THE VILLAGE RECTOR

 BY

 HONORE DE BALZAC

 Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley

 DEDICATION

 To Helene. 

 The tiniest boat is not launched upon the sea without the protection of some living emblem or revered name, placed upon it by the mariners. In accordance with this time-honored custom, Madame, I pray you to be the protectress of this book now launched upon our literary ocean; and may the Imperial name which the Church has canonized and your devotion has doubly sanctified for me guard it from perils. 

 De Balzac. 

 THE VILLAGE RECTOR

 I

 THE SAUVIATS

In the lower town of Limoges, at the corner of the rue de laVieille-Poste and the rue de la Cite might have been seen, a generationago, one of those shops which were scarcely changed from the period ofthe middle-ages. Large tiles seamed with a thousand cracks lay on thesoil itself, which was damp in places, and would have tripped up thosewho failed to observe the hollows and ridges of this singular flooring. The dusty walls exhibited a curious mosaic of wood and brick, stonesand iron, welded together with a solidity due to time, possibly tochance. For more than a hundred years the ceiling, formed of colossalbeams, bent beneath the weight of the upper stories, though it hadnever given way under them. Built _en colombage_, that is to say, witha wooden frontage, the whole facade was covered with slates, so put onas to form geometrical figures, --thus preserving a naive image of theburgher habitations of the olden time. 

None of the windows, cased in wood and formerly adorned with carvings, now destroyed by the action of the weather, had continued plumb; somebobbed forward, others tipped backward, while a few seemed disposed tofall apart; all had a compost of earth, brought from heaven knowswhere, in the nooks and crannies hollowed by the rain, in which thespring-tide brought forth fragile flowers, timid creeping plants, andsparse herbage. Moss carpeted the roof and draped its supports. Thecorner pillar, with its composite masonry of stone blocks mingled withbrick and pebbles, was alarming to the eye by reason of its curvature;it seemed on the point of giving way under the weight of the house, the gable of which overhung it by at least half a foot. The municipalauthorities and the commissioner of highways did, eventually, pull theold building down, after buying it, to enlarge the square. 

The pillar we have mentioned, placed at the angle of two streets, wasa treasure to the seekers for Limousin antiquities, on account of itslovely sculptured niche in which was a Virgin, mutilated during theRevolution. All visitors with archaeological proclivities found tracesof the stone sockets used to hold the candelabra in which public pietylighted tapers or placed its _ex-votos_ and flowers. 

At the farther end of the shop, a worm-eaten wooden staircase led tothe two upper floors which were in turn surmounted by an attic. Thehouse, backing against two adjoining houses, had no depth and derivedall its light from the front and side windows. Each floor had twosmall chambers only, lighted by single windows, one looking out on therue de la Cite, the other on the rue de la Vieille-Poste. 

In the middle-ages no artisan was better lodged. The house hadevidently belonged in those times to makers of halberds and battle-axes, armorers in short, artificers whose work was not injured by exposureto the open air; for it was impossible to see clearly within, unlessthe iron shutters were raised from each side of the building; wherewere also two doors, one on either side of the corner pillar, as maybe seen in many shops at the corners of streets. From the sill ofeach door--of fine stone worn by the tread of centuries--a low wallabout three feet high began; in this wall was a groove or slot, repeated above in the beam by which the wall of each facade wassupported. From time immemorial the heavy shutters had been rolledalong these grooves, held there by enormous iron bars, while the doorswere closed and secured in the same manner; so that these merchantsand artificers could bar themselves into their houses as into afortress. 

Examining the interior, which, during the first twenty years of thiscentury, was encumbered with old iron and brass, tires of wheels, springs, bells, anything in short which the destruction of buildingsafforded of old metals, persons interested in the relics of the oldtown noticed signs of the flue of a forge, shown by a long trail ofsoot, --a minor detail which confirmed the conjecture of archaeologistsas to the original use to which the building was put. On the firstfloor (above the ground-floor) was one room and the kitchen; on thefloor above that were two bedrooms. The garret was used to put awayarticles more choice and delicate than those that lay pell-mell aboutthe shop. 

This house, hired in the first instance, was subsequently bought by aman named Sauviat, a hawker or peddler who, from 1786 to 1793, travelled the country over a radius of a hundred and fifty milesaround Auvergne, exchanging crockery of a common kind, plates, dishes, glasses, --in short, the necessary articles of the poorest households, --for old iron, brass, and lead, or any metal under any shape it mightlurk in. The Auvergnat would give, for instance, a brown earthenwaresaucepan worth two sous for a pound of lead, two pounds of iron, abroken spade or hoe or a cracked kettle; and being invariably thejudge of his own cause, he did the weighing. 

At the close of his third year Sauviat added the hawking of tin andcopper ware to that of his pottery. In 1793 he was able to buy achateau sold as part of the National domain, which he at once pulledto pieces. The profits were such that he repeated the process atseveral points of the sphere in which he operated; later, these firstsuccessful essays gave him the idea of proposing something of a likenature on a larger scale to one of his compatriots who lived in Paris. Thus it happened that the "Bande Noire, " so celebrated for itsdevastations, had its birth in the brain of old Sauviat, the peddler, whom all Limoges afterward saw and knew for twenty-seven years in therickety old shop among his cracked bells and rusty bars, chains andscales, his twisted leaden gutters, and metal rubbish of all kinds. Wemust do him the justice to say that he knew nothing of the celebrityor the extent of the association he originated; he profited by his ownidea only in proportion to the capital he entrusted to the sincefamous firm of Bresac. 

Tired of frequenting fairs and roaming the country, the Auvergnatsettled at Limoges, where he married, in 1797, the daughter of acoppersmith, a widower, named Champagnac. When his father-in-law diedhe bought the house in which he had been carrying on his trade ofold-iron dealer, after ceasing to roam the country as a peddler. Sauviatwas fifty years of age when he married old Champagnac's daughter, whowas herself not less than thirty. Neither handsome nor pretty, she wasnevertheless born in Auvergne, and the _patois_ seemed to be themutual attraction; also she had the sturdy frame which enables womento bear hard work. In the first three years of their married lifeSauviat continued to do some peddling, and his wife accompanied him, carrying iron or lead on her back, and leading the miserable horse andcart full of crockery with which her husband plied a disguised usury. Dark-skinned, high-colored, enjoying robust health, and showing whenshe laughed a brilliant set of teeth, white, long, and broad asalmonds, Madame Sauviat had the hips and bosom of a woman made byNature expressly for maternity. 

If this strong girl were not earlier married, the fault must beattributed to the Harpagon "no dowry" her father practised, though henever read Moliere. Sauviat was not deterred by the lack of dowry;besides, a man of fifty can't make difficulties, not to speak of thefact that such a wife would save him the cost of a servant. He addednothing to the furniture of his bedroom where, from the day of hiswedding to the day he left the house, twenty years later, there wasnever anything but a single four-post bed, with valance and curtainsof green serge, a chest, a bureau, four chairs, a table, and alooking-glass, all collected from different localities. The chestcontained in its upper section pewter plates, dishes, etc. , eacharticle dissimilar from the rest. The kitchen can be imagined from thebedroom. 

Neither husband nor wife knew how to read, --a slight defect ofeducation which did not prevent them from ciphering admirably anddoing a most flourishing business. Sauviat never bought any articlewithout the certainty of being able to sell it for one hundred percent profit. To relieve himself of the necessity of keeping books andaccounts, he bought and sold for cash only. He had, moreover, such aperfect memory that the cost of any article, were it only a farthing, remained in his mind year after year, together with its accruedinterest. 

Except during the time required for her household duties, MadameSauviat was always seated in a rickety wooden chair placed against thecorner pillar of the building. There she knitted and looked at thepassers, watched over the old iron, sold and weighed it, and receivedpayment if Sauviat was away making purchases. When at home the husbandcould be heard at daybreak pushing open his shutters; the householddog rushed out into the street; and Madame Sauviat presently came outto help her man in spreading upon the natural counter made by the lowwalls on either side of the corner of the house on the two streets, the multifarious collection of bells, springs, broken gunlocks, andthe other rubbish of their business, which gave a poverty-strickenlook to the establishment, though it usually contained as much astwenty thousand francs' worth of lead, steel, iron, and other metals. 

Never were the former peddler and his wife known to speak of theirfortune; they concealed its amount as carefully as a criminal hides acrime; and for years they were suspected of shaving both gold andsilver coins. When Champagnac died the Sauviats made no inventory ofhis property; but they rummaged, with the intelligence of rats, intoevery nook and corner of the old man's house, left it as naked as acorpse, and sold the wares it contained in their own shop. 

Once a year, in December, Sauviat went to Paris in one of the publicconveyances. The gossips of the neighborhood concluded that in orderto conceal from others the amount of his fortune, he invested ithimself on these occasions. It was known later that, having beenconnected in his youth with one of the most celebrated dealers inmetal, an Auvergnat like himself, who was living in Paris, Sauviatplaced his funds with the firm of Bresac, the mainspring and spine ofthat famous association known by the name of the "Bande Noire, " which, as we have already said, took its rise from a suggestion made bySauviat himself. 

Sauviat was a fat little man with a weary face, endowed by Nature witha look of honesty which attracted customers and facilitated the saleof goods. His straightforward assertions, and the perfect indifferenceof his tone and manner, increased this impression. In person, hisnaturally ruddy complexion was hardly perceptible under the blackmetallic dust which powdered his curly black hair and the seams of aface pitted with the small-pox. His forehead was not without dignity;in fact, it resembled the well-known brow given by all painters toSaint Peter, the man of the people, the roughest, but withal theshrewdest, of the apostles. His hands were those of an indefatigableworker, --large, thick, square, and wrinkled with deep furrows. Hischest was of seemingly indestructible muscularity. He neverrelinquished his peddler's costume, --thick, hobnailed shoes; bluestockings knit by his wife and hidden by leather gaiters; bottle-greenvelveteen trousers; a checked waistcoat, from which depended the brasskey of his silver watch by an iron chain which long usage had polishedtill it shone like steel; a jacket with short tails, also ofvelveteen, like that of the trousers; and around his neck a printedcotton cravat much frayed by the rubbing of his beard. 

On Sundays and fete-days Sauviat wore a frock-coat of maroon cloth, sowell taken care of that two new ones were all he bought in twentyyears. The living of galley-slaves would be thought sumptuous incomparison with that of the Sauviats, who never ate meat except on thegreat festivals of the Church. Before paying out the money absolutelyneeded for their daily subsistence, Madame Sauviat would feel in thetwo pockets hidden between her gown and petticoat, and bring forth asingle well-scraped coin, --a crown of six francs, or perhaps a pieceof fifty-five sous, --which she would gaze at for a long time beforeshe could bring herself to change it. As a general thing the Sauviatsate herrings, dried peas, cheese, hard eggs in salad, vegetablesseasoned in the cheapest manner. Never did they lay in provisions, except perhaps a bunch of garlic or onions, which could not spoil andcost but little. The small amount of wood they burned in winter theybought of itinerant sellers day by day. By seven in winter, by nine insummer, the household was in bed, and the shop was closed and guardedby a huge dog, which got its living from the kitchens in theneighborhood. Madame Sauviat used about three francs' worth of candlesin the course of the year. 

The sober, toilsome life of these persons was brightened by one joy, but that was a natural joy, and for it they made their only knownoutlays. In May, 1802, Madame Sauviat gave birth to a daughter. Shewas confined all alone, and went about her household work five dayslater. She nursed her child in the open air, seated as usual in herchair by the corner pillar, continuing to sell old iron while theinfant sucked. Her milk cost nothing, and she let her little daughterfeed on it for two years, neither of them being the worse for the longnursing. 

Veronique (that was the infant's name) became the handsomest child inthe Lower town, and every one who saw her stopped to look at her. Theneighbors then noticed for the first time a trace of feeling in theold Sauviats, of which they had supposed them devoid. While the wifecooked the dinner the husband held the little one, or rocked it to thetune of an Auvergnat song. The workmen as they passed sometimes sawhim motionless gazing at Veronique asleep on her mother's knees. Hesoftened his harsh voice when he spoke to her, and wiped his hands onhis trousers before taking her up. When Veronique tried to walk, thefather bent his legs and stood at a little distance holding out hisarms and making little grimaces which contrasted funnily with therigid furrows of his stern, hard face. The man of iron, brass, andlead became a being of flesh and blood and bones. If he happened to bestanding with his back against the corner pillar motionless, a cryfrom Veronique would agitate him and send him flying over the moundsof iron fragments to find her; for she spent her childhood playingwith the wreck of ancient castles heaped in the depths of that oldshop. There were other days on which she went to play in the street orwith the neighboring children; but even then her mother's eye wasalways on her. 

It is not unimportant to say here that the Sauviats were eminentlyreligious. At the very height of the Revolution they observed bothSunday and fete-days. Twice Sauviat came near having his head cut offfor hearing mass from an unsworn priest. He was put in prison, beingjustly accused of helping a bishop, whose life he saved, to fly thecountry. Fortunately the old-iron dealer, who knew the ways of boltsand bars, was able to escape; nevertheless he was condemned to deathby default, and as, by the bye, he never purged himself of thatcontempt, he may be said to have died dead. 

His wife shared his piety. The avariciousness of the household yieldedto the demands of religion. The old-iron dealers gave their almspunctually at the sacrament and to all the collections in church. Whenthe vicar of Saint-Etienne called to ask help for his poor, Sauviat orhis wife fetched at once without reluctance or sour faces the sum theythought their fair share of the parish duties. The mutilated Virgin ontheir corner pillar never failed (after 1799) to be wreathed withholly at Easter. In the summer season she was feted with bouquets keptfresh in tumblers of blue glass; this was particularly the case afterthe birth of Veronique. On the days of the processions the Sauviatsscrupulously hung their house with sheets covered with flowers, andcontributed money to the erection and adornment of the altar, whichwas the pride and glory of the whole square. 

Veronique Sauviat was, therefore, brought up in a Christian manner. From the time she was seven years old she was taught by a Gray sisterfrom Auvergne to whom the Sauviats had done some kindness in formertimes. Both husband and wife were obliging when the matter did notaffect their pockets or consume their time, --like all poor folk whoare cordially ready to be serviceable to others in their own way. TheGray sister taught Veronique to read and write; she also taught herthe history of the people of God, the catechism, the Old and the NewTestaments, and a very little arithmetic. That was all; the worthysister thought it enough; it was in fact too much. 

At nine years of age Veronique surprised the whole neighborhood withher beauty. Every one admired her face, which promised much to thepencil of artists who are always seeking a noble ideal. She was called"the Little Virgin" and showed signs already of a fine figure andgreat delicacy of complexion. Her Madonna-like face--for the popularvoice had well named her--was surrounded by a wealth of fair hair, which brought out the purity of her features. Whoever has seen thesublime Virgin of Titian in his great picture of the "Presentation" atVenice, will know that Veronique was in her girlhood, --the sameingenuous candor, the same seraphic astonishment in her eyes, the samesimple yet noble attitude, the same majesty of childhood in herdemeanor. 

At eleven years of age she had the small-pox, and owed her life to thecare of Soeur Marthe. During the two months that their child was indanger the Sauviats betrayed to the whole community the depth of theirtenderness. Sauviat no longer went about the country to sales; hestayed in the shop, going upstairs and down to his daughter's room, sitting up with her every night in company with his wife. His silentanguish seemed so great that no one dared to speak to him; hisneighbors looked at him with compassion, but they only asked news ofVeronique from Soeur Marthe. During the days when the child's dangerreached a crisis, the neighbors and passers saw, for the first andonly time in Sauviat's life, tears in his eyes and rolling down hishollow cheeks; he did not wipe them, but stood for hours as ifstupefied, not daring to go upstairs to his daughter's room, gazingbefore him and seeing nothing, so oblivious of all things that any onemight have robbed him. 

Veronique was saved, but her beauty perished. Her face, onceexquisitely colored with a tint in which brown and rose wereharmoniously mingled, came out from the disease with a myriad of pitswhich thickened the skin, the flesh beneath it being deeply indented. Even her forehead did not escape the ravages of the scourge; it turnedbrown and looked as though it were hammered, like metal. Nothing canbe more discordant than brick tones of the skin surrounded by goldenhair; they destroy all harmony. These fissures in the tissues, capriciously hollowed, injured the purity of the profile and thedelicacy of the lines of the face, especially that of the nose, theGrecian form of which was lost, and that of the chin, once asexquisitely rounded as a piece of white porcelain. The disease leftnothing unharmed except the parts it was unable to reach, --the eyesand the teeth. She did not, however, lose the elegance and beauty ofher shape, --neither the fulness of its lines nor the grace andsuppleness of her waist. At fifteen Veronique was still a fine girl, and to the great consolation of her father and mother, a good andpious girl, busy, industrious, and domestic. 

After her convalescence and after she had made her first communion, her parents gave her the two chambers on the second floor for her ownparticular dwelling. Sauviat, so course in his way of living forhimself and his wife, now had certain perceptions of what comfortmight be; a vague idea came to him of consoling his child for hergreat loss, which, as yet, she did not comprehend. The deprivation ofthat beauty which was once the pride and joy of those two beings madeVeronique the more dear and precious to them. Sauviat came home oneday, bearing a carpet he had chanced upon in some of his rounds, whichhe nailed himself on Veronique's floor. For her he saved from the saleof an old chateau the gorgeous bed of a fine lady, upholstered in redsilk damask, with curtains and chairs of the same rich stuff. Hefurnished her two rooms with antique articles, of the true value ofwhich he was wholly ignorant. He bought mignonette and put the pots onthe ledge outside her window; and he returned from many of his tripswith rose trees, or pansies, or any kind of flower which gardeners ortavern-keepers would give him. 

If Veronique could have made comparisons and known the character, pasthabits, and ignorance of her parents she would have seen how muchthere was of affection in these little things; but as it was, shesimply loved them from her own sweet nature and without reflection. 

The girl wore the finest linen her mother could find in the shops. Madame Sauviat left her daughter at liberty to buy what materials sheliked for her gowns and other garments; and the father and mother wereproud of her choice, which was never extravagant. Veronique wassatisfied with a blue silk gown for Sundays and fete-days, and onworking-days she wore merino in winter and striped cotton dresses insummer. On Sundays she went to church with her father and mother, andtook a walk after vespers along the banks of the Vienne or about theenvirons. On other days she stayed at home, busy in filling worsted-workpatterns, the payment for which she gave to the poor, --a life ofsimple, chaste, and exemplary principles and habits. She did somereading together with her tapestry, but never in any books exceptthose lent to her by the vicar of Saint-Etienne, a priest whom SoeurMarthe had first made known to her parents. 

All the rules of the Sauviat's domestic economy were suspended infavor of Veronique. Her mother delighted in giving her dainty thingsto eat, and cooked her food separately. The father and mother stillate their nuts and dry bread, their herrings and parched peasfricasseed in salt butter, while for Veronique nothing was thought toochoice and good. 

"Veronique must cost you a pretty penny, " said a hatmaker who livedopposite to the Sauviats and had designs on their daughter for hisson, estimating the fortune of the old-iron dealer at a hundredthousand francs. 

"Yes, neighbor, yes, " Pere Sauviat would say; "if she asked me for tencrowns I'd let her have them. She has all she wants; but she neverasks for anything; she is as gentle as a lamb. "

Veronique was, as a matter of fact, absolutely ignorant of the valueof things. She had never wanted for anything; she never saw a piece ofgold till the day of her marriage; she had no money of her own; hermother bought and gave her everything she needed and wished for; sothat even when she wanted to give alms to a beggar, the girl felt inher mother's pocket for the coin. 

"If that's so, " remarked the hatmaker, "she can't cost you much. "

"So you think, do you?" replied Sauviat. "You wouldn't get off underforty crowns a year, I can tell you that. Why, her room, she has atleast a hundred crowns' worth of furniture in it! But when a man hasbut one child, he doesn't mind. The little we own will all go to her. "

"The little! Why, you must be rich, pere Sauviat! It is pretty nighforty years that you have been doing a business in which there are nolosses. "

"Ha! I sha'n't go to the poorhouse for want of a thousand francs orso!" replied the old-iron dealer. 

From the day when Veronique lost the soft beauty which made hergirlish face the admiration of all who saw it, Pere Sauviat redoubledin activity. His business became so prosperous that he now went toParis several times a year. Every one felt that he wanted tocompensate his daughter by force of money for what he called her "lossof profit. " When Veronique was fifteen years old a change was made inthe internal manners and customs of the household. The father andmother went upstairs in the evenings to their daughter's apartment, where Veronique would read to them, by the light of a lamp placedbehind a glass globe full of water, the "Vie des Saints, " the "LettresEdifiantes, " and other books lent by the vicar. Madame Sauviat knittedstockings, feeling that she thus recouped herself for the cost of oil. The neighbors could see through the window the old couple seatedmotionless in their armchairs, like Chinese images, listening to theirdaughter, and admiring her with all the powers of their contractedminds, obtuse to everything that was not business or religious faith. 

 II

 VERONIQUE

There are, no doubt, many young girls in the world as pure asVeronique, but none purer or more modest. Her confessions might havesurprised the angels and rejoiced the Blessed Virgin. 

At sixteen years of age she was fully developed, and appeared thewoman she was eventually to become. She was of medium height, neitherher father nor her mother being tall; but her figure was charming inits graceful suppleness, and in the serpentine curves laboriouslysought by painters and sculptors, --curves which Nature herself drawsso delicately with her lissom outlines, revealed to the eye of artistsin spite of swathing linen and thick clothes, which mould themselves, inevitably, upon the nude. Sincere, simple, and natural, Veronique setthese beauties of her form into relief by movements that were whollyfree from affectation. She brought out her "full and complete effect, "if we may borrow that strong term from legal phraseology. She had theplump arms of the Auvergnat women, the red and dimpled hand of abarmaid, and her strong but well-shaped feet were in keeping with therest of her figure. 

At times there seemed to pass within her a marvellous and delightfulphenomenon which promised to Love a woman concealed thus far fromevery eye. This phenomenon was perhaps one cause of the admiration herfather and mother felt for her beauty, which they often declared to bedivine, --to the great astonishment of their neighbors. The first toremark it were the priests of the cathedral and the worshippers withher at the same altar. When a strong emotion took possession ofVeronique, --and the religious exaltation to which she yielded herselfon receiving the communion must be counted among the strongestemotions of so pure and candid a young creature, --an inward lightseemed to efface for the moment all traces of the small-pox. The pureand radiant face of her childhood reappeared in its pristine beauty. Though slightly veiled by the thickened surface disease had laidthere, it shone with the mysterious brilliancy of a flower bloomingbeneath the water of the sea when the sun is penetrating it. Veroniquewas changed for a few moments; the Little Virgin reappeared and thendisappeared again, like a celestial vision. The pupils of her eyes, gifted with the power of great expansion, widened until they coveredthe whole surface of the blue iris except for a tiny circle. Thus themetamorphose of the eye, which became as keen and vivid as that of aneagle, completed the extraordinary change in the face. Was it thestorm of restrained passions; was it some power coming from the depthsof the soul, which enlarged the pupils in full daylight as theysometimes in other eyes enlarge by night, darkening the azure of thosecelestial orbs?

However that may be, it was impossible to look indifferently atVeronique as she returned to her seat from the altar where she hadunited herself with God, --a moment when she appeared to all the parishin her primitive splendor. At such moments her beauty eclipsed that ofthe most beautiful of women. What a charm was there for the man wholoved her, guarding jealously that veil of flesh which hid the woman'ssoul from every eye, --a veil which the hand of love might lift for aninstant and then let drop over conjugal delights! Veronique's lipswere faultlessly curved and painted in the clear vermilion of her purewarm blood. Her chin and the lower part of her face were a littleheavy, in the acceptation given by painters to that term, --a heavinesswhich is, according to the relentless laws of physiognomy, theindication of an almost morbid vehemence in passion. She had above herbrow, which was finely modelled and almost imperious, a magnificentdiadem of hair, voluminous, redundant, and now of a chestnut color. 

From the age of sixteen to the day of her marriage Veronique's bearingwas always thoughtful, and sometimes melancholy. Living in such deepsolitude, she was forced, like other solitary persons, to examine andconsider the spectacle of that which went on within her, --the progressof her thought, the variety of the images in her mind, and the scopeof feelings warmed and nurtured in a life so pure. 

Those who looked up from their lower level as they passed along therue de la Cite might have seen, on all fine days, the daughter of theSauviats sitting at her open window, sewing, embroidering, or prickingthe needle through the canvas of her worsted-work, with a look thatwas often dreamy. Her head was vividly defined among the flowers whichpoetized the brown and crumbling sills of her casement windows withtheir leaded panes. Sometimes the reflection of the red damaskwindow-curtains added to the effect of that head, already so highlycolored; like a crimson flower she glowed in the aerial garden socarefully trained upon her window-sill. 

The quaint old house possessed therefore something more quaint thanitself, --the portrait of a young girl worthy of Mieris, or Van Ostade, or Terburg, or Gerard Douw, framed in one of those old, defaced, halfruined windows the brushes of the old Dutch painters loved so well. When some stranger, surprised or interested by the building, stoppedbefore it and gazed at the second story, old Sauviat would poke hishead beyond the overhanging projection, certain that he should see hisdaughter at her window. Then he would retreat into the shop rubbinghis hands and saying to his wife in the Auvergne vernacular:--

"Hey! old woman; they're admiring your daughter!"

In 1820 an incident occurred in the simple uneventful life the girlwas leading, which might have had no importance in the life of anyother young woman, but which, in point of fact, did no doubt exerciseover Veronique's future a terrible influence. 

On one of the suppressed church fete-days, when many persons wentabout their daily labor, though the Sauviats scrupulously closed theirshop, attended mass, and took a walk, Veronique passed, on their wayto the fields, a bookseller's stall on which lay a copy of "Paul andVirginia. " She had a fancy to buy it for the sake of the engraving, and her father paid a hundred sous for the fatal volume, which he putinto the pocket of his coat. 

"Wouldn't it be well to show that book to Monsieur le vicaire beforeyou read it?" said her mother, to whom all printed books were a sealedmystery. 

"I thought of it, " answered Veronique. 

The girl passed the whole night reading the story, --one of the mosttouching bits of writing in the French language. The picture of mutuallove, half Biblical and worthy of the earlier ages of the world, ravaged her heart. A hand--was it divine or devilish?--raised the veilwhich, till then, had hidden nature from her. The Little Virgin stillexisting in the beautiful young girl thought on the morrow that herflowers had never been so beautiful; she heard their symboliclanguage, she looked into the depths of the azure sky with a fixednessthat was almost ecstasy, and tears without a cause rolled down hercheeks. 

In the life of all women there comes a moment when they comprehendtheir destiny, --when their hitherto mute organization speaksperemptorily. It is not always a man, chosen by some furtiveinvoluntary glance, who awakens their slumbering sixth sense; oftenerit is some unexpected sight, the aspect of scenery, the _coup d'oeil_of religious pomp, the harmony of nature's perfumes, a rosy dawnveiled in slight mists, the winning notes of some divinest music, orindeed any unexpected motion within the soul or within the body. Tothis lonely girl, buried in that old house, brought up by simple, halfrustic parents, who had never heard an unfit word, whose pureunsullied mind had never known the slightest evil thought, --to theangelic pupil of Soeur Marthe and the vicar of Saint-Etienne therevelation of love, the life of womanhood, came from the hand ofgenius through one sweet book. To any other mind the book would haveoffered no danger; to her it was worse in its effects than an obscenetale. Corruption is relative. There are chaste and virgin natureswhich a single thought corrupts, doing all the more harm because nothought of the duty of resistance has occurred. 

The next day Veronique showed the book to the good priest, whoapproved the purchase; for what could be more childlike and innocentand pure than the history of Paul and Virginia? But the warmth of thetropics, the beauty of the scenery, the almost puerile innocence of alove that seemed so sacred had done their work on Veronique. She wasled by the sweet and noble achievement of its author to the worship ofthe Ideal, that fatal human religion! She dreamed of a lover likePaul. Her thoughts caressed the voluptuous image of that balmy isle. Childlike, she named an island in the Vienne, below Limoges and nearlyopposite to the Faubourg Saint-Martial, the Ile de France. Her mindlived there in the world of fancy all young girls construct, --a worldthey enrich with their own perfections. She spent long hours at herwindow, looking at the artisans or the mechanics who passed it, theonly men whom the modest position of her parents allowed her to thinkof. Accustomed, of course, to the idea of eventually marrying a man ofthe people, she now became aware of instincts within herself whichrevolved from all coarseness. 

In such a situation she naturally made many a romance such as younggirls are fond of weaving. She clasped the idea--perhaps with thenatural ardor of a noble and virgin imagination--of ennobling one ofthose men, and of raising him to the height where her own dreams ledher. She may have made a Paul of some young man who caught her eye, merely to fasten her wild ideas on an actual being, as the mists of adamp atmosphere, touched by frost, crystallize on the branches of atree by the wayside. She must have flung herself deep into the abyssesof her dream, for though she often returned bearing on her brow, as iffrom vast heights, some luminous reflections, oftener she seemed tocarry in her hand the flowers that grew beside a torrent she hadfollowed down a precipice. 

On the warm summer evenings she would ask her father to take her onhis arm to the banks of the Vienne, where she went into ecstasies overthe beauties of the sky and fields, the glories of the setting sun, orthe infinite sweetness of the dewy evening. Her soul exhaled itselfthenceforth in a fragrance of natural poesy. Her hair, until thensimply wound about her head, she now curled and braided. Her dressshowed some research. The vine which was running wild and naturallyamong the branches of the old elm, was transplanted, cut and trainedover a green and pretty trellis. 

After the return of old Sauviat (then seventy years of age) from atrip to Paris in December, 1822, the vicar came to see him oneevening, and after a few insignificant remarks he said suddenly:--

"You had better think of marrying your daughter, Sauviat. At your ageyou ought not to put off the accomplishment of so important a duty. "

"But is Veronique willing to be married?" asked the old man, startled. 

"As you please, father, " she said, lowering her eyes. 

"Yes, we'll marry her!" cried stout Madame Sauviat, smiling. 

"Why didn't you speak to me about it before I went to Paris, mother?"said Sauviat. "I shall have to go back there. "

Jerome-Baptiste Sauviat, a man in whose eyes money seemed toconstitute the whole of happiness, who knew nothing of love, and hadnever seen in marriage anything but the means of transmitting propertyto another self, had long sworn to marry Veronique to some richbourgeois, --so long, in fact, that the idea had assumed in his brainthe characteristics of a hobby. His neighbor, the hat-maker, whopossessed about two thousand francs a year, had already asked, onbehalf of his son, to whom he proposed to give up his hat-makingestablishment, the hand of a girl so well known in the neighborhoodfor her exemplary conduct and Christian principles. Sauviat hadpolitely refused, without saying anything to Veronique. The day afterthe vicar--a very important personage in the eyes of the Sauviathousehold--had mentioned the necessary of marrying Veronique, whoseconfessor he was, the old man shaved and dressed himself as for afete-day, and went out without saying a word to his wife or daughter;both knew very well, however, that the father was in search of ason-in-law. Old Sauviat went to Monsieur Graslin. 

Monsieur Graslin, a rich banker in Limoges, had, like Sauviat himself, started from Auvergne without a penny; he came to Limoges to be aporter, found a place as an office-boy in a financial house, andthere, like many other financiers, he made his way by dint of economy, and also through fortunate circumstances. Cashier at twenty-five yearsof age, partner ten years later, in the firm of Perret and Grossetete, he ended by finding himself the head of the house, after buying outthe senior partners, both of whom retired into the country, leavinghim their funds to manage in the business at a low interest. 

Pierre Graslin, then forty-seven years of age, was supposed to possessabout six hundred thousand francs. The estimate of his fortune hadlately increased throughout the department, in consequence of hisoutlay in having built, in a new quarter of the town called the placed'Arbres (thus assisting to give Limoges an improved aspect), a finehouse, the front of it being on a line with a public building with thefacade of which it corresponded. This house had now been finished sixmonths, but Pierre Graslin delayed furnishing it; it had cost him somuch that he shrank from the further expense of living in it. Hisvanity had led him to transgress the wise laws by which he governedhis life. He felt, with the good sense of a business man, that theinterior of the house ought to correspond with the character of theoutside. The furniture, silver-ware, and other needful accessories tothe life he would have to lead in his new mansion would, he estimated, cost him nearly as much as the original building. In spite, therefore, of the gossip of tongues and the charitable suppositions of hisneighbors, he continued to live on in the damp, old, and dirtyground-floor apartment in the rue Montantmanigne where his fortune hadbeen made. The public carped, but Graslin had the approval of hisformer partners, who praised a resolution that was somewhat uncommon. 

A fortune and a position like those of Pierre Graslin naturallyexcited the greed of not a few in a small provincial city. During thelast ten years more than one proposition of marriage had beenintimated to Monsieur Graslin. But the bachelor state was so wellsuited to a man who was busy from morning till night, overrun withwork, eager in the pursuit of money as a hunter for game, and alwaystired out with his day's labor, that Graslin fell into none of thetraps laid for him by ambitious mothers who coveted so brilliant aposition for their daughters. 

Graslin, another Sauviat in an upper sphere, did not spend more thanforty sous a day, and clothed himself no better than his under-clerk. Two clerks and an office-boy sufficed him to carry on his business, which was immense through the multiplicity of its details. One clerkattended to the correspondence; the other had charge of the accounts;but Pierre Graslin was himself the soul, and body too, of the wholeconcern. His clerks, chosen from his own relations, were safe men, intelligent and as well-trained in the work as himself. As for theoffice-boy, he led the life of a truck horse, --up at five in themorning at all seasons, and never getting to bed before eleven atnight. 

Graslin employed a charwoman by the day, an old peasant from Auvergne, who did his cooking. The brown earthenware off which he ate, and thestout coarse linen which he used, were in keeping with the characterof his food. The old woman had strict orders never to spend more thanthree francs daily for the total expenses of the household. Theoffice-boy was also man-of-all-work. The clerks took care of their ownrooms. The tables of blackened wood, the straw chairs half unseated, the wretched beds, the counters and desks, in short, the wholefurniture of house and office was not worth more than a thousandfrancs, including a colossal iron safe, built into the wall, beforewhich slept the man-of-all-work with two dogs at his feet. 

Graslin did not often go into society, which, however, discussedhim constantly. Two or three times a year he dined with thereceiver-general, with whom his business brought him into occasionalintercourse. He also occasionally took a meal at the prefecture; forhe had been appointed, much to his regret, a member of theCouncil-general of the department--"a waste of time, " he remarked. Sometimes his brother bankers with whom he had dealings kept him tobreakfast or dinner; and he was forced also to visit his formerpartners, who spent their winters in Limoges. He cared so little tokeep up his relations to society that in twenty-five years Graslin hadnot offered so much as a glass of water to any one. When he passedalong the street persons would nudge each other and say: "That'sMonsieur Graslin"; meaning, "There's a man who came to Limoges withouta penny and has now acquired an enormous fortune. " The Auvergnatbanker was a model which more than one father pointed out to his son, and wives had been known to fling him in the faces of their husbands. 

We can now understand the reasons that led a man who had become thepivot of the financial machine of Limoges to repulse the variouspropositions of marriage which parents never ceased to make to him. The daughters of his partners, Messrs. Perret and Grossetete, weremarried before Graslin was in a position to take a wife; but as eachof these ladies had young daughters, the wiseheads of the communityfinally concluded that old Perret or old Grossetete had made anarrangement with Graslin to wait for one of his granddaughters, andthenceforth they left him alone. 

Sauviat had watched the ascending career of his compatriot moreattentively and seriously than any one else. He had known him from thetime he first came to Limoges; but their respective positions hadchanged so much, at least apparently, that their friendship, nowbecome merely superficial, was seldom freshened. Still, in hisrelation as compatriot, Graslin never disdained to talk with Sauviatwhen they chanced to meet. Both continued to keep up their early_tutoiement_, but only in their native dialect. When thereceiver-general of Bourges, the youngest of the brothers Grossetete, married his daughter in 1823 to the youngest son of Comte Fontaine, Sauviat felt sure that the Grossetetes would never allow Graslin toenter their family. 

After his conference with the banker, Pere Sauviat returned homejoyously. He dined that night in his daughter's room, and after dinnerhe said to his womenkind:--

"Veronique will be Madame Graslin. "

"Madame Graslin!" exclaimed Mere Sauviat, astounded. 

"Is it possible?" said Veronique, to whom Graslin was personallyunknown, and whose imagination regarded him very much as a Parisiangrisette would regard a Rothschild. 

"Yes, it is settled, " said old Sauviat solemnly. "Graslin will furnishhis house magnificently; he is to give our daughter a fine Parisiancarriage and the best horses to be found in the Limousin; he will buyan estate worth five hundred thousand francs, and settle that and histown-house upon her. Veronique will be the first lady in Limoges, therichest in the department, and she can do what she pleases withGraslin. "

Veronique's education, her religious ideas, and her boundlessaffection for her parents, prevented her from making a singleobjection; it did not even cross her mind to think that she had beendisposed of without reference to her own will. On the morrow Sauviatwent to Paris, and was absent for nearly a week. 

Pierre Graslin was, as can readily be imagined, not much of a talker;he went straight and rapidly to deeds. A thing decided on was a thingdone. In February, 1822, a strange piece of news burst like athunderbolt on the town of Limoges. The hotel Graslin was beinghandsomely furnished; carriers' carts came day after day from Paris, and their contents were unpacked in the courtyard. Rumors flew aboutthe town as to the beauty and good taste of the modern or the antiquefurniture as it was seen to arrive. The great firm of Odiot andCompany sent down a magnificent service of plate by the mail-coach. Three carriages, a caleche, a coupe, and a cabriolet arrived, wrappedin straw with as much care as if they were jewels. 

"Monsieur Graslin is going to be married!"

These words were said by every pair of lips in Limoges in the courseof a single evening, --in the salons of the upper classes, in thekitchens, in the shops, in the streets, in the suburbs, and beforelong throughout the whole surrounding country. But to whom? No onecould answer. Limoges had a mystery. 

 III

 MARRIAGE

On the return of old Sauviat Graslin paid his first evening visit athalf-past nine o'clock. Veronique was expecting him, dressed in herblue silk gown and muslin guimpe, over which fell a collaret made oflawn with a deep hem. Her hair was simply worn in two smooth bandeaus, gathered into a Grecian knot at the back of her head. She was seatedon a tapestried chair beside her mother, who occupied a fine armchairwith a carved back, covered with red velvet (evidently the relic ofsome old chateau), which stood beside the fireplace. A bright fireblazed on the hearth. On the chimney-piece, at either side of anantique clock, the value of which was wholly unknown to the Sauviats, six wax candles in two brass sconces twisted like vine-shoots, lightedthe dark room and Veronique in all her budding prime. The old motherwas wearing her best gown. 

From the silent street, at that tranquil hour, through the softshadows of the ancient stairway, Graslin appeared to the modest, artless Veronique, her mind still dwelling on the sweet ideas whichBernadin de Saint-Pierre had given her of love. 

Graslin, who was short and thin, had thick black hair like thebristles of a brush, which brought into vigorous relief a face as redas that of a drunkard emeritus, and covered with suppurating pimples, either bleeding or about to burst. Without being caused by eczema orscrofula, these signs of a blood overheated by continual toil, anxiety, and the lust of business, by wakeful nights, poor food, and asober life, seemed to partake of both these diseases. In spite of theadvice of his partners, his clerks, and his physician, the bankerwould never compel himself to take the healthful precautions whichmight have prevented, or would at least modify, this malady, which wasslight at first, but had greatly increased from year to year. Hewanted to cure it, and would sometimes take baths or drink someprescribed potion; but, hurried along on the current of his business, he soon neglected the care of his person. Sometimes he thought ofsuspending work for a time, travelling about, and visiting the notedbaths for such diseases; but where is the hunter after millions who iswilling to stop short?

In that blazing furnace shone two gray eyes rayed with green linesstarting from the pupils, and speckled with brown spots, --twoimplacable eyes, full of resolution, rectitude, and shrewdcalculation. Graslin's nose was short and turned up; he had a mouthwith thick lips, a prominent forehead, and high cheek-bones, coarseears with large edges discolored by the condition of his blood, --inshort, he was an ancient satyr in a black satin waistcoat, brownfrock-coat, and white cravat. His strong and vigorous shoulders, whichbegan life by bearing heavy burdens, were now rather bent; and beneaththis torso, unduly developed, came a pair of weak legs, rather badlyaffixed to the short thighs. His thin and hairy hands had the crookedfingers of those whose business it is to handle money. The habit ofquick decision could be seen in the way the eyebrows rose into a pointover each arch of the eye. Though the mouth was grave and pinched, itsexpression was that of inward kindliness; it told of an excellentnature, sunk in business, smothered possibly, though it might reviveby contact with a woman. 

At this apparition Veronique's heart was violently agitated; blacknesscame before her eyes; she thought she cried aloud; but she really satthere mute, with fixed and staring gaze. 

"Veronique, this is Monsieur Graslin, " said old Sauviat. 

Veronique rose, curtsied, dropped back into her chair, and looked ather mother, who was smiling at the millionaire, seeming, as her fatherdid, so happy, --so happy that the poor girl found strength to hide hersurprise and her violent repulsion. During the conversation which thentook place something was said of Graslin's health. The banker lookednaively into the mirror, with bevelled edges in an ebony frame. 

"Mademoiselle, " he said, "I am not good-looking. "

Thereupon he proceeded to explain the blotches on his face as theresult of his overworked life. He related how he had constantlydisobeyed his physician's advice; and remarked that he hoped to changehis appearance altogether when he had a wife to rule his household, and take better care of him than he took of himself. 

"Is a man married for his face, compatriot?" said Sauviat, giving theother a hearty slap on the thigh. 

Graslin's speech went straight to those natural feelings which, moreor less, fill the heart of every woman. The thought came intoVeronique's mind that her face, too, had been destroyed by a horribledisease, and her Christian modesty rebuked her first impression. 

Hearing a whistle in the street, Graslin went downstairs, followed bySauviat. They speedily returned. The office-boy had brought the firstbouquet, which was a little late in coming. When the banker exhibitedthis mound of exotic flowers, the fragrance of which completely filledthe room, and offered it to his future wife, Veronique felt a rush ofconflicting emotions; she was suddenly plunged into the ideal andfantastic world of tropical nature. Never before had she seen whitecamelias, never had she smelt the fragrance of the Alpine cistus, theCape jessamine, the cedronella, the volcameria, the moss-rose, or anyof the divine perfumes which woo to love, and sing to the heart theirhymns of fragrance. Graslin left Veronique that night in the grasp ofsuch emotions. 

From this time forth, as soon as all Limoges was sleeping, the bankerwould slip along the walls to the Sauviats' house. There he would tapgently on the window-shutter; the dog did not bark; old Sauviat camedown and let him in, and Graslin would then spend an hour or two withVeronique in the brown room, where Madame Sauviat always served him atrue Auvergnat supper. Never did this singular lover arrive without abouquet made of the rarest flowers from the greenhouse of his oldpartner, Monsieur Grossetete, the only person who as yet knew of theapproaching marriage. The man-of-all-work went every evening to fetchthe bunch, which Monsieur Grossetete made himself. 

Graslin made about fifty such visits in two months; each time, besidesthe flowers, he brought with him some rich present, --rings, a watch, agold chain, a work-box, etc. These inconceivable extravagances must beexplained, and a word suffices. Veronique's dowry, promised by herfather, consisted of nearly the whole of old Sauviat's property, namely, seven hundred and fifty thousand francs. The old man retainedan income of eight thousand francs derived from the Funds, bought forhim originally for sixty thousand francs in assignats by hiscorrespondent Brezac, to whom, at the time of his imprisonment, he hadconfided that sum, and who kept it for him safely. These sixtythousand francs in assignats were the half of Sauviat's fortune at thetime he came so near being guillotined. Brezac was also, at the sametime, the faithful repository of the rest, namely, seven hundred louisd'or (an enormous sum at that time in gold), with which old Sauviatbegan his business once more as soon as he recovered his liberty. Inthirty years each of those louis d'or had been transformed into abank-note for a thousand francs, by means of the income from theFunds, of Madame Sauviat's inheritance from her father, oldChampagnac, and of the profits accruing from the business and theaccumulated interest thereon in the hands of the Brezac firm. Brezachimself had a loyal and honest friendship for Sauviat, --such as allAuvergnats are apt to feel for one another. 

So, whenever Sauviat passed the front of the Graslin mansion he hadsaid to himself, "Veronique shall live in that fine palace. " He knewvery well that no girl in all the department would have seven hundredand fifty thousand francs as a marriage portion, besides theexpectation of two hundred and fifty thousand more. Graslin, hischosen son-in-law, would therefore infallibly marry Veronique; and so, as we have seen, it came about. 

Every evening Veronique had her fresh bunch of flowers, which on themorrow decked her little salon and was carefully concealed from theneighbors. She admired the beautiful jewels, the pearls and diamonds, the bracelets, the rubies, gifts which assuredly gratify all thedaughters of Eve. She thought herself less plain when she wore them. She saw her mother happy in the marriage, and she had no other pointof view from which to make comparisons. She was, moreover, totallyignorant of the duties or the purpose of marriage. She heard thesolemn voice of the vicar of Saint-Etienne praising Graslin to her asa man of honor, with whom she would lead an honorable life. Thus itwas that Veronique consented to receive Monsieur Graslin as her futurehusband. 

When it happens that in a life so withdrawn from the world, sosolitary as that of Veronique, a single person enters it every day, that person cannot long remain indifferent; either he is hated, andthe aversion, justified by a deepening knowledge of his character, renders him intolerable, or the habit of seeing bodily defects dimsthe eye to them. The mind looks about for compensations; hiscountenance awakens curiosity; its features brighten; fleetingbeauties appear in it. At last the inner, hidden beneath the outer, shows itself. Then, when the first impressions are fairly overcome, the attachment felt is all the stronger, because the soul clings to itas its own creation. That is love. And here lies the reason of thosepassions conceived by beautiful things for other beings apparentlyugly. The outward aspect, forgotten by affection, is no longer seen ina creature whose soul is deeply valued. Besides this, beauty, sonecessary to a woman, takes many strange aspects in man; and there isas much diversity of feeling among women about the beauty of men asthere is among men about the beauty of women. So, after deepreflection and much debating with herself, Veronique gave her consentto the publication of the banns. 

From that moment all Limoges rang with this inexplicable affair, --inexplicable because no one knew the secret of it, namely, theimmensity of the dowry. Had that dowry been known Veronique could havechosen a husband where she pleased; but even so, she might have made amistake. 

Graslin was thought to be much in love. Upholsterers came from Paristo fit up the house. Nothing was talked of in Limoges but the profuseexpenditures of the banker. The value of the chandeliers wascalculated; the gilding of the walls, the figures on the clocks, allwere discussed; the jardinieres, the caloriferes, the objects ofluxury and novelty, nothing was left unnoticed. In the garden of thehotel Graslin, above the icehouse, was an aviary, and all theinhabitants of the town were presently surprised by the sight of rarebirds, --Chinese pheasants, mysterious breeds of ducks. Every oneflocked to see them. Monsieur and Madame Grossetete, an old couple whowere highly respected in Limoges, made several visits to the Sauviats, accompanied by Graslin. Madame Grossetete, a most excellent woman, congratulated Veronique on her happy marriage. Thus the Church, thefamily, society, and all material things down to the most trivial, made themselves accomplices to bring about this marriage. 

In the month of April the formal invitations to the wedding wereissued to all Graslin's friends and acquaintance. On a fine springmorning a caleche and a coupe, drawn by Limousin horses chosen byMonsieur Grossetete, drew up at eleven o'clock before the shop of theiron-dealer, bringing, to the great excitement of the neighborhood, the former partners of the bridegroom and the latter's two clerks. Thestreet was lined with spectators, all anxious to see the Sauviats'daughter, on whose beautiful hair the most renowned hairdresser inLimoges had placed the bridal wreath and a costly veil of Englishlace. Veronique wore a gown of simple white muslin. A rather imposingassemblage of the most distinguished women in the society of the townattended the wedding in the cathedral, where the bishop, knowing thereligious fervor of the Sauviats, deigned to marry Veronique himself. The bride was very generally voted plain. 

She entered her new house, and went from one surprise to another. Agrand dinner was to precede the ball, to which Graslin had invitednearly all Limoges. The dinner, given to the bishop, the prefect, thejudge of the court, the attorney-general, the mayor, the general, andGraslin's former partners with their wives, was a triumph for thebride, who, like all other persons who are simple and natural, showedcharms that were not expected in her. Neither of the bridal pair coulddance; Veronique continued therefore to do the honors to her guests, and to win the esteem and good graces of nearly all the persons whowere presented to her, asking Grossetete, who took an honest liking toher, for information about the company. She made no mistakes andcommitted no blunders. It was during this evening that the two formerpartners of the banker announced the amount of the dowry (immense forLimousin) given by the Sauviats to their daughter. At nine o'clock theold iron-dealer returned home and went to bed, leaving his wife topreside over the bride's retiring. It was said by everyone throughoutthe town that Madame Graslin was very plain, though well made. 

Old Sauviat now wound up his business and sold his house in town. Hebought a little country-place on the left bank of the Vienne betweenLimoges and Cluzeau, ten minutes' walk from the suburb of Saint-Martial, where he intended to finish his days tranquilly with his wife. The oldcouple had an apartment in the hotel Graslin and always dined once ortwice a week with their daughter, who, as often, made their house inthe country the object of her walks. 

This enforced rest almost killed old Sauviat. Happily, Graslin found ameans of occupying his father-in-law. In 1823 the banker was forced totake possession of a porcelain manufactory, to the proprietors ofwhich he had advanced large sums, which they found themselves unableto repay except by the sale of their factory, which they made to him. By the help of his business connections and by investing a largeamount of property in the concern, Graslin made it one of the finestmanufactories of Limoges ware in the town. Afterwards he resold it ata fine profit; meantime he placed it under the superintendence of hisfather-in-law, who, in spite of his seventy-two years, counted formuch in the return of prosperity to the establishment, who himselfrenewed his youth in the employment. Graslin was then able to attendto his legitimate business of banking without anxiety as to themanufactory. 

Sauviat died in 1827 from an accident. While taking account of stockhe fell into a _charasse_, --a sort of crate with an open grating inwhich the china was packed; his leg was slightly injured, so slightlythat he paid no attention to it; gangrene set in; he would not consentto amputation, and therefore died. The widow gave up about two hundredand fifty thousand francs which came to her from Sauviat's estate, reserving only a stipend of two hundred francs a month, which amplysufficed for her wants. Graslin bound himself to pay her that sumduly. She kept her little house in the country, and lived there alonewithout a servant and against the remonstrances of her daughter, whocould not induce her to alter this determination, to which she clungwith the obstinacy peculiar to old persons. Madame Sauviat came nearlyevery day into Limoges to see her daughter, and the latter stillcontinued to make her mother's house, from which was a charming viewof the river, the object of her walks. From the road leading to itcould be seen that island long loved by Veronique and called by herthe Ile de France. 

In order not to complicate our history of the Graslin household withthe foregoing incidents, we have thought it best to end that of theSauviats by anticipating events, which are moreover useful asexplaining the private and hidden life which Madame Graslin now led. The old mother, noticing that Graslin's miserliness, which returnedupon him, might hamper her daughter, was for some time unwilling toresign the property left to her by her husband. But Veronique, unableto imagine a case in which a woman might desire the use of her ownproperty, urged it upon her mother with reasons of great generosity, and out of gratitude to Graslin for restoring to her the liberty andfreedom of a young girl. But this is anticipating. 

The unusual splendor which accompanied Graslin's marriage haddisturbed all his habits and constantly annoyed him. The mind of thegreat financier was a very small one. Veronique had had no means ofjudging the man with whom she was to pass her life. During hisfifty-five visits he had let her see nothing but the business man, theindefatigable worker, who conceived and sustained great enterprises, and analyzed public affairs, bringing them always to the crucial testof the Bank. Fascinated by the million offered to him by Sauviat, heshowed himself generous by calculation. Carried away by the interestsof his marriage and by what he called his "folly, " namely, the housewhich still goes by the name of the hotel Graslin, he did things on alarge scale. Having bought horses, a caleche, and a coupe, henaturally used them to return the wedding visits and go to thosedinners and balls, called the "retours de noces, " which the heads ofthe administration and the rich families of Limoges gave to the newlymarried pair. Under this impulsion, which carried him entirely out ofhis natural sphere, Graslin sent to Paris for a man-cook and took areception day. For a year he kept the pace of a man who possesses afortune of sixteen hundred thousand francs, and he became of coursethe most noted personage in Limoges. During this year he generouslyput into his wife's purse every month twenty-five gold pieces oftwenty francs each. 

Society concerned itself much about Veronique from the day of hermarriage, for she was a boon to its curiosity, which has little tofeed on in the provinces. Veronique was all the more studied becauseshe had appeared in the social world like a phenomenon; but oncethere, she remained always simple and modest, in the attitude of aperson who is observing habits, customs, manners, things unknown toher, and endeavoring to conform to them. Already voted ugly butwell-shaped, she was now declared kindly but stupid. She was learningso many things, she had so much to hear and to see that her looks andspeech did certainly give some reason for this judgment. She showed asort of torpor which resembled lack of mind. Marriage, that hardcalling, as she said, for which the Church, the Code, and her motherexhorted her to resignation and obedience, under pain of transgressingall human laws and causing irreparable evil, threw her into a dazedand dizzy condition, which amounted sometimes to a species of inwarddelirium. 

