THE HEROINE
Like every other woman, she had had an affair of the heart. Her
father, who was a mason, was killed by falling from a scaffolding.
Then her mother died and her sisters went their different ways; a
farmer took her in, and while she was quite small, let her keep
cows in the fields. She was clad in miserable rags, beaten for the
slightest offence and finally dismissed for a theft of thirty sous
which she did not commit. She took service on another farm where
she tended the poultry; and as she was well thought of by her
master, her fellow-workers soon grew jealous.
One evening in August (she was then eighteen years old), they
persuaded her to accompany them to the fair at Colleville. She was
immediately dazzled by the noise, the lights in the trees, the
brightness of the dresses, the laces and gold crosses, and the
crowd of people all hopping at the same time. She was standing
modestly at a distance, when presently a young man of well-to-do
appearance, who had been leaning on the pole of a wagon and
smoking his pipe, approached her, and asked her for a dance. He
treated her to cider and cake, bought her a silk shawl, and then,
thinking she had guessed his purpose, offered to see her home.
When they came to the end of a field he threw her down brutally.
But she grew frightened and screamed, and he walked off.
One evening, on the road leading to Beaumont, she came upon a
wagon loaded with hay, and when she overtook it, she recognised
Théodore. He greeted her calmly, and asked her to forget what had
happened between them, as it "was all the fault of the drink."
She did not know what to reply and wished to run away.
Presently he began to speak of the harvest and of the notables of
the village; his father had left Colleville and bought the farm of
Les Écots, so that now they would be neighbors. "Ah!" she
exclaimed. He then added that his parents were looking around for
a wife for him, but that he, himself, was not so anxious and
preferred to wait for a girl who suited him. She hung her head. He
then asked her whether she had ever thought of marrying. She
replied, smilingly, that it was wrong of him to make fun of her.
"Oh! no, I am in earnest," he said, and put his left arm around
her waist while they sauntered along. The air was soft, the stars
were bright, and the huge load of hay oscillated in front of them,
drawn by four horses whose ponderous hoofs raised clouds of dust.
Without a word from their driver they turned to the right. He
kissed her again and she went home. The following week, Théodore
obtained meetings.
They met in yards, behind walls or under isolated trees. She was
not ignorant, as girls of well-to-do families are--for the animals
had instructed her;--but her reason and her instinct of honour
kept her from falling. Her resistance exasperated Théodore's love
and so in order to satisfy it (or perchance ingenuously), he
offered to marry her. She would not believe him at first, so he
made solemn promises. But, in a short time he mentioned a
difficulty; the previous year, his parents had purchased a
substitute for him; but any day he might be drafted and the
prospect of serving in the army alarmed him greatly. To Félicité
his cowardice appeared a proof of his love for her, and her
devotion to him grew stronger. When she met him, he would torture
her with his fears and his entreaties. At last, he announced that
he was going to the prefect himself for information, and would let
her know everything on the following Sunday, between eleven
o'clock and midnight.
When the time drew near, she ran to meet her lover.
But instead of Théodore, one of his friends was at the
meeting-place.
He informed her that she would never see her sweetheart again;
for, in order to escape the conscription, he had married a rich
old woman, Madame Lehoussais, of Toucques.
The poor girl's sorrow was frightful. She threw herself on the
ground, she cried and called on the Lord, and wandered around
desolately until sunrise. Then she went back to the farm, declared
her intention of leaving, and at the end of the month, after she
had received her wages, she packed all her belongings in a
handkerchief and started for Pont-l'Evêque.
In front of the inn, she met a woman wearing widow's weeds, and
upon questioning her, learned that she was looking for a cook. The
girl did not know very much, but appeared so willing and so modest
in her requirements, that Madame Aubain finally said:
"Very well, I will give you a trial."
And half an hour later Félicité was installed in her house.
