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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Date Due 
 
 45Sa 
 
 [!S 
 
 ^^■?-4864^ g 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027432107 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PQ 2524.C7 1898 
 
 Stories for Ninon / 
 
 3 1924 027 432 107 
 
STORIES FOR NINON 
 
£t^^ )^^ 
 
 AFTER A LITHOGKAPHIC DRAWING BY WILL ROTHENSTEIN 
 
STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 BY 
 
 tmi LE ZOLA 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 EDWARD VIZETELLY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GEO. H, RICHMOND & SON 
 
 1 898 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
zsz^ 
 
 c 7 
 
 A,767^9f 
 
CONTENTS 
 PART I 
 
 Pagt 
 
 To Ninon . i 
 
 SlMPLICB 7 
 
 The Ball-Program i6 
 
 She Who Loves Mb 28 
 
 The Love-Fairy 41 
 
 Blood 47 
 
 The Thieves and the Ass 58 
 
 SiSTBR-OF-THE-POOR 75 
 
 The Adventures of Big Sidoinb and Little 
 MioERic — 
 
 /. The Heroes 98 
 
 // They Start on their Travels 103 
 
 ///. Short Disquisition on Mummies . • . . 108 
 
 IV. Sidoine's Fists 112 
 
 V. Mlderi<^s Speech 1 18 
 
 VL Midiric Eats Blackberries 127 
 
 VII. Wherein Sidoine becomes Talkative . . -137 
 yilf. The Charming Primrose, Queen of the Kingdom of 
 
 the Happy 144 
 
 IX. Wherein Midiric Popularises Astronomy, History, 
 Iheology, Philosophy, Exact and Natural 
 
 Sciences, as well as various others . . . 153 
 X. Various Strange and Unforeseen Meetings which 
 
 happened to Sidoine and Medlric . , , 164 
 
 XI. A Model School 173 
 
 XIL Moral l8l 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 PART II 
 
 To Ninon '88 
 
 A Bath «94 
 
 The Strawberries . 204 
 
 £10 MicHU 208 
 
 The Fast 214 
 
 The Shoulders of the Marchioness ■ 1 • 220 
 
 My Neighbour Jacques 224 
 
 The Paradise of Cats 229 
 
 LiLl 234 
 
 The Legend of Cupid's Little Blub Mantle , 239 
 
 The Blacksmith 242 
 
 The Slack Season 247 
 
 The Little Village 253 
 
 Souvenirs 257 
 
 /SAN Gourdon's Four Days: — 
 
 7. Spring 304 
 
 //. Summer 314 
 
 ///. Autumn 324 
 
 IV. Winter 335 
 
PART I 
 
Stories for Ninon 
 
 TO NINON 
 
 Here they are then, my friend, these unfettered narratives 
 of our young days, which I related to you out in the country 
 in my dear Provence, and to which you listened with an 
 attentive ear, whilst vaguely following with your eyes the 
 great blue lines of the distant hills. 
 
 On May evenings, at the moment when heaven and earth 
 glide slowly into supreme peace, I left the city and reached 
 the fields ; the barren slopes, covered with brambles and 
 juniper bushes ; or else the banks of the little river, that 
 December torrent, so unobstrusive in fine weather; or again 
 an out-of-the-way corner of the plain, warm with the embrace 
 of the south, a broad stretch of red and yellow land, planted 
 with almond trees with slender branches, old ohves turning 
 grey, and vines with their entangled offshoots trailing along 
 the ground. 
 
 Poor parched earth, it stands out glaring, grey, and naked 
 in the sun, between the fertile meadows of the Durance and 
 the orange groves on the sea-shore. I love it for its harsh 
 beauty, its doleful-looking rocks, its thyme and lavender. 
 There is, I know not what burning air of desolation about 
 this sterile valley ; a strange whirlwind of passion seems to 
 have passed over the country ; then, great oppression followed, 
 and the fields, which were still full of generous warmth, fell 
 asleep, so to say, in a final desire. At present, amidst my 
 forests of the north, when I recall to mind that stone and 
 dust, I feel most profound love for that rugged country which 
 is not mine. Doubtless the merry child and the sad old rocks 
 formerly felt tender affection for each other; and now the 
 
 A 
 
2 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 child, who has become a man, disdains damp fields and sub- 
 merged verdure ; he is in love with the broad white roads 
 and calcinated mountains, where his mind, in all the freshness 
 of its fifteen summers, dreamed its first dreams. 
 
 I reached the fields. There, when I had half laid me down 
 on the cultivated land, or on the slabs on the hillside, lost in 
 that peacefulness which came from the profound depths of 
 heaven, I found you, on turning my head, extended comfort- 
 ably on my right, thoughtful, your chin resting in your hand, 
 gazing at me with your great eyes. You were the angel of 
 my solitude, my good guardian angel whom I perceived near 
 me wherever I might be ; you read my secret wishes in my 
 heart, you sat down beside me everywhere, unable to be 
 where I was not. At present, this explains to me your 
 presence every night. In days gone by, without ever seeing 
 you approach, I experienced no astonishment in constantly 
 meeting your bright look ; I knew you were faithful, always 
 within me. 
 
 My dear soul, you brought sweetness to the sadness of my 
 melancholy evenings. You possessed the forlorn beauty of 
 those knolls, their marble pallidness blushing at the last kisses 
 of the sun. I know not what perpetual thought elevated 
 your forehead and enlarged your eyes. Then, when a smile 
 played upon your idle lips, one "would have said in presence 
 of the youthfulness and sudden brightness of your face, that 
 it was that ray of May which causes all the flowers and ver- 
 dure of this palpitating earth to grow, flowers and verdure 
 of a day that are scorched by the June sun. Between you 
 and the horizon was secret harmony that made me love the 
 stones on the footpaths. The little river had your voice ; the 
 stars, when they rose, your look ; everything around me smiled 
 with your smile. And you, lending your gracefulness to this 
 nature, assumed its impressive severity. I confounded you 
 one with the other. When I saw you, I was conscious of 
 nature's free sky, and when my eyes searched the valley, J 
 recognised your lithe, bold lines in the undulations of the 
 ground. It was by comparing you thus that I took to madly 
 loving you both, not knowing which I adored the most, my 
 dear Provence or my dear Ninon. 
 
 Each morn, my friend, I feel a new necessity to thank you 
 for bygone days. It was charitable and tender of you to lova 
 
TO NINON 3 
 
 me a little and live within me; at that age when the heart 
 suffers at being alone, you brought me yours to spare all pain 
 to mine. Ah ! if you only knew how many poor souls at pre- 
 sent die of solitude. Times are hard for those who are made 
 of love. I have not known that misery. You showed me at all 
 times the face of an adorable woman, you peopled my desert, 
 mingling your blood with mine, living in my thought. And I, 
 lost in this profound love, I forgot, feeling you in my being. 
 The supreme joy of our hymen .caused me to pass in peace 
 through that rugged land of sixteen years, where so many of 
 my companions have left shreds of their hearts. 
 
