her -large, grave eyes, while he expounded the mysteries of his design. ‘You -see,’ he said, turning solemnly to Monsieur Troqueville, ‘I have so -disposed the prints that they make an allegorical history of the Fronde -and——’ - -‘An excellent invention!’ cried Monsieur Troqueville, all ready to be -impressed, and at the same time to show his own cleverness. ‘Were you a -Frondeur yourself?’ - -Robert Pilou drew himself up stiffly. ‘No, Monsieur, _I—was—not_. I -was for the King and the Cardinal. Well, as I was saying, profane -history is countenanced if told by means of sacred prints and moreover -itself becomes sacred history.’ Monsieur Troqueville clapped his hands -delightedly. - -‘In good earnest it does,’ he cried, ‘and sacred history becomes profane -in the same way—’tis but a matter of how you look at it—why, you could -turn the life of Jesus into the history of Don Quixote—a picture of the -woman who pours the ointment on his feet could pass for the grand lady -who waits on Don Quixote in her castle, and the Virgin could be his -niece——’ - -‘Here you have a print of Judas Iscariot,’ Robert went on, having looked -at Monsieur Troqueville suspiciously. ‘You observe he is a hunchback, -and therefore can be taken for the Prince de Conti!’ He looked round -triumphantly. - -Madeleine said sympathetically, ‘’Tis a most happy comparison!’ but -Monsieur Troqueville was smiling and nodding to himself, much too pleased -with his own idea to pay any attention to Robert’s. - -‘And here we have the Cardinal! By virtue of his holy office I need not -find a sacred symbol for him, I just give his own portrait. This, you -see, is St Michael fighting with the Dragon——’ - -‘Why, that would do most excellently for Don Quixote fighting with the -windmills!’ - -‘Father, I beseech you, no more!’ whispered Madeleine severely. - -‘But why? My conceit is every whit as good as his!’ said Monsieur -Troqueville sulkily. Fortunately Robert Pilou was too muddle-headed and -too wrapt up in himself to understand very clearly what other people were -talking about, so he went on:— - -‘It is a symbol of the King’s party fighting with the Frondeurs. Now here -is a picture of a Procession of the Confrérie de la Passion; needless to -say, it shadows forth the triumphant entry of the King and Cardinal into -Paris—you see the banners and the torches—’tis an excellent symbol. And -here you have a picture of the stonemasons busy at the new buildings of -Val de Grâce, that is a double symbol—it stands for the work of the King -and Cardinal in rebuilding the kingdom; it also stands for the gradual -re-establishment of the power of the Church. And this first series ends -up with this’—and he pointed gleefully to a horrible picture of Dives in -Hell—‘this stands for the Prince de Condé in prison. And now we come to -the second series——;’ but just then Madame Pilou called them back to the -other room. - -‘It is a most sweet invention!’ said Madeleine in her low, soft voice, -meeting Jacques’s twinkle with unruffled gravity. - -‘A most excellent, happy conceit! but I would fain tell you the notion it -has engendered in _my_ mind!’ cried Monsieur Troqueville, all agog for -praise. - -‘Oh, I was of opinion it would accord with your humour,’ nodded Madame -Pilou, with rather a wicked twinkle. - -‘But what was _your_ notion, Uncle?’ asked Jacques, his mouth twitching. - -‘Well, ’tis this way——’ began Monsieur Troqueville excitedly, but -Madeleine felt that she would faint with boredom if her father were given -an innings, so turned the attention of the company to the workmanship of -a handsome clock on the chimney-piece. - -‘Yes, for Robert that clock is what the “Messieurs de Port Royal” -(coxcombs all of them, _I_ say!) would call the _grace efficace_, in that -by preventing him from being late for Mass it saves his soul from Hell!’ -said Madame Pilou, looking at her son, who nodded his head in solemn -confirmation. Jacques shot a malicious glance at Madeleine, who was -looking rather self-conscious. - -‘Now, then, Monsieur Jacques,’ went on Madame Pilou, thoroughly enjoying -herself. ‘You are a learned young man, and sustained your thesis in -philosophy at the University, do you hold it can be so ordered that one -person can get another into Paradise—in short, that one can be pious by -proxy?’ - -‘Madame Pilou!’ piped Robert plaintively, flapping his arms as though -they had been wings, then he crossed himself and pulled his face back -into its usual expression of stolidity. - -‘Because,’ went on Madame Pilou, paying not the slightest attention -to him, ‘it would be much to my liking if Robert could do all my -church-going for me; I was within an ace of fetching up my dinner at Mass -last Sunday, the stench was so exceeding powerful. I am at a loss to know -why people are wont to smell worse in Church than anywhere else!’ - -‘I suppose that is what is called the odour of sanctity,’ said Jacques, -with his engaging grin, looking at Madeleine to see if she was amused. -Both Madeleine and Madame Troqueville smiled, but Robert was so busy -seeing how long he could keep his cheeks blown out without letting out -the breath that he did not hear, and Monsieur Troqueville was so occupied -with planning how he could go one better that he had no time to smile. -Jacques’s sally, however, displeased Madame Pilou extremely. She was -really very devout in the sane fashion of the old Gallican Church, and -though she herself might make profane jokes, she was not going to allow -them in a very young man. - -‘Odour of sanctity indeed!’ she cried angrily. ‘I warrant _you_ don’t -smell any better than your neighbours, young man!’ a retort which made up -in vehemence what it lacked in point. Monsieur Troqueville roared with -delight and Jacques made a face. He had a wonderful gift for making faces. - -‘Impudent fellow! One would think your face was Tabarin’s hat by the -shapes you twist it into! Anyway, you have more sense in your little -finger than your uncle has in his whole body! and while we are on the -matter of his shortcomings, I would fain know the _true_ motive of -his leaving Lyons?’ and she shot a malicious look at the discomfited -Monsieur Troqueville, while Madame Troqueville went quite white with -rage. Fortunately, at this moment, the servant came to say that dinner -was ready, and they all moved into the large kitchen, where, true to the -traditions of the old bourgeoisie, Madame Pilou always had her meals. - -‘Well, well, Mademoiselle Marie, I dare swear you have not found -that Paris has gained one ounce of wisdom during your sojourn in the -provinces. Although the _Prince des Sots_ no longer enters the gates in -state on Mardi Gras, as was the custom in my young days, that is not to -say that Folly has been banished the town. ‘Do you frequent many of your -old friends?’ bellowed Madame Pilou, almost drowning the noise Monsieur -Troqueville and Robert were making over their soup. - -‘Oh, yes, they have proffered me a most kindly welcome,’ Madame -Troqueville answered not quite truthfully. - -‘Have you seen the Coigneux and the Troguins?’ - -‘We have much commerce with the Troguins.’ - -‘And has not the _désir de parroistre_ been flourishing finely since your -day? All the Parliamentary families have got coats of arms from the -herald Hozier since then, and have them tattooed all over their bodies -like Chinamen.’ - -Monsieur Troqueville cocked an intelligent eye, he was always on the -outlook for interesting bits of information. - -‘And you must know that there are no _families_ nowadays, there are only -“houses”! And they roll their silver up and down the stairs, hoping by -such usage to give it the air of old family plate, instead of eating -off decent pewter as their fathers did before them! And every year the -judges grow vainer and more extravagant—great heavy puffed-out sacks -of nonsense! There is _la cour_ and _la ville_—and _la basse-cour_, -and that’s where the _gens de robe_ live, and the judges are the -turkey-cocks!’ Every one laughed except Robert Pilou. ‘And the sons with -their plumes and swords like young nobles, and the daughters who would -rather wear a velvet gown in Hell than a serge one in Paradise put me in -a strong desire to box their ears!’ - -‘’Tis your turn now!’ Jacques whispered to Madeleine, who was feeling -terribly conscious of her mask and six patches. However, Madame Pilou -abruptly changed the subject by turning to Madeleine and asking her what -she thought of Paris. - -‘I think it is furiously beautiful,’ she answered, at which Madame Pilou -went off into a bellow of laughter. - -‘_Jésus!_ Hark to the little Précieuse with her “furiously”! So -“furiously” has reached the provinces, has it? Little Madeleine will be -starting her “_ruelle_” next! Ha! Ha!’ Madeleine blushed crimson, Jacques -looked distressed, Robert Pilou gave a sudden wild whoop of laughter, -then stopped dead, looked anxiously round, and pulled a long face again. - -‘That is news to me,’ Monsieur Troqueville began intelligently; ‘is -“furiously” much in use with the Précieuses?’ but Madame Troqueville, -who was very indignant that Madeleine should be made fun of, broke in -hurriedly with, ‘I think my daughter learned it in Mademoiselle de -Scudéry’s _Grand Cyrus_; she liked it rarely; we read it through together -from beginning to end.’ - -‘Well, I fear me, I cannot confess to the same assiduity, and that though -Mademoiselle de Scudéry brought me the volumes herself,’ said Madame -Pilou. ‘I promised her I would read it if she gave me her word that -that swashbuckler of a brother of hers should not come to the house for -six months, but there he was that very evening, come to find out what I -thought of the description of the battle of Rocroy! Are you a lover of -reading, my child?’ suddenly turning to Madeleine. - -‘No, ’tis most distasteful to me,’ she answered emphatically, to her -mother’s complete stupefaction. - -‘But Madeleine——’ she began. Madame Pilou, however, cut her short with -‘Quite right, quite right, my child. You’ll never learn anything worth -the knowing out of books. I have lived nearly eighty years, and my Missal -and Æsop his fables are near the only two books I have ever read. What -you can’t learn from life itself is not worth the learning——’ - -‘But Madeleine has grown into such an excessive humour for books, -that she wholly addicts herself to them!’ cried Madame Troqueville -indignantly. She was determined that an old barbarian like Madame Pilou -should not flatter herself she had anything in common with her Madeleine. -But Madame Pilou was too busy talking herself to hear her. - -‘Mademoiselle de Scudéry is writing a new romance, she tells me (it’s all -her, you know; Conrart tells me that all the writing in it that tedious, -prolix, bombastic fop of a brother does is to put his name to the title -page!) and she says that I am to be portrayed in it. Poor Robert is in -a sad taking; he thinks you cannot be both in a romance and the Book of -Life!’ Robert Pilou looked at his mother with the eyes of an anxious dog, -and she smiled at him encouragingly, and assured him that there were many -devotees described in romances. - -‘I dare swear she will limn me as a beautiful princess, with Robert Pilou -as my knight, or else I’ll be—what d’ye call her—that heathen goddess, -and Robert Pilou will be my owl!’ - -Madeleine had been strangely embarrassed for the last few minutes. -When she was nervous the sound of her father’s voice tortured her, and -feeling the imminence of a favourite story of his about an old lady of -Lyons, called Madame Hibou, who had found her gardener drunk in her bed, -she felt she would go mad if she had to listen to it again, so to stop -him, she said hurriedly, ‘Could you tell us, Madame, whom some of the -characters in the _Grand Cyrus_ are meant to depict?’ - -‘Oh! every one is there, every one of the Court and the Town. I should -be loath to have you think I wasted my time in reading all the dozen -volumes, but I cast my eye through some of them, and I don’t hold with -dressing up living men and women in all these outlandish clothes and -giving them Grecian names. It’s like the quacks on the Pont-Neuf, who -call themselves “Il Signor Hieronymo Ferranti d’Orvieto,” and such like, -though they are only decent French burghers like the rest of us!’ - -‘Or might it not be more in the nature of duchesses masquerading at the -Carnival as Turkish ladies and shepherdesses?’ suggested Madeleine in a -very nervous voice, her face quite white, as though she were a young -Quakeress, bearing testimony for the first time. - -‘Oh, well, I dare swear that conceit would better please the demoiselle,’ -said Madame Pilou good-humouredly. ‘But it isn’t only in romances that we -aren’t called by our good calendar names—oh, no, you are baptized Louise, -or Marie, or Marguerite, but if you want to be in the mode, you must -call yourself Amaryllis, or Daphne, or Phillis,’ and Madame Pilou minced -out the names, her huge mouth pursed up. ‘I tell them that it is only -actors and soldiers—the scum of the earth—who take fancy names. No, no, -I am quite out of patience with the present fashion of beribboning and -beflowering the good wood of life, as if it were a great maypole.’ - -‘And I am clearly on the other side!’ cried Madame Troqueville hotly, ‘I -would have every inch of the hard wood bedecked with flowers!’ - -‘Well, well, Marie, life has dealt hardly with you,’ said Madame Pilou, -throwing a menacing look at Monsieur Troqueville, ‘but life and I have -ever been good friends; and the cause may be that we are not unlike one -to the other, both strong and tough, and with little tomfoolery about -us.’ Madame Troqueville gazed straight in front of her, her eyes for the -moment as chill as Madeleine’s. This was more than she could stand, she, -the daughter of an eminent judge, to be pitied by this coarse old widow -of an attorney. - -‘Maybe the reason you have found life not unkind is because you are not -like the dog in the fable,’ said Madeleine shyly, ‘who lost the substance -out of greediness to possess the shadow.’ - -Madame Pilou was delighted. Any reference to Æsop’s fables was sure to -please her, for it brought her the rare satisfaction of recognising a -literary allusion. - -‘That is very prettily said, my child,’ and she chuckled with glee. Then -she looked at Madeleine meditatively. ‘But see here, as you are so -enamoured of the _Grand Cyrus_, you had better come some day and make the -acquaintance of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’ - -‘Oh, Madeleine, you would like that rarely, would you not?’ cried Madame -Troqueville, flushing with pleasure. - -But Madeleine had gone deadly white, and stammered out, ‘Oh—er—I am -vastly obliged, Madame, but in truth I shouldn’t ... the honour would put -me out of countenance.’ - -‘Out of countenance? Pish! Pish! my child,’ laughed Madame Pilou, -‘Mademoiselle de Scudéry is but a human being like the rest of us, she -eats and drinks and is bled and takes her purges like any one else. Yes, -you come and see her, and convey yourself towards her as if she were a -_grande dame_ who had never seen a goose’s quill in her life, and you -will gain her friendship on the spot.’ - -‘The lady I would fainest in the world meet,’ said Madeleine, and there -was suppressed eagerness in her voice, ‘is Madame de Rambouillet, she——’ - -‘My child, your wish has something in’t like rare wit and sense,’ -interrupted Madame Pilou warmly, ‘she is better worth seeing than -anything else in the world, than the Grand Turk or Prester John himself.’ - -‘Was it not the late Monsieur Voiture that said of her, “I revere her as -the most noble, the most beautiful, and the most perfect thing I have -ever seen”?’ said Madeleine, the ordeal of quoting making her burn with -self-consciousness. - -‘I dare say it was. Poor Voiture, he was an impudent fellow, but his -wit was as nimble as a hare. He always put me in mind of a performer -there used to be on the Pont-Neuf—we called him the “Buveur d’Eau”—he -would fill his mouth with ordinary cold water and then spout it out in -cascades of different coloured scents. Some trick, doubtless, but it was -wonderful. And in the same way Voiture would take some plain homespun -sentiment and twist it and paint it and madrigalise it into something so -fantastical that you would never recognise it as the same.’ - -‘I remember me to have seen that “Buveur d’Eau” when I came to Paris as -a young man, and——’ began Monsieur Troqueville, in whom for some time -the pleasures of the table had triumphed over the desire to shine. But -Madeleine was not going to let the conversation wander to quacks and -mountebanks. In a clear, though gentle voice, she asked if it were true -that the Marquise de Rambouillet was in very delicate health. - -‘Yes, very frail but rarely in Paris nowadays. The last time I went to -see her she said, smiling as is always her way, “I feel like a ghost in -Paris these days, a ghost that died hundreds of years ago,” and I much -apprehend that she will in sober earnest be a ghost before long,’ and -Madame Pilou, who was deeply moved, blew her nose violently on a napkin. - -‘She must be a lady of great and rare parts,’ said Madame Troqueville -sympathetically. The remark about ‘feeling like a ghost’ had touched her -imagination. - -‘Yes, indeed. She is the only virtuous woman I have ever known who is a -little ashamed of her virtue—and that is perfection. There is but little -to choose between a prude and a whore, _I_ think ... yes, I do, Robert -Pilou. Ay! in good earnest, she is of a most absolute behaviour. The -Marquis has no need to wear _his_ hair long. You know when this fashion -for men wearing love-locks came in, I said it was to hide the horns!’ - -‘Do the horns grow on one’s neck, then?’ Jacques asked innocently. -Monsieur Troqueville was much tickled, and Madame Troqueville wondered -wearily how many jokes she had heard in her life about ‘horns’ and -‘cuckolds.’ - -‘Grow on one’s neck, indeed! You’ll find _that_ out soon enough, young -man!’ snorted Madame Pilou. - -The substantial meal was now over, and Monsieur Troqueville had licked -from his fingers the last crumbs of the last _Pasté à la mazarinade_, -when Robert Pilou, who had been silent nearly all dinner-time, now said -slowly and miserably, ‘To appear in a romance! In a romance with Pagans -and Libertins! Oh! Madame Pilou!’ His mother looked round proudly. - -‘Hark to him! He has been pondering the matter; he always gets there if -you but give him time!’ and she beamed with maternal pride. Then Madame -Troqueville rose and made her adieux, though Madeleine looked at her -imploringly, as if her fate hung upon her staying a little longer. Madame -Pilou was particularly affectionate in her good-bye to Madeleine. ‘Well, -we’ll see if we can’t contrive it that you meet Madame de Rambouillet.’ - -Madeleine’s face suddenly became radiantly happy. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A PARTIAL CONFESSION - - -At supper that evening Madeleine seemed intoxicated with happiness. She -laughed wildly at nothing and squeezed Jacques’s hand under the table, -which made him look pleased but embarrassed. Monsieur Troqueville was -also excited about something, for he kept smiling and muttering to -himself, gesticulating now and then, his nostrils expanding, his eyes -flashing as if in concert with his own unspoken words. Jacques burst into -extravagant praise of Madame Pilou, couched, as was his way, in abrupt -adjectives, ‘She is _crotesque_ ... she is _gauloise_ ... she is superb!’ - -‘My dear Jacques,’ said Madame Troqueville, smiling, ‘You would find -dozens of women every whit as _crotesque_ and _gauloise_ in the Halles. -I’ll take you with me when I go marketing some day.’ - -‘Very well, and I’ll settle down and build my harem there and fill it -with Madame Pilous,’ said he, grinning. ‘If I had lived in the days of -Amadis de Gaul she should have been my lady and I’d have worn ... a hair -shirt made of her beard!’ - -Madeleine, who did not, as a rule, much appreciate Jacques’s wit, laughed -long and excitedly. Her mother looked at her, not sure whether to rejoice -at or to fear this sudden change from languid gloom. Jacques went on with -his jerky panegyric. ‘She is like some one in Rabelais. She might have -been the mother of Gargantua, she——’ - -‘Gargamelle! Gargamelle was the mother of Gargantua!’ cried Madeleine -eagerly and excitedly. - -‘As you will, Gargamelle, then. Why doesn’t she please you, Aunt? It is -you that are _really_ the Précieuse, and Madeleine is at heart a _franque -gauloise_,’ and he looked at Madeleine wickedly. - -‘That I’m not ... you know nothing of my humour, Jacques.... I know best -about myself, I am abhorrent of aught that is coarse and ungallant.... -I am to seek why you should make other people share your faults, you——’ -Madeleine had tears of rage in her eyes. - -‘You are a sprouting Madame Pilou, beard and all!’ teased Jacques. ‘No, -you’re not,’ and he stopped abruptly. It was his way suddenly to get -bored with a subject he had started himself. - -‘But Madeleine,’ began Madame Troqueville, ‘what, in Heaven’s name, -prompted you to refuse to meet Mademoiselle de Scutary?’ - -‘De S-c-u-d-é-r-y,’ corrected Madeleine, enunciating each letter with -weary irritation. - -‘De Scudéry, then. You are such a goose, my child; in the name of Our -Lady, how _can_ you expect——’ and Madame Troqueville began to work -herself up into a frenzy, such as only Madeleine was able to arouse in -her. - -But Madeleine said with such earnestness, ‘Pray mother, let the matter -be,’ that Madame Troqueville said no more. - -Supper being over, Monsieur Troqueville, wearing an abstracted, important -air, took his hat and cloak and went out, and Madame Troqueville went to -her spinning-wheel. - -Jacques and Madeleine went up to her bedroom, to which they retired -nearly every evening, nominally to play Spelequins or Tric-trac. Madame -Troqueville had her suspicions that little of the evening was spent in -these games, but what of that? Jacques’s mother had left him a small -fortune, not large enough to buy a post in the _Parlement_, but still a -competency, and if Madeleine liked him they would probably be able to get -a dispensation, and Madame Troqueville would be spared the distasteful -task of negotiating for a husband for her daughter. Her passion for -Madeleine was not as strong as a tendency to shudder away from action, -to sit spellbound and motionless before the spectacle of the automatic -movement of life. - -Jacques was now learning to be an attorney, for although his father had -been an advocate, his friends considered that he would have more chance -on the other side. Jacques docilely took their advice, for it was all one -to him whether he eventually became an advocate or an attorney, seeing -that from the clerks of both professions were recruited ‘_les Clercs de -la Bazoche_’—a merry, lewd corporation with many a quaint gothic custom -that appealed to Jacques’s imagination. - -They had a Chancellor—called King in the old days—whom they elected -annually from among themselves, and who had complete authority over them. -That year Jacques reached the summit of his ambition, for they chose him -for the post. - -He had never seen Madeleine till her arrival in Paris two months before. -At that time he was fanning the dying embers of a passion for a little -lady of the Pays-Latin of but doubtful reputation. - -Then the Troquevilles had arrived, and, to his horror, he began to -fall in love with Madeleine. Although remarkably cynical for his age, -he was nevertheless, like all of his contemporaries, influenced by the -high-flown chivalry of Spain, elaborated by the Précieuses into a code -where the capital crime was to love more than once. In consequence, he -was extremely surly with Madeleine at first and laid it on himself as -a sacred duty to find out one fault in her every day. Her solemnity -was unleavened by one drop of the mocking gaiety of France; in an age -of plump beauties she seemed scraggy; unlike his previous love, she -was slow and rather clumsy in her movements. But it was in vain, and -he had finally to acknowledge that she was like one of the grave-eyed, -thin-mouthed beauties Catherine de Médici had brought with her from -Italy, that her very clumsiness had something beautiful and virginal -about it, and, in fact, that he was deeply in love with her. - -When he had told her of his new feelings towards herself she had replied -with a scorn so withering as to be worthy of the most prudish Précieuse -of the Marais. This being so, his surprise was as great as his joy -when, about a week before the dinner described in the last chapter, she -announced that he ‘might take his fill of kissing her, and that she loved -him very much.’ - -So a queer little relationship sprang up between them, consisting of -a certain amount of kissing, a great deal of affectionate teasing -on Jacques’s side, endless discussions of Madeleine’s character and -idiosyncrasies—a pastime which never failed to delight and interest -her—and a tacit assumption that they were betrothed. - -But Jacques was not the gallant that Madeleine would have chosen. -In those days, the first rung of the social ladder was _le désir de -parroistre_—the wish to make a splash and to appear grander than you -really were—and this noble aspiration of ‘_une âme bien née_’ was -entirely lacking in Jacques. Then his scorn of the subtleties of -Dandyism was incompatible with being _un honnête homme_, for though -his long ringlets were certainly in the mode, they had originally been -a concession to his mother, and all Madeleine’s entreaties failed to -make him discard his woollen hose and his jerkin of Holland cloth, or -substitute top boots for his short square shoes. Nor did he conform in -his wooing to the code of the modish Cupid and hire the Four Fiddles to -serenade her, or get up little impromptu balls in her honour, or surprise -collations coming as a graceful climax to a country walk. Madeleine had -too fine a scorn for facts to allow the knowledge of his lack of means to -extenuate this negligence. - -In short, the fact could not be blinked that Jacques was ignoble enough -to be quite content with being a bourgeois. - -Then again, in Metaphysics, Jacques held very different views from -Madeleine, for he was an Atheistic follower of Descartes and a scoffer -at Jansenism, while in other matters he was much in sympathy with the -‘Libertins’—the sworn foes of the Précieuses. The name of ‘Libertin’ was -applied—in those days with no pornographic connotation—to the disciples -of Gassendi, Nandé, and La Motte le Vayer. These had evolved a new -Epicurean philosophy, to some of their followers merely an excuse for -witty gluttony, to others, a potent ethical incentive. The Précieuses, -they held, had insulted by the diluted emotions and bombastic language -their good goddess Sens Commun, who had caught for them some of the -radiance of the Greek Σωφροσύνη. One taste, however, they shared with the -Précieusues, and that was the love of the _crotesque_—of quaint, cracked -brains and deformed, dwarfish bodies, and of colouring. It was the same -tendency probably that produced a little earlier the architecture known -as _baroque_, the very word _crotesque_ suggesting the mock stalactitic -grottoes with which these artists had filled the gardens of Italy. But -this very thing was being turned by the Libertins, with unconscious -irony, _via_ the _genre burlesque_ of the Abbé Scarron, into a sturdy -Gallic realism—for first studying real life in quest of the _crotesque_, -they fell in love with its other aspects too. - -Madeleine resented that Jacques continued just as interested in his own -life as before he had met her—in his bright-eyed vagabondage in Bohemia, -his quest after absurdities on the Pont-Neuf and in low taverns. She -hated to be reminded that there could be anything else in the world but -herself. But in spite of her evident disapproval, he continued to spend -just as much of his time in devising pranks with his subjects of La -Bazoche, and in haunting the Pont-Neuf in quest of the _crotesque_. - -Another thing which greatly displeased Madeleine was that Jacques and her -father had struck up a boon-companionship, and this also she was not able -to stop. - -That same evening, when they got into her room, they were silent for a -little. Jacques always left it to her to give the note of the evening’s -intimacy. - -‘What are you pondering?’ he said at last. - -‘’Twould be hard to say, Jacques.... I’m exceeding happy.’ - -‘Are you? I’m glad of it! you have been of so melancholy and strange a -humour ever since I’ve known you. There were times when you had the look -of a hunted thing.’ - -‘Yes, at times my heart was like to break with melancholy.’ - -Jacques was silent, then he said suddenly, ‘Has it aught to do with that -Scudéry woman?’ - -Madeleine gave a start and blushed all over. ‘What ... what ... how d’you -mean?’ - -‘Oh! I don’t know. I had the fancy it might in some manner refer to her -... you act so whimsically when mention is made of her.’ - -Madeleine laughed nervously, and examined her nails with unnecessary -concentration, and then with eyes still averted from Jacques, she began -in a jerky, embarrassed voice, ‘I’m at a loss to know how you discovered -it ... ’tis so foolish, at least, I mean rather ’tis so hard to make my -meaning clear ... but to say truth, it _is_ about her ... the humour to -know her has come so furiously upon me _that I shall go mad if it cannot -be compassed_!’ and her voice became suddenly hard and passionate. - -‘There is no reason in nature why it should not. Old Pilou said she would -contrive it for you, but you acted so fantastically and begged her not -to, funny one!’ - -Madeleine once more became self-conscious. ‘I know ... it’s so hard to -make clear my meaning.... ’Tis an odd, foolish fancy, I confess, but I -am always having the feeling that things won’t fall out as I would wish, -except something else happens first. As soon as the desire for a thing -begins to work on me, all manner of little fantastical things crop up -around me, and I am sensible that except I compound with them I shall not -compass the big thing. For example ... for example, if I was going to a -ball and was eager it should prove a pleasant junketing, well, I might -feel it was going to yield but little pleasure unless—unless—I were able -to keep that comb there balanced on my hand while I counted three.’ - -‘Don’t!’ cried Jacques, clasping his head despairingly. ‘I shall get the -contagion.... I _know_ I shall!’ - -‘Well, anyway,’ she went on wearily, ‘I was seized by the notion that -... that ... that it wouldn’t ... that I wouldn’t do so well with -Mademoiselle de Scudéry unless I met her for the first time at the Hôtel -de Rambouillet, and it _must_ be there, and if the Marquise be of so -difficult access, perchance it can’t be compassed.... Oh! I would I were -dead,’ the last words came tumbling out all in one breath. - -‘Poor little Chop!’ said Jacques sympathetically. (It was the fashion, -brought to Paris by the exiled King of England, to call pets by English -names, and Jacques had heard a bulldog called ‘Chop,’ and was so tickled -by the name, that he insisted on giving it to Madeleine that he might -have the pleasure of often saying it). - -‘’Tis a grievous thing to want anything sorely. But I am confident the -issue will be successful.’ - -‘Are you? Are you?’ she cried, her face lighting up. ‘When do you think -the meeting will take place? Madame de Rambouillet is always falling ill.’ - -‘Oh! Old Pilou can do what she will with all those great folk, and she -has conceived a liking for you.’ - -‘Has she? Has she? How do you know? What makes you think so?’ - -‘Oh, I don’t know ... however, she has,’ he answered, suddenly getting -distrait. ‘Is it truly but as an exercise against the spleen that you -pass whole hours in leaping up and down the room?’ he asked after a -pause, watching her curiously. - -Madeleine blushed, and answered nervously:— - -‘Yes, ’tis good for the spleen—the doctor told me so—also, if you will, -’tis a caprice——’ - -‘How ravishing to be a woman!’ sighed Jacques. ‘One can be as great a -_visionnaire_ as one will and be thought to have rare parts withal, -whereas, if a man were to pass his time in cutting capers up and down the -room, he’d be shut up in _les petites maisons_.[1] How comes it that you -want to know Mademoiselle Scudéry more than any one else?’ - -‘I cannot say, ’tis just that I do, and the wish has worked so powerfully -on my fancy that ’tis become my only thought. It has grown from a little -fancy into a huge desire. ’Tis like to a certain nightmare I sometimes -have when things swell and swell.’ - -‘When things swell and swell?’ - -‘Yes, ’tis what I call my Dutch dream, for it ever begins by my being -surrounded by divers objects, such as cheeses and jugs and strings of -onions and lutes and spoons, as in a Dutch picture, and I am sensible -that one of them presently, I never know which ’twill be, will start -to swell. And then on a sudden one of them begins, and it is wont to -continue until I feel that if it get any bigger I shall go mad. And in -like manner, I hold it to be but chance that it was Mademoiselle de -Scudéry that took to swelling, it might quite well have been any one -else.’ - -Jacques smiled a little. ‘It might always quite well have been any one -else,’ he said. - -Madeleine looked puzzled for a minute and then went on unhappily, ‘I feel -’tis all so unreal, just a “vision.” Oh! How I wish it was something -in accordance with other people’s experiences ... something they could -understand, such as falling in love, for example, but this——’ - -‘It isn’t the cause that is of moment, you know, it’s the strength of the -“passion” resulting from the cause. And in truth I don’t believe any one -_could_ have been subject to a stronger “passion” than you since you have -come to Paris.’ - -‘So it doesn’t seem to you extravagant then?’ she asked eagerly. - -‘Only as all outside one’s own desires do seem extravagant.’ He sat down -beside her and drew her rather timidly to him. ‘I’m confident ’twill -right itself in the end, Chop,’ he whispered. She sprang up eagerly, her -eyes shining. - -‘Do you think so, Jacques ... in sober earnest?’ - -‘Come back, Chop!’ In Jacques’s eyes there was what Madeleine called the -‘foolish expression,’ which sooner or later always appeared when he was -alone with her. It bored her extremely; why could he not be content with -spending the whole time in rational talk? However, she went back with a -sigh of resignation. - -After a few minutes she said with a little excited giggle, ‘What do you -think ... er ... Mademoiselle de Scudéry will think of me?’ - -Jacques only grunted, the ‘foolish expression’ still in his eyes. - -‘Jacques!’ she cried sharply, ‘tell me!’ and she got up. - -‘What will she think of you? Oh! that you’re an ill-favoured, tedious -little imp.’ - -‘No, Jacques!’ - -‘A scurvy, lousy, bombastic——’ - -‘Oh! Jacques, forbear, for God’s sake!’ - -‘Provincial——’ - -‘Oh! Jacques, no more, I’ll _scream_ till you hold your tongue ... _what_ -will she think of me, in sober earnest?’ - -‘She’ll think——’ and he stopped, and looked at her mischievously. Her -lips were moving, as if repeating some formulary. ‘That you are ... that -there is a “I know not what about you of gallant and witty.”’ Madeleine -began to leap up and down the room, then she rushed to Jacques and flung -her arms round his neck. - -‘I am furiously grateful to you!’ she cried. ‘I felt that had you not -said something of good omen ere I had repeated “she’ll think” twenty -times, I would never compass my desires, and you said it when I had got -to eighteen times!’ Jacques smiled indulgently. - -‘So you know the language she affects, do you?’ said Madeleine, with a -sort of self-conscious pride. - -‘Alas! that I do! I read a few volumes of the _Grand Cyrus_, and think it -the saddest fustian——’ - -‘Madame Pilou said she had begun another ... do you think ... er ... do -you think ... that ... maybe I’ll figure in it?’ - -‘’Tis most probable. Let’s see. “Chopine is one of the most beautiful -persons in the whole of Greece, as, Madame, you will readily believe when -I tell you that she was awarded at the Cyprian Games the second prize -for beauty.”’ Madeleine blushed prettily, and gave a little gracious -conventional smile. She was imagining that Mademoiselle de Scudéry -herself was reading it to her. ‘“The _first_ prize went, of course, to -that fair person who, having learnt the art of thieving from Mercury -himself, proceeded to rob the Graces of all their charms, the Muses of -all their secrets. Like that of the goddess Minerva, hers is, if I may -use the expression, a virile beauty, for on her chin is the thickest, -curliest, most Jove-like beard that has ever been seen in Greece——”’ - -‘Jacques! it’s not——’ - -‘“Madame, your own knowledge of the world will tell you that I speak of -Madame Pilou!”’ Madeleine stamped her foot, and her eyes filled with -angry tears, but just then there was a discreet knock at the door, -and Berthe, the Troqueville’s one servant, came in with a cup and a -jug of Palissy _faience_. She was fat and fair, with a wall-eye and a -crooked mouth. Her home was in Lorraine, and she was a mine of curious -country-lore, but a little vein of irony ran through all her renderings -of local legends, and there was nothing she held in veneration—not even -‘_la bonne Lorraine_’ herself. Her tongue wagged incessantly, and Jacques -said she was like the servant girl, Iambe—‘the prattling daughter of -Pan.’ She had been with the Troquevilles only since they had come to -Paris, but she belonged to the class of servants that become at once -old family retainers. She took a cynically benevolent interest in the -relationship between Jacques and Madeleine, and although there was no -need whatever for the rôle, she had instituted herself the confidante -and adviser of the ‘lovers,’ and from the secrecy and despatch with -which she would keep the two posted in each other’s movements, Monsieur -and Madame Troqueville might have been the parental tyrants of a Spanish -comedy. This attitude irritated Madeleine extremely, but Jacques it -tickled and rather pleased. - -‘Some Rossoli for Mademoiselle, very calming to the stomach, in youth one -needs such drafts, for the blood is hot, he! he!’ and she nodded her head -several times, and smiled a smile which shut the wall-eye and hitched up -the crooked mouth. Then she came up to them and whispered, ‘The master is -not in yet, and the mistress is busy with her spinning!’ and the strange -creature with many nods and becks set the jug and cup on the table, and -continuing to mutter encouragement, marched out with soft, heavy steps. - -Madeleine dismissed Jacques, saying she was tired and wanted to go to -bed. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A SUPPLEMENT TO THE CONFESSION - - ‘On a oublié le temps où elle vivait et combien dans cette vie - de luxe et de désœuvrement les passions peuvent ressembler à - des fantaisies, de même que les manies y deviennent souvent des - passions.’ - - SAINTE-BEUVE.—_Madame de Sévigné._ - - -It is wellnigh impossible for any one to be very explicit about their own -nerves, for there is something almost indecently intimate in a nervous -fear or obsession. Thus, although Madeleine’s explanation to Jacques -had given her great relief, it had been but partial. She would sooner -have died than have told him the real impulse, for instance, that sent -her dancing madly up and down the room, or have analysed minutely her -feelings towards Mademoiselle de Scudéry. - -The seeds of the whole affair were, I think, to be found in the fact that -an ancestor of Madame Troqueville’s had been an Italian lady of high -family, who had left a strain, fine, fastidious, civilised—in the morbid -way of Italy—to lie hidden in obscurity in the bourgeois stock, and to -crop up from time to time with pathetic persistence, in a tragically -aristocratic outlook, thin features, and the high, narrow forehead that -had given to the pallid beauties of the sixteenth century a look of -_maladif_ intellect. - -To Madeleine it had also brought a yearning from earliest childhood for a -radiant, transfigured world, the inhabitants of which seemed first of all -to be the rich merchant families of Lyons. - -One of her most vivid memories was an occasion on which a strolling -company of players had acted a comedy in the house of a leader among -these merchants, a certain Maître Jean Prunier. Although the Troquevilles -personally did not know the Pruniers, they had a common friend, and he -had taken Madeleine and her parents to the performance. They went into -an enormous room filled with benches, with a raised platform at one end. -The walls and the ceiling were frescoed with various scenes symbolical -of Maître Prunier’s commercial prowess. He was shown riding on woolly -waves on the back of a dolphin, presenting a casket of gloves to Marie -de Médici, marching in crimson robes at the head of the six guilds of -merchants. On the ceiling was his apotheosis. It showed him sitting, his -lap full of gloves, on a Lyons shawl, which winged Cherubs were drawing -through the air to a naked goddess on a cloud, who was holding out to him -a wreath made of Dutch tulips. When Madame Troqueville saw it she shook -with laughter, much to Madeleine’s surprise. - -Maître Prunier and his family sat on the stage during the performance, -that they might be seen as well as see. He was a large stout man, and his -nose was covered with warts, but his youngest daughter held Madeleine’s -eyes spellbound. She had lovely golden hair for one thing, and then, -although she looked no older than Madeleine herself, who was about seven -at the time, she was dressed in a velvet bodice covered with Genoese -point, and—infinitely grander—she was actually wearing what to Madeline -had always seemed one of the attributes of magnificent eld, to wit, a -real stomacher, all stiff with busks and embroidered in brightly coloured -silks with flowers and enchanting beasts—a thing as lovely and magical as -the armour of Achilles in the woodcut that hung in the parlour at home. - -Some years later Madeleine was sent to school at a Convent about a mile -out of Lyons. One of the scholars was this very Jeanne Prunier. Madeleine -would watch her stumbling through the Creed, her fat white face puckered -with effort, her stumpy fingers fiddling nervously with her gold chain, -and would wonder what great incomprehensible thoughts were passing behind -that greasy forehead and as what strange phantasmagoria did she see the -world. And that chain—it actually hung round her neck all day long, and -when she went home, was taken through the great wooden door of Maître -Prunier’s house—the door carved with flowers and grinning faces—and -perhaps in a drawer in her bedroom had a little box of its own. And -Maître Prunier probably knew of its existence, as doubtless it had been -his gift, and thus it had a place in the consciousness of that great man, -while she, Madeleine ... he had never heard of her. - -Lyons, like most rich provincial towns, was very purse-proud, and this -characteristic was already quite apparent in its young daughters at the -Convent. Their conversation consisted, to a great extent, in boastings -about their fathers’ incomes, and surmises as to those of the fathers of -their companions. They could tell you the exact number of gold pieces -carried on each girl’s back, and when some one appeared in a new dress -they would come up and finger the material to ascertain its texture and -richness. Every one knew exactly how many pairs of Spanish gloves, how -many yards of Venetian lace, how many pure silk petticoats were possessed -by every one else, and how many Turkey carpets and Rouen tapestries and -tables of marble and porphyry, how much gold and silver plate, and how -many beds covered with gold brocade were to be found in each other’s -homes. - -As Madeleine’s dresses were made of mere serge, and contemptible -_guese_ was their only trimming, and as it was known that her father -was nothing but a disreputable attorney, they coldly ignored her, and -this made her life in the Convent agonising. Although subconsciously -she was registering every ridiculous or vulgar detail about her passive -tormentors, yet her boundless admiration for them remained quite intact, -and to be accepted as one of their select little coterie, to share their -giggling secrets, to walk arm in arm with one of them in the Convent -garden would be, she felt, the summit of earthly glory. - -One hot summer’s day, it happened that both she and a member of the -Sacred Circle—a girl called Julie Duval—felt faint in Chapel. A nun -had taken them into the Refectory—the coolest place in the Convent—and -left them to recover. Madeleine never quite knew how it happened, -but she suddenly found herself telling Julie that her mother was the -daughter of a Duke, and her father the son of an enormously wealthy -merchant of Amsterdam; that he had been sent as quite a young man on a -political mission to the Court of France, where he had met her mother; -that they had fallen passionately in love with one another, and had -been secretly married; when the marriage was announced the parents of -both were furious, owing to her father’s family being Protestant, her -mother’s Catholic, and had refused to have anything more to do with their -respective offspring; that her father had taken the name of Troqueville -and settled in Lyons; that some months ago a letter had come from her -paternal grandfather, in which he told them that he was growing old and -that, although a solemn vow prevented him from ever looking again on the -face of his son, he would like to see his grandchild before he died, -would she come to Amsterdam?; that she had refused, saying that she did -not care to meet any one who had treated her father as badly as he; that -the old man had written back to say that he admired her spirit and had -made her his sole heir, ‘which was really but a cunning device to take, -without tendering his formal forgiveness, the sting from the act whereby -he had disinherited my father, because he must have been well aware that -I would share it all with him!’ (Unconsciously she had turned her father -into a romantic figure, to whom she was attached with the pious passion -of an Antigone. In reality she gave all her love to her mother; but the -unwritten laws of rhetoric commanded that the protagonists in this story -should be _father_ and daughter.) - -Julie’s eyes grew rounder and rounder at each word. - -‘_Jésus_, Madeleine Troqueville! what a fine lady you will be!’ she said -in an awed voice. Madeleine had not a doubt that by the next morning she -would have repeated every word of it to her friends. - -In the course of the day she half came to believing the whole story -herself, and sailed about with measured, stately gait; on her lips a -haughty, faintly contemptuous smile. She felt certain that she was the -centre of attention. She was wearing her usual little serge dress and -plain muslin fichu, but if suddenly asked to describe her toilette, -she would have said it was of the richest velvet foaming with Italian -lace. She seemed to herself four inches taller than she had been the day -before, while her eyes had turned from gray to flashing black, her hair -also was black instead of chestnut. - -Mythology was one of the subjects in the Convent curriculum—a concession -to fashion made most unwillingly by the nuns. But as each story was -carefully expurgated, made as anterotic as possible, and given a neat -little moral, Ovid would scarce have recognised his own fables. The -subject for that day happened to be Paris’s sojourn as a shepherd on -Mount Ida. When the nun told them he was really the son of the King of -Troy, Madeleine was certain that all the girls were thinking of her. - -Several days, however, went by, and no overtures were made by the Sacred -Circle. Madeleine’s stature was beginning to dwindle, and her hair and -eyes to regain their ordinary colour, when one morning Jeanne Prunier -came up to her, took hold of the little medallion that hung round her -neck on a fine gold chain, and said: ‘Tiens! c’est joli, ça.’ - -This exclamation so often interchanged among the _élite_, but which -Madeleine had never dreamed that any object belonging to her could -elicit, was the prelude to a period of almost unearthly bliss. She was -told the gallant that each of them was in love with, was given some of -Jeanne’s sweet biscuits and quince jam, and was made a member of their -_Dévises_ Society. The _dévise_ designed for her was a plant springing -out of a _tabouret_ (the symbol of a Duchess); one of its stems bore a -violet, the other a Dutch tulip, and over them both hovered the flowery -coronet of a Duke—wherein was shown a disregard for botany but an -imaginative grasp of Madeleine’s circumstances. - -At times she felt rather condescending to her new friends, for the old -man could not live much longer, and when he died she would not only -be richer than any of them, but her mother’s people would probably -invite her to stay with them in Paris, and in time she might be made a -lady-in-waiting to the Regent ... and then, suddenly, the sun would be -drowned and she would feel sick, for a Saint’s day was drawing near, and -they would all go home, and the girls would tell their parents her story, -and their parents would tell them that it was not true. - -The Saint’s day came in due course, and after it, the awful return to -the Convent. Had they been undeceived about her or had they not? It -was difficult to tell, for during the morning’s work there were few -opportunities for social intercourse. It was true that in the embroidery -class, when Madeleine absent-mindedly gave the Virgin a red wool nose -instead of a white one, and the presiding nun scolded her, the girls -looked coldly at her instead of sympathetically; then in the dancing -lesson as a rule the sacred ones gave her an intimate grin from time -to time, or whispered a pleasantry on the clumsy performance of some -companion outside the Sacred Circle, but this morning they merely stared -at her coldly. Still their indifference might mean nothing. Did it, or -did it not? - - ’Un, deux, trois, - Marquez les pas, - Faites la ré-vé-ren-ce,’ - -chanted the little master. - -How Madeleine wished she were he, a light, artificial little creature, -with no great claims on life. - -But her fears became a certainty, when going into the closet where they -kept their pattens and brushes, Jeanne commanded her in icy tones to -take her ‘dirty brush’ out of her, Jeanne’s, bag. And that was all. If -they had been boys, uproariously contemptuous, they would have twitted -Madeleine with her lie, but being girls, they merely sneered and ignored -her. She felt like a spirit that, suspended in mid-air, watches the body -it has left being torn to pieces by a pack of wolves. Days of dull agony -followed, but she felt strangely resigned, as if she could go on bearing -it for ever and a day. - -It was during the Fronde, and Jeanne and her friends had a cult for Condé -and Madame de Longueville, the royal rebels. They taught their parrots -at home to repeat lines of Mazarinades, they kept a print of Condé at -the battle of Rocroy in their book of Hours, and had pocket mirrors with -his arms emblazoned on the back, while Madame de Longueville simpered -at them from miniatures painted on the top of their powder boxes or the -backs of their tablets. As the nuns, influenced by the clergy, were -strong Royalists, and looked upon Condé as a sort of Anti-Christ, the -girls had to hide their enthusiasm. - -Some weeks after Madeleine’s fall, it was announced that on the following -Wednesday there was to be a public demonstration in favour of Condé and -the Frondeurs, and that there would be fireworks in their honour, and -that some of the streets would be decorated with paper lanterns. - -On Wednesday Jeanne and Julie came to Madeleine and ordered her to slip -out of her window at about eight o’clock in the evening, go down to the -gate at the end of the avenue, and when they called her from the other -side, to unbolt it for them. They then went to one of the nuns and, -pleading a headache, said they would like to go to bed, and did not want -any supper. - -During the last weeks Madeleine had lost all spirit, all personality -almost, so she followed their instructions with mechanical submission, -and was at the gate at the appointed time, opened it, let them in, and -all three got back to bed in safety. - -About a week later, all the girls were bidden to assemble in the -Refectory, where the Reverend Mother was awaiting them with a look of -Rhadamanthine severity. - -‘Most grievous news had been given her concerning a matter that must be -dealt with without delay. She would ask all the demoiselles in turn if -they had left their bedrooms on Wednesday evening.’ - -‘No, Madame.’ - -‘No, Madame,’ in voices of conscious rectitude, as one girl after another -was asked by name. It was also the answer of Jeanne and Julie. Then: -‘Mademoiselle Troqueville, did you leave your bedroom on Wednesday -evening?’ - -There was a pause, and then came the answer: ‘Yes, Madame.’ - -All eyes were turned on her, and Julie, covertly, put out her tongue. - -‘Mesdemoiselles, you may all go, excepting Mademoiselle Troqueville.’ - -Madeleine noticed that the Reverend Mother had a small mole on her cheek, -she had not seen it before. - -Then came such a scolding as she had never before experienced. Much -mention was made of ‘obedience,’ ‘chastity,’ ‘Anti-Christ,’ ‘the enemies -of the King and the Church.’ What had they to do with walking across the -garden and opening a gate? Perhaps she had shown too much leg in climbing -out of the window—that would, at least, account for the mention of -chastity. - -The Reverend Mother had asked _if any one had left their bedroom_—that -was all—and Madeleine had. And to her mind, dulled, and, as is often -the case, made stupidly literal by sheer terror, this fact had lost all -connection with Jeanne’s and Julie’s escapade, and seemed, by itself, the -cause of this mysterious tirade. It certainly was wrong to have left her -bedroom—but why did it make her ‘an enemy of the King’? - -She found herself seizing on a word here and there in the torrent and -spelling it backwards. - -‘Example’ ... elpmaxe ... rather a pretty word! _la chastité_ ... -étitsahc al ... it sounded like Spanish ... who invented the different -languages? Perhaps a prize had once been offered at a College for the -invention of the best language, and one student invented French and got -the prize, and another nearly got the second, but it was discovered in -time that he had only turned his own language backwards, and that was -cheating.... _Jésus!_ there was a little bit of wood chipped out of -the Reverend Mother’s crucifix! But these thoughts were just a slight -trembling on the surface of fathoms of inarticulate terror and despair. - -Then she heard the Reverend Mother telling her that it would be a sign of -grace if she were to disclose the names of her companions. - -In a flash she realised that she was supposed to have done whatever it -was that Jeanne and Julie had done on Wednesday evening. - -‘But, Madame, I didn’t ... ’twas only——’ - -‘Mademoiselle, excuses and denials will avail you nothing. Who was the -other lady with you?’ - -‘Oh, it isn’t that ... there were no others, at least ... ah! I am -at a loss how I can best make it clear, but we are, methinks, at -cross-purposes.’ - -But her case was hopeless. She could not betray Jeanne and Julie, and -even if she had wished to, she was incapable just then of doing so, -feeling too light-headed and rudderless to make explanations. Finally she -was dismissed, and walked out of the room as if in a trance. - -She was greeted by a clamour of questions and reproaches from the girls. -Jeanne and Julie were in hysterics. When they discovered that she had not -betrayed them, they muttered some sheepish expressions of gratitude, and -to save their faces they started badgering her in a half-kindly way for -having got herself into trouble so unnecessarily; why could she not have -said ‘No’ like the rest of them? Madeleine had no satisfactory answer to -give, because she did not know why herself. In sudden crises it seemed -as if something stepped out from behind her personality and took matters -into its own hands, and spite of all her good-will it would not allow her -to give a false answer to a direct question. And this although, as we -have seen, she could suddenly find herself telling gratuitous falsehoods -by the gross. - -Of course Madeleine was in terrible disgrace, and penance was piled on -penance. The Sacred Circle was friendly to her again, but this brought -no comfort now, and the severe looks of the nuns put her in a perpetual -agony of terror. - -About a week went by, and then one day, when she was sitting in the -little room of penance, the door was thrown open and in rushed Julie -turned into a gurgling, sniffing whirlwind of tears. - -‘The Reverend Mother’ ... sob ... ‘says I must’ ... sob ... ‘ask your -forgiveness’ ... scream, and then she flopped down on the floor, overcome -by the violence of her emotion. It was clear to Madeleine that in some -miraculous way all had been discovered, but she did not feel particularly -relieved. The ‘movement of the passions’ seemed to have been arrested -in her. She sat watching Julie with her clear, wide-open eyes, and her -expression was such as one might imagine on the face of an Eastern god -whose function is to gaze eternally on a spectacle that never for an -instant interests or moves him. She did not even feel scorn for Julie, -just infinite remoteness. - -Julie began nervously to shut and open one of her hands; Madeleine looked -at it. It was small and plump and rather dirty, and on one of its fingers -there was a little enamelled ring, too tight for it, and pressing into -the flesh. It looked like a small distracted animal; Madeleine remembered -a beetle she had once seen struggling on its back. Its smallness and -dirtiness, and the little tight ring and its suggestion of the beetle, -for some reason touched Madeleine. A sudden wave of affection and pity -for Julie swept over her. In a second she was down beside her, with her -arms around her, telling her not to cry, and that it didn’t matter. And -there she was found some minutes later by the Reverend Mother, from whom -she received a panegyric of praise for her forgiving spirit and a kiss, -which she could well have dispensed with. - -Then the whole thing was explained; an anonymous letter had been sent -to the Reverend Mother saying that the writer had seen, on the evening -of the demonstration in favour of Condé, two girls masked and hooded, -evidently of position, as they had attendants with them, and that they -were laughing together about their escape from the Convent. The Reverend -Mother had never thought of connecting with the affair Jeanne’s and -Julie’s early retirement that evening. Now she had just got a letter -from Maître Prunier informing her that it had come to his knowledge that -his daughter and her great friend had been walking in the town that same -evening. He had learned this distressing news from one of his servants -whom Jeanne had got to accompany her on her escapade. He bade the -Reverend Mother keep a stricter watch on his daughter. She had sent for -Jeanne and Julie and they had told her that it was only through coercion -that Madeleine had played any part in the escapade. - -Then the Reverend Mother and Julie went away, and Jeanne came in to -offer her apologies. She also had evidently been crying, and her mouth -had a sulky droop which did not suggest that her self-complacency had -shrivelled up, like that of Julie. Madeleine found herself resenting -this; how _dare_ she not be abject? - -The two following sentences contained Jeanne’s apology:— - -(_a_) ‘The Reverend Mother is a spiteful old dragon!’ and she sniffed -angrily. - -(_b_) ‘Will you come home for my Fête Day next month? There is to be a -Collation and a Ball and a Comedy,’ and she gave the little wriggle of -her hips, and the complacent gesture of adjusting her collar, which were -so characteristic. - -A few weeks ago, this invitation would have sent Madeleine into an -ecstasy of pleasure. To enter that great fantastic door had seemed a -thing one only did in dreams. As Jeanne gave her invitation she saw it -clearly before her, cut off from the house and the street and the trees, -just itself, a finely embossed shield against the sky. It was like one -of the woodcuts that she had seen in a booth of the Fair that year by a -semi-barbarian called Master Albert Dürer. Woodcuts of one carrot, or a -king-fisher among the reeds, or, again, a portion of the grassy bank of a -high road, shown as a busy little commonwealth of bees and grasses, and -frail, sturdy flowers, heedless of and unheeded by the restless stream -of the high road, stationary and perfect like some obscure island of -the Ægean. The world seen with the eyes of an elf or an insect ... how -strange! Then she looked at Jeanne, and suddenly there flashed before her -a sequence of little ignoble things she had subconsciously registered -against her. She had a provincial accent and pronounced _volontiers_, -_voulentiers_; she had a nasty habit of picking her nose; Madeleine had -often witnessed her being snubbed by one of the nuns, and then blushing; -there was something indecently bourgeois in the way she turned the pages -of a book. - -The ignoble pageant took about two seconds for its transit, then -Madeleine said, ‘I am much beholden to you, albeit, I fear me I cannot -assist at your Fête,’ and dropping her a curtsey she opened the door, -making it quite clear that Jeanne was to go, which she did, without a -word, as meek as a lamb. - -In Madeleine’s description of this scene to Jacques long afterwards she -made herself say to Jeanne what actually she had only thought; many young -people, often the most sensitive, hanker after the power of being crudely -insolent: it seems to them witty and mature. - -That night Madeleine was delirious, and Madame Troqueville was sent for. -It was the beginning of a long illness which, for want of a better name, -her doctor called a sharp attack of the spleen. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE SIN OF NARCISSUS - - -In time she recovered, or at least was supposed to have recovered, but -she did not return to the Convent, and her mother still watched her -anxiously and was more than ever inclined to give in to her in everything. - -The doctor had advised her to continue taking an infusion of steel in -white wine, and to persist in daily exercise, the more violent the -better. So at first she would spend several hours of the day playing at -shuttlecock with her mother, but Madame Troqueville’s energy failing her -after the first few weeks, Madeleine was forced to pursue her cure by -herself. - -She found the exercise led to vague dreaming of a semi-dramatic -nature—imaginary arguments with a nameless opponent dimly outlined -against a background of cloth of gold—arguments in which she herself was -invariably victorious. In time, she discarded the shuttlecock completely, -finding that this semi-mesmeric condition was reached more easily through -a wild dance, rhythmic but formless. - -In the meantime her social values had become more just, and she -realised that rank is higher than wealth, and that she herself, as the -granddaughter of a Judge of the Paris _Parlement_, and even as the -daughter of a _procureur_, was of more importance socially than the -daughters of merchants, however wealthy. - -Round the Intendant of the province and his wife there moved a select -circle, dressed in the penultimate Paris fashion, using the penultimate -Paris slang, and playing for very high stakes at Hoc and Reversi. It was -to this circle that Madeleine’s eyes now turned with longing, as they had -formerly done to the Sacred Circle at the Convent. - -In time she got to know some of these Olympians. Those with whom she had -the greatest success were the Précieuses, shrill, didactic ladies who -by their unsuccessful imitation of their Paris models made Lyons the -laughing-stock of the metropolis. Some of them would faint at the mention -of a man’s name; indeed, one of them, who was also a _dévote_, finding it -impossible to reconcile her prudishness with the idea of a male Redeemer, -started a theory that Christ had been really a woman—‘’Tis clear from -His clothes,’ she would say—and that the beard that painters gave Him, -was only part of a plot to wrest all credit from women. They spoke a -queer jargon, full of odd names for the most ordinary objects and barely -intelligible to the uninitiated. Madeleine talked as much like them as -self-consciousness would permit. Also, she copied them in a scrupulous -care of her personal appearance, and in their attention to personal -cleanliness, which was considered by the world at large as ridiculous -as their language. Madame Troqueville feared she would ruin her by the -expensive scents—_poudre d’iris_, _musc_, _civette_, _eau d’ange_—with -which she drenched herself. - -In the meantime she had got to know a grubby, smirking old gentleman who -kept a book-shop and fancied himself as a literary critic. He used to -procure the most recent publications of Sercy and Quinet and the other -leading Paris publishers, and his shop became a favourite resort of a -throng of poetasters and young men of would-be fashion who came there to -read and criticise in the manner of the Paris _muguets_. Hither also came -Madeleine, and in a little room behind the shop, where she was safe from -ogles and insolence, she would devour all the books that pleased and -modelled the taste of the day. - -Here were countless many-volumed romances, such as the _Astrée_ of Honoré -d’Urfé, La Calprenèdes’s _Cassandre_, and that flower of modernity, -Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s _Grand Cyrus_. _Romans à clef_, they were -called, for in them all the leaders of fashion, all the _bels esprits_ of -the day were dressed up in classical or Oriental costumes, and set to the -task of fitting the fashions and fads of modern Paris into the conditions -of the ancient world or of the kingdom of the Grand Turk. But the -important thing in these romances was what Madeleine called to herself, -with some complacency at the name, ‘_l’escrime galante_’—conversations -in which the gallant, with an indefatigable nimbleness of wit, pays -compliment after compliment to the prudishly arch belle, by whom they -are parried with an equal nimbleness and perseverance. If the gallant -manages to get out a declaration, then the belle is _touchée_, and in -her own eyes disgraced for ever. Then, often, paragons of _esprit_ and -_galanterie_, and the other urbane qualities necessary to _les honnêtes -gens_, give long-winded discourses on some subtle point in the psychology -of lovers. And all this against a background of earthquakes and fires and -hair-breadth escapes, which, together with the incredible coldness of -the capricious heroine, go to prove that nothing can wither the lilies -and roses of the hero’s love and patience and courage. Then there were -countless books of _Vers Galants_, sonnets, and madrigals by beplumed, -beribboned poets, who, like pedlars of the Muses, displayed their wares -in the _ruelles_ and alcoves of great ladies. There were collections of -letters, too, or rather, of _jeux d’esprit_, in which verse alternated -with prose to twist carefully selected news into something which had -the solidity of a sonnet, the grace of a madrigal. Of these letters, -Madeleine was most dazzled by those of the late Vincent Voiture, Jester, -and spoilt child of the famous Hôtel de Rambouillet, and through his -letters she came to feel that she almost knew personally all those -laughing, brilliant people, who had made the Hôtel so famous in the reign -of Louis XIII.—the beautiful touchy ‘Lionne,’ with her lovely voice and -burnished hair; the Princess Julie, suave and mocking, and, like all her -family, an incorrigible tease; and the great Arthénice herself, whimsical -and golden-hearted, with a humorous, half-apologetic chastity. She knew -them all, and the light fantastic world in which they lived, a world of -mediæval romance _pour rire_, in which magic palaces sprang up in the -night, and where ordinary mortals who had been bold enough to enter were -apt to be teased as relentlessly as Falstaff by the fairies of Windsor -Forest. - -But what Madeleine pored over most of all was the theory of all these -elegant practices, embodied in species of guide-books to the polite -world, filled with elaborate rules as to the right way of entering a room -and of leaving it, analyses of the grades of deference or of insolence -that could be expressed by a curtsey, the words which must be used and -the words that must not be used, and all the other tiny things which, -pieced together, would make the paradigm of an _honnête homme_ or a -_femme galante_. There Madeleine learned that the most heinous crime -after that of being a bourgeois, was to belong to the Provinces, and the -glory speedily departed from the Lyons Précieuses to descend on those -of Paris. Her own surroundings seemed unbearable, and when she was not -storming at the Virgin for having made her an obscure provincial, she was -pestering her with prayers to transplant her miraculously to some higher -sphere. - -The craze for Jansenism—that Catholic Calvinism deduced from the -writings of Saint Augustine by the Dutch Jansen, and made fashionable -by the accomplished hermits of Port-Royal—already just perceptibly on -the wane in Paris, had only recently reached Lyons. As those of Paris -some years before, the haberdashers of Lyons now filled their shops -with collars and garters _à la Janséniste_, and the booksellers with -the charming treatises on theology by ‘_les Messieurs de Port-Royal_.’ -Many of the ladies became enamoured of the ‘furiously delicious Saint -Augustine,’ and would have little debates, one side sustaining the view -that his hair had been dark, the other that it had been fair. They raved -about his Confessions, vowing that there was in it a ‘Je ne sais quoi de -doux et de passionné.’ - -Madeleine also caught the craze and in as superficial a manner as the -others. For instance, the three petticoats worn by ladies which the -Précieuses called ‘_la modeste_,’ ‘_la friponne_,’ and ‘_la secrète_,’ -she rechristened ‘_la grâce excitante_,’ ‘_la grâce subséquente_,’ and -‘_la grâce efficace_.’ She gained from this quite a reputation in Lyons. - -That Lent, the wife of the Intendant manœuvred that a priest of -recognised Jansenist leanings should preach a sermon in the most -fashionable Church of the town. He based his sermon on the Epistle for -the day, which happened to be 2 Timothy, iii. 1. ‘This know also, that -in the last days perilous times shall come. _For men shall be lovers -of their own selves._’ The whole sermon was a passionate denunciation -of _amour-propre_—_self-love_ according to its earliest meaning—that -newly-discovered sin that was to dominate the psychology of the -seventeenth century. By a certain imaginative quality in his florid -rhetoric, he made his hearers feel it as a thing loathly, poisonous, -parasitic. After a description of the awful loneliness of the self-lover, -cut off for ever from God and man, he thundered out the following -peroration:— - -‘Listen! This Narcissus gazing into the well of his own heart beholds, -not that reflection which awaits the eyes of every true Christian, a -Face with eyes like unto swords and hair as white as wool, a King’s head -crowned with thorns, no, what meets _his_ eyes is his own sinful face. -In truth, my brethren, a grievous and unseemly vision, but anon his face -will cast a shadow a thousand-fold more unsightly and affrighting—to wit, -the fiery eyes and foaming jowl of the Dragon himself. For to turn into a -flower is but a pretty fancy of the heathen, to turn into the Dragon is -the doom of the Christian Narcissus.’ - -Madeleine left the Church deeply moved. She had realised that _she_ was -such a Narcissus and that ‘_amour-propre_’ filled every cranny of her -heart. - -She turned once more to the publications of Port-Royal, this time not -merely in quest of new names for petticoats, and was soon a convinced -Jansenist. - -Jansenism makes a ready appeal to egotists ... is it not founded on the -teaching of those two arch-egotists, Saint Paul and Saint Augustine? And -so Madeleine found in Jansenism a spiritual pabulum much to her liking. -For instance, grace comes to the Jansenist in a passion of penitence, an -emotion more natural to an egotist than the falling in love with Christ -which was the seal of conversion in the time of Louis XIII., with its -mystical Catholicism _à l’espagnole_, touched with that rather charming -_fadeur_ peculiar to France. Then to the elect (among whom Madeleine -never doubted she was numbered) there is something very flattering in the -paradox of the Jansenists that although it is from the Redemption only -that Grace flows, and Christ died for all men, yet Grace is no vulgar -blessing in which all may participate, but it is reserved for those whom -God has decided shall, through no merit of their own, eventually be -saved. - -Above all, Jansenism seemed made for Madeleine in that it promised a -remedy for man’s ‘sick will,’ a remedy which perhaps would be more -efficacious than steel and white wine for the lassitude, the moral -leakage, the truly ‘sick will’ from which she had suffered so long. The -Jansenist remedy was a complete abandonment to God, ‘an oarless drifting -on the full sea of Grace,’ and at first this brought to her a sense of -very great peace. - -Her favourite of the Port-Royal books was _La Fréquente Communion_, -in which the Père Arnauld brought to bear on Theology in full force -his great inheritance, the Arnauld legal mind, crushing to powder the -treatise of a certain Jesuit priest who maintained that a Christian can -benefit from the Eucharist without Penitence. - -Influenced by this book, very few Jansenists felt that they had reached -the state of grace necessary for making a good Communion. - -So, what with self-examination, self-congratulation, and abstaining from -the Eucharist, for a time Jansenism kept Madeleine as happy and occupied -as a new diet keeps a _malade imaginaire_. Her emotions when she danced -became more articulate. She saw herself the new abbess of Port-Royal, the -wise, tender adviser of the ‘Solitaires,’ Mère Angélique with a beautiful -humility having abdicated in her favour, ‘for here is one greater than -I.’ She went through her farewell address to her nuns, an address of -infinite beauty and pathos. She saw herself laid out still and cold in -the Chapel, covered with flowers culled by royal fingers in the gardens -of Fontainebleau, with the heart-broken nuns sobbing around her. Finally -the real Madeleine flung herself on her bed, the tears streaming from her -eyes. Her subtle enemy, _amour-propre_, had taken the veil. - -She had started a diary of her spiritual life, in which she recorded -the illuminations, the temptations, the failures, the reflections, the -triumphs, of each day. The idea suddenly occurred to her of sending the -whole to Mère Agnès Arnauld, who was head of the Paris Port-Royal. She -wrote her also a letter in which she told her of certain difficulties -that had troubled her in the Jansenist doctrine, suggested by the Five -Propositions. These were conclusions of an heretical nature, drawn from -Jansen’s book and submitted to the Pope. The Jansenists denied that they -were fair conclusions, but in their attempt to prove this, they certainly -laid themselves open to the charge of obscurantism. She included in her -letter the following _énigme_ she had written on _amour-propre_, on the -model of those of the Abbé Cotin, whose fertile imagination was only -equalled by his fine disregard of the laws of prosody. - - Je brûle, comme Narcisse, de ma propre flamme, - Quoique je n’aie pas - L’excuse des doux appas - De ce jeune conquérant des cœurs de dames. - - Selon mon nom, de Vénus sort ma race; - Suis-je donc son joli fils - Qui rit parmi les roses et lys? - Moi chez qui jamais se trouve _la Grâce_? - -The pun on ‘Grace’ seemed to her a stroke of genius. She was certain -that Mère Agnès could not fail to be deeply impressed with the whole -communication, and to realise that Madeleine was an instrument -exquisitely tempered by God for fine, delicate work in His service. -Madeleine planned beforehand the exact words of Mère Agnèse’s answer:— - - ‘Your words have illumined like a lamp for myself and my sister - many a place hitherto dark.’ ‘My dearest child, God has a great - work for you.’ ‘My brother says that the Holy Spirit has so - illumined for you the pages of his book, that you have learned - from it things he did not know were there himself,’ - -were a few of the sentences. In the actual letter, however, none of -them occurred. Mère Agnès seemed to consider Madeleine’s experiences -very usual, and irritated her extremely by saying with regard to some -difficulty that Madeleine had thought unutterably subtle and original:— - - ‘Now I will say to you what I always say to my nuns when they - are perplexed by that difficulty.’ - -The letter ended with these words of exhortation:— - - ‘Remember that pride of intellect is the most deadly and - difficult to combat of the three forms of Concupiscence, - and that the pen, although it can be touched into a shining - weapon of God’s, is a favourite tool of the Evil One, for - _amour-propre_ is but too apt to seize it from behind and make - it write nothing but one’s own praises, and that when one - would fain be writing the praises of God. Are you certain, my - dear child, that this has not happened to you? Conceits and - _jeux d’esprit_ may sometimes without doubt be used to the - Glory of God, as, for example, in the writings of the late - Bishop of Geneva of thrice blessed memory. But by him they were - always used as were the Parables of Our Lord, to make hard - truths clear to simple minds, but you, my child, are not yet - a teacher. Examine your heart as to whether there was not a - little vanity in your confessions. I will urgently pray that - grace may be sent you, to help you to a _true_ examination of - your own heart.’ - -In Madeleine’s heart rage gave way to a dull sense of failure. She -would not be a Jansenist at all if she could not be an eminent one. It -was quite clear to her that her conversion had merely reinforced her -_amour-propre_. What was to be done? - -Jansenism had by no means destroyed her hankerings after the polite -society of Paris, it had merely pushed them on to a lower shelf in her -consciousness. One night she dreamed that she was walking in a garden -in thrillingly close communion with the Duc de Candale. Their talk was -mainly about his green garters, but in her dream it had been fraught with -passionate meaning. Suddenly he turned into Julie de Rambouillet, but the -emotion of the intimacy was just as poignant. This dream haunted her all -the following day. Then in a flash it occurred to her that it had been -sent from above as a direct answer to prayer. Obviously love for some one -else was the antidote to _amour-propre_. This was immediately followed -by another inspiration. Ordinary love was gradually becoming a crime in -the code of the Précieuses, and ‘_l’amitié tendre_’ the perfect virtue. -But would it not be infinitely more ‘gallant’ and distinguished to make a -_woman_ the object of that friendship? It seemed to her the obvious way -of keeping friendship stationary, an elegant statue in the discreet and -shady groves of Plato’s Academe which lies in such dangerous contiguity -to the garden of Epicurus. Thus did she settle the demands at once of -Jansenism and of the Précieuses. - -The problem that lay before her now was to find an object for this -Platonic tenderness. Julie de Rambouillet, as a wife, mother, and -passionately attached daughter, could scarcely have a wide enough -emotional margin to fit her for the rôle. After first choosing and then -discarding various other ladies, she settled on Madeleine de Scudéry. -Unmarried and beyond the age when one is likely to marry (she was over -forty), evidently of a romantic temperament, very famous, she had every -qualification that Madeleine could wish. Then there was the coincidence -of the name, a subject for pleasant thrills. Madeleine soon worked up -through her dances a blazing pseudo _flamme_. The sixth book of Cyrus, -which treats of Mademoiselle de Scudéry herself, under the name of -Sappho, and of her own circle, seemed full of tender messages for _her_. - - ‘Moreover, she is faithful in her friendships; and she has - a soul so tender, and a heart so passionate, that one may - certainly place the supreme felicity in being loved by Sappho.’ - - ‘I conceive that beyond a doubt there is nothing so sweet as to - be loved by a person that one loves.’ - -She pictured herself filling the rôle of Phaon, whom she had heard was -but an imaginary character, Mademoiselle de Scudéry having as yet made no -one a ‘_Citoyen de Tendre_.’ - - ‘And the most admirable thing about it was that in the midst - of such a large company, Sappho did not fail to find a way - of giving Phaon a thousand marks of affection, and even of - sacrificing all his rivals to him, without their remarking it.’ - -Oh, the thrill of it! It would set Madeleine dancing for hours. - -The emotions of her dances were at first but a vague foretasting of -future triumphs and pleasures, shot with pictures of wavering outlines -and conversations semi-articulate. But she came in time to feel a need -for a scrupulous exactitude in details, as if her pictures acquired some -strange value by the degree of their accuracy. What that value was, she -could not have defined, but her imaginings seemed now to be moulding the -future in some way, to be making events that would actually occur.... It -was therefore necessary that they should be well within the bounds of -probability. - -This new conviction engendered a sort of loyalty to Mademoiselle de -Scudéry, for previously a stray word or suggestion would fire her with -the charms of some other lady, whom she would proceed to make for the -time the centre of her rites—la Comtesse de la Suze, after having read -her poetry, the Marquise de Sévigné, when she had heard her praised -as a witty beauty—but now, with the fortitude of a Saint Anthony, she -would chase the temptresses from her mind, and firmly nail her longings -to Mademoiselle de Scudéry. And soon the temptation to waver left her, -and Mademoiselle de Scudéry became a corroding obsession. She began to -crave feverishly to go to Paris. Lyons turned into a city of Hell, where -everything was a ghastly travesty of Heaven. The mock Précieuses with -their grotesque graces, the vulgar dandies, so complacently unconscious -of their provincialism, the meagre parade of the Promenade, it was all, -she was certain, like the uncouth Paris of a nightmare. If she went to -Paris, she would, of course, immediately meet Mademoiselle de Scudéry, -who, on the spot, would be fatally wounded by her _esprit_ and air -gallant, and the following days would lead the two down a gentle slope -straight to _le Pays de Tendre_. But how was she to get to Paris? - -Then, as if by a miracle, her father was also seized by a longing to go -to Paris, and finally a complete _déménagement_ was decided upon. What -wonder if Madeleine felt that the gods were upon her side? - -But once in Paris, she was brought face to face with reality. It had -never struck her that a meeting with Mademoiselle de Scudéry might be a -thing to need manœuvring. Days, weeks, went by, and she had not yet met -her. She began to realise the horror of time, as opposed to eternity. -Her meeting with Mademoiselle de Scudéry could only be the result of a -previous chain of events, not an isolated miracle. To fit it into an -air-tight compartment of causality and time, seemed to require more -volition than her ‘sick will’ could compass. - -Then there was the maddening thought that while millions of people were -dead, and millions not yet born, and millions living at the other side -of the world, Mademoiselle de Scudéry was at that very moment alive, and -actually living in the same town as herself, and yet she could not see -her, could not speak to her. What difference was there in her life at -Paris to that at Lyons? - -They had settled, as we have seen, in the Quartier de l’Université, as -it was cheap, and not far from the Île Notre-Dame, where Jacques and -Monsieur Troqueville went every day, to the Palais de Justice. It was a -quarter rich in the intellectual beauty of tradition and in the tangible -beauty of lovely objects, but—it was not fashionable and therefore held -no charm for Madeleine. - -The things she valued were to be found in the quarters of Le Marais, of -the Arsenal, of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, of the Place Royale. She hated -the Rambouillets for not begging her to live with them, she hated the -people in the streets for not acclaiming her with shouts of welcome every -time she appeared, she hated Mademoiselle de Scudéry for never having -heard of her. Whenever she passed a tall, dark lady, she would suddenly -become very self-conscious, and raising her voice, would try and say -something striking in the hopes that it might be she. - -She was woken every morning by the cries of the hawkers:— - - ‘Grobets, craquelines; brides à veau, pour friands museaux!’ - - ‘Qui en veut?’ - - ‘Salade, belle Salade!’ - - ‘La douce cerise, la griotte à confire, cerises de Poitiers!’ - - ‘Amandes nouvelles, amandes douces; amendez-vous!’ - -And above these cries from time to time would rise the wail of an old -woman carrying a basket laden with spoons and buttons and old rags, - - ‘Vous désirez quelque cho-o-se?’ - -Was it Fate come to mock her? - -There is no position so difficult to hold for any length of time as a -logical one. Even before leaving Lyons, in Madeleine’s mind the steps had -become obliterated of that ruthless argument by which the Augustinian -doctors lead the catechumen from the premises set down by Saint Paul to -conclusions in which there is little room for hope. She struggled no -longer in close mental contact—according to Jansenius’s summing up of the -contents of Christianity—with:— - - ‘Hope or Concupiscence, or any of the forms of Grace; or with - the price or the punishment of man, or with his beatitude - or his misery; or with free-will and its enslavage; or with - predestination and its effect; or with the love and justice and - mercy and awfulness of God; in fact, with neither the Old nor - the New Testament.’ - -But, without any conscious ‘revaluing of values,’ the kindly god of the -Semi-Pelagians, a God so humble as to be grateful for the tiniest crumb -of virtue offered Him by His superb and free creatures, this God was born -in her soul from the mists made by expediency, habit, and the ‘Passions.’ - -But when she had come to Paris and no miracle had happened, she began -to get desperate, and Semi-Pelagianism cannot live side by side with -despair. The kind Heavenly Father had vanished, and His place was taken -by a purblind and indifferent deity who needed continual propitiation. - -These changes in her religious attitude took place, as I have said, -unconsciously, and Madeleine considered herself still a sound Jansenist. - -As a consequence of this spiritual slackening, the imaginary connection -had been severed between her obsession and her religion. She had -forgotten that her love for Mademoiselle de Scudéry had originally been -conceived as a remedy for _amour-propre_. But, about a week before the -dinner at Madame Pilou’s, she had come upon these lines of Voiture:— - - ‘De louange, et d’honneur, vainement affamée, - Vous ne pouvez aimer, et voulez estre aymée.’ - -To her fevered imagination these innocent words hinted at some mysterious -law which had ordained that the spurner of love should in his turn be -spurned. She remembered that it was a commonplace in the writings of -both the ancients and the moderns that it was an ironical lawgiver who -had compiled the laws of destiny. And if this particular law were valid, -the self-lover was on the horns of a horrible dilemma, for, while he -continued in a condition of _amour-propre_, he was shut off from the -love of God, but if he showed his repentance by falling in love, he was -bringing on himself the appointed penalty of loving in vain. And here her -morbid logic collapsed, and she thought of a very characteristic means -of extricating herself. She would immediately start a love affair that -it might act as a buffer between the workings of this law and her future -affair with Mademoiselle de Scudéry. - -It was this plan that had sent her to Jacques with the startling -announcement I have already mentioned, that she loved him very much, and -that he might take his fill of kissing her. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -AN INVITATION - - -A few days after the dinner at Madame Pilou’s Madeleine was dancing -Mænad-like up and down her little room. Then with eyes full of a wild -triumph she flung herself on her bed. - -Beside her on the table lay the sixth volume of _Le Grand Cyrus_, which -she had taken to using as a kind of _Sortes Virgilianæ_. She picked it up -and opened it. Her eyes fell on the following words:— - - ‘For with regard to these ladies, who take pleasure in being - loved without loving; the only satisfaction which lies in store - for them, is that which vanity can give them.’ - -She shut it impatiently and opened it again. This time, it was these -words that stood out:— - - ‘Indeed,’ added she, ‘I remember that my dislike came near to - hatred for a passably pleasant gentlewoman——’ - -Madeleine crossed herself nervously, got down from her bed, and took -several paces up and down the room, and then opened the book again. - - ‘Each moment his jealousy and perturbation waxed stronger.’ - -Three attempts, and not one word of good omen. She had the sense of -running round and round in an endless circle between the four walls of a -tiny, dark cell. Through the bars she could see one or two stars, and -knew that out there lay the wide, cool, wind-blown world of causality, -governed by eternal laws that nothing could alter. But knowing this did -not liberate her from her cell, round which she continued her aimless -running till the process made her feel sick and dizzy. - -She opened the book again. This time her eyes fell on words that, in -relation to her case, had no sense. She looked restlessly round the room -for some other means of divination. The first thing she noticed was her -comb. She seized it and began counting the teeth, repeating:— - -‘Elle m’aime un peu, beaucoup, passionément, pas de tout.’ ‘Passionément’ -came on the last tooth. She gave a great sigh of relief; it was as if -something relaxed within her. - -Then the door opened, and Berthe padded in, smiling mysteriously. - -‘A lackey has brought Mademoiselle this letter.’ Madeleine seized it. -It had not been put in an envelope, but just folded and sealed. It was -addressed in a very strange hand, large and illegible, to:— - - Mademoiselle Troqueville, - Petite Rue du Paon, - Above the baker Paul, - At the Sign of the Cock, - Near the Collège de Bourgogne. - -‘He wore a brave livery,’ Berthe went on, ‘the cloth must have cost -several _écus_ the yard, and good strong shoes, but no pattens. I -wouldn’t let him in to stink the house, I told him——’ - -‘Would you oblige me by leaving me alone, Berthe?’ said Madeleine. Berthe -chuckled and withdrew. - -A letter brought to her by a lackey, and in a strange writing! Her heart -stood still. It must either be from Mademoiselle de Scudéry or Madame -de Rambouillet, it did not much matter which. She felt deadly sick. -Everything danced before her. She longed to get into the air and run for -miles—away from everything. She rushed back into her room, and locked the -door. She still was unable to open the letter. Then she pulled herself -together and broke the seal. Convinced that it was from Mademoiselle de -Scudéry, she threw it down without reading it, and, giggling sheepishly, -gave several leaps up and down the room. Then she clenched her hands, -drew a deep breath, picked it up and opened it again. Though the lines -danced before her like the reflection of leaves in a stream, she was -able to decipher the signature. It was: ‘Votre obéissante à vous faire -service, M. Cornuel.’ Strange to say, it was with a feeling of relief -that Madeleine realised that it was not from Mademoiselle de Scudéry. She -then read the letter through. - - ‘MADEMOISELLE,—My worthy friend, Madame Pilou, has made mention - of you to me. Mademoiselle de Scudéry and I intend to wait on - Madame de Rambouillet at two o’clock, Thursday of next week. An - you would call at a quarter to two at my Hôtel, the Marais, rue - St-Antoine, three doors off from the big butcher’s, opposite - _Les Filles d’Elizabeth_, I shall be glad to drive you to the - Hôtel de Rambouillet and present you to the Marquise.’ - -The Lord was indeed on her side! So easily had He brushed aside the -hundreds of chances that would have prevented her first meeting -Mademoiselle de Scudéry at the Hôtel de Rambouillet, on which, as we have -seen, she had set her heart. - -In a flash God became once more glorious and moral—a Being that cares for -the work of His hands, a maker and keeper of inscrutable but entirely -beneficent laws, not merely a Daimon of superstitious worship. Then she -looked at her letter again. So Madame Cornuel had not bothered to tie it -round with a silk ribbon and put it in an envelope! She was seized by a -helpless paroxysm of rage. - -‘In my answer I’ll call her _Dame_ Cornuel,’ she muttered furiously. Then -she caught sight of the Crucifix above her bed, and she was suddenly -filled with terror. Was this the way to receive the great kindness of -Christ in having got her the invitation? Really, it was enough to make -Him spoil the whole thing in disgust. She crossed herself nervously and -threw herself on her knees. At first there welled up from her heart a -voiceless song of praise and love ... but this was only for a moment, -then her soul dropped from its heights into the following Litany:— - - ‘Blessed Virgin, Mother of Our Lord, make me shine on Thursday. - - Guardian Angel, that watchest over me, make me shine on - Thursday. - - Blessed Saint Magdalene, make me shine on Thursday. - - Blessed Virgin, Mother of Our Lord, give me the friendship of - Mademoiselle de Scudéry. - - Guardian Angel, that watchest over me, give me the friendship - of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. - - Blessed Saint Magdalene, give me the friendship of Mademoiselle - de Scudéry.’ - -She gabbled this over about twenty times. Then she started a wild dance -of triumphant anticipation. It was without plot, as in the old days; just -a wallowing in an indefinitely glorious future. She was interrupted by -her mother’s voice calling her. Feeling guilty and conciliatory, as she -always did when arrested in her revels, she called back:— - -‘I am coming, Mother,’ and went into the parlour. Madame Troqueville was -mending a jabot of Madeleine’s. Monsieur Troqueville was sitting up -primly on a chair, and Jacques was sprawling over a chest. - -‘My love, Berthe said a lackey brought a letter for you. We have been -impatient to learn whom it was from.’ - -‘It was from Madame Cornuel, asking me to go with her on Thursday to the -Hôtel de Rambouillet.... Mademoiselle de Scudéry is to be there too.’ - -(Madeleine would much rather have not mentioned Mademoiselle de Scudéry -at all, but she felt somehow or other that it would be ‘bearing -testimony’ and that she _must_.) - -Madame Troqueville went pink with pleasure, and Jacques’s eyes shone. - -‘Madame de Rambouillet! The sister of Tallemant des Réaux, I suppose. -Her husband makes a lot of cuckolds. Madame _Cornuel_, did you say? If -she’s going to meet young Rambouillet, it will be her husband that will -have the _cornes_! _hein_, Jacques? _hein?_ It will be he that has the -_cornes_, won’t it?’ exclaimed Monsieur Troqueville, who was peculiarly -impervious to emotional atmosphere, chuckling delightedly, and winking at -Jacques, his primness having suddenly fallen from him. Madeleine gave a -little shrug and turned to the door, but Madame Troqueville, turning to -her husband, said icily:— - -‘’Twas of the _Marquise_ de Rambouillet that Madeleine spoke, no kin -whatever of the family you mention. Pray, my love, tell us all about it. -Which Madame Cornuel is it?’ - -Monsieur Troqueville went on giggling to himself, absolutely intoxicated -by his own joke, and Madeleine began eagerly:— - -‘Oh! the famous one ... “Zénocrite” in the _Grand Cyrus_. She’s an -exceeding rich widow and a good friend of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. She -is famed in the Court and in the Town, for her quaint and pungent wit. -’Twas she who stuck on the malcontents the name of “_les Importants_,” -you know, she——’ - -‘I had some degree of intimacy with her in the past,’ said Madame -Troqueville, then in a would-be careless voice, ‘I wonder if she has any -sons!’ Madeleine shut her eyes and groaned, and Jacques with his eyes -dancing dragged up Monsieur Troqueville, and they left the house. - -So her mother had known Madame Cornuel once; Madeleine looked round the -little room. There was a large almanac, adorned, as was the custom, -with a woodcut representing the most important event in the previous -year. This one was of Mazarin as a Roman General with Condé and Retz as -barbarian prisoners tied to his chariot; her mother had bound its edges -with saffron ribbon. The chairs had been covered by her with bits of silk -and brocade from the chest in which every woman of her day cherished her -sacred hoard. On the walls were samplers worked by her when she had been -a girl. - -What was her life but a pitiful attempt to make the best of things? And -Madeleine had been planning to leave her behind in this pathetically thin -existence, while she herself was translated to unutterable glory. It -suddenly struck her that her _amour-propre_ had sinned more against her -mother than any one else. She threw her arms round her neck and hugged -her convulsively, then ran back to her own room, her eyes full of tears. -She flung herself on her knees. - -‘Blessed Virgin, help me to show that I am sensible to your great care -over me by being more loving and dutiful to my mother, and giving her -greater assistance in the work of the house. Oh, and please let pleasant -things be in store for _her also_. And oh! Blessed Lady, let me cut an -exceeding brave figure on Thursday. Give me occasions for airing all -the conceits I prepare beforehand. Make me look furiously beautiful and -noble, and let them all think me _dans le dernier galant_, but mostly -_her_. _Give me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry._’ She had not -meant to add this long petition about herself, but the temptation had -been too great. - -And now to business. She must ensure success by being diligent in her -dancing, thus helping God to get her her heart’s desire. - -Semi-Pelagianism does not demand the blind faith of the Jansenists. Also, -it implicitly robs the Almighty of omnipotence. Thus was Madeleine a -true Semi-Pelagian in endeavouring to assist God to effect her Salvation -(we know she considered her Salvation inextricably bound up with the -attainment of the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry), for:— - -‘The differentia of semi-Pelagianism is the tenet that in regeneration, -and all that results from it, the divine and the human will are -co-operating, co-efficient (synergistic) factors.’ - - * * * * * - -In the train of the shadowy figure of Madame Cornuel, Madeleine mounts -the great stairs of the Hôtel de Rambouillet. The door is flung open; -they enter the famous _Salle Bleue_. Lying on a couch is an elderly lady -with other ladies sitting round her, at whose feet sit gallants on their -outspread cloaks. - -‘Ah! dear Zénocrite, here you come leading our new _bergère_,’ cries -the lady on the couch. ‘Welcome, Mademoiselle, I have been waiting with -impatience to make your acquaintance.’ - -Madeleine curtseys and says with an indescribable mixture of modesty and -pride:— - -‘Surely the world-famed amiability of Madame is, if I may use the -expression, at war with her judgment, or rather, for two such qualities -of the last excellence must ever be as united as Orestes and Pylades, -some falsely flattering rumour has preceded me to the shell of Madame’s -ear.’ - -‘Say rather some Zephyr, for such always precede Flora,’ one of the -gallants says in a low voice to another. - -‘But no one, I think,’ continues Madeleine, ‘will accuse me of flattery -when I say that the dream of one day joining the pilgrims to the shrine -of Madame was the fairest one ever sent me from the gates of horn.’ - -‘Sappho, our _bergère_ has evidently been initiated into other mysteries -than those of the rustic Pan,’ says Arthénice, smiling to Mademoiselle -de Scudéry, whom Madeleine hardly dares to visualise, but feels near, a -filmy figure in scanty, classic attire. - -Madeleine turns to Sappho with a look at once respectful and gallant, and -smiling, says:— - -‘That, Madame, is because being deeply read in the Sibylline Books—which -is the name I have ventured to bestow on your delicious romances—I need -no other initiation to _les rites galants_.’ - -‘I fear, Mademoiselle, that if the Roman Republic had possessed only the -Books that you call Sibylline, it would have been burned to the ground by -the great Hannibal,’ says Sappho with a smile. - -‘Madame, it would have been of no consequence, for the Sibyl herself -would have taken captive the conqueror,’ answers Madeleine gallantly. - -‘Ah, Sappho!’ cries the Princess Julie, ‘I perceive that we Nymphs are -being beaten by the Shepherdess in the battle of flowers.’ - -‘Ah, no, Madame!’ Madeleine answers quickly. ‘Say rather that the -Shepherdess knows valleys where grow wild flowers that are not found -in urban gardens, and these she ventures to twine into garlands to lay -humbly at the feet of the Nymphs.’ She pauses. Sappho, by half a flicker -of an eyelid, shows her that she knows the garlands are all meant for her. - -‘But, Mademoiselle, if you will pardon my curiosity, what induced you to -leave your agreeable prairies?’ asks Mégabate. - -‘Monsieur,’ answers Madeleine, smiling, ‘had you asked Aristæus why he -left the deserts of Libya, his answer would have been the same as mine: -“There is a Greece.”’ - -‘Was not Aristæus reared by the Seasons themselves and fed upon nectar -and ambrosia?’ asks Sappho demurely. - -‘To be reared by the Seasons! What a ravishing fate!’ cries one of the -gallants. ‘It is they alone who can give the _real_ roses and lilies, -which blossom so sweetly on the cheeks of Mademoiselle.’ - -‘Monsieur, one of the Seasons themselves brings the refutation of your -words. For Lady Winter brings ... _la glace_,’ says Madeleine, with a -look of delicious raillery. - -‘But, indeed,’ she continues, ‘I must frankly admit that my distaste -for Bœotia (for that is what I call the Provinces!) is as great as that -felt for pastoral life by Alcippe and Amaryllis in the _Astrée_. There -is liberty in the prairies, you may say, but any one who has read of the -magic palaces of Armide or Alcine in _Amadis de Gaule_, would, rather -than enjoy all the liberty of all the sons of Boreas, be one of the -_blondines_ imprisoned in the palace of the present day Armide,’ and she -bows to Arthénice. - -‘I do not care for _Amadis de Gaule_,’ says Sappho a little haughtily. -Madeleine thrills with indescribable triumph. Can it be possible that -Sappho is jealous of the compliment paid to Arthénice? - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE GRECIAN PROTOTYPE - - -During the days that followed, Madeleine wallowed in Semi-Pelagianism. -With grateful adoration, she worshipped the indulgent God, who had hung -upon a Cross that everything she asked might be given her. - -As a result of this new-found spiritual peace, she became much more -friendly and approachable at home. She even listened with indulgence to -her father’s egotistical crudities, and to her mother’s hopes of her -scoring a great success on the following Wednesday when the Troguins -were giving a ball. Seeing that her imprisonment in the bourgeois world -of pale reflections was so nearly over, and that she would so soon be -liberated to the plane of Platonic ideas and face to face with the _real_ -Galanterie, the _real_ Esprit, the _real_ Fashion, she could afford a -little tolerance. - -Then, in accordance with her promise to the Virgin, she insisted on -helping her mother in the work of the house. Madame Troqueville would -perhaps be sewing, Madeleine would come up to her and say in a voice -of resigned determination: ‘Mother, if you will but give me precise -instructions what to do, I will relieve you of this business.’ Then, -having wrested it from her unwilling mother, she would leave it half -finished and run off to dance—feeling she had discharged her conscience. -The virtue did not lie in a thing accomplished, but in doing something -disagreeable—however useless. The boredom of using her hands was so acute -as to be almost physical pain. It was as if the fine unbroken piece of -eternity in which her dreams took place turned into a swarm of little -separate moments, with rough, prickly coats that tickled her in her -most tender parts. The prickly coats suggested thorns, and—the metaphor -breaking off, as it were, into a separate existence of its own—she -remembered that in the old story of her childhood, it was thorns that -had guarded the palace of the hidden Princess. This association of ideas -seemed full of promise and encouraged her to persevere. - -Many were the winks and leers of Berthe over this new domesticity, which -she chose to interpret in a manner Madeleine considered unspeakably -vulgar. ‘Ho! Ho!’ ... wink ... ‘Mademoiselle is studying to be a -housewife! Monsieur Jacques will be well pleased.’ And when Madeleine -offered to help her wash some jabots and fichus, she said, with a -mysterious leer, that she was reminded of a story of her grandmother’s -about a girl called Nausicaa, but when Madeleine asked to be told the -story, she would only chuckle mysteriously. - -One evening she made a discovery that turned her hopes into certainty. - -After supper, she had given Jacques a signal to follow her to her own -room. It was not that she wanted his society, but it was incumbent on her -to convince the gods that she loved him. She sat down on his knee and -caressed him. He said suddenly:— - -‘I could scarce keep from laughing at supper when my uncle was descanting -on his diverse legal activities and reciting the fine compliments paid -him by judges and advocates by the score! _Malepest!_ So you do not drive -him to a nonplus with too close questionings, but let him unmolested -utter all his conceit, why then his lies will give you such entertainment -as——’ - -‘Have a care what you say, Jacques,’ she cried, ‘I’ll not have my father -called a liar. It may be that he paints the truth in somewhat gaudy -colours, but all said, ’tis a good-natured man, and I am grateful to -him in that being exercised as to the material welfare of my mother and -myself, he came to Paris to better our fortunes. Jacques! Have done with -your foolish laughter!’ - -But Jacques continued cackling with shrill, mocking glee. - -‘My aunt’s and your material welfare, forsooth! This is most excellent -diversion! If you but knew the true cause of his leaving Lyons! If you -but knew!’ - -‘Well, tell me.’ - -‘That I will not, sweet Chop! Oh, ’tis a most fantastic nympholeptic! As -passionate after dreams as is his daughter.’ - -‘I am to seek as to your meaning, Jacques,’ said Madeleine very coldly, -and she slipped down from his knee. - -Jacques went on chuckling to himself: ‘To see him standing there, -nonplussed, and stammering, and most exquisitely amorous. - - ‘Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus - Flamma demanat, sonitu suopte - Tintinant aures, gemina teguntur - Lumina nocte.’ - -‘What’s that you are declaiming, Jacques?’ - -‘Some lines of the Grecian Sappho, turned into Latin by Catullus, that -figure, with an exquisite precision, the commingling in a lover of -passion and of bashfulness.’ - -The look of cold aloofness suddenly vanished from Madeleine’s face. - -‘The Grecian Sappho!’ she cried eagerly. ‘She is but a name to me. Tell -me of her.’ - -‘She was a poetess. She penned amorous odes to diverse damsels, and then -leapt into the sea,’ he answered laconically, looking at her with rather -a hostile light in his bright eyes. - -‘Repeat me one of her odes,’ she commanded, and Jacques began in a level -voice:— - - ‘Deathless Dame Venus of the damasked throne, daughter of Jove, - weaver of wiles, I beseech thee tame not my soul with frets and - weariness, but if ever in time past thou heard’st and hearkened - to my cry, come hither to me now. For having yoked thy chariot - of gold thou did’st leave thy father’s house and fair, swift - swans, with ceaseless whirring of wings over the sable earth - did carry thee from heaven through the midmost ether. Swift - was their coming, and thou, oh, blessed one, a smile upon thy - deathless face, did’st ask the nature of my present pain, and - to what new end I had invoked thee, and what, once more, my - frenzied soul was fain should come to pass. - - ‘“Who is she now that thou would’st fain have Peitho lead to - thy desire? Who, Sappho, does thee wrong? _For who flees, she - shall pursue; who spurns gifts, she shall offer them; who loves - not, willy-nilly she shall love._” - - ‘Now, even now, come to me! Lift from me the weight of hungry - dreams, consummate whatever things my soul desires, and do thou - thyself fight by my side.’ - -He looked at her, his eyes screwed up into two hard, bright points. -Madeleine continued to gaze in front of her—silent and impassive. - -‘Well, is it to your liking?’ he asked. - -‘What?’ she cried with a start, as if she had been awakened from a -trance. ‘Is it to my liking? I can scarcely say. To my mind ’tis ... er -... er to speak ingenuously, somewhat blunt and crude, and lacking in -_galanterie_.’ - -He broke into a peal of gay laughter, the hostile look completely -vanished. - -‘_Galanterie_, forsooth! Oh, Chop, you are a rare creature! Hark’ee, in -the “smithy of Vulcan,” as you would say, weapons are being forged of -the good iron of France—battle-axes _à la Rabelais_, and swords _à la -Montaigne_—and they will not tarry to smash up your fragile world of -_galanterie_ and galimatias into a thousand fragments.’ - -Madeleine in answer merely gave an abstracted smile. - -Madame Troqueville came in soon afterwards to turn out Jacques and order -Madeleine to bed. Madeleine could see that she wanted to talk about the -Troguin’s ball, but she was in no mood for idle conjectures, and begged -her to leave her to herself. - -As soon as she was alone she flung herself on her knees and offered up a -prayer of solemn triumphant gratitude. That of her own accord she should -have come to the conclusion reached centuries ago by the Paris Sappho’s -namesake—that the perfect _amitié tendre_ can exist only between two -women—was a coincidence so strange, so striking, as to leave no doubt in -her mind that her friendship with Mademoiselle de Scudéry was part of the -ancient, unalterable design of the universe. Knowing this, how the Good -Shepherd must have laughed at her lack of faith! - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE MERCHANTS OF DAMASCUS AND DAN - - -Madeleine woke up the following morning to the sense of a most precious -new possession. - -She got out of bed, and, after having first rubbed her face and hands -with a rag soaked in spirit, was splashing them in a minute basin of -water—her thoughts the while in Lesbos—when the door opened and in walked -Madame Troqueville. - -‘_Jésus!_ Madeleine, it _cannot_ be that you are _again_ at your -washing!’ she cried in a voice vibrant with emotion. ‘Why, as I live, -’twas but yesterday you did it last. Say what you will, it will work -havoc with your sight and your complexion. I hold as naught in this -matter the precepts of your Précieuses. You need to sponge yourself but -once a week to keep yourself fresh and sweet, a skin as fine and delicate -as yours——’ - -But Madeleine, trembling with irritation that her mother should break -into her pleasant reverie with such prosaic and fallacious precepts, -cried out with almost tearful rage: ‘Oh, mother, let me be! What you say -is in the last of ignobility; ’tis the custom of all _honnêtes gens_ -to wash their hands and face _each day_.... I’ll not, not, _not_ be a -stinking bourgeoise!’ - -It was curious how shrill and shrewish these two outwardly still and -composed beings were apt to become when in each other’s company. - -Madame Troqueville shrugged her shoulders: ‘Well, if you won’t be ruled! -But let that go—I came to say that we should do well to go to the Foire -Saint-Germain this morning to provide you with some bravery for the -Troguin’s ball——’ - -‘The Troguin’s ball, forsooth! Ever harping on that same string! Are you -aware _that I am for the Hôtel de Rambouillet_ on Thursday? That surely -is a more staid and convenient event on which to hang your hopes!’ - -‘Is it?’ said Madame Troqueville, with a little smile. ‘Well, what shall -you wear on that most pregnant day? Your flowered ferrandine petticoat -and your crimson sarge bodice?’ - -Madeleine went rather pale; she rapped out in icy tones: ‘_Les honnêtes -gens_ pronounce it _serge_. Leave me, please ... I have the caprice to -dress myself unaided this morning.’ - -Once alone, Madeleine flung herself on her bed, clutched her head in her -hands and gave little, short, sharp moans. - -The truth of the matter was this—that when, in her dances, she rehearsed -her visit to the Hôtel de Rambouillet, she pictured herself dressed in -a very _décolleté_ bodice of _céladon_ velvet sparkling with jewels and -shrouded in priceless Italian lace, a petticoat of taffetas dotted with -countless knots of ribbon, and green silk stockings with rose-coloured -clocks. Until this moment, when her mother, with her irritating sense of -reality, had brought her face to face with facts, it had never so much -as occurred to her that nothing of this bravery existed outside her own -imagination. Yes, it was true! a serge bodice and a ferrandine petticoat -were all the finery her wardrobe could provide. Was she then to make -her début at the Palace of Arthénice as a dingy little bourgeoise? What -brooked the Grecian Sappho and her conceits, what brooked the miraculous -nature of Madame Cornuel’s invitation if the masque of reality was to -lack the ‘ouches and spangs’ of dreams? Well, God had made the path of -events lead straight to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, could He not too turn -her mother’s purse into that of Fortunatus? She could but go to the -Fair—and await a miracle. - -As they made their way along the bank of the Seine, Madame Troqueville -was wrapt in pleasant reverie. None of the wealthy young bourgeoises at -the ball would look as delicate and fine as her Madeleine ... what if -she took the fancy of some agreeable young magistrate, with five or six -different posts in the _Parlement_, and a flat, red house with white -facings in the Place Dauphine, like the Troguins? Then he would ‘give -the Fiddles’ for a ball, and offer Madeleine a bouquet in token that it -was in her honour, then Madeleine would ‘give the Fiddles’ for a return -ball.... The Troguins would lend their house ... and then ... why not? -stranger things had happened. - -‘A fragment of Lyons silk ... some _bisette_ and some _camelot de -Hollande_ ... a pair of shoes that you may foot it neatly ... yes, you -will look rare and delicate, and ’twill go hard but one gold coin will -furnish us with all we need.’ - -Madeleine smiled grimly—unless she were much mistaken, not even one -_silver_ coin would be squandered on the Troguins’s ball. - -They were now making their way towards two long rows of wooden buildings -in which was held the famous Fair. - -In the evenings it was a favourite haunt of beauty and fashion, but in -the mornings it was noisy with all the riff-raff of the town—country -cousins lustily bawling ‘Stop, thief!’; impudent pages; coarse-tongued -musketeers; merchant’s wives with brazen tongues and sharp, ruthless -elbows; dazzled Provincials treating third-rate courtesans to glasses of -_aigre de cèdre_ and the delicious cakes for which the Fair was famous. - -Through this ruthless, plangent, stinking crowd, Madame Troqueville and -Madeleine pushed their way, with compressed lips and faces pale with -disgust. - -Of a sudden, their ears were caught by the cry:— - -‘Galants pour les dames! Faveurs pour les galants! Rubans d’écarlate, de -cramoisie, et de Cé-la-don!’ - -It came from a little man of Oriental appearance, sitting at a stall that -contained nothing but knots of ribbon of every colour, known as _galants_. - -When he caught sight of Madeleine, he waved before her one of pale green. - -‘A _céladon galant_ for the young lady—a figure of the perfect lover,’ he -called out. ‘Mademoiselle cannot choose but buy it!’ Céladon, the perfect -lover, in the famous romance called _Astrée_, had given his name to a -certain shade of green. - -Madeleine, thinking the words of good omen, pinched her mother’s arm and -said she _must_ have it. After a good deal of bargaining, they got it for -more than Madame Troqueville had intended spending on a pair of shoes, -and with a wry little smile, she said:— - -‘Enough of these childish toys! Let us now to more serious business,’ and -once more began to push her way through the hateful, seething crowd. - -Suddenly, Madeleine again pinched her mother’s arm, and bade her stop. -They were passing the stall of a mercer—a little man with black, beady -eyes, leering at them roguishly from among his delicate merchandise. - -‘Here is most rare Italian lace,’ said Madeleine, with a catch in her -voice. - -‘Ay, here, for example, is a piece of _point de Gênes_ of most exquisite -design,’ broke in the mercer’s wife—an elegant lady, with a beautifully -dressed head of hair, ‘I sold just such a piece, a week come Thursday, to -the Duchesse de Liancourt.’ - -‘Ah! but if one be fair and young and juicy ’tis the transparent _point -de Venise_ that is best accordant with one’s humour,’ interrupted the -mercer, with a wink at Madeleine. ‘’Tis the _point de Venise_ that -discovers the breasts, Mademoiselle! Which, being so, I vow the names -should be reversed, and the _transparent_ fabric be called _point de -Gênes_, _hein_? _Point de gêne!_’ and he gleefully chuckled over his own -wit, while his wife gave him a good-natured push and told him with a grin -not to be a fool. - -‘Whatever laces you may stock, good sir, no one can with truth affirm -that you have—_point d’Esprit_,’ said Madeleine graciously. - -‘Come, my child!’ said Madame Troqueville, with a smile, and prepared to -move away. This put the mercer on his mettle. - -‘Ladies, you would be well advised to tarry a while with me!’ he cried, -in the tones of a disinterested adviser. ‘Decked in these delicate toys -you would presently learn how little serves, with the help of art, to -adorn a great deal. Let a lady be of any form or any quality, after a -visit to my stall she’d look a Marquise!’ - -‘Nay, say rather that she’d look a Duchesse,’ amended his wife. - -‘Come, my child!’ said Madame Troqueville again. - -‘Nay, lady, there is good sense in what I say!’ pleaded the mercer, ‘the -very pith of modishness is in my stall. A _galant_ of gay ribbons, and a -fichu of fine point—such as this one, for example—in fact the trifling -congeries which in the dress of _gallants_ is known as “_petite oie_” -will lend to the sorriest _sarge_ the lustre of velvet!’ - -Madeleine’s eyes were blazing with excitement. God had come to her -rescue once again, and forgoing, with the economy of the true artist, -the meretricious aid of a material miracle, had solved her problem in -the simplest manner by the agency of this little mercer. To cut a brave -figure on Thursday, there was no need of Fortunatus’s purse. Her eyes -had been opened. Of course, as in manners, so in dress, the days of -solidity were over. Who now admired the heavy courtesy of the school of -the Admiral de Bassompière in comparison with the careless, mocking grace -of the _air galant_? In the same way, she, twirling a little cane in her -hand, motley with ribbons, her serge bodice trimmed with the _pierreries -du Temple_ (of which, by the way, more anon), with some delicate trifles -from the mercer’s stall giving a finish to the whole, could with a free -mind, allow three-piled velvet and strangely damasked silk to feed the -moths in the brass-bound, leather chests that slumber in châteaux, far -away mid the drowsy foison of France. - -With strange, suppressed passion, she pleaded with her mother, first, -for a Holland handkerchief, edged with Brussels lace, and caught up at -the four corners by orange-coloured ribbon; then for a pair of scented -gloves, also hung with ribbons; then for a bag of rich embroidery for -carrying her money and her Book of Hours. And Madame Troqueville, under -the spell of Madeleine’s intense desire, silently paid for one after -another. - -They left the mercer’s stall, having spent three times over the coin that -Madame Troqueville had dedicated to the Troguins’s ball. Suddenly, she -realised what had happened, and cried out in despair:— - -‘I have done a most inconsiderate, rash, weak thing! How came it that I -countenanced such shameless, such fantastic prodigality? I fear——’ - -‘Mother, by that same prodigality I have purchased my happiness,’ said -Madeleine solemnly. - -‘Oh, my foolish love! ’Tis only children that find their happiness in -toys,’ and her mother laughed, in spite of herself. ‘Well, our purse -will not now rise above a piece of ferrandine. We must see what we can -contrive.’ - -They walked on, Madeleine in an ecstasy of happiness—last night, the -Grecian Sappho, this morning, God’s wise messenger, the mercer—the Lord -was indeed on her side! - -They were passing the stall of a silk merchant. He was a tight-lipped, -austere-looking old man, and he was listening to an elderly bourgeoise, -whose expression was even more severe than his own. The smouldering -fire in her eye and the harsh significance of her voice, touched their -imagination, and they stopped to listen. - -‘Ay, as the Prophet tells us, the merchants of Damascus and Dan and -Arabia brought in singing ships to the fairs of Tyre, purple, and -broidered work, and fine linen, and coral, and agate, and blue clothes in -chests of rich apparel, bound with cords and made of cedar. And where now -is Tyre, Master Petit?’ - -‘Tyre, with its riches and its fairs, and its merchandise and its -mariners fell into the midst of the seas in the day of its ruin,’ -solemnly chanted in reply Master Petit. Evidently neither he nor the lady -considered the words to have any application either to himself or to the -costly fabrics in which he was pleased to traffic. - -‘Vanity of vanities! ’Tis a lewd and sinful age,’ said the lady, with -gloomy satisfaction, ‘I know one old vain, foolish fellow who keeps in -my attic a suit of tawdry finery in which to visit bawdy-houses, as if, -forsooth, all the purple and fine linen of Solomon himself could add -an ounce of comeliness to his antic, foolish face! He would be better -advised to lay up the white garment of salvation with sprigs of the -lavender of grace, in a coffer of solid gold, where neither moth nor rust -doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal. I do -oft-times say to him: “Monsieur Troqueville——”’ - -‘Come, my child,’ said Madame Troqueville quietly, moving away. - -So this was what Jacques had meant by his mysterious hints the night -before! Madeleine followed her mother with a slight shudder. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -‘RITE DE PASSAGE’ - - -At about six o’clock on Wednesday evening a hired coach came to take them -to the Troguin’s. To a casual eye it presented a gorgeous appearance of -lumbering gilt, but Madeleine noticed the absence of curtains, the straw -leaking out of the coachman’s cushion, and the jaded, shabby horses. -Jacques had arranged that a band of his devoted clerks of _la Bazoche_, -armed with clubs, should follow the coach to the Île Notre Dame, for the -streets of Paris were infested by thieves and assassins, and it did not -do to be out after dusk unarmed and unattended. On ordinary occasions -this grotesque parody of the state of a Grand Seigneur—a hired coach, -and grinning hobbledehoys instead of lackeys, strutting it, half proud, -half sheepish, in their quaint blue and yellow livery—would have nearly -killed Madeleine with mortification. To-night it rather pleased her, as -a piquant contrast to what was in store for her to-morrow and onwards. -For were not _all_ doors to open to her to-morrow—the doors of the Hôtel -de Rambouillet, the doors of the whole fashionable world, as well as -the doors of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s heart? The magical _petite-oie_, -hidden away in her drawer at home, and the miraculous manner in which her -eyes had been opened to its efficacy were certain earnests of success. -The whole universe was ablaze with good omens—to-morrow ‘the weight -of hungry dreams’ would drop from her, and her soul would get what it -desired. - -She found herself remembering with some perplexity that in romances -the siege of a lady’s heart was a very long affair. Perhaps the -instantaneous yielding of the fortress, which she felt certain would be -the case with Mademoiselle de Scudéry when they met, was not quite in the -best traditions of _Galanterie_. It was annoying, but inevitable, for she -felt that any further delay would kill her. - -The Troguins lived in the new, red-brick triangle of houses called la -Place Dauphine, facing the bronze statue of Henri IV., and backed by -Notre-Dame. - -Lackeys holding torches were standing on the steps of their house, that -the guests might have no trouble in finding it. - -After having taken off their cloaks and pattens, the Troquevilles went -into the ball-room. Here were countless belles and gallants, dressed -in white, carnation, and sea-water green, which, on the authority -of a very grave writer, we know to be the colours that show best by -candle-light. Here and there this delicate mass of colour was freaked -with the sombre _soutanes_ of magistrates and the black silk of dowagers. -The Four Fiddles could be heard tuning up through the hubbub of mutual -compliments. Madeleine felt as if she were gazing at it all from some -distant planet. Then Madame Troguin bustled up to them. - -‘Good-evening, friends, you are exceeding welcome. You must all have a -glass of Hippocras to warm you. It operates so sweetly on the stomach. I -am wont to say a glass of Hippocras is better than any purge. I said as -much to Maître Patin—our doctor, you know—and he said——’ - -Madeleine heard no more, for she suddenly caught sight of her father’s -shining, eager eyes and anxious smile, ‘his vanity itching for praise,’ -she said to herself scornfully. She saw him make his way to where the -youngest Troguin girl was sitting on a _pliant_ with several young men -on their cloaks at her feet. How could he be such an idiot, Madeleine -wondered, he _must_ know that the Troguin girl did not want to talk to -_him_ just then. But there he stood, hawking and spitting and smirking. -Now he was sitting down on a _pliant_ beside her ... how angry the young -men were looking ... Madeleine was almost certain she saw the Troguin -girl exchange a look of despair with one of them. Now, from his arch -gesture, she could see that he was praising the outline of her breasts -and regretting the jabot that hid them.... _Jésus!_ his provinciality! -it was at least ten years ago since it had been fashionable to praise a -lady’s breasts! So her thoughts ran on, while every moment she felt more -irritated. - -Then the fiddles struck up the air of ‘Sur le pont d’Avignon,’ and the -whole company formed up into circles for the opening _Branle_. - -There was her father, grimacing and leaping like a baboon in a nightmare, -grave magistrates capering like foals, and giving smacking kisses to -their youthful partners, young burghers shouting the words at the top of -their voices. The whole scene seemed to Madeleine to grow every minute -more unreal. - -Then the fiddles stopped and the circles broke up into laughing, -breathless groups. A young bourgeois, beplumed and beribboned, and -wearing absurd thick shoes, came up to her, and taking off his great hat -by the crown, instead of, in the manner of ‘_les honnêtes gens_,’ by the -brim, made her a clumsy bow. He began to ‘_galantise_’ her. Madeleine -wondered if he had learned the art from the elephant at a fair. She fixed -him with her great, still eyes. Then she found herself forced to lead -him out to dance a _Pavane_. The fiddles were playing a faint, lonely -tune, full of the sadness of light things bound to a ponderous earth, for -these were the days before Lulli had made dance tunes gay. The beautiful -pageant had begun—the _Pavane_, proud and preposterous as a peacock or -a Spaniard. Then some old ladies sitting round the room began in thin, -cracked voices to sing according to a bygone fashion, the words of the -dance:— - - ‘Approche donc, ma belle, - Approche-toi, mon bien; - Ne me sois plus rebelle, - Puisque mon cœur est tien; - Pour mon âme apaiser, - Donne mois un baiser.’ - -They beat time with their fans, and their eyes filled with tears. -Gradually the song was taken up by the whole room, the words rising up -strong and triumphant:— - - ‘Approche donc, ma belle, - Approche-toi, mon bien——’ - -Madeleine’s lips were parted into a little smile, and her spellbound eyes -filled with tears; then she saw Jacques looking at her and his eyes were -bright and mocking. She blushed furiously. - -‘He is like Hylas, the mocking shepherd in the _Astrée_,’ she told -herself. ‘Hylas, hélas, Hylas, hélas,’ she found herself muttering. - -After another pause for _Galanterie_ and preserved fruits, the violins -broke into the slow, voluptuous rhythm of the Saraband. The old ladies -again beat time with their fans, muttering ‘vraiment cela donne à rêver.’ - -Madeleine danced with Jacques and he never took his eyes from her face, -but hers were fixed and glassy, and the words of the Sapphic Ode, ‘that -man seems to me the equal of the gods’ ... clothed itself, as with a -garment, with the melody. - -She was awakened from her reverie by feeling Jacques’s grasp suddenly -tighten on her hand. She looked at him, he was white and scowling. A -ripple of interest was passing over the dancers, and all eyes were turned -to the door. Two or three young courtiers had just come in, attracted by -the sound of the fiddles. For in those days courtiers claimed a vested -right to lounge uninvited into any bourgeois ball, and they were always -sure of an obsequious welcome. - -There was the Président Troguin puffily bowing to them, and the -Présidente bobbing and smirking and offering refreshment. Young Brillon, -the giver of the fiddles, had left his partner, Marguerite Troguin, and -was standing awkwardly half-way to the door, unable to make up his mind -whether he should doff his hat to the courtiers before they doffed theirs -to him; but they rudely ignored all three, and, swaggering up to the -fiddles, bade them stop playing. - -‘_Foi de gentilhomme_, I vow that it is of the last consequence that this -Saraband should die. It is really ubiquitous,’ lisped one of them, a -little _muguet_, with a babyish face. - -‘It must be sent to America with the Prostitutes,’ said another. - -‘That is furiously well turned, Vicomte. Really it deserves to be put to -the torture.’ - -‘Yes, because it is a danger to the kingdom, it debases the coinage.’ - -‘Why?’ - -‘Because it generates tender emotions in so many vulgar bosoms turning -thus the fine gold of Cupid into a base alloy!’ - -‘Bravo! Comte, tu as de l’esprit infiniment.’ - -During this bout of wit, the company had been quite silent, trying hard -to look amused, and in the picture. - -‘My friends, would you oblige us with the air of a _Corante_?’ the -Vicomte called out with a familiar wink to the ‘Four Fiddles,’ with -whom it behoved every fashionable gallant to be on intimate terms. The -‘Fiddles’ with an answering wink, started the tune of this new and most -fashionable dance. - -‘Ah! I breathe again!’ cried the little Marquis. They then proceeded to -choose various ladies as partners, discussing their points, as if they -had been horses at a Fair. The one they called Comte, a tall, military -looking man, chose Marguerite Troguin, at which Brillon tried to assert -himself by blustering out that the lady was _his_ partner. But the Comte -only looked him up and down, with an expression of unutterable disgust, -and turning to the Marquis, asked: ‘What _is_ this _thing_?’ Brillon -subsided. - -Then they started the absurd _Corante_. The jumping steps were performed -on tip-toe, and punctuated by countless bows and curtseys. There was a -large audience, as very few of the company had yet learned it. When it -was over, it was greeted with enthusiastic applause. - -The courtiers proceeded to refresh themselves with Hippocras and -lemonade. Suddenly the little Marquis seized the cloak of the Comte, and -piped out in an excited voice:— - -‘Look, Comte, over there ... I swear it is our old friend, the ghost of -the fashion of 1640!’ - -‘It is, it is, it’s the black shadow of the white Ariane! The _crotesque_ -and importunate gallant!’ They made a dash for Monsieur Troqueville, who -was trying hard to look unconscious, and leaping round him beset him -with a volley of somewhat questionable jests. All eyes were turned on -him, eyebrows were raised, questioning glances were exchanged. Madame -Troqueville sat quite motionless, gazing in front of her, determined not -to hear what they were saying. She would _not_ be forced to see things -too closely. - -When they had finished with Monsieur Troqueville, they bowed to the -Présidente, studiously avoiding the rest of the company in their -salutation, and, according to their picture of themselves, minced or -swaggered out of the room. Jacques followed them. - -This interlude had shaken Madeleine out of her vastly agreeable dreams. -The _muguets_ had made her feel unfinished and angular, and they had not -even asked her to dance. Then, their treatment of her father had been a -sharp reminder that after all she was by birth nothing but a contemptible -bourgeoise. But as the evening’s gaiety gradually readjusted itself, so -did her picture of herself, and by the time of the final _Branle_, she -was once more drunk with vanity and hope. - -The Troguins sent them back in their own coach, and the drive through the -fantastic Paris of the night accentuated Madeleine’s sense of being in -a dream. There passed them from time to time troops of tipsy gallants, -their faces distorted by the flickering lights of torches, and here and -there the _lanternes vives_ of the pastry-cooks—brilliantly-lighted -lanterns round whose sides, painted in gay colours, danced a string of -grimacing beasts, geese, and apes, and hares and elephants—showed bright -and strange against the darkness. - -Then the words:— - -_La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!_ echoed melancholy in the distance. -It was the cry of the _Oublieux_, the sellers of wafers and the -nightingales of seventeenth century Paris, for they never began to cry -their wares before dusk. - -_La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!_ - -_Oublie, oublier!_ The second time that evening there came into -Madeleine’s head a play on words. - -_La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!_ Could it be that the secret of -_la joie_ was nothing but this dream-sense and—_l’oubli_? - -They found Jacques waiting for them, pale but happy. He would not -tell them why he had left the ball-room, but he followed Madeleine to -her room. He was limping. And then, with eyes bright with triumph, -he described how, at their exit from the ball-room, he had rallied -the _Clercs_ of the _Bazoche_ (they had stayed to play cards with the -Troguin’s household), how they had followed the courtiers, and, taking -them by surprise, had given them the soundest cudgelling they had -probably ever had in their lives. ‘Though they put up a good fight!’ and -he laughed ruefully and rubbed his leg. - -‘How came it that they knew my father?’ Madeleine asked. Jacques grinned. - -‘Oh, Chop, should I tell you, it would savour of the blab ... yet, all -said, I would not have you lose so good a diversion ... were I to tell -you, you would keep my counsel?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -Then he proceeded to tell her that her father had fallen in love in Lyons -with a courtesan called Ariane. She had left Lyons to drive her trade in -Paris, and that was the true cause of his sudden desire to do the same. -On reaching Paris, his first act was to buy from the stage wardrobe of -the Hôtel de Bourgogne, an ancient suit of tawdry finery, which long -ago had turned a courtier into the Spirit of Spring in a Royal Ballet. -This he had hidden away in the attic of an old Huguenot widow who kept a -tavern on the Mont Sainte-Geneviève, and had proceeded to pester Ariane -with letters and doggerel imploring an interview—but in vain! Finally, -he had taken his courage in both hands, and donning his finery—‘which he -held to have the virtue of the cestus of Venus!’ laughed Jacques—he had -boldly marched into Ariane’s bedroom, only to be received by a flood of -insults and ridicule by that lady and her gallants. - -Madeleine listened with a pale, set face. Why had she been so pursued -these last few days by her father’s sordid _amours_? - -‘So this ... Ariane ... rejected my father’s suit?’ she said in a low -voice. - -‘Ay, that she did! How should she not?’ laughed Jacques. - -‘And you gave your suffrage to the foolish enterprise?’ - -Jacques looked rather sheepish. - -‘I am not of the stuff that can withstand so tempting a diversion—why, -’twill be a jest to posterity! His eager, foolish, obsequious face; _and_ -his tire! I’faith, I would not have missed it for a kingdom!’ and he -tossed back his head and laughed delightedly. - -Hylas, _hélas_!... Jacques was limping ... Vulcan was lame, wasn’t he? -‘In the smithy of Vulcan weapons are being forged that will smash up your -world of _galanterie_ and galamatias into a thousand fragments!’ - -‘Why, Chop, you look sadly!’ he cried, with sudden contrition. ‘’Tis -finished and done with, and these coxcombs’ impudence bred them, I can -vouch for it, a score of bruises apiece! Chop, come here! Why, the most -modish and _galant_ folk have oftentimes had the strangest _visionnaires_ -for fathers. There is Madame de Chevreuse—who has not heard of the -_naïvetés_ and _visions_ of her father? And ’twas a strange madman that -begot the King himself!’ he said, thinking to have found where the shoe -pinched. But Madeleine remained silent and unresponsive, and he left her. - -Yes, why had she been so pursued these last few days by her father’s -_amours_? It was strange that love should have brought him too from -Lyons! And he too had set his faith on the magical properties of bravery! -What if.... Then there swept over her the memory of the Grecian Sappho, -driving a host of nameless fears back into the crannies of her mind. -Besides—_to-morrow_ began the new era! - -She smiled ecstatically, and, tired though she was, broke into a -triumphant dance. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -AT THE HÔTEL DE RAMBOUILLET - - -When Madeleine awoke next morning, the feeling she had had over night of -being in a dream had by no means left her. - -From the street rose the cries of the hawkers:— - - ‘Ma belle herbe, anis fleur.’ - - ‘A la fraîche, à la fraîche, qui veut boire?’ - - ‘A ma belle poivée à mes beaux épinards! à mon bel oignon!’ - -And then shrill and plaintive:— - - ‘Vous désirez quelque cho-o-o-se?’ - -It was no longer a taunt but the prayer of a humble familiar asking for -its mistress’s orders, or, rather, of Love the Pedlar waiting to sell -her what she chose. She opened her window and looked out. The length -of the narrow street the monstrous signs stuck out from either side, -heraldic lions, and sacred hearts, and blue cats, and mothers of God, -and _Maréchales_ looking like Polichinelle. It was as incongruous an -assortment as the signs of the Zodiac, as flat and fantastic as a pack of -cards—— - -‘_Vous désirez quelque cho-o-ose?_’ She laughed aloud. Then she suddenly -remembered her vague misgivings of the night before. She drew in her head -and rushed to her divination book. These were the lines her eyes fell -upon:— - - ‘ ... and she seemed in his mind to have said a thousand good - things, which, in reality, she had not said at all.’ - -For one moment Madeleine’s heart seemed to stop beating. Did it mean -that she was not going to get in her prepared mots? No, the true -interpretation was surely that Mademoiselle de Scudéry would think her -even more brilliant than she actually was. She fell on her knees and -thanked her kind gods in anticipation. - -However, she too must do her part, must reinforce the Power behind -her, so over and over again she danced out the scene at the Hôtel de -Rambouillet, trying to keep it exactly the same each time. ‘_Ah! dear -Zénocrite! here you come, leading our new Bergère._’ - -All the morning she seemed in a dream, and her mother, father, Jacques, -and Berthe hundreds of miles away. She could not touch a morsel of -food. ‘Ah! the little creature with wings. I know, I know,’ Berthe kept -muttering. - -With her throat parched, and still in a strange, dry dream, she went to -dress. The magical _petite-oie_ seemed to her to take away all shabbiness -from the serge bodice and the petticoat of _camelot de Hollande_. Then, -in a flash, she remembered she had decided to add to her purchases at -the Fair a trimming of those wonderful imitation jewels known as the -_pierreries du Temple_. The _petite-oie_ had taken on the exigency of a -magic formulary, and its contents, to be efficacious, had to conform as -rigidly to the original conception as a love-potion must to its receipt. -In a few minutes she would have to start, and the man who sold the stones -lived too far from Madame Cornuel for her to go there first. She was in -despair. - -At that moment the door opened, and in walked Jacques; as a rule he did -not come home till evening. He sheepishly brought out of his hose an -elaborate arrangement of green beads. - -‘Having heard you prate of the _pierreries du Temple_, I’ve brought you -these glass gauds. I fear me they aren’t from the man in the Temple, for -I failed to find the place ... but these seemed pretty toys. I thought -maybe they would help you to cut a figure before old Dame Scudéry.’ - -It was truly a strange coincidence that he should have brought her the -very thing that at that very moment she had been longing for. But was it -the very thing? For the first time that morning, Madeleine felt her feet -on earth. The beads were hideous and vulgar and as unlike the _pierreries -du Temple_ as they were unlike the emeralds they had taken as their -model. She was almost choked by a feeling of impotent rage. - -How dare Jacques be such a ninny with so little knowledge of the fashion? -How dare he expect a belle to care for him, when he was such a miserable -gallant with such execrable taste in presents? The idea of giving _her_ -rubbish like that! She would like to kill him! - -Always quick to see omens, her nerves, strung up that morning to their -highest pitch, felt in the gift the most malignant significance. _Timeo -Danaos et dona ferentes_—I fear the Greeks even when they bear gifts. She -blanched, and furtively crossed herself. Having said, in a dead voice, -some words of thanks, she silently pinned the bead trimming on to her -bodice and slowly left the room. - -It was time to start; she got into the little box-like sedan. There was -her mother standing at the door, waving her hand, and wishing her good -luck. She was soon swinging along towards the Seine. - -When the house was out of sight, with rude, nervous fingers she tore off -the beads, and they fell in a shower about the sedan. Though one could -scarcely move in the little hole, she managed to pick them all up, and -pulling back the curtain she flung them out of the window. They were at -that moment crossing the Pont-Neuf, and she caught a glimpse of a crowd -of beggars and pages scrambling to pick them up. Recklessly scattering -jewels to the rabble! It was like a princess in _Amadis_, or like the -cardinal’s nieces, the two Mancini, whose fabulous extravagance was the -talk of the town. Then she remembered that they were only glass beads. -Was it an omen that her grandeur would be always a mere imitation of -the real thing? Also—though she had got rid of the hateful trimming, -her _petite-oie_ was still incomplete. Should she risk keeping Madame -Cornuel waiting and go first to the man in the Temple? No, charms or -no charms, she was moving on to her destiny, and felt deadly calm. -What she had prayed for was coming and she could not stop it now. Its -inevitableness frightened her, and she began to feel a poignant longing -for the old order, the comforting rhythm of the rut she was used to, -with the pleasant feeling of every day drawing nearer to a miraculous -transformation of her circumstances. - -She pulled back the curtain again and peeped out, the Seine was now -behind them, and they were going up la rue de la Mortellerie. Soon she -would be in the clutches of Madame Cornuel, and then there would be no -escape. Should she jump out of the sedan, or tell the porters to take her -home? She longed to; but if she did, how was she to face the future? And -what ingratitude it would be for the exquisite tact with which the gods -had manipulated her meeting with Sappho! the porters swung on and on, and -Madeleine leaned back and closed her eyes, hypnotised by the inevitable. - -The shafts of the sedan were put down with a jerk, and Madeleine -started up and shuddered. One of the porters came to the window. ‘Rue -Saint-Antoine, Mademoiselle.’ Madeleine gave him a coin to divide with -his companion, opened the door, and walked into the court. Madame -Cornuel’s coach was standing waiting before the door. - -She walked in and was shown by a valet into an ante-room. She sat -down, and began mechanically repeating her litany. Suddenly, there -was a rich rustle of taffeta, the door opened, and in swept a very -handsomely-dressed young woman. Madeleine knew that it must be -Mademoiselle le Gendre, the daughter of Monsieur Cornuel’s first wife. In -a flash Madeleine took in the elegant continence of her toilette. While -Madeleine had seven patches on her face, she had only three. Her hair -was exquisitely neat, and she was only slightly scented, while her deep, -plain collar _à la Régente_, gave an air of puritanic severity to the -bright, cherry-coloured velvet of her bodice. Also, she was not nearly as -_décolletée_ as Madeleine. - -Madeleine felt that all of a sudden her _petite-oie_ had lost both its -decorative and magical virtue and had become merely incongruous gawds on -the patent shabbiness of her gown. For some reason there flashed through -her head the words she had heard at the Fair: ‘As if all the purple and -fine linen of Solomon himself could add an ounce of comeliness to his -antic, foolish face.’ - -‘Mademoiselle Troqueville? My step-mother awaits us in the coach, -will you come?’ said the lady. Her manner was haughty and unfriendly. -Madeleine realised without a pang that it would all be like this. But -after all, nothing in this dull reality really mattered. - -‘Bestir yourself! ’Tis time we were away!’ shouted a voice from the -_carrosse_. Mademoiselle le Gendre told Madeleine to get in. - -‘Mademoiselle Troqueville? I am glad to make your acquaintance—pray -get in and take the back seat opposite me.’ Madeleine humbly obeyed, -indifferent to what in her imaginings she would have looked upon as an -unforgivable insult, the putting her in the back seat. - -‘Hôtel de Rambouillet,’ Madame Cornuel said to a lackey, who was waiting -for orders at the window. The words left Madeleine quite cold. - -Madame Cornuel and her step-daughter did not think it necessary to talk -to Madeleine. They exchanged little remarks with each other at intervals, -and laughed at allusions which she could not catch. - -‘Are we to fetch Sappho?’ suddenly asked the younger woman. - -‘No, she purposes coming later, and on foot.’ - -Madeleine heard the name without a thrill. - -The coach rolled on, and Madeleine sat as if petrified. Suddenly she -galvanised herself into activity. In a few minutes they would be there, -and if she allowed herself to arrive in this condition all would be lost. -Why should she let these two horrid women ruin her chance of success? She -muttered quickly to herself:— - -‘Oh! blessed Virgin, give me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry,’ -and then started gabbling through her prepared scene. - - ‘“Ah, dear Zénocrite, here you come, leading our new - _bergère_!” cries the lady on the bed. “Welcome, Mademoiselle, - I have been waiting with impatience to make your acquaintance.”’ - -Would she get it finished before they arrived? She felt all her happiness -depended on it. - - ‘“Madame, it would have been of no consequence, for the Sibyl - herself would have taken the conqueror captive.... But, - Mademoiselle, what, if you will pardon my curiosity, induced - you to leave your agreeable prairies?”’ - -They were passing the Palais Cardinal—soon they would turn down the rue -St Thomas du Louvre—she had not much time. - -The coach was rolling into the court of the Hôtel de Rambouillet and she -had not finished. They got out. A tall woman, aged about thirty, with -reddish hair and a face badly marked by smallpox, but in spite of these -two blemishes of an extremely elegant and distinguished appearance, came -towards them, screwing up her eyes in the manner of the near-sighted. Her -top petticoat was full of flowers; she was too short-sighted to recognise -Madame Cornuel till she was quite close, then she dropped a mock-low -curtsey, and drawled ‘Ma-a-a-dame.’ Madame Cornuel laughed: evidently -she had imitated a mutual acquaintance. With a sudden sense of exclusion -Madeleine gave up hope. - -‘Are you following the example of our friend of the Faubourg St-Germain, -may I inquire?’ asked Madame Cornuel, with a little smile, pointing to the -flowers, at which her step-daughter laughed, and the tall red-haired lady -made a _moue_ and answered with a deep sigh:— - -‘Ah! the wit of the Marais!’ The meaning of this esoteric persiflage was -entirely lost on Madeleine, and she sat with an absolutely expressionless -face, trying to hide her own embarrassment. - -‘Ah! pardon me, I had forgotten,’ Madame Cornuel exclaimed. ‘Mademoiselle -de Rambouillet, allow me to present to you Mademoiselle Troqueville.’ -(It may have been Madeleine’s imagination, but it seemed to her that -Madame Cornuel paused before calling her Mademoiselle.) Mademoiselle de -Rambouillet screwed up her eyes at her and smiled quite pleasantly, while -Madeleine, absolutely tongue-tied, tried to perform the almost impossible -task of curtseying in a coach. They got out, and went inside, the three -others continuing their mystifying conversation. - -They went up a staircase and through one large splendid room after -another. So here was Madeleine, actually in the famous ‘Palais de -Cléomire,’ as it was called in _Cyrus_, but the fact did not move her, -indeed she did not even realise it. Once Mademoiselle de Rambouillet -turned round and said to her:— - -‘I fear ’tis a long journey, Mademoiselle,’ but the manner in which she -screwed up her eyes both terrified and embarrassed her, so instead of -answering she merely blushed and muttered something under her breath. - -Finally they reached Madame de Rambouillet’s bedroom (she had ceased for -some years to receive in the _Salle Bleue_). She was lying on a bed in an -alcove and there were several people in the _ruelle_; as the thick velvet -curtains of the windows were drawn Madeleine got merely an impression of -rich, rare objects glowing like jewels out of the semi-darkness, but in -a flash she took in the appearance of Madame de Rambouillet. Her face -was pale and her lips a bright crimson, which was obviously not their -natural colour; she had large brown eyes with heavy pinkish eyelids, and -the only sign that she was a day over fifty was a slight trembling of the -head. She was wearing a loose gown of some soft gray material, and on her -head were _cornettes_ of exquisite lace trimmed with pale yellow ribbons. -One of her hands was lying on the blue coverlet, it was so thin that its -veins looked almost like the blue of the coverlet shining through. The -fingers were piled up with beautiful rings. - -There was a flutter round the bed, and then Madeleine found herself being -presented to the Marquise. - -‘Ah! Mademoiselle Toctin, I am ravished to make your acquaintance,’ she -said in a wonderfully melodious voice, with a just perceptible Italian -accent. ‘You come from delicious Marseilles, do you not? You will be able -to recount to us strange Orient romances of orange-trees and Turkish -soldiers. Angélique, bring Mademoiselle Touville a _pliant_, and place it -close to me, and I will warm myself at her Southern _historiettes_.’ - -‘It is from Lyons that I come, not from Marseilles,’ was the only -repartee of which at the moment Madeleine was capable. Her voice sounded -strange and harsh, and she quite forgot a ‘Madame.’ However, the Marquise -did not hear, as she had turned to another guest. But Angélique de -Rambouillet heard, and so did another lady, with an olive complexion -and remarkably bright eyes, whom Madeleine guessed to be Madame de -Montausier, the famous ‘Princesse Julie.’ They exchanged glances of -delight, and Madeleine began to blush, and blush, though, as a matter of -fact, it was by their mother they were amused. - -In the meantime a very tall, elderly man, with a hatchet face, came -stumbling towards her. - -‘You have not a chair, have you, Mademoiselle?’ - -‘Here it is, father,’ said Angélique, who was bringing one up. - -‘Ah! that is right, Mademoiselle er ... er ... er ... will sit here.’ - -Madeleine took to this kind, polite man, and felt a little happier. He -sat down beside her and made a few remarks, which Madeleine, full of the -will to be agreeable, answered as best she could, endeavouring to make up -by pleasant smiles for her sudden lack of _esprit_. But, unfortunately, -the Marquis was almost stone-blind, so the smiles were lost upon him, and -before long Madeleine noticed by his absent laugh and amused expression -that his attention was wandering to the conversation of the others. - -‘I am of opinion you would look inexpressibly _galant_ in a scarlet hat, -Marquis,’ Madame de Rambouillet was saying to a short, swarthy man with -a rather saturnine expression. They all looked at him mischievously. -‘Julie would be obliged to join Yvonne in the Convent, but there would -be naught to hinder you from keeping Marie-Julie at your side as your -_adopted_ daughter.’ The company laughed a little, the laugh of people -too thoroughly intimate to need to make any effort. ‘Monsieur de Grasse -is wearing his episcopal smile—look at him, pray! Come, Monseigneur, you -_must_ confess that a scarlet hat would become him to a marvel,’ and -Madame de Rambouillet turned her brilliant, mischievous eyes on a tiny -prelate with a face like a naughty schoolboy’s. - -He had been called Monsieur de Grasse. Could he, then, be the famous -Godeau, bishop and poet? It seemed impossible. For Saint Thomas is the -patron saint of provincials when they meet celebrities in the flesh. - -‘I fear Monsieur’s head would be somewhat too _large_ to wear it with -comfort,’ he answered. - -‘Hark to the episcopal _fleurette_! Marquis, rise up and bow!’ but the -only answer from the object of these witticisms was a surly grunt. -Another idle smile rippled round the circle, and then there fell a -silence of comfortable intimacy. If Madeleine had suddenly found herself -in the kingdom of Prester John she could not have understood less of what -was going on around her. - -‘Madame Cornuel has a furiously _galante historiette_ she is burning to -communicate to us,’ said Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, screwing up her -eyes at Madame Cornuel. - -‘Julie, bid Monsieur de Grasse go upstairs to play with Marie-Julie, and -then Madame Cornuel will tell it.’ - -‘Monsieur de Grasse——’ - -‘Madame la Marquise come to my rescue! I too would fain hear the -_historiette_!’ - -‘Nolo episcopari, hein?’ - -‘Now, then, be obedient, and get you to Marie-Julie!’ - -‘Where can I take refuge?’ - -‘If there were a hazel-nut at hand, ’twould serve your purpose.’ - -‘No, Madame la Marquise, permit me to hide within your locket.’ - -‘As you will. Now, Madame, we are all attention.’ - -Throughout this fooling, Madeleine had sat with aching jaws stretched -into a smile, trying desperately hard not to look out of it. They all -looked towards Madame Cornuel, who sat smiling in unruffled silence. - -‘Madame?’ - -‘Well, Mademoiselle, tell me who is to be its heroine, who its hero, and -what its plot, and then I will recount it to you,’ she said. They seemed -to think this very witty, and laughed heartily. There was another pause, -and Madeleine again made an attempt to engage the Marquis’s attention. - -‘The ... the ... the houses in Paris ... seem to me most goodly -structures,’ she began. He gave his nervous laugh. - -‘Yes, yes, we have some rare architects these days. Have you been to see -the new buildings of the Val de Grâce?’ - -‘No, I have not ... er ... it is a Convent, is it not?’ - -‘Yes. Under the patronage of Notre Dame de la Crêche.’ - -His attention began to wander again; she made a frantic effort to -rekindle the flames of the dying topic. - -‘What a strange name it is—Val de Grâce, what do you think can be its -meaning?’ - -‘Yes, yes,’ with his nervous laugh, ‘Val de Grâce, doubtless there is -some legend connected with it.’ - -Madeleine gave up in despair. - -The languid, intimate talk and humorous silences had suddenly turned into -something more animated. - -‘Madame de Sablé vows that she saw her there with her own eyes, and that -she was dressed in a _justaucorps_.’ - -‘Sophie has seen more things than the legendary Argos!’ - -‘Well, it has been turned into a Vaudeville in her quarter.’ - -‘In good earnest, has it? What an excellent diversion! Julie, pray ask -Madame d’Aiguillon about it and tell us. Go to-day.’ - -‘I daren’t; “my dear, my dear, _cela fait dévotion_ and that puts me in -mind, the Reine-Mère got a special chalice of Florentine enamel and I -must——” Roqueten, Roqueten, Roquetine.’ - -‘Upon my life, the woman’s talk has less of meaning than a magpie’s!’ -growled Madeleine to herself. - -At that moment the door opened and in came a tall, middle-aged woman, -swarthy, and very ugly. She was dressed in a plain gown of gray serge. -Her face was wreathed in an agreeable smile, that made her look like a -civil horse. - -Madeleine had forgotten all about Mademoiselle de Scudéry, but when this -lady came in, it all came rushing back; she got cold all over, and if -before she had longed to be a thousand miles away, she now longed to be -ten thousand. - -There was a general cry of:— - -‘Mademoiselle: the very person we were in need of. You know everything. -Tell us all about the Présidente Tambonneau, but avoid, in your -narration, an excessive charity.’ - -‘If you talk with the tongues of men and of Angels and yet _have_ -Charity, ye are become as sounding brass and as a tinkling cymbal,’ said -Madame Cornuel in her clear, slow voice. She spoke rarely, but when she -did it was with the air of enunciating an oracle. - -‘Humph! That is a fault that _you_ are rarely guilty of!’ growled -Montausier quite audibly. - -‘The Présidente Tambonneau? No new extravagance of hers has reached my -ears. What is there to tell?’ said the new-comer. She spoke in a loud, -rather rasping voice, and still went on smiling civilly. - -‘Oh, you ladies of the Marais, every one is aware that you are -omniscient, and yet you are perfect misers of your _historiettes_!’ - -‘Sappho, we must combine against the _quartier du Palais Cardinal_, -albeit they _do_ call us “omniscient.” It sounds infinitely _galant_, but -I am to seek as to its meaning,’ said Madame Cornuel. - -‘Ask Mademoiselle, she is in the last intimacy with the _Maréchal des -mots_; it is reported he has raised a whole new company to fight under -his _Pucelle_.’ - -‘From all accounts, she is in sore need of support, poor lady. Madame -de Longueville says she is “_parfaitement belle mais parfaitement -ennuyeuse_,”’ said Mademoiselle de Rambouillet very dryly. - -‘That would serve as an excellent epitome of divers among our friends,’ -murmured Madame de Montausier. - -‘Poor Chapelain! all said, he, by merely being himself, has added -infinitely more to our diversion than the wittiest person in the world,’ -said Madame de Rambouillet, looking mischievously at Mademoiselle de -Scudéry, who, though still wearing the same smile, was evidently not -pleased. - -‘Yes, Marquis, when you are made a duke, you would do well to employ -Monsieur Chapelain as your jester. Ridiculous, solemn people are in -reality much more diverting than wits,’ said Mademoiselle de Rambouillet -to Montausier, who looked extremely displeased, and said in angry, -didactic tones:— - -‘Chapelain a des sentiments fins et delicats, il raisonne juste, et dans -ses œuvres on y trouve de nobles et fortes expressions,’ and getting up -he walked over to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and they were soon talking -earnestly together. - -Madeleine all this time had been torn between terror of being introduced -to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and terror of not being introduced. Her face -was absolutely impassive, and she had ceased to pretend to take any -interest in what was going on around her. - -Suddenly she heard Madame de Rambouillet saying to Monsieur de Grasse:— - -‘You remember Julie’s and her sister’s _vision_ about night-caps?’ - -‘Ah, yes, and the trick played on them by Voiture, and the poor, -excellent Marquis de Pisani.’ - -‘Yes,’ she answered, with a little sigh and a smile. ‘Well, it has been -inherited by little Marie-Julie, whenever she beholds one she becomes -transfixed by terror. _Visions_ are strange things!’ - -Madeleine for the first time that afternoon felt happy and pleased. -She herself had always loathed night-caps, and as a child had screamed -with terror whenever she had seen any one wearing one. What a -strange coincidence that this _vision_ should be shared by Madame de -Rambouillet’s daughters! She turned eagerly to the Marquis. - -‘Monsieur, I hear Madame la Marquise telling how Mesdames her daughters -were wont to be affrighted by night-caps; when I was a child, they worked -on me in a like manner, and to speak truth, to this day I have a dislike -to them.’ - -‘Indeed, indeed,’ he answered, with his nervous laugh. ‘Yes, my daughters -had quite a _vision_ as to night-caps. Doubtless ’twas linked in their -memory with some foolish, monstrous fable they had heard from one -of their attendants. ’Tis strange, but our little granddaughter has -inherited the fear and she refuses to kiss us if we are wearing one.’ - -Alas! There was no crack through which Madeleine could get in her -own personality! The Marquis got up and stumbled across the room to -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and Montausier, having to give up his chair, sat -down by Madeleine. There was a cry of ‘Ah! here she comes!’ - -The door opened and a little girl of about seven years old walked into -the room, followed by a _gouvernante_ who stood respectfully in the -doorway. The child was dressed in a miniature Court dress, cut low and -square at the neck. She had a little pointed face, and eyes with a slight -outward squint. She made a beautiful curtsey, first to her grandmother -and then to the company. - -‘My dearest treasure,’ Madame de Rambouillet cried in her beautiful husky -voice. ‘Come and greet your friend, Monsieur de Grasse.’ - -Every one had stopped talking and were looking at the child with varying -degrees of interest. Madeleine felt suddenly fiercely jealous of her; -she stole a glance at Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and saw on her face the -universal smile of tolerant amusement with which grown-up people regard -children. The child went up to Godeau, kissed his ring, and then busily -and deliberately found a foot-stool for herself, dragged it up to Madame -de Rambouillet’s bed, and sat down on it. - -‘The little lady already has the _tabouret chez la reine_,’[2] said -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, smiling and bowing to Madame de Rambouillet. The -child, however, did not understand the witticism; she looked offended, -frowned, and said severely:— - -‘I am working a _tabouret_ for myself,’ and then, as if to soften what -she evidently had meant for a snub, she added: ‘It has crimson flowers -on it, and a blue saint feeding birds.’ - -Montausier went into fits of proud laughter. - -‘There is a bit of hagiology for you to interpret, Monsieur de Grasse,’ -he cried triumphantly, suddenly in quite a good temper, and looking round -to see if the others were amused. Godeau looked interested and serious. - -‘That must be a most rare and delicate _tabouret_, Mademoiselle,’ he -said; ‘do you know what the saint’s name is?’ - -‘No, I thank you,’ she answered politely, but wearily, and they all again -went into peals of laughter. - -‘My love,’ said Madame de Rambouillet. ‘I am certain Monsieur de Grasse -and that lady,’ nodding towards Mademoiselle de Scudéry, ‘would be -enchanted by those delicious verses you wrote for my birthday, will you -recite them?’ - -But the child shook her head, backwards and forwards, the more she was -entreated, the more energetically she shook her head, evidently enjoying -the process for its own sake. Then she climbed on to her grandmother’s -bed and whispered something in her ear. Madame de Rambouillet shook with -laughter, and after they had whispered together for some minutes the -child left the room. Madame de Rambouillet then told the company that -Marie-Julie’s reason for not wishing to recite her poem was that she -had heard her father say that all _hommes de lettres_ were thieves and -were quite unprincipled about using each other’s writings, and she was -afraid that Mademoiselle de Scudéry or Monsieur de Grasse might, if they -heard her poem, publish it as their own. There was much laughter, and -Montausier was in ecstasies. - -‘I am impatient for you to hear the poem,’ said Madame de Rambouillet. -‘It is quite delicious.’ - -‘Yes, my daughter promises to be a second Neuf-germain!’[3] said Madame -de Montausier, smiling. - -‘What a Nemesis, that a mother who has inspired so many delicious verses, -and a father——’ began Mademoiselle de Scudéry, but just then the child -came back with her head disappearing into a large beplumed man’s hat, and -carrying a shepherd’s crook in her hand. - -‘I am a Muse,’ she announced, and the company exchanged delighted, -bewildered glances. - -‘Now, I will begin.’ - -‘Yes, pray do, my dear love,’ said Madame de Rambouillet, trying to -compose her face. - -‘The initial letters form my grandmother’s name: Cathérine,’ she -explained, and then, taking her stand in the middle of the room, began to -declaim with great unction:— - - ‘Chérie, vous êtes aimable et - Aussi belle que votre perroquet, - Toujours souriante et douce. - Hélas! j’ai piqué mon pouce - En brodant pour votre jour de fête - Rien qu’une bourse qui n’est pas bête. - J’aime ma Grandmère, c’est ma chatte, - Nellie, mon petit chien, donne lui ta patte, - Et lèche la avec ta petite langue.’ - -She then made a little bow to the company, and sat down again on her -_tabouret_, quite undisturbed by the enthusiastic applause that had -followed her recitation. - -‘Mademoiselle,’ began Godeau solemnly, ‘words fail me, to use the -delicious expression of Saint Amant, with which to praise your ravishing -verses as they deserve. But if the Abbé Ménage were here, I think he -might ask you if the _qui_ in ... let me see ... the sixth line, -refers to the _bourse_ or to the act of pricking your finger. Because -if, as I imagine, it is to the latter, the laws of our language demand -the insertion of a _ce_ before the _qui_, while the unwritten laws of -universal experience assert that the action of pricking one’s finger -should be called _bête_ not _pas bête_. We writers must be prepared for -this sort of ignoble criticism.’ - -‘Of course the _qui_ refers to _bourse_,’ said Madame de Montausier, -for the child was looking bewildered. ‘You will pardon me but what an -exceeding foolish question from a Member of the Academy! It was _bête_ -to prick one’s finger, but who, with justice, could call _bête_ a -_bourse_ of most quaint and excellent design? Is it not so, _ma chatte_?’ -The child nodded solemnly, and Monsieur de Grasse was profuse in his -apologies for his stupidity. - -Madeleine had noticed that the only member of the company, except -herself, who had not been entranced by this performance, was Mademoiselle -de Scudéry. Though she smiled the whole time, and was profuse in her -compliments, yet she was evidently bored. Instead of pleasing Madeleine, -this shocked her, it also made her rather despise her, for being out of -it. - -She turned to Montausier and said timidly:— - -‘I should dearly love to see Mademoiselle _votre fille_ and the -Cardinal’s baby niece together. They would make a delicious pair.’ But -Montausier either really did not hear, or pretended not to, and Madeleine -had the horrible embarrassment of speaking to air. - -‘Who is that _demoiselle_?’ the child suddenly cried in a shrill voice, -looking at Madeleine. - -‘That is Mademoiselle Hoqueville, my love.’ - -‘Hoqueville! _what_ a droll name!’ and she went into peals of shrill -laughter. The grandparents and mother of the child smiled apologetically -at Madeleine, but she, in agony at being humiliated, as she considered, -before Mademoiselle de Scudéry, tried to improve matters by looking -haughty and angry. However, this remark reminded Madame de Rambouillet of -Madeleine’s existence, and she exclaimed:— - -‘Oh! Mademoiselle Hoqueville, you have, as yet, seen naught of the hôtel. -Marie-Julie, my love, go and say _bon-jour_ to that lady and ask her if -she will accompany you to the _salle bleue_.’ - -The child obediently went over to Madeleine, curtseyed, and held out -her hand. Madeleine was not certain whether she ought to curtsey back -or merely bow without rising from the chair. She compromised in a cross -between the two, which made her feel extremely foolish. On being asked if -she would like to see _la salle bleue_, she had to say yes, and followed -the child out of the room. - -She followed her through a little _cabinet_, and then they were in -the famous room, sung by so many poets, the scene of so many gay and -brilliant happenings. - -Madeleine’s first feeling was one of intense relief at being freed from -the strain of the bedroom, then, as it were, she galvanised into activity -her demand upon life, and felt in despair at losing even a few moments of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s company. The child walked on in front humming -a little tune to herself. Madeleine felt she must pull herself together, -and make friends with her. - -‘What rare and skilful verses those were you recited to us,’ she began, -her voice harshly breaking the silence of the huge room. The child looked -at her out of her crab-eyes, pursed up her mouth, and went on humming. - -‘Do you dearly love your little dog?’ - -‘Haven’t got one.’ This was startling. - -‘But you made mention of one in your poem,’ said Madeleine in an -aggrieved tone. - -The child screamed with scornful laughter:— - -‘She isn’t _mine_, she’s Aunt Angélique’s!’ she cried, and looked at -Madeleine as if she must be mad for having made such a mistake. There was -another pause. Madeleine sighed wearily and went to look at the famous -tapestry, the child followed her. - -Its design consisted of groups of small pastoral figures disporting -themselves in a blue Arcady. In one group there was a shepherdess sitting -on a rustic bench, surrounded by shepherds; a nymph was offering her a -basket of flowers. The child pointed to the shepherdess: ‘That is my -grandmother, and that is me bringing her flowers, and that is my father, -and that is Monsieur Sarrasin, and that is my dear Maître Claude!’ ... -This was better. Madeleine made a violent effort to be suitably fantastic. - -‘It may be when you are asleep you do in truth become that nymph and live -in the tapestry.’ The child stared at her, frowned, and continued her -catalogue:— - -‘And that is my mother, and that is Aunt Angélique, and that is Madame -de Longueville, and that is Madame de Sablé, and that is Monsieur de la -Rochefoucauld, and that is my little friend Mademoiselle de Sévigné,’ and -so on. - -When she had been through the list of her acquaintances, she wandered -off and began to play with a box of ivory puzzles. Madeleine, in a final -attempt to ingratiate herself, found for her some of the missing pieces, -at which her mouth began to tremble, and Madeleine realised that all the -pleasure lay in doing it by herself, so she left her, and with a heavy -heart crept back to the bedroom. - -She found Madame Cornuel and Mademoiselle Legendre preparing to go, and -supposing they had already said good-bye, solemnly curtseyed to all the -company in turn. They responded with great friendliness and kindness, -but she suddenly noticed Madame Cornuel exchanging glances with her -step-daughter, and realised in a flash that by making her _adieux_ she -had been guilty of a provincialism. She smiled grimly to herself. What -did it matter? - -Madame Cornuel dropped her in the rue Saint-Honoré, and she walked -quietly home. - -She had not exchanged a single word with Mademoiselle de Scudéry. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -AFTERWARDS - - -Madeleine walked up the petite rue du Paon, in at the baker’s door, -and upstairs. She still felt numbed, but knew that before her were the -pains of returning circulation; Madame Troqueville heard her come in -and ran out from the kitchen, full of smiles and questions. Madeleine -told her in a calm voice that it had all been delightful, praised the -agreeable manners of the Rambouillets, and described the treasures of the -_salle bleue_. She repeated the quaint sayings of the child, and Madame -Troqueville cried ‘_Quel amour!_ Oh, Madeleine, I would like you to have -just such another little daughter!’ - -Madeleine smiled wearily. - -‘And what of Mademoiselle de Scu-tary?’ her mother asked rather nervously. - -‘De Scudéry,’ corrected Madeleine, true to habit. ‘She was furiously -_spirituelle_ and very ... civil. I am a trifle tired.... I think I will -away and rest,’ and she dragged herself wearily off to her own room. -Madame Troqueville, who had watched her very unhappily, made as if she -would follow her, but thought better of it. - -When Madeleine got into her room, she sat down on her bed, and clasped -her head. She could not, she would not think. Then, like a wave of -ecstasy there swept over her little points she had noticed about -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, but which had not at the time thrilled her -in the slightest. Her teeth were rather long; she had a mole on her -left cheek; she was not as grandly dressed as the others; the child -had snubbed her; Montausier had been very attentive to her; she was -a great celebrity; Madame de Rambouillet had teased her. This medley -of recollections, each and all of them made her feel quite faint with -pleasure, so desirable did they make her love appear. But then ... she -had not spoken to her ... she had been humiliated before her.... Oh! it -was not to be faced! Her teeth were rather long. Montausier had been -attentive to her ... oh, how thrilling! And yet ... she, Madeleine had -not even been introduced to her. The supernal powers had seemed to have -a scrupulous regard for her wishes. They had actually arranged that the -first meeting should be at the Hôtel de Rambouillet ... and she had -not even been introduced to her! Could it be possible that the Virgin -had played her a trick? Should she turn and rend in mad fury the whole -Heavenly Host? No; that would be accepting defeat once for all, and that -must not be, for the past as well as the future was malleable, and it was -only by emotionally accepting it that a thing became a fact. This strange -undercurrent of thought translated itself thus in her consciousness: -God and the Virgin must be trusted; they had only disclosed a tiny bit -of their design, what madness then, to turn against them, thus smashing -perhaps their perfect scheme for her happiness! Or perhaps her own -co-operation had not been adequate—she had perhaps not been instant -enough in dancing—but still ... but still ... the visit to the Hôtel de -Rambouillet was over, she had seen Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and was still -not one inch nearer to her heart’s desire. She _could_ not face it. - -She came down to supper. Her father was silent and gloomy, shaking his -head and twisting his lips. His visit to _his_ lady had been a failure. -Was there ... could there be ... some mystical connection? And there -was Jacques still limping ... and he had given her that horrid bead -trimming.... _No, no, no_ ... these were insane, goblin ideas that must -be crushed. - -Her mother was trying hard to be cheerful, and Jacques kept looking at -her anxiously. When supper was over she went up to her room, half hoping, -half fearing that he would follow. - -Shortly there was a scratch at the door (with great difficulty she had -persuaded him to adopt the fashionable scratch—to knock was _bourgeois_). - -He came in, and gave her a look with his bright eyes, at once -compassionate and whimsical. She felt herself dully hoping that he would -not ask why she was not wearing the bead trimming. He did not, but began -to tell her of his day, spent mostly at the Palais and a tavern. But all -the time he watched her; she listened languidly. ‘How went the _fête -galante_?’ he asked, after a pause. - -‘It was furiously _galante_,’ she answered with a tragic smile. He walked -slowly up to her, half smiling all the time, sat down on her bed, and put -his arm around her. - -‘You are cruelly unhappy, my poor one, I know. But ’twill pass, in time -all caprices yield to graver things.’ - -‘But it is no caprice!’ she cried passionately. ‘Oh, Jacques, it is hard -to make my meaning clear, but they be real live people with their own -pursuits ... they are all square like little fat boxes ... oh, how can I -make you understand?’ - -Jacques could not help laughing. ‘I’m sure, ’tis hateful of them to -be like boxes; though, in truth, for my part, I am to seek ... oh, -Madeleine, dear life, it’s dreadful to be miserable ... the cursed -_phantasia_, what tricks it plays us ... ’tis a mountebank, don’t heed it -but put your faith in the good old _bourgeois_ intellect,’ but Madeleine, -ignoring this comfort from Gassendi, moaned out,— - -‘Oh! Jacques! I want to die ... you see, ’tis this way—they’ve got their -own lives and memories, folded up all tight around them. Oh! can no one -ever get to know any one else?’ - -He began to understand. - -‘Indeed one can, but it takes time. One has to hew a path through the -blood, through the humours, up to the brain, and, once there, create the -Passion of Admiration. How can it be done at once?’ - -‘I can’t wait ... I can’t wait ... except things come at once I’ll -have none of them ... at least that’s not quite my meaning,’ she added -hurriedly, looking furtively round and crossing herself several times. -‘Oh! but I don’t feel that I am of a humour that can wait.... Oh! I feel -something sick and weak in me somewhere.’ - -‘It’s but those knavish old animal spirits playing tricks on the will, -but I think that it is only because one is young,’ and he would have -launched out on a philosophical dissertation, only Madeleine felt that -she could not stand it. - -‘_Don’t_, Jacques!’ she screamed. ‘Talk about _me_, or I shall go mad!’ - -‘Well, then, recount to me the whole matter.’ - -‘Oh! there is nothing worth the telling, but they _would_ make dædal -pleasantries—pleasantries one fails to understand, except one have a -clue—and they would talk about people with whom I was not acquainted.... -Oh! it seems past human compassing to make friends with a person except -one has known them all one’s life! How _could_ I utter my conceit if they -would converse of matters I did not understand?’ she repeated furiously. -Jacques smiled. - -‘I admit,’ he said dryly, ‘to be show man of a troupe of marionettes is -an agreeable profession.’ She looked at him suspiciously for a second, -and then catching his hands, cried desperately:— - -‘Is it beyond our powers ever to make a _new_ friend?’ - -‘That it is not, but it can’t be effected at once. I am sure that those -_Messieurs de Port-Royal_ would tell you that even Jesus Christ finds -’tis but a slow business worming His way into a person’s heart. There He -stands, knocking and knocking, and then——’ Madeleine saw that he was on -the point of becoming profane, and as her gods did not like profanity, -she crossed herself and cut in with:— - -‘But even admitting one can’t come to any degree of intimacy with a -person at once, the _beginning_ of the intimacy must happen at once, and -I’m at a loss to know how the beginning can happen at once any more than -the whole thing.’ - -She had got into one of her tight knots of nerves, when she craved to be -reasoned with, if only for the satisfaction of confounding the reasons -offered her. Jacques clasped his head and laughed. - -‘You put me in mind of the philosophy class and old Zeno! It’s this way, -two people meet, nothing takes place perhaps. They meet again, and one -gives a little look, it may be, that sets the bells of the other’s memory -pleasantly ringing, or says some little thing that tickles the humours of -the other, and thus a current is set up between them ... a fluid, which -gradually reaches the heart and solidifies into friendship.’ - -‘But then, there might never be the “little look,” or the “little word,” -and then ... there would be no friendship’ (she crossed herself) ‘ ... it -all seems at the mercy of Chance.’ - -‘Of chance ... and of harmony. ’Tis a matter beyond dispute that we are -more in sympathy with some souls than with others— - - ‘Il est des nœuds secrets, il est des sympathies, - Dont par le doux rapport les âmes assorties ... - -you know these lines in _Rodogune_?’ - -‘And do you hold that sympathy can push its way past ... obstacles ... -such as bashfulness, for example?’ - -Jacques smiled. - -‘In good earnest it can.’ Suddenly her nerves relaxed. - -‘Then it is _not_ contrary to natural laws to make a new friend?’ she -cried joyfully. - -‘That it is not. And who knows, the rôles may be reversed ere long and -we shall see old Mother Scudéry on her knees, while Chop plays the proud -spurner! What said that rude, harsh, untaught Grecian poetess whose naked -numbers brought a modest blush to your “precious” taste? - - ‘Who flees—she shall pursue; - Who spurns gifts—she shall offer them; - Who loves not—willy-nilly, she shall love.’ - -Madeleine gave a little sob of joy and flung her arms round Jacques’s -neck. Oh, he was right, he was right! Had she not herself feared that -immediate success would be _bourgeois_? ’Twould be breaking every law of -_galanterie_ were Sappho to yield without a struggle. It took Céladon -twelve stout volumes before he won his Astrée, and, as Jacques had -pointed out, Christ Himself, with all the armaments of Heaven at His -disposal, does not at once break through the ramparts of a Christian’s -heart. But yet ... but yet ... her relationship with Mademoiselle -de Scudéry that afternoon could not, with the most elastic poetic -licence, be described as that of ‘the nymph that flees, the faun that -pursues!’ Also ... she was not made of stuff stern enough to endure -repeated rebuffs and disappointments. Already, her nerves were worn -to breaking-point. A one-volumed romance was all her fortitude could -face.... God grant the course of true love to run smooth from now. - -Jacques shortly left her, and she went to bed. - -Outside Jacques ran into Madame Troqueville, who said she wished to speak -to him. They went into her room. - -‘Jacques,’ she began, ‘I am uneasy about Madeleine. I greatly fear things -fell not out as she had hoped. Did she tell you aught of what took place?’ - -‘I think she is somewhat unhappy because they didn’t all call her -_tu_ right away ... oh, I had forgotten, she holds it _bourgeois_ to -_tutoier_,’ he answered, smiling. Madame Troqueville smiled a little too. - -‘My poor child, she is of so impatient a humour, and expects so much,’ -and she sighed. ‘Jacques, tell me about your uncle. Are you of opinion he -will make his way in Paris?’ She looked at him searchingly. Her eyes were -clear and cold like Madeleine’s. - -Jacques blushed and frowned; he felt angry with her for asking him. But -her eyes were still fixed on his face. - -‘How can I tell, aunt? It hangs on all ... on all these presidents and -people.’ - -Madame Troqueville gave a little shrug, and her lips curled into a tiny, -bitter smile. ‘I wonder why men always hold women to be blind, when in -reality their eyes are so exceeding sharp. Jacques, for my sake, and -for Madeleine’s, for the child’s future doth so depend on it, won’t -you endeavour to keep your uncle from ... from all these places.... I -know you take your pleasure together, and I am of opinion you have some -influence with him.’ Jacques was very embarrassed and very angry; it was -really, he felt, expecting too much of a young man to try and make him -responsible for his middle-aged uncle. - -‘I fear I can do nothing, aunt. ’Tis no business of mine,’ he said -coldly, and they parted for the night. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -REBUILDING THE HOUSE OF CARDS - - -All next day Madeleine had the feeling of something near her which she -must, if she wished to live, push away, away, right out of her memory. -Her vanity was too vigilant to have allowed her to give to Jacques a -_full_ account of the scene at the Hôtel de Rambouillet. The fixed smile, -the failure to interest the Marquis, that awful exit, for instance, were -too indecent to be mentioned. Even her thoughts blushed at their memory, -and shuddered away from it—partly, perhaps, because at the back of her -consciousness there dwelt always the imaginary Sappho, so that to recall -these things was to be humiliated anew in her presence. - -In fact, the whole scene at the Hôtel de Rambouillet must be forgotten, -and that quickly, for it had been a descent into that ruthless world of -reality in which Madeleine could not breathe. That world tyrannised over -by the co-sovereigns Cause and Effect, blown upon by sharp, rough winds, -and—most horrible of all—fretted with the counter-claims on happiness of -myriads of individuals just as ‘square’ and real as she. In such a world -how could she—with such frightful odds against her—hope for success, for -_here_ she was so impotent, merely a _gauche_ young girl of no position? - -There were times, as I have shown, when she felt a _nostalgie_ for the -world of reality, as a safe fresh place, but now ... in God’s name, back -to her dreams. - - * * * * * - -Madeleine is entering the door of Sappho’s house. Sappho is lying on her -bed, surrounded by her demoiselles. (This time Madeleine visualises -her quite clearly. She is swarthy and plain.) When she sees Madeleine, -she gives a little blush, which caresses the motion of Madeleine’s -passions, and fills her with as sweet an expectancy as the rhythm of a -Saraband. Madeleine comes forward, and kissing her hand says, with the -most gallant air in the world: ‘I am well aware, Madame, that poets are -exempt from the tax to _la Dame Vérité_, and that they have set up in her -place another Sovereign. So when you gave me the other day the gracious -permission to wait on you, I had, I admit, a slight fear that you were -speaking as the subject of this sovereign, whose name, I believe, is -_le joli Mensonge_, and that by taking you at your word, I would prove -myself an eager, ignorant Scythian, unable to understand what is said, -and—more important still—what is not said, by the citizens of the polite -hemisphere. Madame, I would ten times rather earn such a reputation, I -would ten times rather be an unwelcome visitor, than to wait another day -before I saw you.’ It is a bold speech, and which, if made by any one -else would surely have aroused all Sappho’s pride and prudishness. At -first she colours and seems slightly confused, and then, she lets a smile -have its own way. She changes the subject, however. - -‘Do you consider,’ she asks, ‘that the society of Lesbos compensates, if -I may use the expression, for the enamelled prairies and melodious brooks -of Bœotia? For my own part, I know few greater pleasures than to sojourn -in a rustic place with my lyre and a few chosen friends.’ These last two -words awake the lover’s gadfly, jealousy, and causes it to give Madeleine -a sharp sting. - -‘I should imagine, Madame,’ she says coldly, ‘that by this means you must -carry Lesbos with you wherever you go, and although it is one of the most -agreeable spots on earth, this must deprive you of many of the delights -of travel.’ - -‘I see that you take me for a provincial of the metropolis,’ says Sappho -with a smile full of delicious raillery and in which Madeleine imagines -she detects a realising of her jealousy and a certain pleasure in it, so -that, in spite of herself, smiling also, she answers,— - -‘One has but to read your ravishing verses, which are as fresh, as full -of pomp, and as flowery as a summer meadow, to know that your pleasure -in pastoral joys is as great as your pleasure in intercourse with _les -honnêtes gens_, and the other attractions of the town. And this is -combined with such marvellous talent that in your poetry, the trees -offer a pleasanter shade, the flowers a sweeter odour, the brooks a more -soothing lullaby than in earth’s most agreeable glades.’ - -‘If you hold,’ answers Sappho smiling, ‘that my verses make things fairer -than they really are, you cannot consider them really admirable, for -surely the closer art resembles nature the more excellent it becomes.’ - -‘Pardon me, Madame,’ says Madeleine, also smiling, ‘but we who believe -that there are gods and goddesses ten times fairer than the fairest -person on earth, must also believe that somewhere there exist for these -divine beings habitations ten times fairer than the fairest of earth’s -meadows. And you, Madame, have been carried to these habitations on the -wings of the Muses, and in your verses you describe the delicious visions -you have there beheld.’ - -Sappho cannot keep a look of gratification from lighting up her fine eyes. - -‘You think, then, that I have visited the Elysian Fields?’ she asks. - -‘Most certainly,’ rejoins Madeleine quickly. ‘Did I not call you the -other day, in the Palais de Cléomire, the Sybil of Cumæ?’ She pauses, and -draws just the eighth of an inch closer to Sappho. ‘As such, you are the -authorised guide to the Elysian Fields. May I hope that some day you will -be _my_ conductress there?’ - -‘Then, as well, I am the “appointed guide” to Avernus,’ says Sappho with -a delicious laugh. ‘Will you be willing to descend there also?’ - -‘With you as my guide ... yes,’ answers Madeleine. - -There follows one of _ces beaux silences_, more gallant than the most -agreeable conversation: one of the silences during which the wings of -Cupid can almost be heard fluttering. Why does the presence of that -mignon god, all dimples and rose-buds, terrify mortals as well as delight -them? - - * * * * * - -Thus did Madeleine’s dreams quietly readjust themselves to their normal -state and scornfully tremble away from reality. - - - - -PART II - - ‘Cela t’amuse-t-il tant, me dit-il, d’édifier ainsi des - systèmes?’ - - ‘Rien ne m’amuse plus qu’une éthique, répondis-je, et je m’y - contente l’esprit. Je ne goûte pas une joie que je ne l’y - veuille attachée.’ - - ‘Cela l’augmente-t-il?’ - - ‘Non, dis-je, cela me la légitime.’ - - Certes, il m’a plu souvent qu’une doctrine et même qu’un - système complet de pensées ordonnées justifiât à moi-même mes - actes; mais parfois je ne l’ai pu considérer que comme l’abri - de ma sensualité. - - ANDRÉ GIDE. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE FÊTE-DIEU - - -It was the Sunday of the octave of the _Fête-Dieu_—the Feast of _Corpus -Christi._ God Himself had walked the streets like Agamemnon over purple -draperies. The stench of the city had mingled with the perfume of a -thousand lilies—to the Protestant mind, a symbol of the central doctrine -of the day—Transubstantiation. Transubstantiation beaten out by the -cold, throbbing logic of the Latin hymns of Saint Thomas Aquinas, and -triumphantly confirmed at Bologna by the miraculous bleeding of the Host. - -Seraphic logic and bleeding bread! A conjunction such as this hints at a -secret vice of the cold and immaculate intellect. What if one came in a -dark corner of one’s dreams upon a celestial spirit feeding upon carrion? - -Past gorgeous altars, past houses still hung with arras, the Troquevilles -walked to Mass. From time to time they met processions of children -apeing the solemn doings of Thursday, led by tiny, mock priests, shrilly -chanting the office of the day. Other children passed in the scanty -clothing of little Saint John, leading lambs on pink or blue ribbons. -Everything sparkled in the May sunshine, and the air was full of the -scent of flowers. - -_Et introibo ad altare Dei: ad Deum qui lætificat juventutem meam_—very -shortly they would be hearing these words in Church. They were solemn, -sunny words well suited to the day, but, like the day, to Madeleine they -seemed but a mockery. _Ad Deum qui lætificat juventutem meam_—To God who -makes glad my youth! Where was the kind God of the Semi-Pelagians, and -what joy did _she_ have in her youth? - -They walked in silence to their destination—the smug _bourgeois_ -Church Saint-André-des-Arts. Its atmosphere and furniture did not lend -themselves to religious ecstasy. Among the congregation there was -whispering and tittering and bows of recognition. The gallants were -looking at the belles, and the belles were trying not to look at the -gallants. From marble tombs smirked many a petrified magistrate, to whose -vacuous pomposity the witty commemorative art of the day had added by -a wise elimination of the third dimension, a flat, mocking, decorative -charm. - -Suddenly the frivolity vanished from the atmosphere. Monsieur -Troqueville, who had been alternately yawning and spitting, pulled -himself together and put on what Jacques called his ‘Mass face’—one of -critical solemnity which seemed to say: ‘Here I am with a completely -unbiassed mind, quite unprejudiced, and a fine judicial gift for -sifting evidence. I am quite willing to believe that you have the -power of turning bread into the Body and Blood of Christ, but mind! no -hocus-pocus, and not one tiny crumb left untransubstantiated!’ - -The clergy in the red vestments, symbolic in France of the Blessed -Sacrament, preceded by solemn thurifer, marched in procession from the -sacristy to the altar. And then began the Sacrifice of High Mass. - -The _Introit_ melted into the _Kyrie_, the _Kyrie_ swelled into the -_Gloria in excelsis_. The subdeacon sang the Epistle, the deacon sang the -Gospel. The Gospel and Epistle solidified into the fine rigidity of the -Creed. - -Madeleine, quite unmoved by the solemn drama, was examining the creases -in the neck of a fat merchant immediately in front of her. There were -three real creases—the small half ones did not count—and as there were -three lines in her Litany she might use them as a sort of Rosary. She -felt that she must ‘tell’ the three creases before he turned his head. - -‘Blessed Virgin, Mother of Our Lord, give me the friendship of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Guardian Angel that watchest over me, give me -the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Blessed Saint Magdalene, give -me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’ - -Suddenly ... the sweet, nauseating smell of incense and the strange music -of the Preface—an echo of the music of Paradise, so said the legend, -caught in dreams by holy apostolic men. - -_Quia per incarnati Verbi mysterium nova inentis nostræ oculis lux tuæ -claritatis infulsit: ut dum visibiliter Deum cognoscimus per hunc in -INVISIBILIUM AMOREM RAPIAMUR._ - -Dozens of times before had Madeleine heard these terse Latin words, but -to-day, for the first time, she felt their significance. ‘Caught up to -the love of invisible things’—_rapiamur_—a ghostly rape—the idea was -beautiful and terrible. Suddenly a great longing swept over her for the -still, significant life of the Spirit, for the shadowy lining of this -bright, hard earth. Yet on earth itself strange lives had been led ... -symbols, and bitter-sweet sacrifice, and little cells suddenly filled -with the sound of great waters. - -A ghostly rape ... she had a sudden vision of the nervous hands of the -Almighty clutching tightly the yielding flesh of a thick, human body, -as in a picture by the Flemish Rubens she had seen in the Luxembourg. -Surely the body was that of the fat merchant with the wrinkled neck ... -there ... sitting in front of her. Something is happening ... there -are acolytes with lighted tapers ... a bell is ringing ... the central -Mystery is being consummated. For one strange, poignant second Madeleine -felt herself in a world of non-bulk and non-colour. She buried her -face in her hands and, though her mind formed no articulate prayer, she -worshipped the Unseen. Her mundane desires had, for the moment, dropped -from her and their place was taken by her old ambition of one day being -able to go up to the altar, strong in grace, a true penitent, to partake -of the inestimable blessing of the Eucharist. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -ROBERT PILOU’S SCREEN - - -When Mass was over, Madeleine walked home with her parents in absolute -silence. She was terribly afraid of losing the flavour of her recent -experience. She specially dreaded Jacques. He was such a scoffer; -besides, at this moment, she felt a great distaste for the insincerity of -her relationship with him. However, as it happened, he did not come in to -dinner that day. - -After dinner she went to her room and lay down on her bed, in the hopes -of sleeping, and so guarding her religious emotion from the contamination -of thoughts and desires—for, at the bottom of her heart, she knew quite -well that her obsession was only dozing. Finally, she did fall asleep, -and slept for some hours. - -When she awoke, it was half-past four, and she realised with joy that she -had nursed successfully the mystic atmosphere. She felt a need for space -and fresh air, and hastily put on her pattens, mask, and cloak. As she -came out of her room, her mother appeared from the parlour. - -‘Madeleine—dear life—whither in the name of madness, are you bound? You -cannot be contemplating walking alone? Why, ’twill soon be dusk! Jacques -should shortly return, and he’ll accompany you!’ - -This was unbearable. In a perfect frenzy, lest the spell should be -broken, Madeleine gathered up her petticoats and made a dash for the -staircase. - -‘Madeleine! Madeleine! Is the child demented? Come back! I command you!’ - -‘For God’s sake, _let me be_!’ screeched Madeleine furiously from -half-way down the stairs. ‘Curse her! With her shrill importunity she has -shattered the serenity of my humour!’ she muttered to herself, in the -last stage of nervous irritation. - -She had half a mind to go back and spend the rest of the afternoon -in dinning into her mother that by her untimely interruption she had -arrested a _coup de Grâce_, and come between her and her ultimate -redemption. But pleasant though this would be, the soft sunshine of early -June was more so, so she ran down the stairs and into the street. - -At first she felt so irritated and ruffled that she feared the spell was -broken for ever, but gradually it was renewed under the magical idleness -of the Sunday afternoon. In a house opposite some one was playing a -Saraband on the lute. From a neighbouring street came the voices and -laughter of children—otherwise the whole neighbourhood seemed deserted. - -Down the long rue des Augustins, that narrowed to a bright point towards -the Seine, she wandered with wide, staring eyes, to meet something, she -knew not what. Then up the quays she wandered, up and on, still in a -trance. - -Finally she took her stand on the Pont-Rouge, a little wooden bridge -long since replaced. For some moments she gazed at the Seine urbanely -flowing between the temperate tints of its banks, and flanked on its -right by the long, gray gallery of the Louvre. Everything was shrouded -in a delicate distance-lending haze; there was the Cité—miles and miles -away it seemed—nuzzling into the water and dominated by the twin towers -of Notre-Dame. They had caught the sun, and though unsubstantial, they -still looked sturdy—like solid cubes of light. The uniform gray-greenness -of everything—Seine and Louvre and Cité—and a quality in it all of -decorative unreality, reminded Madeleine of a great, flat, gray-green -picture by Mantegna of the death of Saint Sebastian, that she had seen in -one of the Palaces. - -The bell of Saint-Germain-des-Prés began to peal for Vespers. She started -murmuring to herself the Vesper hymn—_Lucis Creator_:— - - ‘Ne mens gravata crimine. - Vitæ sit exul munere, - Dum nil perenne cogitat, - Seseque culpis illigat.’ - -‘Grant that the mind, borne down by the charge of guilt, be not an exile -from the fulfilment of life, perennially pondering emptiness and binding -itself by its transgressions.’ - -Yes, that was a prayer she had need of praying. ‘An exile from the -fulfilment of life’—that was what she had always feared to be. An exile -in the provinces, far from the full stream of life—but what was Paris -itself but a backwater, compared with the City of God? ‘Perennially -pondering emptiness’—yes, that was her soul’s only exercise. She had long -ceased to ponder grave and pregnant matters. The time had come to review -once more her attitude to God and man. - -She had come lately to look upon God as a Being with little sense of sin, -who had a mild partiality for _attrition_ in His creatures, but who never -demanded _contrition_. And the compact into which she had entered with -Him was this: she was to offer Him a little lip-service, perform daily -some domestic duties and pretend to Jacques she was in love with him; -in return for this He (aided by her dances) was to procure for her the -entrée into the inner circle of the Précieuses, and the friendship of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry! And the tenets of Jansenism—it was a long time -since she had boldly faced them. What were they? - -Every man is a tainted creature, fallen into an incurable and permanent -habit of sinning. His every action, his every thought—beginning from the -puny egotism of his babyhood—is a loathsome sin in the eyes of God. The -only remedy for the diseased will that prompts these sinful thoughts and -actions is the sovereign, infallible grace that God sends on those whom -He has decided in His secret councils to raise to a state of triumphant -purity. And what does this Grace engender? An agony of repentance, -a loathing of things visible, and a burning longing for things -invisible—_in invisibilium amorem rapiamur_, yes, that is the sublime and -frigid fate of the true penitent. - -And she had actually deceived herself so far as to think that the -Arch-Enemy of sin manifested His goodness like a weak, earthly father by -gratifying one’s worldly desires, one’s ‘concupiscence’ which Jansenius -calls the ‘source of all the other vices’! No, His gifts to men were not -these vain baubles, the heart’s desires, but Grace, the Eucharist, His -perpetual Presence on the Altar—gigantic, austere benefits befitting this -solemn abstract universe, in which angels are helping men in the fight -for their immortal souls. - -Yes, this was the Catholic faith, this was the true and living God, to -Whose throne she had dared to come with trivial requests and paltry -bargainings. - -She felt this evening an almost physical craving for perfect sincerity -with herself, so without flinching she turned her scrutiny upon her love -for Mademoiselle de Scudéry. There flashed into her mind the words of -Jansenius upon the sin of Adam:— - - ‘What could Adam love after God, away from whom he had fallen? - What could so sublime a spirit love but the sublimest thing - after God Himself, namely—_his own_ spirit?... This love, - through which he wished, somehow, to take joy in himself, in - as much as he could no longer take joy in God, in itself did - not long suffice. Soon he apprehended its indigence, and that - in it he would never find happiness. - - ‘Then, seeing that the way was barred that led back to God, the - source of true felicity from which he had cut himself off, the - want left in his nature precipitated him towards the creatures - here below, and he wandered among them, hoping that _they_ - might satisfy the want. Thence come those bubbling desires, - whose name is legion; those tight, cruel chains with which he - is bound by the creatures he loves, that bondage, not only of - himself but of all he imprisons by their love for him. Because, - once again, in this love of his for all other things, it is - above all _himself_ that he holds dear. In all his frequent - delights it is always—and this is a remnant of his ancient - noble state—in _himself_ that he professes to delight.’ - -How could she, knowing this passage, have deceived herself into imagining -she could save her soul by love for a creature? - -The words of Jansenius were confirmed by those of Saint Augustine:— - - ‘I lived in adultery away from Thee.... For the friendship of - this world is adultery against Thee,’ - -and her own conscience confirmed them both, for it whispered that -her obsession for Mademoiselle de Scudéry was nothing but a subtle -development of her _amour-propre_, and what was more, had swollen to such -dimensions as completely to blot out God from her universe. - -Well, she stood condemned in all her desires and in all her activities! - -What was to be done? With regard to one matter at least her duty was -clear. She must confess to Jacques that she had lied to him when she -said she loved him. - -And Mademoiselle de Scudéry ... would she be called upon to chase her -from her heart? Oh, the cruelty of it! The horse-face and the plain gray -gown ... the wonderful invention in _galanterie_ made by herself and -the Grecian Sappho ... the delicious ‘light fire’ of expectancy ... the -desirability of being loved in return ... the deep, deep roots it had -taken in her heart. To see the figure in gray serge growing smaller and -smaller as earth receded from her, and as her new _amours_—the ‘invisible -things’—drew her up, and up with chill, shadowy arms—_she couldn’t, she -couldn’t_ face it! - -In mental agony she leaned her elbows on the parapet of the bridge, -and pressing her fingers against her eyes, she prayed passionately for -guidance. - -When she opened them, two gallants were passing. - -‘Have you heard the _mot_ Ninon made to the Queen of Sweden?’ one was -asking. - -‘No, what was it?’ - -‘Her Majesty asked her for a definition of the Précieuses, and Ninon said -at once, “_Madame, les Précieuses sont les Jansénistes de l’amour!_” -’Twas prettily said, wasn’t it?’ They laughed, and were soon out of sight. - -‘Les Précieuses sont les Jansénistes de l’amour!’ Madeleine laughed -aloud, as there swept over her a flood of what she imagined to be divine -illumination. Her prayer for guidance had been miraculously answered, and -in a manner perfectly accordant with her own wishes. It was obviously -a case of Robert Pilou’s sacred screen. ‘Profane history told by means -of sacred prints becomes sacred history.’ A Précieuse need only have a -knack of sacramentalism to become in the same way a Jansenist, for there -was a striking resemblance between the two creeds. In their demands on -their followers they had the same superb disregard for human weakness, -and in both this disregard was coupled with a firm belief in original sin -(for the contempt and loathing with which the Précieuses regarded the -manners of all those ignorant of their code sprang surely from a belief -in ‘original boorishness’ which in their eyes was indistinguishable from -‘original sin’), the only cure for which was their own particular form -of grace. And the grace of the Précieuses, namely, _l’air galant_—that -elusive social quality which through six or seven pages of _Le Grand -Cyrus_, gracefully evades the definitions in which the agile authoress is -striving to hold it, that quality without which the wittiest conversation -is savourless, the most graceful compliment without fragrance, that -quality which can be acquired by no amount of good-will or application, -and which can be found in the muddiest poet and be lacking in the most -elegant courtier—did it not offer the closest parallel to the mysterious -grace of the Jansenists without which there was no salvation, and which -was sometimes given in abundance to the greatest sinners and denied to -the most virtuous citizens? And then—most striking analogy of all—the -Précieuses’ conception of the true lover possessed just those qualities -demanded from us by Saint Paul and the Jansenists. What finer symbol, for -instance, of the perfect Christian could be found than that of the hero -of the _Astrée_, Céladon, the perfect lover? - -Yes, in spite of Saint Augustine’s condemnation of the men ‘who blushed -for a solecism,’ she could sanctify her preciosity by making it the -symbol of her spiritual development, and—oh, rapture—she could sanctify -her obsession for Mademoiselle de Scudéry by making it definitely -the symbol of her love for Christ, not merely a means of curing her -_amour-propre_. Through _her_, she would learn to know Him. Had it not -been said by Saint Augustine: ‘_My sin was just this, that I sought for -pleasure, grandeur, vanity, not in Him, but in His creatures_,’ by which -he surely meant that the love of the creature for the creature was not in -_itself_ a sin, it only became so when it led to forgetting the Creator. - -So, with singular rapidity this time, ‘La folie de la Croix s’est -atténuée.’ - - * * * * * - -It was already twilight. In the Churches they would be celebrating -Compline. The choir would be singing: ‘_Jube, Domine, benedicere_,’ and -the priest would answer: ‘_Noctem quietam et finem perfectum concedat -nobis Dominus omnipotens_.’ - -The criers of wafers were beginning their nocturnal song: ‘_La joie! la -joie! Voilà des oublies!_’ It was time to go home; her mother would be -anxious; she must try very hard not to be so inconsiderate. - -It was quite dark when she reached the petite rue du Paon. She found -Madame Troqueville almost frantic with anxiety, so she flung her arms -round her neck and whispered her contrition for her present lateness and -her former ill-humour. Madame Troqueville pressed her convulsively and -whispered back that she was never ill-humoured, and even if she were, it -was no matter. In the middle of this scene in came Berthe, nodding and -becking. ‘Ah! Mademoiselle is _câline_ in her ways! She is skilled in -wheedling her parents—a second Nausicaa!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -A DEMONSTRATION IN FAITH - - -The scruples with regard to having compromised with an uncompromising -God which Madeleine entertained in spite of herself were silenced by the -determination of settling things with Jacques. For a right action is a -greater salve to conscience than a thousand good resolutions. - -This determination gave her a double satisfaction, for she had realised -that the relationship was also a sin against preciosity—and a very -deadly sin to boot. For one thing, _les honnêtes femmes_ must never love -more than once, and then her shameful avowal that ‘_she loved him very -much, and that he might take his fill of kissing_,’ would surely cause -the belles who staked their reputation on never permitting a gallant to -succeed in expressing his sentiments and who were beginning to shudder -at even the ‘minor favours,’ such as the acceptance of presents and the -discreetest signs of the chastest complacency, to fall into a swoon seven -fathoms deep of indignation, horror, and scorn. - -The retraction should be made that very evening, she decided; it was to -be her Bethel, a spiritual stone set up as a covenant between herself and -God. But Jacques did not come back to supper that evening, so it happened -that she celebrated her new _coup de grâce_ in a vastly more agreeable -manner. - -After supper she had gone into her own room and had begun idly to turn -over the pages of _Cyrus_, and, as always happened, it soon awoke in her -an agonising sense of the author’s charms, and a craving for closer -communion with her than was afforded by the perusal of even these -intimate pages. This closer communion could only be reached through a -dance. In a second she was up and leaping:— - -_She has gone to a ‘Samedi’ where she finds a select circle of Sappho’s -friends_ ... then by a great effort of will she checks herself. Is -she a Jansenist or is she not? And if she _is_ a Jansenist, is this -dancing reconcilable with her tenets? As a means of moulding the future -it certainly is not, for the future has been decided once and for all -in God’s inscrutable councils. As a mere recreation, it is probably -harmless. But is there no way of making it an integral part of her -religious life? Yes, from the standpoint of Semi-Pelagianism it was a -means of helping God to make the future, from the standpoint of Jansenism -it can be _a demonstration in faith_, by which she tells God how safe her -future is in His hands, and how certain she is of His goodness and mercy -in the making of it. - -Then, an extra sanctity can be given to its contents by the useful device -of Robert Pilou’s screen—let the talk be as witty and gallant as you -please, as long as every conceit has a mystical second meaning. - -This settled, once more she started her dance. - - * * * * * - -_Madeleine has gone to a ‘Samedi’ at Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s, where she -finds a select circle of Sappho’s friends._ - -_The talk drifts to the writings of ‘Callicrate,’ as the late Monsieur -Voiture was called._ - -_‘There is a certain verse of his from which an astute reader can deduce -that he was not a Jansenist,’ says Madeleine, with a deliciously roguish -smile. ‘Can any of the company quote this verse?’_ - -_A wave of amused interest passes over the room._ - -_‘I did not know that Callicrate was a theologian,’ says Sappho._ - -_‘A theologian, yes, for he was an admirable professor of love’s theory, -but a real Christian, no, for he was but a feeble and faithless lover,’ -answers Madeleine, looking straight into Sappho’s eyes. Sappho colours, -and with a laugh which thrills Madeleine’s ear, with a tiny note of -nervousness says_:— - -_‘Well, Mademoiselle, prove your theory about Callicrate by quoting the -verses you allude to, and if you cannot do so, we will exact a forfeit -from you for being guilty of the crime of having aroused the delightful -emotion of curiosity without the justification of being able to gratify -it.’ The company turn their smiling eyes on Madeleine, who proceeds to -quote the following lines_:— - - ‘Ne laissez rien en vous capable de déplaire. - Faites-vous toute belle: et _tachez de parfaire_ - _L’ouvrage que les Dieux ont si fort avancé_:’ - -_‘Now these lines allow great power to ~le libre arbitre~, and suppose a -collaboration between the gods and mortals in the matter of the soul’s -redemption, which would, I am sure, bring a frown to the brows of ~les -Messieurs de Port-Royale~.’_ - -_‘Sappho, I think it is we that must pay forfeits to Mademoiselle, not -she to us, for she has vindicated herself in the most ~spirituel~ manner -in the world,’ says Cléodamas._ - -_‘Let her lay a task on each of us that must be performed within five -minutes,’ suggests Philoxène._ - -_‘Mademoiselle, what labours of Hercules are you going to impose on us?’ -asks Sappho, smiling at Madeleine. Madeleine thinks for a moment and then -says_:— - -_‘Each of you must compose a ~Proposition Galante~ on the model of one of -the Five.’_ - -_The company is delighted with the idea, and Théodamas writes out the -five original Propositions that the company may have their models before -them, and proceeds to read them out_:— - - (1) _Some of God’s commandments it is impossible for the Just - to obey owing to the present state of their powers, in spite of - the desire of doing so, and in spite of great efforts: and the - Grace by which they might obey these commandments is lacking._ - - (2) _That in the state of fallen nature, one never resists the - interior grace._ - - (3) _That to merit and demerit in the state of fallen nature, - it is not necessary that man should have liberty opposed to - necessity (to will), but that it suffices that he should have - liberty opposed to constraint._ - - (4) _That the Semi-Pelagians admitted the necessity of the - inward grace preceding every action, even the inception of - Faith, but that they were heretics in so far as they held that - grace to be of such a nature that the will of man could either - resist it or obey it._ - - (5) _That it is a Semi-Pelagian error to say that the Founder - of our faith died and shed His blood universally, for all men._ - -_They all take out their tablets and begin to write. At the end of five -minutes Madeleine tells them to stop._ - -_‘I have taken the first as my model,’ says Sappho, ‘and indeed I have -altered it only very slightly.’ The company begs to hear it._ - -_‘No commandment of a lady is too difficult for an ~homme galant~ to -obey, for to him every lady is full of grace, and this grace inspires him -with powers more than human.’_ - -_Every one applauds, and expresses their appreciation of her wit._ - -_‘And now,’ says Madeleine, ‘that our appetite has been so deliciously -whetted—if I may use the expression—by Sappho, have the rest of the -company got their ~ragoûts~ ready?_’ - -_Doralise looks at Théodamas, and Théodamas at Philoxène, and they laugh._ - -_‘Mademoiselle, blindness is the penalty for looking on a goddess, and -dumbness, I suppose, that of listening to two Muses. We are unable to pay -our forfeits,’ says Théodamas, with a rueful smile._ - -_‘Will not Mademoiselle rescue the Sorbonne ~galante~ from ignominy, -and herself supply the missing propositions?’ says Sappho, throwing at -Madeleine a glance, at once arch and challenging._ - -_‘Yes! Yes!’ cries the company, ‘let the learned doctor herself compile -the theology of Cupid!’_ - -_‘When Sappho commands, even the doctors of the Sorbonne obey,’ says -Madeleine gallantly. ‘Well, then, I will go on to the second proposition -in which I will change nothing but ~one~ word. “That in the state of -fallen nature, man never resists the ~external~ grace.”’ The company -laughs delightedly._ - -_‘By the third I must admit to be vanquished,’ she continues, ‘the fourth -is not unlike that of Sappho’s! “That courtiers, although they admit the -necessity of feminine grace preceding every movement of their passions, -are heretics in so far that they hold the wishes of ladies to be of such -a nature that the will of man can either, as it chooses, resist or obey -them.”’_ - -_‘Delicious!’ cries the company, ‘that is furiously well expressed, and a -well-merited condemnation of Condé and his petits-maîtres.’_ - -_‘And now we come to the fifth, which calls for as much pruning as one of -the famous Port-Royal pear-trees. “That it is an error of provincials and -other barbarians to say that lovers burn with a universal flame, or that -~les honnêtes femmes~ give their favours to ~all~ men.”’ Loud applause -follows._ - -_‘Mademoiselle,’ says Théodamas, ‘you have converted me to Jansenism.’_ - -_‘Such a distinguished convert as the great Théodamas will certainly -compensate the sect for all the bulls launched against it by the Holy -Father,’ says Madeleine gallantly._ - -_‘Well, I must admit that by one thing the Jansenists have certainly -added to ~la douceur de la vie~, and that is by what we may call their -Miracle of the Graces,’ says Sappho._ - -_‘What does Madame mean by “the Miracle of the Graces”?’ asks Madeleine, -smiling._ - -_‘I mean the multiplication of what till their day had been ~three~ -Graces into ~at least~ four times that number. To have done so deserves, -I think, to be called a miracle.’_ - -_‘The most miraculous—if I may use the expression—of the miracles -recorded in the Lives of the Saints has always seemed to me the Miracle -of the Beautiful City,’ says Madeleine innocently._ - -_‘What miracle is that? My memory fails me, if I may use the expression,’ -says Sappho, in a puzzled voice._ - -_‘Madame, I scarcely believe that a lady so widely and exquisitely -informed as Sappho of Lesbos in both what pertains to mortals and in what -pertains to gods, in short in Homer and in Hesiod, should never have -heard of the “Miracle of the Beautiful City,”’ says Madeleine, in mock -surprise._ - -_‘Then Mademoiselle—as you say you can scarcely believe it—you show -yourself to be a lady of but little faith!’ says Sappho, her eye lighted -by a delicious gleam of raillery._ - -_‘I must confess that the miracle Mademoiselle mentions has—if I may use -the expression—escaped ~my~ memory too,’ says Théodamas._ - -_‘And ours,’ say Doralise and Philoxène._ - -_‘So ~this~ company of all companies has never heard of the Miracle of -the Beautiful City!’ cries Madeleine. ‘Well, I will recount it to you._ - -_‘Once upon a time, in a far barbarian country, there lived a great -saint. Everything about her was a miracle—her eyes, her hands, her -figure, and her wit. One night an angel appeared to her and said: (I will -not yet tell you the saint’s name), “Take your lyre” (I forgot to mention -that the saint’s performance on this instrument was also a miracle, and -a furiously agreeable one), “Take your lyre, and go and play upon it in -the wilderness.” And the saint obeyed the angel’s command, though the -wilderness was filled with lions and tigers and every other ferocious -beast. But when the saint began to play they turned into ... doves and -linnets.’ A tiny smile of comprehension begins to play round the eyes of -the company. Madeleine goes on, quite gravely_:— - -_‘But that was only a baby miracle beside that which followed. As the -saint played, out of the earth began to spring golden palaces, surrounded -by delicious gardens, towers of porphyry, magnificent temples, in short, -all the agreeable monuments that go to the making of a great city, and -of which, as a rule, Time is the only building contractor. But, in a few -minutes, this great Saint built it merely by playing on her lyre. Madame, -the city’s name was Pretty Wit, and the Saint’s name was ... can the -company tell me?’ and she looks roguishly round._ - -_‘It is a name of five letters, and its first letter is S and its last -O,’ says Théodamas, with a smile._ - - * * * * * - -Madeleine flung herself breathless and exhausted on her bed. - -Deep down her conscience was wondering if she had achieved a genuine -reconciliation between Preciosity and Jansenism. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -MOLOCH - - -The period that ensued was one of great happiness for Madeleine. It was -spent in floating on her own interpretation of the Jansenists’ ‘full sea -of grace,’ happy in the certainty, secure in the faith, that God in His -own good time would grant her desires, and reverse the rôles of fugitive -and pursuer. And being set free from the necessity of making her own -future, _ipso facto_ she was also released from the importunities of the -gnat-like taboos and duties upon the doing or not doing of which had -seemed to depend her future success. - -She felt at peace with God and with man, and her family found her -unusually gentle, calm, and sympathetic. - -But Bethel was not yet raised. This was partly due to the inevitable -torpor caused by an excess of faith. If it was God’s will that she should -have an explanation with Jacques, He would furnish the occasion and the -words. - -So the evenings slipped by, and Madeleine continued to receive Jacques’s -caresses with an automatic responsiveness. - -Then, at a party at the Troguins, she met a benevolent though gouty old -gentleman, in a black taffeta jerkin and black velvet breeches, and he -was none other than Monsieur Conrart, perpetual secretary to the Academy, -and self-constituted master of the ceremonies at the ‘_Samedis_’ of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Madeleine was introduced to him, and her demure -attention to his discourse, her modest demeanour, and her discreet -feminine intelligence pleased him extremely. She made no conscious effort -to attract him, she just trusted God, and, to ring another change on her -favourite _quolibet_, it was as if _la Grâce_ confided to the Graces the -secret of its own silent, automatic action. He grew very paternal, patted -her on the knee with his fat, gouty hand, and focused his energies on the -improvement of _her_ mind instead of the collective mind of the company. - -The end of it was that he promised to take her with him to the very next -‘_Samedi_.’ - -On the way home, she and Jacques went for a stroll in the Place Maubert, -that favourite haunt of _petits-bourgeois_, where in pathetic finery -they aired their puny pretensions to pass for _honnêtes gens_, or, more -happily constituted, exercised their capacity for loud laughter and -coarse wit, and the one privilege of their class, that of making love in -public. - -As a rule, Madeleine would rather have died than have been seen walking -in the Place Maubert, but now, when her soul was floating on a sea of -grace, so dazzlingly sunny, it mattered but little in which of the paths -of earth her body chose to stray; however, this evening, her happiness -was a little disturbed by an inward voice telling her that now was the -time for enlightening Jacques with regard to her feelings towards him. - -She looked at him; he was a lovable creature and she realised that she -would sorely miss him. Then she remembered that on Saturday she was -going to see Sappho, and in comparison with her the charm of pale, -chestnut-haired young men lost all potency. She was going to see Sappho. -God was very good! - -They were threading their way between squares of box clipped in -arabesque. It was sunset, and from a distant shrubbery there came the -sounds of children at their play. The pungent smell of box, the voices of -children playing at sunset; they brought to Madeleine a sudden whiff of -the long, nameless nostalgia of childhood, a nostalgia for what? Perhaps -for the _vitæ munus_ (the fulfilment of life) of the Vesper hymn; well, -on Saturday she would know the _vitæ munus_. - -She seized Jacques’s arm and, with shining eyes, cried out: ‘Oh, God is -exceeding merciful to His chosen! He keeps the promise in the Psalms, -He “maketh glad our youth.” When I think on His great goodness ... I -want ... I want ... Oh, words fail me! How comes it, Jacques, you do not -see His footsteps everywhere upon the earth?’ She was trembling with -exultation and her voice shook. - -Jacques looked at her gently, and his face was troubled. - -‘One cannot reveal Grace to another by words and argument,’ she went on, -‘each must _feel_ it in his own soul, but let it once be felt, then never -more will one be obnoxious to doubts on ghostly matters, willy-nilly one -will believe to all eternity!’ - -They found a quiet little seat beside a fountain and sat down. After a -moment’s silence Madeleine once more took up her _Te Deum_. - -‘Matter for thanksgiving is never wanting, as inch by inch the veil is -lifted from the eyes of one’s spirit to discover in time the whole fair -prospect of God’s most amiable Providence. Oh, Jacques, _why_ are you -blind?’ His only answer was to kick the pebbles, his eyes fixed on the -ground. - -Then, in rather a constrained voice, he said: ‘I would rather put it -thus; matter for _pain_ is never wanting to him who stares at the world -with an honest and unblinking eye. What sees he? Pain—pain—and again -pain. It is harsh and incredible to suppose that ’twould be countenanced -by a _good_ God. What say you, Chop, to pain?’ - -Madeleine was pat with her answers from Jansenism—the perfection of man’s -estate before the Fall, when there was granted him the culminating grace -of free will, his misuse of it by his choice of sin, and its attendant, -pain. - -Jacques was silent for a moment, and then he said:— - -‘I can conceive of no scale of virtues wherein room is found for a -lasting, durable, and unremitted anger, venting itself on the progeny -of its enemy unto the tenth and twentieth-thousand generation. Yet, -such an anger was cherished by your God, towards the children of Adam. -Nor in any scale of virtues is there place for the pregnant fancy of an -artificer, who having for his diversion moulded a puppet out of mud, -to show, forsooth, the cunning of his hand, makes that same puppet -sensible to pain and to affliction. Why, ’tis a subtle malice of which -even the sponsors of Pandora were guiltless! Then his ignoble chicanery! -With truly kingly magnanimity he cedes to the puppet the franchise of -free will; but mark what follows! The puppet, guileless and trusting, -proceeds to enjoy its freedom, when lo! down on its head descends the -thunder-bolt, that it may know free will must not be exercised except -in such manner as is accordant with the purposes of the giver. The -pettifogging attorney! - -‘Yes, your God is bloodier than Moloch, more perfectly tyrant than Jove, -more crafty and dishonest than Mercury. - -‘Have you read the fourth book of Virgil’s _Æneid_? In it I read a -tragedy more pungent than the cozenage of Dido—that of a race of mortals, -quick in their apprehensions, tender in their affections, sensible to the -dictates of conscience and of duty, who are governed by gods, ferocious -and malign, as far beneath them in the scale of creation as are the -roaring lions of the Libyan desert. And were I not possessed by the -certainty that your faith is but a monstrous fiction, my wits would long -ere now have left me in comparing the rare properties of good men with -those of your low Hebrew idol.’ - -Madeleine looked at him curiously. This was surely a piece of prepared -rhetoric, not a spontaneous outburst. So she was not the only person who -in her imagination spouted eloquence to an admiring audience! - -Although she had no arguments with which to meet his indictment, her -faith, not a whit disturbed, continued comfortably purring in her heart. -But as she did not wish to snub his outburst by silence—her mood was too -benevolent—she said:— - -‘Do you hold, then, that there is no good power behind the little -accidents of life?’ - -‘The only good power lies in us ourselves, ’tis the Will that Descartes -writes of—a magic sword like to the ones in _Amadis_, a delicate, sure -weapon, not rusting in the armoury of a tyrannical god, but ready to -the hand of every one of us to wield it when we choose. _Les hommes de -volonté_—they form the true _noblesse d’épée_, and can snap their fingers -at Hozier and his heraldries,’ he paused, then said very gently, ‘Chop, -I sometimes fear that in your wild chase after winged horses you may be -cozened out of graver and more enduring blessings, which, though they be -not as rare and pretty as chimeras....’ - -‘Because you choose to stick on them the name of chimeras,’ Madeleine -interrupted with some heat, ‘it does not a whit alter their true nature. -Though your mind may be too narrow to stable a winged horse, that is no -hindrance to its finding free pasturage in the mind of God, of which the -universe is the expression. And even if they should be empty cheats—which -they are _not_—do you not hold the Duc de Liancourt was worthy of praise -in that by a cunningly painted perspective he has given the aspect of a -noble park watered by a fair river to his narrow garden in the Rue de -Seine?’ - -‘Why, if we be on the subject of painted perspectives,’ said Jacques, -‘it is reported that the late cardinal in his villa at Rueil had painted -on a wall at the end of his _Citronière_ the Arch of Constantine. ’Twas -a life-size cheat and so cunning an imitation of nature was shown in -the painting of sky and hills between the arches, that foolish birds, -thinking to fly through have dashed themselves against the wall. Chop, it -would vex me sorely to see you one of these birds!’ - -A frightened shadow came into Madeleine’s eyes, and she furtively crossed -herself. Then, once more, she smiled serenely. - -For several moments they were silent, and then Jacques said hesitatingly:— - -‘Dear little Chop ... I would have you deal quite frankly with me, and -tell me if you mean it when you say you love me. There are moments when a -doubt ... I _must_ know the truth, Chop!’ - -In an almost miraculous manner the way had been made easy for her -confession, and ... she put her arms round his neck (in the Place Maubert -you could do these things) and feverishly assured him that she loved him -with all her heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -A VISIT TO THE ABBAYE OF PORT-ROYAL - - -Madeleine’s bitter self-reproaches for her own weakness were of no -avail. She had to acknowledge once and for all that she had not the -force to stand out against another personality and tell them in cold -blood things they would not like. She could hedge and be lukewarm—as -when Jacques wished to be formally affianced—but once she had got into a -false position she could not, if the feelings of others were involved, -extricate herself in a strong, straightforward way. Would God be angry -that she had not set up the Bethel she had promised? No, because it was -the true God she was worshipping now, not merely the projection of her -own barbarous superstitions. - -At any rate, to be on the safe side, she would go and visit Mère Agnès -Arnauld at the Abbaye de Port-Royal (a thing she should have done long -ago) for that would certainly please Him. So she wrote asking if she -might come, and got back a cordial note, fixing Wednesday afternoon for -the interview. - -In spite of her exalted mood, she did not look forward to the meeting: -‘I hate having my soul probed,’ she told herself in angry anticipation. -She could not have explained what hidden motive it was that forced her -on Wednesday to make up her face with Talc, scent herself heavily with -Ambre, and deck herself out in all her most worldly finery. - -As it was a long walk to the Abbaye of Port-Royal—one had to traverse -the whole of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques—Madame Troqueville insisted on -Jacques accompanying her, and waiting for her, during the interview, at -the abbaye gates. - -They set out at about half-past two. Jacques seemed much tickled by the -whole proceeding, and said that he longed for the cap of invisibility -that, unseen, he might assist at the interview. - -‘You’ll be a novice ere many months have passed!’ he said, with a -mischievous twinkle, ‘what will you wager that you won’t?’ - -‘All in this world and the next,’ Madeleine answered passionately. - -‘As you will, time will show,’ and he nodded his head mysteriously. - -‘Jacques, do not be so fantastical. Why, in the name of madness, should I -turn novice just because I visited a nun? Jacques, do you hear me? I bid -you to retract your words!’ - -‘And if I were to retract them, what would it boot you? They would still -be true. You’ll turn nun and never clap eyes again on old Dame Scudéry!’ -and he shrieked with glee. Madeleine paled under her rouge. - -‘So you would frustrate my hopes, and stick a curse on me?’ she said in a -voice trembling with fury. ‘I’ll have none of your escort, let my mother -rail as she will, I’ll not be seen with one of your make; what are you -but my father’s bawd? Seek him out and get you to your low revellings, -I’ll on my way alone!’ and carrying her head very high, she strutted on -by herself. - -‘Why, Chop, you have studied rhetoric in the Halles, the choiceness -of your language would send old Scudéry gibbering back to her -native Parnassus!’ he called after her mockingly, then, suddenly -conscience-stricken, he ran up to her and said, trying to take her hand: -‘Why, Chop, ’tis foolishness to let raillery work on you so strangely! -All said and done, what power have my light words to act upon your -future? I am no prophet. But as you give such credence to my words why -then I’ll say with solemn emphasis that you will _never_ be a novice, -for no nuns would be so foolish as to let a whirlwind take the veil. No, -you’ll be cloistered all your days with Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and with -no other living soul will you hold converse. Why, there’s a pleasant, -frigid, prophecy for you, are you content?’ - -Madeleine relented sufficiently to smile at him and let him take her -hand, but she remained firm in her resolve to forgo his further escort, -so with a shrug he left her, and went off on his own pursuits. - -As Madeleine passed through the Porte Saint-Jacques, she seemed to leave -behind her all the noisy operations of man and to enter the quiet domain -of God and nature. On either side of her were orchards and monasteries in -which, leisurely, slowly, souls and fruit were ripening. Over the fields -of hay the passing wind left its pale foot-prints. Peace had returned to -her soul. - -Soon she was ringing the bell of the Abbaye of Port-Royal—that alembic of -grace, for ever at its silent work of distilling from the warm passions -of human souls, the icy draught of holiness—that mysterious depository of -the victims of the Heavenly Rape. - -She was shown into a waiting-room, bare and scrupulously clean. On the -wall hung crayon sketches by Moustier of the various benefactors of the -House. Madeleine gazed respectfully at this gallery of blonde ladies, -simpering above their plump _décolletage_. They were inscribed with -such distinguished names as Madame la Princesse de Guémené; Elizabeth -de Choiseul-Praslin; Dame Anne Harault de Chéverni; Louise-Marie de -Gonzagues de Clèves, Queen of Poland, who, the inscription said, had been -a pupil of the House, and whom Madeleine knew to be an eminent Précieuse. - -Some day would another drawing be added to the collection? A drawing -wherein would be portrayed a plain, swarthy woman in classic drapery, -whose lyre was supported by a young fair virgin gazing up at her, and -underneath these words:— - -_Madeleine de Scudéry and Madeleine Troqueville, twin-stars of talent, -piety, and love, who, in their declining years retreated to this House -that they might sanctify the great love one bore the other, by the -contemplation of the love of Jesus._ - -Madeleine’s eyes filled with tears. Then a lay-sister came in and said -she would conduct her to the _parloir_. - -It was a great bare room, its only ornament a crucifix, and behind the -grille there sat a motionless figure—the Mother Superior, Mère Agnès -Arnauld. Her face, slightly tanned and covered with clear, fine wrinkles, -seemed somehow to have been carved out of a very hard substance, and -this, together with the austere setting of her white veil, gave her the -look of one of the Holy Women in a picture by Mantegna. Her hazel eyes -were clear and liquid and child-like. - -When Madeleine reached the grille, she smiled charmingly, and said in a -beautiful, caressing voice: ‘Dear little sister, I have desired to see -you this long time.’ - -Madeleine mumbled some inaudible reply. She tried to grasp the mystical -fact that that face, these hands, that torso behind the grille had been -built up tissue by tissue by the daily bread of the Eucharist into the -actual flesh of God Himself. It seemed almost incredible! - -Why was the woman staring at her so fixedly? She half expected her to -break the silence with some reference to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, so -certain was she that to these clear eyes her inmost thoughts lay naked to -view. - -At last, the beautiful voice began again: ‘It would seem you have now -taken up your abode in Paris. Do you like the city?’ - -‘Exceeding well,’ Madeleine murmured. - -‘Exceeding well—yes—exceeding well,’ Mère Agnès repeated after her, with -a vague smile. - -Suddenly Madeleine realised that the intensity of her gaze was due to -absent-mindedness, and that she stared at things without seeing them. All -the same, she felt that if this pregnant silence were to continue much -longer she would scream; she gave a nervous little giggle and began to -fiddle with her hands. - -‘And what is your manner of passing the time? Have you visited any of the -new buildings?’ - -The woman was evidently at a loss for something to say, why, in the name -of madness, didn’t she play her part and make inquiries about the state -of her disciple’s soul? Madeleine began to feel quite offended. - -‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I have seen the Palais Mazarin and I have visited -the Hôtel de Rambouillet.’ - -‘Ah, yes, the Hôtel de Rambouillet. My cousins report it to be a very -noble fabric. Some day when the family is in the country you may be able -to see the apartments, which are adorned, I am told, in a most rare and -costly manner.’ - -So she took it for granted that Madeleine had only seen the outside! It -was annoying, but it was no use enlightening her, because, even if she -listened, she would not be in the least impressed. - -There was another pause, then Mère Agnès turned on her a quick, kind -glance, and said:— - -‘Talk to me of yourself!’ - -‘What manner of things shall I tell you?’ Madeleine asked nervously. - -‘What of theology? Do you still fret yourself over seeming -incongruities?’ she asked with a little twinkle. - -‘No,’ Madeleine answered with a blush, ‘most of my doubts have been -resolved.’ - -‘’Tis well, dear child, for abstracted speculation is but an oppilation -to the free motion of the spirit. ’Tis but a faulty instrument, the -intellect, even for the observing of the _works_ of God, how little apt -is it then, for the apprehension of God Himself? But the spirit is the -sea of glass, wherein is imaged in lucid colours and untrembling outlines -the Golden City where dwells the Lamb. Grace will be given to you, my -child, to gaze into that sea where all is clear.’ - -She spoke in a soft, level, soothing voice. Her words were a confirmation -of what Madeleine had tried to express to Jacques the other day in the -garden of the Place Maubert, but suddenly—she could not have said why—she -found herself echoing with much heat those very theories of his that had -seemed so absurd to her then. - -‘But how comes it that God is good? He commands _us_ to forgive, while He -Himself has need of unceasing propitiation and the blood of His Son to -forgive the Fall of Adam. And verily ’tis a cruel, barbarous, and most -unworthy motion to “visit the sins of the fathers upon the children”; -a _man_ must put on something of a devil before he can act thus. He -would seem to demand perfection in us while He Himself is moved by every -passion,’ and she looked at Mère Agnès half frightened, half defiant. - -Mère Agnès, with knitted brows, remained silent for a moment. Then she -said hesitatingly and as if thinking aloud:— - -‘The ways of God to man are, in truth, a great mystery. But I think we -are too apt to forget the unity of the Trinity. Our Lord was made man -partly to this end, that His Incarnation might be the instrument of our -learning to know the Father through the Son, that the divine mercy and -love, hitherto revealed but in speculative generals, might be turned into -particulars proportioned to our finite understandings. Thus, if such -mysteries as the Creation, the Preservation, nay, even the Redemption, be -too abstracted, too speculative to be apprehended by our affections, then -let us ponder the Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes, the tender words to -the woman of Samaria, the command to “suffer the little children to come -unto Him,” for they are types of the other abstracted mercies, and teach -us to acknowledge that God is of that nature, which knows no conjunctions -but those of justice and mercy. Yes, my child, all your doubts find their -resolution in the life of Jesus. I mind me when I was a girl, in the -garden of the Palais, the _arborist du roy_—as he was called—grew certain -rare flowers from the Orient to serve as patterns to the Queen and her -ladies for their embroidery. But when it was determined to build the -Place Dauphine the garden had to go, and with it these strange blossoms. -But the Queen commanded the _arborist_ to make her a book of coloured -plates wherein should be preserved the form and colour of the Orient -flowers. And this was done, so patterns were not wanting after all to the -Queen and her ladies for their broidery. Thus, for a time ‘our eyes did -see, and our ears did hear, and our hands did handle’ our divine Pattern -and then He ascended into Heaven, but, in His great mercy He has left a -book wherein in clear, enduring pigments are limned the pictures of His -life, that we too might be furnished with patterns for our broidery. Read -the Gospels, dear child, read them diligently, and, above all, hearken to -them when they are read in the presence of the Host, for at such times -the operation of their virtue is most sure.’ - -She paused, and then, as if following up some hidden line of thought, -continued:— - -‘Sometimes it has seemed to me that even sin couches mercy. Grace has -been instrumental to great sins blossoming into great virtues, and——’ - -‘Thus, one might say, “Blessed are the proud, for they shall become meek; -blessed are the concupiscent, for they shall become pure of heart,”’ -eagerly interposed Madeleine, her eyes bright with pleasure over the -paradox. - -‘Perhaps,’ said Mère Agnès, smiling a little. ‘I am glad you are so well -acquainted with the Sermon on the Mount. As I have said, there is no -instrument apter to the acquiring of grace than a diligent reading of -the Gospels; the late Bishop of Geneva was wont to insist on this with -my sister and myself. But bear in mind the consent and union of design -between the holy Life on earth and the divine existence in Eternity, if -one is pricked out with love and justice, so also is the other. We should -endeavour to read the Gospels with the apocalyptic eye of Saint John, for -it was the peculiar virtue of this Evangelist that in the narration of -particulars he never permitted the immersion of generals. The action of -his Gospel is set in Eternity. I have ever held that Spanish Catholicism -and the teaching of the Jesuit Fathers are wont to deal too narrowly with -particulars, whereas our own great teachers—I speak in all veneration -and humility—Doctor Jansen, nay, even our excellent and beloved Saint -Cyran, in that their souls were like to huge Cherubim, stationary before -the Throne of God, were apt to ignore the straitness of most mortal -minds, and to demand that their disciples should reach with one leap of -contemplation the very heart of eternity instead of leading them there by -the gentle route of Jesus’ diurnal acts on earth.’ - -She paused. Madeleine’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. She -had completely yielded to the charm of Mère Agnès’s personality and to -the hypnotic sway of the rich, recondite phraseology which the Arnaulds -proudly called ‘_la langue de notre maison_.’ - -‘By what sign can we recognise true grace?’ she asked, after some moments -of silence. - -‘I think its mark is an appetite of fire for the refection of spiritual -things. Thus, if an angel appeared to you, bearing in one hand a -cornucopia of earthly blessings, and in the other, holiness—not, mind, -certain salvation, but just holiness—and bade you make your choice, -without one moment of hesitation you would choose holiness. Which would -_you_ choose?’ and she looked at Madeleine gently and rather whimsically. - -‘I would choose the cornucopia,’ said Madeleine in a low voice. - -There was a pause, and then with a very tender light in her eyes, -Mère Agnès said: ‘I wish you could become acquainted with one of -our young sisters—Sœur Jacqueline de Sainte-Euphémie Pascal—but she -is at Port-Royal des Champs. She was born with every grace of the -understanding, and affections most sensible to earthly joys and vanities, -but in her sacrifice she has been as unflinching as Abraham. Hers is a -rare spirit.’ - -Madeleine felt a sudden wave of jealousy pass over her for this paragon. - -‘What is her age?’ she asked resentfully. - -‘Sœur Jacqueline de Sainte-Euphémie? She must be in her twenty-eighth -year, I should say. Courage, you have yet many years in which to overtake -her,’ and she looked at Madeleine with considerable amusement. With the -intuitive insight, which from time to time flashed across her habitual -abstractedness, she had divined the motive of Madeleine’s question. - -‘When she was twelve years old,’ she went on, ‘she was smitten by the -smallpox, which shore her of all her comeliness. On her recovery she -wrote some little verses wherein she thanked God that He had spared her -life and taken her beauty. Could _you_ have done that? Alas, when I was -young I came exceeding short of it in grace. I mind me, when I was some -ten years old, being deeply incensed against God, in that He had not -made me “Madame de France”! My soul was a veritable well of vanity and -_amour-propre_.’ - -‘So is mine!’ cried Madeleine, with eager pride. - -Again Mère Agnès looked much amused. - -‘My child, ’tis a strange cause for pride! And bear in mind, I am the -_last_ creature to take as your pattern. No one more grievously than I -did ever fall away from the Grace of Baptism. Since when, notwithstanding -all the privileges and opportunities of religion afforded by a cloistered -life and the conversation of the greatest divines of our day, I have not -weaned myself from the habit of sinning. But one thing I _have_ attained -by the instrument of Grace, and that is a “hunger and thirst after -righteousness” that springs from the very depths of my soul. I tell you -this, that you may be of good courage, for, believe me, my soul was of an -exceeding froward and inductile complexion.’ - -‘Did you always love Our Lord with a direct and particular love?’ -Madeleine asked. - -‘I cannot call to mind the time when I did not. Do you love Him thus?’ - -‘No.’ - -‘Well, so senseless and ungrateful is our natural state that even love -for Christ, which would seem as natural and spontaneous a motion of our -being as is a child’s love of its mother, is absent from our hearts, -before the operation of Grace. But, come, you are a Madeleine, are you -not? A Madeleine who cannot love! The Church has ordained that all -Christians should bear the name of a saint whom they should imitate -in his or her particular virtue. And the virtue particular to Saint -Madeleine was that she “loved much.” Forget not your great patron saint -in your devotions and she will intercede for you. And in truth when I was -young, I was wont to struggle against my love for Him and tried to flee -from Him with an eagerness as great as that with which I do now pursue -Him. And I think, dear child, ’twill fall out thus with you.’ - -Madeleine was deeply moved. Mère Agnès’s words, like the tales of a -traveller, had stirred in her soul a _wanderlust_. It felt the lure of -the Narrow Way, and was longing to set off on its pilgrimage. For the -moment, she did not shrink from “the love of invisible things,” but would -actually have welcomed the ghostly, ravishing arms. - -‘Oh, tell me, tell me, what I can do to be holy?’ she cried imploringly. - -‘You can do nothing, my child, but “watch and pray.” It lies not in _us_ -to be holy. Except our soul be watered by Grace, it is as barren as the -desert, but be of good cheer, for some day the “desert shall blossom like -the rose.” “Watch and pray” and _desire_, for sin is but the flagging -of the desire for holiness. Grace will change your present fluctuating -motions towards holiness into an adamant of desire that neither the -tools of earth can break nor the chemistry of Hell resolve. Pray without -ceasing for Grace, dear child, and I will pray for you too. And if, after -a searching examination of your soul, you are sensible of being in the -state necessary to the acceptance of the Blessed Sacrament, a mysterious -help will be given you of which I cannot speak. Have courage, all things -are possible to Grace.’ - -With tears in her eyes, Madeleine thanked her and bade her good-bye. - -As she walked down the rue Saint-Jacques, the tall, delicately wrought -gates of the Colleges were slowly clanging behind the little unwilling -votaries of Philosophy and Grammar, but the other inhabitants of the -neighbourhood were just beginning to enjoy themselves, and all was -noise and colour. Old Latin songs, sung perhaps by Abelard and Thomas -Aquinas, mingled with the latest ditty of the Pont-Neuf. Here, a -half-tipsy theologian was expounding to a harlot the Jesuits’ theory of -‘Probabilism,’ there a tiny page was wrestling with a brawny quean from -the _Halles aux vins_. Bells were pealing from a score of churches; in a -dozen different keys viols and lutes and guitars were playing sarabands; -hawkers were crying their wares, valets were swearing; and there were -scarlet cloaks and green jerkins and yellow hose. And all the time that -quiet artist, the evening light of Paris, was softening the colours, -flattening the architecture, and giving to the whole scene an aspect -remote, classical, unreal. - -Down the motley street marched Madeleine with unseeing eyes, a passionate -prayer for grace walling up in her heart. - -Then she thought of Mère Agnès herself. Her rôle of a wise teacher, -exhorting young disciples from suave spiritual heights, seemed to her -a particularly pleasant one. Though genuinely humble, she was _very_ -grown-up. How delightful to be able to smile in a tender amused way at -the confessions of youth, and to call one “dear child” in a deep, soft -voice, without being ridiculous! - -Ere she had reached the Porte Saint-Jacques she was murmuring over some -of Mère Agnès’s words, but it was not Mère Agnès who was saying them, -but she herself to Madame de Rambouillet’s granddaughter when grown up. -A tender smile hovered on her lips, her eyes alternately twinkled and -filled with tears: ‘Courage, dear child, I have experienced it all, I -know, I know!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -‘HYLAS, THE MOCKING SHEPHERD’ - - -She reached home eager to tell them all about her visit. - -Her father and Jacques were playing at spillikins and her mother was -spinning. - -‘She is a marvellous personage,’ she cried out, ‘her sanctity is almost -corporeal and subject to sense. And she has the most fragrant humility, -she talked of herself as though there were no more froward and wicked -creature on the earth than she!’ - -‘Maybe there is not!’ said Jacques, and Monsieur Troqueville chuckled -delightedly. Madeleine flushed and her lips grew tight. - -‘Do not be foolish, Jacques. The whole world acknowledges her to be an -exceeding pious and holy woman,’ said Madame Troqueville, with a warning -glance at Jacques, which seemed to say: ‘In the name of Heaven, forbear! -This new _vision_ of the child’s is tenfold less harmful and fantastical -than the other.’ - -Madeleine watched Jacques grimacing triumphantly at her father as he -deftly extricated spillikin after spillikin. He was entirely absorbed in -the idiotic game. How could one be serious and holy with such a frivolous -companion? - -‘Pray tell us more of Mère Agnès, my sweet. What were her opening words?’ -said Madame Troqueville, trying to win Madeleine back to good humour, but -Madeleine’s only answer was a cold shrug. - -For one thing, without her permission they were playing with _her_ -spillikins. She had a good mind to snatch them away from them! And how -dare Jacques be so at home in _her_ house? He said he was in love with -her, did he? Yet her entry into the room did not for one moment distract -his attention from spillikins. - -‘Yes, tell us more of her Christian humility,’ said Jacques, as he drew -away the penultimate spillikin. ‘I’ll fleece you of two crowns for that,’ -he added in an aside to Monsieur Troqueville. - -‘They are all alike in that,’ he went on, ‘humility is part of their -inheritance from the early Christians, who, being Jews and slaves and -such vermin, had needs be humble except they wished to be crucified by -the Romans for impudence. And though their creeping homilies have never -ousted the fine old Roman virtue pride, yet pious Christians do still -affect humility, and ’tis a stinking pander to——’ - -‘Jacques, Jacques,’ expostulated Madame Troqueville, and Monsieur -Troqueville, shaking his head, and blowing out his cheeks, said severely:— - -‘Curb your tongue, my boy! You do but show your ignorance. Humility is a -most excellent virtue, if it were not, then why was it preached by Our -Lord? Resolve me in that!’ and he glared triumphantly at Jacques. - -‘Why, uncle, when you consider the base origin of——’ - -‘Jacques, I beseech you, no more!’ interposed Madame Troqueville, very -gently but very firmly, so Jacques finished his sentence in a comic -grimace. - -After a pause, he remarked, ‘Chapuzeau retailed to me the other day a -_naïveté_ he had heard in a monk’s Easter sermon. The monk had said that -inasmuch as near all the most august events in the Scriptures had had a -mountain for their setting, it followed that no one could lead a truly -holy life in a valley, and from this premise he deduced——’ - -‘In that _naïveté_ there is a spice of truth,’ Monsieur Troqueville cut -in, in a serious, interested voice. ‘I mind me, when I was a young man, I -went to the Pyrenees, where my spirit was much vexed by the sense of my -own sinfulness.’ - -‘I’ faith, it must have been but hypochondria, there can have been no -true cause for remorse,’ said Jacques innocently. - -Monsieur Troqueville looked at him suspiciously, cleared his throat, and -went on: ‘I mind me, I would pass whole nights in tears and prayer, until -at last there was revealed to me a strange and excellent truth, to wit, -that the spirit is immune against the sins of the flesh. To apprehend -this truth is a certain balm to the conscience, and, as I said, ’twas on -a mountain that it was revealed to me,’ and he looked round with solemn -triumph. - -Madame Troqueville and Madeleine exchanged glances of unutterable -contempt and boredom, but Jacques wagged his head and said gravely that -it was a mighty convenient truth. - -‘Ay, is it not? Is it not?’ cried Monsieur Troqueville, his eyes almost -starting out of his head with eagerness, triumph, and hope of further -praise. ‘Many a time and oft have I drawn comfort from it.’ - -‘I have ever held you to be a Saint Augustin _manqué_, uncle. When you -have leisure, you would do well to write your confessions—they would -afford most excellent and edifying reading,’ and Jacques’s eyes as he -said this were glittering slits of wickedness. - -After supper the two, mumbling some excuse about an engagement to -friends, put on their cloaks and went out, and Madeleine, wishing to be -alone with her thoughts, went to her own room. - -She recalled Mère Agnès’s words, and, as they had lain an hour or so -dormant in her mind, they came out tinted with the colour of her desires. -Why, what was her exhortation to see behind the ‘particulars’ of the -Gospels the ‘generals’ of Eternity, but a vindication of Madeleine’s own -method of sanctifying her love for Mademoiselle de Scudéry by regarding -it as a symbol of her love of Christ? Yes, Mère Agnès had implicitly -advised the making of a Robert Pilou screen. _Profane history told by -means of sacred woodcuts becomes sacred history_, was, in Mère Agnès’s -words, to read history ‘with the apocalyptic eye of Saint John,’ it was -to see ‘generals’ behind ‘particulars.’ - -But supposing ... supposing the ‘generals’ should come crashing through -the ‘particulars,’ like a river in spate that bursts its dam? And -supposing God were to relieve her of her labour? In the beginning of -time, He—the Dürer of the skies—on cubes of wood, hewn from the seven -trees of Paradise, had cut in pitiless relief the story of the human -soul. The human soul, pursuing a desire that ever evades its grasp, while -behind it, swift, ineluctable, speed ‘invisible things,’ their hands -stretched out to seize it by the hair. - -What if from the design cut on these cubes he were to engrave the -pictures of her life, that, gummed with holy resin on the screen of the -heavens, they might show forth to men in ‘particulars proportioned to -their finite minds,’ the ‘generals’ cut by the finger of God? - -Mère Agnès had said: ‘I was wont to struggle against my love for Him -with an eagerness as great as that with which I do now pursue Him. And -I think, dear child, ’twill fall out thus with you.’ ‘Who flees, she -shall pursue; who spurns gifts, she shall offer them; who loves not, -willy-nilly she shall love.’ Was the Sapphic Ode an assurance, not that -one day Mademoiselle de Scudéry would love her, but that she herself -would one day love Christ? What if she had read the omens wrong, what -if they all pointed to the Heavenly Rape? How could she ever have -dreamed that grace would be the caterer for her earthly desires—Grace, -the gadfly, goading the elect willy-nilly along the grim Roman road of -redemption that, undeviating and ruthless, cuts through forests, pierces -mountains, and never so much as skirts the happy meadows? That she -herself was one of the elect, she was but too sure. - -‘_Sortir du siècle_’—where had she heard the expression? Oh, of course! -It was in _La Fréquente Communion_, and was used for the embracing of the -monastic life. The alternative offered to Gennadius had been to ‘sortir -du siècle ou de subir le joug de la pénitence publique.’ Madeleine -shuddered ... either, by dropping out of this witty, gallant century, -to forgo the _vitæ munus_ or else ... to suffer public humiliation ... -could she bear another public humiliation such as the one at the Hôtel de -Rambouillet? Her father had been humiliated before Ariane ... Jacques had -been partly responsible.... _Hylas, hélas!_ ... the Smithy of Vulcan ... -was she going mad? - -In the last few hours by some invisible cannon a breach had been made in -her faith. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -A DISAPPOINTMENT - - -By Friday, Madeleine was in a fever of nervousness. In the space of -twenty-four hours, she would know God’s policy with regard to herself. -Oh! could He not be made to realise that to deprive her of just this one -thing she craved for would be a fatal mistake? Until she was _sure_ of -the love of Mademoiselle de Scudéry she had no energy or emotion to spare -for other things. She reverted to her old litany:—‘Blessed Virgin, Mother -of our Lord, give me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry,’ and so -on, which she repeated dozens of times on end. - -_This time to-morrow it would have happened; she would know about -it all._ Oh, how could she escape from remembering this, and the -impossibility of fitting a dream into time? Any agony would be better -than this sitting gazing at the motionless curtain of twenty-four hours -that lay between herself and her fate. Oh, for the old days at Lyons! -Then, she had had the whole of Eternity in which to hope; now, she had -only twenty-four hours, for in their hard little hands lay the whole of -time; before and after lay Eternity. - -Madame Troguin had looked in in the morning and chattered of the -extravagance of the Précieuses of her quarter. One young lady, for -instance, imagined herself madly enamoured of Céladon of the _Astrée_, -and had been found in the attire of a shepherdess sitting by the Seine, -and weeping bitterly. - -‘I am glad that our girls have some sense, are not you?’ she had said to -Madame Troqueville, who had replied with vehement loyalty to Madeleine, -that she was indeed. ‘They say that Mademoiselle de Scudéry—the writer -of romances—is the fount of all these _visions_. She has no fortune -whatever, I believe, albeit her influence is enormous both at the Court -and in the Town.’ - -Any reference to Sappho’s eminence had a way of setting Madeleine’s -longing madly ablaze. This remark rolled over and over in her mind, and -it burnt more furiously every minute. She rushed to her room and groaned -with longing, then fell on her knees and prayed piteously, passionately:— - -‘Give me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Give it me, dear -Christ, take everything else, but _give me that_.’ And indeed this -longing had swallowed up all the others from which it had grown—desire -for a famous _ruelle_, for a reputation for _esprit_, for the entrée -to the fashionable world. She found herself (in imagination) drawing a -picture to Sappho of the Indian Islands and begging her to fly there with -her. - -At last Saturday came, and with it, at about ten in the morning, a valet -carrying a letter addressed to Madeleine in a small, meticulous writing. -It ran thus:— - - ‘MADEMOISELLE,—A malady so tedious and unpoetical, that had it - not been given the entrée to the society of _les mots honnêtes_ - by being mentioned by several Latin poets, and having by its - intrinsic nature a certain claim to royalty, for it shares - with the Queen the power of granting “Le Tabouret”; a malady, - I say, which were it not for these saving graces I would never - dare to mention to one who like yourself embodies its two - most powerful enemies—Youth and Beauty—has taken me prisoner. - Mademoiselle’s quick wit has already, doubtless, solved my - little enigma and told herself with a tear, I trust, rather - than a dimple, that the malady which has so cruelly engaged me - to my chair is called—and it must indeed have been a stoic that - thus named it!—La Goutte! Rarely has this unwelcome guest timed - his visit with a more tantalising inopportuneness, or has shown - himself more ungallant than to-day when he keeps a poor poet - from the inspiration of beauty and beauty from its true mate, - wit. But over one circumstance at least it bears no sway: that - circumstance is that I remain, Mademoiselle, Your sincere and - humble servitor, - - ‘CONRART.’ - -In all this fustian Madeleine’s ‘quick wit’ did not miss the fact that -lay buried in it, hard and sharp, that she was not to be taken to -Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s that afternoon. She laughed. It had so palpably -been all along the only possible climax. Of course. This moment had -always been part of her sum of experience. All her life, her prayers, and -placations had been but the remedies of a man with a mortal disease. As -often in moments of intense suffering, she was struck by the strangeness -of being contained by the four walls of a room, queer things were behind -these walls, she felt, if she could only penetrate them. - -Berthe ambled in under pretext of fetching something, looking _espiègle_ -and inquisitive. - -‘Good news, Mademoiselle?’ she asked. But Madeleine growled at her like -an angry animal, and with lips stretched from her teeth, driving her -nails into her palms, she tore into her own room. - -Once there, she burst into a passion of tears, banging her head against -the wall and muttering, ‘I hate God, I hate God!’ So He considered, did -He, that ‘no one could resist the workings of the inward Grace’? Pish -for the arrogant theory; _she_ would disprove it, once and for all. -Jacques was right. He was a wicked and a cruel God. All the Jansenist -casuistry was incapable of saving Him from the diabolic injustice -involved in the First Proposition:— - - ‘Some of God’s Commandments it is impossible for the just to - fulfil.’ - -In plain words, the back is _not_ made for the burden. Oh, the -cold-blooded torturer! And the Jansenists with their intransigeant -consistency, their contempt of compromise, were worthy of their terrible -Master. - -So, forsooth, He imagined that by plucking, feather by feather, the -wings of her hopes, He could win her, naked and bleeding, to Him and His -service? She would prove Him wrong, she would rescind His decrees and -resolve the chain of predestination. No, _her_ soul would never be ‘tamed -with frets and weariness,’ _she_ would never ‘pursue, nor offer gifts,’ -and, willy-nilly, _she_ would never love, from the design on His cubes of -wood no print of _her_ life would be taken. - -And then the sting of the disappointment pricked her afresh, and again -she burst into a passion of tears. - -Pausing for breath, she caught sight of the Crucifix above her bed. A -feeling of actual physical loathing seized her for her simpering Saviour, -with His priggish apophthegms and His horrid Cross to which He took such -a delight in nailing other people. She tore down the Crucifix, and made -her fingers ache in her attempt to break it. And then, with an ingenuity -which in ordinary circumstances she never applied to practical details, -she broke it in the door. - -A smothered laugh disclosed Berthe crouching by the wall, her face more -than usually suggestive of a comic mask. Madeleine was seized by a -momentary fear lest she should prove a spy of the sinister ‘Compagnie -du Saint-Sacrement’—that pack of spiritual bloodhounds that ran all -heretics relentlessly to earth—and she remembered with a shudder the -fate of Claude Petit and le Sieur d’Aubreville. But after all, _nothing_ -could hurt her now, so she flung the broken fragments in her face and -‘_tutoied_’ her back to the kitchen. - -She went and looked at her face in the glass. Her eyes were tired and -swollen and heavy, and she noted with pleasure the tragic look in them. -Then a sense of the catastrophe broke over her again in all its previous -force and she flung herself upon her bed and once more sobbed and sobbed. - -Madame Troqueville, when she came in laden with fish and vegetables -from the Halles, was told by Berthe with mysterious winks that she had -better go to Mademoiselle Madeleine. She was not in the least offended by -Madeleine’s unwonted treatment of her, and too profoundly cynical to be -shocked by her sacrilege or impressed by her misery. With a chuckle for -youth’s intenseness she had shuffled silently back to her work. - -Madame Troqueville flew to Madeleine. Her entry was Madeleine’s cue for a -fresh outburst. She would not be cheated of her due of crying and pity; -she owed herself many, many more tears. - -Madame Troqueville took her in her arms in an agony of anxiety. At first -Madeleine kicked and screamed, irritated at the possibility of her mother -trying to alleviate the facts. Then she yielded to the comfort of her -presence and sobbed out that Conrart could not take her to Mademoiselle -de Scudéry. - -How gladly would Madame Troqueville have accepted this explanation at its -face value! A disappointment about a party was such a poignant sorrow in -youth and one to which all young people were subject. But although she -welcomed hungrily any sign of normality in her child, deep down she knew -that _this_ grief was not normal. - -‘But, my angel,’ she began gently, ‘Monsieur Conrart will take you some -other time.’ - -‘But I can’t wait!’ Madeleine screamed angrily; ‘all my hopes are utterly -miscarried.’ - -Madame Troqueville smiled, and stroked her hair. - -‘’Tis foolish to rouse one’s spleen, and waste one’s strength over -trifles, for ’twill not make nor mend them, and it works sadly on your -health.’ - -Madeleine had been waiting for this. She ground her teeth and gave a -series of short, sharp screams of tearless rage. - -‘For my sake, my angel, for my sake, forbear!’ implored her mother. - -‘I shall scream and scream all my life,’ she hissed. ‘’Tis my concern and -no one else’s. Ba-ah, ou-ow,’ and it ended off in a series of shrill, -nervous, persistent ‘ee’s.’ - -Madame Troqueville sighed wearily, and sat silent for some minutes. - -There was a lull in the sobbing, and then Madame Troqueville began, -very gently, ‘Dear, dear child, if you could but learn the great art of -_indifference_. I know that....’ - -But Madeleine interrupted with a shrill scream of despair. - -‘Hush, dear one, hush! Oh, my pretty one, if I could but make life for -you, but ’tis not in my power. All I can do is to love you. But if only -you would believe me ... hush! my sweet, let me say my say ... if _only_ -you would believe me, to cultivate indifference is the one means of -handselling life.’ - -‘But I _can’t_!’ - -‘Try, my dearest heart, try. My dear, I have but little to give you _in -any way_, for I cannot help you with religion, in that—you may think -this strange, and it may be wicked—I have always had but little faith in -these matters; and I am not wise nor learned, so I cannot help you with -the balm of Philosophy, which they say is most powerful to heal, but one -thing I have learned and that is to be supremely indifferent—in _most_ -matters. Oh, dear treasure....’ - -‘But I _want_, I _want_, I _want_ things!’ cried Madeleine. - -Madame Troqueville smiled sadly, and for some moments sat in silence, -stroking Madeleine’s hair, then she began tentatively,— - -‘At times I feel ... that “_petite-oie_,” as you called it, frightened -me, my sweet. It caused me to wonder if you were not apt to throw away -matters of moment for foolish trifles. Do you remember how you pleased -old Madame Pilou by telling her that she was not like the dog in the -fable, that lost its bone by trying to get its reflection, well....’ - -‘I said it because I thought it would please her, one must needs talk -in a homely, rustic fashion to such people. Oh, let me be! let me be!’ -To have her own words used against her was more than she could bear; -besides, her mother had suggested, by the way she had spoken, that there -was more behind this storm than mere childish disappointment at the -postponement of a party, and Madeleine shrank from her obsession being -known. I think she feared that it was, perhaps, rather ridiculous. - -Madame Troqueville gazed at her anxiously for some minutes, and then -said,— - -‘I wonder if _Sirop de Roses_ is a strong enough purge for you. Perhaps -you need another course of steel in wine; and I have heard this new -remedy they call “Orviétan” is an excellent infusion, I saw some in the -rue Dauphine at the Sign of the Sun. I will send Berthe at once to get -you some.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE PLEASURES OF DESPAIR - - -The disappointment had indeed been a shattering blow, and its effects -lasted much longer than the failure at the Hôtel de Rambouillet. -For then her vanity or, which is the same thing, her instinct of -self-preservation, had not allowed her to acknowledge that she had been -a social failure. But this disappointment was a hard fact against whose -fabric saving fancy beat its wings in vain. Sometimes she would play with -the thought of suicide, but would shrink back from it as the final blow -to all her hopes. For, supposing she should wake up in the other world, -and find the old longing gnawing still, like Céladon, when he wakes up -in the Palace of Galathée? She would picture herself floating invisible -round Mademoiselle de Scudéry, unable to leave any footprint on her -consciousness, and although this had a certain resemblance to her present -state, as long as they were both in this world, there must always be a -little hope. And then, supposing that the first knowledge that flashed -on her keener, freer senses when she had died was that if only she had -persevered a year longer, perhaps only a month longer, the friendship -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry would have been hers! She took some comfort -from the clammy horror of the thought. For, after all, as long as she was -alive there must always be left a few grains of hope ... while _she_ was -alive ... but what if one night she should be wakened by the ringing of a -bell in the street, and running to the window see by the uncertain light -of the lantern he held in one hand, a _macabre_ figure, looking like one -of the Kings in the pack of cards with which Death plays against Life for -mortal men, the stiff folds of his old-world garment embroidered with -skulls and tears and cross-bones! And what would he be singing as he rang -his bell?:— - -‘Priez Dieu pour l’âme de la Demoiselle de Scudéry qui vient de -trépasser.’ - -Vient de trépasser! Lying stiff and cold and lonely, and Madeleine had -never been able to tell her that she loved her. - -Good God! There were awful possibilities! - -She was haunted, too, by the fear that God had _not_ deserted her, but -had resolved in His implacable way that willy-nilly she must needs -eventually receive His bitter gift of Salvation. That, struggle though -she would, she would be slowly, grimly weaned from all that was sweet and -desirable, and then in the twinkling of an eye caught up ‘to the love of -Invisible Things.’ ‘One cannot resist the inward Grace;’ well, she, at -least, would put up a good fight. - -Then a wave of intense self-pity would break over her that the -all-powerful God, who by raising His hand could cause the rivers to -flow backwards to their sources, the sun to drop into the sea, when she -approached Him with her prayer for the friendship of a poverty-stricken -authoress—a prayer so paltry that it could be granted by an almost -unconscious tremble of His will, by an effort scarcely strong enough -to cause an Autumn leaf to fall—that this God should send her away -empty-handed and heart-broken. - -Yes, it was but a small thing she wanted, but how passionately, intensely -she wanted it. - -If things had gone as she had hoped, she would by now be known all over -the town as the incomparable Sappho’s most intimate friend. In the -morning she would go to her _ruelle_ and they would discuss the lights -and shades of their friendship; in the afternoon she would drive with her -in le Cours la Reine, where all could note the happy intimacy between -them; in the evening Sappho would read her what she had written that day, -and to each, life would grow daily richer and sweeter. But actually she -had been half a year in Paris and she and Sappho had not yet exchanged -a word. No, the trials of Céladon and Phaon and other heroes of romance -could not be compared to this, for they from the first possessed the -_estime_ of their ladies, and so what mattered the plots of rivals or -temporary separations? What mattered even misunderstandings and quarrels? -When one of the lovers in _Cyrus_ is asked if there is something amiss -between him and his mistress, he answers sadly:— - - ‘Je ne pense pas Madame que j’y sois jamais assez bien pour y - pouvoir être mal.’ - -and that was her case—the hardest case of all. In the old sanguine days -at Lyons, when the one obstacle seemed to be that of space, what would -she have said if she had been told how far away she would still be from -her desire after half a year in Paris? - -One day, when wandering unhappily about the Île Notre-Dame, with eyes -blind to the sobriety and majestic sweep of life that even the ignoble -crowd of litigants and hawkers was unable to arrest in that island that -is at once so central and so remote, she had met Marguerite Troguin -walking with her tire-woman and a girl friend. She had come up to -Madeleine and had told her with a giggle that they had secretly been -buying books at the Galerie du Palais. ‘They are stowed away in there,’ -she whispered, pointing to the large market-basket carried by the -tire-woman, ‘Sercy’s _Miscellany of Verse_, and the _Voyage à la Lune_, -and the _Royaume de Coquetterie_; if my mother got wind of it she’d -burn the books and send me to bed,’ at which the friend giggled and the -tire-woman smiled discreetly. - -‘They told us at Quinet’s that the first volume of a new romance by -Mademoiselle de Scudéry is shortly to appear. Oh, the pleasure I take -in _Cyrus_, ’tis the prettiest romance ever written!’ Marguerite cried -rapturously. ‘I have heard it said that Sappho in the Sixth volume is a -portrait of herself, I wonder if ’tis true.’ - -‘It is, indeed, and an excellent portrait at that, save that the original -is ten times wittier and more _galante_,’ Madeleine found herself -answering with an important air, touched with condescension. - -‘Are you acquainted with her?’ the two girls asked in awed voices. - -‘Why, yes, I am well acquainted with her, she has asked me to attend her -_Samedis_.’ - -And afterwards she realised with a certain grim humour that could she -have heard this conversation when she was at Lyons she would have -concluded that all had gone as she had hoped. - -During this time she did not dance, because that would be a confession -that hope was not dead. That it should be dead she was firmly resolved, -seeing that, although genuinely miserable, she took a pleasure in nursing -this misery as carefully as she had nursed the atmosphere of her second -_coup de grâce_. By doing so, she felt that she was hurting something -or some one—what or who she could not have said—but something outside -herself; and the feeling gave her pleasure. All through this terrible -time she would follow her mother about like a whimpering dog, determined -that she should be spared none of her misery, and Madame Troqueville’s -patience and sympathy were unfailing. - -Jacques, too, rose to the occasion. He lost for the time all his -mocking ways, nor would he try to cheer her up with talk of ‘some other -Saturday,’ knowing that it would only sting her into a fresh paroxysm -of despair, but would sit and hold her hand and curse the cruelty of -disappointment. Monsieur Troqueville also realised the gravity of the -situation. On the rare occasions when the fact that some one was unhappy -penetrated through his egotism, he was genuinely distressed. He would -bring her little presents—a Portuguese orange, or some Savoy biscuits, -or a new print—and would repeat over and over again: ‘’Tis a melancholy -business! A melancholy business!’ One day, however, he added gloomily: -‘’Tis the cruellest fate, for these high circles would have been the fit -province for Madeleine and for me,’ at which Madeleine screamed out in -a perfect frenzy: ‘There’s _no_ similarity between him and me! _none!_ -NONE! NONE!’ and poor Monsieur Troqueville was hustled out of the room, -while Jacques and her mother assured her that she was not in the least -like her father. - -Monsieur Troqueville seemed very happy about something at that time. -Berthe told Madeleine that she had found hidden in a chest, a _galant_ of -ribbons, a pair of gay garters, an embroidered handkerchief, and a cravat. - -‘He is wont to peer at them when Madame’s back is turned, and, to speak -truth, he seems as proud of them as Mademoiselle was of the bravery -she bought at the Fair!’ and she went on to say that by successful -eavesdropping she had discovered that he had won them as a wager. - -‘It seems that contrary to the expectations of his comrades he has taken -the fancy of a pretty maid! He! He! Monsieur’s a rare scoundrel!’ but -Madeleine seemed to take no interest in the matter. - -The only thing in which she found a certain relief was in listening to -Berthe’s tales about her home. Berthe could talk by the hour about the -sayings and doings of her young brothers and sisters, to whom she was -passionately devoted. And Madeleine could listen for hours, for Berthe -was so remote from her emotionally that she felt no compulsion to din her -with her own misery, and she felt no rights on her sympathy, as she did -on her mother’s, whom she was determined should not be spared a crumb of -her own anguish. In her childhood, her imagination had been fascinated by -an object in the house of an old lady they had known. It was a small box, -in which was a tiny grotto, made of moss and shells and little porcelain -flowers, out of which peeped a variegated porcelain fauna—tiny foxes and -squirrels and geese, and blue and green birds; beside a glass Jordan, on -which floated little boats, stood a Christ and Saint John the Baptist, -and over their heads there hung from a wire a white porcelain dove. To -many children smallness is a quality filled with romance, and Madeleine -used to crave to walk into this miniature world and sail away, away, -away, down the glass river to find the tiny cities that she felt sure lay -hidden beyond the grotto; in Berthe’s stories she felt a similar charm -and lure. - -She would tell how her little brother Albert, when minding the sheep of a -stern uncle, fell asleep one hot summer afternoon, and on waking up found -that two of the lambs were missing. - -‘Then, poor, pretty man, he fell to crying bitterly, for any loss to his -pocket my uncle takes but ill, when lo! on a sudden, there stood before -him a damsel of heroic stature, fair as the _fleurs de lys_ on a royal -banner, in antic tire and her hair clipped short like a lad’s, and quoth -she, smiling: “Petit paysan, voilà tes agneaux!” and laying the two lost -lambs by his side, she vanished. And in telling what had befallen him he -called her just “the good Shepherdess,” but the _curé_ said she could be -no other than Jeanne, la Pucelle, plying, as in the days before she took -to arms, the business of a shepherdess.’ - -Then she would tell of the little, far-away inn kept by her father, -with its changing, motley company; of the rustic mirth on the _Nuit des -Rois_; of games of Colin-maillard in the garret sweet with the smell of -apples; of winter nights round the fire when tales were told of the Fairy -Magloire, brewer of love-potions; of the _sotret_, the fairy barber of -Lorraine, who curled the hair of maidens for wakes and marriages, or (if -the _curé_ happened to drop in) more guileless legends of the pretty -prowess of the _petit Jésus_. - -Madeleine saw it all as if through the wrong end of a telescope—tiny and -far-away. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -FRESH HOPE - - -One afternoon Madame Troqueville called Madeleine in an eager voice. -Madeleine listlessly came to her. - -‘I have a piece of news for you,’ she said, looking at her with smiling -eyes. - -‘What is it?... Doubtless some one has invited us to a Comedy,’ she said -wearily. - -‘No! I came back by the Île and there I chanced on Monsieur Conrart -walking with a friend’—Madeleine went deadly white—‘And I went up and -accosted him. He has such a good-natured look! I told him how grievously -chagrined you had been when his project came to naught of driving you to -wait upon Mademoiselle de Scudéry, indeed I told him it had worked on you -so powerfully you had fallen ill.’ - -‘You didn’t! Oh! Oh! Oh! ’Tis not possible you told him that!’ wailed -Madeleine, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. - -‘But come, my dear heart, where was the harm?’ Madeleine covered her face -with her hands and writhed in nervous agony, giving little short, sharp -moans. - -‘Oh! Oh! I would liefer have _died_.’ - -‘Come, my heart, don’t be so fantastical, he was so concerned about it, -and you haven’t yet heard the pleasantest part of my news!’ - -‘What?’ asked Madeleine breathlessly, while wild hopes darted through her -mind, such as Mademoiselle de Scudéry having confessed a secret passion -for her to Conrart. - -‘This Saturday, he is coming in his coach to fetch you to wait on her!’ - -Madeleine received the news with a welter of different emotions—wriggling -self-consciousness, mortification at the thought of Conrart knowing, and -perhaps telling Mademoiselle de Scudéry, how much she cared, excitement -bubbling up through apprehension, premature shyness, and a little regret -for having to discard her misery, to which she had become thoroughly -accustomed. She trembled with excitement, but did not speak. - -‘Are you pleased?’ her mother asked, taking her hands. She felt rather -proud of herself, for she disliked taking the field even more than -Madeleine did, and she had had to admonish herself sharply before making -up her mind to cross the road and throw herself on Conrart’s mercy. - -‘Oh! yes ... yes ... I think I am,’ and Madeleine laughed nervously. -Then she kissed her mother and ran away. In a few minutes she came back -looking as if she wanted to say something. - -‘What’s amiss, my dear life?’ Madeleine drew a hissing breath through her -teeth and shut her eyes, blushing crimson. - -‘Er ... did ... er ... did he seem to find it odd, what you told him -about my falling ill, and all that?’ - -‘Dearest heart, here is no matter for concern. You see I was constrained -to make mention of your health that it should so work on his pity that he -should feel constrained to acquit himself towards you and——’ - -‘Yes, but what did you say?’ - -‘I said _naught_, my dear, that in any way he could take ill. I did but -acquaint him with the eagerness with which you had awaited the visit and -with the bitterness of your chagrin when you heard it was not to be.’ - -‘But I thought you said that you’d said somewhat concerning—er—my making -myself ill?’ - -‘Well, and what if I did? You little goose, you——’ - -‘Yes, but what did you say?’ - -‘How can I recall my precise words? But I give you my word they were such -that none could take amiss.’ - -‘Oh! But _what_ did you say?’ Madeleine’s face was all screwed up with -nerves, and she twisted her fingers. - -‘Oh! Madeleine, dear!’ sighed her mother wearily. ‘What a pother about -nothing! I said that chagrin had made you quite ill, and he was moved to -compassion. Was there aught amiss in that?’ - -‘Oh, no, doubtless not. But ... er ... I hope he won’t acquaint -Mademoiselle de Scudéry with the extent of my chagrin!’ - -‘Well, and what if he did? She would in all likelihood be greatly -flattered!’ - -‘Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! do you think he will? I’d _kill_ myself if I thought he -had!’ - -Madame Troqueville gave up trying to reduce Madeleine’s emotions to -reason, and said soothingly, ‘I’m certain, my dearest, he’ll do nothing -of the kind, I dare swear it has already escaped his memory.’ And -Madeleine was comforted. - -She ran into her own room, her emotions all in a whirl, and flung herself -on her bed. - -Then she sprang up, and, after all these leaden-footed weeks, she was -again dancing. - - - - -PART III - - Ainsi de ce désir que le primitif croyait être une des forces - de l’univers et d’où il fit sortir tout son panthéon, le - musulman a fait Allâh, l’être parfait auquel il s’abandonne. - De même que le primitif logeait dans la cuiller promenée - processionnellement son désir de voir l’eau abreuver la - terre, ainsi le musulman croit qu’Allâh réalise la perfection - en dehors de lui. Sous une forme plus abstraite l’argument - ontologique de Descartes conclura de l’idée du parfait à - son existence, sans s’apercevoir qu’il y a là, non pas un - raisonnement, un argument, mais une imagination. Et cependant, - à bien entendre les paroles des grands croyants, c’est en eux - qu’ils portent ce dieu: il n’est que la conscience de l’effort - continuel qui est en nous. La grâce du Janséniste n’est autre - que cet effort intérieur.’ - - DOUTTÉ—_Magie et Religion_. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -‘WHAT IS CARTESIANISM?’ - - -With the return of hope quite involuntarily Madeleine began once more to -pray. But to whom was she praying? Surely not to the hard, remote God of -the Jansenists, for that, she knew by bitter experience, would avail her -nothing. Jansenism led straight to the ‘Heavenly Rape’; of that she was -convinced. If, as in spite of herself she could not doubt, there was only -one God, and He such a Being as the Jansenists presented Him, then she -must not pray, for prayers only served to remind Him of her existence, -and that He should completely forget her was her only hope of escape from -the ‘ravishing arms.’ - -But ghostly weapons she _must_ have with which to fight for success -on Saturday. If not prayers, then something she could _do_; if not -the belief in a Divine Ally, then some theory of the universe which -justified her in hoping. For in Madeleine there was this much of -rationalism—perverted and scholastic though it might be—that for her most -fantastic superstitions she always felt the need of a semi-philosophical -basis. - -Suddenly she remembered Jacques’s words in the Place Maubert: ‘’Tis -the will that Descartes writes of—a magic sword like to the ones in -_Amadis_.’ To will, was not that the same as to desire? Mère Agnès had -insisted on the importance of desiring. She had talked about the _adamant -of desire that neither the tools of earth can break nor the chemistry of -Hell resolve_. Hours of anguish could testify to that adamant being hers, -but what if the adamant were a talisman, and that in its possession lay -the certainty of success? She must find out about Cartesianism. - -She ran into the parlour. - -‘Jacques, I would fain learn something of Descartes,’ she cried. - -‘Descartes? Oh, he’s the rarest creature! ’Tis reported he never -ceases from sniffling in his nose, and like Allah, he sits clad in a -dressing-gown and makes the world.’ - -Monsieur Troqueville cocked an eye full of intelligent interest and said, -in his prim company voice: ‘In good earnest, is that so?’ But Madeleine -gave one of Jacques’s ringlets a sharp tweak, and asked indignantly what -he meant by ‘dressing-gowns and Allah.’ - -‘Why, Allah is the Turk’s God,’ then, seeing that Monsieur Troqueville -with pursed-up lips was frowning and shaking his head with the air of a -judge listening to an over-specious counsel, he added,— - -‘Well, uncle, do you lean to a contrary opinion?’ - -‘All the world is aware that Mohammed is the Turk’s God—_Mohammed_. But -you have ever held opinions eccentric to those of all staid and learned -doctors!’ - -‘Uncle, I would have you know that _Allah_ is the Turk’s God.’ - -‘Mohammed!’ - -‘Allah, I say, and as there is good ground for holding that he is ever -clad in a Turkish dressing-gown, thus....’ - -‘They dub their God Mohammed,’ roared Monsieur Troqueville, purple in the -face. - -‘Mohammed or Allah, ’tis of little moment which. But I would fain learn -something of Descartes’ philosophy,’ said Madeleine wearily. - -‘Well,’ began Jacques, delighted to hold forth, ‘’Tis comprised in the -axiom, _cogito, ergo sum_—I think, therefore I am—whence he deduces....’ - -‘Yes, but is it not he who holds that by due exercise of the will one can -compass what one chooses?’ broke in Madeleine, to the evident delight of -Monsieur Troqueville, for he shot a triumphant glance at Jacques which -seemed to say, ‘she had you there!’ - -Jacques gave her a strange little look. ‘I fear not,’ he answered dryly; -‘the Will is not the bountiful beneficent Venus of the Sapphic Ode.’ -Madeleine’s face fell. - -‘’Tis the opinion he holds with regard to the power exercised by the will -over the passions that you had in mind,’ he went on. ‘He holds the will -to be the passions’ lawful king, and though at times ’tis but an English -king pining in banishment, by rallying its forces it can decapitate “_mee -lord protectour_” and re-ascend in triumph the steps of its ancient -throne. This done, ’tis no longer an English king but an Emperor of -Muscovy—so complete and absolute is its sway over the passions. - - ‘Ainsi de vos désirs toujours reine absolue - De la plus forte ardeur vous portez vos esprits - Jusqu’à l’indifférence, et peut-être au mépris, - Et votre fermeté fait succéder sans peine - La faveur au dédain, et l’amour à la haine. - -‘There is a pretty dissertation for you, adorned with a most apt -quotation from Corneille. Why, I could make my fortune in the Ruelles -as a Professor of _philosophie pour les dames_!’ he cried with an -affectionate little _moue_ at Madeleine, restored to complete good humour -by the sound of his own voice. But Madeleine looked vexed, and Monsieur -Troqueville, his eyes starting from his head with triumph, spluttered -out, ‘’Twas from _Polyeucte_, those lines you quoted, and how does -Pauline answer them? - - ‘Ma raison, il est vrai, dompte mes sentiments; - Mais, quelque authorité que sur eux elle ait prise, - Elle n’y règne pas, elle les tyrannise, - Et quoique le dehors soit sans émotion, - Le dedans n’est que trouble et que sédition. - -‘So you see, my young gallant, I know my Corneille as well as you do!’ -and he rubbed his hands in glee. ‘“Le dedans n’est que trouble et que -sédition,” how would your old Descartes answer that? ’Tis better surely -to yield to every Passion like a gentleman, than to have a long solemn -face and a score of devils fighting in your heart like a knavish Huguenot -... _hein_, Jacques? _hein?_’ (It was not that Monsieur Troqueville felt -any special dislike to the tenets of Cartesianism in themselves, he -merely wished to prove that Jacques had been talking rubbish.) - -‘Well, uncle, there is no need to be so splenetic, ’tis not my -philosophy; ’tis that of Descartes, and though doubtless——’ - -But Madeleine interrupted a discussion that threatened to wander far away -from the one aspect of the question in which she was interested. - -‘If I take your meaning, Descartes doesn’t teach one how to compass what -one wishes, he only teaches us how to be virtuous?’ - -Monsieur Troqueville gave a sudden wild tavern guffaw, and rubbing his -hands delightedly, cried, ‘Pitiful dull reading, Jacques, _hein?_’ - -‘You took his book for a manual of love-potions, did you?’ Jacques said -in a low voice, with a hard, mocking glint in his eyes. - -He had divined her thought, and Madeleine blushed. Then his face -softened, and he said gently,— - -‘I will get you his works, nor will it be out of your gain to read them -diligently.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -BEES-WAX - - -As he had promised, Jacques brought her the works of Descartes, and she -turned eagerly to their pages. Here, surely, she would find food sweeter -to her palate than the bitter catechu of Jansenism which she had spewed -from her mouth with scorn and loathing. - -But to her intense annoyance, she found the third maxim in the _Discourse -on Method_ to be as follows:— - - My third maxim was ever to endeavour to conquer myself rather - than fortune, and to change my own desires rather than the - order of the universe. In short, to grow familiar with the - doctrine that ’tis but over our own thoughts we hold complete - and absolute sway. Thus, if after all our efforts we fail in - matters external to us, it behoofs us to acknowledge that those - things wherein we fail belong, for us at least, to the domain - of the impossible. - -Here was a doctrine as uncompromising with regard to individual desires -as Jansenism itself. - -Oh, those treacherous twists in every creed and every adventure which -were always suddenly bringing her shivering to the edge of the world of -reality, face to face with its weary outstretched horizons, its cruelly -clear outlines, and its three-dimensional, vivid, ruthless population. -Well, even Descartes was aware that it was not a pleasant place, for did -he not say in the _Six Meditations_:— - - But the Reason is that my Mind loves to wander, and suffers not - itself to be bounded within the strict limits of Truth. - -But were these limits fixed for ever: were we absolutely powerless to -widen them? - -A few lines down the page she came on the famous wax metaphor:— - - Let us choose for example this piece of Beeswax: it was lately - taken from the comb; it has not yet lost all the taste of the - honey; it retains something of the smell of the flowers from - whence ’twas gathered, its colour, shape, and bigness are - manifest; ’tis hard, ’tis cold, ’tis easily felt, and if you - will knock it with your finger, ’twill make a noise. In fine, - it hath all things requisite to the most perfect notion of a - Body. - - But behold whilst I am speaking, ’tis put to the fire, its - taste is purged away, the smell is vanished, the colour is - changed, the shape is altered, its bulk is increased, it - becomes soft, ’tis hot, it can scarce be felt, and now (though - you can strike it) it makes no noise. Does it yet continue the - same wax? Surely it does: this all confess, no one denies it, - no one doubts it. What therefore was there in it that was so - evidently known? Surely none of those things which I perceive - by my senses; for what I smelt, tasted, have seen, felt, or - heard, are all vanished, and yet the wax remains. Perhaps ’twas - this only that I now think on, to wit, that the wax itself was - not that taste of honey, that smell of flowers, that whiteness, - that shape, or that sound, but it was a body which a while - before appeared to me so and so modified, but now otherwise. - -She was illuminated by a sudden idea—startling yet comforting. In -_itself_ her bugbear, the world of reality, was an innocuous body without -form, sound, or colour. Once before she had felt it as it really is—cold -and nil—when at the _Fête-Dieu_ the bell at the most solemn moment of the -Mass had rung her into ‘a world of non-bulk and non-colour.’ - -Yes, the jarring sounds and crude colours which had so shocked and -frightened her were but delusions caused by the lying ‘animal-spirits’ -of man. The true contrast was not between the actual world and her own -world of dreams, not between the design cut by God’s finger upon cubes -of wood and her own frail desires, but between the still whiteness of -reality and the crude and garish pattern of cross purposes thrown athwart -it by the contrary wills of men. - -Well, not only was Jansenism distasteful, but it was also untrue, and -here was a grave doctor’s confirmation of the magical powers of her -adamant of desire. - -The pattern of cross-purposes was but a delusion, and therefore not to be -feared. The only reality being a soft _maniable_ Body, why should she not -turn potter instead of engraver and by the plastic force of her own will -give the wax what form she chose? - -Through her dancing she would exercise her will and dance into the wax -the fragrance of flowers, the honey of love, the Attic shape she longed -for. - - * * * * * - -Madeleine is following Théodamas (Conrart) into Sappho’s reception-room. -A dispute is raging as to whether Descartes was justified in regarding -Love as _soulageant pour l’estomac_. They turn to Madeleine and ask for -her opinion: she smiles and says,— - -‘’Twould provide the Faculty with an interesting _thèse du Cardinal_, but -’tis a problem that I, at least, am not fitted to tackle, in that I have -never tasted the gastric lenitive in question.’ - -‘If the question can be discussed by none but those experienced in love,’ -cries Sappho, ‘then are we all reduced to silence, for which of us will -own to such a disgraceful experience?’ - -The company laughs. ‘But at least,’ cries Théodamas, ‘we can all of us in -this room confess to a wide experience in the discreet passion of Esteem, -although the spiritual atoms of which it is formed are too subtle, its -motions too delicate to produce any effect on so gross an organ as the -one in question.’ - -‘Do you consider that the heart is the seat of esteem, or is esteem too -refined to associate with the Passion considered as the chief denizen of -that organ from time immemorial?’ asks Doralise. - -‘The words “time immemorial” shows an ignorance which in a lady as full -of agreeable information as yourself, has something indescribably piquant -and charming,’ says Aristée, with a delicious mixture of the gallant and -the pedant. ‘For ’tis well known,’ he continues, ‘that the Ancients held -the liver to be the seat of the passion in question.’ - -‘Well, then,’ cries Madeleine gaily, ‘these pagans were, I fear, more -evangelical in their philosophy than we, if they made love and its close -attendant, Hope, dwell together in ... _le foie_! But,’ she continues, -when the company had laughed at her sally, ‘I hear that this same -Descartes has stirred up by his writings a serious revolt in our members, -what one might call an organic Fronde.’ - -‘Pray act as our _Muse Historique_ and recount us this _historiette_,’ -cries Sappho gaily. - -‘Would it be an affront to the dignity of Clio to ask her to cite her -authorities?’ asks Aristée. - -‘My authority,’ answers Madeleine, ‘is the organ whom Descartes has -chiefly offended, and the prime mover of the revolt—my heart! For you -must know that the ungallant philosopher in his treatise on the Passions -sides neither with the Ancients nor the Moderns with regard to the seat -of the Tender Passion.’ - -‘To the Place de Grèves with the Atheist and Libertine!’ cries the -company in chorus. - -‘And who has this impious man dared to substitute for our old sovereign?’ -asks Théodamas. - -‘Why, a miserable pretender of as base an origin and as high pretensions -as Zaga-Christ, the so-called King of Ethiopia, in fact, an ignoble -little tube called the Conarium.’ - -‘Base usurper!’ cries all the company save Sappho, who says demurely,— - -‘I must own to considering it a matter rather for rejoicing than -commiseration that so noble an organ as the heart should at last be -free from a grievous miasma that has gone a long way to bringing its -reputation into ill-odour. I regard Descartes not as the Heart’s enemy -but rather as its benefactor, as the venerable Teiresias who comes at -the call of the noble Œdipus, desirous of discovering wherein lies the -cause of his country’s suffering. Teiresias tells him that the cause is -none other than the monarch’s favourite page, a pretty boy called Love. -Whereupon the magnanimous Œdipus, attached though he is to this boy by -all the tenderest bonds of love and affection, wreathes him in garlands -and pelts him with rose-buds across the border. Then once more peace and -plenty return to that fair kingdom, and _les honnêtes gens_ are no longer -ashamed of calling themselves subjects of its King.’ - -As she finishes this speech, Sappho’s eye catches that of Madeleine, and -they smile at each other. - -‘Why, Madame,’ cries Théodamas, laughing, ‘the inhabitant of so mean an -alley as that in which Descartes has established Love, must needs, to -earn his bread, stoop to the meanest offices, therefore we may consider -that Descartes was in the right when he laid down that one of the -functions of Love is to _soulager l’estomac_.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDÉRY’S SATURDAY - - -For the next few days Madeleine danced and desired and repeated -mechanically to herself: ‘I _will_ get the love of Mademoiselle de -Scudéry,’ feeling, the while, that the facets of the adamant were -pressing deep, deep into the wax of reality. - -Then Saturday came, and Monsieur Conrart arrived in his old-fashioned -coach punctually at 12.30. She took her place by his side and they began -to roll towards the Seine. - -‘I trust Acanthe will be worshipping at Sappho’s shrine to-day. His -presence is apt to act as a spark setting ablaze the whole fabric -of Sappho’s wit and wisdom,’ said Conrart in the tone of proud -proprietorship he always used when speaking of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. -Who was Acanthe? Madeleine felt a sudden pang of jealousy, and her high -confidence seemed suddenly to shrink and shrivel up as it always did at -any reminder that Mademoiselle de Scudéry had an existence of her own, -independent of that phantom existence of hers in Madeleine’s imaginings. -She felt sick with apprehension. - -As they passed from the rue de la Mortellerie into the fine sweep of -the rue Sainte-Antoine the need for sympathy became peremptory. Conrart -had been giving her a dissertation on the resemblance between modern -Paris and ancient Rome, she had worn a look of demure attention, though -her thoughts were all to the four winds. There was a pause, and she, -to break the way for her question, said with an admirable pretence -of half-dazzled glimpses into long vistas of thought: ‘How furiously -interesting. Yes—in truth—there is a great resemblance,’ followed by a -pause, as if her eyes were held spellbound by the vistas, while Conrart -rubbed his hands in mild triumph. Then, with a sudden quick turn, as if -the thought had just come to her,— - -‘I must confess to a sudden access of bashfulness; the company will all -be strange to me.’ - -Conrart smiled good-naturedly. - -‘Oh, ’twill pass, I dare swear, as soon as you have seen Sappho. There is -an indescribable mixture of gentleness and raillery in her manners that -banishes bashfulness for ever from her _ruelle_.’ - -‘Well, I must confess I did not find it so, to say truth she didn’t charm -me; her ugliness frightened me, and I thought her manners as harsh as her -voice,’ Madeleine found herself saying. Conrart opened his small innocent -eyes as wide as they would go. - -‘Tut-tut, what blasphemy, and I thought you were a candidate for -admission to our agreeable city!’ he said in mild surprise. ‘But here we -are!’ - -They had pulled up before a small narrow house of gray stone. Madeleine -tried to grasp the fact in all its thrillingness that she was entering -the door of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s house, but somehow or other she -could not manage it. - -‘I expect they will be in the garden,’ said Conrart. ‘Courage!’ he added -over his shoulder, with a kind twinkle. In another moment Madeleine -was stepping into a tiny, pleasant garden, shadowed by a fine gnarled -pear-tree in late blossom, to the left was seen the vast, cool boscage of -the Templars’ gardens, and in front there stretched to the horizon miles -of fields and orchards. - -The little garden seemed filled with people all chattering at once, and -among them Madeleine recognised, to her horror, the fine figure of -Madame Cornuel. Then the bony form of Mademoiselle de Scudéry, clad in -gray linen, detached itself from the group and walked towards them. She -showed her long teeth in a welcoming smile. Mignonne, her famous dove, -was perched on her shoulder. - -‘This is delicious, Cléodomas,’ she barked at Conrart, and then gave her -hand with quite a kind smile to Madeleine. ‘Mignonne affirms that all -Dodona has been dumb since its prophet has been indisposed. Didn’t you, -my sweeting?’ and she chirped grotesquely at the bird. - -‘_Jésus!_’ groaned Madeleine to herself. ‘A child last time and now a -bird!’ - -‘Mignonne’s humble feathered admirer at Athis sends respectfully _tender_ -warblings!’ Conrart answered, with an emphasis on ‘tender,’ as he took -Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s hand, still looking, in spite of himself, -ridiculously paternal. - -In the meantime the rest of the company had gathered round them. A -distinguished-looking man, not in his first youth, and one of the few of -the gentlemen wearing a plumed hat and a sword, said in a slow, rather -mincing voice,— - -‘But what of _indisposed_, Monsieur? Is it not a word of the last -deliciousness? I vow, sir, if I might be called _indisposed_, I would be -willing to undergo all the sufferings of Job—in fact, even of Benserade’s -_Job_——’ - -‘Chevalier, you are cruel! Leave the poor patriarch to enjoy the -prosperity and _regard_ that the Scriptures assure us were in his old age -once more his portion!’ answered Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and the company -laughed and cried ‘Bravo!’ This sally Madeleine understood, as accounts -had reached Lyons of the Fronde within the Fronde—the half-jesting -quarrel as to the respective merits of Voiture’s sonnet to _Uranie_ and -Benserade’s to _Job_—which had divided literary Paris into two camps, -and she knew that Mademoiselle de Scudéry had been a partisan of Job. -However, she was much too self-conscious to join in the laughter, her -instinct was to try to go one better. She thought of ‘But Benserade’s Job -isn’t old yet!’—when she was shy she was apt to be seized by a sort of -wooden literalness—but the next minute was grateful to her bashfulness -for having saved her from such bathos. - -‘But really, Madame, _indisposed_ is ravishing; is it your own?’ -persisted the gentleman they called Chevalier. - -‘Well, Chevalier, and what if it is? A person who has invented as many -delightful words as you have yourself shows that his obligingness is -stronger than his sincerity if he flatters so highly my poor little -offspring!’ Madeleine gave a quick glance at the Chevalier. Could it be -that this was the famous Chevalier de Méré, the fashionable professor -of _l’air galant_, through whose urbane academy had passed all the most -gallant ladies of the Court and the Town? It seemed impossible. - -All this time a long shabby citizen in a dirty jabot had been trying in -vain to catch Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s eye. Now he burst out with,— - -‘A propos of _words_—er—of _words_,’ and he spat excitedly—on Madame -Cornuel’s silk petticoat. She smiled with one corner of her mouth, -raised her eyebrows, then pulling a leaf, gingerly rubbed the spot, -and flung it away with a little _moue_ of disgust. The shabby citizen, -quite unconscious of this by-play, which was giving exquisite -pleasure to the rest of the company, went on: ‘What do you think -then of my word affreux—aff-reux—a-f-f-r-e-u-x? It seems to me not -unsuccessful—_hein_—_hein_?’ - -‘Affreux?’ repeated an extremely elegant young man, with a look of mock -bewilderment. - -‘Affreux! What can it possibly mean, Monsieur Chapelain?’ - -‘But, Monsieur, it tells us itself that it is a lineal descendant of the -_affres_ so famous in the reign of Corneille the Great, a descendant who -has emigrated to the kingdom of adjectives. It is ravishing, Monsieur; I -hope it may be granted eternal fiefs in our language!’ said Mademoiselle -de Scudéry courteously to poor Chapelain, who had begun to look rather -discomfited. Madeleine realised with a pang that Mademoiselle de Scudéry -had quite as much invention as she had herself, for the friend of her -dreams had _just_ enough wit to admire Madeleine’s. - -‘Affreux—it is——’ cried Conrart, seeking a predicate that would -adequately express his admiration. - -‘Affreux,’ finished the elegant young man with a malicious smile. -Mademoiselle de Scudéry frowned at him and suggested their moving into -the house. Godeau (for he was also there) stroked the wings of Mignonne -and murmured that she had confessed to him a longing to peck an olive -branch. Godeau had not recognised Madeleine, and she realised that he was -the sort of person who never would. - -They moved towards the house. Through a little passage they went into the -Salle. The walls were covered with samplers that displayed Mademoiselle -de Scudéry’s skill in needlework and love of adages. The coverlet of -the bed was also her handiwork, the design being, somewhat unsuitably, -considering the lady’s virtue and personal appearance, a scene from -the _amours_ of Venus and Adonis. There were also some Moustier crayon -sketches, and portraits in enamel by Petitot of her friends, and—by -far the most valuable object in the room—a miniature of Madame de -Longueville surrounded by diamonds. Madeleine looked at them with jealous -eyes; why was not _her_ portrait among them? - -Poor Chapelain was still looking gloomy and offended, so when they -had taken their seats, Mademoiselle de Scudéry, with a malicious -glance at the others, asked him if he would not recite some lines from -_La Pucelle_. The elegant young man, who was sitting at the feet of -Mademoiselle Legendre closed his eyes, and taking out an exquisite -handkerchief trimmed with _Point du Gênes_ with gold tassels in the form -of acorns, used it as a fan. Madame Cornuel smiled enigmatically. - -‘Yes, Monsieur, pray give us that great pleasure!’ cried Conrart warmly. -Chapelain cleared his throat, spat into the fireplace and said,— - -‘It may be I had best begin once more from the beginning, as I cannot -flatter myself that Mademoiselle has kept the thread of my argument in -her head.’ ‘Like the thread of Ariadne, it leads to a hybrid monster!’ -said the elegant young man, _sotto voce_. - -In spite of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s assurances that she remembered the -argument perfectly, Chapelain began to declaim with pompous emphasis,— - - ‘Je chante la Pucelle, et la sainte Vaillance - Qui dans le point fatal, où perissait la France, - Ranimant de son Roi la mourante Vertu, - Releva son État, sous l’Anglais abbatu.’ - -On he went till he came to the couplet— - - ‘Magnanime Henri, glorieux Longueville, - Des errantes Vertus, et le Temple, et l’asile—’ - -Here Madame Cornuel interrupted with a gesture of apology—‘“L’asile des -_errantes_ vertus,”’ she repeated meditatively. ‘Am I to understand that -_Messieurs les Académiciens_ have decided that _vertu_ is feminine?’ -Chapelain made an awkward bow. - -‘That goes without saying, Madame; we are not entirely ungallant; _les -Vertus et les dames sont synonymes!_’ ‘Bravo!’ cried the Chevalier. But -Madame Cornuel said thoughtfully,— - -‘Poor Monsieur de Longueville, he is then an _hôpital pour les femmes -perdues_; who is the Abbess: Madame his wife or—Madame de Montblazon?’ -Every one laughed, including Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and Madeleine -feverishly tried to repeat her formula ten times before they stopped. -Chapelain stared, reddened, and began with ill-concealed anger to assure -Madame Cornuel that ‘erring’ was only the secondary meaning of the word; -its primary meaning was ‘wandering,’ and thus he had used it, and in -spite of all the entreaties of Mademoiselle de Scudéry, Conrart, and the -Chevalier, he could not be persuaded to resume his recitation. - -Then for a time the conversation broke up into groups, Mademoiselle -de Scudéry devoting herself to Chapelain, and Madeleine found herself -between Godeau and the Chevalier, who spoke to each other across her. - -‘What of Madame de la Suze?’ asked Godeau. The Chevalier smiled and -shrugged. - -‘As dangerous an incendiarist as ever,’ he answered. ‘A hundred Troys -burn with her flame.’ - -‘What a splendid movement her jealousy used to have; it was a superb -passion to watch at play!’ - -‘Ah! but it is killing her, if another poet’s poems are praised, it means -the vapours for a week.’ - -‘She must sorely resent, then, the present fecundity of Mnemosyne.’ - -‘Yes, for the most part, a _galant homme_ must needs speak of the Muses -to a poetess as ten, but to her we must speak as if there were but one!’ - -Godeau laughed. - -‘But what ravishingly languishing eyes!’ the Chevalier went on -rapturously. - -‘And what a mouth! there is something in its curves at once voluptuous -and chaste; oh, it is indescribable; it is like the mouth of a Nymph!’ -cried the little prelate with very unecclesiastical fervour. - -‘You think it chaste? Hum,’ said the Chevalier dryly. ‘Her _chastity_, -I should say, belongs to the band of Chapelain’s “_vertus errantes_.”’ -Godeau gave a noncommittal, ecclesiastical smile. ‘I was speaking of her -_mouth_,’ he answered. - -‘Ah! what the Church calls a “lip-virtue.” I see.’ - -Godeau gave another smile, this time a rather more laïcal one. - -‘And what of the charming Marquise, dear Madame de Sévigné?’ Godeau went -on. The Chevalier flung up his hands in mute admiration. - -‘There surely is the _asile des vertus humaines_!’ cried Godeau. ‘Ah, -well, they both deserve an equal degree of admiration, but which of the -two ladies do we _like_ best?’ They both chuckled knowingly. - -‘Yes, _Dieu peut devenir homme mais l’homme ne doit pas se faire Dieu_,’ -went on Godeau, according to the fashion among worldly priests of -reminding the company of their calling, even at the risk of profanity. -Then Madeleine said in a voice shaking with nervousness,— - -‘Don’t you think that parallel portraits, in the manner of Plutarch, -might be drawn of these two ladies?’ - -There was rather a startled look on Godeau’s ridiculous, naughty little -face. He had forgotten that this young lady had been listening to their -conversation, and it seemed to him as unsuitable that strange and -obscure young ladies should listen to fashionable bishops talking to -their intimates, as it was for mortals to watch Diana bathing. But the -Chevalier looked at her with interest; she had, the moment he had seen -her, entered into his consciousness, but he had mentally laid her aside -until he had finished with his old friend Godeau. - -‘There are the seeds in that of a successful _Galanterie_, Mademoiselle,’ -he said. ‘Why has it never occurred to us before to write _parallel_ -portraits? We are fortunate in having for _le Plutarque de nos jours_ a -charming young vestal of Hebe instead of an aged priest of Apollo!’ and -he bowed gallantly to Madeleine. - -Oh, the relief to be recognised as a _person_ at last, and by the -Chevalier de Méré, too, for Madeleine was sure it was he. - -‘Monsieur du Raincy,’ he cried to the elegant young man who was still -at Mademoiselle Legendre’s feet and gazing up into her eyes. ‘We think -parallel portraits of Madame de Sévigné and Madame de La Suze would be -_du dernier galant_, will you be _le Plutarque galant_?’ - -‘Why not share the task with the Abbé Ménage? Let him do Mme. de Sévigné, -and you, the other!’ said Godeau with a meaning smile. Du Raincy looked -pleased and self-conscious. He took out of his pocket a tiny, exquisitely -chased gold mirror, examined himself in it, put it back, looked up. -‘Well, if it is I that point the contrasts,’ he said, ‘it might be called -“the Metamorphosis of Madame La Marquise de Sévigné into a _Mouche_,” for -she will be but a _mouche_ to the other.’ - -‘Monsieur Ménage might have something to say to that,’ smiled the -Chevalier. - -Poor Madeleine had been trying hard to show by modest smiles of ownership -that the idea was hers: she could have cried with vexation. ‘’Twas my -conceit!’ she said, but it was in a small voice, and no one heard it. - -‘What delicious topic enthralls you, Chevalier?’ cried out Mademoiselle -de Scudéry in her rasping voice, feeling that she had done her duty by -Chapelain for the present. The Chevalier answered with his well-preserved -smile,— - -‘Mademoiselle, you need not ask, the only topic that is not profane -in the rue de Beauce—the heavenly twins, Beauty and Wit.’ Madeleine -blushed crimson at the mention of beauty, in anticipation of Mademoiselle -de Scudéry’s embarrassment; it was quite unnecessary, Sappho’s -characteristic was false vanity rather than false modesty. She gave a -gracious equine smile, and said that these were subjects upon which no -one spoke better than the Chevalier. - -‘Mademoiselle, do you consider that most men, like Phaon in your _Cyrus_, -prefer a _belle stupide_—before they have met Sappho, I need not add—to a -_belle spirituelle_?’ asked Conrart. Mademoiselle de Scudéry cleared her -throat and all agog to be dissertating, began in her favourite manner: -‘Beauty is without doubt a flame, and a flame always burns—without being -a philosopher I think I may assert that,’ and she smiled at Chapelain. - -‘But all flame is grateful—if I may use the expression—for fuel, and wit -certainly makes it burn brighter. But seeing that all persons have not -sufficient generosity, and _élan galant_ to yearn for martyrdom, they -naturally shun anything which will make their flame burn more fiercely; -not that they prefer a slow death, but rather having but a paltry spirit -they hope, though they would not own it, that their flame may die before -they do themselves. Then we must remember that the road to Amour very -often starts from the town of Amour-Propre and wit is apt to put that -city to the sword, while female stupidity, like a bountiful Ceres, -fertilises the soil from her over-flowing Cornucopia. On the other hand, -_les honnêtes gens_ start off on the perilous journey from the much more -glorious city of Esteem, and are guided on their way by the star of Wit.’ - -Every one had listened in admiring attention, except Madeleine, who, -through the perverseness of her self-consciousness, had given every sign -of being extremely bored. - -‘I hear a rumour—it was one of the linnets in your garden that told -me—that shortly a lady will make her début at Quinets’ in whom wit and -beauty so abound that all the _femmes galantes_ will have to pocket their -pride and come to borrow from her store,’ said the Chevalier. Conrart -looked important. ‘I am already in love to the verge of madness with -Clélie,’ he said; ‘is it an indiscretion to have told her name?’ he -added, to Mademoiselle de Scudéry. - -‘The Chevalier de Méré would tell you that it is indiscreet to the -verge of crime to mention the name of one’s flame,’ she answered with a -smile, but she did not look ill-pleased. So Clélie was to be the name -of the next book! Madeleine for some reason was so embarrassed and -self-conscious at the knowledge that she did not know what to do with -herself. - -‘I picture her dark, with hazel eyes and——’ began Mademoiselle Legendre. - -‘And I guess that she is young,’ said Madame Cornuel, with a twinkle. Du -Raincy sighed sentimentally. - -‘Well, Monsieur, tell us what is _la Jeunesse_?’ said Godeau. - -‘La Jeunesse?’ he cried. ‘La Jeunesse est belle; la Jeunesse est fraîche; -la Jeunesse est amoureuse,’ he cried, rolling his eyes. - -‘But she rarely enters the _Royaume du Tendre_,’ said a little man -as hideous as an ape—terribly pitted by smallpox—whom they called -Pellisson, with a look at Mademoiselle de Scudéry. That lady smiled back -enigmatically, and Madeleine found herself pitying him from the bottom of -her heart for having no hope of ever getting there himself. There was a -lull, and then people began to get up and move away. The Chevalier came -up to Madeleine and sat down by her. He twisted his moustache, settled -his jabot, and set to. - -‘Mademoiselle, I tremble for your Fate!’ Madeleine went white and -repeated her formula. - -‘Why do you say that?’ she asked, not able to keep the anxiety out of her -voice, for she feared an omen in the words. - -‘To a lady who has shown herself the mistress of so many _belles -connaissances_, I need not ask if she knows the words of the Roman Homer: -_Spretæ injuria formæ_?’ Madeleine stared at his smiling, enigmatical -face, could it be that he had guessed her secret, and by some occult -power knew her future? - -‘I am to seek as to your meaning,’ she said, flushing and trembling. - -‘_Jésus!_’ said the Chevalier to himself, ‘I had forgotten the prudery of -the provinces; can it be she has never before been accosted by a _galant -homme_?’ - -‘_Pray_ make your meaning clear!’ cried Madeleine. - -‘Ah! not such a prude after all!’ thought the Chevalier. ‘Why, -Mademoiselle, we are told that excessive strength or virtue in a mortal -arouses in the gods what we may call _la passion galante_, to wit, -jealousy, from which we may safely deduce that excessive beauty in a lady -arouses the same passion in the goddesses.’ - -‘Oh, _that’s_ your meaning!’ cried Madeleine, so relieved that she quite -forgot what was expected of her in the _escrime galante_. - -‘In truth, this _naïveté_ is not without charm!’ thought the Chevalier, -taking her relief for pleasure at the compliment. - -‘But what mischief could they work me—the goddesses, I mean?’ she asked, -her nerves once more agog. - -‘The goddesses are ladies, and therefore Mademoiselle must know better -than I.’ - -‘But have you a foreboding that they may wreak some vengeance on me?’ - -The poor Chevalier felt quite puzzled: this must be a _visionnaire_. -‘So great a crime of beauty would doubtless need a great punishment,’ -he said with a bow. Madeleine felt tempted to rush into the nearest -hospital, catch smallpox, and thus remove all cause for divine jealousy. -The baffled Chevalier muttered something about a reunion at the Princesse -de Guéméné and made his departure, yet, in spite of the strangeness of -Madeleine’s behaviour, she had attracted him. - -Most of the guests had already left, but Conrart, Chapelain, Pellisson, -and a Mademoiselle Boquet—a plain, dowdy little _bourgeoise_—were still -there, talking to Mademoiselle de Scudéry. The Chevalier’s departure had -left Madeleine by herself, so Conrart called out to her,— - -‘A lady who has just been gallantised by the Chevalier de Méré’ (so -it _was_ he!) ‘will carry the memory of perfection and must needs be -a redoubtable critic in manners; Sappho, may she come and sit on this -_pliant_ near me?’ Madeleine tried to look bored, succeeded, and looked -_gauche_ into the bargain. Conrart patted her knee with his swollen, -gouty hand, and said to Mademoiselle de Scudéry: ‘This young lady feels -a bashfulness which, I think, does her credit, at meeting La Reine de -Tendre, Princesse d’Estime, Dame de Reconnaissance, Inclination, et -Terrains Adjacents.’ The great lady smiled and answered that if her -‘style’ included Ogress of Alarmingness, she would cease to lay claim -to it. Here was Madeleine’s chance. Mademoiselle de Scudéry was smiling -kindly at her and giving her a conversational opening. All she did was -to mutter her formula and look with stony indifference in the opposite -direction. Mademoiselle de Scudéry raised her eyebrows a little and -forthwith Madeleine was excluded from the conversation. - -Shortly afterwards Conrart asked Madeleine if she was ready to go, and -they rose. A wave of inexpressible bitterness and self-reproach broke -over Madeleine as Mademoiselle de Scudéry took her hand absently and bade -her good-bye. Her new god in a dressing-gown had loyally done his part, -but she, like a fool, had spoiled it all. And yet, she felt if she had -it all over again, she would be seized by the same demon of perversity, -that again all her instincts would hide her real feelings under a wall -of shields. And Conrart, what would he think of her? However, he seemed -to think nothing in particular. He was evidently trying to find out what -Madeleine’s impressions of the company had been, and when she, anxious to -make atonement, praised them enthusiastically, he chuckled with pleasure, -as if her praise enhanced his own self-importance. ‘But the rest of us -are but feeble luminaries compared to Sappho—_the most remarkable woman -of the century_—she was in excellent vein on Beauty and Wit.’ It was -on the tip of Madeleine’s tongue to say ‘A trifle pedantic!’ but she -checked herself in time. ‘She always does me the honour of spending part -of July and August at my little country house. It is delicious to be -her companion in the country, the comparisons she draws between life and -nature are most instructive, as well as infinitely gallant. And like all -_les honnêtes gens_ she is as ready to learn as to instruct; on a fine -night we sometimes take a stroll after supper, and I give the company -a little dissertation on the stars, for though she knows a thousand -agreeable things, she is not a philosopher,’ he added complacently. - -‘Ah, but, Monsieur, a grain of philosophy outweighs an ounce of agreeable -knowledge; there is a solidity about your mind; I always picture the -great Aristotle with your face!’ Madeleine’s voice was naturally of a -very earnest timbre, and this, helped by her lack of humour and a halting -way of speaking which suggested sincerity, made people swallow any -outrageous compliment she chose to pay them. Conrart beamed and actually -blushed, though he _was_ perpetual and honorary secretary of the Academy, -and Madeleine but an unknown young girl! - -‘Aristotle was a very great man, Mademoiselle,’ he said modestly. -Madeleine smiled. ‘There have been great men _since_ Agamemnon,’ she -said. Really this was a _very_ nice girl! - -‘Mademoiselle, I would like you to see my little _campagne_——’ he began. - -‘That would be furiously agreeable, but I fear I could not come till the -end of July,’ said Madeleine with unwonted presence of mind. - -‘Dear, dear, that is a long while hence, but I hope we shall see you -then.’ - -‘You are vastly kind, Monsieur; when shall I come?’ Madeleine asked -firmly. - -‘Well—er—let me see—are you free to come on the first day of August?’ - -‘Entirely, I thank you,’ cried Madeleine eagerly. ‘Oh! with what -pleasant expectancy I shall await it!—and you must _promise_ to give -me a lesson about the stars.’ The beaming old gentleman promised with -alacrity, and made a note of the date in his tablets. - -At that moment, Madeleine caught sight of Jacques, strolling along the -Quay, and suddenly filled with a dread of finding herself alone with -herself, she told Conrart that she saw her cousin, and would like to join -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -SELF-IMPOSED SLAVERY - - -‘I knew you would have to pass this way, and I have been waiting for -you this half-hour,’ said Jacques. ‘Well, how went the encounter?’ That -Madeleine was not in despair was clear from the fact that she was willing -to talk about it. - -‘Oh! Jacques, I cannot say. Mademoiselle de Scudéry was entertaining the -whole company with discourse, but when she did address a word to me I was -awkward and bashful—and—and—not over civil. Do you think she will hate -me?’ She waited anxiously for his answer. - -‘Awkward, bashful, and not over civil!’ laughed Jacques. ‘What did you do -uncivil? Did you put out your tongue and hiccough in her face? _Oh_, that -you had! Or did you deliberately undress and then dance about naked? I -would that people were more inclined to such pleasant antics!’ - -‘In good earnest I did _not_,’ said Madeleine severely. ‘But I feigned -not to be interested when she talked, and averted my eyes from her as if -the sight of her worked on my stomach. Oh! what _will_ she think of me?’ - -‘Well, I don’t know, Chop,’ Jacques said dubiously; ‘it seems you used -arts to show yourself in such colours as ’twould be hard to like!’ - -‘Do people never take likings to bashful, surly people?’ she persisted. - -‘I fear me they are apt to prefer smooth-spoken, courtly ones,’ he -answered with a smile. ‘But, take heart, Chop, you will meet with her -again, doubtless, when you must compel yourself to civility and to the -uttering of such _galanterie_ as the occasion furnishes, and then the -issue cannot choose but be successful. Descartes holds admiration to be -the mother of the other passions; an you arouse admiration the others -will follow of their own accord.’ - -‘’Tis easy to talk!’ wailed Madeleine, ‘but her visible presence works so -strangely upon me as to put me out of all my precepts, and I am driven to -unseemly stammering or to uncivil silence.’ - -‘_Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus Flamma demanat_, etcetera. Have -you been studying that most witty anatomy of the lover in the volume of -Catullus that I lent you?’ asked Jacques, rather mockingly. - -‘Yes,’ said Madeleine, blushing. Then, after a pause,— - -‘It seems that ... er ... er ... my father ... that this Ariane ... that, -in short, he has prospered in his suit of late?’ - -‘Has he? I am exceeding glad to hear it,’ said Jacques dryly. Then, -looking at her with his little inscrutable smile, he added: ‘You show a -most becoming filial interest in your father’s _roman_; ’tis as if you -held its issue to be tied up in some strange knot with the issue of your -own.’ - -How sinister he was looking! Madeleine stared at him with eyes of terror. -She tried to speak but no sound would come from her lips. - -Suddenly his expression became once more kind and human. - -‘Why, Chop,’ he cried, ‘there are no bounds set to your credulity! I -verily believe your understanding would be abhorrent of no fable or -fiction, let them be as monstrous as they will. In good earnest you are -in sore need of a dose of old Descartes!’ - -‘But, Jacques, I have of late been diligently studying him and yet it has -availed me nothing. My will has lost naught of its obliquity.’ - -‘How did you endeavour to straighten it ... _hein_?’ Jacques asked very -gently. - -Madeleine hung her head and then confessed her theory about the Wax, and -how she had tried upon reality the plastic force of her will. - -Jacques threw out his hands in despair. - -‘Oh, Chop!’ he cried, ‘it is a sin to turn to such maniac uses the -cleanest, sweetest good sense that ever man has penned! That passage -about the wax is but a _figure_! The only way to compass what we wish is -to exercise our will first on our own passions until they will take what -ply we choose, and then to exercise it on the passions of others. Success -_lies in you_ but is not to be compassed by vain, foolish rites after the -manner of the heathen and the Christians. Why, you have made yourself a -slave, bound with the fetters of affrighting fancies that do but confound -the senses and scatter the understanding. The will is the only talisman. -Exercise yourself in the right using of it against your next meeting with -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, then when that meeting comes, at one word from -you the bashful humours—docile now—will cower behind your spleen, and -the mercurial ones will go dancing through your blood up to your brain, -whence they will let fall a torrent of conceits like sugar-plums raining -from the Palais Mazarin, and thus in Mademoiselle de Scudéry you will -arouse the mother of the passions—Admiration.’ - -They both laughed, and arm in arm—Madeleine with a serene look in her -eyes—made their way to the petite rue du Paon. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE SYMMETRY OF THE COMIC MUSE - - -July came, making the perfume of the meadows more fragrant, the stench of -the Paris streets more foul. - -Madeleine had adopted Jacques’s rationalism, and, having discarded all -supernatural aids, was applying her energies to the quelling of her -‘passions.’ - -It stood to reason that _l’amitié tendre_ could only spring from the -seeds of Admiration. It behoved her, then, to make herself worthy of -Admiration. The surest way of achieving this was to perfect herself in -the _air galant_, and she had the great good fortune to procure the -assistance of one of the most eminent professors of this difficult art. -For the Chevalier de Méré wrote an elaborate Epistle asking her to grant -him the privilege of waiting on her, which she answered in what she -considered a masterpiece of elegant discretion, consisting of pages of -obscure preciosity ending in the pleasant sting of a little piquant ‘yes.’ - -He became an almost daily visitor, and, unfailingly suave and fluent, he -would give her dissertations on life and manners, filled with that tame, -_fade_ common sense which had recently come to be regarded as the last -word in culture. - -She was highly flattered by his attentions, naturally enough, for he was -considered to have exquisite taste in ladies and had put the final polish -on many an eminent Précieuse. Under his tuition she hoped to be, by the -time of her visit to Conrart, a past-mistress in the art of pleasing, and -to have her ‘passions’ in such complete control as to be quite safe from -an attack of bashfulness. - -A July of quiet progress—then August and Mademoiselle de Scudéry! She -awaited the issue of this next meeting with quiet confidence. There is a -comfortable solidity about four weeks, like that of a square arm-chair in -which one can sit at one’s ease, planning and dreaming. If Madeleine had -been gifted with clarity of vision she would have realised that, for her, -true happiness was to be found nowhere but in that comfortable, sedentary -posture. Only those very dear to the gods can distinguish between what -they really want and what they think they want. - -Berthe was full of sly hints with regard to the Chevalier, and his -visits elicited from her many an aphorism on the tender passion. She had -evidently given to him the rôle formerly played by Jacques in her version -of Madeleine’s _roman_. - -And what of Jacques? He was naturally very jealous of the Chevalier and -very angry with Madeleine. - -He was now rarely at home in the evenings. Monsieur Troqueville, who, -during the first week of July, was forced to keep his room by a severe -attack of gout, seemed strangely uneasy. - -Suddenly Jacques ceased coming home even to sleep, and at the mention of -his name Monsieur Troqueville would be threatened by a fit of apoplexy. - -When alone with Madeleine he was full of vague threats and warnings such -as: ‘When I get hold of that rascally cousin of yours, I would see him -that dares prevent me strangling him!’ ‘Have a care lest that scoundrel -Jacques stick a disgrace upon you, as he has done to me!’ ‘If you’ll be -ruled by me you’ll have none of that fellow! ’Tis a most malicious and -treacherous villain!’ - -A sinister fear began to stir in Madeleine’s heart. - - * * * * * - -After a week’s absence, Jacques appeared at supper, dishevelled and -debonair, with rather a wicked gleam in his narrow eyes. The atmosphere -during the meal was tense with suppressed emotion, and it was evident -that Monsieur Troqueville was thirsting for his blood. - -Supper over, Madeleine made a sign to Jacques to follow her. - -‘Well?’ she asked him, once they were in her own room. - -‘Well?’ he answered, smiling enigmatically. - -‘You have been about some mischief—I know it well. Recount me the whole -business without delay.’ - -‘Some mischief? ’Tis merely that I have been driving the playwright’s -trade and writing a little comedy, on life instead of on foolscap.’ - -‘I do not take your meaning.’ - -‘No? Have you ever remarked that Symmetry is the prettiest attribute of -the Comic Muse? Here is my cast—two Belles and one Gallant. Belle I. -loathes the Gallant like the seven deadly sins, while he most piteously -burns with her flame, and has been hoodwinked by his own vanity and the -persuasions of a friend that she burns as piteously with his. Now, mark -the inverted symmetry—the Gallant loathes Belle II., while she burns with -his flame and is persuaded that he does with hers. Why, the three are as -prettily interrelated as a group of porcelain figures! I am of opinion -that Comedy is naught but Life viewed geometrically.’ - -‘You talk in riddles, Jacques, and I am entirely without clue to your -meaning—save that it is some foolishness,’ cried Madeleine with intense -irritation. Jacques’s only answer was an inscrutable smile. - -‘Read me your riddle without delay, or you’ll have me stark mad with -your nonsense!’ she cried with tears of suspense and impatience in her -eyes. - -So Jacques told her how after his first rebuff Monsieur Troqueville had -for a time ceased to pester Ariane with his addresses, and had found -balm for his hurt vanity in pretending to his tavern companions that his -success with Ariane had been complete, and that he held her heart in the -hollow of his hand. He had almost come to believe this himself, when one -evening his friends in the tavern, who had of course never believed his -story, had insisted on seeing Ariane in the flesh. It was in vain that -Monsieur Troqueville had furiously reiterated that ‘the lady being no -common bawd, but exceeding dainty of her favours, would never stoop to -such low company as theirs.’ The company was obdurate, reiterating that -unless they saw her with their own eyes they would hold his ‘_Chimène_’ -to be but a ‘_chimère_,’ and that like Troy in Euripides’ fable, it was -but for a phantom lady that he burned. Finally, Monsieur Troqueville, -goaded beyond all endurance, vowed that the lady would be with them ere -an hour was passed. The company agreed that if he did not keep his word -he would have to stand drinks all round and kiss their grim Huguenot -hostess, while if Ariane appeared within an hour they would give him as -brave a _petite-oie_ as their joint purses could afford. (At the words -‘_petite-oie_’ Madeleine went pale.) Once outside the tavern Monsieur -Troqueville gave way to despair, and Jacques was so sorry for him that -although he felt certain the business would end in ridicule for them -both, he rushed to Ariane’s house to see if he could move her to pity. -Fortunately he found her alone and bored—and took her fancy. To cut -a long story short, before the hour was up, amid the cheers of the -revellers and the Biblical denunciations of the hostess, Ariane made her -epiphany at the tavern and saved Monsieur Troqueville’s face. After -that Jacques went often to see Ariane, and delivered the love-letters he -carried from Monsieur Troqueville, not to her but to her ancient duenna, -in whose withered bosom he had easily kindled a flame for his uncle. -Finally, having promised him a meeting with his lady, he had thrown him -into the arms of the duenna. - -When Jacques had finished his story, Madeleine, who had gazed at him with -a growing horror in her eyes, said slowly,— - -‘To speak truth, you seem to me compact of cruelty.’ At once he looked -penitent. ‘No, Chop, ’tis not my only humour. One does not hold -Boisrobert and the other writers of Comedy to be cruel in that they -devise droll situations for their characters.’ - -‘That is another matter.’ - -‘Well, maybe you are in the right. ’Twas a scurvy trick I played him, and -I am ashamed. Are you grievously wroth with me, Chop?’ - -‘I can hardly say,’ she answered and, her eyes wandering restlessly over -the room, she twisted her hands in a way she had when her nerves were -taut. ‘There are times when I am wont to wonder ... if haply I do not -somewhat resemble my father,’ she added with a queer little laugh. - -The idea seemed to tickle Jacques. She looked at him angrily. - -‘You hold then that there is truth in what I say?’ and try as she would -she could not get him to say that there was not. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -BERTHE’S STORY - - -Madeleine was feeling restless, so she asked Berthe to come and sit by -her bed and talk to her. - -‘Tell me a story,’ she commanded, and Berthe delightedly launched forth -on her favourite theme, that of Madeleine’s resemblance to her youngest -brother. - -‘Oh, he often comes to me and says, “Tell me a story, Berthe,” like that, -“tell me a story, Berthe,” and I’ll say, “Do you think I have nothing -better to do, sir, than tell you stories. Off you go and dig cabbages;” -and he’ll say, with a bow, “Dig them yourself, Madame”—oh, he’s _malin_, -ever pat with an answer; he is like Monsieur Jacques in that way. One -day——’ - -‘Please tell me a story,’ Madeleine persisted. ‘Tell me the one about -Nausicaa.’ - -‘Ah! that was the one that came back to me when Mademoiselle turned with -such zeal to housewifery!’ and she chuckled delightedly. - -‘Tell it to me!’ - -‘Well, it was a pretty tale my grandmother used to tell; she heard it -from _her_ grandmother, who had been tire-woman to a great lady in the -reign of good King Francis.’ - -‘Begin the tale,’ commanded Madeleine firmly. - -‘Oh, Mademoiselle will have her own way—just like Albert,’ winked Berthe, -and began,— - -‘Once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, there lived a rich farmer near -Marseilles. My grandmother was wont to say he was a king, but that cannot -have been, for, as you will see, his daughter did use to do her own -washing. Mademoiselle hates housework, doesn’t she? _I_ can see you are -ill-pleased when Madame talks of a _ménage_ of your own——’ - -‘_Go on_,’ said Madeleine. Berthe cackled, ‘Just like Albert!’ she -exclaimed. - -‘Well, this farmer had an only daughter, who was very beautiful; she had -an odd name: it was Nausicaa. She was _rêveuse_, like Mademoiselle and -me, and used to love to lie in her father’s orchard reading romances -or looking out over the sea, which lay below. She did not care for the -sons of the farmers round that came wooing her with presents of lambs -and apples or with strings of beads which they bought from sailors at -the harbour; they seemed to her clumsy with their foolish grins and -their great hands, for Nausicaa was exceeding nice,’ and Berthe winked -meaningly. ‘And there were merchants, too, with long beards and grave -faces, and gold chains, who sought her hand, but she was aware that they -looked on her as nothing better than the rare birds their ships brought -them from the Indies. Well, one night, Our Lady appeared to her in a -dream and said: “Lève-toi, petite paresseuse, les jeunes demoiselles -doivent s’occuper du mariage et de leur ménage.” And she bade Nausicaa go -to the river, and wash all her linen, for if a Prince came he would be -ill-pleased to find her foul. And Nausicaa woke up feeling very strange -and as if fair wondrous things were coming to meet her. ’Tis a fancy that -seizes us all at times, and much good it does us!’ And Berthe gave her -long, soft chuckle, while Madeleine scowled at her. - -‘As soon as she was dressed, Nausicaa ran into the fields to find her -father, and she put her arms round his neck and hid her face on his -shoulder and said, laughing,— - -‘“Father, I am fain you should lend me a cart and four mules for to-day,” -and her brothers, who were standing near, laughed and asked who was -waiting for her at the other end. And Nausicaa tossed her head and said -she did but want to wash her linen in the river. And her father pinched -her ear and kissed her and said that he would order four of his best -mules to be harnessed. And when her mother heard of her project she -clapped her hands with joy and winked at the old nurse, for she divined -the thought in Nausicaa’s mind, and the poor soul was exceeding glad.’ - -‘_Go on_,’ Madeleine commanded feverishly, forestalling a personal -deviation. - -‘Well, the mother filled a big hamper full of the delicate fare that -Nausicaa liked best—_pain d’épice_, and quince jam and preserved fruits -and a fine fat capon, and bade four or five of the dairymaids go with -her and help her with her washing, and Nausicaa filled a great basket -with her linen, and they all climbed into the cart, and Nausicaa took -the reins and flicked the whip, and the mules trotted off. When they got -to the river they rolled up their sleeves and set to, and they laughed -and talked over their work, for Nausicaa was not proud. And when all -the linen was washed and laid out on the grass to dry they sat down and -ate their dinner and talked, and Nausicaa sang them songs, for she had -brought her lute with her. And then they played at _Colin-Maillard_ and -at ball, and then they danced a _Branle_, and poor grannie used always -to say that they were as lovely as the angels dancing in Paradise. Every -one, of course, was comely long ago’—and Berthe interrupted her narration -to chuckle. - -‘Grannie used always to go on like this: “They laughed and played as -maidens will when they are among themselves, but they little knew what -was watching them from behind a bush of great blue flowers,” and we used -to say, with our eyes as round as buttons—“Was it a bear, grannie?” “No.” -“Was it a _lutin_, then?” And we were grievously disappointed when she -would say, “No, it was a man!” Well, it was a great Roman lord called -Ulysse who had fought with Charlemagne at the Siege of Troy, and when he -started on his voyage home, Saint Nicholas, the sailors’ saint, who did -not love him, pestered him with storms and shipwrecks and monstrous fish -so that the years passed and he got no nearer home. And all the time he -kept on praying to Our Lady to give him a safe and speedy return, and -at last she heard his prayer, and when Saint Nicholas had once again -wrecked his ship she rescued him from the sea and walked over the waves -with him in her arms as if he were a little child till she reached the -river near Marseilles, and then she laid him among the rushes by its -banks, and there he slept. And when he woke up she worked a miracle so -that the wrinkles and travel-stains and sunburn dropped away from him, -and his rags she changed into a big hat with fine plumes, and a jerkin -of Isabelle satin, and a cloak lined with crimson plush, and breeches -covered with ribbons, so that he was once more the fine young gallant -that had years ago started for the wars. And she told him to step out -from behind the bush and accost Nausicaa. Oh, believe me, he knew what -to say, for he was as _malin_ as a fox! He made as fine a bow as you -could see and told Nausicaa that she must be a king’s daughter. And her -heart was fluttering like a bird—poor, pretty soul!