Brulette colored, pouted, began to cry, and said nothing; but the
next day I met her leading her beasts to pasture with Charlot in her
arms. She sat down in the middle of the field with the child on the
skirt of her gown, and said to me:--
"You were right, Tiennet. Your reproaches made me reflect, and I
have made up my mind what to do. I can't promise to love this
Charlot much, but I'll behave as if I did, and perhaps God will
reward me some day by giving me children of my own more lovable than
this one."
"Ah, my darling!" I cried. "I don't know what makes you say that. I
never blamed you; I have nothing to reproach you with except the
obstinacy with which you now resolve to bring up the little wretch
yourself. Come, let me write to that friar, or let me go and find
him and make him put the child in another family. I know where the
convent is, and I would rather make another long journey than see you
condemned to this sort of thing."
"No, Tiennet," replied Brulette. "We must not even think of changing
what was agreed upon. My grandfather promised for me, and I was
bound to consent. If I could tell you--but I can't! One thing I
want you to know; it is that money counts for nothing in the bargain,
and that my grandfather and I will never accept a penny for a duty we
are bound to perform."
"Now you do surprise me. Whose child is it? It must belong to some
of your relatives,--consequently, mine."
"Possibly," she replied. "Some of our family live away from here.
But consider that I have told you nothing, for I cannot and ought not
to do so. Let people believe that the little monkey is a stranger to
us, and that we are paid for the care of him. Otherwise, evil
tongues might accuse those who don't deserve it."
"The devil!" said I. "If you haven't set me on thorns! I can't
think--"
"That's just it," she said, "you are not to think; I forbid
it,--though I am quite sure you never could find out."
"Very good! but do you really mean to wean yourself from all
amusements, just as that child is weaned of the breast? The devil
take your grandfather's promise!"
"My grandfather did right, and if I had gone against him I should
have been a heartless girl. I repeat, I don't choose to do things by
halves, even if I die of it."
Brulette was resolute. From that day such a change came over her
that she was scarcely recognizable. She never left the house except
to pasture her sheep and her goats with Charlot beside her; and when
she had put him to bed for the night she would take her work and sit
near him. She went to none of the dances, and bought no more finery,
having no longer any occasion for it. This dull life made her
serious and even sad, for she soon found herself neglected. There is
no girl so pretty but what she is forced to be amiable with everybody
if she wants to have followers; and Brulette, who now showed no
desire to please, was called sullen, all the more because she had
once been so much the reverse. In my opinion she had only changed
for the better, for, having never played the coquette, only my lady
the princess with me, she seemed to my mind more gentle in manner,
more sensible and interesting in her behavior; but others didn't
think so. In the past she had allowed her lovers just so much hope
as now made each of them feel affronted by her neglect, as if he
considered he had a right to her; and although her coquetry had
always been very harmless she was punished for it as if it were a
wrong done to others; which proves, as I think, that men have as
much, if not more, vanity than women, and consider that no one ever
does enough to please or pacify the conceit they have of themselves.
There is one thing certain at least, and that is that many persons
are very unjust,--even young men who seem such good fellows and such
willing slaves as long as they are in love. Many of Brulette's old
admirers now turned against her, and more than once I had words with
them in defending my cousin from the blame they put upon her.
Unfortunately, they were encouraged by the gossips and the selfish
folk who were jealous of Père Brulet's supposed bit of luck; until
finally Brulette was obliged to refuse to see these maliciously
inquisitive people, and even the false friends who came and repeated
to her what they had heard others say.
This is how it was that in less than one year the queen of the
village, the Rose of Nohant, was condemned by evil minds and
abandoned by fools. They told dark stories about her, and I
shuddered lest she should hear them; indeed, I myself was often
harassed and puzzled how to answer them. The worst lie of all was
one Père Brulet ought to have expected, namely, that Charlot was
neither some poor foundling nor the son of a prince, brought up
secretly, but really Brulette's own child. In vain I pointed out
that the girl had always lived openly under the eyes of everybody;
and having never encouraged any particular lover she could not have
committed a fault so difficult to hide. They answered that such and
such a one had boldly concealed her condition till the very last day,
and had reappeared, sometimes the day after, as composed and lively
as if nothing had happened, and had even hidden the consequences
until she was married to the author, or the dupe, of her sin.