 Strange creature, now that you are far away, and I can see 
 clearly within me, I experience keen pleasure in examining our 
 love-making piece by piece. You were a beautiful and ardent 
 woman, and I loved you as a husband. Then, I know not 
 how, at times you became a sister, without ceasing to be a 
 sweetheart ; then I loved you both as a brother and a sweet- 
 heart, with all the chastity of affection, all the passion of 
 desire. At other moments I found a companion in you, the 
 healthy intelligence of man, and always, also, an enchantress, 
 a well-beloved, whose face I smothered with kisses, whilst 
 pressing her hand like an old comrade. In the folly of 
 my tenderness, I gave your beautiful frame, which I so much 
 adored, to each of my affections. Divine dream, which caused 
 me to worship in you each creature, body and soul, with all 
 my strength, apart from sex and blood. You satisfied at the 
 same time the warmth of my imagination and the requirements 
 of my intellect. You thus realised the dream of ancient Greece, 
 the mistress made man, gifted with exquisite elegance of shape 
 coupled with a masculine mind, worthy of knowledge and 
 wisdom. 1 adored you in all the different forms of love, you, 
 who sufficed for my being, you, whose exquisite beauty filled 
 me with my dream. When I felt your supple frame within 
 me, your sweet childlike face, your thoughts made of my 
 thoughts, I tasted in its entirety, that unheard-of voluptuous- 
 ness, sought for in vain in antiquity, of possessing a creature 
 with all the sinews of my flesh, all the affection of my heart, 
 all the power of my intelligence. 
 
 I reached the fields. Lying on the ground, your head resting 
 on my bosom, I talked to you for long hours, my gaze lost in 
 the azure immensity of your eyes. I spoke to you, careless of 
 
4 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 my words, according to the whim of the moment. Sometimes 
 bending forward as if to nurse you, I addressed a naive little 
 girl, who will not close her eyes, and whom one sends to sleep 
 with pretty stories, lessons of charity and moderation ; at other 
 moments, my lips on your lips, I related to one whom I 
 cherished, the loves of the fairies, or the charming affection of 
 young sweethearts ; still more frequently, on days when I was 
 the victim of the silly unkindness of my companions, and those 
 days together, have made up years of my youth, I took your 
 hand, with irony on my lips, doubt and negation in my heart, 
 complaining to a brother of the miseries of this world, in some 
 afflicting tale, a satire dipped in tears. And you, bending to 
 my whims, while still remaining a wife and woman, were in 
 turn a naive little girl, a well-beloved and a consoling brother. 
 You heard each of my styles of language. Without ever 
 answering, you hstened to me, allowing me to read in your 
 eyes the emotion, the gaiety, the sadness of my tales. I lay 
 my conscience quite bare to you, being anxious to hide nothing. 
 I did not treat you as those ordinary sweethearts to whom 
 lovers measure out their thoughts. I gave myself away entirely 
 without ever bridling my tongue. And what long gossips 
 they were, what strange stories born of a dream 1 what dis- 
 jointed tales, where invention was left to chance, and the only 
 supportable episodes of which were the kisses we exchanged ! 
 If some passer-by had spied us out at night at the foot of our 
 rocks, I know not what singular look he would have had on 
 hearing my free language, and seeing you understand it, my 
 naive little girl, my well-beloved, my consoling brother. 
 
 Alas ! those delightful evenings are no more. A day came 
 when I had to leave you, you and the fields of Provence. 
 Do you remember, my darling, we said adieu to each other, 
 one autumn evening, beside the little river. The naked trees 
 rendered the horizon more vast and gloomy ; the country at 
 that advanced hour, covered with dry leaves, damped with the 
 first rains, spread out black, with great yellow spots, like a 
 huge coarse carpet. The last rays of light were leaving the 
 sky, and night arose in the east with threatening fogs, a dark 
 night to be followed by an unknown dawn; with my life it 
 was as with that autumnal sky ; the planet of my youth had 
 just disappeared, the night of age was rising, reserving I knew 
 not what future for me. I felt the burning necessity of experi- 
 
TO NINON S 
 
 encing reality ; I was weary of the dream, weary of the spring, 
 weary of you, my dear soul, who escaped from my embrace, 
 and in presence of my tears could only smile at me sadly. 
 Our divine love was quite at an end ; it had had its season, 
 like all things. It was then, perceiving you were dying 
 within me, that I went to the bank of the little river in the 
 expiring country, to give you my kisses of departure. Oh I 
 that evening so full of love and sadness I I kissed you, my 
 distressed pale one ; I endeavoured, for the last time, to give 
 you back the robust health of your happy days : I could not, 
 for I was your executioner. You rose within me higher than 
 the body, higher than the heart, and you were nothing more 
 than a souvenir. 
 
 It is now nearly seven years since I left you. Since the 
 day of our farewell, in enjoyment and in grief, I have often 
 listened to your voice, the caressing voice of a souvenir asking 
 me for the tales of our Provengal evenings. 
 
 I know not what echo of our sonorous rocks responds in 
 my heart. You, whom I left far away, plead so touchingly 
 from your exile, that I seem to hear you in my innermost 
 being. That sweet throb which past delight leaves within 
 one, urges me to give way to your desire. Poor shadow that 
 has disappeared in the solitude where the dear phantoms of 
 our vanished dreams reside, if I must console you with my 
 old stories, I feel the comfort I shall experience in listening 
 to myself talking to you, as in our young days. 
 
 I comply with your request. I am going to relate the tales 
 of our love-making again, one by one, not all, for there are 
 some that could not be told a second time, the sun having 
 faded those delicate flowers, which were too divinely simple 
 for broad daylight, at their birth, but those with a robust con- 
 stitution, which that clumsy machine called human memory is 
 able to keep in mind. 
 
 Alas ! I fear I am preparing great grief for myself in acting 
 thus. To confide our conversations to the passing wind is 
 violating the secret of our tenderness, and indiscreet lovers 
 are punished in this world by the cold indifference of their 
 confidants. I have still one hope, namely, that not a single 
 person in this country will be tempted to peruse our stories. 
 Our century is really much too busy to be attracted by the 
 remarks of two unknown lovers. My detached pages will 
 
6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 pass unperceived in the crowd, and will still reach you in their 
 virginity. Thus I can indulge in folly at my ease ; I can be 
 as adventuresome as formerly, and as careless of the paths. 
 You alone will read me, and 1 know with what indulgence. 
 
 And now, Ninon, I have satisfied your wishes ; here are my 
 stories. Raise no more your voice within me, that voice of 
 remembrance, which brings tears to my eyes. Leave my 
 heart, which requires rest, in peace ; come no more, amidst 
 the struggle, to remind me of our idle nights. If you must 
 have a promise, I undertake to love you again, later on, 
 when I shall have sought in vain in this world for other 
 darlings, and when I shall return to my first love. Then 
 I will go back again to Provence, and meet you on the bank 
 of the little river. Winter will have come, a winter both sad 
 and sweet, with a clear sky and earth giving hope for a future 
 harvest. Believe me, we shall adore each other for another 
 whole season ; we will resume our peaceful evenings out in 
 the country we love ; we will complete our dream. 
 
 Wait for me, dear soul, faithful vision, sweetheart of the 
 child and of the old man. 
 
 EMILE ZOLA. 
 
SIMPLICE 
 
 Once upon a time — listen attentively, Ninon, an old shepherd 
 told me this story — once upon a time, on an island which the 
 sea has long since engulfed, there were a king and queen who 
 had a son. The king was a great monarch : his glass was the 
 deepest in his kingdom ; his sword the heaviest ; he slaughtered 
 and drank royally. The queen was a lovely queen: she painted 
 herself so much that she did not appear more than forty. The 
 son was a simpleton. 
 
 But a simpleton of the worst kind, said the witty people 
 of the kingdom. When he was sixteen he was taken to 
 battle by the king : it was a matter of exterminating a neigh- 
 bouring nation which was guilty of the atrocious crime of 
 possessing territory. Simplice behaved like a fool : he saved 
 two dozen women and three-and-a-half dozen children from 
 the slaughter; he almost wept at every sabre-cut he gave; in 
 a word the sight of the battle-field, streaming in blood and 
 encumbered with corpses, struck such pity into his heart that 
 he did not eat anything for three days. He was a great fool, 
 Ninon, as you see. 
 
