"You feel alarmed because I am in so uneven and rocky a region, and ask
what can be fine enough to make one run the risk of being killed at
every step. First of all, there is really no danger here for me under
the guidance of this good Peyraque. The roads, that would be actually
frightful, and, as I think, impassable for carriages like those with
which we are familiar, are just large enough for the little carts of
this region. Then, too, Peyraque is very prudent. When he cannot measure
with his eye just precisely the space he needs, he has a method of
ascertaining it, which made me laugh heartily the first time I saw him
put it in practice. He trusts me with the reins, jumps to the ground
himself, takes his whip, which has the exact size of his cart marked
with a little notch on its stock, and, advancing a few paces on the
road, he proceeds to measure the width of the passage between the rock
and the precipice,--sometimes between one precipice on the right and
another on the left. If the road has a centimetre more than is needful
he comes back triumphant, and we go quickly by. If we have no such
centimetre in which to disport ourselves, he makes me alight, while he
leads the horse by the bridle, dragging on the carriage. When we find
two little walls hemming in a foot-path, we place one wheel on either
wall and the horse in the pathway. I assure you one soon becomes
accustomed to all this, and already I think no more about it. The horses
here have no vicious tricks, and are not inclined to shy; they know the
danger as well as we, and accidents are no more frequent in this country
than they are on the plains. I certainly exaggerated the danger of these
jaunts in my first letters; it was from vanity, or a lingering fear, of
which I am wholly cured now that I feel it was groundless.
"As to the beauty of Velay, I could never describe it for you. I did not
dream there could be, here in the heart of France, a country so strange
and so imposing. It is far more lovely than Auvergne, through which I
passed on my way hither. The city of Le Puy is probably unique in point
of location; it is perched upon masses of lava that seem to spring up
from its very heart and form a part of its architecture. These lava
pyramids are indeed the edifices of giants; but those which man has
placed on their sides, and often on their summits, have certainly been
inspired by the grandeur and wildness of the spot.
"The cathedral is admirable, in the Romanesque style, of the same color
as the rocks, but slightly enlivened by the blue and white mosaics on
the pediments of its façade. It is placed so as to seem colossal, for,
to reach it, you must climb a mountain of dizzy steps. The interior is
sublime in its elegant strength and solemn dimness. I never understood
the terrors of the Middle Ages, or felt them, so to speak, as I did
under these bare, black pillars, beneath these storm-laden domes. There
was a furious tempest while I was there. The flashes sent their infernal
lights across the splendid windows that strew the walls and pavements
with jewels. The thunders seemed rolling forth from the sanctuary
itself. It was Jehovah in all his wrath; but it gave me no alarm. The
true God, whom we love to-day, has no menaces for the weak. I prayed
there with a perfect faith, and felt it had done me good. As for these
beautiful temples of the faith in ages both rude and stern, it is clear
they are the expression of the one grand word, 'mystery,' whose veil it
was forbidden to lift. If M. de Villemer had been there he would have
said--
"But a course of history and religious philosophy is not to the point
now. The ideas of M. de Villemer are no longer the book from which I may
study the past or learn to anticipate the future.
"You see, thanks to good Peyraque and his desire to show me the marvels
of Velay, thanks also to my impenetrable hood, I have ventured into the
city and its suburbs. The city is everywhere picturesque; it is still a
mediæval town, closely studded with churches and convents. The
cathedral is flanked by a whole world of ancient structures, where,
under mysterious arcades, and in the turns and twists of the rock they
stand on, you can see cloisters, gardens, staircases, and mute shadows
gliding by, hidden beneath veil and cassock. A strange silence reigns
there, and a certain odor of the past, I know not what, which makes one
shiver with fear, not of our God, the source of all confidence and
spiritual freedom, but of everything that, in the name of God, breaks up
forever the ties and duties of our common humanity. In our convent, I
remember a religious life seemed cheerful; here, it is sombre enough to
make one tremble.
"From the cathedral you must keep going down hill for an hour to reach
the Faubourg d'Aiguilhe, where another monument rears its head, which is
natural and historic, at one and the same time, and, indeed, the most
curious thing in the world. It is a volcanic sugar-loaf three hundred
feet in height, which you mount by a spiral stairway until you reach a
Byzantine chapel, necessarily quite small, but charming, and built, it
is said, on the site and from the fragments of a temple to Diana.
"A legend is current here, which struck me forcibly. A young girl, a
Christian virgin, pursued by some miscreant, flung herself to escape him
down from the top of the terrace; she arose at once; she was unharmed.
The miracle was noised abroad. She was declared a saint. Pride grew
strong in her heart; she promised to hurl herself down again, to show
she was under the protection of angels; but this time Heaven deserted
her, and she was crushed like a vain silly creature as she was.
"Pride! yes, God leaves the proud to themselves, and without him what
can they do? But do not tell me that I am proud. No, it is not pride. I
have no desire to prove anything to any one. I ask to be forgotten, and
that there should be no suffering on my account.
"There is near Le Puy, forming a part of its magnificent landscape, a
village that also crowns one of those singular, isolated rocks, which
break through the soil here at every step. It is called Espaly, and this
rock also bears up the ruins of a feudal castle and of Celtic grottos.