Unfortunately, this had happened more than once in our village. In
these little country places, where the houses are surrounded by
gardens, and separated from each other by hemp and lucern fields,
some of them of great extent, it is not easy to see and hear from one
to another at all hours of the night, and, indeed, things are done at
any time which the good God alone takes account of.
One of the worst tongues against Brulette was that of Mère Lamouche,
ever since Brulette had found her out and taken the boy away from
her. She had so long been the willing servant and slave of the girl
that she knew she could look for no further gain from her, and in
revenge she invented and told anything that people wanted her to say.
She related, to whoever listened, how Brulette had sacrificed her
honor to that "puny fellow, José," and that she was so ashamed of it
that she had forced him to leave the place. José had submitted, on
condition that she would marry no one else; and he was now in foreign
parts trying to earn enough money to marry her. The child, said the
woman, had been taken into the Bourbonnais country by men with
blackened faces who called themselves muleteers, and whose
acquaintance Joseph had made under pretence of buying his bagpipe;
but there had never been any other bagpipe in the case than that
squalling Charlot. About a year after his birth Brulette had gone to
see her lover and the baby, in company with me and a muleteer who was
as ugly as the devil. There we made acquaintance with a mendicant
friar, who offered to bring the baby back for us, and with whom we
concocted the story of its being a rich foundling; which was
altogether false, for this child had brought not one penny of profit
to Père Brulet.
When Mère Lamouche invented this tale, in which, you see, lies were
mixed up with facts, her word was believed by everybody, and Joseph's
short and almost secret visit assisted the belief. So, with much
laughter and derision, Brulette was nicknamed "Josette."
In spite of my wrath at these outrageous stories, Brulette took so
little pains to make herself agreeable, and showed by her care for
the child such contempt for the gossips, that I began to get
bewildered myself. Was it absolutely impossible that I had been a
dupe? Once upon a time I had certainly been jealous of Joseph.
However virtuous and discreet a girl might be, however shy the lad,
it had often happened that love and ignorance got the better of them,
and some young couples had never known the meaning of evil until they
had committed it. If she had once done wrong, Brulette, a clever
girl, was none the less capable of hiding her misfortune, being too
proud to confess it, yet too right-minded to deceive others. Was it
not by her orders that Joseph wished to make himself a worthy husband
and father? It was certainly a wise and patient scheme. Was I
deceived in thinking she had a fancy for Huriel? I might have been;
but even if she had felt it, in spite of herself, she had not yielded
to her feelings, and so had done no wrong to Joseph. In short, was
it conscientious duty, or strength of friendship, which made her go
to the relief of the poor sick man? In either case she was right to
do so. If she were a mother, she was a good mother, though her
natural inclinations were not that way. All women can have children,
but all women are not fond of children for all that, and Brulette
ought therefore to have the more credit for taking back her own in
spite of her love for company, and the questions she thus raised as
to the truth.
All things considered, I did not see, even in what I might suppose
the worst of my cousin's conduct, anything that lowered my friendship
for her. Only I felt she had been so contradictory in her statements
that I no longer knew how to rely on them. If she loved Joseph then
she had certainly been artful; but if she did not love him, she had
been too lively in spirits and forgetful of what had happened, for a
person who was resolved to do her duty.
If she had not been so ill-treated by the community, I might have
lessened my visits, for these doubts certainly lowered my confidence
in her; but on the contrary, I controlled myself and went to the
house every day, taking pains not to show her the least distrust.
For all this, I was continually surprised at the difficulty with
which she broke herself in, as it were, to the duties of a mother.