At first she lived in a constant anxiety that was caused by "the
style of the household" and the memory of "Monsieur," that hovered
over everything. Paul and Virginia, the one aged seven, and the
other barely four, seemed made of some precious material; she
carried them pig-a-back, and was greatly mortified when Madame
Aubain forbade her to kiss them every other minute.
But in spite of all this, she was happy. The comfort of her new
surroundings had obliterated her sadness.
Every Thursday, friends of Madame Aubain dropped in for a game of
cards, and it was Félicité's duty to prepare the table and heat
the foot-warmers. They arrived at exactly eight o'clock and
departed before eleven.
Every Monday morning, the dealer in second-hand goods, who lived
under the alley-way, spread out his wares on the sidewalk. Then
the city would be filled with a buzzing of voices in which the
neighing of horses, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of pigs,
could be distinguished, mingled with the sharp sound of wheels on
the cobble-stones. About twelve o'clock, when the market was in
full swing, there appeared at the front door a tall, middle-aged
peasant, with a hooked nose and a cap on the back of his head; it
was Robelin, the farmer of Geffosses. Shortly afterwards came
Liébard, the farmer of Toucques, short, rotund and ruddy, wearing
a grey jacket and spurred boots.
Both men brought their landlady either chickens or cheese.
Félicité would invariably thwart their ruses and they held her in
great respect.
At various times, Madame Aubain received a visit from the Marquis
de Grémanville, one of her uncles, who was ruined and lived at
Falaise on the remainder of his estates. He always came at
dinner-time and brought an ugly poodle with him, whose paws soiled
the furniture. In spite of his efforts to appear a man of breeding
(he even went so far as to raise his hat every time he said "My
deceased father"), his habits got the better of him, and he would
fill his glass a little too often and relate broad stories.
Félicité would show him out very politely and say: "You have had
enough for this time, Monsieur de Grémanville! Hoping to see you
again!" and would close the door.
She opened it gladly for Monsieur Bourais, a retired lawyer. His
bald head and white cravat, the ruffling of his shirt, his flowing
brown coat, the manner in which he took his snuff, his whole
person, in fact, produced in her the kind of awe which we feel
when we see extraordinary persons. As he managed Madame's estates,
he spent hours with her in Monsieur's study; he was in constant
fear of being compromised, had a great regard for the magistracy
and some pretensions to learning.
In order to facilitate the children's studies, he presented them
with an engraved geography which represented various scenes of the
world: cannibals with feather head-dresses, a gorilla kidnapping a
young girl, Arabs in the desert, a whale being harpooned, etc.
Paul explained the pictures to Félicité. And, in fact, this was
her only literary education.
The children's studies were under the direction of a poor devil
employed at the town-hall, who sharpened his pocketknife on his
boots and was famous for his penmanship.
When the weather was fine, they went to Geffosses. The house was
built in the centre of the sloping yard; and the sea looked like a
grey spot in the distance. Félicité would take slices of cold meat
from the lunch basket and they would sit down and eat in a room
next to the dairy. This room was all that remained of a cottage
that had been torn down. The dilapidated wall-paper trembled in
the drafts. Madame Aubain, overwhelmed by recollections, would
hang her head, while the children were afraid to open their
mouths. Then, "Why don't you go and play?" their mother would say;
and they would scamper off.
Paul would go to the old barn, catch birds, throw stones into the
pond, or pound the trunks of the trees with a stick till they
resounded like drums. Virginia would feed the rabbits and run to
pick the wild flowers in the fields, and her flying legs would
disclose her little embroidered pantalettes. One autumn evening,
they struck out for home through the meadows. The new moon
illumined part of the sky and a mist hovered like a veil over the
sinuosities of the river. Oxen, lying in the pastures, gazed
mildly at the passing persons. In the third field, however,
several of them got up and surrounded them. "Don't be afraid,"
cried Félicité; and murmuring a sort of lament she passed her hand
over the back of the nearest ox; he turned away and the others
followed. But when they came to the next pasture, they heard
frightful bellowing.
