CHAPTER XXXIII.
M. PAUL KEEPS HIS PROMISE.
On the first of May, we had all--i.e. the twenty boarders and the fourteachers--notice to rise at five o'clock of the morning, to be dressedand ready by six, to put ourselves under the command of M. leProfesseur Emanuel, who was to head our march forth from Villette, forit was on this day he proposed to fulfil his promise of taking us tobreakfast in the country. I, indeed, as the reader may perhapsremember, had not had the honour of an invitation when this excursionwas first projected--rather the contrary; but on my now making allusionto this fact, and wishing to know how it was to be, my ear received apull, of which I did not venture to challenge the repetition byraising, further difficulties.
"Je vous conseille de vous faire prier," said M. Emanuel, imperiallymenacing the other ear. One Napoleonic compliment, however, was enough,so I made up my mind to be of the party.
The morning broke calm as summer, with singing of birds in the garden,and a light dew-mist that promised heat. We all said it would be warm,and we all felt pleasure in folding away heavy garments, and inassuming the attire suiting a sunny season. The clean fresh printdress, and the light straw bonnet, each made and trimmed as the Frenchworkwoman alone can make and trim, so as to unite the utterlyunpretending with the perfectly becoming, was the rule of costume.Nobody flaunted in faded silk; nobody wore a second-hand best article.
At six the bell rang merrily, and we poured down the staircase, throughthe carre, along the corridor, into the vestibule. There stood ourProfessor, wearing, not his savage-looking paletot and severebonnet-grec, but a young-looking belted blouse and cheerful straw hat.He had for us all the kindest good-morrow, and most of us for him had athanksgiving smile. We were marshalled in order and soon started.
The streets were yet quiet, and the boulevards were fresh and peacefulas fields. I believe we were very happy as we walked along. This chiefof ours had the secret of giving a certain impetus to happiness when hewould; just as, in an opposite mood, he could give a thrill to fear.
He did not lead nor follow us, but walked along the line, giving a wordto every one, talking much to his favourites, and not wholly neglectingeven those he disliked. It was rather my wish, for a reason I had, tokeep slightly aloof from notice, and being paired with GinevraFanshawe, bearing on my arm the dear pressure of that angel's notunsubstantial limb--(she continued in excellent case, and I can assurethe reader it was no trifling business to bear the burden of herloveliness; many a time in the course of that warm day I wished togoodness there had been less of the charming commodity)--however,having her, as I said, I tried to make her useful by interposing heralways between myself and M. Paul, shifting my place, according as Iheard him coming up to the right hand or the left. My private motivefor this manoeuvre might be traced to the circumstance of the new printdress I wore, being pink in colour--a fact which, under our presentconvoy, made me feel something as I have felt, when, clad in a shawlwith a red border, necessitated to traverse a meadow where pastured abull.
For awhile, the shifting system, together with some modifications inthe arrangement of a black silk scarf, answered my purpose; but,by-and-by, he found out, that whether he came to this side or to that,Miss Fanshawe was still his neighbour. The course of acquaintancebetween Ginevra and him had never run so smooth that his temper did notundergo a certain crisping process whenever he heard her Englishaccent: nothing in their dispositions fitted; they jarred if they camein contact; he held her empty and affected; she deemed him bearish,meddling, repellent.
At last, when he had changed his place for about the sixth time,finding still the same untoward result to the experiment--he thrust hishead forward, settled his eyes on mine, and demanded with impatience,"Qu'est-ce que c'est? Vous me jouez des tours?"
The words were hardly out of his mouth, however, ere, with hiscustomary quickness, he seized the root of this proceeding: in vain Ishook out the long fringe, and spread forth the broad end of my scarf."A-h-h! c'est la robe rose!" broke from his lips, affecting me verymuch like the sudden and irate low of some lord of the meadow.
"It is only cotton," I alleged, hurriedly; "and cheaper, and washesbetter than any other colour."
