The Project Gutenberg Etext of L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v2
#42 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy
#2 in our series by Ludovic Halevy
Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!!!
Please take a look at the important information in this header.
We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
electronic path open for the next readers.
Please do not remove this.
This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book.
Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words
are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they
need about what they can legally do with the texts.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*****These Etexts Are Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
further information is included below, including for donations.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541
Title: L'Abbe Constantin, v2
Author: Ludovic Halevy
Release Date: April, 2003 [Etext #3955]
[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
[The actual date this file first posted = 09/16/01]
Edition: 10
Language: English
The Project Gutenberg Etext of L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v2
*********This file should be named 3955.txt or 3955.zip*********
This etext was produced by David Widger
Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a
copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any
of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.
We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after
the official publication date.
Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.
Most people start at our sites at:
https://gutenberg.org
http://promo.net/pg
Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement
can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03
or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03
Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext
files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end.
The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 4,000 Etexts unless we
manage to get some real funding.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
We need your donations more than ever!
As of July 12, 2001 contributions are only being solicited from people in:
Arkansas, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho,
Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, Minnesota,
Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, Nevada, New Jersey, New York, North
Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota,
Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia,
Wisconsin, and Wyoming.
We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.
As the requirements for other states are met,
additions to this list will be made and fund raising
will begin in the additional states. Please feel
free to ask to check the status of your state.
In answer to various questions we have received on this:
We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork
to legally request donations in all 50 states. If
your state is not listed and you would like to know
if we have added it since the list you have, just ask.
While we cannot solicit donations from people in
states where we are not yet registered, we know
of no prohibition against accepting donations
from donors in these states who approach us with
an offer to donate.
International donations are accepted,
but we don't know ANYTHING about how
to make them tax-deductible, or
even if they CAN be made deductible,
and don't have the staff to handle it
even if there are ways.
All donations should be made to:
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541,
and has been approved as a 501(c)(3) organization by the US Internal
Revenue Service (IRS). Donations are tax-deductible to the maximum
extent permitted by law. As the requirements for other states are met,
additions to this list will be made and fund raising will begin in the
additional states.
We need your donations more than ever!
You can get up to date donation information at:
https://www.gutenberg.org/donation.html
***
If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:
Michael S. Hart
[email protected] forwards to [email protected] and archive.org
if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if
it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . .
Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
We would prefer to send you information by email.
***
Example command-line FTP session:
ftp ftp.ibiblio.org
login: anonymous
password: your@login
cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg
cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext02, etc.
dir [to see files]
get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99]
GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books]
**The Legal Small Print**
(Three Pages)
***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.
To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.
THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.
INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext,
or [3] any Defect.
DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:
[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however,
if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word
processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
*EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
does *not* contain characters other than those
intended by the author of the work, although tilde
(~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
be used to convey punctuation intended by the
author, and additional characters may be used to
indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
form by the program that displays the etext (as is
the case, for instance, with most word processors);
OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
"Small Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to
let us know your plans and to work out the details.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.
The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
[email protected]
[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart
and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.]
[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales
of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or
software or any other related product without express permission.]
*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07/27/01*END*
This etext was produced by David Widger
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the
file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an
entire meal of them. D.W.]
THE ABBE CONSTANTIN
By LUDOVIC HALEVY
BOOK 2.
CHAPTER IV
A RIOT OF CHARITY
The next day, at half-past five in the morning, the bugle-call rang
through the barrack-yard at Souvigny. Jean mounted his horse, and took
his place with his division. By the end of May all the recruits in the
army are sufficiently instructed to be capable of sharing in the general
evolutions. Almost every day manoeuvres of the mounted artillery are
executed on the parade-ground. Jean loved his profession; he was in the
habit of inspecting carefully the grooming and harness of the horses, the
equipment and carriage of his men. This morning, however, he bestowed
but scant attention on all the little details of his duty.
One problem agitated, tormented him, and left him always undecided, and
this problem was one of those the solution of which is not given at the
Ecole Polytechnique. Jean could find no convincing reply to this
question: Which of the two sisters is the prettier?
At the butts, during the first part of the manoeuvre, each battery worked
on its own account, under the orders of the captain; but he often
relinquished the place to one of his lieutenants, in order to accustom
them to the management of six field-pieces. It happened on this day that
the command was intrusted to the hands of Jean. To the great surprise of
the Captain, in whose estimation his Lieutenant held the first rank as a
well-trained, smart, and capable officer, everything went wrong. The
Captain was obliged to interfere; he addressed a little reprimand to
Jean, which terminated in these words:
"I can not understand it at all. What is the matter with you this
morning? It is the first time such a thing has happened with you."
It was also the first time that Jean had seen anything at the butts at
Souvigny but cannon, ammunition wagons, horses, or gunners.
In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the wagons and the hoofs of
the horses Jean beheld, not the second mounted battery of the 9th
Regiment of artillery, but the distinct images of two Americans with
black eyes and golden hair; and, at the moment when he listened
respectfully to the well-merited lecture from his Captain, he was in the
act of saying to himself:
"The prettier is Mrs. Scott!"
Every morning the exercise is divided into two parts by a little interval
of ten minutes. The officers gathered together and talked; Jean remained
apart, alone with his recollections of the previous evening. His
thoughts obstinately gathered round the vicarage of Longueval.
"Yes! the more charming of the two sisters is Mrs. Scott; Miss Percival
is only a child."
He saw again Mrs. Scott at the Cure's little table. He heard her story
told with such frankness, such freedom. The harmony of that very
peculiar, very fascinating voice, still enchanted his ear. He was again
in the church; she was there before him, bending over her prie-Dieu, her
pretty head resting in her two little hands; then the music arose, and
far off, in the dusk, Jean perceived the fine and delicate profile of
Bettina.
"A child--is she only a child?"
The trumpets sounded, the practice was resumed; this time, fortunately,
no command, no responsibility. The four batteries executed their
evolutions together; this immense mass of men, horses, and carriages,
deployed in every direction, now drawn out in a long line, again
collected into a compact group. All stopped at the same instant along
the whole extent of the ground; the gunners sprang from their horses, ran
to their pieces, detached each from its team, which went off at a trot
and prepared to fire with amazing rapidity. Then the horses returned,
the men re-attached their pieces; sprang quickly to saddle, and the
regiment started at full gallop across the field.
Very gently in the thoughts of Jean Bettina regained her advantage over
Mrs. Scott. She appeared to him smiling and blushing amid the sunlit
clouds of her floating hair. Monsieur Jean, she had called him, Monsieur
Jean, and never had his name sounded so sweet. And that last pressure of
the hand on taking leave, before entering the carriage. Had not Miss
Percival given him a more cordial clasp than Mrs. Scott had done? Yes,
positively a little more.
"I was mistaken," thought Jean; "the prettier is Miss Percival."
