ELIANE
An important event in my child life was the birth of my sister Eliane.
I remember coming in from the garden one day with a little basket full
of cockchafers that I had found, and running to show them to _maman_.
She was lying in her large bed, with its four carved bedposts and high
canopy, and, smiling faintly, she said: "Oh, no, my little girl; take
them away. They will creep and fly over everything." I was, however,
so much disappointed at this reception of my gift that _maman_,
bending from her pillows, selected a specially beautiful green
cockchafer and said that that one, at all events, she would keep. When
next morning I was told that I had a little sister, old Gertrude, in
answer to my eager, astonished questions, informed me that it was the
cockchafer who, fed on milk, had become very large during the night
and had given birth to a baby cockchafer, which it had presented to my
mother. This story of the cockchafer became a family jest, and later
on, after my mother had had four children, I remembered that when
cockchafers were referred to she would laugh and say: "No! no! No more
cockchafers for me, if you please! I have had enough of their gifts."
The story, which was repeated to me on the occasion of each subsequent
birth, made a rather painful impression upon me. I did not like the
idea of the baby cockchafer. Nor did I like my little sister Eliane
into whom the cockchafer had grown. _Maman_ remained in bed for a long
time and paid no more attention to me, and I was deeply jealous. I was
no longer allowed to go in and out of her room as had been my wont,
and when my father took me in his arms and carried me gently in to see
my little sister, and bent with me over the small pink cradle so that
I might give her a kiss, I felt instead a violent wish to bite her.
One day I was authorized to rock Eliane while my father and mother
talked together. I was much pleased by this mark of confidence, and I
slipped into the cradle, unnoticed, my horrible doll Josephine, all
untidy and disheveled, not to say dirty, so that she, too, might have
a rocking. She lay cheek to cheek with Eliane, already a young lady
ten days old, and the contact of this cold, clammy cheek woke my
little sister, who began to cry so loudly that, in order to quiet her,
I rocked with might and main, and unless papa had rushed to the rescue
it is probable that Eliane and Josephine would have been tossed out
upon the floor. Jeannie was at once summoned to take me away in
disgrace, and in _bonne maman's_ room I was consoled by two _dragées_,
one white, I remember, and one pink.
"You love your little sister, don't you, my darling?" asked _bonne
maman_, to whom Jeannie related the affair of the rocking.
"No," I replied, the pink _dragée_ in my mouth.
"Why not, dear?"
"She is horrid," I said. And as _bonne maman_, much distressed,
continued to question and expostulate, I burst, despite the _dragées_,
into a torrent of tears and cried: "She is bad! She is ugly! She
cries!"
Eliane's christening was a grand affair. Her godmother was _bonne
maman_, and her godfather my uncle de Salabéry, who brought her a
casket in which was a cup and saucer in enamel and also an enamel
egg-cup and tiny, round egg-spoon, and this I thought very silly,
since Eliane, like the cockchafer, ate only milk. The casket was of
pale-blue velvet, and had Eliane's name written upon it in golden
letters. She was carried to the cathedral by her nurse, who wore a
gray silk dress woven with silver fleurs-de-lis, a special silk, with
its silver threads, made in Brittany. The bodice opened on a net
guimpe thickly embroidered with white beads. The apron was of gray
satin scattered over with a design, worked in beads, that looked like
tiny fish. Her coif was the tall medieval hennin of Plougastel, a
flood of lace falling from its summit. Eliane, majestically carried on
her white-lace cushion, wore a long robe of lace and lawn, and again I
found this very silly, since if by chance she wished to walk, she
would certainly stumble in it! The curé was replaced by the bishop of
the cathedral, who walked with a tall golden stick, twisted at the top
into a pretty design. Papa, who was near me, explained to me that this
was called a crozier (_crosse_), which puzzled me, as _crosse_ is also
the name for the drumstick of a chicken. I also learned that what I
called the bishop's hat was a miter. When he passed before us every
one knelt down except me, for I wished to gaze with all my eyes at the
magnificent apparition. The bishop leaned toward me, smiling, and made
a little cross on my forehead with his thumb, and then he put his
hand, which was very white and adorned with a great ring of amethyst
and diamond, before my lips. "Kiss Monseigneur's hand," papa
whispered, and, again much puzzled, I obeyed, for _maman_ and _bonne
maman_ gave their hands to be kissed by men and never kissed theirs.
When the bishop put the salt in Eliane's mouth she made the most
hideous grimace. Heavens! how ugly she was! _Maman_ took her into her
arms to calm her. I was near _bonne maman_ who had been borne in her
sedan-chair into the cathedral, and I whispered to her: "You say
that she is pretty, _bonne maman_. Only look at her now! Doesn't she
look like an angry little monkey!" But _bonne maman_ reminded me in a
low voice that unless I was very good, I was not to come to the
christening breakfast, and, hastily, I began to turn my tongue in my
mouth.
[Illustration: The beach of Loctudiy]
I remember that on this day _bonne maman_ had left her puce-color and
looked like an old fairy as she sat, covered with all her jewels, in
the sedan-chair, dressed in orange-colored velvet.
When we came out of the cathedral the square was full of people, and
all the children of Quimper were there. My father, leading me by the
hand, was followed by a servant who carried a basket of _dragées_. He
took out a bagful and told me that I was to throw them to the
children, and this I did with great gusto. What a superb bombardment
it was! The children rolled upon the ground, laughed, and howled,
while _maman_, and _bonne maman_ from the window of her chair,
scattered handfuls of _centimes_, _sous_, and _liards_, an old coin of
the period that no longer exists. Never in my life have I seen
happier children. They accompanied us to our door and stayed for a
long time outside in the street, singing Breton canticles and crying,
"Vive Mademoiselle Liane!"
It must have been at about this time that I first saw the sea and had
my first sea-bath. Papa said one day that he would take me to the
beach of Loctudiy, near Quimper, with old Gertrude. It is a vast sandy
beach, with scattered rocks that, to my childish eyes, stood like
giants around us. Gertrude took off my shoes and stockings, and we
picked up the shells that lay along the beach in the sunlight like a
gigantic rainbow. What a delight it was! Some were white, some yellow,
some pink, and some of a lovely rosy mauve. I could not pick them up
fast enough or carry those I already had. My little pail overflowed,
and the painful problem that confronts all children engaged in this
delicious pursuit would soon have oppressed me if my thoughts had not
been turned in another direction by the sight of papa making his way
toward the sea in bathing-dress. The sea was immense and mysterious,
and my beloved papa looked very small before it. I ran to him crying:
"Don't go, papa! Don't go! You will be drowned!"
"There is no danger of that, my pet," said my father. "See how smooth
and blue the water is. Don't you want to come with me?"
I felt at once that I did, and in the twinkling of an eye Gertrude had
undressed me, my father had me in his arms, and before I could say
"Ouf!" I was plunged from head to foot in the Atlantic Ocean. It was
my second baptism, and I still feel an agreeable shudder when I
remember it. My father held me under the arms to teach me to swim, and
I vigorously agitated my little legs and arms. Then I was given back
to Gertrude, who dried me and, taking me by the hand, made me run up
and down on the hot sand until I was quite warm.
When I came home, full of pride in my exploits, I told _bonne maman_
that during my swim I had met a whale which had looked at me.
"And were you afraid of it?" asked _bonne maman_.
"Oh, no," I replied. "They do not eat children. I patted it."
Perhaps my tendency to tell tall stories dates from this time.