along, and sweeps our sorrows away with it. Now that it is all over,
I can find consolation, but oh, my Belette! if only I had not missed
you!--and that pig-faced miller, with his flour bags! to think that
all these years she has belonged to him!--thirty years ago he married
her! They tell me that he began to neglect her almost from the first
day, (he was just the kind of animal that bolts his food, and so gets
no flavor out of it); and they say too that he would not have married
her at all, if Pinon had not caught him that night, and forced him, so
to speak, into a wedding ring, which was too tight for him and her too;
for when things were not to his liking, he naturally took it out of his
wife. So there was an end of one, two and three, Pinon, Belette, and
poor old Breugnon, who has been trying, ever since, to make a joke of
it.... I could scarcely believe my eyes when at a turn in the path, I
saw her house not twenty yards away; was it possible that I had been
walking for hours among those old memories? There was the red roof,
and the white walls of the cottage, half covered with the rich foliage
of a grapevine, its thick stem winding upwards like a serpent. The
door stood open; before it in the shade of a walnut tree was a stone
trough running over with clear water. A woman was stooping over it and
my knees gave way under me when I saw her again after all these years.
My first impulse was to run, but she had seen me, and as she dipped
her pail in the trough she still kept her eyes on me, and I felt that
she knew who I was, though she was far too proud to show it. The next
moment the bucket slipped from her fingers as she straightened herself
up, and then she called out, “Better late than never!”
“That sounds as if you had been waiting for me!”
“What an idea! I don’t believe that I have given you one thought in
twenty years.”
“Nor I either,” said I, “but all the same, it does me good to see you.”
“And me too,” she answered, crossing her wet arms, and looking at me as
I stood there in my shirt-sleeves. Our eyes met and yet we could not
seem to look each other in the face; between us the water filled and
ran over the rim of the bucket, and at last she spoke again, “Come in
and sit down a minute.”
“I must be getting on, thank you,” I said, “as I am rather in a hurry.”
“Slow to come, and quick to go,” said she. “I don’t see why you came at
all, then?”
“I was only taking a stroll about here,” said I calmly.
“Money and time must be cheap where you come from.”
“Oh! when I get an idea in my head I never count the cost.”
“The same old looney still I see!” said she, laughing, and “Once a
fool, always a fool!” was my answer. We walked slowly in, and she
closed the yard gate behind us, shutting us in alone, among the hens
which clucked about our feet. She crossed over and shut,--or maybe
opened,--the big doors of the barn, and spoke a word to the watch-dog,
but I saw that it was to cover her embarrassment, and that all the men
were off in the fields. I talked as fast as I could, about farming,
chicken raising, pigeons, ducks, pigs, and all the creatures that ever
came out of the ark; but all at once she stopped me.
“Breugnon!” My breath came short as I looked at her. “Breugnon,” she
said again, and then, “Kiss me!” My lips were on hers, before the words
were well off them, and though at our age there is not much to be got
out of kissing, it is always a pleasure, and it fairly brought the
tears to my eyes to feel her soft wrinkled cheeks against mine.
“Old silly!” said I to myself; “what is there to cry for?”
“You are as bristly as a hedgehog!” she said, laughing.
“Excuse me! I would have given myself an extra shave this morning if I
had known the pleasure that was in store for me, but it is a fact that
my beard was softer thirty years ago when I would, and you wouldn’t,
you little minx of a shepherdess!”
“Do you ever think now of those old times?”
“No, I have forgotten all about them.” We laughed, but neither could
look at the other.
“You are something like me,” she said. “As proud as a peacock, as
stubborn as a mule, and what is more, I can see you are the kind that
will never grow old. You were no beauty in your best days, my friend,
and when a man has nothing, you can’t take it away from him; perhaps
your nose may be rather thicker, and you have plenty of wrinkles, but
on the whole you are not much the worse for wear. I always say that the
main thing is to keep the hair on one’s head, and yours is not white
yet, and as thick as ever.”
“Numskull keeps the thatch full,” said I.
