“I am leaving you this time so that you mayn’t be anxious. The
idea of staying at Le Havre, so near Juliette, was intolerable. I
embarked for Southampton last night, almost directly after I left
you. I shall spend the rest of the holidays with S---- in London.
We shall meet again at the School.”
All human help failed me at one and the same time. I did not prolong
a stay which could only prove painful to me, and went back to Paris
before the beginning of the term. It was to God that I turned my looks,
to Him “from Whom cometh down all true consolation and every good
gift.” It was to Him that I offered my trouble. I thought that Alissa,
too, was taking refuge in Him, and the thought that she was praying
encouraged and exalted my prayers.
There went by a long period of meditation and study, with no other
events but Alissa’s letters to me and mine to her. I have kept all
her letters; by their help I can, from this time onwards, check my
recollections when they become confused.
* * * * *
I had news of Le Havre from my aunt, and at first only from her; I
learnt through her what anxiety Juliette’s unhappy condition had caused
for the first few days. Twelve days after I had left I at last received
this letter from Alissa:--
“Forgive me, my dear Jerome, for not having written to you sooner.
Our poor Juliette’s state has allowed me very little time. Since
you went away, I have hardly left her. I begged Aunt to give
you news of us, and I suppose she has done so. So you know that
Juliette has been better for the last three days. I already thank
God, but I dare not feel happy yet.”
Robert also, of whom I have so far told you very little, was able
to give me news of his sisters, when he returned to Paris a few
days after me. For their sake, I spent more time with him than my
disposition would have naturally inclined me to; whenever the School of
Agriculture, where he was studying, left him free, I took him in charge
and was at great pains to amuse him.
It was through him that I learnt--what I had not dared ask either
Alissa or my aunt--that Edouard Teissières had come to enquire for
Juliette very assiduously, but when Robert had left Le Havre she had
not yet seen him. I learnt also that Juliette had kept up an obstinate
silence towards her sister, which nothing had been able to break down.
Then I learnt from my aunt a little later that Juliette insisted on
her engagement being made public, in spite of what I instinctively
felt was Alissa’s hope, that it would be broken off at once. Advice,
injunctions, entreaties, spent themselves in vain against this
determination of Juliette’s, which seemed fixed like a bar across her
brow and like a bandage over her eyes--which seemed to immure her in
silence.
Time passed. I received from Alissa--to whom, indeed, I knew not what
to write--nothing but the most elusive notes. The thick fogs of winter
wrapped me round; my study lamp and all the fervour of my love and
faith served but ill, alas! to keep the darkness and the cold from my
heart.
Time passed. Then, one morning of sudden spring, came a letter from
Alissa to my aunt, who was absent from Le Havre, a letter which my aunt
sent on to me and from which I copy out the part that throws light on
my story.
“Admire my docility. As you advised, I have seen M. Teissières and
talked to him at length. I confess that his behaviour has been
perfect, and I have almost, I admit, come to the point of believing
that the marriage may not turn out so badly as I feared at first.
Certainly Juliette does not love him; but he seems to me every week
to be less unworthy of her love. He speaks of the situation with
great clear-sightedness and makes no mistake as to my sister’s
character; but he has great faith in the efficacy of his own love,
and flatters himself that there is nothing his constancy will not
be able to overcome. That is to say, he is very much in love.
“Yes! I am extremely touched to see Jerome take so much trouble
over my brother. I imagine that he does so only out of a sense of
duty, for Robert’s character is very different from his--perhaps,
too, in order to please me--but doubtless he has already come to
understand that the more arduous the duty one assumes, the more
it educates and uplifts the soul. You will think these very lofty
reflections, but do not laugh at your foolish niece too much, for
it is these thoughts which give me support and which help me to try
and look upon Juliette’s marriage as a good thing.
“Dear aunt, your affectionate solicitude is very precious to me.
