Beuvron to my own house, but the lovely evening tempted me on till
almost without knowing it I found myself outside the town and I kept
on by the bewitching little Yonne nearly to the narrows at La Forêt.
The water flowed by calm and still with scarcely a ripple on its smooth
surface; my sight was drowned in it, as a fish is held by the hook; the
whole sky was entangled by the river as if in a net, where it seemed
to float with its rosy clouds caught among the reeds and grasses, and
the golden sun rays trailing in the water. There was an old cowherd
on the bank with his two skinny cows: I went and sat down beside him,
and as he was rather shaky on his pins, I told him of a remedy for his
rheumatic complaint;--(I am rather a good doctor when I have time for
it),--so he told me all about himself, his ills and sorrows, but he
seemed jolly enough, and even resented my thinking him younger than
he was. He was seventy-five years old, and took pride in it, saying
the older you were, the more you could bear. It seemed quite right to
him that we should all have to suffer, and, on the other hand, he said
God’s favors fall alike on the just and the unjust, so all is as it
should be; rich and poor, gentle and simple will sleep at last in the
same Father’s arms. As he talked his quavering old voice mingled with
the chirp of crickets, the water pouring over the dam, the smell of
wood and tar blowing towards us from the harbor, the tranquil flowing
river, the fair reflections all melting into the peaceful evening.
When he had gone I walked back alone with my hands behind my back,
watching the circles in the water, and was so absorbed that I forgot
where I was till I heard a well-known voice on the other bank, and
saw I was just opposite our house. There was my wife,--gentle
soul!--shaking her fist at me out of the window! I fixed my eyes on the
stream and made believe not to see her, but she was reflected upside
down as if in a glass; I did not say a word, but shook all over with
inward laughter, and the more I laughed the angrier she got. It was too
killing to see her bobbing up and down in the Beuvron head first! At
last she lost all patience; I heard doors and windows banging behind
her, and she came rushing out after me like a whirlwind. She had to
cross a bridge to get at me, and the question was which? Right or left,
for we were just between the two. She made for the little foot-bridge
to the right, and I naturally took the other, where I found Gadin
planted on the very same spot where I had left him in the morning.
Night was falling as I came to my own door. Though I am not like that
lazy Roman who was always complaining that he had lost a day, still I
do not know where time goes, though none of this day has been lost, and
I am content enough, but if only there were forty-eight hours instead
of twenty-four! I do not feel that I always get my money’s worth, for
my glass is no sooner filled than it is empty; there must be a crack in
it. I sometimes think I envy people who sip and sip without ever coming
to the bottom. It cannot be that their glass is longer than mine, that
would be too much to bear. “Hi there! you landlord of the Sun, fill up
my mug to the brim when you are pouring out the daylight!” But I have
nothing really to complain of, for the Lord has blessed me with an
appetite that nothing can ever satisfy, so I love both day and night
and cannot get enough of either.
Swift flying day of April, are you gone indeed? But it is good to feel
that I have not lost a moment of your sweet presence. I have kissed and
held you close in my arms;--so now welcome, dear night, it is your turn
to share my couch, but good Lord! I forgot, there will be three of us,
for the old woman is just coming up to look for me.
V
BELETTE
May.
Three months ago I got an order from the château of Asnois for a
dresser and a chest, but I would not begin to work on them until I
was able to see the room and the place where they were to stand; for
according to my idea, furniture is like wall fruit. A good apple comes
from a good tree; and there is no use in telling me that a beautiful
thing is beautiful no matter where it is, like a wayside Venus, who
sells herself to the highest bidder. True art is an expression of
our inmost selves; it is the spirit of home and of the fireside,
our domestic deity; and to know him you must know the house where
he dwells. He is so made for man, and his work meant to fulfil and
complete man’s existence, that nothing can be really beautiful unless
it is in its proper setting.
I set off early, then, to see where my chest was to stand, and what
with the walk and my dinner, it took up nearly half a day; but man must
eat to live, and everything was so much to my mind, that I was in the
best of spirits when I at last started back towards home. The path
to Clamecy ran straight enough, but when I came to the crossroads, I
could not help glancing down a by-way, which went wandering across the
meadows, between the blossoming hedges.