“You men are so aggravating, you never let anything bother you, but we
poor creatures grow old, because we have all the weight thrown on our
shoulders; see what a wreck I am! once I was like a fresh peach to look
at, and to touch too, if you remember? Such hair as I had! such skin,
such a figure, and where has it all gone now? Own up now, you would not
have known me if you had met me in the street?”
“I would have known you anywhere out of all the women in the world,
with my eyes shut.”
“Perhaps so, but if they were open? I have lost teeth, my cheeks have
fallen in, I have red eyes, and a sharp nose; while as for my throat
and all the rest of it, I am nothing but an old meal sack, and that’s
the truth!”
“In my eyes you are always young.”
“You must be blind, then.”
“No, Belette, my sight at least is as keen as ever. Do you remember?
You were called that because you were like a little weasel, and here
you are, run to earth, after all your doublings and turnings, and you
still have your little sharp nose, and bright eyes like your namesake,
shining up at me out of your burrow.”
“It’s safe enough now, at any rate, for the old fox to come near me.
Well, love has not made you any thinner.”
“Why should it?” said I, laughing. “The creature has to be fed!”
“Perhaps it would do as well to give him something to drink,” said she,
so we went into the farmhouse, and sat down at the table. The Lord
knows what it was that she placed before me! I was too much taken up
with other things to notice, but all the time I plied a good knife and
fork as usual, while she sat opposite with her elbows on the table, and
when our eyes met, she gave me a smile.
“Are you feeling a little better?”
“Stomach empty, heart heavy, belly full, heart light! that’s what the
old song tells us,” said I. She was silent, but her big clever mouth
twitched at the corners, and I kept on talking of the first thing that
came into my head, while we looked at one another, and thought of all
that had passed between us.
“Breugnon,” said she, at last, “I can tell you, now that it does not
matter, it was you I was in love with.”
“I knew it all the time,” said I calmly.
“And if you knew so much, why did you say nothing about it?”
“Because, of course, you would have been just perverse enough to
contradict me.”
“What difference would that have made, if you had been sure of the
contrary? You kiss people’s lips, not the words that come out of them!”
“Something more than words used to come out of your lips, on
occasion.--Do you remember that night we caught you with the miller?”
“It was all your fault,” she said, “or mine, if you like to say so,
but, Colas, you that have so much penetration, did you know one
thing? I took him out of pure spite, because you went off that time
with Pinon? I had been angry with you for a long time, ever since that
evening,--I don’t know if you recollect it,--when you despised me.”
“I? Never in the world!”
“Yes, you, surely you remember one evening when I fell asleep in the
garden, and you came and picked me up, but dropped me like a hot
potato?”
“Belette,” said I earnestly, “let me tell you all about it.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said she, “but how if it were to do over
again?”
“I think that I should do just the same.”
“What a mutton-head it is!” cried she. “But on my soul! I believe that
is the reason why I loved you,--still I thought I would have some fun
with you, after that; you deserved to suffer a little, and who could
have thought that you would be fool enough to go away from the hook,
instead of swallowing it?”
“Much obliged!” said I; “but hooks have sharp points to them.”
She laughed, and looked at me in the old way under her lashes. “Well,
when I heard of your fight with that other blockhead, whose name I have
forgotten, (I was down by the river washing my clothes, when I heard
some one say that he was tearing you to pieces), I dropped the basket
and let everything float away in the water, and ran off just as I was
in my bare feet, trampling on everybody in my way. I was all out of
breath, but I wanted to call out that I loved you, that I could not
bear to have that great brute bite you to pieces, that I wanted a whole
husband not the remains of one;--but when I got there the fight was
over, and my fine gentlemen were guzzling in the tavern, on the best of
terms. Then the lamb and the wolf ran away together, leaving me in such
a fury! It seems ridiculous now when I look at you, but at that moment
I should have liked to tear the skin off your back; and since I could
not get at you to punish you, I punished myself. In my rage I took up
with the first man who came along;--the miller. Revenge is sweet, but I
swear that it was you that I thought of all the time when----”
“I know what you mean,” said I.