The day's work was finished; the pieces were ranged regularly in line one
behind the other; they defiled rapidly, with a horrible clatter, and in a
cloud of dust. When Jean, sword in hand, passed before his Colonel, the
images of the two sisters were so confused and intermingled in his
recollection that they melted the one in the other, and became in some
measure the image of one and the same person. Any parallel became
impossible between them, thanks to this singular confusion of the two
points of comparison. Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival remained thus
inseparable in the thoughts of Jean until the day when it was granted to
him to see them again. The impression of that meeting was not effaced;
it was always there, persistent, and very sweet, till Jean began to feel
disturbed.
"Is it possible"--so ran his meditations--"is it possible that I have
been guilty of the folly of falling in love madly at first sight? No;
one might fall in love with a woman, but not with two women at once."
That thought reassured him. He was very young, this great fellow of
four-and-twenty; never had love entered fully into his heart. Love!
He knew very little about it, except from books, and he had read but few
of them. But he was no angel; he could find plenty of attractions in the
grisettes of Souvigny, and when they would allow him to tell them that
they were charming, he was quite ready to do so, but it had never entered
his head to regard as love those passing fancies, which only caused the
slightest and most superficial disturbance in his heart.
Paul de Lavardens had marvellous powers of enthusiasm and idealization.
His heart sheltered always two or three grandes passions, which lived
there in perfect harmony. Paul had been so clever as to discover, in
this little town of 15,000 souls, numbers of pretty girls, all made to be
adored. He always believed himself the discoverer of America, when, in
fact, he had done nothing but follow in the track of other navigators.
The world-Jean had scarcely encountered it. He had allowed himself to be
dragged by Paul, a dozen times, perhaps, to soirees or balls at the great
houses of the neighborhood. He had invariably returned thoroughly bored,
and had concluded that these pleasures were not made for him. His tastes
were simple, serious. He loved solitude, work, long walks, open space,
horses, and books. He was rather savage--a son of the soil. He loved
his village, and all the old friends of his childhood. A quadrille in a
drawing-room caused him unspeakable terror; but every year, at the
festival of the patron saint of Longueval, he danced gayly with the young
girls and farmers' daughters of the neighborhood.
If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival at home in Paris, in all
the splendor of their luxury, in all the perfection of their costly
surroundings, he would have looked at them from afar, with curiosity,
as exquisite works of art. Then he would have returned home, and would
have slept, as usual, the most peaceful slumber in the world.
Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had come to pass, and hence his
excitement, hence his disturbance. These two women had shown themselves
before him in the midst of a circle with which he was familiar, and which
had been, if only for this reason, singularly favorable to them. Simple,
good, frank, cordial, such they had shown themselves the very first day,
and delightfully pretty into the bargain--a fact which is never
insignificant. Jean fell at once under the charm; he was there still!
At the moment when he dismounted in the barrack-yard, at nine o'clock,
the old priest began his campaign joyously. Since the previous evening
the Abbe's head had been on fire; Jean had not slept much, but he had not
slept at all. He had risen very early, and with closed doors, alone with
Pauline, he had counted and recounted his money, spreading out his one
hundred Louis-d'or, gloating over them like a miser, and like a miser
finding exquisite pleasure in handling his hoard. All that was his! for
him! that is to say, for the poor.
"Do not be too lavish, Monsieur le Cure," said Pauline; "be economical.
I think that if you distribute to-day one hundred francs--"
"That is not enough, Pauline. I shall only have one such day in my life,
but one I will have. How much do you think I shall give to-day?"
"How much, Monsieur le Cure?"
"One thousand francs!"
"One thousand francs!"
"Yes. We are millionaires now; we possess all the treasures of America,
and you talk about economy? Not to-day, at all events; indeed, I have no
right to think of it."
After saying mass at nine o'clock he set out and showered gold along his
way. All had a share--the poor who acknowledged their poverty and those
who concealed it. Each alms was accompanied by the same little
discourse:
"This comes from the new owners of the Longueval--two American ladies,
Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. Remember their names, and pray for them."
Then he made off without waiting for thanks, across the fields, through
the woods, from hamlet to hamlet, from cottage to cottage--on, on, on.
A sort of intoxication mounted to his brain. Everywhere were cries of
joy and astonishment. All these louis-d'or fell, as if by a miracle,
into the poor hands accustomed to receive little pieces of silver. The
Curb was guilty of follies, actual follies. He was out of bounds; he did
not recognize himself; he had lost all control over himself; he even gave
to those who did not expect anything.
He met Claude Rigal, the old sergeant, who had left one of his arms at
Sebastopol. He was growing gray--nay, white; for time passes, and the
soldiers of the Crimea will soon be old men.
"Here!" said the Cure, "I have twenty francs for you."
"Twenty francs? But I never asked for anything; I don't want anything;
I have my pension."
His pension! Seven hundred francs!
"But listen; it will be something to buy you cigars. It comes from
America."
And then followed the Abbe's little speech about the masters of
Longueval.
He went to a poor woman whose son had gone to Tunis.
"Well, how is your son getting on?"
"Not so bad, Monsieur le Cure; I had a letter from him yesterday. He
does not complain; he is very well; only he says there are no Kroomirs.
Poor boy! I have been saving for a month, and I think I shall soon be
able to send him ten francs."
"You shall send him thirty francs. Take this."
"Thirty francs! Monsieur le Cure, you give me thirty francs?"
"Yes, that is for you."
"For my boy?"
"For your boy. But listen; you must know from whom it comes, and you
must take care to tell your son when you write to him."
Again the little speech about the new owners of Longueval, and again the
adjuration to remember them in their prayers. At six o'clock he returned
home, exhausted with fatigue, but with his soul filled with joy.
"I have given away all," he cried, as soon as he saw Pauline, "all! all!
all!"
He dined, and then went in the evening to perform the usual service for
the month of Mary. But this time, the harmonium was silent; Miss
Percival was no longer there.
The little organist of the evening before was at that moment much
perplexed. On two couches in her dressing-room were spread two frocks--
a white and a blue. Bettina was meditating which of these two frocks she
would wear to the opera that evening. After long hesitation she fixed on
the blue. At half-past nine the two sisters ascended the grand staircase
at the opera-house. Just as they entered their box the curtain rose on
the second scene of the second act of Aida, that containing the ballet
and march.
Two young men, Roger de Puymartin and Louis de Martillet, were seated in
the front of a stage-box. The young ladies of the corps de ballet had
not yet appeared, and these gentlemen, having no occupation, were amusing
themselves with looking about the house. The appearance of Miss Percival
made a strong impression upon both.
"Ah! ah!" said Puymartin, "there she is, the little golden nugget!"
"She is perfectly dazzling this evening, this little golden nugget,"
continued Martillet. "Look at her, at the line of her neck, the fall of
her shoulders--still a young girl, and already a woman."
"Yes, she is charming, and tolerably well off into the bargain."
"Fifteen millions of her own, and the silver mine is still productive."
"Berulle told me twenty-five millions, and he is very well up in American
affairs."
"Twenty-five millions! A pretty haul for Romanelli!"