Said I to myself, “How nice it would be to leave the stupid highroad,
and follow that little path; the day is yet young, and anyhow it would
never do to get home ahead of the sun, and early or late the wife
will have something to say to me.... I really must go a step or two
farther, and have a look at that dear little pear tree; surely those
are not snowflakes? no, of course not, they are the white petals blown
off by the wind. Listen to the birds! and the tinkling of the brook,
sliding along under the grass, like a kitten chasing a ball.... I have
a great mind to follow it, and see if the roots of this oak will not
stop it; where can it have gone? well, upon my word! it has squeezed
its way under the big gouty knees of yonder elm,--did you ever see such
impudence? I might as well go and find out where this path does lead.”
It was all very well to saunter along thus at the heels of my vagrant
shadow, but in the back of my head I knew perfectly well where that
beguiling footway would take me. Like Ulysses, I tried to play the
hypocrite with myself, but the truth is, that I made up my mind where
I meant to go from the moment I left the gates of Asnois. An old flame
of mine lived at a mill down in these parts, and I had a fancy to go
and surprise her,--or perhaps surprise myself, who knows? It was many
a long day since I had set eyes on Céline, or “Belette” as they called
her, and the chances were that her saucy face would be changed out of
knowledge. Ah! Belette, I am not afraid of you now! Those little teeth
of yours can no longer hurt this poor old dried-up heart! Perhaps
the teeth are gone too? I can see them now, and hear your charming
laughter! What a fool she did make of you, Breugnon; you were a mere
toy in those hands of hers; but, after all, why not? if she could get
some fun out of such a country blockhead as I was then. I learned the
noble art of wood-carving from Master Médard Lagneau, and I can see
myself now leaning over the wall of his place, gazing with my mouth
open. The wall ran between the yard where we worked and a big kitchen
garden, planted with lettuce, strawberries, pink radishes, cucumbers,
and melons; and there, at all hours of the day, I could see a tall
active slip of a girl, balancing two great watering pots in her strong
brown hands, as she carefully sprinkled the thirsty borders. She wore
a coarse chemise of unbleached linen, which showed her bare arms and
long throat; her feet too were bare, and her short skirt was tucked up
to her knees, which were round and strong like a boy’s. The first thing
you noticed about her was the heavy mass of her twisted reddish hair. I
literally could not take my eyes off her as she came and went emptying
her watering pots, going back to fill them at the well, carrying them
steadily and carefully along the narrow paths, where her long bare toes
felt their own way cleverly in the damp earth between the strawberry
plants. She did not seem to know that I was there, keeping steadily on
with her work; but when she came close, all at once she turned her head
and shot a look at me. Ouch!--I can still feel the hook in my gills,
and the net around me. “A woman’s eye catches the fly,” as the proverb
has it. I struggled of course, but what was the use? There was the
silly fly on the wall, with his wings stuck together.
She paid no more attention to me, and squatted down on her heels to
plant her cabbage, but from time to time she stole a look to make
sure that her prey was still there. There was no use in my saying to
myself, “She is trying to make a fool of you, my lad!” I could see
her snickering, and that made me grin too:--what an ass I must have
looked! At last up she jumped, ran across the garden, came back, stuck
her feet wide apart over the edge of the border, caught at a floating
spray of bloom, and said, waving her arm at me, “Another good fellow
gone!” As she spoke she thrust her flower in the front of her dress.
“That’s where I should like to be,” said I, for though I may have been
a fool at that age, I was no laggard in an affair of this kind.
She put her arms akimbo and burst out laughing. “Not for the likes of
you,” cried she. “Greedy!”... That was the beginning of my acquaintance
with the pretty gardener Belette, on a warm August evening.
The nickname of “Weasel” suited her long body, with the small head and
pointed nose, and wide prominent mouth; just the mouth to crack nuts
and hearts, and made too for laughter. Oh, her eyes! dark blue like
thunder-clouds, and her wildcat smiling lips!--What chance had the poor
prey, once in her toils?
I did very little work after this, but spent most of my time gawking
over the wall, till Master Lagneau would come behind, and dislodge me
with a vigorous kick. Belette got tired of me sometimes, and would tell
me to stop staring at her and get out; but I often told her, with a
wink, that you cannot know either a woman or a melon just by looking.