 When he was seventeen, he had to be present at a banquet 
 given by his father to all the great gluttons of the kingdom. 
 There again he committed stupidity on stupidity. He was 
 satisfied with a few mouthfuls, spoke little, and did not swear 
 at all. As there was a risk that his glass would always remain 
 full in front of him, the king, to save the family dignity, was 
 compelled to empty it from time to time on the sly. 
 
 when he was eighteen and hair began to grow on his chin, 
 one of the queen's maids of honour noticed him. Maids of 
 honour are dreadful, Ninon. This one wanted the young 
 prince to kiss her. The poor child had never dreamt of such 
 
8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 a thing; he shook with trembling when she spoke to him, 
 and ran away as soon as he caught sight of the hem of her 
 skirt in the palace grounds. His father, who was a good 
 father, saw all, and laughed in his sleeve. But as the lady 
 continued the pursuit more ardently than ever without obtain- 
 ing the kiss, he was ashamed at having such a son, and him- 
 self gave the required kiss, always for the purpose of saving 
 the dignity of his race. 
 
 "Ah! the little jackass I" exclaimed the great monarch, 
 who was a man of parts. 
 
 II 
 
 It was at twenty that Simplice became a perfect idiot. He 
 came across a forest and fell in love. 
 
 In those olden times people did not beautify trees by clip- 
 ping them with shears, and it was not the fashion to raise grass 
 by sowing it, or to sprinkle gravel on paths. The branches 
 grew as they pleased ; God alone undertook to moderate the 
 brambles and preserve the footways. The forest Simplice came 
 across was an immense nest of verdure, multitudes of leaves 
 and impenetrable masses of yoke-elms intersected by majestic 
 avenues. The moss, inebriated with dew, revelled in a debau- 
 chery of growth ; the sweetbriers, extending their flexible arms, 
 sought one another in the glades to perform frantic dances 
 round the great trees j the great trees themselves, whilst re- 
 maining calm and serene, distorted their roots in the shade, 
 and rose tumultuously to kiss the rays of summer. The green 
 grass grew anywhere, on the branches as on the ground ; the 
 leaves embraced the wood, while the Easter daisies and 
 myosotis, in their haste to bloom, sometimes made a mistake 
 and blossomed on the old fallen trunks. And all these 
 branches, all these herbs, all these flowers sang ; all mingled, 
 crowded together, to babble more at ease, to relate to one 
 another, in whispers, the mysterious love-making of the corolla. 
 A breath of life ran to the depths of the gloomy coppices, 
 giving voice to each bit of moss in the matchless concerts at 
 dawn and twilight. It was an immense festival of the foliage. 
 
 The lady- birds, beetles, dragon- flies, butterflies, all the 
 beautiful sweethearts of the flowering hedges, met at the 
 
SIMPLICE 9 
 
 four corners of the wood. They had established their little 
 republic there ; the paths were their paths ; the brooks their 
 brooks; the forest their forest. They stretched themselves 
 out commodiously at the foot of the trees ; on the low 
 branches, in the dry leaves, living there as at home, quietly 
 and by right of conquest. They had, for that matter, like 
 civil persons, left the lofty branches to nightingales and other 
 songsters. 
 
 The forest which already sang by its branches, its leaves, 
 and flowers, sang also by its insects and birds. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In a few days Simplice became an old friend of the forest 
 They gossiped so madly together that he lost the little reason 
 that still remained to him. When he left the forest to shut 
 himself up between four walls, to seat himself at a table, 
 to lie in a bed, he was all in a dream. At length, one fine 
 morning, he suddenly abandoned his apartments, and took up 
 his quarters beneath the beloved foliage. 
 
 There, he chose himself an immense palace. 
 
 His drawing-room was a vast circular glade, about a thou- 
 sand superficial toises in extent. It was decked with long 
 green drapery all round ; five hundred flexible columns sup- 
 ported a veil of emerald-coloured lace ; the ceiling itself was 
 a large dome of blue shot satin, studded with golden nails. 
 
 For bedroom he had a delicious boudoir, full of mystery 
 and freshness. Its floor and walls were hidden beneath soft 
 carpeting of inimitable workmanship. The alcove, hollowed 
 out of the rock by some giant, was lined with pink marble, 
 whilst the ground was strewn with ruby dust 
 
 He also had his bath-room, with a spring of sparkling water 
 and a crystal bath, buried in a cluster of flowers. I will not 
 tell you, Ninon, of the thousand galleries that intersected the 
 palace, nor of the ball-room, the theatre, and gardens. It 
 was one of those royal residences such as God knows how to 
 build. 
 
 Henceforth the prince could be a simpleton at his ease. 
 His father thought he had been changed into a wolf, and 
 sought an heir more worthy of the throne. 
 
10 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 IV 
 
 Simplice was very busy on the days following his installation. 
 He struck up an acquaintance with his neighbours, the beetle 
 of the grass and the butterfly of the air. All were good crea- 
 tures, and had almost as much wit as men. 
 
 At the commencement, he experienced some difficulty in 
 learning their language, but he soon perceived that he had 
 only his early education to thank for that. He soon con- 
 formed to the concise tongue of the insects. One sound 
 ultimately sufficed for him, as for them, to designate a hundred 
 different objects, according to the inflection of the voice and 
 length of the note. So that he became unaccustomed to speak 
 the language of men, so poor in spite of its wealth. 
 
 He was charmed with the manners of his new friends. He 
 marvelled above all at their way of expressing their opinion anent 
 kings, which is not to have any. In short, he felt ignorant 
 among them, and decided to go and study at their schools. 
 
 He showed more discretion in his intercourse with the 
 mosses and hawthorns. As he could not yet catch the words 
 of the flowers and blades of grass, his acquaintance with them 
 was of a somewhat reserved character. 
 
 Altogether the forest did not look at him askance. It 
 understood that his was a small mind and that he would live 
 in good understanding with the creatures. They no longer 
 hid from him. It often happened that he surprised a butterfly 
 at the bottom of a path ruffling the frill of a daisy. 
 
 The hawthorn soon conquered its timidity so far as to give 
 the young prince lessons. It amorously taught him the lan- 
 guage of the perfumes and colours. Henceforth the purple 
 corollas greeted Simplice every morning when he rose; the 
 green leaf related to him the tittle-tattle of the night, the 
 cricket confided to him in a whisper that he was madly in 
 love with the violet 
 
 Simplice had chosen a golden dragon-fly, with a slender 
 waist and fluttering wings, for sweetheart. The pretty beauty 
 showed herself despairingly coquettish ; she gambolled, seemed 
 to call him, then cleverly fled just as his hand was on her. 
 The great trees, who saw the sport, smartly rebuked her, and 
 gravely said among themselves that she would end badly; 
 
SIMPLICE II 
 
 Simplice all at once became anxious. 
 
 The lady-bird, who was the first to notice their friend's 
 sadness, endeavoured to ascertain from him what it was all 
 about. He replied amidst tears that he was as gay as at the 
 commencement. 
 
 He now rose with the sun and wandered through the 
 copses until night. He put the branches softly aside and 
 examined each bush. He raised the leaves and gazed at 
 its shadows. 
 
 "What can our pupil be looking for?" inquired the haw- 
 thorn of the moss. 
 
 The dragon-fly, astonished at being abandoned by her 
 lover, fancied he had gone mad with love. She came 
 teasing around him. But he did not look at her. The great 
 trees had formed a correct opinion of her. She promptly 
 consoled herself with the first butterfly she met at the 
 cross-roads. 
 