—as she remembered her -dream. Not that she had need to call it to mind, for, as Mademoiselle -doubtless will understand, she had thought of nothing else all day!’ -Madeleine looked suspiciously at the comic mask, but Berthe went on,— - -‘And then my lord Reynard tells of his misfortunes, and the hours he had -spent struggling in the cold sea, and of his hunger, and of how his ship -was lost, and he longing for his own country, “until I saw Mademoiselle,” -with another bow, so that tears came to the eyes of Nausicaa and her -maids, and shyly kind, she asked him if he would be pleased to take -shelter under her father’s roof, which, as you will believe, was just -what he had been waiting for! And her parents welcomed the handsome -stranger kindly, the father as man to man, the mother a little shyly, for -she saw that he was a great lord, though he did not tell his name, and -she feared that he might think poorly of their state. All the same, her -mind was busy weaving fantasies, and when she told them to her husband -he mocked her for a vain and foolish woman, but for all that, he looked -troubled and not well pleased. Nausicaa did not tell her parents of -her dream, but that evening when her old nurse was combing her hair—my -grannie used to say it was a comb made of pink coral—she asked her -whether she thought that dreams might be taken as omens, and the old -woman, who from the question divined the truth, brought out a dozen cases -of dreams coming true.’ - -‘Does it end happily?’ Madeleine interrupted feverishly. - -‘Mademoiselle will see,’ chuckled Berthe, her expression inexpressibly -sly. - -‘Don’t look so strangely, Berthe, you frighten me!’ cried Madeleine. She -was in a state of great nervous excitement. - -‘But, Mademoiselle, it is only a tale—it is _just_ like Albert, he will -sometimes cry his eyes out over a sad tale. I remember one evening at the -Fête des Rois, the Curé——’ - -‘Go on with the story,’ cried Madeleine. - -‘Where was I? Oh, yes.... Well, Ulysse stayed with them some days, and -he would borrow a blue smock from one of Nausicaa’s brothers and help -to bring in the hay, and in the evening tell them stories of strange -countries or play to them on the lute. And he would wander with Nausicaa -in the orchard, and though his talk was pretty and full of _fleurettes_, -he never spoke of love. Well, one evening a Troubadour—Mademoiselle knows -what that is?’ - -‘Of course!’ - -‘Came to the door and they asked him in, and after supper he sang -them songs all about the Siege of Troy and the hardships undergone by -Charlemagne and his knights when they fought there for _la belle Hélène_, -and as he listened Ulysse could not keep from weeping, and they watched -him, wondering. And when the song was finished they were all silent. -And then Ulysse spoke up, saying he would no longer keep his name from -them—“and, indeed,” he added proudly, “it is not a name that need make -its bearer blush, for,” said he, “I am the lord Ulysse!” At that they all -exclaimed with wonder, and Nausicaa turned as white as death, but Ulysse -did not look at her. Then he told them of all the troubles sent him by -Saint Nicholas and how fain he was to get to his own country and to his -lady who was waiting for him in a high tower, but that he had no ship. -Then Nausicaa’s father clapped him on the shoulder, although he was such -a great lord, and told him that he had some ships of his own to carry his -corn to barren countries like England, and that he should have one to -take him home. Then he filled up their glasses with good red Beaume and -drank to his safe arrival, but Nausicaa said never a word and left the -room. And next morning she was there, standing by a pillar of the door -to bid him godspeed, smiling bravely, for though she was but a farmer’s -daughter she had a _noble fierté_. But after he had gone she could do -nothing but weep, and pray to the Virgin to send her comfort. And some -tell that in time she forgot the lord Ulysse and the grievous sorrow he -had brought on her, and wedded with a neighbouring farmer and gat him -fair children. - -‘But others tell that the poor soul could not rid herself of the burden -of her grief, but did use to pass the nights in weeping and the days in -roaming, wan and cheerless, by the sea-waves or through the meadows. And -one eve as she wandered thus through a field of corn, it chanced that -one of God’s angels was flying overhead, and he saw the damsel, and his -strange bloodless heart was filled with love and pity of her, and he -swooped down on her and caught her up to Paradise. - -‘ ... There is Madame calling me!’ and Berthe hurried from the room. - -Madeleine lay quite still on her bed, with a frightened shadow in her -eyes. Ever since Jacques’s dissertation on the Symmetry of the Comic -Muse, terror had been howling outside the doors of her soul, but now it -had boldly entered and taken possession. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE CHRISTIAN VENUS - - -The sane and steady procedure of the last few weeks—to prepare for the -arousing of Admiration in Mademoiselle de Scudéry by a course in the art -of pleasing—now seemed to Madeleine inadequate and frigid. She felt she -could no longer cope with life without supernatural aid. - -Once more her imagination began to pullulate with tiny nervous fears. - -There would be onions for dinner—a vegetable that she detested. She would -feel that unless she succeeded in gulping down her portion before her -father gave another hiccough, she would never gain the friendship of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry. She would wake up in the middle of the night -with the conviction that unless, standing on one leg, she straightway -repeated ‘_cogito, ergo sum_’ fifteen times, Conrart would be seized by -another attack of gout which would postpone her visit. - -But these little fears—it would be tedious to enumerate them all—found -their source in one great fear, to wit _lest the Sapphic Ode and the -adventures of Nausicaa formed one story_. - -The Ode tells how Venus appeared to Sappho and promised her rare things; -but were these promises fulfilled? The Ode does not tell us, but we know -that Sappho leapt from a cliff into the cold sea. The Virgin appears -to Nausicaa, and although her promises are not as explicit as those of -Venus, they are every whit as enticing, and what do they lead to? To a -maiden disillusioned, deserted, and heart-broken, finding her final -consolation in the cold and ravishing embraces of an Angel. - -She, too, by omens and signs had been promised rare things; she had -abandoned God, but had she ceased to believe in His potency? She -remembered the impression left on Jacques by the fourth book of the -_Eneid_, and Descartes’ discarded hypothesis of an evil god, _le grand -trompeur_—the ‘great cheat,’ he had called Him. Perhaps He had sent the -Virgin to Nausicaa, Dame Venus to Sappho, and to herself a constellation -of auspicious stars, to cozen them with fair promises that He might have -the joy of breaking them—and their hearts as well. - -One evening when her nerves were nearly cracking under the strain of this -idea, she went to the kitchen to seek out Berthe. - -‘Berthe,’ she said, ‘when you do strangely desire a thing shall come to -pass, what means do you affect to compass it?’ - -Berthe gave her a sly look and answered: ‘I burn a candle to my patron -saint, Mademoiselle.’ - -‘And is the candle efficacious to the granting of your prayers?’ - -‘As to their granting, it hangs upon the humour of Saint Berthe.’ - -‘Do you know of any charm that will so work upon her as to change her -humour from a splenetic to a kindly one?’ - -‘There is but two charms, Mademoiselle, that will surely work upon the -humours of the great—be they in Paradise or on the earth—they be flattery -and presents. Albeit, I am a good Catholic, I hold my own opinions on -certain matters, and I cannot doubt that once the Saints are safe in -Paradise they turn exceeding grasping, crafty, and malicious. Like -financiers, they are glutted on the farthings of the poor—a pack of -Montaurons!’ - -‘And in what manner does one flatter them?’ - -‘Why, by novenas and candles and prostrating oneself before their -images. As for me, except I have a prayer I strangely desire should be -granted, I do never affect to kneel at Mass, I do but bend forward in -my seat. In Lorraine we hold all this bowing and scraping as naught but -Spanish tomfoolery! You’d seek long before you found one of _us_ putting -ourselves to any discomfort for the Saints, except it did profit us to do -so!’ and for at least a minute she chuckled and winked. - -Well, here was a strange confirmation of her theory—a wicked hierarchy -could only culminate in a wicked god. Yes, but such ignoble Saints -would surely not be incorruptible. Might not timely bribes change their -malicious designs? Also, it was just possible that Nausicaa and Sappho -had neglected the rites and sacrifices without which no compact is valid -between a god and a mortal. But could she not learn from their sad -example? _Her_ story was still in the making, by timely rites she might -bring it to a happy issue. - -With a sudden flash of illumination she felt she had discovered the -secret of her failure. It was due to her neglect of her own patron -saint, Saint Magdalene, who was as well the patron saint of Madeleine de -Scudéry, a mystic link between their two souls, without which they could -never be united. - -_Forget not your great patron saint in your devotions. It was her -particular virtue that she greatly loved_, had been the words of Mère -Agnès. _She greatly loved_—why, it was all as clear as day; was she not -the holy courtesan, and as such had she not taken over the functions of -the pagan Venus, she who had appeared to Sappho? As the Christian Venus, -charm and beauty and wit and _l’air galant_, and all the qualities that -inspire Admiration must be in her gift, and Madeleine had neglected her! -It was little wonder she had failed. Why, at the very beginning of her -campaign against _amour-propre_ she should have invoked her aid—‘the -saint who so greatly loved.’ - -Thus, link by link, was forged a formidable chain of evidence proving the -paramount importance of the cult of Saint Magdalene. - -What could she do to propitiate her? The twenty-second of July was her -Feast, just a few days before the visit to Conrart. That was surely a -good omen. She made a rapid calculation and found that it would fall on -a Sunday, what if ... she shuddered, for something suddenly whispered to -her soul a sinister suggestion. - - * * * * * - -That afternoon the Chevalier de Méré came to wait on her, and in the -course of his elegantly didactic monologue, Madeleine inadvertently -dropped her handkerchief: he sprang to pick it up, and as he presented it -to her apostrophised it with a languorous sigh,— - -‘Ah, little cambric flower, it would not have taken a seer to foretell -that happiness as exquisite as yours should precede a fall!’ - -Then, according to his custom of following up a concrete compliment by a -dissertation on the theory of _Galanterie_ he launched into an historical -survey of the use to which the _Muse Galante_ had made, in countless -admirable sonnets, of the enviable intimacy existing between their fair -wearer and such insensible objects as a handkerchief or a glove. - -‘But these days,’ he continued, ‘the envy of a poet _à la mode_ is not -so much aroused by gloves of _frangipane_ and handkerchiefs of Venetian -lace, in that a franchise far greater than _they_ have ever enjoyed has -been granted by all the Belles of the Court and Town to ignoble squares -of the roughest cloth—truly evangelical, these Belles have exalted the -poor and meek and——’ - -‘I don’t take your meaning, pray explain,’ Madeleine cut in. - -‘Why, dear Rhodanthos, have you never heard of Mère Madeleine de -Saint-Joseph of the Carmelites?’ - -‘That I have, many a time.’ - -‘Well, as you know, in her life time she worked miracles beyond the -dreams of Faith itself, and at her death, as in the case of the founder -of her Order, the great Elias, her virtue was transmitted to her cloak, -or rather to her habit, portions of which fortunate garment are worn -by all the _belles dévotes_ next ... er ... their ... er next ... er -... their sk ... next their secret garden of lilies, with, I am told, -the most extravagant results; it is her portion of the miraculous habit -that has turned Madame de Longueville into a penitent, for example, but -its effects are sometimes of a more profane nature, namely—breathe it -low—success in the tender passion!’ Madeleine’s eyes grew round. - -‘Yes, ’tis a veritable cestus of Venus, which, I need hardly remind a -lady of such elegant learning as Mademoiselle, was borrowed by Juno when -anxious to rekindle the legitimate passion in the bosom of Jove. And -speaking of Juno I remember——’ - -But Madeleine had no more attention to bestow on the urbane flow of the -Chevalier’s conversation. She was ablaze with excitement and hope ... -Mère _Madeleine_ de Saint-Joseph, the mystical name again! And the cestus -of Venus ... it was surely a message sent from Saint Magdalene herself. -The Chevalier had said that these relics had usurped the rôle previously -played in the world of fashion by lace handkerchiefs and gloves of -_frangipane_, in short of the feminine _petite-oie_. Thus, by obtaining -a relic, she would kill two birds with one stone; she would absorb the -virtue of Saint Magdalene and at the same time destroy for ever the -bad magic of that _petite-oie_ of bad omen which she had bought at the -Foire St. Germain. The very next day she would go to the Carmelites, -and perhaps, _perhaps_, if they had not long ago been all distributed, -procure a piece of the magical habit. At any rate she would consolidate -her cult for Saint Magdalene by burning some candles in the wonderful -chapel set up in her honour in the Church of the Carmelites. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL - - -Many strange legends had gone to weave round the Convent of the -Carmelites—so long the centre of fashionable Catholicism—an atmosphere of -romantic mystery. - -Tradition taught that the order had been founded on the summit of Mount -Carmel by Elias himself. Its earliest members were the mysterious -Essenes, but they were converted to Christianity by Saint Peter’s -Pentecostal sermon, and built on the mountain a chapel to the Blessed -Virgin Mary, she herself becoming a member of their order. Her example -was followed by the Twelve Apostles, and any association with that -mysterious company of sinister semi-plastic beings, menacing sinners with -their symbolic keys and crosses, had filled Madeleine since her childhood -with a nameless terror. - -The Essenes and the Apostles! The Carmelites thus preserved the Mysteries -of both the Old and the New Testaments. - -Madeleine, as she stood at the door of their Convent, too awe-struck -to enter, felt herself on the confines of the Holy Land—that land half -geographical, half Apocalyptical, where the Unseen was always bursting -through the ramparts of nature’s laws; where Transfigurations and -Assumptions were daily events, and Assumptions not only of people but of -cities. Had not Jerusalem, with all its towers and palm-trees and gardens -and temples, been lifted up by the lever of God’s finger right through -the Empyrean, and landed intact and all burning with gold in the very -centre of the Seventh Heaven? - -Summoning up all her courage she passed into the court. It was quite -empty, and over its dignified proportions there did indeed seem to lie -the shadow of the silent awful Denizen of ‘high places.’ Dare she cross -it? Once more she pulled herself together and made her way into the -Church. - -It was a gorgeous place, supported by great pillars of marble and bronze -and hung with large, sombre pictures by Guido and Philippe de Champagne, -while out of the darkness gleamed the ‘Arche d’Alliance’ with its huge -sun studded with jewels. - -The atmosphere though impressive was familiar—merely Catholicism in its -most luxuriant form, and Madeleine took heart. She set out in quest of -the Magdalene’s Chapel. Here and there a nun was kneeling, but she was -the only stranger. - -Yes, it was but meet that here—the grave of sweet Mademoiselle de -Vigean’s love for the great Condé and of many another romantic -tragedy—the Magdalene should be specially honoured. - -The Chapel was small and rich, its door of fretted iron-work made it -look not unlike a great lady’s _alcove_. It was filled with pictures by -Le Brun and his pupils of scenes from the life of the Saint. There she -was in a dark grove, with tears of penitence streaming from the whites -of large upturned eyes. And there she was again, beneath the Cross, and -there watching at the Tomb, but always torn by the same intensity of -pseudo emotion, for Le Brun and Guido foreshadowed in their pictures that -quality of poignant, artificial anguish which a few years later was to -move all sensibilities in the tragedies of Racine. - -Madeleine was much moved by the Magdalene’s anguish, and hesitated to -obtrude her own request. But her throbbing desire won the day, and -remembering what Berthe had said about flattery she knelt before the -largest picture and began by praising the Magdalene’s beauty and piety -and high place in Paradise, and then with humble importunity implored the -friendship of her namesake. - -When she opened her eyes, there was the Magdalene as absorbed as before -in the intensity of her own emotion. Le Brun’s dramatic chiaroscuro -brings little comfort to suppliants—the eternal impassivity of the Buddha -is far less discouraging than an eternal emotion in which we have no part. - -Madeleine felt the chill of repulse. Perhaps in Paradise as on earth the -Saints were sensible to nothing but the cycle of the sacred Story, and -knew no emotions but passionate grief at the Crucifixion, ecstasy at the -Resurrection, awe at the Ascension, and child-like joy as the Birth comes -round again. - -‘I am scorned in both the worldly and the sacred alcoves,’ she told -herself bitterly, nevertheless, she determined to continue her attentions. - -She bought three fine candles and added them to those already burning on -the Magdalen’s altar. What did the Saint do with the candles? Perhaps -at night when no one was looking she melted them down, then added -them to the wax of reality and moulded, moulded, moulded. Once more -Madeleine fell on her knees, and there welled from her heart a passion of -supplication. - -_Sainte Madeleine_, the patron saint of all Madeleines ... of Madeleine -Troqueville and of Madeleine de Scudéry ... the saint who had loved -so much herself ... the successor of she whom Jacques had called ‘the -beneficent and bountiful Venus’ ... surely, surely she would grant her -request. - -‘Deathless Saint Magdalen of the damasked throne,’ she muttered, ‘friend -of Jesus, weaver of wiles, vex not my soul with frets and weariness but -hearken to my prayer. Who flees, may she pursue; who spurns gifts may she -offer them; who loves not, willy-nilly may she love. Broider my speech -with the quaint flowers of Paradise, on thine own loom weave me wiles and -graces to the ensnaring of my love. Up the path of Admiration lead Sappho -to my desire.’ - -She felt a touch on her shoulder, and, looking round, saw a lay-sister, -in the brown habit of the Carmelites. Her twinkling black eyes reminded -Madeleine of another pair of eyes, but whose she could not remember. - -‘I ask pardon, Madame,’ the sister said in a low voice, ‘but we hold -ourselves the hostesses, as it were, of all wanderers on Carmel. Is there -aught that I can do for you?’ - -Madeleine’s heart began to beat wildly; the suddenness with which an -opportunity had been given her for procuring her wish seemed to her of -the nature of a miracle. Through her perennial grief at the old, old -story, the Magdalene must have heard her prayer. A certainty was born -in on her that her desire would be granted. She and the other Madeleine -would one day visit the Chapel together, and side by side set up rows and -rows of wax candles in gratitude for the perfection of their friendship. - -‘Oh, sister, I am much beholden to you,’ she stammered. The nun led the -way out of the Church into the great garden that marched with that of the -Luxembourg and rivalled it in magnificence. She sat down by a statue of -the Virgin, enamelled in gold and azure. - -Madeleine thought with contemptuous pity of the comparatively meagre -dimensions and furnishing of Port-Royal, and triumphed to think how far -she had wandered from Jansenism. - -‘You have the air of one in trouble,’ said the nun kindly. Her breath -smelt of onions, and somehow or other this broke the spell of the -situation for Madeleine. It was a touch of realism not suited to a -mystical messenger. - -‘I perceive graven on your countenance the lines of sorrow, my child,’ -she went on, ‘but to everything exists its holy pattern, and these -lines can also be regarded as a blessing, when we call to mind the holy -stigmata.’ She gabbled off this speech as though it had been part of the -patter of a quack. - -‘Yes, I am exceeding unhappy,’ said Madeleine; ‘at least I am oppressed -by fears as to the issue of certain matters,’ she corrected herself, for -‘unhappy’ seemed a word of ill-omen. - -‘Poor child!’ said the Sister, ‘but who knows but that oil and balm of -comfort may not pour on you from Mount Carmel?’ - -‘Oh, do you think it may?’ Madeleine cried eagerly. - -‘’Tis a strange thing, but many go away from here comforted. It is richly -blessed.’ - -‘I wonder,’ Madeleine began hesitatingly. ‘I fear ’tis asking too -much—but if I could but have a relic of the blessed Mère Madeleine de -Saint-Joseph! The world reports her relics more potent than any other -Saint’s.’ (In spite of the efforts of many great French ladies, Mère -Madeleine de Saint-Joseph had _not_ been canonised. Madeleine knew this, -but she thought she would please the Carmelite by ignoring it.) - -At Madeleine’s words the little nun wriggled her body into a succession -of Gallic contortions, in which eyebrows and hands played a large part, -expressive of surprise, horror, and complete inability to grant such an -outrageous request. But Madeleine pleaded hard, and after a dissertation -on the extraordinary virtue of the habit, and a repeated reiteration that -there were only one or two scraps of it left, the Carmelite finally -promised that one of these scraps should be Madeleine’s. - -She went into the Convent and came back with a tiny piece of frayed -cloth, and muttering a prayer she fixed it inside Madeleine’s bodice. - -Madeleine was almost too grateful to say ‘thank you.’ - -‘All the greatest ladies of the Court and the Town are wont to wear a -portion of the sacred habit,’ the nun continued complacently. Madeleine -found herself wondering quite seriously if the mère Madeleine de -Saint-Joseph had been a _Gargamelle_ in proportions. - -‘To speak truth, it must have been a huge and capacious garment!’ she -said in all good faith. The nun gave her a quick look out of her shrewd -little eyes, but ignored the remark. - -‘And now Mademoiselle will give us a contribution for our Order, will she -not?’ she said insinuatingly. Madeleine was much taken aback. She blushed -and said,— - -‘Oh, in earnest ... ’tis accordant with my wishes ... but ... er ... how -much?’ - -‘Do but consult your own heart, and it will go hard but we shall be -satisfied. I have given you what to the eyes of the flesh appears but a -sorry scrap of poor rough fustian, but to the eyes of the spirit it has -the lustre of velvet, and there is not a Duchess but would be proud to -wear it!’ - -Why, of course, her eyes were like those of the mercer at the Fair who -had sold her the ‘_petite-oie_’! - -However, one acquires merit by giving to holy Houses ... and also, -Mademoiselle has procured something priceless beyond rubies. Madeleine -offered a gold louis, and the nun was profuse in her thanks. They parted -at the great gates, the nun full of assurances as to the efficacy of the -amulet, Madeleine of grateful thanks. - -It had been a strange adventure, and she left the Sacred Mountain with -conflicting emotions. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -THE BODY OF THE DRAGON - - -If you remember, when Madeleine had realised that the feast of Saint -Magdalene was approaching, an idea had flashed into her head which she -had not then dared to entertain. But it had slowly crept back and now had -established itself as a fixed purpose. It was this—on the feast of Saint -Magdalene to communicate, _without having first received Absolution_. -She felt that it would please the potent Saint that she should commit -a deadly sin in her honour. Also, it would mean a complete and final -rupture with Jansenism. And with one stroke she would annihilate her -Salvation—that predestined ghostly certainty to the fulfilment of which -the Celestial Powers seemed bent on sacrificing all her worldly hopes -and happiness. Yes, she would now be able to walk in security along the -familiar paths of life, unhaunted by the fear of the sudden whirr of -wings and then—the rape to the love of invisible things. - -So on Sunday, the twenty-second of July, she partook of the Blessed -Sacrament. Arnauld had written in the ‘Fréquente Communion’: ‘_therefore -as the true penitent eats the body of Jesus Christ, so the sinner eats -the body of the Dragon_.’ - -Well, and so she was eating the body of the Dragon! The knowledge gave -her a strange sense of exaltation and an awful peace. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -A JAR - - -It was the day before the meeting. Early next morning the Chevalier de -Méré was to call for her in his coach and drive her out to Conrart’s -house. He was also taking that tiresome little Mademoiselle Boquet. That -was a pity, but she was particularly pleased that the Chevalier himself -was to be there, he always brought out her most brilliant qualities. - -_She was absolutely certain of success_ ... the real world seemed to -have become the dream world ... she felt as if she had been turned into -a creature of some light, unsubstantial substance living in an airless -crystal ball. - -That afternoon, being Thursday and a holiday, she went an excursion with -Jacques to Chaillot, a little village up the Seine. She walked in a happy -trance, and the fifteenth century Church, ornate and frivolous, dotted -with its black Minims—‘_les bons hommes de Chaillot_’—and the coach of -the exiled Queen-Mother of England’s gaily rattling down the cobbled -street, seemed to her—safe inside her crystal ball—pretty and unreal and -far-away, like Berthe’s stories of Lorraine. - -Then they wandered into a little copse behind the village and lay there -in the fantastic green shade, and Madeleine stroked and petted Jacques -and laughed away his jealousy about the Chevalier, and promised that next -week she would go with him to the notary and plight her troth. - -Then they got up and she took his arm; on her face was a rapt smile, for -she was dreaming particularly pleasant things about herself and Sappho. - -Suddenly Jacques’s foot caught in a hidden root ... down he came, -dragging Madeleine after him ... smash went the crystal ball, and once -more she saw the world bright and hard and menacing and felt around her -the rough, shrewd winds. - -So Jacques had made her fall—just when she was having such pleasant -dreams of Sappho! - -_Hylas, hélas! Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes. Birds thinking to fly -through have dashed themselves against the wall. ’Tis as though the issue -of his roman were tied in a strange knot with that of yours. I have been -writing a little comedy on life instead of on foolscap. In the smithy -of Vulcan are being forged weapons which will not tarry to smash your -fragile world into a thousand fragments_ ... weapons? Perhaps one of them -was ‘the scimitar of the Comic Muse’ (or was it the ‘symmetry’? It did -not really matter which.) - -Who was the mercer at the Fair? He had the same eyes as the nun at the -Carmelites.... Her father, too, had a _petite-oie_ ... he had put his -faith in bravery. Perhaps Venus-Magdalen and the Comic Muse were one ... -and their servant was Hylas the mocking shepherd. _The wooden cubes on -which God’s finger had cut a design ... generals and particulars. Have -a care lest that scoundrel Jacques stick a disgrace upon you, as he has -done to me! A comedy written upon life instead of upon foolscap._ - -In morbid moments she had often heard a whisper to which she had never -permitted herself to listen. She heard the whisper now, louder and more -insistent than ever before. To-day she could not choose but listen to it. - -_Her ‘roman’ had to follow the pattern of her father’s. Her father’s -‘roman,’ as slowly it unfolded, was nothing but a magical pre-doing of -her own future, more potent than her dances. And God had deputed the -making of it to—Jacques. He was the playwright, or the engraver, or the -moulder of wax—it mattered little in what medium he wrought his sinister -art._ - -There was still time to act. ‘She would _do_, she would _do_, she would -_do_.’ Action is the only relief for a hag-ridden brain. An action that -was ruthless and final—that would break his power and rid her of him for -ever. That action should be consummated. - -All the while that this train of fears and memories had been coursing -through her brain, she had chattered to Jacques with hectic gaiety. - -When they got home she ran to the kitchen to find Berthe. - -‘Berthe, were you ever of opinion I would wed with Monsieur Jacques?’ - -Berthe leered and winked. ‘Well, Mademoiselle,’ she said, ‘Love is one -thing—marriage is another. Monsieur Jacques could not give Mademoiselle -a coach and a fine _hôtel_ in the Rue de Richelieu. I understand -Mademoiselle exceeding well, in that we are not unlike in some matters,’ -and she gave her grotesque grin. ‘As for me, I would never wed with a -man except he could raise me to a better condition than mine own—else -what would it profit one? But if some plump little tradesman were to come -along——’ - -‘But did you hold that I would wed with Monsieur Jacques?’ Madeleine -persisted. - -‘Well, if Mademoiselle _did_ wed with him, she would doubtless be setting -too low a price on herself, though he is a fine young gentleman and -_malin comme un singe_; he is like Albert, nothing escapes him.’ - -‘Do you think the Saints like us to use each other unkindly?’ - -Berthe laughed enigmatically, ‘I think ’tis a matter of indifference to -them, so long as they get the _sous_.’ - -‘But don’t you think it might accord well with their humour if they are -as wicked as you say they are?’ - -Part of the truth suddenly flashed on Berthe, and she winked and chuckled -violently. ‘Oh, Mademoiselle is sly!’ she cried admiringly. ‘I think it -would please them not a little were Mademoiselle to jilt a poor man that -she might wed with a rich one, for then there would be gold for them -instead of copper!’ - -And Madeleine, having forced her oracle into giving her a more or less -satisfactory answer, fled from the room in dread of Berthe mentioning the -name of the Chevalier de Méré and thereby spoiling the oracular answer. - -She called Jacques to her room at once, and found herself—she who had -such a horror of hurting the feelings of her neighbours that she would -let a thief cut her purse-strings rather than that he should know that -she knew he was a thief—telling him without a tremor that his personality -was obnoxious to her, his addresses still more so, and that she wanted -to end their relationship once and for all. Jacques listened in perfect -silence. At her first words he had gone white and then flushed the angry -red of wounded vanity, and then once more had turned white. When she had -finished, he said in a voice of icy coldness,— - -‘Mademoiselle, you have an admirable clearness of exposition; rest -assured I shall not again annoy you with my addresses—or my presence,’ -and with his head very high he left the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -THE END OF THE ‘ROMAN’ - - -Madeleine listened to Jacques’s light footsteps going down the long -flight of stairs, and knew that he had gone for ever. With this knowledge -came a sense of peace she had not known for days, and one of sacramental -purity, such as must have filled the souls of pious Athenians when at the -Thargelia the _Pharmakoi_ were expelled from the city. - -Yes, just in time she had discovered the true moral of the Sapphic -Ode and the story of Nausicaa, to wit, that the gods will break their -promises if man fails to perform the necessary rites and ceremonies. -Ritually, her affairs were in exquisite order. By her sacrilegious -Communion (she still shuddered at the thought of it) she had consolidated -her cult for the powerful Saint Magdalene, and at the same time cut -out of her heart the brand of God, by which in the fullness of time -the ravishing Angel would have discovered his victim. And, finally, by -her dismissal of Jacques, she had rid herself of a most malign miasma. -The wax of reality lay before her, smooth and white and ready for her -moulding. All she had to do now was to sparkle, and, automatically, she -would arouse the passion of Admiration. - -Suddenly she remembered another loose thread that needed to be gathered -up. The _roman_ of her dances had not been brought to a climax. - -An unwritten law of the style gallant makes the action of a _roman_ -automatically cease after a declaration of love. Nothing can happen -afterwards. What if she should force time to its fullness and make a -declaration? It would be burning her boats, it would be staking all her -happiness on this last meeting, for if it were a failure hope would be -dead. For, owing to her strange confusion of the happenings of her dances -with those of real life, the _roman_ of the one having been completed, -its magical virtue all used up, its colophon reached, she felt that the -_roman_ of the other would also have reached its colophon, that nothing -more could happen. But for great issues she must take great risks ... -_dansons_! - - * * * * * - -_Sappho and Madeleine are reclining on a bank, the colour and design of -which rival all the carpets in the bazaars of Bagdad. There is no third -person to mar their ravishing solitude ~à deux~. Madeleine is saying,_— - -_‘I must confess, Madame, that your delicious writings have made me a -heretic.’_ - -_Sappho laughs gaily. ‘Then I tremble for your fate, for heretics are -burned.’_ - -_‘In that case I am indeed a heretic, for a flame has long burned me,’ -says Madeleine boldly. But Sappho possesses in a high degree the art of -hearing only what she chooses, and she says, a trifle coldly_,— - -_‘If my writings have made you a heretic, they must themselves -be heretical. Do they contain Five Propositions worthy of papal -condemnation?’_ - -_‘Madame, you are resolved to misunderstand me. They have made me a -heretic in regard to the verdict of posterity as to the merits of the -ancients, for since I have steeped myself, if I may use the expression, -in your incomparable style I have become as deaf as Odysseus to the siren -songs of Greece and Rome.’_ - -_‘That is indeed heresy,’ cries Sappho with a smile that shows she is not -ill-pleased. ‘I fear it will be visited by excommunication by the whole -College of Muses.’_ - -_‘The only punishment of heresy—you have yourself said so—is ... flame,’ -says Madeleine, gazing straight into the eyes of Sappho. This time she -is almost certain she can perceive a blush on that admirable person’s -cheek—~almost~ certain, for the expression of such delicate things as the -Passions of Sappho must need itself be very delicate. Descartes has said -that a blush proceeds from one of two passions—love or hate. ~En voilà un -problème galant!~_ - -_‘To justify my heresy, permit me, Madame, to recall to your mind a poem -by your namesake, the Grecian Sappho,_— - - ‘That man seems to me greater than the gods who doth sit facing - thee and sees thee and hears thy delicate laughter. When this - befalls me my senses clean depart ... all is void ... my tongue - cleaves to the roof of my mouth, drop by drop flame steals down - my slender veins ... there is a singing in mine ears ... my - eyes are covered with a twin night. - -_She pauses, but Sappho laughs—perhaps not ~quite~ naturally—and cries,_— - -_‘Mademoiselle, your heresy still stands unjustified!’_ - -_‘Why, Madame, how could any one of taste take pleasure in verse so -devoid of wit, of grace, of ~galanterie~ ... so bare, so barbarous, -after they have been initiated into the Parnassian Mysteries of ~your~ -incomparable verse and prose? Why, what I have quoted is the language of -lexicographers and philosophers, not the divine cadences of a poet. Put -in metre Descartes’ description of the signs by which the movements of -the Passions may be detected, namely,_— - -_‘“The chief signs by which the Passions show themselves are the motions -of the eyes and the face, changes of colour, trembling, languor, -faintness, laughter, tears, moans, and sighs,” and you will have a poem -every whit as graceful and well-turned!_ - -_‘The poem of Sappho I. is a “small thing” ... but if it had proceeded -from the delicious pen of Sappho II. it would have been a “rose”!’_ - -_‘And how should I have effected this miracle?’ asks Sappho with a smile._ - -_‘I think, Madame, you would have used that excellent device of the Muse -Galante which I will call that of Eros Masqué.’_ - -_‘Eros Masqué? Is he unseen then as well as unseeing?’_ - -_‘On his first visit, frequently, Madame. And this droll fact—that lovers -pierced by as many of his arrows as Saint Sebastian by those of the Jews -are wont to ignore the instrument by which they have got their wounds—has -been put to pretty use by many ~poètes galants~. For example, an amorous -maiden or swain doth describe divers well-known effects of the tender -passion, and then asks with a delicious naïveté, “Can it be Love?” And -this simple little question, if inserted between each of the symptoms -enumerated by Sappho, would go far to giving her poem the ~esprit~ it so -sadly lacks. But, Madame, far the most ravishing of all the poems of Eros -Masqué are your own incomparable verses in the sixth volume of “Cyrus”_:— - - ‘Ma peine est grande, et mon plaisir extrême, - Je ne dors point la nuit, je rêve tout le jour; - Je ne sais pas encore si j’aime, - Mais cela ressemble a l’amour. - - ‘Voyant Phaon mon âme est satisfaite, - Et ne le voyant point, la peine est dans mon cœur - J’ignore encore ma defaite - Mais peut-être est-il mon vainqueur? - - ‘Tout ce qu’il dit me semble plein de charmes! - Tout ce qu’il ne dit pas, n’en peut avoir pour moi, - Mon cœur as-tu mis bas les armes? - Je n’en sais rien, mais je le crois. - -_‘Do not these verses when placed by the side of those of the Grecian -Sappho justify for ever my heresy?’_ - -_‘I should be guilty myself of the heresy of self-complacency were I -to subscribe your justification,’ cries Sappho with a delicious air of -raillery._ - -_‘Madame, the device of Eros Masqué serves another purpose besides that -of charming the fancy by its grace and drollery.... It makes Confession -innocent, for although that Sacrament is detested by Précieuses as -fiercely as by Protestants, the most precise and prudish of Précieuses -could scarce take umbrage at a Confession expressed by a string of naïve -questions.’_ - -_‘There, Madame, you show a deplorable ignorance of the geography of -the heart of at least one Précieuse. I can picture myself white with -indignation on receiving the Socratic Confession you describe,’ says -Sappho, but the ice of her accents thaws into two delicious little -dimples._ - -_‘“Mais votre fermeté tient un peu du barbare,” to quote the great -Corneille,’ cries Madeleine with a smile. ‘You called it a Socratic -Confession, alluding I presume to the fact that it was cast in the form -of questions, but a Socratic Confession, if my professors have not misled -me, is very close to a Platonic one. Can you picture yourself white with -rage at receiving a Platonic Confession?’_ - -_‘Before I can answer that question you must describe to me a Platonic -Confession,’ says Sappho demurely._ - -_‘’Tis the confession of a sentiment the purity and discreetness of which -makes it the only tribute worthy to be laid at the feet of a Précieuse. -Starting from what Descartes holds to be the coldest of the Passions, -that of Admiration, it takes its demure way down the slope of Inclination -straight into the twilight grove of l’Amitié Tendre_— - - ‘Auprès de cette Grote sombre - Oh l’on respire un air si doux; - L’onde lutte avec les cailloux, - Et la lumière avec l’ombre. - - ‘Dans ce Bois, ni dans ces montagnes - Jamais chasseur ne vint encore: - Si quelqu’un y sonne du Cor - C’est Diane avec ses compagnes. - -_‘These delicious verses of the gentle Tristan might have been a -description of the land of ~l’Amitié Tendre~, so charmed is its -atmosphere, so deep its green shadows, so heavy its brooding peace. For -all round it is traced a magic circle across which nothing discordant -or vulgar can venture.... Without, moan the Passions like wild beasts -enchained, the thunder booms, the lightning flashes, and there is a heap -as high as a mountain of barbed arrows shot by Love, all of which have -fallen short of that magic circle._ - -_‘Happy they who have crossed it!_ - -_‘Madame, I called the Grecian Sappho a barbarian.... Barbarian or no she -discovered hundreds of years ago the charm by which the magic circle can -be crossed ... the charm is simple when you know it; it is merely this -... take another maiden with you. It has never been crossed by man and -maid, for in sight of the country’s cool trees and with the murmur of its -fountains in their ear they have been snatched from behind by one of the -enchained passions, or grievously wounded by one of the whizzing arrows -... Madame, shall we try the virtue of the Grecian Sappho’s charm?’_ - -_And Sappho murmurs ‘yes.’_ - - * * * * * - -So Madeleine put her fate ‘to the touch, to win or lose it all,’ and -there was something exhilarating in the thought that retreat now was -impossible. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -‘UN CADEAU’ - - -The next morning—the morning of _the_ day—Madeleine woke up with the same -feeling of purification; she seemed to be holding the day’s culmination -in her hands, and it was made of solid white marble, that cooled her -palms as she held it. - -Berthe, with mysterious winks, brought her a sealed letter. It was from -Jacques:— - - ‘DEAR CHOP,—I am moving to the lodgings of a friend for a few - days, and then I go off to join the Army in Spain. Take no - blame to yourself for this, for I have always desired strangely - to travel and have my share in manly adventures, and would, - ’tis likely, have gone anyhow. I would never have made a good - Procureur. I have written to Aunt Marie to acquaint her with my - sudden decision, in such manner that she cannot suspect what - has really taken place. - - ‘Oh, dear! I had meant to rail against you and I think this - is nothing toward it! ’Tis a strange and provoking thing that - one cannot—try as one will—be moved by _real_ anger towards - those one cares about! Not that I have any real cause to be - angry upon your score—bear in mind, Chop, that I know this full - well—but in spite of this I would dearly like to be! - - ‘JACQUES.’ - -As she read it, she realised that she had made a big sacrifice. Surely it -would be rewarded! - -She dressed in a sort of trance. Her excitement was so overwhelming, so -vibrantly acute, that she was almost unconscious. - -Then the Chevalier, with little Mademoiselle Boquet, drove up to the -door, and Madeleine got in, smiling vaguely in reply to the Chevalier’s -compliments, and they drove off, her mother and Berthe standing waving -at the door. On rolled the _carrosse_ past La Porte Sainte-Antoine, -through which were pouring carts full of vegetables and fruit for the -Halles, and out into the white road beyond; and on rolled the smooth -cadences of the Chevalier’s voice—‘To my mind the highest proof that one -is possessed of wit and that one knows how to wield it, is to lead a -well-ordered life and to behave always in society in a seemly fashion. -And to do that consists in all circumstances following the most _honnête_ -line and that which seems most in keeping with the condition of life to -which one belongs. Some rôles in life are more advantageous than others; -it is Fortune that casts them and we cannot choose the one we wish; but -whatever that rôle may be, one is a good actor if one plays it well ...’ -and so on. Fortunately, sympathetic monosyllables were all that the -Chevalier demanded from his audience, and these he got from Mademoiselle -Boquet and Madeleine. - -And so the journey went on, and at last they were drawing up before a -small, comfortable white house with neatly-clipped hedges, shrubberies, -and the play of a sedate fountain. Madame Conrart, kind and flustered, -was at the door to meet them, and led them into a large room in which -Conrart in an arm-chair and Mademoiselle de Scudéry busy with her -embroidery in another arm-chair sat chatting together. Conrart’s greeting -to Madeleine was kindness itself, and Mademoiselle de Scudéry also said -something polite and friendly. She pretended not to hear her, and moved -towards Madame Conrart, for as soon as her eyes had caught sight of -Sappho, she had been seized by the same terrible self-consciousness, the -same feeling of ‘nothing matters so long as I am seen and heard as little -as may be.’ - -Then came some twenty minutes of respite, for Mademoiselle Boquet with -her budget of news of the Court and the Town acted as a rampart between -Madeleine and Mademoiselle de Scudéry. But at dinner-time her terror once -more returned, for general conversation was expected at meals. ‘Simple -country fare,’ said Conrart modestly, but although the dishes were not -numerous, and consisted mainly of home-reared poultry, there were forced -peaches and grapes and the table was fragrant with flowers. - -‘Flora and Pomona joining hands have never had a fairer temple than this -table,’ said the Chevalier, and all the company, save Madeleine, added -their tribute to their host’s bounty. But Madeleine sat awkward and -tongue-tied, too nervous to eat. The precious moments of her last chance -were slipping by; even if she thought of a thousand witty things she -would not be able to say them, for her tongue felt swollen and impotent. -Descartes on the Will was just an old pedant, talking of what he did not -understand. - -At last dinner was over, and Conrart suggested they should go for a -little walk in the grounds. He offered his arm to Mademoiselle de -Scudéry, the Chevalier followed with Madame Conrart, so Madeleine and -Mademoiselle Boquet found themselves partners. But even then Madeleine -was at first unable to break the spell of heavy silence hanging over her. -‘Blessed Saint Magdalene, help me! help me! help me!’ she muttered, and -then reminded herself that being neither half-witted nor dumb, it did not -demand any gigantic effort of will to _force_ herself to behave like an -_honnête femme_ ... and to-day it was a matter of life or death. - -She felt like a naked, shivering creature, standing at the top of a -gigantic rock, and miles below her lay an icy black pool, but she must -take the plunge; and she did. - -She began to reinforce her self-confidence by being affected and -pretentious with Mademoiselle Boquet, but the little lady’s gentle -reserve made her vaguely uncomfortable. She was evidently one of those -annoying little nonentities with strong likes and dislikes, and a whole -bundle of sharp little judgments of their own, who are always vaguely -irritating to their more triumphant sisters. Then she tried hard to -realise _emotionally_ that the gray female back in front of her belonged -to Mademoiselle de Scudéry—to the _Reine de Tendre_; to Sappho—but -somehow her imagination was inadequate. The focus of all her tenderness -was not this complacent lady, but the Sappho of her dances. - - As, for example, I find in myself two divers Ideas of the Sun, - one as received by my senses by which it appears to me very - small, another as taken from the arguments of Astronomers by - which ’tis rendered something bigger than the Globe of the - Earth. Certainly both of these cannot be like that sun which - is without me, and my reason persuades that that Idea is most - unlike the Sun, which seems to proceed immediately from itself. - -She remembered these words of Descartes’ Third Meditation ... two suns -and two Sapphos, and the one perceived by the senses, not the real one -... and yet, and yet she could _never_ be satisfied with merely the -Sappho of the dances, even though metaphysically she were more real than -the other. Her happiness depended in merging the two Sapphos into one ... -she must remember, reality is colourless and silent and malleable ... a -white, still Sappho like the Grecian statues in the Louvre ... to the -Sappho of her dances she gave what qualities she chose, so could she -to the Sappho who was walking a few paces in front of her ... forward -la Madeleine! Then the Chevalier came and walked on her other side. She -told herself that this was a good opportunity of working herself into -a vivacious mood, which would bridge over the next awful chasm. So she -burst into hectic persiflage, and to Hell with Mademoiselle Boquet’s -little enigmatical smile! - -They were walking in a little wood. Suddenly from somewhere among the -trees came the sound of violins. A _cadeau_ for one of the ladies! -Madeleine felt that she would die with embarrassment if it were not -for her—yes, _die_—humiliated for ever in the eyes of Mademoiselle -de Scudéry, in relationship to whom she always pictured herself as a -triumphant beauty, with every inch of the stage to herself. - -There was a little buzz of expectation among the ladies, and Madame -Conrart, looking flustered and pleased, said: ‘I am sure it is none of -our doing.’ Madeleine stretched her lips in a forced smile, in a fever of -anxiety. - -Then suddenly they came to an open clearing in the wood, and there was a -table heaped with preserved fruits and jams and sweetmeats and liqueurs, -all of them rose-coloured. The napkins were of rose-coloured silk and -folded into the shape of hearts, the knives were tiny darts of silver. -Behind stood the four fiddlers scratching away merrily at a _pot pourré_ -of airs from the latest _ballet de cour._ The ladies gave little ‘ohs!’ -of delight, and Conrart looked pleased and important, but that did not -mean anything, for he was continually taking a possessive pride in -matters in which he had had no finger. The Chevalier looked enigmatic. -Conrart turned to him with a knowing look and said,— - -‘Chevalier, you are a professor of the _philosophie de galanterie_, -can you tell us whether rose pink is the colour of _Estime_ or of _le -Tendre_?’ - -‘Descartes is dumb on the relation of colours to the Passions, so it -is not for me to decide,’ the Chevalier answered calmly, ‘all _I_ know -is that the Grecian rose was pink.’ Madeleine’s heart gave a bound of -triumph. - -The fiddles started a languorous saraband, and from the trees a shower of -artificial rose-petals fell on the ladies. Mademoiselle de Scudéry looked -very gracious. - -‘Our unknown benefactor has a very fragrant invention,’ she said in a -tone which seemed to Madeleine to intimate that _she_ was the queen of -the occasion. Vain, foolish, ugly creature, how dare she think so, when -she, Madeleine, was there! Had she not heard what the Chevalier had said -about the ‘Grecian rose’?—(though why she should know that the Chevalier -called Madeleine ‘Rhodanthos,’ I fail to perceive!)—she would put her in -her place. She gave a little affected laugh, and, looking straight at the -Chevalier, she said,— - -‘It is furiously gallant. I thank you a thousand times.’ - -The Chevalier looked nonplussed, and stammered out that ‘Cupid must have -known that a bevy of Belles had planned to visit that wood.’ - -Madeleine had committed the unpardonable crime—she had openly -acknowledged a _cadeau_, whereas _Galanterie_ demanded that the -particular lady it was intended to honour should be veiled in a piquant -mystery. Why, it was enough to send all the ladies of _Cyrus_ shuddering -back for ever to their Persian seraglios! But she had as well broken the -spell of silence woven by Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s presence. That lady -exchanged a little look with Mademoiselle Boquet which somehow glinted -right off from Madeleine’s shining new armour. She gulped off a liqueur -and gave herself tooth and nail to the business of shining. She began to -flirt outrageously with the Chevalier, and though he quite enjoyed it, -the _pédagogue galant_ in him made a mental note to give Madeleine a hint -that this excessive _galanterie_ smacked of the previous reign, while -the present fashion was a witty prudishness. Certainly, Mademoiselle de -Scudéry was not looking impressed, but, somehow, Madeleine did not care; -the one thing that mattered was that she should be brilliantly in the -foreground, and be very witty, and then Mademoiselle de Scudéry _must_ -admire her. - -Mademoiselle de Scudéry soon started a quiet little chat with Conrart, -which caused Madeleine’s vivacity to flag; how could she sparkle when her -sun was hidden? - -‘Yes, _la belle Indienne_ would doubtless have found her native America -less barbarous than the _milieu_ in which she has been placed by an -exceeding ironical fortune,’ Mademoiselle de Scudéry was saying. -Madeleine, deeply read in _La Gazette Burlesque_, knew that she was -speaking of the beautiful and ultra-refined Madame Scarron, forced to be -hostess of the most licentious _salon_ in Paris. - -‘’Tis my opinion she falls far short of Monsieur Scarron in learning, -wit, and galanterie!’ burst in Madeleine. She did not think so really; it -was just a desire to make herself felt. Mademoiselle de Scudéry raised -her eyebrows. - -‘Is Mademoiselle acquainted with Madame Scarron?’ she inquired in a voice -that implied she was certain that she was not. In ordinary circumstances, -such a snub, even from some one for whose good opinion she did not care a -rap, would have reduced her to complete silence, but to-day she seemed to -have risen invulnerable from the Styx. - -‘No, I haven’t been presented to her—although I have seen her,’ she said. - -‘And yet you speak of her as though you had much frequented her? You put -me in mind, Mademoiselle, of the troupe of players in my brother’s comedy -who called themselves _Comédiens du Roi_, although they had played before -His Majesty but once,’ said Mademoiselle de Scudéry coldly. - -‘In earnest, I have no wish to pass as Madame Scarron’s comedian. -Rumour has it she was born in a prison,’ Madeleine rejoined insolently. -‘Moreover, I gather from her friends, the only merit in her prudishness -is that it acts as a foil to her husband’s wit.’ - -Mademoiselle de Scudéry merely raised her eyebrows, and Conrart, -attempting to make things more comfortable, said with a good-natured -smile,— - -‘Ah! Sappho, the young people have their own ideas about things, I dare -swear, and take pleasure in the _genre burlesque_!’ - -(Jacques would have smiled to hear Madeleine turned into the champion -of the burlesque!) ‘Well, all said, the burlesque, were it to go to our -friend Ménage (whom one might call the Hozier[4] of literary forms) -might get a fine family tree for itself, going back to the Grecian -Aristophanes—is that not so, Chevalier?’ went on Conrart. The Chevalier -smiled non-committally. - -‘No, no,’ interrupted Madeleine; ‘certainly not Aristophanes. I should -say that the Grecian Anthology is the founder of the family; a highly -respectable ancestor, though _de robe_ rather than _d’épée_, for I am -told Alexandrian Greek is not as noble as that of Athens. It contains -several epigrams, quite in the manner of Saint-Amant.’ She was quoting -Jacques, from whom, without knowing a word of Greek, she had gleaned -certain facts about Greek construction and literature. - -Though Conrart never tried to conceal his ignorance of Greek, he could -scarcely relish a reminder of it, while to be flatly contradicted by -a fair damsel was not in his Chinese picture of Ladies and Sages. -Mademoiselle de Scudéry came to his rescue,— - -‘For myself, I have always held that all an _honnête homme_ need know -is Italian and Spanish’—(here she smiled at Conrart, who was noted -for his finished knowledge of these two tongues)—‘the nature of the -passions, _l’usage de monde_, and above all, Mythology, but that can -be studied in a translation quite as well as in the original Greek or -Latin. This is the _necessary_ knowledge for an _honnête homme_, but -as the word _honnête_ covers a quantity of agreeable qualities, such -as a swift imagination, an exquisite judgment, an excellent memory, -and a lively humour naturally inclined to learning about everything it -sees that is curious and that it hears mentioned as worthy of praise, -the possessor of these qualities will naturally add a further store of -agreeable information to the accomplishments I have already mentioned. -These accomplishments are necessary also to an _honnête femme_, but as -well as being able to _speak_ Italian and Spanish, she must be able to -_write_ her native French; I must confess that the orthography of various -distinguished ladies of my acquaintance is barely decent! As well as -knowing the nature and movements of the Passions she must know the causes -and effects of maladies, and a quantity of receipts for the making of -medicaments and perfumes and cordials ... in fact of both useful and -gallant distillations, as necessity or pleasure may demand. As well as -being versed in Mythology, that is to say, in the _amours_ and exploits -of ancient gods and heroes, she must know what I will call the modern -Mythology, that is to say the doings of her King and the _historiettes_ -of the various Belles and Gallants of the Court and Town.’ - -All the company had sat in rapt attention during this discourse, except -Madeleine, who had fidgeted and wriggled and several times had attempted -to break in with some remark of her own. Now she took advantage of the -slight pause that followed to cry out aggressively: ‘Italian and Spanish -_may_ be the language of _les honnêtes gens_, but Greek is certainly that -of _les gens gallants_, if only for this reason, that it alone possesses -the lover’s Mood.’ Madeleine waited to be asked what that was, and the -faithful Chevalier came to her rescue. - -‘And what may the lover’s mood be, Mademoiselle?’ he asked with a smile. - -‘What they call the Optative—the Mood of wishing,’ said Madeleine. The -Chevalier clapped delightedly, and Conrart, now quite restored to good -humour, also congratulated her on the sally; but Mademoiselle de Scudéry -looked supremely bored. - -The violins started a light, melancholy dance, and from behind the trees -ran a troop of little girls, dressed as nymphs, and presented to each of -the ladies a bouquet, showing in its arrangement the inimitable touch -of the famous florist, La Cardeau. Madeleine’s was the biggest. Then -they got up and moved on to a little Italian grotto, where they seated -themselves on the grass, Madame Conrart insisting that her husband should -sit on a cloak she had been carting about with her for the purpose all -the afternoon. He grumbled a little, but sat down on it all the same. - -‘And now will the wise Agilaste make music for us?’ he asked. All looked -invitingly towards Mademoiselle Boquet. She expressed hesitation at -performing in a garden where such formidable rivals were to be found -as Conrart’s famous linnets, but she finally yielded to persuasion, and -taking her lute, began to play. It was exquisite. First she played some -airs by Couperin, then some pavanes by a young Italian, as yet known only -to the elect and quite daring in his modernity, by name Lulli, and last -a frail, poignant melody of the time of Henri IV., in which, as in the -little poem of the same period praised by Alceste, ‘_la passion parlait -toute pure_.’ - -Madame Conrart listened with more emotion than any of them, beating time -with her foot, her eyes filling with tears. When Mademoiselle Boquet -laid down her lute, she drew a deep sigh. ‘Ah! Now that’s what _I_ call -agreeable!’ Conrart frowned at her severely, but Mademoiselle de Scudéry -and the Chevalier were evidently much amused. The poor lady, realising -that she had made a _faux pas_, looked very unhappy. - -‘Oh! I did not mean to say ... I am sure ... I hope you will understand!’ -she said to the company, but looking at Conrart the while. - -‘We will understand, and indeed we would be very dull if we failed to, -that you are ever the kindest and most hospitable of hostesses,’ said -Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Madame Conrart looked relieved and said,— - -‘I am sure you are very obliging, Mademoiselle.’ Then she turned to -Madeleine, ‘And you, Mademoiselle, do you sing or play?’ Madeleine said -in a superior tone that she did not, and the Chevalier, invariably -adequate, said: ‘Mademoiselle is a _merciful_ Siren.’ - -And so the afternoon passed, until it was time to take their leave. The -Conrarts were very kind and friendly and hoped Madeleine would come -again, but Mademoiselle de Scudéry had so many messages to send by -Mademoiselle Boquet to friends in Paris, that she forgot even to say -good-bye to her. - -On the drive home the Chevalier and Mademoiselle Boquet had a learned -discussion about music, and Madeleine sat silent and wide-eyed. It -was eight o’clock when they reached the petite rue du Paon. Madeleine -rushed in to her mother, who was waiting for her, and launched into -a long excited account of the day’s doings, which fulfilled the same -psychological need that a dance would have done, and then she went to her -room, for her mother wished to discuss the violent decision come to so -suddenly by Jacques. - -She went straight to bed and fell asleep to the cry of the _Oublieux_—‘La -joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -FACE TO FACE WITH FACTS - - -She awoke next morning to the sense that she must make up her account. -How exactly did things stand? She certainly had been neither _gauche_ nor -silent the day before. Saint Magdalene had done all she had asked of her, -but by so doing had she played her some hideous trick? - -She had had absolute faith in Descartes’ doctrine that love proceeds -from admiration, and that admiration is caused by anything rare and -extraordinary. She _was_ rare, she _was_ extraordinary, but had she -aroused admiration? And even if she had, could it not be the forerunner -of hate as well as of love? - -Alas! how much easier would be self-knowledge, and hence, if the Greeks -were right, how much easier too would be virtue, if the actions of our -passions were as consistent, the laws that govern them as mechanical, -as they appear in Descartes’ Treatise. Moreover, how much easier would -be happiness if, docile and catholic like birds and flowers, we were -never visited by these swift, exclusive passions, which are so rarely -reciprocal. - -No, if Mademoiselle de Scudéry did not feel for her _d’un aveugle -penchant le charme imperceptible_, the Cestus of Venus itself would be -of no avail. Even if she had not cut herself off from the relief of her -dances by bringing them to a climax beyond which their virtue could not -function, this had been, even for their opiate, too stern and dolorous a -fact. - -Circumstances had forced her bang up against reality this time. She must -find out, once and for all, how matters stood, that is to say, if she -had aroused the emotion of admiration. She must have her own suspicions -allayed—or confirmed. The only way this could be done, was to go to the -Chevalier’s house and ask him. The spoken word carried for her always a -strange finality. Suspense would be unbearable; she must go _now_. - -She dressed hurriedly, slipped on her mask and cloak, and stole into the -street. The strange antiphony of the hawkers rang through the morning, -and there echoed after her as she ran the well-known cry: _Vous désirez -quelque ch-o-o-se?_ This cry in the morning, and in the evening that of -the _Oublieux_.—_La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!_ ... Did one answer -the other in some strange way, these morning and evening cries? It could -be turned into a dialogue between Fate and a mortal, thus:— - -_Fate_: Vous désirez quelque cho-o-o-se? - -_Mortal_: La joie! la joie! - -_Fate_: Voilà—_l’oubli_. - -On she ran, careless of the surprise of the passers-by, over the -Pont-Neuf, already busy, and driving its motley trade, then along the -Quais on the other side, past the Louvre, and up the Rue de Richelieu, -where the Chevalier lived. She had naturally never been to his rooms, but -she knew where they were. She slipped in at the main doorway and up the -long stairs, her heart beating somewhere up in her throat. She knew he -lived on the second landing. She knocked many times before the door was -opened by a lackey in a night-cap. He gaped when he first saw her, and -then grinned broadly. - -‘Mademoiselle must see Monsieur? Monsieur is abed, but Mademoiselle -doubtless will not mind that!’ - -‘Tell Monsieur that Mademoiselle Troqueville _must_ see him on urgent -business,’ Madeleine said severely. - -The lackey grinned again, and led her through a great bare room, -surrounded by carved wooden chests, in which, doubtless, the Chevalier -kept his innumerable suits of clothes. They served also as beds, chairs, -and tables to the Chevalier’s army of lackeys and pages, for some were -lying full length on them snoring lustily, and others, more matinal, were -sitting on them cross-legged, and, wrapped in rugs, were playing at that -solace of the vulgar—Lasquinet. Madeleine felt a sudden longing to be one -of them, happy, lewd, soulless creatures! - -She was shown into an elegant little waiting-room, full of small inlaid -tables and exquisite porcelain. The walls were hung with crayon sketches, -and large canvasses of well-known ladies by Mignard and Beaubrun. Some -of them were in allegorical postures—there was the celebrated Précieuse, -Madame de Buisson, holding a lyre and standing before a table covered -with books and astronomical instruments ... she was probably meant to -represent a Muse ... she was leering horribly ... was it the Comic Muse? - -It must have been for about a quarter of an hour that Madeleine waited, -sitting rigid and expressionless. - -At last the Chevalier arrived, fresh from his valet’s hands, in a -gorgeous Chinese dressing-gown, scented and combed. He held out both -his hands to her and his eyes were sparkling, to Madeleine it seemed -with a sinister light, and she found herself wondering, as she marked -the dressing-gown, if he were Descartes. Anything was possible in this -Goblin-world. - -She suddenly realised that she must find the ‘urgent business’ that had -wrenched the Chevalier from his morning sleep. She could not very well -blurt put ‘Did Mademoiselle de Scudéry like me?’ but what _could_ she say? - -‘Dear Rhodanthos, I cursed my valet for not being winged when I heard it -was you, and—as you see—my impatience was too great for a jerkin! What -brings you at this hour? That you should turn to me in your trouble, if -trouble it is, is a prettier compliment than all _les fleurettes_ of all -the polite Anthologies. What has metamorphosed the Grecian rose into a -French lily?’ - -Madeleine blushed, and stammered out that she did not know. Then the -Chevalier took matters into his own hands. This behaviour might smack of -the reign of Louis XIII., but it was very delicious for all that. - -He took her in his arms. Madeleine lay there impassive. After all, it -saved her the trouble of finding a reason; for the one thing that was -left in this emotional ruin was the old shrinking from people knowing how -much it mattered. But as to what he might think of her present behaviour, -’twas a matter of no moment whatever. She held him at arm’s length from -her for a minute. - -‘Tell me,’ she said archly, ‘did you find yesterday a pleasant -diversion?’ His cheeks were flushed, and there was the dull drunken -look in his eyes which is one of the ways passion expresses itself -in middle-aged men. ‘Come back to me!’ he muttered thickly, without -answering her question. - -‘First tell me if you found it diverting!’ she cried gaily, and darted to -the opposite end of the room. He rushed after her. - -‘Don’t madden me, child,’ he muttered, and took her in his arms again. -Again Madeleine broke away from him laughing. - -‘I won’t come to you till—let me see—till you tell me if I took the fancy -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’ She was, when hard-driven, an excellent -actress, and the question tripped out, light and mocking, as if it had -just been an excuse for tormenting him. There she stood with laughing -lips and grave, wind-swept eyes, keeping him at bay with her upraised -hand. ‘In earnest,’ she cooed tormentingly, ‘you must first answer my -question.’ For a moment, the pedagogue broke through the lover. - -‘Mademoiselle de Scudéry is an exquisitely correct lady, her sense of -social seemliness amounts to genius. She could hardly approve of a -hamadryad ... Madeleine!’ and he made a dash for her. But she ducked and -turned under his outstretched arms, and was once more at the opposite end -of the room. The flame of her wish to know began to burn up her flimsy -rôle. - -‘I—promise you—anything—afterwards, but—pray tell me—_did Mademoiselle de -Scudéry make any mention to you of me_?’ she panted. - -‘’Tis no matter and she did, I....’ - -‘Tell me!’ And somehow Madeleine’s voice compelled obedience. - -‘What strange _vision_ is this? Well, then, as you are so desirous of -knowing ... Mademoiselle de Scudéry ... well, she is herself a lady, and -as such cannot be over sensible to the charms of her own sex——’ - -‘Well?’ - -‘Well, do not take it ill, but also she always finds it hard to pardon -a ... well ... a ... er ... a certain lack of decorum. I told her she -erred grievously in her judgment of you, but, it seems, you did not -take her fancy, and she maintained’—(The Chevalier was rather glad of -the opportunity of repeating the following words, for not being _in -propria persona_, they escaped incivility and might be beneficial.) ‘She -maintained that your manners were _grossier_, your wit _de province_, and -that even if you lived to be as old as the Sybil, “you would never be an -_honnête femme_”.... Maintenant, ma petite Reine——’ - -But Madeleine was out of the room—pushing her way through the lackeys -... then down the staircase ... then out into the street ... running, -running, running. - -Then she stood still and began to tremble from head to foot with awful, -silent laughter. Fool that she was not to have seen it before! Why, the -Sapphic Ode was but another statement of the Law she had so dreaded—that -the spurner of love must in his turn inevitably be spurned! _Who flees, -she shall pursue; who spurns gifts, she shall offer them; who loves -not, willy-nilly she shall love._ As the words stood, the ‘she’ did not -necessarily refer to the object of Sappho’s desire. Fool, fool, she had -read as a promise what was intended as a warning. _She was being punished -for spurning the love of Jacques._ - -What a strange irony, that just by her effort to escape this Law she -had brought down on herself the full weight of its action! To avoid its -punishment of her _amour-propre_ she had pretended to be in love with -Jacques, thereby entangling herself in a mass of contradictions, deceit, -and nervous terrors from which the only means of extricating herself was -by breaking the law anew and spurning love. Verily, it was a fine example -of Até—the blindness sent by the gods on those they mean to destroy. - -Well, now the end had come, and of the many possibilities and realities -life had held for her, nothing was left but the _adamant of desire which -neither the tools of earth can break, nor the chemistry of Hell resolve_. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -OUT INTO THE VOID - - -So it was all over. - -Had she been the dupe of malicious gods? Yes, if within that malign -pantheon there was a throne for her old enemy, _Amour-Propre_. For it was -_Amour-Propre_ that had played her this scurvy trick and had upset her -poor little boat ‘drifting oarless on a full sea’—not of Grace but of -Chance. After all, Jansenism, Cartesianism, her mother’s philosophy of -indifference, had all the same aim—to give a touch of sea-craft to the -poor human sailor, and to flatter him with the belief that some harbour -lies before him. But they lie, they lie! There is no port, no rudder, no -stars, and the frail fleet of human souls is at the mercy of every wind -that blows. - -She laughed bitterly when she remembered her certainty of her own -election, her anger against the mighty hands slowly, surely, torturing -her life into salvation. She laughed still more at her faith in a kind, -heavenly Father, a rock in a weary land, a certain caterer of lovely -gifts. How had she ever been fool enough to believe in this? Had she no -eyes for the countless proofs all round her that any awful thing might -happen to any one? People, just as real and alive as she was herself, -were disfigured by smallpox, or died of plague, or starved in the -streets, or loved without being loved in return; and yet, she had wrapped -herself round in an imaginary ghostly tenderness, certain in her foolish -heart that it was against the order of the universe that such things -should happen to _her_. - -And as to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, she knew that the whole business had -been a foolish _vision_, a little seed growing to grotesque dimensions -in a sick brain, and yet this knowledge was powerless to stem the mad -impetus of her misery. - -How she longed for Jacques during these days, for his comforting -hands, his _allégresse_, his half-mocking patience. She saw him, pale -and chestnut-haired with his light, mysterious, beckoning eyes—so -strangely like the picture by Da Vinci in the Louvre of Saint John the -Baptist—marching head erect to his bright destiny down the long white -roads of France, and he would never come back. - -And yet, she had hinted to Madame Pilou that the fable of the dog and the -shadow is the epitome of all tragedy. Somewhere inside her had she always -known what must happen? - -First, this time of faultless vision. And then, because—though hope was -dead—there still remained ‘the adamant of desire,’ she began once more to -dance. But with hope were cut the cables binding her to reality, and it -was out into the void that she danced now. - - - - -EPILOGUE - -THE RAPE TO THE LOVE OF INVISIBLE THINGS - - αἵ σε μαινόμεναι πάννυχοι χορεύουσι τὸν ταμίαν Ἴακχον. - - SOPH. AN. 1151. - - ‘_Art springs straight out of the rite, and her first outward - leap is the image of the god._’—JANE HARRISON. - - -_Some years later a troupe of wits, in quest of the ‘crotesque,’ were -visiting the well-known lunatic asylum—‘les petites maisons.’_ - -_‘And now for the Pseudo-Sappho!’ cried one. ‘She, all said, is by far -the most delicious.’_ - -_They made their way to where a woman sat smiling affably. She greeted -them as a queen her courtiers._ - -_‘Well, Alcinthe. Mignonne has been drooping since you were here, and -cooing that all the doves have left the Royaume de Tendre. Where is dear -Théodite? Ma chère, I protest that he is the king of les honnêtes gens.’_ - -_The wits laughed delightedly. Suddenly one had an idea._ - -_‘Did not the ancients hold that in time the worshipper became the god? -Surely we have here a proof that their belief was well founded. And if -the worshipper becomes the god then should not also the metamorphosis of -the lover into his mistress—Céladon into Astrée, Cyrus into Mandane—be -the truly gallant ending of a “roman”?’_ - -_He drew out his tablets_,— - -_‘I must make a note of that, and fashion it into an epigram for Sappho.’_ - -[Illustration] - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] _Les petites maisons_, a group of buildings, used among other things -as a lunatic asylum. - -[2] As only Duchesses were privileged to sit in the Queen’s presence, to -say that some one had _le tabouret chez la reine_ meant that they were a -Duchess. - -[3] Neuf-germain was notorious as the worst poet of his day. - -[4] The great seventeenth century herald. - - -GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD. - - - - -_Collins’ New Books_ - - -Cousin Philip - -MRS HUMPHRY WARD - -Author of _The War and Elizabeth_, _Missing_, etc. - - _Cousin Philip_ is chiefly a study of the change which the war - has brought about, on the modern girl and the relations of men - and women. Helena, an orphan girl of great beauty and some - wealth, has consented, to please her dying mother, to spend - two years, from her 19th to her 21st birthday, under the care - of her guardian, Lord Buntingford, rather than go at once, as - she herself wishes, to a University, in preparation for an - independent life. She is headstrong, wilful, and clever; as - keen intellectually as she is fond of dancing and flirting. Mrs - Humphry Ward shows all her well-known skill in the handling of - the subsequent situation, that skill which has made her books - models of the novel writer’s art. Lord Buntingford’s modern yet - chivalrous character, with his poetic personality, make him a - charming figure. The _dénouement_ is unexpected. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -The Young Physician - -FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG - -Author of _Marching on Tanga_, etc. - - _The Young Physician_ is the history of the formative years of - a boy who, after leaving one of our public schools, decides - more from force of circumstances than from inclination to - enter the medical profession. Side-light is thrown upon our - educational system in the first part of the book, which is - devoted to home and school life; while in the second, the - impressions and experiences which went to the moulding of his - character are presented side by side with a picture of student - life at the Midland Hospital where he pursues his medical - curriculum. The success of such a book lies no less in its - truth to life than its ability to entertain the reader, both of - which conditions are fulfilled in Major Brett Young’s new novel - where, once again, the author breaks entirely new ground. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -New Wine - -AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE - - The authors of _Rose of the World_ and of _Minniglen_ take - an unsophisticated, high-spirited young man from peasant - surroundings on the west coast of Ireland and plunge him in - the whirl of fashionable English life—the unexpected inheritor - of affluence and honours. It is the ‘new wine’ put into ‘old - bottles.’ There is strong romance in the story, although the - scenes and the characters are literally up-to-date. The drama, - however, is throughout essentially one of the soul—that of a - generous, heady youth confronted by passionate problems and - ignorant of worldly conventions. - -_Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net._ - - -The Plain Girl’s Tale - -H. H. 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-} - -.x-ebookmaker .poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 5%; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Madeleine: One of Love's Jansenists, by Hope Mirrlees</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Madeleine: One of Love's Jansenists</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Hope Mirrlees</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 26, 2021 [eBook #65926]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Mary Glenn Krause, Shawna Milam and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADELEINE: ONE OF LOVE'S JANSENISTS ***</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p> - -<h1>MADELEINE<br /> -<span class="smaller">ONE OF LOVE’S JANSENISTS</span></h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p> - -<div class="box"> - -<table summary="Books and prices"> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="larger">THE HISTORY OF RUHLEBEN</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">By JOSEPH POWELL (Captain of the Camp) and FRANCIS GRIBBLE</span></td> - <td>10/6</td> - <td><i>net</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="larger">OVER AND ABOVE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">By J. E. GURDON</span></td> - <td>7/6</td> - <td><i>net</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="larger">NEW WINE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE</span></td> - <td>7/-</td> - <td><i>net</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="larger">THE YOUNG PHYSICIAN</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">By FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG</span></td> - <td>7/-</td> - <td><i>net</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="larger">TRUE LOVE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">By ALLAN MONKHOUSE</span></td> - <td>7/-</td> - <td><i>net</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="larger">A GARDEN OF PEACE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">By F. LITTLEMORE</span></td> - <td>10/6</td> - <td><i>net</i></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center">COLLINS—LONDON</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">MADELEINE<br /> -<span class="smaller">ONE OF LOVE’S JANSENISTS</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -HOPE MIRRLEES</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘<i>Aux falseurs ou falseuses de Romans,</i></div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>l’historie de ma vie et celle de ma mort.</i>’</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">Le Testament de Clyante.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/collins.jpg" width="150" height="150" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">LONDON: 48 PALL MALL</span><br /> -W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD.<br /> -<span class="smaller">GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">Copyright</p> - -<table summary="Printing dates" class="smaller"> - <tr> - <td>First Impression,</td> - <td>October 1919</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Second <span class="ditto">”</span></td> - <td>October 1919</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="smaller">TO</span><br /> -MY MOTHER</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2> - -</div> - -<p>Fiction—to adapt a famous definition of law—is the -meeting-point of Life and Art. Life is like a blind -and limitless expanse of sky, for ever dividing into tiny -drops of circumstances that rain down, thick and fast, -on the just and unjust alike. Art is like the dauntless, -plastic force that builds up stubborn, amorphous -substance cell by cell, into the frail geometry of a shell. -These two things are poles apart—how are they to meet -in the same work of fiction?</p> - -<p>One way is to fling down, <i>pêle-mêle</i>, a handful of -separate acts and words, and then to turn on them the -constructive force of a human consciousness that will -arrange them into the pattern of logic or of drama.</p> - -<p>Thus, in this book, Madeleine sees the trivial, disorderly -happenings of her life as a momentous battle -waged between a kindly Power who had written on -tablets of gold before the world began that she should -win her heart’s desire, and a sterner and mightier -Power who had written on tablets of iron that all her -hopes should be frustrated, so that, finally, naked and -bleeding, she might turn to Him. And having this -conception of life all her acquaintances become minor -<i>daimones</i>, friendly or hostile, according as they seem -to serve one power or the other.</p> - -<p>The other way is to turn from time to time upon the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span> -action the fantastic limelight of eternity, with a sudden -effect of unreality and the hint of a world within a -world. My plot—that is to say, the building of the -shell—takes place in this inner world and is summed -up in the words that dog the dreams of Madeleine—<i>per -hunc in invisibilium amorem rapiamur</i>. In the outer -world there is nothing but the ceaseless, meaningless -drip of circumstances, in the inner world—a silent, -ineluctable march towards a predestined climax.</p> - -<p>I have had the epilogue printed in italics to suggest -that the action has now moved completely on to the -stage of the inner world. In the outer world Madeleine -might with time have jettisoned the perilous stuff of -youth and have sailed serenely the rough, fresh sea of -facts. In the inner world, there was one thing and -one thing only that could happen to her: life is the -province of free-will, art the province of fate.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[ix]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> - -</div> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdc"><a href="#PART_I">PART I</a></td> - <td></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr smaller">CHAP.</td> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.</td> - <td>THE DINNER AT MADAME PILOU’S</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">3</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.</td> - <td>A PARTIAL CONFESSION</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">22</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td>A SUPPLEMENT TO THE CONFESSION</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">34</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td>THE SIN OF NARCISSUS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">48</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V.</td> - <td>AN INVITATION</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">63</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI.</td> - <td>THE GRECIAN PROTOTYPE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">72</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII.</td> - <td>THE MERCHANTS OF DAMASCUS AND DAN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">77</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> - <td>‘RITE DE PASSAGE’</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">84</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IX.</td> - <td>AT THE HÔTEL DE RAMBOUILLET</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">94</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">X.</td> - <td>AFTERWARDS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">115</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XI.</td> - <td>REBUILDING THE HOUSE OF CARDS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">122</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdc"><a href="#PART_II">PART II</a></td> - <td></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XII.</td> - <td>THE FÊTE-DIEU</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">129</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> - <td>ROBERT PILOU’S SCREEN</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">133</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> - <td>A DEMONSTRATION IN FAITH</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">141</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XV.</td> - <td>MOLOCH</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">148</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> - <td>A VISIT TO THE ABBAYE OF PORT-ROYAL</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">154</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> - <td>‘HYLAS, THE MOCKING SHEPHERD’</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">166</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[x]</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> - <td>A DISAPPOINTMENT</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">171</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> - <td>THE PLEASURES OF DESPAIR</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">178</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XX.</td> - <td>FRESH HOPE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">185</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdc"><a href="#PART_III">PART III</a></td> - <td></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> - <td>‘WHAT IS CARTESIANISM?’</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">191</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> - <td>BEES-WAX</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">195</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> - <td>MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDÉRY’S SATURDAY</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">200</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> - <td>SELF-IMPOSED SLAVERY</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">216</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXV.</td> - <td>THE SYMMETRY OF THE COMIC MUSE</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">219</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> - <td>BERTHE’S STORY</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">224</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> - <td>THE CHRISTIAN VENUS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">231</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> - <td>THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"> 237</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> - <td>THE BODY OF THE DRAGON</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">243</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXX.</td> - <td>A JAR</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">244</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> - <td>THE END OF THE ‘ROMAN’</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">248</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXXII.</td> - <td>‘UN CADEAU’</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">255</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td> - <td>FACE TO FACE WITH FACTS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">267</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td> - <td>OUT INTO THE VOID</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">273</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">EPILOGUE.</td> - <td>THE RAPE TO THE LOVE OF INVISIBLE THINGS</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#EPILOGUE">275</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_I">PART I</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘<i>En effet, si on laisse aller le Christianisme sans -l’approfondir et le régénérer de temps en temps, il s’y -fait comme une infiltration croissants de bon sens humain, -de tolérance philosophique, de semi-Pélagianisme à -quelque degré que ce soit: la “folie de la Croix” -s’atténue.</i>’</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Sainte-Beuve.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE DINNER AT MADAME PILOU’S</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>In the middle of the seventeenth century a family -called Troqueville came from Lyons to settle in Paris. -Many years before, Monsieur Troqueville had been one -of the four hundred <i>procureurs</i> of the Palais de Justice. -There were malicious rumours of disgraceful and -Bacchic scenes in Court which had led to his ejection -from that respectable body. Whether the rumours -were true or not, Monsieur Troqueville had long ceased -to be a Paris <i>procureur</i>, and after having wandered -about from town to town, he had at last settled in -Lyons, where by ‘devilling’ for a lawyer, writing -bombastic love-letters for shop apprentices, and playing -Lasquinet with country bumpkins, he managed to earn -a precarious livelihood. When, a few months before -the opening of this story, he had been suddenly seized -with a feverish craving to return to Paris ‘and once -more wear the glove of my lady Jurisprudence in the -tournay of the law-courts,’ as he put it, his wife had -regarded him with a frigid and sceptical surprise, as -she had long since given up trying to kindle in him one -spark of ambition. However, Madeleine, their only -child, a girl of seventeen, expressed such violent despair -and disappointment when Madame Troqueville pronounced -her husband’s scheme to be vain and impracticable, -that finally to Paris they came—for to her -mother, Madeleine’s happiness was the only thing of -any moment.</p> - -<p>They had taken rooms above a baker’s shop in the -petite rue du Paon, in the East end of the University<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -quarter—the <i>Pays Latin</i>, where, for many centuries, -turbulent abstract youth had celebrated with Bacchic -orgies the cherub Contemplation, and strutting, -ragged and debonair on the razor’s edge of most -unprofitable speculation, had demonstrated to the -gaping, well-fed burghers, that the intellect had -its own heroisms and its own virtues. At that time -it was a neighbourhood of dark, winding little streets, -punctuated by the noble fabrics of colleges and -monasteries, and the open spaces of their fields and -gardens—a symbol, as it were, of contemporary -learning, where crabbed scholasticism still held its -own beside the spacious theories of Descartes and -Gassendi.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville had inherited a small fortune -from her father, which made it possible to tide over -the period until her husband found regular employment.</p> - -<p>She was by birth and upbringing a Parisian, her father -having been a Président de la Chambre des Comptes. -As the daughter of a Judge, she was a member of ‘la -Noblesse de Robe,’ the name given to the class of the -high dignitaries of the <i>Parlement</i>, who, with their scarlet -robes, their ermine, and their lilies, their Latin periods -and the portentous solemnity of their manner, were -at once ridiculous and awful.</p> - -<p>It cannot be wondered at that on her return to -Paris she shrank from renewing relations with old friends -whose husbands numbered their legal posts by the -score and who drove about in fine coaches, ruthlessly -bespattering humble pedestrians with the foul mud of -Paris. But for Madeleine’s sake she put her pride in -her pocket, and though some ignored her overtures, -others welcomed her back with genial condescension.</p> - -<p>The day that this story begins, the Troquevilles were -going to dine with the celebrated Madame Pilou, famous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -in ‘la Cour et la Ville’ for her homespun wit and -remarkably ill-favoured countenance—it would be -difficult to say of which of these two distinctions she -was most proud herself. Her career had been a social -miracle. Though her husband had been only a small -attorney, there was not a Princess or Duchess who did -not claim her as an intimate friend, and many a word -of counsel had she given to the Regent herself.</p> - -<p>None of her mother’s old acquaintanceships did -Madeleine urge her so eagerly to renew as the one with -Madame Pilou. In vain her mother assured her that -she was just a coarse, ugly old woman.</p> - -<p>‘So also are the Three Fates,’ said Jacques Tronchet -(a nephew of Madame Troqueville, who had come to -live with them), and Madeleine had looked at him, -surprised and startled.</p> - -<p>Madame Pilou dined at midday, so Monsieur Troqueville -and Jacques were to go to her house direct from -the Palais de Justice independently of Madame Troqueville -and Madeleine. Madeleine had been ready a full -half-hour before it was time to start. She had sat in -the little parlour for a quarter of an hour absolutely -motionless. She was dressed in her best clothes, a -bodice of crimson serge, and an orange petticoat of -<i>camelot de Hollande</i>, the slender purse’s substitute for -silk. A gauze neckerchief threw a transparent veil over -the extreme <i>décolletage</i> of her bodice. On her head was -one of the new-fashioned <i>ténèbres</i>, a square of black -crape that tied under her chin, and took the place of a -hat. She wore a velvet mask and patches, in spite of -the Sumptuary Laws, which would reserve them for -ladies of rank, and from behind the mask her clear -gray eyes, that never smiled and seldom blinked, looked -out straight in front of her. Her hands were folded on -her lap. She had a remarkable gift for absolute stillness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p> - -<p>At the end of a quarter of an hour, she went to her -mother, who was preparing a cress salad in the kitchen, -and said in a quiet, tense voice:—</p> - -<p>‘Maybe you would liefer not go to Madame Pilou’s -this morning. If so, tell me, and I will abandon it,’ -then, with a sudden access of fury, ‘You will make me -hate you—you are for ever sacrificing matters of moment -to trifles. An you were to weigh the matter rightly, -my having some pleasure when I was young would -seem of greater moment than there being a salad for -supper!’</p> - -<p>‘Madame Pilou dines at twelve, and it is but a bare -half-hour from our house to hers, and it is now eleven,’ -Madame Troqueville answered slowly, emphasising each -word. ‘But we will start now without fail, if ’tis your -wish, and arrive like true Provincials half an hour before -we are due;’ irritation now made the words come -tumbling out, one on the top of the other. Madeleine -began to smile, and her mother went on with some -heat, but no longer with irritation.</p> - -<p>‘But why in the name of Jesus do you lash yourself -into so strange a humour before going to old -Madame Pilou’s? One would think you were off to -the Palais Cardinal to wait on the Regent! She is but -a plain old woman; now if she were very learned, -or——’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, mother, let her be, and go and make your -toilette,’ and Madame Troqueville went off obediently -to her room.</p> - -<p>Madeleine paced about like a restive horse until -her mother was ready, but did not dare to disturb her -while she was dressing. It used to surprise Madeleine -that she should take such trouble over such unfashionable -toilettes.</p> - -<p>It was not long before she came in quite ready. She -began to put Madeleine’s collar straight, which, for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -some reason, annoyed Madeleine extremely. At last -they were out of the house.</p> - -<p>Madame Pilou lived on the other side of the river, -in the rue Saint Antoine, so there was a good walk -before Madeleine and her mother, and judging from -Madeleine’s gloomy, abstracted expression, it did not -promise to be a very cheerful one.</p> - -<p>They threaded their way into the rue des Augustins, -a narrow, cloistered street flanked on the left by the -long flat walls of the Monastery, over which were wafted -the sound of bells and the scent of early Spring. It -led straight out on to the Seine and the peaceful bustle -of its still rustic banks. They crossed it by the Pont-Neuf, -that perennial Carnival of all that Paris held of -most picturesque and most disreputable. The bombastic -eloquence of the quacks extolling their panaceas -and rattling their necklaces of teeth; the indescribable -foulness of the topical songs in which hungry-looking -bards celebrated to sweet ghostly airs of Couperin and -Cambert the last practical joke played by the Court -on the Town, or the latest extravagance of Mazarin; -the whining litany of the beggars; the plangent shrieks -of strange shrill birds caught in American forests—all -these sounds fell unheard on at least one pair of -ears.</p> - -<p>On they hurried, past the booths of the jugglers and -comedians and the stalls of the money-lenders, past -the bronze equestrian statue of Henri IV., watching -with saturnine benevolence the gambols of the Gothic -vagabonds he had loved so dearly in life, cynically -indifferent to the discreet threats of his rival the water-house -of the Samaritaine, which, classical and chaste, -hinted at a future little to the taste of the <i>Vert Gallant</i> -and his vagabonds.</p> - -<p>From time to time Madame Troqueville glanced -timidly at Madeleine but did not like to break the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -silence. At last, as they walked down the right bank -of the Seine, the lovely town at once substantial and -aerial, taking the Spring as blithely as a meadow, -filled her with such joy that she cried out:—</p> - -<p>‘’Tis a delicate town, Paris! Are not you glad we -came, my pretty one?’</p> - -<p>‘Time will show if there be cause for gladness,’ -Madeline answered gloomily.</p> - -<p>‘There goes a fine lady! I wonder what Marquise -or Duchesse she may be!’ cried Madame Troqueville, -wishing to distract her. Madeleine smiled scornfully.</p> - -<p>‘No one of any note. Did you not remark it was a -<i>hired</i> coach? “<i>Les honnêtes gens</i>” do not sacrifice -to Saint Fiacre.’</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville gave rather a melancholy little -smile, but her own epigram had restored Madeleine, -for the time being, to good humour. They talked -amicably together for a little, and then again fell into -silence, Madeleine wearing a look of intense concentration.</p> - -<p>Madame Pilou’s house was on the first floor above the -shop of a laundress. They were shown into her bedroom, -the usual place of reception in those days. The -furniture was of walnut, in the massive style of Henri -IV., and covered with mustard-coloured serge. Heavy -curtains of moquette kept out the light and air, and -enabled the room to preserve what Madeleine called -the ‘bourgeois smell.’ On the walls, however, was some -fine Belgian tapestry, on which was shown, with macabre -Flemish realism, the Seven Stations of the Cross. It -had been chosen by the son Robert, who was fanatically -devout.</p> - -<p>Madame Pilou, dressed in a black dressing-gown -lined with green plush, and wearing a chaperon (a sort -of cap worn in the old days by every bourgeoise, but -by that time rarely seen), was lying on the huge carved<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -bed. Her face, with its thick, gray beard, looming -huge and weather-beaten from under the tasselled -canopy, was certainly very ugly, but its expression was -not unpleasing. Monsieur Troqueville and Jacques had -already arrived. Monsieur Troqueville was a man of -about fifty, with a long beard in the doctor’s mode, a -very long nose, and small, excited blue eyes, like a -child’s. Jacques was rather a beautiful young man; -he was tall and slight, and had a pale, pointed face and -a magnificent chevelure of chestnut curls, and his light -eyes slanting slightly up at the corners gave him a -Faun-like look. He was a little like Madeleine, but he -had a mercurial quality which was absent in her. -Robert Pilou was there too, standing before the chimney-piece; -he was dressed in a very rusty black garment, -made to look as much like a priest’s cassock as possible. -Jacques said that with his spindly legs and red nose -and spectacles, he was exactly like old Gaultier-Garguille, -a famous actor of farce at the theatre of the Hôtel de -Bourgogne, and as the slang name for the Hôtel de -Bourgogne was, for some unknown reason, the ‘Pois-Pilés,’ -Jacques, out of compliment to Robert’s appearance -and Madame Pilou’s beard, called their house the -‘Poil-Pilou.’</p> - -<p>They were all sipping glasses of Hippocras and eating -preserved fruit. Jacques caught Madeleine’s eyes as -she came in. His own slanting green ones were dancing -with pleasure, he was always in a state of suppressed -amusement at the Pilous, but there was no answering -merriment in Madeleine’s eyes. She gave one quick -look round the room, and her face fell.</p> - -<p>‘Well, my friends, you are exceeding welcome!’ -bellowed Madame Pilou in the voice of a Musketeer. -‘I am overjoyed at seeing you, and so is Robert Pilou.’ -Robert went as red as a turkey-cock, and muttered -something about ‘any one who comes to the house.’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -‘You see I have to say his <i>fleurettes</i> for him, and he -does my praying for me; ’tis a bargain, isn’t it, Maître -Robert?’ Robert looked as if he were going to have -a fit with embarrassment, while Monsieur Troqueville -bellowed with laughter, and exclaimed, ‘Good! good! -excellent!’ then spat several times to show his approval. -(This habit of his disgusted Madeleine: ‘He doesn’t -even spit high up on the wall like a grand seigneur,’ -she would say peevishly.)</p> - -<p>‘Robert Pilou, give the ladies some Hippocras—Oh! -I insist on your trying it. My apothecary sends me a -bottle every New Year; it’s all I ever get out of him, -though he gets enough out of me with his draughts -and clysters!’ This sally was also much appreciated -by Monsieur Troqueville.</p> - -<p>Robert Pilou grudgingly helped each of them to as -much Hippocras as would fill a thimble, and then sat -down on the chair farthest removed from Madame -Troqueville and Madeleine.</p> - -<p>When the Hippocras had been drunk, Madame Pilou -bellowed across to him: ‘Now, Robert Pilou, it would -be civil in you to show the young lady your screen. -He has covered a screen with sacred woodcuts, and the -design is most excellently conceived,’ she added in a -proud aside to Madame Troqueville. ‘No, no, young -man, you sit down, I’m not going to have the poor -fellow made a fool of,’ as Jacques got up to follow the -other two into an adjoining closet. ‘But you, Troqueville, -I think it might be accordant with your humour—you -can go.’ Monsieur Troqueville, always ready to -think himself flattered, threw a look of triumph at -Jacques and went into the closet.</p> - -<p>Madeleine was gazing at Robert with a look of rapt -attention in her large, grave eyes, while he expounded -the mysteries of his design. ‘You see,’ he said, turning -solemnly to Monsieur Troqueville, ‘I have so disposed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -the prints that they make an allegorical history of the -Fronde and——’</p> - -<p>‘An excellent invention!’ cried Monsieur Troqueville, -all ready to be impressed, and at the same time to show -his own cleverness. ‘Were you a Frondeur yourself?’</p> - -<p>Robert Pilou drew himself up stiffly. ‘No, Monsieur, -<i>I—was—not</i>. I was for the King and the Cardinal. -Well, as I was saying, profane history is countenanced -if told by means of sacred prints and moreover itself -becomes sacred history.’ Monsieur Troqueville clapped -his hands delightedly.</p> - -<p>‘In good earnest it does,’ he cried, ‘and sacred history -becomes profane in the same way—’tis but a matter -of how you look at it—why, you could turn the life -of Jesus into the history of Don Quixote—a picture of -the woman who pours the ointment on his feet could -pass for the grand lady who waits on Don Quixote in -her castle, and the Virgin could be his niece——’</p> - -<p>‘Here you have a print of Judas Iscariot,’ Robert -went on, having looked at Monsieur Troqueville suspiciously. -‘You observe he is a hunchback, and therefore -can be taken for the Prince de Conti!’ He looked -round triumphantly.</p> - -<p>Madeleine said sympathetically, ‘’Tis a most happy -comparison!’ but Monsieur Troqueville was smiling -and nodding to himself, much too pleased with his own -idea to pay any attention to Robert’s.</p> - -<p>‘And here we have the Cardinal! By virtue of his -holy office I need not find a sacred symbol for him, I -just give his own portrait. This, you see, is St Michael -fighting with the Dragon——’</p> - -<p>‘Why, that would do most excellently for Don -Quixote fighting with the windmills!’</p> - -<p>‘Father, I beseech you, no more!’ whispered -Madeleine severely.</p> - -<p>‘But why? My conceit is every whit as good as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -his!’ said Monsieur Troqueville sulkily. Fortunately -Robert Pilou was too muddle-headed and too wrapt -up in himself to understand very clearly what other -people were talking about, so he went on:—</p> - -<p>‘It is a symbol of the King’s party fighting with the -Frondeurs. Now here is a picture of a Procession of -the Confrérie de la Passion; needless to say, it shadows -forth the triumphant entry of the King and Cardinal -into Paris—you see the banners and the torches—’tis -an excellent symbol. And here you have a picture of -the stonemasons busy at the new buildings of Val de -Grâce, that is a double symbol—it stands for the work -of the King and Cardinal in rebuilding the kingdom; -it also stands for the gradual re-establishment of the -power of the Church. And this first series ends up -with this’—and he pointed gleefully to a horrible -picture of Dives in Hell—‘this stands for the Prince -de Condé in prison. And now we come to the second -series——;’ but just then Madame Pilou called them -back to the other room.</p> - -<p>‘It is a most sweet invention!’ said Madeleine in her -low, soft voice, meeting Jacques’s twinkle with unruffled -gravity.</p> - -<p>‘A most excellent, happy conceit! but I would fain -tell you the notion it has engendered in <i>my</i> mind!’ -cried Monsieur Troqueville, all agog for praise.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, I was of opinion it would accord with your -humour,’ nodded Madame Pilou, with rather a wicked -twinkle.</p> - -<p>‘But what was <i>your</i> notion, Uncle?’ asked Jacques, -his mouth twitching.</p> - -<p>‘Well, ’tis this way——’ began Monsieur Troqueville -excitedly, but Madeleine felt that she would faint -with boredom if her father were given an innings, so -turned the attention of the company to the workmanship -of a handsome clock on the chimney-piece.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p> - -<p>‘Yes, for Robert that clock is what the “Messieurs de -Port Royal” (coxcombs all of them, <i>I</i> say!) would call -the <i>grace efficace</i>, in that by preventing him from -being late for Mass it saves his soul from Hell!’ -said Madame Pilou, looking at her son, who nodded -his head in solemn confirmation. Jacques shot a -malicious glance at Madeleine, who was looking rather -self-conscious.</p> - -<p>‘Now, then, Monsieur Jacques,’ went on Madame -Pilou, thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘You are a learned -young man, and sustained your thesis in philosophy -at the University, do you hold it can be so ordered that -one person can get another into Paradise—in short, that -one can be pious by proxy?’</p> - -<p>‘Madame Pilou!’ piped Robert plaintively, flapping -his arms as though they had been wings, then he crossed -himself and pulled his face back into its usual expression -of stolidity.</p> - -<p>‘Because,’ went on Madame Pilou, paying not the -slightest attention to him, ‘it would be much to my -liking if Robert could do all my church-going for me; -I was within an ace of fetching up my dinner at Mass -last Sunday, the stench was so exceeding powerful. I -am at a loss to know why people are wont to smell -worse in Church than anywhere else!’</p> - -<p>‘I suppose that is what is called the odour of sanctity,’ -said Jacques, with his engaging grin, looking at Madeleine -to see if she was amused. Both Madeleine and Madame -Troqueville smiled, but Robert was so busy seeing how -long he could keep his cheeks blown out without letting -out the breath that he did not hear, and Monsieur -Troqueville was so occupied with planning how he -could go one better that he had no time to smile. -Jacques’s sally, however, displeased Madame Pilou -extremely. She was really very devout in the sane -fashion of the old Gallican Church, and though she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -herself might make profane jokes, she was not going -to allow them in a very young man.</p> - -<p>‘Odour of sanctity indeed!’ she cried angrily. ‘I -warrant <i>you</i> don’t smell any better than your neighbours, -young man!’ a retort which made up in vehemence -what it lacked in point. Monsieur Troqueville -roared with delight and Jacques made a face. He had -a wonderful gift for making faces.</p> - -<p>‘Impudent fellow! One would think your face was -Tabarin’s hat by the shapes you twist it into! Anyway, -you have more sense in your little finger than your -uncle has in his whole body! and while we are on the -matter of his shortcomings, I would fain know the -<i>true</i> motive of his leaving Lyons?’ and she shot a -malicious look at the discomfited Monsieur Troqueville, -while Madame Troqueville went quite white with rage. -Fortunately, at this moment, the servant came to say -that dinner was ready, and they all moved into the large -kitchen, where, true to the traditions of the old bourgeoisie, -Madame Pilou always had her meals.</p> - -<p>‘Well, well, Mademoiselle Marie, I dare swear you have -not found that Paris has gained one ounce of wisdom -during your sojourn in the provinces. Although the -<i>Prince des Sots</i> no longer enters the gates in state on -Mardi Gras, as was the custom in my young days, that -is not to say that Folly has been banished the town. -‘Do you frequent many of your old friends?’ bellowed -Madame Pilou, almost drowning the noise Monsieur -Troqueville and Robert were making over their soup.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, yes, they have proffered me a most kindly -welcome,’ Madame Troqueville answered not quite -truthfully.</p> - -<p>‘Have you seen the Coigneux and the Troguins?’</p> - -<p>‘We have much commerce with the Troguins.’</p> - -<p>‘And has not the <i>désir de parroistre</i> been flourishing -finely since your day? All the Parliamentary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -families have got coats of arms from the herald Hozier -since then, and have them tattooed all over their bodies -like Chinamen.’</p> - -<p>Monsieur Troqueville cocked an intelligent eye, he -was always on the outlook for interesting bits of -information.</p> - -<p>‘And you must know that there are no <i>families</i> -nowadays, there are only “houses”! And they roll -their silver up and down the stairs, hoping by such -usage to give it the air of old family plate, instead of -eating off decent pewter as their fathers did before -them! And every year the judges grow vainer and -more extravagant—great heavy puffed-out sacks of -nonsense! There is <i>la cour</i> and <i>la ville</i>—and <i>la basse-cour</i>, -and that’s where the <i>gens de robe</i> live, and the -judges are the turkey-cocks!’ Every one laughed -except Robert Pilou. ‘And the sons with their plumes -and swords like young nobles, and the daughters who -would rather wear a velvet gown in Hell than a serge -one in Paradise put me in a strong desire to box their -ears!’</p> - -<p>‘’Tis your turn now!’ Jacques whispered to Madeleine, -who was feeling terribly conscious of her mask and six -patches. However, Madame Pilou abruptly changed -the subject by turning to Madeleine and asking her -what she thought of Paris.</p> - -<p>‘I think it is furiously beautiful,’ she answered, at -which Madame Pilou went off into a bellow of -laughter.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Jésus!</i> Hark to the little Précieuse with her -“furiously”! So “furiously” has reached the provinces, -has it? Little Madeleine will be starting her -“<i>ruelle</i>” next! Ha! Ha!’ Madeleine blushed -crimson, Jacques looked distressed, Robert Pilou gave -a sudden wild whoop of laughter, then stopped dead, -looked anxiously round, and pulled a long face again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p> - -<p>‘That is news to me,’ Monsieur Troqueville began -intelligently; ‘is “furiously” much in use with the -Précieuses?’ but Madame Troqueville, who was very -indignant that Madeleine should be made fun of, broke -in hurriedly with, ‘I think my daughter learned it in -Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s <i>Grand Cyrus</i>; she liked it -rarely; we read it through together from beginning to -end.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, I fear me, I cannot confess to the same -assiduity, and that though Mademoiselle de Scudéry -brought me the volumes herself,’ said Madame Pilou. -‘I promised her I would read it if she gave me her -word that that swashbuckler of a brother of hers should -not come to the house for six months, but there he was -that very evening, come to find out what I thought of -the description of the battle of Rocroy! Are you a -lover of reading, my child?’ suddenly turning to -Madeleine.</p> - -<p>‘No, ’tis most distasteful to me,’ she answered -emphatically, to her mother’s complete stupefaction.</p> - -<p>‘But Madeleine——’ she began. Madame Pilou, -however, cut her short with ‘Quite right, quite right, -my child. You’ll never learn anything worth the -knowing out of books. I have lived nearly eighty -years, and my Missal and Æsop his fables are near the -only two books I have ever read. What you can’t learn -from life itself is not worth the learning——’</p> - -<p>‘But Madeleine has grown into such an excessive -humour for books, that she wholly addicts herself to -them!’ cried Madame Troqueville indignantly. She -was determined that an old barbarian like Madame -Pilou should not flatter herself she had anything in -common with her Madeleine. But Madame Pilou was -too busy talking herself to hear her.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle de Scudéry is writing a new romance, -she tells me (it’s all her, you know; Conrart tells me that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -all the writing in it that tedious, prolix, bombastic -fop of a brother does is to put his name to the title -page!) and she says that I am to be portrayed in it. -Poor Robert is in a sad taking; he thinks you -cannot be both in a romance and the Book of Life!’ -Robert Pilou looked at his mother with the eyes of an -anxious dog, and she smiled at him encouragingly, and -assured him that there were many devotees described -in romances.</p> - -<p>‘I dare swear she will limn me as a beautiful princess, -with Robert Pilou as my knight, or else I’ll be—what -d’ye call her—that heathen goddess, and Robert Pilou -will be my owl!’</p> - -<p>Madeleine had been strangely embarrassed for the last -few minutes. When she was nervous the sound of her -father’s voice tortured her, and feeling the imminence -of a favourite story of his about an old lady of -Lyons, called Madame Hibou, who had found her -gardener drunk in her bed, she felt she would go mad -if she had to listen to it again, so to stop him, she said -hurriedly, ‘Could you tell us, Madame, whom some -of the characters in the <i>Grand Cyrus</i> are meant to -depict?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! every one is there, every one of the Court -and the Town. I should be loath to have you think I -wasted my time in reading all the dozen volumes, but -I cast my eye through some of them, and I don’t hold -with dressing up living men and women in all these -outlandish clothes and giving them Grecian names. -It’s like the quacks on the Pont-Neuf, who call themselves -“Il Signor Hieronymo Ferranti d’Orvieto,” and -such like, though they are only decent French burghers -like the rest of us!’</p> - -<p>‘Or might it not be more in the nature of duchesses -masquerading at the Carnival as Turkish ladies and -shepherdesses?’ suggested Madeleine in a very nervous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -voice, her face quite white, as though she were a young -Quakeress, bearing testimony for the first time.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, well, I dare swear that conceit would better please -the demoiselle,’ said Madame Pilou good-humouredly. -‘But it isn’t only in romances that we aren’t called -by our good calendar names—oh, no, you are baptized -Louise, or Marie, or Marguerite, but if you want to be -in the mode, you must call yourself Amaryllis, or -Daphne, or Phillis,’ and Madame Pilou minced out the -names, her huge mouth pursed up. ‘I tell them that it -is only actors and soldiers—the scum of the earth—who -take fancy names. No, no, I am quite out of patience -with the present fashion of beribboning and beflowering -the good wood of life, as if it were a great maypole.’</p> - -<p>‘And I am clearly on the other side!’ cried Madame -Troqueville hotly, ‘I would have every inch of the -hard wood bedecked with flowers!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, well, Marie, life has dealt hardly with you,’ -said Madame Pilou, throwing a menacing look at -Monsieur Troqueville, ‘but life and I have ever been -good friends; and the cause may be that we are not -unlike one to the other, both strong and tough, and -with little tomfoolery about us.’ Madame Troqueville -gazed straight in front of her, her eyes for the moment -as chill as Madeleine’s. This was more than she could -stand, she, the daughter of an eminent judge, to be -pitied by this coarse old widow of an attorney.</p> - -<p>‘Maybe the reason you have found life not unkind -is because you are not like the dog in the fable,’ said -Madeleine shyly, ‘who lost the substance out of greediness -to possess the shadow.’</p> - -<p>Madame Pilou was delighted. Any reference to -Æsop’s fables was sure to please her, for it brought her -the rare satisfaction of recognising a literary allusion.</p> - -<p>‘That is very prettily said, my child,’ and she -chuckled with glee. Then she looked at Madeleine<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -meditatively. ‘But see here, as you are so enamoured -of the <i>Grand Cyrus</i>, you had better come some day and -make the acquaintance of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Madeleine, you would like that rarely, would you -not?’ cried Madame Troqueville, flushing with pleasure.</p> - -<p>But Madeleine had gone deadly white, and stammered -out, ‘Oh—er—I am vastly obliged, Madame, but in -truth I shouldn’t ... the honour would put me out -of countenance.’</p> - -<p>‘Out of countenance? Pish! Pish! my child,’ -laughed Madame Pilou, ‘Mademoiselle de Scudéry is -but a human being like the rest of us, she eats and -drinks and is bled and takes her purges like any one -else. Yes, you come and see her, and convey yourself -towards her as if she were a <i>grande dame</i> who had -never seen a goose’s quill in her life, and you will gain -her friendship on the spot.’</p> - -<p>‘The lady I would fainest in the world meet,’ said -Madeleine, and there was suppressed eagerness in her -voice, ‘is Madame de Rambouillet, she——’</p> - -<p>‘My child, your wish has something in’t like rare -wit and sense,’ interrupted Madame Pilou warmly, -‘she is better worth seeing than anything else in the -world, than the Grand Turk or Prester John himself.’</p> - -<p>‘Was it not the late Monsieur Voiture that said of -her, “I revere her as the most noble, the most beautiful, -and the most perfect thing I have ever seen”?’ said -Madeleine, the ordeal of quoting making her burn with -self-consciousness.</p> - -<p>‘I dare say it was. Poor Voiture, he was an impudent -fellow, but his wit was as nimble as a hare. He always -put me in mind of a performer there used to be on the -Pont-Neuf—we called him the “Buveur d’Eau”—he -would fill his mouth with ordinary cold water and then -spout it out in cascades of different coloured scents. -Some trick, doubtless, but it was wonderful. And in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -the same way Voiture would take some plain homespun -sentiment and twist it and paint it and madrigalise it -into something so fantastical that you would never -recognise it as the same.’</p> - -<p>‘I remember me to have seen that “Buveur d’Eau” -when I came to Paris as a young man, and——’ began -Monsieur Troqueville, in whom for some time the -pleasures of the table had triumphed over the desire to -shine. But Madeleine was not going to let the conversation -wander to quacks and mountebanks. In a -clear, though gentle voice, she asked if it were true that -the Marquise de Rambouillet was in very delicate -health.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, very frail but rarely in Paris nowadays. -The last time I went to see her she said, smiling as is -always her way, “I feel like a ghost in Paris these days, -a ghost that died hundreds of years ago,” and I much -apprehend that she will in sober earnest be a ghost -before long,’ and Madame Pilou, who was deeply moved, -blew her nose violently on a napkin.</p> - -<p>‘She must be a lady of great and rare parts,’ said -Madame Troqueville sympathetically. The remark -about ‘feeling like a ghost’ had touched her imagination.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, indeed. She is the only virtuous woman I -have ever known who is a little ashamed of her virtue—and -that is perfection. There is but little to choose -between a prude and a whore, <i>I</i> think ... yes, I do, -Robert Pilou. Ay! in good earnest, she is of a most -absolute behaviour. The Marquis has no need to wear -<i>his</i> hair long. You know when this fashion for men -wearing love-locks came in, I said it was to hide the -horns!’</p> - -<p>‘Do the horns grow on one’s neck, then?’ Jacques -asked innocently. Monsieur Troqueville was much -tickled, and Madame Troqueville wondered wearily<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> -how many jokes she had heard in her life about ‘horns’ -and ‘cuckolds.’</p> - -<p>‘Grow on one’s neck, indeed! You’ll find <i>that</i> out -soon enough, young man!’ snorted Madame Pilou.</p> - -<p>The substantial meal was now over, and Monsieur -Troqueville had licked from his fingers the last crumbs -of the last <i>Pasté à la mazarinade</i>, when Robert Pilou, -who had been silent nearly all dinner-time, now said -slowly and miserably, ‘To appear in a romance! In -a romance with Pagans and Libertins! Oh! Madame -Pilou!’ His mother looked round proudly.</p> - -<p>‘Hark to him! He has been pondering the matter; -he always gets there if you but give him time!’ and -she beamed with maternal pride. Then Madame -Troqueville rose and made her adieux, though Madeleine -looked at her imploringly, as if her fate hung upon her -staying a little longer. Madame Pilou was particularly -affectionate in her good-bye to Madeleine. ‘Well, we’ll -see if we can’t contrive it that you meet Madame de -Rambouillet.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine’s face suddenly became radiantly happy.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> -<span class="smaller">A PARTIAL CONFESSION</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>At supper that evening Madeleine seemed intoxicated -with happiness. She laughed wildly at nothing and -squeezed Jacques’s hand under the table, which made -him look pleased but embarrassed. Monsieur Troqueville -was also excited about something, for he kept -smiling and muttering to himself, gesticulating now and -then, his nostrils expanding, his eyes flashing as if in -concert with his own unspoken words. Jacques burst -into extravagant praise of Madame Pilou, couched, as -was his way, in abrupt adjectives, ‘She is <i>crotesque</i> -... she is <i>gauloise</i> ... she is superb!’</p> - -<p>‘My dear Jacques,’ said Madame Troqueville, smiling, -‘You would find dozens of women every whit as -<i>crotesque</i> and <i>gauloise</i> in the Halles. I’ll take you -with me when I go marketing some day.’</p> - -<p>‘Very well, and I’ll settle down and build my harem -there and fill it with Madame Pilous,’ said he, grinning. -‘If I had lived in the days of Amadis de Gaul she should -have been my lady and I’d have worn ... a hair -shirt made of her beard!’</p> - -<p>Madeleine, who did not, as a rule, much appreciate -Jacques’s wit, laughed long and excitedly. Her mother -looked at her, not sure whether to rejoice at or to fear -this sudden change from languid gloom. Jacques -went on with his jerky panegyric. ‘She is like some -one in Rabelais. She might have been the mother of -Gargantua, she——’</p> - -<p>‘Gargamelle! Gargamelle was the mother of Gargantua!’ -cried Madeleine eagerly and excitedly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> - -<p>‘As you will, Gargamelle, then. Why doesn’t she -please you, Aunt? It is you that are <i>really</i> the Précieuse, -and Madeleine is at heart a <i>franque gauloise</i>,’ and -he looked at Madeleine wickedly.</p> - -<p>‘That I’m not ... you know nothing of my humour, -Jacques.... I know best about myself, I am abhorrent -of aught that is coarse and ungallant.... I am to -seek why you should make other people share your -faults, you——’ Madeleine had tears of rage in her -eyes.</p> - -<p>‘You are a sprouting Madame Pilou, beard and all!’ -teased Jacques. ‘No, you’re not,’ and he stopped -abruptly. It was his way suddenly to get bored -with a subject he had started himself.</p> - -<p>‘But Madeleine,’ began Madame Troqueville, ‘what, -in Heaven’s name, prompted you to refuse to meet -Mademoiselle de Scutary?’</p> - -<p>‘De S-c-u-d-é-r-y,’ corrected Madeleine, enunciating -each letter with weary irritation.</p> - -<p>‘De Scudéry, then. You are such a goose, my child; -in the name of Our Lady, how <i>can</i> you expect——’ -and Madame Troqueville began to work herself up -into a frenzy, such as only Madeleine was able to arouse -in her.</p> - -<p>But Madeleine said with such earnestness, ‘Pray -mother, let the matter be,’ that Madame Troqueville -said no more.</p> - -<p>Supper being over, Monsieur Troqueville, wearing an -abstracted, important air, took his hat and cloak and -went out, and Madame Troqueville went to her -spinning-wheel.</p> - -<p>Jacques and Madeleine went up to her bedroom, to -which they retired nearly every evening, nominally to -play Spelequins or Tric-trac. Madame Troqueville -had her suspicions that little of the evening was spent -in these games, but what of that? Jacques’s mother<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -had left him a small fortune, not large enough to buy -a post in the <i>Parlement</i>, but still a competency, and if -Madeleine liked him they would probably be able to -get a dispensation, and Madame Troqueville would be -spared the distasteful task of negotiating for a husband -for her daughter. Her passion for Madeleine was not -as strong as a tendency to shudder away from action, -to sit spellbound and motionless before the spectacle -of the automatic movement of life.</p> - -<p>Jacques was now learning to be an attorney, for -although his father had been an advocate, his friends -considered that he would have more chance on the other -side. Jacques docilely took their advice, for it was all -one to him whether he eventually became an advocate -or an attorney, seeing that from the clerks of both -professions were recruited ‘<i>les Clercs de la Bazoche</i>’—a -merry, lewd corporation with many a quaint gothic -custom that appealed to Jacques’s imagination.</p> - -<p>They had a Chancellor—called King in the old days—whom -they elected annually from among themselves, -and who had complete authority over them. That -year Jacques reached the summit of his ambition, for -they chose him for the post.</p> - -<p>He had never seen Madeleine till her arrival in Paris -two months before. At that time he was fanning the -dying embers of a passion for a little lady of the Pays-Latin -of but doubtful reputation.</p> - -<p>Then the Troquevilles had arrived, and, to his horror, -he began to fall in love with Madeleine. Although -remarkably cynical for his age, he was nevertheless, -like all of his contemporaries, influenced by the high-flown -chivalry of Spain, elaborated by the Précieuses into a -code where the capital crime was to love more than -once. In consequence, he was extremely surly with -Madeleine at first and laid it on himself as a sacred -duty to find out one fault in her every day. Her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -solemnity was unleavened by one drop of the mocking -gaiety of France; in an age of plump beauties she -seemed scraggy; unlike his previous love, she was -slow and rather clumsy in her movements. But it was -in vain, and he had finally to acknowledge that she -was like one of the grave-eyed, thin-mouthed beauties -Catherine de Médici had brought with her from Italy, -that her very clumsiness had something beautiful and -virginal about it, and, in fact, that he was deeply in -love with her.</p> - -<p>When he had told her of his new feelings towards -herself she had replied with a scorn so withering as to -be worthy of the most prudish Précieuse of the Marais. -This being so, his surprise was as great as his joy when, -about a week before the dinner described in the last -chapter, she announced that he ‘might take his fill of -kissing her, and that she loved him very much.’</p> - -<p>So a queer little relationship sprang up between -them, consisting of a certain amount of kissing, a great -deal of affectionate teasing on Jacques’s side, endless -discussions of Madeleine’s character and idiosyncrasies—a -pastime which never failed to delight and interest -her—and a tacit assumption that they were betrothed.</p> - -<p>But Jacques was not the gallant that Madeleine -would have chosen. In those days, the first rung of -the social ladder was <i>le désir de parroistre</i>—the wish -to make a splash and to appear grander than you really -were—and this noble aspiration of ‘<i>une âme bien née</i>’ -was entirely lacking in Jacques. Then his scorn of the -subtleties of Dandyism was incompatible with being -<i>un honnête homme</i>, for though his long ringlets were -certainly in the mode, they had originally been a concession -to his mother, and all Madeleine’s entreaties -failed to make him discard his woollen hose and his -jerkin of Holland cloth, or substitute top boots for his -short square shoes. Nor did he conform in his wooing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -to the code of the modish Cupid and hire the Four -Fiddles to serenade her, or get up little impromptu -balls in her honour, or surprise collations coming as a -graceful climax to a country walk. Madeleine had too -fine a scorn for facts to allow the knowledge of his lack -of means to extenuate this negligence.</p> - -<p>In short, the fact could not be blinked that Jacques -was ignoble enough to be quite content with being a -bourgeois.</p> - -<p>Then again, in Metaphysics, Jacques held very -different views from Madeleine, for he was an Atheistic -follower of Descartes and a scoffer at Jansenism, while -in other matters he was much in sympathy with the -‘Libertins’—the sworn foes of the Précieuses. The -name of ‘Libertin’ was applied—in those days with no -pornographic connotation—to the disciples of Gassendi, -Nandé, and La Motte le Vayer. These had evolved a -new Epicurean philosophy, to some of their followers -merely an excuse for witty gluttony, to others, a potent -ethical incentive. The Précieuses, they held, had -insulted by the diluted emotions and bombastic language -their good goddess Sens Commun, who had caught -for them some of the radiance of the Greek Σωφροσύνη. -One taste, however, they shared with the Précieusues, -and that was the love of the <i>crotesque</i>—of quaint, -cracked brains and deformed, dwarfish bodies, and of -colouring. It was the same tendency probably that -produced a little earlier the architecture known as -<i>baroque</i>, the very word <i>crotesque</i> suggesting the -mock stalactitic grottoes with which these artists had -filled the gardens of Italy. But this very thing was -being turned by the Libertins, with unconscious irony, -<i>via</i> the <i>genre burlesque</i> of the Abbé Scarron, into a sturdy -Gallic realism—for first studying real life in quest of the -<i>crotesque</i>, they fell in love with its other aspects too.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span></p> - -<p>Madeleine resented that Jacques continued just as -interested in his own life as before he had met her—in -his bright-eyed vagabondage in Bohemia, his quest -after absurdities on the Pont-Neuf and in low taverns. -She hated to be reminded that there could be anything -else in the world but herself. But in spite of her evident -disapproval, he continued to spend just as much of his -time in devising pranks with his subjects of La Bazoche, -and in haunting the Pont-Neuf in quest of the <i>crotesque</i>.</p> - -<p>Another thing which greatly displeased Madeleine -was that Jacques and her father had struck up a boon-companionship, -and this also she was not able to stop.</p> - -<p>That same evening, when they got into her room, they -were silent for a little. Jacques always left it to her to -give the note of the evening’s intimacy.</p> - -<p>‘What are you pondering?’ he said at last.</p> - -<p>‘’Twould be hard to say, Jacques.... I’m exceeding -happy.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you? I’m glad of it! you have been of so -melancholy and strange a humour ever since I’ve known -you. There were times when you had the look of a -hunted thing.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, at times my heart was like to break with -melancholy.’</p> - -<p>Jacques was silent, then he said suddenly, ‘Has it -aught to do with that Scudéry woman?’</p> - -<p>Madeleine gave a start and blushed all over. ‘What -... what ... how d’you mean?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! I don’t know. I had the fancy it might in -some manner refer to her ... you act so whimsically -when mention is made of her.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine laughed nervously, and examined her -nails with unnecessary concentration, and then with -eyes still averted from Jacques, she began in a jerky, -embarrassed voice, ‘I’m at a loss to know how you -discovered it ... ’tis so foolish, at least, I mean<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -rather ’tis so hard to make my meaning clear ... but -to say truth, it <i>is</i> about her ... the humour to know -her has come so furiously upon me <i>that I shall go mad -if it cannot be compassed</i>!’ and her voice became -suddenly hard and passionate.</p> - -<p>‘There is no reason in nature why it should not. Old -Pilou said she would contrive it for you, but you acted -so fantastically and begged her not to, funny one!’</p> - -<p>Madeleine once more became self-conscious. ‘I know -... it’s so hard to make clear my meaning.... ’Tis -an odd, foolish fancy, I confess, but I am always having -the feeling that things won’t fall out as I would wish, -except something else happens first. As soon as the -desire for a thing begins to work on me, all manner of -little fantastical things crop up around me, and I am -sensible that except I compound with them I shall -not compass the big thing. For example ... for -example, if I was going to a ball and was eager it should -prove a pleasant junketing, well, I might feel it was -going to yield but little pleasure unless—unless—I -were able to keep that comb there balanced on my -hand while I counted three.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t!’ cried Jacques, clasping his head despairingly. -‘I shall get the contagion.... I <i>know</i> I shall!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, anyway,’ she went on wearily, ‘I was seized -by the notion that ... that ... that it wouldn’t -... that I wouldn’t do so well with Mademoiselle de -Scudéry unless I met her for the first time at the Hôtel -de Rambouillet, and it <i>must</i> be there, and if the Marquise -be of so difficult access, perchance it can’t be compassed.... -Oh! I would I were dead,’ the last words came -tumbling out all in one breath.</p> - -<p>‘Poor little Chop!’ said Jacques sympathetically. -(It was the fashion, brought to Paris by the exiled -King of England, to call pets by English names, and -Jacques had heard a bulldog called ‘Chop,’ and was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -so tickled by the name, that he insisted on giving it to -Madeleine that he might have the pleasure of often -saying it).</p> - -<p>‘’Tis a grievous thing to want anything sorely. But -I am confident the issue will be successful.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you? Are you?’ she cried, her face lighting up. -‘When do you think the meeting will take place? -Madame de Rambouillet is always falling ill.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Old Pilou can do what she will with all those -great folk, and she has conceived a liking for you.’</p> - -<p>‘Has she? Has she? How do you know? What -makes you think so?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, I don’t know ... however, she has,’ he -answered, suddenly getting distrait. ‘Is it truly but -as an exercise against the spleen that you pass whole -hours in leaping up and down the room?’ he asked -after a pause, watching her curiously.</p> - -<p>Madeleine blushed, and answered nervously:—</p> - -<p>‘Yes, ’tis good for the spleen—the doctor told me -so—also, if you will, ’tis a caprice——’</p> - -<p>‘How ravishing to be a woman!’ sighed Jacques. -‘One can be as great a <i>visionnaire</i> as one will and be -thought to have rare parts withal, whereas, if a man -were to pass his time in cutting capers up and down -the room, he’d be shut up in <i>les petites maisons</i>.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> How -comes it that you want to know Mademoiselle Scudéry -more than any one else?’</p> - -<p>‘I cannot say, ’tis just that I do, and the wish has -worked so powerfully on my fancy that ’tis become -my only thought. It has grown from a little fancy -into a huge desire. ’Tis like to a certain nightmare -I sometimes have when things swell and swell.’</p> - -<p>‘When things swell and swell?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, ’tis what I call my Dutch dream, for it ever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -begins by my being surrounded by divers objects, such -as cheeses and jugs and strings of onions and lutes -and spoons, as in a Dutch picture, and I am sensible -that one of them presently, I never know which ’twill -be, will start to swell. And then on a sudden one of -them begins, and it is wont to continue until I feel -that if it get any bigger I shall go mad. And in -like manner, I hold it to be but chance that it was -Mademoiselle de Scudéry that took to swelling, it might -quite well have been any one else.’</p> - -<p>Jacques smiled a little. ‘It might always quite well -have been any one else,’ he said.</p> - -<p>Madeleine looked puzzled for a minute and then -went on unhappily, ‘I feel ’tis all so unreal, just a -“vision.” Oh! How I wish it was something in -accordance with other people’s experiences ... something -they could understand, such as falling in love, -for example, but this——’</p> - -<p>‘It isn’t the cause that is of moment, you know, -it’s the strength of the “passion” resulting from the -cause. And in truth I don’t believe any one <i>could</i> have -been subject to a stronger “passion” than you since you -have come to Paris.’</p> - -<p>‘So it doesn’t seem to you extravagant then?’ she -asked eagerly.</p> - -<p>‘Only as all outside one’s own desires do seem extravagant.’ -He sat down beside her and drew her rather -timidly to him. ‘I’m confident ’twill right itself in the -end, Chop,’ he whispered. She sprang up eagerly, her -eyes shining.</p> - -<p>‘Do you think so, Jacques ... in sober earnest?’</p> - -<p>‘Come back, Chop!’ In Jacques’s eyes there was -what Madeleine called the ‘foolish expression,’ which -sooner or later always appeared when he was alone -with her. It bored her extremely; why could he not -be content with spending the whole time in rational<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -talk? However, she went back with a sigh of resignation.</p> - -<p>After a few minutes she said with a little excited -giggle, ‘What do you think ... er ... Mademoiselle -de Scudéry will think of me?’</p> - -<p>Jacques only grunted, the ‘foolish expression’ still -in his eyes.</p> - -<p>‘Jacques!’ she cried sharply, ‘tell me!’ and she -got up.</p> - -<p>‘What will she think of you? Oh! that you’re an -ill-favoured, tedious little imp.’</p> - -<p>‘No, Jacques!’</p> - -<p>‘A scurvy, lousy, bombastic——’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Jacques, forbear, for God’s sake!’</p> - -<p>‘Provincial——’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Jacques, no more, I’ll <i>scream</i> till you hold -your tongue ... <i>what</i> will she think of me, in sober -earnest?’</p> - -<p>‘She’ll think——’ and he stopped, and looked at her -mischievously. Her lips were moving, as if repeating -some formulary. ‘That you are ... that there is a -“I know not what about you of gallant and witty.”’ -Madeleine began to leap up and down the room, then -she rushed to Jacques and flung her arms round his neck.</p> - -<p>‘I am furiously grateful to you!’ she cried. ‘I felt -that had you not said something of good omen ere I -had repeated “she’ll think” twenty times, I would -never compass my desires, and you said it when I had -got to eighteen times!’ Jacques smiled indulgently.</p> - -<p>‘So you know the language she affects, do you?’ said -Madeleine, with a sort of self-conscious pride.</p> - -<p>‘Alas! that I do! I read a few volumes of the -<i>Grand Cyrus</i>, and think it the saddest fustian——’</p> - -<p>‘Madame Pilou said she had begun another ... do -you think ... er ... do you think ... that ... -maybe I’ll figure in it?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p> - -<p>‘’Tis most probable. Let’s see. “Chopine is one of -the most beautiful persons in the whole of Greece, as, -Madame, you will readily believe when I tell you that -she was awarded at the Cyprian Games the second -prize for beauty.”’ Madeleine blushed prettily, and gave -a little gracious conventional smile. She was imagining -that Mademoiselle de Scudéry herself was reading it -to her. ‘“The <i>first</i> prize went, of course, to that fair -person who, having learnt the art of thieving from -Mercury himself, proceeded to rob the Graces of all -their charms, the Muses of all their secrets. Like that -of the goddess Minerva, hers is, if I may use the expression, -a virile beauty, for on her chin is the thickest, -curliest, most Jove-like beard that has ever been seen -in Greece——”’</p> - -<p>‘Jacques! it’s not——’</p> - -<p>‘“Madame, your own knowledge of the world will tell -you that I speak of Madame Pilou!”’ Madeleine stamped -her foot, and her eyes filled with angry tears, but just -then there was a discreet knock at the door, and Berthe, -the Troqueville’s one servant, came in with a cup and a -jug of Palissy <i>faience</i>. She was fat and fair, with a -wall-eye and a crooked mouth. Her home was in -Lorraine, and she was a mine of curious country-lore, -but a little vein of irony ran through all her renderings -of local legends, and there was nothing she held in -veneration—not even ‘<i>la bonne Lorraine</i>’ herself. Her -tongue wagged incessantly, and Jacques said she was -like the servant girl, Iambe—‘the prattling daughter -of Pan.’ She had been with the Troquevilles only since -they had come to Paris, but she belonged to the class -of servants that become at once old family retainers. -She took a cynically benevolent interest in the relationship -between Jacques and Madeleine, and although -there was no need whatever for the rôle, she had -instituted herself the confidante and adviser of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -‘lovers,’ and from the secrecy and despatch with which -she would keep the two posted in each other’s movements, -Monsieur and Madame Troqueville might have -been the parental tyrants of a Spanish comedy. This -attitude irritated Madeleine extremely, but Jacques it -tickled and rather pleased.</p> - -<p>‘Some Rossoli for Mademoiselle, very calming to the -stomach, in youth one needs such drafts, for the blood -is hot, he! he!’ and she nodded her head several -times, and smiled a smile which shut the wall-eye and -hitched up the crooked mouth. Then she came up to -them and whispered, ‘The master is not in yet, and the -mistress is busy with her spinning!’ and the strange -creature with many nods and becks set the jug and cup -on the table, and continuing to mutter encouragement, -marched out with soft, heavy steps.</p> - -<p>Madeleine dismissed Jacques, saying she was tired -and wanted to go to bed.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> -<span class="smaller">A SUPPLEMENT TO THE CONFESSION</span></h3> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘On a oublié le temps où elle vivait et combien dans cette -vie de luxe et de désœuvrement les passions peuvent ressembler -à des fantaisies, de même que les manies y deviennent souvent -des passions.’</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Sainte-Beuve.</span>—<i>Madame de Sévigné.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p>It is wellnigh impossible for any one to be very -explicit about their own nerves, for there is something -almost indecently intimate in a nervous fear or -obsession. Thus, although Madeleine’s explanation to -Jacques had given her great relief, it had been but -partial. She would sooner have died than have told -him the real impulse, for instance, that sent her dancing -madly up and down the room, or have analysed minutely -her feelings towards Mademoiselle de Scudéry.</p> - -<p>The seeds of the whole affair were, I think, to be -found in the fact that an ancestor of Madame Troqueville’s -had been an Italian lady of high family, who had -left a strain, fine, fastidious, civilised—in the morbid -way of Italy—to lie hidden in obscurity in the bourgeois -stock, and to crop up from time to time with pathetic -persistence, in a tragically aristocratic outlook, thin -features, and the high, narrow forehead that had given -to the pallid beauties of the sixteenth century a look -of <i>maladif</i> intellect.</p> - -<p>To Madeleine it had also brought a yearning from -earliest childhood for a radiant, transfigured world, -the inhabitants of which seemed first of all to be the -rich merchant families of Lyons.</p> - -<p>One of her most vivid memories was an occasion on -which a strolling company of players had acted a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -comedy in the house of a leader among these merchants, -a certain Maître Jean Prunier. Although the Troquevilles -personally did not know the Pruniers, they had -a common friend, and he had taken Madeleine and her -parents to the performance. They went into an enormous -room filled with benches, with a raised platform -at one end. The walls and the ceiling were frescoed -with various scenes symbolical of Maître Prunier’s -commercial prowess. He was shown riding on woolly -waves on the back of a dolphin, presenting a casket of -gloves to Marie de Médici, marching in crimson robes -at the head of the six guilds of merchants. On the -ceiling was his apotheosis. It showed him sitting, -his lap full of gloves, on a Lyons shawl, which winged -Cherubs were drawing through the air to a naked goddess -on a cloud, who was holding out to him a wreath made -of Dutch tulips. When Madame Troqueville saw it -she shook with laughter, much to Madeleine’s surprise.</p> - -<p>Maître Prunier and his family sat on the stage during -the performance, that they might be seen as well as -see. He was a large stout man, and his nose was covered -with warts, but his youngest daughter held Madeleine’s -eyes spellbound. She had lovely golden hair for one -thing, and then, although she looked no older than -Madeleine herself, who was about seven at the time, -she was dressed in a velvet bodice covered with Genoese -point, and—infinitely grander—she was actually wearing -what to Madeline had always seemed one of the attributes -of magnificent eld, to wit, a real stomacher, all -stiff with busks and embroidered in brightly coloured -silks with flowers and enchanting beasts—a thing as -lovely and magical as the armour of Achilles in the -woodcut that hung in the parlour at home.</p> - -<p>Some years later Madeleine was sent to school at a -Convent about a mile out of Lyons. One of the scholars -was this very Jeanne Prunier. Madeleine would watch<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -her stumbling through the Creed, her fat white face -puckered with effort, her stumpy fingers fiddling -nervously with her gold chain, and would wonder what -great incomprehensible thoughts were passing behind -that greasy forehead and as what strange phantasmagoria -did she see the world. And that chain—it -actually hung round her neck all day long, and when -she went home, was taken through the great wooden -door of Maître Prunier’s house—the door carved with -flowers and grinning faces—and perhaps in a drawer -in her bedroom had a little box of its own. And -Maître Prunier probably knew of its existence, as -doubtless it had been his gift, and thus it had a -place in the consciousness of that great man, while she, -Madeleine ... he had never heard of her.</p> - -<p>Lyons, like most rich provincial towns, was very -purse-proud, and this characteristic was already quite -apparent in its young daughters at the Convent. Their -conversation consisted, to a great extent, in boastings -about their fathers’ incomes, and surmises as to those -of the fathers of their companions. They could tell -you the exact number of gold pieces carried on each -girl’s back, and when some one appeared in a new dress -they would come up and finger the material to ascertain -its texture and richness. Every one knew exactly how -many pairs of Spanish gloves, how many yards of -Venetian lace, how many pure silk petticoats were -possessed by every one else, and how many Turkey -carpets and Rouen tapestries and tables of marble -and porphyry, how much gold and silver plate, and -how many beds covered with gold brocade were to be -found in each other’s homes.</p> - -<p>As Madeleine’s dresses were made of mere serge, and -contemptible <i>guese</i> was their only trimming, and as -it was known that her father was nothing but a disreputable -attorney, they coldly ignored her, and this made<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -her life in the Convent agonising. Although subconsciously -she was registering every ridiculous or vulgar -detail about her passive tormentors, yet her boundless -admiration for them remained quite intact, and to be -accepted as one of their select little coterie, to share -their giggling secrets, to walk arm in arm with one of -them in the Convent garden would be, she felt, the -summit of earthly glory.</p> - -<p>One hot summer’s day, it happened that both she -and a member of the Sacred Circle—a girl called Julie -Duval—felt faint in Chapel. A nun had taken them -into the Refectory—the coolest place in the Convent—and -left them to recover. Madeleine never quite knew -how it happened, but she suddenly found herself telling -Julie that her mother was the daughter of a Duke, -and her father the son of an enormously wealthy -merchant of Amsterdam; that he had been sent as -quite a young man on a political mission to the Court -of France, where he had met her mother; that they -had fallen passionately in love with one another, and -had been secretly married; when the marriage was -announced the parents of both were furious, owing to -her father’s family being Protestant, her mother’s -Catholic, and had refused to have anything more to -do with their respective offspring; that her father had -taken the name of Troqueville and settled in Lyons; -that some months ago a letter had come from her -paternal grandfather, in which he told them that he -was growing old and that, although a solemn vow -prevented him from ever looking again on the face -of his son, he would like to see his grandchild before -he died, would she come to Amsterdam?; that she -had refused, saying that she did not care to meet -any one who had treated her father as badly as he; -that the old man had written back to say that he -admired her spirit and had made her his sole heir,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -‘which was really but a cunning device to take, without -tendering his formal forgiveness, the sting from the -act whereby he had disinherited my father, because he -must have been well aware that I would share it all -with him!’ (Unconsciously she had turned her father -into a romantic figure, to whom she was attached with -the pious passion of an Antigone. In reality she gave -all her love to her mother; but the unwritten laws of -rhetoric commanded that the protagonists in this story -should be <i>father</i> and daughter.)</p> - -<p>Julie’s eyes grew rounder and rounder at each word.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Jésus</i>, Madeleine Troqueville! what a fine lady -you will be!’ she said in an awed voice. Madeleine had -not a doubt that by the next morning she would have -repeated every word of it to her friends.</p> - -<p>In the course of the day she half came to believing -the whole story herself, and sailed about with measured, -stately gait; on her lips a haughty, faintly contemptuous -smile. She felt certain that she was the centre of -attention. She was wearing her usual little serge dress -and plain muslin fichu, but if suddenly asked to describe -her toilette, she would have said it was of the richest -velvet foaming with Italian lace. She seemed to herself -four inches taller than she had been the day before, -while her eyes had turned from gray to flashing black, -her hair also was black instead of chestnut.</p> - -<p>Mythology was one of the subjects in the Convent -curriculum—a concession to fashion made most unwillingly -by the nuns. But as each story was carefully -expurgated, made as anterotic as possible, and given -a neat little moral, Ovid would scarce have recognised -his own fables. The subject for that day happened to -be Paris’s sojourn as a shepherd on Mount Ida. When -the nun told them he was really the son of the King of -Troy, Madeleine was certain that all the girls were -thinking of her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p> - -<p>Several days, however, went by, and no overtures -were made by the Sacred Circle. Madeleine’s stature -was beginning to dwindle, and her hair and eyes to -regain their ordinary colour, when one morning Jeanne -Prunier came up to her, took hold of the little medallion -that hung round her neck on a fine gold chain, and -said: ‘Tiens! c’est joli, ça.’</p> - -<p>This exclamation so often interchanged among the -<i>élite</i>, but which Madeleine had never dreamed that any -object belonging to her could elicit, was the prelude to -a period of almost unearthly bliss. She was told the -gallant that each of them was in love with, was given -some of Jeanne’s sweet biscuits and quince jam, and -was made a member of their <i>Dévises</i> Society. The -<i>dévise</i> designed for her was a plant springing out of a -<i>tabouret</i> (the symbol of a Duchess); one of its stems -bore a violet, the other a Dutch tulip, and over them -both hovered the flowery coronet of a Duke—wherein -was shown a disregard for botany but an imaginative -grasp of Madeleine’s circumstances.</p> - -<p>At times she felt rather condescending to her new -friends, for the old man could not live much longer, -and when he died she would not only be richer than -any of them, but her mother’s people would probably -invite her to stay with them in Paris, and in time -she might be made a lady-in-waiting to the Regent -... and then, suddenly, the sun would be drowned -and she would feel sick, for a Saint’s day was drawing -near, and they would all go home, and the girls would -tell their parents her story, and their parents would tell -them that it was not true.</p> - -<p>The Saint’s day came in due course, and after it, -the awful return to the Convent. Had they been -undeceived about her or had they not? It was difficult -to tell, for during the morning’s work there were few -opportunities for social intercourse. It was true that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -in the embroidery class, when Madeleine absent-mindedly -gave the Virgin a red wool nose instead of a -white one, and the presiding nun scolded her, the girls -looked coldly at her instead of sympathetically; then -in the dancing lesson as a rule the sacred ones gave -her an intimate grin from time to time, or whispered a -pleasantry on the clumsy performance of some companion -outside the Sacred Circle, but this morning they -merely stared at her coldly. Still their indifference -might mean nothing. Did it, or did it not?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">’Un, deux, trois,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Marquez les pas,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Faites la ré-vé-ren-ce,’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">chanted the little master.</p> - -<p>How Madeleine wished she were he, a light, artificial -little creature, with no great claims on life.</p> - -<p>But her fears became a certainty, when going into -the closet where they kept their pattens and brushes, -Jeanne commanded her in icy tones to take her ‘dirty -brush’ out of her, Jeanne’s, bag. And that was all. If -they had been boys, uproariously contemptuous, they -would have twitted Madeleine with her lie, but being -girls, they merely sneered and ignored her. She felt -like a spirit that, suspended in mid-air, watches the -body it has left being torn to pieces by a pack of -wolves. Days of dull agony followed, but she felt -strangely resigned, as if she could go on bearing it for -ever and a day.</p> - -<p>It was during the Fronde, and Jeanne and her friends -had a cult for Condé and Madame de Longueville, the -royal rebels. They taught their parrots at home to repeat -lines of Mazarinades, they kept a print of Condé at the -battle of Rocroy in their book of Hours, and had pocket -mirrors with his arms emblazoned on the back, while<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -Madame de Longueville simpered at them from miniatures -painted on the top of their powder boxes or the -backs of their tablets. As the nuns, influenced by the -clergy, were strong Royalists, and looked upon Condé -as a sort of Anti-Christ, the girls had to hide their -enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>Some weeks after Madeleine’s fall, it was announced -that on the following Wednesday there was to be a -public demonstration in favour of Condé and the Frondeurs, -and that there would be fireworks in their -honour, and that some of the streets would be decorated -with paper lanterns.</p> - -<p>On Wednesday Jeanne and Julie came to Madeleine -and ordered her to slip out of her window at about -eight o’clock in the evening, go down to the gate at -the end of the avenue, and when they called her from -the other side, to unbolt it for them. They then went -to one of the nuns and, pleading a headache, said they -would like to go to bed, and did not want any -supper.</p> - -<p>During the last weeks Madeleine had lost all spirit, -all personality almost, so she followed their instructions -with mechanical submission, and was at the gate -at the appointed time, opened it, let them in, and all -three got back to bed in safety.</p> - -<p>About a week later, all the girls were bidden to -assemble in the Refectory, where the Reverend Mother -was awaiting them with a look of Rhadamanthine -severity.</p> - -<p>‘Most grievous news had been given her concerning -a matter that must be dealt with without delay. She -would ask all the demoiselles in turn if they had left -their bedrooms on Wednesday evening.’</p> - -<p>‘No, Madame.’</p> - -<p>‘No, Madame,’ in voices of conscious rectitude, as -one girl after another was asked by name. It was also<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -the answer of Jeanne and Julie. Then: ‘Mademoiselle -Troqueville, did you leave your bedroom on Wednesday -evening?’</p> - -<p>There was a pause, and then came the answer: -‘Yes, Madame.’</p> - -<p>All eyes were turned on her, and Julie, covertly, put -out her tongue.</p> - -<p>‘Mesdemoiselles, you may all go, excepting Mademoiselle -Troqueville.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine noticed that the Reverend Mother had a -small mole on her cheek, she had not seen it before.</p> - -<p>Then came such a scolding as she had never before -experienced. Much mention was made of ‘obedience,’ -‘chastity,’ ‘Anti-Christ,’ ‘the enemies of the King and -the Church.’ What had they to do with walking across -the garden and opening a gate? Perhaps she had -shown too much leg in climbing out of the window—that -would, at least, account for the mention of -chastity.</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mother had asked <i>if any one had left -their bedroom</i>—that was all—and Madeleine had. And -to her mind, dulled, and, as is often the case, made -stupidly literal by sheer terror, this fact had lost all -connection with Jeanne’s and Julie’s escapade, and -seemed, by itself, the cause of this mysterious tirade. -It certainly was wrong to have left her bedroom—but -why did it make her ‘an enemy of the King’?</p> - -<p>She found herself seizing on a word here and there -in the torrent and spelling it backwards.</p> - -<p>‘Example’ ... elpmaxe ... rather a pretty word! -<i>la chastité</i> ... étitsahc al ... it sounded like Spanish -... who invented the different languages? Perhaps -a prize had once been offered at a College for the invention -of the best language, and one student invented -French and got the prize, and another nearly got the -second, but it was discovered in time that he had only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -turned his own language backwards, and that was -cheating.... <i>Jésus!</i> there was a little bit of wood -chipped out of the Reverend Mother’s crucifix! But -these thoughts were just a slight trembling on the -surface of fathoms of inarticulate terror and despair.</p> - -<p>Then she heard the Reverend Mother telling her that -it would be a sign of grace if she were to disclose the -names of her companions.</p> - -<p>In a flash she realised that she was supposed to have -done whatever it was that Jeanne and Julie had done -on Wednesday evening.</p> - -<p>‘But, Madame, I didn’t ... ’twas only——’</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle, excuses and denials will avail you -nothing. Who was the other lady with you?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, it isn’t that ... there were no others, at -least ... ah! I am at a loss how I can best make it -clear, but we are, methinks, at cross-purposes.’</p> - -<p>But her case was hopeless. She could not betray -Jeanne and Julie, and even if she had wished to, she -was incapable just then of doing so, feeling too light-headed -and rudderless to make explanations. Finally -she was dismissed, and walked out of the room as if in -a trance.</p> - -<p>She was greeted by a clamour of questions and -reproaches from the girls. Jeanne and Julie were in -hysterics. When they discovered that she had not -betrayed them, they muttered some sheepish expressions -of gratitude, and to save their faces they started -badgering her in a half-kindly way for having got -herself into trouble so unnecessarily; why could she -not have said ‘No’ like the rest of them? Madeleine -had no satisfactory answer to give, because she did -not know why herself. In sudden crises it seemed as if -something stepped out from behind her personality and -took matters into its own hands, and spite of all -her good-will it would not allow her to give a false<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -answer to a direct question. And this although, as -we have seen, she could suddenly find herself telling -gratuitous falsehoods by the gross.</p> - -<p>Of course Madeleine was in terrible disgrace, and -penance was piled on penance. The Sacred Circle was -friendly to her again, but this brought no comfort -now, and the severe looks of the nuns put her in a perpetual -agony of terror.</p> - -<p>About a week went by, and then one day, when she -was sitting in the little room of penance, the door was -thrown open and in rushed Julie turned into a gurgling, -sniffing whirlwind of tears.</p> - -<p>‘The Reverend Mother’ ... sob ... ‘says I must’ -... sob ... ‘ask your forgiveness’ ... scream, and -then she flopped down on the floor, overcome by the -violence of her emotion. It was clear to Madeleine that -in some miraculous way all had been discovered, but -she did not feel particularly relieved. The ‘movement -of the passions’ seemed to have been arrested in her. -She sat watching Julie with her clear, wide-open eyes, -and her expression was such as one might imagine on -the face of an Eastern god whose function is to gaze -eternally on a spectacle that never for an instant -interests or moves him. She did not even feel scorn for -Julie, just infinite remoteness.</p> - -<p>Julie began nervously to shut and open one of her -hands; Madeleine looked at it. It was small and -plump and rather dirty, and on one of its fingers there -was a little enamelled ring, too tight for it, and pressing -into the flesh. It looked like a small distracted animal; -Madeleine remembered a beetle she had once seen struggling -on its back. Its smallness and dirtiness, and the -little tight ring and its suggestion of the beetle, for -some reason touched Madeleine. A sudden wave of -affection and pity for Julie swept over her. In a second -she was down beside her, with her arms around her,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -telling her not to cry, and that it didn’t matter. And -there she was found some minutes later by the Reverend -Mother, from whom she received a panegyric of praise -for her forgiving spirit and a kiss, which she could well -have dispensed with.</p> - -<p>Then the whole thing was explained; an anonymous -letter had been sent to the Reverend Mother saying -that the writer had seen, on the evening of the demonstration -in favour of Condé, two girls masked and hooded, -evidently of position, as they had attendants with them, -and that they were laughing together about their -escape from the Convent. The Reverend Mother had -never thought of connecting with the affair Jeanne’s and -Julie’s early retirement that evening. Now she had -just got a letter from Maître Prunier informing her -that it had come to his knowledge that his daughter -and her great friend had been walking in the town that -same evening. He had learned this distressing news -from one of his servants whom Jeanne had got to -accompany her on her escapade. He bade the Reverend -Mother keep a stricter watch on his daughter. She had -sent for Jeanne and Julie and they had told her that it -was only through coercion that Madeleine had played -any part in the escapade.</p> - -<p>Then the Reverend Mother and Julie went away, and -Jeanne came in to offer her apologies. She also had -evidently been crying, and her mouth had a sulky -droop which did not suggest that her self-complacency -had shrivelled up, like that of Julie. -Madeleine found herself resenting this; how <i>dare</i> she -not be abject?</p> - -<p>The two following sentences contained Jeanne’s -apology:—</p> - -<p>(<i>a</i>) ‘The Reverend Mother is a spiteful old dragon!’ -and she sniffed angrily.</p> - -<p>(<i>b</i>) ‘Will you come home for my Fête Day next<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -month? There is to be a Collation and a Ball and a -Comedy,’ and she gave the little wriggle of her hips, -and the complacent gesture of adjusting her collar, -which were so characteristic.</p> - -<p>A few weeks ago, this invitation would have sent -Madeleine into an ecstasy of pleasure. To enter that -great fantastic door had seemed a thing one only did -in dreams. As Jeanne gave her invitation she saw it -clearly before her, cut off from the house and the street -and the trees, just itself, a finely embossed shield against -the sky. It was like one of the woodcuts that she had -seen in a booth of the Fair that year by a semi-barbarian -called Master Albert Dürer. Woodcuts of one carrot, -or a king-fisher among the reeds, or, again, a portion -of the grassy bank of a high road, shown as a busy little -commonwealth of bees and grasses, and frail, sturdy -flowers, heedless of and unheeded by the restless stream -of the high road, stationary and perfect like some obscure -island of the Ægean. The world seen with the eyes -of an elf or an insect ... how strange! Then she -looked at Jeanne, and suddenly there flashed before -her a sequence of little ignoble things she had subconsciously -registered against her. She had a provincial -accent and pronounced <i>volontiers</i>, <i>voulentiers</i>; she -had a nasty habit of picking her nose; Madeleine had -often witnessed her being snubbed by one of the nuns, -and then blushing; there was something indecently -bourgeois in the way she turned the pages of a -book.</p> - -<p>The ignoble pageant took about two seconds for its -transit, then Madeleine said, ‘I am much beholden to -you, albeit, I fear me I cannot assist at your Fête,’ -and dropping her a curtsey she opened the door, making -it quite clear that Jeanne was to go, which she did, -without a word, as meek as a lamb.</p> - -<p>In Madeleine’s description of this scene to Jacques<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -long afterwards she made herself say to Jeanne what -actually she had only thought; many young people, -often the most sensitive, hanker after the power of -being crudely insolent: it seems to them witty -and mature.</p> - -<p>That night Madeleine was delirious, and Madame -Troqueville was sent for. It was the beginning of a -long illness which, for want of a better name, her doctor -called a sharp attack of the spleen.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SIN OF NARCISSUS</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>In time she recovered, or at least was supposed to -have recovered, but she did not return to the Convent, -and her mother still watched her anxiously and was -more than ever inclined to give in to her in everything.</p> - -<p>The doctor had advised her to continue taking an -infusion of steel in white wine, and to persist in daily -exercise, the more violent the better. So at first she -would spend several hours of the day playing at shuttlecock -with her mother, but Madame Troqueville’s energy -failing her after the first few weeks, Madeleine was -forced to pursue her cure by herself.</p> - -<p>She found the exercise led to vague dreaming of a -semi-dramatic nature—imaginary arguments with a -nameless opponent dimly outlined against a background -of cloth of gold—arguments in which she herself -was invariably victorious. In time, she discarded the -shuttlecock completely, finding that this semi-mesmeric -condition was reached more easily through a wild dance, -rhythmic but formless.</p> - -<p>In the meantime her social values had become more -just, and she realised that rank is higher than wealth, -and that she herself, as the granddaughter of a Judge -of the Paris <i>Parlement</i>, and even as the daughter of -a <i>procureur</i>, was of more importance socially than the -daughters of merchants, however wealthy.</p> - -<p>Round the Intendant of the province and his wife -there moved a select circle, dressed in the penultimate -Paris fashion, using the penultimate Paris slang, and -playing for very high stakes at Hoc and Reversi. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -was to this circle that Madeleine’s eyes now turned -with longing, as they had formerly done to the Sacred -Circle at the Convent.</p> - -<p>In time she got to know some of these Olympians. -Those with whom she had the greatest success were the -Précieuses, shrill, didactic ladies who by their unsuccessful -imitation of their Paris models made Lyons the -laughing-stock of the metropolis. Some of them would -faint at the mention of a man’s name; indeed, one of -them, who was also a <i>dévote</i>, finding it impossible to reconcile -her prudishness with the idea of a male Redeemer, -started a theory that Christ had been really a woman—‘’Tis -clear from His clothes,’ she would say—and -that the beard that painters gave Him, was only part -of a plot to wrest all credit from women. They spoke -a queer jargon, full of odd names for the most ordinary -objects and barely intelligible to the uninitiated. -Madeleine talked as much like them as self-consciousness -would permit. Also, she copied them in a -scrupulous care of her personal appearance, and in -their attention to personal cleanliness, which was -considered by the world at large as ridiculous as -their language. Madame Troqueville feared she -would ruin her by the expensive scents—<i>poudre -d’iris</i>, <i>musc</i>, <i>civette</i>, <i>eau d’ange</i>—with which she -drenched herself.</p> - -<p>In the meantime she had got to know a grubby, -smirking old gentleman who kept a book-shop and -fancied himself as a literary critic. He used to procure -the most recent publications of Sercy and Quinet and the -other leading Paris publishers, and his shop became a -favourite resort of a throng of poetasters and young -men of would-be fashion who came there to read and -criticise in the manner of the Paris <i>muguets</i>. Hither -also came Madeleine, and in a little room behind the -shop, where she was safe from ogles and insolence, she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -would devour all the books that pleased and modelled -the taste of the day.</p> - -<p>Here were countless many-volumed romances, such -as the <i>Astrée</i> of Honoré d’Urfé, La Calprenèdes’s -<i>Cassandre</i>, and that flower of modernity, Mademoiselle -de Scudéry’s <i>Grand Cyrus</i>. <i>Romans à clef</i>, they were -called, for in them all the leaders of fashion, all the -<i>bels esprits</i> of the day were dressed up in classical or -Oriental costumes, and set to the task of fitting the -fashions and fads of modern Paris into the conditions -of the ancient world or of the kingdom of the Grand -Turk. But the important thing in these romances was -what Madeleine called to herself, with some complacency -at the name, ‘<i>l’escrime galante</i>’—conversations -in which the gallant, with an indefatigable nimbleness -of wit, pays compliment after compliment to the -prudishly arch belle, by whom they are parried with -an equal nimbleness and perseverance. If the gallant -manages to get out a declaration, then the belle is -<i>touchée</i>, and in her own eyes disgraced for ever. Then, -often, paragons of <i>esprit</i> and <i>galanterie</i>, and the -other urbane qualities necessary to <i>les honnêtes gens</i>, -give long-winded discourses on some subtle point in -the psychology of lovers. And all this against a background -of earthquakes and fires and hair-breadth -escapes, which, together with the incredible coldness -of the capricious heroine, go to prove that nothing -can wither the lilies and roses of the hero’s love and -patience and courage. Then there were countless books -of <i>Vers Galants</i>, sonnets, and madrigals by beplumed, -beribboned poets, who, like pedlars of the Muses, displayed -their wares in the <i>ruelles</i> and alcoves of great -ladies. There were collections of letters, too, or rather, -of <i>jeux d’esprit</i>, in which verse alternated with prose -to twist carefully selected news into something which -had the solidity of a sonnet, the grace of a madrigal.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -Of these letters, Madeleine was most dazzled by those -of the late Vincent Voiture, Jester, and spoilt child -of the famous Hôtel de Rambouillet, and through -his letters she came to feel that she almost knew personally -all those laughing, brilliant people, who had -made the Hôtel so famous in the reign of Louis XIII.—the -beautiful touchy ‘Lionne,’ with her lovely voice -and burnished hair; the Princess Julie, suave and -mocking, and, like all her family, an incorrigible tease; -and the great Arthénice herself, whimsical and golden-hearted, -with a humorous, half-apologetic chastity. -She knew them all, and the light fantastic world in -which they lived, a world of mediæval romance <i>pour -rire</i>, in which magic palaces sprang up in the night, -and where ordinary mortals who had been bold enough -to enter were apt to be teased as relentlessly as Falstaff -by the fairies of Windsor Forest.</p> - -<p>But what Madeleine pored over most of all was the -theory of all these elegant practices, embodied in species -of guide-books to the polite world, filled with elaborate -rules as to the right way of entering a room and of -leaving it, analyses of the grades of deference or of -insolence that could be expressed by a curtsey, the words -which must be used and the words that must not be -used, and all the other tiny things which, pieced together, -would make the paradigm of an <i>honnête homme</i> or a -<i>femme galante</i>. There Madeleine learned that the -most heinous crime after that of being a bourgeois, -was to belong to the Provinces, and the glory speedily -departed from the Lyons Précieuses to descend on those -of Paris. Her own surroundings seemed unbearable, -and when she was not storming at the Virgin for having -made her an obscure provincial, she was pestering -her with prayers to transplant her miraculously to some -higher sphere.</p> - -<p>The craze for Jansenism—that Catholic Calvinism<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -deduced from the writings of Saint Augustine by the -Dutch Jansen, and made fashionable by the accomplished -hermits of Port-Royal—already just perceptibly on the -wane in Paris, had only recently reached Lyons. As -those of Paris some years before, the haberdashers -of Lyons now filled their shops with collars and garters -<i>à la Janséniste</i>, and the booksellers with the charming -treatises on theology by ‘<i>les Messieurs de Port-Royal</i>.’ -Many of the ladies became enamoured of the ‘furiously -delicious Saint Augustine,’ and would have little debates, -one side sustaining the view that his hair had been -dark, the other that it had been fair. They raved about -his Confessions, vowing that there was in it a ‘Je ne -sais quoi de doux et de passionné.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine also caught the craze and in as superficial a -manner as the others. For instance, the three petticoats -worn by ladies which the Précieuses called ‘<i>la modeste</i>,’ -‘<i>la friponne</i>,’ and ‘<i>la secrète</i>,’ she rechristened ‘<i>la grâce -excitante</i>,’ ‘<i>la grâce subséquente</i>,’ and ‘<i>la grâce efficace</i>.’ -She gained from this quite a reputation in Lyons.</p> - -<p>That Lent, the wife of the Intendant manœuvred -that a priest of recognised Jansenist leanings should -preach a sermon in the most fashionable Church of the -town. He based his sermon on the Epistle for the -day, which happened to be 2 Timothy, iii. 1. -‘This know also, that in the last days perilous times -shall come. <i>For men shall be lovers of their own selves.</i>’ -The whole sermon was a passionate denunciation -of <i>amour-propre</i>—<i>self-love</i> according to its earliest -meaning—that newly-discovered sin that was to -dominate the psychology of the seventeenth century. -By a certain imaginative quality in his florid rhetoric, -he made his hearers feel it as a thing loathly, poisonous, -parasitic. After a description of the awful loneliness of -the self-lover, cut off for ever from God and man, he -thundered out the following peroration:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span></p> - -<p>‘Listen! This Narcissus gazing into the well of his -own heart beholds, not that reflection which awaits -the eyes of every true Christian, a Face with eyes like -unto swords and hair as white as wool, a King’s head -crowned with thorns, no, what meets <i>his</i> eyes is his -own sinful face. In truth, my brethren, a grievous -and unseemly vision, but anon his face will cast a -shadow a thousand-fold more unsightly and affrighting—to -wit, the fiery eyes and foaming jowl of the -Dragon himself. For to turn into a flower is but a pretty -fancy of the heathen, to turn into the Dragon is the -doom of the Christian Narcissus.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine left the Church deeply moved. She had -realised that <i>she</i> was such a Narcissus and that ‘<i>amour-propre</i>’ -filled every cranny of her heart.</p> - -<p>She turned once more to the publications of Port-Royal, -this time not merely in quest of new names for -petticoats, and was soon a convinced Jansenist.</p> - -<p>Jansenism makes a ready appeal to egotists ... is -it not founded on the teaching of those two arch-egotists, -Saint Paul and Saint Augustine? And so Madeleine -found in Jansenism a spiritual pabulum much to her -liking. For instance, grace comes to the Jansenist in -a passion of penitence, an emotion more natural to -an egotist than the falling in love with Christ which -was the seal of conversion in the time of Louis XIII., -with its mystical Catholicism <i>à l’espagnole</i>, touched -with that rather charming <i>fadeur</i> peculiar to France. -Then to the elect (among whom Madeleine never -doubted she was numbered) there is something very -flattering in the paradox of the Jansenists that although -it is from the Redemption only that Grace flows, and -Christ died for all men, yet Grace is no vulgar blessing -in which all may participate, but it is reserved for those -whom God has decided shall, through no merit of their -own, eventually be saved.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> - -<p>Above all, Jansenism seemed made for Madeleine -in that it promised a remedy for man’s ‘sick will,’ a -remedy which perhaps would be more efficacious than -steel and white wine for the lassitude, the moral leakage, -the truly ‘sick will’ from which she had suffered so long. -The Jansenist remedy was a complete abandonment to -God, ‘an oarless drifting on the full sea of Grace,’ and -at first this brought to her a sense of very great peace.</p> - -<p>Her favourite of the Port-Royal books was <i>La -Fréquente Communion</i>, in which the Père Arnauld -brought to bear on Theology in full force his great -inheritance, the Arnauld legal mind, crushing to -powder the treatise of a certain Jesuit priest who -maintained that a Christian can benefit from the -Eucharist without Penitence.</p> - -<p>Influenced by this book, very few Jansenists felt -that they had reached the state of grace necessary for -making a good Communion.</p> - -<p>So, what with self-examination, self-congratulation, -and abstaining from the Eucharist, for a time Jansenism -kept Madeleine as happy and occupied as a new diet -keeps a <i>malade imaginaire</i>. Her emotions when she -danced became more articulate. She saw herself the -new abbess of Port-Royal, the wise, tender adviser of -the ‘Solitaires,’ Mère Angélique with a beautiful humility -having abdicated in her favour, ‘for here is one greater -than I.’ She went through her farewell address to her -nuns, an address of infinite beauty and pathos. She -saw herself laid out still and cold in the Chapel, covered -with flowers culled by royal fingers in the gardens of -Fontainebleau, with the heart-broken nuns sobbing -around her. Finally the real Madeleine flung herself -on her bed, the tears streaming from her eyes. Her -subtle enemy, <i>amour-propre</i>, had taken the veil.</p> - -<p>She had started a diary of her spiritual life, in which -she recorded the illuminations, the temptations, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -failures, the reflections, the triumphs, of each day. -The idea suddenly occurred to her of sending the whole -to Mère Agnès Arnauld, who was head of the Paris -Port-Royal. She wrote her also a letter in which she -told her of certain difficulties that had troubled her in -the Jansenist doctrine, suggested by the Five Propositions. -These were conclusions of an heretical nature, -drawn from Jansen’s book and submitted to the Pope. -The Jansenists denied that they were fair conclusions, -but in their attempt to prove this, they certainly laid -themselves open to the charge of obscurantism. She -included in her letter the following <i>énigme</i> she had -written on <i>amour-propre</i>, on the model of those of -the Abbé Cotin, whose fertile imagination was only -equalled by his fine disregard of the laws of prosody.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Je brûle, comme Narcisse, de ma propre flamme,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Quoique je n’aie pas</div> - <div class="verse indent2">L’excuse des doux appas</div> - <div class="verse indent0">De ce jeune conquérant des cœurs de dames.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Selon mon nom, de Vénus sort ma race;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Suis-je donc son joli fils</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Qui rit parmi les roses et lys?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Moi chez qui jamais se trouve <i>la Grâce</i>?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The pun on ‘Grace’ seemed to her a stroke of genius. -She was certain that Mère Agnès could not fail to be -deeply impressed with the whole communication, and -to realise that Madeleine was an instrument exquisitely -tempered by God for fine, delicate work in His service. -Madeleine planned beforehand the exact words of Mère -Agnèse’s answer:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Your words have illumined like a lamp for myself -and my sister many a place hitherto dark.’ ‘My dearest -child, God has a great work for you.’ ‘My brother says<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -that the Holy Spirit has so illumined for you the pages -of his book, that you have learned from it things he did -not know were there himself,’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">were a few of the sentences. In the actual letter, however, -none of them occurred. Mère Agnès seemed to -consider Madeleine’s experiences very usual, and -irritated her extremely by saying with regard to some -difficulty that Madeleine had thought unutterably -subtle and original:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Now I will say to you what I always say to my nuns -when they are perplexed by that difficulty.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">The letter ended with these words of exhortation:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Remember that pride of intellect is the most deadly -and difficult to combat of the three forms of Concupiscence, -and that the pen, although it can be touched into a shining -weapon of God’s, is a favourite tool of the Evil One, for -<i>amour-propre</i> is but too apt to seize it from behind and -make it write nothing but one’s own praises, and that -when one would fain be writing the praises of God. -Are you certain, my dear child, that this has not -happened to you? Conceits and <i>jeux d’esprit</i> may sometimes -without doubt be used to the Glory of God, as, for -example, in the writings of the late Bishop of Geneva of -thrice blessed memory. But by him they were always -used as were the Parables of Our Lord, to make hard -truths clear to simple minds, but you, my child, are not -yet a teacher. Examine your heart as to whether there -was not a little vanity in your confessions. I will urgently -pray that grace may be sent you, to help you to a <i>true</i> -examination of your own heart.’</p> - -</div> - -<p>In Madeleine’s heart rage gave way to a dull sense -of failure. She would not be a Jansenist at all if she -could not be an eminent one. It was quite clear to her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -that her conversion had merely reinforced her <i>amour-propre</i>. -What was to be done?</p> - -<p>Jansenism had by no means destroyed her hankerings -after the polite society of Paris, it had merely pushed -them on to a lower shelf in her consciousness. One night -she dreamed that she was walking in a garden in thrillingly -close communion with the Duc de Candale. -Their talk was mainly about his green garters, but in -her dream it had been fraught with passionate meaning. -Suddenly he turned into Julie de Rambouillet, but the -emotion of the intimacy was just as poignant. This -dream haunted her all the following day. Then in a -flash it occurred to her that it had been sent from above -as a direct answer to prayer. Obviously love for some -one else was the antidote to <i>amour-propre</i>. This was -immediately followed by another inspiration. Ordinary -love was gradually becoming a crime in the code of the -Précieuses, and ‘<i>l’amitié tendre</i>’ the perfect virtue. -But would it not be infinitely more ‘gallant’ and distinguished -to make a <i>woman</i> the object of that friendship? -It seemed to her the obvious way of keeping -friendship stationary, an elegant statue in the discreet -and shady groves of Plato’s Academe which lies in such -dangerous contiguity to the garden of Epicurus. Thus -did she settle the demands at once of Jansenism and of -the Précieuses.</p> - -<p>The problem that lay before her now was to find an -object for this Platonic tenderness. Julie de Rambouillet, -as a wife, mother, and passionately attached -daughter, could scarcely have a wide enough emotional -margin to fit her for the rôle. After first choosing and -then discarding various other ladies, she settled on -Madeleine de Scudéry. Unmarried and beyond the age -when one is likely to marry (she was over forty), evidently -of a romantic temperament, very famous, she had every -qualification that Madeleine could wish. Then there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -was the coincidence of the name, a subject for pleasant -thrills. Madeleine soon worked up through her dances -a blazing pseudo <i>flamme</i>. The sixth book of Cyrus, -which treats of Mademoiselle de Scudéry herself, under -the name of Sappho, and of her own circle, seemed full -of tender messages for <i>her</i>.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Moreover, she is faithful in her friendships; and she -has a soul so tender, and a heart so passionate, that one -may certainly place the supreme felicity in being loved -by Sappho.’</p> - -<p>‘I conceive that beyond a doubt there is nothing so -sweet as to be loved by a person that one loves.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">She pictured herself filling the rôle of Phaon, whom -she had heard was but an imaginary character, -Mademoiselle de Scudéry having as yet made no one -a ‘<i>Citoyen de Tendre</i>.’</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘And the most admirable thing about it was that in -the midst of such a large company, Sappho did not fail -to find a way of giving Phaon a thousand marks of affection, -and even of sacrificing all his rivals to him, without -their remarking it.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Oh, the thrill of it! It would set Madeleine dancing -for hours.</p> - -<p>The emotions of her dances were at first but a vague -foretasting of future triumphs and pleasures, shot -with pictures of wavering outlines and conversations -semi-articulate. But she came in time to feel a need for -a scrupulous exactitude in details, as if her pictures -acquired some strange value by the degree of their -accuracy. What that value was, she could not have -defined, but her imaginings seemed now to be moulding -the future in some way, to be making events that would -actually occur.... It was therefore necessary that -they should be well within the bounds of probability.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span></p> - -<p>This new conviction engendered a sort of loyalty to -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, for previously a stray word -or suggestion would fire her with the charms of some -other lady, whom she would proceed to make for the -time the centre of her rites—la Comtesse de la Suze, -after having read her poetry, the Marquise de Sévigné, -when she had heard her praised as a witty beauty—but -now, with the fortitude of a Saint Anthony, she would -chase the temptresses from her mind, and firmly nail -her longings to Mademoiselle de Scudéry. And soon the -temptation to waver left her, and Mademoiselle de -Scudéry became a corroding obsession. She began to -crave feverishly to go to Paris. Lyons turned into a -city of Hell, where everything was a ghastly travesty -of Heaven. The mock Précieuses with their grotesque -graces, the vulgar dandies, so complacently unconscious -of their provincialism, the meagre parade of the Promenade, -it was all, she was certain, like the uncouth -Paris of a nightmare. If she went to Paris, she would, -of course, immediately meet Mademoiselle de Scudéry, -who, on the spot, would be fatally wounded by her -<i>esprit</i> and air gallant, and the following days would -lead the two down a gentle slope straight to <i>le Pays -de Tendre</i>. But how was she to get to Paris?</p> - -<p>Then, as if by a miracle, her father was also seized -by a longing to go to Paris, and finally a complete <i>déménagement</i> -was decided upon. What wonder if Madeleine -felt that the gods were upon her side?</p> - -<p>But once in Paris, she was brought face to face with -reality. It had never struck her that a meeting with -Mademoiselle de Scudéry might be a thing to need -manœuvring. Days, weeks, went by, and she had not -yet met her. She began to realise the horror of time, -as opposed to eternity. Her meeting with Mademoiselle -de Scudéry could only be the result of a previous chain -of events, not an isolated miracle. To fit it into an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -air-tight compartment of causality and time, seemed to -require more volition than her ‘sick will’ could compass.</p> - -<p>Then there was the maddening thought that while -millions of people were dead, and millions not yet born, -and millions living at the other side of the world, -Mademoiselle de Scudéry was at that very moment -alive, and actually living in the same town as herself, -and yet she could not see her, could not speak to her. -What difference was there in her life at Paris to that -at Lyons?</p> - -<p>They had settled, as we have seen, in the Quartier -de l’Université, as it was cheap, and not far from the -Île Notre-Dame, where Jacques and Monsieur Troqueville -went every day, to the Palais de Justice. It was a -quarter rich in the intellectual beauty of tradition and -in the tangible beauty of lovely objects, but—it was not -fashionable and therefore held no charm for Madeleine.</p> - -<p>The things she valued were to be found in the -quarters of Le Marais, of the Arsenal, of the Faubourg -Saint-Honoré, of the Place Royale. She hated the -Rambouillets for not begging her to live with them, -she hated the people in the streets for not acclaiming -her with shouts of welcome every time she appeared, -she hated Mademoiselle de Scudéry for never having -heard of her. Whenever she passed a tall, dark lady, she -would suddenly become very self-conscious, and raising -her voice, would try and say something striking in the -hopes that it might be she.</p> - -<p>She was woken every morning by the cries of the -hawkers:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Grobets, craquelines; brides à veau, pour friands -museaux!’</p> - -<p>‘Qui en veut?’</p> - -<p>‘Salade, belle Salade!’</p> - -<p>‘La douce cerise, la griotte à confire, cerises de Poitiers!’</p> - -<p>‘Amandes nouvelles, amandes douces; amendez-vous!’</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p> - -<p>And above these cries from time to time would rise -the wail of an old woman carrying a basket laden with -spoons and buttons and old rags,</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Vous désirez quelque cho-o-se?’</p> - -</div> - -<p>Was it Fate come to mock her?</p> - -<p>There is no position so difficult to hold for any length -of time as a logical one. Even before leaving Lyons, in -Madeleine’s mind the steps had become obliterated of -that ruthless argument by which the Augustinian doctors -lead the catechumen from the premises set down by -Saint Paul to conclusions in which there is little room -for hope. She struggled no longer in close mental -contact—according to Jansenius’s summing up of the -contents of Christianity—with:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Hope or Concupiscence, or any of the forms of Grace; -or with the price or the punishment of man, or with his -beatitude or his misery; or with free-will and its enslavage; -or with predestination and its effect; or with the love and -justice and mercy and awfulness of God; in fact, with -neither the Old nor the New Testament.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">But, without any conscious ‘revaluing of values,’ the -kindly god of the Semi-Pelagians, a God so humble as -to be grateful for the tiniest crumb of virtue offered -Him by His superb and free creatures, this God was -born in her soul from the mists made by expediency, -habit, and the ‘Passions.’</p> - -<p>But when she had come to Paris and no miracle had -happened, she began to get desperate, and Semi-Pelagianism -cannot live side by side with despair. The -kind Heavenly Father had vanished, and His place -was taken by a purblind and indifferent deity who -needed continual propitiation.</p> - -<p>These changes in her religious attitude took place,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -as I have said, unconsciously, and Madeleine considered -herself still a sound Jansenist.</p> - -<p>As a consequence of this spiritual slackening, the -imaginary connection had been severed between her -obsession and her religion. She had forgotten that her -love for Mademoiselle de Scudéry had originally been -conceived as a remedy for <i>amour-propre</i>. But, about -a week before the dinner at Madame Pilou’s, she had -come upon these lines of Voiture:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘De louange, et d’honneur, vainement affamée,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Vous ne pouvez aimer, et voulez estre aymée.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>To her fevered imagination these innocent words -hinted at some mysterious law which had ordained that -the spurner of love should in his turn be spurned. She -remembered that it was a commonplace in the writings -of both the ancients and the moderns that it was an -ironical lawgiver who had compiled the laws of destiny. -And if this particular law were valid, the self-lover was -on the horns of a horrible dilemma, for, while he continued -in a condition of <i>amour-propre</i>, he was shut off -from the love of God, but if he showed his repentance -by falling in love, he was bringing on himself the -appointed penalty of loving in vain. And here her -morbid logic collapsed, and she thought of a very -characteristic means of extricating herself. She would -immediately start a love affair that it might act as a -buffer between the workings of this law and her future -affair with Mademoiselle de Scudéry.</p> - -<p>It was this plan that had sent her to Jacques with -the startling announcement I have already mentioned, -that she loved him very much, and that he might take -his fill of kissing her.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN INVITATION</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>A few days after the dinner at Madame Pilou’s -Madeleine was dancing Mænad-like up and down her -little room. Then with eyes full of a wild triumph she -flung herself on her bed.</p> - -<p>Beside her on the table lay the sixth volume of <i>Le -Grand Cyrus</i>, which she had taken to using as a kind of -<i>Sortes Virgilianæ</i>. She picked it up and opened it. -Her eyes fell on the following words:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘For with regard to these ladies, who take pleasure in -being loved without loving; the only satisfaction which -lies in store for them, is that which vanity can give them.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">She shut it impatiently and opened it again. This -time, it was these words that stood out:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Indeed,’ added she, ‘I remember that my dislike came -near to hatred for a passably pleasant gentlewoman——’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Madeleine crossed herself nervously, got down from her -bed, and took several paces up and down the room, and -then opened the book again.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Each moment his jealousy and perturbation waxed -stronger.’</p> - -</div> - -<p>Three attempts, and not one word of good omen. -She had the sense of running round and round in an -endless circle between the four walls of a tiny, dark -cell. Through the bars she could see one or two stars,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -and knew that out there lay the wide, cool, wind-blown -world of causality, governed by eternal laws that nothing -could alter. But knowing this did not liberate her -from her cell, round which she continued her aimless -running till the process made her feel sick and dizzy.</p> - -<p>She opened the book again. This time her eyes fell -on words that, in relation to her case, had no sense. -She looked restlessly round the room for some other -means of divination. The first thing she noticed was -her comb. She seized it and began counting the teeth, -repeating:—</p> - -<p>‘Elle m’aime un peu, beaucoup, passionément, pas -de tout.’ ‘Passionément’ came on the last tooth. -She gave a great sigh of relief; it was as if something -relaxed within her.</p> - -<p>Then the door opened, and Berthe padded in, smiling -mysteriously.</p> - -<p>‘A lackey has brought Mademoiselle this letter.’ -Madeleine seized it. It had not been put in an envelope, -but just folded and sealed. It was addressed in a very -strange hand, large and illegible, to:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Mademoiselle Troqueville,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Petite Rue du Paon,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Above the baker Paul,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At the Sign of the Cock,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Near the Collège de Bourgogne.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>‘He wore a brave livery,’ Berthe went on, ‘the cloth -must have cost several <i>écus</i> the yard, and good strong -shoes, but no pattens. I wouldn’t let him in to stink -the house, I told him——’</p> - -<p>‘Would you oblige me by leaving me alone, Berthe?’ -said Madeleine. Berthe chuckled and withdrew.</p> - -<p>A letter brought to her by a lackey, and in a strange -writing! Her heart stood still. It must either be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -from Mademoiselle de Scudéry or Madame de Rambouillet, -it did not much matter which. She felt deadly -sick. Everything danced before her. She longed to get -into the air and run for miles—away from everything. -She rushed back into her room, and locked the door. -She still was unable to open the letter. Then she -pulled herself together and broke the seal. Convinced -that it was from Mademoiselle de Scudéry, she threw -it down without reading it, and, giggling sheepishly, -gave several leaps up and down the room. Then she -clenched her hands, drew a deep breath, picked it up -and opened it again. Though the lines danced before -her like the reflection of leaves in a stream, she was -able to decipher the signature. It was: ‘Votre obéissante -à vous faire service, M. Cornuel.’ Strange to say, -it was with a feeling of relief that Madeleine realised -that it was not from Mademoiselle de Scudéry. She -then read the letter through.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Mademoiselle</span>,—My worthy friend, Madame Pilou, -has made mention of you to me. Mademoiselle de Scudéry -and I intend to wait on Madame de Rambouillet at two -o’clock, Thursday of next week. An you would call at a -quarter to two at my Hôtel, the Marais, rue St-Antoine, -three doors off from the big butcher’s, opposite <i>Les -Filles d’Elizabeth</i>, I shall be glad to drive you to the -Hôtel de Rambouillet and present you to the Marquise.’</p> - -</div> - -<p>The Lord was indeed on her side! So easily had He -brushed aside the hundreds of chances that would have -prevented her first meeting Mademoiselle de Scudéry -at the Hôtel de Rambouillet, on which, as we have -seen, she had set her heart.</p> - -<p>In a flash God became once more glorious and moral—a -Being that cares for the work of His hands, a maker -and keeper of inscrutable but entirely beneficent laws, -not merely a Daimon of superstitious worship. Then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -she looked at her letter again. So Madame Cornuel had -not bothered to tie it round with a silk ribbon and put -it in an envelope! She was seized by a helpless -paroxysm of rage.</p> - -<p>‘In my answer I’ll call her <i>Dame</i> Cornuel,’ she -muttered furiously. Then she caught sight of the -Crucifix above her bed, and she was suddenly filled -with terror. Was this the way to receive the great -kindness of Christ in having got her the invitation? -Really, it was enough to make Him spoil the whole -thing in disgust. She crossed herself nervously and -threw herself on her knees. At first there welled up -from her heart a voiceless song of praise and love ... -but this was only for a moment, then her soul dropped -from its heights into the following Litany:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="hanging">‘Blessed Virgin, Mother of Our Lord, make me shine -on Thursday.</p> - -<p class="hanging">Guardian Angel, that watchest over me, make me shine -on Thursday.</p> - -<p class="hanging">Blessed Saint Magdalene, make me shine on Thursday.</p> - -<p class="hanging">Blessed Virgin, Mother of Our Lord, give me the friendship -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.</p> - -<p class="hanging">Guardian Angel, that watchest over me, give me the -friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.</p> - -<p class="hanging">Blessed Saint Magdalene, give me the friendship of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’</p> - -</div> - -<p>She gabbled this over about twenty times. Then she -started a wild dance of triumphant anticipation. It -was without plot, as in the old days; just a wallowing -in an indefinitely glorious future. She was interrupted -by her mother’s voice calling her. Feeling guilty and -conciliatory, as she always did when arrested in her -revels, she called back:—</p> - -<p>‘I am coming, Mother,’ and went into the parlour. -Madame Troqueville was mending a jabot of Madeleine’s.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -Monsieur Troqueville was sitting up primly on a chair, -and Jacques was sprawling over a chest.</p> - -<p>‘My love, Berthe said a lackey brought a letter for -you. We have been impatient to learn whom it was -from.’</p> - -<p>‘It was from Madame Cornuel, asking me to go with -her on Thursday to the Hôtel de Rambouillet.... -Mademoiselle de Scudéry is to be there too.’</p> - -<p>(Madeleine would much rather have not mentioned -Mademoiselle de Scudéry at all, but she felt somehow -or other that it would be ‘bearing testimony’ and that -she <i>must</i>.)</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville went pink with pleasure, and -Jacques’s eyes shone.</p> - -<p>‘Madame de Rambouillet! The sister of Tallemant -des Réaux, I suppose. Her husband makes a lot of -cuckolds. Madame <i>Cornuel</i>, did you say? If she’s -going to meet young Rambouillet, it will be her husband -that will have the <i>cornes</i>! <i>hein</i>, Jacques? <i>hein?</i> It -will be he that has the <i>cornes</i>, won’t it?’ exclaimed -Monsieur Troqueville, who was peculiarly impervious -to emotional atmosphere, chuckling delightedly, and -winking at Jacques, his primness having suddenly -fallen from him. Madeleine gave a little shrug and -turned to the door, but Madame Troqueville, turning -to her husband, said icily:—</p> - -<p>‘’Twas of the <i>Marquise</i> de Rambouillet that Madeleine -spoke, no kin whatever of the family you mention. -Pray, my love, tell us all about it. Which Madame -Cornuel is it?’</p> - -<p>Monsieur Troqueville went on giggling to himself, -absolutely intoxicated by his own joke, and Madeleine -began eagerly:—</p> - -<p>‘Oh! the famous one ... “Zénocrite” in the <i>Grand -Cyrus</i>. She’s an exceeding rich widow and a good friend -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. She is famed in the Court<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -and in the Town, for her quaint and pungent wit. -’Twas she who stuck on the malcontents the name of -“<i>les Importants</i>,” you know, she——’</p> - -<p>‘I had some degree of intimacy with her in the past,’ -said Madame Troqueville, then in a would-be careless -voice, ‘I wonder if she has any sons!’ Madeleine shut -her eyes and groaned, and Jacques with his eyes dancing -dragged up Monsieur Troqueville, and they left the -house.</p> - -<p>So her mother had known Madame Cornuel once; -Madeleine looked round the little room. There was a -large almanac, adorned, as was the custom, with a -woodcut representing the most important event in -the previous year. This one was of Mazarin as a Roman -General with Condé and Retz as barbarian prisoners -tied to his chariot; her mother had bound its edges -with saffron ribbon. The chairs had been covered by -her with bits of silk and brocade from the chest in -which every woman of her day cherished her sacred -hoard. On the walls were samplers worked by her -when she had been a girl.</p> - -<p>What was her life but a pitiful attempt to make the -best of things? And Madeleine had been planning to -leave her behind in this pathetically thin existence, -while she herself was translated to unutterable glory. -It suddenly struck her that her <i>amour-propre</i> had -sinned more against her mother than any one else. She -threw her arms round her neck and hugged her convulsively, -then ran back to her own room, her eyes full -of tears. She flung herself on her knees.</p> - -<p>‘Blessed Virgin, help me to show that I am sensible -to your great care over me by being more loving and -dutiful to my mother, and giving her greater assistance -in the work of the house. Oh, and please let pleasant -things be in store for <i>her also</i>. And oh! Blessed Lady, -let me cut an exceeding brave figure on Thursday.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -Give me occasions for airing all the conceits I prepare -beforehand. Make me look furiously beautiful and -noble, and let them all think me <i>dans le dernier galant</i>, -but mostly <i>her</i>. <i>Give me the friendship of Mademoiselle -de Scudéry.</i>’ She had not meant to add this long -petition about herself, but the temptation had been -too great.</p> - -<p>And now to business. She must ensure success by -being diligent in her dancing, thus helping God to get -her her heart’s desire.</p> - -<p>Semi-Pelagianism does not demand the blind faith -of the Jansenists. Also, it implicitly robs the Almighty -of omnipotence. Thus was Madeleine a true Semi-Pelagian -in endeavouring to assist God to effect her -Salvation (we know she considered her Salvation -inextricably bound up with the attainment of the friendship -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry), for:—</p> - -<p>‘The differentia of semi-Pelagianism is the tenet -that in regeneration, and all that results from it, the -divine and the human will are co-operating, co-efficient -(synergistic) factors.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the train of the shadowy figure of Madame Cornuel, -Madeleine mounts the great stairs of the Hôtel de -Rambouillet. The door is flung open; they enter the -famous <i>Salle Bleue</i>. Lying on a couch is an elderly lady -with other ladies sitting round her, at whose feet sit -gallants on their outspread cloaks.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! dear Zénocrite, here you come leading our new -<i>bergère</i>,’ cries the lady on the couch. ‘Welcome, -Mademoiselle, I have been waiting with impatience to -make your acquaintance.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine curtseys and says with an indescribable -mixture of modesty and pride:—</p> - -<p>‘Surely the world-famed amiability of Madame is, if I -may use the expression, at war with her judgment, or -rather, for two such qualities of the last excellence must<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -ever be as united as Orestes and Pylades, some falsely -flattering rumour has preceded me to the shell of Madame’s -ear.’</p> - -<p>‘Say rather some Zephyr, for such always precede -Flora,’ one of the gallants says in a low voice to another.</p> - -<p>‘But no one, I think,’ continues Madeleine, ‘will accuse -me of flattery when I say that the dream of one day joining -the pilgrims to the shrine of Madame was the fairest one -ever sent me from the gates of horn.’</p> - -<p>‘Sappho, our <i>bergère</i> has evidently been initiated into -other mysteries than those of the rustic Pan,’ says -Arthénice, smiling to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, whom -Madeleine hardly dares to visualise, but feels near, a filmy -figure in scanty, classic attire.</p> - -<p>Madeleine turns to Sappho with a look at once respectful -and gallant, and smiling, says:—</p> - -<p>‘That, Madame, is because being deeply read in the -Sibylline Books—which is the name I have ventured to -bestow on your delicious romances—I need no other -initiation to <i>les rites galants</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘I fear, Mademoiselle, that if the Roman Republic had -possessed only the Books that you call Sibylline, it would -have been burned to the ground by the great Hannibal,’ -says Sappho with a smile.</p> - -<p>‘Madame, it would have been of no consequence, for -the Sibyl herself would have taken captive the conqueror,’ -answers Madeleine gallantly.</p> - -<p>‘Ah, Sappho!’ cries the Princess Julie, ‘I perceive that -we Nymphs are being beaten by the Shepherdess in the -battle of flowers.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, no, Madame!’ Madeleine answers quickly. ‘Say -rather that the Shepherdess knows valleys where grow -wild flowers that are not found in urban gardens, and these -she ventures to twine into garlands to lay humbly at the -feet of the Nymphs.’ She pauses. Sappho, by half a -flicker of an eyelid, shows her that she knows the garlands -are all meant for her.</p> - -<p>‘But, Mademoiselle, if you will pardon my curiosity,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -what induced you to leave your agreeable prairies?’ asks -Mégabate.</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur,’ answers Madeleine, smiling, ‘had you asked -Aristæus why he left the deserts of Libya, his answer -would have been the same as mine: “There is a Greece.”’</p> - -<p>‘Was not Aristæus reared by the Seasons themselves and -fed upon nectar and ambrosia?’ asks Sappho demurely.</p> - -<p>‘To be reared by the Seasons! What a ravishing fate!’ -cries one of the gallants. ‘It is they alone who can give -the <i>real</i> roses and lilies, which blossom so sweetly on the -cheeks of Mademoiselle.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur, one of the Seasons themselves brings the -refutation of your words. For Lady Winter brings ... -<i>la glace</i>,’ says Madeleine, with a look of delicious raillery.</p> - -<p>‘But, indeed,’ she continues, ‘I must frankly admit -that my distaste for Bœotia (for that is what I call the -Provinces!) is as great as that felt for pastoral life by -Alcippe and Amaryllis in the <i>Astrée</i>. There is liberty in -the prairies, you may say, but any one who has read of -the magic palaces of Armide or Alcine in <i>Amadis de Gaule</i>, -would, rather than enjoy all the liberty of all the sons of -Boreas, be one of the <i>blondines</i> imprisoned in the palace -of the present day Armide,’ and she bows to Arthénice.</p> - -<p>‘I do not care for <i>Amadis de Gaule</i>,’ says Sappho a little -haughtily. Madeleine thrills with indescribable triumph. -Can it be possible that Sappho is jealous of the compliment -paid to Arthénice?</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GRECIAN PROTOTYPE</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>During the days that followed, Madeleine wallowed in -Semi-Pelagianism. With grateful adoration, she worshipped -the indulgent God, who had hung upon a -Cross that everything she asked might be given her.</p> - -<p>As a result of this new-found spiritual peace, she -became much more friendly and approachable at home. -She even listened with indulgence to her father’s -egotistical crudities, and to her mother’s hopes of her -scoring a great success on the following Wednesday -when the Troguins were giving a ball. Seeing that her -imprisonment in the bourgeois world of pale reflections -was so nearly over, and that she would so soon be -liberated to the plane of Platonic ideas and face to face -with the <i>real</i> Galanterie, the <i>real</i> Esprit, the <i>real</i> Fashion, -she could afford a little tolerance.</p> - -<p>Then, in accordance with her promise to the Virgin, -she insisted on helping her mother in the work of the -house. Madame Troqueville would perhaps be sewing, -Madeleine would come up to her and say in a voice -of resigned determination: ‘Mother, if you will but -give me precise instructions what to do, I will relieve -you of this business.’ Then, having wrested it from her -unwilling mother, she would leave it half finished and -run off to dance—feeling she had discharged her conscience. -The virtue did not lie in a thing accomplished, -but in doing something disagreeable—however useless. -The boredom of using her hands was so acute as to be -almost physical pain. It was as if the fine unbroken -piece of eternity in which her dreams took place turned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -into a swarm of little separate moments, with rough, -prickly coats that tickled her in her most tender parts. -The prickly coats suggested thorns, and—the metaphor -breaking off, as it were, into a separate existence of its -own—she remembered that in the old story of her -childhood, it was thorns that had guarded the palace -of the hidden Princess. This association of ideas seemed -full of promise and encouraged her to persevere.</p> - -<p>Many were the winks and leers of Berthe over this -new domesticity, which she chose to interpret in a -manner Madeleine considered unspeakably vulgar. -‘Ho! Ho!’ ... wink ... ‘Mademoiselle is studying -to be a housewife! Monsieur Jacques will be well -pleased.’ And when Madeleine offered to help her -wash some jabots and fichus, she said, with a mysterious -leer, that she was reminded of a story of her grandmother’s -about a girl called Nausicaa, but when Madeleine -asked to be told the story, she would only chuckle -mysteriously.</p> - -<p>One evening she made a discovery that turned her -hopes into certainty.</p> - -<p>After supper, she had given Jacques a signal to -follow her to her own room. It was not that she wanted -his society, but it was incumbent on her to convince -the gods that she loved him. She sat down on his knee -and caressed him. He said suddenly:—</p> - -<p>‘I could scarce keep from laughing at supper when -my uncle was descanting on his diverse legal activities -and reciting the fine compliments paid him by judges -and advocates by the score! <i>Malepest!</i> So you do -not drive him to a nonplus with too close questionings, -but let him unmolested utter all his conceit, why then -his lies will give you such entertainment as——’</p> - -<p>‘Have a care what you say, Jacques,’ she cried, ‘I’ll -not have my father called a liar. It may be that he -paints the truth in somewhat gaudy colours, but all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -said, ’tis a good-natured man, and I am grateful to him -in that being exercised as to the material welfare of my -mother and myself, he came to Paris to better our fortunes. -Jacques! Have done with your foolish laughter!’</p> - -<p>But Jacques continued cackling with shrill, mocking -glee.</p> - -<p>‘My aunt’s and your material welfare, forsooth! -This is most excellent diversion! If you but knew the -true cause of his leaving Lyons! If you but knew!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, tell me.’</p> - -<p>‘That I will not, sweet Chop! Oh, ’tis a most fantastic -nympholeptic! As passionate after dreams as is -his daughter.’</p> - -<p>‘I am to seek as to your meaning, Jacques,’ said -Madeleine very coldly, and she slipped down from his -knee.</p> - -<p>Jacques went on chuckling to himself: ‘To see him -standing there, nonplussed, and stammering, and most -exquisitely amorous.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Flamma demanat, sonitu suopte</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Tintinant aures, gemina teguntur</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Lumina nocte.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>‘What’s that you are declaiming, Jacques?’</p> - -<p>‘Some lines of the Grecian Sappho, turned into Latin -by Catullus, that figure, with an exquisite precision, the -commingling in a lover of passion and of bashfulness.’</p> - -<p>The look of cold aloofness suddenly vanished from -Madeleine’s face.</p> - -<p>‘The Grecian Sappho!’ she cried eagerly. ‘She is -but a name to me. Tell me of her.’</p> - -<p>‘She was a poetess. She penned amorous odes to -diverse damsels, and then leapt into the sea,’ he answered -laconically, looking at her with rather a hostile light -in his bright eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<p>‘Repeat me one of her odes,’ she commanded, and -Jacques began in a level voice:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Deathless Dame Venus of the damasked throne, -daughter of Jove, weaver of wiles, I beseech thee tame -not my soul with frets and weariness, but if ever in time -past thou heard’st and hearkened to my cry, come hither -to me now. For having yoked thy chariot of gold thou -did’st leave thy father’s house and fair, swift swans, with -ceaseless whirring of wings over the sable earth did carry -thee from heaven through the midmost ether. Swift was -their coming, and thou, oh, blessed one, a smile upon thy -deathless face, did’st ask the nature of my present pain, -and to what new end I had invoked thee, and what, once -more, my frenzied soul was fain should come to pass.</p> - -<p>‘“Who is she now that thou would’st fain have Peitho -lead to thy desire? Who, Sappho, does thee wrong? -<i>For who flees, she shall pursue; who spurns gifts, she shall -offer them; who loves not, willy-nilly she shall love.</i>”</p> - -<p>‘Now, even now, come to me! Lift from me the weight -of hungry dreams, consummate whatever things my soul -desires, and do thou thyself fight by my side.’</p> - -</div> - -<p>He looked at her, his eyes screwed up into two hard, -bright points. Madeleine continued to gaze in front of -her—silent and impassive.</p> - -<p>‘Well, is it to your liking?’ he asked.</p> - -<p>‘What?’ she cried with a start, as if she had been -awakened from a trance. ‘Is it to my liking? I can -scarcely say. To my mind ’tis ... er ... er to speak -ingenuously, somewhat blunt and crude, and lacking -in <i>galanterie</i>.’</p> - -<p>He broke into a peal of gay laughter, the hostile look -completely vanished.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Galanterie</i>, forsooth! Oh, Chop, you are a rare -creature! Hark’ee, in the “smithy of Vulcan,” as you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -would say, weapons are being forged of the good iron -of France—battle-axes <i>à la Rabelais</i>, and swords <i>à la -Montaigne</i>—and they will not tarry to smash up your -fragile world of <i>galanterie</i> and galimatias into a -thousand fragments.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine in answer merely gave an abstracted -smile.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville came in soon afterwards to turn -out Jacques and order Madeleine to bed. Madeleine -could see that she wanted to talk about the Troguin’s -ball, but she was in no mood for idle conjectures, and -begged her to leave her to herself.</p> - -<p>As soon as she was alone she flung herself on her -knees and offered up a prayer of solemn triumphant -gratitude. That of her own accord she should have -come to the conclusion reached centuries ago by the -Paris Sappho’s namesake—that the perfect <i>amitié -tendre</i> can exist only between two women—was a -coincidence so strange, so striking, as to leave no doubt -in her mind that her friendship with Mademoiselle de -Scudéry was part of the ancient, unalterable design of -the universe. Knowing this, how the Good Shepherd -must have laughed at her lack of faith!</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE MERCHANTS OF DAMASCUS AND DAN</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>Madeleine woke up the following morning to the -sense of a most precious new possession.</p> - -<p>She got out of bed, and, after having first rubbed her -face and hands with a rag soaked in spirit, was splashing -them in a minute basin of water—her thoughts the -while in Lesbos—when the door opened and in walked -Madame Troqueville.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Jésus!</i> Madeleine, it <i>cannot</i> be that you are <i>again</i> at -your washing!’ she cried in a voice vibrant with -emotion. ‘Why, as I live, ’twas but yesterday you did -it last. Say what you will, it will work havoc with your -sight and your complexion. I hold as naught in this -matter the precepts of your Précieuses. You need to -sponge yourself but once a week to keep yourself -fresh and sweet, a skin as fine and delicate as -yours——’</p> - -<p>But Madeleine, trembling with irritation that her -mother should break into her pleasant reverie with such -prosaic and fallacious precepts, cried out with almost -tearful rage: ‘Oh, mother, let me be! What you say -is in the last of ignobility; ’tis the custom of all <i>honnêtes -gens</i> to wash their hands and face <i>each day</i>.... I’ll -not, not, <i>not</i> be a stinking bourgeoise!’</p> - -<p>It was curious how shrill and shrewish these two -outwardly still and composed beings were apt to become -when in each other’s company.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville shrugged her shoulders: ‘Well, -if you won’t be ruled! But let that go—I came to say -that we should do well to go to the Foire Saint-Germain<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -this morning to provide you with some bravery for the -Troguin’s ball——’</p> - -<p>‘The Troguin’s ball, forsooth! Ever harping on that -same string! Are you aware <i>that I am for the Hôtel de -Rambouillet</i> on Thursday? That surely is a more staid -and convenient event on which to hang your hopes!’</p> - -<p>‘Is it?’ said Madame Troqueville, with a little smile. -‘Well, what shall you wear on that most pregnant day? -Your flowered ferrandine petticoat and your crimson -sarge bodice?’</p> - -<p>Madeleine went rather pale; she rapped out in icy -tones: ‘<i>Les honnêtes gens</i> pronounce it <i>serge</i>. Leave -me, please ... I have the caprice to dress myself -unaided this morning.’</p> - -<p>Once alone, Madeleine flung herself on her bed, clutched -her head in her hands and gave little, short, sharp moans.</p> - -<p>The truth of the matter was this—that when, in her -dances, she rehearsed her visit to the Hôtel de Rambouillet, -she pictured herself dressed in a very <i>décolleté</i> -bodice of <i>céladon</i> velvet sparkling with jewels and -shrouded in priceless Italian lace, a petticoat of taffetas -dotted with countless knots of ribbon, and green silk -stockings with rose-coloured clocks. Until this moment, -when her mother, with her irritating sense of reality, -had brought her face to face with facts, it had never so -much as occurred to her that nothing of this bravery -existed outside her own imagination. Yes, it was true! -a serge bodice and a ferrandine petticoat were all the -finery her wardrobe could provide. Was she then to -make her début at the Palace of Arthénice as a dingy -little bourgeoise? What brooked the Grecian Sappho -and her conceits, what brooked the miraculous nature -of Madame Cornuel’s invitation if the masque of reality -was to lack the ‘ouches and spangs’ of dreams? Well, -God had made the path of events lead straight to -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, could He not too turn her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -mother’s purse into that of Fortunatus? She could but -go to the Fair—and await a miracle.</p> - -<p>As they made their way along the bank of the Seine, -Madame Troqueville was wrapt in pleasant reverie. -None of the wealthy young bourgeoises at the ball -would look as delicate and fine as her Madeleine ... -what if she took the fancy of some agreeable young -magistrate, with five or six different posts in the <i>Parlement</i>, -and a flat, red house with white facings in the Place -Dauphine, like the Troguins? Then he would ‘give -the Fiddles’ for a ball, and offer Madeleine a bouquet -in token that it was in her honour, then Madeleine would -‘give the Fiddles’ for a return ball.... The Troguins -would lend their house ... and then ... why not? -stranger things had happened.</p> - -<p>‘A fragment of Lyons silk ... some <i>bisette</i> and -some <i>camelot de Hollande</i> ... a pair of shoes that you -may foot it neatly ... yes, you will look rare and -delicate, and ’twill go hard but one gold coin will furnish -us with all we need.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine smiled grimly—unless she were much -mistaken, not even one <i>silver</i> coin would be squandered -on the Troguins’s ball.</p> - -<p>They were now making their way towards two long rows -of wooden buildings in which was held the famous Fair.