Silent and self-contained, she listened as much to herself as she didto others. Feeling within her the most violent "difficulty ofexisting, " to use an expression of Fontenelle's, which was constantlyincreasing, she became terrified at herself. Nature resisted thecommands of the mind, the body denied the will. The poor creature, caught in the net, wept on the breast of that great Mother of the poorand the afflicted, --she went for comfort to the Church; her pietyredoubled, she confided the assaults of the demon to her confessor;she prayed to heaven for succor. Never, at any period of her life, didshe fulfil her religious duties with such fervor. The despair of notloving her husband flung her violently at the foot of the altar, wheredivine and consolatory voices urged her to patience. She was patient, she was gentle, and she continued to live on, hoping always for thehappiness of maternity. 

"Did you notice Madame Graslin this morning?" the women would say toeach other. "Marriage doesn't agree with her; she is actually green. "

"Yes, " some of them would reply; "but would you give your daughter toa man like Graslin? No woman could marry him with impunity. "

Now that Graslin was married, all the mothers who had courted him forten years past pursued him with sarcasms. 

Veronique grew visibly thinner and really ugly; her eyes looked weary, her features coarsened, her manner was shy and awkward; she acquiredthat air of cold and melancholy rigidity for which the ultra-pious areso often blamed. Her skin took on a grayish tone; she dragged herselflanguidly about during this first year of married life, ordinarily sobrilliant for a young wife. She tried to divert her mind by reading, profiting by the liberty of married women to read what they please. She read the novels of Walter Scott, the poems of Lord Byron, theworks of Schiller and of Goethe, and much else of modern and alsoancient literature. She learned to ride a horse, and to dance and todraw. She painted water-colors and made sepia sketches, turningardently to all those resources which women employ to bear theweariness of their solitude. She gave herself that second educationwhich most women derive from a man, but which she derived from herselfonly. 

The natural superiority of a free, sincere spirit, brought up, as itwere in a desert and strengthened by religion, had given her a sort ofuntrammelled grandeur and certain needs, to which the provincial worldshe lived in offered no sustenance. All books pictured Love to her, and she sought for the evidence of its existence, but nowhere couldshe see the passion of which she read. Love was in her heart, likeseeds in the earth, awaiting the action of the sun. Her deepmelancholy, caused by constant meditation on herself, brought her backby hidden by-ways to the brilliant dreams of her girlish days. Many atime she must have lived again that old romantic poem, making herselfboth the actor and the subject of it. Again she saw that island bathedin light, flowery, fragrant, caressing to her soul. Often her pallideyes wandered around a salon with piercing curiosity. The men were alllike Graslin. She studied them, and then she seemed to question theirwives; but nothing on the faces of those women revealed an inwardanguish like to hers, and she returned home sad and gloomy anddistressed about herself. The authors she had read in the morninganswered to the feelings in her soul; their thoughts pleased her; butat night she heard only empty words, not even presented in a livelyway, --dull, empty, foolish conversations in petty local matters, orpersonalities of no interest to her. She was often surprised at theheat displayed in discussions which concerned no feeling or sentiment--to her the essence of existence, the soul of life. 

Often she was seen with fixed eyes, mentally absorbed, thinking nodoubt of the days of her youthful ignorance spent in that chamber fullof harmonies now forever passed away. She felt a horrible repugnanceagainst dropping into the gulf of pettiness in which the women amongwhom she lived were floundering. This repugnance, stamped on herforehead, on her lips, and ill-disguised, was taken for the insolenceof a parvenue. Madame Graslin began to observe on all faces a certaincoldness; she felt in all remarks an acrimony, the causes of whichwere unknown to her, for she had no intimate friend to enlighten oradvise her. Injustice, which angers little minds, brings loftier soulsto question themselves, and communicates a species of humility tothem. Veronique condemned herself, endeavoring to see her own faults. She tried to be affable; they called her false. She grew more gentlestill; they said she was a hypocrite, and her pious devotion helped onthe calumny. She spent money, gave dinners and balls, and they taxedher with pride. 

Unsuccessful in all these attempts, unjustly judged, rebuffed by thepetty and tormenting pride which characterizes provincial society, where each individual is armed with pretensions and their attendantuneasiness, Madame Graslin fell back into utter solitude. She returnedwith eagerness to the arms of the Church. Her great soul, clothed withso weak a flesh, showed her the multiplied commandments of Catholicismas so many stones placed for protection along the precipices of life, so many props brought by charitable hands to sustain human weakness onits weary way; and she followed, with greater rigor than ever, eventhe smallest religious practices. 

On this the liberals of the town classed Madame Graslin among the_devotes_, the ultras. To the different animosities Veronique hadinnocently acquired, the virulence of party feeling now added itsperiodical exasperation. But as this ostracism took nothing reallyfrom her, she quietly left society and lived in books which offeredher such infinite resources. She meditated on what she read, shecompared systems, she widened immeasurably the horizons of herintellect and the extent of her education; in this way she opened thegates of her soul to curiosity. 

During this period of resolute study, in which religion supported andmaintained her mind, she obtained the friendship of MonsieurGrossetete, one of those old men whose mental superiority grows rustyin provincial life, but who, when they come in contact with an eagermind, recover something of their former brilliancy. The good man tookan earnest interest in Veronique, who, to reward him for theflattering warmth of heart which old men show to those they like, displayed before him, and for the first time in her life, thetreasures of her soul and the acquirements of her mind, cultivated sosecretly, and now full of blossom. An extract from a letter written byher about this time to Monsieur Grossetete will show the condition ofthe mind of a woman who was later to give signal proofs of a firm andlofty nature:--

 "The flowers you sent me for the ball were charming, but they suggested harsh reflections. Those pretty creatures gathered by you, and doomed to wilt upon my bosom to adorn a fete, made me think of others that live and die unseen in the depths of your woods, their fragrance never inhaled by any one. I asked myself why I was dancing there, why I was decked with flowers, just as I ask God why he has placed me to live in this world. 

 "You see, my friend, all is a snare to the unhappy; the smallest matter brings the sick mind back to its woes; but the greatest evil of certain woes is the persistency which makes them a fixed idea pervading our lives. A constant sorrow ought rather to be a divine inspiration. You love flowers for themselves, whereas I love them as I love to listen to fine music. So, as I was saying, the secret of a mass of things escapes me. You, my old friend, you have a passion, --that of the horticulturist. When you return to town inspire me with that taste, so that I may rush to my greenhouse with eager feet, as you go to yours to watch the development of your plants, to bud and bloom with them, to admire what you create, --the new colors, the unexpected varieties, which expand and grow beneath your eyes by the virtue of your care. 

 "My greenhouse, the one I watch, is filled with suffering souls. The miseries I try to lessen sadden my heart; and when I take them upon myself, when, after finding some young woman without clothing for her babe, some old man wanting bread, I have supplied their needs, the emotions their distress and its relief have caused me do not suffice my soul. Ah, friend, I feel within me untold powers --for evil, possibly, --which nothing can lower, which the sternest commands of our religion are unable to abase! Sometimes, when I go to see my mother, walking alone among the fields, I want to cry aloud, and I do so. It seems to me that my body is a prison in which some evil genius is holding a shuddering creature while awaiting the mysterious words which are to burst its obstructive form. 

 "But that comparison is not a just one. In me it seems to be the body that seeks escape, if I may say so. Religion fills my soul, books and their riches occupy my mind. Why, then, do I desire some anguish which shall destroy the enervating peace of my existence?

 "Oh, if some sentiment, some mania that I could cultivate, does not come into my life, I feel I shall sink at last into the gulf where all ideas are dulled, where character deteriorates, motives slacken, virtues lose their backbone, and all the forces of the soul are scattered, --a gulf in which I shall no longer be the being Nature meant me to be!

 "This is what my bitter complainings mean. But do not let them hinder you from sending me those flowers. Your friendship is so soothing and so full of loving kindness that it has for the last few months almost reconciled me to myself. Yes, it makes me happy to have you cast a glance upon my soul, at once so barren and so full of bloom; and I am thankful for every gentle word you say to one who rides the phantom steed of dreams, and returns worn-out. "

At the end of the third year of his married life, Graslin, observingthat his wife no longer used her horses, and finding a good market forthem, sold them. He also sold the carriages, sent away the coachman, let the bishop have his man-cook, and contented himself with a woman. He no longer gave the monthly sum to his wife, telling her that hewould pay all bills. He thought himself the most fortunate of husbandsin meeting no opposition whatever to these proceedings from the womanwho had brought him a million of francs as a dowry. Madame Graslin, brought up from childhood without ever seeing money, or being made tofeel that it was an indispensable element in life, deserved no praisewhatever for this apparent generosity. Graslin even noticed in acorner of the secretary all the sums he had ever given her, less themoney she had bestowed in charity or spent upon her dress, the cost ofwhich was much lessened by the profusion of her wedding trousseau. 

Graslin boasted of Veronique to all Limoges as being a model wife. Henext regretted the money spent on the house, and he ordered thefurniture to be all packed away or covered up. His wife's bedroom, dressing-room, and boudoir were alone spared from these protectivemeasures; which protect nothing, for furniture is injured just as muchby being covered up as by being left uncovered. Graslin himself livedalmost entirely on the ground-floor of the house, where he had hisoffice, and resumed his old business habits with avidity. He thoughthimself an excellent husband because he went upstairs to breakfast anddined with his wife; but his unpunctuality was so great that it wasnot more than ten times a month that he began a meal with he; he hadexacted, out of courtesy, that she should never wait for him. Veronique did, however, always remain in the room while her husbandtook his meals, serving him herself, that she might at least performvoluntarily some of the visible obligations of a wife. 

The banker, to whom the things of marriage were very indifferent, andwho had seen nothing in his wife but seven hundred and fifty thousandfrancs, had never once perceived Veronique's repugnance to him. Littleby little he now abandoned Madame Graslin for his business. When hewished to put a bed in the room adjoining his office on theground-floor, Veronique hastened to comply with the request. So thatthree years after their marriage these two ill-assorted beings returnedto their original estate, each equally pleased and happy to do so. Themoneyed man, possessing eighteen hundred thousand francs, returnedwith all the more eagerness to his old avaricious habits because hehad momentarily quitted them. His two clerks and the office-boy werebetter lodged and rather better fed, and that was the only differencebetween the present and the past. His wife had a cook and maid (twoindispensable servants); but except for the actual necessities oflife, not a penny left his coffers for his household. 

Happy in the turn which things were now taking, Veronique saw in theevident satisfaction of the banker the absolution for this separationwhich she would never have asked for herself. She had no conceptionthat she was as disagreeable to Graslin as Graslin was repulsive toher. This secret divorce made her both sad and joyful. She had alwayslooked to motherhood for an interest in life; but up to this time(1828) the couple had had no prospect of a family. 

 IV

 THE HISTORY OF MANY MARRIED WOMEN IN THE PROVINCES

So now, in her magnificent house and envied for her wealth by all thetown, Madame Graslin recovered the solitude of her early years in herfather's house, less the glow of hope and the youthful joys ofignorance. She lived among the ruins of her castles in the air, enlightened by sad experience, sustained by religious faith, occupiedby the care of the poor, whom she loaded with benefits. She madeclothes for the babies, gave mattresses and sheets to those who slepton straw; she went among the poor herself, followed by her maid, agirl from Auvergne whom her mother procured for her, and who attachedherself body and soul to her mistress. Veronique made an honorable spyof her, sending her to discover the places where suffering could bestilled, poverty softened. 

This active benevolence, carried on with strict attention to religiousduties, was hidden in the deepest secrecy and directed by the variousrectors in the town, with whom Veronique had a full understanding inall her charitable deeds, so as not to suffer the money so needed forunmerited misfortunes to fall into the hands of vice. It was duringthis period of her life that she won a friendship quite as strong andquite as precious as that of old Grossetete. She became the belovedlamb of a distinguished priest, who was persecuted for his truemerits, which were wholly misunderstood, one of the two grand-vicarsof the diocese, named the Abbe Dutheil. 

This priest belonged to the portion of the French clergy who inclinetoward certain concessions, who would be glad to associate the Churchwith the people's interests, and so enable it to regain, through theapplication of true evangelical doctrine, its former influence overthe masses, which it might then draw to closer relations with themonarchy. Whether it was that the Abbe Dutheil recognized theimpossibility of enlightening the court of Rome and the higher clergyon this point, or that he had consented to sacrifice his own opinionsto those of his superiors, it is certain that he remained within thelimits of the strictest orthodoxy, being very well aware that anymanifestation of his principles at the present time would deprive himof all chance of the episcopate. 

This eminent priest united in himself great Christian modesty and anoble character. Without pride or ambition he remained at his post anddid his duty in the midst of perils. The liberals of the town wereignorant of the motives of his conduct; they claimed him as being oftheir opinions and considered him a patriot, --a word which meantrevolutionist in Catholic minds. Loved by his inferiors, who darednot, however, proclaim his merits, feared by his equals who kept watchupon him, he was a source of embarrassment to the bishop. His virtuesand his knowledge, envied, no doubt, prevented persecution; it wasimpossible to complain of him, though he criticized frankly thepolitical blunders by which both the throne and the clergy mutuallycompromised themselves. He often foretold results, but vainly, --likepoor Cassandra, who was equally cursed before and after the disastershe predicted. Short of a revolution the Abbe Dutheil was likely toremain as he was, one of those stones hidden in the foundation wall onwhich the edifice rests. His utility was recognized and they left himin his place, like many other solid minds whose rise to power is theterror of mediocrities. If, like the Abbe de Lamennais, he had takenup his pen he would doubtless, like him, have been blasted by thecourt of Rome. 

The Abbe Dutheil was imposing in appearance. His exterior revealed theunderlying of a profound nature always calm and equable on thesurface. His tall figure and its thinness did not detract from thegeneral effect of his lines, which recalled those by which the geniusof Spanish painters delights to represent the great monasticmeditators, and those selected at a later period by Thorwaldsen forthe Apostles. The long, almost rigid folds of the face, in harmonywith those of his vestment, had the charm which the middle-ages bringinto relief in the mystical statues placed beside the portals of theirchurches. Gravity of thought, word, and accent, harmonized in this manand became him well. Seeing his dark eyes hollowed by austerities andsurrounded by a brown circle; seeing, too, his forehead, yellow assome old stone, his head and hands almost fleshless, men desired tohear the voice and the instructions which issued from his lips. Thispurely physical grandeur which accords with moral grandeur, gave thispriest a somewhat haughty and disdainful air, which was instantlycounteracted to an observer by his modesty and by his speech, thoughit did not predispose others in his favor. In some more elevatedstation these advantages would have obtained that necessary ascendancyover the masses which the people willingly allow to men who are thusendowed. But superiors will not forgive their inferiors for possessingthe externals of greatness, nor for displaying that majesty so prizedby the ancients but so often lacking to the administrators of modernpower. 

By one of those strange freaks of circumstance which are neveraccounted for, the other vicar-general, the Abbe de Grancour, a stoutlittle man with a rosy complexion and blue eyes, whose opinions werediametrically opposed to those of the Abbe Dutheil, liked to be in thelatter's company, although he never testified this liking enough toput himself out of the good graces of the bishop, to whom he wouldhave sacrificed everything. The Abbe de Grancour believed in the meritof his colleague, recognized his talents, secretly accepted hisdoctrines, and condemned them openly; for the little priest was one ofthose men whom superiority attracts and intimidates, --who dislike itand yet cultivate it. "He would embrace me and condemn me, " the AbbeDutheil said of him. The Abbe de Grancour had neither friends norenemies; he was therefore likely to live and die a vicar-general. Hesaid he was drawn to visit Madame Graslin by the desire of counsellingso religious and benevolent a person; and the bishop approved of hisdoing so, --Monsieur de Grancour's real object being to spend a fewevenings with the Abbe Dutheil in Veronique's salon. 

The two priests now came pretty regularly to see Madame Graslin, andmake her a sort of report about her poor and discuss the best means ofsuccoring and improving them. But Monsieur Graslin had now begun totighten his purse-strings, having made the discovery, in spite of theinnocent deceptions of his wife and her maid, that the money he paiddid not go solely for household expenses and for dress. He was angrywhen he found out how much money his wife's charities cost him; hecalled the cook to account, inquired into all the details of thehousekeeping, and showed what a grand administrator he was bypractically proving that his house could be splendidly kept for threethousand francs a year. Then he put his wife on an allowance of ahundred francs a month, and boasted of his liberality in so doing. Theoffice-boy, who liked flowers, was made to take care of the garden onSundays. Having dismissed the gardener, Graslin used the greenhouse tostore articles conveyed to him as security for loans. He let the birdsin the aviary die for want of care, to avoid the cost of their foodand attendance. And he even took advantage of a winter when there wasno ice, to give up his icehouse and save the expense of filling it. 

By 1828 there was not a single article of luxury in the house which hehad not in some way got rid of. Parsimony reigned unchecked in thehotel Graslin. The master's face, greatly improved during the threeyears spent with his wife (who induced him to follow his physician'sadvice), now became redder, more fiery, more blotched than before. Business had taken such proportions that it was necessary to promotethe boy-of-all-work to the position of cashier, and to find some stoutAuvergnat for the rougher service of the hotel Graslin. 

Thus, four years after her marriage, this very rich woman could notdispose of a single penny by her own will. The avarice of her husbandsucceeded the avarice of her parents. Madame Graslin had neverunderstood the necessity of money until the time came when herbenevolence was checked. 

By the beginning of the year 1828 Veronique had entirely recovered theblooming health which had given such beauty to the innocent young girlsitting at her window in the old house in the rue de la Cite; but bythis time she had acquired a fine literary education, and was fullyable to think and to speak. An excellent judgment gave real depth toher words. Accustomed now to the little things of life, she wore thefashions of the period with infinite grace. When she chanced aboutthis time to visit a salon she found herself--not without a certaininward surprise--received by all with respectful esteem. These changedfeelings and this welcome were due to the two vicars-general and toold Grossetete. Informed by them of her noble hidden life, and thegood deeds so constantly done in their midst, the bishop and a fewinfluential persons spoke of Madame Graslin as a flower of true piety, a violet fragrant with virtues; in consequence of which, one of thosestrong reactions set in, unknown to Veronique, which are none the lesssolid and durable because they are long in coming. This change inpublic opinion gave additional influence to Veronique's salon, whichwas now visited by all the chief persons in the society of the town, in consequence of certain circumstances we shall now relate. 

Toward the close of this year the young Vicomte de Grandville was sentas deputy solicitor to the courts of Limoges. He came preceded by areputation always given to Parisians in the provinces. A few daysafter his arrival, during a soiree at the prefecture, he made answerto a rather foolish question, that the most able, intelligent, anddistinguished woman he had met in the town was Madame Graslin. 

"Perhaps you think her the handsomest also?" said the wife of thereceiver-general. 

"I cannot think so in your presence, madame, " he replied, "andtherefore I am in doubt. Madame Graslin possesses a beauty which needinspire no jealousy, for it seldom shows itself: she is only beautifulto those she loves; you are beautiful to all the world. When MadameGraslin's soul is moved by true enthusiasm, it sheds an expressionupon her face which changes it completely. Her countenance is like alandscape, --dull in winter, glorious in summer; but the world willalways see it in winter. When she talks with friends on some literaryor philosophical topic, or on certain religious questions whichinterest her, she is roused into appearing suddenly an unknown womanof marvellous beauty. "

This declaration, which was caused by observing the phenomenon thatformerly made Veronique so beautiful on her return from the holytable, made a great noise in Limoges, where for a time the youngdeputy, to whom the place of the _procureur-general_ was said to bepromised, played a leading part. In all provincial towns a man whorises a trifle above others becomes, for a period more or lessprotracted, the object of a liking which resembles enthusiasm, andwhich usually deceives the object of this ephemeral worship. It is tothis social caprice that we owe so many local geniuses, soon ignoredand their false reputations mortified. The men whom women make thefashion in this way are oftener strangers than compatriots. 

In this particular case the admirers of the Vicomte de Grandville werenot mistaken; he was in truth a superior man. Madame Graslin was theonly woman he found in Limoges with whom he could exchange ideas andkeep up a varied conversation. A few months after his arrival, attracted by the increasing charm of Veronique's manners andconversation, he proposed to the Abbe Dutheil, and a few other of theremarkable men in Limoges, to meet in the evenings at Madame Graslin'shouse and play whist. At this time Madame Graslin was at home fiveevenings in the week to visitors, reserving two free days, as shesaid, for herself. 

When Madame Graslin had thus gathered about her the distinguished menwe have mentioned, others were not sorry to give themselves thereputation of cleverness by seeking to join the same society. Veronique also received three or four of the distinguished officers ofthe garrison and staff; but the freedom of mind displayed by herguests, and the tacit discretion enjoined by the manners of the bestsociety, made her extremely cautious as to the admission of those whonow vied with each other to obtain her invitations. 

The other women in this provincial society were not without jealousyin seeing Madame Graslin surrounded by the most agreeable anddistinguished men in the town; but by this time Veronique's socialpower was all the stronger because it was exclusive; she accepted theintimacy of four or five women only, and these were strangers inLimoges who had come from Paris with their husbands, and who held inhorror the petty gossip of provincial life. If any one outside of thislittle clique of superior persons came in to make a visit, theconversation immediately changed, and the habitues of the house talkedcommonplace. 

The hotel Graslin thus became an oasis where intelligent minds foundrelaxation and relief from the dulness of provincial life; wherepersons connected with the government could express themselves freelyon politics without fear of having their words taken down andrepeated; where all could satirize that which provoked satire, andwhere each individual abandoned his professional trammels and yieldedhimself up to his natural self. 

So, after being the most obscure young girl in all Limoges, consideredugly, dull, and vacant, Madame Graslin, at the beginning of the year1828, was regarded as one of the leading personages in the town, andthe most noted woman in society. No one went to see her in themornings, for all knew her habits of benevolence and the regularity ofher religious observances. She always went to early mass so as not todelay her husband's breakfast, for which, however, there was no fixedhour, though she never failed to be present and to serve it herself. Graslin had trained his wife to this little ceremony. He continued topraise her on all occasions; he thought her perfect; she never askedhim for anything; he could pile up louis upon louis, and spread hisinvestments over a wide field of enterprise through his relations withthe Brezacs; he sailed with a fair wind and well freighted over theocean of commerce, --his intense business interest keeping him in thestill, though half-intoxicated, frenzy of gamblers watching events onthe green table of speculation. 

During this happy period, and until the beginning of the year 1829, Madame Graslin attained, in the eyes of her friends, to a degree ofbeauty that was really extraordinary, the reasons of which they wereunable to explain. The blue of the iris expanded like a flower, diminishing the dark circle of the pupil, and seeming to float in aliquid and languishing light that was full of love. Her forehead, illumined by thoughts and memories of happiness, was seen to whitenlike the zenith before the dawn, and its lines were purified by aninward fire. Her face lost those heated brown tones which betoken adisturbance of the liver, --that malady of vigorous constitutions, orof persons whose soul is distressed and whose affections are thwarted. Her temples became adorably fresh and pure; gleams of the celestialface of a Raffaelle showed themselves now and then in hers, --a facehitherto obscured by the malady of grief, as the canvas of the greatmaster is encrusted by time. Her hands seemed whiter; her shoulderstook on an exquisite fulness; her graceful, animated movements gave toher supple figure its utmost charm. 

The Limoges women accused her of being in love with Monsieur deGrandville, who certainly paid her assiduous attention, to whichVeronique opposed all the barriers of a conscientious resistance. Theviscount professed for her one of those respectful attachments whichdid not blind the habitual visitors of her salon. The priests and menof sense saw plainly that this affection, which was love on the partof the young man, did not go beyond the permissible line in MadameGraslin. Weary at last of a resistance based on religious principle, the Vicomte de Grandville consoled himself (to the knowledge of hisintimates) with other and easier friendships; which did not, however, lessen his constant admiration and worship of the beautiful MadameGraslin, --such was the term by which she was designated in 1829. 

The most clear-sighted among those who surrounded her attributed thechange which rendered Veronique increasingly charming to her friendsto the secret delight which all women, even the most religious, feelwhen they see themselves courted; and to the satisfaction of living atlast in a circle congenial to her mind, where the pleasure ofexchanging ideas and the happiness of being surrounded by intelligentand well-informed men and true friends, whose attachment deepened dayby day, had dispersed forever the weary dulness of her life. 

Perhaps, however, closer, more perceptive or sceptical observers wereneeded than those who frequented the hotel Graslin, to detect thebarbaric grandeur, the plebeian force of the People which laydeep-hidden in her soul. If sometimes her friends surprised her in atorpor of meditation either gloomy or merely pensive, they knew shebore upon her heart the miseries of others, and had doubtless thatmorning been initiated in some fresh sorrow, or had penetrated tosome haunt where vices terrify the soul with their candor. 

The viscount, now promoted to be _procureur-general_, wouldoccasionally blame her for certain unintelligent acts of charity bywhich, as he knew from his secret police-reports, she had givenencouragement to criminal schemes. 

"If you ever want money for any of your paupers, let me be a sharer inyour good deeds, " said old Grossetete, taking Veronique's hand. 

"Ah!" she replied with a sigh, "it is impossible to make everybodyrich. "

At the beginning of this year an event occurred which was destined tochange the whole interior life of this woman and to transform thesplendid expression of her countenance into something far moreinteresting in the eyes of painters. 

Becoming uneasy about his health, Graslin, to his wife's despair, nolonger desired to live on the ground-floor. He returned to theconjugal chamber and allowed himself to be nursed. The news soonspread throughout Limoges that Madame Graslin was pregnant. Hersadness, mingled with joy, struck the minds of her friends, who thenfor the first time perceived that in spite of her virtues she had beenhappy in the fact of living separate from her husband. Perhaps she hadhoped for some better fate ever since the time when, as it was known, the attorney-general had declined to marry the richest heiress in theplace, in order to keep his loyalty to her. 

From this suggestion there grew up in the minds of the profoundpoliticians who played their whist at the hotel Graslin a belief thatthe viscount and the young wife had based certain hopes on theill-health of the banker which were now frustrated. The greatagitations which marked this period of Veronique's life, the anxietieswhich a first childbirth causes in every woman, and which, it is said, threatens special danger when she is past her first youth, made herfriends more attentive than ever to her; they vied with each other inshowing her those little kindnesses which proved how warm and solidtheir affection really was. 

 V

 TASCHERON

It was in this year that Limoges witnessed a terrible event and thesingular drama of the Tascheron trial, in which the young Vicomte deGrandville displayed the talents which afterwards made him_procureur-general_. 

An old man living in a lonely house in the suburb of Saint-Etienne wasmurdered. A large fruit-garden lay between the road and the house, which was also separated from the adjoining fields by a pleasure-garden, at the farther end of which were several old and disused greenhouses. In front of the house a rapid slope to the river bank gave a view ofthe Vienne. The courtyard, which also sloped downward, ended at alittle wall, from which small columns rose at equal distances unitedby a railing, more, however, for ornament than protection, for the barsof the railing were of painted wood. 

The old man, named Pingret, noted for his avarice, lived with a singlewoman-servant, a country-girl who did all the work of the house. Hehimself took care of his espaliers, trimmed his trees, gathered hisfruit, and sent it to Limoges for sale, together with earlyvegetables, in the raising of which he excelled. 

The niece of this old man, and his sole heiress, married to agentleman of small means living in Limoges, a Madame des Vanneaulx, had again and again urged her uncle to hire a man to protect thehouse, pointing out to him that he would thus obtain the profits ofcertain uncultivated ground where he now grew nothing but clover. Butthe old man steadily refused. More than once a discussion on thesubject had cut into the whist-playing of Limoges. A few shrewd headsdeclared that the old miser buried his gold in that clover-field. 

"If I were Madame des Vanneaulx, " said a wit, "I shouldn't torment myuncle about it; if somebody murders him, why, let him be murdered! Ishould inherit the money. "

Madame des Vanneaulx, however, wanted to keep her uncle, after themanner of the managers of the Italian Opera, who entreat their populartenor to wrap up his throat, and give him their cloak if he happens tohave forgotten his own. She had sent old Pingret a fine Englishmastiff, which Jeanne Malassis, the servant-woman brought back thenext day saying:--

"Your uncle doesn't want another mouth to feed. "

The result proved how well-founded were the niece's fears. Pingret wasmurdered on a dark night, in the middle of his clover-field, where hemay have been adding a few coins to a buried pot of gold. Theservant-woman, awakened by the struggle, had the courage to go to theassistance of the old miser, and the murderer was under the necessityof killing her to suppress her testimony. This necessity, whichfrequently causes murderers to increase the number of their victims, is an evil produced by the fear of the death penalty. 

This double murder was attended by curious circumstances which told asmuch for the prosecution as for the defence. After the neighbors hadmissed seeing the little old Pingret and his maid for a whole morningand had gazed at his house through the wooden railings as they passedit, and seen that, contrary to custom, the doors and windows werestill closed, an excitement began in the Faubourg Saint-Etienne whichpresently reached the rue de la Cloche, where Madame des Vanneaulxresided. 

The niece was always in expectation of some such catastrophe, and sheat once notified the officers of the law, who went to the house andbroke in the gate. They soon discovered in a clover patch four holes, and near two of these holes lay the fragments of earthenware pots, which had doubtless been full of gold the night before. In the othertwo holes, scarcely covered up, were the bodies of old Pingret andJeanne Malassis, who had been buried with their clothes on. The poorgirl had run to her master's assistance in her night-gown, with barefeet. 

While the _procureur-du-roi_, the commissary of police, and theexamining magistrate were gathering all particulars for the basis oftheir action, the luckless des Vanneaulx picked up the broken pots andcalculated from their capacity the sum lost. The magistrates admittedthe correctness of their calculations and entered the sum stolen ontheir records as, in all probability, a thousand gold coins to eachpot. But were these coins forty-eight or forty, twenty-four or twentyfrancs in value? All expectant heirs in Limoges sympathized with thedes Vanneaulx. The Limousin imagination was greatly stirred by thespectacle of the broken pots. As for old Pingret, who often soldvegetables himself in the market, lived on bread and onions, neverspent more than three hundred francs a year, obliged and disobliged noone, and had never done one atom of good in the suburb of Saint-Etiennewhere he lived, his death did not excite the slightest regret. PoorJeanne Malassis' heroism, which the old miser, had she saved him, would certainly not have rewarded, was thought rash; the number ofsouls who admired it was small in comparison with those who said: "Formy part, I should have stayed in my bed. "

The police found neither pen nor ink wherewith to write their reportin the bare, dilapidated, cold, and dismal house. Observing personsand the heir might then have noticed a curious inconsistency which maybe seen in certain misers. The dread the little old man had of theslightest outlay showed itself in the non-repaired roof which openedits sides to the light and the rain and snow; in the cracks of thewalls; in the rotten doors ready to fall at the slightest shock; inthe windows, where the broken glass was replaced by paper not evenoiled. All the windows were without curtains, the fireplaces withoutmirrors or andirons; the hearth was garnished with one log of wood anda few little sticks almost caked with the soot which had fallen downthe chimney. There were two rickety chairs, two thin couches, a fewcracked pots and mended plates, a one-armed armchair, a dilapidatedbed, the curtains of which time had embroidered with a bold hand, aworm-eaten secretary where the miser kept his seeds, a pile of linenthickened by many darns, and a heap of ragged garments, which existedonly by the will of their master; he being dead they dropped intoshreds, powder, chemical dissolution, in fact I know not into whatform of utter ruin, as soon as the heir or the officers of the lawlaid rough hands upon them; they disappeared as if afraid of beingpublicly sold. 

The population at Limoges was much concerned for these worthy desVanneaulx, who had two children; and yet, no sooner did the law layhands upon the reputed doer of the crime than the guilty personageabsorbed attention, became a hero, and the des Vanneaulx wererelegated into a corner of the picture. 

Toward the end of March Madame Graslin began to feel some of thosepains which precede a first confinement and cannot be concealed. Theinquiry as to the murder was then going on, but the murderer had notas yet been arrested. 

Veronique now received her friends in her bedroom, where they playedwhist. For several days past Madame Graslin had not left the house, and she seemed to be tormented by several of those caprices attributedto women in her condition. Her mother came to see her almost everyday, and the two women remained for hours in consultation. 

It was nine o'clock, and the card tables were still without players, for every one was talking of the murder. Monsieur de Grandvilleentered the room. 

"We have arrested the murderer of old Pingret, " he said, joyfully. 

"Who is it?" was asked on all sides. 

"A porcelain workman; a man whose character has always been excellent, and who was in a fair way to make his fortune. He worked in yourhusband's old factory, " added Monsieur de Grandville, turning toMadame Graslin. 

"What is his name?" asked Veronique, in a weak voice. 

"Jean-Francois Tascheron. "

"Unhappy man!" she answered. "Yes, I have often seen him; my poorfather recommended him to my care as some one to be looked after. "

"He left the factory before Sauviat's death, " said her mother, "andwent to that of Messrs. Philippart, who offered him higher wages-- Butmy daughter is scarcely well enough for this exciting conversation, "she added, calling attention to Madame Graslin, whose face was aswhite as her sheets. 

After that evening Mere Sauviat gave up her own home, and came, inspite of her sixty-six years, to stay with her daughter and nurse herthrough her confinement. She never left the room; Madame Graslin'sfriends found the old woman always at the bed's head busy with hereternal knitting, --brooding over Veronique as she did when the girlhad the small-pox, answering questions for her and often refusing toadmit visitors. The maternal and filial love of mother and daughterwas so well known in Limoges that these actions of Madame Sauviatcaused no comment. 

A few days later, when the viscount, thinking to amuse the invalid, began to relate details which the whole town were eagerly demandingabout Jean-Francois Tascheron, Madame Sauviat again stopped himhastily, declaring that he would give her daughter bad dreams. Veronique, however, looking fixedly at Monsieur de Grandville, askedhim to finish what he was saying. Thus her friends, and she herself, were the first to know the results of the preliminary inquiry, whichwould soon be made public. The following is a brief epitome of thefacts on which the indictment found against the prisoner was based. 

Jean-Francois Tascheron was the son of a small farmer burdened with afamily, who lived in the village of Montegnac. 

Twenty years before this crime, which was famous throughout theLimousin, the canton of Montegnac was known for its evil ways. Thesaying was proverbial in Limoges that out of one hundred criminals inthe department fifty belonged to the arrondissement of Montegnac. Since 1816, however, two years after a priest named Bonnet was sentthere as rector, it had lost its bad reputation, and the inhabitantsno longer sent their heavy contingent to the assizes. This change waswidely attributed to the influence acquired by the rector, MonsieurBonnet, over a community which had lately been a hotbed forevil-minded persons whose actions dishonored the whole region. Thecrime of Jean-Francois Tascheron brought back upon Montegnac itsformer ill-savor. 

By a curious trick of chance, the Tascherons were almost the onlyfamily in this village community who had retained through its evilperiod the old rigid morals and religious habits which are noticed bythe observers of to-day to be rapidly disappearing throughout thecountry districts. This family had therefore formed a point ofreliance to the rector, who naturally bore it on his heart. TheTascherons, remarkable for their uprightness, their union, their loveof work, had never given other than good examples to Jean-Francois. Induced by the praiseworthy ambition of earning his living by a trade, the lad had left his native village, to the regret of his parents andfriends, who greatly loved him, and had come to Limoges. During histwo years' apprenticeship in a porcelain factory, his conduct wasworthy of all praise; no apparent ill-conduct had led up to thehorrible crime which was now to end his life. On the contrary, Jean-Francois Tascheron had given the time which other workmen werein the habit of spending in wine-shops and debauchery to study andself-improvement. 

The most searching and minute inquiry on the part of the provincialauthorities (who have plenty of time on their hands) failed to throwany light on the secrets of the young man's life. When the mistress ofthe humble lodging-house in which he lived was questioned she said shehad never had a lodger whose moral conduct was as blameless. He wasnaturally amiable and gentle, and sometimes gay. About a year beforethe commission of the crime, his habits changed: he slept away fromhome several times a month and often for consecutive nights; but whereshe did not know, though she thought, from the state of his shoes whenhe returned, that he must have been into the country. She noticed thatalthough he appeared to have left the town, he never wore his heavyboots, but always a pair of light shoes. He shaved before starting, and put on clean linen. Hearing this, the police turned theirattention to houses of ill-fame and questionable resorts; butJean-Francois Tascheron was found to be wholly unknown among them. Theauthorities then made a search through the working-girl and _grisette_class; but none of these women had had relations with the accused. 

A crime without a motive is unheard of, especially in a young manwhose desire for education and whose laudable ambition gave him higherideas and a superior judgment to that of other workmen. The police andthe examining justice, finding themselves balked in the abovedirections, attributed the murder to a passion for gambling; but afterthe most searching inquiries it was proved that Tascheron never playedcards. 

At first Jean-Francois entrenched himself in a system of flat denials, which, of course, in presence of a jury, would fall before proof; theyseemed to show the collusion of some person either well versed in lawor gifted with an intelligent mind. The following are the chief proofsthe prosecution were prepared to present, and they are, as isfrequently the case in trials for murder, both important and trifling;to wit:--

The absence of Tascheron during the night of the crime, and hisrefusal to say where he was, for the accused did not offer to set upan alibi; a fragment of his blouse, torn off by the servant-woman inthe struggle, found close by on a tree to which the wind had carriedit; his presence that evening near Pingret's house, which was noticedby passers and by persons living in the neighborhood, though it mightnot have been remembered unless for the crime; a false key made byTascheron which fitted the door opening to the fields; this key wasfound carefully buried two feet below one of the miser's holes, whereMonsieur des Vanneaulx, digging deep to make sure there was notanother layer of treasure-pots, chanced to find it; the police, aftermany researches, found the different persons who had furnishedTascheron with the iron, loaned him the vice, and given him the file, with which the key was presumably made. 

The key was the first real clue. It put the police on the track ofTascheron, whom they arrested on the frontiers of the department, in awood where he was awaiting the passage of a diligence. An hour laterhe would have started for America. 

Besides all this, and in spite of the care with which certainfootmarks in the ploughed field and on the mud of the road had beeneffaced and covered up, the searchers had found in several places theimprint of shoes, which they carefully measured and described, andwhich were afterwards found to correspond with the soles ofTascheron's shoes taken from his lodgings. This fatal proof confirmedthe statement of the landlady. The authorities now attributed thecrime to some foreign influence, and not to the man's personalintention; they believed he had accomplices, basing this idea on theimpossibility of one man carrying away the buried money; for howeverstrong he might be, no man could carry twenty-five thousand francs ingold to any distance. If each pot contained, as it was supposed tohave done, about that sum, this would have required four trips to andfrom the clover-patch. Now, a singular circumstance went far to provethe hour at which the crime was committed. In the terror JeanneMalassis must have felt on hearing her master's cries, she knockedover, as she rose, the table at her bedside, on which lay her watch, the only present the miser had given her in five years. The mainspringwas broken by the shock, and the hands had stopped at two in themorning. By the middle of March (the date of the murder) daylightdawns between five and six o'clock. To whatever distance the gold hadbeen carried, Tascheron could not possibly, under any apparenthypothesis, have transported it alone. 

The care with which some of the footsteps were effaced, while others, to which Tascheron's shoes fitted, remained, certainly pointed to somemysterious assistant. Forced into hypotheses, the authorities oncemore attributed the crime to a desperate passion; not finding anytrace of the object of such a passion in the lower classes, they beganto look higher. Perhaps some bourgeoise, sure of the discretion of aman who had the face and bearing of a hero, had been drawn into aromance the outcome of which was crime. 

This supposition was to some extent justified by the facts of themurder. The old man had been killed by blows with a spade; evidently, therefore, the murder was sudden, unpremeditated, fortuitous. Thelovers might have planned the robbery, but not the murder. The loverand the miser, Tascheron and Pingret, each under the influence of hismaster passion, must have met by the buried hoards, both drawn thitherby the gleaming of gold on the utter darkness of that fatal night. 

In order to obtain, if possible, some light on this lattersupposition, the authorities arrested and kept in solitary confinementa sister of Jean-Francois, to whom he was much attached, hoping toobtain through her some clue to the mystery of her brother's privatelife. Denise Tascheron took refuge in total denial of any knowledgewhatever, which gave rise to a suspicion that she did know somethingof the causes of the crime, although in fact she knew nothing. 

The accused himself showed points of character that were rare amongstthe peasantry. He baffled the cleverest police-spies employed againsthim, without knowing their real character. To the leading minds of themagistracy his guilt seemed caused by the influence of passion, andnot by necessity or greed, as in the case of ordinary murderers, whousually pass through stages of crime and punishment before they committhe supreme deed. Active and careful search was made in following upthis idea; but the uniform discretion of the prisoner gave no cluewhatever to his prosecutors. The plausible theory of his attachment toa woman of the upper classes having once been admitted, Jean-Francoiswas subjected to the most insidious examination upon it; but hiscaution triumphed over all the moral tortures the examining judgeapplied to him. When, making a final effort, that official told himthat the person for whom he had committed the crime was discovered andarrested, his face did not change, and he replied ironically:--

"I should very much like to see him. "

When the public were informed of these circumstances, many personsadopted the suspicions of the magistrates, which seemed to beconfirmed by Tascheron's savage obstinacy in giving no account ofhimself. Increased interest was felt in a young man who was now aproblem. It is easy to see how these elements kept public curiosity onthe _qui vive_, and with what eager interest the trial would befollowed. But in spite of every effort on the part of the police, theprosecution stopped short on the threshold of hypothesis; it did notventure to go farther into the mystery where all was obscurity anddanger. In certain judicial cases half-certainties are not sufficientfor the judges to proceed upon. Nevertheless the case was ordered fortrial, in hopes that the truth would come to the surface when the casewas brought into court, an ordeal under which many criminalscontradict themselves. 

Monsieur Graslin was one of the jury; so that either through herhusband or through Monsieur de Grandville, the public prosecutor, Veronique knew all the details of the criminal trial which, for afortnight, kept the department, and we may say all France, in a stateof excitement. The attitude maintained by the accused seemed tojustify the theory of the prosecution. More than once when the courtopened, his eyes turned upon the brilliant assemblage of women whocame to find emotions in a real drama, as though he sought for someone. Each time that the man's glance, clear, but impenetrable, sweptalong those elegant ranks, a movement was perceptible, a sort ofshock, as though each woman feared she might appear his accompliceunder the inquisitorial eyes of judge and prosecutor. 

The hitherto useless efforts of the prosecution were now made public, also the precautions taken by the criminal to ensure the success ofhis crime. It was shown that Jean-Francois Tascheron had obtained apassport for North America some months before the crime was committed. Thus the plan of leaving France was fully formed; the object of hispassion must therefore be a married woman; for he would have no reasonto flee the country with a young girl. Possibly the crime had this oneobject in view, namely, to obtain sufficient means to support thisunknown woman in comfort. 

The prosecution had found no passport issued to a woman for NorthAmerica. In case she had obtained one in Paris, the registers of thatcity were searched, also those of the towns contingent to Limoges, butwithout result. All the shrewdest minds in the community followed thecase with deep attention. While the more virtuous dames of thedepartment attributed the wearing of pumps on a muddy road (aninexplicable circumstance in the ordinary lives of such shoes) to thenecessity of noiselessly watching old Pingret, the men pointed outthat pumps were very useful in silently passing through a house--upstairways and along corridors--without discovery. 

So Jean-Francois Tascheron and his mistress (by this time she wasyoung, beautiful, romantic, for every one made a portrait of her) hadevidently intended to escape with only one passport, to which theywould forge the additional words, "and wife. " The card tables weredeserted at night in the various social salons, and malicious tonguesdiscussed what women were known in March, 1829, to have gone to Paris, and what others could be making, openly or secretly, preparations fora journey. Limoges might be said to be enjoying its Fualdes trial, with an unknown and mysterious Madame Manson for an additionalexcitement. Never was any provincial town so stirred to its depths asLimoges after each day's session. Nothing was talked of but the trial, all the incidents of which increased the interest felt for theaccused, whose able answers, learnedly taken up, turned and twistedand commented upon, gave rise to ample discussions. When one of thejurors asked Tascheron why he had taken a passport for America, theman replied that he had intended to establish a porcelain manufactoryin that country. Thus, without committing himself to any line ofdefence, he covered his accomplice, leaving it to be supposed that thecrime was committed, if at all, to obtain funds for this businessventure. 

In the midst of such excitement it was impossible for Veronique'sfriends to refrain from discussing in her presence the progress of thecase and the reticence of the criminal. Her health was extremelyfeeble; but the doctor having advised her going out into the freshair, she had on one occasion taken her mother's arm and walked as faras Madame Sauviat's house in the country, where she rested. On herreturn she endeavored to keep about until her husband came to hisdinner, which she always served him herself. On this occasion Graslin, being detained in the court-room, did not come in till eight o'clock. She went into the dining-room as usual, and was present at adiscussion which took place among a number of her friends who hadassembled there. 

"If my poor father were still living, " she remarked to them, "weshould know more about the matter; possibly this man might never havebecome a criminal. I think you have all taken a singular idea aboutthe matter. You insist that love is at the bottom of the crime, and Iagree with you there; but why do you think this unknown person is amarried woman? He may have loved some young girl whose father andmother would not let her marry him. "

"A young girl could, sooner or later, have married him legitimately, "replied Monsieur de Grandville. "Tascheron has no lack of patience; hehad time to make sufficient means to support her while awaiting thetime when all girls are at liberty to marry against the wishes oftheir parents; he need not have committed a crime to obtain her. "

"I did not know that a girl could marry in that way, " said MadameGraslin; "but how is it that in a town like this, where all things areknown, and where everybody sees everything that happens to hisneighbor, not the slightest clue to this woman has been obtained? Inorder to love, persons must see each other and consequently be seen. What do you really think, you magistrates?" she added, plunging afixed look into the eyes of the _procureur-general_. 

"We think that the woman belongs to the bourgeois or the commercialclass. "

"I don't agree with you, " said Madame Graslin. "A woman of that classdoes not have elevated sentiments. "

This reply drew all eyes on Veronique, and the whole company waitedfor an explanation of so paradoxical a speech. 

"During the hours I lie awake at night I have not been able to keep mymind from dwelling on this mysterious affair, " she said slowly, "and Ithink I have fathomed Tascheron's motive. I believe the person heloves is a young girl, because a married woman has interests, if notfeelings, which partly fill her heart and prevent her from yielding socompletely to a great passion as to leave her home. There is such athing as a love proceeding from passion which is half maternal, and tome it is evident that this man was loved by a woman who wished to behis prop, his Providence. She must have put into her passion somethingof the genius that inspires the work of artists and poets, thecreative force which exists in woman under another form; for it is hermission to create men, not things. Our works are our children; ourchildren are the pictures, books, and statues of our lives. Are we notartists in their earliest education? I say that this unknown woman, ifshe is not a young girl, has never been a mother but is filled withthe maternal instinct; she has loved this man to form him, to develophim. It needs a feminine element in you men of law to detect theseshades of motive, which too often escape you. If I had been yourdeputy, " she said, looking straight at the _procureur-general_, "Ishould have found the guilty woman, if indeed there is any guilt aboutit. I agree with the Abbe Dutheil that these lovers meant to fly toAmerica with the money of old Pingret. The theft led to the murder bythe fatal logic which the punishment of death inspires. And so, " sheadded with an appealing look at Monsieur de Grandville, "I think itwould be merciful in you to abandon the theory of premeditation, forin so doing you would save the man's life. He is evidently a fine manin spite of his crime; he might, perhaps, repair that crime by a greatrepentance if you gave him time. The works of repentance ought tocount for something in the judgment of the law. In these days is therenothing better for a human being to do than to give his life, orbuild, as in former times, a cathedral of Milan, to expiate hiscrimes?"

"Your ideas are noble, madame, " said Monsieur de Grandville, "but, premeditation apart, Tascheron would still be liable to the penalty ofdeath on account of the other serious and proved circumstancesattending the crime, --such as forcible entrance and burglary atnight. "

"Then you think that he will certainly be found guilty?" she said, lowering her eyelids. 

"I am certain of it, " he said; "the prosecution has a strong case. "

A slight tremor rustled Madame Graslin's dress. 

"I feel cold, " she said. Taking her mother's arm she went to bed. 

"She seemed quite herself this evening, " said her friends. 

The next day Veronique was much worse and kept her bed. When herphysician expressed surprise at her condition she said, smiling:--

"I told you that that walk would do me no good. "

Ever since the opening of the trial Tascheron's demeanor had beenequally devoid of hypocrisy or bravado. Veronique's physician, intending to divert his patient's mind, tried to explain thisdemeanor, which the man's defenders were making the most of. Theprisoner was misled, said the doctor, by the talents of his lawyer, and was sure of acquittal; at times his face expressed a hope that wasgreater than that of merely escaping death. The antecedents of the man(who was only twenty-three years old) were so at variance with thecrime now charged to him that his legal defenders claimed his presentbearing to be a proof of innocence; besides, the overwhelmingcircumstantial proofs of the theory of the prosecution were made toappear so weak by his advocate that the man was buoyed up by thelawyer's arguments. To save his client's life the lawyer made the mostof the evident want of premeditation; hypothetically he admitted thepremeditation of the robbery but not of the murders, which wereevidently (no matter who was the guilty party) the result of twounexpected struggles. Success, the doctor said, was really as doubtfulfor one side as for the other. 

After this visit of her physician Veronique received that of the_procureur-general_, who was in the habit of coming in every morningon his way to the court-room. 

"I have read the arguments of yesterday, " she said to him, "andto-day, as I suppose, the evidence for the defence begins. I am sointerested in that man that I should like to have him saved. Couldn'tyou for once in your life forego a triumph? Let his lawyer beat you. Come, make me a present of the man's life, and perhaps you shall havemine some day. The able presentation of the defence by Tascheron'slawyer really raises a strong doubt, and--"

"Why, you are quite agitated, " said the viscount somewhat surprised. 

"Do you know why?" she answered. "My husband has just remarked a mosthorrible coincidence, which is really enough in the present state ofmy nerves, to cause my death. If you condemn this man to death it willbe on the very day when I shall give birth to my child. "

"But I can't change the laws, " said the lawyer. 

"Ah! you don't know how to love, " she retorted, closing her eyes; thenshe turned her head on the pillow and made him an imperative sign toleave the room. 

Monsieur Graslin pleaded strongly but in vain with his fellow-jurymenfor acquittal, giving a reason which some of them adopted; a reasonsuggested by his wife:--

"If we do not condemn this man to death, but allow him to live, thedes Vanneaulx will in the end recover their property. "

This weighty argument made a division of the jury, into five forcondemnation against seven for acquittal, which necessitated an appealto the court; but the judge sided with the minority. According to thelegal system of that day this action led to a verdict of guilty. Whensentence was passed upon him Tascheron flew into a fury which wasnatural enough in a man full of life and strength, but which the courtand jury and lawyers and spectators had rarely witnessed in personswho were thought to be unjustly condemned. 

 VI

 DISCUSSIONS AND CHRISTIAN SOLICITUDES

In spite of the verdict, the drama of this crime did not seem over sofar as the community was concerned. So complicated a case gave rise, as usually happens under such circumstances, to two sets ofdiametrically opposite opinions as to the guilt of the hero, whom somedeclared to be an innocent and ill-used victim, and others the worstof criminals. 

The liberals held for Tascheron's innocence, less from conviction thanfor the satisfaction of opposing the government. 

"What an outrage, " they said, "to condemn a man because his footprintis the size of another man's footprint; or because he will not tellyou where he spent the night, as if all young men would not rather diethan compromise a woman. They prove he borrowed tools and bought iron, but have they proved he made that key? They find a bit of blue linenhanging to the branch of a tree, possibly put there by old Pingrethimself to scare the crows, though it happens to match a tear inTascheron's blouse. Is a man's life to depend on such things as these?Jean-Francois denies everything, and the prosecution has not produceda single witness who saw the crime or anything relating to it. "

They talked over, enlarged upon, and paraphrased the arguments of thedefence. "Old Pingret! what was he?--a cracked money box!" said thestrong-minded. A few of the more determined progressists, denying thesacred laws of property, which the Saint-Simonians were alreadyattacking under their abstract theories of political economy, wentfurther. 

"Pere Pingret, " they said, "was the real author of the crime. Byhoarding his gold that man robbed the nation. What enterprises mighthave been made fruitful by his useless money! He had barred the way ofindustry, and was justly punished. "

They pitied the poor murdered servant-woman, but Denise, Tascheron'ssister, who resisted the wiles of lawyers and did not give a singleanswer at the trial without long consideration of what she ought tosay, excited the deepest interest. She became in their minds a figureto be compared (though in another sense) with Jeannie Deans, whosepiety, grace, modesty and beauty she possessed. 

Francois Tascheron continued, therefore, to excite the curiosity ofnot only all the town but all the department, and a few romantic womenopenly testified their admiration for him. 

"If there is really in all this a love for some woman high above him, "they said, "then he is surely no ordinary man, and you will see thathe will die well. "

The question, "Will he speak out, --will he not speak?" gave rise tomany a bet. 

Since the burst of rage with which Tascheron received his sentence, and which was so violent that it might have been fatal to personsabout him in the court-room if the gendarmes had not been there tomaster him, the condemned man threatened all who came near him withthe fury of a wild beast; so that the jailers were obliged to put himinto a straight-jacket, as much to protect his life as their own fromthe effects of his anger. Prevented by that controlling power fromdoing violence, Tascheron gave vent to his despair by convulsive jerkswhich horrified his guardians, and by words and looks which themiddle-ages would have attributed to demoniacal possession. He was soyoung that many women thought pitifully of a life so full of passionabout to be cut off forever. "The Last Day of a Condemned Man, " thatmournful elegy, that useless plea against the penalty of death (themainstay of society!), which had lately been published, as ifexpressly to meet this case, was the topic of all conversations. 