 The leaves were sad. They watched the young prince 
 questioning every tuft of grass, searching the long avenues 
 with his eyes; they listened to him complaining of the 
 thickness of the brambles, and said : 
 
 " Simplice has seen Flower-of-the- Waters, the undine of 
 the spring." 
 
 VI 
 
 Flower-of-the-Waters was the daughter of a ray of light and 
 a drop of dew. Her beauty was so limpid that a lover's kiss 
 would make her die; she exhaled such sweet perfume that 
 a kiss from her lips would kill a lover. 
 
 The forest knew it, and the jealous forest hid its darling 
 child. For sanctuary it had given her a spring shaded with 
 its most bushy boughs. There Flower-of-the-Waters beamed, 
 in silence and shade, amidst her sisters. Being idle she 
 resigned herself to the stream, her little feet half veiled by 
 the wavelets, her fair head crowned with limpid pearls. Her 
 smile delighted the water-lilies and gladiolus. She was the 
 soul of the forest. 
 
n STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 She lived unattended with care, knowing nothing of the 
 earth but her mother, the dew, and of heaven naught but 
 the ray of light, her father. She felt herself loved by the 
 wavelet that rocked her, by the branch that gave her shade. 
 She had thousands of sweethearts and not one lover. 
 
 Flower-of-the- Waters was aware that she must die of love ; 
 that thought gave her pleasure, and she lived hoping for 
 death. Smiling she awaited the well-beloved. 
 
 Simplice had seen her one night by starlight, at the bend 
 of a path. He sought her for a long month, fancying to 
 meet her behind the trunk of each tree. He was always 
 thinking he saw her glide into the coppice; but on running 
 there he only found the great shadows of the poplars waving 
 in the breath of Heaven. 
 
 VII 
 
 The forest was now silent; it distrusted Simplice. It 
 thickened its foliage, it cast all its gloom over the young 
 prince's footsteps. The peril threatening Flower-of-the- 
 Waters grieved it; there were no more caresses, no more 
 amorous chatter. 
 
 The undine returned to the glades, and Simplice saw her 
 again. Mad with desire, he dashed oflF in pursuit of her. 
 The child, seated on a ray of the moon, did not hear the 
 sound of his footsteps. She flew along in this way, as light 
 as a feather borne upon the wind. 
 
 Simplice ran, ran after her without being able to catch her. 
 Tears streamed from his eyes, he was in despair. 
 
 He ran, and the forest anxiously watched his mad flight. 
 Shrubs barred the road. Brambles encompassed him with 
 their thorny arms, stopping him suddenly on his way. The 
 whole wood protected the child. 
 
 He ran, and felt the moss become slippery beneath his 
 feet. The branches of the coppice were interlaced more 
 closely and presented themselves to him as rigid as brass rods. 
 Dry leaves collected in the glens ; trunks of fallen trees placed 
 themselves across the paths ; rocks rolled themselves before 
 the prince. The insect stung him in the heel ; the butterfly 
 blinded him by beating its wings against his eyelids. 
 
SIMPLICE 13 
 
 Flower-of-the-Waters, without seeing or hearing him, con- 
 tinued to fly on the ray of the moon. Simplice with agony 
 felt the moment approaching when she would disappear. 
 
 And, breathless, in despair, he ran, ran. 
 
 VIII 
 
 He heard the old oaks shouting to him in anger : 
 
 " Why did you not say you were a man ? We would have 
 hidden from you, we would have refused you our lessons, so 
 that your gloomy eye might not see Flower-of-the-Waters, 
 the undine of the spring. You presented yourself to us with 
 the innocence of animals, and now you display the mind of 
 man. Look, you are crushing the beetles, tearing away our 
 leaves, breaking our branches. The wind of egoism bears 
 you along, you want to rob us of our soul." 
 
 And the hawthorn added : 
 
 " Simplice, stop, for pity's sake ! When a capricious child 
 wants to breathe the perfume of my starry nosegays, why 
 does not he leave them to bloom in freedom on the branch ! 
 He plucks them and only enjoys them for an hour." 
 
 And the moss said in its turn : 
 
 "Stop, Simplice; come and dream on my cool, velvety 
 carpet Far away, between the trees, you will see Flower- 
 of-the-Waters at play. You will see her bathing at the spring, 
 casting collets of watery pearls about her neck. We will give 
 you a half share in the joy of her look j you can live and gaze 
 on her as we do." 
 
 And all the forest resumed : 
 
 "Stop, Simplice, a kiss must kill her; give not that kiss. 
 Are you not aware of it ? Did not our messenger, the breeze 
 bf night, tell you ? Flower-of-the-Waters is the celestial pearl 
 whose perfume brings death. Alas ! Pity for her, Simplice, 
 drink not het soul on her lips." 
 
 IX 
 
 Flower-of-the-Waters turned round and saw Simplice. She 
 smiled, she made him a sign to approach, saying to the forest : 
 " Here comes the well-beloved." 
 
14 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 The prince had been pursuing the undine for ■ three days, 
 three hours, three minutes. The words of the oaks were 
 thundering behind him ; he was tempted to fly. 
 
 Flower-of-the- Waters was already pressing his hands. She 
 raised herself tip-toe on her little feet, mirroring her smile in 
 the young man's eyes. 
 
 " You have delayed coming," she said. " My heart knew 
 you were in the forest. I mounted a ray of the moon and 
 sought you for three days, three hours, three minutes." 
 
 Simplice was silent, he withheld his breath. She made 
 him sit down at the edge of the spring ; she fondled him with 
 her eyes ; and he contemplated her for a long time. 
 
 " Do you not know me ? " she continued. " I have often 
 seen you in my dreams. I went to you, you took my hand, 
 then we walked, silent and trembling. Did you not see me? 
 Do you not remember your dreams?" 
 
 And as he at length opened his mouth : 
 
 " Do not say anything," she resumed again. " I am Flower- 
 of-the- Waters, and you are the well-beloved. We are going 
 to die." 
 
 X 
 
 The great trees bent forward to get a better view of the 
 young couple. They shuddered with grief, they said to one 
 another, from coppice to coppice, that their soul was about to 
 fly away. 
 
 All the voices were silent. The blade of grass and the oak 
 experienced immense pity. There was no longer any cry of 
 anger among the foliage. Simplice, Flower-of-the- Water's well- 
 beloved, was the son of the old forest. 
 
 She had rested her head on his shoulder. Bending over the 
 brook they smiled at one another. Sometimes, raising their 
 foreheads, they followed with their eyes the gold dust flutter- 
 ing in the last rays of the sun. They clasped each other 
 slowly, slowly. They awaited the appearance of the first star 
 to be blended together in one and fly off for ever. 
 
 Not a word troubled their ecstasy. Their spirits rising to 
 their lips were exchanged in their breath. 
 
 Day was on the wane, the lips of the two lovers approached 
 closer and closer. The silent, motionless forest experienced 
 
SIMPLICE IS 
 
 terrible agony. The huge rocks from which the springs burst 
 forth, threw great shadows over the couple who shone in the 
 coining night. 
 
 And the stars appeared, and the lips were united in the 
 supreme kiss, and the oak trees gave a prolonged sob. The 
 lips were united, the spirits flew away. 
 
 XI 
 
 A clever man was wandering in the forest. He was in the 
 company of a learned man. 
 
 The clever man made profound remarks on the unhealthy 
 dampness of woods, and spoke of the beautiful fields of 
 lucerne that might be obtained by cutting down all the great 
 ugly trees. 
 
 The learned man dreamed of making himself a name in 
 the world of science by discovering some new plant. He 
 searched about everywhere and came upon nettles and couch- 
 grass. 
 
