Part 8

“Belette,” said I, “perhaps on the whole things are better as they are; we get along well enough like this for an hour or two, but if we had had to spend our lives together, you know that there would have been trouble. Surely you must have heard that I have turned out rather badly: a dreamer, a talker, always dawdling about, backbiting and quarreling, and sticking my nose into other folk’s business. I am an idler too, and drink more than is good for me; all this would have made you unhappy, and then you would have taken up with some one else; it makes my hair stand on end only to think of it! So you see all is really for the best.”

She heard me to the end, and then said seriously: “Yes, I know you are a perfect good-for-nothing, (she did not believe a word of it); probably you would have beaten me, and perhaps I should have taken a lover, but if that was our destiny, it might as well have come to us through each other.” I nodded my head. “You don’t seem to be of my mind?”

“I am, of course,” said I, “but, you see that kind of happiness was not for us; so now, Belette, there is no use in self-reproaches, or regrets either. It would have been all the same by this time, whatever we had done; we are at the end of our string now, you know, and love or no love, it is all past like a tale that is told.”

“Liar!” said she, and I felt that she spoke the truth, even as I looked at her.

I kissed her once more, and left her; she leaned against the door-post looking after me, under the great spreading branches of the walnut tree, but I did not turn my head till I got round the corner, where I was sure that I could not see her; then I stopped to take breath a minute, and enjoy the scent of the honeysuckle. Down in the meadows I could see the white oxen still grazing as I left the path and took a short cut up the hillside and through the vines, until I got into the wood, where I turned aside for a moment. This was not the shortest way to continue my journey, but, there I stood for as much as half an hour, leaning against the trunk of a big oak tree, with my eyes fixed on vacancy, thinking, thinking. I could see the last red reflections of the western sky die out on the fresh vine leaves, which shone as if varnished, and hear the first faint note of a nightingale singing. I remembered an evening when my love and I were climbing side by side, up the steep vineyard, laughing and talking as we went, vigorous as the young life around us; but in the midst of our mirth, suddenly we fell silent, my hand closed on hers and there we stood motionless. Was it the sound of the Angelus, the evening breeze sighing about us, or the soft moonlight? From the shadowy vine leaves all at once arose the voice of a nightingale singing to keep himself awake, so that the treacherous tendrils might not twine about his poor little feet, and hold him prisoner, singing his eternal love-song; and I held Belette’s hand, saying: “The tendrils are around us, and like them we cling to each other.”

Then we went back down the hill again, still hand in hand, till we reached her cottage.

That was the last time that our fingers clung thus together, but the nightingale’s note still sounds, the vine puts forth its branches, and love still twists young hearts in its supple tendrils. Night came on, as I stood there, gazing up at the silvered treetops. I could not tear myself away from that magic shadow which dimmed my homeward path, and even destroyed the wish to find it. Three times I tried, but found myself back where I started, so I gave it up, and took a lodging for that night at the sign of the Moonbeam. It was not a very good inn to sleep in: I lay there turning over the pages of my life, thinking of what I had done and left undone, and of the dreams from which I had awakened. In such dark hours what sadness rises from the depths of our hearts, what vanished hopes!--How far off seem the bright visions of early boyhood, and how poor and bare the reality looks. I thought of all my expectations, and the small results of my labors; of my wife, who certainly cannot be called either good-natured or good-looking, of my sons who hardly seem to belong to me, with whom I have nothing in common:--of the faithlessness and folly of those around us, of our poor France torn by civil wars and religious persecutions; of my works of art scattered, life itself a handful of ashes, soon to be blown away by the breath of the Destroyer.--I put my face close up against the oak tree, and lay there weeping quietly all among the big roots which cradled me like a father’s arms; and I felt that he listened, and consoled me, for when, many hours later, I awoke, I found myself snoring with my nose in a tuft of moss, with nothing remaining of my troubles but a sore feeling in my heart, and a slight cramp in the calf of my leg.