“Well,” she continued, “I kept thinking that I hoped Breugnon’s ears
would burn when he heard it, that it served him right, that I wished
that he would come back now; and you did come back, rather sooner than
I intended and,--you know what happened, so there I was, tied for life
to my donkey, and here we are both of us.”
After a pause I said, “I hope at least that you get on pretty well with
him?”
“About as well as he does with me,” she answered, with a shrug of her
shoulders.
I could not help saying, “Your home must be Paradise.”
“You’ve hit the mark,” said she, laughing.
After that we changed the conversation, and talked of everything on
earth; farms, cattle, and children, but try as we would, we could
not keep away from the old subject. I thought perhaps that it would
interest her to hear all about me and mine; but I soon found that she
was too much of a woman not to have known long ago all that I could
tell her; so we went on from one thing to another, up and down, in and
out, just for the sake of talking. We were both great at puns, and
jokes of that kind; and it would have taken your breath away to hear
the cross fire of wit between us; and quick!--we fairly snatched the
words out of each other’s mouths, and laughed till the tears ran down
our cheeks.
All at once six strokes sounded from the clock in the corner. “Six
already!” said I; “it is time that I was going.”
“Plenty of time,” said she.
“I suppose your husband will be here in a few moments,” said I, “and
to tell the truth, I am not so very anxious to meet him.”
“That’s just the way I feel,” she answered.
I looked out of the kitchen window at the meadows, all golden now with
the rays of the setting sun which shone between the long grass blades.
Down by the stream two cows were standing in the water, and a little
bird hopped about on the shining pebbles. A black horse, with a star
on his forehead, and a dapple gray were standing there; the black with
his head resting on the back of the other. The fresh scent of hay and
lilacs blew through the open door; the room was dark and the least
bit musty; and I could just sniff the good cherry brandy from the mug
before me. “You have a nice place of it here,” I could not help saying.
“How much nicer if you had been in it all this time!” she said, putting
her hand over mine as it lay on the table. It made me almost sorry that
I had come, for of course I did not want her to be unhappy.
“Belette,” said I, “perhaps on the whole things are better as they
are; we get along well enough like this for an hour or two, but if we
had had to spend our lives together, you know that there would have
been trouble. Surely you must have heard that I have turned out rather
badly: a dreamer, a talker, always dawdling about, backbiting and
quarreling, and sticking my nose into other folk’s business. I am an
idler too, and drink more than is good for me; all this would have
made you unhappy, and then you would have taken up with some one else;
it makes my hair stand on end only to think of it! So you see all is
really for the best.”
She heard me to the end, and then said seriously: “Yes, I know you
are a perfect good-for-nothing, (she did not believe a word of it);
probably you would have beaten me, and perhaps I should have taken a
lover, but if that was our destiny, it might as well have come to us
through each other.” I nodded my head. “You don’t seem to be of my
mind?”
“I am, of course,” said I, “but, you see that kind of happiness was not
for us; so now, Belette, there is no use in self-reproaches, or regrets
either. It would have been all the same by this time, whatever we had
done; we are at the end of our string now, you know, and love or no
love, it is all past like a tale that is told.”
“Liar!” said she, and I felt that she spoke the truth, even as I looked
at her.
I kissed her once more, and left her; she leaned against the door-post
looking after me, under the great spreading branches of the walnut
tree, but I did not turn my head till I got round the corner, where
I was sure that I could not see her; then I stopped to take breath a
minute, and enjoy the scent of the honeysuckle. Down in the meadows I
could see the white oxen still grazing as I left the path and took a
short cut up the hillside and through the vines, until I got into the
wood, where I turned aside for a moment. This was not the shortest
way to continue my journey, but, there I stood for as much as half an
hour, leaning against the trunk of a big oak tree, with my eyes fixed
on vacancy, thinking, thinking. I could see the last red reflections
of the western sky die out on the fresh vine leaves, which shone as if
varnished, and hear the first faint note of a nightingale singing. I
remembered an evening when my love and I were climbing side by side,
up the steep vineyard, laughing and talking as we went, vigorous as
the young life around us; but in the midst of our mirth, suddenly we
fell silent, my hand closed on hers and there we stood motionless.