 On reaching the edge of the spring they found the corpse 
 of Simplice. The prince was smiling in the slumber of death. 
 His feet were in the water, his head resting on the grassy 
 bank. He pressed to his lips, which were for ever closed, 
 a small pink and white flower, exquisitely delicate in form, 
 and with a strong perfume. 
 
 " The poor idiot ! " said the clever man, " he must have 
 been trying to pick a nosegay, and drowned himself." 
 
 The learned man cared little about the corpse. He had 
 taken the flower, and under pretence of examining it, tore 
 away tlie corolla. Then, when he had pulled it to pieces, he 
 exclaimed — 
 
 "Precious find ! In memory of this simpleton, I will name 
 this flower Anthapheleia limnaia." 
 
 Ah, Ninette, Ninette, the barbarian named my ideal 
 Flower-of-the-Waters Anthapheleia limnaia I 
 
THE BALL-PROGRAM 
 
 Do you remember our long run in the woods, Ninon? 
 Autumn had begun to sprinkle the trees with yellow purple 
 leaves, which were still gilded by the rays of the setting 
 sun. The grass beneath our feet was thinner than at the com- 
 mencement of May, and the russety moss hardly afforded 
 shelter for a few rare insects. Lost in the forest, which 
 abounded in melancholy sounds, it seemed as though we 
 heard the bitter lamentations of a woman who believes she has 
 discovered the first wrinkle on her forehead. The foliage, 
 which this pale, mild evening could not deceive, felt the winter 
 coming in the breeze which had freshened, and submitted 
 sadly to being rocked by the wind while weeping over its 
 reddened verdure. 
 
 We wandered for a long time in the coppices, caring little 
 for the direction of the paths, but choosing the most shady and 
 secluded. Our frank peals of laughter frightened the thrushes 
 and blackbirds that were whistling in the hedges ; and some- 
 times we heard a green lizard, troubled in his ecstasy by the 
 sound of our footsteps, slipping noiselessly beneath the brambles. 
 Our ramble was without object : after a cloudy day, we had 
 seen the sky, towards evening, wearing a brighter aspect ; we 
 had dashed out to enjoy this ray of sunshine. We advanced 
 thus, raising a perfume of sage and thyme beneath our feet, at 
 times running after one another, at others walking leisurely 
 hand in hand. Then I plucked you the last flowers, or sought 
 to reach the red berries of the hawthorns, which you coveted 
 like a child. And you, Ninon, in the meanwhile, crowned 
 with blossoms, you ran to the neighbouring spring under pre- 
 tence of drinking, but rather to admire your head-dress, 
 coquette and idle girl I 
 
THE BALI^PROGRAM 17 
 
 All at once distant peals of laughter became mingled with 
 the vague murmurs of the forest; a fife andtabour were heard, 
 and the breeze brought us the subdued sound of dancing. 
 We had stopped, listening attentively, quite expecting to find 
 that this music came from the mysterious ball of the sylphs. 
 We slipped from tree to tree, guided by the sound of the 
 instruments; then, when we had cautiously put aside the 
 branches of the last thicket, this is the sight we saw. 
 
 In the centre of a glade, on a strip of turf surrounded by 
 wild juniper and pistacia trees, some ten peasants of both 
 sexes were moving backward and forward in time. The 
 women, who were bare-headed, with throats covered up by 
 neckerchiefs, skipped about freely, giving utterance to those 
 peals of laughter we had heard ; the men, to dance with 
 greater ease, had thrown their jackets among their implements 
 of labour, which glittered in the grass. 
 
 These honest folk paid little attention to the measure. A 
 thin, raw-boned man, leaning with his back against an oak-tree,- 
 was playing the fife, whilst he struck a sharp-sounding tabour 
 with his left hand, after the custom of Provence. He seemed 
 to follow the hurried, noisy measure with delight. Sometimes 
 his glance wandered to the dancers ; then he pitifully shrugged 
 his shoulders. Accredited musician of some large village, he 
 had been stopped as iie passed that way, and it was not with- 
 out anger that he saw these inhabitants of the inner country 
 thus breaking all the rules of fine dancing. Aggrieved during 
 the quadrille at the leaping and stamping of the peasants, he 
 blushed with indignation when, at the end of the air, they 
 continued their paces for five long minutes, without appear- 
 ing to have any idea even of the absence of the fife and 
 tabour. 
 
 It would have been charming, no doubt, to have surprised 
 the hobgoblins of the forest at their mysterious frolics. But, 
 at the least breath, they would have vanished ; and running to 
 the ball-room, we would hardly have found a few blades of 
 slightly bent grass, to indicate their passing presence. It 
 would have been a mockery : make us hear their laughter, 
 invite us to share their joy, then run away at our approach, 
 without allowing us a single quadrille. 
 
 We could not have danced with sylphs, Ninette; with 
 peasants, never was reality more engaging. 
 
 B 
 
i8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 We suddenly left the thicket. Our noisy dancers showed 
 no disposition to take to flight. It was only a long time after 
 we had been there that they perceived our presence. They 
 had begun capering again. The player on the fife, who had 
 pretended to withdraw, having seen a few pieces of money 
 shine, had just taken to his instruments again, beating and 
 blowing afresh, whilst sighing at the thought of prostituting 
 melody as he was doing. It seemed to me that I recognised 
 the slow, imperceptible measure of a waltz. I was encircling 
 your waist, watching the moment to whirl you along in my 
 arms, when you eagerly tore yourself away to laugh and skip, 
 just like a bold, sun-burnt peasant girl. The man with the 
 tabo'.ir, who was becoming consoled at the sight of my pre- 
 parations as a fine dancer, had only to shroud his face after 
 that, and bewail the decline of art 
 
 I know not how it was, Ninon, that I recalled those 
 follies last night, our long run, our dances full of freedom 
 and laughter. Then, this vague souvenir was followed by a 
 hundred other vague reveries. Will you pardon me if I relate 
 them to you? Travelling along at hazard, stopping and 
 running without any reason, I trouble myself but little about the 
 crowd ; my tales are only very faint sketches : but you told 
 me you were fond of them. 
 
 The dance, that chastely wanton nymph, charms rather 
 than attracts me. I, a simple spectator, love to see her 
 jingling her little bells throughout the world ; voluptuous, 
 twisting herself into all sorts of attitudes, blowing fiery kisses, 
 beneath the skies of Spain and Italy ; gliding along amorously 
 in a long veil, like a dream, in blond Germany j and even when 
 walking, reserved and skilful, in the drawing-rooms of France. 
 I like to see her everywhere ; on the moss in the woods as on 
 costly caipets; at village weddings as at glittering parties. 
 
 Gracefully bending backward, with moist eyes and lips half 
 parted, she has passed through ages, clasping and unclasping 
 her arms above her fair head. All doors have opened at the 
 measured sound of her footsteps ; those of temples, those of 
 joyous retreats ; there perfumed with incense, here with her 
 gown reddened with wine, she has harmoniously struck the 
 ground ; and after so many centuries she reaches us, smiling, 
 without her supple limbs ever hastening or delaying the 
 melodious cadence. 
 
THE BALL-PROGRAM 19 
 
 Let the goddess then appear. Groups are formed, the 
 dancing-girls camber beneath tne clasp of their partners. Here 
 is the immortal. Her extended arms hold a tambourine ; 
 she smiles, then gives the signal; the couples move, follow 
 her steps, imitate her attitudes. And I, 1 love to watch 
 that nimble rotation ; I endeavour to catch all the glances, 
 all the words of love, in the corner where I am dreaming ; I 
 experience the enthusiasm of rhythm, thanking the immortal, 
 if she has left me ignorant and clumsy, for having given me 
 at least the sentiment of her harmonious art. 
 