The sun was just rising, and the tree above me was so full of birds that it dripped with their singing like a ripe bunch of grapes. The robin, the linnet, and my special favorite, the thrush, sang as if to bursting.--I like Master Thrush because he does not care for any weather, is the first to begin singing, and the last to stop, and like me, is always in a good humor.--They had all passed safely through the dangers of the night, which darkens their little lives every twenty-four hours, but as soon as the curtain begins to rise, and the first ray of dawn puts fresh color into life--Twee-ee, twee, twee, twee, tweet! with what sweet cries and transports of joy they greet the new day. In the glory of the morning all is forgotten, the dark night, the cold and the terrors. If only the birds could teach us the secret of their unalterable faith, through which they are born afresh with every dawning day!

All this merry whistling cheered me up wonderfully, and lying there on my back, I began to whistle too, the same tune; pretty soon from the wood where he was hiding came the cry of the cuckoo. I could lie still no longer, and jumped gaily to my feet; a hare near by followed my example, seeming to laugh at me as he passed; (you know he once split his lip open by too much laughter). Then at last I started off towards home, singing at the top of my lungs. All is good, the sky, the wood. Oh! my friends the world is round, if you can’t swim, you will be drowned. Throw open all the windows of your five senses, and let the great earth in. What is the use of sulking because everything does not come your way? The more you sulk, the less you get. I do not suppose that the Duke, the King, or even God Himself, has all the desire of his heart; ought I to groan and struggle, because I cannot exceed the limits set for me? Should I even be better off if I could get outside of them? No, no, I have nothing to complain of in this world, and I mean to stay here as long as I possibly can. Suppose that I had never been born? I really cannot bear to think of a world without Breugnon, or what is perhaps even worse, Breugnon without the world! A plague on all such nonsense! things are well enough as they are, and you may be sure that I shall hold tight to all that belongs to me.

When I got back to Clamecy, I was a whole day behind time, and you may guess what sort of a welcome I had, and also how little I minded. I just shut myself up in the garret, and put it all down on paper, as you see. There was no one there to listen, so if the fancy took me I could speak out loud, going over in retrospect all that happened, both pleasures and pains, and the pleasure that we get out of pain, for--

“That which breaks the heart to bear, Is sometimes sweet to tell and hear.”

VI

BIRDS OF PASSAGE

OR

THE SERENADE AT ASNOIS

We heard yesterday morning that Clamecy was to entertain two distinguished guests, the Demoiselle de Termes and the Comte de Maillebois; they were on their way to the Château of Asnois, where they were to stay for a month or so. The Town Council, according to usage, voted to send a delegation to our noble visitors in the name of the city, in order to offer them our congratulations on their safe arrival (as if it were a miracle to come from Paris to Nevers in a warm easy carriage without upsetting or losing your way!) It being also the custom to make a little present, the Council decided to add some cakes with icing, made in Clamecy, of which we are not a little proud. My son-in-law, Florimond Ravisé, is our principal pastry cook, so he proposed to send three dozen, which was opposed by the Council, who thought two dozen would be plenty; however, Florimond being an alderman, his views prevailed, and the cakes were baked at the expense of the town. Some one suggested that noble ears ought to be tickled at the same time as the palate; so in order that the exalted strangers should listen to a serenade while they were enjoying our cakes, and have all their senses charmed at once, we chose also four of our best musicians, two violas, two hautboys, a tambourine, and a flageolet player--myself. In point of fact I was not invited, but I never miss a chance to see a new face if I can help it, and I was particularly anxious to behold these Court birds of paradise with their shining plumage, and all their airs and graces; besides, I adore any novelty, wherever it comes from,--like a true son of Pandora. If I had my way I would soon take the lid off all the boxes, or souls, within my reach, black or white, thick or thin, high or low; I like to poke my nose into affairs that are none of my business, to find out secrets of the heart, and generally know all that goes on; in a word, I am devoured by curiosity, but as there is no reason, as far as I can see, why one should not add profit to pleasure, I took with me two fine carved panels, which the Seigneur of Asnois had ordered and which were easily stowed away on one of the carts provided by the town to carry the delegation, the musical instruments, and the iced cakes. My little Glodie went too, because she was Florimond’s daughter, and it cost nothing; and another alderman took his little boy, if I remember rightly. Finally the apothecary stuck in a lot of sweetmeats, spirits, and cordials of his own manufacture; also of course at the expense of the city. Florimond was indignant, and protested with some reason; he said if every butcher, baker, and candlestick maker were to do the same, the town would be ruined; but there was no use in talking, as the other man was equally a member of the Council with himself, and as we all know, great men make laws and the rest obey them.