"What? Romanelli!"
"Report says that that will be a match; that it is already settled."
"A match may be arranged, but with Montessan, not with Romanelli.
Ah! at last! Here is the ballet."
They ceased to talk. The ballet in Aida lasts only five minutes, and for
those five minutes they had come. Consequently they must be enjoyed
respectfully, religiously, for there is that peculiarity among a number
of the habitues of the opera, that they chatter like magpies when they
ought to be silent, to listen, and that they observe the most absolute
silence when they might be allowed to speak, while looking on.
The trumpets of Aida had given their last heroic 'fanfare' in honor of
Rhadames before the great sphinxes under the green foliage of the palm-
trees, the dancers advanced, the light trembling on their spangled robes,
and took possession of the stage.
With much attention and pleasure Mrs. Scott followed the evolutions of
the ballet, but Bettina had suddenly become thoughtful, on perceiving in
a box, on the other side of the house, a tall, dark young man. Miss
Percival talked to herself, and said:
"What shall I do? What shall I decide on? Must I marry him, that
handsome, tall fellow over there, who is watching me, for it is I that he
is looking at? He will come into our box directly this act is over, and
then I have only to say, 'I have decided; there is my hand; I will be
your wife,' and then all would be settled! I should be Princess!
Princess Romanelli! Princess Bettina! Bettina Romanelli! The names go
well together; they sound very pretty. Would it amuse me to be a
princess? Yes--and no! Among all the young men in Paris, who, during
the last year, have run after my money, this Prince Romanelli is the one
who pleases me best. One of these days I must make up my mind to marry.
I think he loves me. Yes, but the question is, do I love him? No, I
don't think I do, and I should so much like to love--so much, so much!"
At the precise moment when these reflections were passing through
Bettina's pretty head, Jean, alone in his study, seated before his desk
with a great book under the shade of his lamp, looked through, and took
notes of, the campaigns of Turenne. He had been directed to give a
course of instruction to the non-commissioned officers of the regiment,
and was prudently preparing his lesson for the next day.
But in the midst of his notes--Nordlingen, 1645; les Dunes, 1658;
Mulhausen and Turckheim, 1674-1675--he suddenly perceived (Jean did not
draw very badly) a sketch, a woman's portrait, which all at once appeared
under his pen. What was she doing there, in the middle of Turenne's
victories, this pretty little woman? And then who was she--Mrs. Scott
or Miss Percival? How could he tell? They resembled each other so much;
and, laboriously, Jean returned to the history of the campaigns of
Turenne.
And at the same moment, the Abbe Constantin, on his knees before his
little wooden bedstead, called down, with all the strength of his soul,
the blessings of Heaven on the two women through whose bounty he had
passed such a sweet and happy day. He prayed God to bless Mrs. Scott in
her children, and to give to Miss Percival a husband after her own heart.
CHAPTER V
THE FAIR AMERICANS
Formerly Paris belonged to the Parisians, and that at no very remote
period-thirty or forty years ago. At that epoch the French were the
masters of Paris, as the English are the masters of London, the Spaniards
of Madrid, and the Russians of St. Petersburg. Those times are no more.
Other countries still have their frontiers; there are now none to France.
Paris has become an immense Babel, a universal and international city.
Foreigners do not only come to visit Paris; they come there to live.
At the present day we have in Paris a Russian colony, a Spanish colony,
a Levantine colony, an American colony. The foreigners have already
conquered from us the greater part of the Champs-Elysees and the
Boulevard Malesherbes; they advance, they extend their outworks; we
retreat, pressed back by the invaders; we are obliged to expatriate
ourselves. We have begun to found Parisian colonies in the plains of
Passy, in the plain of Monceau, in quarters which formerly were not Paris
at all, and which are not quite even now. Among the foreign colonies,
the richest, the most populous, the most brilliant, is the American
colony. There is a moment when an American feels himself rich enough, a
Frenchman never. The American then stops, draws breath, and while still
husbanding the capital, no longer spares the income. He knows how to
spend, the Frenchman knows only how to save.
The Frenchman has only one real luxury--his revolutions. Prudently and
wisely he reserves himself for them, knowing well that they will cost
France dear, but that, at the same time, they will furnish the
opportunity for advantageous investments. The Frenchman says to himself:
"Let us hoard! let us hoard! let us hoard! Some of these mornings
there will be a revolution, which will make the 5 per cents. fall 50 or
60 francs. I will buy then. Since revolutions are inevitable, let us
try at least to make them profitable."
They are always talking about the people who are ruined by revolutions,
but perhaps the number of those enriched by revolutions is still greater.
The Americans experience the attraction of Paris very strongly. There is
no town in the world where it is easier or more agreeable to spend a
great dial of money. For many reasons, both of race and origin, this
attraction exercised over Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival a very remarkable
power.
The most French of our colonies is Canada, which is no longer ours.
The recollection of their first home has been preserved faithfully and
tenderly in the hearts of the emigrants to Montreal and Quebec. Susie
Percival had received from her mother an entirely French education, and
she had brought up her sister in the same love of our country. The two
sisters felt themselves Frenchwomen; still better, Parisians. As soon as
the avalanche of dollars had descended upon them, the same desire seized
them both--to come and live in Paris. They demanded France as if it had
been their fatherland. Mr. Scott made some opposition.
"If I go away from here," he said, "your incomes will suffer."
"What does that matter?" replied Susie. "We are rich--too rich. Do let
us go. We shall be so happy, so delighted!"
Mr. Scott allowed himself to be persuaded, and, at the beginning of
January, 1880, Susie wrote the following letter to her friend, Katie
Norton, who had lived in Paris for some years:
"Victory! It is decided! Richard has consented. I shall arrive in
April, and become a Frenchwoman again. You offered to undertake all the
preparations for our settlement in Paris. I am horribly presuming--
I accept! When I arrive in Paris, I should like to be able to enjoy
Paris, and not be obliged to lose my first month in running after
upholsterers, coach-builders, horse-dealers. I should like, on arriving
at the railway station, to find awaiting me my carriage, my coachman, my
horses. That very day I should like you to dine with me at my home.
Hire or buy a mansion, engage the servants, choose the horses, the
carriages, the liveries. I depend entirely upon you. As long as the
liveries are blue, that is the only point. This line is added at the
request of Bettina.
"We shall bring only seven persons with us. Richard will have his valet,
Bettina and I two ladies' maids; then there are the two governesses for
the children, and, besides these, two boys, Toby and Bobby, who ride to
perfection. We should never find in Paris such a perfect pair.
"Everything else, people and things, we shall leave in New York. No, not
quite everything; I had for gotten four little ponies, four little gems,
black as ink. We have not the heart to leave them; we shall drive them
in a phaeton; it is delightful. Both Bettina and I drive four-in-hand
very well. Ladies can drive four-in-hand in the Bois very early in the
morning; can't they? Here it is quite possible. Above all, my dear
Katie, do not consider money. Be as extravagant as you like, that is all
I ask." The same day that Mrs. Norton received this letter witnessed the
failure of a certain Garneville. He was a great speculator who had been
on a false scent. Stocks had fallen just when he had expected a rise.