In spite of the weight of care I believed she had on her mind, there
were times when all her beauty and youth came back to her. She wore
neither silk nor laces, that is true, but her hair was silky, her
stockings well-fitting, and her pretty little feet were itching for a
dance wherever she saw a bit of greensward or heard the sound of the
bagpipes. Sometimes at home, when the thought of a Bourbonnais reel
came over her, she would put Charlot on her grandfather's knee and
make me dance it with her, singing and laughing and carrying herself
jauntily, as if all the parish were there to see her; but a minute
later, if Charlot cried or wanted to go to bed, or to be carried, or
to be fed when he wasn't hungry, or given drink that he didn't want,
she would take him in her arms with tears in her eyes, like a dog who
is being chained up, and then, with a sigh, she would croon him a
tune or pamper him with a bit of cake.
Seeing how she regretted her gay life, I offered her my sister's
services in taking care of the little one, while she went to the
fêtes at Saint-Chartier. I must tell you that in those days there
lived in the old castle (of which nothing is now left but the shell)
an old maiden lady, who was very good-natured and gave balls to all
the country round. Tradesmen and noblemen, peasants and artisans, as
many as liked, went there. You saw gentlemen and ladies going along
the abominable roads in mid-winter, mounted on horses and donkeys,
and wearing silk stockings, silver shoe-buckles, and powdered wigs as
white as the snow on the trees along the road. Nothing deterred the
company, rich or poor, for they amused them hugely and were well
entertained from midday till six at night.
The lady of Saint-Chartier, who had noticed Brulette dancing in the
market-place the year before, and was always anxious to have pretty
girls at her daylight balls, invited her, and by my advice, she went
once. I thought it was good advice, for she seemed to be getting
depressed and to make no effort to raise her spirits. She was always
so sweet to look at, and so ready with the right thing to say, that I
never thought it possible people wouldn't receive her kindly,
especially when she dressed so well and looked so handsome.
When she entered on my arm, whisperings went round, but no one dared
to do more. She danced first with me, and as she had that sort of
charm that everybody yields to, others came and asked her, possibly
intending to show her some freedom, but not daring to risk it. All
went well till a party of rich folks came into the room where we
were; for the peasantry, I should tell you, had their ballroom apart
and did not mix with the rich till nearly the end, when the ladies,
deserted by their partners, would come and mingle with the country
girls, who attracted people of all kinds by their lively chatter and
their healthy looks.
Brulette was at first stared at as the handsomest article of the
show, and the silk stockings paid such attention to the woollen
stockings that no one could get near her. Then, in the spirit of
contradiction, all those who had been tearing her to pieces for the
last six months became frantically jealous all at once, and more in
love than they had ever been. So then it was a struggle who should
invite her first; in fact, they were almost ready to fight for the
kiss that opened the dance.
The ladies and the young ladies were provoked; and our class of women
complained to the lads for not keeping up their ill-will; but they
might as well have talked to the winds; one glance of a pretty girl
has more sweetness than the tongue of an ugly one has venom.
"Well, Brulette," I said, on our way home, "Wasn't I right to tell
you to shake off your low spirits? You see the game is never lost if
you know how to play it boldly."
"Thank you, cousin," she replied; "you are my best friend; indeed, I
think, you are the only true and faithful friend I have ever had. I
am glad to have got the better of my enemies, and now, I think I
shall never be dull at home again."
"The devil! how fast you change! Yesterday it was all sulks, and
to-day it is all merriment! You'll take your place as queen of the
village."
"No," she said, "you don't understand me. This is the last ball I
mean to go to so long as I keep Charlot; for, if you want me to tell
you the truth, I haven't enjoyed myself one bit. I put a good face
on it to please you, and I am glad, now it is over, to have done it;
but all the while I was thinking of that poor baby. I fancied him
crying and howling, no matter how kind your sister might be to him;
he is so awkward in making known his wants, and so annoying to
others."