One of these caves is inhabited by two persons, aged and poor, whose
squalid misery is heart-rending. This couple live here in the solid
rock, with a single hole for chimney and window. At night they block up
the door, in winter with straw; in summer, with the old woman's
petticoat. A small, rude bed without coverlids or mattress, two stools,
a little iron lamp, a spinning-wheel, and two or three earthen
pots,--these are all the furniture.
"Nevertheless, only a few paces from them there is a vast and splendid
house belonging to the Jesuits and named the Paradise. At the foot of
the rock flows a brook which brings down precious stones in its sand.
The old woman sold me for twenty sous a handful of garnets, sapphires,
and jacinths, which I am keeping for Lili. The stones are too small to
have any actual value, but there must be a precious deposit somewhere
among these rocks. The Jesuit fathers will find it, perhaps; I don't
expect to make the discovery myself, however; so I must think about
procuring some work. Peyraque has an idea which he has enlarged upon for
the last few days, and which was suggested to him by this very rock of
Espaly; I will tell you how.
"While strolling about over this rock, I was taken with one of my sudden
fancies for a little child, playing in the lap of a pretty woman from
the village, who was strong and cheerful. This child, you see, I can
compare with no one but our Charley, for inspiring affection. He does
not look like Charley, but has the same demure playfulness, and the shy
caresses which make one his willing slave. When I called upon Peyraque
to admire him, remarking how clean he was kept, and that his mother made
no lace, but seemed wholly taken up with him, as if she knew she had a
treasure there, Peyraque at once replied, 'You have come nearer the
truth than you thought. This child is a treasure for Dame Roqueberte. If
you ask who he is, she will tell you it is the child of a sister she has
in Clermont; but this is not true: the little one has been placed in her
charge by a gentleman whom no one knows, who pays her for rearing it,
who pays her, besides, for taking great care of it, as if it were the
son of a prince. So you see this woman is well dressed and does not
work. She was in easy circumstances before. Her husband has charge of
the castle of Polignac, whose great tower, and in fact all the ruined
portion, you can see over yonder, on a rock larger and loftier than that
of Espaly; that is where she lives, and, if you meet her here, it is
because now she has such fine chances for pleasure strolls. The real
mother of the little one must be dead, for she has never been heard of;
but the father comes to see it, leaves money, and stipulates that it
shall not be allowed to want for anything.'
"You see, dear sister, this is a romance. That is partly what attracted
me perhaps, since, according to your ideas, I am quite romantic.
Certainly this little boy has something about him which captivates the
imagination. He is not strong; they say when he first came here he had
hardly life enough to breathe; but now he is quite blooming, and the
mountain air agrees with him so well that his father, who came here at
about this time last year to take him away, decided to leave him a year
longer, in order to have him regain his strength completely. The little
creature has an angelic face, dreamy eyes, with a far-off look in them,
strange in a child of his age, and there is a wondrous grace in all his
ways.
"Peyraque, seeing me so bewitched, scratched his head with an air of
profundity and continued, 'Well, tell me, then, since you are fond of
little children, why, instead of making it your occupation to read
aloud, which must be wearisome, do you not find a little pupil like
that, whom you could educate at your sister's with the other children?
This would leave you in your own home and to your own ways.'
"'You forget, my good Peyraque, that perhaps it will be long before I
can go to my sister.'
"'Well, then, your sister might come and live here, or else you could
stay with us for a year or two; my wife would aid you in taking care of
the child, and you would only have the trouble of watching over him and
teaching him.--Stop! I have an idea of my own about this child, since
he pleases you so that you are doting on him already. His father will
come after him one of these days. Suppose I should tell him about you?'
"'Then you are acquainted with him!'
"'I acted as driver for him once, and carried him to the mountain in my
carriage. He seems a fine man, but too young to take upon himself the
bringing up of a child of three years. He will have to place it in
charge of some woman, and he cannot leave it any longer with the
Roqueberts, for they are not capable of teaching what a young gentleman
like him ought to know. This would be your own task, especially, and the
father would never find so good a mother for his child. Hope, hope!
(which signifies wait!) I will keep watch at Polignac, and as soon as
this father arrives, I will manage to talk with him in the proper way.'
"I let good Peyraque cultivate this project, and Justine also, but I
have no faith in it myself, for the mysterious personage expected will
ask questions I am unwilling to have answered, unless I am quite sure he
knows none of the people, either intimately or remotely, from whom my
place of retreat must be concealed. And how could I make sure of that?
Peyraque's idea is, nevertheless, in itself a good one. To educate some
child at home for a few years would please me infinitely better than
going into a strange family again. I would rather take a girl than a
boy, as she would be left with me a longer time; but there will be
little room for choice, for these children hidden away by their parents
are not easy to find. And there must needs be the most perfect
confidence in me. I must be well recommended. Madame d'Arglade, who
knows all the secrets of fashionable life, could find for me a chance
like this; but I would rather not apply to her: without intending to do
so, she might bring upon me some fresh misfortune."