How much I should have liked to try a slice of her! But perhaps another
fruit would have served my turn then equally well; for I was at the age
when a man could fall in love with the eleven thousand virgins. Did
I love Belette really?--there are times when a boy like me will love
anybody;--but no, Breugnon, that is all humbug, and you know it; your
first love is the real article, your fate, marked out for you by the
stars in their courses, and it is perhaps because I missed my destiny
that my whole life long I have gone unsatisfied.
We understood one another at half a word; though we did nothing but
tease. Both of us had glib tongues, and I would give her back as good
as she sent, quick as lightning. Sometimes we nearly died of laughing,
and when she thought that she had got the better of me, she would throw
herself down and roll over and over on the ground with joy, among her
beets and onions. She would come too and stand under my wall, and talk
to me in the warm twilight evenings. How well I remember her once,
as she stood there laughing, her bright eyes looking into mine,--she
could see my heart at the bottom of them,--and I can see her now, as
she reached up and pulled down a branch of the cherry tree, the ripe
fruit resting like jewels on her hair, and then she did not pick the
cherries, she just bit off the flesh of them, leaving the stones on the
stem. Ah! eternal eager youth, with your lips at the fountain!--When
I have been carving on a panel, how many a time since have I drawn
the lines of her beautiful arms, her breast, her throat with the head
thrown back, her full rich mouth!... I bent over the wall, and drew the
branch towards me, putting the moist stones to my lips, where I could
still feel the touch of hers.
On Sundays we walked over to Beaugy, and there we used to dance; though
I was a perfect stick at it in spite of what they say, that love lends
wings, and would give grace to the very bean-poles. She was always at
me, and never for a moment did we cease our sparring; she liked to
laugh at my long crooked nose, my big mouth like an oven, my scrubby
beard, and all the rest of it. They say we are made in the likeness of
God, but I hope not, for His sake.... Belette at least never stopped
laughing at my queer looks, and I did my best to get even.
This kind of thing went on till we both of us took fire. I shall never
forget the vintage that year; Belette and I worked side by side, bent
double among the poles, our heads nearly touching, and sometimes as
I stripped the vines my hand would brush against her, and then she
would rear up like a young colt and give me a smart slap, or squeeze
a bunch of grapes in my face. Naturally I retorted with another, till
the red juice ran down over her sunburned bosom. You never saw such a
little devil as she was, but I could not catch her off her guard. We
always kept a wary eye on each other, for she knew well enough what I
was after; but she always seemed to be saying, “Don’t you wish you may
get it?” On my side, I was just like a cat with his eyes half shut,
watching a mouse and ready to pounce at the right moment. “Wait till I
catch you, my lady!” I thought.
One afternoon in this very month of May,--our summers must have been
hotter in those days,--the air was like an oven, a furnace seven times
heated; for hours black threatening clouds had been coming up, big
with the storm which still held off, so that we melted under the heat,
and the very tools stuck to our fingers. Belette had been singing in
her garden, but after a while I could neither see nor hear her, till
at last I caught sight of her sitting on a stone under the shed roof,
asleep; her lips parted, her head leaning back against the door-post,
one arm resting on the big water-can, as if she were overcome by sudden
lassitude. There she lay, half exposed, defenseless like Danaë, and
I her Jupiter!--I dropped over the wall, crushing the cabbages and
lettuce in my haste, and took her in my arms, putting my mouth to hers.
How sweet she was! all warm and half asleep! She seemed to yield, and
returned my kisses, but without opening her blue eyes.--My blood burned
in my veins, and I strained her to my breast with delight; at last, the
ripe fruit had dropped into my longing mouth!--but in spite of my joy,
some strange scruple now restrained me; I don’t know what queer notions
held me back,--great fool that I was!--but I felt that I loved her too
much,--I could not take advantage of her so,--half asleep, not knowing
what she did. My proud beauty! I would not have her unconsenting, and
so,--I tore myself away from my happiness, untwining our linked arms
and our lips, not without trouble, for man is fire, and woman tow: but
I left her trembling, like that other simpleton you have heard of, who
conquered Antiope. I too conquered, that is, I took to my heels:--I
fairly blush when I think of it, at thirty-five years’ distance.