It was a bull which was hidden from them by the fog. He advanced
towards the two women, and Madame Aubain prepared to flee for her
life. "No, no! not so fast," warned Félicité. Still they hurried
on, for they could hear the noisy breathing of the bull close
behind them. His hoofs pounded the grass like hammers, and
presently he began to gallop! Félicité turned around and threw
patches of grass in his eyes. He hung his head, shook his horns
and bellowed with fury. Madame Aubain and the children, huddled at
the end of the field, were trying to jump over the ditch. Félicité
continued to back before the bull, blinding him with dirt, while
she shouted to them to make haste.
Madame Aubain finally slid into the ditch, after shoving first
Virginia and then Paul into it, and though she stumbled several
times she managed, by dint of courage, to climb the other side of
it.
The bull had driven Félicité up against a fence; the foam from his
muzzle flew in her face and in another minute he would have
disembowelled her. She had just time to slip between two bars and
the huge animal, thwarted, paused.
For years, this occurrence was a topic of conversation in
Pont-l'Evêque. But Félicité took no credit to herself, and
probably never knew that she had been heroic.
Virginia occupied her thoughts solely, for the shock she had
sustained gave her a nervous affection, and the physician, M.
Poupart, prescribed the saltwater bathing at Trouville. In those
days, Trouville was not greatly patronised. Madame Aubain gathered
information, consulted Bourais, and made preparations as if they
were going on an extended trip.
The baggage was sent the day before on Liébard's cart. On the
following morning, he brought around two horses, one of which had
a woman's saddle with a velveteen back to it, while on the crupper
of the other was a rolled shawl that was to be used for a seat.
Madame Aubain mounted the second horse, behind Liébard. Félicité
took charge of the little girl, and Paul rode M. Lechaptois'
donkey, which had been lent for the occasion on the condition that
they should be careful of it.
The road was so bad that it took two hours to cover the eight
miles. The two horses sank knee-deep into the mud and stumbled
into ditches; sometimes they had to jump over them. In certain
places, Liébard's mare stopped abruptly. He waited patiently till
she started again, and talked of the people whose estates bordered
the road, adding his own moral reflections to the outline of their
histories. Thus, when they were passing through Toucques, and came
to some windows draped with nasturtiums, he shrugged his shoulders
and said: "There's a woman, Madame Lehoussais, who, instead of
taking a young man--" Félicité could not catch what followed; the
horses began to trot, the donkey to gallop, and they turned into a
lane; then a gate swung open, two farm-hands appeared and they all
dismounted at the very threshold of the farm-house.
Mother Liébard, when she caught sight of her mistress, was lavish
with joyful demonstrations. She got up a lunch which comprised a
leg of mutton, tripe, sausages, a chicken fricassée, sweet cider,
a fruit tart and some preserved prunes; then to all this the good
woman added polite remarks about Madame, who appeared to be in
better health, Mademoiselle, who had grown to be "superb," and
Paul, who had become singularly sturdy; she spoke also of their
deceased grandparents, whom the Liébards had known, for they had
been in the service of the family for several generations.
Like its owners, the farm had an ancient appearance. The beams of
the ceiling were mouldy, the walls black with smoke and the
windows grey with dust. The oak sideboard was filled with all
sorts of utensils, plates, pitchers, tin bowls, wolf-traps. The
children laughed when they saw a huge syringe. There was not a
tree in the yard that did not have mushrooms growing around its
foot, or a bunch of mistletoe hanging in its branches. Several of
the trees had been blown down, but they had started to grow in the
middle and all were laden with quantities of apples. The thatched
roofs, which were of unequal thickness, looked like brown velvet
and could resist the fiercest gales. But the wagon-shed was fast
crumbling to ruins. Madame Aubain said that she would attend to
it, and then gave orders to have the horses saddled.