Our two carts were soon loaded with the Mayor, the panels, the presents, the children, four musicians, and four Councilors. I went on foot, however, for I am not yet so feeble as to be dragged about in a cart, like a calf on its way to the butcher. The weather was not quite to my liking, for the air was close and sultry, with a sun hot enough to roast you beating down on our heads, and clouds of dust and flies about us; we none of us minded, however, as we were out on a spree; Florimond was peevish, but then he is always bothering, like a girl, about his complexion.

Our worthy citizens sat up very stiff and proper as long as we could see St. Martin’s tower, but when we got well outside the town, all formality dropped off, and left us, as you may say, in our shirt-sleeves. We cracked a few rather doubtful jokes, for that is the way we generally begin, and then there was singing; his honor the Mayor leading off, while I accompanied him on the flageolet, and the rest joined in the chorus. In the midst of all the voices and instruments I could hear my little Glodie’s shrill sweet pipe like a sparrow.

We did not get on very fast, because the nags would stop on top of every hill to get their breath, and then when we came to Boychault, our scrivener, Pierre Delavau, begged us to go out of our way a little, and we could not very well say no, for he was the only Alderman who had so far asked no favors, so we had to stop to let him draw up a will for one of his clients, which was rather a long business; but no one really objected except Florimond, who this time had the apothecary on his side. All the same Master Delavau drew out the document at his leisure, and the others had to put up with it as best they could.

We got to the château at last;--you always do, in the end, and there were the fine Court birds just leaving the table, so the dessert we brought came in at the right moment. Down they sat and began all over again; you never saw such birds for eating; and now we made a brilliant entrance, for our delegation had halted outside the gates to put on their carefully folded robes, which they had been sitting on all the way to keep them from fading. The Mayor’s was of bright green silk, and the others woolen of a light yellow, so that they looked like a cucumber and four pumpkins as we marched into the courtyard to the sound of our instruments. Every window in the castle was filled with heads at our approach, and our courtly guests deigned to show themselves in the doorway, all curled and beribboned, as the green and yellow Mayor and Council mounted the great staircase. We smaller fry, musicians and others, stayed behind in the yard, so that I could not hear very clearly the fine Latin discourse delivered by our notary; which mattered the less, as I do believe Master Pierre himself was the only one who did hear it. But the one thing I would not have missed for a kingdom was the sight of my darling Glodie stepping carefully upward with the basket piled high with cakes clasped tight in her little arms. She was like pictures of the Presentation. Sweetheart! I longed to hug her! Music is not the only thing which charms all heart; childhood has a spell even stronger and more universal, which causes the proudest to forget for the moment rank and dignity. Mademoiselle de Termes could not help smiling at Glodie, then she took her up on her knees and kissed her, and finally broke one of the famous cakes in two, ate half herself, and as she said laughing, “Open your little beak, birdie,” stuck the other half into the child’s rosy mouth. “Hurrah for the Flower of Nevers!” I shouted, and then played a gay little phrase on my flute, which sounded like the note of a swallow. This made every one laugh, and as they all looked to see who was playing Glodie clapped her hands and said, “That is my Grandad.” And so Monsieur d’Asnois made a sign to me to come up, and said to those about him, “You really ought to see Breugnon, he is just the least bit cracked.” (I am no more cracked than he is, but I went up as I was bid, with a fine bow to the company.)

