mother did not fear the fog on Manicamp Common, so they started for
home that same evening after dinner, having arrived much earlier than I.
The story of my transformation into a peasant the day after my arrival
at Chivres, of the way my aunts worked out of doors, greatly amused
my relatives during dinner. It was supposed then they had remained
cockneys, for at Chauny they were always called “the fine ladies.”
“They really used to be most affected,” said grandmother. “They
took no interest in household matters and would spend their time in
the drawing-room, reading, doing fancy-work, and quarrelling among
themselves.”
Just then I made a most unlucky speech which very nearly provoked the
inevitable “drama.”
“Well,” I said, “I am glad to say that they have improved in every way.
They take part in all that goes on, and I never heard a single quarrel
or dispute during my two months’ stay; it was a change for me.”
“You are really very amiable to us,” replied my mother in a sharp tone.
“If it was you who brought about this miracle, you can repeat it here,”
said grandmother, who had no idea of losing her temper.
“Why, Juliette, how can you have such excessive, scandalous, dreadful,
criminal audacity as to dare to imply that you have ever heard a single
quarrel or witnessed a single dispute in your family either at Chauny
or Blérancourt? In truth, you baby, your health is only skin deep; you
are still suffering. Go to bed, my child, go to bed.”
You should have heard grandfather say all this in his shrill, lisping
voice. He was perfectly serious and solemn, and irresistibly funny.
“I was wrong, I was wrong, a hundred times wrong, Sir Grandfather,” I
answered, “I humbly beg pardon, I repeat. I collapse!”
I imitated grandfather’s tone so perfectly that even my mother smiled.
When my parents had left, grandmother instead of questioning me as I
had expected, said kindly:
“Go and rest, darling, Arthémise will put you to bed, while we have our
game of _Imperiale_. To-morrow, and the following days, you shall tell
us all you have said, all you have done and seen.”
And so it was, for days and days I talked of nothing but Chivres.
Grandmother was quite surprised that I should have so enjoyed myself in
a place where she would have been bored to death.
During the last remaining month of my holidays I was much oftener
in our large garden than in the drawing-room reading stories with
grandmother.
A gardener was in the habit of coming three times a week, and, guided
by Arthémise, he arranged the garden as he pleased. It was I now who
looked after all the crops, and from that time he obeyed my orders. I
had some autumn sowing done, and I began to read books telling about
the culture of vegetables and the raising of fruit. The garden was
admirably stocked with both. I chose one of the empty rooms for a
fruit-store and had some shelves put up by the carpenter. Grandmother
took no interest in these things; so she let me do as I chose with the
gardener and Arthémise. During the whole of that winter we had ripe
fruit on the table every day, and my grandparents were much pleased.
I suffered greatly in not having a room to myself and being obliged to
share grandmother’s. I tried to keep it neat and clean, but grandmother
upset it as soon as it was tidy. She cared nothing for the elegance of
the frame, although she was so particular about the portrait, that is,
herself.
When I was kept indoors by rain or bad weather, I tried to put a
little order into the arrangement of the house. I ransacked certain
drawers and cupboards, and left them more orderly than they had ever
been before. To the rag-bag with all the rubbish! to the poor all that
we could no longer use! Neither grandfather nor grandmother made any
objections, for they were convinced that my active life at Chivres had
benefited me much, and that, provided I could create for myself a field
of physical activity, they could all the better, and with scarcely any
danger, set my head to work.
My grandparents’ house underwent a complete change in a fortnight.
Fresh air, which was never allowed to enter the hermetically closed
rooms, now blew in abundantly, and even broke a few windows. Arthémise
and I scrubbed and rubbed and beat from top to bottom. I discovered in
the garret some old vases and china, rather soiled by our dear pigeons,
which I filled with prettily arranged flowers, and placed about the
rooms.
Grandmother at last took some interest in the beautifying of our house.
She would sometimes help us--not to clean, for that would have spoiled
her beautiful hands, but to arrange.