This Garneville had, six weeks before, installed himself in a brand-new
house, which had no other fault than a too startling magnificence. Mrs.
Norton signed an agreement--100,000 francs a year, with the option of
buying house and furniture for 2,000,000 during the first year of
possession. A famous upholsterer undertook to correct and subdue the
exaggerated splendor of a loud and gorgeous luxury. That done, Mrs.
Scott's friend had the good fortune to lay her hand on two of those
eminent artists without whom the routine of a great house can neither be
established nor carried on. The first, a chef of the first rank, who had
just left an ancient mansion of the Faubourg St. Germain, to his great
regret, for he had aristocratic inclinations.
"Never," said he to Mrs. Norton, "never would I have left the service of
Madame la Duchesse if she had kept up her establishment on the same
footing as formerly; but Madame la Duchesse has four children--two sons
who have run through a good deal, and two daughters who will soon be of
an age to marry; they must have their dowries. Therefore, Madame la
Duchesse is obliged to draw in a little, and the house is no longer
important enough for me."
This distinguished character, of course, made his conditions. Though
excessive, they did not alarm Mrs. Norton, who knew that he was a man of
the most serious merit; but he, before deciding, asked permission to
telegraph to New York. He wished to make certain inquiries. The reply
was favorable; he accepted.
The second great artist was a stud-groom of the rarest and highest
capacity, who was just about to retire after having made his fortune.
He consented, however, to organize the stables for Mrs. Scott. It was
thoroughly understood that he should have every liberty in purchasing the
horses, that he should wear no livery, that he should choose the
coachmen, the grooms, and everyone connected with the stables; that he
should never have less than fifteen horses in the stables, that no
bargain should be made with the coach-builder or saddler without his
intervention, and that he should never mount the box, except early in the
morning, in plain clothes, to give lessons in driving to the ladies and
children, if necessary.
The cook took possession of his stores, and the stud-groom of his
stables. Everything else was only a question of money, and with regard
to this Mrs. Norton made full use of her extensive powers. She acted in
conformity with the instructions she had received. In the short space of
two months she performed prodigies, and that is how, when, on the 15th of
April, 1880, Mr. Scott, Susie, and Bettina alighted from the mail train
from Havre, at half-past four in the afternoon, they found Mrs. Norton at
the station of St. Lazare, who said:
"Your caleche is there in the yard; behind it is a landau for the
children; and behind the landau is an omnibus for the servants. The
three carriages bear your monogram, are driven by your coachman, and
drawn by your horses. Your address is 24 Rue Murillo, and here is the
menu of your dinner to-night. You invited me two months ago; I accept,
and will even take the liberty of bringing a dozen friends with me. I
shall furnish everything, even the guests. But do not be alarmed; you
know them all; they are mutual friends, and this evening we shall be able
to judge of the merits of your cook."
The first Parisian who had the honor and pleasure of paying homage to the
beauty of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was a little Marmiton fifteen
years old, who stood there in his white clothes, his wicker basket on his
head, at the moment when Mrs. Scott's carriage, entangled in the
multitude of vehicles, slowly worked its way out of the station. The
little cook stopped short on the pavement, opened wide his eyes, looked
at the two sisters with amazement, and boldly cast full in their faces
the single word:
"Mazette!"
When Madame Recamier saw her first wrinkles, and first gray hairs, she
said to a friend:
"Ah! my dear, there are no more illusions left for me! From the day
when I saw that the little chimney-sweeps no longer turned round in the
street to look at me, I understood that all was over."
The opinion of the confectioners' boys is, in similar cases, of equal
value with the opinion of the little chimney-sweeps. All was not over
for Susie and Bettina; on the contrary, all was only beginning.
Five minutes later, Mrs. Scott's carriage was ascending the Boulevard
Haussmann to the slow and measured trot of a pair of admirable horses.
Paris counted two Parisians the more.
The success of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was immediate, decisive,
like a flash of lightning. The beauties of Paris are not classed and
catalogued like the beauties of London; they do not publish their
portraits in the illustrated papers, or allow their photographs to be
sold at the stationers. However, there is always a little staff,
consisting of a score of women, who represent the grace, and charm, and
beauty of Paris, which women, after ten or twelve years' service, pass
into the reserve, just like the old generals. Susie and Bettina
immediately became part of this little staff. It was an affair of four-
and-twenty hours--of less than four-and-twenty hours, for all passed
between eight in the morning and midnight, the day after their arrival in
Paris.
Imagine a sort of little 'feerie', in three acts, of which the success
increases from tableau to tableau:
1st. A ride at ten in the morning in the Bois, with the two marvellous
grooms imported from America.
2d. A walk at six o'clock in the Allee des Acacias.
3d. An appearance at the opera at ten in the evening in Mrs. Norton's
box.
The two novelties were immediately remarked, and appreciated as they
deserved to be, by the thirty or forty persons who constitute a sort of
mysterious tribunal, and who, in the name of all Paris, pass sentence
beyond appeal. These thirty or forty persons have, from time to time,
the fancy to declare "delicious" some woman who is manifestly ugly.
That is enough; she is "delicious" from that moment.
The beauty of the two sisters was unquestionable. In the morning, it was
their grace, their elegance, their distinction that attracted universal
admiration; in the afternoon, it was declared that their walk had the
freedom and ease of two young goddesses; in the evening, there was but
one cry of rapture at the ideal perfection of their shoulders. From that
moment, all Paris had for the two sisters the eyes of the little pastry-
cook of the Rue d'Amsterdam; all Paris repeated his 'Mazette', though
naturally with the variations and developments imposed by the usages of
the world.
Mrs. Scott's drawing-room immediately became the fashion. The habitues
of three or four great American houses transferred themselves to the
Scotts, who had three hundred persons at their first Wednesday. Their
circle increased; there was a little of everything to be found in their
set--Americans, Spaniards, Italians, Hungarians, Russians, and even
Parisians.
When she had related her history to the Abbe Constantin, Mrs. Scott had
not told all--one never does tell all. In a word, she was a coquette.
Mr. Scott had the most perfect confidence in his wife, and left her
entire liberty. He appeared very little; he was an honorable man, who
felt a vague embarrassment at having made such a marriage, at having
married so much money.
Having a taste for business, he had great pleasure in devoting himself
entirely to the administering of the two immense fortunes which were in
his hands, in continually increasing them, and in saying every year to
his wife and sister in-law:
"You are still richer than you were last year!"
Not content with watching with much prudence and ability over the
interests which he had left in America, he launched in France into large
speculations, and was as successful in Paris as he had been in New York.
In order to make money, the first thing is to have no need of it.
They made love to Mrs. Scott to an enormous extent; they made love to her
in French, in Italian, in English, in Spanish; for she knew those four
languages, and there is one advantage that foreigners have over our poor
Parisians, who usually know only their mother tongue, and have not the
resource of international passions.