</p> - -<p>In the evenings it was a favourite haunt of beauty and -fashion, but in the mornings it was noisy with all the -riff-raff of the town—country cousins lustily bawling -‘Stop, thief!’; impudent pages; coarse-tongued musketeers; -merchant’s wives with brazen tongues and sharp, -ruthless elbows; dazzled Provincials treating third-rate -courtesans to glasses of <i>aigre de cèdre</i> and the delicious -cakes for which the Fair was famous.</p> - -<p>Through this ruthless, plangent, stinking crowd, -Madame Troqueville and Madeleine pushed their way, -with compressed lips and faces pale with disgust.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p> - -<p>Of a sudden, their ears were caught by the cry:—</p> - -<p>‘Galants pour les dames! Faveurs pour les galants! -Rubans d’écarlate, de cramoisie, et de Cé-la-don!’</p> - -<p>It came from a little man of Oriental appearance, -sitting at a stall that contained nothing but knots of -ribbon of every colour, known as <i>galants</i>.</p> - -<p>When he caught sight of Madeleine, he waved before -her one of pale green.</p> - -<p>‘A <i>céladon galant</i> for the young lady—a figure of -the perfect lover,’ he called out. ‘Mademoiselle cannot -choose but buy it!’ Céladon, the perfect lover, in the -famous romance called <i>Astrée</i>, had given his name to a -certain shade of green.</p> - -<p>Madeleine, thinking the words of good omen, pinched -her mother’s arm and said she <i>must</i> have it. After a -good deal of bargaining, they got it for more than -Madame Troqueville had intended spending on a pair -of shoes, and with a wry little smile, she said:—</p> - -<p>‘Enough of these childish toys! Let us now to more -serious business,’ and once more began to push her way -through the hateful, seething crowd.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, Madeleine again pinched her mother’s arm, -and bade her stop. They were passing the stall of a -mercer—a little man with black, beady eyes, leering -at them roguishly from among his delicate merchandise.</p> - -<p>‘Here is most rare Italian lace,’ said Madeleine, with -a catch in her voice.</p> - -<p>‘Ay, here, for example, is a piece of <i>point de Gênes</i> -of most exquisite design,’ broke in the mercer’s wife—an -elegant lady, with a beautifully dressed head of -hair, ‘I sold just such a piece, a week come Thursday, -to the Duchesse de Liancourt.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! but if one be fair and young and juicy ’tis the -transparent <i>point de Venise</i> that is best accordant with -one’s humour,’ interrupted the mercer, with a wink at -Madeleine. ‘’Tis the <i>point de Venise</i> that discovers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> -the breasts, Mademoiselle! Which, being so, I vow -the names should be reversed, and the <i>transparent</i> -fabric be called <i>point de Gênes</i>, <i>hein</i>? <i>Point de gêne!</i>’ -and he gleefully chuckled over his own wit, while his -wife gave him a good-natured push and told him with -a grin not to be a fool.</p> - -<p>‘Whatever laces you may stock, good sir, no one can -with truth affirm that you have—<i>point d’Esprit</i>,’ said -Madeleine graciously.</p> - -<p>‘Come, my child!’ said Madame Troqueville, with -a smile, and prepared to move away. This put the -mercer on his mettle.</p> - -<p>‘Ladies, you would be well advised to tarry a while -with me!’ he cried, in the tones of a disinterested -adviser. ‘Decked in these delicate toys you would -presently learn how little serves, with the help of art, -to adorn a great deal. Let a lady be of any form or any -quality, after a visit to my stall she’d look a Marquise!’</p> - -<p>‘Nay, say rather that she’d look a Duchesse,’ amended -his wife.</p> - -<p>‘Come, my child!’ said Madame Troqueville again.</p> - -<p>‘Nay, lady, there is good sense in what I say!’ -pleaded the mercer, ‘the very pith of modishness is in -my stall. A <i>galant</i> of gay ribbons, and a fichu of fine -point—such as this one, for example—in fact the trifling -congeries which in the dress of <i>gallants</i> is known as -“<i>petite oie</i>” will lend to the sorriest <i>sarge</i> the lustre -of velvet!’</p> - -<p>Madeleine’s eyes were blazing with excitement. God -had come to her rescue once again, and forgoing, -with the economy of the true artist, the meretricious -aid of a material miracle, had solved her problem in -the simplest manner by the agency of this little mercer. -To cut a brave figure on Thursday, there was no need -of Fortunatus’s purse. Her eyes had been opened. -Of course, as in manners, so in dress, the days of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -solidity were over. Who now admired the heavy -courtesy of the school of the Admiral de Bassompière in -comparison with the careless, mocking grace of the <i>air -galant</i>? In the same way, she, twirling a little cane in -her hand, motley with ribbons, her serge bodice trimmed -with the <i>pierreries du Temple</i> (of which, by the way, -more anon), with some delicate trifles from the mercer’s -stall giving a finish to the whole, could with a free mind, -allow three-piled velvet and strangely damasked silk -to feed the moths in the brass-bound, leather chests -that slumber in châteaux, far away mid the drowsy -foison of France.</p> - -<p>With strange, suppressed passion, she pleaded with -her mother, first, for a Holland handkerchief, edged -with Brussels lace, and caught up at the four corners -by orange-coloured ribbon; then for a pair of scented -gloves, also hung with ribbons; then for a bag of rich -embroidery for carrying her money and her Book of -Hours. And Madame Troqueville, under the spell of Madeleine’s -intense desire, silently paid for one after another.</p> - -<p>They left the mercer’s stall, having spent three -times over the coin that Madame Troqueville had -dedicated to the Troguins’s ball. Suddenly, she realised -what had happened, and cried out in despair:—</p> - -<p>‘I have done a most inconsiderate, rash, weak thing! -How came it that I countenanced such shameless, such -fantastic prodigality? I fear——’</p> - -<p>‘Mother, by that same prodigality I have purchased -my happiness,’ said Madeleine solemnly.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, my foolish love! ’Tis only children that find their -happiness in toys,’ and her mother laughed, in spite of -herself. ‘Well, our purse will not now rise above a piece -of ferrandine. We must see what we can contrive.’</p> - -<p>They walked on, Madeleine in an ecstasy of happiness—last -night, the Grecian Sappho, this morning, God’s wise -messenger, the mercer—the Lord was indeed on her side!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span></p> - -<p>They were passing the stall of a silk merchant. He -was a tight-lipped, austere-looking old man, and he -was listening to an elderly bourgeoise, whose expression -was even more severe than his own. The smouldering -fire in her eye and the harsh significance of her voice, -touched their imagination, and they stopped to listen.</p> - -<p>‘Ay, as the Prophet tells us, the merchants of -Damascus and Dan and Arabia brought in singing -ships to the fairs of Tyre, purple, and broidered work, -and fine linen, and coral, and agate, and blue clothes -in chests of rich apparel, bound with cords and made -of cedar. And where now is Tyre, Master Petit?’</p> - -<p>‘Tyre, with its riches and its fairs, and its merchandise -and its mariners fell into the midst of the seas -in the day of its ruin,’ solemnly chanted in reply Master -Petit. Evidently neither he nor the lady considered the -words to have any application either to himself or to -the costly fabrics in which he was pleased to traffic.</p> - -<p>‘Vanity of vanities! ’Tis a lewd and sinful age,’ -said the lady, with gloomy satisfaction, ‘I know one old -vain, foolish fellow who keeps in my attic a suit of -tawdry finery in which to visit bawdy-houses, as if, -forsooth, all the purple and fine linen of Solomon himself -could add an ounce of comeliness to his antic, -foolish face! He would be better advised to lay up -the white garment of salvation with sprigs of the -lavender of grace, in a coffer of solid gold, where neither -moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not -break through and steal. I do oft-times say to him: -“Monsieur Troqueville——”’</p> - -<p>‘Come, my child,’ said Madame Troqueville quietly, -moving away.</p> - -<p>So this was what Jacques had meant by his mysterious -hints the night before! Madeleine followed her mother -with a slight shudder.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">‘RITE DE PASSAGE’</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>At about six o’clock on Wednesday evening a hired -coach came to take them to the Troguin’s. To a casual -eye it presented a gorgeous appearance of lumbering -gilt, but Madeleine noticed the absence of curtains, the -straw leaking out of the coachman’s cushion, and the -jaded, shabby horses. Jacques had arranged that a -band of his devoted clerks of <i>la Bazoche</i>, armed with -clubs, should follow the coach to the Île Notre Dame, -for the streets of Paris were infested by thieves and -assassins, and it did not do to be out after dusk unarmed -and unattended. On ordinary occasions this grotesque -parody of the state of a Grand Seigneur—a hired coach, -and grinning hobbledehoys instead of lackeys, strutting -it, half proud, half sheepish, in their quaint blue and -yellow livery—would have nearly killed Madeleine with -mortification. To-night it rather pleased her, as a -piquant contrast to what was in store for her to-morrow -and onwards. For were not <i>all</i> doors to open to her -to-morrow—the doors of the Hôtel de Rambouillet, the -doors of the whole fashionable world, as well as the -doors of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s heart? The -magical <i>petite-oie</i>, hidden away in her drawer at home, -and the miraculous manner in which her eyes had been -opened to its efficacy were certain earnests of success. -The whole universe was ablaze with good omens—to-morrow -‘the weight of hungry dreams’ would drop -from her, and her soul would get what it desired.</p> - -<p>She found herself remembering with some perplexity -that in romances the siege of a lady’s heart was a very<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -long affair. Perhaps the instantaneous yielding of the -fortress, which she felt certain would be the case with -Mademoiselle de Scudéry when they met, was not quite -in the best traditions of <i>Galanterie</i>. It was annoying, -but inevitable, for she felt that any further delay -would kill her.</p> - -<p>The Troguins lived in the new, red-brick triangle of -houses called la Place Dauphine, facing the bronze statue -of Henri IV., and backed by Notre-Dame.</p> - -<p>Lackeys holding torches were standing on the steps -of their house, that the guests might have no trouble -in finding it.</p> - -<p>After having taken off their cloaks and pattens, the -Troquevilles went into the ball-room. Here were countless -belles and gallants, dressed in white, carnation, -and sea-water green, which, on the authority of a very -grave writer, we know to be the colours that show best -by candle-light. Here and there this delicate mass -of colour was freaked with the sombre <i>soutanes</i> of -magistrates and the black silk of dowagers. The -Four Fiddles could be heard tuning up through the -hubbub of mutual compliments. Madeleine felt as if -she were gazing at it all from some distant planet. -Then Madame Troguin bustled up to them.</p> - -<p>‘Good-evening, friends, you are exceeding welcome. -You must all have a glass of Hippocras to warm you. -It operates so sweetly on the stomach. I am wont to -say a glass of Hippocras is better than any purge. -I said as much to Maître Patin—our doctor, you know—and -he said——’</p> - -<p>Madeleine heard no more, for she suddenly caught -sight of her father’s shining, eager eyes and anxious -smile, ‘his vanity itching for praise,’ she said to herself -scornfully. She saw him make his way to where the -youngest Troguin girl was sitting on a <i>pliant</i> with -several young men on their cloaks at her feet. How<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -could he be such an idiot, Madeleine wondered, he -<i>must</i> know that the Troguin girl did not want to -talk to <i>him</i> just then. But there he stood, hawking -and spitting and smirking. Now he was sitting -down on a <i>pliant</i> beside her ... how angry the -young men were looking ... Madeleine was almost -certain she saw the Troguin girl exchange a look of despair -with one of them. Now, from his arch gesture, she could -see that he was praising the outline of her breasts and -regretting the jabot that hid them.... <i>Jésus!</i> his -provinciality! it was at least ten years ago since it -had been fashionable to praise a lady’s breasts! So -her thoughts ran on, while every moment she felt more -irritated.</p> - -<p>Then the fiddles struck up the air of ‘Sur le pont -d’Avignon,’ and the whole company formed up into -circles for the opening <i>Branle</i>.</p> - -<p>There was her father, grimacing and leaping like a -baboon in a nightmare, grave magistrates capering like -foals, and giving smacking kisses to their youthful -partners, young burghers shouting the words at the -top of their voices. The whole scene seemed to Madeleine -to grow every minute more unreal.</p> - -<p>Then the fiddles stopped and the circles broke up -into laughing, breathless groups. A young bourgeois, -beplumed and beribboned, and wearing absurd thick -shoes, came up to her, and taking off his great hat by -the crown, instead of, in the manner of ‘<i>les honnêtes -gens</i>,’ by the brim, made her a clumsy bow. He began -to ‘<i>galantise</i>’ her. Madeleine wondered if he had learned -the art from the elephant at a fair. She fixed him -with her great, still eyes. Then she found herself forced -to lead him out to dance a <i>Pavane</i>. The fiddles were -playing a faint, lonely tune, full of the sadness of light -things bound to a ponderous earth, for these were the -days before Lulli had made dance tunes gay. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -beautiful pageant had begun—the <i>Pavane</i>, proud and -preposterous as a peacock or a Spaniard. Then some -old ladies sitting round the room began in thin, cracked -voices to sing according to a bygone fashion, the -words of the dance:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Approche donc, ma belle,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Approche-toi, mon bien;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ne me sois plus rebelle,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Puisque mon cœur est tien;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Pour mon âme apaiser,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Donne mois un baiser.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">They beat time with their fans, and their eyes filled with -tears. Gradually the song was taken up by the whole -room, the words rising up strong and triumphant:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Approche donc, ma belle,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Approche-toi, mon bien——’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Madeleine’s lips were parted into a little smile, and her -spellbound eyes filled with tears; then she saw Jacques -looking at her and his eyes were bright and mocking. -She blushed furiously.</p> - -<p>‘He is like Hylas, the mocking shepherd in the <i>Astrée</i>,’ -she told herself. ‘Hylas, hélas, Hylas, hélas,’ she -found herself muttering.</p> - -<p>After another pause for <i>Galanterie</i> and preserved -fruits, the violins broke into the slow, voluptuous -rhythm of the Saraband. The old ladies again beat -time with their fans, muttering ‘vraiment cela donne -à rêver.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine danced with Jacques and he never took -his eyes from her face, but hers were fixed and glassy, -and the words of the Sapphic Ode, ‘that man seems to -me the equal of the gods’ ... clothed itself, as with -a garment, with the melody.</p> - -<p>She was awakened from her reverie by feeling Jacques’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -grasp suddenly tighten on her hand. She looked at -him, he was white and scowling. A ripple of interest -was passing over the dancers, and all eyes were turned -to the door. Two or three young courtiers had just -come in, attracted by the sound of the fiddles. For in -those days courtiers claimed a vested right to lounge -uninvited into any bourgeois ball, and they were always -sure of an obsequious welcome.</p> - -<p>There was the Président Troguin puffily bowing to -them, and the Présidente bobbing and smirking and -offering refreshment. Young Brillon, the giver of the -fiddles, had left his partner, Marguerite Troguin, and -was standing awkwardly half-way to the door, unable -to make up his mind whether he should doff his hat to -the courtiers before they doffed theirs to him; but they -rudely ignored all three, and, swaggering up to the -fiddles, bade them stop playing.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Foi de gentilhomme</i>, I vow that it is of the last -consequence that this Saraband should die. It is really -ubiquitous,’ lisped one of them, a little <i>muguet</i>, with -a babyish face.</p> - -<p>‘It must be sent to America with the Prostitutes,’ -said another.</p> - -<p>‘That is furiously well turned, Vicomte. Really it -deserves to be put to the torture.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, because it is a danger to the kingdom, it debases -the coinage.’</p> - -<p>‘Why?’</p> - -<p>‘Because it generates tender emotions in so many -vulgar bosoms turning thus the fine gold of Cupid into -a base alloy!’</p> - -<p>‘Bravo! Comte, tu as de l’esprit infiniment.’</p> - -<p>During this bout of wit, the company had been quite -silent, trying hard to look amused, and in the picture.</p> - -<p>‘My friends, would you oblige us with the air of a -<i>Corante</i>?’ the Vicomte called out with a familiar wink<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -to the ‘Four Fiddles,’ with whom it behoved every -fashionable gallant to be on intimate terms. The -‘Fiddles’ with an answering wink, started the tune of -this new and most fashionable dance.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! I breathe again!’ cried the little Marquis. -They then proceeded to choose various ladies as partners, -discussing their points, as if they had been horses at a -Fair. The one they called Comte, a tall, military -looking man, chose Marguerite Troguin, at which -Brillon tried to assert himself by blustering out that the -lady was <i>his</i> partner. But the Comte only looked him -up and down, with an expression of unutterable disgust, -and turning to the Marquis, asked: ‘What <i>is</i> this <i>thing</i>?’ -Brillon subsided.</p> - -<p>Then they started the absurd <i>Corante</i>. The jumping -steps were performed on tip-toe, and punctuated by -countless bows and curtseys. There was a large -audience, as very few of the company had yet learned -it. When it was over, it was greeted with enthusiastic -applause.</p> - -<p>The courtiers proceeded to refresh themselves with -Hippocras and lemonade. Suddenly the little Marquis -seized the cloak of the Comte, and piped out in an -excited voice:—</p> - -<p>‘Look, Comte, over there ... I swear it is our old -friend, the ghost of the fashion of 1640!’</p> - -<p>‘It is, it is, it’s the black shadow of the white Ariane! -The <i>crotesque</i> and importunate gallant!’ They made a -dash for Monsieur Troqueville, who was trying hard to -look unconscious, and leaping round him beset him -with a volley of somewhat questionable jests. All eyes -were turned on him, eyebrows were raised, questioning -glances were exchanged. Madame Troqueville sat quite -motionless, gazing in front of her, determined not to -hear what they were saying. She would <i>not</i> be forced -to see things too closely.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p> - -<p>When they had finished with Monsieur Troqueville, -they bowed to the Présidente, studiously avoiding the -rest of the company in their salutation, and, according -to their picture of themselves, minced or swaggered out -of the room. Jacques followed them.</p> - -<p>This interlude had shaken Madeleine out of her -vastly agreeable dreams. The <i>muguets</i> had made her -feel unfinished and angular, and they had not even -asked her to dance. Then, their treatment of her father -had been a sharp reminder that after all she was by -birth nothing but a contemptible bourgeoise. But as -the evening’s gaiety gradually readjusted itself, so did -her picture of herself, and by the time of the final -<i>Branle</i>, she was once more drunk with vanity and -hope.</p> - -<p>The Troguins sent them back in their own coach, -and the drive through the fantastic Paris of the night -accentuated Madeleine’s sense of being in a dream. -There passed them from time to time troops of tipsy -gallants, their faces distorted by the flickering -lights of torches, and here and there the <i>lanternes vives</i> -of the pastry-cooks—brilliantly-lighted lanterns round -whose sides, painted in gay colours, danced a string of -grimacing beasts, geese, and apes, and hares and -elephants—showed bright and strange against the -darkness.</p> - -<p>Then the words:—</p> - -<p><i>La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!</i> echoed melancholy -in the distance. It was the cry of the <i>Oublieux</i>, -the sellers of wafers and the nightingales of seventeenth -century Paris, for they never began to cry their wares -before dusk.</p> - -<p><i>La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!</i></p> - -<p><i>Oublie, oublier!</i> The second time that evening there -came into Madeleine’s head a play on words.</p> - -<p><i>La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!</i> Could it be that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -the secret of <i>la joie</i> was nothing but this dream-sense -and—<i>l’oubli</i>?</p> - -<p>They found Jacques waiting for them, pale but -happy. He would not tell them why he had left the -ball-room, but he followed Madeleine to her room. -He was limping. And then, with eyes bright with -triumph, he described how, at their exit from the ball-room, -he had rallied the <i>Clercs</i> of the <i>Bazoche</i> (they -had stayed to play cards with the Troguin’s household), -how they had followed the courtiers, and, taking them -by surprise, had given them the soundest cudgelling -they had probably ever had in their lives. ‘Though -they put up a good fight!’ and he laughed ruefully -and rubbed his leg.</p> - -<p>‘How came it that they knew my father?’ Madeleine -asked. Jacques grinned.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Chop, should I tell you, it would savour of the -blab ... yet, all said, I would not have you lose so -good a diversion ... were I to tell you, you would -keep my counsel?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes.’</p> - -<p>Then he proceeded to tell her that her father had -fallen in love in Lyons with a courtesan called Ariane. -She had left Lyons to drive her trade in Paris, and that -was the true cause of his sudden desire to do the same. -On reaching Paris, his first act was to buy from the -stage wardrobe of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, an ancient -suit of tawdry finery, which long ago had turned a -courtier into the Spirit of Spring in a Royal Ballet. -This he had hidden away in the attic of an old Huguenot -widow who kept a tavern on the Mont Sainte-Geneviève, -and had proceeded to pester Ariane with letters and -doggerel imploring an interview—but in vain! Finally, -he had taken his courage in both hands, and donning his -finery—‘which he held to have the virtue of the -cestus of Venus!’ laughed Jacques—he had boldly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -marched into Ariane’s bedroom, only to be received -by a flood of insults and ridicule by that lady and her -gallants.</p> - -<p>Madeleine listened with a pale, set face. Why had -she been so pursued these last few days by her father’s -sordid <i>amours</i>?</p> - -<p>‘So this ... Ariane ... rejected my father’s suit?’ -she said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>‘Ay, that she did! How should she not?’ laughed -Jacques.</p> - -<p>‘And you gave your suffrage to the foolish enterprise?’</p> - -<p>Jacques looked rather sheepish.</p> - -<p>‘I am not of the stuff that can withstand so tempting -a diversion—why, ’twill be a jest to posterity! His -eager, foolish, obsequious face; <i>and</i> his tire! I’faith, I -would not have missed it for a kingdom!’ and he -tossed back his head and laughed delightedly.</p> - -<p>Hylas, <i>hélas</i>!... Jacques was limping ... Vulcan -was lame, wasn’t he? ‘In the smithy of Vulcan weapons -are being forged that will smash up your world of -<i>galanterie</i> and galamatias into a thousand fragments!’</p> - -<p>‘Why, Chop, you look sadly!’ he cried, with sudden -contrition. ‘’Tis finished and done with, and these -coxcombs’ impudence bred them, I can vouch for it, -a score of bruises apiece! Chop, come here! Why, -the most modish and <i>galant</i> folk have oftentimes had -the strangest <i>visionnaires</i> for fathers. There is Madame -de Chevreuse—who has not heard of the <i>naïvetés</i> and -<i>visions</i> of her father? And ’twas a strange madman -that begot the King himself!’ he said, thinking to have -found where the shoe pinched. But Madeleine remained -silent and unresponsive, and he left her.</p> - -<p>Yes, why had she been so pursued these last few -days by her father’s <i>amours</i>? It was strange that love<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> -should have brought him too from Lyons! And he -too had set his faith on the magical properties of -bravery! What if.... Then there swept over her the -memory of the Grecian Sappho, driving a host of nameless -fears back into the crannies of her mind. Besides—<i>to-morrow</i> -began the new era!</p> - -<p>She smiled ecstatically, and, tired though she was, -broke into a triumphant dance.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">AT THE HÔTEL DE RAMBOUILLET</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>When Madeleine awoke next morning, the feeling she -had had over night of being in a dream had by no -means left her.</p> - -<p>From the street rose the cries of the hawkers:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Ma belle herbe, anis fleur.’</p> - -<p>‘A la fraîche, à la fraîche, qui veut boire?’</p> - -<p>‘A ma belle poivée à mes beaux épinards! à mon bel -oignon!’</p> - -</div> - -<p>And then shrill and plaintive:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Vous désirez quelque cho-o-o-se?’</p> - -</div> - -<p>It was no longer a taunt but the prayer of a humble -familiar asking for its mistress’s orders, or, rather, of -Love the Pedlar waiting to sell her what she chose. -She opened her window and looked out. The length of -the narrow street the monstrous signs stuck out from -either side, heraldic lions, and sacred hearts, and blue -cats, and mothers of God, and <i>Maréchales</i> looking like -Polichinelle. It was as incongruous an assortment as -the signs of the Zodiac, as flat and fantastic as a pack -of cards——</p> - -<p>‘<i>Vous désirez quelque cho-o-ose?</i>’ She laughed aloud. -Then she suddenly remembered her vague misgivings -of the night before. She drew in her head and rushed -to her divination book. These were the lines her eyes -fell upon:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘ ... and she seemed in his mind to have said a thousand -good things, which, in reality, she had not said at all.’</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p> - -<p>For one moment Madeleine’s heart seemed to stop -beating. Did it mean that she was not going to get in -her prepared mots? No, the true interpretation was -surely that Mademoiselle de Scudéry would think her -even more brilliant than she actually was. She fell -on her knees and thanked her kind gods in anticipation.</p> - -<p>However, she too must do her part, must reinforce -the Power behind her, so over and over again she danced -out the scene at the Hôtel de Rambouillet, trying to -keep it exactly the same each time. ‘<i>Ah! dear Zénocrite! -here you come, leading our new Bergère.</i>’</p> - -<p>All the morning she seemed in a dream, and her -mother, father, Jacques, and Berthe hundreds of miles -away. She could not touch a morsel of food. ‘Ah! -the little creature with wings. I know, I know,’ Berthe -kept muttering.</p> - -<p>With her throat parched, and still in a strange, dry -dream, she went to dress. The magical <i>petite-oie</i> seemed -to her to take away all shabbiness from the serge bodice -and the petticoat of <i>camelot de Hollande</i>. Then, in a -flash, she remembered she had decided to add to her -purchases at the Fair a trimming of those wonderful -imitation jewels known as the <i>pierreries du Temple</i>. -The <i>petite-oie</i> had taken on the exigency of a magic -formulary, and its contents, to be efficacious, had to -conform as rigidly to the original conception as a -love-potion must to its receipt. In a few minutes she -would have to start, and the man who sold the stones -lived too far from Madame Cornuel for her to go there -first. She was in despair.</p> - -<p>At that moment the door opened, and in walked -Jacques; as a rule he did not come home till evening. -He sheepishly brought out of his hose an elaborate -arrangement of green beads.</p> - -<p>‘Having heard you prate of the <i>pierreries du Temple</i>, -I’ve brought you these glass gauds. I fear me they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -aren’t from the man in the Temple, for I failed to find -the place ... but these seemed pretty toys. I thought -maybe they would help you to cut a figure before old -Dame Scudéry.’</p> - -<p>It was truly a strange coincidence that he should have -brought her the very thing that at that very moment -she had been longing for. But was it the very thing? -For the first time that morning, Madeleine felt her -feet on earth. The beads were hideous and vulgar and -as unlike the <i>pierreries du Temple</i> as they were unlike -the emeralds they had taken as their model. She was -almost choked by a feeling of impotent rage.</p> - -<p>How dare Jacques be such a ninny with so little -knowledge of the fashion? How dare he expect a belle -to care for him, when he was such a miserable gallant -with such execrable taste in presents? The idea of giving -<i>her</i> rubbish like that! She would like to kill him!</p> - -<p>Always quick to see omens, her nerves, strung up -that morning to their highest pitch, felt in the gift the -most malignant significance. <i>Timeo Danaos et dona -ferentes</i>—I fear the Greeks even when they bear gifts. -She blanched, and furtively crossed herself. Having -said, in a dead voice, some words of thanks, she -silently pinned the bead trimming on to her bodice and -slowly left the room.</p> - -<p>It was time to start; she got into the little box-like -sedan. There was her mother standing at the door, -waving her hand, and wishing her good luck. She -was soon swinging along towards the Seine.</p> - -<p>When the house was out of sight, with rude, nervous -fingers she tore off the beads, and they fell in a shower -about the sedan. Though one could scarcely move in -the little hole, she managed to pick them all up, and -pulling back the curtain she flung them out of the -window. They were at that moment crossing the Pont-Neuf, -and she caught a glimpse of a crowd of beggars<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -and pages scrambling to pick them up. Recklessly -scattering jewels to the rabble! It was like a princess -in <i>Amadis</i>, or like the cardinal’s nieces, the two Mancini, -whose fabulous extravagance was the talk of the town. -Then she remembered that they were only glass beads. -Was it an omen that her grandeur would be always a -mere imitation of the real thing? Also—though she -had got rid of the hateful trimming, her <i>petite-oie</i> was -still incomplete. Should she risk keeping Madame -Cornuel waiting and go first to the man in the Temple? -No, charms or no charms, she was moving on to her -destiny, and felt deadly calm. What she had prayed -for was coming and she could not stop it now. Its inevitableness -frightened her, and she began to feel a -poignant longing for the old order, the comforting -rhythm of the rut she was used to, with the pleasant -feeling of every day drawing nearer to a miraculous -transformation of her circumstances.</p> - -<p>She pulled back the curtain again and peeped out, -the Seine was now behind them, and they were going -up la rue de la Mortellerie. Soon she would be in the -clutches of Madame Cornuel, and then there would be -no escape. Should she jump out of the sedan, or tell -the porters to take her home? She longed to; but if -she did, how was she to face the future? And what -ingratitude it would be for the exquisite tact with which -the gods had manipulated her meeting with Sappho! -the porters swung on and on, and Madeleine leaned back -and closed her eyes, hypnotised by the inevitable.</p> - -<p>The shafts of the sedan were put down with a jerk, -and Madeleine started up and shuddered. One of the -porters came to the window. ‘Rue Saint-Antoine, -Mademoiselle.’ Madeleine gave him a coin to divide -with his companion, opened the door, and walked into -the court. Madame Cornuel’s coach was standing -waiting before the door.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p> - -<p>She walked in and was shown by a valet into an -ante-room. She sat down, and began mechanically -repeating her litany. Suddenly, there was a rich -rustle of taffeta, the door opened, and in swept a very -handsomely-dressed young woman. Madeleine knew -that it must be Mademoiselle le Gendre, the daughter -of Monsieur Cornuel’s first wife. In a flash Madeleine -took in the elegant continence of her toilette. While -Madeleine had seven patches on her face, she had only -three. Her hair was exquisitely neat, and she was only -slightly scented, while her deep, plain collar <i>à la Régente</i>, -gave an air of puritanic severity to the bright, cherry-coloured -velvet of her bodice. Also, she was not nearly -as <i>décolletée</i> as Madeleine.</p> - -<p>Madeleine felt that all of a sudden her <i>petite-oie</i> -had lost both its decorative and magical virtue and had -become merely incongruous gawds on the patent shabbiness -of her gown. For some reason there flashed through -her head the words she had heard at the Fair: ‘As if -all the purple and fine linen of Solomon himself could -add an ounce of comeliness to his antic, foolish face.’</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle Troqueville? My step-mother awaits -us in the coach, will you come?’ said the lady. Her -manner was haughty and unfriendly. Madeleine -realised without a pang that it would all be like this. -But after all, nothing in this dull reality really mattered.</p> - -<p>‘Bestir yourself! ’Tis time we were away!’ shouted -a voice from the <i>carrosse</i>. Mademoiselle le Gendre told -Madeleine to get in.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle Troqueville? I am glad to make your -acquaintance—pray get in and take the back seat -opposite me.’ Madeleine humbly obeyed, indifferent -to what in her imaginings she would have looked upon -as an unforgivable insult, the putting her in the back -seat.</p> - -<p>‘Hôtel de Rambouillet,’ Madame Cornuel said to a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -lackey, who was waiting for orders at the window. -The words left Madeleine quite cold.</p> - -<p>Madame Cornuel and her step-daughter did not think -it necessary to talk to Madeleine. They exchanged -little remarks with each other at intervals, and laughed -at allusions which she could not catch.</p> - -<p>‘Are we to fetch Sappho?’ suddenly asked the -younger woman.</p> - -<p>‘No, she purposes coming later, and on foot.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine heard the name without a thrill.</p> - -<p>The coach rolled on, and Madeleine sat as if petrified. -Suddenly she galvanised herself into activity. In a few -minutes they would be there, and if she allowed herself -to arrive in this condition all would be lost. Why should -she let these two horrid women ruin her chance of -success? She muttered quickly to herself:—</p> - -<p>‘Oh! blessed Virgin, give me the friendship of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry,’ and then started gabbling -through her prepared scene.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘“Ah, dear Zénocrite, here you come, leading our new -<i>bergère</i>!” cries the lady on the bed. “Welcome, Mademoiselle, -I have been waiting with impatience to make your -acquaintance.”’</p> - -</div> - -<p>Would she get it finished before they arrived? She -felt all her happiness depended on it.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘“Madame, it would have been of no consequence, for the -Sibyl herself would have taken the conqueror captive.... -But, Mademoiselle, what, if you will pardon my -curiosity, induced you to leave your agreeable prairies?”’</p> - -</div> - -<p>They were passing the Palais Cardinal—soon they -would turn down the rue St Thomas du Louvre—she -had not much time.</p> - -<p>The coach was rolling into the court of the Hôtel de<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -Rambouillet and she had not finished. They got -out. A tall woman, aged about thirty, with reddish -hair and a face badly marked by smallpox, but in spite -of these two blemishes of an extremely elegant and distinguished -appearance, came towards them, screwing -up her eyes in the manner of the near-sighted. Her -top petticoat was full of flowers; she was too short-sighted -to recognise Madame Cornuel till she was quite -close, then she dropped a mock-low curtsey, and drawled -‘Ma-a-a-dame.’ Madame Cornuel laughed: evidently -she had imitated a mutual acquaintance. With a -sudden sense of exclusion Madeleine gave up hope.</p> - -<p>‘Are you following the example of our friend of the -Faubourg St-Germain, may I inquire?’ asked Madame -Cornuel, with a little smile, pointing to the flowers, -at which her step-daughter laughed, and the tall red-haired -lady made a <i>moue</i> and answered with a deep -sigh:—</p> - -<p>‘Ah! the wit of the Marais!’ The meaning of this -esoteric persiflage was entirely lost on Madeleine, and -she sat with an absolutely expressionless face, trying -to hide her own embarrassment.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! pardon me, I had forgotten,’ Madame Cornuel -exclaimed. ‘Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, allow me -to present to you Mademoiselle Troqueville.’ (It may -have been Madeleine’s imagination, but it seemed to -her that Madame Cornuel paused before calling her -Mademoiselle.) Mademoiselle de Rambouillet screwed -up her eyes at her and smiled quite pleasantly, while -Madeleine, absolutely tongue-tied, tried to perform the -almost impossible task of curtseying in a coach. They -got out, and went inside, the three others continuing -their mystifying conversation.</p> - -<p>They went up a staircase and through one large -splendid room after another. So here was Madeleine, -actually in the famous ‘Palais de Cléomire,’ as it was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -called in <i>Cyrus</i>, but the fact did not move her, indeed -she did not even realise it. Once Mademoiselle de -Rambouillet turned round and said to her:—</p> - -<p>‘I fear ’tis a long journey, Mademoiselle,’ but the -manner in which she screwed up her eyes both terrified -and embarrassed her, so instead of answering she -merely blushed and muttered something under her -breath.</p> - -<p>Finally they reached Madame de Rambouillet’s bedroom -(she had ceased for some years to receive in the -<i>Salle Bleue</i>). She was lying on a bed in an alcove and -there were several people in the <i>ruelle</i>; as the thick -velvet curtains of the windows were drawn Madeleine -got merely an impression of rich, rare objects glowing -like jewels out of the semi-darkness, but in a flash she -took in the appearance of Madame de Rambouillet. -Her face was pale and her lips a bright crimson, which -was obviously not their natural colour; she had large -brown eyes with heavy pinkish eyelids, and the only -sign that she was a day over fifty was a slight trembling -of the head. She was wearing a loose gown of some -soft gray material, and on her head were <i>cornettes</i> of -exquisite lace trimmed with pale yellow ribbons. One -of her hands was lying on the blue coverlet, it was so -thin that its veins looked almost like the blue of the -coverlet shining through. The fingers were piled up -with beautiful rings.</p> - -<p>There was a flutter round the bed, and then Madeleine -found herself being presented to the Marquise.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! Mademoiselle Toctin, I am ravished to make -your acquaintance,’ she said in a wonderfully melodious -voice, with a just perceptible Italian accent. ‘You -come from delicious Marseilles, do you not? You will -be able to recount to us strange Orient romances of -orange-trees and Turkish soldiers. Angélique, bring -Mademoiselle Touville a <i>pliant</i>, and place it close to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -me, and I will warm myself at her Southern -<i>historiettes</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘It is from Lyons that I come, not from Marseilles,’ -was the only repartee of which at the moment Madeleine -was capable. Her voice sounded strange and harsh, -and she quite forgot a ‘Madame.’ However, the Marquise -did not hear, as she had turned to another guest. But -Angélique de Rambouillet heard, and so did another -lady, with an olive complexion and remarkably bright -eyes, whom Madeleine guessed to be Madame de Montausier, -the famous ‘Princesse Julie.’ They exchanged -glances of delight, and Madeleine began to blush, and -blush, though, as a matter of fact, it was by their -mother they were amused.</p> - -<p>In the meantime a very tall, elderly man, with a -hatchet face, came stumbling towards her.</p> - -<p>‘You have not a chair, have you, Mademoiselle?’</p> - -<p>‘Here it is, father,’ said Angélique, who was bringing -one up.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! that is right, Mademoiselle er ... er ... er -... will sit here.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine took to this kind, polite man, and felt a -little happier. He sat down beside her and made a -few remarks, which Madeleine, full of the will to be -agreeable, answered as best she could, endeavouring to -make up by pleasant smiles for her sudden lack of -<i>esprit</i>. But, unfortunately, the Marquis was almost -stone-blind, so the smiles were lost upon him, and before -long Madeleine noticed by his absent laugh and amused -expression that his attention was wandering to the -conversation of the others.</p> - -<p>‘I am of opinion you would look inexpressibly <i>galant</i> -in a scarlet hat, Marquis,’ Madame de Rambouillet was -saying to a short, swarthy man with a rather saturnine -expression. They all looked at him mischievously. -‘Julie would be obliged to join Yvonne in the Convent,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -but there would be naught to hinder you from keeping -Marie-Julie at your side as your <i>adopted</i> daughter.’ -The company laughed a little, the laugh of people too -thoroughly intimate to need to make any effort. ‘Monsieur -de Grasse is wearing his episcopal smile—look at -him, pray! Come, Monseigneur, you <i>must</i> confess -that a scarlet hat would become him to a marvel,’ -and Madame de Rambouillet turned her brilliant, -mischievous eyes on a tiny prelate with a face like -a naughty schoolboy’s.</p> - -<p>He had been called Monsieur de Grasse. Could he, -then, be the famous Godeau, bishop and poet? It -seemed impossible. For Saint Thomas is the patron -saint of provincials when they meet celebrities in the -flesh.</p> - -<p>‘I fear Monsieur’s head would be somewhat too <i>large</i> -to wear it with comfort,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>‘Hark to the episcopal <i>fleurette</i>! Marquis, rise up -and bow!’ but the only answer from the object of these -witticisms was a surly grunt. Another idle smile rippled -round the circle, and then there fell a silence of comfortable -intimacy. If Madeleine had suddenly found -herself in the kingdom of Prester John she could not -have understood less of what was going on around her.</p> - -<p>‘Madame Cornuel has a furiously <i>galante historiette</i> -she is burning to communicate to us,’ said Mademoiselle -de Rambouillet, screwing up her eyes at Madame Cornuel.</p> - -<p>‘Julie, bid Monsieur de Grasse go upstairs to play -with Marie-Julie, and then Madame Cornuel will -tell it.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur de Grasse——’</p> - -<p>‘Madame la Marquise come to my rescue! I too -would fain hear the <i>historiette</i>!’</p> - -<p>‘Nolo episcopari, hein?’</p> - -<p>‘Now, then, be obedient, and get you to Marie-Julie!’</p> - -<p>‘Where can I take refuge?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p> - -<p>‘If there were a hazel-nut at hand, ’twould serve -your purpose.’</p> - -<p>‘No, Madame la Marquise, permit me to hide within -your locket.’</p> - -<p>‘As you will. Now, Madame, we are all attention.’</p> - -<p>Throughout this fooling, Madeleine had sat with -aching jaws stretched into a smile, trying desperately -hard not to look out of it. They all looked towards -Madame Cornuel, who sat smiling in unruffled silence.</p> - -<p>‘Madame?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, Mademoiselle, tell me who is to be its heroine, -who its hero, and what its plot, and then I will recount -it to you,’ she said. They seemed to think this very -witty, and laughed heartily. There was another pause, -and Madeleine again made an attempt to engage the -Marquis’s attention.</p> - -<p>‘The ... the ... the houses in Paris ... seem -to me most goodly structures,’ she began. He gave his -nervous laugh.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, yes, we have some rare architects these days. -Have you been to see the new buildings of the Val de -Grâce?’</p> - -<p>‘No, I have not ... er ... it is a Convent, is it not?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes. Under the patronage of Notre Dame de la -Crêche.’</p> - -<p>His attention began to wander again; she made a -frantic effort to rekindle the flames of the dying topic.</p> - -<p>‘What a strange name it is—Val de Grâce, what do -you think can be its meaning?’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, yes,’ with his nervous laugh, ‘Val de Grâce, -doubtless there is some legend connected with it.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine gave up in despair.</p> - -<p>The languid, intimate talk and humorous silences -had suddenly turned into something more animated.</p> - -<p>‘Madame de Sablé vows that she saw her there with -her own eyes, and that she was dressed in a <i>justaucorps</i>.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> - -<p>‘Sophie has seen more things than the legendary -Argos!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, it has been turned into a Vaudeville in her -quarter.’</p> - -<p>‘In good earnest, has it? What an excellent diversion! -Julie, pray ask Madame d’Aiguillon about it -and tell us. Go to-day.’</p> - -<p>‘I daren’t; “my dear, my dear, <i>cela fait dévotion</i> -and that puts me in mind, the Reine-Mère got a special -chalice of Florentine enamel and I must——” Roqueten, -Roqueten, Roquetine.’</p> - -<p>‘Upon my life, the woman’s talk has less of -meaning than a magpie’s!’ growled Madeleine to -herself.</p> - -<p>At that moment the door opened and in came a -tall, middle-aged woman, swarthy, and very ugly. She -was dressed in a plain gown of gray serge. Her face -was wreathed in an agreeable smile, that made her -look like a civil horse.</p> - -<p>Madeleine had forgotten all about Mademoiselle de -Scudéry, but when this lady came in, it all came rushing -back; she got cold all over, and if before she had -longed to be a thousand miles away, she now longed to -be ten thousand.</p> - -<p>There was a general cry of:—</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle: the very person we were in need -of. You know everything. Tell us all about the -Présidente Tambonneau, but avoid, in your narration, -an excessive charity.’</p> - -<p>‘If you talk with the tongues of men and of Angels -and yet <i>have</i> Charity, ye are become as sounding brass -and as a tinkling cymbal,’ said Madame Cornuel in her -clear, slow voice. She spoke rarely, but when she did -it was with the air of enunciating an oracle.</p> - -<p>‘Humph! That is a fault that <i>you</i> are rarely guilty -of!’ growled Montausier quite audibly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span></p> - -<p>‘The Présidente Tambonneau? No new extravagance -of hers has reached my ears. What is there to tell?’ -said the new-comer. She spoke in a loud, rather rasping -voice, and still went on smiling civilly.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, you ladies of the Marais, every one is aware -that you are omniscient, and yet you are perfect misers -of your <i>historiettes</i>!’</p> - -<p>‘Sappho, we must combine against the <i>quartier du -Palais Cardinal</i>, albeit they <i>do</i> call us “omniscient.” -It sounds infinitely <i>galant</i>, but I am to seek as to its -meaning,’ said Madame Cornuel.</p> - -<p>‘Ask Mademoiselle, she is in the last intimacy with -the <i>Maréchal des mots</i>; it is reported he has raised a -whole new company to fight under his <i>Pucelle</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘From all accounts, she is in sore need of support, -poor lady. Madame de Longueville says she is -“<i>parfaitement belle mais parfaitement ennuyeuse</i>,”’ said -Mademoiselle de Rambouillet very dryly.</p> - -<p>‘That would serve as an excellent epitome of divers -among our friends,’ murmured Madame de Montausier.</p> - -<p>‘Poor Chapelain! all said, he, by merely being -himself, has added infinitely more to our diversion -than the wittiest person in the world,’ said Madame de -Rambouillet, looking mischievously at Mademoiselle -de Scudéry, who, though still wearing the same smile, -was evidently not pleased.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, Marquis, when you are made a duke, you would -do well to employ Monsieur Chapelain as your jester. -Ridiculous, solemn people are in reality much more -diverting than wits,’ said Mademoiselle de Rambouillet -to Montausier, who looked extremely displeased, and -said in angry, didactic tones:—</p> - -<p>‘Chapelain a des sentiments fins et delicats, il raisonne -juste, et dans ses œuvres on y trouve de nobles et -fortes expressions,’ and getting up he walked over to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and they were soon talking -earnestly together.</p> - -<p>Madeleine all this time had been torn between terror -of being introduced to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and -terror of not being introduced. Her face was absolutely -impassive, and she had ceased to pretend to take any -interest in what was going on around her.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she heard Madame de Rambouillet saying -to Monsieur de Grasse:—</p> - -<p>‘You remember Julie’s and her sister’s <i>vision</i> about -night-caps?’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, yes, and the trick played on them by Voiture, -and the poor, excellent Marquis de Pisani.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ she answered, with a little sigh and a smile. -‘Well, it has been inherited by little Marie-Julie, whenever -she beholds one she becomes transfixed by terror. -<i>Visions</i> are strange things!’</p> - -<p>Madeleine for the first time that afternoon felt happy -and pleased. She herself had always loathed night-caps, -and as a child had screamed with terror whenever -she had seen any one wearing one. What a strange -coincidence that this <i>vision</i> should be shared by Madame -de Rambouillet’s daughters! She turned eagerly to -the Marquis.</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur, I hear Madame la Marquise telling how -Mesdames her daughters were wont to be affrighted -by night-caps; when I was a child, they worked on me -in a like manner, and to speak truth, to this day I have -a dislike to them.’</p> - -<p>‘Indeed, indeed,’ he answered, with his nervous -laugh. ‘Yes, my daughters had quite a <i>vision</i> as to -night-caps. Doubtless ’twas linked in their memory -with some foolish, monstrous fable they had heard -from one of their attendants. ’Tis strange, but our -little granddaughter has inherited the fear and she -refuses to kiss us if we are wearing one.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span></p> - -<p>Alas! There was no crack through which Madeleine -could get in her own personality! The Marquis got up -and stumbled across the room to Mademoiselle de -Scudéry, and Montausier, having to give up his chair, -sat down by Madeleine. There was a cry of ‘Ah! -here she comes!’</p> - -<p>The door opened and a little girl of about seven -years old walked into the room, followed by a <i>gouvernante</i> -who stood respectfully in the doorway. The child -was dressed in a miniature Court dress, cut low and -square at the neck. She had a little pointed face, and -eyes with a slight outward squint. She made a beautiful -curtsey, first to her grandmother and then to the -company.</p> - -<p>‘My dearest treasure,’ Madame de Rambouillet cried -in her beautiful husky voice. ‘Come and greet your -friend, Monsieur de Grasse.’</p> - -<p>Every one had stopped talking and were looking at -the child with varying degrees of interest. Madeleine -felt suddenly fiercely jealous of her; she stole a glance -at Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and saw on her face the -universal smile of tolerant amusement with which -grown-up people regard children. The child went up -to Godeau, kissed his ring, and then busily and deliberately -found a foot-stool for herself, dragged it up to -Madame de Rambouillet’s bed, and sat down on it.</p> - -<p>‘The little lady already has the <i>tabouret chez la reine</i>,’<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> -said Mademoiselle de Scudéry, smiling and bowing to -Madame de Rambouillet. The child, however, did not -understand the witticism; she looked offended, frowned, -and said severely:—</p> - -<p>‘I am working a <i>tabouret</i> for myself,’ and then, as if -to soften what she evidently had meant for a snub,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -she added: ‘It has crimson flowers on it, and a blue -saint feeding birds.’</p> - -<p>Montausier went into fits of proud laughter.</p> - -<p>‘There is a bit of hagiology for you to interpret, -Monsieur de Grasse,’ he cried triumphantly, suddenly -in quite a good temper, and looking round to see if the -others were amused. Godeau looked interested and -serious.</p> - -<p>‘That must be a most rare and delicate <i>tabouret</i>, -Mademoiselle,’ he said; ‘do you know what the saint’s -name is?’</p> - -<p>‘No, I thank you,’ she answered politely, but wearily, -and they all again went into peals of laughter.</p> - -<p>‘My love,’ said Madame de Rambouillet. ‘I am -certain Monsieur de Grasse and that lady,’ nodding -towards Mademoiselle de Scudéry, ‘would be enchanted -by those delicious verses you wrote for my birthday, -will you recite them?’</p> - -<p>But the child shook her head, backwards and forwards, -the more she was entreated, the more energetically -she shook her head, evidently enjoying the process -for its own sake. Then she climbed on to her grandmother’s -bed and whispered something in her ear. -Madame de Rambouillet shook with laughter, and -after they had whispered together for some minutes the -child left the room. Madame de Rambouillet then told -the company that Marie-Julie’s reason for not wishing to -recite her poem was that she had heard her father say -that all <i>hommes de lettres</i> were thieves and were quite -unprincipled about using each other’s writings, and she -was afraid that Mademoiselle de Scudéry or Monsieur -de Grasse might, if they heard her poem, publish it -as their own. There was much laughter, and Montausier -was in ecstasies.</p> - -<p>‘I am impatient for you to hear the poem,’ said -Madame de Rambouillet. ‘It is quite delicious.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span></p> - -<p>‘Yes, my daughter promises to be a second Neuf-germain!’<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> -said Madame de Montausier, smiling.</p> - -<p>‘What a Nemesis, that a mother who has inspired so -many delicious verses, and a father——’ began -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, but just then the child came -back with her head disappearing into a large beplumed -man’s hat, and carrying a shepherd’s crook in her hand.</p> - -<p>‘I am a Muse,’ she announced, and the company -exchanged delighted, bewildered glances.</p> - -<p>‘Now, I will begin.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, pray do, my dear love,’ said Madame de Rambouillet, -trying to compose her face.</p> - -<p>‘The initial letters form my grandmother’s name: -Cathérine,’ she explained, and then, taking her stand -in the middle of the room, began to declaim with great -unction:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Chérie, vous êtes aimable et</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Aussi belle que votre perroquet,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Toujours souriante et douce.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Hélas! j’ai piqué mon pouce</div> - <div class="verse indent0">En brodant pour votre jour de fête</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Rien qu’une bourse qui n’est pas bête.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">J’aime ma Grandmère, c’est ma chatte,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Nellie, mon petit chien, donne lui ta patte,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Et lèche la avec ta petite langue.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>She then made a little bow to the company, and sat -down again on her <i>tabouret</i>, quite undisturbed by the -enthusiastic applause that had followed her recitation.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle,’ began Godeau solemnly, ‘words fail -me, to use the delicious expression of Saint Amant, -with which to praise your ravishing verses as they -deserve. But if the Abbé Ménage were here, I think he -might ask you if the <i>qui</i> in ... let me see ... the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -sixth line, refers to the <i>bourse</i> or to the act of pricking -your finger. Because if, as I imagine, it is to the latter, -the laws of our language demand the insertion of a <i>ce</i> -before the <i>qui</i>, while the unwritten laws of universal -experience assert that the action of pricking one’s -finger should be called <i>bête</i> not <i>pas bête</i>. We writers -must be prepared for this sort of ignoble criticism.’</p> - -<p>‘Of course the <i>qui</i> refers to <i>bourse</i>,’ said Madame de -Montausier, for the child was looking bewildered. -‘You will pardon me but what an exceeding foolish -question from a Member of the Academy! It was -<i>bête</i> to prick one’s finger, but who, with justice, could -call <i>bête</i> a <i>bourse</i> of most quaint and excellent design? -Is it not so, <i>ma chatte</i>?’ The child nodded solemnly, -and Monsieur de Grasse was profuse in his apologies for -his stupidity.</p> - -<p>Madeleine had noticed that the only member of the -company, except herself, who had not been entranced -by this performance, was Mademoiselle de Scudéry. -Though she smiled the whole time, and was profuse in -her compliments, yet she was evidently bored. Instead -of pleasing Madeleine, this shocked her, it also made -her rather despise her, for being out of it.</p> - -<p>She turned to Montausier and said timidly:—</p> - -<p>‘I should dearly love to see Mademoiselle <i>votre fille</i> -and the Cardinal’s baby niece together. They would -make a delicious pair.’ But Montausier either really -did not hear, or pretended not to, and Madeleine had -the horrible embarrassment of speaking to air.</p> - -<p>‘Who is that <i>demoiselle</i>?’ the child suddenly cried -in a shrill voice, looking at Madeleine.</p> - -<p>‘That is Mademoiselle Hoqueville, my love.’</p> - -<p>‘Hoqueville! <i>what</i> a droll name!’ and she went into -peals of shrill laughter. The grandparents and mother -of the child smiled apologetically at Madeleine, but -she, in agony at being humiliated, as she considered,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -before Mademoiselle de Scudéry, tried to improve -matters by looking haughty and angry. However, this -remark reminded Madame de Rambouillet of Madeleine’s -existence, and she exclaimed:—</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Mademoiselle Hoqueville, you have, as yet, -seen naught of the hôtel. Marie-Julie, my love, go and -say <i>bon-jour</i> to that lady and ask her if she will accompany -you to the <i>salle bleue</i>.’</p> - -<p>The child obediently went over to Madeleine, curtseyed, -and held out her hand. Madeleine was not -certain whether she ought to curtsey back or merely -bow without rising from the chair. She compromised -in a cross between the two, which made her feel extremely -foolish. On being asked if she would like to -see <i>la salle bleue</i>, she had to say yes, and followed the -child out of the room.</p> - -<p>She followed her through a little <i>cabinet</i>, and then -they were in the famous room, sung by so many poets, -the scene of so many gay and brilliant happenings.</p> - -<p>Madeleine’s first feeling was one of intense relief at -being freed from the strain of the bedroom, then, as -it were, she galvanised into activity her demand upon -life, and felt in despair at losing even a few moments -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s company. The child -walked on in front humming a little tune to herself. -Madeleine felt she must pull herself together, and make -friends with her.</p> - -<p>‘What rare and skilful verses those were you recited -to us,’ she began, her voice harshly breaking the silence -of the huge room. The child looked at her out of her -crab-eyes, pursed up her mouth, and went on humming.</p> - -<p>‘Do you dearly love your little dog?’</p> - -<p>‘Haven’t got one.’ This was startling.</p> - -<p>‘But you made mention of one in your poem,’ said -Madeleine in an aggrieved tone.</p> - -<p>The child screamed with scornful laughter:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span></p> - -<p>‘She isn’t <i>mine</i>, she’s Aunt Angélique’s!’ she cried, -and looked at Madeleine as if she must be mad for -having made such a mistake. There was another pause. -Madeleine sighed wearily and went to look at the -famous tapestry, the child followed her.</p> - -<p>Its design consisted of groups of small pastoral -figures disporting themselves in a blue Arcady. In one -group there was a shepherdess sitting on a rustic bench, -surrounded by shepherds; a nymph was offering her a -basket of flowers. The child pointed to the shepherdess: -‘That is my grandmother, and that is me bringing her -flowers, and that is my father, and that is Monsieur -Sarrasin, and that is my dear Maître Claude!’ ... -This was better. Madeleine made a violent effort to be -suitably fantastic.</p> - -<p>‘It may be when you are asleep you do in truth -become that nymph and live in the tapestry.’ The child -stared at her, frowned, and continued her catalogue:—</p> - -<p>‘And that is my mother, and that is Aunt Angélique, -and that is Madame de Longueville, and that is Madame -de Sablé, and that is Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld, -and that is my little friend Mademoiselle de Sévigné,’ -and so on.</p> - -<p>When she had been through the list of her acquaintances, -she wandered off and began to play with a box -of ivory puzzles. Madeleine, in a final attempt to -ingratiate herself, found for her some of the missing -pieces, at which her mouth began to tremble, and -Madeleine realised that all the pleasure lay in doing it -by herself, so she left her, and with a heavy heart -crept back to the bedroom.</p> - -<p>She found Madame Cornuel and Mademoiselle -Legendre preparing to go, and supposing they had -already said good-bye, solemnly curtseyed to all the -company in turn. They responded with great friendliness -and kindness, but she suddenly noticed Madame<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -Cornuel exchanging glances with her step-daughter, -and realised in a flash that by making her <i>adieux</i> she -had been guilty of a provincialism. She smiled grimly -to herself. What did it matter?</p> - -<p>Madame Cornuel dropped her in the rue Saint-Honoré, -and she walked quietly home.</p> - -<p>She had not exchanged a single word with Mademoiselle -de Scudéry.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> -<span class="smaller">AFTERWARDS</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>Madeleine walked up the petite rue du Paon, in at -the baker’s door, and upstairs. She still felt numbed, -but knew that before her were the pains of returning -circulation; Madame Troqueville heard her come in and -ran out from the kitchen, full of smiles and questions. -Madeleine told her in a calm voice that it had all been -delightful, praised the agreeable manners of the Rambouillets, -and described the treasures of the <i>salle bleue</i>. -She repeated the quaint sayings of the child, and -Madame Troqueville cried ‘<i>Quel amour!</i> Oh, Madeleine, -I would like you to have just such another little -daughter!’</p> - -<p>Madeleine smiled wearily.</p> - -<p>‘And what of Mademoiselle de Scu-tary?’ her mother -asked rather nervously.</p> - -<p>‘De Scudéry,’ corrected Madeleine, true to habit. -‘She was furiously <i>spirituelle</i> and very ... civil. I -am a trifle tired.... I think I will away and rest,’ -and she dragged herself wearily off to her own room. -Madame Troqueville, who had watched her very unhappily, -made as if she would follow her, but thought -better of it.</p> - -<p>When Madeleine got into her room, she sat down -on her bed, and clasped her head. She could not, she -would not think. Then, like a wave of ecstasy there -swept over her little points she had noticed about -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, but which had not at the -time thrilled her in the slightest. Her teeth were -rather long; she had a mole on her left cheek; she was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -not as grandly dressed as the others; the child had -snubbed her; Montausier had been very attentive to -her; she was a great celebrity; Madame de Rambouillet -had teased her. This medley of recollections, each and -all of them made her feel quite faint with pleasure, so -desirable did they make her love appear. But then ... -she had not spoken to her ... she had been humiliated -before her.... Oh! it was not to be faced! Her -teeth were rather long. Montausier had been attentive to -her ... oh, how thrilling! And yet ... she, Madeleine -had not even been introduced to her. The supernal -powers had seemed to have a scrupulous regard for her -wishes. They had actually arranged that the first -meeting should be at the Hôtel de Rambouillet ... -and she had not even been introduced to her! Could -it be possible that the Virgin had played her a trick? -Should she turn and rend in mad fury the whole -Heavenly Host? No; that would be accepting defeat -once for all, and that must not be, for the past as well -as the future was malleable, and it was only by emotionally -accepting it that a thing became a fact. This -strange undercurrent of thought translated itself thus -in her consciousness: God and the Virgin must be -trusted; they had only disclosed a tiny bit of their -design, what madness then, to turn against them, thus -smashing perhaps their perfect scheme for her happiness! -Or perhaps her own co-operation had not been -adequate—she had perhaps not been instant enough -in dancing—but still ... but still ... the visit to -the Hôtel de Rambouillet was over, she had seen -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and was still not one inch -nearer to her heart’s desire. She <i>could</i> not face it.</p> - -<p>She came down to supper. Her father was silent -and gloomy, shaking his head and twisting his lips. -His visit to <i>his</i> lady had been a failure. Was there -... could there be ... some mystical connection?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -And there was Jacques still limping ... and he had -given her that horrid bead trimming.... <i>No, no, no</i> -... these were insane, goblin ideas that must be crushed.</p> - -<p>Her mother was trying hard to be cheerful, and -Jacques kept looking at her anxiously. When supper -was over she went up to her room, half hoping, half -fearing that he would follow.</p> - -<p>Shortly there was a scratch at the door (with great -difficulty she had persuaded him to adopt the fashionable -scratch—to knock was <i>bourgeois</i>).</p> - -<p>He came in, and gave her a look with his bright eyes, -at once compassionate and whimsical. She felt herself -dully hoping that he would not ask why she was not -wearing the bead trimming. He did not, but began to tell -her of his day, spent mostly at the Palais and a tavern. -But all the time he watched her; she listened languidly. -‘How went the <i>fête galante</i>?’ he asked, after a pause.</p> - -<p>‘It was furiously <i>galante</i>,’ she answered with a tragic -smile. He walked slowly up to her, half smiling all the -time, sat down on her bed, and put his arm around her.</p> - -<p>‘You are cruelly unhappy, my poor one, I know. But -’twill pass, in time all caprices yield to graver things.’</p> - -<p>‘But it is no caprice!’ she cried passionately. ‘Oh, -Jacques, it is hard to make my meaning clear, but -they be real live people with their own pursuits ... -they are all square like little fat boxes ... oh, how -can I make you understand?’</p> - -<p>Jacques could not help laughing. ‘I’m sure, ’tis -hateful of them to be like boxes; though, in truth, for -my part, I am to seek ... oh, Madeleine, dear life, -it’s dreadful to be miserable ... the cursed <i>phantasia</i>, -what tricks it plays us ... ’tis a mountebank, don’t -heed it but put your faith in the good old <i>bourgeois</i> -intellect,’ but Madeleine, ignoring this comfort from -Gassendi, moaned out,—</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Jacques! I want to die ... you see, ’tis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -this way—they’ve got their own lives and memories, -folded up all tight around them. Oh! can no one ever -get to know any one else?’</p> - -<p>He began to understand.</p> - -<p>‘Indeed one can, but it takes time. One has to hew -a path through the blood, through the humours, up -to the brain, and, once there, create the Passion of -Admiration. How can it be done at once?’</p> - -<p>‘I can’t wait ... I can’t wait ... except things -come at once I’ll have none of them ... at least that’s -not quite my meaning,’ she added hurriedly, looking furtively -round and crossing herself several times. ‘Oh! but -I don’t feel that I am of a humour that can wait.... -Oh! I feel something sick and weak in me somewhere.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s but those knavish old animal spirits playing -tricks on the will, but I think that it is only because -one is young,’ and he would have launched out on a -philosophical dissertation, only Madeleine felt that she -could not stand it.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Don’t</i>, Jacques!’ she screamed. ‘Talk about <i>me</i>, or -I shall go mad!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, then, recount to me the whole matter.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! there is nothing worth the telling, but they -<i>would</i> make dædal pleasantries—pleasantries one fails to -understand, except one have a clue—and they would -talk about people with whom I was not acquainted.... -Oh! it seems past human compassing to make -friends with a person except one has known them all -one’s life! How <i>could</i> I utter my conceit if they -would converse of matters I did not understand?’ she -repeated furiously. Jacques smiled.</p> - -<p>‘I admit,’ he said dryly, ‘to be show man of a troupe -of marionettes is an agreeable profession.’ She looked -at him suspiciously for a second, and then catching his -hands, cried desperately:—</p> - -<p>‘Is it beyond our powers ever to make a <i>new</i> friend?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> - -<p>‘That it is not, but it can’t be effected at once. -I am sure that those <i>Messieurs de Port-Royal</i> would tell -you that even Jesus Christ finds ’tis but a slow business -worming His way into a person’s heart. There He -stands, knocking and knocking, and then——’ Madeleine -saw that he was on the point of becoming profane, and -as her gods did not like profanity, she crossed herself -and cut in with:—</p> - -<p>‘But even admitting one can’t come to any degree -of intimacy with a person at once, the <i>beginning</i> of the -intimacy must happen at once, and I’m at a loss to know -how the beginning can happen at once any more than -the whole thing.’</p> - -<p>She had got into one of her tight knots of nerves, -when she craved to be reasoned with, if only for the -satisfaction of confounding the reasons offered her. -Jacques clasped his head and laughed.</p> - -<p>‘You put me in mind of the philosophy class and old -Zeno! It’s this way, two people meet, nothing takes -place perhaps. They meet again, and one gives a little -look, it may be, that sets the bells of the other’s memory -pleasantly ringing, or says some little thing that tickles -the humours of the other, and thus a current is set up -between them ... a fluid, which gradually reaches -the heart and solidifies into friendship.’</p> - -<p>‘But then, there might never be the “little look,” -or the “little word,” and then ... there would be -no friendship’ (she crossed herself) ‘ ... it all seems -at the mercy of Chance.’</p> - -<p>‘Of chance ... and of harmony. ’Tis a matter -beyond dispute that we are more in sympathy with -some souls than with others—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Il est des nœuds secrets, il est des sympathies,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dont par le doux rapport les âmes assorties ...</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">you know these lines in <i>Rodogune</i>?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p> - -<p>‘And do you hold that sympathy can push its -way past ... obstacles ... such as bashfulness, for -example?’</p> - -<p>Jacques smiled.</p> - -<p>‘In good earnest it can.’ Suddenly her nerves relaxed.</p> - -<p>‘Then it is <i>not</i> contrary to natural laws to make a -new friend?’ she cried joyfully.</p> - -<p>‘That it is not. And who knows, the rôles may be -reversed ere long and we shall see old Mother Scudéry -on her knees, while Chop plays the proud spurner! -What said that rude, harsh, untaught Grecian poetess -whose naked numbers brought a modest blush to your -“precious” taste?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Who flees—she shall pursue;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who spurns gifts—she shall offer them;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who loves not—willy-nilly, she shall love.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Madeleine gave a little sob of joy and flung her -arms round Jacques’s neck. Oh, he was right, he was -right! Had she not herself feared that immediate -success would be <i>bourgeois</i>? ’Twould be breaking every -law of <i>galanterie</i> were Sappho to yield without a struggle. -It took Céladon twelve stout volumes before he won -his Astrée, and, as Jacques had pointed out, Christ -Himself, with all the armaments of Heaven at His -disposal, does not at once break through the ramparts -of a Christian’s heart. But yet ... but yet ... her -relationship with Mademoiselle de Scudéry that afternoon -could not, with the most elastic poetic licence, -be described as that of ‘the nymph that flees, the faun -that pursues!’ Also ... she was not made of stuff -stern enough to endure repeated rebuffs and disappointments. -Already, her nerves were worn to breaking-point. -A one-volumed romance was all her fortitude -could face.... God grant the course of true love -to run smooth from now.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> - -<p>Jacques shortly left her, and she went to bed.</p> - -<p>Outside Jacques ran into Madame Troqueville, who -said she wished to speak to him. They went into her -room.</p> - -<p>‘Jacques,’ she began, ‘I am uneasy about Madeleine. -I greatly fear things fell not out as she had hoped. -Did she tell you aught of what took place?’</p> - -<p>‘I think she is somewhat unhappy because they -didn’t all call her <i>tu</i> right away ... oh, I had forgotten, -she holds it <i>bourgeois</i> to <i>tutoier</i>,’ he answered, -smiling. Madame Troqueville smiled a little too.</p> - -<p>‘My poor child, she is of so impatient a humour, -and expects so much,’ and she sighed. ‘Jacques, tell -me about your uncle. Are you of opinion he will make -his way in Paris?’ She looked at him searchingly. -Her eyes were clear and cold like Madeleine’s.</p> - -<p>Jacques blushed and frowned; he felt angry with her -for asking him. But her eyes were still fixed on his face.</p> - -<p>‘How can I tell, aunt? It hangs on all ... on all -these presidents and people.’</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville gave a little shrug, and her lips -curled into a tiny, bitter smile. ‘I wonder why men -always hold women to be blind, when in reality their -eyes are so exceeding sharp. Jacques, for my sake, -and for Madeleine’s, for the child’s future doth so -depend on it, won’t you endeavour to keep your uncle -from ... from all these places.... I know you take -your pleasure together, and I am of opinion you have -some influence with him.’ Jacques was very embarrassed -and very angry; it was really, he felt, expecting -too much of a young man to try and make him responsible -for his middle-aged uncle.</p> - -<p>‘I fear I can do nothing, aunt. ’Tis no business of -mine,’ he said coldly, and they parted for the night.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">REBUILDING THE HOUSE OF CARDS</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>All next day Madeleine had the feeling of something -near her which she must, if she wished to live, push -away, away, right out of her memory. Her vanity -was too vigilant to have allowed her to give to Jacques -a <i>full</i> account of the scene at the Hôtel de Rambouillet. -The fixed smile, the failure to interest the Marquis, -that awful exit, for instance, were too indecent to be -mentioned. Even her thoughts blushed at their -memory, and shuddered away from it—partly, perhaps, -because at the back of her consciousness there dwelt -always the imaginary Sappho, so that to recall these -things was to be humiliated anew in her presence.</p> - -<p>In fact, the whole scene at the Hôtel de Rambouillet -must be forgotten, and that quickly, for it had been a -descent into that ruthless world of reality in which -Madeleine could not breathe. That world tyrannised -over by the co-sovereigns Cause and Effect, blown -upon by sharp, rough winds, and—most horrible of -all—fretted with the counter-claims on happiness of -myriads of individuals just as ‘square’ and real as she. -In such a world how could she—with such frightful -odds against her—hope for success, for <i>here</i> she was so -impotent, merely a <i>gauche</i> young girl of no position?</p> - -<p>There were times, as I have shown, when she felt a -<i>nostalgie</i> for the world of reality, as a safe fresh place, -but now ... in God’s name, back to her dreams.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Madeleine is entering the door of Sappho’s house. -Sappho is lying on her bed, surrounded by her demoiselles.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -(This time Madeleine visualises her quite clearly. She is -swarthy and plain.) When she sees Madeleine, she gives -a little blush, which caresses the motion of Madeleine’s -passions, and fills her with as sweet an expectancy as the -rhythm of a Saraband. Madeleine comes forward, and -kissing her hand says, with the most gallant air in the -world: ‘I am well aware, Madame, that poets are exempt -from the tax to <i>la Dame Vérité</i>, and that they have set -up in her place another Sovereign. So when you gave -me the other day the gracious permission to wait on you, -I had, I admit, a slight fear that you were speaking as -the subject of this sovereign, whose name, I believe, is -<i>le joli Mensonge</i>, and that by taking you at your word, -I would prove myself an eager, ignorant Scythian, unable -to understand what is said, and—more important still—what -is not said, by the citizens of the polite hemisphere. -Madame, I would ten times rather earn such a reputation, -I would ten times rather be an unwelcome visitor, than -to wait another day before I saw you.’ It is a bold speech, -and which, if made by any one else would surely have -aroused all Sappho’s pride and prudishness. At first she -colours and seems slightly confused, and then, she lets a -smile have its own way. She changes the subject, however.</p> - -<p>‘Do you consider,’ she asks, ‘that the society of Lesbos -compensates, if I may use the expression, for the enamelled -prairies and melodious brooks of Bœotia? For my own -part, I know few greater pleasures than to sojourn in a -rustic place with my lyre and a few chosen friends.’ -These last two words awake the lover’s gadfly, jealousy, -and causes it to give Madeleine a sharp sting.</p> - -<p>‘I should imagine, Madame,’ she says coldly, ‘that by -this means you must carry Lesbos with you wherever you -go, and although it is one of the most agreeable spots on -earth, this must deprive you of many of the delights of -travel.’</p> - -<p>‘I see that you take me for a provincial of the metropolis,’ -says Sappho with a smile full of delicious raillery and in -which Madeleine imagines she detects a realising of her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -jealousy and a certain pleasure in it, so that, in spite of -herself, smiling also, she answers,—</p> - -<p>‘One has but to read your ravishing verses, which are -as fresh, as full of pomp, and as flowery as a summer -meadow, to know that your pleasure in pastoral joys -is as great as your pleasure in intercourse with <i>les honnêtes -gens</i>, and the other attractions of the town. And this is -combined with such marvellous talent that in your poetry, -the trees offer a pleasanter shade, the flowers a sweeter -odour, the brooks a more soothing lullaby than in earth’s -most agreeable glades.’</p> - -<p>‘If you hold,’ answers Sappho smiling, ‘that my verses -make things fairer than they really are, you cannot consider -them really admirable, for surely the closer art resembles -nature the more excellent it becomes.’</p> - -<p>‘Pardon me, Madame,’ says Madeleine, also smiling, -‘but we who believe that there are gods and goddesses -ten times fairer than the fairest person on earth, must -also believe that somewhere there exist for these divine -beings habitations ten times fairer than the fairest of -earth’s meadows. And you, Madame, have been carried -to these habitations on the wings of the Muses, and in -your verses you describe the delicious visions you have -there beheld.’</p> - -<p>Sappho cannot keep a look of gratification from lighting -up her fine eyes.</p> - -<p>‘You think, then, that I have visited the Elysian -Fields?’ she asks.</p> - -<p>‘Most certainly,’ rejoins Madeleine quickly. ‘Did I -not call you the other day, in the Palais de Cléomire, the -Sybil of Cumæ?’ She pauses, and draws just the eighth -of an inch closer to Sappho. ‘As such, you are the -authorised guide to the Elysian Fields. May I hope that -some day you will be <i>my</i> conductress there?’</p> - -<p>‘Then, as well, I am the “appointed guide” to Avernus,’ -says Sappho with a delicious laugh. ‘Will you be willing -to descend there also?’</p> - -<p>‘With you as my guide ... yes,’ answers Madeleine.</p> - -<p>There follows one of <i>ces beaux silences</i>, more gallant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -than the most agreeable conversation: one of the silences -during which the wings of Cupid can almost be heard -fluttering. Why does the presence of that mignon god, -all dimples and rose-buds, terrify mortals as well as delight -them?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Thus did Madeleine’s dreams quietly readjust themselves -to their normal state and scornfully tremble -away from reality.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_II">PART II</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Cela t’amuse-t-il tant, me dit-il, d’édifier ainsi des systèmes?’</p> - -<p>‘Rien ne m’amuse plus qu’une éthique, répondis-je, et je m’y -contente l’esprit. Je ne goûte pas une joie que je ne l’y veuille -attachée.’</p> - -<p>‘Cela l’augmente-t-il?’</p> - -<p>‘Non, dis-je, cela me la légitime.’</p> - -<p>Certes, il m’a plu souvent qu’une doctrine et même qu’un -système complet de pensées ordonnées justifiât à moi-même mes -actes; mais parfois je ne l’ai pu considérer que comme l’abri -de ma sensualité.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">André Gide.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FÊTE-DIEU</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>It was the Sunday of the octave of the <i>Fête-Dieu</i>—the -Feast of <i>Corpus Christi.</i> God Himself had walked the -streets like Agamemnon over purple draperies. The -stench of the city had mingled with the perfume of a -thousand lilies—to the Protestant mind, a symbol of -the central doctrine of the day—Transubstantiation. -Transubstantiation beaten out by the cold, throbbing -logic of the Latin hymns of Saint Thomas Aquinas, and -triumphantly confirmed at Bologna by the miraculous -bleeding of the Host.</p> - -<p>Seraphic logic and bleeding bread! A conjunction -such as this hints at a secret vice of the cold and immaculate -intellect. What if one came in a dark corner -of one’s dreams upon a celestial spirit feeding upon -carrion?</p> - -<p>Past gorgeous altars, past houses still hung with -arras, the Troquevilles walked to Mass. From time to -time they met processions of children apeing the solemn -doings of Thursday, led by tiny, mock priests, shrilly -chanting the office of the day. Other children passed -in the scanty clothing of little Saint John, leading -lambs on pink or blue ribbons. Everything sparkled -in the May sunshine, and the air was full of the scent -of flowers.</p> - -<p><i>Et introibo ad altare Dei: ad Deum qui lætificat -juventutem meam</i>—very shortly they would be hearing -these words in Church. They were solemn, sunny words -well suited to the day, but, like the day, to Madeleine -they seemed but a mockery. <i>Ad Deum qui lætificat<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -juventutem meam</i>—To God who makes glad my youth! -Where was the kind God of the Semi-Pelagians, and -what joy did <i>she</i> have in her youth?</p> - -<p>They walked in silence to their destination—the smug -<i>bourgeois</i> Church Saint-André-des-Arts. Its atmosphere -and furniture did not lend themselves to religious -ecstasy. Among the congregation there was whispering -and tittering and bows of recognition. The gallants -were looking at the belles, and the belles were trying -not to look at the gallants. From marble tombs smirked -many a petrified magistrate, to whose vacuous pomposity -the witty commemorative art of the day had -added by a wise elimination of the third dimension, a -flat, mocking, decorative charm.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the frivolity vanished from the atmosphere. -Monsieur Troqueville, who had been alternately yawning -and spitting, pulled himself together and put on what -Jacques called his ‘Mass face’—one of critical solemnity -which seemed to say: ‘Here I am with a completely -unbiassed mind, quite unprejudiced, and a fine judicial -gift for sifting evidence. I am quite willing to believe -that you have the power of turning bread into the -Body and Blood of Christ, but mind! no hocus-pocus, -and not one tiny crumb left untransubstantiated!’</p> - -<p>The clergy in the red vestments, symbolic in France -of the Blessed Sacrament, preceded by solemn thurifer, -marched in procession from the sacristy to the altar. -And then began the Sacrifice of High Mass.</p> - -<p>The <i>Introit</i> melted into the <i>Kyrie</i>, the <i>Kyrie</i> swelled -into the <i>Gloria in excelsis</i>. The subdeacon sang the -Epistle, the deacon sang the Gospel. The Gospel and -Epistle solidified into the fine rigidity of the Creed.</p> - -<p>Madeleine, quite unmoved by the solemn drama, was -examining the creases in the neck of a fat merchant -immediately in front of her. There were three real -creases—the small half ones did not count—and as there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -were three lines in her Litany she might use them as a -sort of Rosary. She felt that she must ‘tell’ the three -creases before he turned his head.</p> - -<p>‘Blessed Virgin, Mother of Our Lord, give me the -friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Guardian -Angel that watchest over me, give me the friendship of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Blessed Saint Magdalene, -give me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’</p> - -<p>Suddenly ... the sweet, nauseating smell of incense -and the strange music of the Preface—an echo of the -music of Paradise, so said the legend, caught in dreams -by holy apostolic men.</p> - -<p><i>Quia per incarnati Verbi mysterium nova inentis -nostræ oculis lux tuæ claritatis infulsit: ut dum visibiliter -Deum cognoscimus per hunc in INVISIBILIUM -AMOREM RAPIAMUR.</i></p> - -<p>Dozens of times before had Madeleine heard these -terse Latin words, but to-day, for the first time, she felt -their significance. ‘Caught up to the love of invisible -things’—<i>rapiamur</i>—a ghostly rape—the idea was -beautiful and terrible. Suddenly a great longing swept -over her for the still, significant life of the Spirit, for -the shadowy lining of this bright, hard earth. Yet on -earth itself strange lives had been led ... symbols, -and bitter-sweet sacrifice, and little cells suddenly -filled with the sound of great waters.</p> - -<p>A ghostly rape ... she had a sudden vision of the -nervous hands of the Almighty clutching tightly the -yielding flesh of a thick, human body, as in a picture -by the Flemish Rubens she had seen in the Luxembourg. -Surely the body was that of the fat merchant with the -wrinkled neck ... there ... sitting in front of her. -Something is happening ... there are acolytes with -lighted tapers ... a bell is ringing ... the central -Mystery is being consummated. For one strange, -poignant second Madeleine felt herself in a world of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -non-bulk and non-colour. She buried her face in her -hands and, though her mind formed no articulate prayer, -she worshipped the Unseen. Her mundane desires had, -for the moment, dropped from her and their place -was taken by her old ambition of one day being able -to go up to the altar, strong in grace, a true penitent, -to partake of the inestimable blessing of the Eucharist.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">ROBERT PILOU’S SCREEN</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>When Mass was over, Madeleine walked home with -her parents in absolute silence. She was terribly afraid -of losing the flavour of her recent experience. She -specially dreaded Jacques. He was such a scoffer; -besides, at this moment, she felt a great distaste for the -insincerity of her relationship with him. However, as -it happened, he did not come in to dinner that day.</p> - -<p>After dinner she went to her room and lay down -on her bed, in the hopes of sleeping, and so guarding her -religious emotion from the contamination of thoughts -and desires—for, at the bottom of her heart, she knew -quite well that her obsession was only dozing. Finally, -she did fall asleep, and slept for some hours.</p> - -<p>When she awoke, it was half-past four, and she -realised with joy that she had nursed successfully the -mystic atmosphere. She felt a need for space and -fresh air, and hastily put on her pattens, mask, and -cloak. As she came out of her room, her mother -appeared from the parlour.</p> - -<p>‘Madeleine—dear life—whither in the name of -madness, are you bound? You cannot be contemplating -walking alone? Why, ’twill soon be dusk! Jacques -should shortly return, and he’ll accompany you!’</p> - -<p>This was unbearable. In a perfect frenzy, lest the -spell should be broken, Madeleine gathered up her -petticoats and made a dash for the staircase.</p> - -<p>‘Madeleine! Madeleine! Is the child demented? -Come back! I command you!’</p> - -<p>‘For God’s sake, <i>let me be</i>!’ screeched Madeleine<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -furiously from half-way down the stairs. ‘Curse her! -With her shrill importunity she has shattered the -serenity of my humour!’ she muttered to herself, in -the last stage of nervous irritation.</p> - -<p>She had half a mind to go back and spend the rest -of the afternoon in dinning into her mother that by -her untimely interruption she had arrested a <i>coup de -Grâce</i>, and come between her and her ultimate redemption. -But pleasant though this would be, the soft -sunshine of early June was more so, so she ran down -the stairs and into the street.</p> - -<p>At first she felt so irritated and ruffled that she -feared the spell was broken for ever, but gradually it -was renewed under the magical idleness of the Sunday -afternoon. In a house opposite some one was playing a -Saraband on the lute. From a neighbouring street came -the voices and laughter of children—otherwise the whole -neighbourhood seemed deserted.</p> - -<p>Down the long rue des Augustins, that narrowed to -a bright point towards the Seine, she wandered with -wide, staring eyes, to meet something, she knew not -what. Then up the quays she wandered, up and on, -still in a trance.</p> - -<p>Finally she took her stand on the Pont-Rouge, a -little wooden bridge long since replaced. For some -moments she gazed at the Seine urbanely flowing -between the temperate tints of its banks, and flanked -on its right by the long, gray gallery of the Louvre. -Everything was shrouded in a delicate distance-lending -haze; there was the Cité—miles and miles away it seemed—nuzzling -into the water and dominated by the twin -towers of Notre-Dame. They had caught the sun, and -though unsubstantial, they still looked sturdy—like -solid cubes of light. The uniform gray-greenness of -everything—Seine and Louvre and Cité—and a quality -in it all of decorative unreality, reminded Madeleine of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> -a great, flat, gray-green picture by Mantegna of the -death of Saint Sebastian, that she had seen in one of -the Palaces.</p> - -<p>The bell of Saint-Germain-des-Prés began to peal -for Vespers. She started murmuring to herself the -Vesper hymn—<i>Lucis Creator</i>:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Ne mens gravata crimine.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Vitæ sit exul munere,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dum nil perenne cogitat,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Seseque culpis illigat.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>‘Grant that the mind, borne down by the charge of -guilt, be not an exile from the fulfilment of life, perennially -pondering emptiness and binding itself by its -transgressions.’</p> - -<p>Yes, that was a prayer she had need of praying. -‘An exile from the fulfilment of life’—that was what -she had always feared to be. An exile in the provinces, -far from the full stream of life—but what was Paris -itself but a backwater, compared with the City of -God? ‘Perennially pondering emptiness’—yes, that -was her soul’s only exercise. She had long ceased to -ponder grave and pregnant matters. The time had come -to review once more her attitude to God and man.</p> - -<p>She had come lately to look upon God as a Being -with little sense of sin, who had a mild partiality for -<i>attrition</i> in His creatures, but who never demanded -<i>contrition</i>. And the compact into which she had entered -with Him was this: she was to offer Him a little lip-service, -perform daily some domestic duties and pretend -to Jacques she was in love with him; in return for -this He (aided by her dances) was to procure for her -the entrée into the inner circle of the Précieuses, and -the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry! And the -tenets of Jansenism—it was a long time since she had -boldly faced them. What were they?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span></p> - -<p>Every man is a tainted creature, fallen into an incurable -and permanent habit of sinning. His every -action, his every thought—beginning from the puny -egotism of his babyhood—is a loathsome sin in the eyes -of God. The only remedy for the diseased will that -prompts these sinful thoughts and actions is the -sovereign, infallible grace that God sends on those -whom He has decided in His secret councils to raise -to a state of triumphant purity. And what does this -Grace engender? An agony of repentance, a loathing -of things visible, and a burning longing for things -invisible—<i>in invisibilium amorem rapiamur</i>, yes, that is -the sublime and frigid fate of the true penitent.</p> - -<p>And she had actually deceived herself so far as to -think that the Arch-Enemy of sin manifested His goodness -like a weak, earthly father by gratifying one’s -worldly desires, one’s ‘concupiscence’ which Jansenius -calls the ‘source of all the other vices’! No, His gifts -to men were not these vain baubles, the heart’s desires, -but Grace, the Eucharist, His perpetual Presence on -the Altar—gigantic, austere benefits befitting this -solemn abstract universe, in which angels are helping -men in the fight for their immortal souls.</p> - -<p>Yes, this was the Catholic faith, this was the true -and living God, to Whose throne she had dared to -come with trivial requests and paltry bargainings.</p> - -<p>She felt this evening an almost physical craving for -perfect sincerity with herself, so without flinching she -turned her scrutiny upon her love for Mademoiselle -de Scudéry. There flashed into her mind the words -of Jansenius upon the sin of Adam:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘What could Adam love after God, away from whom -he had fallen? What could so sublime a spirit love but -the sublimest thing after God Himself, namely—<i>his own</i> -spirit?... This love, through which he wished, somehow,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -to take joy in himself, in as much as he could no -longer take joy in God, in itself did not long suffice. Soon -he apprehended its indigence, and that in it he would -never find happiness.</p> - -<p>‘Then, seeing that the way was barred that led back -to God, the source of true felicity from which he had cut -himself off, the want left in his nature precipitated -him towards the creatures here below, and he wandered -among them, hoping that <i>they</i> might satisfy the want. -Thence come those bubbling desires, whose name is legion; -those tight, cruel chains with which he is bound by the -creatures he loves, that bondage, not only of himself -but of all he imprisons by their love for him. Because, -once again, in this love of his for all other things, it is -above all <i>himself</i> that he holds dear. In all his frequent -delights it is always—and this is a remnant of his ancient -noble state—in <i>himself</i> that he professes to delight.’</p> - -</div> - -<p>How could she, knowing this passage, have deceived -herself into imagining she could save her soul by love -for a creature?</p> - -<p>The words of Jansenius were confirmed by those of -Saint Augustine:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘I lived in adultery away from Thee.... For the -friendship of this world is adultery against Thee,’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">and her own conscience confirmed them both, for it -whispered that her obsession for Mademoiselle de -Scudéry was nothing but a subtle development of her -<i>amour-propre</i>, and what was more, had swollen to such -dimensions as completely to blot out God from her -universe.</p> - -<p>Well, she stood condemned in all her desires and in -all her activities!</p> - -<p>What was to be done? With regard to one matter -at least her duty was clear. She must confess to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -Jacques that she had lied to him when she said she -loved him.</p> - -<p>And Mademoiselle de Scudéry ... would she be -called upon to chase her from her heart? Oh, the -cruelty of it! The horse-face and the plain gray gown -... the wonderful invention in <i>galanterie</i> made by herself -and the Grecian Sappho ... the delicious ‘light fire’ -of expectancy ... the desirability of being loved in -return ... the deep, deep roots it had taken in her -heart. To see the figure in gray serge growing smaller -and smaller as earth receded from her, and as her new -<i>amours</i>—the ‘invisible things’—drew her up, and up -with chill, shadowy arms—<i>she couldn’t, she couldn’t</i> -face it!</p> - -<p>In mental agony she leaned her elbows on the parapet -of the bridge, and pressing her fingers against her eyes, -she prayed passionately for guidance.</p> - -<p>When she opened them, two gallants were passing.</p> - -<p>‘Have you heard the <i>mot</i> Ninon made to the Queen -of Sweden?’ one was asking.</p> - -<p>‘No, what was it?’</p> - -<p>‘Her Majesty asked her for a definition of the -Précieuses, and Ninon said at once, “<i>Madame, les Précieuses -sont les Jansénistes de l’amour!</i>” ’Twas -prettily said, wasn’t it?’ They laughed, and were -soon out of sight.</p> - -<p>‘Les Précieuses sont les Jansénistes de l’amour!’ -Madeleine laughed aloud, as there swept over her a -flood of what she imagined to be divine illumination. -Her prayer for guidance had been miraculously answered, -and in a manner perfectly accordant with her own -wishes. It was obviously a case of Robert Pilou’s sacred -screen. ‘Profane history told by means of sacred prints -becomes sacred history.’ A Précieuse need only have a -knack of sacramentalism to become in the same way -a Jansenist, for there was a striking resemblance between<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -the two creeds. In their demands on their followers they -had the same superb disregard for human weakness, -and in both this disregard was coupled with a firm -belief in original sin (for the contempt and loathing with -which the Précieuses regarded the manners of all those -ignorant of their code sprang surely from a belief in -‘original boorishness’ which in their eyes was indistinguishable -from ‘original sin’), the only cure for which -was their own particular form of grace. And the -grace of the Précieuses, namely, <i>l’air galant</i>—that elusive -social quality which through six or seven pages of <i>Le -Grand Cyrus</i>, gracefully evades the definitions in which -the agile authoress is striving to hold it, that quality -without which the wittiest conversation is savourless, -the most graceful compliment without fragrance, that -quality which can be acquired by no amount of good-will -or application, and which can be found in the -muddiest poet and be lacking in the most elegant -courtier—did it not offer the closest parallel to the -mysterious grace of the Jansenists without which there -was no salvation, and which was sometimes given in -abundance to the greatest sinners and denied to the -most virtuous citizens? And then—most striking -analogy of all—the Précieuses’ conception of the true -lover possessed just those qualities demanded from us -by Saint Paul and the Jansenists. What finer symbol, -for instance, of the perfect Christian could be found -than that of the hero of the <i>Astrée</i>, Céladon, the perfect -lover?</p> - -<p>Yes, in spite of Saint Augustine’s condemnation of -the men ‘who blushed for a solecism,’ she could sanctify -her preciosity by making it the symbol of her spiritual -development, and—oh, rapture—she could sanctify -her obsession for Mademoiselle de Scudéry by making -it definitely the symbol of her love for Christ, not merely -a means of curing her <i>amour-propre</i>. Through <i>her</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -she would learn to know Him. Had it not been said by -Saint Augustine: ‘<i>My sin was just this, that I sought -for pleasure, grandeur, vanity, not in Him, but in His -creatures</i>,’ by which he surely meant that the love of the -creature for the creature was not in <i>itself</i> a sin, it only -became so when it led to forgetting the Creator.</p> - -<p>So, with singular rapidity this time, ‘La folie de la -Croix s’est atténuée.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was already twilight. In the Churches they would -be celebrating Compline. The choir would be singing: -‘<i>Jube, Domine, benedicere</i>,’ and the priest would answer: -‘<i>Noctem quietam et finem perfectum concedat nobis -Dominus omnipotens</i>.’</p> - -<p>The criers of wafers were beginning their nocturnal -song: ‘<i>La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!</i>’ It -was time to go home; her mother would be anxious; -she must try very hard not to be so inconsiderate.</p> - -<p>It was quite dark when she reached the petite rue -du Paon. She found Madame Troqueville almost frantic -with anxiety, so she flung her arms round her neck -and whispered her contrition for her present lateness -and her former ill-humour. Madame Troqueville pressed -her convulsively and whispered back that she was never -ill-humoured, and even if she were, it was no matter. -In the middle of this scene in came Berthe, nodding -and becking. ‘Ah! Mademoiselle is <i>câline</i> in her -ways! She is skilled in wheedling her parents—a -second Nausicaa!’</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">A DEMONSTRATION IN FAITH</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>The scruples with regard to having compromised with an -uncompromising God which Madeleine entertained in -spite of herself were silenced by the determination of -settling things with Jacques. For a right action is a -greater salve to conscience than a thousand good -resolutions.</p> - -<p>This determination gave her a double satisfaction, -for she had realised that the relationship was also a -sin against preciosity—and a very deadly sin to boot. -For one thing, <i>les honnêtes femmes</i> must never love -more than once, and then her shameful avowal that -‘<i>she loved him very much, and that he might take his fill -of kissing</i>,’ would surely cause the belles who staked their -reputation on never permitting a gallant to succeed in -expressing his sentiments and who were beginning to -shudder at even the ‘minor favours,’ such as the -acceptance of presents and the discreetest signs of the -chastest complacency, to fall into a swoon seven -fathoms deep of indignation, horror, and scorn.</p> - -<p>The retraction should be made that very evening, -she decided; it was to be her Bethel, a spiritual stone -set up as a covenant between herself and God. But -Jacques did not come back to supper that evening, -so it happened that she celebrated her new <i>coup de -grâce</i> in a vastly more agreeable manner.</p> - -<p>After supper she had gone into her own room and -had begun idly to turn over the pages of <i>Cyrus</i>, and, as -always happened, it soon awoke in her an agonising -sense of the author’s charms, and a craving for closer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -communion with her than was afforded by the perusal -of even these intimate pages. This closer communion -could only be reached through a dance. In a second -she was up and leaping:—</p> - -<p><i>She has gone to a ‘Samedi’ where she finds a select -circle of Sappho’s friends</i> ... then by a great effort -of will she checks herself. Is she a Jansenist or is she -not? And if she <i>is</i> a Jansenist, is this dancing reconcilable -with her tenets? As a means of moulding the -future it certainly is not, for the future has been decided -once and for all in God’s inscrutable councils. As a -mere recreation, it is probably harmless. But is there -no way of making it an integral part of her religious -life? Yes, from the standpoint of Semi-Pelagianism it -was a means of helping God to make the future, from -the standpoint of Jansenism it can be <i>a demonstration -in faith</i>, by which she tells God how safe her future is -in His hands, and how certain she is of His goodness -and mercy in the making of it.</p> - -<p>Then, an extra sanctity can be given to its contents -by the useful device of Robert Pilou’s screen—let -the talk be as witty and gallant as you please, -as long as every conceit has a mystical second -meaning.</p> - -<p>This settled, once more she started her dance.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>Madeleine has gone to a ‘Samedi’ at Mademoiselle -de Scudéry’s, where she finds a select circle of Sappho’s -friends.</i></p> - -<p><i>The talk drifts to the writings of ‘Callicrate,’ as the -late Monsieur Voiture was called.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘There is a certain verse of his from which an astute -reader can deduce that he was not a Jansenist,’ says -Madeleine, with a deliciously roguish smile. ‘Can any -of the company quote this verse?’</i></p> - -<p><i>A wave of amused interest passes over the room.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span></p> - -<p><i>‘I did not know that Callicrate was a theologian,’ says -Sappho.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘A theologian, yes, for he was an admirable professor of -love’s theory, but a real Christian, no, for he was but a -feeble and faithless lover,’ answers Madeleine, looking -straight into Sappho’s eyes. Sappho colours, and with -a laugh which thrills Madeleine’s ear, with a tiny note -of nervousness says</i>:—</p> - -<p><i>‘Well, Mademoiselle, prove your theory about Callicrate -by quoting the verses you allude to, and if you cannot -do so, we will exact a forfeit from you for being guilty of -the crime of having aroused the delightful emotion of -curiosity without the justification of being able to gratify -it.’ The company turn their smiling eyes on Madeleine, -who proceeds to quote the following lines</i>:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Ne laissez rien en vous capable de déplaire.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Faites-vous toute belle: et <i>tachez de parfaire</i></div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>L’ouvrage que les Dieux ont si fort avancé</i>:’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><i>‘Now these lines allow great power to <span class="antiqua">le libre arbitre</span>, -and suppose a collaboration between the gods and mortals -in the matter of the soul’s redemption, which would, I -am sure, bring a frown to the brows of <span class="antiqua">les Messieurs de -Port-Royale</span>.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Sappho, I think it is we that must pay forfeits to -Mademoiselle, not she to us, for she has vindicated herself -in the most <span class="antiqua">spirituel</span> manner in the world,’ says Cléodamas.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Let her lay a task on each of us that must be performed -within five minutes,’ suggests Philoxène.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Mademoiselle, what labours of Hercules are you going -to impose on us?’ asks Sappho, smiling at Madeleine. -Madeleine thinks for a moment and then says</i>:—</p> - -<p><i>‘Each of you must compose a <span class="antiqua">Proposition Galante</span> on -the model of one of the Five.’</i></p> - -<p><i>The company is delighted with the idea, and Théodamas<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -writes out the five original Propositions that the company -may have their models before them, and proceeds to read -them out</i>:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>(1) <i>Some of God’s commandments it is impossible -for the Just to obey owing to the present state of their -powers, in spite of the desire of doing so, and in spite of -great efforts: and the Grace by which they might obey -these commandments is lacking.</i></p> - -<p>(2) <i>That in the state of fallen nature, one never resists -the interior grace.</i></p> - -<p>(3) <i>That to merit and demerit in the state of fallen -nature, it is not necessary that man should have liberty -opposed to necessity (to will), but that it suffices that he -should have liberty opposed to constraint.</i></p> - -<p>(4) <i>That the Semi-Pelagians admitted the necessity -of the inward grace preceding every action, even the -inception of Faith, but that they were heretics in so far -as they held that grace to be of such a nature that the -will of man could either resist it or obey it.</i></p> - -<p>(5) <i>That it is a Semi-Pelagian error to say that the -Founder of our faith died and shed His blood universally, -for all men.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p><i>They all take out their tablets and begin to write. At -the end of five minutes Madeleine tells them to stop.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘I have taken the first as my model,’ says Sappho, -‘and indeed I have altered it only very slightly.’ The -company begs to hear it.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘No commandment of a lady is too difficult for an -<span class="antiqua">homme galant</span> to obey, for to him every lady is full of -grace, and this grace inspires him with powers more -than human.’</i></p> - -<p><i>Every one applauds, and expresses their appreciation -of her wit.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘And now,’ says Madeleine, ‘that our appetite has been -so deliciously whetted—if I may use the expression—by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -Sappho, have the rest of the company got their <span class="antiqua">ragoûts</span> -ready?</i>’</p> - -<p><i>Doralise looks at Théodamas, and Théodamas at -Philoxène, and they laugh.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Mademoiselle, blindness is the penalty for looking on -a goddess, and dumbness, I suppose, that of listening to -two Muses. We are unable to pay our forfeits,’ says -Théodamas, with a rueful smile.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Will not Mademoiselle rescue the Sorbonne <span class="antiqua">galante</span> -from ignominy, and herself supply the missing propositions?’ -says Sappho, throwing at Madeleine a glance, -at once arch and challenging.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Yes! Yes!’ cries the company, ‘let the learned -doctor herself compile the theology of Cupid!’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘When Sappho commands, even the doctors of the Sorbonne -obey,’ says Madeleine gallantly. ‘Well, then, I -will go on to the second proposition in which I will change -nothing but <span class="antiqua">one</span> word. “That in the state of fallen nature, -man never resists the <span class="antiqua">external</span> grace.”’ The company -laughs delightedly.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘By the third I must admit to be vanquished,’ she -continues, ‘the fourth is not unlike that of Sappho’s! -“That courtiers, although they admit the necessity of -feminine grace preceding every movement of their passions, -are heretics in so far that they hold the wishes of ladies to -be of such a nature that the will of man can either, as it -chooses, resist or obey them.”’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Delicious!’ cries the company, ‘that is furiously well -expressed, and a well-merited condemnation of Condé -and his petits-maîtres.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘And now we come to the fifth, which calls for as much -pruning as one of the famous Port-Royal pear-trees. -“That it is an error of provincials and other barbarians -to say that lovers burn with a universal flame, or that -<span class="antiqua">les honnêtes femmes</span> give their favours to <span class="antiqua">all</span> men.”’ -Loud applause follows.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> - -<p><i>‘Mademoiselle,’ says Théodamas, ‘you have converted -me to Jansenism.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Such a distinguished convert as the great Théodamas -will certainly compensate the sect for all the bulls launched -against it by the Holy Father,’ says Madeleine gallantly.