She opened a cupboard for me on the first floor, and we found it full
of beautiful gowns of dead grandmothers. Out of these I made table and
bureau covers, to which grandmother added embroidery.
Grandfather enjoyed this luxury. The house seemed much more attractive
to him. I owed it to his influence that grandmother allowed me to
have a room to myself on the first floor, next to Arthémise. A
communicating door was made between the two rooms.
I selected from the garret, which was full of furniture, the pieces
that I liked. I stole from grandfather a pretty Louis XV. chiffonier,
in which I had always kept my dolls and their clothes. So far as I was
able, I copied the arrangement of aunt Sophie’s room.
I discovered a large table on which I set out my school books and
papers, and many times grandmother left her beloved drawing-room and
brought her embroidery to my room while she gave me my lesson.
I would sometimes send her away, saying, “Grandmother, I want to
collect my thoughts.”
This made her smile and she would sometimes tease me by staying; at
other times she would go, saying to herself that, after all, for a
child to think, even of nothing as it were, was still thinking, and
that in my father’s mind and her own, their chief desire, as they
had said when I was away, was to create in me an individuality, even
supposing that individuality might be contrary to their own ideals.
These desires of thinking out my thoughts seldom occurred, however, and
I was at that time so active and full of play that grandmother was not
at all distressed at my occasional love of solitude.
My dreams were explained later on when I began to write poetry.
Thus my dual character was formed. I have always remained very full of
life when with other people; yet at times I am eager for solitude.
XVII
I BEGIN TO MANAGE MY FAMILY
I endeavoured most seriously to put into practice what I had once told
my grandfather, who had laughed at me, namely: to make my grandfather’s
ideas concerning me agree with my grandmother’s. I fancied myself born
to conciliate. I talked of grandmother to my father, and still oftener
of my father to grandmother, having more opportunities for so doing. I
sought in every way to make them more indulgent and loving towards one
another, and I perceived how a word said at the proper time, and thrown
into ground already prepared, could bring forth a good harvest.
I determinedly stood between them in their quarrels. I forbade any
“talking at” each other and greeted such speeches with blame and
derision. I forced any misunderstanding between my beloved grandparents
to be explained away instantly, and I would not allow ill-humour. I
proved on the spot what had caused either the misunderstanding or the
rancour. I pleaded a double cause and won it.
“You surely could not mean that, grandmother? You have not understood,
grandfather. It is very wrong of you to imagine such an unkind meaning!
Say you are wrong. You know very well that....” With these few
sentences, interrogative or affirmative, which I repeated one after
the other, very quickly, and also through tenderness and entreaties,
I managed to smooth over the quarrels, and by this means we all three
kept sadness at bay for a few days.
Whenever I had cleared away all the black clouds, I fancied the sky
would always remain serene.
You can imagine how important I felt myself, and how I persevered in my
peace-makings. My reflections were certainly absurdly profound in the
circumstances, but they taught me to study my grandparents’ characters
with kindness, and by that means to turn my arguments to good account.
I noted certain words spoken when one or the other was absent, and
I noticed that whenever I could add to my wish of convincing them
favourably: “She or he told me so the other day,” my triumph was
complete. At times and according to circumstances, I ventured some
slight embellishments, but I do not think any one could blame me, when
the feeling which dictated my little exaggerations was so praiseworthy.
I learned that no matter how young we may be, we can be kind and useful
to those we love. I was born with such a cheerful disposition, I was so
naturally happy, that I might easily have become selfish, had I not,
from my childhood, thought a great deal about the happiness and peace
of those belonging to me, and especially because of their tendency to
make themselves miserable, and to disturb their lives by scenes of
violence. I formed in my heart an intense desire to care always for the
peace and welfare of others.
At nine years of age my character was formed, and I have since then
perceived no essential change in my intercourse with others. My first
interest in life was centred in my relatives, later, in the people of
mark with whom I lived; and I have developed my own personality only so
far as it could serve my ardent wish to love, to admire, and to devote
myself to others, or to be useful to any cause I espouse and uphold, so
long as I deemed it worthy to be fought for and upheld.
