THE OLD HOUSE AT LANDERNEAU
During these early years of my life our time, though mainly spent with
_bonne maman_ at Quimper, was also given for many months of the year
to Landerneau, and a little later on was divided between these two
houses and Loch-ar-Brugg. At Landerneau we lived in a vast old house
that had been part of my mother's marriage dowry. The family house,
equally old and vast, of the Kerouguets was also at Landerneau, and
the house of dear Tante Rose, my father's eldest sister. Landerneau
was a picturesque old town, so near the sea that the tides rose and
fell in the River Elorn, which flowed through it. A legend ran that
the part of Landerneau lying on the southern banks of the river, still
all wild with great rocks that seemed to have been hurled together by
some giant's hand, had been reduced to this condition by the devil.
He had been traveling through the country, and the inhabitants of the
southern half of Landerneau had refused to give him food and drink,
whereas those of the northern half had suitably and diplomatically
entertained him; and it was in vengeance that he had hurled these
great rocks across the river, to remain as permanent, if picturesque,
embarrassments to southern Landerneau. The morality of the story was
disconcerting, and very much puzzled me when I was told it by old
Gertrude. Our house formed a corner of the principal street in the
northern side of the town. In the days of the Terror, not so far
distant in my childhood, it had been used, with the house of Tante
Rose across the way, as a prison where the condemned were put on their
way to be guillotined at Brest, and a subterranean passage that ran
between the two houses, under the street, conveyed the unfortunates
swiftly and unobtrusively, if occasion required it, from one prison to
the other. Another lugubrious memento of that terrible time were the
small square openings in the floors of the upper rooms in these
houses. In our days they were used to summon servants from below, but
their original purpose had been for watching the captives unobserved.
In the panels of the great oaken door that opened on the street, in
our house, were little grated squares through which those who knocked
for admittance could be cautiously examined, and this feature gave a
further idea of the strange and perilous circumstances of bygone days.
The kitchen, which was entered from a stone hall, was our delight; it
was called the every-day kitchen. Enormous logs burned in a vast open
fireplace, archaically carved. At that time coal was little known in
the country, and the joints were roasted on a spit before this fire,
which looked like the entrance to an inferno. There was a little oven
for stews and sweets, etc. Under a square glass case on the
mantel-shelf, lifted high above the busy scene, stood a statue of the
Virgin, very old and very ugly, dressed in tinsel, a necklace of
colored beads around its neck. This was a cherished possession of
Nicole's, an old cook of my grandmother's, who followed us everywhere,
and at its foot, under the glass cover, lay her withered
orange-flower wedding-wreath. The kitchen was lighted at night by
numbers of tallow candles that burned in tall brass candlesticks, each
with its pincers and snuffer. (A candle with us does not "take snuff";
it has "its nose blown"--_on mouchait la chandelle_.) Brass
warming-pans, which we children called Bluebeard's wives, were ranged
along the walls, and a multitude of copper saucepans hung in order of
size, glittering with special splendor on those spaces that could be
seen from the street, for "_où l'orgueil ne va t'il pas se nicher_?"
Through an opening in the wall opposite the big windows dishes could
be passed to the servants in the dining-room during meals.
The dining-room windows looked out at a garden full of flowers, the
high walls embroidered with espalier fruit-trees, plum-, cherry-,
mulberry-, and medlar-trees growing along the paths. At the bottom of
the garden was a large aviary containing golden and silver pheasants,
magpies, canaries, and exotic birds that my father's naval friends had
brought him from their long Oriental voyages. My father himself
tended these birds, and I can answer for it that they lacked nothing.
I must tell here of the strange behavior of a golden pheasant. Despite
papa's gentleness and care, this bird seemed to detest him and would
not let him enter the aviary; but when I came with papa, the pheasant
would run to the wires and eat the bread I held out to it from my
hand. Papa was surprised and interested, and suggested one day that I
should go with him into the aviary and "see what the pheasant would
say." No sooner said than done. The bird rushed at papa and pecked at
his feet with a singular ferocity; then, feeling, evidently, that he
had disposed of his enemy, he turned to me, spread out his wings
before me, bowed up and down as if an ecstasy of reverent delight, and
taking the bread I held out to him, he paid no more attention at all
to papa.
