Chapter III
I wrote to my housekeeper, as I promised, that I was safe and sound. ButI took good care not to tell her that I had caught a cold from going tosleep in the library at night with the window open; for the good womanwould have been as unsparing in her remonstrances to me as parliamentsto kings. "At your age, Monsieur," she would have been sure to say, "oneought to have more sense." She is simple enough to believe that sensegrows with age. I seem to her an exception to this rule.
Not having any similar motive for concealing my experiences from Madamede Gabry, I told her all about my vision, which she seemed to enjoy verymuch.
"Why, that was a charming dream of yours," she said; "and one must havereal genius to dream such a dream."
"Then I am a real genius when I am asleep," I responded.
"When you dream," she replied; "and you are always dreaming."
I know that Madame de Gabry, in making this remark, only wished toplease me; but that intention alone deserves my utmost gratitude; and itis therefore in a spirit of thankfulness and kindliest remembrance thatI write down her words, which I will read over and over again until mydying day, and which will never be read by any one save myself.
I passed the next few days in completing the inventory of themanuscripts in the Lusance library. Certain confidential observationsdropped by Monsieur Paul de Gabry, however, caused me some painfulsurprise, and made me decide to pursue the work after a different mannerfrom that in which I had begun it. From those few words I learned thatthe fortune of Monsieur Honore de Gabry, which had been badly managedfor many years, and subsequently swept away to a large extent throughthe failure of a banker whose name I do not know, had been transmittedto the heirs of the old French nobleman only under the form of mortgagedreal estate and irrecoverable assets.
Monsieur Paul, by agreement with his joint heirs, had decided to sellthe library, and I was intrusted with the task of making arrangements tohave the sale effected upon advantageous terms. But totally ignorant asI was of all the business methods and trade-customs, I thought it bestto get the advice of a publisher who was one of my private friends. Iwrote him at once to come and join me at Lusance; and while waitingfor his arrival I took my hat and cane and made visits to the differentchurches of the diocese, in several of which I knew there were certainmortuary inscriptions to be found which had never been correctly copied.
So I left my hosts and departed my pilgrimage. Exploring the churchesand the cemeteries every day, visiting the parish priests and thevillage notaries, supping at the public inns with peddlers andcattle-dealers, sleeping at night between sheets scented with lavender,I passed one whole week in the quiet but profound enjoyment of observingthe living engaged in their various daily occupations even while I wasthinking of the dead. As for the purpose of my researches, I made onlya few mediocre discoveries, which caused me only a mediocre joy, andone therefore salubrious and not at all fatiguing. I copied a fewinteresting epitaphs; and I added to this little collection a fewrecipes for cooking country dishes, which a certain good priest kindlygave me.
With these riches, I returned to Lusance; and I crossed thecourt-of-honour with such secret satisfaction as a bourgeois fells onentering his own home. This was the effect of the kindness of my hosts;and the impression I received on crossing their threshold proves, betterthan any reasoning could do, the excellence of their hospitality.
I entered the great parlour without meeting anybody; and the youngchestnut-tree there spreading out its broad leaves seemed to me like anold friend. But the next thing which I saw--on the pier-table--caused mesuch a shock of surprise that I readjusted my glasses upon my nose withboth hands at once, and then felt myself over so as to get at least somesuperficial proof of my own existence. In less than one second therethronged from my mind twenty different conjectures--the most rational ofwhich was that I had suddenly become crazy. It seemed to me absolutelyimpossible that what I was looking at could exist; yet it was equallyimpossible for me not to see it as a thing actually existing. Whatcaused my surprise was resting on the pier-table, above which rose agreat dull speckled mirror.
I saw myself in that mirror; and I can say that I saw for once in mylife the perfect image of stupefaction. But I made proper allowance formyself; I approved myself for being so stupefied by a really stupefyingthing.