My real vocation, in fact, would have been that of an apostle preaching
the “good word” and reconciling men among themselves. I was much more
ardent in play hours than in study, because I was busy amusing my
schoolmates or settling their quarrels. I hated anything clannish, and
I especially sought after those girls who stood apart from my group.
I led in everything, but I was never captain. When it so happened that
there were two camps, I called myself the chief staff officer of the
two commanders, and I rode from one to the other giving advice to each.
I was much fonder of being guide than captain, and it was usually owing
to me that there were never any defeats, and that neither side got
the better of the other. What unmixed joy I used to feel when, after
some particular play hours in which I had given myself a great deal
of trouble, I was surrounded by a group of little girls saying to me:
“What fun you have made for us!”
On rainy days we were obliged to content ourselves in a barn, in which
no running about was possible, so I amused my young companions by
talking politics to them. I demanded absolute sworn secrecy concerning
the things I was going to tell them, and of which they had never heard
in their own families. Their ears were wide open to hear my stories
about King Louis Philippe. These were the stories my father never lost
an opportunity of relating to grandmother in order to make her angry.
At the time of which I speak so very few newspapers found their way
into the country, that politics and the government were topics rarely
discussed at table by grown people, so I acted as a newspaper, and
informed my little friends of what was going on in the world.
My father, whenever he saw me, gave me cuttings from the _Democratie
Pacifique_, and kept me so well posted that events often justified my
speeches, and I was asked for “the news.”
We all made up our minds that when we were grown up, we should have a
hand in government, and would state our opinions frankly, and that our
future husbands should be obliged to be interested in politics.
I read every book I could lay my hands on, and among them I found a
volume on the Fronde which delighted me, because the women of those
days played leading parts. I told my “disciples” about the book,
and, to my delight, they soon came around to all my ideas. I easily
persuaded them that we were all “Frondeuses.”
How proud we felt at having ideas of our own, and to belong to a
“secret society,” for we bound ourselves not to reveal to any one the
opinions we shared. And then, who knew? Things were going so badly
that perhaps one day France might have need of our devotion and our
capacities, and we loved France. We fancied ourselves to be “the
staves of this dais which covered the sacred reliquary of our country.”
One of the girls discovered this metaphor and was much applauded.
These childish things, at which one can but smile, made us very
patriotic little persons, however--ready, as we thought, at least, to
give our lives for France. We no longer learned history in our former
way. Everything in it interested us. We spoke of _our_ France, at such
and such an epoch, and we discussed at length the consequences of a
reign, a fact, a victory or a defeat.
If a professor had heard us, he would certainly have found in our
conversations--often very silly, to be sure--elements of emulation to
make young pupils love studies which usually bore them mortally.
However, after a time we grew tired of the Fronde; we should be obliged
to find something new. I promised to do so. The Easter vacations were
at hand, and I was to pass them at Blérancourt.
When I arrived there, it so happened that one of my father’s friends,
a Fourierite, came to visit him. I had heard of Fourier, of whom I
knew but little, while I had for a long time been familiar with Victor
Considérant and the _Democratie Pacifique_.
My father’s friend explained to him a complete plan for a phalanstery,
wishing to interest him in it, and I remembered what was necessary for
my purpose, in order to make use of this new idea with my schoolmates
during our future recreations, for we were always eager for new things.
After the departure of the Fourierite my father explained to me all
that I wished to learn, and I soon understood what a phalanstery was.
But my father said, and I agreed with him, that, being only nine and
a half years old, I was still incapable of understanding the depth of
Fourier’s theories, his social criticisms, and the elements of reform.