But, above all, in the mind of every one, stood that invisible unknownwoman, her feet in blood, raised aloft by the trial as it were on apedestal, --torn, no doubt, by horrible inward anguish and condemned toabsolute silence within her home. Who was this Medea whom the publicwell-nigh admired, --the woman with that impenetrable brow, that whitebreast covering a heart of steel? Perhaps she was the sister or thecousin or the daughter or the wife of this one or of that one amongthem! Alarm seemed to creep into the bosom of families. As Napoleonfinely said, it is especially in the domain of the imagination thatthe power of the Unknown is immeasurable. 

As for the hundred thousand francs stolen from Monsieur and Madame desVanneaulx no efforts of the police could find them; and the obstinatesilence of the criminal gave no clue. Monsieur de Grandville tried thecommon means of holding out hopes of commutation of the sentence incase of confession; but when he went to see the prisoner and suggestit the latter received him with such furious cries and epilepticcontortions, such rage at being powerless to take him by the throat, that he could do nothing. 

The law could only look to the influence of the Church at the lastmoment. The des Vanneaulx had frequently consulted with the AbbePascal, chaplain of the prison. This priest was not without thefaculty of making prisoners listen to him, and he religiously bravedTascheron's violence, trying to get in a few words amid the storms ofthat powerful nature in convulsion. But this struggle of spiritualfatherhood against the hurricane of unchained passions, overcame thepoor abbe completely. 

"The man has had his paradise here below, " said the old man, in hisgentle voice. 

Little Madame des Vanneaulx consulted her friends as to whether sheought to try a visit herself to the criminal. Monsieur des Vanneaulxtalked of offering terms. In his anxiety to recover the money heactually went to Monsieur de Grandville and asked for the pardon ofhis uncle's murderer if the latter would make restitution of thehundred thousand francs. The _procureur-general_ replied that themajesty of the crown did not stoop to such compromises. 

The des Vanneaulx then had recourse to the lawyer who had defendedTascheron, and to him they offered ten per cent of whatever sum hecould recover. This lawyer was the only person before whom Tascheronwas not violent. The heirs authorized him to offer the prisoner anadditional ten per cent to be paid to his family. In spite of allthese inducements and his own eloquence, the lawyer could obtainnothing whatever from his client. The des Vanneaulx were furious; theyanathematized the unhappy man. 

"He is not only a murderer, but he has no sense of decency, " criedMadame des Vanneaulx (ignorant of Fualdes' famous complaint), when shereceived word of the failure of the Abbe Pascal's efforts, and wastold there was no hope of a reversal of the sentence by the court ofappeals. 

"What good will our money do him in the place he is going to?" saidher husband. "Murder can be conceived of, but useless theft isinconceivable. What days we live in, to be sure! To think that peoplein good society actually take an interest in such a wretch!"

"He has no honor, " said Madame des Vanneaulx. 

"But perhaps the restitution would compromise the woman he loves, "said an old maid. 

"We would keep his secret, " returned Monsieur des Vanneaulx. 

"Then you would be compounding a felony, " remarked a lawyer. 

"Oh, the villain!" was Monsieur des Vanneaulx's usual conclusion. 

One of Madame Graslin's female friends related to her with muchamusement these discussions of the des Vanneaulx. This lady, who wasvery intelligent, and one of those persons who form ideals and desirethat all things should attain perfection, regretted the violence andsavage temper of the condemned; she would rather he had been cold andcalm and dignified, she said. 

"Do you not see, " replied Veronique, "that he is thus avoiding theirtemptations and foiling their efforts? He is making himself a wildbeast for a purpose. "

"At any rate, " said the lady, "he is not a well-bred man; he is only aworkman. "

"If he had been a well-bred man, " said Madame Graslin, "he would soonhave sacrificed that unknown woman. "

These events, discussed and turned and twisted in every salon, everyhousehold, commented on in a score of ways, stripped bare by thecleverest tongues in the community, gave, of course, a cruel interestto the execution of the criminal, whose appeal was rejected after twomonths' delay by the upper court. What would probably be his demeanorin his last moments? Would he speak out? Would he contradict himself?How would the bets be decided? Who would go to see him executed, andwho would not go, and how could it be done? The position of thelocalities, which in Limoges spares a criminal the anguish of a longdistance to the scaffold, lessens the number of spectators. The lawcourts which adjoin the prison stand at the corner of the rue duPalais and the rue du Pont-Herisson. The rue du Palais is continued ina straight line by the short rue de Monte-a-Regret, which leads to theplace des Arenes, where the executions take place, and which probablyowes its name to that circumstances. There is therefore but littledistance to go, few houses to pass, and few windows to look from. Noperson in good society would be willing to mingle in the crowd whichwould fill the streets. 

But the expected execution was, to the great astonishment of the wholetown, put off from day to day for the following reason:--

The repentance and resignation of great criminals on their way todeath is one of the triumphs which the Church reserves for itself, --atriumph which seldom misses its effect on the popular mind. Repentanceis so strong a proof of the power of religious ideas--taken apart fromall Christian interest, though that, of course, is the chief object ofthe Church--that the clergy are always distressed by a failure on suchoccasions. In July, 1829, such a failure was aggravated by the spiritof party which envenomed every detail in the life of the body politic. The liberal party rejoiced in the expectation that the priest-party (aterm invented by Montlosier, a royalist who went over to theconstitutionals, and was dragged by them far beyond his wishes), --thatthe priests would fail on so public an occasion before the eyes of thepeople. Parties _en masse_ commit infamous actions which would cover asingle man with shame and opprobrium; therefore when one man alonestands in his guilt before the eyes of the masses, he becomes aRobespierre, a Jeffries, a Laubardemont, a species of expiatory altaron which all secret guilts hang their _ex-votos_. 

The authorities, sympathizing with the Church, delayed the execution, partly in the hope of gaining some conclusive information forthemselves, and partly to allow religion an opportunity to prevail. 

Nevertheless, their power was not unlimited, and the sentence mustsooner or later be carried out. The same liberals who, out of mereopposition, had declared Tascheron innocent, and who had done theirbest to break down the verdict, now clamored because the sentence wasnot executed. When the opposition is consistent it invariably fallsinto such unreasonableness, because its object is not to have right onits own side, but to harass the authorities and put them in the wrong. 

Accordingly, about the beginning of August, the government officialsfelt their hand forced by that clamor, so often stupid, called "publicopinion. " The day for the execution was named. In this extremity theAbbe Dutheil took upon himself to propose to the bishop a lastresource, the adoption of which caused the introduction into thisjudicial drama of a remarkable personage, who serves as a bond betweenall the figures brought upon the scene of it, and who, by waysfamiliar to Providence, was destined to lead Madame Graslin along apath where her virtues were to shine with greater brilliancy as anoble benefactress and an angelic Christian woman. 

The episcopal palace at Limoges stands on a hill which slopes to thebanks of the Vienne; and its gardens, supported by strong walls toppedwith a balustrade, descend to the river by terrace after terrace, according to the natural lay of the land. The rise of this hill issuch that the suburb of Saint-Etienne on the opposite bank seems tolie at the foot of the lower terrace. From there, according to thedirection in which a person walks, the Vienne can be seen either in along stretch or directly across it, in the midst of a fertilepanorama. On the west, after the river leaves the embankment of theepiscopal gardens, it turns toward the town in a graceful curve whichwinds around the suburb of Saint-Martial. At a short distance beyondthat suburb is a pretty country house called Le Cluseau, the walls ofwhich can be seen from the lower terrace of the bishop's palace, appearing, by an effect of distance, to blend with the steeples of thesuburb. Opposite to Le Cluseau is the sloping island, covered withpoplar and other trees, which Veronique in her girlish youth had namedthe Ile de France. To the east the distance is closed by anampitheatre of hills. 

The magic charm of the site and the rich simplicity of the buildingmake this episcopal palace one of the most interesting objects in atown where the other edifices do not shine, either through choice ofmaterial or architecture. 

Long familiarized with the aspects which commend these gardens to alllovers of the picturesque, the Abbe Dutheil, who had induced the Abbede Grancour to accompany him, descended from terrace to terrace, paying no attention to the ruddy colors, the orange tones, the violettints, which the setting sun was casting on the old walls andbalustrades of the gardens, on the river beneath them, and, in thedistance, on the houses of the town. He was in search of the bishop, who was sitting on the lower terrace under a grape-vine arbor, wherehe often came to take his dessert and enjoy the charm of a tranquilevening. The poplars on the island seemed at this moment to divide thewaters with the lengthening shadow of their yellowing heads, to whichthe sun was lending the appearance of a golden foliage. The settingrays, diversely reflected on masses of different greens, produced amagnificent harmony of melancholy tones. At the farther end of thevalley a sheet of sparkling water ruffled by the breeze brought outthe brown stretch of roofs in the suburb of Saint-Etienne. Thesteeples and roofs of Saint-Martial, bathed in light, showed throughthe tracery of the grape-vine arbor. The soft murmur of the provincialtown, half hidden by the bend of the river, the sweetness of the balmyair, all contributed to plunge the prelate into the condition ofquietude prescribed by medical writers on digestion; seemingly hiseyes were resting mechanically on the right bank of the river, justwhere the long shadows of the island poplars touched it on the sidetoward Saint-Etienne, near the field where the twofold murder of oldPingret and his servant had been committed. But when his momentaryfelicity was interrupted by the arrival of the two grand vicars, andthe difficulties they brought to him to solve, it was seen his eyeswere filled with impenetrable thoughts. The two priests attributedthis abstraction to the fact of being bored, whereas, on the contrary, the prelate was absorbed in seeing in the sands of the Vienne thesolution of the enigma then so anxiously sought for by the officers ofjustice, the des Vanneaulx, and the community at large. 

"Monsieur, " said the Abbe de Grancour, approaching the bishop, "it isall useless; we shall certainly have the distress of seeing thatunhappy Tascheron die an unbeliever. He vociferates the most horribleimprecations against religion; he insults that poor Abbe Pascal; hespits upon the crucifix; and means to die denying all, even hell. "

"He will shock the populace on the scaffold, " said the Abbe Dutheil. "The great scandal and horror his conduct will excite may hide ourdefeat and powerlessness. In fact, as I have just been saying toMonsieur de Grancour, this very spectacle may drive other sinners intothe arms of the Church. "

Troubled by these words, the bishop laid down upon a rustic woodentable the bunch of grapes at which he was picking, and wiped hisfingers as he made a sign to the two grand vicars to be seated. 

"The Abbe Pascal did not take a wise course, " he said. 

"He is actually ill in his bed from the effects of his last scene withthe man, " said the Abbe de Grancour. "If it were not for that we mightget him to explain more clearly the difficulties that have defeatedall the various efforts monseigneur ordered him to make. "

"The condemned man sings obscene songs at the highest pitch of hisvoice as soon as he sees any one of us, so as to drown out every wordwe try to say to him, " said a young priest who was sitting beside thebishop. 

This young man, who was gifted with a charming personality, had hisright arm resting on the table, while his white hand droppednegligently on the bunches of grapes, seeking the ripest, with theease and assurance of an habitual guest or favorite. He was both tothe prelate, being the younger brother of Baron Eugene de Rastignac, to whom ties of family and also of affection had long bound the Bishopof Limoges. Aware of the want of fortune which devoted this young manto the Church, the bishop took him as his private secretary to givehim time to wait for eventual preferment. The Abbe Gabriel bore a namewhich would lead him sooner or later to the highest dignities of theChurch. 

"Did you go to see him, my son?" asked the bishop. 

"Yes, Monseigneur. As soon as I entered his cell the wretched manhurled the most disgusting epithets at you and at me. He behaved insuch a manner that it was impossible for any priest to remain in hispresence. Might I give Monseigneur a word of advice?"

"Let us listen to the words of wisdom which God Almighty sometimesputs into the mouths of children, " said the bishop, smiling. 

"Well, you know he made Balaam's ass speak out, " said the young abbequickly. 

"But according to some commentators she did not know what she wassaying, " replied the bishop, laughing. 

The two grand vicars smiled. In the first place, the joke came fromMonseigneur; next, it bore gently on the young abbe, of whom thedignitaries and other ambitious priests grouped around the bishop weresomewhat jealous. 

"My advice would be, " resumed the young man, "to ask Monsieur deGrandville to reprieve the man for the present. When Tascheron knowsthat he owes an extension of his life to our intercession, he maypretend to listen to us, and if he listens--"

"He will persist in his present conduct, finding that it has won himthat advantage, " said the bishop, interrupting his favorite. "Messieurs, " he said, after a moment's silence, "does the whole townknow of these details?"

"There is not a household in which they are not talked over, " said theAbbe de Grancour. "The state in which our good Abbe Pascal was put byhis last efforts is the present topic of conversation throughout thetown. "

"When is Tascheron to be executed?" asked the bishop. 

"To-morrow, which is market-day"; replied Monsieur de Grancour. 

"Messieurs, " exclaimed the bishop, "religion must not be overset inthis way. The more public attention is attracted to the matter, themore I am determined to obtain a notable triumph. The Church is now inpresence of a great difficulty. We are called upon to do miracles inthis manufacturing town, where the spirit of sedition againstreligious and monarchical principles has such deep root, where thesystem of inquiry born of protestantism (which in these days callsitself liberalism, prepared at any moment to take another name)extends into everything. Go at once to Monsieur de Grandville; he iswholly on our side, and say to him from me that we beg for a few days'reprieve. I will go myself and see that unhappy man. "

"You, Monseigneur!" said the Abbe de Rastignac. "If you should fail, wouldn't that complicate matters? You ought not to go unless you arecertain of success. "

"If Monseigneur will permit me to express my opinion, " said the AbbeDutheil, "I think I can suggest a means which may bring victory toreligion in this sad case. "

The prelate answered with a sign of assent, so coldly given as to showhow little credit he gave to his vicar-general. 

"If any one can influence that rebellious soul and bring it back toGod, " continued the Abbe Dutheil, "it is the rector of the village inwhich he was born, Monsieur Bonnet. "

"One of your proteges, " remarked the bishop. 

"Monseigneur, Monsieur Bonnet is one of those men who protectthemselves, both by their active virtues and their gospel work. "

This simple and modest reply was received in a silence which wouldhave embarrassed any other man than the Abbe Dutheil. The threepriests chose to see in it one of those hidden and unanswerablesarcasms which are characteristic of ecclesiastics, who contrive toexpress what they want to say while observing the strictest decorum. In this case there was nothing of the kind. The Abbe Dutheil neverthought of himself and had no double meaning. 

"I have heard of Saint Aristides for some time, " said the bishop, smiling. "If I have left his light under a bushel I may have beenunjust or prejudiced. Your liberals are always crying up MonsieurBonnet as though he belonged to their party. I should like to judgefor myself of this rural apostle. Go at once, messieurs, to Monsieurde Grandville, and ask for the reprieve; I will await his answerbefore sending our dear Abbe Gabriel to Montegnac to fetch the saintlyman. We will give his Blessedness a chance to do miracles. "

As he listened to these words of the prelate the Abbe Dutheilreddened; but he would not allow himself to take notice of theincivilities of the speech. The two grand vicars bowed in silence andwithdrew, leaving the prelate alone with his secretary. 

"The secrets of the confession we are so anxious to obtain from theunhappy man himself are no doubt buried there, " said the bishop to hisyoung abbe, pointing to the shadow of the poplars where it fell on alonely house between the island and Saint-Etienne. 

"I have always thought so, " replied Gabriel. "I am not a judge and Iwill not be an informer; but if I were a magistrate I should haveknown the name of that woman who trembles at every sound, at everyword, while forced to keep her features calm and serene under pain ofgoing to the scaffold with her lover. She has nothing to fear, however. I have seen the man; he will carry the secret of thatpassionate love to the grave with him. "

"Ah! you sly fellow!" said the bishop, twisting the ear of hissecretary as he motioned to the space between the island and thesuburb of Saint-Etienne which the last gleams of the setting sun wereilluminating, and on which the young abbe's eyes were fixed. "That isthe place where justice should have searched; don't you think so?"

"I went to see the criminal to try the effect of my suspicions uponhim, " replied the young man. "I could not speak them out, for fear ofcompromising the woman for whose sake he dies. "

"Yes, " said the bishop, "we will hold our tongues; we are not theservants of human justice. One head is enough. Besides, sooner orlater, the secret will be given to the Church. "

The perspicacity which the habit of meditation gives to priests is farsuperior to that of lawyers or the police. By dint of contemplatingfrom those terraces the scene of the crime, the prelate and hissecretary had ended by perceiving circumstances unseen by others, inspite of all the investigations before and during the trial of thecase. 

Monsieur de Grandville was playing whist at Madame Graslin's house; itwas necessary to await his return; the bishop did not thereforereceive his answer till nearly midnight. The Abbe Gabriel, to whom theprelate lent his carriage, started at two in the morning forMontegnac. This region, which begins about twenty-five miles from thetown, is situated in that part of the Limousin which lies at the baseof the mountains of the Correze and follows the line of the Creuze. The young abbe left Limoges all heaving with expectation of thespectacle on the morrow, and still unaware that it would not takeplace. 

 VII

 MONTEGNAC

Priests and religious devotees have a tendency in the matter ofpayments to keep strictly to the letter of the law. Is this frompoverty, or from the selfishness to which their isolation condemnsthem, thus encouraging the natural inclination of all men to avarice;or is it from a conscientious parsimony which saves all it can fordeeds of charity? Each nature will give a different answer to thisquestion. The difficulty of putting the hand into the pocket, sometimes concealed by a gracious kindliness, oftener unreservedlyexhibited, is more particularly noticeable in travelling. Gabriel deRastignac, the prettiest youth who had served before the altar formany a long day, gave only a thirty-sous _pour-boire_ to thepostilion. Consequently he travelled slowly. Postilions drive bishopsand other clergy with the utmost care when they merely double thelegal wage, and they run no risk of damaging the episcopal carriagefor any such sum, fearing, they might say, to get themselves intotrouble. The Abbe Gabriel, who was travelling alone for the firsttime, said, at each relay, in his dulcet voice:--

"Pray go faster, postilion. "

"We ply the whip, " replied an old postilion, "according to how thetraveller plies his finger and thumb. "

The young abbe flung himself back into a corner of the carriage unableto comprehend that answer. To occupy the time he began to study thecountry through which he was passing, making several mental excursionson foot among the hills through which the road winds between Bordeauxand Lyon. 

About fifteen miles from Limoges the landscape, losing the gracefulflow of the Vienne through the undulating meadows of the Limousin, which in certain places remind one of Switzerland, especially aboutSaint-Leonard, takes on a harsh and melancholy aspect. Here we comeupon vast tracts of uncultivated land, sandy plains without herbage, hemmed in on the horizon by the summits of the Correze. Thesemountains have neither the abrupt rise of the Alpine ranges nor theirsplendid ridges; neither the warm gorges and desolate peaks of theAppenines, nor the picturesque grandeur of the Pyrenees. Theirundulating slopes, due to the action of water, prove the subsidence ofsome great natural catastrophe in which the floods retired slowly. This characteristic, common to most of the earth convulsions inFrance, has perhaps contributed, together with the climate, to theepitaph of _douce_ bestowed by all Europe on our sunny France. 

Though this abrupt transition from the smiling landscapes of theLimousin to the sterner aspects of La Marche and Auvergne may offer tothe thinker and the poet, as he passes them on his way, an image ofthe Infinite, that terror of certain minds; though it incites torevelry the woman of the world, bored as she travels luxuriously inher carriage, --to the inhabitants of this region Nature is cruel, savage, and without resources. The soil of these great gray plains isthankless. The vicinity of a capital town could alone reproduce themiracle worked in Brie during the last two centuries. Here, however, not only is a town lacking, but also the great residences whichsometimes give life to these hopeless deserts, where civilizationlanguishes, where the agriculturist sees only barrenness, and thetraveller finds not a single inn, nor that which, perchance, he isthere to seek, --the picturesque. 

Great minds, however, do not dislike these barren wastes, necessaryshadows in Nature's vast picture. Quite recently Fenimore Cooper hasmagnificently developed with his melancholy genius the poesy of suchsolitudes, in his "Prairie. " These regions, unknown to botanists, covered by mineral refuse, round pebbles, and a sterile soil, castdefiance to civilization. France should adopt the only solution tothese difficulties, as the British have done in Scotland, wherepatient, heroic agriculture has changed the arid wastes into fertilefarms. Left in their savage and primitive state these uncultivatedsocial and natural wastes give birth to discouragement, laziness, weakness resulting from poor food, and crime when needs becomeimportunate. 

These few words present the past history of Montegnac. What could bedone in that great tract of barren land, neglected by the government, abandoned by the nobility, useless to industry, --what but war againstsociety which disregarded its duty? Consequently, the inhabitants ofMontegnac lived to a recent period, as the Highlands of Scotland livedin former times, by murder and rapine. From the mere aspect of thisregion a thinking man would understand how, twenty years earlier, theinhabitants were at war with society. The great upland plain, flankedon one side by the valley of the Vienne, on the other by the charmingvalleys of La Marche, then by Auvergne, and bounded by the mountainsof the Correze, is like (agriculture apart) the plateau of La Beauce, which separates the basin of the Loire from that of the Seine, alsolike those of Touraine and Berry, and many other of the great uplandplains which are cut like facets on the surface of France and arenumerous enough to claim the attention of the wisest administrators. It is amazing that while complaint is made of the influx of populationto the social centres, the government does not employ the naturalremedy of redeeming a region where, as statistics show, there are manymillion acres of waste land, certain parts of which, especially inBerry, have a soil from seven to eight feet deep. 

Many of these plains which might be covered by villages and madesplendidly productive belong to obstinate communes, the authorities ofwhich refuse to sell to those who would develop them, merely to keepthe right to pasture cows upon them! On all these useless, unproductive lands is written the word "Incapacity. " All soils havesome special fertility of their own. Arms and wills are ready; thething lacking is a sense of duty combined with talent on the part ofthe government. In France, up to the present time, these upland plainshave been sacrificed to the valleys; the government has chosen to giveall its help to those regions of country which can take care ofthemselves. 

Most of these luckless uplands are without water, the first essentialfor production. The mists which ought to fertilize the gray, dead soilby discharging oxygen upon it, sweep across it rapidly, driven by thewind, for want of trees which might arrest them and so obtain theirnourishment. Merely to plant trees in such a region would be carryinga gospel to it. Separated from the nearest town or city by a distanceas insurmountable to poor folk as though a desert lay between them, with no means of reaching a market for their products (if theyproduced anything), close to an unexplored forest which supplied themwith wood and the uncertain livelihood of poaching, the inhabitantsoften suffered from hunger during the winters. The soil not beingsuitable for wheat, and the unfortunate peasantry having neithercattle of any kind nor farming implements, they lived for the mostpart on chestnuts. 

Any one who has studied zoological productions in a museum, or becomepersonally aware of the indescribable depression caused by the browntones of all European products, will understand how the constant sightof these gray, arid plains must have affected the moral nature of theinhabitants, through the desolate sense of utter barrenness which theypresent to the eye. There, in those dismal regions, is neithercoolness nor brightness, nor shade nor contrast, --none of all thoseideas and spectacles of Nature which awaken and rejoice the heart;even a stunted apple-tree would be hailed as a friend. 

A country road, recently made, runs through the centre of this greatplain, and meets the high-road. Upon it, at a distance of some fifteenmiles from the high-road, stands Montegnac, at the foot of a hill, asits name designates, the chief town of a canton or district in theHaute-Vienne. The hill is part of Montegnac, which thus unites amountainous scenery with that of the plains. This district is aminiature Scotland, with its lowlands and highlands. Behind the hill, at the foot of which lies the village, rises, at a distance of aboutthree miles, the first peak of the Correze mountains. The spacebetween is covered by the great forest of Montegnac, which clothes thehill, extends over the valley, and along the slopes of the mountain(though these are bare in some places), continuing as far as thehighway to Aubusson, where it diminishes to a point near a steepembankment on that road. This embankment commands a ravine throughwhich the post-road between Bordeaux and Lyon passes. Travellers, either afoot or in carriages, were often stopped in the depths of thisdangerous gorge by highwaymen, whose deeds of violence wentunpunished, for the site favored them; they could instantly disappear, by ways known to them alone, into the inaccessible parts of theforest. 

Such a region was naturally out of reach of law. No one now travelledthrough it. Without circulation, neither commerce, industry, exchangeof ideas, nor any of the means to wealth, can exist; the materialtriumphs of civilization are always the result of the application ofprimitive ideas. Thought is invariably the point of departure and thegoal of all social existence. The history of Montegnac is a proof ofthat axiom of social science. When at last the administration was ableto concern itself with the needs and the material prosperity of thisregion of country, it cut down this strip of forest, and stationed adetachment of gendarmerie near the ravine, which escorted themail-coaches between the two relays; but, to the shame of thegendarmerie be it said, it was the gospel, and not the sword, therector Monsieur Bonnet, and not Corporal Chervin, who won a civilvictory by changing the morals of a population. This priest, filledwith Christian tenderness for the poor, hapless region, attempted toregenerate it, and succeeded in the attempt. 

After travelling for about an hour over these plains, alternatelystony and dusty, where the partridges flocked in tranquil coveys, their wings whirring with a dull, heavy sound as the carriage cametoward them, the Abbe Gabriel, like all other travellers on the sameroad, saw with satisfaction the roofs of Montegnac in the distance. Atthe entrance of the village was one of those curious post-relays whichare seen only in the remote parts of France. Its sign was an oak boardon which some pretentious postilion had carved the words, _Pauste ochevos_, blackening the letters with ink, and then nailing the boardby its four corners above the door of a wretched stable in which therewere no horses. The door, which was nearly always open, had a planklaid on the soil for its threshold, to protect the stable floor, whichwas lower than the road, from inundation when it rained. Thediscouraged traveller could see within worn-out, mildewed, and mendedharnesses, certain to break at a plunge of the horses. The horsesthemselves were hard at work in the fields, or anywhere but in thestable. If by any chance they happen to be in their stalls, they areeating; if they have finished eating, the postilion has gone to seehis aunt or his cousin, or is getting in the hay, or else he isasleep; no one can say where he is; the traveller has to wait till heis found, and he never comes till he has finished what he is about. When he does come he loses an immense amount of time looking for hisjacket and his whip, or putting the collars on his horses. Near by, atthe door of the post-house, a worthy woman is fuming even more thanthe traveller, in order to prevent the latter from complaining loudly. This is sure to be the wife of the post-master, whose husband is awayin the fields. 

The bishop's secretary left his carriage before a post-house of thiskind, the walls of which resembled a geographical map, while thethatched roof, blooming like a flower-garden, seemed to be giving waybeneath the weight of stone-crop. After begging the post-mistress tohave everything in readiness for his departure in an hour's time, theabbe asked the way to the parsonage. The good woman showed him a lanewhich led to the church, telling him the rectory was close beside it. 

While the young abbe followed this lane, which was full of stones andclosed on either side by hedges, the post-mistress questioned thepostilion. Since starting from Limoges each postilion had informed hissuccessor of the conjectures of the Limoges postilion as to themission of the bishop's messenger. While the inhabitants of the townwere getting out of bed and talking of the coming execution, a rumorspread among the country people that the bishop had obtained thepardon of the innocent man; and much was said about the mistakes towhich human justice was liable. If Jean-Francois was executed later, it was certain that he was regarded in the country regions as amartyr. 

After taking a few steps along the lane, reddened by the autumnleaves, and black with mulberries and damsons, the Abbe Gabriel turnedround with the instinctive impulse which leads us all to makeacquaintance with a region which we see for the first time, --a sort ofinstinctive physical curiosity shared by dogs and horses. 

The position of Montegnac was explained to him as his eyes rested onvarious little streams flowing down the hillsides and on a littleriver, along the bank of which runs the country road which connectsthe chief town of the arrondissement with the prefecture. Like all thevillages of this upland plain, Montegnac is built of earth baked inthe sun and moulded into square blocks. After a fire a house looks asif it had been built of brick. The roofs are of thatch. Poverty iseverywhere visible. 

Before the village lay several fields of potatoes, radishes, and rye, redeemed from the barren plain. On the slope of the hill wereirrigated meadows where the inhabitants raised horses, the famousLimousin breed, which is said to be a legacy of the Arabs when theydescended by the Pyrenees into France and were cut to pieces by thebattle-axes of the Franks under Charles Martel. The heights arebarren. A hot, baked, reddish soil shows a region where chestnutsflourish. The springs, carefully applied to irrigation, water themeadows only, nourishing the sweet, crisp grass, so fine and choice, which produces this race of delicate and high-strung horses, --notover-strong to bear fatigue, but showy, excellent for the country oftheir birth, though subject to changes if transplanted. A few mulberrytrees lately imported showed an intention of cultivating silk-worms. 

Like most of the villages in this world Montegnac had but one street, through which the high road passed. Nevertheless there was an upperand a lower Montegnac, reached by lanes going up or going down fromthe main street. A line of houses standing along the brow of the hillpresented the cheerful sight of terraced gardens, which were enteredby flights of steps from the main street. Some had their steps ofearth, others of pebbles; here and there old women were sitting onthem, knitting or watching children, and keeping up a conversationfrom the upper to the lower town across the usually peaceful street ofthe little village; thus rumors spread easily and rapidly inMontegnac. All the gardens, which were full of fruit-trees, cabbages, onions, and other vegetables, had bee-hives along their terraces. 

Another line of houses, running down from the main street to theriver, the course of which was outlined by thriving little fields ofhemp and the sorts of fruit trees which like moisture, lay parallelwith the upper town; some of the houses, that of the post-house, forinstance, were in a hollow, and were well-situated for certain kindsof work, such as weaving. Nearly all of them were shared bywalnut-trees, the tree _par excellence_ of strong soils. 

On this side of the main street at the end farthest from the greatplain was a dwelling-house, very much larger and better cared for thanthose in other parts of the village; around it were other housesequally well kept. This little hamlet, separated from the village byits gardens, was already called Les Tascherons, a name it keeps to thepresent day. 

The village itself mounted to very little, but thirty or more outlyingfarms belonged to it. In the valley, leading down to the river, irrigating channels like those of La Marche and Berry indicated theflow of water around the village by the green fringe of verdure aboutthem; Montegnac seemed tossed in their midst like a vessel at sea. When a house, an estate, a village, a region, passes from the wretchedcondition to a prosperous one, without becoming either rich orsplendid, life seems so easy, so natural to living beings, that thespectator may not at once suspect the enormous labor, infinite inpetty detail, grand in persistency like the toil buried in afoundation wall, in short, the forgotten labor on which the wholestructure rests. 

Consequently the scene that lay before him told nothing extraordinaryto the young Abbe Gabriel as his eye took in the charming landscape. He knew nothing of the state of the region before the arrival of therector, Monsieur Bonnet. The young man now went on a few steps andagain saw, several hundred feet above the gardens of the uppervillage, the church and the parsonage, which he had already seen froma distance confusedly mingled with the imposing ruins clothed withcreepers of the old castle of Montegnac, one of the residences of theNavarreins family in the twelfth century. 

The parsonage, a house originally built no doubt for the bailiff orgame-keeper, was noticeable for a long raised terrace planted withlindens from which a fine view extended over the country. The stepsleading to this terrace and the walls which supported it showed theirgreat age by the ravages of time. The flat moss which clings to stoneshad laid its dragon-green carpet on each surface. The numerousfamilies of the pellitories, the chamomiles, the mesembryanthemums, pushed their varied and abundant tufts through the loop-holes in thewalls, cracked and fissured in spite of their thickness. Botany hadlavished there its most elegant drapery of ferns of all kinds, snap-dragons with their violet mouths and golden pistils, the blueanchusa, the brown lichens, so that the old worn stones seemed mereaccessories peeping out at intervals from this fresh growth. Along theterrace a box hedge, cut into geometric figures, enclosed a pleasuregarden surrounding the parsonage, above which the rock rose like awhite wall surmounted by slender trees that drooped and swayed aboveit like plumes. 

The ruins of the castle looked down upon the house and church. Thehouse, built of pebbles and mortar, had but one story surmounted by anenormous sloping roof with gable ends, in which were attics, no doubtempty, considering the dilapidation of their windows. The ground-floorhad two rooms parted by a corridor, at the farther end of which was awooden staircase leading to the second floor, which also had tworooms. A little kitchen was at the back of the building in a yard, where were the stable and coach-house, both unused, deserted, andworthless. The kitchen garden lay between the church and the house; aruined gallery led from the parsonage to the sacristy. 

When the young abbe saw the four windows with their leaded panes, thebrown and mossy walls, the door in common pine slit like a bundle ofmatches, far from being attracted by the adorable naivete of thesedetails, the grace of the vegetations which draped the roof and thedilapidated wooden frames of the windows, the wealth of the clamberingplants escaping from every cranny, and the clasping tendrils of thegrape-vine which looked into every window as if to bring smiling ideasto those within, he congratulated himself heartily on being a bishopin perspective instead of a village rector. 

This house, apparently always open, seemed to belong to everybody. TheAbbe Gabriel entered a room communicating with the kitchen, which waspoorly furnished with an oak table on four stout legs, a tapestriedarmchair, a number of chairs all of wood, and an old chest by way ofbuffet. No one was in the kitchen except a cat which revealed thepresence of a woman about the house. The other room served as a salon. Casting a glance about it the young priest noticed armchairs innatural wood covered with tapestry; the woodwork and the rafters ofthe ceiling were of chestnut which had turned as black as ebony. Atall clock in a green case painted with flowers, a table with a fadedgreen cloth, several chairs, two candlesticks on the chimney-piece, between which was an Infant Jesus in wax under a glass case, completedthe furniture of the room. The chimney-piece of wood with commonmouldings was filled by a fire-board covered by a paintingrepresenting the Good Shepherd with a lamb over his shoulder, whichwas probably the gift of some young girl, --the mayor's daughter, orthe judge's daughter, --in return for the pastor's care of hereducation. 

The forlorn condition of the house was distressing to behold; thewalls, once whitewashed, were now discolored, and stained to a man'sheight by constant friction. The staircase with its heavy baluster andwooden steps, though very clean, looked as if it might easily give wayunder the feet. On the other side of the house, opposite to theentrance door, another door opening upon the kitchen garden enabledthe Abbe de Rastignac to judge of the narrowness of that garden, whichwas closed at the back by a wall cut in the white and friable stoneside of the mountain, against which espaliers were fastened, coveredwith grape-vines and fruit-trees so ill taken care of that theirleaves were discolored with blight. 

The abbe returned upon his steps and walked along the paths of thefirst garden, from which he could see, in the distance beyond thevillage, the magnificent stretch of valley, a true oasis at the edgeof the vast plains, which now, veiled by the light mists of morning, lay along the horizon like a tranquil ocean. Behind him could be seen, on one side, for a foil, the dark masses of the bronze-green forest;on the other, the church and the ruins of the castle perched on therock and vividly detached upon the blue of the ether. The AbbeGabriel, his feet creaking on the gravelly paths cut in stars androunds and lozenges, looked down upon the village, where some of theinhabitants were already gazing up at him, and then at the fresh, coolvalley, with its tangled paths, its river bordered with willows indelightful contrast to the endless plain, and he was suddenly seizedwith sensations which changed the nature of his thoughts; he admiredthe sweet tranquillity of the place; he felt the influence of thatpure air; he was conscious of the peace inspired by the revelation ofa life brought back to Biblical simplicity; he saw, confusedly, thebeauties of this old parsonage, which he now re-entered to examine itsdetails with greater interest. 

A little girl, employed, no doubt, to watch the house, though she waspicking and eating fruit in the garden, heard the steps of a man withcreaking shoes on the great square flags of the ground-floor rooms. She ran in to see who it was. Confused at being caught by a priestwith a fruit in one hand and another in her mouth, she made no answerto the questions of the handsome young abbe. She had never imaginedsuch an abbe, --dapper and spruce as hands could make him, in dazzlinglinen and fine black cloth without spot or wrinkle. 

"Monsieur Bonnet?" she said at last. "Monsieur Bonnet is saying mass, and Mademoiselle Ursule is at church. "

The Abbe Gabriel did not notice a covered way from the house to thechurch; he went back to the road which led to the front portal, aspecies of porch with a sloping roof that faced the village. It wasreached by a series of disjointed stone steps, at the side of whichlay a ravine washed out by the mountain torrents and covered withnoble elms planted by Sully the Protestant. This church, one of thepoorest in France where there are so many poor churches, was like oneof those enormous barns with projecting doors covered by roofssupported on brick or wooden pillars. Built, like the parsonage, ofcobblestones and mortar, flanked by a face of solid rock, and roofedby the commonest round tiles, this church was decorated on the outsidewith the richest creations of sculpture, rich in light and shade andlavishly massed and colored by Nature, who understands such art aswell as any Michael Angelo. Ivy clasped the walls with its nervoustendrils, showing stems amid its foliage like the veins in a layfigure. This mantle, flung by Time to cover the wounds he made, wasstarred by autumn flowers drooping from the crevices, which also gaveshelter to numerous singing birds. The rose-window above theprojecting porch was adorned with blue campanula, like the first pageof an illuminated missal. The side which communicated with theparsonage, toward the north, was not less decorated; the wall was grayand red with moss and lichen; but the other side and the apse, aroundwhich lay the cemetery, was covered with a wealth of varied blooms. Afew trees, among others an almond-tree--one of the emblems of hope--had taken root in the broken wall; two enormous pines standing closeagainst the apsis served as lightning-rods. The cemetery, enclosed bya low, half-ruined wall, had for ornament an iron cross, mounted on apedestal and hung with box, blessed at Easter, --one of those affectingChristian thoughts forgotten in cities. The village rector is the onlypriest who, in these days, thinks to go among his dead and say to themeach Easter morn, "Thou shalt live again!" Here and there a few rottenwooden crosses stood up from the grassy mounds. 

The interior of the church harmonized perfectly with the poetic tangleof the humble exterior, the luxury and art of which was bestowed byTime, for once in a way charitable. Within, the eye first went to theroof, lined with chestnut, to which age had given the richest tints ofthe oldest woods of Europe. This roof was supported at equal distancesby strong shafts resting on transversal beams. The four white-washedwalls had no ornament whatever. Poverty had made the parishiconoclastic, whether it would or not. The church, paved and furnishedwith benches, was lighted by four arched windows with leaded panes. The altar, shaped like a tomb, was adorned by a large crucifix placedabove a tabernacle in walnut with a few gilt mouldings, kept clean andshining, eight candlesticks economically made of wood painted white, and two china vases filled with artificial flowers such as the drudgeof a money-changer would have despised, but with which God wassatisfied. 

The sanctuary lamp was a night-wick placed in an old holy-water basinof plated copper hanging by silken cords, the spoil of some demolishedchateau. The baptismal fonts were of wood; so were the pulpit and asort of cage provided for the church-wardens, the patricians of thevillage. An altar to the Virgin presented to public admiration twocolored lithographs in small gilt frames. The altar was painted white, adorned with artificial flowers in gilded wooden vases, and covered bya cloth edged with shabby and discolored lace. 

At the farther end of the church a long window entirely covered by ared calico curtain produced a magical effect. This crimson mantle casta rosy tint upon the whitewashed walls; a thought divine seemed toglow upon the altar and clasp the poor nave as if to warm it. Thepassage which led to the sacristy exhibited on one of its walls thepatron saint of the village, a large Saint John the Baptist with hissheep, carved in wood and horribly painted. 

But in spite of all this poverty the church was not without sometender harmonies delightful to choice souls, and set in charmingrelief by their own colors. The rich dark tones of the wood relievedthe white of the walls and blended with the triumphal crimson cast onthe chancel. This trinity of color was a reminder of the grandCatholic doctrine. 

If surprise was the first emotion roused by this pitiful house of theLord, surprise was followed speedily by admiration mingled with pity. Did it not truly express the poverty of that poor region? Was it notin harmony with the naive simplicity of the parsonage? The buildingwas perfectly clean and well-kept. The fragrance of country virtuesexhaled within it; nothing showed neglect or abandonment. Thoughrustic and poor and simple, prayer dwelt there; those precincts had asoul, --a soul which was felt, though we might not fully explain to ourown souls how we felt it. 

 VIII

 THE RECTOR OF MONTEGNAC

The Abbe Gabriel glided softly through the church so as not to disturbthe devotions of two groups of persons on the benches near the highaltar, which was separated from the nave at the place where the lampwas hung by a rather common balustrade, also of chestnut wood, andcovered with a cloth intended for the communion. On either side of thenave a score of peasants, men and women, absorbed in fervent prayer, paid no attention to the stranger when he passed up the narrow passagebetween the two rows of seats. 

When the young abbe stood beneath the lamp, whence he could see thetwo little transepts which formed a cross, one of which led to thesacristy, the other to the cemetery, he noticed on the cemetery side afamily clothed in black kneeling on the pavement, the transepts havingno benches. The young priest knelt down on the step of the balustradewhich separated the choir from the nave and began to pray, castingoblique glances at a scene which was soon explained to him. The gospelhad been read. The rector, having removed his chasuble, came down fromthe altar and stood before the railing; the young abbe, who foresawthis movement, leaned back against the wall, so that Monsieur Bonnetdid not see him. Ten o'clock was striking. 

"Brethren, " said the rector, in a voice of emotion, "at this verymoment a child of this parish is paying his debt to human justice byenduring its last penalty, while we are offering the sacrifice of themass for the peace of his soul. Let us unite in prayer to God, imploring Him not to turn His face from that child in these his lastmoments, and to grant to his repentance the pardon in heaven which isdenied to him here below. The sin of this unhappy man, one of those onwhom we most relied for good examples, can only be explained by hisdisregard of religious principles. "

Here the rector was interrupted by sobs from the kneeling group inmourning garments, whom the Abbe Gabriel recognized, by this show ofaffection, as the Tascheron family, although he did not know them. First among them was an old couple (septuagenarians) standing by thewall, their faces seamed with deep-cut, rigid wrinkles, and bronzedlike a Florentine medal. These persons, stoically erect like statues, in their old darned clothes, were doubtless the grandfather and thegrandmother of the criminal. Their glazed and reddened eyes seemed toweep blood, their arms trembled so that the sticks on which theyleaned tapped lightly on the pavement. Next, the father and themother, their faces in their handkerchiefs, sobbed aloud. Around thesefour heads of the family knelt the two married sisters accompanied bytheir husbands, and three sons, stupefied with grief. Five littlechildren on their knees, the oldest not seven years old, unable, nodoubt, to understand what was happening, gazed and listened with thetorpid curiosity that characterizes the peasantry, and is really theobservation of physical things pushed to its highest limit. Lastly, the poor unmarried sister, imprisoned in the interests of justice, nowreleased, a martyr to fraternal affection, Denise Tascheron, waslistening to the priest's words with a look that was partly bewilderedand partly incredulous. For her, her brother could not die. She wellrepresented that one of the Three Marys who did not believe in thedeath of Christ, though she was present at the last agony. Pale, withdry eyes, like all those who have gone without sleep, her freshcomplexion was already faded, less by toil and field labor than bygrief; nevertheless, she had many of the beauties of a country maiden, --a plump, full figure, finely shaped arms, rounded cheeks, and clear, pure eyes, lighted at this instant with flashes of despair. Below thethroat, a firm, fair skin, not tanned by the sun, betrayed thepresence of a white and rosy flesh where the form was hidden. 

The married daughters wept; their husbands, patient farmers, weregrave and serious. The three brothers, profoundly sad, did not raisetheir eyes from the ground. In the midst of this dreadful picture ofdumb despair and desolation, Denise and her mother alone showedsymptoms of revolt. 

The other inhabitants of the village united in the affliction of thisrespectable family with a sincere and Christian pity which gave thesame expression to the faces of all, --an expression amounting tohorror when the rector's words announced that the knife was thenfalling on the neck of a young man whom they all knew well from hisvery birth, and whom they had doubtless thought incapable of crime. 

The sobs which interrupted the short and simple allocution which thepastor made to his flock overcame him so much that he stopped and saidno more, except to invite all present to fervent prayer. 

Though this scene was not of a nature to surprise a priest, Gabriel deRastignac was too young not to be profoundly touched by it. As yet hehad never exercised the priestly virtues; he knew himself called toother functions; he was not forced to enter the social breaches wherethe heart bleeds at the sight of woes: his mission was that of thehigher clergy, who maintain the spirit of devotion, represent thehighest intellect of the Church, and on eminent occasions display thepriestly virtues on a larger stage, --like the illustrious bishops ofMarseille and Meaux, and the archbishops of Arles and Cambrai. 

This little assemblage of country people weeping and praying for himwho, as they supposed, was then being executed on a public square, among a crowd of persons come from all parts to swell the shame ofsuch a death, --this feeble counterpoise of prayer and pity, opposed tothe ferocious curiosity and just maledictions of a multitude, wasenough to move any soul, especially when seen in that poor church. TheAbbe Gabriel was tempted to go up to the Tascherons and say, --

"Your son and brother is reprieved. "

But he did not like to disturb the mass; and, moreover, he knew that areprieve was only a delay of execution. Instead of following theservice, he was irresistibly drawn to a study of the pastor from whomthe clergy in Limoges expected the conversion of the criminal. 

Judging by the parsonage, Gabriel de Rastignac had made himself aportrait of Monsieur Bonnet as a stout, short man with a strong andred face, framed for toil, half a peasant, and tanned by the sun. Sofar from that, the young abbe met his equal. Slight and delicate inappearance, Monsieur Bonnet's face struck the eyes at once as thetypical face of passion given to the Apostles. It was almosttriangular, beginning with a broad brow furrowed by wrinkles, andcarried down from the temples to the chin in two sharp lines whichdefined his hollow cheeks. In this face, sallowed by tones as yellowas those of a church taper, shone two blue eyes that were luminouswith faith, burning with eager hope. It was divided into two equalparts by a long nose, thin and straight, with well-cut nostrils, beneath which spoke, even when closed and voiceless, a large mouth, with strongly marked lips, from which issued, whenever he spoke aloud, one of those voices which go straight to the heart. The chestnut hair, which was thin and fine, and lay flat upon the head, showed a poorconstitution maintained by a frugal diet. WILL made the power of thisman. 

Such were his personal distinctions. His short hands might haveindicated in another man a tendency to coarse pleasures, and perhapshe had, like Socrates, conquered his temptations. His thinness wasungraceful, his shoulders were too prominent, his knees knockedtogether. The body, too much developed for the extremities, gave himthe look of a hump-backed man without a hump. In short, his appearancewas not pleasing. None but those to whom the miracles of thought, faith, art are known could adore that flaming gaze of the martyr, thatpallor of constancy, that voice of love, --distinctive characteristicsof this village rector. 

This man, worthy of the primitive Church, which exists no longerexcept in the pictures of the sixteenth century and in the pages ofMartyrology, was stamped with the die of the human greatness whichmost nearly approaches the divine greatness through Conviction, --thatindefinable something which embellishes the commonest form, gilds withglowing tints the faces of men vowed to any worship, no matter what, and brings into the face of a woman glorified by a noble love a sortof light. CONVICTION is human will attaining to its highest reach. Atonce both cause and effect, it impresses the coldest natures; it is aspecies of mute eloquence which holds the masses. 

Coming down from the altar the rector caught the eye of the AbbeGabriel and recognized him; so that when the bishop's secretaryreached the sacristy Ursule, to whom her master had already givenorders, was waiting for him with a request that he would follow her. 

"Monsieur, " said Ursule, a woman of canonical age, conducting the Abbede Rastignac by the gallery through the garden, "Monsieur Bonnet toldme to ask if you had breakfasted. You must have left Limoges veryearly to get here by ten o'clock. I will soon have breakfast ready foryou. Monsieur l'abbe will not find a table like that of Monseigneurthe bishop in this poor village, but we will do the best we can. Monsieur Bonnet will soon be in; he has gone to comfort those poorpeople, the Tascherons. Their son has met with a terrible end to-day. "

"But, " said the Abbe Gabriel, when he could get in a word, "where isthe house of those worthy persons? I must take Monsieur Bonnet at onceto Limoges by order of the bishop. That unfortunate man will not beexecuted to-day; Monseigneur has obtained a reprieve for him. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Ursule, whose tongue itched to spread the news aboutthe village, "monsieur has plenty of time to carry them that comfortwhile I get breakfast ready. The Tascherons' house is beyond thevillage; follow the path below that terrace and it will take youthere. "

As soon as Ursule lost sight of the abbe she went down into thevillage to disseminate the news, and also to buy the things needed forthe breakfast. 

The rector had been informed, while in church, of a desperateresolution taken by the Tascherons as soon as they heard thatJean-Francois's appeal was rejected and that he had to die. Theseworthy souls intended to leave the country, and their worldly goodswere to be sold that very morning. Delays and formalities unexpectedby them had hitherto postponed the sale. They had been forced to remainin their home until the execution, and drink each day the cup of shame. This determination had not been made public until the evening beforethe day appointed for the execution. The Tascherons had expected toleave before that fatal day; but the proposed purchaser of theirproperty was a stranger in those parts, and was prevented fromclinching the bargain by a delay in obtaining the money. Thus thehapless family were forced to bear their trouble to its end. Thefeeling which prompted this expatriation was so violent in thesesimple souls, little accustomed to compromise with their consciences, that the grandfather and grandmother, the father and the mother, thedaughters and their husbands and the sons, in short, all who bore andhad borne the name of Tascheron or were closely allied to it madeready to leave the country. 

This emigration grieved the whole community. The mayor entreated therector to do his best to retain these worthy people. According to thenew Code the father was not responsible for the son, and the crime ofthe father was no disgrace to the children. Together with otheremancipations which have weakened paternal power, this system has ledto the triumph of individualism, which is now permeating the whole ofmodern society. He who thinks on the things of the future sees thespirit of family destroyed, where the makers of the new Code haveintroduced freedom of will and equality. The Family must always be thebasis of society. Necessarily temporary, incessantly divided, recomposed to dissolve again, without ties between the future and thepast, it cannot fulfil that mission; the Family of the olden time nolonger exists in France. Those who have proceeded to demolish theancient edifice have been logical in dividing equally the familyproperty, in diminishing the authority of the father, in suppressinggreat responsibilities; but is the reconstructed social state assolid, with its young laws still untried, as it was under a monarchy, in spite of the old abuses? In losing the solidarity of families, society has lost that fundamental force which Montesquieu discoveredand named HONOR. It has isolated interests in order to subjugate them;it has sundered all to enfeeble all. Society reigns over units, oversingle figures agglomerated like grains of corn in a heap. Can thegeneral interests of all take the place of Family? Time alone cananswer that question. 

Nevertheless, the old law still exists; its roots have struck so deepthat you will find it still living, as we find perennials in polarregions. Remote places are still to be found in the provinces wherewhat are now called prejudices exist, where the family suffers in thecrime of a child or a father. 

This sentiment made the place uninhabitable any longer to theTascherons. Their deep religious feeling took them to church thatmorning; for how could they let the mass be offered to God asking Himto inspire their son with repentance that alone could restore to himlife eternal, and not share in it? Besides, they wished to bidfarewell to the village altar. But their minds were made up and theirplans already carried out. When the rector who followed them fromchurch reached the principal house he found their bags and bundlesready for the journey. The purchaser of the property was there withthe money. The notary had drawn up the papers. In the yard behind thehouse was a carriole ready harnessed to carry away the older couplewith the money, and the mother of Jean-Francois. The remainder of thefamily were to go on foot by night. 

At the moment when the young abbe entered the low room in which thefamily were assembled the rector of Montegnac had exhausted all theresources of his eloquence. The old pair, now insensible to theviolence of grief, were crouching in a corner on their bags andlooking round on their old hereditary home, its furniture, and the newpurchaser, and then upon each other as if to say:--

"Did we ever think this thing could happen?"

These old people, who had long resigned their authority to their son, the father of the criminal, were, like kings on their abdication, reduced to the passive role of subjects and children. Tascheron, thefather, was standing up; he listened to the pastor, and replied tohim in a low voice and by monosyllables. This man, who was aboutforty-eight years of age, had the noble face which Titian has givento so many of his Apostles, --a countenance full of faith, of grave andreflective integrity, a stern profile, a nose cut in a straight andprojecting line, blue eyes, a noble brow, regular features, black, crisp, wiry hair, planted on his head with that symmetry which gives acharm to these brown faces, bronzed by toil in the open air. It waseasy to see that the rector's appeals were powerless against thatinflexible will. 

Denise was leaning against the bread-box, looking at the notary, whowas using that receptacle as a writing-table, seated before it in thegrandmother's armchair. The purchaser was sitting on a stool besidehim. The married sisters were laying a cloth upon the table, andserving the last meal the family were to take in its own house beforeexpatriating itself to other lands and other skies. The sons werehalf-seated on the green serge bed. The mother, busy beside the fire, was beating an omelet. The grandchildren crowded the doorway, beforewhich stood the incoming family of the purchaser. 

The old smoky room with its blackened rafters, through the window ofwhich was visible a well-kept garden planted by the two old people, seemed in harmony with the pent-up anguish which could be read on alltheir faces in diverse expressions. The meal was chiefly prepared forthe notary, the purchaser, the menkind, and the children. The fatherand mother, Denise and her sisters, were too unhappy to eat. There wasa lofty, stern resignation in the accomplishment of these last dutiesof rustic hospitality. The Tascherons, men of the olden time, endedtheir days in that house as they had begun them, by doing its honors. This scene, without pretension, though full of solemnity, met the eyesof the bishop's secretary when he approached the village rector tofulfil the prelate's errand. 

"The son of these good people still lives, " said Gabriel. 