"Et Mademoiselle Lucy est coquette comme dix Parisiennes," he answered."A-t-on jamais vu une Anglaise pareille. Regardez plutot son chapeau,et ses gants, et ses brodequins!" These articles of dress were justlike what my companions wore; certainly not one whit smarter--perhapsrather plainer than most--but Monsieur had now got hold of his text,and I began to chafe under the expected sermon. It went off, however,as mildly as the menace of a storm sometimes passes on a summer day. Igot but one flash of sheet lightning in the shape of a single banteringsmile from his eyes; and then he said, "Courage!--a vrai dire je nesuis pas fache, peut-etre meme suis je content qu'on s'est fait sibelle pour ma petite fete."
"Mais ma robe n'est pas belle, Monsieur--elle n'est que propre."
"J'aime la proprete," said he. In short, he was not to be dissatisfied;the sun of good humour was to triumph on this auspicious morning; itconsumed scudding clouds ere they sullied its disk.
And now we were in the country, amongst what they called "les bois etles petits sentiers." These woods and lanes a month later would offerbut a dusty and doubtful seclusion: now, however, in their Maygreenness and morning repose, they looked very pleasant.
We reached a certain well, planted round, in the taste of Labassecour,with an orderly circle of lime-trees: here a halt was called; on thegreen swell of ground surrounding this well, we were ordered to beseated, Monsieur taking his place in our midst, and suffering us togather in a knot round him. Those who liked him more than they feared,came close, and these were chiefly little ones; those who feared morethan they liked, kept somewhat aloof; those in whom much affection hadgiven, even to what remained of fear, a pleasurable zest, observed thegreatest distance.
He began to tell us a story. Well could he narrate: in such a dictionas children love, and learned men emulate; a diction simple in itsstrength, and strong in its simplicity. There were beautiful touches inthat little tale; sweet glimpses of feeling and hues of descriptionthat, while I listened, sunk into my mind, and since have never faded.He tinted a twilight scene--I hold it in memory still--such a picture Ihave never looked on from artist's pencil.
I have said, that, for myself, I had no impromptu faculty; and perhapsthat very deficiency made me marvel the more at one who possessed it inperfection. M. Emanuel was not a man to write books; but I have heardhim lavish, with careless, unconscious prodigality, such mental wealthas books seldom boast; his mind was indeed my library, and whenever itwas opened to me, I entered bliss. Intellectually imperfect as I was, Icould read little; there were few bound and printed volumes that didnot weary me--whose perusal did not fag and blind--but his tomes ofthought were collyrium to the spirit's eyes; over their contents,inward sight grew clear and strong. I used to think what a delight itwould be for one who loved him better than he loved himself, to gatherand store up those handfuls of gold-dust, so recklessly flung toheaven's reckless winds.
His story done, he approached the little knoll where I and Ginevra satapart. In his usual mode of demanding an opinion (he had not reticenceto wait till it was voluntarily offered) he asked, "Were youinterested?"
According to my wonted undemonstrative fashion, I simplyanswered--"Yes."
"Was it good?"
"Very good."
"Yet I could not write that down," said he.
"Why not, Monsieur?"
"I hate the mechanical labour; I hate to stoop and sit still. I coulddictate it, though, with pleasure, to an amanuensis who suited me.Would Mademoiselle Lucy write for me if I asked her?"
"Monsieur would be too quick; he would urge me, and be angry if my pendid not keep pace with his lips."
"Try some day; let us see the monster I can make of myself under thecircumstances. But just now, there is no question of dictation; I meanto make you useful in another office. Do you see yonder farm-house?"
/> "Surrounded with trees? Yes.".
"There we are to breakfast; and while the good fermiere makes the cafeau lait in a caldron, you and five others, whom I shall select, willspread with butter half a hundred rolls."
Having formed his troop into line once more, he marched us straight onthe farm, which, on seeing our force, surrendered without capitulation.