Was it the sound of the Angelus, the evening breeze sighing about us,
or the soft moonlight? From the shadowy vine leaves all at once arose
the voice of a nightingale singing to keep himself awake, so that the
treacherous tendrils might not twine about his poor little feet, and
hold him prisoner, singing his eternal love-song; and I held Belette’s
hand, saying: “The tendrils are around us, and like them we cling to
each other.”
Then we went back down the hill again, still hand in hand, till we
reached her cottage.
That was the last time that our fingers clung thus together, but the
nightingale’s note still sounds, the vine puts forth its branches, and
love still twists young hearts in its supple tendrils. Night came on,
as I stood there, gazing up at the silvered treetops. I could not tear
myself away from that magic shadow which dimmed my homeward path, and
even destroyed the wish to find it. Three times I tried, but found
myself back where I started, so I gave it up, and took a lodging for
that night at the sign of the Moonbeam. It was not a very good inn to
sleep in: I lay there turning over the pages of my life, thinking of
what I had done and left undone, and of the dreams from which I had
awakened. In such dark hours what sadness rises from the depths of our
hearts, what vanished hopes!--How far off seem the bright visions of
early boyhood, and how poor and bare the reality looks. I thought of
all my expectations, and the small results of my labors; of my wife,
who certainly cannot be called either good-natured or good-looking,
of my sons who hardly seem to belong to me, with whom I have nothing
in common:--of the faithlessness and folly of those around us, of our
poor France torn by civil wars and religious persecutions; of my works
of art scattered, life itself a handful of ashes, soon to be blown
away by the breath of the Destroyer.--I put my face close up against
the oak tree, and lay there weeping quietly all among the big roots
which cradled me like a father’s arms; and I felt that he listened,
and consoled me, for when, many hours later, I awoke, I found myself
snoring with my nose in a tuft of moss, with nothing remaining of my
troubles but a sore feeling in my heart, and a slight cramp in the calf
of my leg.
The sun was just rising, and the tree above me was so full of birds
that it dripped with their singing like a ripe bunch of grapes. The
robin, the linnet, and my special favorite, the thrush, sang as if
to bursting.--I like Master Thrush because he does not care for any
weather, is the first to begin singing, and the last to stop, and like
me, is always in a good humor.--They had all passed safely through
the dangers of the night, which darkens their little lives every
twenty-four hours, but as soon as the curtain begins to rise, and the
first ray of dawn puts fresh color into life--Twee-ee, twee, twee,
twee, tweet! with what sweet cries and transports of joy they greet the
new day. In the glory of the morning all is forgotten, the dark night,
the cold and the terrors. If only the birds could teach us the secret
of their unalterable faith, through which they are born afresh with
every dawning day!
All this merry whistling cheered me up wonderfully, and lying there
on my back, I began to whistle too, the same tune; pretty soon from
the wood where he was hiding came the cry of the cuckoo. I could lie
still no longer, and jumped gaily to my feet; a hare near by followed
my example, seeming to laugh at me as he passed; (you know he once
split his lip open by too much laughter). Then at last I started off
towards home, singing at the top of my lungs. All is good, the sky, the
wood. Oh! my friends the world is round, if you can’t swim, you will be
drowned. Throw open all the windows of your five senses, and let the
great earth in. What is the use of sulking because everything does not
come your way? The more you sulk, the less you get. I do not suppose
that the Duke, the King, or even God Himself, has all the desire of
his heart; ought I to groan and struggle, because I cannot exceed the
limits set for me? Should I even be better off if I could get outside
of them? No, no, I have nothing to complain of in this world, and I
mean to stay here as long as I possibly can. Suppose that I had never
been born? I really cannot bear to think of a world without Breugnon,
or what is perhaps even worse, Breugnon without the world! A plague on
all such nonsense! things are well enough as they are, and you may be
sure that I shall hold tight to all that belongs to me.
When I got back to Clamecy, I was a whole day behind time, and you may
guess what sort of a welcome I had, and also how little I minded. I
just shut myself up in the garret, and put it all down on paper, as
you see. There was no one there to listen, so if the fancy took me I
could speak out loud, going over in retrospect all that happened, both
pleasures and pains, and the pleasure that we get out of pain, for--
“That which breaks the heart to bear,
Is sometimes sweet to tell and hear.”