All the time that I was bowing and scraping to right and left, I had my eye on the noble lady, hung like a slender bell-clapper in the midst of her spreading draperies; and I could not help wondering how she would look if divested of her voluminous garments,--(a bold idea for a man like me, but only an idea, of course, or you will wonder how I dared to think of such a thing), for she was tall and thin, rather dark-skinned under a thick coating of powder; her hair fell in ringlets over her great brown eyes shining like carbuncles; she had full red lips and a small pointed nose like a ferret; you should have seen the condescending air with which she said to me, “This charming little girl is your grandchild, they tell me.”

“Madam,” said I, in my best manner, “I must refer you to my son-in-law, here present, for an answer to that question; but you may be sure that as she is not made of money we do not quarrel over her,--the poor, you know, find their wealth in their children.”

She was so kind as to smile at my pleasantry, and my Lord of Asnois burst out laughing. Florimond laughed too, but not so heartily, and I remained as grave as a judge. Then his Lordship and the lady deigned to enter into conversation with me about my trade, and what I made by it, for they took it for granted that I was a minstrel. I told them I made little or nothing, which was true enough, but as they had not asked me I did not say what I did for my living, but let them go on talking while I laughed in my sleeve at the airs they gave themselves, the haughty familiarity with which these fine gentlemen of rank and wealth treat us poor devils. They speak to a poor man as if he were a child, or half-witted. God has so ordered it that only the unworthy are at the bottom of the ladder,--(that is what they think, if they would only admit it), and therefore praise be to the Lord! who has exalted the seats of the mighty!

The Lord of Maillebois spoke to his companion as if I were not within hearing. “Madame,” said he, “we may as well fill up our time and have a little talk with this fellow; he seems rather stupid, but as he goes about from one tavern to another, playing on his flageolet, he probably knows what people hereabouts are thinking.”

“Hush!”

“If indeed they can be said to think at all.”

So they said to me:

“Well, my man, tell us what ideas prevail in the province?”

“Ideas?” said I, as if I had never heard the word before, looking slyly at our good Lord of Asnois, who laughed to himself under his big bushy beard, but let me go on.

“Ideas do not seem to grow plentifully in this part of the country,” said Maillebois with his heavy playfulness, “but I mean I want to know what the people are thinking,--are they loyal to Church and King?”

“God is great, and so is His Majesty; we are devoted to both of them.”

“And how about the Princes?”

“They too are great gentlemen.”

“Do you mean that you are on their side?”

“Yes, indeed, my Lord, we are close beside them.”

“In that case you must be against Concini?”

“By no means, your Lordship, we are for him also.”

“But, man, you don’t seem to understand that they are enemies.”

“That may be--but we want both of them to succeed.”

“How absurd! You have to be on one side or the other, don’t you know that? Stupid!”

“Must I really, my Lord? Can’t I get out of it? Well, if I must, I must, only let me think it over; a man can’t make up his mind like that all in a minute!”

“Why, what in the world are you waiting for?”

“Only to know which will come out on top!”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you rascal! Do you mean that you have not sense enough to know light from darkness, or the King from his enemies?”

I explained with an air of perfect simplicity that I was not so blinded but that I could tell day from night, but that when it came to the King or the Princes, if I was forced to choose between them, I could not tell which party drank most, or did the greatest harm to the country. “Far be it from me,” said I, “to speak evil of dignities. I wish them all good health and prosperity. To you too, your noble Lordship! They have fine appetites and I am something of a hearty eater myself, but to make a clean breast of it, if they must eat, I had rather it should be at some one’s else expense!”

“Do you respect nothing, fellow?”

“I respect and love my own belongings.”