But he talked to me of Toussenel, and delighted me with stories taken
from his _L’Esprit des Bêtes_, a book that had just appeared, and about
which my father was enthusiastic. We had long conversations about my
pigeons, whose habits I had studied a little, but I knew nothing of
their intelligence and feelings. Ah! what interesting things my father,
through Toussenel, revealed to me concerning bees and ants. In our
walks, when we came upon an anthill, we would lie down flat, and I saw
and learned many things about the tiny workers, those that laid eggs
and the warriors. What my father objected to was that there should be a
queen among the bees and the ants.
“You can’t get over it, papa,” I said, “and though you may talk for
ages on ages, you cannot change the government of bees and ants.”
All these histories of animals were like fairy-tales, and I took the
greatest pleasure in them, saying: “Tell me more, more!”
However, my father found in the study of these creatures, despite
their royalism, proofs of the beauty of his own doctrines. Making
everything revert to his desire to induce me to love nature and detest
_bourgeoise_ society, he tried to persuade me that the associations,
the community of work and of fortune, as practised by the bees and the
ants, would be the means of adding more generous perfection to human
lives than mere selfish individualism.
“Besides,” he said, “at this epoch the chain which has enclosed man in
a middle-class position during a century is expanding, and will soon
break.”
My father was fond of their rather cabalistic formula. I used it on
all occasions, and I also thought I heard the breaking of the chain of
“middle-class positions,” and was glad.
When I returned to Chauny I spoke to grandmother of Fourier, of the
phalanstery, and of _L’Esprit des Bêtes_, of the royalism of the ants
and the bees, which was in sympathy with her ideas, but at the idea of
the communism of work and of fortune, which we approved, she laughed
merrily.
“Your father needed only that, poor fellow, to complete him! To receive
inspiration from insects, to take lessons in social organisation
from animals--it is really enough to make sensible people laugh,”
said grandmother. And she related to my grandfather and to my friend
Charles, with her mischievous wit, the news of Jean Louis Lambert’s
new social theories, developing them and putting them into action in
such a droll manner that, in spite of the effort I made to defend these
theories, I could not help bursting out laughing with the others.
“You see, my darling,” said grandmother to me one day, “I like
‘middle-class positions,’ and find it very pleasant to occupy one, and
do not wish at all that they should be broken, for I myself hold such a
position. The best trick I could play your father would be to give him
a ‘middle-class position’ as householder. The house in which he lives,
and which he likes very much, belongs to me, and I’ll wager he would
care for it a great deal more if I should give it to him. We should
see, then, if he would ask his gardener to come and share it with him!
I will make my son-in-law a householder before a week, and we shall
soon know if through him I have tightened by a link in his chain the
man of ‘middle-class position,’ the _bourgeois_.”
My grandmother did as she said, and my father declared that he was
delighted with his mother-in-law’s gracious gift, but he did not change
his ideas an iota on account of it.
My father, although a householder, proclaimed himself, as usual,
and with even more authority, a Proudhonian. I knew who Proudhon
was, because all French persons, even the youngest, had heard of
his famous saying: “Property is theft.” My father said he shared
Proudhon’s opinions concerning the principle of the rights of man and
of government. The pamphlet addressed by Proudhon to Blanqui, _Qu’est
que la propriété_, never left my father’s work-table. I had read it
over, on the sly, without much understanding, but I pretended to have
comprehended it, and I spoke of it, not in approval, but to say that,
after all, there was some truth in it.
How my father decided between the conflicting ideas of Proudhon
and Considérant--the latter having defended the right to possess
property--I do not know.
There were great discussions in my family on all the questions raised
apropos of the association of insects, and of their life in common; but
my father, full of gratitude for my grandmother’s generous gift, would
have found it difficult to speak of _bourgeoise_ selfishness, therefore
he let us joke about his “theories of animal socialism and his insects’
minds,” as grandmother said.
But my grandfather abhorred revolutionary ideas to such a degree that
he scarcely tolerated the mention of Proudhon, even in a joking way.