The object I was thus examining with a degree of astonishment that allmy reasoning power failed to lessen, obtruded itself on my attentionthough quite motionless. The persistence and fixity of the phenomenonexcluded any idea of hallucination. I am totally exempt from all nervousdisorders capable of influencing the sense of sight. The cause of suchvisual disturbance is, I think, generally due to stomach trouble; and,thank God! I have an excellent stomach. Moreover, visual illusions areaccompanied with special abnormal conditions which impress the victimsof hallucination themselves, and inspire them with a sort of terror.Now, I felt nothing of this kind; the object which I saw, althoughseemingly impossible in itself, appeared to me under all the naturalconditions of reality. I observed that it had three dimensions, andcolours, and that it cast a shadow. Ah! how I stared at it! The watercame into my eyes so that I had to wipe the glasses of my spectacles.
Finally I found myself obliged to yield to the evidence, and to affirmthat I had really before my eyes the Fairy, the very same Fairy I hadbeen dreaming of in the library a few evenings before. It was she, itwas her very self, I assure you! She had the same air of child-queen,the same proud supple poise; she held the same hazel wand in her hand;she still wore her double-peaked head-dress, and the train of her longbrocade robe undulated about her little feet. Same face, same figure. Itwas she indeed; and to prevent any possible doubt of it, she wasseated on the back of a huge old-fashioned book strongly resembling the"Cosmography of Munster." Her immobility but half reassured me; I wasreally afraid that she was going to take some more nuts out of heralms-purse and throw the shells at my face.
I was standing there, waving my hands and gaping, when the musical andlaughing voice of Madame de Gabry suddenly rang in my ears.
"So you are examining your fairy, Monsieur Bonnard!" said my hostess."Well, do you think the resemblance good?"
It was very quickly said; but even while hearing it I had time toperceive that my fairy was a statuette in coloured wax, modeled withmuch taste and spirit by some novice hand. But the phenomenon, even thusreduced by a rational explanation, did not cease to excite my surprise.How, and by whom, had the Lady of the Cosmography been enabled to assumeplastic existence? That was what remained for me to learn.
Turning towards Madame de Gabry, I perceived that she was not alone.A young girl dressed in black was standing beside her. She had largeintelligent eyes, of a grey as sweet as that of the sky of the Isle ofFrance, and at once artless and characteristic in their expression.At the extremities of her rather thin arms were fidgeting uneasily twoslender hands, supple but slightly red, as it becomes the hands of younggirls to be. Sheathed in her closely fitting merino robe, she had theslim grace of a young tree; and her large mouth bespoke frankness. Icould not describe how much the child pleased me at first sight! She wasnot beautiful; but the three dimples of her cheeks and chin seemedto laugh, and her whole person, which revealed the awkwardness ofinnocence, had something in it indescribably good and sincere.
My gaze alternated from the statuette to the young girl; and I saw herblush--so frankly and fully!--the crimson passing over her face as bywaves.
"Well," said my hostess, who had become sufficiently accustomed to mydistracted moods to put the same question to me twice, "is that the verysame lady who came in to see you through the window that you left open?She was very saucy, but then you were quite imprudent! Anyhow, do yourecognise her?"
"It is her very self," I replied; "I see her now on that pier-tableprecisely as I saw her on the table in the library."
"Then, if that be so," replied Madame de Gabry, "you have to blame forit, in the first place, yourself, as a man who, although devoid of allimagination, to use
your own words, knew how to depict your dream insuch vivid colours; in the second place, me, who was able to rememberand repeat faithfully all your dream; and lastly, Mademoiselle Jeanne,whom I now introduce to you, for she herself modeled that wax figureprecisely according to my instructions."
Madame de Gabry had taken the young girl's hand as she spoke; butthe latter had suddenly broken away from her, and was already runningthrough the park with the speed of a bird.
"Little crazy creature!" Madame de Gabry cried after her. "How can onebe so shy? Come back here to be scolded and kissed!"