“Don’t you know that it is your duty to make sacrifices for the King, your master?”

I told him respectfully that I should be only too glad to do so if there was no way of getting out of it, but I asked him to explain to me how it happened that there were the people of France, who loved their fields and their vineyards, and there also was the King who wanted only to devour them;--I said I knew well enough that every one had his place in the world, and some were made to eat and some to be eaten; politics I had heard was the art of filling your own stomach, and that was an art reserved for the noble, and the land for the peasant. But what was a poor man to do, since he was not allowed to have an opinion? And besides, as we are all as ignorant as our father Adam, (they say that he was his Lordship’s father also, but I could not well believe it, maybe he was only a cousin)--our business is to plow and enrich the soil, to sow and reap, to plant vines and gather grapes, make wine and bread, work in wood and stone, in cloth and leather; lay out canals and highways, erect great cathedrals and cities adorned with gardens, and embellish with carving and statues; catch sound and imprison it in the flanks of a fiddle, make ourselves masters, in short, of France, the earth and the air above us;--all to add to the pleasure of our lords. How could the people be expected to go any farther and try to grasp the high designs of kings, the quarrels of princes, with all their politics and metaphysics? No, the stick is made for beasts of burden, but which cudgel is the softest and who is to shake it over our backs, is a question too hard for us to decide; if we had the stick in our own hands for a little while it might be easier, but in the meantime there is nothing for it but patience, and to bear the blows as long as we are the anvil; some day our turn will come at the hammer! While I was talking, the Seigneur of Maillebois stood looking at me, in two minds whether to laugh or be angry; fortunately one of his equerries had seen me one day when I was with the late Duke, and he explained who I was, that I was no minstrel, but a fine sculptor and worker in wood, known far and wide for my talk, and somewhat of a free thinker.

The noble Lord did not seem much impressed by this information, but he showed a faint interest in my insignificant personality when his host told him that my work had been admired by princes of his acquaintance, and he soon fell into ecstasies when they showed him the fountain I had made in the courtyard. It is a girl with her skirts tucked up, holding two ducks in her apron with their wings extended; the water trickles out of their beaks;--a pretty conceit as I think it. He saw also my carved furniture and panels in the castle, which Asnois displayed with as much pride as if he had been their creator instead of being merely the man who paid for them. Maillebois expressed himself as astonished that I should bury my talent so far from Paris, and he also wondered that I should confine myself to work which showed chiefly observation and fidelity to nature; no grandeur or symbolism, nothing allegorical, both things which the critic considers essential to great sculpture. (A lord, you know, admires nothing that is not lordly.)

To which I replied with due respect, as became a country booby, that I knew my place, and was always careful to keep in it; that it would be presumption for a poor man like me, without knowledge or education, to attempt anything vast or sublime, and that he ought to be content with a modest place on the lowest step of Mount Parnassus, aiming only at such things as may be useful in everyday life. Utility in art should be his motto.

“Utility in art!” exclaimed his Lordship; “that is a contradiction in terms, true beauty is only found in what is useless.”

“A lofty sentiment,” said I, bowing, “and profoundly true; you see it everywhere, in art as well as in life; a diamond is beautiful, and so is a king, a prince, a great noble, or a flower.”

On this he turned away, much pleased with so much proper feeling; but Asnois pinched me, and whispered in my ear, “Shut up, you old humbug! I don’t mind if you do make a fool of this fop from Paris, but don’t try anything of that sort on me, or it will be the worse for you!”

“Oh! your Lordship, how could you think me capable of such a thing? As if I would be so ungrateful to my protector, my benefactor! and not only ungrateful but foolish. Breugnon is not that kind of a fool, he knows enough to take good care of his own skin, and your Lordship is not only stronger,--that is as it should be,--but ever so much cleverer than I am. What chance should I have against an old fox like the Lord of Asnois, if I may venture to say so? You who get the better of young and old, gentle and simple.”