Clean knives and plates, and fresh butter being provided, half-a-dozenof us, chosen by our Professor, set to work under his directions, toprepare for breakfast a huge basket of rolls, with which the baker hadbeen ordered to provision the farm, in anticipation of our coming.Coffee and chocolate were already made hot; cream and new-laid eggswere added to the treat, and M. Emanuel, always generous, would havegiven a large order for "jambon" and "confitures" in addition, but thatsome of us, who presumed perhaps upon our influence, insisted that itwould be a most reckless waste of victual. He railed at us for ourpains, terming us "des menageres avares;" but we let him talk, andmanaged the economy of the repast our own way.
With what a pleasant countenance he stood on the farm-kitchen hearthlooking on! He was a man whom it made happy to see others happy; heliked to have movement, animation, abundance and enjoyment round him.We asked where he would sit. He told us, we knew well he was our slave,and we his tyrants, and that he dared not so much as choose a chairwithout our leave; so we set him the farmer's great chair at the headof the long table, and put him into it.
Well might we like him, with all his passions and hurricanes, when hecould be so benignant and docile at times, as he was just now. Indeed,at the worst, it was only his nerves that were irritable, not histemper that was radically bad; soothe, comprehend, comfort him, and hewas a lamb; he would not harm a fly. Only to the very stupid, perverse,or unsympathizing, was he in the slightest degree dangerous.
Mindful always of his religion, he made the youngest of the party say alittle prayer before we began breakfast, crossing himself as devotedlyas a woman. I had never seen him pray before, or make that pious sign;he did it so simply, with such child-like faith, I could not helpsmiling pleasurably as I watched; his eyes met my smile; he juststretched out his kind hand, saying, "Donnez-moi la main! I see weworship the same God, in the same spirit, though by different rites."
Most of M. Emanuel's brother Professors were emancipated free-thinkers,infidels, atheists; and many of them men whose lives would not bearscrutiny; he was more like a knight of old, religious in his way, andof spotless fame. Innocent childhood, beautiful youth were safe at hisside. He had vivid passions, keen feelings, but his pure honour and hisartless piety were the strong charm that kept the lions couchant.
That breakfast was a merry meal, and the merriment was not mere vacantclatter: M. Paul originated, led, controlled and heightened it; hissocial, lively temper played unfettered and unclouded; surrounded onlyby women and children there was nothing to cross and thwart him; he hadhis own way, and a pleasant way it was.
The meal over, the party were free to run and play in the meadows; afew stayed to help the farmer's wife to put away her earthenware. M.Paul called me from among these to come out and sit near him under atree--whence he could view the troop gambolling, over a widepasture--and read to him whilst he took his cigar. He sat on a rusticbench, and I at the tree-root. While I read (a pocket-classic--aCorneille--I did not like it, but he did, finding therein beauties Inever could be brought to perceive), he listened with a sweetness ofcalm the more impressive from the impetuosity of his general nature;the deepest happiness filled his blue eye and smoothed his broadforehead. I, too, was happy--happy with the bright day, happier withhis presence, happiest with his kindness.
He asked, by-and-by, if I would not rather run to my companions thansit there? I said, no; I felt content to be where he was. He askedwhether, if I were his sister, I should always be content to stay witha brother such as he. I said, I believed I should; and I felt it.Again, he inquired whether, if he were to leave Villette, and go faraway, I should be sorry; and I dropped Corneille, and made no reply.
"Petite soeur," said he; "how long could you remember me if we wereseparated?"
"That, Monsieur, I can never tell, because I do not know how long itwill be before I shall cease to remember everything earthly."
"If I were to go beyond seas for two--three--five years, should youwelcome me on my return?"
"Monsieur, how could I live in the interval?"
"Pourtant j'ai ete pour vous bien dur, bien exigeant."