Brulette's words set my teeth on edge. I had forgotten the little
wretch when I saw her laughing and dancing. The love she no longer
concealed for him brought to my mind what seemed to be her past lies,
and I began to think she must be an utter deceiver, who had now grown
tired of restraining herself.
"Then you love him as your own flesh and blood?" I cried, not
thinking much of the words I used.
"My own flesh and blood?" she repeated, as if surprised. "Well, yes,
perhaps we love all children that way when we think of what we owe
them. I never pretended, as some girls do when they are craving to
get married, that my instincts were those of a brooding hen. Perhaps
my head was too giddy to deserve a family in my young days. I know
girls who can't sleep for thinking about it before they are sixteen.
But I have got to be twenty, without feeling that I am rather late.
If it is wrong, it is not my fault. I am as God made me, and I have
gone along as he pushed me. To tell the truth, a baby is a hard
task-master, unreasonable as a crazy husband and obstinate as a
hungry animal. I like justice and good sense, and I should much
prefer quieter and more sensible company. Also I like cleanliness;
you have often laughed at me for worrying about a speck of dust on
the dresser and letting a fly in the milk turn my stomach. Now a
baby is always getting into the dirt, no matter how you may try to
prevent it. And then I am fond of thinking, and dreaming, and
recollecting things; but a baby won't let you think of anything but
his wants, and gets angry if you pay no attention to him. But all
that is neither here nor there, Tiennet, when God takes the matter in
hand. He invented a sort of miracle which takes place inside of us
when need be; and now I know a thing which I never believed until it
happened to me, and that is that a child, no matter how ugly and
ill-tempered it is, may be bitten by a wolf or trampled by a goat,
but never by a woman, and that he will end by managing her--unless
she is made of another wood than the rest of us."
As she said this we were entering my house, where Charlot was playing
with my sister's children. "Well, I'm glad you have come," said my
sister to Brulette; "you certainty have the most ill-tempered child
that ever lived. He has beaten mine, and bitten them, and provoked
them, and one needs forty cartloads of patience and pity to get along
with him."
Brulette laughed, and going up to Charlot, who never gave her any
welcome, she said, as she watched him playing after his fashion, and
as if he could understand what she said: "I knew very well you could
not make these kind people love you. There is no one but me, you
poor little screech-owl, who can put up with your claws and your
beak."
Though Charlot was only eighteen months old it seemed as if he really
understood what Brulette was saying; for he got up, after looking at
her for a moment with a thoughtful air, and jumped upon her and
seized her hand and devoured it with kisses.
"Hey!" cried my sister, "then he really has his good moments, after
all?"
"My dear," said Brulette, "I am just as much astounded as you are.
This is the first time I have ever known him behave so." Then,
kissing Charlot on his heavy eyelids she began to cry with joy and
tenderness.
I can't tell why I was overcome by the action, as if there were
something marvellous in it. But, in good truth, if the child was not
hers, Brulette at that moment was transformed before my eyes. This
girl, so proud-spirited that she wouldn't have shrunk before the king
six months ago, and who that very morning had had all the lads of the
neighborhood, rich and poor, at her knee, had gathered such pity and
Christianity into her heart that she thought herself rewarded for all
her trouble by the first kisses of an odious little slobberer, who
had no pleasant ways and indeed seemed half-idiotic.
The tears were in my eyes, thinking of what those kisses cost her,
and taking Charlot on my shoulder, I carried him back with her to her
own door.
Twenty times I had it on my tongue to ask her the truth; for if she
had done wrong as to Charlot, I was ready to forgive her the sin, but
if, on the contrary, she was bearing the burden of other people's
guilt, I desired to kiss her feet as the sweetest and most patient
winner of Paradise.
But I dared not ask her any questions, and when I told my doubts to
my sister, who was no fool, she replied: "If you dare not question
her it is because in the depths of your heart you know her to be
innocent. Besides," she added, "such a fine girl would have
manufactured a better-looking boy. He is no more like her than a
potato is like a rose."