Naturally, Mrs. Scott did not drive her adorers from her presence. She
had ten, twenty, thirty at a time.
No one could boast of any preference; to all she opposed the same
amiable, laughing, joyous resistance. It was clear to all that the game
amused her, and that she did not for a moment take it seriously. Mr.
Scott never felt a moment's anxiety, and he was perfectly right. More,
he enjoyed his wife's successes; he was happy in seeing her happy. He
loved her dearly--a little more than she loved him. She loved him very
much, and that was all. There is a great difference between dearly and
very much when these two adverbs are placed after the verb to love.
As to Bettina, around her was a maddening whirl, an orgy of adulation.
Such fortune! Such beauty! Miss Percival arrived in Paris on the 15th
of April; a fortnight had not passed before the offers of marriage began
to pour upon her. In the course of that first year, she might, had she
wished it, have been married thirty-four times, and to what a variety of
suitors!
They asked her hand for a young exile, who, under certain circumstances,
might be called to ascend a throne--a very small one, it is true, but a
throne nevertheless.
They asked her hand for a young duke, who would make a great figure at
Court when France--as was inevitable--should recognize her errors, and
bow down before her legitimate masters.
They asked her hand for a young prince, who would have a place on the
steps of the throne when France--as was inevitable--should again knit
together the chain of the Napoleonic traditions.
They asked her hand for a young Republican deputy, who had just made a
most brilliant debut in the Chamber, and for whom the future reserved the
most splendid destiny, for the Republic was now established in France on
the most indestructible basis.
They asked her hand for a young Spaniard of the purest lineage, and she
was given to understand that the 'contrat' would be signed in the palace
of a queen, who does not live far from the Arc de Triomphe. Besides, one
can find her address in the 'Almanach Bottin', for at the present day,
there are queens who have their address in Bottin between an attorney and
a druggist; it is only the kings of France who no longer live in France.
They asked her hand for the son of a peer of England, and for the son of
a member of the highest Viennese aristocracy; for the son of a Parisian
banker, and for the son of a Russian ambassador; for a Hungarian count,
and for an Italian prince; and also for various excellent young men who
were nothing and had nothing--neither name nor fortune; but Bettina had
granted them a waltz, and, believing themselves irresistible, they hoped
that they had caused a flutter of that little heart.
But up to the present moment nothing had touched that little heart, and
the reply had been the same to all "No! no!" again "No!" always "No!"
Some days after that performance of Aida, the two sisters had a rather
long conversation on this great, this eternal question of marriage. A
certain name had been pronounced by Mrs. Scott which had provoked on the
part of Miss Percival the most decided and most energetic refusal, and
Susie had laughingly said to her sister:
"But, Bettina, you will be obliged to end by marrying."
"Yes, certainly, but I should be so sorry to marry without love. It
seems to me that before I could resolve to do such a thing I must be in
danger of dying an old maid, and I am not yet that."
"No, not yet."
"Let us wait, let us wait."
"Let us wait. But among all these lovers whom you have been dragging
after you for the last year, there have been some very nice, very
amiable, and it is really a little strange if none of them--"
"None, my Susie, none, absolutely none. Why should I not tell you the
truth? Is it their fault? Have they gone unskilfully to work? Could
they, in managing better, have found the way to my heart? or is the
fault in me? Is it perhaps, that the way to my heart is a steep, rocky,
inaccessible way, by which no one will ever pass? Am I a horrid little
creature, and, cold, and condemned never to love?"
"I do not think so."
"Neither do I, but up to the present time that is my history. No, I have
never felt anything which resembled love. You are laughing, and I can
guess why. You are saying to yourself, 'A little girl like that
pretending to know what love is!' You are right; I do not know, but I
have a pretty good idea. To love--is it not to prefer to all in the
world one certain person?"
"Yes; it is really that."
"Is it not never to weary of seeing that person, or of hearing him? Is
it not to cease to live when he is not there, and to immediately begin to
revive when he reappears?"
"Oh, but this is romantic love."
"Well, that is the love of which I dream, and that is the love which does
not come--not at all till now; and yet that person preferred by me to all
and everything does exist. Do you know who it is?"
"No, I do not know; I do not know, but I have a little suspicion."
"Yes, it is you, my dearest, and it is perhaps you, naughty sister, who
makes me so insensible and cruel on this point. I love you too much; you
fill my heart; you have occupied it entirely; there is no room for any
one else. Prefer any one to you! Love any one more than you! That will
never, never be!"
"Oh, yes, it will."
"Oh, no. Love differently, perhaps, but more--no. He must not count
upon that, this gentleman whom I expect, and who does not arrive."
"Do not be afraid, my Betty, there is room in your heart for all whom you
should love--for your husband, for your children, and that without your
old sister losing anything. The heart is very little, but it is also
very large."
Bettina tenderly embraced her sister; then, resting her head coaxingly on
Susie's shoulder, she said:
"If, however, you are tired of keeping me with you, if you are in a hurry
to get rid of me, do you know what I will do? I will put the names of
two of these gentlemen in a basket, and draw lots. There are two who at
the last extremity would not be absolutely disagreeable."
"Which two?"
"Guess."
"Prince Romanelli."
"For one! And the other?"
"Monsieur de Montessan."
"Those are the two! It is just that. Those two would be acceptable,
but only acceptable, and that is not enough."
This is why Bettina awaited with extreme impatience the day when she
should leave Paris, and take up their abode in Longueval. She was a
little tired of so much pleasure, so much success, so many offers of
marriage. The whirlpool of Parisian gayety had seized her on her
arrival, and would not let her go, not for one hour of halt or rest. She
felt the need of being given up to herself for a few days, to herself
alone, to consult and question herself at her leisure, in the complete
solitude of the country-in a word, to belong to herself again.
Was not Bettina all sprightly and joyous when, on the 14th of June, they
took the train for Longueval? As soon as she was alone in a coupe with
her sister:
"Ah!" she cried, "how happy I am! Let us breathe a little, quite alone,
you and me, for a few days. The Nortons and Turners do not come till the
25th, do they?"
"No, not till the 25th."
"We will pass our lives riding or driving in the woods, in the fields.
Ten days of liberty! And during those ten days no more lovers, no more
lovers! And all those lovers, with what are they in love, with me or my
money? That is the mystery, the unfathomable mystery."
The engine whistled; the train put itself slowly into motion. A wild
idea entered Bettina's head. She leaned out of the window and cried,
accompanying her words with a little wave of the hand:
"Good-by, my lovers, good-by."
Then she threw herself suddenly into a corner of the coupe with a hearty
burst of laughter.
"Oh, Susie, Susie!"
"What is the matter?"
"A man with a red flag in his hand; he saw me, and he looked so
astonished."
"You are so irrational!"
"Yes, it is true, to have called out of the window like that, but not to
be happy at thinking that we are going to live alone, 'en garcons'."