At these words, heard by all in the deep silence, the two old peoplerose to their feet as if the last trump had sounded. The motherdropped her pan upon the fire; Denise gave a cry of joy; all theothers stood by in petrified astonishment. 

"Jean-Francois is pardoned!" cried the whole village, now rushingtoward the house, having heard the news from Ursule. "Monseigneur thebishop--"

"I knew he was innocent!" cried the mother. 

"Will it hinder the purchase?" said the purchaser to the notary, whoanswered with a satisfying gesture. 

The Abbe Gabriel was now the centre of all eyes; his sadness raised asuspicion of mistake. To avoid correcting it himself, he left thehouse, followed by the rector, and said to the crowd outside that theexecution was only postponed for some days. The uproar subsidedinstantly into dreadful silence. When the Abbe Gabriel and the rectorreturned, the expression on the faces of the family was full ofanguish; the silence of the crowd was understood. 

"My friends, Jean-Francois is not pardoned, " said the young abbe, seeing that the blow had fallen; "but the state of his soul has sodistressed Monseigneur that he has obtained a delay in order to saveyour son in eternity. "

"But he lives!" cried Denise. 

The young abbe took the rector aside to explain to him the injurioussituation in which the impenitence of his parishioner placed religion, and the duty the bishop imposed upon him. 

"Monseigneur exacts my death, " replied the rector. "I have alreadyrefused the entreaties of the family to visit their unhappy son. Sucha conference and the sight of his death would shatter me like glass. Every man must work as he can. The weakness of my organs, or rather, the too great excitability of my nervous organization, prevents mefrom exercising these functions of our ministry. I have remained asimple rector expressly to be useful to my kind in a sphere in which Ican really accomplish my Christian duty. I have carefully consideredhow far I could satisfy this virtuous family and do my pastoral dutyto this poor son; but the very idea of mounting the scaffold with him, the mere thought of assisting in those fatal preparations, sends ashudder as of death through my veins. It would not be asked of amother; and remember, monsieur, he was born in the bosom of my poorchurch. "

"So, " said the Abbe Gabriel, "you refuse to obey Monseigneur?"

"Monseigneur is ignorant of the state of my health; he does not knowthat in a constitution like mine nature refuses--" said MonsieurBonnet, looking at the younger priest. 

"There are times when we ought, like Belzunce at Marseille, to riskcertain death, " replied the Abbe Gabriel, interrupting him. 

At this moment the rector felt a hand pulling at his cassock; he heardsobs, and turning round he saw the whole family kneeling before him. Young and old, small and great, all were stretching their supplicatinghands to him. One sole cry rose from their lips as he turned his faceupon them:--

"Save his soul, at least!"

The old grandmother it was who had pulled his cassock and was wettingit with her tears. 

"I shall obey, monsieur. "

That said, the rector was forced to sit down, for his legs trembledunder him. The young secretary explained the frenzied state of thecriminal's mind. 

"Do you think, " he said, as he ended his account, "that the sight ofhis young sister would shake his determination?"

"Yes, I do, " replied the rector. "Denise, you must go with us. "

"And I, too, " said the mother. 

"No!" cried the father; "that child no longer exists for us, and youknow it. None of us shall see him. "

"Do not oppose what may be for his salvation, " said the young abbe. "You will be responsible for his soul if you refuse us the means ofsoftening it. His death may possibly do more injury than his life hasdone. "

"She may go, " said the father; "it shall be her punishment foropposing all the discipline I ever wished to give her son. "

The Abbe Gabriel and Monsieur Bonnet returned to the parsonage, whereDenise and her mother were requested to come in time to start forLimoges with the two ecclesiastics. 

As the younger man walked along the path which followed the outskirtsof upper Montegnac he was able to examine the village priest so warmlycommended by the vicar-general less superficially than he did inchurch. He felt at once inclined in his favor, by the simple manners, the voice full of magic power, and the words in harmony with the voiceof the village rector. The latter had only visited the bishop's palaceonce since the prelate had taken Gabriel de Rastignac as secretary. Hehad hardly seen this favorite, destined for the episcopate, though heknew how great his influence was. Nevertheless, he behaved with adignified courtesy that plainly showed the sovereign independencewhich the Church bestows on rectors in their parishes. But thefeelings of the young abbe, far from animating his face, gave it astern expression; it was more than cold, it was icy. A man capable ofchanging the moral condition of a whole population must surely possesssome powers of observation, and be more or less of a physiognomist;and even if the rector had no other science than that of goodness, hehad just given proof of rare sensibility. He was therefore struck bythe coldness with which the bishop's secretary met his courteousadvances. Compelled to attribute this manner to some secret annoyance, the rector sought in his own mind to discover if he had wounded hisguest, or in what way his conduct could seem blameworthy in the eyesof his superiors. 

An awkward silence ensued, which the Abbe de Rastignac broke by aspeech that was full of aristocratic assumption. 

"You have a very poor church, monsieur, " he said. 

"It is too small, " replied Monsieur Bonnet. "On the great fete-daysthe old men bring benches to the porch, and the young men standoutside in a circle; but the silence is so great that all can hear myvoice. "

Gabriel was silent for some moments. 

"If the inhabitants are so religious how can you let the buildingremain in such a state of nudity?" he said at last. 

"Alas, monsieur, I have not the courage to spend the money which isneeded for the poor on decorating the church, --the poor are thechurch. I assure I should not be ashamed of my church if Monseigneurshould visit it on the Fete-Dieu. The poor return on that day whatthey have received. Did you notice the nails which are placed atcertain distances on the walls? They are used to hold a sort oftrellis of iron wire on which the women fasten bouquets; the church isfairly clothed with flowers, and they keep fresh all day. My poorchurch, which you think so bare, is decked like a bride; it is filledwith fragrance; even the floor is strewn with leaves, in the midst ofwhich they make a path of scattered roses for the passage of the holysacrament. That's a day on which I do not fear comparison with thepomps of Saint-Peter at Rome; the Holy Father has his gold, and I myflowers, --to each his own miracle. Ah! monsieur, the village ofMontegnac is poor, but it is Catholic. In former times the inhabitantsrobbed travellers; now travellers may leave a sack full of money wherethey please and they will find it in my house. "

"That result is to your glory, " said Gabriel. 

"It is not a question of myself, " replied the rector, coloring at thislabored compliment, "but of God's word, of the blessed bread--"

"Brown bread, " remarked the abbe, smiling. 

"White bread only suits the stomachs of the rich, " replied the rector, modestly. 

The young abbe took the hands of the older priest and pressed themcordially. 

"Forgive me, monsieur, " he said, suddenly making amends with a look inhis beautiful blue eyes which went to the depths of the rector's soul. "Monseigneur told me to test your patience and your modesty, but Ican't go any further; I see already how much injustice the praises ofthe liberals have done you. "

Breakfast was ready; fresh eggs, butter, honey, fruits, cream, andcoffee were served by Ursule in the midst of flowers, on a white clothlaid upon the antique table in that old dining-room. The window whichlooked upon the terrace was open; clematis, with its white starsrelieved in the centre by the yellow bunch of their crisped stamens, clasped the railing. A jasmine ran up one side, nasturtiums clamberedover the other. Above, the reddening foliage of a vine made a richborder that no sculptor could have rendered, so exquisite was thetracery of its lace-work against the light. 

"Life is here reduced, you see, to its simplest expression, " said therector, smiling, though his face did not lose the look which thesadness of his heart conveyed to it. "If we had known of your arrival(but who could have foreseen your errand?) Ursule would have had somemountain trout for you; there's a brook in the forest where they areexcellent. I forget, however, that this is August and the Gabou isdry. My head is confused with all these troubles. "

"Then you like your life here?" said the young abbe. 

"Yes, monsieur; if God wills, I shall die rector of Montegnac. I couldhave wished that my example were followed by certain distinguished menwho have thought they did better things in becoming philanthropists. But modern philanthropy is an evil to society; the principles of theCatholic religion can alone cure the diseases which permeate socialbodies. Instead of describing those diseases and extending theirravages by complaining elegies, they should put their hand to the workand enter the Lord's vineyard as simple laborers. My task is far frombeing accomplished here, monsieur. It is not enough to reform thepeople, whom I found in a frightful condition of impiety andwickedness; I wish to die in the midst of a generation of truebelievers. "

"You have only done your duty, monsieur, " said the young man, stillcoldly, for his heart was stirred with envy. 

"Yes, monsieur, " replied the rector, modestly, giving his companion aglance which seemed to say: Is this a further test? "I pray that allmay do their duty throughout the kingdom. "

This remark, full of deep meaning, was still further emphasized by atone of utterance, which proved that in 1829 this priest, as grand inthought as he was noble in humility of conduct, and who subordinatedhis thoughts to those of his superiors, saw clearly into the destiniesof both church and monarchy. 

When the two afflicted women came the young abbe, very impatient toget back to Limoges, left the parsonage to see if the horses wereharnessed. A few moments later he returned to say that all was ready. All four then started under the eyes of the whole population ofMontegnac, which was gathered in the roadway before the post-house. The mother and sister kept silence. The two priests, seeing rocksahead in many subjects, could neither talk indifferently nor allowthemselves to be cheerful. While seeking for some neutral subject thecarriage crossed the plain, the aspect of which dreary region seemedto influence the duration of their melancholy silence. 

"How came you to adopt the ecclesiastical profession?" asked the AbbeGabriel, suddenly, with an impulsive curiosity which seized him assoon as the carriage turned into the high-road. 

"I did not look upon the priesthood as a profession, " replied therector, simply. "I cannot understand how a man can become a priest forany other reason than the undefinable power of vocation. I know thatmany men have served in the Lord's vineyard who have previously wornout their hearts in the service of passion; some have lovedhopelessly, others have had their love betrayed; men have lost theflower of their lives in burying a precious wife or an adoredmistress; some have been disgusted with social life at a period whenuncertainty hovers over everything, even over feelings, and doubtmocks tender certainties by calling them beliefs; others abandonpolitics at a period when power seems to be an expiation and when thegoverned regard obedience as fatality. Many leave a society withoutbanners; where opposing forces only unite to overthrow good. I do notthink that any man would give himself to God from a covetous motive. Some men have looked upon the priesthood as a means of regeneratingour country; but, according to my poor lights, a priest-patriot is ameaningless thing. The priest can only belong to God. I did not wishto offer our Father--who nevertheless accepts all--the wreck of myheart and the fragments of my will; I gave myself to him whole. In oneof those touching theories of pagan religion, the victim sacrificed tothe false gods goes to the altar decked with flowers. The significanceof that custom has always deeply touched me. A sacrifice is nothingwithout grace. My life is simple and without the very slightestromance. My father, who has made his own way in the world, is a stern, inflexible man; he treats his wife and his children as he treatshimself. I have never seen a smile upon his lips. His iron hand, hisstern face, his gloomy, rough activity, oppressed us all--wife, children, clerks and servants--under an almost savage despotism. Icould--I speak for myself only--I could have accommodated myself tothis life if the power thus exercised had had an equal repression;but, captious and vacillating, he treated us all with intolerablealternations. We were always ignorant whether we were doing right orwhether he considered us to blame; and the horrible expectancy whichresults from that is torture in domestic life. A street life seemsbetter than a home under such circumstances. Had I been alone in thehouse I would have borne all from my father without murmuring; but myheart was torn by the bitter, unceasing anguish of my dear mother, whom I ardently loved and whose tears put me sometimes into a fury inwhich I nearly lost my reason. My school days, when boys are usuallyso full of misery and hard work, were to me a golden period. I dreadedholidays. My mother herself preferred to come and see me. When I hadfinished my philosophical course and was forced to return home andbecome my father's clerk, I could not endure it more than a fewmonths; my mind, bewildered by the fever of adolescence, threatened togive way. On a sad autumn evening as I was walking alone with mymother along the Boulevard Bourdon, then one of the most melancholyparts of Paris, I poured my heart into hers, and I told her that I sawno possible life before me except in the Church. My tastes, my ideas, all that I most loved would be continually thwarted so long as myfather lived. Under the cassock of a priest he would be forced torespect me, and I might thus on certain occasions become the protectorof my family. My mother wept much. Just at this period my eldestbrother (since a general and killed at Leipzig) had entered the armyas a private soldier, driven from his home for the same reasons thatmade me wish to be a priest. I showed my mother that her best means ofprotection would be to marry my sister, as soon as she was old enough, to some man of strong character, and to look for help to this newfamily. Under pretence of avoiding the conscription without costing myfather a penny to buy me off, I entered the seminary of Saint-Sulpiceat the age of nineteen. Within those celebrated old buildings I founda peace and happiness that were troubled only by the thought of mymother and my sister's sufferings. Their domestic misery, no doubt, went on increasing; for whenever they saw me they sought to strengthenmy resolution. Perhaps I had been initiated into the secrets ofcharity, such as our great Saint Paul defines it, by my own trials. Atany rate, I longed to stanch the wounds of the poor in some forgottencorner of the earth, and to prove by my example, if God would deign tobless my efforts, that the Catholic religion, judged by its actionsfor humanity, is the only true, the only beneficent and noblecivilizing force. During the last days of my diaconate, grace, nodoubt, enlightened me. I have fully forgiven my father, regarding himas the instrument of my destiny. My mother, though I wrote her a longand tender letter, explaining all things and proving to her that thefinger of God was guiding me, my poor mother wept many tears as shesaw my hair cut off by the scissors of the Church. She knew herselfhow many pleasures I renounced, but she did not know the secretglories to which I aspired. Women are so tender! After I once belongedto God I felt a boundless peace; I felt no needs, no vanities, none ofthose cares which trouble men so much. I knew that Providence wouldtake care of me as a thing of its own. I entered a world from whichall fear is banished; where the future is certain; where all thingsare divine, even the silence. This quietude is one of the benefactionsof grace. My mother could not conceive that a man could espouse achurch. Nevertheless, seeing me happy, with a cloudless brow, she grewhappier herself. After I was ordained I came to the Limousin to visitone of my paternal relations, who chanced to speak to me of the thencondition of Montegnac. A thought darted into my mind with thevividness of lightning, and I said to myself inwardly: 'Here is thyvineyard!' I came here, and you see, monsieur, that my history is verysimple and uneventful. "

At this instant Limoges came into sight, bathed in the last rays ofthe setting sun. When the women saw it they could not restrain theirtears; they wept aloud. 

 IX

 DENISE

The young man whom these two different loves were now on their way tocomfort, who excited so much artless curiosity, so much spurioussympathy and true solicitude, was lying on his prison pallet in one ofthe condemned cells. A spy watched beside the door to catch, ifpossible, any words that might escape him, either in sleep or in oneof his violent furies; so anxious were the officers of justice toexhaust all human means of discovering Jean-Francois Tascheron'saccomplice and recover the sums stolen. 

The des Vanneaulx had promised a reward to the police, and the policekept constant watch on the obstinate silence of the prisoner. When theman on duty looked through a loophole made for the purpose he saw theconvict always in the same position, bound in the straight-jacket, hishead secured by a leather thong ever since he had attempted to tearthe stuff of the jacket with his teeth. 

Jean-Francois gazed steadily at the ceiling with a fixed anddespairing eye, a burning eye, as if reddened by the terrible thoughtsbehind it. He was a living image of the antique Prometheus; the memoryof some lost happiness gnawed at his heart. When the solicitor-generalhimself went to see him that magistrate could not help testifying hissurprise at a character so obstinately persistent. No sooner did anyone enter his cell than Jean-Francois flew into a frenzy whichexceeded the limits known to physicians for such attacks. The momenthe heard the key turn in the lock or the bolts of the barred doorslide, a light foam whitened his lips. 

Jean-Francois Tascheron, then twenty-five years of age, was small butwell-made. His wiry, crinkled hair, growing low on his forehead, indicated energy. His eyes, of a clear and luminous yellow, were toonear the root of the nose, --a defect which gave him some resemblanceto birds of prey. The face was round, of the warm brown coloring whichmarks the inhabitants of middle France. One feature of his physiognomyconfirmed an assertion of Lavater as to persons who are destined tocommit murder; his front teeth lapped each other. Nevertheless hisface bore all the characteristics of integrity and a sweet and artlessmoral nature; there was nothing surprising in the fact that a womanhad loved him passionately. His fresh mouth with its dazzling teethwas charming, but the vermilion of the lips was of the red-lead tintwhich indicates repressed ferocity, and, in many human beings, a freeabandonment to pleasure. His demeanor showed none of the low habits ofa workman. In the eyes of the women who were present at the trial itseemed evident that one of their sex had softened those muscles usedto toil, had ennobled the countenance of the rustic, and given graceto his person. Women can always detect the traces of love in a man, just as men can see in a woman whether, as the saying is, love haspassed that way. 

Toward evening of the day we are now relating Jean-Francois heard thesliding of bolts and the noise of the key in the lock. He turned hishead violently and gave vent to the horrible growl with which hisfrenzies began; but he trembled all over when the beloved heads of hissister and his mother stood out against the fading light, and behindthem the face of the rector of Montegnac. 

"The wretches! is this why they keep me alive?" he said, closing hiseyes. 

Denise, who had lately been confined in a prison, was distrustful ofeverything; the spy had no doubt hidden himself merely to return in afew moments. The girl flung herself on her brother, bent her tearfulface to his and whispered:--

"They may be listening to us. "

"Otherwise they would not have let you come here, " he replied in aloud voice. "I have long asked the favor that none of my family shouldbe admitted here. "

"Oh! how they have bound him!" cried the mother. "My poor child! mypoor boy!" and she fell on her knees beside the pallet, hiding herhead in the cassock of the priest, who was standing by her. 

"If Jean will promise me to be quiet, " said the rector, "and notattempt to injure himself, and to behave properly while we are withhim, I will ask to have him unbound; but the least violation of hispromise will reflect on me. "

"I do so want to move as I please, dear Monsieur Bonnet, " said thecriminal, his eyes moistening with tears, "that I give you my word todo as you wish. "

The rector went out, and returned with the jailer, and the jacket wastaken off. 

"You won't kill me to-night, will you?" said the turnkey. 

Jean made no answer. 

"Poor brother!" said Denise, opening a basket which had just passedthrough a rigorous examination. "Here are some of the things you like;I dare say they don't feed you for the love of God. "

She showed him some fruit, gathered as soon as the rector had told hershe could go to the jail, and a _galette_ his mother had immediatelybaked for him. This attention, which reminded him of his boyhood, thevoice and gestures of his sister, the presence of his mother and therector, brought on a reaction and he burst into tears. 

"Ah! Denise, " he said, "I have not had a good meal for six months. Ieat only when driven to it by hunger. "

The mother and sister went out and then returned; with the naturalhousekeeping spirit of such women, who want to give their men materialcomfort, they soon had a supper for their poor child. In this theofficials helped them; for an order had been given to do all thatcould with safety be done for the condemned man. The des Vanneaulx hadcontributed, with melancholy hope, toward the comfort of the man fromwhom they still expected to recover their inheritance. Thus poorJean-Francois had a last glimpse of family joys, if joys they could becalled under such circumstances. 

"Is my appeal rejected?" he said to Monsieur Bonnet. 

"Yes, my child; nothing is left for you to do but to make a Christianend. This life is nothing in comparison to that which awaits you; youmust think now of your eternal happiness. You can pay your debt to manwith your life, but God is not content with such a little thing asthat. "

"Give up my life! Ah! you do not know all that I am leaving. "

Denise looked at her brother as if to warn him that even in matters ofreligion he must be cautious. 

"Let us say no more about it, " he resumed, eating the fruit with anavidity which told of his inward fire. "When am I--"

"No, no! say nothing of that before me!" said the mother. 

"But I should be easier in mind if I knew, " he said, in a low voice tothe rector. 

"Always the same nature, " exclaimed Monsieur Bonnet. Then he bent downto the prisoner's ear and whispered, "If you will reconcile yourselfthis night with God so that your repentance will enable me to absolveyou, it will be to-morrow. We have already gained much in calmingyou, " he said, aloud. 

Hearing these last words, Jean's lips turned pale, his eyes rolled upin a violent spasm, and an angry shudder passed through his frame. 

"Am I calm?" he asked himself. Happily his eyes encountered thetearful face of Denise, and he recovered his self-control. "So be it, "he said to the rector; "there is no one but you to whom I wouldlisten; they have known how to conquer me. "

And he flung himself on his mother's breast. 

"My son, " said the mother, weeping, "listen to Monsieur Bonnet; herisks his life, the dear rector, in going to you to--" she hesitated, and then said, "to the gate of eternal life. "

Then she kissed Jean's head and held it to her breast for somemoments. 

"Will he, indeed, go with me?" asked Jean, looking at the rector, whobowed his head in assent. "Well, yes, I will listen to him; I will doall he asks of me. "

"You promise it?" said Denise. "The saving of your soul is what weseek. Besides, you would not have all Limoges and the village say thata Tascheron knows not how to die a noble death? And then, too, thinkthat all you lose here you will regain in heaven, where pardoned soulswill meet again. "

This superhuman effort parched the throat of the heroic girl. She wassilent after this, like her mother, but she had triumphed. Thecriminal, furious at seeing his happiness torn from him by the law, now quivered at the sublime Catholic truth so simply expressed by hissister. All women, even young peasant-women like Denise, know how totouch these delicate chords; for does not every woman seek to makelove eternal? Denise had touched two chords, each most sensitive. Awakened pride called on the other virtues chilled by misery andhardened by despair. Jean took his sister's hand and kissed it, andlaid it on his heart in a deeply significant manner; he applied itboth gently and forcibly. 

"Yes, " he said, "I must renounce all; this is the last beating of myheart, its last thought. Keep them, Denise. "

And he gave her one of those glances by which a man in crucial momentstries to put his soul into the soul of another human being. 

This thought, this word, was, in truth, a last testament, an unspokenlegacy, to be as faithfully transmitted as it was trustfully given. Itwas so fully understood by mother, sister, and priest, that they allwith one accord turned their faces from each other, to hide theirtears and keep the secret of their thoughts in their own breasts. Those few words were the dying agony of a passion, the farewell of asoul to the glorious things of earth, in accordance with true Catholicrenunciation. The rector, comprehending the majesty of all great humanthings, even criminal things, judged of this mysterious passion by theenormity of the sin. He raised his eyes to heaven as if to invoke themercy of God. Thence come the consolations, the infinite tendernessesof the Catholic religion, --so humane, so gentle with the hand thatdescends to man, showing him the law of higher spheres; so awful, sodivine, with that other hand held out to lead him into heaven. 

Denise had now significantly shown the rector the spot by which tostrike that rock and make the waters of repentance flow. But suddenly, as though the memories evoked were dragging him backwards, Jean-Francoisgave the harrowing cry of the hyena when the hunters overtake it. 

"No, no!" he cried, falling on his knees, "I will live! Mother, giveme your clothes; I can escape! Mercy, mercy! Go see the king; tellhim--"

He stopped, gave a horrible roar, and clung convulsively to therector's cassock. 

"Go, " said Monsieur Bonnet, in a low voice, to the agitated women. 

Jean heard the words; he raised his head, gazed at his mother andsister, then he stopped and kissed their feet. 

"Let us say farewell now; do not come back; leave me alone withMonsieur Bonnet. You need not be uneasy about me any longer, " he said, pressing his mother and his sister to him with a strength in which heseemed to put all his life. 

"How is it we do not die of this?" said Denise to her mother as theypassed through the wicket. 

It was nearly eight o'clock when this parting took place. At the gateof the prison the two women met the Abbe de Rastignac, who asked themnews of the prisoner. 

"He will no doubt be reconciled with God, " said Denise. "If repentancehas not yet begun, he is very near it. "

The bishop was soon after informed that the clergy would triumph onthis occasion, and that the criminal would go to the scaffold with themost edifying religious sentiments. The prelate, with whom was theattorney-general, expressed a wish to see the rector. Monsieur Bonnetdid not reach the palace before midnight. The Abbe Gabriel, who mademany trips between the palace and the jail, judged it necessary tofetch the rector in the episcopal coach; for the poor priest was in astate of exhaustion which almost deprived him of the use of his legs. The effect of his day, the prospect of the morrow, the sight of thesecret struggle he had witnessed, and the full repentance which had atlast overtaken his stubborn lamb when the great reckoning of eternitywas brought home to him, --all these things had combined to break downMonsieur Bonnet, whose nervous, electrical nature entered into thesufferings of others as though they were his own. Souls that resemblethat noble soul espouse so ardently the impressions, miseries, passions, sufferings of those in whom they are interested, that theyactually feel them, and in a horrible manner, too; for they are ableto measure their extent, --a knowledge which escapes others who areblinded by selfishness of heart or the paroxysm of grief. It is herethat a priest like Monsieur Bonnet becomes an artist who feels, ratherthan an artist who judges. 

When the rector entered the bishop's salon and found there the twogrand-vicars, the Abbe de Rastignac, Monsieur de Grandville, and the_procureur-general_, he felt convinced that something more wasexpected of him. 

"Monsieur, " said the bishop, "have you obtained any facts which youcan, without violating your duty, confide to the officers of the lawfor their guidance?"

"Monseigneur, in order to give absolution to that poor, wanderingchild, I waited not only till his repentance was as sincere and ascomplete as the Church could wish, but I have also exacted from himthe restitution of the money. "

"This restitution, " said the _procureur-general_, "brings me hereto-night; it will, of course, be made in such a way as to throw lighton the mysterious parts of this affair. The criminal certainly hadaccomplices. "

"The interests of human justice, " said the rector, "are not those forwhich I act. I am ignorant of how the restitution will be made, but Iknow it will take place. In sending for me to minister to myparishioner, Monseigneur placed me under the conditions which give torectors in their parishes the same powers which Monseigneur exercisesin his diocese, --barring, of course, all questions of discipline andecclesiastical obedience. "

"That is true, " said the bishop. "But the question here is how toobtain from the condemned man voluntary information which mayenlighten justice. "

"My mission is to win souls to God, " said Monsieur Bonnet. 

Monsieur de Grancour shrugged his shoulders slightly, but hiscolleague, the Abbe Dutheil nodded his head in sign of approval. 

"Tascheron is no doubt endeavoring to shield some one, whom therestitution will no doubt bring to light, " said the_procureur-general_. 

"Monsieur, " replied the rector, "I know absolutely nothing which wouldeither confute or justify your suspicion. Besides, the secrets ofconfession are inviolable. "

"Will the restitution really take place?" asked the man of law. 

"Yes, monsieur, " replied the man of God. 

"That is enough for me, " said the _procureur-general_, who relied onthe police to obtain the required information; as if passions andpersonal interests were not tenfold more astute than the police. 

The next day, this being market-day, Jean-Francois Tascheron was ledto execution in a manner to satisfy both the pious and the politicalspirits of the town. Exemplary in behavior, pious and humble, hekissed the crucifix, which Monsieur Bonnet held to his lips with atrembling hand. The unhappy man was watched and examined; his glancewas particularly spied upon; would his eyes rove in search of some onein the crowd or in a house? His discretion did, as a matter of fact, hold firm to the last. He died as a Christian should, repentant andabsolved. 

The poor rector was carried away unconscious from the foot of thescaffold, though he did not even see the fatal knife. 

During the following night, on the high-road fifteen miles fromLimoges, Denise, though nearly exhausted by fatigue and grief, beggedher father to let her go again to Limoges and take with herLouis-Marie Tascheron, one of her brothers. 

"What more have you to do in that town?" asked her father, frowning. 

"Father, " she said, "not only must we pay the lawyer who defended him, but we must also restore the money which he has hidden. "

"You are right, " said the honest man, pulling out a leathern pouch hecarried with him. 

"No, no, " said Denise, "he is no longer your son. It is not for thosewho cursed him, but for those who loved him, to reward the lawyer. "

"We will wait for you at Havre, " said the father. 

Denise and her brother returned to Limoges before daylight. When thepolice heard, later, of this return they were never able to discoverwhere the brother and sister had hidden themselves. 

Denise and Louis went to the upper town cautiously, about four o'clockthat afternoon, gliding along in the shadow of the houses. The poorgirl dared not raise her eyes, fearing to meet the glances of thosewho had seen her brother's execution. After calling on MonsieurBonnet, who in spite of his weakness, consented to serve as father andguardian to Denise in the matter, they all went to the lawyer's housein the rue de la Comedie. 

"Good-morning, my poor children, " said the lawyer, bowing to MonsieurBonnet; "how can I be of service to you? Perhaps you would like me toclaim your brother's body and send it to you?"

"No, monsieur, " replied Denise, weeping at an idea which had never yetoccurred to her. "I come to pay his debt to you--so far, at least, asmoney can pay an eternal debt. "

"Pray sit down, " said the lawyer; noticing that Denise and the rectorwere still standing. 

Denise turned away to take from her corset two notes of five hundredfrancs each, which were fastened by a pin to her chemise; then she satdown and offered them to her brother's defender. The rector gave thelawyer a flashing look which was instantly moistened by a tear. 

"Keep the money for yourself, my poor girl, " said the lawyer. "Therich do not pay so generously for a lost cause. "

"Monsieur, " said Denise, "I cannot obey you. "

"Then the money is not yours?" said the lawyer. 

"You are mistaken, " she replied, looking at Monsieur Bonnet as if toknow whether God would be angry at the lie. 

The rector kept his eyes lowered. 

"Well, then, " said the lawyer, taking one note of five hundred francsand offering the other to the rector, "I will share it with the poor. Now, Denise, change this one, which is really mine, " he went on, giving her the note, "for your velvet ribbon and your gold cross. Iwill hang the cross above my mantel to remind me of the best andpurest young girl's heart I have ever known in my whole experience asa lawyer. "

"I will give it to you without selling it, " cried Denise, taking offher _jeannette_ and offering it to him. 

"Monsieur, " said the rector, "I accept the five hundred francs to payfor the exhumation of the poor lad's body and its transportation toMontegnac. God has no doubt pardoned him, and Jean will rise with myflock on that last day when the righteous and the repentant will becalled together to the right hand of the Father. "

"So be it, " replied the lawyer. 

He took Denise by the hand and drew her toward him to kiss herforehead; but the action had another motive. 

"My child, " he whispered, "no one in Montegnac has five-hundred-francnotes; they are rare even at Limoges, where they are only taken at adiscount. This money has been given to you; you will not tell me bywhom, and I don't ask you; but listen to me: if you have anything moreto do in this town relating to your poor brother, take care! You andMonsieur Bonnet and your brother Louis will be followed by police-spies. Your family is known to have left Montegnac, and as soon as you areseen here you will be watched and surrounded before you are aware ofit. "

"Alas!" she said. "I have nothing more to do here. "

"She is cautious, " thought the lawyer, as he parted from her. "However, she is warned; and I hope she will get safely off. "

 * * * * *

During this last week in September, when the weather was as warm as insummer, the bishop gave a dinner to the authorities of the place. Among the guests were the _procureur-du-roi_ and the attorney-general. Some lively discussions prolonged the party till a late hour. Thecompany played whist and backgammon, a favorite game with the clergy. Toward eleven o'clock the _procureur-du-roi_ walked out upon the upperterrace. From the spot where he stood he saw a light on that island towhich, on a certain evening, the attention of the bishop and the AbbeGabriel had been drawn, --Veronique's "Ile de France, "--and the gleamrecalled to the _procureur's_ mind the unexplained mysteries of theTascheron crime. Then, reflecting that there could be no legitimatereason for a fire on that lonely island in the river at that time ofnight, an idea, which had already struck the bishop and the secretary, darted into his mind with the suddenness and brilliancy of the flameitself which was shining in the distance. 

"We have all been fools!" he cried; "but this will give us theaccomplices. "

He returned to the salon, sought out Monsieur de Grandville, said afew words in his ear, after which they both took leave. But the Abbede Rastignac accompanied them politely to the door; he watched them asthey departed, saw them go to the terrace, noticed the fire on theisland, and thought to himself, "She is lost!"

The emissaries of the law got there too late. Denise and Louis, whomJean had taught to dive, were actually on the bank of the river at aspot named to them by Jean, but Louis Tascheron had already dived fourtimes, bringing up each time a bundle containing twenty thousandfrancs' worth of gold. The first sum was wrapped in a foulardhandkerchief knotted by the four corners. This handkerchief, fromwhich the water was instantly wrung, was thrown into a great fire ofdrift wood already lighted. Denise did not leave the fire until shesaw every particle of the handkerchief consumed. The second sum waswrapped in a shawl, the third in a cambric handkerchief; thesewrappings were instantly burned like the foulard. 

Just as Denise was throwing the wrapping of the fourth and lastpackage into the fire the gendarmes, accompanied by the commissary ofpolice, seized that incriminating article, which Denise let them takewithout manifesting the least emotion. It was a handkerchief, onwhich, in spite of its soaking in the river, traces of blood couldstill be seen. When questioned as to what she was doing there, Denisesaid she was taking the stolen gold from the river according to herbrother's instructions. The commissary asked her why she was burningcertain articles; she said she was obeying her brother's lastdirections. When asked what those articles were she boldly answered, without attempting to deceive: "A foulard, a shawl, a cambrichandkerchief, and the handkerchief now captured. " The latter hadbelonged to her brother. 

This discovery and its attendant circumstances made a great stir inLimoges. The shawl, more especially, confirmed the belief thatTascheron had committed this crime in the interests of some loveaffair. 

"He protects that woman after his death, " said one lady, hearing ofthese last discoveries, rendered harmless by the criminal'sprecautions. 

"There may be some husband in Limoges who will miss his foulard, " saidthe _procureur-du-roi_, with a laugh, "but he will not dare speak ofit. "

"These matters of dress are really so compromising, " said old MadamePerret, "that I shall make a search through my wardrobe this veryevening. "

"Whose pretty little footmarks could he have taken such pains toefface while he left his own?" said Monsieur de Grandville. 

"Pooh! I dare say she was an ugly woman, " said the _procureur-du-roi_. 

"She has paid dearly for her sin, " observed the Abbe de Grancour. 

"Do you know what this affair shows?" cried Monsieur de Grandville. "It shows what women have lost by the Revolution, which has levelledall social ranks. Passions of this kind are no longer met with exceptin men who still feel an enormous distance between themselves andtheir mistresses. "

"You saddle love with many vanities, " remarked the Abbe Dutheil. 

"What does Madame Graslin think?" asked the prefect. 

"What do you expect her to think?" said Monsieur de Grandville. "Herchild was born, as she predicted to me, on the morning of theexecution; she has not seen any one since then, for she is dangerouslyill. "

A scene took place in another salon in Limoges which was almostcomical. The friends of the des Vanneaulx came to congratulate them onthe recovery of their property. 

"Yes, but they ought to have pardoned that poor man, " said Madame desVanneaulx. "Love, and not greed, made him steal the money; he wasneither vicious nor wicked. "

"He was full of consideration for us, " said Monsieur des Vanneaulx;"and if I knew where his family had gone I would do something forthem. They are very worthy people, those Tascherons. "

 X

 THIRD PHASE OF VERONIQUE'S LIFE

When Madame Graslin recovered from the long illness that followed thebirth of her child, which was not till the close of 1829, an illnesswhich forced her to keep her bed and remain in absolute retirement, she heard her husband talking of an important piece of business he wasanxious to concede. The ducal house of Navarreins had offered for salethe forest of Montegnac and the uncultivated lands around it. 

Graslin had never yet executed the clause in his marriage contractwith his wife which obliged him to invest his wife's fortune in lands;up to this time he had preferred to employ the money in his bank, where he had fully doubled it. He now began to speak of thisinvestment. Hearing him discuss it Veronique appeared to remember thename of Montegnac, and asked her husband to fulfil his engagementabout her property by purchasing these lands. Monsieur Graslin thenproposed to see the rector, Monsieur Bonnet, and inquire of him aboutthe estate, which the Duc de Navarreins was desirous of sellingbecause he foresaw the struggle which the Prince de Polignac wasforcing on between liberalism and the house of Bourbon, and he auguredill of it; in fact, the duke was one of the boldest opposers of the_coup-d'Etat_. 

The duke had sent his agent to Limoges to negotiate the matter;telling him to accept any good sum of money, for he remembered theRevolution of 1789 too well not to profit by the lessons it had taughtthe aristocracy. This agent had now been a month laying siege toGraslin, the shrewdest and wariest business head in the Limousin, --theonly man, he was told by practical persons, who was able to purchaseso large a property and pay for it on the spot. The Abbe Dutheil wrotea line to Monsieur Bonnet, who came to Limoges at once, and was takento the hotel Graslin. 

Veronique determined to ask the rector to dinner; but the banker wouldnot let him go up to his wife's apartment until he had talked to himin his office for over an hour and obtained such information as fullysatisfied him, and made him resolve to buy the forest and domains ofMontegnac at once for the sum of five hundred thousand francs. Heacquiesced readily in his wife's wish that this purchase and allothers connected with it should be in fulfilment of the clause of themarriage contract relative to the investment of her dowry. Graslin wasall the more ready to do so because this act of justice cost himnothing, he having doubled the original sum. 

At this time, when Graslin was negotiating the purchase, theNavarreins domains comprised the forest of Montegnac which containedabout thirty thousand acres of unused land, the ruins of the castle, the gardens, park, and about five thousand acres of uncultivated landon the plain beyond Montegnac. Graslin immediately bought other landsin order to make himself master of the first peak in the chain of theCorrezan mountains on which the vast forest of Montegnac ended. Sincethe imposition of taxes the Duc de Navarreins had never received morethan fifteen thousand francs per annum from this manor, once among therichest tenures of the kingdom, the lands of which had escaped thesale of "public domain" ordered by the Convention, on account probablyof their barrenness and the known difficulty of reclaiming them. 

When the rector went at last to Madame Graslin's apartment, and sawthe woman noted for her piety and for her intellect of whom he hadheard speak, he could not restrain a gesture of amazement. Veroniquehad now reached the third phase of her life, that in which she was torise into grandeur by the exercise of the highest virtues, --a phase inwhich she became another woman. To the Little Virgin of Titian, hiddenat eleven years of age beneath a spotted mantle of small-pox, hadsucceeded a beautiful woman, noble and passionate; and from thatwoman, now wrung by inward sorrows, came forth a saint. 

Her skin bore the yellow tinge which colors the austere faces ofabbesses who have been famous for their macerations. The attenuatedtemples were almost golden. The lips had paled, the red of an openedpomegranate was no longer on them, their color had changed to the palepink of a Bengal rose. At the corners of the eyes, close to the nose, sorrows had made two shining tracks like mother-of-pearl, where tearshad flowed; tears which effaced the marks of small-pox and glazed theskin. Curiosity was invincibly attracted to that pearly spot, wherethe blue threads of the little veins throbbed precipitately, as thoughthey were swelled by an influx of blood brought there, as it were, tofeed the tears. The circle round the eyes was now a dark-brown thatwas almost black above the eyelids, which were horribly wrinkled. Thecheeks were hollow; in their folds lay the sign of solemn thoughts. The chin, which in youth was full and round, the flesh covering themuscles, was now shrunken, to the injury of its expression, which toldof an implacable religious severity exercised by this woman uponherself. 

At twenty-nine years of age Veronique's hair was scanty and alreadywhitening. Her thinness was alarming. In spite of her doctor's adviceshe insisted on suckling her son. The doctor triumphed in the result;and as he watched the changes he had foretold in Veronique'sappearance, he often said:--

"See the effects of childbirth on a woman! She adores that child; Ihave often noticed that mothers are fondest of the children who costthem most. "

Veronique's faded eyes were all that retained even a memory of heryouth. The dark blue of the iris still cast its passionate fires, towhich the woman's life seemed to have retreated, deserting the cold, impassible face, and glowing with an expression of devotion when thewelfare of a fellow-being was concerned. 

Thus the surprise, the dread of the rector ceased by degrees as hewent on explaining to Madame Graslin all the good that a large ownerof property could do at Montegnac provided he lived there. Veronique'sbeauty came back to her for a moment as her eyes glowed with the lightof an unhoped-for future. 

"I will live there, " she said. "It shall be my work. I will askMonsieur Graslin for money, and I will gladly share in your religiousenterprise. Montegnac shall be fertilized; we will find some means towater those arid plains. Like Moses, you have struck a rock from whichthe waters will gush. "

The rector of Montegnac, when questioned by his friends in Limogesabout Madame Graslin, spoke of her as a saint. 

The day after the purchase was concluded Monsieur Graslin sent anarchitect to Montegnac. The banker intended to restore the chateau, gardens, terrace, and park, and also to connect the castle groundswith the forest by a plantation. He set himself to make theseimprovements with vainglorious activity. 

A few months later Madame Graslin met with a great misfortune. InAugust, 1830, Graslin, overtaken by the commercial and bankingdisasters of that period, became involved by no fault of his own. Hecould not endure the thought of bankruptcy, nor that of losing afortune of three millions acquired by forty years of incessant toil. The moral malady which resulted from this anguish of mind aggravatedthe inflammatory disease always ready to break forth in his blood. Hetook to his bed. Since her confinement Veronique's regard for herhusband had developed, and had overthrown all the hopes of heradmirer, Monsieur de Grandville. She strove to save her husband's lifeby unremitting care, with no result but that of prolonging for a fewmonths the poor man's tortures; but the respite was very useful toGrossetete, who, foreseeing the end of his former clerk and partner, obtained from him all the information necessary for the promptliquidation of the assets. 

Graslin died in April, 1831, and the widow's grief yielded only toChristian resignation. Veronique's first words, when the condition ofMonsieur Graslin's affairs were made known to her, were that sheabandoned her own fortune to pay the creditors; but it was found thatGraslin's own property was more than sufficient. Two months later, theliquidation, of which Grossetete took charge, left to Madame Graslinthe estate of Montegnac and six hundred thousand francs, her wholepersonal fortune. The son's name remained untainted, for Graslin hadinjured no one's property, not even that of his wife. Francis Graslin, the son, received about one hundred thousand francs. 

Monsieur de Grandville, to whom Veronique's grandeur of soul and noblequalities were well known, made her an offer of marriage; but, to thesurprise of all Limoges, Madame Graslin declined, under pretext thatthe Church discouraged second marriages. Grossetete, a man of strongcommon-sense and sure grasp of a situation, advised Veronique toinvest her property and what remained of Monsieur Graslin's in theFunds; and he made the investment himself in one of the governmentsecurities which offered special advantages at that time, namely, theThree-per-cents, which were then quoted at fifty. The child Francisreceived, therefore, six thousand francs a year, and his mother fortythousand. Veronique's fortune was still the largest in the department. 

When these affairs were all settled, Madame Graslin announced herintention of leaving Limoges and taking up her residence at Montegnac, to be near Monsieur Bonnet. She sent for the rector to consult aboutthe enterprise he was so anxious to carry on at Montegnac, in whichshe desired to take part. But he endeavored unselfishly to dissuadeher, telling her that her place was in the world and in society. 

"I was born of the people and I wish to return to the people, " shereplied. On which the rector, full of love for his village, said nomore against Madame Graslin's apparent vocation; and the less becauseshe had actually put it out of her power to continue in Limoges, having sold the hotel Graslin to Grossetete, who, to cover a sum thatwas due to him, took it at its proper valuation. 

The day of her departure, toward the end of August, 1831, MadameGraslin's numerous friends accompanied her some distance out of thetown. A few went as far as the first relay. Veronique was in an opencarriage with her mother. The Abbe Dutheil (just appointed to abishopric) occupied the front seat of the carriage with oldGrossetete. As they passed through the place d'Aine, Veronique showedsigns of a sudden shock; her face contracted so that the play of themuscles could be seen; she clasped her infant to her breast with aconvulsive motion, which old Madame Sauviat concealed by instantlytaking the child, for she seemed to be on the watch for her daughter'sagitation. Chance willed that Madame Graslin should pass through thesquare in which stood the house she had formerly occupied with herfather and mother in her girlish days; she grasped her mother's handwhile great tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. 

After leaving Limoges she turned and looked back, seeming to feel anemotion of happiness which was noticed by all her friends. WhenMonsieur de Grandville, then a young man of twenty-five, whom shedeclined to take as a husband, kissed her hand with an earnestexpression of regret, the new bishop noticed the strange manner inwhich the black pupil of Veronique's eyes suddenly spread over theblue of the iris, reducing it to a narrow circle. The eye betrayedunmistakably some violent inward emotion. 

"I shall never see him again, " she whispered to her mother, whoreceived this confidence without betraying the slightest feeling inher old face. 

Madame Graslin was at that instant under the observation ofGrossetete, who was directly in front of her; but, in spite of hisshrewdness, the old banker did not detect the hatred which Veroniquefelt for the magistrate, whom she nevertheless received at her house. But churchmen have far more perception than other men, and MonsieurDutheil suddenly startled Veronique with a priestly glance. 

"Do you regret nothing in Limoges?" he asked her. 

"Nothing, now that you are leaving it; and monsieur, " she added, smiling at Grossetete, who was bidding her adieu, "will seldom bethere. "

The bishop accompanied Madame Graslin as far as Montegnac. 

"I ought to walk this road in sackcloth and ashes, " she said in hermother's ear as they went on foot up the steep slope of Saint-Leonard. 

The old woman put her finger on her lips and glanced at the bishop, who was looking at the child with terrible attention. This gesture, and the luminous look in the prelate's eyes, sent a shudder throughVeronique's body. At the aspect of the vast plains stretching theirgray expanse before Montegnac the fire died out of her eyes, and aninfinite sadness overcame her. Presently she saw the village rectorcoming to meet her, and together they returned to the carriage. 

"There is your domain, madame, " said Monsieur Bonnet, extending hishand toward the barren plain. 

A few moments more, and the village of Montegnac, with its hill, onwhich the newly erected buildings struck the eye, came in sight, gilded by the setting sun, and full of the poesy born of the contrastbetween the beautiful spot and the surrounding barrenness, in which itlay like an oasis in the desert. Madame Graslin's eyes filled suddenlywith tears. The rector called her attention to a broad white line likea gash on the mountain side. 

"See what my parishioners have done to testify their gratitude to thelady of the manor, " he said, pointing to the line, which was really aroad; "we can now drive up to the chateau. This piece of road has beenmade by them without costing you a penny, and two months hence weshall plant it with trees. Monseigneur will understand what troubleand care and devotion were needed to accomplish such a change. "

"Is it possible they have done that?" said the bishop. 

"Without accepting any payment for their work, Monseigneur. Thepoorest put their hands into it, knowing that it would bring a motheramong them. "

At the foot of the hill the travellers saw the whole population of theneighborhood, who were lighting fire-boxes and discharging a few guns;then two of the prettiest of the village girls, dressed in white, cameforward to offer Madame Graslin flowers and fruit. 

"To be thus received in this village!" she exclaimed, grasping therector's hand as if she stood on the brink of a precipice. 

The crowd accompanied the carriage to the iron gates of the avenue. From there Madame Graslin could see her chateau, of which as yet shehad only caught glimpses, and she was thunderstruck at themagnificence of the building. Stone is rare in those parts, thegranite of the mountains being difficult to quarry. The architectemployed by Graslin to restore the house had used brick as the chiefsubstance of this vast construction. This was rendered less costly bythe fact that the forest of Montegnac furnished all the necessary woodand clay for its fabrication. The framework of wood and the stone forthe foundations also came from the forest; otherwise the cost of therestorations would have been ruinous. The chief expenses had beenthose of transportation, labor, and salaries. Thus the money laid outwas kept in the village, and greatly benefited it. 

At first sight, and from a distance, the chateau presents an enormousred mass, threaded by black lines produced by the pointing, and edgedwith gray; for the window and door casings, the entablatures, cornerstones, and courses between the stories, are of granite, cut in facetslike a diamond. The courtyard, which forms a sloping oval like that ofthe Chateau de Versailles, is surrounded by brick walls divided intopanels by projecting buttresses. At the foot of these walls are groupsof rare shrubs, remarkable for the varied color of their greens. Twofine iron gates placed opposite to each other lead on one side to aterrace which overlooks Montegnac, on the other to the offices and afarm-house. 

The grand entrance-gate, to which the road just constructed led, isflanked by two pretty lodges in the style of the sixteenth century. The facade on the courtyard looking east has three towers, --one in thecentre, separated from the two others by the main building of thehouse. The facade on the gardens, which is absolutely the same as theothers, looks westward. The towers have but one window on the facade;the main building has three on either side of the middle tower. Thelatter, which is square like a _campanile_, the corners beingvermiculated, is noticeable for the elegance of a few carvingssparsely distributed. Art is timid in the provinces, and though, since1829, ornamentation has made some progress at the instigation ofcertain writers, landowners were at that period afraid of expenseswhich the lack of competition and skilled workmen rendered serious. 

The corner towers, which have three stories with a single window ineach, looking to the side, are covered with very high-pitched roofssurrounded by granite balustrades, and on each pyramidal slope ofthese roofs crowned at the top with the sharp ridge of a platformsurrounded with a wrought iron railing, is another window carved likethe rest. On each floor the corbels of the doors and windows areadorned with carvings copied from those of the Genoese mansions. Thecorner tower with three windows to the south looks down on Montegnac;the other, to the north, faces the forest. From the garden front theeye takes in that part of Montegnac which is still called LesTascherons, and follows the high-road leading through the village tothe chief town of the department. The facade on the courtyard has aview of the vast plains semicircled by the mountains of the Correze, on the side toward Montegnac, but ending in the far distance on a lowhorizon. The main building has only one floor above the ground-floor, covered with a mansarde roof in the olden style. The towers at eachend are three stories in height. The middle tower has a stunted domesomething like that on the Pavillon de l'Horloge of the palace of theTuileries, and in it is a single room forming a belvedere andcontaining the clock. As a matter of economy the roofs had all beenmade of gutter-tiles, the enormous weight of which was easilysupported by the stout beams and uprights of the framework cut in theforest. 

Before his death Graslin had laid out the road which the peasantry hadjust built out of gratitude; for these restorations (which Graslincalled his folly) had distributed several hundred thousand francsamong the people; in consequence of which Montegnac had considerablyincreased. Graslin had also begun, before his death, behind theoffices on the slope of the hill leading down to the plain, a numberof farm buildings, proving his intention to draw some profit from thehitherto uncultivated soil of the plains. Six journeyman-gardeners, who were lodged in the offices, were now at work under orders of ahead gardener, planting and completing certain works which MonsieurBonnet had considered indispensable. 

The ground-floor apartments of the chateau, intended only forreception-rooms, had been sumptuously furnished; the upper floor wasrather bare, Monsieur Graslin having stopped for a time the work offurnishing it. 

"Ah, Monseigneur!" said Madame Graslin to the bishop, after going therounds of the house, "I who expected to live in a cottage! PoorMonsieur Graslin was extravagant indeed!"

"And you, " said the bishop, adding after a pause, as he noticed theshudder than ran through her frame at his first words, "you will beextravagant in charity?"

She took the arm of her mother, who was leading Francis by the hand, and went to the long terrace at the foot of which are the church andthe parsonage, and from which the houses of the village can be seen intiers. The rector carried off Monseigneur Dutheil to show him thedifferent sides of the landscape. Before long the two priests cameround to the farther end of the terrace, where they found MadameGraslin and her mother motionless as statues. The old woman was wipingher eyes with a handkerchief, and her daughter stood with both handsstretched beyond the balustrade as though she were pointing to thechurch below. 

"What is the matter, madame?" said the rector to Madame Sauviat. 

"Nothing, " replied Madame Graslin, turning round and advancing a fewsteps to meet the priests; "I did not know that I should have thecemetery under my eyes. "

"You can put it elsewhere; the law gives you that right. "

"The law!" she exclaimed with almost a cry. 

Again the bishop looked fixedly at Veronique. Disturbed by the darkglance with which the priest had penetrated the veil of flesh thatcovered her soul, dragging thence a secret hidden in the grave of thatcemetery, she said to him suddenly:--

"Well, _yes_!"

The priest laid his hand over his eyes and was silent for a moment asif stunned. 

"Help my daughter, " cried the old mother; "she is fainting. "

"The air is so keen, it overcomes me, " said Madame Graslin, as shefell unconscious into the arms of the two priests, who carried herinto one of the lower rooms of the chateau. 

When she recovered consciousness she saw the priests on their kneespraying for her. 

"May the angel you visited you never leave you!" said the bishop, blessing her. "Farewell, my daughter. "

Overcome by those words Madame Graslin burst into tears. 

"Tears will save her!" cried her mother. 

"In this world and in the next, " said the bishop, turning round as heleft the room. 

The room to which they had carried Madame Graslin was on the firstfloor above the ground-floor of the corner tower, from which thechurch and cemetery and southern side of Montegnac could be seen. Shedetermined to remain there, and did so, more or less uncomfortably, with Aline her maid and little Francis. Madame Sauviat, naturally, took another room near hers. 

It was several days before Madame Graslin recovered from the violentemotion which overcame her on that first evening, and her motherinduced her to stay in bed at least during the mornings. At night, Veronique would come out and sit on a bench of the terrace from whichher eyes could rest on the church and cemetery. In spite of MadameSauviat's mute but persistent opposition, Madame Graslin formed analmost monomaniacal habit of sitting in the same place, where sheseemed to give way to the blackest melancholy. 

"Madame will die, " said Aline to the old mother. 

Appealed to by Madame Sauviat, the rector, who had wished not to seemintrusive, came henceforth very frequently to visit Madame Graslin; heneeded only to be warned that her soul was sick. This true pastor tookcare to pay his visits at the hour when Veronique came out to sit atthe corner of the terrace with her child, both in deep mourning. 

 XI

 THE RECTOR AT WORK

It was now the beginning of October, and Nature was growing dull andsad. Monsieur Bonnet, perceiving in Veronique from the moment of herarrival at Montegnac the existence of an inward wound, thought itwisest to wait for the voluntary and complete confidence of a womanwho would sooner or later become his penitent. 