 To tell the truth, Ninette, I would prefer her, the fair 
 goddess, in her amorous nudity, unclasping and waving her 
 white girdle without following any rule; I would prefer her 
 far from the ball-room, fancying herself hidden from all pro- 
 fane eyes, tracing her most capricious steps upon the turf. 
 There, barely veiled, softly pressing the grass with her rosy 
 feet, she would move about in innocent liberty ; she would dis- 
 cover the secret of the melody of movement. There, I would 
 go, hidden in the foliage, to admire her lovely form, slim 
 and supple, and watch the gambols of the shadow on her 
 shoulders, according as her caprice bore it away or brought 
 it back. 
 
 But, sometimes, I have taken to detesting her, when she 
 appeared to me in the shape of a young coquette, well 
 starched and foolishly decent ; when I have seen her blindly 
 obeying an orchestra, pouting, appearing weary, stifling a 
 yawn whilst acquitting herself of her steps as of a task. I 
 will say all : I have never admired the immortal in a ball- 
 room without a feeling of sorrow. Her taper legs become 
 entangled in those long skirts of our ladies of fashion; she 
 finds herself too much clogged, she who only wants to be free 
 and capricious; and, in trouble, she clumsily conforms to 
 our silly curtsies, always losing her gracefulness and often 
 becoming ridiculous. 
 
 I would like to close our doors to her. If I bear with her 
 sometimes beneath the chandeliers, without feeling too sad, it 
 is, thanks to her tablets of love, to her ball-program. 
 
 Do you see it in her hand, Ninon, that little book ? 
 Look ; the clasp and pencil-holder are gold ; never was paper 
 more soft or more nicely perfumed ; never was there binding 
 more elegant. That is our offering to the goddess. Others 
 
20 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 have given her the wreath and girdle : we, out of kindness of 
 heart, have made her a present of the ball-program. 
 
 She had so many adorers, the poor child, she was so pressed 
 with invitations, that she hardly knew what to do. Each 
 came to admire her, begging for a quadrille, and the coquette 
 always consented. She danced, danced, lost her memory, 
 was overwhelmed with reproaches, and made other mistakes ; 
 hence dreadful confusion and frightful jealousy. She with- 
 drew with aching feet and her memory gone. One took pity 
 on her and presented her with the little golden booL Since 
 then no more forgetfulness, no more confusion nor injustice. 
 When lovers besiege her she hands them her program; 
 each writes his name there ; it is for those who are the most 
 in love to come first. Let them be a hundred, the white 
 pages are numerous. If all have not squeezed her slender 
 waist when the lights of the chandeliers begin to pale, they 
 have only to complain of their own indolence, and not of 
 the child's indifference. 
 
 No doubt the system was simple, Ninon. You must be sur- 
 prised at my exclamations anent a few leaves of paper. But 
 what charming leaves, exhaling a perfume of coquetry, full 
 of sweet secrets ! What a long list of handsome sweethearts, 
 the name of each of whom is an homage, each page an entire 
 evening of triumph and adoration ! What a magic book, con- 
 taining a life of tenderness, in which the profane can only 
 spell out vain names, whilst the young girl reads off-hand an 
 account of her beauty and the admiration she excites ! 
 
 Each comes in turn to make submission, each comes and 
 signs his love-letter. Are they -not, indeed, the thousand 
 signatures to a declaration under the rose ? Ought one not, 
 if one were of good faith, to write them on the first page, 
 those eternal phrases that are always young? But the little 
 book is discreet ; it will not make its mistress blush. It and 
 she alone know what to dream of. 
 
 Frankly, I suspect it of being very artful. See how it 
 dissembles, how simple and necessary it makes itself. What 
 is it, if not an aid for memory ? Quite a primitive means of 
 doing justice, by giving each one his turn. It speak of love, 
 it agitate young girls ! You make a great mistake. Turn 
 over the pages ; you will not find the smallest "I love you." 
 It says truly, nothing is more innocent, more simple, more 
 
THE BALL-PROGRAM 21 
 
 primitive than I. And, indeed, parents notice it in their 
 daughters' hands without alarm. Whilst the note signed with 
 a single name is hidden in the bodice, the letter bearing a 
 thousand signatures is boldly exhibited. One meets with it 
 everywhere in broad daylight, in the drawing-room and in 
 the child's bedchamber. Is it not the least dangerous little 
 book one knows of? 
 
 It deceives even its mistress. What danger can there be 
 in an object of such common use, approved, moreover, by 
 one's parents ? She turns the leaves over without fear. It is 
 here that one can accuse the ball-program of absolute hypo- 
 crisy. What do you think it whispers in the child's ear when 
 all is silent ? Simple names ? Oh ! not at all ! but real, long, 
 amorous conversations. It has put aside its air of necessity 
 and disinterestedness. It chats and caresses ; it is burning, 
 and stutters out tender words. The young girl feels oppressed ; 
 trembling, she continues. And all at once the ffite reappears, 
 the chandeliers sparkle, the orchestra resounds amorously ; 
 suddenly each name is personified, and the ball, of which she 
 was the queen, begins again with its ovations, its fondling and 
 flattering words. 
 
 Ah I you rogue of a book, what a procession of young 
 partners I That one there, while gently squeezing her waist, 
 extolled her blue eyes ; this one, here, bashful and trembling, 
 could only smile at her ; whilst that other talked, talked, with- 
 out ceasing, paying her all those gallant compliments, which, 
 in spite of their being devoid of sense, say more than long 
 speeches. 
 
 And, when the virgin has once forgotten herself with him, 
 the sly rascal knows she will do it again. As a young woman, 
 she turns over the leaves, consults them anxiously to discover 
 what has been the increase in the number of her admirers. 
 She pauses with a sad smile at certain names which are not 
 repeated on the last pages, flighty names which have no 
 doubt gone to enrich other programs. 
 
 Most of her subjects remain faithful to her; she passes 
 them in review with indifference. The little book laughs at 
 all that. He knows his power; he will receive the caresses 
 of a whole lifetime. 
 
 Old age comes, the program is not forgotten. The gilt 
 edges are faded and the leaves hardly hold together. Its 
 
22 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 mistress, who has become aged as well, seems to like it the 
 more. She still often turns over the pages, and becomes 
 intoxicated with its distant perfume of youth. 
 
 Is not that a charming part, Ninon, that of the ball- 
 program ? Is it not, like all poetry, incomprenensible to the 
 crowd, and only read fluently by the initiated? Confident 
 of woman's secrets, it accompanies her through life like an 
 angel of love, smothering her with hopes and remembrances. 
 
 II 
 
 Georgette had only just left the convent She was still 
 of that happy age when dreams and reality make one ; sweet 
 and short-lived epoch, the mind sees what it dreams of and 
 dreams of what it sees. Like all children she had allowed 
 herself to he dazzied by the blazing chandeliers at her first 
 balls ; she honestly imagined herself in a superior sphere, 
 among beings who were demi-gods, in whom the bad side of 
 life had been remitted. 
 
 Her cheeks, which were slightly brown, possessed that gol- 
 den reflex which is peculiar to the bosom of a Sicilian girl ; 
 her long black lashes half veiled the flash of her eyes. For- 
 getting she was no longer under the eye of an assistant school- 
 mistress, she checked the fierce fire that was burning within 
 her. In a drawing-room she was never anything more than a 
 little timid and almost silly girl, blushing at a word and casting 
 down her eyes. 
 