"Alone! alone! Not exactly that. To begin with, we shall have two
people to dinner to-night."
"Ah! that is true. But those two people, I shall not be at all sorry to
see them again. Yes, I shall be well pleased to see the old Cure again,
but especially the young officer."
"What! especially?"
"Certainly; because what the lawyer from Souvigny told us the other day
is so touching, and what that great artilleryman did when he was quite
little was so good, so good, that this evening I shall seek for an
opportunity of telling him what I think of it, and I shall find one."
Then Bettina, abruptly changing the course of the conversation,
continued:
"Did they send the telegram yesterday to Edwards about the ponies?"
"Yes, yesterday before dinner."
"Oh, you will let me drive them up to the house. It will be such fun to
go through the town, and to drive up at full speed into the court in
front of the entrance. Tell me, will you?"
"Yes, certainly, you shall drive the ponies."
"Oh, how nice of you, Susie!"
Edwards was the stud-groom. He had arrived at Longueval three days
before. He deigned to come himself--to meet Mrs. Scott and Miss
Percival. He brought the phaeton drawn by the four black ponies. He was
waiting at the station. The passage of the ponies through the principal
street of the town had made a sensation. The population rushed out of
their houses, and asked eagerly:
"What is it? What can it be?"
Some ventured the opinion:
"It is, perhaps, a travelling circus."
But exclamations arose on all sides:
"You did not notice the style of it--the carriage and the harness shining
like gold, and the little horses with their white rosettes on each side
of the head."
The crowd collected around the station, and those who were curious
learned that they were going to witness the arrival of the new owners of
Longueval. They were slightly disenchanted when the two sisters
appeared, very pretty, but in very simple travelling costumes.
These good people had almost expected the apparition of two princesses
out of fairy tales, clad in silk and brocade, sparkling with rubies and
diamonds. But they opened wide their eyes when they saw Bettina walk
slowly round the four ponies, caressing one after another lightly with
her hand, and examining all the details of the team with the air of a
connoisseur.
Having made her inspection, Bettina, without the least hurry, drew off
her long Swedish gloves, and replaced them by a pair of dog-skin which
she took from the pocket of the carriage apron. Then she slipped on to
the box in the place of Edwards, receiving from him the reins and whip
with extreme dexterity, without allowing the already excited horses to
perceive that they had changed hands.
Mrs. Scott seated herself beside her sister. The ponies pranced,
curveted, and threatened to rear.
"Be very careful, miss," said Edwards; "the ponies are very fresh to-
day."
"Do not be afraid," replied Bettina. "I know them."
Miss Percival had a hand at once very firm, very light, and very just.
She held in the ponies for a few moments, forcing them to keep their own
places; then, waving the long thong of her whip round the leaders, she
started her little team at once, with incomparable skill, and left the
station with an air of triumph, in the midst of a long murmur of
astonishment and admiration.
The trot of the black ponies rang on the little oval paving-stones of
Souvigny. Bettina held them well together until she had left the town,
but as soon as she saw before her a clear mile and a half of highroad-
almost on a dead level-she let them gradually increase their speed, till
they went like the wind.
"Oh! how happy I am, Susie!" cried she; "and we shall trot and gallop
all alone on these roads. Susie, would you like to drive? It is such a
delight when one can let them go at full speed. They are so spirited and
so gentle. Come, take the reins."
"No; keep them. It is a greater pleasure to me to see you happy."
"Oh, as to that, I am perfectly happy. I do like so much to drive four-
in-hand with plenty of space before me. At Paris, even in the morning,
I did not dare to any longer. They looked at me so, it annoyed me. But
here--no one! no one! no one!"
At the moment when Bettina, already a little intoxicated with the bracing
air and liberty, gave forth triumphantly these three exclamations, "No
one! no one! no one!" a rider appeared, walking his horse in the
direction of the carriage. It was Paul de Lavardens. He had been
watching for more than an hour for the pleasure of seeing the Americans
pass.
"You are mistaken," said Susie to Bettina; "there is some one."
"A peasant; they don't count; they won't ask me to marry them."
"It is not a peasant at all. Look!"
Paul de Lavardens, while passing the carriage, made the two sisters a
highly correct bow, from which one at once scented the Parisian.
The ponies were going at such a rate that the meeting was over like a
flash of lightning.
Bettina cried:
"Who is that gentleman who has just bowed to us?"
"I had scarcely time to see, but I seemed to recognize him."
"You recognized him?"
"Yes, and I would wager that I have seen him at our house this winter."
"Heavens! if it should be one of the thirty-four! Is all that going to
begin again?"
CHAPTER VI
A LITTLE DINNER FOR FOUR
That same day, at half-past seven, Jean went to fetch the Cure, and the
two walked together up to the house. During the last month a perfect
army of workmen had taken possession of Longueval; all the inns in the
village were making their fortunes.
Enormous furniture wagons brought cargoes of furniture and decorations
from Paris. Forty-eight hours before the arrival of Mrs. Scott,
Mademoiselle Marbeau, the postmistress, and Madame Lormier, the mayoress,
had wormed themselves into the castle, and the account they gave of the
interior turned every one's head. The old furniture had disappeared,
banished to the attics; one moved among a perfect accumulation of
wonders. And the stables! and the coach-houses! A special train had
brought from Paris, under the high superintendence of Edwards, a dozen
carriages--and such carriages! Twenty horses--and such horses!
The Abbe Constantin thought that he knew what luxury was. Once a year he
dined with his bishop, Monseigneur Faubert, a rich and amiable prelate,
who entertained rather largely. The Cure, till now, had, thought that
there was nothing in the world more sumptuous than the Episcopal palace
of Souvigny, or the castles of Lavardens and Longueval.
He began to understand, from what he was told of the new splendors of
Longueval, that the luxury of the great houses of the present day must
surpass to a singular degree the sober and severe luxury of the great
houses of former times.
As soon as the Cure and Jean had entered the avenue in the park, which
led to the house:
"Look! Jean," said the Cure; "what a change! All this part of the park
used to be quite neglected, and now all the paths are gravelled and
raked. I shall not be able to feel myself at home as I used to do: it
will be too grand. I shall not find again my old brown velvet easy-
chair, in which I so often fell asleep after dinner, and if I fall asleep
this evening what will become of me? You will think of it, Jean, and if
you see that I begin to forget myself, you will come behind me and pinch
my arm gently, won't you? You promise me?"
"Certainly, certainly, I promise you."
Jean paid but slight attention to the conversation of the Cure. He felt
extremely impatient to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival again, but this
impatience was mingled with very keen anxiety. Would he find them in the
great salon at Longueval the same as he had seen them in the little
dining-room at the vicarage? Perhaps, instead of those two women, so
perfectly simple and familiar, amusing themselves with this little
improvised dinner, and who, the very first day, had treated him with so
much grace and cordiality, would he find two pretty dolls-worldly,
elegant, cold, and correct? Would his first impression be effaced?