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Well, I must admit that by one thing the Jansenists -have certainly added to <span class="antiqua">la douceur de la vie</span>, and that is -by what we may call their Miracle of the Graces,’ says Sappho.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘What does Madame mean by “the Miracle of the -Graces”?’ asks Madeleine, smiling.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘I mean the multiplication of what till their day had -been <span class="antiqua">three</span> Graces into <span class="antiqua">at least</span> four times that number. -To have done so deserves, I think, to be called a miracle.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘The most miraculous—if I may use the expression—of -the miracles recorded in the Lives of the Saints has -always seemed to me the Miracle of the Beautiful City,’ -says Madeleine innocently.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘What miracle is that? My memory fails me, if I -may use the expression,’ says Sappho, in a puzzled -voice.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Madame, I scarcely believe that a lady so widely and -exquisitely informed as Sappho of Lesbos in both what -pertains to mortals and in what pertains to gods, in short -in Homer and in Hesiod, should never have heard of the -“Miracle of the Beautiful City,”’ says Madeleine, in -mock surprise.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Then Mademoiselle—as you say you can scarcely -believe it—you show yourself to be a lady of but little -faith!’ says Sappho, her eye lighted by a delicious gleam -of raillery.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘I must confess that the miracle Mademoiselle mentions -has—if I may use the expression—escaped <span class="antiqua">my</span> memory -too,’ says Théodamas.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘And ours,’ say Doralise and Philoxène.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘So <span class="antiqua">this</span> company of all companies has never heard of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> -the Miracle of the Beautiful City!’ cries Madeleine. -‘Well, I will recount it to you.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Once upon a time, in a far barbarian country, there -lived a great saint. Everything about her was a miracle—her -eyes, her hands, her figure, and her wit. One night -an angel appeared to her and said: (I will not yet tell -you the saint’s name), “Take your lyre” (I forgot to -mention that the saint’s performance on this instrument -was also a miracle, and a furiously agreeable one), “Take -your lyre, and go and play upon it in the wilderness.” -And the saint obeyed the angel’s command, though the -wilderness was filled with lions and tigers and every other -ferocious beast. But when the saint began to play they -turned into ... doves and linnets.’ A tiny smile of -comprehension begins to play round the eyes of the company. -Madeleine goes on, quite gravely</i>:—</p> - -<p><i>‘But that was only a baby miracle beside that which -followed. As the saint played, out of the earth began to -spring golden palaces, surrounded by delicious gardens, -towers of porphyry, magnificent temples, in short, all -the agreeable monuments that go to the making of a great -city, and of which, as a rule, Time is the only building -contractor. But, in a few minutes, this great Saint built -it merely by playing on her lyre. Madame, the city’s -name was Pretty Wit, and the Saint’s name was ... -can the company tell me?’ and she looks roguishly round.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘It is a name of five letters, and its first letter is S -and its last O,’ says Théodamas, with a smile.</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Madeleine flung herself breathless and exhausted on -her bed.</p> - -<p>Deep down her conscience was wondering if she had -achieved a genuine reconciliation between Preciosity -and Jansenism.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">MOLOCH</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>The period that ensued was one of great happiness -for Madeleine. It was spent in floating on her own -interpretation of the Jansenists’ ‘full sea of grace,’ -happy in the certainty, secure in the faith, that God -in His own good time would grant her desires, and -reverse the rôles of fugitive and pursuer. And being -set free from the necessity of making her own future, -<i>ipso facto</i> she was also released from the importunities -of the gnat-like taboos and duties upon the doing or -not doing of which had seemed to depend her future -success.</p> - -<p>She felt at peace with God and with man, and her -family found her unusually gentle, calm, and sympathetic.</p> - -<p>But Bethel was not yet raised. This was partly due -to the inevitable torpor caused by an excess of faith. -If it was God’s will that she should have an explanation -with Jacques, He would furnish the occasion and the -words.</p> - -<p>So the evenings slipped by, and Madeleine continued -to receive Jacques’s caresses with an automatic -responsiveness.</p> - -<p>Then, at a party at the Troguins, she met a benevolent -though gouty old gentleman, in a black taffeta jerkin -and black velvet breeches, and he was none other than -Monsieur Conrart, perpetual secretary to the Academy, -and self-constituted master of the ceremonies at the -‘<i>Samedis</i>’ of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Madeleine -was introduced to him, and her demure attention to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> -his discourse, her modest demeanour, and her discreet -feminine intelligence pleased him extremely. She -made no conscious effort to attract him, she just trusted -God, and, to ring another change on her favourite <i>quolibet</i>, -it was as if <i>la Grâce</i> confided to the Graces the -secret of its own silent, automatic action. He grew -very paternal, patted her on the knee with his fat, -gouty hand, and focused his energies on the improvement -of <i>her</i> mind instead of the collective mind of -the company.</p> - -<p>The end of it was that he promised to take her with -him to the very next ‘<i>Samedi</i>.’</p> - -<p>On the way home, she and Jacques went for a stroll -in the Place Maubert, that favourite haunt of <i>petits-bourgeois</i>, -where in pathetic finery they aired their puny -pretensions to pass for <i>honnêtes gens</i>, or, more happily -constituted, exercised their capacity for loud laughter -and coarse wit, and the one privilege of their class, -that of making love in public.</p> - -<p>As a rule, Madeleine would rather have died than -have been seen walking in the Place Maubert, but now, -when her soul was floating on a sea of grace, so dazzlingly -sunny, it mattered but little in which of the paths of -earth her body chose to stray; however, this evening, -her happiness was a little disturbed by an inward -voice telling her that now was the time for enlightening -Jacques with regard to her feelings towards -him.</p> - -<p>She looked at him; he was a lovable creature and -she realised that she would sorely miss him. Then she -remembered that on Saturday she was going to see -Sappho, and in comparison with her the charm of pale, -chestnut-haired young men lost all potency. She was -going to see Sappho. God was very good!</p> - -<p>They were threading their way between squares of -box clipped in arabesque. It was sunset, and from a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -distant shrubbery there came the sounds of children -at their play. The pungent smell of box, the voices -of children playing at sunset; they brought to Madeleine -a sudden whiff of the long, nameless nostalgia of childhood, -a nostalgia for what? Perhaps for the <i>vitæ -munus</i> (the fulfilment of life) of the Vesper hymn; -well, on Saturday she would know the <i>vitæ munus</i>.</p> - -<p>She seized Jacques’s arm and, with shining eyes, -cried out: ‘Oh, God is exceeding merciful to His chosen! -He keeps the promise in the Psalms, He “maketh glad -our youth.” When I think on His great goodness ... -I want ... I want ... Oh, words fail me! How -comes it, Jacques, you do not see His footsteps everywhere -upon the earth?’ She was trembling with -exultation and her voice shook.</p> - -<p>Jacques looked at her gently, and his face was -troubled.</p> - -<p>‘One cannot reveal Grace to another by words and -argument,’ she went on, ‘each must <i>feel</i> it in his own -soul, but let it once be felt, then never more will one be -obnoxious to doubts on ghostly matters, willy-nilly -one will believe to all eternity!’</p> - -<p>They found a quiet little seat beside a fountain and -sat down. After a moment’s silence Madeleine once -more took up her <i>Te Deum</i>.</p> - -<p>‘Matter for thanksgiving is never wanting, as inch -by inch the veil is lifted from the eyes of one’s spirit to -discover in time the whole fair prospect of God’s most -amiable Providence. Oh, Jacques, <i>why</i> are you blind?’ -His only answer was to kick the pebbles, his eyes fixed -on the ground.</p> - -<p>Then, in rather a constrained voice, he said: ‘I -would rather put it thus; matter for <i>pain</i> is never -wanting to him who stares at the world with an honest -and unblinking eye. What sees he? Pain—pain—and -again pain. It is harsh and incredible to suppose that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -’twould be countenanced by a <i>good</i> God. What say -you, Chop, to pain?’</p> - -<p>Madeleine was pat with her answers from Jansenism—the -perfection of man’s estate before the Fall, when -there was granted him the culminating grace of free -will, his misuse of it by his choice of sin, and its -attendant, pain.</p> - -<p>Jacques was silent for a moment, and then he said:—</p> - -<p>‘I can conceive of no scale of virtues wherein room is -found for a lasting, durable, and unremitted anger, -venting itself on the progeny of its enemy unto the -tenth and twentieth-thousand generation. Yet, such -an anger was cherished by your God, towards the -children of Adam. Nor in any scale of virtues is there -place for the pregnant fancy of an artificer, who having -for his diversion moulded a puppet out of mud, to show, -forsooth, the cunning of his hand, makes that same -puppet sensible to pain and to affliction. Why, ’tis -a subtle malice of which even the sponsors of Pandora -were guiltless! Then his ignoble chicanery! With -truly kingly magnanimity he cedes to the puppet the -franchise of free will; but mark what follows! The -puppet, guileless and trusting, proceeds to enjoy its -freedom, when lo! down on its head descends the -thunder-bolt, that it may know free will must not be -exercised except in such manner as is accordant with the -purposes of the giver. The pettifogging attorney!</p> - -<p>‘Yes, your God is bloodier than Moloch, more perfectly -tyrant than Jove, more crafty and dishonest -than Mercury.</p> - -<p>‘Have you read the fourth book of Virgil’s <i>Æneid</i>? -In it I read a tragedy more pungent than the cozenage -of Dido—that of a race of mortals, quick in their apprehensions, -tender in their affections, sensible to the -dictates of conscience and of duty, who are governed -by gods, ferocious and malign, as far beneath them in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -the scale of creation as are the roaring lions of the -Libyan desert. And were I not possessed by the -certainty that your faith is but a monstrous fiction, -my wits would long ere now have left me in comparing -the rare properties of good men with those of your -low Hebrew idol.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine looked at him curiously. This was surely -a piece of prepared rhetoric, not a spontaneous outburst. -So she was not the only person who in her imagination -spouted eloquence to an admiring audience!</p> - -<p>Although she had no arguments with which to meet -his indictment, her faith, not a whit disturbed, continued -comfortably purring in her heart. But as she -did not wish to snub his outburst by silence—her mood -was too benevolent—she said:—</p> - -<p>‘Do you hold, then, that there is no good power -behind the little accidents of life?’</p> - -<p>‘The only good power lies in us ourselves, ’tis the -Will that Descartes writes of—a magic sword like to -the ones in <i>Amadis</i>, a delicate, sure weapon, not rusting -in the armoury of a tyrannical god, but ready to the -hand of every one of us to wield it when we choose. -<i>Les hommes de volonté</i>—they form the true <i>noblesse -d’épée</i>, and can snap their fingers at Hozier and his -heraldries,’ he paused, then said very gently, ‘Chop, -I sometimes fear that in your wild chase after winged -horses you may be cozened out of graver and more -enduring blessings, which, though they be not as rare -and pretty as chimeras....’</p> - -<p>‘Because you choose to stick on them the name of -chimeras,’ Madeleine interrupted with some heat, ‘it -does not a whit alter their true nature. Though your -mind may be too narrow to stable a winged horse, that -is no hindrance to its finding free pasturage in the -mind of God, of which the universe is the expression. -And even if they should be empty cheats—which they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -are <i>not</i>—do you not hold the Duc de Liancourt was -worthy of praise in that by a cunningly painted perspective -he has given the aspect of a noble park watered -by a fair river to his narrow garden in the Rue de -Seine?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, if we be on the subject of painted perspectives,’ -said Jacques, ‘it is reported that the late cardinal -in his villa at Rueil had painted on a wall at the end of -his <i>Citronière</i> the Arch of Constantine. ’Twas a life-size -cheat and so cunning an imitation of nature was -shown in the painting of sky and hills between the -arches, that foolish birds, thinking to fly through have -dashed themselves against the wall. Chop, it would -vex me sorely to see you one of these birds!’</p> - -<p>A frightened shadow came into Madeleine’s eyes, -and she furtively crossed herself. Then, once more, -she smiled serenely.</p> - -<p>For several moments they were silent, and then -Jacques said hesitatingly:—</p> - -<p>‘Dear little Chop ... I would have you deal quite -frankly with me, and tell me if you mean it when you -say you love me. There are moments when a doubt -... I <i>must</i> know the truth, Chop!’</p> - -<p>In an almost miraculous manner the way had been -made easy for her confession, and ... she put her -arms round his neck (in the Place Maubert you could -do these things) and feverishly assured him that she -loved him with all her heart.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">A VISIT TO THE ABBAYE OF PORT-ROYAL</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>Madeleine’s bitter self-reproaches for her own weakness -were of no avail. She had to acknowledge once -and for all that she had not the force to stand out -against another personality and tell them in cold blood -things they would not like. She could hedge and be -lukewarm—as when Jacques wished to be formally -affianced—but once she had got into a false position -she could not, if the feelings of others were involved, -extricate herself in a strong, straightforward way. -Would God be angry that she had not set up the -Bethel she had promised? No, because it was the true -God she was worshipping now, not merely the projection -of her own barbarous superstitions.</p> - -<p>At any rate, to be on the safe side, she would go -and visit Mère Agnès Arnauld at the Abbaye de Port-Royal -(a thing she should have done long ago) for that -would certainly please Him. So she wrote asking if -she might come, and got back a cordial note, fixing -Wednesday afternoon for the interview.</p> - -<p>In spite of her exalted mood, she did not look forward -to the meeting: ‘I hate having my soul probed,’ -she told herself in angry anticipation. She could not -have explained what hidden motive it was that forced -her on Wednesday to make up her face with Talc, -scent herself heavily with Ambre, and deck herself out -in all her most worldly finery.</p> - -<p>As it was a long walk to the Abbaye of Port-Royal—one -had to traverse the whole of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques—Madame -Troqueville insisted on Jacques<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> -accompanying her, and waiting for her, during the -interview, at the abbaye gates.</p> - -<p>They set out at about half-past two. Jacques seemed -much tickled by the whole proceeding, and said that he -longed for the cap of invisibility that, unseen, he might -assist at the interview.</p> - -<p>‘You’ll be a novice ere many months have passed!’ -he said, with a mischievous twinkle, ‘what will you -wager that you won’t?’</p> - -<p>‘All in this world and the next,’ Madeleine answered -passionately.</p> - -<p>‘As you will, time will show,’ and he nodded his -head mysteriously.</p> - -<p>‘Jacques, do not be so fantastical. Why, in the name -of madness, should I turn novice just because I visited -a nun? Jacques, do you hear me? I bid you to retract -your words!’</p> - -<p>‘And if I were to retract them, what would it boot -you? They would still be true. You’ll turn nun and -never clap eyes again on old Dame Scudéry!’ and -he shrieked with glee. Madeleine paled under her -rouge.</p> - -<p>‘So you would frustrate my hopes, and stick a curse -on me?’ she said in a voice trembling with fury. ‘I’ll -have none of your escort, let my mother rail as she -will, I’ll not be seen with one of your make; what are -you but my father’s bawd? Seek him out and get you -to your low revellings, I’ll on my way alone!’ and -carrying her head very high, she strutted on by herself.</p> - -<p>‘Why, Chop, you have studied rhetoric in the Halles, -the choiceness of your language would send old Scudéry -gibbering back to her native Parnassus!’ he called -after her mockingly, then, suddenly conscience-stricken, -he ran up to her and said, trying to take her hand: -‘Why, Chop, ’tis foolishness to let raillery work on you -so strangely! All said and done, what power have my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -light words to act upon your future? I am no prophet. -But as you give such credence to my words why then -I’ll say with solemn emphasis that you will <i>never</i> be a -novice, for no nuns would be so foolish as to let a whirlwind -take the veil. No, you’ll be cloistered all your days -with Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and with no other -living soul will you hold converse. Why, there’s a -pleasant, frigid, prophecy for you, are you content?’</p> - -<p>Madeleine relented sufficiently to smile at him and -let him take her hand, but she remained firm in her -resolve to forgo his further escort, so with a shrug he -left her, and went off on his own pursuits.</p> - -<p>As Madeleine passed through the Porte Saint-Jacques, -she seemed to leave behind her all the noisy operations -of man and to enter the quiet domain of God and -nature. On either side of her were orchards and -monasteries in which, leisurely, slowly, souls and fruit -were ripening. Over the fields of hay the passing -wind left its pale foot-prints. Peace had returned -to her soul.</p> - -<p>Soon she was ringing the bell of the Abbaye of Port-Royal—that -alembic of grace, for ever at its silent -work of distilling from the warm passions of human -souls, the icy draught of holiness—that mysterious -depository of the victims of the Heavenly Rape.</p> - -<p>She was shown into a waiting-room, bare and -scrupulously clean. On the wall hung crayon sketches -by Moustier of the various benefactors of the House. -Madeleine gazed respectfully at this gallery of blonde -ladies, simpering above their plump <i>décolletage</i>. They -were inscribed with such distinguished names as -Madame la Princesse de Guémené; Elizabeth de Choiseul-Praslin; -Dame Anne Harault de Chéverni; Louise-Marie -de Gonzagues de Clèves, Queen of Poland, who, -the inscription said, had been a pupil of the House, -and whom Madeleine knew to be an eminent Précieuse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> - -<p>Some day would another drawing be added to the -collection? A drawing wherein would be portrayed a -plain, swarthy woman in classic drapery, whose lyre -was supported by a young fair virgin gazing up at her, -and underneath these words:—</p> - -<p><i>Madeleine de Scudéry and Madeleine Troqueville, twin-stars -of talent, piety, and love, who, in their declining years -retreated to this House that they might sanctify the great -love one bore the other, by the contemplation of the love -of Jesus.</i></p> - -<p>Madeleine’s eyes filled with tears. Then a lay-sister -came in and said she would conduct her to the <i>parloir</i>.</p> - -<p>It was a great bare room, its only ornament a crucifix, -and behind the grille there sat a motionless figure—the -Mother Superior, Mère Agnès Arnauld. Her face, -slightly tanned and covered with clear, fine wrinkles, -seemed somehow to have been carved out of a very -hard substance, and this, together with the austere -setting of her white veil, gave her the look of one of the -Holy Women in a picture by Mantegna. Her hazel -eyes were clear and liquid and child-like.</p> - -<p>When Madeleine reached the grille, she smiled -charmingly, and said in a beautiful, caressing voice: -‘Dear little sister, I have desired to see you this long -time.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine mumbled some inaudible reply. She tried -to grasp the mystical fact that that face, these hands, -that torso behind the grille had been built up tissue -by tissue by the daily bread of the Eucharist into -the actual flesh of God Himself. It seemed almost -incredible!</p> - -<p>Why was the woman staring at her so fixedly? She -half expected her to break the silence with some reference -to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, so certain was she that to -these clear eyes her inmost thoughts lay naked to view.</p> - -<p>At last, the beautiful voice began again: ‘It would<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span> -seem you have now taken up your abode in Paris. Do -you like the city?’</p> - -<p>‘Exceeding well,’ Madeleine murmured.</p> - -<p>‘Exceeding well—yes—exceeding well,’ Mère Agnès -repeated after her, with a vague smile.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Madeleine realised that the intensity of her -gaze was due to absent-mindedness, and that she stared -at things without seeing them. All the same, she felt -that if this pregnant silence were to continue much -longer she would scream; she gave a nervous little giggle -and began to fiddle with her hands.</p> - -<p>‘And what is your manner of passing the time? -Have you visited any of the new buildings?’</p> - -<p>The woman was evidently at a loss for something to -say, why, in the name of madness, didn’t she -play her part and make inquiries about the state of -her disciple’s soul? Madeleine began to feel quite -offended.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I have seen the Palais Mazarin -and I have visited the Hôtel de Rambouillet.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, yes, the Hôtel de Rambouillet. My cousins -report it to be a very noble fabric. Some day when -the family is in the country you may be able to see -the apartments, which are adorned, I am told, in a most -rare and costly manner.’</p> - -<p>So she took it for granted that Madeleine had only -seen the outside! It was annoying, but it was no use -enlightening her, because, even if she listened, she -would not be in the least impressed.</p> - -<p>There was another pause, then Mère Agnès turned -on her a quick, kind glance, and said:—</p> - -<p>‘Talk to me of yourself!’</p> - -<p>‘What manner of things shall I tell you?’ Madeleine -asked nervously.</p> - -<p>‘What of theology? Do you still fret yourself over -seeming incongruities?’ she asked with a little twinkle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p> - -<p>‘No,’ Madeleine answered with a blush, ‘most of my -doubts have been resolved.’</p> - -<p>‘’Tis well, dear child, for abstracted speculation is -but an oppilation to the free motion of the spirit. -’Tis but a faulty instrument, the intellect, even for the -observing of the <i>works</i> of God, how little apt is it then, -for the apprehension of God Himself? But the spirit -is the sea of glass, wherein is imaged in lucid colours -and untrembling outlines the Golden City where dwells -the Lamb. Grace will be given to you, my child, to -gaze into that sea where all is clear.’</p> - -<p>She spoke in a soft, level, soothing voice. Her -words were a confirmation of what Madeleine had tried -to express to Jacques the other day in the garden of -the Place Maubert, but suddenly—she could not have -said why—she found herself echoing with much heat -those very theories of his that had seemed so absurd -to her then.</p> - -<p>‘But how comes it that God is good? He commands -<i>us</i> to forgive, while He Himself has need of unceasing -propitiation and the blood of His Son to forgive the -Fall of Adam. And verily ’tis a cruel, barbarous, and -most unworthy motion to “visit the sins of the fathers -upon the children”; a <i>man</i> must put on something -of a devil before he can act thus. He would seem to -demand perfection in us while He Himself is moved by -every passion,’ and she looked at Mère Agnès half -frightened, half defiant.</p> - -<p>Mère Agnès, with knitted brows, remained silent for -a moment. Then she said hesitatingly and as if thinking -aloud:—</p> - -<p>‘The ways of God to man are, in truth, a great -mystery. But I think we are too apt to forget the -unity of the Trinity. Our Lord was made man partly -to this end, that His Incarnation might be the instrument -of our learning to know the Father through the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -Son, that the divine mercy and love, hitherto revealed -but in speculative generals, might be turned into -particulars proportioned to our finite understandings. -Thus, if such mysteries as the Creation, the Preservation, -nay, even the Redemption, be too abstracted, too -speculative to be apprehended by our affections, then -let us ponder the Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes, -the tender words to the woman of Samaria, the command -to “suffer the little children to come unto Him,” for they -are types of the other abstracted mercies, and teach -us to acknowledge that God is of that nature, which -knows no conjunctions but those of justice and mercy. -Yes, my child, all your doubts find their resolution in -the life of Jesus. I mind me when I was a girl, in the -garden of the Palais, the <i>arborist du roy</i>—as he was -called—grew certain rare flowers from the Orient to -serve as patterns to the Queen and her ladies for their -embroidery. But when it was determined to build -the Place Dauphine the garden had to go, and with it -these strange blossoms. But the Queen commanded the -<i>arborist</i> to make her a book of coloured plates wherein -should be preserved the form and colour of the Orient -flowers. And this was done, so patterns were not -wanting after all to the Queen and her ladies for their -broidery. Thus, for a time ‘our eyes did see, and our -ears did hear, and our hands did handle’ our divine -Pattern and then He ascended into Heaven, but, in His -great mercy He has left a book wherein in clear, -enduring pigments are limned the pictures of His life, -that we too might be furnished with patterns for our -broidery. Read the Gospels, dear child, read them -diligently, and, above all, hearken to them when they -are read in the presence of the Host, for at such times -the operation of their virtue is most sure.’</p> - -<p>She paused, and then, as if following up some hidden -line of thought, continued:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p> - -<p>‘Sometimes it has seemed to me that even sin couches -mercy. Grace has been instrumental to great sins -blossoming into great virtues, and——’</p> - -<p>‘Thus, one might say, “Blessed are the proud, for -they shall become meek; blessed are the concupiscent, -for they shall become pure of heart,”’ eagerly interposed -Madeleine, her eyes bright with pleasure over the -paradox.</p> - -<p>‘Perhaps,’ said Mère Agnès, smiling a little. ‘I am -glad you are so well acquainted with the Sermon on -the Mount. As I have said, there is no instrument apter -to the acquiring of grace than a diligent reading of the -Gospels; the late Bishop of Geneva was wont to insist -on this with my sister and myself. But bear in mind -the consent and union of design between the holy Life -on earth and the divine existence in Eternity, if one -is pricked out with love and justice, so also is the -other. We should endeavour to read the Gospels with -the apocalyptic eye of Saint John, for it was the peculiar -virtue of this Evangelist that in the narration of particulars -he never permitted the immersion of generals. -The action of his Gospel is set in Eternity. I have ever -held that Spanish Catholicism and the teaching of the -Jesuit Fathers are wont to deal too narrowly with -particulars, whereas our own great teachers—I speak -in all veneration and humility—Doctor Jansen, nay, -even our excellent and beloved Saint Cyran, in that -their souls were like to huge Cherubim, stationary -before the Throne of God, were apt to ignore the straitness -of most mortal minds, and to demand that their -disciples should reach with one leap of contemplation -the very heart of eternity instead of leading them there -by the gentle route of Jesus’ diurnal acts on earth.’</p> - -<p>She paused. Madeleine’s cheeks were flushed, and -her eyes bright. She had completely yielded to the -charm of Mère Agnès’s personality and to the hypnotic<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -sway of the rich, recondite phraseology which the -Arnaulds proudly called ‘<i>la langue de notre maison</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘By what sign can we recognise true grace?’ she -asked, after some moments of silence.</p> - -<p>‘I think its mark is an appetite of fire for the refection -of spiritual things. Thus, if an angel appeared -to you, bearing in one hand a cornucopia of earthly -blessings, and in the other, holiness—not, mind, certain -salvation, but just holiness—and bade you make your -choice, without one moment of hesitation you would -choose holiness. Which would <i>you</i> choose?’ and she -looked at Madeleine gently and rather whimsically.</p> - -<p>‘I would choose the cornucopia,’ said Madeleine in -a low voice.</p> - -<p>There was a pause, and then with a very tender -light in her eyes, Mère Agnès said: ‘I wish you could -become acquainted with one of our young sisters—Sœur -Jacqueline de Sainte-Euphémie Pascal—but she is at -Port-Royal des Champs. She was born with every -grace of the understanding, and affections most sensible -to earthly joys and vanities, but in her sacrifice she has -been as unflinching as Abraham. Hers is a rare spirit.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine felt a sudden wave of jealousy pass over -her for this paragon.</p> - -<p>‘What is her age?’ she asked resentfully.</p> - -<p>‘Sœur Jacqueline de Sainte-Euphémie? She must -be in her twenty-eighth year, I should say. Courage, -you have yet many years in which to overtake her,’ -and she looked at Madeleine with considerable amusement. -With the intuitive insight, which from time -to time flashed across her habitual abstractedness, she -had divined the motive of Madeleine’s question.</p> - -<p>‘When she was twelve years old,’ she went on, ‘she -was smitten by the smallpox, which shore her of all -her comeliness. On her recovery she wrote some little -verses wherein she thanked God that He had spared her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -life and taken her beauty. Could <i>you</i> have done that? -Alas, when I was young I came exceeding short of it -in grace. I mind me, when I was some ten years old, -being deeply incensed against God, in that He had -not made me “Madame de France”! My soul was -a veritable well of vanity and <i>amour-propre</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘So is mine!’ cried Madeleine, with eager pride.</p> - -<p>Again Mère Agnès looked much amused.</p> - -<p>‘My child, ’tis a strange cause for pride! And bear -in mind, I am the <i>last</i> creature to take as your pattern. -No one more grievously than I did ever fall away from -the Grace of Baptism. Since when, notwithstanding all -the privileges and opportunities of religion afforded by a -cloistered life and the conversation of the greatest -divines of our day, I have not weaned myself from the -habit of sinning. But one thing I <i>have</i> attained by the -instrument of Grace, and that is a “hunger and thirst -after righteousness” that springs from the very depths -of my soul. I tell you this, that you may be of good -courage, for, believe me, my soul was of an exceeding -froward and inductile complexion.’</p> - -<p>‘Did you always love Our Lord with a direct and -particular love?’ Madeleine asked.</p> - -<p>‘I cannot call to mind the time when I did not. -Do you love Him thus?’</p> - -<p>‘No.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, so senseless and ungrateful is our natural state -that even love for Christ, which would seem as natural -and spontaneous a motion of our being as is a child’s -love of its mother, is absent from our hearts, before the -operation of Grace. But, come, you are a Madeleine, -are you not? A Madeleine who cannot love! The -Church has ordained that all Christians should bear the -name of a saint whom they should imitate in his or her -particular virtue. And the virtue particular to Saint -Madeleine was that she “loved much.” Forget not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -your great patron saint in your devotions and she will -intercede for you. And in truth when I was young, -I was wont to struggle against my love for Him and -tried to flee from Him with an eagerness as great as -that with which I do now pursue Him. And I think, -dear child, ’twill fall out thus with you.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine was deeply moved. Mère Agnès’s words, -like the tales of a traveller, had stirred in her soul a -<i>wanderlust</i>. It felt the lure of the Narrow Way, and -was longing to set off on its pilgrimage. For the -moment, she did not shrink from “the love of -invisible things,” but would actually have welcomed the -ghostly, ravishing arms.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, tell me, tell me, what I can do to be holy?’ she -cried imploringly.</p> - -<p>‘You can do nothing, my child, but “watch and -pray.” It lies not in <i>us</i> to be holy. Except our soul -be watered by Grace, it is as barren as the desert, but -be of good cheer, for some day the “desert shall blossom -like the rose.” “Watch and pray” and <i>desire</i>, for sin -is but the flagging of the desire for holiness. Grace -will change your present fluctuating motions towards -holiness into an adamant of desire that neither the -tools of earth can break nor the chemistry of Hell -resolve. Pray without ceasing for Grace, dear child, -and I will pray for you too. And if, after a searching -examination of your soul, you are sensible of being in -the state necessary to the acceptance of the Blessed -Sacrament, a mysterious help will be given you of which -I cannot speak. Have courage, all things are possible -to Grace.’</p> - -<p>With tears in her eyes, Madeleine thanked her and -bade her good-bye.</p> - -<p>As she walked down the rue Saint-Jacques, the tall, -delicately wrought gates of the Colleges were slowly -clanging behind the little unwilling votaries of Philosophy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -and Grammar, but the other inhabitants of the -neighbourhood were just beginning to enjoy themselves, -and all was noise and colour. Old Latin songs, sung -perhaps by Abelard and Thomas Aquinas, mingled with -the latest ditty of the Pont-Neuf. Here, a half-tipsy -theologian was expounding to a harlot the Jesuits’ -theory of ‘Probabilism,’ there a tiny page was wrestling -with a brawny quean from the <i>Halles aux vins</i>. Bells -were pealing from a score of churches; in a dozen -different keys viols and lutes and guitars were playing -sarabands; hawkers were crying their wares, valets -were swearing; and there were scarlet cloaks and green -jerkins and yellow hose. And all the time that -quiet artist, the evening light of Paris, was softening -the colours, flattening the architecture, and giving to -the whole scene an aspect remote, classical, unreal.</p> - -<p>Down the motley street marched Madeleine with -unseeing eyes, a passionate prayer for grace walling up -in her heart.</p> - -<p>Then she thought of Mère Agnès herself. Her rôle -of a wise teacher, exhorting young disciples from suave -spiritual heights, seemed to her a particularly pleasant -one. Though genuinely humble, she was <i>very</i> grown-up. -How delightful to be able to smile in a tender -amused way at the confessions of youth, and to call -one “dear child” in a deep, soft voice, without being -ridiculous!</p> - -<p>Ere she had reached the Porte Saint-Jacques she was -murmuring over some of Mère Agnès’s words, but it -was not Mère Agnès who was saying them, but she -herself to Madame de Rambouillet’s granddaughter -when grown up. A tender smile hovered on her lips, -her eyes alternately twinkled and filled with tears: -‘Courage, dear child, I have experienced it all, I -know, I know!’</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">‘HYLAS, THE MOCKING SHEPHERD’</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>She reached home eager to tell them all about her -visit.</p> - -<p>Her father and Jacques were playing at spillikins -and her mother was spinning.</p> - -<p>‘She is a marvellous personage,’ she cried out, ‘her -sanctity is almost corporeal and subject to sense. And -she has the most fragrant humility, she talked of -herself as though there were no more froward and -wicked creature on the earth than she!’</p> - -<p>‘Maybe there is not!’ said Jacques, and Monsieur -Troqueville chuckled delightedly. Madeleine flushed -and her lips grew tight.</p> - -<p>‘Do not be foolish, Jacques. The whole world -acknowledges her to be an exceeding pious and holy -woman,’ said Madame Troqueville, with a warning -glance at Jacques, which seemed to say: ‘In the name -of Heaven, forbear! This new <i>vision</i> of the child’s -is tenfold less harmful and fantastical than the -other.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine watched Jacques grimacing triumphantly -at her father as he deftly extricated spillikin after -spillikin. He was entirely absorbed in the idiotic game. -How could one be serious and holy with such a frivolous -companion?</p> - -<p>‘Pray tell us more of Mère Agnès, my sweet. What -were her opening words?’ said Madame Troqueville, -trying to win Madeleine back to good humour, but -Madeleine’s only answer was a cold shrug.</p> - -<p>For one thing, without her permission they were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -playing with <i>her</i> spillikins. She had a good mind to -snatch them away from them! And how dare Jacques -be so at home in <i>her</i> house? He said he was in -love with her, did he? Yet her entry into the -room did not for one moment distract his attention -from spillikins.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, tell us more of her Christian humility,’ said -Jacques, as he drew away the penultimate spillikin. -‘I’ll fleece you of two crowns for that,’ he added in an -aside to Monsieur Troqueville.</p> - -<p>‘They are all alike in that,’ he went on, ‘humility is -part of their inheritance from the early Christians, -who, being Jews and slaves and such vermin, had -needs be humble except they wished to be crucified -by the Romans for impudence. And though their -creeping homilies have never ousted the fine old -Roman virtue pride, yet pious Christians do still affect -humility, and ’tis a stinking pander to——’</p> - -<p>‘Jacques, Jacques,’ expostulated Madame Troqueville, -and Monsieur Troqueville, shaking his head, and -blowing out his cheeks, said severely:—</p> - -<p>‘Curb your tongue, my boy! You do but show your -ignorance. Humility is a most excellent virtue, if -it were not, then why was it preached by Our Lord? -Resolve me in that!’ and he glared triumphantly at -Jacques.</p> - -<p>‘Why, uncle, when you consider the base origin -of——’</p> - -<p>‘Jacques, I beseech you, no more!’ interposed -Madame Troqueville, very gently but very firmly, so -Jacques finished his sentence in a comic grimace.</p> - -<p>After a pause, he remarked, ‘Chapuzeau retailed to me -the other day a <i>naïveté</i> he had heard in a monk’s Easter -sermon. The monk had said that inasmuch as near all -the most august events in the Scriptures had had a -mountain for their setting, it followed that no one could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -lead a truly holy life in a valley, and from this premise -he deduced——’</p> - -<p>‘In that <i>naïveté</i> there is a spice of truth,’ Monsieur -Troqueville cut in, in a serious, interested voice. ‘I -mind me, when I was a young man, I went to the -Pyrenees, where my spirit was much vexed by the -sense of my own sinfulness.’</p> - -<p>‘I’ faith, it must have been but hypochondria, there -can have been no true cause for remorse,’ said Jacques -innocently.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Troqueville looked at him suspiciously, -cleared his throat, and went on: ‘I mind me, I would -pass whole nights in tears and prayer, until at last there -was revealed to me a strange and excellent truth, to -wit, that the spirit is immune against the sins of the -flesh. To apprehend this truth is a certain balm to the -conscience, and, as I said, ’twas on a mountain that it -was revealed to me,’ and he looked round with solemn -triumph.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville and Madeleine exchanged glances -of unutterable contempt and boredom, but Jacques -wagged his head and said gravely that it was a mighty -convenient truth.</p> - -<p>‘Ay, is it not? Is it not?’ cried Monsieur Troqueville, -his eyes almost starting out of his head with eagerness, -triumph, and hope of further praise. ‘Many a time -and oft have I drawn comfort from it.’</p> - -<p>‘I have ever held you to be a Saint Augustin <i>manqué</i>, -uncle. When you have leisure, you would do well to -write your confessions—they would afford most excellent -and edifying reading,’ and Jacques’s eyes as he said -this were glittering slits of wickedness.</p> - -<p>After supper the two, mumbling some excuse about -an engagement to friends, put on their cloaks and went -out, and Madeleine, wishing to be alone with her -thoughts, went to her own room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span></p> - -<p>She recalled Mère Agnès’s words, and, as they had -lain an hour or so dormant in her mind, they came -out tinted with the colour of her desires. Why, what -was her exhortation to see behind the ‘particulars’ of -the Gospels the ‘generals’ of Eternity, but a vindication -of Madeleine’s own method of sanctifying her love for -Mademoiselle de Scudéry by regarding it as a symbol -of her love of Christ? Yes, Mère Agnès had implicitly -advised the making of a Robert Pilou screen. <i>Profane -history told by means of sacred woodcuts becomes sacred -history</i>, was, in Mère Agnès’s words, to read history -‘with the apocalyptic eye of Saint John,’ it was to -see ‘generals’ behind ‘particulars.’</p> - -<p>But supposing ... supposing the ‘generals’ should -come crashing through the ‘particulars,’ like a river -in spate that bursts its dam? And supposing God were -to relieve her of her labour? In the beginning of time, -He—the Dürer of the skies—on cubes of wood, hewn -from the seven trees of Paradise, had cut in pitiless -relief the story of the human soul. The human soul, -pursuing a desire that ever evades its grasp, while -behind it, swift, ineluctable, speed ‘invisible things,’ -their hands stretched out to seize it by the hair.</p> - -<p>What if from the design cut on these cubes he were to -engrave the pictures of her life, that, gummed with -holy resin on the screen of the heavens, they might show -forth to men in ‘particulars proportioned to their finite -minds,’ the ‘generals’ cut by the finger of God?</p> - -<p>Mère Agnès had said: ‘I was wont to struggle against -my love for Him with an eagerness as great as that with -which I do now pursue Him. And I think, dear child, -’twill fall out thus with you.’ ‘Who flees, she shall -pursue; who spurns gifts, she shall offer them; who -loves not, willy-nilly she shall love.’ Was the Sapphic -Ode an assurance, not that one day Mademoiselle de -Scudéry would love her, but that she herself would one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -day love Christ? What if she had read the omens -wrong, what if they all pointed to the Heavenly -Rape? How could she ever have dreamed that grace -would be the caterer for her earthly desires—Grace, -the gadfly, goading the elect willy-nilly along the -grim Roman road of redemption that, undeviating and -ruthless, cuts through forests, pierces mountains, and -never so much as skirts the happy meadows? That she -herself was one of the elect, she was but too sure.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Sortir du siècle</i>’—where had she heard the expression? -Oh, of course! It was in <i>La Fréquente Communion</i>, -and was used for the embracing of the monastic life. -The alternative offered to Gennadius had been to -‘sortir du siècle ou de subir le joug de la pénitence -publique.’ Madeleine shuddered ... either, by dropping -out of this witty, gallant century, to forgo the -<i>vitæ munus</i> or else ... to suffer public humiliation -... could she bear another public humiliation such -as the one at the Hôtel de Rambouillet? Her father -had been humiliated before Ariane ... Jacques had -been partly responsible.... <i>Hylas, hélas!</i> ... the -Smithy of Vulcan ... was she going mad?</p> - -<p>In the last few hours by some invisible cannon a -breach had been made in her faith.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">A DISAPPOINTMENT</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>By Friday, Madeleine was in a fever of nervousness. -In the space of twenty-four hours, she would know -God’s policy with regard to herself. Oh! could He -not be made to realise that to deprive her of just this -one thing she craved for would be a fatal mistake? -Until she was <i>sure</i> of the love of Mademoiselle de -Scudéry she had no energy or emotion to spare for -other things. She reverted to her old litany:—‘Blessed -Virgin, Mother of our Lord, give me the friendship of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry,’ and so on, which she -repeated dozens of times on end.</p> - -<p><i>This time to-morrow it would have happened; she -would know about it all.</i> Oh, how could she escape -from remembering this, and the impossibility of fitting -a dream into time? Any agony would be better -than this sitting gazing at the motionless curtain of -twenty-four hours that lay between herself and her -fate. Oh, for the old days at Lyons! Then, she had -had the whole of Eternity in which to hope; now, -she had only twenty-four hours, for in their hard little -hands lay the whole of time; before and after lay -Eternity.</p> - -<p>Madame Troguin had looked in in the morning and -chattered of the extravagance of the Précieuses of her -quarter. One young lady, for instance, imagined -herself madly enamoured of Céladon of the <i>Astrée</i>, and -had been found in the attire of a shepherdess sitting by -the Seine, and weeping bitterly.</p> - -<p>‘I am glad that our girls have some sense, are not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -you?’ she had said to Madame Troqueville, who had -replied with vehement loyalty to Madeleine, that she -was indeed. ‘They say that Mademoiselle de Scudéry—the -writer of romances—is the fount of all these -<i>visions</i>. She has no fortune whatever, I believe, -albeit her influence is enormous both at the Court -and in the Town.’</p> - -<p>Any reference to Sappho’s eminence had a way of -setting Madeleine’s longing madly ablaze. This remark -rolled over and over in her mind, and it burnt more -furiously every minute. She rushed to her room and -groaned with longing, then fell on her knees and prayed -piteously, passionately:—</p> - -<p>‘Give me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. -Give it me, dear Christ, take everything else, but -<i>give me that</i>.’ And indeed this longing had swallowed -up all the others from which it had grown—desire for -a famous <i>ruelle</i>, for a reputation for <i>esprit</i>, for the -entrée to the fashionable world. She found herself -(in imagination) drawing a picture to Sappho of the -Indian Islands and begging her to fly there with her.</p> - -<p>At last Saturday came, and with it, at about ten -in the morning, a valet carrying a letter addressed to -Madeleine in a small, meticulous writing. It ran thus:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Mademoiselle</span>,—A malady so tedious and unpoetical, -that had it not been given the entrée to the -society of <i>les mots honnêtes</i> by being mentioned by -several Latin poets, and having by its intrinsic nature -a certain claim to royalty, for it shares with the Queen -the power of granting “Le Tabouret”; a malady, I -say, which were it not for these saving graces I would -never dare to mention to one who like yourself embodies -its two most powerful enemies—Youth and Beauty—has -taken me prisoner. Mademoiselle’s quick wit -has already, doubtless, solved my little enigma and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -told herself with a tear, I trust, rather than a dimple, -that the malady which has so cruelly engaged me to -my chair is called—and it must indeed have been a -stoic that thus named it!—La Goutte! Rarely has -this unwelcome guest timed his visit with a more -tantalising inopportuneness, or has shown himself -more ungallant than to-day when he keeps a poor -poet from the inspiration of beauty and beauty from -its true mate, wit. But over one circumstance at -least it bears no sway: that circumstance is that I -remain, Mademoiselle, Your sincere and humble -servitor,</p> - -<p class="right">‘<span class="smcap">Conrart</span>.’</p> - -</div> - -<p>In all this fustian Madeleine’s ‘quick wit’ did not -miss the fact that lay buried in it, hard and sharp, -that she was not to be taken to Mademoiselle de -Scudéry’s that afternoon. She laughed. It had so -palpably been all along the only possible climax. -Of course. This moment had always been part of her -sum of experience. All her life, her prayers, and -placations had been but the remedies of a man with -a mortal disease. As often in moments of intense -suffering, she was struck by the strangeness of being -contained by the four walls of a room, queer things -were behind these walls, she felt, if she could only -penetrate them.</p> - -<p>Berthe ambled in under pretext of fetching something, -looking <i>espiègle</i> and inquisitive.</p> - -<p>‘Good news, Mademoiselle?’ she asked. But -Madeleine growled at her like an angry animal, and -with lips stretched from her teeth, driving her nails -into her palms, she tore into her own room.</p> - -<p>Once there, she burst into a passion of tears, banging -her head against the wall and muttering, ‘I hate God, -I hate God!’ So He considered, did He, that ‘no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -one could resist the workings of the inward Grace’? -Pish for the arrogant theory; <i>she</i> would disprove it, -once and for all. Jacques was right. He was a wicked -and a cruel God. All the Jansenist casuistry was -incapable of saving Him from the diabolic injustice -involved in the First Proposition:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Some of God’s Commandments it is impossible for the -just to fulfil.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">In plain words, the back is <i>not</i> made for the burden. -Oh, the cold-blooded torturer! And the Jansenists -with their intransigeant consistency, their contempt -of compromise, were worthy of their terrible Master.</p> - -<p>So, forsooth, He imagined that by plucking, feather -by feather, the wings of her hopes, He could win her, -naked and bleeding, to Him and His service? She -would prove Him wrong, she would rescind His -decrees and resolve the chain of predestination. No, -<i>her</i> soul would never be ‘tamed with frets and weariness,’ -<i>she</i> would never ‘pursue, nor offer gifts,’ and, -willy-nilly, <i>she</i> would never love, from the design on -His cubes of wood no print of <i>her</i> life would be taken.</p> - -<p>And then the sting of the disappointment pricked -her afresh, and again she burst into a passion of tears.</p> - -<p>Pausing for breath, she caught sight of the Crucifix -above her bed. A feeling of actual physical loathing -seized her for her simpering Saviour, with His priggish -apophthegms and His horrid Cross to which He took -such a delight in nailing other people. She tore down -the Crucifix, and made her fingers ache in her attempt -to break it. And then, with an ingenuity which in -ordinary circumstances she never applied to practical -details, she broke it in the door.</p> - -<p>A smothered laugh disclosed Berthe crouching by -the wall, her face more than usually suggestive of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -comic mask. Madeleine was seized by a momentary -fear lest she should prove a spy of the sinister ‘Compagnie -du Saint-Sacrement’—that pack of spiritual bloodhounds -that ran all heretics relentlessly to earth—and -she remembered with a shudder the fate of Claude -Petit and le Sieur d’Aubreville. But after all, <i>nothing</i> -could hurt her now, so she flung the broken fragments -in her face and ‘<i>tutoied</i>’ her back to the kitchen.</p> - -<p>She went and looked at her face in the glass. Her -eyes were tired and swollen and heavy, and she noted -with pleasure the tragic look in them. Then a sense -of the catastrophe broke over her again in all its previous -force and she flung herself upon her bed and once more -sobbed and sobbed.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville, when she came in laden with -fish and vegetables from the Halles, was told by Berthe -with mysterious winks that she had better go to -Mademoiselle Madeleine. She was not in the least -offended by Madeleine’s unwonted treatment of her, -and too profoundly cynical to be shocked by her sacrilege -or impressed by her misery. With a chuckle for youth’s -intenseness she had shuffled silently back to her work.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville flew to Madeleine. Her entry -was Madeleine’s cue for a fresh outburst. She would -not be cheated of her due of crying and pity; she owed -herself many, many more tears.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville took her in her arms in an -agony of anxiety. At first Madeleine kicked and -screamed, irritated at the possibility of her mother -trying to alleviate the facts. Then she yielded to the -comfort of her presence and sobbed out that Conrart -could not take her to Mademoiselle de Scudéry.</p> - -<p>How gladly would Madame Troqueville have accepted -this explanation at its face value! A disappointment -about a party was such a poignant sorrow in youth -and one to which all young people were subject.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -But although she welcomed hungrily any sign of -normality in her child, deep down she knew that <i>this</i> -grief was not normal.</p> - -<p>‘But, my angel,’ she began gently, ‘Monsieur Conrart -will take you some other time.’</p> - -<p>‘But I can’t wait!’ Madeleine screamed angrily; -‘all my hopes are utterly miscarried.’</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville smiled, and stroked her hair.</p> - -<p>‘’Tis foolish to rouse one’s spleen, and waste one’s -strength over trifles, for ’twill not make nor mend -them, and it works sadly on your health.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine had been waiting for this. She ground -her teeth and gave a series of short, sharp screams of -tearless rage.</p> - -<p>‘For my sake, my angel, for my sake, forbear!’ -implored her mother.</p> - -<p>‘I shall scream and scream all my life,’ she hissed. -‘’Tis my concern and no one else’s. Ba-ah, ou-ow,’ and -it ended off in a series of shrill, nervous, persistent ‘ee’s.’</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville sighed wearily, and sat silent -for some minutes.</p> - -<p>There was a lull in the sobbing, and then Madame -Troqueville began, very gently, ‘Dear, dear child, if -you could but learn the great art of <i>indifference</i>. I -know that....’</p> - -<p>But Madeleine interrupted with a shrill scream of -despair.</p> - -<p>‘Hush, dear one, hush! Oh, my pretty one, if I -could but make life for you, but ’tis not in my power. -All I can do is to love you. But if only you would -believe me ... hush! my sweet, let me say my say -... if <i>only</i> you would believe me, to cultivate indifference -is the one means of handselling life.’</p> - -<p>‘But I <i>can’t</i>!’</p> - -<p>‘Try, my dearest heart, try. My dear, I have but -little to give you <i>in any way</i>, for I cannot help you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -with religion, in that—you may think this strange, -and it may be wicked—I have always had but little -faith in these matters; and I am not wise nor learned, -so I cannot help you with the balm of Philosophy, -which they say is most powerful to heal, but one -thing I have learned and that is to be supremely -indifferent—in <i>most</i> matters. Oh, dear treasure....’</p> - -<p>‘But I <i>want</i>, I <i>want</i>, I <i>want</i> things!’ cried Madeleine.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville smiled sadly, and for some -moments sat in silence, stroking Madeleine’s hair, -then she began tentatively,—</p> - -<p>‘At times I feel ... that “<i>petite-oie</i>,” as you called -it, frightened me, my sweet. It caused me to wonder -if you were not apt to throw away matters of moment -for foolish trifles. Do you remember how you pleased -old Madame Pilou by telling her that she was not like -the dog in the fable, that lost its bone by trying to -get its reflection, well....’</p> - -<p>‘I said it because I thought it would please her, -one must needs talk in a homely, rustic fashion to such -people. Oh, let me be! let me be!’ To have her own -words used against her was more than she could bear; -besides, her mother had suggested, by the way she -had spoken, that there was more behind this storm -than mere childish disappointment at the postponement -of a party, and Madeleine shrank from her -obsession being known. I think she feared that it -was, perhaps, rather ridiculous.</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville gazed at her anxiously for -some minutes, and then said,—</p> - -<p>‘I wonder if <i>Sirop de Roses</i> is a strong enough purge -for you. Perhaps you need another course of steel in -wine; and I have heard this new remedy they call -“Orviétan” is an excellent infusion, I saw some in -the rue Dauphine at the Sign of the Sun. I will send -Berthe at once to get you some.’</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE PLEASURES OF DESPAIR</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>The disappointment had indeed been a shattering -blow, and its effects lasted much longer than the failure -at the Hôtel de Rambouillet. For then her vanity or, -which is the same thing, her instinct of self-preservation, -had not allowed her to acknowledge that she had been -a social failure. But this disappointment was a hard -fact against whose fabric saving fancy beat its wings -in vain. Sometimes she would play with the thought -of suicide, but would shrink back from it as the final -blow to all her hopes. For, supposing she should wake -up in the other world, and find the old longing gnawing -still, like Céladon, when he wakes up in the Palace -of Galathée? She would picture herself floating -invisible round Mademoiselle de Scudéry, unable to -leave any footprint on her consciousness, and although -this had a certain resemblance to her present state, -as long as they were both in this world, there must -always be a little hope. And then, supposing that -the first knowledge that flashed on her keener, freer -senses when she had died was that if only she had persevered -a year longer, perhaps only a month longer, the -friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry would have -been hers! She took some comfort from the clammy -horror of the thought. For, after all, as long as she -was alive there must always be left a few grains of -hope ... while <i>she</i> was alive ... but what if one -night she should be wakened by the ringing of a bell -in the street, and running to the window see by the -uncertain light of the lantern he held in one hand, a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -<i>macabre</i> figure, looking like one of the Kings in the -pack of cards with which Death plays against Life -for mortal men, the stiff folds of his old-world garment -embroidered with skulls and tears and cross-bones! -And what would he be singing as he rang his -bell?:—</p> - -<p>‘Priez Dieu pour l’âme de la Demoiselle de Scudéry -qui vient de trépasser.’</p> - -<p>Vient de trépasser! Lying stiff and cold and lonely, -and Madeleine had never been able to tell her that -she loved her.</p> - -<p>Good God! There were awful possibilities!</p> - -<p>She was haunted, too, by the fear that God had <i>not</i> -deserted her, but had resolved in His implacable way -that willy-nilly she must needs eventually receive His -bitter gift of Salvation. That, struggle though she -would, she would be slowly, grimly weaned from all -that was sweet and desirable, and then in the twinkling -of an eye caught up ‘to the love of Invisible Things.’ -‘One cannot resist the inward Grace;’ well, she, at -least, would put up a good fight.</p> - -<p>Then a wave of intense self-pity would break over -her that the all-powerful God, who by raising His -hand could cause the rivers to flow backwards to -their sources, the sun to drop into the sea, when -she approached Him with her prayer for the friendship -of a poverty-stricken authoress—a prayer so -paltry that it could be granted by an almost unconscious -tremble of His will, by an effort scarcely strong enough -to cause an Autumn leaf to fall—that this God should -send her away empty-handed and heart-broken.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was but a small thing she wanted, but how -passionately, intensely she wanted it.</p> - -<p>If things had gone as she had hoped, she would by -now be known all over the town as the incomparable -Sappho’s most intimate friend. In the morning she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -would go to her <i>ruelle</i> and they would discuss the -lights and shades of their friendship; in the afternoon -she would drive with her in le Cours la Reine, where -all could note the happy intimacy between them; in -the evening Sappho would read her what she had -written that day, and to each, life would grow -daily richer and sweeter. But actually she had been -half a year in Paris and she and Sappho had not yet -exchanged a word. No, the trials of Céladon and -Phaon and other heroes of romance could not be compared -to this, for they from the first possessed the -<i>estime</i> of their ladies, and so what mattered the -plots of rivals or temporary separations? What -mattered even misunderstandings and quarrels? -When one of the lovers in <i>Cyrus</i> is asked if there is -something amiss between him and his mistress, he -answers sadly:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘Je ne pense pas Madame que j’y sois jamais assez bien -pour y pouvoir être mal.’</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">and that was her case—the hardest case of all. -In the old sanguine days at Lyons, when the one -obstacle seemed to be that of space, what would she -have said if she had been told how far away she would -still be from her desire after half a year in Paris?</p> - -<p>One day, when wandering unhappily about the Île -Notre-Dame, with eyes blind to the sobriety and -majestic sweep of life that even the ignoble crowd of -litigants and hawkers was unable to arrest in that -island that is at once so central and so remote, she had -met Marguerite Troguin walking with her tire-woman -and a girl friend. She had come up to Madeleine and -had told her with a giggle that they had secretly been -buying books at the Galerie du Palais. ‘They are -stowed away in there,’ she whispered, pointing to the -large market-basket carried by the tire-woman,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -‘Sercy’s <i>Miscellany of Verse</i>, and the <i>Voyage à la Lune</i>, -and the <i>Royaume de Coquetterie</i>; if my mother got -wind of it she’d burn the books and send me to bed,’ -at which the friend giggled and the tire-woman smiled -discreetly.</p> - -<p>‘They told us at Quinet’s that the first volume of -a new romance by Mademoiselle de Scudéry is shortly -to appear. Oh, the pleasure I take in <i>Cyrus</i>, -’tis the prettiest romance ever written!’ Marguerite -cried rapturously. ‘I have heard it said that Sappho -in the Sixth volume is a portrait of herself, I wonder -if ’tis true.’</p> - -<p>‘It is, indeed, and an excellent portrait at that, save -that the original is ten times wittier and more <i>galante</i>,’ -Madeleine found herself answering with an important -air, touched with condescension.</p> - -<p>‘Are you acquainted with her?’ the two girls asked -in awed voices.</p> - -<p>‘Why, yes, I am well acquainted with her, she -has asked me to attend her <i>Samedis</i>.’</p> - -<p>And afterwards she realised with a certain grim -humour that could she have heard this conversation -when she was at Lyons she would have concluded -that all had gone as she had hoped.</p> - -<p>During this time she did not dance, because that -would be a confession that hope was not dead. -That it should be dead she was firmly resolved, -seeing that, although genuinely miserable, she took a -pleasure in nursing this misery as carefully as she -had nursed the atmosphere of her second <i>coup de grâce</i>. -By doing so, she felt that she was hurting something -or some one—what or who she could not have said—but -something outside herself; and the feeling gave -her pleasure. All through this terrible time she would -follow her mother about like a whimpering dog, determined -that she should be spared none of her misery,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> -and Madame Troqueville’s patience and sympathy -were unfailing.</p> - -<p>Jacques, too, rose to the occasion. He lost for the -time all his mocking ways, nor would he try to cheer -her up with talk of ‘some other Saturday,’ knowing -that it would only sting her into a fresh paroxysm of -despair, but would sit and hold her hand and curse the -cruelty of disappointment. Monsieur Troqueville also -realised the gravity of the situation. On the rare occasions -when the fact that some one was unhappy penetrated -through his egotism, he was genuinely distressed. He -would bring her little presents—a Portuguese orange, or -some Savoy biscuits, or a new print—and would repeat -over and over again: ‘’Tis a melancholy business! -A melancholy business!’ One day, however, he added -gloomily: ‘’Tis the cruellest fate, for these high circles -would have been the fit province for Madeleine and -for me,’ at which Madeleine screamed out in a perfect -frenzy: ‘There’s <i>no</i> similarity between him and me! -<i>none!</i> <span class="allsmcap">NONE!</span> NONE!’ and poor Monsieur Troqueville -was hustled out of the room, while Jacques and her -mother assured her that she was not in the least like -her father.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Troqueville seemed very happy about -something at that time. Berthe told Madeleine that -she had found hidden in a chest, a <i>galant</i> of ribbons, -a pair of gay garters, an embroidered handkerchief, -and a cravat.</p> - -<p>‘He is wont to peer at them when Madame’s back -is turned, and, to speak truth, he seems as proud of -them as Mademoiselle was of the bravery she bought -at the Fair!’ and she went on to say that by successful -eavesdropping she had discovered that he had won -them as a wager.</p> - -<p>‘It seems that contrary to the expectations of his -comrades he has taken the fancy of a pretty maid!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -He! He! Monsieur’s a rare scoundrel!’ but Madeleine -seemed to take no interest in the matter.</p> - -<p>The only thing in which she found a certain relief -was in listening to Berthe’s tales about her home. -Berthe could talk by the hour about the sayings and -doings of her young brothers and sisters, to whom -she was passionately devoted. And Madeleine could -listen for hours, for Berthe was so remote from her -emotionally that she felt no compulsion to din her -with her own misery, and she felt no rights on her -sympathy, as she did on her mother’s, whom she was -determined should not be spared a crumb of her own -anguish. In her childhood, her imagination had been -fascinated by an object in the house of an old lady -they had known. It was a small box, in which was -a tiny grotto, made of moss and shells and little -porcelain flowers, out of which peeped a variegated -porcelain fauna—tiny foxes and squirrels and geese, and -blue and green birds; beside a glass Jordan, on which -floated little boats, stood a Christ and Saint John the -Baptist, and over their heads there hung from a wire -a white porcelain dove. To many children smallness -is a quality filled with romance, and Madeleine used -to crave to walk into this miniature world and sail -away, away, away, down the glass river to find the -tiny cities that she felt sure lay hidden beyond the -grotto; in Berthe’s stories she felt a similar charm -and lure.</p> - -<p>She would tell how her little brother Albert, when minding -the sheep of a stern uncle, fell asleep one hot -summer afternoon, and on waking up found that two -of the lambs were missing.</p> - -<p>‘Then, poor, pretty man, he fell to crying bitterly, -for any loss to his pocket my uncle takes but ill, -when lo! on a sudden, there stood before him a damsel -of heroic stature, fair as the <i>fleurs de lys</i> on a royal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -banner, in antic tire and her hair clipped short like a -lad’s, and quoth she, smiling: “Petit paysan, voilà -tes agneaux!” and laying the two lost lambs by his -side, she vanished. And in telling what had befallen -him he called her just “the good Shepherdess,” but -the <i>curé</i> said she could be no other than Jeanne, la -Pucelle, plying, as in the days before she took to arms, -the business of a shepherdess.’</p> - -<p>Then she would tell of the little, far-away inn kept -by her father, with its changing, motley company; -of the rustic mirth on the <i>Nuit des Rois</i>; of games of -Colin-maillard in the garret sweet with the smell of -apples; of winter nights round the fire when tales -were told of the Fairy Magloire, brewer of love-potions; -of the <i>sotret</i>, the fairy barber of Lorraine, -who curled the hair of maidens for wakes and marriages, -or (if the <i>curé</i> happened to drop in) more guileless -legends of the pretty prowess of the <i>petit Jésus</i>.</p> - -<p>Madeleine saw it all as if through the wrong end of -a telescope—tiny and far-away.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">FRESH HOPE</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>One afternoon Madame Troqueville called Madeleine -in an eager voice. Madeleine listlessly came to -her.</p> - -<p>‘I have a piece of news for you,’ she said, looking at -her with smiling eyes.</p> - -<p>‘What is it?... Doubtless some one has invited -us to a Comedy,’ she said wearily.</p> - -<p>‘No! I came back by the Île and there I chanced -on Monsieur Conrart walking with a friend’—Madeleine -went deadly white—‘And I went up and accosted -him. He has such a good-natured look! I told him -how grievously chagrined you had been when his -project came to naught of driving you to wait upon -Mademoiselle de Scudéry, indeed I told him it had -worked on you so powerfully you had fallen ill.’</p> - -<p>‘You didn’t! Oh! Oh! Oh! ’Tis not possible you -told him that!’ wailed Madeleine, her eyes suddenly -filling with tears.</p> - -<p>‘But come, my dear heart, where was the harm?’ -Madeleine covered her face with her hands and writhed -in nervous agony, giving little short, sharp moans.</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Oh! I would liefer have <i>died</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘Come, my heart, don’t be so fantastical, he was -so concerned about it, and you haven’t yet heard the -pleasantest part of my news!’</p> - -<p>‘What?’ asked Madeleine breathlessly, while wild -hopes darted through her mind, such as Mademoiselle -de Scudéry having confessed a secret passion for her -to Conrart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p> - -<p>‘This Saturday, he is coming in his coach to fetch -you to wait on her!’</p> - -<p>Madeleine received the news with a welter of different -emotions—wriggling self-consciousness, mortification -at the thought of Conrart knowing, and perhaps -telling Mademoiselle de Scudéry, how much she cared, -excitement bubbling up through apprehension, premature -shyness, and a little regret for having to discard -her misery, to which she had become thoroughly -accustomed. She trembled with excitement, but did -not speak.</p> - -<p>‘Are you pleased?’ her mother asked, taking her -hands. She felt rather proud of herself, for she disliked -taking the field even more than Madeleine did, and -she had had to admonish herself sharply before making -up her mind to cross the road and throw herself on -Conrart’s mercy.</p> - -<p>‘Oh! yes ... yes ... I think I am,’ and Madeleine -laughed nervously. Then she kissed her mother and -ran away. In a few minutes she came back looking -as if she wanted to say something.</p> - -<p>‘What’s amiss, my dear life?’ Madeleine drew a -hissing breath through her teeth and shut her eyes, -blushing crimson.</p> - -<p>‘Er ... did ... er ... did he seem to find it -odd, what you told him about my falling ill, and all that?’</p> - -<p>‘Dearest heart, here is no matter for concern. -You see I was constrained to make mention of your -health that it should so work on his pity that he should -feel constrained to acquit himself towards you and——’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, but what did you say?’</p> - -<p>‘I said <i>naught</i>, my dear, that in any way he could -take ill. I did but acquaint him with the eagerness -with which you had awaited the visit and with the -bitterness of your chagrin when you heard it was -not to be.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span></p> - -<p>‘But I thought you said that you’d said somewhat -concerning—er—my making myself ill?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, and what if I did? You little goose, you——’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, but what did you say?’</p> - -<p>‘How can I recall my precise words? But I give -you my word they were such that none could take -amiss.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! But <i>what</i> did you say?’ Madeleine’s face -was all screwed up with nerves, and she twisted her -fingers.</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Madeleine, dear!’ sighed her mother wearily. -‘What a pother about nothing! I said that chagrin -had made you quite ill, and he was moved to compassion. -Was there aught amiss in that?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, no, doubtless not. But ... er ... I hope -he won’t acquaint Mademoiselle de Scudéry with the -extent of my chagrin!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, and what if he did? She would in all likelihood -be greatly flattered!’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! do you think he will? I’d -<i>kill</i> myself if I thought he had!’</p> - -<p>Madame Troqueville gave up trying to reduce -Madeleine’s emotions to reason, and said soothingly, -‘I’m certain, my dearest, he’ll do nothing of the kind, -I dare swear it has already escaped his memory.’ -And Madeleine was comforted.</p> - -<p>She ran into her own room, her emotions all in a -whirl, and flung herself on her bed.</p> - -<p>Then she sprang up, and, after all these leaden-footed -weeks, she was again dancing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_III">PART III</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Ainsi de ce désir que le primitif croyait être une des forces -de l’univers et d’où il fit sortir tout son panthéon, le musulman -a fait Allâh, l’être parfait auquel il s’abandonne. De même -que le primitif logeait dans la cuiller promenée processionnellement -son désir de voir l’eau abreuver la terre, ainsi le musulman -croit qu’Allâh réalise la perfection en dehors de lui. Sous une -forme plus abstraite l’argument ontologique de Descartes conclura -de l’idée du parfait à son existence, sans s’apercevoir qu’il -y a là, non pas un raisonnement, un argument, mais une imagination. -Et cependant, à bien entendre les paroles des grands -croyants, c’est en eux qu’ils portent ce dieu: il n’est que la -conscience de l’effort continuel qui est en nous. La grâce du -Janséniste n’est autre que cet effort intérieur.’</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Doutté</span>—<i>Magie et Religion</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">‘WHAT IS CARTESIANISM?’</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>With the return of hope quite involuntarily Madeleine -began once more to pray. But to whom was she -praying? Surely not to the hard, remote God of the -Jansenists, for that, she knew by bitter experience, -would avail her nothing. Jansenism led straight to -the ‘Heavenly Rape’; of that she was convinced. -If, as in spite of herself she could not doubt, there was -only one God, and He such a Being as the Jansenists -presented Him, then she must not pray, for prayers -only served to remind Him of her existence, and that -He should completely forget her was her only hope -of escape from the ‘ravishing arms.’</p> - -<p>But ghostly weapons she <i>must</i> have with which to -fight for success on Saturday. If not prayers, then -something she could <i>do</i>; if not the belief in a Divine -Ally, then some theory of the universe which justified -her in hoping. For in Madeleine there was this much -of rationalism—perverted and scholastic though it -might be—that for her most fantastic superstitions -she always felt the need of a semi-philosophical basis.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she remembered Jacques’s words in the -Place Maubert: ‘’Tis the will that Descartes writes -of—a magic sword like to the ones in <i>Amadis</i>.’ To -will, was not that the same as to desire? Mère Agnès -had insisted on the importance of desiring. She had -talked about the <i>adamant of desire that neither the tools -of earth can break nor the chemistry of Hell resolve</i>. -Hours of anguish could testify to that adamant being -hers, but what if the adamant were a talisman, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> -that in its possession lay the certainty of success? -She must find out about Cartesianism.</p> - -<p>She ran into the parlour.</p> - -<p>‘Jacques, I would fain learn something of Descartes,’ -she cried.</p> - -<p>‘Descartes? Oh, he’s the rarest creature! ’Tis -reported he never ceases from sniffling in his nose, -and like Allah, he sits clad in a dressing-gown and -makes the world.’</p> - -<p>Monsieur Troqueville cocked an eye full of intelligent -interest and said, in his prim company voice: ‘In -good earnest, is that so?’ But Madeleine gave one -of Jacques’s ringlets a sharp tweak, and asked indignantly -what he meant by ‘dressing-gowns and Allah.’</p> - -<p>‘Why, Allah is the Turk’s God,’ then, seeing -that Monsieur Troqueville with pursed-up lips was -frowning and shaking his head with the air of a judge -listening to an over-specious counsel, he added,—</p> - -<p>‘Well, uncle, do you lean to a contrary opinion?’</p> - -<p>‘All the world is aware that Mohammed is the -Turk’s God—<i>Mohammed</i>. But you have ever held -opinions eccentric to those of all staid and learned -doctors!’</p> - -<p>‘Uncle, I would have you know that <i>Allah</i> is the -Turk’s God.’</p> - -<p>‘Mohammed!’</p> - -<p>‘Allah, I say, and as there is good ground for holding -that he is ever clad in a Turkish dressing-gown, thus....’</p> - -<p>‘They dub their God Mohammed,’ roared Monsieur -Troqueville, purple in the face.</p> - -<p>‘Mohammed or Allah, ’tis of little moment which. -But I would fain learn something of Descartes’ -philosophy,’ said Madeleine wearily.</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ began Jacques, delighted to hold forth, -‘’Tis comprised in the axiom, <i>cogito, ergo sum</i>—I think, -therefore I am—whence he deduces....’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> - -<p>‘Yes, but is it not he who holds that by due exercise -of the will one can compass what one chooses?’ broke -in Madeleine, to the evident delight of Monsieur -Troqueville, for he shot a triumphant glance at Jacques -which seemed to say, ‘she had you there!’</p> - -<p>Jacques gave her a strange little look. ‘I fear not,’ -he answered dryly; ‘the Will is not the bountiful -beneficent Venus of the Sapphic Ode.’ Madeleine’s -face fell.</p> - -<p>‘’Tis the opinion he holds with regard to the power -exercised by the will over the passions that you had -in mind,’ he went on. ‘He holds the will to be the -passions’ lawful king, and though at times ’tis but an -English king pining in banishment, by rallying its forces -it can decapitate “<i>mee lord protectour</i>” and re-ascend -in triumph the steps of its ancient throne. This done, -’tis no longer an English king but an Emperor of -Muscovy—so complete and absolute is its sway over -the passions.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Ainsi de vos désirs toujours reine absolue</div> - <div class="verse indent0">De la plus forte ardeur vous portez vos esprits</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Jusqu’à l’indifférence, et peut-être au mépris,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Et votre fermeté fait succéder sans peine</div> - <div class="verse indent0">La faveur au dédain, et l’amour à la haine.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>‘There is a pretty dissertation for you, adorned -with a most apt quotation from Corneille. Why, -I could make my fortune in the Ruelles as a Professor -of <i>philosophie pour les dames</i>!’ he cried with an affectionate -little <i>moue</i> at Madeleine, restored to complete -good humour by the sound of his own voice. But -Madeleine looked vexed, and Monsieur Troqueville, -his eyes starting from his head with triumph, spluttered -out, ‘’Twas from <i>Polyeucte</i>, those lines you quoted, -and how does Pauline answer them?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Ma raison, il est vrai, dompte mes sentiments;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mais, quelque authorité que sur eux elle ait prise,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Elle n’y règne pas, elle les tyrannise,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Et quoique le dehors soit sans émotion,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Le dedans n’est que trouble et que sédition.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>‘So you see, my young gallant, I know my Corneille -as well as you do!’ and he rubbed his hands in glee. -‘“Le dedans n’est que trouble et que sédition,” -how would your old Descartes answer that? ’Tis -better surely to yield to every Passion like a gentleman, -than to have a long solemn face and a score of devils -fighting in your heart like a knavish Huguenot ... -<i>hein</i>, Jacques? <i>hein?</i>’ (It was not that Monsieur -Troqueville felt any special dislike to the tenets of -Cartesianism in themselves, he merely wished to prove -that Jacques had been talking rubbish.)</p> - -<p>‘Well, uncle, there is no need to be so splenetic, -’tis not my philosophy; ’tis that of Descartes, and -though doubtless——’</p> - -<p>But Madeleine interrupted a discussion that -threatened to wander far away from the one aspect -of the question in which she was interested.</p> - -<p>‘If I take your meaning, Descartes doesn’t teach -one how to compass what one wishes, he only teaches -us how to be virtuous?’</p> - -<p>Monsieur Troqueville gave a sudden wild tavern -guffaw, and rubbing his hands delightedly, cried, -‘Pitiful dull reading, Jacques, <i>hein?</i>’</p> - -<p>‘You took his book for a manual of love-potions, -did you?’ Jacques said in a low voice, with a hard, -mocking glint in his eyes.</p> - -<p>He had divined her thought, and Madeleine blushed. -Then his face softened, and he said gently,—</p> - -<p>‘I will get you his works, nor will it be out of your -gain to read them diligently.’</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">BEES-WAX</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>As he had promised, Jacques brought her the works -of Descartes, and she turned eagerly to their pages. -Here, surely, she would find food sweeter to her palate -than the bitter catechu of Jansenism which she had -spewed from her mouth with scorn and loathing.</p> - -<p>But to her intense annoyance, she found the third -maxim in the <i>Discourse on Method</i> to be as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>My third maxim was ever to endeavour to conquer -myself rather than fortune, and to change my own desires -rather than the order of the universe. In short, to grow -familiar with the doctrine that ’tis but over our own -thoughts we hold complete and absolute sway. Thus, -if after all our efforts we fail in matters external to us, -it behoofs us to acknowledge that those things wherein -we fail belong, for us at least, to the domain of the impossible.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Here was a doctrine as uncompromising with regard -to individual desires as Jansenism itself.</p> - -<p>Oh, those treacherous twists in every creed and -every adventure which were always suddenly bringing -her shivering to the edge of the world of reality, face -to face with its weary outstretched horizons, its -cruelly clear outlines, and its three-dimensional, vivid, -ruthless population. Well, even Descartes was aware -that it was not a pleasant place, for did he not say -in the <i>Six Meditations</i>:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>But the Reason is that my Mind loves to wander, and -suffers not itself to be bounded within the strict limits of -Truth.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span></p> - -<p>But were these limits fixed for ever: were we -absolutely powerless to widen them?</p> - -<p>A few lines down the page she came on the famous -wax metaphor:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Let us choose for example this piece of Beeswax: it -was lately taken from the comb; it has not yet lost all -the taste of the honey; it retains something of the smell -of the flowers from whence ’twas gathered, its colour, -shape, and bigness are manifest; ’tis hard, ’tis cold, ’tis -easily felt, and if you will knock it with your finger, ’twill -make a noise. In fine, it hath all things requisite to the -most perfect notion of a Body.</p> - -<p>But behold whilst I am speaking, ’tis put to the fire, -its taste is purged away, the smell is vanished, the colour -is changed, the shape is altered, its bulk is increased, it -becomes soft, ’tis hot, it can scarce be felt, and now (though -you can strike it) it makes no noise. Does it yet continue -the same wax? Surely it does: this all confess, no one -denies it, no one doubts it. What therefore was there in -it that was so evidently known? Surely none of those -things which I perceive by my senses; for what I smelt, -tasted, have seen, felt, or heard, are all vanished, and -yet the wax remains. Perhaps ’twas this only that I now -think on, to wit, that the wax itself was not that taste of -honey, that smell of flowers, that whiteness, that shape, -or that sound, but it was a body which a while before -appeared to me so and so modified, but now otherwise.</p> - -</div> - -<p>She was illuminated by a sudden idea—startling -yet comforting. In <i>itself</i> her bugbear, the world of -reality, was an innocuous body without form, sound, -or colour. Once before she had felt it as it really is—cold -and nil—when at the <i>Fête-Dieu</i> the bell at -the most solemn moment of the Mass had rung her -into ‘a world of non-bulk and non-colour.’</p> - -<p>Yes, the jarring sounds and crude colours which had -so shocked and frightened her were but delusions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -caused by the lying ‘animal-spirits’ of man. The -true contrast was not between the actual world and -her own world of dreams, not between the design cut -by God’s finger upon cubes of wood and her own -frail desires, but between the still whiteness of reality -and the crude and garish pattern of cross purposes -thrown athwart it by the contrary wills of men.</p> - -<p>Well, not only was Jansenism distasteful, but it -was also untrue, and here was a grave doctor’s confirmation -of the magical powers of her adamant of -desire.</p> - -<p>The pattern of cross-purposes was but a delusion, -and therefore not to be feared. The only reality being -a soft <i>maniable</i> Body, why should she not turn potter -instead of engraver and by the plastic force of her own -will give the wax what form she chose?</p> - -<p>Through her dancing she would exercise her will -and dance into the wax the fragrance of flowers, the -honey of love, the Attic shape she longed for.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Madeleine is following Théodamas (Conrart) into -Sappho’s reception-room. A dispute is raging as to -whether Descartes was justified in regarding Love as -<i>soulageant pour l’estomac</i>. They turn to Madeleine and -ask for her opinion: she smiles and says,—</p> - -<p>‘’Twould provide the Faculty with an interesting -<i>thèse du Cardinal</i>, but ’tis a problem that I, at least, am -not fitted to tackle, in that I have never tasted the gastric -lenitive in question.’</p> - -<p>‘If the question can be discussed by none but those -experienced in love,’ cries Sappho, ‘then are we all reduced -to silence, for which of us will own to such a disgraceful -experience?’</p> - -<p>The company laughs. ‘But at least,’ cries Théodamas, -‘we can all of us in this room confess to a wide experience -in the discreet passion of Esteem, although the spiritual -atoms of which it is formed are too subtle, its motions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -too delicate to produce any effect on so gross an organ -as the one in question.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you consider that the heart is the seat of esteem, -or is esteem too refined to associate with the Passion considered -as the chief denizen of that organ from time immemorial?’ -asks Doralise.</p> - -<p>‘The words “time immemorial” shows an ignorance -which in a lady as full of agreeable information as yourself, -has something indescribably piquant and charming,’ -says Aristée, with a delicious mixture of the gallant and -the pedant. ‘For ’tis well known,’ he continues, ‘that -the Ancients held the liver to be the seat of the passion -in question.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, then,’ cries Madeleine gaily, ‘these pagans were, -I fear, more evangelical in their philosophy than we, if -they made love and its close attendant, Hope, dwell -together in ... <i>le foie</i>! But,’ she continues, when the -company had laughed at her sally, ‘I hear that this same -Descartes has stirred up by his writings a serious revolt -in our members, what one might call an organic -Fronde.’</p> - -<p>‘Pray act as our <i>Muse Historique</i> and recount us -this <i>historiette</i>,’ cries Sappho gaily.</p> - -<p>‘Would it be an affront to the dignity of Clio to ask -her to cite her authorities?’ asks Aristée.</p> - -<p>‘My authority,’ answers Madeleine, ‘is the organ whom -Descartes has chiefly offended, and the prime mover of -the revolt—my heart! For you must know that the -ungallant philosopher in his treatise on the Passions -sides neither with the Ancients nor the Moderns with -regard to the seat of the Tender Passion.’</p> - -<p>‘To the Place de Grèves with the Atheist and Libertine!’ -cries the company in chorus.</p> - -<p>‘And who has this impious man dared to substitute -for our old sovereign?’ asks Théodamas.</p> - -<p>‘Why, a miserable pretender of as base an origin and -as high pretensions as Zaga-Christ, the so-called King -of Ethiopia, in fact, an ignoble little tube called the -Conarium.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p> - -<p>‘Base usurper!’ cries all the company save Sappho, -who says demurely,—</p> - -<p>‘I must own to considering it a matter rather for rejoicing -than commiseration that so noble an organ as the -heart should at last be free from a grievous miasma that -has gone a long way to bringing its reputation into ill-odour. -I regard Descartes not as the Heart’s enemy -but rather as its benefactor, as the venerable Teiresias -who comes at the call of the noble Œdipus, desirous of -discovering wherein lies the cause of his country’s suffering. -Teiresias tells him that the cause is none other than the -monarch’s favourite page, a pretty boy called Love. -Whereupon the magnanimous Œdipus, attached though -he is to this boy by all the tenderest bonds of love and -affection, wreathes him in garlands and pelts him with -rose-buds across the border. Then once more peace and -plenty return to that fair kingdom, and <i>les honnêtes gens</i> -are no longer ashamed of calling themselves subjects of -its King.’</p> - -<p>As she finishes this speech, Sappho’s eye catches that -of Madeleine, and they smile at each other.</p> - -<p>‘Why, Madame,’ cries Théodamas, laughing, ‘the -inhabitant of so mean an alley as that in which Descartes -has established Love, must needs, to earn his bread, stoop -to the meanest offices, therefore we may consider that -Descartes was in the right when he laid down that one of -the functions of Love is to <i>soulager l’estomac</i>.’</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDÉRY’S SATURDAY</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>For the next few days Madeleine danced and desired and -repeated mechanically to herself: ‘I <i>will</i> get the love -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry,’ feeling, the while, that -the facets of the adamant were pressing deep, deep -into the wax of reality.</p> - -<p>Then Saturday came, and Monsieur Conrart arrived -in his old-fashioned coach punctually at 12.30. She -took her place by his side and they began to roll -towards the Seine.</p> - -<p>‘I trust Acanthe will be worshipping at Sappho’s -shrine to-day. His presence is apt to act as a spark -setting ablaze the whole fabric of Sappho’s wit and -wisdom,’ said Conrart in the tone of proud proprietorship -he always used when speaking of Mademoiselle -de Scudéry. Who was Acanthe? Madeleine felt a -sudden pang of jealousy, and her high confidence -seemed suddenly to shrink and shrivel up as it always -did at any reminder that Mademoiselle de Scudéry -had an existence of her own, independent of that -phantom existence of hers in Madeleine’s imaginings. -She felt sick with apprehension.</p> - -<p>As they passed from the rue de la Mortellerie into the -fine sweep of the rue Sainte-Antoine the need for -sympathy became peremptory. Conrart had been -giving her a dissertation on the resemblance between -modern Paris and ancient Rome, she had worn a look -of demure attention, though her thoughts were all to -the four winds. There was a pause, and she, to break -the way for her question, said with an admirable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -pretence of half-dazzled glimpses into long vistas of -thought: ‘How furiously interesting. Yes—in truth—there -is a great resemblance,’ followed by a pause, as if -her eyes were held spellbound by the vistas, while Conrart -rubbed his hands in mild triumph. Then, with a sudden -quick turn, as if the thought had just come to her,—</p> - -<p>‘I must confess to a sudden access of bashfulness; -the company will all be strange to me.’</p> - -<p>Conrart smiled good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, ’twill pass, I dare swear, as soon as you have -seen Sappho. There is an indescribable mixture of -gentleness and raillery in her manners that banishes -bashfulness for ever from her <i>ruelle</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, I must confess I did not find it so, to say -truth she didn’t charm me; her ugliness frightened -me, and I thought her manners as harsh as her voice,’ -Madeleine found herself saying. Conrart opened his -small innocent eyes as wide as they would go.</p> - -<p>‘Tut-tut, what blasphemy, and I thought you -were a candidate for admission to our agreeable city!’ -he said in mild surprise. ‘But here we are!’</p> - -<p>They had pulled up before a small narrow house -of gray stone. Madeleine tried to grasp the fact in -all its thrillingness that she was entering the door of -Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s house, but somehow or -other she could not manage it.</p> - -<p>‘I expect they will be in the garden,’ said Conrart. -‘Courage!’ he added over his shoulder, with a kind -twinkle. In another moment Madeleine was stepping -into a tiny, pleasant garden, shadowed by a fine -gnarled pear-tree in late blossom, to the left was seen -the vast, cool boscage of the Templars’ gardens, and -in front there stretched to the horizon miles of fields -and orchards.</p> - -<p>The little garden seemed filled with people all chattering -at once, and among them Madeleine recognised,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> -to her horror, the fine figure of Madame Cornuel. Then -the bony form of Mademoiselle de Scudéry, clad in -gray linen, detached itself from the group and walked -towards them. She showed her long teeth in a -welcoming smile. Mignonne, her famous dove, was -perched on her shoulder.</p> - -<p>‘This is delicious, Cléodomas,’ she barked at Conrart, -and then gave her hand with quite a kind smile to -Madeleine. ‘Mignonne affirms that all Dodona has -been dumb since its prophet has been indisposed. -Didn’t you, my sweeting?’ and she chirped grotesquely -at the bird.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Jésus!</i>’ groaned Madeleine to herself. ‘A child -last time and now a bird!’</p> - -<p>‘Mignonne’s humble feathered admirer at Athis -sends respectfully <i>tender</i> warblings!’ Conrart answered, -with an emphasis on ‘tender,’ as he took Mademoiselle -de Scudéry’s hand, still looking, in spite of himself, -ridiculously paternal.</p> - -<p>In the meantime the rest of the company had gathered -round them. A distinguished-looking man, not in -his first youth, and one of the few of the gentlemen -wearing a plumed hat and a sword, said in a slow, -rather mincing voice,—</p> - -<p>‘But what of <i>indisposed</i>, Monsieur? Is it not a -word of the last deliciousness? I vow, sir, if I might -be called <i>indisposed</i>, I would be willing to undergo -all the sufferings of Job—in fact, even of Benserade’s -<i>Job</i>——’</p> - -<p>‘Chevalier, you are cruel! Leave the poor patriarch -to enjoy the prosperity and <i>regard</i> that the Scriptures -assure us were in his old age once more his portion!’ -answered Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and the company -laughed and cried ‘Bravo!’ This sally Madeleine -understood, as accounts had reached Lyons of the -Fronde within the Fronde—the half-jesting quarrel<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> -as to the respective merits of Voiture’s sonnet to <i>Uranie</i> -and Benserade’s to <i>Job</i>—which had divided literary -Paris into two camps, and she knew that Mademoiselle -de Scudéry had been a partisan of Job. However, -she was much too self-conscious to join in the laughter, -her instinct was to try to go one better. She thought -of ‘But Benserade’s Job isn’t old yet!’—when she -was shy she was apt to be seized by a sort of wooden -literalness—but the next minute was grateful to her -bashfulness for having saved her from such bathos.</p> - -<p>‘But really, Madame, <i>indisposed</i> is ravishing; is -it your own?’ persisted the gentleman they called -Chevalier.</p> - -<p>‘Well, Chevalier, and what if it is? A person who -has invented as many delightful words as you have yourself -shows that his obligingness is stronger than his sincerity -if he flatters so highly my poor little offspring!’ -Madeleine gave a quick glance at the Chevalier. -Could it be that this was the famous Chevalier -de Méré, the fashionable professor of <i>l’air galant</i>, -through whose urbane academy had passed all the -most gallant ladies of the Court and the Town? It -seemed impossible.</p> - -<p>All this time a long shabby citizen in a dirty jabot -had been trying in vain to catch Mademoiselle de -Scudéry’s eye. Now he burst out with,—</p> - -<p>‘A propos of <i>words</i>—er—of <i>words</i>,’ and he spat -excitedly—on Madame Cornuel’s silk petticoat. She -smiled with one corner of her mouth, raised her eyebrows, -then pulling a leaf, gingerly rubbed the spot, and -flung it away with a little <i>moue</i> of disgust. The shabby -citizen, quite unconscious of this by-play, which was -giving exquisite pleasure to the rest of the company, -went on: ‘What do you think then of my word -affreux—aff-reux—a-f-f-r-e-u-x? It seems to me not -unsuccessful—<i>hein</i>—<i>hein</i>?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span></p> - -<p>‘Affreux?’ repeated an extremely elegant young -man, with a look of mock bewilderment.</p> - -<p>‘Affreux! What can it possibly mean, Monsieur -Chapelain?’</p> - -<p>‘But, Monsieur, it tells us itself that it is a lineal -descendant of the <i>affres</i> so famous in the reign of -Corneille the Great, a descendant who has emigrated -to the kingdom of adjectives. It is ravishing, Monsieur; -I hope it may be granted eternal fiefs in our language!’ -said Mademoiselle de Scudéry courteously to poor -Chapelain, who had begun to look rather discomfited. -Madeleine realised with a pang that Mademoiselle de -Scudéry had quite as much invention as she had herself, -for the friend of her dreams had <i>just</i> enough wit to -admire Madeleine’s.</p> - -<p>‘Affreux—it is——’ cried Conrart, seeking a predicate -that would adequately express his admiration.</p> - -<p>‘Affreux,’ finished the elegant young man with a -malicious smile. Mademoiselle de Scudéry frowned at -him and suggested their moving into the house. Godeau -(for he was also there) stroked the wings of Mignonne -and murmured that she had confessed to him a longing -to peck an olive branch. Godeau had not recognised -Madeleine, and she realised that he was the sort of -person who never would.</p> - -<p>They moved towards the house. Through a little -passage they went into the Salle. The walls were -covered with samplers that displayed Mademoiselle -de Scudéry’s skill in needlework and love of adages. -The coverlet of the bed was also her handiwork, the -design being, somewhat unsuitably, considering the -lady’s virtue and personal appearance, a scene from -the <i>amours</i> of Venus and Adonis. There were also -some Moustier crayon sketches, and portraits in enamel -by Petitot of her friends, and—by far the most valuable -object in the room—a miniature of Madame de<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> -Longueville surrounded by diamonds. Madeleine -looked at them with jealous eyes; why was not -<i>her</i> portrait among them?</p> - -<p>Poor Chapelain was still looking gloomy and offended, -so when they had taken their seats, Mademoiselle de -Scudéry, with a malicious glance at the others, asked -him if he would not recite some lines from <i>La Pucelle</i>. -The elegant young man, who was sitting at the feet -of Mademoiselle Legendre closed his eyes, and taking -out an exquisite handkerchief trimmed with <i>Point du -Gênes</i> with gold tassels in the form of acorns, used it -as a fan. Madame Cornuel smiled enigmatically.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, Monsieur, pray give us that great pleasure!’ -cried Conrart warmly. Chapelain cleared his throat, -spat into the fireplace and said,—</p> - -<p>‘It may be I had best begin once more from the -beginning, as I cannot flatter myself that Mademoiselle -has kept the thread of my argument in her head.’ -‘Like the thread of Ariadne, it leads to a hybrid -monster!’ said the elegant young man, <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> - -<p>In spite of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s assurances -that she remembered the argument perfectly, Chapelain -began to declaim with pompous emphasis,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Je chante la Pucelle, et la sainte Vaillance</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Qui dans le point fatal, où perissait la France,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ranimant de son Roi la mourante Vertu,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Releva son État, sous l’Anglais abbatu.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>On he went till he came to the couplet—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Magnanime Henri, glorieux Longueville,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Des errantes Vertus, et le Temple, et l’asile—’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Here Madame Cornuel interrupted with a gesture -of apology—‘“L’asile des <i>errantes</i> vertus,”’ she -repeated meditatively. ‘Am I to understand that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -<i>Messieurs les Académiciens</i> have decided that <i>vertu</i> -is feminine?’ Chapelain made an awkward bow.</p> - -<p>‘That goes without saying, Madame; we are not -entirely ungallant; <i>les Vertus et les dames sont -synonymes!</i>’ ‘Bravo!’ cried the Chevalier. But -Madame Cornuel said thoughtfully,—</p> - -<p>‘Poor Monsieur de Longueville, he is then an <i>hôpital -pour les femmes perdues</i>; who is the Abbess: Madame -his wife or—Madame de Montblazon?’ Every one -laughed, including Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and -Madeleine feverishly tried to repeat her formula ten -times before they stopped. Chapelain stared, reddened, -and began with ill-concealed anger to assure Madame -Cornuel that ‘erring’ was only the secondary meaning -of the word; its primary meaning was ‘wandering,’ -and thus he had used it, and in spite of all the entreaties -of Mademoiselle de Scudéry, Conrart, and the Chevalier, -he could not be persuaded to resume his recitation.</p> - -<p>Then for a time the conversation broke up into -groups, Mademoiselle de Scudéry devoting herself to -Chapelain, and Madeleine found herself between -Godeau and the Chevalier, who spoke to each other -across her.</p> - -<p>‘What of Madame de la Suze?’ asked Godeau. -The Chevalier smiled and shrugged.</p> - -<p>‘As dangerous an incendiarist as ever,’ he answered. -‘A hundred Troys burn with her flame.’</p> - -<p>‘What a splendid movement her jealousy used to -have; it was a superb passion to watch at play!’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! but it is killing her, if another poet’s poems -are praised, it means the vapours for a week.’</p> - -<p>‘She must sorely resent, then, the present fecundity -of Mnemosyne.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, for the most part, a <i>galant homme</i> must needs -speak of the Muses to a poetess as ten, but to her we -must speak as if there were but one!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span></p> - -<p>Godeau laughed.</p> - -<p>‘But what ravishingly languishing eyes!’ the -Chevalier went on rapturously.</p> - -<p>‘And what a mouth! there is something in its curves -at once voluptuous and chaste; oh, it is indescribable; -it is like the mouth of a Nymph!’ cried the little -prelate with very unecclesiastical fervour.</p> - -<p>‘You think it chaste? Hum,’ said the Chevalier -dryly. ‘Her <i>chastity</i>, I should say, belongs to the band -of Chapelain’s “<i>vertus errantes</i>.”’ Godeau gave a noncommittal, -ecclesiastical smile. ‘I was speaking of -her <i>mouth</i>,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! what the Church calls a “lip-virtue.” I see.’</p> - -<p>Godeau gave another smile, this time a rather more -laïcal one.</p> - -<p>‘And what of the charming Marquise, dear Madame -de Sévigné?’ Godeau went on. The Chevalier flung -up his hands in mute admiration.</p> - -<p>‘There surely is the <i>asile des vertus humaines</i>!’ -cried Godeau. ‘Ah, well, they both deserve an equal -degree of admiration, but which of the two ladies -do we <i>like</i> best?’ They both chuckled knowingly.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, <i>Dieu peut devenir homme mais l’homme ne -doit pas se faire Dieu</i>,’ went on Godeau, according -to the fashion among worldly priests of reminding -the company of their calling, even at the risk of profanity. -Then Madeleine said in a voice shaking with -nervousness,—</p> - -<p>‘Don’t you think that parallel portraits, in the -manner of Plutarch, might be drawn of these two -ladies?’</p> - -<p>There was rather a startled look on Godeau’s ridiculous, -naughty little face. He had forgotten that this -young lady had been listening to their conversation, -and it seemed to him as unsuitable that strange and -obscure young ladies should listen to fashionable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> -bishops talking to their intimates, as it was for mortals -to watch Diana bathing. But the Chevalier looked -at her with interest; she had, the moment he had -seen her, entered into his consciousness, but he had -mentally laid her aside until he had finished with his -old friend Godeau.</p> - -<p>‘There are the seeds in that of a successful <i>Galanterie</i>, -Mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘Why has it never occurred -to us before to write <i>parallel</i> portraits? We are -fortunate in having for <i>le Plutarque de nos jours</i> a -charming young vestal of Hebe instead of an aged -priest of Apollo!’ and he bowed gallantly to Madeleine.</p> - -<p>Oh, the relief to be recognised as a <i>person</i> at last, -and by the Chevalier de Méré, too, for Madeleine was -sure it was he.</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur du Raincy,’ he cried to the elegant -young man who was still at Mademoiselle Legendre’s -feet and gazing up into her eyes. ‘We think parallel -portraits of Madame de Sévigné and Madame de La -Suze would be <i>du dernier galant</i>, will you be <i>le -Plutarque galant</i>?’</p> - -<p>‘Why not share the task with the Abbé Ménage? Let -him do Mme. de Sévigné, and you, the other!’ said -Godeau with a meaning smile. Du Raincy looked -pleased and self-conscious. He took out of his pocket -a tiny, exquisitely chased gold mirror, examined -himself in it, put it back, looked up. ‘Well, if it is I -that point the contrasts,’ he said, ‘it might be called -“the Metamorphosis of Madame La Marquise de -Sévigné into a <i>Mouche</i>,” for she will be but a <i>mouche</i> -to the other.’</p> - -<p>‘Monsieur Ménage might have something to say to -that,’ smiled the Chevalier.</p> - -<p>Poor Madeleine had been trying hard to show by -modest smiles of ownership that the idea was hers: she -could have cried with vexation. ‘’Twas my conceit!’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -she said, but it was in a small voice, and no one heard -it.</p> - -<p>‘What delicious topic enthralls you, Chevalier?’ -cried out Mademoiselle de Scudéry in her rasping -voice, feeling that she had done her duty by Chapelain -for the present. The Chevalier answered with his -well-preserved smile,—</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle, you need not ask, the only topic -that is not profane in the rue de Beauce—the heavenly -twins, Beauty and Wit.’ Madeleine blushed crimson -at the mention of beauty, in anticipation of Mademoiselle -de Scudéry’s embarrassment; it was quite unnecessary, -Sappho’s characteristic was false vanity rather than -false modesty. She gave a gracious equine smile, and -said that these were subjects upon which no one spoke -better than the Chevalier.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle, do you consider that most men, like -Phaon in your <i>Cyrus</i>, prefer a <i>belle stupide</i>—before -they have met Sappho, I need not add—to a <i>belle -spirituelle</i>?’ asked Conrart. Mademoiselle de Scudéry -cleared her throat and all agog to be dissertating, -began in her favourite manner: ‘Beauty is without -doubt a flame, and a flame always burns—without -being a philosopher I think I may assert that,’ and -she smiled at Chapelain.</p> - -<p>‘But all flame is grateful—if I may use the expression—for -fuel, and wit certainly makes it burn brighter. -But seeing that all persons have not sufficient generosity, -and <i>élan galant</i> to yearn for martyrdom, they -naturally shun anything which will make their flame -burn more fiercely; not that they prefer a slow death, -but rather having but a paltry spirit they hope, though -they would not own it, that their flame may die before -they do themselves. Then we must remember that -the road to Amour very often starts from the town of -Amour-Propre and wit is apt to put that city to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -sword, while female stupidity, like a bountiful Ceres, -fertilises the soil from her over-flowing Cornucopia. On -the other hand, <i>les honnêtes gens</i> start off on the perilous -journey from the much more glorious city of Esteem, -and are guided on their way by the star of Wit.’</p> - -<p>Every one had listened in admiring attention, except -Madeleine, who, through the perverseness of her self-consciousness, -had given every sign of being extremely -bored.</p> - -<p>‘I hear a rumour—it was one of the linnets in your -garden that told me—that shortly a lady will make -her début at Quinets’ in whom wit and beauty so -abound that all the <i>femmes galantes</i> will have to -pocket their pride and come to borrow from her store,’ -said the Chevalier. Conrart looked important. ‘I am -already in love to the verge of madness with Clélie,’ -he said; ‘is it an indiscretion to have told her name?’ -he added, to Mademoiselle de Scudéry.</p> - -<p>‘The Chevalier de Méré would tell you that it is -indiscreet to the verge of crime to mention the name -of one’s flame,’ she answered with a smile, but she -did not look ill-pleased. So Clélie was to be the name -of the next book! Madeleine for some reason was so -embarrassed and self-conscious at the knowledge that -she did not know what to do with herself.</p> - -<p>‘I picture her dark, with hazel eyes and——’ began -Mademoiselle Legendre.</p> - -<p>‘And I guess that she is young,’ said Madame Cornuel, -with a twinkle. Du Raincy sighed sentimentally.</p> - -<p>‘Well, Monsieur, tell us what is <i>la Jeunesse</i>?’ said -Godeau.</p> - -<p>‘La Jeunesse?’ he cried. ‘La Jeunesse est belle; -la Jeunesse est fraîche; la Jeunesse est amoureuse,’ -he cried, rolling his eyes.</p> - -<p>‘But she rarely enters the <i>Royaume du Tendre</i>,’ -said a little man as hideous as an ape—terribly pitted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> -by smallpox—whom they called Pellisson, with a look -at Mademoiselle de Scudéry. That lady smiled back -enigmatically, and Madeleine found herself pitying -him from the bottom of her heart for having no hope -of ever getting there himself. There was a lull, and -then people began to get up and move away. The -Chevalier came up to Madeleine and sat down by her. -He twisted his moustache, settled his jabot, and -set to.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle, I tremble for your Fate!’ Madeleine -went white and repeated her formula.</p> - -<p>‘Why do you say that?’ she asked, not able to keep -the anxiety out of her voice, for she feared an omen -in the words.</p> - -<p>‘To a lady who has shown herself the mistress of -so many <i>belles connaissances</i>, I need not ask if she -knows the words of the Roman Homer: <i>Spretæ -injuria formæ</i>?’ Madeleine stared at his smiling, -enigmatical face, could it be that he had guessed -her secret, and by some occult power knew her -future?</p> - -<p>‘I am to seek as to your meaning,’ she said, flushing -and trembling.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Jésus!</i>’ said the Chevalier to himself, ‘I had forgotten -the prudery of the provinces; can it be she -has never before been accosted by a <i>galant -homme</i>?’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Pray</i> make your meaning clear!’ cried Madeleine.