It took another thirty minutes to reach Trouville. The little
caravan dismounted in order to pass Les Écores, a cliff that
overhangs the bay, and a few minutes later, at the end of the
dock, they entered the yard of the Golden Lamb, an inn kept by
Mother David.
During the first few days, Virginia felt stronger, owing to the
change of air and the action of the sea-baths. She took them in
her little chemise, as she had no bathing suit, and afterwards her
nurse dressed her in the cabin of a customs officer, which was
used for that purpose by other bathers.
In the afternoon, they would take the donkey and go to the
Roches-Noires, near Hennequeville. The path led at first through
undulating grounds, and thence to a plateau, where pastures and
tilled fields alternated. At the edge of the road, mingling with
the brambles, grew holly bushes, and here and there stood large
dead trees whose branches traced zigzags upon the blue sky.
Ordinarily, they rested in a field facing the ocean, with
Deauville on their left, and Havre on their right. The sea
glittered brightly in the sun and was as smooth as a mirror, and
so calm that they could scarcely distinguish its murmur; sparrows
chirped joyfully and the immense canopy of heaven spread over it
all. Madame Aubain brought out her sewing, and Virginia amused
herself by braiding reeds; Félicité wove lavender blossoms, while
Paul was bored and wished to go home.
Sometimes they crossed the Toucques in a boat, and started to hunt
for seashells. The outgoing tide exposed starfish and sea-urchins,
and the children tried to catch the flakes of foam which the wind
blew away. The sleepy waves lapping the sand unfurled themselves
along the shore that extended as far as the eye could see, but
where land began, it was limited by the downs which separated it
from the "Swamp," a large meadow shaped like a hippodrome. When
they went home that way, Trouville, on the slope of a hill below,
grew larger and larger as they advanced, and, with all its houses
of unequal height, seemed to spread out before them in a sort of
giddy confusion.
When the heat was too oppressive, they remained in their rooms.
The dazzling sunlight cast bars of light between the shutters. Not
a sound in the village, not a soul on the sidewalk. This silence
intensified the tranquillity of everything. In the distance, the
hammers of some calkers pounded the hull of a ship, and the sultry
breeze brought them an odour of tar.
The principal diversion consisted in watching the return of the
fishing-smacks. As soon as they passed the beacons, they began to
ply to windward. The sails were lowered to one third of the masts,
and with their foresails swelled up like balloons they glided over
the waves and anchored in the middle of the harbour. Then they
crept up alongside of the dock and the sailors threw the quivering
fish over the side of the boat; a line of carts was waiting for
them, and women with white caps sprang forward to receive the
baskets and embrace their men-folk.
One day, one of them spoke to Félicité, who, after a little while,
returned to the house gleefully. She had found one of her sisters,
and presently Nastasie Barette, wife of Léroux, made her
appearance, holding an infant in her arms, another child by the
hand, while on her left was a little cabin-boy with his hands in
his pockets and his cap on his ear.
At the end of fifteen minutes, Madame Aubain bade her go.
They always hung around the kitchen, or approached Félicité when
she and the children were out walking. The husband, however, did
not show himself.
Félicité developed a great fondness for them; she bought them a
stove, some shirts and a blanket; it was evident that they
exploited her. Her foolishness annoyed Madame Aubain, who,
moreover did not like the nephew's familiarity, for he called her
son "thou";--and, as Virginia began to cough and the season was
over, she decided to return to Pont-l'Evêque.
Monsieur Bourais assisted her in the choice of a college. The one
at Caën was considered the best. So Paul was sent away and bravely
said good-bye to them all, for he was glad to go to live in a
house where he would have boy companions.
Madame Aubain resigned herself to the separation from her son
because it was unavoidable. Virginia brooded less and less over
it. Félicité regretted the noise he made, but soon a new
occupation diverted her mind; beginning from Christmas, she
accompanied the little girl to her catechism lesson every day.