 Come, we will hide behind the great curtains ; we shall see 
 the indolent creature stretch her arms and uncover her rosy 
 feet as she awakes. Do not be jealous, Ninon : all my kisses 
 are for you. 
 
 Do you remember? Eleven o'clock was striking. The 
 room was still dark. The sun was lost in the thick hangings 
 at the windo«-s, whilst a fairy lamp that was dying out, struggled 
 in vain against the darkness. On the bed, when the flame of 
 the fairy lamp brightened, appeared a white form, a pure 
 forehead, a throat lost in waves of lace ; further down, the 
 delicate extremity of a small foot ; a snow-like arm with an 
 open hand, hung outside the bed. 
 
 Twice the lazy creature turned round on the couch to go 
 
THE BALL-PROGRAM 23 
 
 off to sleep again, but so light was her slumber that the 
 sudden cracking of a piece of furniture made her half sit up. 
 She thrust back her hair falling in disorder on her forehead, 
 rubbed her eyes swollen with sleep, brought all the corners 
 of her bedclothes over her shoulders, crossing her arms to 
 hide herself the better. 
 
 When she was well awake, she stretched out her hand 
 towards a bell-rope hanging beside her ; but she rapidly 
 brought it to her again, she sprang to the floor and drew 
 aside the window hangings herself. A bright ray of sunshine 
 filled the room. The child, surprised at the broad daylight, 
 and catching sight of herself in a looking-glass, half nude and 
 with her dress in disorder, felt very much alarmed. She 
 went back and butied herself in bed, all red and trembling 
 at her fine performance. Her chambermaid was a silly 
 curious girl; Georgette preferred her own reverie to that 
 person's gossip. But, goodness gracious I how light it was, 
 and how indiscreet looking-glasses are 1 
 
 Now, on the chairs scattered about the room one perceived 
 a ball toilette that had been negligently cast there. Here the 
 young girl, half asleep, had left her gauze skirt, there her 
 sash, a little further on her satin shoes. Her jewels sparkled 
 in an agate bowl close to her; a faded bouquet was dying 
 beside a ball-program. 
 
 With her forehead resting on one of her naked arms, she 
 took up a necklace and began toying with the pearls. Then 
 she set it down, opened the program, and began turning 
 it over. The little book had a weary and indifferent air. 
 Georgette ran her eye over it without much attention, thinking 
 apparently of something else. 
 
 As she turned the pages, the name of Charles written at the 
 head of each of them, ended by trying her patience. 
 
 "Always Charles," she said to herself. "My cousin has 
 a fine handwriting; those long sloping letters have a very 
 serious aspect. His hand rarely trembles, even when he 
 presses mine. My cousin is a very sedate young man. One 
 of these days he is to be my husband. At each ball he takes 
 my program, without asking me, and writes himself down 
 for the first dance. That is no doubt a husband's right. 
 That right displeases me." 
 
 The program became more and more cold. Georgette, 
 
24 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 gazing into space, seemed to be working out some momentous 
 problem. 
 
 "A husband," she resumed, "that is what frightens me. 
 Charles always treats me as a little girl ; because he won eight 
 or ten prizes at college, he considers himself compelled to be 
 pedantic. After all I don't know exactly why he should be 
 my husband ; I never asked him to marry me ; he on his 
 side has never asked my permission. We played together 
 formally ; I remember he was very unkind. Now he is very 
 polite ; I should like him better if he were unkind. So, I am 
 going to be his wife ; I had never seriously thought of that : 
 his wife, I really don't see the reason why. Charles, always 
 Charles ! One would think I belonged to him already. I 
 shall ask him not to write so big on my program : his name 
 occupies too much space." 
 
 The little book, which also seemed tired of cousin Charles, 
 almost closed itself with weariness. I suspect ball-programs of 
 feeling the most candid hatred for husbands. This one turned 
 over its pages and slyly presented other names to Georgette. 
 
 " Louis," murmured the child. " That name recalls a 
 singular dancer. He came, almost without looking at me, 
 and asked me to grant him a quadrille. Then, at the first 
 sounds of the instruments, he dragged me to the other end 
 of the ball-room, I cannot understand why, opposite a tall, 
 fair lady, who was following him with her eyes. At times he 
 smiled at her, and so absolutely forgot my presence, that on 
 two occasions I was obliged to pick up my bouquet myself. 
 When the dance brought him near her, he spoke to her in 
 an undertone; as for me, I Ustened, but could understand 
 nothing. Perhaps it was his sister. His sister, oh ! no : he 
 trembled when he took her hand ; then when he held that 
 hand in his, the orchestra summoned him in vain to my side. 
 I stood there like a stupid, with my arm stretched out, which 
 looked very bad; the figures were all in confusion. It was 
 perhaps his wife. How simple I am ! His wife, really, yes ! 
 but Charles never speaks to me when dancing. It was 
 perhaps " 
 
 Georgette remained with parted lips absorbed in reflection, 
 Uke a child placed before an unknown toy, not daring to 
 approach and opening her eyes to see better. She listlessly 
 counted the tassels on the counterpane, her right hand ex- 
 
THE BALL-PROGRAM 25 
 
 tended and wide open on the program. The latter began 
 to show signs of animation ; it stirred about and seemed to 
 know perfectly well who the fair lady was. I am unaware 
 whether the libertine confided the secret to the young girl. 
 She drew back the lace which was slipping down, over her 
 shoulders, completed scrupulously counting the tassels on the 
 counterpane, and at last said in an undertone : 
 
 "It's sini;ular, that beautiful lady was neither M. Louis' 
 wife nor his sister." 
 
 She resumed turning over the pages. A name soon stopped 
 her. 
 
 " This Robert is a wicked man," she continued. " I should 
 never have thought that any one with such an elegant waist- 
 coat could be so base-minded. For a full quarter of an hour 
 he was comparing me to a thousand beautiful things — the stars, 
 flowers, and I know not what else. I felt flattered. I experi- 
 enced so much pleasure that I did not know what to answer. 
 He spoke well, and for a long time without stopping. Then 
 he led me back to my seat, and there he almost wept at leaving 
 me. Afterwards I went to a window ; I was hidden by the 
 curtains which hung down behind me. I was thinking a little, 
 1 fancy, of my chatter-box of a partner, when I overheard him 
 laughing and talking. He was speaking to a friend of a silly 
 little thing, who blushed at the slightest word, of a novice just 
 fresh from a convent, who cast down her eyes and made herself 
 ugly by her over modest demeanour. No doubt he was allud- 
 ing to Th^rbse, my dear friend. Thdrese has small eyes and 
 a large mouth. She is a very good girl. Perhaps they were 
 alluding to me. So young men tell falsehoods, then ! So, I 
 am ugly. Ugly I Thdrfese, however, is more so. They must 
 certainly have been alluding to Thdrese." 
 
 Georgette smiled, and felt a sort of inclination to run and 
 consult her mirror. 
 
 " Then," she added, " they made fun of the ladies at the 
 ball. I continued listening, and at last I failed to understand. 
 I fancied they were using ugly words. As I could not get 
 away I courageously stopped my ears." 
 
 The ball-program was convulsed with laughter. It pro- 
 ceeded to quote a swarm of names to prove to Georgette that 
 Th&fese was indeed the silly little thing who made herself 
 appear ugly by a too modest demeanour. 
 
26 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " Paul has blue eyes," it said. " Paul assuredly does not 
 tell falsehoods, and I have heard him say very sweet things to 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, yes," repeated Georgette, " M. Paul has blue eyes, 
 and M. Paul does not tell falsehoods. He has fair mous- 
 tachios, which I like much better than those of Charles." 
 