But it was all of no avail; the frightened child disappeared among theshrubbery. Madame de Gabry seated herself in the only chair remaining inthe dilapidated parlour.
"I should be much surprised," she said, "If my husband had not alreadyspoken to you of Jeanne. She is a sweet child, and we both lover hervery much. Tell me the plain truth; what do you think of her statuette?"
I replied that the work was full of good taste and spirit, but that itshowed some want of study and practice on the author's part; otherwise Ihad been extremely touched to think that those young fingers should havethus embroidered an old man's rough sketch of fancy, and given form sobrilliantly to the dreams of a dotard like myself.
"The reason I ask your opinion," replied Madame de Gabry, seriously, "isthat Jeanne is a poor orphan. Do you think she could earn her living bymodelling statuettes like this one?"
"As for that, no!" I replied; "and I think there is no reason to regretthe fact. You say the girl is affectionate and sensitive; I canwell believe you; I could believe it from her face alone. There areexcitements in artist-life which impel generous hearts to act out of allrule and measure. This young creature is made to love; keep her for thedomestic hearth. There only is real happiness."
"But she has no dowry!" replied Madame de Gabry.
Then, extending her hand to me, she continued:
"You are our friend; I can tell you everything. The father of thischild was a banker, and one of our friends. He went into a colossalspeculation, and it ruined him. He survived only a few months afterhis failure, in which, as Paul must have told you, three-fourths of myuncle's fortune were lost, and more than half of our own.
"We had made his acquaintance at Manaco, during the winter we passedthere at my uncle's house. He had an adventurous disposition, but suchan engaging manner! He deceived himself before ever he deceived others.After all, it is in the ability to deceive oneself that the greatesttalent is shown, is it not? Well, we were captured--my husband, myuncle, and I; and we risked much more than a reasonable amount in a veryhazardous undertaking. But, bah! as Paul says, since we have no childrenwe need not worry about it. Besides, we have the satisfaction of knowingthat the friend in whom we trusted was an honest man.... You must knowhis name, it was so often in the papers an on public placards--NoelAlexandre. His wife was a very sweet person. I knew her only when shewas already past her prime, with traces of having once been verypretty, and a taste for fashionable style and display which seemed quitebecoming to her. She was naturally fond of social excitement; butshe showed a great deal of courage and dignity after the death of herhusband. She died a year after him, leaving Jeanne alone in the world."
"Clementine!" I cried out.
And on thus learning what I had never imagined--the mere idea of whichwould have set all the forces of my soul in revolt--upon hearing thatClementine was no longer in this world, something like a great silencecame upon me; and the feeling which flooded my whole being was not akeen, strong pain, but a quiet and solemn sorrow. Yet I was conscious ofsome incomprehensible sense of alleviation, and my thought rose suddenlyto heights before unknown.
"From wheresoever thou art at this moment, Clementine," I said tomyself, "look down upon this old heart now indeed cooled by age,yet whose blood once boiled for thy sake, and say whether it is notreanimated by the mere thought of being able to love all that remainsof thee on earth. Everything passes away since thou thyself hast passedaway; but Life is immortal; it is that Life we must love in its formseternally renewed. All the rest is child's play; and I myself, withall my books, am only like a child playing with marbles. The purpose oflife--it is thou, Clementine, who has revealed it to me!"...
Madame de Gabry aroused me from my thoughts by murmuring,
"The child is poor."
"The daughter of Clementine is poor!" I exclaimed aloud; "how fortunatethat is so! I would not whish that any one by myself should proved forher and dower her! No! the daughter of Clementine must not have herdowry from any one but me."
And, approaching Madame de Gabry as she rose from her chair, I took herright hand; I kissed that hand, and placed it on my arm, and said:
"You will conduct me to the grave of the widow of Noel Alexandre."
And I heard Madame de Gabry asking me:
"Why are you crying?"
Chapter IV--The Little Saint-George
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard Page 18