One evening Madame Graslin looked at the rector with eyes almostglazed with that fatal indecision often observable in persons who arecherishing the thought of death. From that moment Monsieur Bonnethesitated no longer; he set before him the duty of arresting theprogress of this cruel moral malady. 

At first there was a brief struggle of empty words between the priestand Veronique, in which they both sought to veil their real thoughts. In spite of the cold, Veronique was sitting on the granite benchholding Francis on her knee. Madame Sauviat was standing at the cornerof the terrace, purposely so placed as to hide the cemetery. Aline waswaiting to take the child away. 

"I had supposed, madame, " said the rector, who was now paying hisseventh visit, "that you were only melancholy; but I see, " sinking hisvoice to a whisper, "that your soul is in despair. That feeling isneither Christian nor Catholic. "

"But, " she replied, looking to heaven with piercing eyes and letting abitter smile flicker on her lips, "what other feeling does the Churchleave to a lost soul unless it be despair?"

As he heard these words the rector realized the vast extent of theravages in her soul. 

"Ah!" he said, "you are making this terrace your hell, when it oughtto be your Calvary from which to rise to heaven. "

"I have no pride left to place me on such a pedestal, " she answered, in a tone which revealed the self-contempt that lay within her. 

Here the priest, by one of those inspirations which are both naturaland frequent in noble souls, the man of God lifted the child in hisarms and kissed its forehead, saying, in a fatherly voice, "Poorlittle one!" Then he gave it himself to the nurse, who carried itaway. 

Madame Sauviat looked at her daughter, and saw the efficacy of therector's words; for Veronique's eyes, long dry, were moist with tears. The old woman made a sign to the priest and disappeared. 

"Let us walk, " said the rector to Veronique leading her along theterrace to the other end, from which Les Tascherons could be seen. "You belong to me; I must render account to God for your sick soul. "

"Give me time to recover from my depression, " she said to him. 

"Your depression comes from injurious meditation, " he replied, quickly. 

"Yes, " she said, with the simplicity of a grief which has reached thepoint of making no attempt at concealment. 

"I see plainly that you have fallen into the gulf of apathy, " hecried. "If there is a degree of physical suffering at which all senseof modesty expires, there is also a degree of moral suffering in whichall vigor of soul is lost; I know that. "

She was surprised to hear that subtle observation and to find suchtender pity from this village rector; but, as we have seen already, the exquisite delicacy which no passion had ever touched gave him thetrue maternal spirit for his flock. This _mens devinior_, thisapostolic tenderness, places the priest above all other men and makeshim, in a sense, divine. Madame Graslin had not as yet had enoughexperience of Monsieur Bonnet to know this beauty hidden in his soullike a spring, from which flowed grace and purity and true life. 

"Ah! monsieur, " she cried, giving herself wholly up to him by agesture, a look, such as the dying give. 

"I understand you, " he said. "What is to be done? What will youbecome?"

They walked in silence the whole length of the balustrade, facingtoward the plain. The solemn moment seemed propitious to the bearer ofgood tidings, the gospel messenger, and he took it. 

"Suppose yourself now in the presence of God, " he said, in a lowvoice, mysteriously; "what would you say to Him?"

Madame Graslin stopped as though struck by a thunderbolt; sheshuddered; then she said simply, in tones that brought tears to therector's eyes:--

"I should say, as Jesus Christ said: 'Father, why hast thou forsakenme?'"

"Ah! Magdalen, that is the saying I expected of you, " cried MonsieurBonnet, who could not help admiring her. "You see you are forced toappeal to God's justice; you invoke it! Listen to me, madame. Religionis, by anticipation, divine justice. The Church claims for herself theright to judge the actions of the soul. Human justice is a feebleimage of divine justice; it is but a pale imitation of it applied tothe needs of society. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"You are not the judge of your own case, you are dependent upon God, "said the priest; "you have neither the right to condemn yourself northe right to absolve yourself. God, my child, is a great reverser ofjudgments. "

"Ah!" she exclaimed. 

"He _sees_ the origin of things, where we see only the thingsthemselves. "

Veronique stopped again, struck by these ideas, that were new to her. 

"To you, " said the brave priest, "to you whose soul is a great one, Iowe other words than those I ought to give to my humble parishioners. You, whose mind and spirit are so cultivated, you can rise to thesense divine of the Catholic religion, expressed by images and wordsto the poor and childlike. Listen to me attentively, for what I amabout to say concerns you; no matter how extensive is the point ofview at which I place myself for a moment, the case is yours. _Law_, invented to protect society, is based on equality. Society, which isnothing but an assemblage of acts, is based on inequality. There istherefore lack of harmony between act and law. Ought society to marchon favored or repressed by law? In other words, ought law to be inopposition to the interior social movement for the maintenance ofsociety, or should it be based on that movement in order to guide it?All legislators have contented themselves with analyzing acts, indicating those that seemed to them blamable or criminal, andattaching punishments to such or rewards to others. That is human law;it has neither the means to prevent sin, nor the means to prevent thereturn to sinfulness of those it punishes. Philanthropy is a sublimeerror; it tortures the body uselessly, it produces no balm to heal thesoul. Philanthropy gives birth to projects, emits ideas, confides theexecution of them to man, to silence, to labor, to rules, to thingsmute and powerless. Religion is above these imperfections, for itextends man's life beyond this world. Regarding us all as degradedfrom our high estate, religion has opened to us an inexhaustibletreasure of indulgence. We are all more or less advanced toward ourcomplete regeneration; no one is sinless; the Church expectswrong-doing, even crime. Where society sees a criminal to be expelledfrom its bosom, the Church sees a soul to save. More, far more thanthat! Inspired by God, whom she studies and contemplates, the Churchadmits the inequalities of strength, she allows for the disproportionof burdens. If she finds us unequal in heart, in body, in mind, inaptitude, and value, she makes us all equal by repentance. Henceequality is no longer a vain word, for we can be, we are, all equalthrough feeling. From the formless fetichism of savages to thegraceful inventions of Greece, or the profound and metaphysicaldoctrines of Egypt and India, whether taught in cheerful or interrifying worship, there is a conviction in the soul of man--that ofhis fall, that of his sin--from which comes everywhere the idea ofsacrifice and redemption. The death of the Redeemer of the human raceis an image of what we have to do for ourselves, --redeem our faults, redeem our errors, redeem our crimes! All is redeemable; Catholicismitself is in that word; hence its adorable sacraments, which help thetriumph of grace and sustain the sinner. To weep, to moan likeMagdalen in the desert, is but the beginning; the end is Action. Monasteries wept and prayed; they prayed and civilized; they were theactive agents of our divine religion. They built, planted, cultivatedEurope; all the while saving the treasures of learning, knowledge, human justice, politics, and art. We shall ever recognize in Europethe places where those radiant centres once were. Nearly all ourmodern towns are the children of monasteries. If you believe that Godwill judge you, the Church tells you by my voice that sin can beredeemed by works of repentance. The mighty hand of God weighs boththe evil done and the value of benefits accomplished. Be yourself likethose monasteries; work here the same miracles. Your prayers must belabors. From your labors must come the good of those above whom youare placed by fortune, by superiority of mind; even this naturalposition of your dwelling is the image of your social situation. "

As he said the last words, the priest and Madame Graslin turned towalk back toward the plains, and the rector pointed both to thevillage at the foot of the hill, and to the chateau commanding thewhole landscape. It was then half-past four o'clock; a glow of yellowsunlight enveloped the balustrade and the gardens, illuminated thechateau, sparkled on the gilded railings of the roof, lighted the longplain cut in two by the high-road, --a sad, gray ribbon, not borderedthere by the fringe of trees which waved above it elsewhere on eitherside. 

When Veronique and Monsieur Bonnet had passed the main body of thechateau, they could see--beyond the courtyard, the stables, and theoffices--the great forest of Montegnac, along which the yellow glowwas gliding like a soft caress. Though this last gleam of the settingsun touched the tree-tops only, it enabled the eye to see distinctlythe caprices of that marvellous tapestry which nature makes of aforest in autumn. The oaks were a mass of Florentine bronze, thewalnuts and the chestnuts displayed their blue-green tones, the earlytrees were putting on their golden foliage, and all these variedcolors were shaded with the gray of barren spots. The trunks of treesalready stripped of leafage showed their light-gray colonnades; therusset, tawny, grayish colors, artistically blended by the palereflections of an October sun, harmonized with the vast uncultivatedplain, green as stagnant water. 

A thought came into the rector's mind as he looked at this finespectacle, mute in other ways, --for not a tree rustled, not a birdchirped, death was on the plain, silence in the forest; here and therea little smoke from the village chimneys, that was all. The chateauseemed as gloomy as its mistress. By some strange law all things abouta dwelling imitate the one who rules there; the owner's spirit hoversover it. Madame Graslin--her mind grasped by the rector's words, hersoul struck by conviction, her heart affected in its tenderestemotions by the angelic quality of that pure voice--stopped short. Therector raised his arm and pointed to the forest. Veronique lookedthere. 

"Do you not think it has a vague resemblance to social life?" he said. "To each its destiny. How many inequalities in that mass of trees!Those placed the highest lack earth and moisture; they die first. "

"Some there are whom the shears of the woman gathering fagots cutshort in their prime, " she said bitterly. 

"Do not fall back into those thoughts, " said the rector sternly, though with indulgence still. "The misfortune of this forest is thatit has never been cut. Do you see the phenomenon these massespresent?"

Veronique, to whose mind the singularities of the forest naturesuggested little, looked obediently at the forest and then let hereyes drop gently back upon the rector. 

"You do not notice, " he said, perceiving from that look her totalignorance, "the lines where the trees of all species still hold theirgreenness?"

"Ah! true, " she said. "I see them now. Why is it?"

"In that, " replied the rector, "lies the future of Montegnac, and yourown fortune, an immense fortune, as I once explained to MonsieurGraslin. You see the furrows of those three dells, the mountainstreams of which flow into the torrent of the Gabou. That torrentseparates the forest of Montegnac from the district which on this sideadjoins ours. In September and October it goes dry, but in November itis full of water, the volume of which would be greatly increased by apartial clearing of the forest, so as to send all the lesser streamsto join it. As it is, its waters do no good; but if one or two damswere made between the two hills on either side of it, as they havedone at Riquet, and at Saint-Ferreol--where they have made immensereservoirs to feed the Languedoc canal--this barren plain could befertilized by judicious irrigation through trenches and culvertsmanaged by watergates; sending the water when needed over these lands, and diverting it at other times to our little river. You could plantfine poplars along these water-courses and raise the finest cattle onsuch pasturage as you would then obtain. What is grass, but sun andwater? There is quite soil enough on the plains to hold the roots; thestreams will furnish dew and moisture; the poplars will hold and feedupon the mists, returning their elements to the herbage; these are thesecrets of the fine vegetation of valleys. If you undertook this workyou would soon see life and joy and movement where silence now reigns, where the eye is saddened by barren fruitlessness. Would not that be anoble prayer to God? Such work would be a better occupation of yourleisure than the indulgence of melancholy thoughts. "

Veronique pressed the rector's hand, answering with four brief words, but they were grand ones:--

"It shall be done. "

"You conceive the possibility of this great work, " he went on; "butyou cannot execute it. Neither you nor I have the necessary knowledgeto accomplish an idea which might have come to all, but the executionof which presents immense difficulties; for simple as it may seem, thematter requires the most accurate science with all its resources. Seek, therefore, at once for the proper human instruments who willenable you within the next dozen years to get an income of six orseven thousand louis out of the six thousand acres you irrigate andfertilize. Such an enterprise will make Montegnac at some future daythe most prosperous district in the department. The forest, as yet, yields you no return, but sooner or later commerce will come here insearch of its fine woods--those treasures amassed by time; the onlyones the production of which cannot be hastened or improved upon byman. The State may some day provide a way of transport from thisforest, for many of the trees would make fine masts for the navy; butit will wait until the increasing population of Montegnac makes ademand upon its protection; for the State is like fortune, it comesonly to the rich. This estate, well managed, will become, in thecourse of time, one of the finest in France; it will be the pride ofyour grandson, who may then find the chateau paltry, comparing it withits revenues. "

"Here, " said Veronique, "is a future for my life. "

"A beneficent work such as that will redeem wrongdoing, " said therector. 

Seeing that she understood him, he attempted to strike another blow onthis woman's intellect, judging rightly that in her the intellect ledthe heart, whereas in other women the heart is their road tointelligence. 

"Do you know, " he said after a pause, "the error in which you areliving?"

She looked at him timidly. 

"Your repentance is as yet only a sense of defeat endured, --which ishorrible, for it is nothing else than the despair of Satan; such, perhaps, was the repentance of mankind before the coming of JesusChrist. But our repentance, the repentance of Christians, is thehorror of a soul struck down on an evil path, to whom, by this veryshock, God has revealed Himself. You are like the pagan Orestes; makeyourself another Paul. "

"Your words have changed me utterly, " she cried. "Now--oh! now I wantto live. "

"The spirit conquers, " thought the modest rector, as he joyfully tookhis leave. He had cast nourishment before a soul hunted into secretdespair by giving to its repentance the form of a good and nobleaction. 

 XII

 THE SOUL OF FORESTS

Veronique wrote to Monsieur Grossetete on the morrow. A few days latershe received from Limoges three saddle-horses sent by her old friend. Monsieur Bonnet found at Veronique's request, a young man, son of thepostmaster, who was delighted to serve Veronique and earn good wages. This young fellow, small but active, with a round face, black eyes andhair, and named Maurice Champion, pleased Veronique very much and wasimmediately inducted into his office, which was that of taking care ofthe horses and accompanying his mistress on her excursions. 

The head-forester of Montegnac was a former cavalry-sergeant in theRoyal guard, born at Limoges, whom the Duc de Navarreins had sent tohis estate at Montegnac to study its capabilities and value, in orderthat he might derive some profit from it. Jerome Colorat found nothingbut waste land utterly barren, woods unavailable for want oftransportation, a ruined chateau, and enormous outlays required torestore the house and gardens. Alarmed, above all, by the beds oftorrents strewn with granite rocks which seamed the forest, thishonest but unintelligent agent was the real cause of the sale of theproperty. 

"Colorat, " said Madame Graslin to her forester, for whom she had sent, "I shall probably ride out every morning, beginning with to-morrow. You know all the different parts of the land that belonged originallyto this estate and those which Monsieur Graslin added to it: I wishyou to go with me and point them out; for I intend to visit every partof the property myself. "

The family within the chateau saw with joy the change that nowappeared in Veronique's behavior. Without being told to do so, Alinegot out her mistress's riding-habit and put it in good order for use. The next day Madame Sauviat felt unspeakable relief when her daughterleft her room dressed to ride out. 

Guided by the forester and Champion, who found their way byrecollection, for the paths were scarcely marked on these unfrequentedmountains, Madame Graslin started on the first day for the summits, intending to explore those only, so as to understand the watershed andfamiliarize herself with the lay of the ravines, the natural path ofthe torrents when they tore down the slopes. She wished to measure thetask before her, --to study the land and the water-ways, and find forherself the essential points of the enterprise which the rector hadsuggested to her. She followed Colorat, who rode in advance; Championwas a few steps behind her. 

So long as they were making their way through parts that were densewith trees, going up and down undulations of ground lying near to eachother and very characteristic of the mountains of France, Veroniquewas lost in contemplation of the marvels of the forest. First came thevenerable centennial trees, which amazed her till she grew accustomedto them; next, the full-grown younger trees reaching to their naturalheight; then, in some more open spot, a solitary pine-tree of enormousheight; or--but this was rare--one of those flowing shrubs, dwarfelsewhere, but here attaining to gigantic development, and often asold as the soil itself. She saw, with a sensation quite unspeakable, acloud rolling along the face of the bare rocks. She noticed the whitefurrows made down the mountain sides by the melting snows, whichlooked at a distance like scars and gashes. Passing through a gorgestripped of vegetation, she nevertheless admired, in the cleft flanksof the rocky slope, aged chestnuts as erect as the Alpine fir-trees. 

The rapidity with which she advanced left her no time to take in allthe varied scene, the vast moving sands, the quagmires boasting a fewscattered trees, fallen granite boulders, overhanging rocks, shadedvalleys, broad open spaces with moss and heather still in bloom(though some was dried), utter solitudes overgrown with juniper andcaper-bushes; sometimes uplands with short grass, small spacesenriched by an oozing spring, --in short, much sadness, many splendors, things sweet, things strong, and all the singular aspects ofmountainous Nature in the heart of France. 

As she watched these many pictures, varied in form but all inspiredwith the same thought, the awful sadness of this Nature, so wild, soruined, abandoned, fruitless, barren, filled her soul and answered toher secret feelings. And when, through an opening among the trees, shecaught a glimpse of the plain below her, when she crossed some aridravine over gravel and stones, where a few stunted bushes alone couldgrow, the spirit of this austere Nature came to her, suggestingobservations new to her mind, derived from the many significations ofthis varied scene. 

There is no spot in a forest which does not have its significance; nota glade, not a thicket but has its analogy with the labyrinth of humanthought. Who is there among those whose minds are cultivated or whosehearts are wounded who can walk alone in a forest and the forest notspeak to him? Insensibly a voice lifts itself, consoling or terrible, but oftener consoling than terrifying. If we seek the causes of thesensation--grave, simple, sweet, mysterious--that grasps us there, perhaps we shall find it in the sublime and artless spectacle of allthese creations obeying their destiny and immutably submissive. Sooneror later the overwhelming sense of the permanence of Nature fills ourhearts and stirs them deeply, and we end by being conscious of God. Soit was with Veronique; in the silence of those summits, from the odorof the woods, the serenity of the air, she gathered--as she said thatevening to Monsieur Bonnet--the certainty of God's mercy. She saw thepossibility of an order of deeds higher than any to which heraspirations had ever reached. She felt a sort of happiness within her;it was long, indeed since she had known such a sense of peace. Did sheowe that feeling to the resemblance she found between that barrenlandscape and the arid, exhausted regions of her soul? Had she seenthose troubles of nature with a sort of joy, thinking that Nature waspunished though it had not sinned? At any rate, she was powerfullyaffected; Colorat and Champion, following her at a little distance, thought her transfigured. 

At a certain sport Veronique was struck with the stern harsh aspect ofthe steep and rocky beds of the dried-up torrents. She found herselflonging to hear the sound of water splashing through those scorchedravines. 

"The need to love!" she murmured. 

Ashamed of the words, which seemed to come to her like a voice, shepushed her horse boldly toward the first peak of the Correze, where, in spite of the forester's advice, she insisted on going. Telling herattendants to wait for her she went on alone to the summit, which iscalled the Roche-Vive, and stayed there for some time, studying thesurrounding country. After hearing the secret voice of the manycreations asking to live she now received within her the touch, theinspiration, which determined her to put into her work that wonderfulperseverance displayed by Nature, of which she had herself alreadygiven many proofs. 

She fastened her horse to a tree and seated herself on a large rock, letting her eyes rove over the broad expanse of barren plain, whereNature seemed a step-mother, --feeling in her heart the same stirringsof maternal love with which at times she gazed upon her infant. Prepared by this train of emotion, these half involuntary meditations(which, to use her own fine expression, winnowed her heart), toreceive the sublime instruction offered by the scene before her, sheawoke from her lethargy. 

"I understood then, " she said afterwards to the rector, "that oursouls must be ploughed and cultivated like the soil itself. "

The vast expanse before her was lighted by a pale November sun. Already a few gray clouds chased by a chilly wind were hurrying fromthe west. It was then three o'clock. Veronique had taken more thanfour hours to reach the summit, but, like all others who are harrowedby an inward misery, she paid no heed to external circumstances. Atthis moment her being was actually growing and magnifying with thesublime impetus of Nature itself. 

"Do not stay here any longer, madame, " said a man, whose voice madeher quiver, "or you will soon be unable to return; you are six milesfrom any dwelling, and the forest is impassable at night. But that isnot your greatest danger. Before long the cold on this summit willbecome intense; the reason of this is unknown, but it has caused thedeath of many persons. "

Madame Graslin saw before her a man's face, almost black with sunburn, in which shone eyes that were like two tongues of flame. On eitherside of this face hung a mass of brown hair, and below it was afan-shaped beard. The man was raising respectfully one of thoseenormous broad-brimmed hats which are worn by the peasantry of centralFrance, and in so doing displayed a bald but splendid forehead such aswe sometimes see in wayside beggars. Veronique did not feel theslightest fear; the situation was one in which all the lesserconsiderations that make a woman timid had ceased. 

"Why are you here?" she asked. 

"My home is near by, " he answered. 

"What can you do in such a desert?" she said. 

"I live. "

"But how? what means of living are there?"

"I earn a little something by watching that part of the forest, " heanswered, pointing to the other side of the summit from the one thatoverlooked Montegnac. Madame Graslin then saw the muzzle of a gun andalso a game-bag. If she had had any fears this would have put an endto them. 

"Then you are a keeper?" she said. 

"No, madame; in order to be a keeper we must take a certain oath; andto take an oath we must have civic rights. "

"Who are you, then?"

"I am Farrabesche, " he said, with deep humility, lowering his eyes tothe ground. 

Madame Graslin, to whom the name told nothing, looked at the man andnoticed in his face, the expression of which was now very gentle, thesigns of underlying ferocity; irregular teeth gave to the mouth, thelips blood-red, an ironical expression full of evil audacity; the darkand prominent cheek-bones had something animal about them. The man wasof middle height, with strong shoulders, a thick-set neck, and thelarge hairy hands of violent men capable of using their strength in abrutal manner. His last words pointed to some mystery, to which hisbearing, the expression of his countenance, and his whole person, gavea sinister meaning. 

"You must be in my service, then?" said Veronique in a gentle voice. 

"Have I the honor of speaking to Madame Graslin?" asked Farrabesche. 

"Yes, my friend, " she answered. 

Farrabesche instantly disappeared, with the rapidity of a wild animal, after casting a glance at his mistress that was full of fear. 

 XIII

 FARRABESCHE

Veronique hastened to mount her horse and rejoin the servants, whowere beginning to be uneasy about her; for the strange unhealthinessof the Roche-Vive was well known throughout the neighborhood. Coloratbegged his mistress to go down into the little valley which led to theplain. It would be dangerous, he said, to return by the hills, or bythe tangled paths they had followed in the morning, where, even withhis knowledge of the country, they were likely to be lost in the dusk. 

Once on the plain Veronique rode slowly. 

"Who is this Farrabesche whom you employ?" she asked her forester. 

"Has madame met him?" cried Colorat. 

"Yes, but he ran away from me. "

"Poor man! perhaps he does not know how kind madame is. "

"But what has he done?"

"Ah! madame, Farrabesche is a murderer, " replied Champion, simply. 

"Then they pardoned him!" said Veronique, in a trembling voice. 

"No, madame, " replied Colorat, "Farrabesche was tried and condemned toten years at the galleys; he served half his time, and then he wasreleased on parole and came here in 1827. He owes his life to therector, who persuaded him to give himself up to justice. He had beencondemned to death by default, and sooner or later he must have beentaken and executed. Monsieur Bonnet went to find him in the woods, allalone, at the risk of being killed. No one knows what he said toFarrabesche. They were alone together two days; on the third day therector brought Farrabesche to Tulle, where he gave himself up. Monsieur Bonnet went to see a good lawyer and begged him to do hisbest for the man. Farrabesche escaped with ten years in irons. Therector went to visit him in prison, and that dangerous fellow, whoused to be the terror of the whole country, became as gentle as agirl; he even let them take him to the galleys without a struggle. Onhis return he settled here by the rector's advice; no one says a wordagainst him; he goes to mass every Sunday and all the feast-days. Though his place is among us he slips in beside the wall and sitsalone. He goes to the altar sometimes and prays, but when he takes theholy sacrament he always kneels apart. "

"And you say that man killed another man?"

"One!" exclaimed Colorat; "he killed several! But he is a good man allthe same. "

"Is that possible?" exclaimed Veronique, letting the bridle fall onthe neck of her horse. 

"Well, you see, madame, " said the forester, who asked no better thanto tell the tale, "Farrabesche may have had good reason for what hedid. He was the last of the Farrabesches, --an old family of theCorreze, don't you know! His elder brother, Captain Farrabesche, diedten years earlier in Italy, at Montenotte, a captain when he was onlytwenty-two years old. Wasn't that ill-luck? and such a lad, too! knewhow to read and write, and bid fair to be a general. The familygrieved terribly, and good reason, too. As for me, I heard all abouthis death, for I was serving at that time under L'AUTRE. Oh! he made afine death, did Captain Farrabesche; he saved the army and the LittleCorporal. I was then in the division of General Steingel, a German, --that is, an Alsacian, --a famous good general but rather short-sighted, and that was the reason why he was killed soon after CaptainFarrabesche. The younger brother--that's this one--was only six yearsold when he heard of his brother's death. The second brother servedtoo; but only as a private soldier; he died a sergeant in the firstregiment of the Guard, at the battle of Austerlitz, where, d'ye see, madame, they manoeuvred just as quietly as they might in the Carrousel. I was there! oh! I had the luck of it! went through it all without ascratch! Now this Farrabesche of ours, though he's a brave fellow, took it into his head he wouldn't go to the wars; in fact, the armywasn't a healthy place for one of his family. So when the conscriptioncaught him in 1811 he ran away, --a refractory, that's what they calledthem. And then it was he went and joined a party of _chauffeurs_, ormaybe he was forced to; at any rate he _chauffed_! Nobody but therector knows what he really did with those brigands--all due respectto them! Many a fight he had with the gendarmes and the soldiers too;I'm told he was in seven regular battles--"

"They say he killed two soldiers and three gendarmes, " put inChampion. 

"Who knows how many?--he never told, " went on Colorat. "At last, madame, they caught nearly all his comrades, but they never couldcatch him; hang him! he was so young and active, and knew the countryso well, he always escaped. The _chauffeurs_ he consorted with keptthemselves mostly in the neighborhood of Brives and Tulle; sometimesthey came down this way, because Farrabesche knew such goodhiding-places about here. In 1814 the conscription took no furthernotice of him, because it was abolished; but for all that, he wasobliged to live in the woods in 1815; because, don't you see? as hehadn't enough to live on, he helped to stop a mail-coach over there, down that gorge; and then it was they condemned him. But, as I toldyou just now, the rector persuaded him to give himself up. It wasn'teasy to convict him, for nobody dared testify against him; and hislawyer and Monsieur Bonnet worked so hard they got him sentenced forten years only; which was pretty good luck after being a _chauffeur_--for he did _chauffe_. "

"Will you tell me what _chauffeur_ means?"

"If you wish it, madame, I will tell you what they did, as far as Iknow about it from others, for I never was _chauffed_ myself. Itwasn't a good thing to do, but necessity knows no law. Well, this ishow it was: seven or eight would go to some farmer or land-owner whowas thought to have money; the farmer would build a good fire and givethem a supper, lasting half through the night, and then, when thefeast was over, if the master of the house wouldn't give them the sumdemanded, they just fastened his feet to the spit, and didn't unfastenthem till they got it. That's how it was. They always went masked. Among all their expeditions they sometimes made unlucky ones. Hang it, there'll always be obstinate, miserly old fellows in the world! One ofthem, a farmer, old Cochegrue, so mean he'd shave an egg, held out; helet them roast his feet. Well, he died of it. The wife of MonsieurDavid, near Brives, died of terror at merely seeing those fellows tieher husband's feet. She died saying to David: 'Give them all youhave. ' He wouldn't, and so she just pointed out the hiding-place. The_chauffeurs_ (that's why they call them _chauffeurs_, --warmers) werethe terror of the whole country for over five years. But you must getit well into your head, --oh, excuse me, madame, but you must know thatmore than one young man of good family belonged to them, thoughsomehow they were never the ones to be caught. "

Madame Graslin listened without interrupting or replying. There wassilence for a few moments, and then little Champion, jealous of theright to amuse his mistress, wanted to tell her what he knew of thelate galley-slave. 

"Madame ought to know more about Farrabesche; he hasn't his equal atrunning, or at riding a horse. He can kill an ox with a blow of hisfist; nobody can shoot like him; he can carry seven hundred feet asstraight as a die, --there! One day they surprised him with three ofhis comrades; two were wounded, one was killed, --good! Farrabeschewas all but taken. Bah! he just sprang on the horse of one of thegendarmes behind the man, pricked the horse with his knife, made itrun with all its might, and so disappeared, holding the gendarme tightround the body. But he held him so tight that after a time he threwthe body on the ground and rode away alone on the horse and master ofthe horse; and he had the cheek to go and sell it not thirty milesfrom Limoges! After that affair he hid himself for three months andwas never seen. The authorities offered a hundred golden louis towhoever would deliver him up. "

"Another time, " added Colorat, "when the prefect of Tulle offered ahundred louis for him, he made one of his own cousins, Giriex ofVizay, earn them. His cousin denounced him, and appeared to deliverhim up. Oh, yes, he delivered him sure enough! The gendarmes weredelighted, and took him to Tulle; there they put him in the prison ofLubersac, from which he escaped that very night, profiting by a holealready begun by one of his accomplices who had been executed. Allthese adventures gave Farrabesche a fine reputation. The _chauffeurs_had lots of outside friends; people really loved them. They were notskinflints like those of to-day; they spent their money royally, thosefellows! Just fancy, madame, one evening Farrabesche was chased bygendarmes; well, he escaped them by staying twenty minutes under waterin the pond of a farm-yard. He breathed air through a straw which hekept above the surface of the pool, which was half muck. But, goodness! what was that little disagreeableness to a man who spendshis nights in the tree-tops, where the sparrows can hardly holdthemselves, watching the soldiers going to and fro in search of himbelow? Farrabesche was one of the half-dozen _chauffeurs_ whom theofficers of justice could never lay hands on. But as he belonged tothe region and was brought up with them, and had, as they said, onlyfled the conscription, all the women were on his side, --and that's agreat deal, you know. "

"Is it really certain that Farrabesche did kill several persons?"asked Madame Graslin. 

"Yes, certain, " replied Colorat; "it is even said that it was he whokilled the traveller by the mail-coach in 1812; but the courier andthe postilion, the only witnesses who could have identified him, weredead before he was tried. "

"Tried for the robbery?" asked Madame Graslin. 

"Yes, they took everything; amongst it twenty-five thousand francsbelonging to the government. "

Madame Graslin rode silently after that for two or three miles. Thesun had now set, the moon was lighting the gray plain, which lookedlike an open sea. Champion and Colorat began to wonder at MadameGraslin, whose silence seemed strange to them, and they were greatlyastonished to see the shining track of tears upon her cheeks; her eyeswere red and full of tears, which were falling drop by drop as sherode along. 

"Oh, madame, " said Colorat, "don't pity him! The lad has had his day. He had pretty girls in love with him; and now, though to be sure he isclosely watched by the police, he is protected by the respect andgood-will of the rector; for he has really repented. His conduct atthe galleys was exemplary. Everybody knows he is as honest as the mosthonest man among us. Only he is proud; he doesn't choose to exposehimself to rebuff; so he lives quietly by himself and does good in hisown way. He has made a nursery of about ten acres for you on the otherside of the Roche-Vive; he plants in the forests wherever he thinksthere's a chance of making a tree grow; he trims the tree and cuts outthe dead wood, and ties it up into bundles for the poor. All the poorpeople know they can get their wood from him all cut and ready toburn; so they go and ask him for it, instead of taking it themselvesand injuring your forest. He is another kind of _chauffeur_ now, andwarms his poor neighbors to their comfort and not to their harm. Oh, Farrabesche loves your forest! He takes care of it as if it were hisown property. "

"And he lives--all alone?" exclaimed Madame Graslin, adding the twolast words hastily. 

"Excuse me, not quite alone, madame; he takes care of a boy aboutfifteen years old, " said Maurice Champion. 

"Yes, that's so, " said Colorat; "La Curieux gave birth to the childsome little time before Farrabesche was condemned. "

"Is it his child?" asked Madame Graslin. 

"People think so. "

"Why didn't he marry her?"

"How could he? They would certainly have arrested him. As it was, whenLa Curieux heard he was sentenced to the galleys the poor girl leftthis part of the country. "

"Was she a pretty girl?"

"Oh!" said Maurice, "my mother says she was very like another girl whohas also left Montegnac for something the same reason, --DeniseTascheron. "

"She loved him?" said Madame Graslin. 

"Ha, yes! because he _chauffed_; women do like things that are out ofthe way. However, nothing ever did surprise the community more thanthat love affair. Catherine Curieux lived as virtuous a life as a holyvirgin; she passed for a pearl of purity in her village of Vizay, which is really a small town in the Correze on the line between thetwo departments. Her father and mother are farmers to the MessieursBrezac. Catherine Curieux was about seventeen when Farrabesche wassent to the galleys. The Farrabesches were an old family from the sameregion, who settled in the commune of Montegnac; they hired their farmfrom the village. The father and mother Farrabesche are dead, butCatherine's three sisters are married, one in Aubusson, another inLimoges, and a third in Saint-Leonard. "

"Do you think Farrabesche knows where Catherine Curieux is?" askedMadame Graslin. 

"If he did know he'd break his parole. Oh! he'd go to her. As soon ashe came back from the galleys he got Monsieur Bonnet to ask for thelittle boy whom the grandfather and grandmother were taking care of;and Monsieur Bonnet obtained the child. "

"Does no one know what became of the mother?"

"No one, " said Colorat. "The girl felt that she was ruined; she wasafraid to stay in her own village. She went to Paris. What is shedoing there? Well, that's the question; but you might as well hunt fora marble among the stones on that plain as look for her there. "

They were now riding up the ascent to the chateau as Colorat pointedto the plain below. Madame Sauviat, evidently uneasy, Aline and theother servants were waiting at the gate, not knowing what to think ofthis long absence. 

"My dear, " said Madame Sauviat, helping her daughter to dismount, "youmust be very tired. "

"No, mother, " replied Madame Graslin, in so changed a voice thatMadame Sauviat looked closely at her and then saw the mark of tears. 

Madame Graslin went to her own rooms with Aline, who took her ordersfor all that concerned her personal life. She now shut herself up andwould not even admit her mother; when Madame Sauviat asked to enter, Aline stopped her, saying, "Madame has gone to sleep. "

The next day Veronique rode out attended by Maurice only. In order toreach the Roche-Vive as quickly as possible she took the road by whichshe had returned the night before. As they rode up the gorge whichlies between the mountain peak and the last hill of the forest (for, seen from the plain, the Roche-Vive looks isolated) Veroniquerequested Maurice to show her the house in which Farrabesche lived andthen to hold the horses and wait for her; she wished to go alone. Maurice took her to a path which led down on the other side of theRoche-Vive and showed her the thatched roof of a dwelling half buriedin the mountain, below which lay the nursery grounds. It was thenabout mid-day. A light smoke issued from the chimney. Veroniquereached the cottage in a few moments, but she did not make herpresence known at once. She stood a few moments lost in thoughts knownonly to herself as she gazed on the modest dwelling which stood in themiddle of a garden enclosed with a hedge of thorns. 

Beyond the lower end of the garden lay several cares of meadow landsurrounded by an evergreen hedge; the eye looked down on the flattenedtops of fruit trees, apple, pear, and plum trees scattered here andthere among these fields. Above the house, toward the crest of themountain where the soil became sandy, rose the yellow crowns of asplendid grove of chestnuts. Opening the railed gate made ofhalf-rotten boards which enclosed the premises, Madame Graslin saw astable, a small poultry-yard and all the picturesque and livingaccessories of poor homes, which have so much of rural poesy aboutthem. Who could see without emotion the linen fluttering on thehedges, the bunches of onions hanging from the eaves, the ironsaucepans drying in the sun, the wooden bench overhung withhoneysuckle, the stone-crop clinging to the thatch, as it does on theroofs of nearly all the cottages in France, revealing a humble lifethat is almost vegetative?

It was impossible for Veronique to come upon her keeper without hisreceiving due notice; two fine hunting dogs began to bark as soon asthe rustling of her habit was heard on the dried leaves. She took theend of it over her arm and advanced toward the house. Farrabesche andhis boy, who were sitting on a wooden bench outside the door, rose anduncovered their heads, standing in a respectful attitude, but withoutthe least appearance of servility. 

"I have heard, " said Veronique, looking attentively at the boy, "thatyou take much care of my interests; I wished to see your house and thenurseries, and ask you a few questions relating to the improvements Iintend to make. "

"I am at madame's orders, " replied Farrabesche. 

Veronique admired the boy, who had a charming face of a perfect oval, rather sunburned and brown but very regular in features, the foreheadfinely modelled, orange-colored eyes of extreme vivacity, black haircut straight across the brow and allowed to hang down on either sideof the face. Taller than most boys of his age, the little fellow wasnearly five feet high. His trousers, like his shirt, were of coarsegray linen, his waistcoat, of rough blue cloth with horn buttons muchworn and a jacket of the cloth so oddly called Maurienne velvet, withwhich the Savoyards like to clothe themselves, stout hob-nailed shoes, and no stockings. This costume was exactly like that of his father, except that Farrabesche had on his head the broad-brimmed felt hat ofthe peasantry, while the boy had only a brown woollen cap. 

Though intelligent and animated, the child's face was instinct withthe gravity peculiar to all human beings of any age who live insolitude; he seemed to put himself in harmony with the life and thesilence of the woods. Both Farrabesche and his son were speciallydeveloped on their physical side, possessing many of thecharacteristics of savages, --piercing sight, constant observation, absolute self-control, a keen ear, wonderful agility, and anintelligent manner of speaking. At the first glance the boy gave hisfather Madame Graslin recognized one of those unbounded affections inwhich instinct blends with thought, and a most active happinessstrengthens both the will of the instinct and the reasoning ofthought. 

"This must be the child I have heard of, " said Veronique, motioning tothe boy. 

"Yes, madame. "

"Have you made no attempt to find his mother?" asked Veronique, makinga sign to Farrabesche to follow her a little distance. 

"Madame may not be aware that I am not allowed to go beyond thedistrict in which I reside. "

"Have you never received any news of her?"

"At the expiration of my term, " he answered, "I received from theCommissioner a thousand francs, sent to him quarterly for me in littlesums which police regulations did not allow me to receive till the dayI left the galleys. I think that Catherine alone would have thought ofme, as it was not Monsieur Bonnet who sent this money; therefore Ihave kept it safely for Benjamin. "

"And Catherine's parents?"

"They have never inquired for her since she left. Besides they didenough in taking charge of the little one. "

"Well, Farrabesche, " said Veronique, returning toward the house. "Iwill make it my business to know if Catherine still lives; and if so, what is her present mode of life. "

"Oh! madame, whatever that may be, " said the man gently, "it would behappiness for me if I could have her for my wife. It is for her toobject, not me. Our marriage would legitimatize this poor boy, who asyet knows nothing of his position. "

The look the father threw upon the lad explained the life of these twobeings, abandoned, or voluntarily isolated; they were all in all toeach other, like two compatriots adrift upon a desert. 

"Then you love Catherine?" said Veronique. 

"Even if I did not love her, madame, " he replied, "she is to me, in mysituation, the only woman there is in the world. "

Madame Graslin turned hurriedly and walked away under the chestnuttrees, as if attacked by some sharp pain; the keeper, thinking she wasmoved by a sudden caprice, did not venture to follow her. 

 XIV

 THE TORRENT OF THE GABOU

Veronique remained for some minutes under the chestnut trees, apparently looking at the landscape. Thence she could see that portionof the forest which clothes the side of the valley down which flowsthe torrent of the Gabou, now dry, a mass of stones, looking like ahuge ditch cut between the wooded mountains of Montegnac and anotherchain of parallel hills beyond, --the latter being much steeper andwithout vegetation, except for heath and juniper and a few sparsetrees toward their summit. 

These hills, desolate of aspect, belong to the neighboring domain andare in the department of the Correze. A country road, following theundulations of the valley, serves to mark the line between thearrondissement of Montegnac and the two estates. This barren slopesupports, like a wall, a fine piece of woodland which stretches awayin the distance from its rocky summit. Its barrenness forms a completecontrast to the other slope, on which is the cottage of Farrabesche. On the one side, harsh, disfigured angularities, on the other, graceful forms and curving outlines; there, the cold, dumb stillnessof unfruitful earth held up by horizontal blocks of stone and nakedrock, here, trees of various greens, now stripped for the most part offoliage, but showing their fine straight many-colored trunks on everyslope and terrace of the land; their interlacing branches swaying tothe breeze. A few more persistent trees, oaks, elms, beeches, andchestnuts, still retained their yellow, bronzed, or crimsoned foliage. 

Toward Montegnac, where the valley widened immensely, the two slopesform a horse-shoe; and from the spot where Veronique now stood leaningagainst a tree she could see the descending valleys lying like thegradations of an ampitheatre, the tree-tops rising from each tier likepersons in the audience. This fine landscape was then on the otherside of her park, though it afterwards formed part of it. On the sidetoward the cottage near which she stood the valley narrows more andmore until it becomes a gorge, about a hundred feet wide. 

The beauty of this view, over which Madame Graslin's eyes now rovedmechanically, recalled her presently to herself. She returned to thecottage where the father and son were standing, silently awaiting herand not seeking to explain her singular absence. 

She examined the house, which was built with more care than itsthatched roof seemed to warrant. It had, no doubt, been abandoned eversince the Navarreins ceased to care for this domain. No more hunts, nomore game-keepers. Though the house had been built for over a hundredyears, the walls were still good, notwithstanding the ivy and othersorts of climbing-plants which clung to them. When Farrabescheobtained permission to live there he tiled the room on the lower floorand put in furniture. Veronique saw, as she entered, two beds, a largewalnut wardrobe, a bread-box, dresser, table, three chairs, and on thedresser a few brown earthenware dishes and other utensils necessary tolife. Above the fireplace were two guns and two gamebags. A number oflittle things evidently made by the father for the child touchedVeronique's heart--the model of a man-of-war, of a sloop, a carvedwooden cup, a wooden box of exquisite workmanship, a coffer inlaid indiaper pattern, a crucifix, and a splendid rosary. The chaplet wasmade of plum-stones, on each of which was carved a head of marvellousdelicacy, --of Jesus Christ, of the apostles, the Madonna, Saint Johnthe Baptist, Saint Joseph, Saint Anne, the two Magdalens, etc. 

"I do that to amuse the little one in the long winter evenings, " hesaid, as if excusing himself. 

The front of the house was covered with jessamine and roses, trainedto the wall and wreathing the windows of the upper floor, whereFarrabesche stored his provisions. He bought little except bread, salt, sugar, and a few such articles, for he kept chickens, ducks, andtwo pigs. Neither he nor the boy drank wine. 

"All that I have heard of you and all that I now see, " said MadameGraslin at last, "make me feel an interest in your welfare which willnot, I hope, be a barren one. "

"I recognize Monsieur Bonnet's kindness in what you say, " criedFarrabesche, in a tone of feeling. 

"You are mistaken; the rector has not yet spoken of you to me; chance--or God--has done it. "

"Yes, madame, God! God alone can do miracles for a miserable man likeme. "

"If you have been a miserable man, " said Madame Graslin, lowering hervoice that the child might not hear her (an act of womanly delicacywhich touched his heart), "your repentance, your conduct, and therector's esteem have now fitted you to become a happier man. I havegiven orders to finish the building of the large farmhouse whichMonsieur Graslin intended to establish near the chateau. I shall makeyou my farmer, and you will have an opportunity to use all yourfaculties, and also to employ your son. The _procureur-general_ inLimoges shall be informed about you, and the humiliatingpolice-inspection you are now subjected to shall be removed. Ipromise you. "

At these words Farrabesche fell on his knees, as if struck down by therealization of a hope he had long considered vain. He kissed the hemof Madame Graslin's habit, then her feet. Seeing the tears in hisfather's eyes, the boy wept too, without knowing why. 

"Rise, Farrabesche, " said Madame Graslin, "you do not know how naturalit is that I should do for you what I have promised. You planted thosefine trees, did you not?" she went on, pointing to the groups ofNorthern pine, firs, and larches at the foot of the dry and rocky hilldirectly opposite. 

"Yes, madame. "

"Is the earth better there?"

"The water in washing down among the rocks brings a certain amount ofsoil, which it deposits. I have profited by this; for the whole of thelevel of the valley belongs to you, --the road is your boundary. "

"Is there much water at the bottom of that long valley?"

"Oh, madame, " cried Farrabesche, "before long, when the rains begin, you will hear the torrent roar even at the chateau; but even that isnothing to what happens in spring when the snows melt. The water thenrushes down from all parts of the forest behind Montegnac, from thosegreat slopes which are back of the hills on which you have your park. All the water of these mountains pours into this valley and makes adeluge. Luckily for you, the trees hold the earth; otherwise the landwould slide into the valley. "

"Where are the springs?" asked Madame Graslin, giving her fullattention to what he said. 

Farrabesche pointed to a narrow gorge which seemed to end the valleyjust below his house. "They are mostly on a clay plateau lying betweenthe Limousin and the Correze; they are mere green pools during thesummer, and lose themselves in the soil. No one lives in thatunhealthy region. The cattle will not eat the grass or reeds that grownear the brackish water. That vast tract, which has more than threethousand acres in it, is an open common for three districts; but, likethe plains of Montegnac, no use can be made of it. This side on yourproperty, as I showed you, there is a little earth among the stones, but over there is nothing but sandy rock. "

"Send your boy for the horses; I will ride over and see it formyself. "

Benjamin departed, after Madame Graslin had shown him the direction inwhich he would find Maurice and the horses. 

"You who know, so they tell me, every peculiarity of the countrythoroughly, " continued Madame Graslin, "explain to me how it is thatthe streams of my forest which are on the side of the mountain towardMontegnac, and ought therefore to send their waters down there, do notdo so, neither in regular water-courses nor in sudden torrents afterrains and the melting of the snows. "

"Ah, madame, " said Farrabesche, "the rector, who thinks all the timeabout the welfare of Montegnac, has guessed the reason, but he can'tfind any proof of it. Since your arrival, he has made me trace thepath of the water from point to point through each ravine and valley. I was returning yesterday, when I had the honor of meeting you, fromthe base of the Roche-Vive, where I carefully examined the lay of theland. Hearing the horses' feet, I came up to see who was there. Monsieur Bonnet is not only a saint, madame; he is a man of greatknowledge. 'Farrabesche, ' he said to me (I was then working on theroad the village has just built to the chateau, and the rector came tome and pointed to that chain of hills from Montegnac to Roche-Vive), --'Farrabesche, ' he said, 'there must be some reason why that water-sheddoes not send any of its water to the plain; Nature must have madesome sluiceway which carries it elsewhere. ' Well, madame, that idea isso simple you would suppose any child might have thought it; yet noone since Montegnac existed, neither the great lords, nor theirbailiffs, nor their foresters, nor the poor, nor the rich, none ofthose who saw that plain barren for want of water, ever askedthemselves why the streams which now feed the Gabou do not come there. The three districts above, which have constantly been afflicted withfevers in consequence of stagnant water, never looked for the remedy;I myself, who live in the wilds, never dreamed of it; it needed a manof God. "

The tears filled his eyes as he said the word. 

"All that men of genius discover, " said Madame Graslin, "seems sosimple that every one thinks they might have discovered it themselves. But, " she added, as if to herself, "genius has this fine thing aboutit, --it resembles all the world, but no one resembles it. "

"I understood Monsieur Bonnet at once, " continued Farrabesche; "it didnot take him many words to tell me what I had to do. Madame, this factI tell you of is all the more singular because there are, toward theplain, great rents and fissures in the mountain, gorges and ravinesdown which the water flows; but, strange to say, these clefts andravines and gorges all send their streams into a little valley whichis several feet below the level of your plain. To-day I havediscovered the reason of this phenomenon: from the Roche-Vive toMontegnac, at the foot of the mountains, runs a shelf or barricade ofrock, varying in height from twenty to thirty feet; there is not abreak in it from end to end; and it is formed of a species of rockwhich Monsieur Bonnet calls schist. The soil above it, which is ofcourse softer than rock, has been hollowed out by the action of thewater, which is turned at right angles by the barricade of rock, andthus flows naturally into the Gabou. The trees and underbrush of theforest conceal this formation and the hollowing out of the soil. Butafter following the course of the water, as I have done by the tracesleft of its passage, it is easy to convince any one of the fact. TheGabou thus receives the water-shed of both mountains, --that whichought to go down the mountain face on which your park and garden areto the plain, and that which comes down the rocky slopes before us. According to Monsieur Bonnet the present state of things will creasewhen the water-shed toward the plain gains a natural outlet, and isdammed toward the Gabou by the earth and rocks which the mountaintorrents bring down with them. It will take a hundred years to dothat, however; and besides, it isn't desirable. If your soil will nottake up more water than the great common you are now going to see, Montegnac would be full of stagnant pools, breeding fever in thecommunity. "

"I suppose that the places Monsieur Bonnet showed me the other daywhere the foliage of the trees is still green mark the presentconduits by which the water falls into the Gabou?"

"Yes, madame. Between Roche-Vive and Montegnac there are threedistinct mountains with three hollows between them, down which thewaters, stopped by the schist barrier, turn off into the Gabou. Thebelt of trees still green at the foot of the hill above the barrier, which looks, at a distance, like a part of the plain, is really thewater-sluice the rector supposed, very justly, that Nature had madefor herself. "

"Well, what has been to the injury of Montegnac shall soon be itsprosperity, " said Madame Graslin, in a tone of deep intention. "Andinasmuch as you have been the first instrument employed on the work, you shall share in it; you shall find me faithful, industriousworkmen; lack of money can always be made up by devotion and goodwork. "

Benjamin and Maurice came up as Veronique ended these words; shemounted her horse and signed to Farrabesche to mount the other. 

"Guide me, " she said, "to the place where the waters spread out inpools over that waste land. "

"There is all the more reason why madame should go there, " saidFarrabesche, "because the late Monsieur Graslin, under the rector'sadvice, bought three hundred acres at the opening of that gorge, onwhich the waters have left sediment enough to make good soil overquite a piece of ground. Madame will also see the opposite side of theRoche-Vive, where there are fine woods, among which Monsieur Graslinwould no doubt have put a farm had he lived; there's an excellentplace for one, where the spring which rises just by my house losesitself below. "

Farrabesche rode first to show the way, taking Veronique through apath which led to the spot where the two slopes drew closely togetherand then flew apart, one to the east the other to the west, as ifrepulsed by a shock. This narrow passage, filled with large rocks andcoarse, tall grasses, was only about sixty feet in width. 

The Roche-Vive, cut perpendicularly on this side looked like a wall ofgranite in which there was no foothold; but above this inflexible wallwas a crown of trees, the roots of which hung down it, mostly pinesclinging to the rock with their forked feet like birds on a bough. 

The opposite hill, hollowed by time, had a frowning front, sandy, rocky, and yellow; here were shallow caverns, dips without depth; thesoft and pulverizing rock had ochre tones. A few plants with pricklyleaves above, and burdocks, reeds, and aquatic growths below, wereindication enough of the northern exposure and the poverty of thesoil. The bed of the torrent was of stone, quite hard, but yellow. Evidently the two chains, though parallel and ripped asunder by one ofthe great catastrophes which have changed the face of the globe, were, either from some inexplicable caprice or for some unknown reason, thediscovery of which awaited genius, composed of elements that werewholly dissimilar. The contrast of their two natures showed moreclearly here than elsewhere. 

Veronique now saw before her an immense dry plateau, without anyvegetation, chalky (this explained the absorption of the water) andstrewn with pools of stagnant water and rocky places stripped of soil. To the right were the mountains of the Correze; to left the Roche-Vivebarred the view covered with its noble trees; on its further slope wasa meadow of some two hundred acres, the verdure of which contrastedwith the hideous aspect of the desolate plateau. 

"My son and I cut that ditch you see down there marked by the tallgrasses, " said Farrabesche; "it joins the one which bounds yourforest. On this side the estate is bounded by a desert, for thenearest village is three miles distant. "

Veronique turned rapidly to the dismal plain, followed by her guide. She leaped her horse across the ditch and rode at full gallop acrossthe drear expanse, seeming to take a savage pleasure in contemplatingthat vast image of desolation. Farrabesche was right. No power, nowill could put to any use whatever that soil which resounded under thehorses' feet as though it were hollow. This effect was produced by thenatural porousness of the clay; but there were fissures also throughwhich the water flowed away, no doubt to some distant source. 

"There are many souls like this, " thought Veronique, stopping herhorse after she had ridden at full speed for fifteen or twentyminutes. She remained motionless and thoughtful in the midst of thisdesert, where there was neither animal nor insect life and where thebirds never flew. The plain of Montegnac was at least pebbly or sandy;on it were places where a few inches of soil did give a foothold forthe roots of certain plains; but here the ungrateful chalk, neitherstone nor earth, repelled even the eye, which was forced to turn forrelief to the blue of the ether. 

After examining the bounds of her forest and the meadows purchased byher husband, Veronique returned toward the outlet of the Gabou, butslowly. She then saw Farrabesche gazing into a sort of ditch whichlooked like one a speculator might have dug into this desolate cornerof the earth expecting Nature to give up some hidden treasure. 

"What is the matter?" asked Veronique, noticing on that manly face anexpression of deep sadness. 

"Madame, I owe my life to that ditch; or rather, to speak morecorrectly, I owe to it time for repentance, time to redeem my sins inthe eyes of men. "

This method of explaining life so affected Madame Graslin that shestopped her horse on the brink of the ditch. 