“Revolutionary speeches are pure gangrene,” he said. “They propagate
themselves in the social body and oblige us some fine day to cut off
a member of it. Who will give me back my Emperor to silence all these
agitating reformers? Oh! yes, to silence them, for they say even more
than they do.”
“My dear father-in-law,” my father answered, “one is often obliged to
say much more than he can do, for action follows words slowly. The
elements of resistance to progress are always powerful enough to hold
it back, at least half-way. It is like the two hundred thousand heads
Marat asked for, adding: ‘They will always diminish the number enough.’”
One simultaneous cry escaped us all:
“Oh! the horrible man!”
XVIII
I REVISIT CHIVRES
The phalanstery and _L’Esprit des Bêtes_ had a great success at my
school, and it may be imagined what were our attempts at social reform;
but our love of animals increased, and sometimes the observations of
many of my schoolmates about them were interesting.
The summer came, and with it my return to Chivres for the months of
July and August.
To say what was Marguerite’s delight at seeing me again, and Roussot’s
(whom they had made remember me by singing to him a daily song like
mine), to tell of the welcome of Marguerite’s old mother, and that of
the village children, who had grown a year’s size taller, would be
impossible.
Grandfather left me this time without sadness, being sure of the warm
welcome I should receive.
The journey seemed much shorter this time. I was delighted to find my
dear aunts again, and they were most happy at seeing me once more. They
said I looked like a young lady now, which flattered me extremely.
But they were far from congratulating me on my ideas of reform
according to those comprised in _L’Esprit des Bêtes_, or on my
interest in the Fronde, which they thought must have prevented my
studying seriously; neither did they approve of my father’s formula
concerning “middle-class positions which were about to break.”
There were explosions of indignation against my father, who would
injure my mind with such insanities, they declared.
My aunt Constance made fun of me in such a droll way--she much
resembled my grandmother in wit--that I lowered my arms before
her. The bees, the ants, _L’Esprit des Bêtes_, often mentioned in
our conversations, gave my merry great-aunt such opportunities for
comical criticisms, in which my father’s ideas, upheld by me, were so
ruthlessly pulled to pieces, that I gave them up.
As to my aunt Sophie, whom I took aside and endeavoured to convince
of the necessity of reforms, she made me the same answer, variously
expressed.
“I do not belong to this age; I find it preposterous,” she said.
“Everything that is happening comes from this cause: that people now
think only of rushing to cities, where they develop poverty. Believe
me, my dear little niece, happiness, peace, and true riches are found
only in the country.”
My revolutionary ideas were put away with my city clothes, and declared
good only for Chauny. Even Marguerite said to me one day:
“Your ideas, Mam’zelle Juliette, turn poor people’s heads. They
talk about them in villages. Workmen declare that their friend,
Monsieur Proudhon, says that the _bourgeoise_ have stolen property
from the nobility, and that poor people should now steal it from the
_bourgeoise_. It is pitiful to hear such things; those who have to work
should work and believe that it is only God who can give them an income
in Heaven.”
I knew my two hundred and fifty Latin words well. I had determined
to understand and remember aunt Sophie’s lessons, and thought in
consequence that I should soon be able to read Latin, which was my
dear teacher’s desire. I was very enthusiastic about it and made real
progress.
During our work in the fields, which began monotonously again and took
much time, aunt Sophie would tell me the Latin names of everything
about us.
When I found an analogy between the Picardy _patois_--which I had
acquired the habit of speaking with my maid Arthémise--and Latin, it
pleased me so much, that aunt Sophie asked one of our relatives, a
Raincourt of Saint-Quentin, to send her an almanac in the Picardy
tongue, called _The Plowman_. She then devoted herself to a veritable
monk’s work in adding to my stock all the Latin words to be found in
Picardy _patois_. _The Plowman_, in speaking of work in the fields,
enabled me to step over a new frontier in my comprehension of the
bucolics.
My aunt Sophie’s marvellous aptitude for teaching made her derive
profit from everything, and one could really say of her that she taught
by amusing.