Foolish boy! yes, but what would I not give to be capable now of such
folly?
From that time Belette treated me as if she were possessed of the
devil, never twice was she in the same mind; one day she would launch
some insult at me, or ignore my very existence, and the next she would
meet me with languishing sheep’s eyes, and cajoling laughter. When
my back was turned, she would hide behind a tree, and hurl lumps of
sod at my neck, or hit me on the nose with a plum; and worse than all
were her goings on with any man that she could pick up, when we were
out on Sundays. She took it into her head,--chiefly to annoy me, I do
believe,--to flirt with Quiriace Pinon, a great chum of mine. He and I
were like Orestes and Pylades, you never saw one without the other, and
wherever there was anything going on, a fair, a fight, or a wedding,
there we were in the midst of it. He was short and thickset, as sturdy
as an oak, a good straightforward worker, and as for friendship! it
would have gone hard with any one who interfered with me when he was by.
Belette singled him out from all the rest of her admirers, knowing well
enough what it would mean to me; and she had no trouble at all with
him, you may be sure.--A few smiles and glances out of those eyes of
hers were quite enough to do his business. What son of Adam can resist
the wiles of these serpents? She would put on her innocent unconscious
air, turn her long neck and glance at him under her fringed eyelashes,
flash her white teeth, lick her red lips with her little pointed
tongue, then walk away, her whole supple body swaying as she moved.
Pinon lost his head completely, and so Belette soon had the two of us
stuck up on the wall, watching her every step. She drew us both on, so
it was not long before we were ready to fly at each other’s throats;
but when she thought the thing had gone far enough, she would throw a
little cold water on the pair of us. Much as this last trick angered
me, I could not help laughing at her, clever little cat! but it drove
Pinon half out of his wits;--(a joke was always a sealed book to him,
but he would roar at one that no one else could make head or tail
of.)--When she was cold to him, he would lose his temper, stamp and
swear at her like a madman, and she rather liked this rough sort of
wooing, so different from my way with her.
She and I were really of the same Gallic breed--there was much more
affinity between us than there was between her and Pinon, who was
simply a ramping, stamping sort of a brute; but from pure caprice, or
perhaps to vex me, she showed him the greatest favor, smiling at him
with lips and eyes full of the sweetest promises; but when it came to
keeping them, and he was ready to burst with pride in his conquest,
then she would turn and march off, leaving him in the lurch.
All this was droll enough to me, but Pinon could not see the joke, and
would turn on me like a tiger, because, forsooth! I was taking his girl
away from him! It came to such a pass, that he actually told me to take
myself out of the way; I replied that the very same words had been on
the tip of my tongue.
“Well then, I shall have to punch your head for you!”
“It may come to that,” said I, “but I should hate to do it.”
“Me too,” said he. “Now, Breugnon, one cock is enough in a farmyard; do
you get out of this, like a sensible fellow.”
“By all means,” said I, “only you are the one to quit the premises, she
was mine before you ever saw her.”
This made him furious, and he called me a low-down liar, and swore that
Belette was his, and that I should never touch a hair of her head.
“Do you ever look at yourself in the glass, my poor friend?” said I.
“She is meat for your masters, in other words for me, so go back where
you came from and dig turnips.”
“Listen to me, Breugnon,” said he. “She loves me best.”--I shook my
head. “Will you leave it to her?” he persisted, “and promise to get
out if she takes me?”
“Agreed!” said I, and held out my hand.
It is one thing to tell a girl to choose, but it is quite another to
make her do it; there is much more fun for her in keeping two suitors
on the string; so she merely laughed in our faces, and went off, when
we told her of our bargain. We were really fond of one another, but
now, there was nothing else for it, we had to fight. Back we went to
the shop, and pulled our coats off.
