BERTHE’S STORY
Madeleine was feeling restless, so she asked Berthe to come and sit by
her bed and talk to her.
‘Tell me a story,’ she commanded, and Berthe delightedly launched forth
on her favourite theme, that of Madeleine’s resemblance to her youngest
brother.
‘Oh, he often comes to me and says, “Tell me a story, Berthe,” like that,
“tell me a story, Berthe,” and I’ll say, “Do you think I have nothing
better to do, sir, than tell you stories. Off you go and dig cabbages;”
and he’ll say, with a bow, “Dig them yourself, Madame”—oh, he’s _malin_,
ever pat with an answer; he is like Monsieur Jacques in that way. One
day——’
‘Please tell me a story,’ Madeleine persisted. ‘Tell me the one about
Nausicaa.’
‘Ah! that was the one that came back to me when Mademoiselle turned with
such zeal to housewifery!’ and she chuckled delightedly.
‘Tell it to me!’
‘Well, it was a pretty tale my grandmother used to tell; she heard it
from _her_ grandmother, who had been tire-woman to a great lady in the
reign of good King Francis.’
‘Begin the tale,’ commanded Madeleine firmly.
‘Oh, Mademoiselle will have her own way—just like Albert,’ winked Berthe,
and began,—
‘Once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, there lived a rich farmer near
Marseilles. My grandmother was wont to say he was a king, but that cannot
have been, for, as you will see, his daughter did use to do her own
washing. Mademoiselle hates housework, doesn’t she? _I_ can see you are
ill-pleased when Madame talks of a _ménage_ of your own——’
‘_Go on_,’ said Madeleine. Berthe cackled, ‘Just like Albert!’ she
exclaimed.
‘Well, this farmer had an only daughter, who was very beautiful; she had
an odd name: it was Nausicaa. She was _rêveuse_, like Mademoiselle and
me, and used to love to lie in her father’s orchard reading romances
or looking out over the sea, which lay below. She did not care for the
sons of the farmers round that came wooing her with presents of lambs
and apples or with strings of beads which they bought from sailors at
the harbour; they seemed to her clumsy with their foolish grins and
their great hands, for Nausicaa was exceeding nice,’ and Berthe winked
meaningly. ‘And there were merchants, too, with long beards and grave
faces, and gold chains, who sought her hand, but she was aware that they
looked on her as nothing better than the rare birds their ships brought
them from the Indies. Well, one night, Our Lady appeared to her in a
dream and said: “Lève-toi, petite paresseuse, les jeunes demoiselles
doivent s’occuper du mariage et de leur ménage.” And she bade Nausicaa go
to the river, and wash all her linen, for if a Prince came he would be
ill-pleased to find her foul. And Nausicaa woke up feeling very strange
and as if fair wondrous things were coming to meet her. ’Tis a fancy that
seizes us all at times, and much good it does us!’ And Berthe gave her
long, soft chuckle, while Madeleine scowled at her.
‘As soon as she was dressed, Nausicaa ran into the fields to find her
father, and she put her arms round his neck and hid her face on his
shoulder and said, laughing,—
‘“Father, I am fain you should lend me a cart and four mules for to-day,”
and her brothers, who were standing near, laughed and asked who was
waiting for her at the other end. And Nausicaa tossed her head and said
she did but want to wash her linen in the river. And her father pinched
her ear and kissed her and said that he would order four of his best
mules to be harnessed. And when her mother heard of her project she
clapped her hands with joy and winked at the old nurse, for she divined
the thought in Nausicaa’s mind, and the poor soul was exceeding glad.’
‘_Go on_,’ Madeleine commanded feverishly, forestalling a personal
deviation.
‘Well, the mother filled a big hamper full of the delicate fare that
Nausicaa liked best—_pain d’épice_, and quince jam and preserved fruits
and a fine fat capon, and bade four or five of the dairymaids go with
her and help her with her washing, and Nausicaa filled a great basket
with her linen, and they all climbed into the cart, and Nausicaa took
the reins and flicked the whip, and the mules trotted off. When they got
to the river they rolled up their sleeves and set to, and they laughed
and talked over their work, for Nausicaa was not proud. And when all
the linen was washed and laid out on the grass to dry they sat down and
ate their dinner and talked, and Nausicaa sang them songs, for she had
brought her lute with her. And then they played at _Colin-Maillard_ and
at ball, and then they danced a _Branle_, and poor grannie used always
to say that they were as lovely as the angels dancing in Paradise. Every
one, of course, was comely long ago’—and Berthe interrupted her narration
to chuckle.
‘Grannie used always to go on like this: “They laughed and played as
maidens will when they are among themselves, but they little knew what
was watching them from behind a bush of great blue flowers,” and we used
to say, with our eyes as round as buttons—“Was it a bear, grannie?” “No.”