"I was hiding there, madame. The ground is so resonant that when myear was against it I could hear the horses of the gendarmerie, or eventhe footsteps of the soldiers, which are always peculiar. That gave metime to escape up the Gabou to a place where I had a horse, and Ialways managed to put several miles between myself and my pursuers. Catherine used to bring me food during the night; if she did not findme I always found the bread and wine in a hole covered with a rock. "

This recollection of his wandering and criminal life, which might haveinjured Farrabesche with some persons, met with the most indulgentpity from Madame Graslin. She rode hastily on toward the Gabou, followed by her guide. While she measured with her eye this opening, through which could be seen the long valley, so smiling on one side, so ruined on the other, and at its lower end, a league away, theterraced hill-sides back of Montegnac, Farrabesche said:--

"There'll be a famous rush of water in a few days. "

"And next year, on this day, not a drop shall flow there. Both sidesbelong to me, and I will build a dam solid enough and high enough tostop the freshet. Instead of a valley yielding nothing, I will have alake twenty, thirty, forty feet deep over an extent of three or fourmiles, --an immense reservoir, which shall supply the flow ofirrigation with which I will fertilize the plain of Montegnac. "

"Ah, madame! the rector was right, when he said to us as we finishedour road, 'You are working for a mother. ' May God shed his blessing onsuch an undertaking. "

"Say nothing about it, Farrabesche, " said Madame Graslin. "The ideawas Monsieur Bonnet's. "

They returned to the cottage, where Veronique picked up Maurice, withwhom she rode hastily back to the chateau. When Madame Sauviat andAline saw her they were struck with the change in her countenance; thehope of doing good in the region she now owned gave her already anappearance of happiness. She wrote at once to Monsieur Grossetete, begging him to ask Monsieur de Grandville for the complete release ofthe returned convict, on whose conduct she gave him assurances whichwere confirmed by a certificate from the mayor of Montegnac and by aletter from Monsieur Bonnet. To this request she added informationabout Catherine Curieux, begging Grossetete to interest the_procureur-general_ in the good work she wished to do, and persuadehim to write to the prefecture of police in Paris to recover traces ofthe girl. The circumstance of Catherine's having sent money toFarrabesche at the galleys ought to be clew enough to furnishinformation. Veronique was determined to know why it was that theyoung woman had not returned to her child and to Farrabesche, now thathe was free. She also told her old friend of her discovery about thetorrent of the Gabou, and urged him to select an able engineer, suchas she had already asked him to procure for her. 

The next day was Sunday, and for the first time since her installationat Montegnac Veronique felt able to hear mass in church; sheaccordingly went there and took possession of the bench that belongedto her in the chapel of the Virgin. Seeing how denuded the poor churchwas, she resolved to devote a certain sum yearly to the needs of thebuilding and the decoration of the altars. She listened to the sweet, impressive, angelic voice of the rector, whose sermon, though couchedin simple language suited to the rustic intellects before him, wassublime in character. Sublimity comes from the heart, intellect haslittle to do with it; religion is a quenchless source of thissublimity which has no dross; for Catholicism entering and changingall hearts, is itself all heart. Monsieur Bonnet took his text fromthe epistle for the day, which signified that, sooner or later, Godaccomplishes all promises, assisting His faithful ones, encouragingthe righteous. He made plain to every mind the great things whichmight be accomplished by wealth judiciously used for the good ofothers, --explaining that the duties of the poor to the rich were aswidely extended as those of the rich to the poor, and that the aidand assistance given should be mutual. 

Farrabesche had made known to a few of those who treated him in afriendly manner (the result of the Christian charity which MonsieurBonnet had put in practice among his parishioners) the benevolent actsMadame Graslin had done for him. Her conduct in this matter had beentalked over by all the little groups of persons assembled round thechurch door before the service, as is the custom in country places. Nothing could have been better calculated to win the friendship andgood-will of these eminently susceptible minds; so that when Veroniqueleft the church after service she found nearly all the inhabitants ofthe parish formed in two hedges through which she was expected topass. One and all they bowed respectfully in profound silence. She wasdeeply touched by this reception, without knowing the actual cause ofit. Seeing Farrabesche humbly stationed among the last, she stoppedand said to him:--

"You are a good hunter; do not forget to supply me with game. "

A few days later Veronique went to walk with the rector through thepart of the forest that was nearest the chateau, wishing to descendwith him the terraced slopes she had seen from the house ofFarrabesche. In doing this she obtained complete certainty as to thenature of the upper affluents of the Gabou. The rector saw for himselfthat the streams which watered certain parts of upper Montegnac camefrom the mountains of the Correze. This chain of hills joined thebarren slopes we have already described, parallel with the chain ofthe Roche-Vive. 

On returning from this walk the rector was joyful as a child; heforesaw, with the naivete of a poet, the prosperity of his dearvillage--for a poet is a man, is he not? who realizes hopes beforethey ripen. Monsieur Bonnet garnered his hay as he stood overlookingthat barren plain from Madame Graslin's upper terrace. 

 XV

 STORY OF A GALLEY-SLAVE

The next day Farrabesche and his son came to the chateau with game. The keeper also brought, for Francis, a cocoanut cup, elaboratelycarved, a genuine work of art, representing a battle. Madame Graslinwas walking at the time on the terrace, in the direction whichoverlooked Les Tascherons. She sat down on a bench, took the cup inher hand and looked earnestly at the deft piece of work. A few tearscame into her eyes. 

"You must have suffered very much, " she said to Farrabesche, after afew moments' silence. 

"How could I help it, madame?" he replied; "for I was there withoutthe hope of escape, which supports the life of most convicts. "

"An awful life!" she said in a tone of horror, inviting Farrabesche byword and gesture to say more. 

Farrabesche took the convulsive trembling and other signs of emotionhe saw in Madame Graslin for the powerful interest of compassionatecuriosity in himself. 

Just then Madame Sauviat appeared, coming down a path as if she meantto join them; but Veronique drew out her handkerchief and made anegative sign; saying, with an asperity she had never before shown tothe old woman:--

"Leave me, leave me, mother. "

"Madame, " said Farrabesche, "for ten years I wore there (holding outhis leg) a chain fastened to a great iron ring which bound me toanother man. During my time I had to live thus with three differentconvicts. I slept on a wooden bench; I had to work extraordinarilyhard to earn a little mattress called a _serpentin_. Each dormitorycontains eight hundred men. Each bed, called a _tolard_, holdstwenty-four men, chained in couples. Every night the chain of eachcouple is passed round another great chain which is called the _filetde ramas_. This chain holds all the couples by the feet, and runsalong the bottom of the _tolard_. It took me over two years to getaccustomed to that iron clanking, which called out incessantly, 'Thouart a galley-slave!' If I slept an instant some vile companion movedor quarrelled, reminding me of where I was. There is a terribleapprenticeship to make before a man can learn how to sleep. I myselfcould not sleep until I had come to the end of my strength and toutter exhaustion. When at last sleep came I had the nights in whichto forget. Oh! to _forget_, madame, that was something! Once there, a man must learn to satisfy his needs, even in the smallest things, according to the ways laid down by pitiless regulations. Imagine, madame, the effect such a life produced on a lad like me, who hadlived in the woods with the birds and the squirrels! If I had notalready lived for six months within prison-walls, I should, in spiteof Monsieur Bonnet's grand words--for he, I can truly say, is thefather of my soul--I should, ah! I must have flung myself into thesea at the mere sight of my companions. Out-doors I still could live;but in the building, whether to sleep or to eat, --to eat out ofbuckets, and each bucket filled for three couples, --it was life nolonger, it was death; the atrocious faces and language of mycompanions were always insufferable to me. Happily, from five o'clockin summer, and from half-past seven o'clock in winter we went, inspite of heat or cold and wind or rain, on 'fatigue, ' that is, hard-labor. Thus half this life was spent in the open air; and theair was sweet after the close dormitory packed with eight hundredconvicts. And that air, too, is sea-air! We could enjoy the breezes, we could be friends with the sun, we could watch the clouds as theypassed above us, we could hope and pray for fine weather! As for me, I took an interest in my work--"

Farrabesche stopped; two heavy tears were rolling down his mistress'sface. 

"Oh! madame, I have only told you the best side of that life, " hecontinued, taking the expression of her face as meant for him. "Theterrible precautions taken by the government, the constant spying ofthe keepers, the blacksmith's inspection of the chains every day, night and morning, the coarse food, the hideous garments whichhumiliate a man at all hours, the comfortless sleep, the horriblerattling of eight hundred chains in that resounding hall, the prospectof being shot or blown to pieces by cannon if ten of those villainstook a fancy to revolt, all those dreadful things are nothing, --nothing, I tell you; that is the bright side only. There's anotherside, madame, and a decent man, a bourgeois, would die of horror in aweek. A convict is forced to live with another man; obliged to endurethe company of five other men at every meal, twenty-three in his bedat night, and to hear their language! The great society ofgalley-slaves, madame, has its secret laws; disobey them and you aretortured; obey them, and you become a torturer. You must be eithervictim or executioner. If they would kill you at once it would atleast be the cure of life. But no, they are wiser than that in doingevil. It is impossible to hold out against the hatred of these men;their power is absolute over any prisoner who displeases them, andthey can make his life a torment far worse than death. The man whorepents and endeavors to behave well is their common enemy; above all, they suspect him of informing; and an informer is put to death, oftenon mere suspicion. Every hall and community of eight hundred convictshas its tribunal, in which are judged the crimes committed againstthat society. Not to obey the usages is criminal, and a man is liableto punishment. For instance, every man must co-operate in escapes;every convict has his time assigned him to escape, and all hisfellow-convicts must protect and aid him. To reveal what a comradeis doing with a view to escape is criminal. I will not speak to youof the horrible customs and morals of the galleys. No man belongsto himself; the government, in order to neutralize the attempts atrevolt or escape, takes pains to chain two contrary natures andinterests together; and this makes the torture of the couplingunendurable; men are linked together who hate or distrust eachother. "

"How was it with you?" asked Madame Graslin. 

"Ah! there, " replied Farrabesche, "I had luck; I never drew a lot tokill a convict; I never had to vote the death of any one of them; Inever was punished; no man took a dislike to me; and I got on wellwith the three different men I was chained to; they all feared me butliked me. One reason was, my name was known and famous at the galleysbefore I got there. A _chauffeur_! they thought me one of thosebrigands. I have seen _chauffing_, " continued Farrabesche after apause, in a low voice, "but I never either did it myself, or took anyof the money obtained by it. I was a refractory, I evaded theconscription, that was all. I helped my comrades, I kept watch; I wassentinel and brought up the rear-guard; but I never shed any man'sblood except in self-defence. Ah! I told all to Monsieur Bonnet and mylawyer, and the judges knew well enough that I was no murderer. But, all the same, I am a great criminal; nothing that I ever did wasmorally right. However, before I got there, as I was saying, two of mycomrades told of me as a man able to do great things. At the galleys, madame, nothing is so valuable as that reputation, not even money. Inthat republic of misery murder is a passport to tranquillity. I didnothing to destroy that opinion of me. I was sad, resigned, and theymistook the appearance of it. My gloomy manner, my silence, passed forferocity. All that world, convicts, keepers, young and old, respectedme. I was treated as first in my hall. No one interfered with mysleep; I was never suspected of informing; I behaved honorablyaccording to their ideas; I never refused to do service; I nevertestified the slightest repugnance; I howled with the wolves outside, I prayed to God within. My last companion in chains was a soldier, twenty-two years of age, who had committed a theft and deserted inconsequence of it. We were chained together for four years, and wewere friends; wherever I may be I am certain to meet him when his timeis up. This poor devil, whose name is Guepin, is not a scoundrel, heis merely heedless; his punishment may reform him. If my comrades haddiscovered that religion led me to submit to my trials, --that I meant, when my time was up, to live humbly in a corner, letting no one knowwhere I was, intending to forget their horrible community and never tocross the path of any of them, --they would probably have driven memad. "

"Then, " said Madame Graslin, "if a poor young man, a tender soul, carried away by passion, having committed a murder, was spared fromdeath and sent to the galleys--"

"Oh! madame, " said Farrabesche, interrupting her, "there is no sparingin that. The sentence may be commuted to twenty years at the galleys, but for a decent young man, that is awful! I could not speak to you ofthe life that awaits him there; a thousand times better die. Yes, todie upon the scaffold is happiness in comparison. "

"I dared not think it, " murmured Madame Graslin. 

She had turned as white as wax. To hide her face she laid her foreheadon the balustrade, and kept it there several minutes. Farrabesche didnot know whether he ought to go or remain. 

Madame Graslin raised her head at last, looked at Farrabesche with analmost majestic air, and said, to his amazement, in a voice thatstirred his heart:--

"Thank you, my friend. But, " she added, after a pause, "where did youfind courage to live and suffer?"

"Ah! madame, Monsieur Bonnet put a treasure within my soul! and forthat I love him better than all else on earth. "

"Better than Catherine?" said Madame Graslin, smiling with a sort ofbitterness. 

"Almost as well, madame. "

"How did he do it?"

"Madame, the words and the voice of that man conquered me. Catherinebrought him to that hole in the ground I showed you on the common; hehad come fearlessly alone. He was, he said, the new rector ofMontegnac; I was his parishioner, he loved me; he knew I was onlymisguided, not lost; he did not intend to betray me, but to save me;in short, he said many such things that stirred my soul to its depths. That man, madame, commands you to do right with as much force as thosewho tell you to do wrong. It was he who told me, poor dear man, thatCatherine was a mother, and that I was dooming two beings to shame anddesertion. 'Well, ' I said to him, 'they are like me; I have nofuture. ' He answered that I had a future, two bad futures, before me--one in another world, one in this world--if I persisted in notchanging my way of life. In this world, I should die on the scaffold. If I were captured my defence would be impossible. On the contrary, ifI took advantage of the leniency of the new government toward allcrimes traceable to the conscription, if I delivered myself up, hebelieved he could save my life; he would engage a good lawyer, whowould get me off with ten years at the galleys. Then Monsieur Bonnettalked to me of the other life. Catherine wept like the Magdalen--See, madame, " said Farrabesche, holding out his right arm, "her face was inthat hand, and I felt it wet with tears. She implored me to live. Monsieur Bonnet promised to secure me, when I had served my sentence, a peaceful life here with my child, and to protect me against affront. He catechised me as he would a little child. After three such visitsat night he made me as supple as a glove. Would you like to know how, madame?"

Farrabesche and Madame Graslin looked at each other, not explaining tothemselves their mutual curiosity. 

"Well, " resumed the poor liberated convict, "when he left me the firsttime, and Catherine had gone with him to show the way, I was leftalone. I then felt within my soul a freshness, a calmness, asweetness, I had never known since childhood. It was like thehappiness my poor Catherine had given me. The love of this dear manhad come to _seek me_; that, and his thought for me, for my future, stirred my soul to its depths; it changed me. A light broke forth inmy being. As long as he was there, speaking to me, I resisted. That'snot surprising; he was a priest, and we bandits don't eat of theirbread. But when I no longer heard his footsteps nor Catherine's, oh! Iwas--as he told me two days later--enlightened by divine grace. Godgave me thenceforth strength to bear all, --prison, sentence, irons, parting; even the life of the galleys. I believed in his word as I doin the Gospel; I looked upon my sufferings as a debt I was bound topay. When I seemed to suffer too much, I looked across ten years andsaw my home in the woods, my little Benjamin, my Catherine. He kepthis word, that good Monsieur Bonnet. But one thing was lacking. Whenat last I was released, Catherine was not at the gate of the galleys;she was not on the common. No doubt she has died of grief. That is whyI am always sad. Now, thanks to you, I shall have useful work to do; Ican employ both body and soul, --and my boy, too, for whom I live. "

"I begin to understand how it is that the rector has changed thecharacter of this whole community, " said Madame Graslin. 

"Nothing can resist him, " said Farrabesche. 

"Yes, yes, I know it!" replied Veronique, hastily, making a gesture offarewell to her keeper. 

Farrabesche withdrew. Veronique remained alone on the terrace for agood part of the day, walking up and down in spite of a fine rainwhich fell till evening. When her face was thus convulsed, neither hermother nor Aline dared to interrupt her. She did not notice in thedusk that her mother was talking in the salon to Monsieur Bonnet; theold woman, anxious to put an end to this fresh attack of dreadfuldepression, sent little Francis to fetch her. The child took hismother's hand and led her in. When she saw the rector she gave a startof surprise in which there seemed to be some fear. Monsieur Bonnettook her back to the terrace, saying:--

"Well, madame, what were you talking about with Farrabesche?"

In order not to speak falsely, Veronique evaded a reply; shequestioned Monsieur Bonnet. 

"That man was your first victory here, was he not?" she said. 

"Yes, " he answered; "his conversion would, I thought, give me allMontegnac--and I was not mistaken. "

Veronique pressed Monsieur Bonnet's hand and said, with tears in hervoice, "I am your penitent from this day forth, monsieur; I shall goto-morrow to the confessional. "

Her last words showed a great internal effort, a terrible victory wonover herself. The rector brought her back to the house without sayinganother word. After that he remained till dinner-time, talking aboutthe proposed improvements at Montegnac. 

"Agriculture is a question of time, " he said; "the little that I knowof it makes me understand what a gain it would be to get some good outof the winter. The rains are now beginning, and the mountains willsoon be covered with snow; your operations cannot then be begun. Hadyou not better hasten Monsieur Grossetete?"

Insensibly, Monsieur Bonnet, who at first did all the talking, ledMadame Graslin to join in the conversation and so distract herthoughts; in fact, he left her almost recovered from the emotions ofthe day. Madame Sauviat, however, thought her daughter too violentlyagitated to be left alone, and she spent the night in her room. 

 XVI

 CONCERNS ONE OF THE BLUNDERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

The following day an express, sent from Limoges by Monsieur Grosseteteto Madame Graslin, brought her the following letter:--

 To Madame Graslin:

 My dear Child, --It was difficult to find horses, but I hope you are satisfied with those I sent you. If you want work or draft horses, you must look elsewhere. In any case, however, I advise you to do your tilling and transportation with oxen. All the countries where agriculture is carried on with horses lose capital when the horse is past work; whereas cattle always return a profit to those who use them. 

 I approve in every way of your enterprise, my child; you will thus employ the passionate activity of your soul, which was turning against yourself and thus injuring you. 

 Your second request, namely, for a man capable of understanding and seconding your projects, requires me to find you a _rara avis_ such as we seldom raise in the provinces, where, if we do raise them, we never keep them. The education of that high product is too slow and too risky a speculation for country folks. 

 Besides, men of intellect alarm us; we call them "originals. " The men belonging to the scientific category from which you will have to obtain your co-operator do not flourish here, and I was on the point of writing to you that I despaired of fulfilling your commission. You want a poet, a man of ideas, --in short, what we should here call a fool, and all our fools go to Paris. I have spoken of your plans to the young men employed in land surveying, to contractors on the canals, and makers of the embankments, and none of them see any "advantage" in what you propose. 

 But suddenly, as good luck would have it, chance has thrown in my way the very man you want; a young man to whom I believe I render a service in naming him to you. You will see by his letter, herewith enclosed, that deeds of beneficence ought not to be done hap-hazard. Nothing needs more reflection than a good action. We never know whether that which seems best at one moment may not prove an evil later. The exercise of beneficence, as I have lived to discover, is to usurp the role of Destiny. 

As she read that sentence Madame Graslin let fall the letter and wasthoughtful for several minutes. 

"My God!" she said at last, "when wilt thou cease to strike me downon all sides?"

Then she took up the letter and continued reading it:

 Gerard seems to me to have a cool head and an ardent heart; that's the sort of man you want. Paris is just now a hotbed of new doctrines; I should be delighted to have the lad removed from the traps which ambitious minds are setting for the generous youth of France. While I do not altogether approve of the narrow and stupefying life of the provinces, neither do I like the passionate life of Paris, with its ardor of reformation, which is driving youth into so many unknown ways. You alone know my opinions; to my mind the moral world revolves upon its own axis, like the material world. My poor protege demands (as you will see from his letter) things impossible. No power can resist ambitions so violent, so imperious, so absolute, as those of to-day. I am in favor of low levels and slowness in political change; I dislike these social overturns to which ambitious minds subject us. 

 To you I confide these principles of a monarchical and prejudiced old man, because you are discreet. Here I hold my tongue in the midst of worthy people, who the more they fail the more they believe in progress; but I suffer deeply at the irreparable evils already inflicted on our dear country. 

 I have replied to the enclosed letter, telling my young man that a worthy task awaits him. He will go to see you, and though his letter will enable you to judge of him, you had better study him still further before committing yourself, --though you women understand many things from the mere look of a man. However, all the men whom you employ, even the most insignificant, ought to be thoroughly satisfactory to you. If you don't like him don't take him; but if he suits you, my dear child, I beg you to cure him of his ill-disguised ambition. Make him take to a peaceful, happy, rural life, where true beneficence is perpetually exercised; where the capacities of great and strong souls find continual exercise, and they themselves discover daily fresh sources of admiration in the works of Nature, and in real ameliorations, real progress, an occupation worthy of any man. 

 I am not oblivious of the fact that great ideas give birth to great actions; but as those ideas are necessarily few and far between, I think it may be said that usually things are more useful than ideas. He who fertilizes a corner of the earth, who brings to perfection a fruit-tree, who makes a turf on a thankless soil, is far more useful in his generation than he who seeks new theories for humanity. How, I ask you, has Newton's science changed the condition of the country districts? Oh! my dear, I have always loved you; but to-day I, who fully understand what you are about to attempt, I adore you. 

 No one at Limoges forgets you; we all admire your grand resolution to benefit Montegnac. Be a little grateful to us for having soul enough to admire a noble action, and do not forget that the first of your admirers is also your first friend. 

 F. Grossetete. 

The enclosed letter was as follows:--

 To Monsieur Grossetete:

 Monsieur, --You have been to me a father when you might have been only a mere protector, and therefore I venture to make you a rather sad confidence. It is to you alone, you who have made me what I am, that I can tell my troubles. 

 I am afflicted with a terrible malady, a cruel moral malady. In my soul are feelings and in my mind convictions which make me utterly unfit for what the State and society demand of me. This may seem to you ingratitude; it is only the statement of a condition. When I was twelve years old you, my generous god-father, saw in me, the son of a mere workman, an aptitude for the exact sciences and a precocious desire to rise in life. You favored my impulse toward better things when my natural fate was to stay a carpenter like my father, who, poor man, did not live long enough to enjoy my advancement. Indeed, monsieur, you did a good thing, and there is never a day that I do not bless you for it. It may be that I am now to blame; but whether I am right or wrong it is very certain that I suffer. In making my complaint to you I feel that I take you as my judge like God Himself. Will you listen to my story and grant me your indulgence?

 Between sixteen and eighteen years of age I gave myself to the study of the exact sciences with an ardor, you remember, that made me ill. My future depended on my admission to the Ecole Polytechnique. At that time my studies overworked my brain, and I came near dying; I studied night and day; I did more than the nature of my organs permitted. I wanted to pass such satisfying examinations that my place in the Ecole would be not only secure, but sufficiently advanced to release me from the cost of my support, which I did not want you to pay any longer. 

 I triumphed! I tremble to-day as I think of the frightful conscription (if I may so call it) of brains delivered over yearly to the State by family ambition. By insisting on these severe studies at the moment when a youth attains his various forms of growth, the authorities produce secret evils and kill by midnight study many precious faculties which later would have developed both strength and grandeur. The laws of nature are relentless; they do not yield in any particular to the enterprises or the wishes of society. In the moral order as in the natural order all abuses must be paid for; fruits forced in a hot-house are produced at the tree's expense and often at the sacrifice of the goodness of its product. La Quintinie killed the orange-trees to give Louis XIV. A bunch of flowers every day at all seasons. So it is with intellects. The strain upon adolescent brains discounts their future. 

 That which is chiefly wanting to our epoch is legislative genius. Europe has had no true legislators since Jesus Christ, who, not having given to the world a political code, left his work incomplete. Before establishing great schools of specialists and regulating the method of recruiting for them, where were the great thinkers who could bear in mind the relation of such institutions to human powers, balancing advantages and injuries, and studying the past for the laws of the future? What inquiry has been made as to the condition of exceptional men, who, by some fatal chance, knew human sciences before their time? Has the rarity of such cases been reckoned--the result examined? Has any enquiry been made as to the means by which such men were enabled to endure the perpetual strain of thought? How many, like Pascal, died prematurely, worn-out by knowledge? Have statistics been gathered as to the age at which those men who lived the longest began their studies? Who has ever known, does any one know now, the interior construction of brains which have been able to sustain a premature burden of human knowledge? Who suspects that this question belongs, above all, to the physiology of man?

 For my part, I now believe the true general law is to remain a long time in the vegetative condition of adolescence; and that those exceptions where strength of organs is produced during adolescence result usually in the shortening of life. Thus the man of genius who is able to bear up under the precocious exercise of his faculties is an exception to an exception. 

 If I am right, if what I say accords with social facts and medical observations, then the system practised in France in her technical schools is a fatal impairment and mutilation (in the style of La Quintinie) practised upon the noblest flower of youth in each generation. 

 But it is better to continue my history, and add my doubts as the facts develop themselves. 

 When I entered the Ecole Polytechnique, I worked harder than ever and with even more ardor, in order to leave it as triumphantly as I had entered it. From nineteen to twenty-one I developed every aptitude and strengthened every faculty by constant practice. Those two years were the crown and completion of the first three, during which I had only prepared myself to do well. Therefore my pride was great when I won the right to choose the career that pleased me most, --either military or naval engineering, artillery, or staff duty, or the civil engineering of mining, and _ponts et chaussees_. [*] By your advice, I chose the latter. 

[*] Department of the government including everything connected with the making and repairing of roads, bridges, canals, etc. 

 But where I triumphed how many others fail! Do you know that from year to year the State increases the scientific requirements of the Ecole? the studies are more severe, more exacting yearly. The preparatory studies which tried me so much were nothing to the intense work of the school itself, which has for its object to put the whole of physical science, mathematics, astronomy, chemistry, and all their nomenclatures into the minds of young men of nineteen to twenty-one years of age. The State, which seems in France to wish to substitute itself in many ways for the paternal authority, has neither bowels of compassion nor fatherhood; it makes its experiments _in anima vili_. Never does it inquire into the horrible statistics of the suffering it causes. Does it know the number of brain fevers among its pupils during the last thirty-six years; or the despair and the moral destruction which decimate its youth? I am pointing out to you this painful side of the State education, for it is one of the anterior contingents of the actual result. 

 You know that scholars whose conceptions are slow, or who are temporarily disabled from excess of mental work, are allowed to remain at the Ecole three years instead of two; they then become the object of suspicions little favorable to their capacity. This often compels young men, who might later show superior capacity, to leave the school without being employed, simply because they could not meet the final examination with the full scientific knowledge required. They are called "dried fruits"; Napoleon made sub-lieutenants of them. To-day the "dried fruits" constitute an enormous loss of capital to families and of time to individuals. 

 However, as I say, I triumphed. At twenty-one years of age I knew the mathematical sciences up to the point to which so many men of genius have brought them, and I was impatient to distinguish myself by carrying them further. This desire is so natural that almost every pupil leaving the Ecole fixes his eyes on that moral sun called Fame. The first thought of all is to become another Newton, or Laplace, or Vauban. Such are the efforts that France demands of the young men who leave her celebrated school. 

 Now let us see the fate of these men culled with so much care from each generation. At one-and-twenty we dream of life, and expect marvels of it. I entered the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussees; I was a pupil-engineer. I studied the science of construction, and how ardently! I am sure you remember that. I left the school in 1827, being then twenty-four years of age, still only a candidate as engineer, and the government paid me one hundred and fifty francs a month; the commonest book-keeper in Paris earns that by the time he is eighteen, giving little more than four hours a day to his work. 

 By a most unusual piece of luck, perhaps because of the distinction my devoted studies won for me, I was made, in 1828, when I was twenty-five years old, engineer-in-ordinary. I was sent, as you know, to a sub-prefecture, with a salary of twenty-five hundred francs. The question of money is nothing. Certainly my fate has been more brilliant than the son of a carpenter might expect; but where will you find a grocer's boy, who, if thrown into a shop at sixteen, will not in ten years be on the high-road to an independent property?

 I learned then to what these terrible efforts of mental power, these gigantic exertions demanded by the State were to lead. The State now employed me to count and measure pavements and heaps of stones on the roadways; I had to keep in order, repair, and sometimes construct culverts, one-arched bridges, regulate drift-ways, clean and sometimes open ditches, lay out bounds, and answer questions about the planting and felling of trees. Such are the principal and sometimes the only occupations of ordinary engineers, together with a little levelling which the government obliges us to do ourselves, though any of our chain-bearers with their limited experience can do it better than we with all our science. 

 There are nearly four hundred engineers-in-ordinary and pupil engineers; and as there are not more than a hundred or so of engineers-in-chief, only a limited number of the sub-engineers can hope to rise. Besides, above the grade of engineer-in-chief, there is no absorbent class; for we cannot count as a means of absorption the ten or fifteen places of inspector-generals or divisionaries, --posts that are almost as useless in our corps as colonels are in the artillery, where the battery is the essential thing. The engineer-in-ordinary, like the captain of artillery, knows the whole science. He ought not to have any one over him except an administrative head to whom no more than eighty-six engineers should report, --for one engineer, with two assistants is enough for a department. 

 The present hierarchy in these bodies results in the subordination of active energetic capacities to the worn-out capacities of old men, who, thinking they know best, alter or nullify the plans submitted by their subordinates, --perhaps with the sole aim of making their existence felt; for that seems to me the only influence exercised over the public works of France by the Council-general of the _Ponts et Chaussees_. 

 Suppose, however, that I become, between thirty and forty years of age, an engineer of the first-class and an engineer-in-chief before I am fifty. Alas! I see my future; it is written before my eyes. Here is a forecast of it:--

 My present engineer-in-chief is sixty years old; he issued with honors, as I did, from the famous Ecole; he has turned gray doing in two departments what I am doing now, and he has become the most ordinary man it is possible to imagine; he has fallen from the height to which he had really risen; far worse, he is no longer on the level of scientific knowledge; science has progressed, he has stayed where he was. The man who came forth ready for life at twenty-two years of age, with every sign of superiority, has nothing left to-day but the reputation of it. In the beginning, with his mind specially turned to the exact sciences and mathematics by his education, he neglected everything that was not his specialty; and you can hardly imagine his present dulness in all other branches of human knowledge. I hardly dare confide even to you the secrets of his incapacity sheltered by the fact that he was educated at the Ecole Polytechnique. With that label attached to him and on the faith of that prestige, no one dreams of doubting his ability. To you alone do I dare reveal the fact that the dulling of all his talents has led him to spend a million on a single matter which ought not to have cost the administration more than two hundred thousand francs. I wished to protest, and was about to inform the prefect; but an engineer I know very well reminded me of one of our comrades who was hated by the administration for doing that very thing. "How would you like, " he said to me, "when you get to be engineer-in-chief to have your errors dragged forth by your subordinate? Before long your engineer-in-chief will be made a divisional inspector. As soon as any one of us commits a serious blunder, as he has done, the administration (which can't allow itself to appear in the wrong) will quietly retire him from active duty by making him inspector. "

 That's how the reward of merit devolves on incapacity. All France knew of the disaster which happened in the heart of Paris to the first suspension bridge built by an engineer, a member of the Academy of Sciences; a melancholy collapse caused by blunders such as none of the ancient engineers--the man who cut the canal at Briare in Henri IV. 's time, or the monk who built the Pont Royal --would have made; but our administration consoled its engineer for his blunder by making him a member of the Council-general. 

 Are the technical schools vast manufactories of incapables? That subject requires careful investigation. If I am right they need reforming, at any rate in their method of proceeding, --for I am not, of course, doubting the utility of such schools. Only, when we look back into the past we see that France in former days never wanted for the great talents necessary to the State; but now she prefers to hatch out talent geometrically, after the theory of Monge. Did Vauban ever go to any other Ecole than that great school we call vocation? Who was Riquet's tutor? When great geniuses arise above the social mass, impelled by vocation, they are nearly always rounded into completeness; the man is then not merely a specialist, he has the gift of universality. Do you think that an engineer from the Ecole Polytechnique could ever create one of those miracles of architecture such as Leonardo da Vinci knew how to build, --mechanician, architect, painter, inventor of hydraulics, indefatigable constructor of canals that he was?

 Trained from their earliest years to the baldness of axiom and formula, the youths who leave the Ecole have lost the sense of elegance and ornament; a column seems to them useless; they return to the point where art begins, and cling to the useful. 

 But all this is nothing in comparison to the real malady which is undermining me. I feel an awful transformation going on within me; I am conscious that my powers and my faculties, formerly unnaturally taxed, are giving way. I am letting the prosaic influence of my life get hold of me. I who, by the very nature of my efforts, looked to do some great thing, I am face to face with none but petty ones; I measure stones, I inspect roads, I have not enough to really occupy me for two hours in my day. I see my colleagues marry, and fall into a situation contrary to the spirit of modern society. I wanted to be useful to my country. Is my ambition an unreasonable one? The country asked me to put forth all my powers; it told me to become a representative of science; yet here I am with folded arms in the depths of the provinces. I am not even allowed to leave the locality in which I am penned, to exercise my faculties in planning useful enterprises. A hidden but very real disfavor is the certain reward of any one of us who yields to an inspiration and goes beyond the special service laid down for him. 

 No, the favor a superior man has to hope for in that case is that his talent and his presumption may not be noticed, and that his project may be buried in the archives of the administration. What think you will be the reward of Vicat, the one among us who has brought about the only real progress in the practical science of construction? The Council-general of the _Ponts et Chaussees_, composed in part of men worn-out by long and sometimes honorable service, but whose only remaining force is for negation, and who set aside everything they no longer comprehend, is the extinguisher used to snuff out the projects of audacious spirits. This Council seems to have been created to paralyze the arm of that glorious youth of France, which asks only to work and to be useful to its country. 

 Monstrous things are done in Paris. The future of a province depends on the mere signature of men who (through intrigues I have no time to explain to you) often stop the execution of useful and much-needed work; in fact, the best plans are often those which offer most to the cupidity of commercial companies or speculators. 

 Another five years and I shall no longer be myself; my ambition will be quenched, my desire to use the faculties my country ordered me to exercise gone forever; the faculties themselves are rusting out in the miserable corner of the world in which I vegetate. Taking my chances at their best, the future seems to me a poor thing. I have just taken advantage of a furlough to come to Paris; I mean to change my profession and find some other way to put my energy, my knowledge, and my activity to use. I shall send in my resignation and go to some other country, where men of my special capacity are wanted. 

 If I find I cannot do this, then I shall throw myself into the struggle of the new doctrines, which certainly seem calculated to produce great changes in the present social order by judiciously guiding the working-classes. What are we now but workers without work, tools on the shelves of a shop? We are trained and organized as if to move the world, and nothing is given us to do. I feel within me some great thing, which is decreasing daily, and will soon vanish; I tell you so with mathematical frankness. Before making the change I want your advice; I look upon myself as your child, and I will never take any important step without consulting you, for your experience is equal to your kindness. 

 I know very well that the State, after obtaining a class of trained men, cannot undertake for them alone great public works; there are not three hundred bridges needed a year in all France; the State can no more build great buildings for the fame of its engineers than it can declare war merely to win battles and bring to the front great generals; but, then, as men of genius have never failed to present themselves when the occasion called for them, springing from the crowd like Vauban, can there be any greater proof of the uselessness of the present institution? Can't they see that when they have stimulated a man of talent by all those preparations he will make a fierce struggle before he allows himself to become a nonentity? Is this good policy on the part of the State? On the contrary, is not the State lighting the fire of ardent ambitions, which must find fuel somewhere. 

 Among the six hundred young men whom they put forth every year there are exceptions, --men who resist what may be called their demonetization. I know some myself, and if I could tell you their struggles with men and things when armed with useful projects and conceptions which might bring life and prosperity to the half-dead provinces where the State has sent them, you would feel that a man of power, a man of talent, a man whose nature is a miracle, is a hundredfold more unfortunate and more to be pitied than the man whose lower nature lets him submit to the shrinkage of his faculties. 

 I have made up my mind, therefore, that I would rather direct some commercial or industrial enterprise, and live on small means while trying to solve some of the great problems still unknown to industry and to society, than remain at my present post. 

 You will tell me, perhaps, that nothing hinders me from employing the leisure that I certainly have in using my intellectual powers and seeking in the stillness of this commonplace life the solution of some problem useful to humanity. Ah! monsieur, don't you know the influence of the provinces, --the relaxing effect of a life just busy enough to waste time on futile labor, and not enough to use the rich resources our education has given us? Don't think me, my dear protector, eaten up by the desire to make a fortune, nor even by an insensate desire for fame. I am too much of a calculator not to know the nothingness of glory. Neither do I want to marry; seeing the fate now before me, I think my existence a melancholy gift to offer any woman. As for money, though I regard it as one of the most powerful means given to social man to act with, it is, after all, but a means. 

 I place my whole desire and happiness on the hope of being useful to my country. My greatest pleasure would be to work in some situation suited to my faculties. If in your region, or in the circle of your acquaintances, you should hear of any enterprise that needed the capacities you know me to possess, think of me; I will wait six months for your answer before taking any step. 

 What I have written here, dear sir and friend, others think. I have seen many of my classmates or older graduates caught like me in the toils of some specialty, --geographical engineers, captain-professors, captains of engineers, who will remain captains all their lives, and now bitterly regret they did not enter active service with the army. Reflecting on these miserable results, I ask myself the following questions, and I would like your opinion on them, assuring you that they are the fruit of long meditation, clarified in the fires of suffering:--

 What is the real object of the State? Does it truly seek to obtain fine capacities? The system now pursued directly defeats that end; it has crated the most thorough mediocrities that any government hostile to superiority could desire. Does it wish to give a career to its choice minds? As a matter of fact, it affords them the meanest opportunities; there is not a man who has issued from the Ecoles who does not bitterly regret, when he gets to be fifty or sixty years of age, that he ever fell into the trap set for him by the promises of the State. Does it seek to obtain men of genius? What man of genius, what great talent have the schools produced since 1790? If it had not been for Napoleon would Cachin, the man of genius to whom France owes Cherbourg, have existed? Imperial despotism brought him forward; the constitutional regime would have smothered him. How many men from the Ecoles are to be found in the Academy of Sciences? Possibly two or three. The man of genius develops always outside of the technical schools. In the sciences which those schools teach genius obeys only its own laws; it will not develop except under conditions which man cannot control; neither the State nor the science of mankind, anthropology, understands them. Riquet, Perronet, Leonardo da Vinci, Cachin, Palladio, Brunelleschi, Michel-Angelo, Bramante, Vauban, Vicat, derive their genius from causes unobserved and preparatory, which we call chance, --the pet word of fools. Never, with or without schools, are mighty workmen such as these wanting to their epoch. 

 Now comes the question, Does the State gain through these institutions the better doing of its works of public utility, or the cheaper doing of them? As for that, I answer that private enterprises of a like kind get on very well without the help of our engineers; and next, the government works are the most extravagant in the world, and the additional cost of the vast administrative staff of the _Ponts et Chaussees_ is immense. In all other countries, in Germany, England, Italy, where institutions like ours do not exist, works of this character are better done and far less costly than in France. Those three nations are remarkable for new and useful inventions in this line. I know it is the fashion to say, in speaking of our Ecoles, that all Europe envies them; but for the last fifteen years Europe, which closely observes us, has not established others like them. England, that clever calculator, has better schools among her working population, from which come practical men who show their genius the moment they rise from practice to theory. Stephenson and MacAdam did not come from schools like ours. 

 But what is the good of talking? When a few young and able engineers, full of ardor, solve, at the outset of their career, the problem of maintaining the roads of France, which need some hundred millions spent upon them every quarter of a century (and which are now in a pitiable state), they gain nothing by making known in reports and memoranda their intelligent knowledge; it is immediately engulfed in the archives of the general Direction, -- that Parisian centre where everything enters and nothing issues; where old men are jealous of young ones, and all the posts of management are used to shelve old officers or men who have blundered. 

 This is why, with a body of scientific men spread all over the face of France and constituting a part of the administration, --a body which ought to enlighten every region on the subject of its resources, --this is why we are still discussing the practicability of railroads while other countries are making theirs. If ever France was to show the excellence of her institution of technical schools, it should have been in this magnificent phase of public works, which is destined to change the face of States and nations, to double human life, and modify the laws of space and time. Belgium, the United States of America, England, none of whom have an Ecole Polytechnique, will be honeycombed with railroads when French engineers are still surveying ours, and selfish interests, hidden behind all projects, are hindering their execution. 

 Thus I say that as for the State, it derives no benefit from its technical schools; as for the individual pupil of those schools, his earnings are poor, his ambition crushed, and his life a cruel deception. Most assuredly the powers he has displayed between sixteen and twenty-six years of age would, if he had been cast upon his own resources, have brought him more fame and more wealth than the government in whom he trusted will ever give him. As a commercial man, a learned man, a military man, this choice intellect would have worked in a vast centre where his precious faculties and his ardent ambition would not be idiotically and prematurely repressed. 

 Where, then, is progress? Man and State are both kept backward by this system. Does not the experience of a whole generation demand a reform in the practical working of these institutions? The duty of culling from all France during each generation the choice minds destined to become the learned and the scientific of the nation is a sacred office, the priests of which, the arbiters of so many fates, should be trained by special study. Mathematical knowledge is perhaps less necessary to them than physiological knowledge. And do you not think that they need a little of that second-sight which is the witchcraft of great men? As it is, the examiners are former professors, honorable men grown old in harness, who limit their work to selecting the best themes. They are unable to do what is really demanded of them; and yet their functions are the noblest in the State and demand extraordinary men. 

 Do not think, dear sir and friend, that I blame only the Ecole itself; no, I blame the system by which it is recruited. This system is the _concours_, competition, --a modern invention, essentially bad; bad not only in science, but wherever it is employed, in arts, in all selections of men, of projects, of things. If it is a reproach to our great Ecoles that they have not produced men superior to other educational establishments, it is still more shameful that the _grand prix_ of the Institute has not as yet furnished a single great painter, great musician, great architect, great sculptor; just as the suffrage for the last twenty years has not elected out of its tide of mediocrities a single great statesman. My observation makes me detect, as I think, an error which vitiates in France both education and politics. It is a cruel error, and it rests on the following principle, which organizers have misconceived:--

 _Nothing, either in experience or in the nature of things, can give a certainty that the intellectual qualities of the adult youth will be those of the mature man. _

 At this moment I am intimate with a number of distinguished men who concern themselves with all the moral maladies which are now afflicting France. They see, as I do, that our highest education is manufacturing temporary capacities, --temporary because they are without exercise and without future; that such education is without profit to the State because it is devoid of the vigor of belief and feeling. Our whole system of public education needs overhauling, and the work should be presided over by some man of great knowledge, powerful will, and gifted with that legislative genius which has never been met with among moderns, except perhaps in Jean-Jacques Rousseau. 

 Possibly our superfluous numbers might be employed in giving elementary instruction so much needed by the people. The deplorable amount of crime and misdemeanors shows a social disease directly arising from the half-education given the masses, which tends to the destruction of social ties by making the people reflect just enough to desert the religious beliefs which are favorable to social order, and not enough to lift them to the theory of obedience and duty, which is the highest reach of the new transcendental philosophy. But as it is impossible to make a whole nation study Kant, therefore I say fixed beliefs and habits are safer for the masses than shallow studies and reasoning. 

 If I had my life to begin over again, perhaps I would enter a seminary and become a simple village priest, or the teacher of a country district. But I am too far advanced in my profession now to be a mere primary instructor; I can, if I leave my present post, act in a wider range than that of a school or a country parish. The Saint-Simonians, to whom I have been tempted to ally myself, want now to take a course in which I cannot follow them. Nevertheless, in spite of their mistakes, they have touched on many of the sore spots which are the fruits of our present legislation, and which the State will only doctor by insufficient palliatives, --merely delaying in France the moral and political crisis that must come. 

 Adieu, dear Monsieur Grossetete; accept the assurance of my respectful attachment, which, notwithstanding all these observations, can only increase. 

 Gregoire Gerard. 

According to his old habit as a banker, Grossetete had jotted down hisreply on the back of the letter itself, heading it with thesacramental word, _Answered_. 

 It is useless, my dear Gerard, to discuss the observations made in your letter, because by a trick of chance (I use the term which is, as you say, the pet word of fools) I have a proposal to make to you which may result in withdrawing you from the situation you find so bad. Madame Graslin, the owner of the forests of Montegnac and of a barren plateau extending from the base of a chain of mountains on which are the forests, wishes to improve this vast domain, to clear her timber properly, and cultivate the stony plain. 

 To put this project into execution she needs a man of your scientific knowledge and ardor, and one who has also your disinterested devotion and your ideas of practical utility. It will be little money and much work! a great result from small means! a whole region to be changed fundamentally! barren places to be made to gush with plenty! Isn't that precisely what you want, --you who are dreaming of constructing a poem? From the tone of sincerity which pervades your letter, I do not hesitate to bid you come and see me at Limoges. But, my good friend, don't send in your resignation yet; get leave of absence only, and tell your administration that you are going to study questions connected with your profession outside of the government works. In this way, you will not lose your rights, and you will have time to judge for yourself whether the project conceived by the rector of Montegnac and approved by Madame Graslin is feasible. 

 I will explain to you by word of mouth the advantages you will find in case this great scheme can be carried out. Rely on the friendship of

 Yours, etc, T. Grossetete. 

Madame Graslin replied to Grossetete in few words: "Thank you, myfriend; I shall expect your _protege_. " She showed the letter to therector, saying, --

"One more wounded man for the hospital. "

The rector read the letter, reread it, made two or three turns on theterrace silently; then he gave it back to Madame Graslin, saying, --

"A fine soul, and a superior man. He says the schools invented by thegenius of the Revolution manufacture incapacities. For my part, I saythey manufacture unbelievers; for if Monsieur Gerard is not anatheist, he is a protestant. "

"We will ask him, " she said, struck by an answer. 

 XVII

 THE REVOLUTION OF JULY JUDGED AT MONTEGNAC

A fortnight later, in December, and in spite of the cold, MonsieurGrossetete came to the chateau de Montegnac, to "present his protege, "whom Veronique and Monsieur Bonnet were impatiently awaiting. 

"I must love you very much, my dear child, " said the old man, takingVeronique's two hands in his, and kissing them with that gallantry ofold men which never displeases women, "yes, I must love you well, tocome from Limoges in such weather. But I wanted to present to youmyself the gift of Monsieur Gregoire Gerard here present. You'll findhim a man after your own heart, Monsieur Bonnet, " added the banker, bowing affectionately to the rector. 

Gerard's external appearance was not prepossessing. He was of middleheight, stocky in shape, the neck sunk in the shoulders, as they sayvulgarly; he had yellow hair, and the pink eyes of an albino, withlashes and eyebrows almost white. Though his skin, like that of allpersons of that description, was amazingly white, marks of thesmall-box and other very visible scars had destroyed its originalbrilliancy. Study had probably injured his sight, for he wore glasses. 

When he removed the great cloak of a gendarme in which he was wrapped, it was seen that his clothing did not improve his general appearance. The manner in which his garments were put on and buttoned, his untidycravat, his rumpled shirt, were signs of the want of personal carewith which men of science, all more or less absent-minded, arecharged. As in the case of most thinkers, his countenance and hisattitude, the development of his bust and the thinness of his legs, betrayed a sort of bodily debility produced by habits of meditation. Nevertheless, the ardor of his heart and the vigor of his mind, proofsof which were given in this letter, gleamed from his forehead, whichwas white as Carrara marble. Nature seemed to have reserved to herselfthat spot in order to place there visible signs of the grandeur, constancy, and goodness of the man. The nose, like that of most men ofthe true Gallic race, was flattened. His mouth, firm and straight, showed absolute discretion and the instinct of economy. But the wholemask, worn by study, looked prematurely old. 

"We must begin by thanking you, monsieur, " said Madame Graslin, addressing the engineer, "for being willing to direct an enterprise ina part of the country which can offer you no other pleasure than thesatisfaction of knowing that you are doing a real good. "

"Madame, " he replied, "Monsieur Grossetete has told me enough aboutyour enterprise as we came along to make me already glad that I can inany way be useful to you; the prospect of living in close relationswith you and Monsieur Bonnet seems to me charming. Unless I amdismissed from this region, I expect to end my days here. "

"We will try not to let you change your mind, " replied Madame Graslin, smiling. 

"Here, " said Grossetete, addressing Veronique, whom he took aside, "are the papers which the _procureur-general_ gave to me. He was quitesurprised that you did not address your inquiry about CatherineCurieux to him. All that you wished has been done immediately, withthe utmost promptitude and devotion. Three months hence CatherineCurieux will be sent to you. "

"Where is she?" asked Veronique. 

"She is now in the hospital Saint-Louis, " replied the old man; "theyare awaiting her recovery before sending her from Paris. "

"Ah! is the poor girl ill?"

"You will find all necessary information in these papers, " saidGrossetete, giving Veronique a packet. 

Madame Graslin returned to her guests to conduct them into themagnificent dining-room on the ground-floor. She sat at table, but didnot herself take part in the dinner; since her arrival at Montegnacshe had made it a rule to take her meals alone, and Aline, who knewthe reason of this withdrawal, faithfully kept the secret of it tillher mistress was in danger of death. 

The mayor, the _juge de paix_, and the doctor of Montegnac had beeninvited. 

The doctor, a young man twenty-seven years of age, named Roubaud, wasextremely desirous of knowing a woman so celebrated in Limoges. Therector was all the more pleased to present him at the chateau becausehe wanted to gather a little society around Veronique to distract hermind and give it food. Roubaud was one of those thoroughly well-trainedyoung physicians whom the Ecole de Medecine in Paris sends forth tothe profession. He would undoubtedly have shone on the vast stage ofthe capital; but frightened by the clash of ambitions in Paris, andknowing himself more capable than pushing, more learned thanintriguing, his gentle disposition led him to choose the narrow careerof the provinces, where he hoped to be sooner appreciated than inParis. 

At Limoges, Roubaud came in contact with the settled practice of theregular physicians and the habits of the people; he therefore lethimself be persuaded by Monsieur Bonnet, who, judging by the gentleand winning expression of his face, thought him well-suited toco-operate in his own work at Montegnac. Roubaud was small and fair;his general appearance was rather insipid, but his gray eyes betrayedthe depths of the physiologist and the patient tenacity of a studiousman. There was no physician in Montegnac except an old army-surgeon, more devoted to his cellar than to his patients, and too old tocontinue with any vigor the hard life of a country doctor. At thepresent time he was dying. 

Roubaud had been in Montegnac about eighteen months, and was muchliked there. But this young pupil of Desplein and the successors ofCabanis did not believe in Catholicism. He lived in a state ofprofound indifference as to religion, and did not desire to come outof it. The rector was in despair. Not that Roubaud did any wrong; henever spoke against religion, and his duties were excuse enough forhis absence from church; besides, he was incapable of trying toundermine the faith of others, and indeed behaved outwardly as thebest of Catholics; he simply prohibited himself from thinking of aproblem which he considered above the range of human thought. When therector heard him say that pantheism had been the religion of all greatminds he set him down as inclining to the doctrine of Pythagoras onreincarnation. 

Roubaud, who saw Madame Graslin for the first time, experienced aviolent sensation when he met her. Science revealed to him in herexpression, her attitude, in the ravages of her face, untoldsufferings both moral and physical, a nature of almost superhumanforce, great faculties which would support her under the mostconflicting trials; he detected all, --even the darkest corners of thatnature so carefully hidden. He felt that some evil, some malady, wasdevouring the heart of that fine creature; for just as the color of afruit shows the presence of a worm within it, so certain tints in thehuman face enable physicians to detect a poisoning thought. 

From this moment Monsieur Roubaud attached himself so deeply to MadameGraslin that he became afraid of loving her beyond the permitted lineof simple friendship. The brow, the bearing, above all, the glance ofVeronique's eye had a sort of eloquence that men invariablyunderstand; it said as plainly that she was dead to love as otherwomen say the contrary by a reversal of the same eloquence. The doctorsuddenly vowed to her, in his heart, a chivalrous worship. 

He exchanged a rapid glance with the rector, who thought to himself, "Here's the thunderbolt which will convert my poor unbeliever; MadameGraslin will have more eloquence than I. "

The mayor, an old countryman, amazed at the luxury of this dining-roomand surprised to find himself dining with one of the richest men inthe department, had put on his best clothes, which rather hamperedhim, and this increased his mental awkwardness. Moreover, MadameGraslin in her mourning garments seemed to him very imposing; he wastherefore mute. After living all his life as a farmer at Saint-Leonard, he had bought the only habitable house in Montegnac and cultivatedwith his own hands the land belonging to it. Though he knew how toread and write, he would have been incapable of fulfilling hisfunctions were it not for the help of his clerk and the _juge depaix_, who prepared his work for him. He was very anxious to have anotary established in Montegnac, in order that he might shift theburden of his responsibility on to that officer's shoulders. But thepoverty of the village and its outlying districts made such afunctionary almost useless, and the inhabitants had recourse whennecessary to the notaries of the chief town of the arrondissement. 

The _juge de paix_, named Clousier, was formerly a lawyer in Limoges, where cases had deserted him because he insisted on putting intopractice that fine axiom that the lawyer is the best judge of theclient and the case. In 1809 he obtained his present post, the meagresalary of which just enabled him to live. He had now reached a stageof honorable but absolute poverty. After a residence of twenty-oneyears in this poor village the worthy man, thoroughly countrified, looked, top-coat and all, exactly like the farmers about him. 