Would it disappear? or, on the contrary, would the impression in his
heart become still sweeter and deeper?
They ascended the six steps at the entrance, and were received in the
hall by two tall footmen with the most dignified and imposing air. This
hall had formerly been a vast, frigid apartment, with bare stone walls.
These walls were now covered with admirable tapestry, representing
mythological subjects. The Cure dared scarcely glance at this tapestry;
it was enough for him to perceive that the goddesses who wandered through
these shades wore costumes of antique simplicity.
One of the footmen opened wide the folding-doors of the salon. It was
there that one had generally found the old Marquise, on the right of the
high chimney-piece, and on the left had stood the brown velvet easy-
chair.
No brown easy-chair now! That old relic of the Empire, which was the
basis of the arrangement of the salon, had been replaced by a marvellous
specimen of tapestry of the end of the last century. Then a crowd of
little easy-chairs, and ottomans of all forms and all colors, were
scattered here and there with an appearance of disorder which was the
perfection of art.
As soon as Mrs. Scott saw the Cure and Jean enter, she rose, and going to
meet them, said:
"How kind of you to come, Monsieur le Cure, and you, too, Monsieur Jean.
How pleased I am to see you, my first, my only friends down here!"
Jean breathed again. It was the same woman.
"Will you allow me," added Mrs. Scott, "to introduce my children to you?
Harry and Bella, come here."
Harry was a very pretty little boy of six, and Bella a very charming
little girl, five years old. They had their mother's large, dark eyes,
and her golden hair.
After the Cure had kissed the two children, Harry, who was looking with
admiration at Jean's uniform, said to his mother:
"And the soldier, mamma, must we kiss him, too?"
"If you like," replied Mrs. Scott, "and if he will allow it."
A moment after, the two children were installed upon Jean's knees, and
overwhelming him with questions.
"Are you an officer?"
"Yes, I am an officer."
"What in?"
"In the artillery."
"The artillery! Oh, you are one of the men who fire the cannon. Oh, how
I should like to be quite near when they fire the cannon!"
"Will you take us some day when they fire the cannon? Tell me, will
you?"
Meanwhile, Mrs. Scott chatted with the Cure, and Jean, while replying to
the children's questions, looked at Mrs. Scott. She wore a white muslin
frock, but the muslin disappeared under a complete avalanche of little
flounces of Valenciennes. The dress was cut out in front in a large
square, her arms were bare to the elbow, a large bouquet of red roses at
the opening of her dress, a red rose fixed in her hair, with a diamond
'agraffe'--nothing more.
Mrs. Scott suddenly perceived that the children had taken entire
possession of Jean, and exclaimed:
"Oh, I beg your pardon. Harry, Bella!"
"Oh, pray let them stay with me."
"I am so sorry to keep you waiting for dinner; my sister is not down yet.
Oh! here she is!"
Bettina entered. The same frock of white muslin, the same delicate mass
of lace, the same red roses, the same grace, the same beauty, and the
same smiling, amiable, candid manner.
"How do you do, Monsieur le Cure? I am delighted to see you. Have you
pardoned my dreadful intrusion of the other day?"
Then, turning toward Jean and offering him her hand:
"How do you do, Monsieur--Monsieur--Oh! I can not remember your name,
and yet we seem to be already old friends, Monsieur--"
"Jean Reynaud."
"Jean Reynaud, that is it. How do you do, Monsieur Reynaud? I warn you
faithfully that when we really are old friends--that is to say, in about
a week--I shall call you Monsieur Jean. It is a pretty name, Jean."
Up to the moment when Bettina appeared Jean had said to himself:
"Mrs. Scott is the prettier!"
When he felt Bettina's little hand slip into his arm, and when she turned
toward him her delicious face, he said:
"Miss Percival is the prettier!"
But his perplexities gathered round him again when he was seated between
the two sisters. If he looked to the right, love threatened him from
that direction, and if he looked to the left, the danger removed
immediately, and passed to the left.
Conversation began, easy, animated, confidential. The two sisters were
charmed; they had already walked in the park; they promised themselves a
long ride in the forest tomorrow. Riding was their passion, their
madness. It was also Jean's passion, so that after a quarter of an hour
they begged him to join them the next day. There was no one who knew the
country round better than he did; it was his native place. He should be
so happy to do the honors of it, and to show them numbers of delightful
little spots which, without him, they would never discover.
"Do you ride every day?" asked Bettina.
"Every day and sometimes twice. In the morning on duty, and in the
evening I am ride for my own pleasure."
"Early in the morning?"
"At half-past five."
"At half-past five every morning?"
"Yes, except Sunday."
"Then you get up--"
"At half-past four."
"And is it light?"
"Oh, just now, broad daylight."
"To get up at half-past four is admirable; we often finish our day just
when yours is beginning. And are you fond of your profession?"
"Very. It is an excellent thing to have one's life plain before one,
with exact and definite duties."
"And yet," said Mrs. Scott, "not to be one's own master--to be always
obliged to obey."
"That is perhaps what suits me best; there is nothing easier than to
obey, and then to learn to obey is the only way of learning to command."
"Ah! since you say so, it must be true."
"Yes, no doubt," added the Cure; "but he does not tell you that he is the
most distinguished officer in his regiment, that--"
"Oh! pray do not."
The Cure, in spite of the resistance of Jean, was about to launch into a
panegyric on his godson, when Bettina, interposing, said:
"It is unnecessary, Monsieur le Cure, do not say anything, we know
already all that you would tell us, we have been so indiscreet as to make
inquiries about Monsieur--oh, I was just going to say Monsieur Jean--
about Monsieur Reynaud. Well, the information we received was
excellent!"
"I am curious to know," said Jean.
"Nothing! nothing! you shall know nothing. I do not wish to make you
blush, and you would be obliged to blush."
Then turning toward the Cure, "And about you, too, Monsieur l'Abbe, we
have had some information. It appears that you are a saint."
"Oh! as to that, it is perfectly true," cried Jean.
It was the Cure this time who cut short the eloquence of Jean. Dinner
was almost over. The old priest had not got through this dinner without
experiencing many emotions. They had repeatedly presented to him
complicated and scientific constructions upon which he had only ventured
with a trembling hand. He was afraid of seeing the whole crumble beneath
his touch; the trembling castles of jelly, the pyramids of truffles, the
fortresses of cream, the bastions of pastry, the rocks of ice. Otherwise
the Abbe Constantin dined with an excellent appetite, and did not recoil
before two or three glasses of champagne. He was no foe to good cheer;
perfection is not of this world; and if gormandizing were, as they say, a
cardinal sin, how many good priests would be damned!
Coffee was served on the terrace in front of the house; in the distance
was heard the harsh voice of the old village clock striking nine. Woods
and fields were slumbering; the avenues in the park showed only as long,
undulating, and undecided lines. The moon slowly rose over the tops of
the great trees.
Bettina took a box of cigars from the table. "Do you smoke?" said she.
"Yes, Miss Percival."