“Was it a _lutin_, then?” And we were grievously disappointed when she
would say, “No, it was a man!” Well, it was a great Roman lord called
Ulysse who had fought with Charlemagne at the Siege of Troy, and when he
started on his voyage home, Saint Nicholas, the sailors’ saint, who did
not love him, pestered him with storms and shipwrecks and monstrous fish
so that the years passed and he got no nearer home. And all the time he
kept on praying to Our Lady to give him a safe and speedy return, and
at last she heard his prayer, and when Saint Nicholas had once again
wrecked his ship she rescued him from the sea and walked over the waves
with him in her arms as if he were a little child till she reached the
river near Marseilles, and then she laid him among the rushes by its
banks, and there he slept. And when he woke up she worked a miracle so
that the wrinkles and travel-stains and sunburn dropped away from him,
and his rags she changed into a big hat with fine plumes, and a jerkin
of Isabelle satin, and a cloak lined with crimson plush, and breeches
covered with ribbons, so that he was once more the fine young gallant
that had years ago started for the wars. And she told him to step out
from behind the bush and accost Nausicaa. Oh, believe me, he knew what
to say, for he was as _malin_ as a fox! He made as fine a bow as you
could see and told Nausicaa that she must be a king’s daughter. And her
heart was fluttering like a bird—poor, pretty soul!—as she remembered her
dream. Not that she had need to call it to mind, for, as Mademoiselle
doubtless will understand, she had thought of nothing else all day!’
Madeleine looked suspiciously at the comic mask, but Berthe went on,—
‘And then my lord Reynard tells of his misfortunes, and the hours he had
spent struggling in the cold sea, and of his hunger, and of how his ship
was lost, and he longing for his own country, “until I saw Mademoiselle,”
with another bow, so that tears came to the eyes of Nausicaa and her
maids, and shyly kind, she asked him if he would be pleased to take
shelter under her father’s roof, which, as you will believe, was just
what he had been waiting for! And her parents welcomed the handsome
stranger kindly, the father as man to man, the mother a little shyly, for
she saw that he was a great lord, though he did not tell his name, and
she feared that he might think poorly of their state. All the same, her
mind was busy weaving fantasies, and when she told them to her husband
he mocked her for a vain and foolish woman, but for all that, he looked
troubled and not well pleased. Nausicaa did not tell her parents of
her dream, but that evening when her old nurse was combing her hair—my
grannie used to say it was a comb made of pink coral—she asked her
whether she thought that dreams might be taken as omens, and the old
woman, who from the question divined the truth, brought out a dozen cases
of dreams coming true.’
‘Does it end happily?’ Madeleine interrupted feverishly.
‘Mademoiselle will see,’ chuckled Berthe, her expression inexpressibly
sly.
‘Don’t look so strangely, Berthe, you frighten me!’ cried Madeleine. She
was in a state of great nervous excitement.
‘But, Mademoiselle, it is only a tale—it is _just_ like Albert, he will
sometimes cry his eyes out over a sad tale. I remember one evening at the
Fête des Rois, the Curé——’
‘Go on with the story,’ cried Madeleine.
‘Where was I? Oh, yes.... Well, Ulysse stayed with them some days, and
he would borrow a blue smock from one of Nausicaa’s brothers and help
to bring in the hay, and in the evening tell them stories of strange
countries or play to them on the lute. And he would wander with Nausicaa
in the orchard, and though his talk was pretty and full of _fleurettes_,
he never spoke of love. Well, one evening a Troubadour—Mademoiselle knows
what that is?’
‘Of course!’
‘Came to the door and they asked him in, and after supper he sang
them songs all about the Siege of Troy and the hardships undergone by
Charlemagne and his knights when they fought there for _la belle Hélène_,
and as he listened Ulysse could not keep from weeping, and they watched
him, wondering. And when the song was finished they were all silent.
And then Ulysse spoke up, saying he would no longer keep his name from
them—“and, indeed,” he added proudly, “it is not a name that need make
its bearer blush, for,” said he, “I am the lord Ulysse!” At that they all
exclaimed with wonder, and Nausicaa turned as white as death, but Ulysse
did not look at her. Then he told them of all the troubles sent him by
Saint Nicholas and how fain he was to get to his own country and to his
lady who was waiting for him in a high tower, but that he had no ship.
Then Nausicaa’s father clapped him on the shoulder, although he was such
a great lord, and told him that he had some ships of his own to carry his
corn to barren countries like England, and that he should have one to
take him home. Then he filled up their glasses with good red Beaume and
drank to his safe arrival, but Nausicaa said never a word and left the
room. And next morning she was there, standing by a pillar of the door
to bid him godspeed, smiling bravely, for though she was but a farmer’s
daughter she had a _noble fierté_. But after he had gone she could do
nothing but weep, and pray to the Virgin to send her comfort. And some
tell that in time she forgot the lord Ulysse and the grievous sorrow he
had brought on her, and wedded with a neighbouring farmer and gat him
fair children.
‘But others tell that the poor soul could not rid herself of the burden
of her grief, but did use to pass the nights in weeping and the days in
roaming, wan and cheerless, by the sea-waves or through the meadows. And
one eve as she wandered thus through a field of corn, it chanced that
one of God’s angels was flying overhead, and he saw the damsel, and his
strange bloodless heart was filled with love and pity of her, and he
swooped down on her and caught her up to Paradise.
‘ ... There is Madame calling me!’ and Berthe hurried from the room.
Madeleine lay quite still on her bed, with a frightened shadow in her
eyes. Ever since Jacques’s dissertation on the Symmetry of the Comic
Muse, terror had been howling outside the doors of her soul, but now it
had boldly entered and taken possession.