Under this coarse exterior Clousier hid a clear-sighted mind, given tolofty meditation on public policy, though he himself had fallen into astate of complete indifference, derived from his intimate knowledge ofmen and their interests. This man, who baffled for a long time therector's perspicacity and who might in a higher sphere have provedanother l'Hopital, incapable of intrigue like all really profoundpersons, was by this time living in the contemplative state of anancient hermit. Independent through privation, no personalconsideration acted on his mind; he knew the laws and judgedimpartially. His life, reduced to the merest necessaries, was pure andregular. The peasants loved Monsieur Clousier and respected him forthe disinterested fatherly care with which he settled theirdifferences and gave them advice in their daily affairs. The "goodmanClousier" as all Montegnac called him, had a nephew with him as clerk, an intelligent young man, who afterwards contributed much to theprosperity of the district. 

Old Clousier's personal appearance was remarkable for a broad, highforehead and two bushes of white hair which stood out from his head oneither side of it. His highly colored complexion and well-developedcorpulence might have made persons think, in spite of his actualsobriety, that he cultivated Bacchus as well as Troplong and Toullier. His half-extinct voice was the sign of an oppressive asthma. Perhapsthe dry air of Montegnac had contributed to fix him there. He lived ina house arranged for him by a well-to-do cobbler to whom it belonged. Clousier had already seen Veronique at church, and he had formed hisopinion of her without communicating it to any one, not even toMonsieur Bonnet, with whom he was beginning to be intimate. For thefirst time in his life the _juge de paix_ was to be thrown in withpersons able to appreciate him. 

When the company were seated round a table handsomely appointed (forVeronique had sent all her household belongings from Limoges toMontegnac) the six guests felt a momentary embarrassment. The doctor, the mayor and the _juge de paix_ knew nothing of Grossetete andGerard. But during the first course, old Grossetete's heartygood-humor broke the ice of a first meeting. In addition to this, Madame Graslin's cordiality led on Gerard, and encouraged Roubaud. Under her touch these souls full of fine qualities recognized theirrelation, and felt they had entered a sympathetic circle. So, by thetime the dessert appeared on the table, when the glass and china withgilded edges sparkled, and the choicer wines were served by Aline andChampion and Grossetete's valet, the conversation became sufficientlyconfidential to allow these four choice minds, thus meeting by chance, to express their real thoughts on matters of importance, such as menlike to discuss when they can do so and be sure of the discretion oftheir companions. 

"Your furlough came just in time to let you witness the revolution ofJuly, " said Grossetete to Gerard, with an air as if he asked anopinion of him. 

"Yes, " replied the engineer. "I was in Paris during the three famousdays. I saw all; and I came to sad conclusions. "

"What were they?" said the rector, eagerly. 

"There is no longer any patriotism except under dirty shirts, " repliedGerard. "In that lies the ruin of France! July was the voluntarydefeat of all superiorities, --name, fortune, talent. The ardent, devoted masses carried the day against the rich and the intelligent, to whom ardor and devotion are repugnant. "

"To judge by what has happened during the past year, " said MonsieurClousier, "this change of government is simply a premium given to anevil that is sapping us, --individualism. Fifteen years hence allquestions of a generous nature will be met by, _What is that to me?_--the great cry of Freedom of Will descending from the religiousheights where Luther, Calvin, Zwinglius, and Knox introduced it, intoeven political economy. _Every one for himself_; _every man his ownmaster_, --those two terrible axioms form, with the _What is that tome?_ a trinity of wisdom to the burgher and the small land-owner. Thisegotism results from the vices of our present civil legislation (toohastily made), to which the revolution of July has just given aterrible confirmation. "

The _juge de paix_ fell back into his usual silence after thusexpressing himself; but the topics he suggested must have occupied theminds of those present. Emboldened by Clousier's words, and moved bythe look which Gerard exchanged with Grossetete, Monsieur Bonnetventured to go further. 

"The good King Charles X. , " he said, "has just failed in the mostfar-sighted and salutary enterprise a monarch ever planned for thewelfare of the people confided to him; and the Church ought to feelproud of the part she took in his councils. But the upper classesdeserted him in heart and mind, just as they had already deserted himon the great question of the law of primogeniture, --the lasting honorof the only bold statesman the Restoration has produced, namely, theComte de Peyronnet. To reconstitute the nation through the family; totake from the press its venomous action and confine it to its realusefulness; to recall the elective Chamber to its true functions; andto restore to religion its power over the people, --such were the fourcardinal points of the internal policy of the house of Bourbon. Well, twenty years from now all France will have recognized the necessityof that grand and sound policy. Charles X. Was in greater peril in thesituation he chose to leave than in that in which his paternal powerhas been defeated. The future of our noble country--where all thingswill henceforth be brought periodically into question, where ourrulers will discuss incessantly instead of acting, where the press, become a sovereign power, will be the instrument of base ambitions--this future will only prove the wisdom of the king who has justcarried away with him the true principles of government; and historywill bear in mind the courage with which he resisted his best friendsafter having probed the wound and seen the necessity of curativemeasures, which were not sustained by those for whose sake he puthimself into the breach. "

"Ah! monsieur, " cried Gerard, "you are frank; you go straight to yourthought without disguise, and I won't contradict you. Napoleon in hisRussian campaign was forty years in advance of the spirit of his age;he was never understood. The Russia and England of 1830 explains thecampaign of 1812. Charles X. Has been misunderstood in the same way. It is quite possible that in twenty-five years from now his ordinancesmay become the laws of the land. "

"France, too eloquent not to gabble, too full of vanity to bow downbefore real talent, is, in spite of the sublime good sense of itslanguage and the mass of its people, the very last nation in which twodeliberative chambers should have been attempted, " said the _juge depaix_. "Or, at any rate, the weaknesses of our national charactershould have been guarded against by the admirable restrictions whichNapoleon's experience laid upon them. Our present system may succeedin a country whose action is circumscribed by the nature of its soil, like England; but the law of primogeniture applied to the transmissionof land is absolutely necessary; when that law is suppressed thesystem of legislative representation becomes absurd. England owes herexistence to the quasi-feudal law which entails landed property andfamily mansions on the eldest son. Russia is based on the feudal rightof autocracy. Consequently those two nations are to-day on thehigh-road of startling progress. Austria could only resist ourinvasions and renew the way against Napoleon by virtue of that law ofprimogeniture which preserves in the family the active forces of anation, and supplies the great productions necessary to the State. Thehouse of Bourbon, feeling that it was slipping to the third rank inEurope, by reason of liberalism, wanted to regain its rightful placeand there maintain itself, and the nation has thrown it over at thevery time it was about to save the nation. I am sure I don't know howlow down the present system will drop us. "

"If we have a war, France will be without horses, as Napoleon was in1813, when, being reduced to those of France only, he could not profitby his two victories of Lutzen and Botzen, and so was crushed atLeipzig, " cried Grossetete. "If peace continues, the evil will onlyincrease. Twenty-five years from now the race of cattle and horseswill have diminished in France by one half. "

"Monsieur Grossetete is right, " remarked Gerard. "So that the work youare undertaking here, madame, " he added, addressing Veronique, "isreally a service done to the country. "

"Yes, " said the _juge de paix_, "because Madame has but one son, andthe inheritance will not be divided up; but how long will thatcondition last? For a certain length of time the magnificent culturewhich you are about to introduce will, let us hope, belong to only oneproprietor, who will continue to breed horned beasts and horses; butsooner or later the day must come when these forests and fields willbe divided up and sold in small parcels. Divided and redivided, thesix thousand acres of that plain will have a thousand or twelvehundred owners, and thenceforth--no more horses and cattle!"

"Oh! as for those days"--began the mayor. 

"There! don't you hear the _What is that to me?_ Monsieur Clousiertalked of?" cried Monsieur Grossetete. "Taken in the act! But, monsieur, " resumed the banker, gravely addressing the dumfoundedmayor, "those days have really come. In a radius of thirty miles roundParis the land is so divided up into small holdings that milch cowsare no longer seen. The Commune of Argenteuil contains thirty-eightthousand eight hundred and eighty-five parcels of land, many of whichdo not return a farthing of revenue. If it were not for the richrefuse of Paris, which produces a fodder of strong quality, I don'tknow how dairymen would get along. As it is, this over-stimulatingfood and confinement in close stables produce inflammatory diseases, of which the cows often die. They use cows in the neighborhood ofParis as they do horses in the street. Crops more profitable than hay--vegetables, fruit, apple orchards, vineyards--are taking the placeof meadow-lands. In a few years we shall see milk sent to Paris by themail-coaches as they now send fish. What is going on around Paris isalso going on round all the large cities of France; the land will thusbe used up before many years are gone. Chaptel states that in 1800there were barely two million acres of vineyard in France; a carefulestimate would give ten million to-day. Divided _ad infinitum_ by ourpresent system of inheritance, Normandy will lose half her productionof horses and cattle; but she will have a monopoly of milk in Paris, for her climate, happily, forbids grape culture. We shall soon see acurious phenomenon in the progressive rise in the cost of meat. Intwenty years from now, in 1850, Paris, which paid seven to eleven sousfor a pound of beef in 1814, will be paying twenty--unless there comesa man of genius who can carry out the plan of Charles X. "

"You have laid your finger on the mortal wound of France, " said the_juge de paix_. "The root of our evils lies in the section relating toinheritance in the Civil Code, in which the equal division of propertyamong heirs is ordained. That's the pestle that pounds territory intocrumbs, individualizes fortunes, and takes from them their needfulstability; decomposing ever and never recomposing, --a state of thingswhich must end in the ruin of France. The French Revolution emitted adestructive virus to which the July days have given fresh activity. This vitiating element is the accession of the peasantry to theownership of land. In the section 'On Inheritance' is the principle ofthe evil, the peasant is the means through which it works. No soonerdoes that class get a parcel of land into its maw than it begins tosubdivide it, till there are scarcely three furrows left in each lot. And even then the peasant does not stop! He divides the three furrowsacross their length, as Monsieur Grossetete has just shown us atArgenteuil. The unreasonable price which the peasant attaches to thesmallest scrap of his land makes it impossible to repurchase andrestore a fine estate. Monsieur, " he went on, indicating Grossetete, "has just mentioned the diminution in the raising of horses andcattle; well, the Code has much to do with that. The peasant-proprietorowns cows; he looks to them for his means of living; he sells thecalves, he sells his butter; he never dreams of raising cattle, stillless of raising horses; but as he cannot raise enough fodder tosupport his cows through a dry season, he sends them to market whenhe can feed them no longer. If by some fatal chance the hay were tofail for two years running, you would see a startling change thethird year in the price of beef, but especially in that of veal. "

"That may put a stop to 'patriotic banquets, '" said the doctor, laughing. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Madame Graslin, looking at Roubaud, "can't politicsget on without the wit of journalism, even here?"

"In this lamentable business, the bourgeoisie plays the same _role_as the pioneers of America, " continued Clousier. "It buys up greatestates, which the peasantry could not otherwise acquire. It cuts themup and then sells, either at auction or in small lots at private sale, to the peasants. Everything is judged by figures in these days, and Iknow none more eloquent than these. France has ninety-nine millionacres, which, subtracting highways, roads, dunes, canals, and barren, uncultivated regions deserted by capital, may be reduced to eightymillions. Now out of eighty millions of acres to thirty-two millionsof inhabitants we find one hundred and twenty-five millions of smalllots registered on the tax-list (I don't give fractions). Thus, youwill observe, we have gone to the utmost limit of agrarian law, andyet we have not seen the last of poverty or dissatisfaction. Those whodivide territory into fragments and lessen production have, of course, plenty of organs to cry out that true social justice consists ingiving every man a life interest, and no more, in a parcel of land;perpetual ownership, they say, is robbery. The Saint-Simonians arealready proclaiming that doctrine. "

"The magistrate has spoken, " said Grossetete, "and here's what thebanker adds to those bold considerations. The fact that the peasantryand the lesser bourgeoisie can now acquire land does France an injurywhich the government seems not even to suspect. We may estimate thenumber of peasant families, omitting paupers, at three millions. Thesefamilies subsist on wages. Wages are paid in money, and not in kind--"

"Yes, that's another blunder of our laws!" cried Clousier, interrupting the banker. "The right to pay in kind might have beengranted in 1790; now, if we attempted to carry such a law, we shouldrisk a revolution. "

"Therefore, as I was about to say, the proletary draws to himself themoney of the country, " resumed Grossetete. "Now the peasant has noother passion, desire, or will, than to die a land-owner. This desire, as Monsieur Clousier has well shown, was born of the Revolution, andis the direct result of the sale of the National domain. A man must beignorant indeed of what is going on all over France in the countryregions if he is not aware that these three million families areyearly hoarding at least fifty francs, thus subtracting a hundred andfifty millions from current use. The science of political economy hasmade it an axiom that a five-franc piece, passing through a hundredhands in one day, is equivalent to five hundred francs. Now, it isperfectly plain to all of us who live in the country and observe thestate of affairs, that every peasant has his eye on the land hecovets; he is watching and waiting for it, and he never invests hissavings elsewhere; he buries them. In seven years the savings thusrendered inert and unproductive amount to eleven hundred millionfrancs. But since the lesser bourgeoisie bury as much more, with thesame purpose, France loses every seven years the interest of at leasttwo thousand millions, --that is to say, about one hundred millions; aloss which in forty-two years amounts to six hundred million francs. But she not only loses six hundred millions, she fails to create withthat money manufacturing or agricultural products, which represent aloss of twelve hundred millions; for, if the manufactured product werenot double in value to its cost price, commerce could not exist. Theproletariat actually deprives itself of six hundred millions in wages. These six hundred millions of dead loss (representing to a sterneconomist a loss of twelve hundred millions, through lack of thebenefits of circulation) explain the condition of inferiority in whichour commerce, our merchant service, and our agriculture stand, ascompared with England. In spite of the difference of the twoterritories, which is more than two thirds in our favor, England couldremount the cavalry of two French armies, and she has meat for everyman. But there, as the system of landed property makes it almostimpossible for the lower classes to obtain it, money is not hoarded;it becomes commercial, and is turned over. Thus, besides the evil ofparcelling the land, involving that of the diminution of horses, cattle, and sheep, the section of the Code on inheritance costs us sixhundred millions of interest, lost by the hoarding of the money of thepeasantry and bourgeoisie, and twelve hundred millions, at least, ofproducts; or, including the loss from non-circulation, three thousandmillions in half a century!"

"The moral effect is worse than the material effect, " cried therector. "We are making beggar-proprietors among the people andhalf-taught communities of the lesser bourgeoisie; and the fatal maxim'Each for himself, ' which had its effect upon the upper classes inJuly of this year, will soon have gangrened the middle classes. Aproletariat devoid of sentiment, with no other god than envy, no otherfanaticism than the despair of hunger, without faith, without belief, will come forward before long and put its foot on the heart of thenation. Foreigners, who have thriven under monarchical rule, will findthat, having royalty, we have no king; having legality, we have nolaws; having property, no owners; no government with our elections, noforce with freedom, no happiness with equality. Let us hope thatbefore that day comes God may raise up in France a providential man, one of those Elect who give a new mind to nations, and like Sylla orlike Marius, whether he comes from above or rises from below, remakessociety. "

"He would be sent to the assizes, " said Gerard. "The sentencepronounced against Socrates and Jesus Christ would be rendered againstthem in 1831. In these days as in the old days, envious mediocritylets thinkers die of poverty, and so gets rid of the great politicalphysicians who have studied the wounds of France, and who oppose thetendencies of their epoch. If they bear up under poverty, common mindsridicule them or call them dreamers. In France, men revolt in themoral world against the great man of the future, just as they revoltin the political world against a sovereign. "

"In the olden time sophists talked to a limited number of men; to-daythe periodical press enables them to lead astray a nation, " cried the_juge de paix_; "and that portion of the press which pleads for rightideas finds no echo. "

The mayor looked at Monsieur Clousier in amazement. Madame Graslin, glad to find in a simple _juge de paix_ a man whose mind was occupiedwith serious questions, said to Monsieur Roubaud, her neighbor, "Doyou know Monsieur Clousier?"

"Not rightly until to-day, madame. You are doing miracles, " heanswered in a whisper. "And yet, look at his brow, how noble in shape!Isn't it like the classic or traditional brow given by sculptors toLycurgus and the Greek sages? The revolution of July has an evidentlyretrograde tendency, " said the doctor (who might in his student dayshave made a barricade himself), after carefully consideringGrossetete's calculation. 

"These ideas are threefold, " continued Clousier. "You have talked oflaw and finance, but how is it with the government itself? The royalpower, weakened by the doctrine of national sovereignty, in virtue ofwhich the election of August 9, 1830, has just been made, willendeavor to counteract that rival principle which gives to the peoplethe right to saddle the nation with a new dynasty every time it doesnot fully comprehend the ideas of its king. You will see that we shallthen have internal struggles which will arrest for long periodstogether the progress of France. "

"All these reefs have been wisely evaded by England, " remarked Gerard. "I have been there; I admire that beehive, which sends its swarms overthe universe and civilizes mankind, --a people among whom discussion isa political comedy, which satisfies the masses and hides the action ofpower, which then works freely in its upper sphere; a country whereelections are not in the hands of a stupid bourgeoisie, as they are inFrance. If England were parcelled out into small holdings the nationwould no longer exist. The land-owning class, the lords, guide thesocial mechanism. Their merchant-service, under the nose of Europe, takes possession of whole regions of the globe to meet the needs oftheir commerce and to get rid of their paupers and malcontents. Instead of fighting capacities, as we do, thwarting them, nullifyingthem, the English aristocratic class seeks out young talent, rewardsit, and is constantly assimilating it. Everything which concerns theaction of the government, in the choice of men and things, is promptin England, whereas with us all is slow; and yet the English are slowby nature, while we are impatient. With them money is bold andactively employed; with us it is timid and suspicious. What MonsieurGrossetete has said of the industrial losses which the hoardingpeasantry inflict on France has its proof in a fact I will show to youin two words: English capital, by its perpetual turning over, hascreated ten thousand millions of manufacturing and interest-bearingproperty; whereas French capital, which is far more abundant, has notcreated one tenth of that amount. "

"And that is all the more extraordinary, " said Roubaud, "because theyare lymphatic, and we, as a general thing, are sanguine andenergetic. "

"Ah! monsieur, " said Clousier, "there you touch a great question, which ought to be studied: How to find institutions properly adaptedto repress the temperament of a people! Assuredly Cromwell was a greatlegislator. He alone made the England of to-day, by inventing the'Navigation Act, ' which has made the English enemies of all the world, and infused into them a ferocious pride and self-conceit, which istheir mainstay. But, in spite of their Malta citadel, if France andRussia will only comprehend the part the Mediterranean and the BlackSea ought to be made to play in the future, the road to Asia throughEgypt or by the Euphrates, made feasible by recent discoveries, willkill England, as in former times the discovery of the Cape of GoodHope killed Venice. "

"Not one word of God's providence in all this!" cried the rector. "Monsieur Clousier and Monsieur Roubaud are oblivious of religion. Howis it with you, monsieur?" he added, turning to Gerard. 

"Protestant, " put in Grossetete. 

"You guessed it, " cried Veronique, looking at the rector as she tookClousier's arm to return to the salon. 

The prejudice Gerard's appearance excited against him had been quicklydispelled, and the three notables congratulated themselves on so goodan acquisition. 

"Unfortunately, " said Monsieur Bonnet, "there is a cause of antagonismbetween Russia and the Catholic countries which border theMediterranean, in the very unimportant schism which separates theGreek religion from the Latin religion; and it is a great misfortunefor humanity. "

"We all preach our own saint, " said Madame Graslin. "MonsieurGrossetete thinks of the lost millions; Monsieur Clousier, of theoverthrow of rights; the doctor here regards legislation as a questionof temperaments; and the rector sees an obstacle to the goodunderstanding of France and Russia in religion. "

"Add to that, madame, " said Gerard, "that I see, in the hoarding ofcapital by the peasant and the small burgher, the postponement of thebuilding of railroads in France. "

"Then what is it you all want?" she asked. 

"We want the wise State councillors who, under the Emperor, reflectedon the laws, and a legislative body elected by the intelligence of thecountry as well as by the land-owners, whose only function would be tooppose bad legislation and capricious wars. The Chamber, asconstituted to-day, will proceed, as you will soon see, to govern, andthat is the first step to legal anarchy. "

"Good God!" cried the rector, in a flush of sacred patriotism, "howcan such enlightened minds as these, " and he motioned to Clousier, Roubaud, and Gerard, "how can they see evil so clearly and suggestremedies without first looking within and applying a remedy tothemselves? All of you, who represent the attacked classes, recognizethe necessity of the passive obedience of the masses of the State, like that of soldiers during a war; you want the unity of power, andyou desire that it shall never be brought into question. What Englandhas obtained by the development of her pride and self-interest (a partof her creed) cannot be obtained in France but through sentiments dueto Catholicism, and none of you are Catholics! Here am I, a priest, obliged to leave my own ground and argue with arguers. How can youexpect the masses to become religious and obedient when they seeirreligion and want of discipline above them? All peoples united byany faith whatever will inevitably get the better of peoples withoutany faith at all. The law of public interest, which gives birth topatriotism, is destroyed by the law of private interest, which itsanctions, but which gives birth to selfishness. There is nothingsolid and durable but that which is natural; and the natural thing inhuman policy is the Family. The family must be the point of departurefor all institutions. A universal effect proves a universal cause; andwhat you have just been setting forth as evident on all sides comesfrom the social principle itself; which is now without force becauseit has taken for its basis independence of thought and will, and suchfreedom is the parent of individualism. To make happiness depend onthe stability, intelligence, and capacity of all is not as wise as tomake happiness depend on the stability and intelligence ofinstitutions and the capacity of a single head. It is easier to findwisdom in one man than in a whole nation. Peoples have heart and noeyes; they feel, and see not. Governments ought to see, and notdetermine anything through sentiment. There is, therefore, an evidentcontradiction between the impulses of the multitude and the action ofpower whose function it is to direct and unify those impulses. To meetwith a great prince is certainly a rare chance (to use your term), butto trust to a whole assembly, even though it is composed of honest menonly, is folly. France is committing that folly at this moment. Alas!you are just as much convinced of that as I am. If all right-mindedmen, like yourselves, would only set an example around them, if allintelligent hands would raise, in the great republic of souls, thealtars of the one Church which has set the interests of humanitybefore her, we might again behold in France the miracles our fathersdid here. "

"But the difficulty is, monsieur, " said Gerard, --"if I may speak toyou with the freedom of the confessional, --I look upon faith as a liewe tell to ourselves, on hope as a lie we tell about the future, andon charity as a trick for children to keep them good by the promise ofsugar-plums. "

"Still, we sleep better for being rocked by hope, monsieur, " saidMadame Graslin. 

This speech stopped Roubaud, who was about to reply; its effect wasstrengthened by a look from Grossetete and the rector. 

"Is it our fault, " said Clousier, "that Jesus Christ had not the timeto formulate a government in accordance with his moral teaching, asdid Moses and Confucius, the two greatest human law-givers?--witnessthe existence, as a nation, of the Jews and Chinese, the former inspite of their dispersion over the whole earth, and the latter inspite of their isolation. "

"Ah! dear me! what work you are cutting out for me!" cried the rectornaively. "But I shall triumph, I shall convert you all! You are muchnearer to the true faith than you think you are. Truth always lurksbehind falsehood; go on a step, turn round, and then you'll see it. "

This little outburst of the good rector had the effect of changing theconversation. 

 XVIII

 CATHERINE CURIEUX

Before taking his departure the next day, Monsieur Grossetete promisedVeronique to associate himself in all her plans, as soon as therealization of them was a practicable thing. Madame Graslin and Gerardaccompanied his carriage on horseback, and did not leave him till theyreached the junction of the high-road of Montegnac with that fromBordeaux to Lyon. The engineer was so impatient to see the land he wasto reclaim, and Veronique was so impatient to show it to him, thatthey had planned this expedition the evening before. 

After bidding adieu to the kind old man, they turned off the roadacross the vast plain, and skirted the mountain chain from the foot ofthe rise which led to the chateau to the steep face of the Roche-Vive. The engineer then saw plainly the shelf or barricade of rock mentionedby Farrabesche; which forms, as it were, the lowest foundation of thehills. By so directing the water that it should not overflow theindestructible canal which Nature had built, and by clearing out theaccumulation of earth which choked it up, irrigation would be helpedrather than hindered by this natural sluice-way, which was raised, onan average, ten feet above the plain. The first important point was toestimate the amount of water flowing through the Gabou, and to makesure whether or not the slopes of the valley allowed any to escape inother directions. 

Veronique gave Farrabesche a horse, and directed him to accompany theengineer and to explain to him everything he had himself noticed. After several days' careful exploration, Gerard found that the base ofthe two parallel slopes was sufficiently solid, though different incomposition, to hold the water, allowing none to escape. During themonth of January, which was rainy, he estimated the quantity of waterflowing through the Gabou. This quantity, added to that of threestreams which could easily be led into it, would supply water enoughto irrigate a tract of land three times as extensive as the plain ofMontegnac. The damming of the Gabou and the works necessary to directthe water of the three valleys to the plain, ought not to cost morethan sixty thousand francs; for the engineer discovered on the commonsa quantity of calcareous soil which would furnish the lime cheaply, the forest was close at hand, the wood and stone cost nothing, and thetransportation was trifling. While awaiting the season when the Gabouwould be dry (the only time suitable for the work) all the necessarypreparations could be made so as to push the enterprise throughrapidly when it was once begun. 

But the preparation of the plain was another thing; that according toGerard, would cost not less than two hundred thousand francs, withoutincluding the sowing and planting. The plain was to be divided intosquare compartments of two hundred and fifty acres each, where theground had to be cleared, not only of its stunted growths, but ofrocks. Laborers would have to dig innumerable trenches, and stone themup so as to let no water run to waste, also to direct its flow atwill. This part of the enterprise needed the active and faithful armsof conscientious workers. Chance provided them with a tract of landwithout natural obstacles, a long even stretch of plain, where thewaters, having a fall of ten feet, could be distributed at will. Nothing hindered the finest agricultural results, while at the sametime, the eye would be gratified by one of those magnificent sheets ofverdure which are the pride and the wealth of Lombardy. Gerard sentfor an old and experienced foreman, who had already been employed byhim elsewhere in this capacity, named Fresquin. 

Madame Graslin wrote to Grossetete, requesting him to negotiate forher a loan of two hundred and fifty thousand francs, secured on herincome from the Funds, which, if relinquished for six years, would beenough to pay both capital and interest. This loan was obtained inMarch. By this time the preliminary preparations carried on by Gerardand his foreman, Fresquin, were fully completed; also, the surveying, estimating, levelling, and sounding. The news of this great enterprisespreading about the country, stimulated the laboring population. Theindefatigable Farrabesche, Colorat, Clousier, the mayor of Montegnac, Roubaud, and others, interested either in the welfare of theneighborhood or in Madame Graslin, selected such of these laborers asseemed the poorest, or were most deserving of employment. Gerardbought for himself and for Monsieur Grossetete a thousand acres on theother side of the high-road to Montegnac. Fresquin, the foreman, bought five hundred, and sent for his wife and children. 

Early in April, 1832, Monsieur Grossetete came to see the land boughtfor him by Gerard, though his journey was chiefly occasioned by theadvent of Catherine Curieux, who had come from Paris to Limoges by thediligence. Grossetete now brought her with him to Montegnac. He foundMadame Graslin just starting for church. Monsieur Bonnet was to say amass to implore the blessing of heaven on the works that were thenbeginning. All the laborers with their wives and children werepresent. 

"Here is your protegee, " said the old gentleman, presenting toVeronique a feeble, suffering woman, apparently about thirty years ofage. 

"Are you Catherine Curieux?" asked Madame Graslin. 

"Yes, madame. "

Veronique looked at Catherine for a moment. She was rather tall, well-made, and fair; her features wore an expression of extremegentleness which the beautiful gray tones of the eyes did notcontradict. The outline of the face, the shape of the brow had anobility both simple and august, such as we sometimes meet with incountry regions among very young girls, --a sort of flower of beauty, which field labors, the constant cares of the household, the burningof the sun, and want of personal care, remove with terrible rapidity. Her movements had that ease of motion characteristic of country girls, to which certain habits unconsciously contracted in Paris gaveadditional grace. If Catherine had remained in the Correze she wouldby this time have looked like an old woman, wrinkled and withered;her complexion, once rosy, would have coarsened; but Paris, thoughit paled her, had preserved her beauty. Illness, toil, and grief hadendowed her with the mysterious gifts of melancholy, the inwardvitalizing thought, which is lacking to poor country-folk whose livesare almost animal. Her dress, full of that Parisian taste which allwomen, even the least coquettish, contract so readily, distinguishedher still further from an ordinary peasant-woman. In her ignorance asto what was before her, and having no means of judging Madame Graslin, she appeared very shy and shame-faced. 

"Do you still love Farrabesche?" asked Veronique, when Grossetete leftthem for a moment. 

"Yes, madame, " she replied coloring. 

"Why, then, having sent him a thousand francs during his imprisonment, did you not join him after his release? Have you any repugnance tohim? Speak to me as though I were your mother. Are you afraid he hasbecome altogether corrupt; or did you fear he no longer wanted you?"

"Neither, madame; but I do not know how to read or write, and I wasserving a very exacting old lady; she fell ill and I had to nurse her. Though I knew the time when Jacques would be released, I could not getaway from Paris until after the lady's death. She did not leave meanything, notwithstanding my devotion to her interests and to herpersonally. After that I wanted to be cured of an ailment caused bynight-watching and hard work, and as I had used up my savings, Iresolved to go to the hospital of Saint-Louis, which I have just left, cured. "

"Very good, my child, " said Madame Graslin, touched by this simpleexplanation. "But tell me now why you abandoned your parents soabruptly, why you left your child behind you, and why you did not sendany news of yourself, or get some one to write for you. "

For all answer Catherine wept. 

"Madame, " she said at last, reassured by the pressure of MadameGraslin's hand, "I may have done wrong, but I hadn't the strength tostay here. I did not fear myself, but others; I feared gossip, scandal. So long as Jacques was in danger, I was necessary to him andI stayed; but after he had gone I had no strength left, --a girl with achild and no husband! The worst of creatures was better than I. Idon't know what would have become of me had I stayed to hear a wordagainst my boy or his father; I should have gone mad; I might havekilled myself. My father or my mother in a moment of anger might havereproached me. I am too sensitive to bear a quarrel or an insult, gentle as I am. I have had my punishment in not seeing my child, I whohave never passed a day without thinking of him in all these years! Iwished to be forgotten, and I have been. No one thought of me, --theybelieved me dead; and yet, many a time, I thought of leaving all justto come here for a day and see my child. "

"Your child--see, here he is. "

Catherine then saw Benjamin, and began to tremble violently. 

"Benjamin, " said Madame Graslin, "come and kiss your mother. "

"My mother!" cried Benjamin, surprised. He jumped into Catherine'sarms and she pressed him to her breast with almost savage force. Butthe boy escaped her and ran off crying out: "I'll go and fetch _him_. "

Madame Graslin made Catherine, who was almost fainting, sit down. Atthis moment she saw Monsieur Bonnet and could not help blushing as shemet a piercing look from her confessor, which read her heart. 

"I hope, " she said, trembling, "that you will consent to marryFarrabesche and Catherine at once. Don't you recognize MonsieurBonnet, my dear? He will tell you that Farrabesche, since hisliberation has behaved as an honest man; the whole neighborhood thinkswell of him, and if there is a place in the world where you may livehappy and respected it is at Montegnac. You can make, by God's help, agood living as my farmers; for Farrabesche has recovered citizenship. "

"That is all true, my dear child, " said the rector. 

Just then Farrabesche appeared, pulled along by his son. He was paleand speechless in presence of Catherine and Madame Graslin. His hearttold him actively benevolent the one had been, and how deeply theother had suffered in his absence. Veronique led away the rector, who, on his side, was anxious to talk with her alone. 

As soon as they were far enough away not to be overheard, MonsieurBonnet looked fixedly at Veronique; she colored and dropped her eyeslike a guilty person. 

"You degrade well-doing, " he said, sternly. 

"How?" she asked, raising her head. 

"Well-doing, " he replied, "is a passion as superior to that of love ashumanity is superior to the individual creature. Now, you have notdone this thing from the sole impulse and simplicity of virtue. Youhave fallen from the heights of humanity to the indulgence of theindividual creature. Your benevolence to Farrabesche and Catherinecarries with it so many memories and forbidden thoughts that it haslost all merit in the eyes of God. Tear from your heart the remains ofthe javelin evil planted there. Do not take from your actions theirtrue value. Come at last to that saintly ignorance of the good you dowhich is the grace supreme of human actions. "

Madame Graslin had turned away to wipe the tears that told the rectorhis words had touched the bleeding wound that was still unhealed inher heart. 

Farrabesche, Catherine, and Benjamin now came up to thank theirbenefactress, but she made them a sign to go away and leave her alonewith the rector. 

"See how that grieves them, " she said to him as they sadly walkedaway. The rector, whose heart was tender, recalled them by a sign. 

"You shall be completely happy, " she then said, giving to Farrabeschea paper which she was holding in her hand. "Here is the ordinancewhich gives you back your rights of citizenship and exempts you fromhumiliating inspection. "

Farrabesche respectfully kissed the hand held toward him and looked atVeronique with an eye both tender and submissive, calm and devoted, the expression of a devotion which nothing could ever change, the lookof a dog to his master. 

"If Jacques has suffered, madame, " said Catherine, her fine eyeslighting with pleasure, "I hope I can give him enough happiness tomake up for his pain, for, no matter what he has done, he is not bad. "

Madame Graslin turned away her head; she seemed overcome by the sightof that happy family. The rector now left her to enter the church, whither she dragged herself presently on the arm of MonsieurGrossetete. 

After breakfast every one, even the aged people of the village, assembled to see the beginning of the great work. From the slopeleading up to the chateau, Monsieur Grossetete and Monsieur Bonnet, between whom was Veronique, could see the direction of the four firstcuttings marked out by piles of gathered stones. At each cutting fivelaborers were digging out and piling up the good loam along the edges;clearing a space about eighteen feet wide, the width of each road. Oneither side, four other men were digging the ditches and also pilingup the loam at the sides to make a bank. Behind them, as the bankswere made, two men were digging holes in which others planted trees. In each of these divisions, thirty old paupers, a score of women, andforty or more girls and children were picking up stones, which speciallaborers piled in heaps along the roadside so as to keep a record ofthe quantity gathered by each group. Thus the work went on rapidly, with picked workmen full of ardor. Grossetete promised Madame Graslinto send her some trees and to ask her other friends to do the same;for the nurseries of the chateau would evidently not suffice to supplysuch an extensive plantation. Toward the close of the day, which wasto end in a grand dinner at the chateau, Farrabesche requested MadameGraslin to grant him an audience for a few moments. 

"Madame, " he said, presenting himself with Catherine, "you were sogood as to offer me the farm at the chateau. By granting me so great afavor I know you intended to put me in the way of making my fortune. But Catherine has ideas about our future which we desire to submit toyou. If I were to succeed and make money there would certainly bepersons envious of my good fortune; a word is soon said; I might havequarrels, --I fear them; besides, Catherine would always be uneasy. Inshort, too close intercourse with the world will not suit us. I havecome therefore to ask you to give us only the land at the opening ofthe Gabou on the commons, with a small piece of the woodland behindthe Roche-Vive. In July you will have a great many workmen here, andit would be very easy then to build a farmhouse in a good position onthe slope of the hill. We should be happy there. I will send forGuepin. My poor comrade will work like a horse; perhaps I could marryhim here. My son is not a do-nothing either. No one would put us outof countenance; we could colonize this corner of the estate, and Ishould make it my ambition to turn it into a fine farm for you. Moreover, I want to propose as farmer of your great farm near thechateau a cousin of Catherine, who has money and would therefore bemore capable than I could be of managing such a large affair as thatfarm. If it please God to bless your enterprise, in five years fromnow you will have five or six thousand horned beasts or horses on thatplain below, and it wants a better head than mine to manage them. "

Madame Graslin agreed to his request, doing justice to the good senseof it. 

From the time the work on the plain began, Veronique's life assumedthe regularity of country existence. In the morning she heard mass, took care of her son, whom she idolized, and went to see her laborers. After dinner she received her friends from Montegnac in the littlesalon to the right of the clock-tower. She taught Roubaud, Clousier, and the rector to play whist, which Gerard knew already. The rubbersusually ended at nine o'clock, after which the company withdrew. Thispeaceful life had no other events to mark it than the success of thevarious parts of the great enterprise. 

In June the torrent of the Gabou went dry, and Gerard established hisheadquarters in the keeper's house. Farrabesche had already built hisfarmhouse, which he called Le Gabou. Fifty masons, brought from Paris, joined the two mountains by a wall twenty feet thick, with afoundation twelve feet deep and heavily cemented. The wall, or dam, rose nearly sixty feet and tapered in until it was not more than tenfeet thick at the summit. Gerard backed this wall on the valley sidewith a cemented slope, about twelve feet wide at its base. On the sidetoward the commons a similar slope, covered with several feet ofarable earth, still further supported this great work, which no rushof water could possibly damage. The engineer provided in case ofunusual rains an overflow at a proper height. The masonry was insertedinto the flank of each mountain until the granite or the hard-pan wasreached, so that the water had absolutely no outlet at the sides. 

This dam was finished by the middle of August. At the same time Gerardwas preparing three canals in the principal valleys, and none of theseworks came up to his estimated costs. The chateau farm could now befinished. The irrigation channels through the plain, superintended byFresquin, started from the canal made by nature along the base of themountains on the plain side, through which culverts were cut to theirrigating channels. Water-gates were fitted into those channels, thesides of which the abundance of rock had enabled them to stone up, soas to keep the flow of water at an even height along the plain. 

Every Sunday after mass, Veronique, the engineer, the rector, thedoctor, and the mayor walked down through the park to see the courseof the waters. The winter of 1832 and 1833 was extremely rainy. Thewater of the three streams which had been directed to the torrent, swollen by the water of the rains, now formed three ponds in thevalley of the Gabou, carefully placed at different levels so as tocreate a steady reserve in case of a severe drought. At certain placeswhere the valley widened Gerard had taken advantage of a few hillocksto make islands and plant them with trees of varied foliage. Thesevast operations completely changed the face of the country; but fiveor six years were of course needed to bring out their full character. "The country was naked, " said Farrabesche, "and madame has clothedit. "

Since these great undertakings were begun, Veronique had been called"Madame" throughout the whole neighborhood. When the rains ceased inJune, 1833, they tried the irrigating channels through the plantedfields, and the young verdure thus nourished soon showed the superiorqualities of the _marciti_ of Italy and the meadows of Switzerland. The system of irrigation, modelled on that of the farms in Lombardy, watered the earth evenly, and kept the surface as smooth as a carpet. The nitre of the snow dissolving in these channels no doubt added muchto the quality of the herbage. The engineer hoped to find in theproducts of succeeding years some analogy with those of Switzerland, to which this nitrous substance is, as we know, a source of perpetualriches. 

The plantations along the roads, sufficiently moistened by the waterallowed to run through the ditches, made rapid growth. So that in1838, six years after Madame Graslin had begun her enterprise, thestony plain, regarded as hopelessly barren by twenty generations, wasverdant, productive, and well planted throughout. Gerard had builtfive farmhouses with their dependencies upon it, with a thousand acresto each. Gerard's own farm and those of Grossetete and Fresquin, whichreceived the overflow from Madame's domains, were built on the sameplan and managed by the same methods. The engineer also built acharming little house for himself on his own property. When all wascompletely finished, the inhabitants of Montegnac, instigated by thepresent mayor, who was anxious to retire, elected Gerard to themayoralty of the district. 

In 1840 the departure of the first herd of cattle sent from Montegnacto the Paris markets was made the occasion of a rural fete. The farmsof the plain raised fine beasts and horses; for it was found, afterthe land was cleaned up, that there were seven inches of good soilwhich the annual fall of leaves, the manure left by the pasturage ofanimals, and, above all, the melting of the snows contained in thevalley of the Gabou, increased in fertility. 

It was in this year that Madame Graslin found it necessary to obtain atutor for her son, who was now eleven years of age. She did not wishto part with him, and yet she was anxious to make him a thoroughlywell-educated man. Monsieur Bonnet wrote to the Seminary. MadameGraslin, on her side, said a few words as to her wishes and thedifficulty of obtaining the right person to Monsieur Dutheil, recentlyappointed arch-bishop. The choice of such a man, who would live nineyears familiarly in the chateau, was a serious matter. Gerard hadalready offered to teach mathematics to his friend Francis; but hecould not, of course, take the place of a regular tutor. This questionagitated Madame Graslin's mind, and all the more because she knew thather health was beginning to fail. 

The more prosperous grew her dear Montegnac, the more she increasedthe secret austerities of her life. Monseigneur Dutheil, with whom shecorresponded regularly, found at last the man she wanted. He sent herfrom his late diocese a young professor, twenty-five years of age, named Ruffin, whose mind had a special vocation for the art ofteaching. This young man's knowledge was great, and his nature was oneof deep feeling, which, however, did not preclude the sternnessnecessary in the management of youth. In him religion did not in anyway hamper knowledge; he was also patient, and extremely agreeable inappearance and manner. "I make you a fine present, my dear daughter, "wrote the prelate; "this young man is fit to educate a prince;therefore I think you will be glad to arrange the future with him, forhe can undoubtedly be a spiritual father to your son. "

Monsieur Ruffin proved so satisfactory to Madame Graslin's faithfulfriends that his arrival made no change in the various intimacies thatgrouped themselves around this beloved idol, whose hours and momentswere claimed by each with jealous eagerness. 

By the year 1843 the prosperity of Montegnac had increased beyond allexpectation. The farm of the Gabou rivalled the farms of the plain, and that of the chateau set an example of constant improvement to all. The five other farms, increasing in value, obtained higher rent, reaching the sum of thirty thousand francs for each at the end oftwelve years. The farmers, who were beginning to gather in the fruitsof their sacrifices and those of Madame Graslin, now began to improvethe grass of the plains, sowing seed of better quality, there being nolonger any occasion to fear drought. 

During this year a man from Montegnac started a diligence between thechief town of the arrondissement and Limoges, leaving both places eachday. Monsieur Clousier's nephew sold his office and obtained a licenseas notary in Montegnac. The government appointed Fresquin collector ofthe district. The new notary built himself a pretty house in the upperpart of Montegnac, planted mulberries in the grounds, and became aftera time assistant-mayor to his friend Gerard. 

The engineer, encouraged by so much success, now conceived a scheme ofa nature to render Madame Graslin's fortune colossal, --she herselfhaving by this time recovered possession of the income which had beenmortgaged for the repayment of the loan. Gerard's new scheme was tomake a canal of the little river, and turn into it the superabundantwaters of the Gabou. This canal, which he intended to carry into theVienne, would form a waterway by which to send down timber from thetwenty thousand acres of forest land belonging to Madame Graslin inMontegnac, now admirably managed by Colorat, but which, for want oftransportation, returned no profit. A thousand acres could be cut overeach year without detriment to the forest, and if sent in this way toLimoges, would find a ready market for building purposes. 

This was the original plan of Monsieur Graslin himself, who had paidvery little attention to the rector's scheme relating to the plain, being much more attracted by that of turning the little river into acanal. 

 XIX

 A DEATH BLOW

At the beginning of the following year, in spite of Madame Graslin'sassumption of strength, her friends began to notice symptoms whichforeshadowed her coming death. To all the doctor's remarks, and to theinquiries of the most clear-sighted of her friends, Veronique made theinvariable answer that she was perfectly well. But when the springopened she went round to visit her forests, farms, and beautifulmeadows with a childlike joy and delight which betrayed to those whoknew her best a sad foreboding. 

Finding himself obliged to build a small cemented wall between the damof the Gabou and the park of Montegnac along the base of the hillcalled especially La Correze, Gerard took up the idea of enclosing thewhole forest and thus uniting it with the park. Madame Graslin agreedto this, and appointed thirty thousand francs a year to this work, which would take seven years to accomplish and would then withdrawthat fine forest from the rights exercised by government over thenon-enclosed forests of private individuals. The three ponds of theGabou would thus become a part of the park. These ponds, ambitiouslycalled lakes, had each its island. 

This year, Gerard had prepared, in collusion with Grossetete, asurprise for Madame Graslin's birthday. He had built a littlehermitage on the largest of the islands, rustic on the outside andelegantly arranged within. The old banker took part in the conspiracy, in which Farrabesche, Fresquin, Clousier's nephew, and nearly all thewell-to-do people in Montegnac co-operated. Grossetete sent down somebeautiful furniture. The clock tower, copied from that at Vevay, madea charming effect in the landscape. Six boats, two for each pond, weresecretly built, painted, and rigged during the winter by Farrabescheand Guepin, assisted by the carpenter of Montegnac. 

When the day arrived (about the middle of May) after a breakfastMadame Graslin gave to her friends, she was taken by them across thepark--which was finely laid out by Gerard, who, for the last fiveyears, had improved it like a landscape architect and naturalist--tothe pretty meadow of the valley of the Gabou, where, at the shore ofthe first lake, two of the boats were floating. This meadow, wateredby several clear streamlets, lay at the foot of the fine ampitheatrewhere the valley of the Gabou begins. The woods, cleared in ascientific manner, so as to produce noble masses and vistas that werecharming to the eye, enclosed the meadow and gave it a solitude thatwas grateful to the soul. Gerard had reproduced on an eminence thatchalet in the valley of Sion above the road to Brieg which travellersadmire so much; here were to be the dairy and the cow-sheds of thechateau. From its gallery the eye roved over the landscape created bythe engineer which the three lakes made worthy of comparison with thebeauties of Switzerland. 

The day was beautiful. In the blue sky, not a cloud; on earth, all thecharming, graceful things the soil offers in the month of May. Thetrees planted ten years earlier on the banks--weeping willows, osier, alder, ash, the aspen of Holland, the poplars of Italy and Virginia, hawthorns and roses, acacias, birches, all choice growths arranged astheir nature and the lay of the land made suitable--held amid theirfoliage a few fleecy vapors, born of the waters, which rose like aslender smoke. The surface of the lakelet, clear as a mirror and calmas the sky, reflected the tall green masses of the forest, the tops ofwhich, distinctly defined in the limpid atmosphere, contrasted withthe groves below wrapped in their pretty veils. The lakes, separatedby broad causeways, were three mirrors showing different reflections, the waters of which flowed from one to another in melodious cascades. These causeways were used to go from lake to lake without passinground the shores. From the chalet could be seen, through a vista amongthe trees, the thankless waste of the chalk commons, resembling anopen sea and contrasting with the fresh beauty of the lakes and theirverdure. 

When Veronique saw the joyousness of her friends as they held outtheir hands to help her into the largest of the boats, tears came intoher eyes and she kept silence till they touched the bank of the firstcauseway. As she stepped into the second boat she saw the hermitagewith Grossetete sitting on a bench before it with all his family. 

"Do they wish to make me regret dying?" she said to the rector. 

"We wish to prevent you from dying, " replied Clousier. 

"You cannot make the dead live, " she answered. 

Monsieur Bonnet gave her a stern look which recalled her to herself. 

"Let me take care of your health, " said Roubaud, in a gentle, persuasive voice. "I am sure I can save to this region its livingglory, and to all our friends their common tie. "

Veronique bowed her head, and Gerard rowed slowly toward the island inthe middle of the lake, the largest of the three, into which theoverflowing water of the first was rippling with a sound that gave avoice to that delightful landscape. 

"You have done well to make me bid farewell to this ravishing natureon such a day, " she said, looking at the beauty of the trees, all sofull of foliage that they hid the shore. The only disapprobation herfriends allowed themselves was to show a gloomy silence; andVeronique, receiving another glance from Monsieur Bonnet, spranglightly ashore, assuming a lively air, which she did not relinquish. Once more the hostess, she was charming, and the Grossetete familyfelt she was again the beautiful Madame Graslin of former days. 

"Indeed, you can still live, if you choose!" said her mother in awhisper. 

At this gay festival, amid these glorious creations produced by theresources of nature only, nothing seemed likely to wound Veronique, and yet it was here and now that she received her death-blow. 

The party were to return about nine o'clock by way of the meadows, theroad through which, as lovely as an English or an Italian road, wasthe pride of its engineer. The abundance of small stones, laid asidewhen the plain was cleared, enabled him to keep it in good order; infact, for the last five years it was, in a way, macadamized. Carriageswere awaiting the company at the opening of the last valley toward theplain, almost at the base of the Roche-Vive. The horses, raised atMontegnac, were among the first that were ready for the market. Themanager of the stud had selected a dozen for the stables of thechateau, and their present fine appearance was part of the programmeof the fete. Madame Graslin's own carriage, a gift from Grossetete, was drawn by four of the finest animals, plainly harnessed. 

After dinner the happy party went to take coffee in a little woodenkiosk, made like those on the Bosphorus, and placed on a point of theisland from which the eye could reach to the farther lake beyond. Fromthis spot Madame Graslin thought she saw her son Francis near thenursery-ground formerly planted by Farrabesche. She looked again, butdid not see him; and Monsieur Ruffin pointed him out to her, playingon the bank with Grossetete's children. Veronique became alarmed lesthe should meet with some accident. Not listening to remonstrance, sheran down from the kiosk, and jumping into a boat, began to row towardher son. This little incident caused a general departure. MonsieurGrossetete proposed that they should all follow her and walk on thebeautiful shore of the lake, along the curves of the mountainousbluffs. On landing there Madame Graslin saw her son in the arms of awoman in deep mourning. Judging by the shape of her bonnet and thestyle of her clothes, the woman was a foreigner. Veronique wasstartled, and called to her son, who presently came toward her. 

"Who is that woman?" she asked the children round about her; "and whydid Francis leave you to go to her?"

"The lady called him by name, " said a little girl. 

At that instant Madame Sauviat and Gerard, who had outstripped therest of the company, came up. 

"Who is that woman, my dear child?" asked Madame Graslin as soon asFrancis reached her. 

"I don't know, " he answered; "but she kissed me as you and grandmammakissed me--she cried, " whispered Francis in his mother's ear. 

"Shall I go after her?" asked Gerard. 

"No!" said Madame Graslin, with an abruptness that was not usual inher. 

With a delicacy for which Veronique was grateful, Gerard led away thechildren and went back to detain the rest of the party, leaving MadameSauviat, Madame Graslin, and Francis alone. 

"What did she say to you?" asked Madame Sauviat of her grandson. 

"I don't know; she did not speak French. "

"Couldn't you understand anything she said?" asked Veronique. 

"No; but she kept saying over and over, --and that's why I remember it, --_My dear brother_!"

Veronique took her mother's arm and led her son by the hand, but shehad scarcely gone a dozen steps before her strength gave way. 

"What is the matter? what has happened?" said the others, who now cameup, to Madame Sauviat. 

"Oh! my daughter is in danger!" said the old woman, in guttural tones. 

It was necessary to carry Madame Graslin to her carriage. She signedto Aline to get into it with Francis, and also Gerard. 

"You have been in England, " she said to the latter as soon as sherecovered herself, "and therefore no doubt you speak English; tell methe meaning of the words, _my dear brother_. "

On being told, Veronique exchanged a look with Aline and her motherwhich made them shudder; but they restrained their feelings. 

The shouts and joyous cries of those who were assisting in thedeparture of the carriages, the splendor of the setting sun as it layupon the meadows, the perfect gait of the beautiful horses, thelaughter of her friends as they followed her on horseback at a gallop, --none of these things roused Madame Graslin from her torpor. Hermother ordered the coachman to hasten his horses, and their carriagereached the chateau some time before the others. When the company wereagain assembled, they were told that Veronique had gone to her roomsand was unable to see any one. 

"I fear, " said Gerard to his friends, "that Madame Graslin has hadsome fatal shock. "

"Where? how?" they asked. 

"To her heart, " he answered. 

The following day Roubaud started for Paris. He had seen MadameGraslin, and found her so seriously ill that he wished for theassistance and advice of the ablest physician of the day. ButVeronique had only received Roubaud to put a stop to her mother andAline's entreaties that she would do something to benefit her; sheherself knew that death had stricken her. She refused to see MonsieurBonnet, sending word to him that the time had not yet come. Though allher friends who had come from Limoges to celebrate her birthday wishedto be with her, she begged them to excuse her from fulfilling theduties of hospitality, saying that she desired to remain in thedeepest solitude. After Roubaud's departure the other guests returnedto Limoges, less disappointed than distressed; for all those whomGrossetete had brought with him adored Veronique. They were lost inconjecture as to what might have caused this mysterious disaster. 

One evening, two days after the departure of the company, Alinebrought Catherine to Madame Graslin's apartment. La Farrabeschestopped short, horrified at the change so suddenly wrought in hermistress, whose face seemed to her almost distorted. 

"Good God, madame!" she cried, "what harm that girl has done! If wehad only foreseen it, Farrabesche and I, we would never have taken herin. She has just heard that madame is ill, and sends me to tell MadameSauviat she wants to speak to her. "

"Here!" cried Veronique. "Where is she?"