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! not such a prude after all!’ thought the -Chevalier. ‘Why, Mademoiselle, we are told that -excessive strength or virtue in a mortal arouses in -the gods what we may call <i>la passion galante</i>, to wit, -jealousy, from which we may safely deduce that -excessive beauty in a lady arouses the same passion -in the goddesses.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, <i>that’s</i> your meaning!’ cried Madeleine, so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -relieved that she quite forgot what was expected of -her in the <i>escrime galante</i>.</p> - -<p>‘In truth, this <i>naïveté</i> is not without charm!’ thought -the Chevalier, taking her relief for pleasure at the -compliment.</p> - -<p>‘But what mischief could they work me—the goddesses, -I mean?’ she asked, her nerves once more -agog.</p> - -<p>‘The goddesses are ladies, and therefore Mademoiselle -must know better than I.’</p> - -<p>‘But have you a foreboding that they may wreak -some vengeance on me?’</p> - -<p>The poor Chevalier felt quite puzzled: this must -be a <i>visionnaire</i>. ‘So great a crime of beauty would -doubtless need a great punishment,’ he said with a -bow. Madeleine felt tempted to rush into the nearest -hospital, catch smallpox, and thus remove all cause -for divine jealousy. The baffled Chevalier muttered -something about a reunion at the Princesse de Guéméné -and made his departure, yet, in spite of the strangeness -of Madeleine’s behaviour, she had attracted -him.</p> - -<p>Most of the guests had already left, but Conrart, -Chapelain, Pellisson, and a Mademoiselle Boquet—a -plain, dowdy little <i>bourgeoise</i>—were still there, talking -to Mademoiselle de Scudéry. The Chevalier’s departure -had left Madeleine by herself, so Conrart called out -to her,—</p> - -<p>‘A lady who has just been gallantised by the Chevalier -de Méré’ (so it <i>was</i> he!) ‘will carry the memory of perfection -and must needs be a redoubtable critic in -manners; Sappho, may she come and sit on this -<i>pliant</i> near me?’ Madeleine tried to look bored, -succeeded, and looked <i>gauche</i> into the bargain. Conrart -patted her knee with his swollen, gouty hand, and -said to Mademoiselle de Scudéry: ‘This young lady<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -feels a bashfulness which, I think, does her credit, at -meeting La Reine de Tendre, Princesse d’Estime, -Dame de Reconnaissance, Inclination, et Terrains -Adjacents.’ The great lady smiled and answered that -if her ‘style’ included Ogress of Alarmingness, she -would cease to lay claim to it. Here was Madeleine’s -chance. Mademoiselle de Scudéry was smiling kindly -at her and giving her a conversational opening. All -she did was to mutter her formula and look with stony -indifference in the opposite direction. Mademoiselle -de Scudéry raised her eyebrows a little and forthwith -Madeleine was excluded from the conversation.</p> - -<p>Shortly afterwards Conrart asked Madeleine if she -was ready to go, and they rose. A wave of inexpressible -bitterness and self-reproach broke over Madeleine as -Mademoiselle de Scudéry took her hand absently and -bade her good-bye. Her new god in a dressing-gown -had loyally done his part, but she, like a fool, had spoiled -it all. And yet, she felt if she had it all over again, -she would be seized by the same demon of perversity, -that again all her instincts would hide her real feelings -under a wall of shields. And Conrart, what would he -think of her? However, he seemed to think nothing -in particular. He was evidently trying to find out -what Madeleine’s impressions of the company had -been, and when she, anxious to make atonement, -praised them enthusiastically, he chuckled with -pleasure, as if her praise enhanced his own self-importance. -‘But the rest of us are but feeble luminaries -compared to Sappho—<i>the most remarkable woman of -the century</i>—she was in excellent vein on Beauty and -Wit.’ It was on the tip of Madeleine’s tongue to say -‘A trifle pedantic!’ but she checked herself in time. -‘She always does me the honour of spending part of -July and August at my little country house. It is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -delicious to be her companion in the country, the comparisons -she draws between life and nature are most -instructive, as well as infinitely gallant. And like all -<i>les honnêtes gens</i> she is as ready to learn as to instruct; -on a fine night we sometimes take a stroll after supper, -and I give the company a little dissertation on the -stars, for though she knows a thousand agreeable -things, she is not a philosopher,’ he added complacently.</p> - -<p>‘Ah, but, Monsieur, a grain of philosophy outweighs -an ounce of agreeable knowledge; there is a solidity -about your mind; I always picture the great Aristotle -with your face!’ Madeleine’s voice was naturally -of a very earnest timbre, and this, helped by her lack -of humour and a halting way of speaking which suggested -sincerity, made people swallow any outrageous -compliment she chose to pay them. Conrart beamed -and actually blushed, though he <i>was</i> perpetual and -honorary secretary of the Academy, and Madeleine -but an unknown young girl!</p> - -<p>‘Aristotle was a very great man, Mademoiselle,’ -he said modestly. Madeleine smiled. ‘There have -been great men <i>since</i> Agamemnon,’ she said. Really -this was a <i>very</i> nice girl!</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle, I would like you to see my little -<i>campagne</i>——’ he began.</p> - -<p>‘That would be furiously agreeable, but I fear I -could not come till the end of July,’ said Madeleine -with unwonted presence of mind.</p> - -<p>‘Dear, dear, that is a long while hence, but I hope -we shall see you then.’</p> - -<p>‘You are vastly kind, Monsieur; when shall I come?’ -Madeleine asked firmly.</p> - -<p>‘Well—er—let me see—are you free to come on the -first day of August?’</p> - -<p>‘Entirely, I thank you,’ cried Madeleine eagerly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -‘Oh! with what pleasant expectancy I shall await -it!—and you must <i>promise</i> to give me a lesson about -the stars.’ The beaming old gentleman promised -with alacrity, and made a note of the date in his -tablets.</p> - -<p>At that moment, Madeleine caught sight of Jacques, -strolling along the Quay, and suddenly filled with a -dread of finding herself alone with herself, she told -Conrart that she saw her cousin, and would like to -join him.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">SELF-IMPOSED SLAVERY</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>‘I knew you would have to pass this way, and I have -been waiting for you this half-hour,’ said Jacques. -‘Well, how went the encounter?’ That Madeleine -was not in despair was clear from the fact that she was -willing to talk about it.</p> - -<p>‘Oh! Jacques, I cannot say. Mademoiselle de -Scudéry was entertaining the whole company with -discourse, but when she did address a word to me I -was awkward and bashful—and—and—not over civil. -Do you think she will hate me?’ She waited anxiously -for his answer.</p> - -<p>‘Awkward, bashful, and not over civil!’ laughed -Jacques. ‘What did you do uncivil? Did you put -out your tongue and hiccough in her face? <i>Oh</i>, that -you had! Or did you deliberately undress and then -dance about naked? I would that people were more -inclined to such pleasant antics!’</p> - -<p>‘In good earnest I did <i>not</i>,’ said Madeleine severely. -‘But I feigned not to be interested when she talked, -and averted my eyes from her as if the sight of her -worked on my stomach. Oh! what <i>will</i> she think -of me?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, I don’t know, Chop,’ Jacques said dubiously; -‘it seems you used arts to show yourself in such colours -as ’twould be hard to like!’</p> - -<p>‘Do people never take likings to bashful, surly -people?’ she persisted.</p> - -<p>‘I fear me they are apt to prefer smooth-spoken, -courtly ones,’ he answered with a smile. ‘But, take<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -heart, Chop, you will meet with her again, doubtless, when -you must compel yourself to civility and to the uttering -of such <i>galanterie</i> as the occasion furnishes, and then -the issue cannot choose but be successful. Descartes -holds admiration to be the mother of the other passions; -an you arouse admiration the others will follow of -their own accord.’</p> - -<p>‘’Tis easy to talk!’ wailed Madeleine, ‘but her visible -presence works so strangely upon me as to put me -out of all my precepts, and I am driven to unseemly -stammering or to uncivil silence.’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus Flamma demanat</i>, -etcetera. Have you been studying that most witty -anatomy of the lover in the volume of Catullus that -I lent you?’ asked Jacques, rather mockingly.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ said Madeleine, blushing. Then, after a -pause,—</p> - -<p>‘It seems that ... er ... er ... my father -... that this Ariane ... that, in short, he has -prospered in his suit of late?’</p> - -<p>‘Has he? I am exceeding glad to hear it,’ said -Jacques dryly. Then, looking at her with his little -inscrutable smile, he added: ‘You show a most -becoming filial interest in your father’s <i>roman</i>; ’tis -as if you held its issue to be tied up in some strange -knot with the issue of your own.’</p> - -<p>How sinister he was looking! Madeleine stared at -him with eyes of terror. She tried to speak but no -sound would come from her lips.</p> - -<p>Suddenly his expression became once more kind -and human.</p> - -<p>‘Why, Chop,’ he cried, ‘there are no bounds set to -your credulity! I verily believe your understanding -would be abhorrent of no fable or fiction, let them be -as monstrous as they will. In good earnest you are -in sore need of a dose of old Descartes!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span></p> - -<p>‘But, Jacques, I have of late been diligently studying -him and yet it has availed me nothing. My will has -lost naught of its obliquity.’</p> - -<p>‘How did you endeavour to straighten it ... -<i>hein</i>?’ Jacques asked very gently.</p> - -<p>Madeleine hung her head and then confessed her -theory about the Wax, and how she had tried upon -reality the plastic force of her will.</p> - -<p>Jacques threw out his hands in despair.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Chop!’ he cried, ‘it is a sin to turn to such -maniac uses the cleanest, sweetest good sense that -ever man has penned! That passage about the -wax is but a <i>figure</i>! The only way to compass -what we wish is to exercise our will first on our -own passions until they will take what ply we -choose, and then to exercise it on the passions -of others. Success <i>lies in you</i> but is not to be compassed -by vain, foolish rites after the manner of the -heathen and the Christians. Why, you have made -yourself a slave, bound with the fetters of affrighting -fancies that do but confound the senses and scatter -the understanding. The will is the only talisman. -Exercise yourself in the right using of it against your -next meeting with Mademoiselle de Scudéry, then -when that meeting comes, at one word from you the -bashful humours—docile now—will cower behind your -spleen, and the mercurial ones will go dancing through -your blood up to your brain, whence they will let fall -a torrent of conceits like sugar-plums raining from the -Palais Mazarin, and thus in Mademoiselle de Scudéry -you will arouse the mother of the passions—Admiration.’</p> - -<p>They both laughed, and arm in arm—Madeleine -with a serene look in her eyes—made their way to the -petite rue du Paon.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SYMMETRY OF THE COMIC MUSE</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>July came, making the perfume of the meadows -more fragrant, the stench of the Paris streets more -foul.</p> - -<p>Madeleine had adopted Jacques’s rationalism, and, -having discarded all supernatural aids, was applying -her energies to the quelling of her ‘passions.’</p> - -<p>It stood to reason that <i>l’amitié tendre</i> could only -spring from the seeds of Admiration. It behoved -her, then, to make herself worthy of Admiration. -The surest way of achieving this was to perfect herself -in the <i>air galant</i>, and she had the great good fortune -to procure the assistance of one of the most eminent -professors of this difficult art. For the Chevalier de -Méré wrote an elaborate Epistle asking her to grant -him the privilege of waiting on her, which she answered -in what she considered a masterpiece of elegant discretion, -consisting of pages of obscure preciosity ending -in the pleasant sting of a little piquant ‘yes.’</p> - -<p>He became an almost daily visitor, and, unfailingly -suave and fluent, he would give her dissertations on -life and manners, filled with that tame, <i>fade</i> common -sense which had recently come to be regarded as the -last word in culture.</p> - -<p>She was highly flattered by his attentions, naturally -enough, for he was considered to have exquisite taste -in ladies and had put the final polish on many an -eminent Précieuse. Under his tuition she hoped to -be, by the time of her visit to Conrart, a past-mistress -in the art of pleasing, and to have her ‘passions’ in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> -such complete control as to be quite safe from an -attack of bashfulness.</p> - -<p>A July of quiet progress—then August and Mademoiselle -de Scudéry! She awaited the issue of this next -meeting with quiet confidence. There is a comfortable -solidity about four weeks, like that of a square -arm-chair in which one can sit at one’s ease, planning -and dreaming. If Madeleine had been gifted with -clarity of vision she would have realised that, for her, -true happiness was to be found nowhere but in that -comfortable, sedentary posture. Only those very -dear to the gods can distinguish between what they -really want and what they think they want.</p> - -<p>Berthe was full of sly hints with regard to the -Chevalier, and his visits elicited from her many an -aphorism on the tender passion. She had evidently -given to him the rôle formerly played by Jacques in -her version of Madeleine’s <i>roman</i>.</p> - -<p>And what of Jacques? He was naturally very -jealous of the Chevalier and very angry with -Madeleine.</p> - -<p>He was now rarely at home in the evenings. Monsieur -Troqueville, who, during the first week of July, was -forced to keep his room by a severe attack of gout, -seemed strangely uneasy.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Jacques ceased coming home even to -sleep, and at the mention of his name Monsieur Troqueville -would be threatened by a fit of apoplexy.</p> - -<p>When alone with Madeleine he was full of vague -threats and warnings such as: ‘When I get hold of -that rascally cousin of yours, I would see him that -dares prevent me strangling him!’ ‘Have a care lest -that scoundrel Jacques stick a disgrace upon you, as -he has done to me!’ ‘If you’ll be ruled by me you’ll -have none of that fellow! ’Tis a most malicious and -treacherous villain!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p> - -<p>A sinister fear began to stir in Madeleine’s heart.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After a week’s absence, Jacques appeared at supper, -dishevelled and debonair, with rather a wicked gleam -in his narrow eyes. The atmosphere during the meal -was tense with suppressed emotion, and it was evident -that Monsieur Troqueville was thirsting for his blood.</p> - -<p>Supper over, Madeleine made a sign to Jacques to -follow her.</p> - -<p>‘Well?’ she asked him, once they were in her -own room.</p> - -<p>‘Well?’ he answered, smiling enigmatically.</p> - -<p>‘You have been about some mischief—I know it -well. Recount me the whole business without delay.’</p> - -<p>‘Some mischief? ’Tis merely that I have been -driving the playwright’s trade and writing a little -comedy, on life instead of on foolscap.’</p> - -<p>‘I do not take your meaning.’</p> - -<p>‘No? Have you ever remarked that Symmetry is -the prettiest attribute of the Comic Muse? Here is -my cast—two Belles and one Gallant. Belle I. loathes -the Gallant like the seven deadly sins, while he most -piteously burns with her flame, and has been hoodwinked -by his own vanity and the persuasions of a -friend that she burns as piteously with his. Now, -mark the inverted symmetry—the Gallant loathes -Belle II., while she burns with his flame and is persuaded -that he does with hers. Why, the three are as prettily -interrelated as a group of porcelain figures! I am of -opinion that Comedy is naught but Life viewed -geometrically.’</p> - -<p>‘You talk in riddles, Jacques, and I am entirely -without clue to your meaning—save that it is -some foolishness,’ cried Madeleine with intense irritation. -Jacques’s only answer was an inscrutable smile.</p> - -<p>‘Read me your riddle without delay, or you’ll have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> -me stark mad with your nonsense!’ she cried with -tears of suspense and impatience in her eyes.</p> - -<p>So Jacques told her how after his first rebuff Monsieur -Troqueville had for a time ceased to pester -Ariane with his addresses, and had found balm for his -hurt vanity in pretending to his tavern companions -that his success with Ariane had been complete, and -that he held her heart in the hollow of his hand. He -had almost come to believe this himself, when one evening -his friends in the tavern, who had of course never -believed his story, had insisted on seeing Ariane in -the flesh. It was in vain that Monsieur Troqueville -had furiously reiterated that ‘the lady being no common -bawd, but exceeding dainty of her favours, would -never stoop to such low company as theirs.’ The -company was obdurate, reiterating that unless they -saw her with their own eyes they would hold his -‘<i>Chimène</i>’ to be but a ‘<i>chimère</i>,’ and that like Troy -in Euripides’ fable, it was but for a phantom lady -that he burned. Finally, Monsieur Troqueville, goaded -beyond all endurance, vowed that the lady would be -with them ere an hour was passed. The company -agreed that if he did not keep his word he would have -to stand drinks all round and kiss their grim Huguenot -hostess, while if Ariane appeared within an hour they -would give him as brave a <i>petite-oie</i> as their joint -purses could afford. (At the words ‘<i>petite-oie</i>’ Madeleine -went pale.) Once outside the tavern Monsieur -Troqueville gave way to despair, and Jacques was so -sorry for him that although he felt certain the business -would end in ridicule for them both, he rushed to -Ariane’s house to see if he could move her to pity. -Fortunately he found her alone and bored—and took -her fancy. To cut a long story short, before the hour -was up, amid the cheers of the revellers and the Biblical -denunciations of the hostess, Ariane made her epiphany<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -at the tavern and saved Monsieur Troqueville’s face. -After that Jacques went often to see Ariane, and -delivered the love-letters he carried from Monsieur -Troqueville, not to her but to her ancient duenna, in -whose withered bosom he had easily kindled a flame -for his uncle. Finally, having promised him a meeting -with his lady, he had thrown him into the arms of -the duenna.</p> - -<p>When Jacques had finished his story, Madeleine, -who had gazed at him with a growing horror in her -eyes, said slowly,—</p> - -<p>‘To speak truth, you seem to me compact of cruelty.’ -At once he looked penitent. ‘No, Chop, ’tis not my -only humour. One does not hold Boisrobert and the -other writers of Comedy to be cruel in that they devise -droll situations for their characters.’</p> - -<p>‘That is another matter.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, maybe you are in the right. ’Twas a scurvy -trick I played him, and I am ashamed. Are you -grievously wroth with me, Chop?’</p> - -<p>‘I can hardly say,’ she answered and, her eyes -wandering restlessly over the room, she twisted her -hands in a way she had when her nerves were taut. -‘There are times when I am wont to wonder ... -if haply I do not somewhat resemble my father,’ she -added with a queer little laugh.</p> - -<p>The idea seemed to tickle Jacques. She looked at -him angrily.</p> - -<p>‘You hold then that there is truth in what I say?’ -and try as she would she could not get him to say that -there was not.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">BERTHE’S STORY</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>Madeleine was feeling restless, so she asked Berthe -to come and sit by her bed and talk to her.</p> - -<p>‘Tell me a story,’ she commanded, and Berthe -delightedly launched forth on her favourite theme, that -of Madeleine’s resemblance to her youngest brother.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, he often comes to me and says, “Tell me a -story, Berthe,” like that, “tell me a story, Berthe,” -and I’ll say, “Do you think I have nothing better -to do, sir, than tell you stories. Off you go and dig -cabbages;” and he’ll say, with a bow, “Dig them -yourself, Madame”—oh, he’s <i>malin</i>, ever pat with -an answer; he is like Monsieur Jacques in that way. -One day——’</p> - -<p>‘Please tell me a story,’ Madeleine persisted. ‘Tell -me the one about Nausicaa.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! that was the one that came back to me when -Mademoiselle turned with such zeal to housewifery!’ -and she chuckled delightedly.</p> - -<p>‘Tell it to me!’</p> - -<p>‘Well, it was a pretty tale my grandmother used -to tell; she heard it from <i>her</i> grandmother, who had -been tire-woman to a great lady in the reign of good -King Francis.’</p> - -<p>‘Begin the tale,’ commanded Madeleine firmly.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Mademoiselle will have her own way—just -like Albert,’ winked Berthe, and began,—</p> - -<p>‘Once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, there -lived a rich farmer near Marseilles. My grandmother -was wont to say he was a king, but that cannot have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> -been, for, as you will see, his daughter did use to do -her own washing. Mademoiselle hates housework, -doesn’t she? <i>I</i> can see you are ill-pleased when Madame -talks of a <i>ménage</i> of your own——’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Go on</i>,’ said Madeleine. Berthe cackled, ‘Just like -Albert!’ she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>‘Well, this farmer had an only daughter, who was -very beautiful; she had an odd name: it was Nausicaa. -She was <i>rêveuse</i>, like Mademoiselle and me, and used -to love to lie in her father’s orchard reading romances -or looking out over the sea, which lay below. She did -not care for the sons of the farmers round that came -wooing her with presents of lambs and apples or with -strings of beads which they bought from sailors at -the harbour; they seemed to her clumsy with their -foolish grins and their great hands, for Nausicaa was -exceeding nice,’ and Berthe winked meaningly. ‘And -there were merchants, too, with long beards and grave -faces, and gold chains, who sought her hand, but she -was aware that they looked on her as nothing better -than the rare birds their ships brought them from -the Indies. Well, one night, Our Lady appeared to -her in a dream and said: “Lève-toi, petite paresseuse, -les jeunes demoiselles doivent s’occuper du mariage -et de leur ménage.” And she bade Nausicaa go to the -river, and wash all her linen, for if a Prince came he -would be ill-pleased to find her foul. And Nausicaa -woke up feeling very strange and as if fair wondrous -things were coming to meet her. ’Tis a fancy that -seizes us all at times, and much good it does us!’ -And Berthe gave her long, soft chuckle, while Madeleine -scowled at her.</p> - -<p>‘As soon as she was dressed, Nausicaa ran into the -fields to find her father, and she put her arms round -his neck and hid her face on his shoulder and said, -laughing,—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span></p> - -<p>‘“Father, I am fain you should lend me a cart and -four mules for to-day,” and her brothers, who were -standing near, laughed and asked who was waiting -for her at the other end. And Nausicaa tossed her -head and said she did but want to wash her linen in -the river. And her father pinched her ear and kissed -her and said that he would order four of his best mules -to be harnessed. And when her mother heard of her -project she clapped her hands with joy and winked -at the old nurse, for she divined the thought in -Nausicaa’s mind, and the poor soul was exceeding glad.’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Go on</i>,’ Madeleine commanded feverishly, forestalling -a personal deviation.</p> - -<p>‘Well, the mother filled a big hamper full of the -delicate fare that Nausicaa liked best—<i>pain d’épice</i>, -and quince jam and preserved fruits and a fine fat capon, -and bade four or five of the dairymaids go with her -and help her with her washing, and Nausicaa filled a -great basket with her linen, and they all climbed into -the cart, and Nausicaa took the reins and flicked the -whip, and the mules trotted off. When they got to -the river they rolled up their sleeves and set to, and -they laughed and talked over their work, for Nausicaa -was not proud. And when all the linen was washed -and laid out on the grass to dry they sat down and -ate their dinner and talked, and Nausicaa sang them -songs, for she had brought her lute with her. And -then they played at <i>Colin-Maillard</i> and at ball, and -then they danced a <i>Branle</i>, and poor grannie used always -to say that they were as lovely as the angels dancing -in Paradise. Every one, of course, was comely long -ago’—and Berthe interrupted her narration to chuckle.</p> - -<p>‘Grannie used always to go on like this: “They -laughed and played as maidens will when they are -among themselves, but they little knew what was -watching them from behind a bush of great blue<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> -flowers,” and we used to say, with our eyes as round -as buttons—“Was it a bear, grannie?” “No.” -“Was it a <i>lutin</i>, then?” And we were grievously -disappointed when she would say, “No, it was a man!” -Well, it was a great Roman lord called Ulysse who -had fought with Charlemagne at the Siege of Troy, -and when he started on his voyage home, Saint -Nicholas, the sailors’ saint, who did not love him, -pestered him with storms and shipwrecks and monstrous -fish so that the years passed and he got no nearer home. -And all the time he kept on praying to Our Lady to -give him a safe and speedy return, and at last she heard -his prayer, and when Saint Nicholas had once again -wrecked his ship she rescued him from the sea and -walked over the waves with him in her arms as if he -were a little child till she reached the river near Marseilles, -and then she laid him among the rushes by -its banks, and there he slept. And when he woke up -she worked a miracle so that the wrinkles and travel-stains -and sunburn dropped away from him, and his -rags she changed into a big hat with fine plumes, and -a jerkin of Isabelle satin, and a cloak lined with -crimson plush, and breeches covered with ribbons, -so that he was once more the fine young gallant that -had years ago started for the wars. And she told him -to step out from behind the bush and accost Nausicaa. -Oh, believe me, he knew what to say, for he was as -<i>malin</i> as a fox! He made as fine a bow as you could -see and told Nausicaa that she must be a king’s daughter. -And her heart was fluttering like a bird—poor, pretty -soul!—as she remembered her dream. Not that she -had need to call it to mind, for, as Mademoiselle doubtless -will understand, she had thought of nothing else -all day!’ Madeleine looked suspiciously at the comic -mask, but Berthe went on,—</p> - -<p>‘And then my lord Reynard tells of his misfortunes,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> -and the hours he had spent struggling in the cold sea, -and of his hunger, and of how his ship was lost, and he -longing for his own country, “until I saw Mademoiselle,” -with another bow, so that tears came to the eyes of -Nausicaa and her maids, and shyly kind, she asked him -if he would be pleased to take shelter under her father’s -roof, which, as you will believe, was just what he had -been waiting for! And her parents welcomed the -handsome stranger kindly, the father as man to man, -the mother a little shyly, for she saw that he was a -great lord, though he did not tell his name, and she -feared that he might think poorly of their state. All -the same, her mind was busy weaving fantasies, and -when she told them to her husband he mocked her for -a vain and foolish woman, but for all that, he looked -troubled and not well pleased. Nausicaa did not tell -her parents of her dream, but that evening when her -old nurse was combing her hair—my grannie used to -say it was a comb made of pink coral—she asked her -whether she thought that dreams might be taken as -omens, and the old woman, who from the question -divined the truth, brought out a dozen cases of dreams -coming true.’</p> - -<p>‘Does it end happily?’ Madeleine interrupted -feverishly.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle will see,’ chuckled Berthe, her expression -inexpressibly sly.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t look so strangely, Berthe, you frighten me!’ -cried Madeleine. She was in a state of great nervous -excitement.</p> - -<p>‘But, Mademoiselle, it is only a tale—it is <i>just</i> like -Albert, he will sometimes cry his eyes out over a sad -tale. I remember one evening at the Fête des Rois, the -Curé——’</p> - -<p>‘Go on with the story,’ cried Madeleine.</p> - -<p>‘Where was I? Oh, yes.... Well, Ulysse stayed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> -with them some days, and he would borrow a blue -smock from one of Nausicaa’s brothers and help to -bring in the hay, and in the evening tell them stories -of strange countries or play to them on the lute. And -he would wander with Nausicaa in the orchard, and -though his talk was pretty and full of <i>fleurettes</i>, he never -spoke of love. Well, one evening a Troubadour—Mademoiselle -knows what that is?’</p> - -<p>‘Of course!’</p> - -<p>‘Came to the door and they asked him in, and after -supper he sang them songs all about the Siege of Troy -and the hardships undergone by Charlemagne and -his knights when they fought there for <i>la belle Hélène</i>, -and as he listened Ulysse could not keep from weeping, -and they watched him, wondering. And when the -song was finished they were all silent. And then -Ulysse spoke up, saying he would no longer keep his -name from them—“and, indeed,” he added proudly, -“it is not a name that need make its bearer blush, -for,” said he, “I am the lord Ulysse!” At that they -all exclaimed with wonder, and Nausicaa turned as -white as death, but Ulysse did not look at her. Then -he told them of all the troubles sent him by Saint -Nicholas and how fain he was to get to his own country -and to his lady who was waiting for him in a high -tower, but that he had no ship. Then Nausicaa’s father -clapped him on the shoulder, although he was such -a great lord, and told him that he had some ships of -his own to carry his corn to barren countries like -England, and that he should have one to take him -home. Then he filled up their glasses with good red -Beaume and drank to his safe arrival, but Nausicaa -said never a word and left the room. And next morning -she was there, standing by a pillar of the door to bid -him godspeed, smiling bravely, for though she was -but a farmer’s daughter she had a <i>noble fierté</i>. But<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -after he had gone she could do nothing but weep, and -pray to the Virgin to send her comfort. And some tell -that in time she forgot the lord Ulysse and the grievous -sorrow he had brought on her, and wedded with a -neighbouring farmer and gat him fair children.</p> - -<p>‘But others tell that the poor soul could not rid -herself of the burden of her grief, but did use to pass -the nights in weeping and the days in roaming, wan -and cheerless, by the sea-waves or through the meadows. -And one eve as she wandered thus through a field of -corn, it chanced that one of God’s angels was flying -overhead, and he saw the damsel, and his strange -bloodless heart was filled with love and pity of her, -and he swooped down on her and caught her up to -Paradise.</p> - -<p>‘ ... There is Madame calling me!’ and Berthe -hurried from the room.</p> - -<p>Madeleine lay quite still on her bed, with a frightened -shadow in her eyes. Ever since Jacques’s dissertation -on the Symmetry of the Comic Muse, terror had been -howling outside the doors of her soul, but now it had -boldly entered and taken possession.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE CHRISTIAN VENUS</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>The sane and steady procedure of the last few weeks—to -prepare for the arousing of Admiration in Mademoiselle -de Scudéry by a course in the art of pleasing—now -seemed to Madeleine inadequate and frigid. She felt -she could no longer cope with life without supernatural -aid.</p> - -<p>Once more her imagination began to pullulate with -tiny nervous fears.</p> - -<p>There would be onions for dinner—a vegetable -that she detested. She would feel that unless she -succeeded in gulping down her portion before her -father gave another hiccough, she would never gain -the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. She would -wake up in the middle of the night with the conviction -that unless, standing on one leg, she straightway -repeated ‘<i>cogito, ergo sum</i>’ fifteen times, Conrart would -be seized by another attack of gout which would -postpone her visit.</p> - -<p>But these little fears—it would be tedious to -enumerate them all—found their source in one great -fear, to wit <i>lest the Sapphic Ode and the adventures of -Nausicaa formed one story</i>.</p> - -<p>The Ode tells how Venus appeared to Sappho and -promised her rare things; but were these promises -fulfilled? The Ode does not tell us, but we know that -Sappho leapt from a cliff into the cold sea. The Virgin -appears to Nausicaa, and although her promises are not -as explicit as those of Venus, they are every whit as -enticing, and what do they lead to? To a maiden<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> -disillusioned, deserted, and heart-broken, finding her -final consolation in the cold and ravishing embraces -of an Angel.</p> - -<p>She, too, by omens and signs had been promised -rare things; she had abandoned God, but had she -ceased to believe in His potency? She remembered -the impression left on Jacques by the fourth book of -the <i>Eneid</i>, and Descartes’ discarded hypothesis of -an evil god, <i>le grand trompeur</i>—the ‘great cheat,’ he -had called Him. Perhaps He had sent the Virgin to -Nausicaa, Dame Venus to Sappho, and to herself a -constellation of auspicious stars, to cozen them with -fair promises that He might have the joy of breaking -them—and their hearts as well.</p> - -<p>One evening when her nerves were nearly cracking -under the strain of this idea, she went to the kitchen -to seek out Berthe.</p> - -<p>‘Berthe,’ she said, ‘when you do strangely desire -a thing shall come to pass, what means do you affect -to compass it?’</p> - -<p>Berthe gave her a sly look and answered: ‘I burn a -candle to my patron saint, Mademoiselle.’</p> - -<p>‘And is the candle efficacious to the granting of -your prayers?’</p> - -<p>‘As to their granting, it hangs upon the humour of -Saint Berthe.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you know of any charm that will so work upon -her as to change her humour from a splenetic to a -kindly one?’</p> - -<p>‘There is but two charms, Mademoiselle, that will -surely work upon the humours of the great—be they -in Paradise or on the earth—they be flattery and -presents. Albeit, I am a good Catholic, I hold my -own opinions on certain matters, and I cannot doubt -that once the Saints are safe in Paradise they turn -exceeding grasping, crafty, and malicious. Like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -financiers, they are glutted on the farthings of the -poor—a pack of Montaurons!’</p> - -<p>‘And in what manner does one flatter them?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, by novenas and candles and prostrating -oneself before their images. As for me, except I have -a prayer I strangely desire should be granted, I do -never affect to kneel at Mass, I do but bend forward -in my seat. In Lorraine we hold all this bowing and -scraping as naught but Spanish tomfoolery! You’d -seek long before you found one of <i>us</i> putting ourselves -to any discomfort for the Saints, except it did profit -us to do so!’ and for at least a minute she chuckled -and winked.</p> - -<p>Well, here was a strange confirmation of her theory—a -wicked hierarchy could only culminate in a wicked -god. Yes, but such ignoble Saints would surely not -be incorruptible. Might not timely bribes change -their malicious designs? Also, it was just possible -that Nausicaa and Sappho had neglected the rites and -sacrifices without which no compact is valid between -a god and a mortal. But could she not learn from -their sad example? <i>Her</i> story was still in the making, -by timely rites she might bring it to a happy issue.</p> - -<p>With a sudden flash of illumination she felt she -had discovered the secret of her failure. It was due -to her neglect of her own patron saint, Saint Magdalene, -who was as well the patron saint of Madeleine de -Scudéry, a mystic link between their two souls, -without which they could never be united.</p> - -<p><i>Forget not your great patron saint in your devotions. -It was her particular virtue that she greatly loved</i>, had -been the words of Mère Agnès. <i>She greatly loved</i>—why, -it was all as clear as day; was she not the holy -courtesan, and as such had she not taken over the -functions of the pagan Venus, she who had appeared -to Sappho? As the Christian Venus, charm and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -beauty and wit and <i>l’air galant</i>, and all the qualities -that inspire Admiration must be in her gift, and -Madeleine had neglected her! It was little wonder -she had failed. Why, at the very beginning of her -campaign against <i>amour-propre</i> she should have -invoked her aid—‘the saint who so greatly loved.’</p> - -<p>Thus, link by link, was forged a formidable chain -of evidence proving the paramount importance of the -cult of Saint Magdalene.</p> - -<p>What could she do to propitiate her? The twenty-second -of July was her Feast, just a few days -before the visit to Conrart. That was surely a -good omen. She made a rapid calculation and found -that it would fall on a Sunday, what if ... she -shuddered, for something suddenly whispered to her -soul a sinister suggestion.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That afternoon the Chevalier de Méré came to wait -on her, and in the course of his elegantly didactic -monologue, Madeleine inadvertently dropped her -handkerchief: he sprang to pick it up, and as he -presented it to her apostrophised it with a languorous -sigh,—</p> - -<p>‘Ah, little cambric flower, it would not have taken -a seer to foretell that happiness as exquisite as yours -should precede a fall!’</p> - -<p>Then, according to his custom of following up a -concrete compliment by a dissertation on the theory -of <i>Galanterie</i> he launched into an historical survey of -the use to which the <i>Muse Galante</i> had made, in countless -admirable sonnets, of the enviable intimacy existing -between their fair wearer and such insensible objects -as a handkerchief or a glove.</p> - -<p>‘But these days,’ he continued, ‘the envy of a poet -<i>à la mode</i> is not so much aroused by gloves of <i>frangipane</i> -and handkerchiefs of Venetian lace, in that a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> -franchise far greater than <i>they</i> have ever enjoyed has -been granted by all the Belles of the Court and Town to -ignoble squares of the roughest cloth—truly evangelical, -these Belles have exalted the poor and meek and——’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t take your meaning, pray explain,’ Madeleine -cut in.</p> - -<p>‘Why, dear Rhodanthos, have you never heard of Mère -Madeleine de Saint-Joseph of the Carmelites?’</p> - -<p>‘That I have, many a time.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, as you know, in her life time she worked -miracles beyond the dreams of Faith itself, and at -her death, as in the case of the founder of her Order, -the great Elias, her virtue was transmitted to her -cloak, or rather to her habit, portions of which fortunate -garment are worn by all the <i>belles dévotes</i> next ... -er ... their ... er next ... er ... their sk ... -next their secret garden of lilies, with, I am told, the -most extravagant results; it is her portion of the miraculous -habit that has turned Madame de Longueville -into a penitent, for example, but its effects are sometimes -of a more profane nature, namely—breathe it -low—success in the tender passion!’ Madeleine’s -eyes grew round.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, ’tis a veritable cestus of Venus, which, I need -hardly remind a lady of such elegant learning as -Mademoiselle, was borrowed by Juno when anxious -to rekindle the legitimate passion in the bosom of Jove. -And speaking of Juno I remember——’</p> - -<p>But Madeleine had no more attention to bestow on -the urbane flow of the Chevalier’s conversation. She -was ablaze with excitement and hope ... Mère -<i>Madeleine</i> de Saint-Joseph, the mystical name again! -And the cestus of Venus ... it was surely a message -sent from Saint Magdalene herself. The Chevalier -had said that these relics had usurped the rôle previously -played in the world of fashion by lace handkerchiefs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -and gloves of <i>frangipane</i>, in short of the feminine -<i>petite-oie</i>. Thus, by obtaining a relic, she would kill -two birds with one stone; she would absorb the virtue -of Saint Magdalene and at the same time destroy for -ever the bad magic of that <i>petite-oie</i> of bad omen -which she had bought at the Foire St. Germain. -The very next day she would go to the Carmelites, -and perhaps, <i>perhaps</i>, if they had not long ago been -all distributed, procure a piece of the magical habit. -At any rate she would consolidate her cult for Saint -Magdalene by burning some candles in the wonderful -chapel set up in her honour in the Church of the -Carmelites.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>Many strange legends had gone to weave round the -Convent of the Carmelites—so long the centre of -fashionable Catholicism—an atmosphere of romantic -mystery.</p> - -<p>Tradition taught that the order had been founded -on the summit of Mount Carmel by Elias himself. Its -earliest members were the mysterious Essenes, but -they were converted to Christianity by Saint Peter’s -Pentecostal sermon, and built on the mountain a -chapel to the Blessed Virgin Mary, she herself becoming -a member of their order. Her example was followed by -the Twelve Apostles, and any association with that -mysterious company of sinister semi-plastic beings, -menacing sinners with their symbolic keys and crosses, -had filled Madeleine since her childhood with a nameless -terror.</p> - -<p>The Essenes and the Apostles! The Carmelites -thus preserved the Mysteries of both the Old and the -New Testaments.</p> - -<p>Madeleine, as she stood at the door of their Convent, -too awe-struck to enter, felt herself on the confines -of the Holy Land—that land half geographical, half -Apocalyptical, where the Unseen was always bursting -through the ramparts of nature’s laws; where Transfigurations -and Assumptions were daily events, and -Assumptions not only of people but of cities. Had -not Jerusalem, with all its towers and palm-trees and -gardens and temples, been lifted up by the lever of -God’s finger right through the Empyrean, and landed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span> -intact and all burning with gold in the very centre -of the Seventh Heaven?</p> - -<p>Summoning up all her courage she passed into the -court. It was quite empty, and over its dignified -proportions there did indeed seem to lie the shadow -of the silent awful Denizen of ‘high places.’ Dare -she cross it? Once more she pulled herself together -and made her way into the Church.</p> - -<p>It was a gorgeous place, supported by great pillars -of marble and bronze and hung with large, sombre -pictures by Guido and Philippe de Champagne, while -out of the darkness gleamed the ‘Arche d’Alliance’ -with its huge sun studded with jewels.</p> - -<p>The atmosphere though impressive was familiar—merely -Catholicism in its most luxuriant form, and -Madeleine took heart. She set out in quest of the -Magdalene’s Chapel. Here and there a nun was -kneeling, but she was the only stranger.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was but meet that here—the grave of sweet -Mademoiselle de Vigean’s love for the great Condé -and of many another romantic tragedy—the Magdalene -should be specially honoured.</p> - -<p>The Chapel was small and rich, its door of fretted -iron-work made it look not unlike a great lady’s <i>alcove</i>. -It was filled with pictures by Le Brun and his pupils -of scenes from the life of the Saint. There she was -in a dark grove, with tears of penitence streaming -from the whites of large upturned eyes. And there -she was again, beneath the Cross, and there watching -at the Tomb, but always torn by the same intensity -of pseudo emotion, for Le Brun and Guido foreshadowed -in their pictures that quality of poignant, artificial -anguish which a few years later was to move all sensibilities -in the tragedies of Racine.</p> - -<p>Madeleine was much moved by the Magdalene’s -anguish, and hesitated to obtrude her own request.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> -But her throbbing desire won the day, and remembering -what Berthe had said about flattery she knelt before -the largest picture and began by praising the Magdalene’s -beauty and piety and high place in Paradise, and -then with humble importunity implored the friendship -of her namesake.</p> - -<p>When she opened her eyes, there was the Magdalene -as absorbed as before in the intensity of her own -emotion. Le Brun’s dramatic chiaroscuro brings -little comfort to suppliants—the eternal impassivity -of the Buddha is far less discouraging than an eternal -emotion in which we have no part.</p> - -<p>Madeleine felt the chill of repulse. Perhaps in -Paradise as on earth the Saints were sensible to nothing -but the cycle of the sacred Story, and knew no emotions -but passionate grief at the Crucifixion, ecstasy at -the Resurrection, awe at the Ascension, and child-like -joy as the Birth comes round again.</p> - -<p>‘I am scorned in both the worldly and the sacred -alcoves,’ she told herself bitterly, nevertheless, she -determined to continue her attentions.</p> - -<p>She bought three fine candles and added them to -those already burning on the Magdalen’s altar. What -did the Saint do with the candles? Perhaps at night -when no one was looking she melted them down, then -added them to the wax of reality and moulded, moulded, -moulded. Once more Madeleine fell on her knees, and -there welled from her heart a passion of supplication.</p> - -<p><i>Sainte Madeleine</i>, the patron saint of all Madeleines -... of Madeleine Troqueville and of Madeleine de -Scudéry ... the saint who had loved so much herself -... the successor of she whom Jacques had -called ‘the beneficent and bountiful Venus’ ... -surely, surely she would grant her request.</p> - -<p>‘Deathless Saint Magdalen of the damasked throne,’ -she muttered, ‘friend of Jesus, weaver of wiles, vex<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -not my soul with frets and weariness but hearken to -my prayer. Who flees, may she pursue; who spurns -gifts may she offer them; who loves not, willy-nilly -may she love. Broider my speech with the quaint -flowers of Paradise, on thine own loom weave me -wiles and graces to the ensnaring of my love. Up the -path of Admiration lead Sappho to my desire.’</p> - -<p>She felt a touch on her shoulder, and, looking round, -saw a lay-sister, in the brown habit of the Carmelites. -Her twinkling black eyes reminded Madeleine of -another pair of eyes, but whose she could not remember.</p> - -<p>‘I ask pardon, Madame,’ the sister said in a low -voice, ‘but we hold ourselves the hostesses, as it were, -of all wanderers on Carmel. Is there aught that I -can do for you?’</p> - -<p>Madeleine’s heart began to beat wildly; the suddenness -with which an opportunity had been given her -for procuring her wish seemed to her of the nature of -a miracle. Through her perennial grief at the old, -old story, the Magdalene must have heard her prayer. -A certainty was born in on her that her desire would -be granted. She and the other Madeleine would one -day visit the Chapel together, and side by side set up -rows and rows of wax candles in gratitude for the -perfection of their friendship.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, sister, I am much beholden to you,’ she stammered. -The nun led the way out of the Church into -the great garden that marched with that of the -Luxembourg and rivalled it in magnificence. She -sat down by a statue of the Virgin, enamelled in gold -and azure.</p> - -<p>Madeleine thought with contemptuous pity of the -comparatively meagre dimensions and furnishing of -Port-Royal, and triumphed to think how far she had -wandered from Jansenism.</p> - -<p>‘You have the air of one in trouble,’ said the nun<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -kindly. Her breath smelt of onions, and somehow or -other this broke the spell of the situation for Madeleine. -It was a touch of realism not suited to a mystical -messenger.</p> - -<p>‘I perceive graven on your countenance the lines -of sorrow, my child,’ she went on, ‘but to everything -exists its holy pattern, and these lines can also be -regarded as a blessing, when we call to mind the holy -stigmata.’ She gabbled off this speech as though it -had been part of the patter of a quack.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I am exceeding unhappy,’ said Madeleine; -‘at least I am oppressed by fears as to the issue of -certain matters,’ she corrected herself, for ‘unhappy’ -seemed a word of ill-omen.</p> - -<p>‘Poor child!’ said the Sister, ‘but who knows but -that oil and balm of comfort may not pour on you -from Mount Carmel?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, do you think it may?’ Madeleine cried eagerly.</p> - -<p>‘’Tis a strange thing, but many go away from here -comforted. It is richly blessed.’</p> - -<p>‘I wonder,’ Madeleine began hesitatingly. ‘I fear -’tis asking too much—but if I could but have a relic -of the blessed Mère Madeleine de Saint-Joseph! The -world reports her relics more potent than any other -Saint’s.’ (In spite of the efforts of many great French -ladies, Mère Madeleine de Saint-Joseph had <i>not</i> been -canonised. Madeleine knew this, but she thought -she would please the Carmelite by ignoring it.)</p> - -<p>At Madeleine’s words the little nun wriggled her -body into a succession of Gallic contortions, in which -eyebrows and hands played a large part, expressive -of surprise, horror, and complete inability to grant -such an outrageous request. But Madeleine pleaded -hard, and after a dissertation on the extraordinary -virtue of the habit, and a repeated reiteration that -there were only one or two scraps of it left, the Carmelite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> -finally promised that one of these scraps should be -Madeleine’s.</p> - -<p>She went into the Convent and came back with a -tiny piece of frayed cloth, and muttering a prayer -she fixed it inside Madeleine’s bodice.</p> - -<p>Madeleine was almost too grateful to say ‘thank you.’</p> - -<p>‘All the greatest ladies of the Court and the Town -are wont to wear a portion of the sacred habit,’ the -nun continued complacently. Madeleine found herself -wondering quite seriously if the mère Madeleine -de Saint-Joseph had been a <i>Gargamelle</i> in proportions.</p> - -<p>‘To speak truth, it must have been a huge and -capacious garment!’ she said in all good faith. The -nun gave her a quick look out of her shrewd little -eyes, but ignored the remark.</p> - -<p>‘And now Mademoiselle will give us a contribution for -our Order, will she not?’ she said insinuatingly. Madeleine -was much taken aback. She blushed and said,—</p> - -<p>‘Oh, in earnest ... ’tis accordant with my wishes -... but ... er ... how much?’</p> - -<p>‘Do but consult your own heart, and it will go hard -but we shall be satisfied. I have given you what to -the eyes of the flesh appears but a sorry scrap of poor -rough fustian, but to the eyes of the spirit it has the -lustre of velvet, and there is not a Duchess but would -be proud to wear it!’</p> - -<p>Why, of course, her eyes were like those of the mercer -at the Fair who had sold her the ‘<i>petite-oie</i>’!</p> - -<p>However, one acquires merit by giving to holy -Houses ... and also, Mademoiselle has procured -something priceless beyond rubies. Madeleine offered -a gold louis, and the nun was profuse in her thanks. They -parted at the great gates, the nun full of assurances as to -the efficacy of the amulet, Madeleine of grateful thanks.</p> - -<p>It had been a strange adventure, and she left the -Sacred Mountain with conflicting emotions.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE BODY OF THE DRAGON</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>If you remember, when Madeleine had realised that -the feast of Saint Magdalene was approaching, an idea -had flashed into her head which she had not then -dared to entertain. But it had slowly crept back and -now had established itself as a fixed purpose. It was -this—on the feast of Saint Magdalene to communicate, -<i>without having first received Absolution</i>. She felt that -it would please the potent Saint that she should commit -a deadly sin in her honour. Also, it would mean a -complete and final rupture with Jansenism. And -with one stroke she would annihilate her Salvation—that -predestined ghostly certainty to the fulfilment -of which the Celestial Powers seemed bent on sacrificing -all her worldly hopes and happiness. Yes, she would now -be able to walk in security along the familiar paths -of life, unhaunted by the fear of the sudden whirr of -wings and then—the rape to the love of invisible -things.</p> - -<p>So on Sunday, the twenty-second of July, she partook -of the Blessed Sacrament. Arnauld had written in -the ‘Fréquente Communion’: ‘<i>therefore as the true -penitent eats the body of Jesus Christ, so the sinner eats -the body of the Dragon</i>.’</p> - -<p>Well, and so she was eating the body of the Dragon! -The knowledge gave her a strange sense of exaltation -and an awful peace.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX<br /> -<span class="smaller">A JAR</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>It was the day before the meeting. Early next morning -the Chevalier de Méré was to call for her in his coach -and drive her out to Conrart’s house. He was also -taking that tiresome little Mademoiselle Boquet. -That was a pity, but she was particularly pleased -that the Chevalier himself was to be there, he always -brought out her most brilliant qualities.</p> - -<p><i>She was absolutely certain of success</i> ... the real -world seemed to have become the dream world ... -she felt as if she had been turned into a creature of -some light, unsubstantial substance living in an airless -crystal ball.</p> - -<p>That afternoon, being Thursday and a holiday, -she went an excursion with Jacques to Chaillot, a -little village up the Seine. She walked in a happy -trance, and the fifteenth century Church, ornate and -frivolous, dotted with its black Minims—‘<i>les bons -hommes de Chaillot</i>’—and the coach of the exiled -Queen-Mother of England’s gaily rattling down the -cobbled street, seemed to her—safe inside her crystal -ball—pretty and unreal and far-away, like Berthe’s -stories of Lorraine.</p> - -<p>Then they wandered into a little copse behind the -village and lay there in the fantastic green shade, and -Madeleine stroked and petted Jacques and laughed -away his jealousy about the Chevalier, and promised -that next week she would go with him to the notary -and plight her troth.</p> - -<p>Then they got up and she took his arm; on her face<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -was a rapt smile, for she was dreaming particularly -pleasant things about herself and Sappho.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Jacques’s foot caught in a hidden root -... down he came, dragging Madeleine after him -... smash went the crystal ball, and once more she -saw the world bright and hard and menacing and felt -around her the rough, shrewd winds.</p> - -<p>So Jacques had made her fall—just when she was -having such pleasant dreams of Sappho!</p> - -<p><i>Hylas, hélas! Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes. Birds -thinking to fly through have dashed themselves against -the wall. ’Tis as though the issue of his roman were tied -in a strange knot with that of yours. I have been writing -a little comedy on life instead of on foolscap. In the -smithy of Vulcan are being forged weapons which will not -tarry to smash your fragile world into a thousand fragments</i> -... weapons? Perhaps one of them was -‘the scimitar of the Comic Muse’ (or was it the -‘symmetry’? It did not really matter which.)</p> - -<p>Who was the mercer at the Fair? He had the same -eyes as the nun at the Carmelites.... Her father, -too, had a <i>petite-oie</i> ... he had put his faith in bravery. -Perhaps Venus-Magdalen and the Comic Muse were -one ... and their servant was Hylas the mocking -shepherd. <i>The wooden cubes on which God’s finger had -cut a design ... generals and particulars. Have a -care lest that scoundrel Jacques stick a disgrace upon -you, as he has done to me! A comedy written upon -life instead of upon foolscap.</i></p> - -<p>In morbid moments she had often heard a whisper -to which she had never permitted herself to listen. -She heard the whisper now, louder and more insistent -than ever before. To-day she could not choose but -listen to it.</p> - -<p><i>Her ‘roman’ had to follow the pattern of her father’s. -Her father’s ‘roman,’ as slowly it unfolded, was nothing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> -but a magical pre-doing of her own future, more potent -than her dances. And God had deputed the making of -it to—Jacques. He was the playwright, or the engraver, -or the moulder of wax—it mattered little in what medium -he wrought his sinister art.</i></p> - -<p>There was still time to act. ‘She would <i>do</i>, she would -<i>do</i>, she would <i>do</i>.’ Action is the only relief for a hag-ridden -brain. An action that was ruthless and final—that -would break his power and rid her of him for -ever. That action should be consummated.</p> - -<p>All the while that this train of fears and memories -had been coursing through her brain, she had chattered -to Jacques with hectic gaiety.</p> - -<p>When they got home she ran to the kitchen to find -Berthe.</p> - -<p>‘Berthe, were you ever of opinion I would wed with -Monsieur Jacques?’</p> - -<p>Berthe leered and winked. ‘Well, Mademoiselle,’ -she said, ‘Love is one thing—marriage is another. -Monsieur Jacques could not give Mademoiselle a coach -and a fine <i>hôtel</i> in the Rue de Richelieu. I understand -Mademoiselle exceeding well, in that we are not -unlike in some matters,’ and she gave her grotesque -grin. ‘As for me, I would never wed with a man -except he could raise me to a better condition than -mine own—else what would it profit one? But if some -plump little tradesman were to come along——’</p> - -<p>‘But did you hold that I would wed with Monsieur -Jacques?’ Madeleine persisted.</p> - -<p>‘Well, if Mademoiselle <i>did</i> wed with him, she would -doubtless be setting too low a price on herself, though -he is a fine young gentleman and <i>malin comme un singe</i>; -he is like Albert, nothing escapes him.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you think the Saints like us to use each other -unkindly?’</p> - -<p>Berthe laughed enigmatically, ‘I think ’tis a matter<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -of indifference to them, so long as they get the -<i>sous</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘But don’t you think it might accord well with their -humour if they are as wicked as you say they are?’</p> - -<p>Part of the truth suddenly flashed on Berthe, and -she winked and chuckled violently. ‘Oh, Mademoiselle -is sly!’ she cried admiringly. ‘I think it would please -them not a little were Mademoiselle to jilt a poor man -that she might wed with a rich one, for then there -would be gold for them instead of copper!’</p> - -<p>And Madeleine, having forced her oracle into giving -her a more or less satisfactory answer, fled from the -room in dread of Berthe mentioning the name of the -Chevalier de Méré and thereby spoiling the oracular -answer.</p> - -<p>She called Jacques to her room at once, and found -herself—she who had such a horror of hurting the -feelings of her neighbours that she would let a thief -cut her purse-strings rather than that he should know -that she knew he was a thief—telling him without a -tremor that his personality was obnoxious to her, -his addresses still more so, and that she wanted -to end their relationship once and for all. Jacques -listened in perfect silence. At her first words he had -gone white and then flushed the angry red of wounded -vanity, and then once more had turned white. When -she had finished, he said in a voice of icy coldness,—</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle, you have an admirable clearness -of exposition; rest assured I shall not again annoy -you with my addresses—or my presence,’ and with -his head very high he left the room.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE END OF THE ‘ROMAN’</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>Madeleine listened to Jacques’s light footsteps going -down the long flight of stairs, and knew that he had -gone for ever. With this knowledge came a sense of -peace she had not known for days, and one of sacramental -purity, such as must have filled the souls of -pious Athenians when at the Thargelia the <i>Pharmakoi</i> -were expelled from the city.</p> - -<p>Yes, just in time she had discovered the true moral -of the Sapphic Ode and the story of Nausicaa, to wit, -that the gods will break their promises if man fails -to perform the necessary rites and ceremonies. Ritually, -her affairs were in exquisite order. By her sacrilegious -Communion (she still shuddered at the thought of it) -she had consolidated her cult for the powerful Saint -Magdalene, and at the same time cut out of her heart -the brand of God, by which in the fullness of time the -ravishing Angel would have discovered his victim. -And, finally, by her dismissal of Jacques, she had rid -herself of a most malign miasma. The wax of reality -lay before her, smooth and white and ready for her -moulding. All she had to do now was to sparkle, and, -automatically, she would arouse the passion of -Admiration.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she remembered another loose thread -that needed to be gathered up. The <i>roman</i> of her -dances had not been brought to a climax.</p> - -<p>An unwritten law of the style gallant makes the -action of a <i>roman</i> automatically cease after a declaration -of love. Nothing can happen afterwards. What if<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span> -she should force time to its fullness and make a declaration? -It would be burning her boats, it would be -staking all her happiness on this last meeting, for if -it were a failure hope would be dead. For, owing to -her strange confusion of the happenings of her dances -with those of real life, the <i>roman</i> of the one having -been completed, its magical virtue all used up, its -colophon reached, she felt that the <i>roman</i> of the other -would also have reached its colophon, that nothing -more could happen. But for great issues she must -take great risks ... <i>dansons</i>!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>Sappho and Madeleine are reclining on a bank, the -colour and design of which rival all the carpets in the -bazaars of Bagdad. There is no third person to mar their -ravishing solitude <span class="antiqua">à deux</span>. Madeleine is saying,</i>—</p> - -<p><i>‘I must confess, Madame, that your delicious writings -have made me a heretic.’</i></p> - -<p><i>Sappho laughs gaily. ‘Then I tremble for your fate, -for heretics are burned.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘In that case I am indeed a heretic, for a flame has -long burned me,’ says Madeleine boldly. But Sappho -possesses in a high degree the art of hearing only what she -chooses, and she says, a trifle coldly</i>,—</p> - -<p><i>‘If my writings have made you a heretic, they must -themselves be heretical. Do they contain Five Propositions -worthy of papal condemnation?’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Madame, you are resolved to misunderstand me. -They have made me a heretic in regard to the verdict of -posterity as to the merits of the ancients, for since I have -steeped myself, if I may use the expression, in your -incomparable style I have become as deaf as Odysseus -to the siren songs of Greece and Rome.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘That is indeed heresy,’ cries Sappho with a smile that -shows she is not ill-pleased. ‘I fear it will be visited by -excommunication by the whole College of Muses.’</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span></p> - -<p><i>‘The only punishment of heresy—you have yourself -said so—is ... flame,’ says Madeleine, gazing straight -into the eyes of Sappho. This time she is almost certain -she can perceive a blush on that admirable person’s cheek—<span class="antiqua">almost</span> -certain, for the expression of such delicate things -as the Passions of Sappho must need itself be very delicate. -Descartes has said that a blush proceeds from one of -two passions—love or hate. <span class="antiqua">En voilà un problème -galant!</span></i></p> - -<p><i>‘To justify my heresy, permit me, Madame, to recall -to your mind a poem by your namesake, the Grecian -Sappho,</i>—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘That man seems to me greater than the gods who doth -sit facing thee and sees thee and hears thy delicate laughter. -When this befalls me my senses clean depart ... all is -void ... my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, -drop by drop flame steals down my slender veins ... -there is a singing in mine ears ... my eyes are covered -with a twin night.</p> - -</div> - -<p><i>She pauses, but Sappho laughs—perhaps not <span class="antiqua">quite</span> -naturally—and cries,</i>—</p> - -<p><i>‘Mademoiselle, your heresy still stands unjustified!’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Why, Madame, how could any one of taste take pleasure -in verse so devoid of wit, of grace, of <span class="antiqua">galanterie</span> ... so -bare, so barbarous, after they have been initiated into the -Parnassian Mysteries of <span class="antiqua">your</span> incomparable verse and -prose? Why, what I have quoted is the language of -lexicographers and philosophers, not the divine cadences -of a poet. Put in metre Descartes’ description of the -signs by which the movements of the Passions may be -detected, namely,</i>—</p> - -<p><i>‘“The chief signs by which the Passions show themselves -are the motions of the eyes and the face, changes of -colour, trembling, languor, faintness, laughter, tears,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -moans, and sighs,” and you will have a poem every whit -as graceful and well-turned!</i></p> - -<p><i>‘The poem of Sappho I. is a “small thing” ... but -if it had proceeded from the delicious pen of Sappho II. -it would have been a “rose”!’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘And how should I have effected this miracle?’ asks -Sappho with a smile.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘I think, Madame, you would have used that excellent -device of the Muse Galante which I will call that of -Eros Masqué.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Eros Masqué? Is he unseen then as well as unseeing?’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘On his first visit, frequently, Madame. And this -droll fact—that lovers pierced by as many of his arrows -as Saint Sebastian by those of the Jews are wont to ignore -the instrument by which they have got their wounds—has -been put to pretty use by many <span class="antiqua">poètes galants</span>. For -example, an amorous maiden or swain doth describe -divers well-known effects of the tender passion, and then -asks with a delicious naïveté, “Can it be Love?” And -this simple little question, if inserted between each of the -symptoms enumerated by Sappho, would go far to giving -her poem the <span class="antiqua">esprit</span> it so sadly lacks. But, Madame, -far the most ravishing of all the poems of Eros Masqué -are your own incomparable verses in the sixth volume -of “Cyrus”</i>:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Ma peine est grande, et mon plaisir extrême,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Je ne dors point la nuit, je rêve tout le jour;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Je ne sais pas encore si j’aime,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mais cela ressemble a l’amour.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Voyant Phaon mon âme est satisfaite,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Et ne le voyant point, la peine est dans mon cœur</div> - <div class="verse indent0">J’ignore encore ma defaite</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mais peut-être est-il mon vainqueur?</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Tout ce qu’il dit me semble plein de charmes!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Tout ce qu’il ne dit pas, n’en peut avoir pour moi,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mon cœur as-tu mis bas les armes?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Je n’en sais rien, mais je le crois.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><i>‘Do not these verses when placed by the side of those of -the Grecian Sappho justify for ever my heresy?’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘I should be guilty myself of the heresy of self-complacency -were I to subscribe your justification,’ cries -Sappho with a delicious air of raillery.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Madame, the device of Eros Masqué serves another -purpose besides that of charming the fancy by its grace -and drollery.... It makes Confession innocent, for -although that Sacrament is detested by Précieuses as fiercely -as by Protestants, the most precise and prudish of -Précieuses could scarce take umbrage at a Confession -expressed by a string of naïve questions.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘There, Madame, you show a deplorable ignorance of -the geography of the heart of at least one Précieuse. I can -picture myself white with indignation on receiving the -Socratic Confession you describe,’ says Sappho, but -the ice of her accents thaws into two delicious little -dimples.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘“Mais votre fermeté tient un peu du barbare,” to -quote the great Corneille,’ cries Madeleine with a smile. -‘You called it a Socratic Confession, alluding I presume -to the fact that it was cast in the form of questions, -but a Socratic Confession, if my professors have not -misled me, is very close to a Platonic one. Can you -picture yourself white with rage at receiving a Platonic -Confession?’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Before I can answer that question you must -describe to me a Platonic Confession,’ says Sappho -demurely.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘’Tis the confession of a sentiment the purity and -discreetness of which makes it the only tribute worthy to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -be laid at the feet of a Précieuse. Starting from what -Descartes holds to be the coldest of the Passions, that of -Admiration, it takes its demure way down the slope of -Inclination straight into the twilight grove of l’Amitié -Tendre</i>—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Auprès de cette Grote sombre</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh l’on respire un air si doux;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">L’onde lutte avec les cailloux,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Et la lumière avec l’ombre.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Dans ce Bois, ni dans ces montagnes</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Jamais chasseur ne vint encore:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Si quelqu’un y sonne du Cor</div> - <div class="verse indent0">C’est Diane avec ses compagnes.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><i>‘These delicious verses of the gentle Tristan might have -been a description of the land of <span class="antiqua">l’Amitié Tendre</span>, so -charmed is its atmosphere, so deep its green shadows, -so heavy its brooding peace. For all round it is traced -a magic circle across which nothing discordant or -vulgar can venture.... Without, moan the Passions -like wild beasts enchained, the thunder booms, the lightning -flashes, and there is a heap as high as a mountain of -barbed arrows shot by Love, all of which have fallen short -of that magic circle.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Happy they who have crossed it!</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Madame, I called the Grecian Sappho a barbarian.... -Barbarian or no she discovered hundreds of years -ago the charm by which the magic circle can be crossed -... the charm is simple when you know it; it is merely -this ... take another maiden with you. It has never -been crossed by man and maid, for in sight of the country’s -cool trees and with the murmur of its fountains in their -ear they have been snatched from behind by one of the -enchained passions, or grievously wounded by one of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -the whizzing arrows ... Madame, shall we try the -virtue of the Grecian Sappho’s charm?’</i></p> - -<p><i>And Sappho murmurs ‘yes.’</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So Madeleine put her fate ‘to the touch, to win or -lose it all,’ and there was something exhilarating in -the thought that retreat now was impossible.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">‘UN CADEAU’</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>The next morning—the morning of <i>the</i> day—Madeleine -woke up with the same feeling of purification; she -seemed to be holding the day’s culmination in her -hands, and it was made of solid white marble, that -cooled her palms as she held it.</p> - -<p>Berthe, with mysterious winks, brought her a sealed -letter. It was from Jacques:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Chop</span>,—I am moving to the lodgings of a friend -for a few days, and then I go off to join the Army in Spain. -Take no blame to yourself for this, for I have always -desired strangely to travel and have my share in manly -adventures, and would, ’tis likely, have gone anyhow. -I would never have made a good Procureur. I have -written to Aunt Marie to acquaint her with my sudden -decision, in such manner that she cannot suspect what -has really taken place.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, dear! I had meant to rail against you and I think -this is nothing toward it! ’Tis a strange and provoking -thing that one cannot—try as one will—be moved by -<i>real</i> anger towards those one cares about! Not that I -have any real cause to be angry upon your score—bear -in mind, Chop, that I know this full well—but in spite -of this I would dearly like to be!</p> - -<p class="right">‘<span class="smcap">Jacques.</span>’</p> - -</div> - -<p>As she read it, she realised that she had made a big -sacrifice. Surely it would be rewarded!</p> - -<p>She dressed in a sort of trance. Her excitement -was so overwhelming, so vibrantly acute, that she -was almost unconscious.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span></p> - -<p>Then the Chevalier, with little Mademoiselle Boquet, -drove up to the door, and Madeleine got in, smiling -vaguely in reply to the Chevalier’s compliments, and -they drove off, her mother and Berthe standing waving -at the door. On rolled the <i>carrosse</i> past La Porte -Sainte-Antoine, through which were pouring carts full -of vegetables and fruit for the Halles, and out into the -white road beyond; and on rolled the smooth cadences -of the Chevalier’s voice—‘To my mind the highest -proof that one is possessed of wit and that one knows -how to wield it, is to lead a well-ordered life and to -behave always in society in a seemly fashion. And -to do that consists in all circumstances following the -most <i>honnête</i> line and that which seems most in keeping -with the condition of life to which one belongs. Some -rôles in life are more advantageous than others; it is -Fortune that casts them and we cannot choose the -one we wish; but whatever that rôle may be, one -is a good actor if one plays it well ...’ and so on. -Fortunately, sympathetic monosyllables were all that -the Chevalier demanded from his audience, and these -he got from Mademoiselle Boquet and Madeleine.</p> - -<p>And so the journey went on, and at last they were -drawing up before a small, comfortable white house -with neatly-clipped hedges, shrubberies, and the -play of a sedate fountain. Madame Conrart, kind -and flustered, was at the door to meet them, and led -them into a large room in which Conrart in an arm-chair -and Mademoiselle de Scudéry busy with her -embroidery in another arm-chair sat chatting together. -Conrart’s greeting to Madeleine was kindness itself, -and Mademoiselle de Scudéry also said something -polite and friendly. She pretended not to hear her, -and moved towards Madame Conrart, for as soon as -her eyes had caught sight of Sappho, she had been -seized by the same terrible self-consciousness, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -same feeling of ‘nothing matters so long as I am -seen and heard as little as may be.’</p> - -<p>Then came some twenty minutes of respite, for -Mademoiselle Boquet with her budget of news of the -Court and the Town acted as a rampart between -Madeleine and Mademoiselle de Scudéry. But at -dinner-time her terror once more returned, for general -conversation was expected at meals. ‘Simple country -fare,’ said Conrart modestly, but although the dishes -were not numerous, and consisted mainly of home-reared -poultry, there were forced peaches and grapes -and the table was fragrant with flowers.</p> - -<p>‘Flora and Pomona joining hands have never had -a fairer temple than this table,’ said the Chevalier, -and all the company, save Madeleine, added their -tribute to their host’s bounty. But Madeleine sat -awkward and tongue-tied, too nervous to eat. The -precious moments of her last chance were slipping -by; even if she thought of a thousand witty things -she would not be able to say them, for her tongue -felt swollen and impotent. Descartes on the Will -was just an old pedant, talking of what he did not -understand.</p> - -<p>At last dinner was over, and Conrart suggested they -should go for a little walk in the grounds. He offered -his arm to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, the Chevalier -followed with Madame Conrart, so Madeleine and -Mademoiselle Boquet found themselves partners. But -even then Madeleine was at first unable to break the -spell of heavy silence hanging over her. ‘Blessed -Saint Magdalene, help me! help me! help me!’ she -muttered, and then reminded herself that being neither -half-witted nor dumb, it did not demand any gigantic -effort of will to <i>force</i> herself to behave like an <i>honnête -femme</i> ... and to-day it was a matter of life or -death.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span></p> - -<p>She felt like a naked, shivering creature, standing -at the top of a gigantic rock, and miles below her lay -an icy black pool, but she must take the plunge; and -she did.</p> - -<p>She began to reinforce her self-confidence by being -affected and pretentious with Mademoiselle Boquet, -but the little lady’s gentle reserve made her vaguely -uncomfortable. She was evidently one of those annoying -little nonentities with strong likes and dislikes, and a -whole bundle of sharp little judgments of their own, who -are always vaguely irritating to their more triumphant -sisters. Then she tried hard to realise <i>emotionally</i> -that the gray female back in front of her belonged to -Mademoiselle de Scudéry—to the <i>Reine de Tendre</i>; -to Sappho—but somehow her imagination was -inadequate. The focus of all her tenderness was not -this complacent lady, but the Sappho of her dances.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>As, for example, I find in myself two divers Ideas of -the Sun, one as received by my senses by which it appears -to me very small, another as taken from the arguments -of Astronomers by which ’tis rendered something bigger -than the Globe of the Earth. Certainly both of these -cannot be like that sun which is without me, and my -reason persuades that that Idea is most unlike the Sun, -which seems to proceed immediately from itself.</p> - -</div> - -<p>She remembered these words of Descartes’ Third -Meditation ... two suns and two Sapphos, and the -one perceived by the senses, not the real one ... and -yet, and yet she could <i>never</i> be satisfied with merely -the Sappho of the dances, even though metaphysically -she were more real than the other. Her happiness -depended in merging the two Sapphos into one ... -she must remember, reality is colourless and silent and -malleable ... a white, still Sappho like the Grecian -statues in the Louvre ... to the Sappho of her dances<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -she gave what qualities she chose, so could she to the -Sappho who was walking a few paces in front of her -... forward la Madeleine! Then the Chevalier came -and walked on her other side. She told herself that -this was a good opportunity of working herself into -a vivacious mood, which would bridge over the next -awful chasm. So she burst into hectic persiflage, and -to Hell with Mademoiselle Boquet’s little enigmatical -smile!</p> - -<p>They were walking in a little wood. Suddenly from -somewhere among the trees came the sound of violins. -A <i>cadeau</i> for one of the ladies! Madeleine felt that -she would die with embarrassment if it were not for -her—yes, <i>die</i>—humiliated for ever in the eyes of Mademoiselle -de Scudéry, in relationship to whom she -always pictured herself as a triumphant beauty, with -every inch of the stage to herself.</p> - -<p>There was a little buzz of expectation among the -ladies, and Madame Conrart, looking flustered and -pleased, said: ‘I am sure it is none of our doing.’ -Madeleine stretched her lips in a forced smile, in a -fever of anxiety.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly they came to an open clearing in -the wood, and there was a table heaped with preserved -fruits and jams and sweetmeats and liqueurs, all of -them rose-coloured. The napkins were of rose-coloured -silk and folded into the shape of hearts, the knives -were tiny darts of silver. Behind stood the four fiddlers -scratching away merrily at a <i>pot pourré</i> of airs from -the latest <i>ballet de cour.</i> The ladies gave little ‘ohs!’ -of delight, and Conrart looked pleased and important, -but that did not mean anything, for he was continually -taking a possessive pride in matters in which he had -had no finger. The Chevalier looked enigmatic. Conrart -turned to him with a knowing look and said,—</p> - -<p>‘Chevalier, you are a professor of the <i>philosophie de<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -galanterie</i>, can you tell us whether rose pink is the -colour of <i>Estime</i> or of <i>le Tendre</i>?’</p> - -<p>‘Descartes is dumb on the relation of colours to the -Passions, so it is not for me to decide,’ the Chevalier -answered calmly, ‘all <i>I</i> know is that the Grecian rose -was pink.’ Madeleine’s heart gave a bound of -triumph.</p> - -<p>The fiddles started a languorous saraband, and from -the trees a shower of artificial rose-petals fell on the -ladies. Mademoiselle de Scudéry looked very gracious.</p> - -<p>‘Our unknown benefactor has a very fragrant invention,’ -she said in a tone which seemed to Madeleine -to intimate that <i>she</i> was the queen of the occasion. -Vain, foolish, ugly creature, how dare she think so, -when she, Madeleine, was there! Had she not heard -what the Chevalier had said about the ‘Grecian rose’?—(though -why she should know that the Chevalier -called Madeleine ‘Rhodanthos,’ I fail to perceive!)—she -would put her in her place. She gave a little -affected laugh, and, looking straight at the Chevalier, -she said,—</p> - -<p>‘It is furiously gallant. I thank you a thousand -times.’</p> - -<p>The Chevalier looked nonplussed, and stammered -out that ‘Cupid must have known that a bevy of -Belles had planned to visit that wood.’</p> - -<p>Madeleine had committed the unpardonable crime—she -had openly acknowledged a <i>cadeau</i>, whereas -<i>Galanterie</i> demanded that the particular lady it was -intended to honour should be veiled in a piquant -mystery. Why, it was enough to send all the ladies of -<i>Cyrus</i> shuddering back for ever to their Persian -seraglios! But she had as well broken the spell of -silence woven by Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s presence. -That lady exchanged a little look with Mademoiselle -Boquet which somehow glinted right off from Madeleine’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> -shining new armour. She gulped off a liqueur and gave -herself tooth and nail to the business of shining. She -began to flirt outrageously with the Chevalier, and -though he quite enjoyed it, the <i>pédagogue galant</i> in -him made a mental note to give Madeleine a hint -that this excessive <i>galanterie</i> smacked of the previous -reign, while the present fashion was a witty prudishness. -Certainly, Mademoiselle de Scudéry was not looking -impressed, but, somehow, Madeleine did not care; -the one thing that mattered was that she should be -brilliantly in the foreground, and be very witty, and -then Mademoiselle de Scudéry <i>must</i> admire her.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle de Scudéry soon started a quiet little -chat with Conrart, which caused Madeleine’s vivacity to -flag; how could she sparkle when her sun was -hidden?</p> - -<p>‘Yes, <i>la belle Indienne</i> would doubtless have found -her native America less barbarous than the <i>milieu</i> in -which she has been placed by an exceeding ironical -fortune,’ Mademoiselle de Scudéry was saying. Madeleine, -deeply read in <i>La Gazette Burlesque</i>, knew that -she was speaking of the beautiful and ultra-refined -Madame Scarron, forced to be hostess of the most -licentious <i>salon</i> in Paris.</p> - -<p>‘’Tis my opinion she falls far short of Monsieur -Scarron in learning, wit, and galanterie!’ burst in -Madeleine. She did not think so really; it was just -a desire to make herself felt. Mademoiselle de Scudéry -raised her eyebrows.</p> - -<p>‘Is Mademoiselle acquainted with Madame Scarron?’ -she inquired in a voice that implied she was certain -that she was not. In ordinary circumstances, such a -snub, even from some one for whose good opinion -she did not care a rap, would have reduced her to -complete silence, but to-day she seemed to have risen -invulnerable from the Styx.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p> - -<p>‘No, I haven’t been presented to her—although -I have seen her,’ she said.</p> - -<p>‘And yet you speak of her as though you had much -frequented her? You put me in mind, Mademoiselle, -of the troupe of players in my brother’s comedy who -called themselves <i>Comédiens du Roi</i>, although they -had played before His Majesty but once,’ said Mademoiselle -de Scudéry coldly.</p> - -<p>‘In earnest, I have no wish to pass as Madame -Scarron’s comedian. Rumour has it she was born -in a prison,’ Madeleine rejoined insolently. ‘Moreover, -I gather from her friends, the only merit in her prudishness -is that it acts as a foil to her husband’s wit.’</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle de Scudéry merely raised her eyebrows, -and Conrart, attempting to make things more -comfortable, said with a good-natured smile,—</p> - -<p>‘Ah! Sappho, the young people have their own -ideas about things, I dare swear, and take pleasure in -the <i>genre burlesque</i>!’</p> - -<p>(Jacques would have smiled to hear Madeleine -turned into the champion of the burlesque!) ‘Well, all -said, the burlesque, were it to go to our friend Ménage -(whom one might call the Hozier<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> of literary forms) -might get a fine family tree for itself, going back to -the Grecian Aristophanes—is that not so, Chevalier?’ -went on Conrart. The Chevalier smiled non-committally.</p> - -<p>‘No, no,’ interrupted Madeleine; ‘certainly not -Aristophanes. I should say that the Grecian Anthology -is the founder of the family; a highly respectable -ancestor, though <i>de robe</i> rather than <i>d’épée</i>, for I am -told Alexandrian Greek is not as noble as that of -Athens. It contains several epigrams, quite in the -manner of Saint-Amant.’ She was quoting Jacques, -from whom, without knowing a word of Greek, she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span> -had gleaned certain facts about Greek construction -and literature.</p> - -<p>Though Conrart never tried to conceal his ignorance -of Greek, he could scarcely relish a reminder of it, while -to be flatly contradicted by a fair damsel was not in -his Chinese picture of Ladies and Sages. Mademoiselle -de Scudéry came to his rescue,—</p> - -<p>‘For myself, I have always held that all an <i>honnête -homme</i> need know is Italian and Spanish’—(here she -smiled at Conrart, who was noted for his finished knowledge -of these two tongues)—‘the nature of the passions, -<i>l’usage de monde</i>, and above all, Mythology, but that -can be studied in a translation quite as well as in the -original Greek or Latin. This is the <i>necessary</i> knowledge -for an <i>honnête homme</i>, but as the word <i>honnête</i> covers -a quantity of agreeable qualities, such as a swift imagination, -an exquisite judgment, an excellent memory, -and a lively humour naturally inclined to learning -about everything it sees that is curious and that it -hears mentioned as worthy of praise, the possessor of -these qualities will naturally add a further store of -agreeable information to the accomplishments I have -already mentioned. These accomplishments are necessary -also to an <i>honnête femme</i>, but as well as being able to -<i>speak</i> Italian and Spanish, she must be able to <i>write</i> -her native French; I must confess that the orthography -of various distinguished ladies of my acquaintance -is barely decent! As well as knowing the nature -and movements of the Passions she must know the -causes and effects of maladies, and a quantity of -receipts for the making of medicaments and perfumes -and cordials ... in fact of both useful and gallant -distillations, as necessity or pleasure may demand. -As well as being versed in Mythology, that is to say, -in the <i>amours</i> and exploits of ancient gods and heroes, -she must know what I will call the modern Mythology,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -that is to say the doings of her King and the <i>historiettes</i> -of the various Belles and Gallants of the Court and -Town.’</p> - -<p>All the company had sat in rapt attention during -this discourse, except Madeleine, who had fidgeted -and wriggled and several times had attempted to break -in with some remark of her own. Now she took -advantage of the slight pause that followed to cry -out aggressively: ‘Italian and Spanish <i>may</i> be the -language of <i>les honnêtes gens</i>, but Greek is certainly -that of <i>les gens gallants</i>, if only for this reason, that it -alone possesses the lover’s Mood.’ Madeleine waited to -be asked what that was, and the faithful Chevalier -came to her rescue.</p> - -<p>‘And what may the lover’s mood be, Mademoiselle?’ -he asked with a smile.</p> - -<p>‘What they call the Optative—the Mood of wishing,’ -said Madeleine. The Chevalier clapped delightedly, -and Conrart, now quite restored to good humour, -also congratulated her on the sally; but Mademoiselle -de Scudéry looked supremely bored.</p> - -<p>The violins started a light, melancholy dance, and -from behind the trees ran a troop of little girls, dressed -as nymphs, and presented to each of the ladies a -bouquet, showing in its arrangement the inimitable -touch of the famous florist, La Cardeau. Madeleine’s -was the biggest. Then they got up and moved on to -a little Italian grotto, where they seated themselves on -the grass, Madame Conrart insisting that her husband -should sit on a cloak she had been carting about with -her for the purpose all the afternoon. He grumbled -a little, but sat down on it all the same.</p> - -<p>‘And now will the wise Agilaste make music for us?’ -he asked. All looked invitingly towards Mademoiselle -Boquet. She expressed hesitation at performing in -a garden where such formidable rivals were to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> -found as Conrart’s famous linnets, but she finally -yielded to persuasion, and taking her lute, began to -play. It was exquisite. First she played some airs by -Couperin, then some pavanes by a young Italian, as yet -known only to the elect and quite daring in his modernity, -by name Lulli, and last a frail, poignant melody of -the time of Henri IV., in which, as in the little poem -of the same period praised by Alceste, ‘<i>la passion -parlait toute pure</i>.’</p> - -<p>Madame Conrart listened with more emotion than -any of them, beating time with her foot, her eyes -filling with tears. When Mademoiselle Boquet laid -down her lute, she drew a deep sigh. ‘Ah! Now -that’s what <i>I</i> call agreeable!’ Conrart frowned at -her severely, but Mademoiselle de Scudéry and the -Chevalier were evidently much amused. The poor -lady, realising that she had made a <i>faux pas</i>, looked -very unhappy.</p> - -<p>‘Oh! I did not mean to say ... I am sure ... I hope -you will understand!’ she said to the company, but -looking at Conrart the while.</p> - -<p>‘We will understand, and indeed we would be very -dull if we failed to, that you are ever the kindest and -most hospitable of hostesses,’ said Mademoiselle de -Scudéry. Madame Conrart looked relieved and said,—</p> - -<p>‘I am sure you are very obliging, Mademoiselle.’ -Then she turned to Madeleine, ‘And you, Mademoiselle, -do you sing or play?’ Madeleine said in a superior -tone that she did not, and the Chevalier, invariably -adequate, said: ‘Mademoiselle is a <i>merciful</i> Siren.’</p> - -<p>And so the afternoon passed, until it was time to -take their leave. The Conrarts were very kind and -friendly and hoped Madeleine would come again, but -Mademoiselle de Scudéry had so many messages to -send by Mademoiselle Boquet to friends in Paris, that -she forgot even to say good-bye to her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span></p> - -<p>On the drive home the Chevalier and Mademoiselle -Boquet had a learned discussion about music, and -Madeleine sat silent and wide-eyed. It was eight -o’clock when they reached the petite rue du Paon. -Madeleine rushed in to her mother, who was waiting -for her, and launched into a long excited account of -the day’s doings, which fulfilled the same psychological -need that a dance would have done, and then she went -to her room, for her mother wished to discuss the -violent decision come to so suddenly by Jacques.</p> - -<p>She went straight to bed and fell asleep to the cry -of the <i>Oublieux</i>—‘La joie! la joie! Voilà des oublies!’</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">FACE TO FACE WITH FACTS</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>She awoke next morning to the sense that she must -make up her account. How exactly did things stand? -She certainly had been neither <i>gauche</i> nor silent the -day before. Saint Magdalene had done all she had -asked of her, but by so doing had she played her some -hideous trick?</p> - -<p>She had had absolute faith in Descartes’ doctrine -that love proceeds from admiration, and that admiration -is caused by anything rare and extraordinary. She -<i>was</i> rare, she <i>was</i> extraordinary, but had she aroused -admiration? And even if she had, could it not be the -forerunner of hate as well as of love?</p> - -<p>Alas! how much easier would be self-knowledge, -and hence, if the Greeks were right, how much easier -too would be virtue, if the actions of our passions were -as consistent, the laws that govern them as mechanical, -as they appear in Descartes’ Treatise. Moreover, how -much easier would be happiness if, docile and catholic -like birds and flowers, we were never visited by these -swift, exclusive passions, which are so rarely reciprocal.</p> - -<p>No, if Mademoiselle de Scudéry did not feel for her -<i>d’un aveugle penchant le charme imperceptible</i>, the -Cestus of Venus itself would be of no avail. Even if -she had not cut herself off from the relief of her dances -by bringing them to a climax beyond which their -virtue could not function, this had been, even for their -opiate, too stern and dolorous a fact.</p> - -<p>Circumstances had forced her bang up against reality -this time. She must find out, once and for all, how<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> -matters stood, that is to say, if she had aroused the -emotion of admiration. She must have her own -suspicions allayed—or confirmed. The only way this -could be done, was to go to the Chevalier’s house and -ask him. The spoken word carried for her always -a strange finality. Suspense would be unbearable; -she must go <i>now</i>.</p> - -<p>She dressed hurriedly, slipped on her mask and -cloak, and stole into the street. The strange antiphony -of the hawkers rang through the morning, and there -echoed after her as she ran the well-known cry: <i>Vous -désirez quelque ch-o-o-se?</i> This cry in the morning, -and in the evening that of the <i>Oublieux</i>.—<i>La joie! -la joie! Voilà des oublies!</i> ... Did one answer the -other in some strange way, these morning and evening -cries? It could be turned into a dialogue between -Fate and a mortal, thus:—</p> - -<p><i>Fate</i>: Vous désirez quelque cho-o-o-se?</p> - -<p><i>Mortal</i>: La joie! la joie!</p> - -<p><i>Fate</i>: Voilà—<i>l’oubli</i>.</p> - -<p>On she ran, careless of the surprise of the passers-by, -over the Pont-Neuf, already busy, and driving -its motley trade, then along the Quais on the other -side, past the Louvre, and up the Rue de Richelieu, -where the Chevalier lived. She had naturally never -been to his rooms, but she knew where they were. -She slipped in at the main doorway and up the long -stairs, her heart beating somewhere up in her throat. -She knew he lived on the second landing. She knocked -many times before the door was opened by a lackey -in a night-cap. He gaped when he first saw her, and -then grinned broadly.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle must see Monsieur? Monsieur is -abed, but Mademoiselle doubtless will not mind that!’</p> - -<p>‘Tell Monsieur that Mademoiselle Troqueville <i>must</i> -see him on urgent business,’ Madeleine said severely.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span></p> - -<p>The lackey grinned again, and led her through a -great bare room, surrounded by carved wooden -chests, in which, doubtless, the Chevalier kept his -innumerable suits of clothes. They served also as -beds, chairs, and tables to the Chevalier’s army of -lackeys and pages, for some were lying full length on -them snoring lustily, and others, more matinal, were -sitting on them cross-legged, and, wrapped in rugs, -were playing at that solace of the vulgar—Lasquinet. -Madeleine felt a sudden longing to be one of them, -happy, lewd, soulless creatures!</p> - -<p>She was shown into an elegant little waiting-room, -full of small inlaid tables and exquisite porcelain. -The walls were hung with crayon sketches, and large -canvasses of well-known ladies by Mignard and Beaubrun. -Some of them were in allegorical postures—there -was the celebrated Précieuse, Madame de Buisson, -holding a lyre and standing before a table covered -with books and astronomical instruments ... she -was probably meant to represent a Muse ... she -was leering horribly ... was it the Comic Muse?</p> - -<p>It must have been for about a quarter of an hour -that Madeleine waited, sitting rigid and expressionless.</p> - -<p>At last the Chevalier arrived, fresh from his valet’s -hands, in a gorgeous Chinese dressing-gown, scented -and combed. He held out both his hands to her and -his eyes were sparkling, to Madeleine it seemed with -a sinister light, and she found herself wondering, as -she marked the dressing-gown, if he were Descartes. -Anything was possible in this Goblin-world.</p> - -<p>She suddenly realised that she must find the ‘urgent -business’ that had wrenched the Chevalier from his -morning sleep. She could not very well blurt put -‘Did Mademoiselle de Scudéry like me?’ but what -<i>could</i> she say?</p> - -<p>‘Dear Rhodanthos, I cursed my valet for not being<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -winged when I heard it was you, and—as you see—my -impatience was too great for a jerkin! What -brings you at this hour? That you should turn to me -in your trouble, if trouble it is, is a prettier compliment -than all <i>les fleurettes</i> of all the polite Anthologies. What -has metamorphosed the Grecian rose into a French lily?’</p> - -<p>Madeleine blushed, and stammered out that she did not -know. Then the Chevalier took matters into his own -hands. This behaviour might smack of the reign of -Louis XIII., but it was very delicious for all that.</p> - -<p>He took her in his arms. Madeleine lay there -impassive. After all, it saved her the trouble of -finding a reason; for the one thing that was left in -this emotional ruin was the old shrinking from people -knowing how much it mattered. But as to what he -might think of her present behaviour, ’twas a matter -of no moment whatever. She held him at arm’s length -from her for a minute.</p> - -<p>‘Tell me,’ she said archly, ‘did you find yesterday -a pleasant diversion?’ His cheeks were flushed, and -there was the dull drunken look in his eyes which is one -of the ways passion expresses itself in middle-aged men. -‘Come back to me!’ he muttered thickly, without -answering her question.</p> - -<p>‘First tell me if you found it diverting!’ she cried -gaily, and darted to the opposite end of the room. -He rushed after her.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t madden me, child,’ he muttered, and took -her in his arms again. Again Madeleine broke away -from him laughing.</p> - -<p>‘I won’t come to you till—let me see—till you tell -me if I took the fancy of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’ -She was, when hard-driven, an excellent actress, and -the question tripped out, light and mocking, as if it -had just been an excuse for tormenting him. There -she stood with laughing lips and grave, wind-swept<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> -eyes, keeping him at bay with her upraised hand. -‘In earnest,’ she cooed tormentingly, ‘you must first -answer my question.’ For a moment, the pedagogue -broke through the lover.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle de Scudéry is an exquisitely correct -lady, her sense of social seemliness amounts to genius. -She could hardly approve of a hamadryad ... -Madeleine!’ and he made a dash for her. But she -ducked and turned under his outstretched arms, and -was once more at the opposite end of the room. The -flame of her wish to know began to burn up her flimsy -rôle.</p> - -<p>‘I—promise you—anything—afterwards, but—pray -tell me—<i>did Mademoiselle de Scudéry make any mention -to you of me</i>?’ she panted.</p> - -<p>‘’Tis no matter and she did, I....’</p> - -<p>‘Tell me!’ And somehow Madeleine’s voice compelled -obedience.</p> - -<p>‘What strange <i>vision</i> is this? Well, then, as -you are so desirous of knowing ... Mademoiselle -de Scudéry ... well, she is herself a lady, and as -such cannot be over sensible to the charms of her own -sex——’</p> - -<p>‘Well?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, do not take it ill, but also she always finds -it hard to pardon a ... well ... a ... er ... a -certain lack of decorum. I told her she erred grievously -in her judgment of you, but, it seems, you did not -take her fancy, and she maintained’—(The Chevalier -was rather glad of the opportunity of repeating the -following words, for not being <i>in propria persona</i>, -they escaped incivility and might be beneficial.) ‘She -maintained that your manners were <i>grossier</i>, your -wit <i>de province</i>, and that even if you lived to be as -old as the Sybil, “you would never be an <i>honnête -femme</i>”.... Maintenant, ma petite Reine——’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span></p> - -<p>But Madeleine was out of the room—pushing her -way through the lackeys ... then down the staircase -... then out into the street ... running, -running, running.</p> - -<p>Then she stood still and began to tremble from head -to foot with awful, silent laughter. Fool that she was -not to have seen it before! Why, the Sapphic Ode -was but another statement of the Law she had so -dreaded—that the spurner of love must in his turn -inevitably be spurned! <i>Who flees, she shall pursue; -who spurns gifts, she shall offer them; who loves not, -willy-nilly she shall love.</i> As the words stood, the ‘she’ -did not necessarily refer to the object of Sappho’s -desire. Fool, fool, she had read as a promise what -was intended as a warning. <i>She was being punished for -spurning the love of Jacques.</i></p> - -<p>What a strange irony, that just by her effort to escape -this Law she had brought down on herself the full -weight of its action! To avoid its punishment of her -<i>amour-propre</i> she had pretended to be in love with -Jacques, thereby entangling herself in a mass of contradictions, -deceit, and nervous terrors from which the -only means of extricating herself was by breaking the -law anew and spurning love. Verily, it was a fine -example of Até—the blindness sent by the gods on -those they mean to destroy.</p> - -<p>Well, now the end had come, and of the many possibilities -and realities life had held for her, nothing was -left but the <i>adamant of desire which neither the tools of -earth can break, nor the chemistry of Hell resolve</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">OUT INTO THE VOID</span></h3> - -</div> - -<p>So it was all over.</p> - -<p>Had she been the dupe of malicious gods? Yes, -if within that malign pantheon there was a throne -for her old enemy, <i>Amour-Propre</i>. For it was <i>Amour-Propre</i> -that had played her this scurvy trick and had -upset her poor little boat ‘drifting oarless on a full -sea’—not of Grace but of Chance. After all, Jansenism, -Cartesianism, her mother’s philosophy of indifference, -had all the same aim—to give a touch of sea-craft to -the poor human sailor, and to flatter him with the -belief that some harbour lies before him. But they -lie, they lie! There is no port, no rudder, no stars, -and the frail fleet of human souls is at the mercy of -every wind that blows.</p> - -<p>She laughed bitterly when she remembered her -certainty of her own election, her anger against the -mighty hands slowly, surely, torturing her life into -salvation. She laughed still more at her faith in a -kind, heavenly Father, a rock in a weary land, a certain -caterer of lovely gifts. How had she ever been fool -enough to believe in this? Had she no eyes for the -countless proofs all round her that any awful thing -might happen to any one? People, just as real and -alive as she was herself, were disfigured by smallpox, -or died of plague, or starved in the streets, or loved -without being loved in return; and yet, she had -wrapped herself round in an imaginary ghostly tenderness, -certain in her foolish heart that it was against<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> -the order of the universe that such things should -happen to <i>her</i>.</p> - -<p>And as to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, she knew that -the whole business had been a foolish <i>vision</i>, a little -seed growing to grotesque dimensions in a sick brain, -and yet this knowledge was powerless to stem the -mad impetus of her misery.</p> - -<p>How she longed for Jacques during these days, for -his comforting hands, his <i>allégresse</i>, his half-mocking -patience. She saw him, pale and chestnut-haired -with his light, mysterious, beckoning eyes—so strangely -like the picture by Da Vinci in the Louvre of Saint -John the Baptist—marching head erect to his bright -destiny down the long white roads of France, and he -would never come back.</p> - -<p>And yet, she had hinted to Madame Pilou that the -fable of the dog and the shadow is the epitome of all -tragedy. Somewhere inside her had she always known -what must happen?</p> - -<p>First, this time of faultless vision. And then, because—though -hope was dead—there still remained ‘the -adamant of desire,’ she began once more to dance. -But with hope were cut the cables binding her to -reality, and it was out into the void that she danced -now.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE RAPE TO THE LOVE OF INVISIBLE THINGS</span></h3> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">αἵ σε μαινόμεναι πάννυχοι χορεύουσι τὸν ταμίαν Ἴακχον.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Soph. An.</span> 1151.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>‘<i>Art springs straight out of the rite, and her first outward leap is -the image of the god.</i>’—<span class="smcap">Jane Harrison.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p><i>Some years later a troupe of wits, in quest of the -‘crotesque,’ were visiting the well-known lunatic asylum—‘les -petites maisons.’</i></p> - -<p><i>‘And now for the Pseudo-Sappho!’ cried one. ‘She, -all said, is by far the most delicious.’</i></p> - -<p><i>They made their way to where a woman sat smiling -affably. She greeted them as a queen her courtiers.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Well, Alcinthe. Mignonne has been drooping since -you were here, and cooing that all the doves have left the -Royaume de Tendre. Where is dear Théodite? Ma -chère, I protest that he is the king of les honnêtes -gens.’</i></p> - -<p><i>The wits laughed delightedly. Suddenly one had an -idea.</i></p> - -<p><i>‘Did not the ancients hold that in time the worshipper -became the god? Surely we have here a proof that -their belief was well founded. And if the worshipper -becomes the god then should not also the metamorphosis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span> -of the lover into his mistress—Céladon into Astrée, Cyrus -into Mandane—be the truly gallant ending of a “roman”?’</i></p> - -<p><i>He drew out his tablets</i>,—</p> - -<p><i>‘I must make a note of that, and fashion it into an -epigram for Sappho.’</i></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> -<img src="images/stars.jpg" width="300" height="120" alt="Drawing of the constellation -Ursa Major, the Great Bear; also called the Plough or Big Dipper (among other names)" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">FOOTNOTES</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> <i>Les petites maisons</i>, a group of buildings, used among other -things as a lunatic asylum.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> As only Duchesses were privileged to sit in the Queen’s -presence, to say that some one had <i>le tabouret chez la reine</i> meant -that they were a Duchess.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Neuf-germain was notorious as the worst poet of his day.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> The great seventeenth century herald.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p class="heading"><span class="u"><i>Collins’ New Books</i></span></p> - -<p class="book">Cousin Philip</p> - -<p class="author">MRS HUMPHRY WARD</p> - -<p>Author of <i>The War and Elizabeth</i>, <i>Missing</i>, etc.</p> - -<p class="desc"><i>Cousin Philip</i> is chiefly a study of the change which -the war has brought about, on the modern girl and the -relations of men and women. Helena, an orphan girl of -great beauty and some wealth, has consented, to please -her dying mother, to spend two years, from her 19th to -her 21st birthday, under the care of her guardian, Lord -Buntingford, rather than go at once, as she herself wishes, -to a University, in preparation for an independent life. -She is headstrong, wilful, and clever; as keen intellectually -as she is fond of dancing and flirting. Mrs Humphry -Ward shows all her well-known skill in the handling of -the subsequent situation, that skill which has made her -books models of the novel writer’s art. Lord Buntingford’s -modern yet chivalrous character, with his poetic -personality, make him a charming figure. The <i>dénouement</i> -is unexpected.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net.</i></p> - -<p class="book">The Young Physician</p> - -<p class="author">FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG</p> - -<p>Author of <i>Marching on Tanga</i>, etc.</p> - -<p class="desc"><i>The Young Physician</i> is the history of the formative -years of a boy who, after leaving one of our public -schools, decides more from force of circumstances than -from inclination to enter the medical profession. Side-light -is thrown upon our educational system in the -first part of the book, which is devoted to home and -school life; while in the second, the impressions and -experiences which went to the moulding of his character -are presented side by side with a picture of student life -at the Midland Hospital where he pursues his medical -curriculum. The success of such a book lies no less in -its truth to life than its ability to entertain the reader, -both of which conditions are fulfilled in Major Brett -Young’s new novel where, once again, the author breaks -entirely new ground.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net.</i></p> - -<p class="book">New Wine</p> - -<p class="author">AGNES <span class="smcap">and</span> EGERTON CASTLE</p> - -<p class="desc">The authors of <i>Rose of the World</i> and of <i>Minniglen</i> take -an unsophisticated, high-spirited young man from peasant -surroundings on the west coast of Ireland and plunge -him in the whirl of fashionable English life—the unexpected -inheritor of affluence and honours. It is the -‘new wine’ put into ‘old bottles.’ There is strong -romance in the story, although the scenes and the -characters are literally up-to-date. The drama, however, -is throughout essentially one of the soul—that of -a generous, heady youth confronted by passionate -problems and ignorant of worldly conventions.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. net.</i></p> - -<p class="book">The Plain Girl’s Tale</p> - -<p class="author">H. H. BASHFORD</p> - -<p class="desc"><i>The Plain Girl’s Tale</i>, by H. H. Bashford, is the longest -novel that the author of <i>The Corner of Harley Street</i> -has yet written, and the first that he has produced since -the publication of <i>Pity the Poor Blind</i>, six years ago. -Though dealing with the adventures and development -of a girl of the artisan class in various spheres of contemporary -life, it stands apart from the war and is in -no sense merely topical. In the delineation of the central -character, through whose eyes most of the action of the -novel is seen, the author has endeavoured to expand the -ethical theme that was the basis of his previous novel.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></p> - -<p class="book">The Sword of Love</p> - -<p class="author">MORAY DALTON</p> - -<p class="desc">This is a romance of Italy in the golden days of the -revival of art and learning. 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