But do not think I am unhappy; I might almost say that the contrary
is the case, for the trial through which Juliette has just gone,
has had its effect on me too. Those words of Scripture which I
used to repeat without very well understanding them, have suddenly
become clear to me: ‘Cursed be the man that trusteth in man.’ Long
before coming across them in my Bible, I had read them on a little
Christmas card which Jerome sent me when he was not quite twelve
years old and when I was just fourteen. Beside the bunch of flowers
which was painted on it, and which we then thought lovely, there
were these lines, from a paraphrase of Corneille’s:--
‘Quel charme vainqueur du monde
Vers Dieu m’élève aujourd’hui?
Malheureux l’homme qui fonde
Sur les hommes son appui.’
“I confess I infinitely prefer the simple text out of Jeremiah.
No doubt, Jerome chose the card at the time without paying much
attention to the lines. But if I am to judge from his letters, his
frame of mind at present is not unlike mine, and every day I thank
God that He should have brought us both nearer to Him with one and
the same stroke.
“I have not forgotten our conversation, and I am not writing to him
so much as I used to do, so as not to disturb him in his work. You
will no doubt think that I make up for it by talking about him all
the more; lest I should go on too long, I will end my letter at
once. Don’t scold me too much this time.”
What reflections this letter aroused in me! I cursed my aunt’s meddling
interference (what was the conversation to which Alissa alluded, and
which was the cause of her silence?) and the clumsy good-nature which
made her send the letter on to me. It was already hard enough for me to
bear Alissa’s silence, and oh! would it not have been better a thousand
times to have left me in ignorance that she was writing to another
person what she no longer cared to say to me? Everything in the letter
irritated me: to hear her speak to my aunt so easily of our little
private affairs, as well as the naturalness of her tone, her composure,
her seriousness, her pleasantry.
“No, no, my dear fellow! Nothing in the letter irritates you, except
the fact that it isn’t addressed to you,” said Abel, who was my daily
companion; for Abel was the only person to whom I could speak, and
in my loneliness, I was constantly drawn to him afresh by weakness,
by a wistful longing for sympathy, by diffidence, and, when I was at
fault, by my belief in his advice, in spite of the difference of our
natures--or rather, because of it.
“Let us study this paper,” said he, spreading the letter out on his
writing-table.
Three nights had already passed over my vexation; for four days I had
managed to keep it to myself! I led up almost naturally to a point when
Abel said to me:
“We’ll consign the Juliette-Teissières affair to the fire of love--eh?
We know what that flame is worth. Upon my word, Teissières seems just
the kind of moth to singe his wings in it.”
“That will do!” said I, for his banter was very distasteful to me.
“Let’s go on to the rest.”
“The rest?” he said. “The rest is all for you. You haven’t much to
complain of. Not a line, not a word, that isn’t filled with the thought
of you. You may say the whole letter is addressed to you: when Aunt
Félicie sent it on to you, she merely sent it to its rightful owner;
Alissa writes to the good lady as a make-shift, in default of you. What
can Corneille’s lines (which, by the way, are by Racine) matter to your
aunt? I tell you, it’s to you she is talking; she’s saying it all to
you. You’re nothing but a simpleton if a fortnight hence your cousin
isn’t writing to you just as lengthily, as easily, as agreeably ...”
“She doesn’t seem to be taking the right road!”
“It only depends upon you for her to take it! Do you want my advice?
Don’t say a word for ever so long, of love or marriage; don’t you see
that since her sister’s misfortune, it’s _that_ she’s set against? Harp
on the fraternal string and talk to her untiringly of Robert--since you
have the patience to look after the young ass. Just go on amusing her
intelligence; all the rest will follow. Ah! if it were only I, who had
to write to her!”
“You aren’t worthy to love her.”
Nevertheless, I followed Abel’s advice; and, indeed, Alissa’s letters
soon began to get more animated; but I could not hope for any real joy
on her part, or that she would let herself go without reserve, until
Juliette’s situation, if not her happiness, was assured.
The news which Alissa gave me of her sister improved, however. Her
marriage was to take place in July; Alissa wrote to me that she
supposed that at this date Abel and I would be engaged in our studies.
I understood that she judged it better for us not to appear at the
ceremony, so we alleged some examination or other, and contented
ourselves with sending our good wishes.