"Take one, Monsieur Jean. It can't be helped. I have said it. Take
one--but no, listen to me first."
And speaking in a low voice, while offering him the box of cigars:
"It is getting dark, now you may blush at your ease. I will tell you
what I did not say at dinner. An old lawyer in Souvigny, who was your
guardian, came to see my sister in Paris, about the payment for the
place; he told us what you did after your father's death, when you were
only a child, what you did for that poor mother, and for that poor young
girl. Both my sister and I were much touched by it."
"Yes," continued Mrs. Scott, "and that is why we have received you to-day
with so much pleasure. We should not have given such a reception to
every one, of that you may be sure. Well, now take your cigar, my sister
is waiting."
Jean could not find a word in reply. Bettina stood there with the box of
cigars in her two hands, her eyes fixed frankly on the countenance of
Jean. At the moment, she tasted a true and keen pleasure which may be
expressed by this phrase:
"It seems to me that I see before me a man of honor."
"And now," said Mrs. Scott, "let us sit here and enjoy this delicious
night; take your coffee, smoke--"
"And do not let us talk, Susie, do not let us talk. This great silence
of the country, after the great noise and bustle of Paris, is delightful!
Let us sit here without speaking; let us look at the sky, the moon, and
the stars."
All four, with much pleasure, carried out this little programme. Susie
and Bettina, calm, reposeful, absolutely separated from their existence
of yesterday, already felt a tenderness for the place which had just
received them, and was going to keep them. Jean was less tranquil; the
words of Miss Percival had caused him profound emotion, his heart had not
yet quite regained its regular throb.
But the happiest of all was the Abbe Constantin.
This little episode which had caused Jean's modesty such a rude, yet
sweet trial, had brought him exquisite joy, the Abbe bore his godson such
affection. The most tender father never loved more warmly the dearest of
his children. When the old Cure looked at the young officer, he often
said to himself:
"Heaven has been too kind; I am a priest, and I have a son!"
The Abbe sank into a very agreeable reverie; he felt himself at home,
he felt himself too much at home; by degrees his ideas became hazy and
confused, reverie became drowsiness, drowsiness became slumber, the
disaster was soon complete, irreparable; the Cure slept, and slept
profoundly. This marvellous dinner, and the two or three glasses of
champagne may have had something to do with the catastrophe.
Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the promise made to his
godfather. And why had he forgotten it? Because Mrs. Scott and Miss
Percival had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools, placed
in front of their great wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; then
they had thrown themselves lazily back in their chairs, and their muslin
skirts had become raised a little, a very little, but yet enough to
display four little feet, the lines of which showed very distinctly and
clearly beneath two pretty clouds of white lace. Jean looked at these
little feet, and asked himself this question:
"Which are the smaller?"
While he was trying to solve this problem, Bettina, all at once, said to
him in a low voice:
"Monsieur Jean! Monsieur Jean!"
"Miss Percival?"
"Look at the Cure, he is asleep."
"Oh! it is my fault."
"How your fault?" asked Mrs. Scott, also in a low voice.
"Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and goes to bed very early; he told
me to be sure and prevent his falling asleep; when Madame de Longueval
was here he very often had a nap after dinner. You have shown him so
much kindness that he has fallen back into his old habits."
"And he is perfectly right," said Bettina, "do not make a noise, do not
wake him."
"You are too good, Miss Percival, but the air is getting a little fresh."
"Ah! that is true, he might catch cold. Stay, I will go and fetch a
wrap for him."
"I think, Miss Percival, it would be better to try and wake him
skilfully, so that he should not suspect that you had seen him asleep."
"Let me do it," said Bettina. "Susie, let us sing together, very softly
at first, then we will raise our voices little by little, let us sing."
"Willingly, but what shall we sing?"
"Let us sing, 'Quelque chose d'enfantin,' the words are suitable."
Susie and Bettina began to sing:
If I had but two little wings,
And were a little feathery bird,
Their sweet and penetrating voices had an exquisite sonority in that
profound silence. The Abbe heard nothing, did not move. Charmed with
this little concert, Jean said to himself:
"Heaven grant that my godfather may not wake too soon!"
The voices became clearer and louder:
But in my sleep to you I fly,
I'm always with you in my sleep.
Yet the Abbe did not stir.
"How he sleeps," said Susie, "it is a crime to wake him."
"But we must; louder, Susie, louder."
Susie and Bettina both gave free scope to the power of their voices.
Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids,
So I love to wake ere break of day.
The Cure woke with a start. After a short moment of anxiety he breathed
again. Evidently no one had noticed that he had been asleep. He
collected himself, stretched himself prudently, slowly, he was saved!
A quarter of an hour later the two sisters accompanied the Cure and Jean
to the little gate of the park, which opened into the village a few yards
from the vicarage; they had nearly reached the gate when Bettina said all
at once to Jean:
"Ah! all this time I have had a question to ask you. This morning when
we arrived, we met on the way a slight young man, with a fair mustache,
he was riding a black horse, and bowed to us as we passed."
"It was Paul de Lavardens, one of my friends; he has already had the
honor of being introduced to you, but rather vaguely, and his ambition is
to be presented again."
"Well, you shall bring him one of these days," said Mrs. Scott.
"After the 25th!" cried Bettina. "Not before! not before! No one till
then; till then we will see no one but you, Monsieur Jean. But you, it
is very extraordinary, and I don't quite know how it has happened, you
don't seem anybody to us. The compliment is perhaps not very well
turned, but do not make a mistake, it is a compliment. I intended to be
excessively amiable in speaking to you thus."
"And so you are, Miss Percival."
"So much the better if I have been so fortunate as to make myself
understood. Good-by, Monsieur Jean--till tomorrow!"
Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival returned slowly toward the castle.
"And now, Susie," said Bettina, "scold me well, I expect it, I have
deserved it."
"Scold you! Why?"
"You are going to say, I am sure, that I have been too familiar with that
young man."
"No, I shall not say that. From the first day that young man has made
the most favorable impression upon me; he inspires me with perfect
confidence."
"And so he does me."
"I am persuaded that it would be well for us both to try to make a friend
of him."
"With all my heart, as far as I am concerned, so much the more as I have
seen many young men since we have lived in France. Oh! yes, I have,
indeed! Well! this is the first, positively the first, in whose eyes I
have not clearly read, 'Oh, how glad I should be to marry the millions of
that little person!' That was written in the eyes of all the others, but
not in his eyes. Now, here we are at home again. Good-night, Susie--
to-morrow."
Mrs. Scott went to see and kiss her sleeping children.
Bettina remained long, leaning on the balustrade of her balcony.
"It seems to me," said she, "that I am going to be very fond of this
place."
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Believing themselves irresistible
Frenchman has only one real luxury--his revolutions
Great difference between dearly and very much
Had not told all--one never does tell all
In order to make money, the first thing is to have no need of it
To learn to obey is the only way of learning to command
End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of The Abbe Constantin, v2
by Ludovic Halevy