VI
BIRDS OF PASSAGE
OR
THE SERENADE AT ASNOIS
We heard yesterday morning that Clamecy was to entertain two
distinguished guests, the Demoiselle de Termes and the Comte de
Maillebois; they were on their way to the Château of Asnois, where
they were to stay for a month or so. The Town Council, according to
usage, voted to send a delegation to our noble visitors in the name
of the city, in order to offer them our congratulations on their safe
arrival (as if it were a miracle to come from Paris to Nevers in a
warm easy carriage without upsetting or losing your way!) It being
also the custom to make a little present, the Council decided to add
some cakes with icing, made in Clamecy, of which we are not a little
proud. My son-in-law, Florimond Ravisé, is our principal pastry cook,
so he proposed to send three dozen, which was opposed by the Council,
who thought two dozen would be plenty; however, Florimond being an
alderman, his views prevailed, and the cakes were baked at the expense
of the town. Some one suggested that noble ears ought to be tickled at
the same time as the palate; so in order that the exalted strangers
should listen to a serenade while they were enjoying our cakes, and
have all their senses charmed at once, we chose also four of our best
musicians, two violas, two hautboys, a tambourine, and a flageolet
player--myself. In point of fact I was not invited, but I never miss
a chance to see a new face if I can help it, and I was particularly
anxious to behold these Court birds of paradise with their shining
plumage, and all their airs and graces; besides, I adore any novelty,
wherever it comes from,--like a true son of Pandora. If I had my way
I would soon take the lid off all the boxes, or souls, within my
reach, black or white, thick or thin, high or low; I like to poke my
nose into affairs that are none of my business, to find out secrets
of the heart, and generally know all that goes on; in a word, I am
devoured by curiosity, but as there is no reason, as far as I can see,
why one should not add profit to pleasure, I took with me two fine
carved panels, which the Seigneur of Asnois had ordered and which
were easily stowed away on one of the carts provided by the town to
carry the delegation, the musical instruments, and the iced cakes. My
little Glodie went too, because she was Florimond’s daughter, and it
cost nothing; and another alderman took his little boy, if I remember
rightly. Finally the apothecary stuck in a lot of sweetmeats, spirits,
and cordials of his own manufacture; also of course at the expense of
the city. Florimond was indignant, and protested with some reason; he
said if every butcher, baker, and candlestick maker were to do the
same, the town would be ruined; but there was no use in talking, as the
other man was equally a member of the Council with himself, and as we
all know, great men make laws and the rest obey them.
Our two carts were soon loaded with the Mayor, the panels, the
presents, the children, four musicians, and four Councilors. I went on
foot, however, for I am not yet so feeble as to be dragged about in a
cart, like a calf on its way to the butcher. The weather was not quite
to my liking, for the air was close and sultry, with a sun hot enough
to roast you beating down on our heads, and clouds of dust and flies
about us; we none of us minded, however, as we were out on a spree;
Florimond was peevish, but then he is always bothering, like a girl,
about his complexion.
Our worthy citizens sat up very stiff and proper as long as we could
see St. Martin’s tower, but when we got well outside the town,
all formality dropped off, and left us, as you may say, in our
shirt-sleeves. We cracked a few rather doubtful jokes, for that is the
way we generally begin, and then there was singing; his honor the Mayor
leading off, while I accompanied him on the flageolet, and the rest
joined in the chorus. In the midst of all the voices and instruments I
could hear my little Glodie’s shrill sweet pipe like a sparrow.
We did not get on very fast, because the nags would stop on top of
every hill to get their breath, and then when we came to Boychault, our
scrivener, Pierre Delavau, begged us to go out of our way a little, and
we could not very well say no, for he was the only Alderman who had so
far asked no favors, so we had to stop to let him draw up a will for
one of his clients, which was rather a long business; but no one really
objected except Florimond, who this time had the apothecary on his
side. All the same Master Delavau drew out the document at his leisure,
and the others had to put up with it as best they could.