I hid my face with the book, for it was covered with tears. I asked himwhy he talked so; and he said he would talk so no more, and cheered meagain with the kindest encouragement. Still, the gentleness with whichhe treated me during the rest of the day, went somehow to my heart. Itwas too tender. It was mournful. I would rather he had been abrupt,whimsical, and irate as was his wont.
When hot noon arrived--for the day turned out as we had anticipated,glowing as June--our shepherd collected his sheep from the pasture, andproceeded to lead us all softly home. But we had a whole league towalk, thus far from Villette was the farm where he had breakfasted; thechildren, especially, were tired with their play; the spirits of mostflagged at the prospect of this mid-day walk over chaussees flinty,glaring, and dusty. This state of things had been foreseen and providedfor. Just beyond the boundary of the farm we met two spacious vehiclescoming to fetch us--such conveyances as are hired out purposely for theaccommodation of school-parties; here, with good management, room wasfound for all, and in another hour M. Paul made safe consignment of hischarge at the Rue Fossette. It had been a pleasant day: it would havebeen perfect, but for the breathing of melancholy which had dimmed itssunshine a moment.
That tarnish was renewed the same evening.
Just about sunset, I saw M. Emanuel come out of the front-door,accompanied by Madame Beck. They paced the centre-alley for nearly anhour, talking earnestly: he--looking grave, yet restless; she--wearingan amazed, expostulatory, dissuasive air.
I wondered what was under discussion; and when Madame Beck re-enteredthe house as it darkened, leaving her kinsman Paul yet lingering in thegarden, I said to myself--"He called me 'petite soeur' this morning. Ifhe were really my brother, how I should like to go to him just now, andask what it is that presses on his mind. See how he leans against thattree, with his arms crossed and his brow bent. He wants consolation, Iknow: Madame does not console: she only remonstrates. What now----?"
Starting from quiescence to action, M. Paul came striding erect andquick down the garden. The carre doors were yet open: I thought he wasprobably going to water the orange-trees in the tubs, after hisoccasional custom; on reaching the court, however, he took an abruptturn and made for the berceau and the first-classe glass door. There,in that first classe I was, thence I had been watching him; but there Icould not find courage to await his approach. He had turned sosuddenly, he strode so fast, he looked so strange; the coward within megrew pale, shrank and--not waiting to listen to reason, and hearing theshrubs crush and the gravel crunch to his advance--she was gone on thewings of panic.
Nor did I pause till I had taken sanctuary in the oratory, now empty.Listening there with beating pulses, and an unaccountable, undefinedapprehension, I heard him pass through all the schoolrooms, clashingthe doors impatiently as he went; I heard him invade the refectorywhich the "lecture pieuse" was now holding under hallowed constraint; Iheard him pronounce these words--"Ou est Mademoiselle Lucie?"
And just as, summoning my courage, I was preparing to go down and dowhat, after all, I most wished to do in the world--viz., meet him--thewiry voice of St. Pierre replied glibly and falsely, "Elle est au lit."And he passed, with the stamp of vexation, into the corridor. ThereMadame Beck met, captured, chid, convoyed to the street-door, andfinally dismissed him.
As that street-door closed, a sudden amazement at my own perverseproceeding struck like a blow upon me. I felt from the first it was mehe wanted--me he was seeking--and had not I wanted him too? What, then,had carried me away? What had rapt me beyond
his reach? He hadsomething to tell: he was going to tell me that something: my earstrained its nerve to hear it, and I had made the confidenceimpossible. Yearning to listen and console, while I thought audienceand solace beyond hope's reach--no sooner did opportunity suddenly andfully arrive, than I evaded it as I would have evaded the levelledshaft of mortality.
Well, my insane inconsistency had its reward. Instead of the comfort,the certain satisfaction, I might have won--could I but have putchoking panic down, and stood firm two minutes--here was dead blank,dark doubt, and drear suspense.
I took my wages to my pillow, and passed the night counting them.