“Hold on a second,” said Pinon, and gave me a great kiss on both
cheeks. Then we went at it in earnest, for when it comes to real
fighting, friendship has to go to the wall, and in five minutes Pinon
had nearly knocked my head off, while I battered at his stomach, till
the blood literally poured off both of us. How it would have ended, no
one knows, for by this time we were as savage as a couple of bulldogs;
but my Master Lagneau and some of the neighbors heard the row and
rushed in. A hard time they had to pull us apart, and at last Lagneau
had even to take his horsewhip to us, but they finally made us let go,
and a sight we were to behold when it was over! At this crisis the
third party made his appearance; he was a miller named Jean Mifflard,
short and red in the face, with little eyes like a wild boar’s, and
fat puffy cheeks. He laughed at the pair of us; and told us we were
fools to knock each other about for a little hussy like that, who was
only amusing herself at our expense, just for the fun of trailing a
pack of lovers at her heels.
“I will tell you what,” said he; “she is only making game of you; so
now, just shake hands and go off somewhere together, that will turn the
laugh on her, and when she finds that you are gone out of her reach,
she will be forced to choose, one way or the other, and let the best
man win! Now then! get out with you! and the sooner the better. You
may rely on me while you are gone, to keep an eye on the lady, and if
anything new turns up, you shall know it. Come on and have a drink, and
forget all about it!”
We did drink, I can tell you,--my word, but we were thirsty!--and that
very night we started off together for nowhere in particular; proud
enough of ourselves, God knows why! and with hearts full of gratitude
towards our friend the miller, who laughed when he took leave of us
till his little eyes almost disappeared under his fat eyelids.
The next morning, though we did not like to admit it, we felt a little
less cocky--and we sat and thought of this precious plan of attacking
a place by running away from it, and as the sun rose higher in the
heavens, our respect for ourselves sank lower, till by nightfall we
were watching each other like two cats, though we still kept up a show
of indifference. In the back of our minds was the notion of stealing
off alone to the village, but neither of us dared to take his eye off
the other for a second. Each tried all sorts of unsuccessful dodges
to get rid of the other man, but finally we lay down on our straw
mattresses, pretending to fall asleep and snore loudly, though love and
fleas chased rest from our eyelids.
At last Pinon could bear it no longer, and jumped up, declaring that he
was going back. “All right then,” said I, “I’m with you!”
It took us a whole day to walk home; but we got there about sunset, and
hid in the woods till dark, as we were not particularly anxious for any
one to see us,--it would have been rather awkward, and then we wanted
to surprise Belette;--we pictured her in tears, reproaching herself,
sighing for her lost lover;--which one?--but you can guess what answer
each of us gave to that question.
Our hearts beat fast as we stole down to the end of her garden; the
moonlight shone full on the cottage, and what do you think I saw
hanging on an apple-tree just outside of her open window? Not an
apple, no, it was a hat belonging to Giffard, the miller!
There is no need to dwell on what followed, though of course every one
but ourselves would have thought it killingly funny. I stayed where I
was, but Quiriace made one jump, swung himself up the tree, ran along
the branch, and leaped in at the window.
In a moment the air was rent with screams, curses, yells, and
vituperations, noise of breaking furniture, smashed china and glass,
groans, blows, shrieks, and growls, as if a cage full of wild beasts
were fighting. As you may imagine, the row soon woke up the entire
neighborhood; I did not wait to see the end of it, but made off as fast
as I could, half laughing,--for it was funny when you came to think of
it,--but with the tears running down my cheeks all the same.
“You are well out of that, Colas my boy,” said I to myself, but in my
heart I was not so sure of it. I tried to laugh at all the row-de-dow,
and mimic the girl, Quiriace, and the miller. “But oh! Belette,” cried
I, “this will break my heart!”
I didn’t really know if I was glad or sorry, but on the whole I came
near to regretting my escape; for if I had married her, and she had
betrayed me? At least she would have been mine, and love is well worth
any price you must pay for it.
For at least a month I was drawn to and fro between rage and relief;
while the whole village split its sides laughing at me, and sometimes,
when the thought of Belette came over me I could have dashed my head
against the wall. Fortunately such feelings do not last; we are not
meant to die for love, but to live by it; and then you do not often
find a hero of romance in Burgundy; life is too sweet to us for that;
and since our permission was not asked before we were born, we feel
that we may as well make the best of it now that we are here. We need
the world, or the world needs us, I was never quite sure which; but at
all events we always hold on till the last gasp, draining every drop
of the cup, and when it is empty, we can fill it up again from our
bounteous hillsides. No native of Burgundy is in a hurry to die; but
when it comes to suffering, we can bear it as well as the best.