[Illustration: "In the panels of the great oaken door ... were little
grated squares"]
The principal rooms on the ground floor of the house opened on a stone
hall with an inlaid marble floor, where, in a niche carved in the
wall, and facing the wide stone staircase, stood another Virgin, much
larger and even older than Nicole's. She was of stone, with a
blunted, gentle countenance, and hands held out at each side in a
graceful, simple gesture that seemed to express surprise as much as
benediction. As we came down from our rooms every morning it was as if
she greeted us always with a renewed interest. Fresh flowers were laid
at her feet every day, and we were all taught, the boys to lift their
hats, the girls to drop deep curtseys before her. Indeed, these
respects were paid by us to all the many statues of the Virgin that
are seen on our Breton roads. From the hall one entered the salon,
with its inlaid parquet floor, so polished that we were forbidden to
slide upon it, for it was as slippery as ice, and falls were
inevitable for disobedient children. On the mantelpiece was a clock
representing Marius weeping over the ruins of Carthage. His cloak lay
about his knees, and we used to feel that he would have done much
better had he drawn it up and covered his chilly-looking bronze
shoulders. On each side of the clock were white vases with garlands in
relief upon them of blue convolvulus and their green leaves. But what
bewitched us children were the big Chinese porcelain figures,
mandarins sitting cross-legged, with heads that nodded gently up and
down at the slightest movement made in the room. Their bellies were
bare, their eyes seemed to laugh, and they were putting out their
tongues. Black ibises upon their robes opened wide beaks to catch
butterflies. I remember crossing the hall on tiptoe and opening the
salon-door very softly and looking in at the mandarins sitting there
in their still merriment; and it required a little courage, as though
one summoned a spell, to shake the door and rouse them into life. The
heads gently nodded, the eyes seemed to laugh with a new meaning at me
now; and I gazed, half frightened, half laughing, too, until all again
was motionless. It was as if a secret jest had passed between me and
the mandarins. In an immense room to the left of the salon that had
once, perhaps, been a ball-room, but was now used as a laundry, was a
high sculptured fireplace that was my joy. On each side the great
greyhounds, sitting up on their hind legs, sustained the mantelpiece,
all garlanded with vines. Among the leaves and grapes one saw a nest
of little birds, with their beaks wide open, and the father and mother
perched above them. And, most beautiful of all, a swallow in flight
only touched with the tip of a wing a leaf, and really seemed to be
flying. Only my father appreciated this masterpiece, which must have
been a superb example of Renaissance work, and when, years afterward,
my mother sold the house, the new owner had it broken up and carted
away because it took up too much room!
On the two floors above were many bedrooms not only for our growing
family, but for that of my Aunt de Laisieu, who, with all her
children, used to pay us long and frequent visits, so that even in the
babyhood of Eliane and Ernest and Maraquita I never lacked
companionship.
My mother's room was called _la chambre des colonnes_, because at the
foot of the bed, and used there instead of bedposts, were two great
stone pillars wreathed with carving and reaching to the ceiling. What
a pretty room it was! In spring its windows looked down at a sea of
fruit-blossoms and flowers in the garden beneath. The bed had a domed
canopy, with white muslin curtains embroidered in green spots. Above
the doors were two allegorical paintings, one of Love, who makes Time
pass, and one of Time, who makes Love pass. A deep, mysterious drawer
above the oaken mantelpiece was used by _maman_ for storing pots of
specially exquisite preserves that were kept for winter use. On her
dressing-table, flowing with muslin and ribbons, I specially remember
the great jar of _eau de Cologne_, which one used to buy, as if it
were wine, by the liter.
From this room led papa's, more severe and masculine. Here there were
glass cabinets fitted on each side into the deep window-seats and
containing bibelots from all over the world. A group of family
miniatures hung on the wall near the fireplace.
On a turning of the staircase was a bath-room, with a little sort of
sentry-box for cold douches, and at the top of the house an enormous
garret, filled with broken old spinning-wheels and furniture, bundles
of old dresses, chests full of dusty papers. I found here one day
_bonne maman's_ betrothal-dress. It was of stiff, rich satin, a wide
blue and white stripe, with a dark line on each side of the blue and a
little garland of pink roses running up the white. The long, pointed
bodice was incredibly narrow. A strange detail was the coarseness with
which this beautiful dress was finished inside. It was lined with a
sort of sacking, and the old lace with which it was still adorned was
pinned into place with brass safety-pins. Finally, for my description
of the house, there was a big courtyard, with the servants' quarters
built round it, and a clear little stream ran through a _basse-cour_
stocked with poultry.
I had not seen this house for over fifty years when, some time ago, I
went to visit it. The new proprietor, an unprepossessing person, was
leaning against the great oaken door. He permitted me, very
ungraciously, to enter.
I went through all these rooms that two generations ago had rung with
the sounds of our happy young life, and it was misery to me. In the
kitchen, which had been so beautiful, the window-panes were broken,
and the dismantled walls daubed with whitewash, with dusty, empty
bottles where Nicole's Virgin had stood. Upon the table was a greasy,
discolored oil-cloth, where one saw M. Thiers, with knitted eyebrows
and folded arms, surrounded by tricolor flags. The salon--I sobbed as
I stood and looked about it; all, all that I had known and loved had
disappeared. The stone Virgin was gone from her niche in the hall.
Trembling, I mounted to my dear parents' rooms. What desolation!
Unmade beds and rickety iron bedsteads; dust, disorder, and dirt. The
carved chimneypiece, with its great drawer, was gone; the paper was
peeled from the walls. Only over the doors, almost invisible under
their cobwebs, were the painted panels of Love, who makes Time pass,
and Time, who makes Love pass. The garden was a dung-heap.
When I came out, pale and shaken, the proprietor, still complacently
leaning against the door, remarked, "_Eh bien_, Madam is glad to have
seen her house, isn't she!"
The animal! I could have strangled him!
[Illustration: "I felt that Tante Rose was enchanting"]