"My husband took her to the chalet. "

"Very good, " said Madame Graslin; "tell Farrabesche to go elsewhere. Inform that lady that my mother will go to her; tell her to expect thevisit. "

As soon as it was dark Veronique, leaning on her mother's arm, walkedslowly through the park to the chalet. The moon was shining with allits brilliancy, the air was soft, and the two women, visibly affected, found encouragement, of a sort, in the things of nature. The motherstopped now and then, to rest her daughter, whose sufferings werepoignant, so that it was well-nigh midnight before they reached thepath that goes down from the woods to the sloping meadow where thesilvery roof of the chalet shone. The moonlight gave to the surface ofthe quiet water, the tint of pearls. The little noises of the night, echoing in the silence, made softest harmony. Veronique sat down onthe bench of the chalet, amid this beauteous scene of the starrynight. The murmur of two voices and the footfall of two persons stillat a distance on the sandy shore were brought by the water, whichsometimes, when all is still, reproduces sounds as faithfully as itreflects objects on the surface. Veronique recognized at once theexquisite voice of the rector, and the rustle of his cassock, also themovement of some silken stuff that was probably the material of awoman's gown. 

"Let us go in, " she said to her mother. 

Madame Sauviat and her daughter sat down on a crib in the lower room, which was intended for a stable. 

"My child, " they heard the rector saying, "I do not blame you, --youare quite excusable; but your return may be the cause of irreparableevil; she is the soul of this region. "

"Ah! monsieur, then I had better go away to-night, " replied thestranger. "Though--I must tell you--to leave my country once more isdeath to me. If I had stayed a day longer in that horrible New York, where there is neither hope, nor faith, nor charity, I should havedied without being ill. The air I breathed oppressed my chest, fooddid not nourish me, I was dying while full of life and vigor. Mysufferings ceased the moment I set foot upon the vessel to return. Iseemed to be already in France. Oh! monsieur, I saw my mother and oneof my sisters-in-law die of grief. My grandfather and grandmotherTascheron are dead; dead, my dear Monsieur Bonnet, in spite of theprosperity of Tascheronville, --for my father founded a village in Ohioand gave it that name. That village is now almost a town, and a thirdof all the land is cultivated by members of our family, whom God hasconstantly protected. Our tillage succeeded, our crops have beenenormous, and we are rich. The town is Catholic, and we have managedto build a Catholic church; we do not allow any other form of worship, and we hope to convert by our example the many sects which surroundus. True religion is in a minority in that land of money and selfishinterests, where the soul is cold. Nevertheless, I will return to diethere, sooner than do harm or cause distress to the mother of ourFrancis. Only, Monsieur Bonnet, take me to-night to the parsonage thatI may pray upon _his_ tomb, the thought of which has brought me here;the nearer I have come to where _he_ is, the more I felt myselfanother being. No, I never expected to feel so happy again as I dohere. "

"Well, then, " said the rector, "come with me now. If there should comea time when you might return without doing injury, I will write toyou, Denise; but perhaps this visit to your birthplace will stop thehomesickness, and enable you to live over there without suffering--"

"Oh! to leave this country, now so beautiful! What wonders MadameGraslin has done for it!" she exclaimed, pointing to the lake as itlay in the moonlight. "All this fine domain will belong to our dearFrancis. "

"You shall not go away, Denise, " said Madame Graslin, who was standingat the stable door. 

Jean-Francois Tascheron's sister clasped her hands on seeing thespectre which addressed her. At that moment the pale Veronique, standing in the moonlight, was like a shade defined upon the darknessof the open door-way. Her eyes alone shone like stars. 

"No, my child, you shall not leave the country you have come so far tosee again; you shall be happy here, or God will refuse to help me; itis He, no doubt, who has brought you back. "

She took the astonished Denise by the hand, and led her away by a pathtoward the other shore of the lake, leaving her mother and the rector, who seated themselves on the bench. 

"Let her do as she wishes, " said Madame Sauviat. 

A few moments later Veronique returned alone, and was taken back tothe chateau by her mother and Monsieur Bonnet. Doubtless she hadformed some plan which required secrecy, for no one in theneighborhood either saw Denise or heard any mention of her. 

Madame Graslin took to her bed that day and never but once left itagain; she went from bad to worse daily, and seemed annoyed andthwarted that she could not rise, --trying to do so on severaloccasions, and expressing a desire to walk out into the park. A fewdays, however, after the scene we have just related, about thebeginning of June, she made a violent effort, rose, dressed as if fora gala day, and begged Gerard to give her his arm, declaring that shewas resolved to take a walk. She gathered up all her strength andexpended it on this expedition, accomplishing her intention in aparoxysm of will which had, necessarily, a fatal reaction. 

"Take me to the chalet, and alone, " she said to Gerard in a softvoice, looking at him with a sort of coquetry. "This is my lastexcursion; I dreamed last night the doctors arrived and captured me. "

"Do you want to see your woods?" asked Gerard. 

"For the last time, yes, " she answered. "But what I really want, " sheadded, in a coaxing voice, "is to make you a singular proposition. "

She asked Gerard to embark with her in one of the boats on the secondlake, to which she went on foot. When the young man, surprised at herintention, began to move the oars, she pointed to the hermitage as theobject of her coming. 

"My friend, " she said, after a long pause, during which she had beencontemplating the sky and water, the hills and shores, "I have astrange request to make of you; but I think you are a man who wouldobey my wishes--"

"In all things, sure that you can wish only what is good. "

"I wish to marry you, " she answered; "if you consent you willaccomplish the wish of a dying woman, which is certain to secure yourhappiness. "

"I am too ugly, " said the engineer. 

"The person to whom I refer is pretty; she is young, and wishes tolive at Montegnac. If you will marry her you will help to soften mylast hours. I will not dwell upon her virtues now; I only say hernature is a rare one; in the matter of grace and youth and beauty, onelook will suffice; you are now about to see her at the hermitage. Aswe return home you must give me a serious yes or no. "

Hearing this confidence, Gerard unconsciously quickened his oars, which made Madame Graslin smile. Denise, who was living alone, awayfrom all eyes, at the hermitage, recognized Madame Graslin andimmediately opened the door. Veronique and Gerard entered. The poorgirl could not help a blush as she met the eyes of the young man, whowas greatly surprised at her beauty. 

"I hope Madame Farrabesche has not let you want for anything?" saidVeronique. 

"Oh no! madame, see!" and she pointed to her breakfast. 

"This is Monsieur Gerard, of whom I spoke to you, " went on Veronique. "He is to be my son's guardian, and after my death you shall livetogether at the chateau until his majority. "

"Oh! madame, do not talk in that way!"

"My dear child, look at me!" replied Veronique, addressing Denise, inwhose eyes the tears rose instantly. "She has just arrived from NewYork, " she added, by way of introduction to Gerard. 

The engineer put several questions about the new world to the youngwoman, while Veronique, leaving them alone, went to look at the thirdand more distant lake of the Gabou. It was six o'clock as Veroniqueand Gerard returned in the boat toward the chalet. 

"Well?" she said, looking at him. 

"You have my promise. "

"Though you are, I know, without prejudices, " she went on, "I must notleave you ignorant of the reason why that poor girl, brought back hereby homesickness, left the place originally. "

"A false step?"

"Oh, no!" said Veronique. "Should I offer her to you if that were so?She is the sister of a workman who died on the scaffold--"

"Ah! Tascheron, " he said, "the murderer of old Pingret. "

"Yes, she is the sister of a murderer, " said Madame Graslin, in abitter tone; "you are at liberty to take back your promise and--"

She did not finish, and Gerard was obliged to carry her to the benchbefore the chalet, where she remained unconscious for some littletime. When she opened her eyes Gerard was on his knees before her andhe said instantly:--

"I will marry Denise. "

Madame Graslin took his head in both hands and kissed him on theforehead; then, seeing his surprise at so much gratitude, she pressedhis hand and said:

"Before long you will know the secret of all this. Let us go back tothe terrace, for it is late; I am very tired, but I must look my laston that dear plain. "

Though the day had been insupportably hot, the storms which duringthis year devastated parts of Europe and of France but respected theLimousin, had run their course in the basin of the Loire, and theatmosphere was singularly clear. The sky was so pure that the eyecould seize the slightest details on the horizon. What language canrender the delightful concert of busy sounds produced in the villageby the return of the workers from the fields? Such a scene, to berightly given, needs a great landscape artist and also a great painterof the human face. Is there not, by the bye, in the lassitude ofNature and that of man a curious affinity which is difficult to grasp?The depressing heat of a dog-day and the rarification of the air giveto the least sound made by human beings all its signification. Thewomen seated on their doorsteps and waiting for their husbands (whooften bring back the children) gossip with each other while still atwork. The roofs are casting up the lines of smoke which tell of theevening meal, the gayest among the peasantry; after which, they sleep. All actions express the tranquil cheerful thoughts of those whoseday's work is over. Songs are heard very different in character fromthose of the morning; in this the peasants imitate the birds, whosewarbling at night is totally unlike their notes at dawn. All naturesings a hymn to rest, as it sang a hymn of joy to the coming sun. Theslightest movements of living beings seem tinted then with the soft, harmonious colors of the sunset cast upon the landscape and lendingeven to the dusty roadways a placid air. If any dared deny theinfluence of this hour, the loveliest of the day, the flowers wouldprotest and intoxicate his senses with their penetrating perfumes, which then exhale and mingle with the tender hum of insects and theamorous note of birds. 

The brooks which threaded the plain beyond the village were veiled infleecy vapor. In the great meadows through which the high-road ran, --bordered with poplars, acacias, and ailanthus, wisely intermingled andalready giving shade, --enormous and justly celebrated herds of cattlewere scattered here and there, some still grazing, others ruminating. Men, women, and children were ending their day's work in the hay-field, the most picturesque of all the country toils. The night air, freshenedby distant storms, brought on its wings the satisfying odors of thenewly cut grass or the finished hay. Every feature of this beautifulpanorama could be seen perfectly; those who feared a coming storm werefinishing in haste the hay-stacks, while others followed with theirpitchforks to fill the carts as they were driven along the rows. Othersin the distance were still mowing, or turning the long lines of fallengrass to dry it, or hastening to pile it into cocks. The joyous laughof the merry workers mingling with the shouts of the children tumblingeach other in the hay, rose on the air. The eye could distinguish thepink, red, or blue petticoats, the kerchiefs, and the bare legs andarms of the women, all wearing broad-brimmed hats of a coarse straw, and the shirts and trousers of the men, the latter almost invariablywhite. The last rays of the sun were filtering through the long linesof poplars planted beside the trenches which divided the plain intomeadows of unequal size, and caressing the groups of horses and carts, men, women, children, and cattle. The cattlemen and the shepherd-girlswere beginning to collect their flocks to the sound of rustic horns. 

The scene was noisy, yet silent, --a paradoxical statement, which willsurprise only those to whom the character of country life is stillunknown. From all sides came the carts, laden with fragrant fodder. There was something, I know not what, of torpor in the scene. Veronique walked slowly and silently between Gerard and the rector, who had joined her on the terrace. 

Through the openings made by the rural lanes running down below theterrace to the main street of Montegnac Gerard and Monsieur Bonnetcould see the faces of men, women, and children turned toward them;watching more particularly, no doubt, for Madame Graslin. How much oftenderness and gratitude was expressed on those faces! How manybenedictions followed Veronique's footsteps! With what reverentattention were the three benefactors of a whole community regarded!Man was adding a hymn of gratitude to the other chants of evening. 

While Madame Graslin walked on with her eyes fastened on the long, magnificent green pastures, her most cherished creation, the priestand the mayor did not take their eyes from the groups below, whoseexpression it was impossible to misinterpret; pain, sadness, andregret, mingled with hope, were plainly on all those faces. No one inMontegnac or its neighborhood was ignorant that Monsieur Roubaud hadgone to Paris to bring the best physician science afforded, or thatthe benefactress of the whole district was in the last stages of afatal illness. In all the markets through a circumference of thirtymiles the peasants asked those of Montegnac, --

"How is your good woman now?"

The great vision of death hovered over the land, and dominated thatrural picture. Afar, in the fields, more than one reaper sharpeninghis scythe, more than one young girl, her arms resting on her fork, more than one farmer stacking his hay, seeing Madame Graslin, stoodmute and thoughtful, examining that noble woman, the blessing of theCorreze, seeking some favorable sign or merely looking to admire her, impelled by a feeling that arrested their work. 

"She is out walking; therefore she must be better. "

These simple words were on every lip. 

Madame Graslin's mother, seated on the iron bench which Veronique hadformerly placed at the end of the terrace, studied every movement ofher daughter; she watched her step in walking, and a few tears rolledfrom her eyes. Aware of the secret efforts of that superhuman courage, she knew that Veronique at that moment was suffering the tortures of ahorrible agony, and only maintained herself erect by the exercise ofher heroic will. The tears--they seemed almost red--which forced theirway from those aged eyes, and furrowed that wrinkled face, theparchment of which seemed incapable of softening under any emotion, excited those of young Graslin, whom Monsieur Ruffin had between hisknees. 

"What is the matter, my boy?" said the tutor, anxiously. 

"My grandmother is crying, " he answered. 

Monsieur Ruffin, whose eyes were on Madame Graslin as she came towardthem, now looked at Madame Sauviat, and was powerfully struck by theaspect of that old head, like that of a Roman matron, petrified withgrief and moistened with tears. 

"Madame, why did you not prevent her from coming out?" said the tutorto the old mother, august and sacred in her silent grief. 

As Veronique advanced majestically with her naturally fine andgraceful step, Madame Sauviat, driven by despair at the thought ofsurviving her daughter, allowed the secret of many things thatawakened curiosity to escape her. 

"How can she walk like that, " she cried, "wearing a horrible horsehairshirt, which pricks into her skin perpetually?"

The words horrified the young man, who was not insensible to theexquisite grace of Veronique's movements; he shuddered as he thoughtof the constant and terrific struggle of the soul to maintain itsempire thus over the body. 

"She has worn it thirteen years, --ever since she ceased to nurse theboy, " said the old woman. "She has done miracles here, but if herwhole life were known they ought to canonize her. Since she came toMontegnac no one has ever seen her eat, and do you know why? Alineserves her three times a day a piece of dry bread, and vegetablesboiled in water, without salt, on a common plate of red earth likethose they feed the dogs on. Yes, that's how the woman lives who hasgiven new life to this whole canton. She kneels to say her prayers onthe edge of that hair-shirt. She says she could not have that smilingair you know she always has unless she practised these austerities. Itell you this, " added the old woman, sinking her voice, "so that youmay repeat it to the doctor that Monsieur Roubaud has gone to fetch. If they could prevent my daughter from continuing these penances, perhaps they might still save her, though death has laid its hand uponher head. See for yourself! Ah! I must be strong indeed to have borneso many things these fifteen years. "

The old woman took her grandson's hand and passed it over her foreheadand cheeks as if the child's touch shed a healing balm there; then shekissed it with an affection the secret of which belongs tograndmothers as much as it belongs to mothers. 

Veronique was now only a few feet from the bench, in company withClousier, the rector, and Gerard. Illuminated by the glow of thesetting sun, she shone with a dreadful beauty. Her yellow forehead, furrowed with long wrinkles massed one above the other like layers ofclouds, revealed a fixed thought in the midst of inward troubles. Herface, devoid of all color, entirely white with the dead, greenishwhiteness of plants without light, was thin, though not withered, andbore the signs of terrible physical sufferings produced by mentalanguish. She fought her soul with her body, and _vice versa_. She wasso completely destroyed that she no more resembled herself than an oldwoman resembles her portrait as a girl. The ardent expression of hereyes declared the despotic empire exercised by a devout will over abody reduced to what religion requires it to be. In this woman thesoul dragged the flesh as the Achilles of profane story draggedHector; for fifteen years she dragged it victoriously along the stonypaths of life around the celestial Jerusalem she hoped to enter, notby a vile deception, but with acclamation. No solitary that ever livedin the dry and arid deserts of Africa was ever more master of hissenses than was Veronique in her magnificent chateau, among the soft, voluptuous scenery of that opulent land, beneath the protecting mantleof that rich forest, whence science, the heir of Moses' wand, hadcalled forth plenty, prosperity, and happiness for a whole region. Shecontemplated the results of twelve years' patience, a work which mighthave made the fame of many a superior man, with a gentle modesty suchas Pontorno has painted in the sublime face of his "Christian Chastitycaressing the Celestial Unicorn. " The mistress of the manor, whosesilence was respected by her companions when they saw that her eyeswere roving over those vast plains, once arid, and now fertile by herwill, walked on, her arms folded, with a distant look, as if to somefar horizon, on her face. 

 XX

 THE LAST STRUGGLE

Suddenly she stopped, a few feet from her mother, who looked at her asthe mother of Christ must have looked at her son upon the cross. Sheraised her hand, and pointing to the spot where the road to Montegnacbranched from the highway, she said, smiling:--

"See that carriage with the post-horses; Monsieur Roubaud is returningto us. We shall now know how many hours I have to live. "

"Hours?" said Gerard. 

"Did I not tell you I was taking my last walk?" she replied. "I havecome here to see for the last time this glorious scene in all itssplendor!" She pointed first to the village where the whole populationseemed to be collected in the church square, and then to the beautifulmeadows glowing in the last rays of the setting sun. "Ah!" she said, "let me see the benediction of God in the strange atmosphericcondition to which we owe the safety of our harvest. Around us, on allsides, tempests, hail, lightning, have struck incessantly andpitilessly. The common people think thus, why not I? I do so need tosee in this a happy augury for what awaits me after death!"

The child stood up and took his mother's hand and laid it on his head. Veronique, deeply affected by the action, so full of eloquence, tookup her son with supernatural strength, seating him on her left arm asthough he were still an infant at her breast, saying, as she kissedhim:--

"Do you see that land, my son? When you are a man, continue there yourmother's work. "

"Madame, " said the rector, in a grave voice, "a few strong andprivileged beings are able to contemplate their coming death face toface, to fight, as it were, a duel with it, and to display a courageand an ability which challenge admiration. You show us this terriblespectacle; but perhaps you have too little pity for us; leave us atleast the hope that you may be mistaken, and that God will allow youto finish that which you have begun. "

"All I have done is through you, my friends, " she said. "I have beenuseful, I can be so no longer. All is fruitful around us now; nothingis barren and desolated here except my heart. You well know, my dearrector, that I can only find peace and pardon _there_. "

She stretched her hand toward the cemetery. Never had she said as muchsince the day of her arrival, when she was taken with sudden illnessat the same spot. The rector looked attentively at his penitent, andthe habit of penetration he had long acquired made him see that inthose simple words he had won another triumph. Veronique must havemade a mighty effort over herself to break her twelve years' silencewith a speech that said so much. The rector clasped his hands with afervent gesture that was natural to him as he looked with deep emotionat the members of this family whose secrets had passed into his heart. 

Gerard, to whom the words "peace and pardon" must have seemed strange, was bewildered. Monsieur Ruffin, with his eyes fixed on Veronique, wasstupefied. At this instant the carriage came rapidly up the avenue. 

"There are five of them!" cried the rector, who could see and countthe travellers. 

"Five!" exclaimed Gerard. "Can five know more than two?"

"Ah, " cried Madame Graslin suddenly, grasping the rector's arm, "the_procureur-general_ is among them! What is he doing here?"

"And papa Grossetete, too!" cried Francis. 

"Madame, " said the rector, supporting Veronique, and leading her aparta few steps, "show courage; be worthy of yourself. "

"But what can he want?" she replied, leaning on the balustrade. "Mother!" (the old woman ran to her daughter with an activity thatbelied her years. ) "I shall see him again, " she said. 

"As he comes with Monsieur Grossetete, " said the rector, "he can havenone but good intentions. "

"Ah! monsieur, my child will die!" cried Madame Sauviat, seeing theeffect of the rector's words on her daughter's face. "How can herheart survive such emotions? Monsieur Grossetete has always hithertoprevented that man from seeing Veronique. "

Madame Graslin's face was on fire. 

"Do you hate him so much?" said the Abbe Bonnet. 

"She left Limoges to escape the sight of him, and to escape lettingthe whole town into her secrets, " said Madame Sauviat, terrified atthe change she saw on Madame Graslin's features. 

"Do you not see that he will poison my few remaining hours? When Iought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth, " criedVeronique. 

The rector took her arm and constrained her to walk aside with him. When they were alone he stopped and gave her one of those angeliclooks with which he was able to calm the violent convulsions of thesoul. 

"If it is really so, " he said, "as your confessor, I order you toreceive him, to be kind and affectionate to him, to quit that garmentof wrath, and forgive him as God will forgive you. Can there still bethe remains of passion of a soul I believed to be purified. Burn thislast incense on the altar of your penitence, or else your repentanceis a lie. "

"There was still that effort to make--and it is made, " she answered, wiping her eyes. "The devil lurked in that last fold of my heart, andGod, no doubt, put into Monsieur de Grandville's mind the thought thatbrings him here. Ah! how many times must God strike me?" she cried. 

She stopped, as if to say a mental prayer; then she returned to MadameSauviat and said in a low voice:

"My dear mother, be kind and gentle to Monsieur de Grandville. "

The old woman clasped her hands with a feverish shudder. 

"There is no longer any hope, " she said, seizing the rector's hand. 

The carriage, announced by the postilion's whip, was now coming up thelast slope; the gates were opened, it entered the courtyard, and thetravellers came at once to the terrace. They were the illustriousArchbishop Dutheil, who was on his way to consecrate MonseigneurGabriel de Rastignac, the _procureur-general_, Monsieur de Grandville, Monsieur Grossetete, Monsieur Roubaud, and one of the most celebratedphysicians in Paris, Horace Bianchon. 

"You are very welcome, " said Veronique, advancing toward them, --"youparticularly, " she added, offering her hand to Monsieur de Grandville, who took it and pressed it. 

"I counted on the intervention of Monseigneur and on that of my friendMonsieur Grossetete to obtain for me a favorable reception, " said the_procureur-general_. "It would have been a life-long regret to me if Idid not see you again. "

"I thank those who brought you here, " replied Veronique, looking atthe Comte de Grandville for the first time in fifteen years. "I havefelt averse to you for a very long time, but I now recognize theinjustice of my feelings; and you shall know why, if you can stay tillthe day after to-morrow at Montegnac. " Then turning to Horace Bianchonand bowing to him, she added: "Monsieur will no doubt confirm myapprehensions. God must have sent you, Monseigneur, " she said, turningto the archbishop. "In memory of our old friendship you will notrefuse to assist me in my last moments. By whose mercy is it that Ihave about me all the beings who have loved and supported me in life?"

As she said the word _loved_ she turned with a gracious look toMonsieur de Grandville, who was touched to tears by this mark offeeling. Silence fell for a few moments on every one. The doctorswondered by what occult power this woman could still keep her feet, suffering as she must have suffered. The other three men were soshocked at the ravages disease had suddenly made in her that theycommunicated their thoughts by their eyes only. 

"Allow me, " she said, with her accustomed grace, "to leave you nowwith these gentlemen; the matter is urgent. "

She bowed to her guests, gave an arm to each of the doctors, andwalked toward the chateau feebly and slowly, with a difficulty whichtold only too plainly of the coming catastrophe. 

"Monsieur Bonnet, " said the archbishop, looking at the rector, "youhave accomplished a miracle. "

"Not I, but God, Monseigneur, " he replied. 

"They said she was dying, " said Monsieur Grossetete, "but she is dead;there is nothing left of her but spirit. "

"A soul, " said Gerard. 

"And yet she is still the same, " cried the _procureur-general_. 

"A stoic after the manner of the Porch philosophers, " said the tutor. 

They walked in silence the whole length of the balustrade, looking atthe landscape still red with the declining light. 

"To me who saw this scene thirteen years ago, " said the archbishop, pointing to the fertile plain, the valley, and the mountains ofMontegnac, "this miracle is as extraordinary as that we have justwitnessed. But how comes it that you allow Madame Graslin to walkabout? She ought to be in her bed. "

"She was there, " said Madame Sauviat; "for ten days she did not leaveit; but to-day she insisted on getting up to take a last look at thelandscape. "

"I can understand that she wanted to bid farewell to her greatcreation, " said Monsieur de Grandville; "but she risked expiring onthis terrace. "

"Monsieur Roubaud told us not to thwart her, " said Madame Sauviat. 

"What a stupendous work! what a miracle has been accomplished!" saidthe archbishop, whose eyes were roving over the scene before him. "Shehas literally sown the desert! But we know, monsieur, " he added, turning to Gerard, "that your scientific knowledge and your laborshave a large share in it. "

"They have been only the workmen, " replied the mayor. "Yes, the handsonly; she has been the thought. "

Madame Sauviat here left the group, to hear, if possible, the decisionof the doctors. 

"We need some heroism ourselves, " said Monsieur de Grandville to therector and the archbishop, "to enable us to witness this death. "

"Yes, " said Monsieur Grossetete, who overheard him, "but we ought todo much for such a friend. "

After several turns up and down the terrace, these persons, full ofsolemn thoughts, saw two farmers approaching them, sent as adeputation from the village, where the inhabitants were in a state ofpainful anxiety to know the sentence pronounced by the physician fromParis. 

"They are still consulting, and as yet we know nothing, my friends, "said the archbishop. 

As he spoke, Monsieur Roubaud appeared coming toward them, and theyall hurried to meet him. 

"Well?" said the mayor. 

"She cannot live forty-eight hours longer, " replied Monsieur Roubaud. "During my absence the disease has fully developed; Monsieur Bianchondoes not understand how it was possible for her to have walked. Suchphenomenal exhibitions of strength are always caused by great mentalexaltation. So, gentlemen, " said the doctor to the priests, "shebelongs to you now; science is useless, and my illustriousfellow-physician thinks you have barely time enough for your lastoffices. "

"Let us go now and say the prayers for the forty hours, " said therector to his parishioners, turning to leave the terrace. "His Gracewill doubtless administer the last sacraments. "

The archbishop bowed his head; he could not speak; his eyes were fullof tears. Every one sat down, or leaned against the balustrade, absorbed in his own thought. The church bells presently sent forth afew sad calls, and then the whole population were seen hurrying towardthe porch. The gleam of the lighted tapers shone through the trees inMonsieur Bonnet's garden; the chants resounded. No color was left inthe landscape but the dull red hue of the dusk; even the birds hadhushed their songs; the tree-frog alone sent forth its long, clear, melancholy note. 

"I will go and do my duty, " said the archbishop, turning away with aslow step like a man overcome with emotion. 

The consultation had taken place in the great salon of the chateau. This vast room communicated with a state bedchamber, furnished in reddamask, in which Graslin had displayed a certain opulent magnificence. Veronique had not entered it six times in fourteen years; the grandapartments were quite useless to her, and she never received herfriends there. But now the effort she had made to accomplish her lastobligation, and to overcome her last repugnance had exhausted herstrength, and she was wholly unable to mount the stairs to her ownrooms. 

When the illustrious physician had taken the patient's hand and felther pulse he looked at Monsieur Roubaud and made him a sign; thentogether they lifted her and carried her into the chamber. Alinehastily opened the doors. Like all state beds the one in this room hadno sheets, and the two doctors laid Madame Graslin on the damaskcoverlet. Roubaud opened the windows, pushed back the outer blinds, and called. The servants and Madame Sauviat went in. The tapers in thecandelabra were lighted. 

"It is ordained, " said the dying woman, smiling, "that my death shallbe what that of a Christian should be--a festival!"

During the consultation she said:--

"The _procureur-general_ has done his professional duty; I was going, and he has pushed me on. "

The old mother looked at her and laid a finger on her lips. 

"Mother, I shall speak, " replied Veronique. "See! the hand of God isin all this; I am dying in a red room--"

Madame Sauviat went out, unable to bear those words. 

"Aline, " she said, "she will speak! she will speak!"

"Ah! madame is out of her mind, " cried the faithful maid, who wasbringing sheets. "Fetch the rector, madame. "

"Your mistress must be undressed, " said Bianchon to the maid. 

"It will be very difficult to do it, monsieur; madame is wrapped in ahair-cloth garment. "

"What! in the nineteenth-century can such horrors be revived?" saidthe great doctor. 

"Madame Graslin has never allowed me to touch her stomach, " saidRoubaud. "I have been able to judge of the progress of the diseaseonly from her face and her pulse, and the little information I couldget from her mother and the maid. "

Veronique was now placed on a sofa while the bed was being made. Thedoctors spoke together in a low voice. Madame Sauviat and Aline madethe bed. The faces of the two women were full of anguish; their heartswere wrung by the thought, "We are making her bed for the last time--she will die here!"

The consultation was not long. But Bianchon exacted at the outset thatAline should, in spite of the patient's resistance, cut off the hairshirt and put on a night-dress. The doctors returned to the salonwhile this was being done. When Aline passed them carrying theinstrument of torture wrapped in a napkin, she said:--

"Madame's body is one great wound. "

The doctors returned to the bedroom. 

"Your will is stronger than that of Napoleon, madame, " said Bianchon, after asking a few questions, to which Veronique replied very clearly. "You keep your mind and your faculties in the last stages of a diseasewhich robbed the Emperor of his brilliant intellect. From what I knowof you I think I ought to tell you the truth. "

"I implore you to do so, " she said. "You are able to estimate whatstrength remains to me; and I have need of all my vigor for a fewhours. "

"Think only of your salvation, " replied Bianchon. 

"If God has given me grace to die in possession of all my faculties, "she said with a celestial smile, "be sure that this favor will be usedto the glory of his Church. The possession of my mind and senses isnecessary to fulfil a command of God, whereas Napoleon hadaccomplished all his destiny. "

The doctors looked at each other in astonishment at hearing thesewords, said with as much ease as though Madame Graslin were stillpresiding in her salon. 

"Ah! here is the doctor who is to cure me, " she said presently, whenthe archbishop, summoned by Roubaud, entered the room. 

She collected all her strength and rose to a sitting posture, in orderto bow graciously to Monsieur Bianchon, and beg him to acceptsomething else than money for the good news he gave her. She said afew words in her mother's ear, and Madame Sauviat immediately led awaythe doctors; then Veronique requested the archbishop to postpone theirinterview till the rector could come to her, expressing a wish to restfor a while. Aline watched beside her. 

At midnight Madame Graslin awoke, and asked for the archbishop andrector, whom Aline silently showed her close at hand, praying for her. She made a sign dismissing her mother and the maid, and, at anothersign, the two priests came to the bedside. 

"Monseigneur, and you, my dear rector, " she said, "will hear nothingyou do not already know. You were the first, Monseigneur, to cast youreyes into my inner self; you read there nearly all my past; and whatyou read sufficed you. My confessor, that guardian angel whom heavenplaced near me, knows more; I have told him all. You, whose minds areenlightened by the spirit of the Church, I wish to consult you as tothe manner in which I ought as a true Christian to leave this life. You, austere and saintly spirits, think you that if God deigns topardon one whose repentance is the deepest, the most absolute, thatever shook a human soul, think you that even then I have made my fullexpiation here below?"

"Yes, " said the archbishop; "yes, my daughter. "

"No, my father, no!" she said rising in her bed, the lightningflashing from her eyes. "Not far from here there is a grave, where anunhappy man is lying beneath the weight of a dreadful crime; here inthis sumptuous home is a woman, crowned with the fame of benevolenceand virtue. This woman is blessed; that poor young man is cursed. Thecriminal is covered with obloquy; I receive the respect of all. I hadthe largest share in the sin; he has a share, a large share in thegood which has won for me such glory and such gratitude. Fraud that Iam, I have the honor; he, the martyr to his loyalty, has the shame. Ishall die in a few hours, and the canton will mourn me; the wholedepartment will ring with my good deeds, my piety, my virtue; but hedied covered with insults, in sight of a whole population rushing, with hatred to a murderer, to see him die. You, my judges, you areindulgent to me; yet I hear within myself an imperious voice whichwill not let me rest. Ah! the hand of God, less tender than yours, strikes me from day to day, as if to warn me that all is not expiated. My sins cannot be redeemed except by a public confession. He is happy!criminal, he gave his life with ignominy in face of earth and heaven;and I, I cheat the world as I cheated human justice. The homage Ireceive humiliates me; praise sears my heart. Do you not see, in thevery coming of the _procureur-general_, a command from heaven echoingthe voice in my own soul which cries to me: Confess!"

The two priests, the prince of the Church as well as the humblerector, these two great lights, each in his own way, stood with theireyes lowered and were silent. Deeply moved by the grandeur and theresignation of the guilty woman, the judges could not pronounce hersentence. 

"My child, " said the archbishop at last, raising his noble head, macerated by the customs of his austere life, "you are going beyondthe commandments of the Church. The glory of the Church is to make herdogma conform to the habits and manners of each age; for the Churchgoes on from age to age in company with humanity. According to herpresent decision secret confession has taken the place of publicconfession. This substitution has made the new law. The sufferings youhave endured suffice. Die in peace: God has heard you. "

"But is not this desire of a guilty woman in conformity with the lawof the first Church, which has enriched heaven with as many saints andmartyrs and confessing souls as there are stars in the firmament?"persisted Veronique, vehemently. "Who said: _Confess yourselves to oneanother_? Was it not the disciples, who lived with the Saviour? Let meconfess my shame publicly on my knees. It will redeem my sin to theworld, to that family exiled and almost extinct through me. The worldought to know that my benefactions are not an offering, but thepayment of a debt. Suppose that later, after my death, something torefrom my memory the lying veil which covers me. Ah! that idea is morethan I can bear, it is death indeed!"

"I see in this too much of calculation, my child, " said thearchbishop, gravely. "Passions are still too strong in you; the one Ithought extinct is--"

"Oh! I swear to you, Monseigneur, " she said, interrupting the prelateand fixing her eyes, full of horror, upon him, "my heart is aspurified as that of a guilty and repentant woman can be; there isnothing now within me but the thought of God. "

"Monseigneur, " said the rector in a tender voice, "let us leavecelestial justice to take its course. It is now four years since Ihave strongly opposed this wish; it is the only difference that hasever come between my penitent and myself. I have seen to the depths ofthat soul, and I know this earth has no longer any hold there. Thoughthe tears, the remorse, the contrition of fifteen years relate to themutual sin of those two persons, believe me there are no remains ofearthly passion in this long and terrible bewailing. Memory no longermingles its flames with those of an ardent penitence. Yes, tears haveat last extinguished that great fire. I guarantee, " he said, stretching his hand over Madame Graslin's head, and letting hismoistened eyes be seen, "I guarantee the purity of that angelic soul. And also I see in this desire the thought of reparation to an absentfamily, a member of which God has brought back here by one of thoseevents which reveal His providence. "

Veronique took the trembling hand of the rector and kissed it. 

"You have often been very stern to me, dear pastor, but at this momentI see where you keep your apostolic gentleness. You, " she said, looking at the archbishop, "you, the supreme head of this corner ofGod's kingdom, be to me, in this moment of ignominy, a support. I mustbow down as the lowest of women, but you will lift me up pardoned and--possibly--the equal of those who never sinned. "

The archbishop was silent, weighing no doubt all the considerationshis practised eye perceived. 

"Monseigneur, " said the rector, "religion has had some heavy blows. This return to ancient customs, brought about by the greatness of thesin and its repentance, may it not be a triumph we have no right torefuse?"

"But they will say we are fanatics! They will declare we have exactedthis cruel scene!"

And again the archbishop was silent and thoughtful. 

At this moment Horace Bianchon and Roubaud entered the room, afterknocking. As the door opened Veronique saw her mother, her son, andall the servants of the household on their knees praying. The rectorsof the two adjacent parishes had come to assist Monsieur Bonnet, andalso, perhaps, to pay their respects to the great prelate, for whomthe French clergy now desired the honors of the cardinalate, hopingthat the clearness of his intellect, which was thoroughly Gallican, would enlighten the Sacred College. 

Horace Bianchon returned to Paris; before departing, he came to bidfarewell to the dying woman and thank her for her munificence. Slowlyhe approached, perceiving from the faces of the priests that thewounds of the soul had been the determining cause of those of thebody. He took Madame Graslin's hand, laid it on the bed and felt thepulse. The deep silence, that of a summer night in a country solitude, gave additional solemnity to the scene. The great salon, seen throughthe double doors, was lighted up for the little company of persons whowere praying there; all were on their knees except the two priests whowere seated and reading their brevaries. On either side of the grandstate bed were the prelate in his violet robes, the rector, and thetwo physicians. 

"She is agitated almost unto death, " said Horace Bianchon, who, likeall men of great talent, sometimes used speech as grand as theoccasion that called it forth. 

The archbishop rose as if some inward impulse drove him; he called toMonsieur Bonnet, and together they crossed the room, passed throughthe salon, and went out upon the terrace, where they walked up anddown for some moments. When they returned, after discussing this caseof ecclesiastical discipline, Roubaud met them. 

 XXI

 CONFESSION AT THE GATES OF THE TOMB

At ten o'clock in the morning the archbishop, wearing his pontificalrobes, came into Madame Graslin's chamber. The prelate, as well as therector, had such confidence in this woman that they gave her no adviceor instructions as to the limits within which she ought to make herconfession. 

Veronique now saw an assemblage of clergy from all the neighboringdistricts. Monseigneur was assisted by four vicars. The magnificentvessels she had bestowed upon her dear parish church were brought tothe house and gave splendor to the ceremony. Eight choristers in theirwhite and red surplices stood in two rows from the bed to the door ofthe salon, each holding one of the large bronze-gilt candelabra whichVeronique had ordered from Paris. The cross and the church banner wereheld on either side of the bed by white-haired sacristans. Thanks tothe devotion of her servants, a wooden altar brought from the sacristyhad been erected close to the door of the salon, and so prepared anddecorated that Monseigneur could say mass upon it. 

Madame Graslin was deeply touched by these attentions, which theChurch, as a general thing, grants only to royal personages. Thefolding doors between the salon and the dining-room were open, and shecould see a vista of the ground-floor rooms filled with the villagepopulation. Her friends had thought of everything; the salon wasoccupied exclusively by themselves and the servants of the household. In the front rank and grouped before the door of the bedroom were hernearest friends, those on whose discretion reliance could be placed. MM. Grossetete, de Grandville, Roubaud, Gerard, Clousier, Ruffin, tookthe first places. They had arranged among themselves that they shouldrise and stand in a group, thus preventing the words of the repentantwoman from being heard in the farther rooms; but their tears and sobswould, in any case, have drowned her voice. 

At this moment and before all else in that audience, two personspresented, to an observer, a powerfully affecting sight. One wasDenise Tascheron. Her foreign garments, of Quaker simplicity, made herunrecognizable by her former village acquaintance. The other was quiteanother personage, an acquaintance not to be forgotten, and hisapparition there was like a streak of lurid light. The_procureur-general_ came suddenly to a perception of the truth; thepart that he had played to Madame Graslin unrolled itself before him;he divined it to its fullest extent. Less influenced, as a son of thenineteenth century, by the religious aspect of the matter, Monsieur deGrandville's heart was filled with an awful dread; for he saw beforehim, he contemplated the drama of that woman's hidden self at thehotel Graslin during the trial of Jean-Francois Tascheron. That tragicperiod came back distinctly to his memory, --lighted even now by themother's eyes, shining with hatred, which fell upon him where hestood, like drops of molten lead. That old woman, standing ten feetfrom him, forgave nothing. That man, representing human justice, trembled. Pale, struck to the heart, he dared not cast his eyes uponthe bed where lay the woman he had loved so well, now livid beneaththe hand of death, gathering strength to conquer agony from thegreatness of her sin and its repentance. The mere sight of Veronique'sthin profile, sharply defined in white upon the crimson damask, causedhim a vertigo. 

At eleven o'clock the mass began. After the epistle had been read bythe rector of Vizay the archbishop removed his dalmatic and advancedto the threshold of the bedroom door. 

"Christians, gather here to assist in the ceremony of extreme unctionwhich we are about to administer to the mistress of this house, " hesaid, "you who join your prayers to those of the Church and intercedewith God to obtain from Him her eternal salvation, you are now tolearn that she does not feel herself worthy, in this, her last hour, to receive the holy viaticum without having made, for the edificationof her fellows, a public confession of the greatest of her sins. Wehave resisted her pious wish, although this act of contrition was longin use during the early ages of Christianity. But, as this poor womantells us that her confession may serve to rehabilitate an unfortunateson of this parish, we leave her free to follow the inspirations ofher repentance. "

After these words, said with pastoral unction and dignity, thearchbishop turned aside to give place to Veronique. The dying womancame forward, supported by her old mother and the rector, --the motherfrom whom she derived her body, the Church, the spiritual mother ofher soul. She knelt down on a cushion, clasped her hands, and seemedto collect herself for a few moments, as if to gather from some sourcedescending from heaven the power to speak. At this moment the silencewas almost terrifying. None dared look at their neighbor. All eyeswere lowered. And yet the eyes of Veronique, when she raised them, encountered those of the _procureur-general_, and the expression onthat blanched face brought the color to hers. 

"I could not die in peace, " said Veronique, in a voice of deepemotion, "if I suffered the false impression you all have of me toremain. You see in me a guilty woman, who asks your prayers, and whoseeks to make herself worthy of pardon by this public confession ofher sin. That sin was so great, its consequences were so fatal, thatperhaps no penance can atone for it. But the more humiliation I submitto here on earth, the less I may have to dread the wrath of God in theheavenly kingdom to which I am going. My father, who had greatconfidence in me, commended to my care (now twenty years ago) a son ofthis parish, in whom he had seen a great desire to improve himself, anaptitude for study, and fine characteristics. I mean the unfortunateJean-Francois Tascheron, who thenceforth attached himself to me as hisbenefactress. How did the affection I felt for him become a guiltyone? I think myself excused from explaining this. Perhaps it could beshown that the purest sentiments by which we act in this world wereinsensibly diverted from their course by untold sacrifices, by reasonsarising from our human frailty, by many causes which might appear todismiss the evil of my sin. But even if the noblest affections movedme, was I less guilty? Rather let me confess that I, who by education, by position in the world, might consider myself superior to the youthmy father confided to me, and from whom I was separated by the naturaldelicacy of our sex, --I listened, fatally, to the promptings of thedevil. I soon found myself too much the mother of that young man to beinsensible to his mute and delicate admiration. He alone, he first, recognized my true value. But perhaps a horrible calculation enteredmy mind. I thought how discreet a youth would be who owed his all tome, and whom the chances of life had put so far away from me, thoughwe were born equals. I made even my reputation for benevolence, mypious occupations, a cloak to screen my conduct. Alas!--and this isdoubtless one of my greatest sins--I hid my passion under cover of thealtar. The most virtuous of my actions--the love I bore my mother, theacts of devotion which were sincere and true in the midst of mywrong-doing--all, all were made to serve the ends of a desperatepassion, and were links in the chain that held me. My poor belovedmother, who hears me now, was for a long time, ignorantly, anaccomplice in my sin. When her eyes were opened, too many dangerousfacts existed not to give her mother's heart the strength to be silent. Silence with her has been the highest virtue. Her love for her daughterhas gone beyond her love to God. Ah! I here discharge her solemnly fromthe heavy burden of secrecy which she has borne. She shall end her dayswithout compelling either eyes or brow to lie. Let her motherhood standclear of blame; let that noble, sacred old age, crowned with virtue, shine with its natural lustre, freed of that link which bound herindirectly to infamy!"

Tears checked the dying woman's voice for an instant; Aline gave hersalts to inhale. 

"There is no one who has not been better to me than I deserve, " shewent on, --"even the devoted servant who does this last service; shehas feigned ignorance of what she knew, but at least she was in thesecret of the penances by which I have destroyed the flesh thatsinned. I here beg pardon of the world for the long deception to whichI have been led by the terrible logic of society. Jean-FrancoisTascheron was not as guilty as he seemed. Ah! you who hear me, Iimplore you to remember his youth, and the madness excited in himpartly by the remorse that seized upon me, partly by involuntaryseductions. More than that! it was a sense of honor, though a mistakenhonor, which caused the most awful of these evils. Neither of us couldendure our perpetual deceit. He appealed, unhappy man, to my own rightfeeling; he sought to make our fatal love as little wounding to othersas it could be. We meant to hide ourselves away forever. Thus I wasthe cause, the sole cause, of his crime. Driven by necessity, theunhappy man, guilty of too much devotion to an idol, chose from allevil acts the one which might be hereafter reparable. I knew nothingof it till the moment of execution. At that moment the hand of Godthrew down that scaffolding of false contrivances--I heard the cries;they echo in my ears! I divined the struggle, which I could not stop, --I, the cause of it! Tascheron was maddened; I swear it. "

Here Veronique turned her eyes upon Monsieur de Grandville, and a sobwas heard to issue from Denise Tascheron's breast. 

"He lost his mind when he saw what he thought his happiness destroyedby unforeseen circumstances. The unhappy man, misled by his love, wentheadlong from a delinquent act to crime--from robbery to a doublemurder. He left my mother's house an innocent man, he returned aguilty one. I alone knew that there was neither premeditation nor anyof the aggravating circumstances on which he was sentenced to death. Ahundred times I thought of betraying myself to save him; a hundredtimes a horrible and necessary restraint stopped the words upon mylips. Undoubtedly, my presence near the scene had contributed to givehim the odious, infamous, ignoble courage of a murderer. Were it notfor me, he would have fled. I had formed that soul, trained that mind, enlarged that heart; I knew it; he was incapable of cowardice ormeanness. Do justice to that involuntarily guilty arm, do justice tohim, whom God, in his mercy, has allowed to sleep in his quiet grave, where you have wept for him, suspecting, it may be, the extenuatingtruth. Punish, curse the guilty creature before you! Horrified by thecrime when once committed, I did my best to hide my share in it. Trusted by my father--I, who was childless--to lead a child to God, Iled him to the scaffold! Ah! punish me, curse me, the hour has come!"

Saying these words, her eyes shone with the stoic pride of a savage. The archbishop, standing behind her, and as if protecting her with thepastoral cross, abandoned his impassible demeanor and covered his eyeswith his right hand. A muffled cry was heard, as though some one weredying. Two persons, Gerard and Roubaud, received and carried away intheir arms, Denise Tascheron, unconscious. That sight seemed for aninstant to quench the fire in Veronique's eyes; she was evidentlyuneasy; but soon her self-control and serenity of martyrdom resumedtheir sway. 

"You now know, " she continued, "that I deserve neither praise orblessing for my conduct here. I have led in sight of Heaven, a secretlife of bitter penance which Heaven will estimate. My life before menhas been an immense reparation for the evils I have caused; I havemarked my repentance ineffaceably on the earth; it will last almosteternally here below. It is written on those fertile fields, in theprosperous village, in the rivulets brought from the mountains towater the plain once barren and fruitless, now green and fertile. Nota tree will be cut for a hundred years to come but the people of thisregion will know of the remorse that made it grow. My repentant soulwill still live here among you. What you will owe to its efforts, to afortune honorably acquired, is the heritage of its repentance, --therepentance of her who caused the crime. All has been repaired so faras society is concerned; but I am still responsible for that life, crushed in its bud, --a life confided to me and for which I am nowrequired to render an account. "

The flame of her eyes was veiled in tears. 

"There is here, before me, a man, " she continued, "who, because he didhis duty strictly, has been to me an object of hatred which I thoughteternal. He was the first inflictor of my punishment. My feet werestill too deep in blood, I was too near the deed, not to hate justice. So long as that root of anger lay in my heart, I knew there was stilla lingering remnant of condemnable passion. I had nothing to forgivethat man, I have only had to purify that corner of my heart where Evillurked. However hard it may have been to win that victory, it is won. "

Monsieur de Grandville turned a face to Veronique that was bathed intears. Human justice seemed at that moment to feel remorse. When theconfessing woman raised her head as if to continue, she met theagonizing look of old man Grossetete, who stretched his supplicatinghands to her as if to say, "Enough, enough!" At the same instant asound of tears and sobs was heard. Moved by such sympathy, unable tobear the balm of this general pardon, she was seized with faintness. Seeing that her daughter's vital force was gone at last, the oldmother summoned the vigor of her youth to carry her away. 

"Christians, " said the archbishop, "you have heard the confession ofthat penitent woman; it confirms the sentence of human justice. Youought to see in this fresh reason to join your prayers to those of theChurch which offers to God the holy sacrifice of the mass, to implorehis mercy in favor of so deep a repentance. "

The services went on. Veronique, lying on the bed, followed them witha look of such inward contentment that she seemed, to every eye, nolonger the same woman. On her face was the candid and virtuousexpression of the pure young girl such as she had been in her parents'home. The dawn of eternal life was already whitening her brow andglorifying her face with its celestial tints. Doubtless she heard themystic harmonies, and gathered strength to live from her desire tounite herself once more with God in the last communion. The rectorcame beside the bed and gave her absolution. The archbishopadministered the sacred oils with a fatherly tenderness that showed toall there present how dear the lost but now recovered lamb had been tohim. Then, with the sacred anointing, he closed to the things of earththose eyes which had done such evil, and laid the seal of the Churchupon the lips that were once too eloquent. The ears, by which so manyevil inspirations had penetrated her mind, were closed forever. Allthe senses, deadened by repentance, were thus sanctified, and thespirit of evil could have no further power within her soul. 

Never did assistants of this ceremony more fully understand thegrandeur and profundity of the sacrament than those who now saw theacts of the Church justly following the confession of that dyingwoman. 

Thus prepared, Veronique received the body of Jesus Christ with anexpression of hope and joy which melted the ice of unbelief againstwhich the rector had so often bruised himself. Roubaud, confounded inall his opinions, became a Catholic on the spot. The scene wastouching and yet awesome; the solemnity of its every feature was sogreat that painters might have found there the subject of amasterpiece. 

When this funeral part was over, and the dying woman heard the priestsbegin the reading of the gospel of Saint John, she signed to hermother to bring her son, who had been taken from the room by histutor. When she saw Francis kneeling by the bedside the pardonedmother felt she had the right to lay her hand upon his head and blesshim. Doing so, she died. 

Old Madame Sauviat was there, at her post, erect as she had been fortwenty years. This woman, heroic after her fashion, closed herdaughter's eyes--those eyes that had wept so much--and kissed them. All the priests, followed by the choristers, surrounded the bed. Bythe flaming light of the torches they chanted the terrible _DeProfundis_, the echoes of which told the population kneeling beforethe chateau, the friends praying in the salon, the servants in theadjoining rooms, that the mother of the canton was dead. The hymn wasaccompanied with moans and tears. The confession of that grand womanhad not been audible beyond the threshold of the salon, and none butloving ears had heard it. 

When the peasants of the neighborhood, joining with those ofMontegnac, came, one by one, to lay upon their benefactress thecustomary palm, together with their last farewell mingled with prayersand tears, they saw the man of justice, crushed by grief, holding thehand of the woman whom, without intending it, he had so cruelly but sojustly stricken. 

Two days later the _procureur-general_, Grossetete, the archbishop, and the mayor, holding the corners of the black pall, conducted thebody of Madame Graslin to its last resting-place. It was laid in thegrave in deep silence; not a word was said; no one had strength tospeak; all eyes were full of tears. "She is now a saint!" was said bythe peasants as they went away along the roads of the canton to whichshe had given prosperity, --saying the words to her creations as thoughthey were animate beings. 

No one thought it strange that Madame Graslin was buried beside thebody of Jean-Francois Tascheron. She had not asked it; but the oldmother, as the last act of her tender pity, had requested the sextonto make the grave there, --putting together those whom earth had soviolently parted, and whose souls were now reunited through repentancein purgatory. 

Madame Graslin's will was found to be all that was expected of it. She founded scholarships and hospital beds at Limoges solely forworking-men; she assigned a considerable sum--three hundred thousandfrancs in six years--for the purchase of that part of the villagecalled Les Tascherons, where she directed that a hospital should bebuilt. This hospital, intended for the indigent old persons of thecanton, for the sick, for lying-in women if paupers, and for foundlings, was to be called the Tascheron Hospital. Veronique ordered it to beplaced in charge of the Gray Sisters, and fixed the salaries of thesurgeon and the physician at four thousand francs for each. Sherequested Roubaud to be the first physician of this hospital, placingupon him the choice of the surgeon, and requesting him to superintendthe erection of the building with reference to sanitary arrangements, conjointly with Gerard, who was to be the architect. She also gave tothe village of Montegnac an extent of pasture land sufficient to pay allits taxes. The church, she endowed with a fund to be used for a specialpurpose, namely: watch was to be kept over young workmen, and casesdiscovered in which some village youth might show a disposition forart, or science, or manufactures; the interest of the fund was then tobe used in fostering it. The intelligent benevolence of the testatrixnamed the sum that should be taken for each of these encouragements. 

The news of Madame Graslin's death, received throughout the departmentas a calamity, was not accompanied by any rumor injurious to thememory of this woman. This discretion was a homage rendered to so manyvirtues by the hard-working Catholic population, which renewed in thislittle corner of France the miracles of the "Lettres Edifiantes. "

Gerard, appointed guardian of Francis Graslin, and obliged, by termsof the will, to reside at the chateau, moved there. But he did notmarry Denise Tascheron until three months after Veronique's death. Inher, Francis found a second mother. 

ADDENDUM

The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. 

Bianchon, Horace Father Goriot The Atheist's Mass Cesar Birotteau The Commission in Lunacy Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Bachelor's Establishment The Secrets of a Princess The Government Clerks Pierrette A Study of Woman Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Honorine The Seamy Side of History The Magic Skin A Second Home A Prince of Bohemia Letters of Two Brides The Muse of the Department The Imaginary Mistress The Middle Classes Cousin BettyIn addition, M. Bianchon narrated the following: Another Study of Woman La Grande Breteche

Brezacs (The) The Government Clerks

Grandville, Vicomte de A Second Home A Daughter of Eve

Grossetete (younger brother of F. Grossetete) The Muse of the Department

Navarreins, Duc de A Bachelor's Establishment Colonel Chabert The Muse of the Department The Thirteen Jealousies of a Country Town The Peasantry Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Magic Skin The Gondreville Mystery The Secrets of a Princess

Rastignac, Monseigneur Gabriel de Father Goriot A Daughter of Eve