 " Don't speak to me of Charles," continued the program ; 
 " his moustachios do not deserve the faintest smile. What do 
 you think of Edouard ? He is timid, and only dares speak 
 with his eyes. I don't know if you understand that language. 
 And Jules? He afBrms that you alone know how to waltz. 
 And Lucien, and Georges, and Albert ? They all consider you 
 charming, and for long hours beg the charity of a smile." 
 
 Georgette recommenced counting the tassels on the counter- 
 pane. The program's chattering began to alarm her. She 
 felt the book was burning her hands ; she would have liked to 
 close it, but had not the courage. 
 
 " For you were the queen," continued the demon. " Your 
 lace wouldn't hide your arms, your forehead of sixteen summers 
 put your tiara in the shade. Ah ! my Georgette, you could 
 not see all, otherwise you would have shown pity. The poor 
 fellows feel very sad at the present moment ! " 
 
 And there was a silence significative of commiseration. The 
 child who was listening, smiling and on the alert, seeing the 
 program remain silent, murmured : 
 
 " A bow had fallen from my gown. Surely that made me 
 look ugly. The young men must have made fun as they 
 passed. Those dressmakers are so careless ! " 
 
 " Did not he dance with you ? " interrupted the program. 
 
 " Who do you mean ? " inquired Georgette, blushing so 
 much that her shoulders became quite pink. 
 
 And pronouncing, at last, a name she had had before her 
 eyes for a quarter of an hour, and which her heart was spell- 
 ing out to her, whilst her lips spoke of a torn gown, she said : 
 
 " M. Edmond seemed sad last night. I saw him looking 
 at me from a distance. As he was afraid to approach, I rose 
 and went over to him. He could not do otherwise than ask 
 me to dance." 
 
 " I am very fond of M. Edmond," sighed the little book. 
 
 Georgette pretended not to understand. She continued : 
 
 " In dancing I felt his hand trembling on my waist. He 
 
THE BALL-PROGRAM a? 
 
 stammered out a few words, complaining of the heat. Seeing 
 he cast a look of envy at the roses in my bouquet, I gave him 
 one. There was no harm in that." 
 
 "Oh no! Then, in taking the flower, his lips by a 
 peculiar chance came close to your fingers. He gave them 
 a little kiss." 
 
 " There is no harm in that," repeated Georgette, who for a 
 few moments had been very restless in bed. 
 
 " Oh no ! But I must really scold you for having made 
 him wait for that poor kiss so long. Edmond would make a 
 charming little husband." 
 
 The child, more and more troubled, did not notice that 
 her fichu had fallen off and that one of her feet had thrown 
 back the bedclothes. 
 
 " A charming little husband," she repeated again. 
 
 " I am very fond of him," continued the tempter. " If I 
 were in your place I would willingly return him his kiss." 
 
 Georgette was scandalised. The good apostle continued : 
 
 " Only a kiss, there, softly on his name. I won't tell him 
 about it" 
 
 The young girl vowed by all she respected that she would 
 not do it. And I know not how it was that the page came 
 to her lips. She knew nothing about it herself Amidst her 
 protests, she kissed the name twice. 
 
 Then, she perceived her foot, which was smiling in a ray 
 of the sun. AH in confusion she pulled up the bedclothes, 
 and completely lost her head on hearing the handle of the 
 door turn. 
 
 The ball-program slipped amidst the lace and disappeared 
 in great haste under the pillow. 
 
 It was the chambermaid 
 
SHE WHO LOVES ME 
 
 Is she who loves me a grand lady, smothered in silk, lace 
 and jewels, dreaming of our love on the sofa of a boudoir? 
 Marchioness or duchess, graceful and light as a dream, 
 languidly trailing a profusion of white petticoats across the 
 carpets, and making a little pout sweeter than a smile ? 
 
 Is she who loves me a smart grisette, tripping along, catch- 
 ing up her skirt to jump over the gutters, searching with her 
 eyes for a compliment on her taper leg? Is she the good- 
 natured girl who drinks out of every one's glass, clothed in 
 satin to-day, in coarse calico to-morrow, and who finds a 
 little love for each in her wealth of heart ? 
 
 Is she who loves me the blond child kneeling down to say 
 her prayers beside her mother? The foolish virgin calling 
 on me at night in the darkness of the narrow streets? Is 
 she the sunburnt country-girl who looks at me as I pass, 
 and carries a remembrance of me away with her amongst the 
 corn and ripe vines? Is she the poverty-stricken creature 
 who thanks me for my charity ? Is she the mate of another, 
 lover or husband, whom I followed one day, and saw no 
 more? 
 
 Is she who loves me a daughter of Europe, as white as 
 dawn, a daughter of Asia yellow and gold like sunset, or a 
 daughter of the desert as dark as a stormy night ? 
 
 Is she who loves me separated from me by a thin partition ? 
 Is she beyond the seas ? Is she beyond the stars ? 
 
 Is she who loves me still to be born? Did she die a 
 hundred years ago ? 
 
 18 
 
SHE WHO LOVES ME 29 
 
 II 
 
 Yesterday I sought her at a fair. The faubourg was holiday- 
 making, and the people, dressed in their Sunday clothes, were 
 noisily ascending the streets. 
 
 The illumination lamps had just been lit. The avenue, 
 from distance to distance, was decked with yellow and blue 
 posts, afSxed to which were small coloured cups, burning 
 smoking wicks that were blowing about in the wind. Vene- 
 tian lanterns were vacillating in the trees. The footways 
 were bordered by canvas booths with the fringe of their red 
 curtains dragging in the gutters. The gilded crockery, the 
 freshly painted sweets, the tinsel of the wares mirrored in the 
 raw light of the Argand lamps. 
 
 There was a smell of dust, of gingerbread and waffles 
 made with fat, in the air. The organs resounded; the 
 Merry-Andrews, smothered in flour, laughed and wept beneath 
 a shower of cuffs and kicks. A warm wave weighed upon 
 this joy. 
 
 Above this wave and noise expanded a summer sky of pure 
 melancholy depths. An angel had just lit up the azure 
 blue for some divine fete, a supremely calm festival of the 
 infinite. 
 
 Lost in the crowd, I felt how solitary was my heart. I 
 advanced, following with my eyes the young girls who smiled 
 at me as I passed along, saying to myself that I would never 
 see those smiles again. That thought of so many amorous 
 lips, perceived for a moment and lost for ever, caused me 
 anguish. 
 
 In this manner I reached a cross way, in the middle of the 
 avenue. On the left, against an elm was an isolated booth. 
 In the front, a few ill-joined planks served as a platform, and 
 a couple of lanterns lighted the door which was nothing more 
 than a strip of canvas caught up like a curtain. As I stopped, 
 a man wearing the costume of a magician, a long black gown 
 and pointed hat scattered over with stars, was addressing the 
 crowd from the height of the planks. 
 
 "Walk-up," he shouted, "walk-up, my fine gentlemen, 
 walk-up, my beautiful young ladies ! I have come in all haste 
 from the interior of India to make young hearts rejoice. It 
 
3© STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 was there that I conquered, at the peril of my life, the mirror 
 of love, which was guarded by a horrible dragon. My fine 
 gentlemen, my beautiful young ladies, I have brought you 
 the realisation of your dreams. Walk-up, walk-up and see 
 ' She who loves you ! ' For two sous ' She who loves you ! ' " 
 
 An old woman, attired as a bayadere, raised the piece of 
 canvas. Her eyes wandered over the crowd with an idiotic 
 expression : then, she cried in a husky voice : 
 
 "For two sous, for two sous 'She who loves youl' Walk-up 
 and see ' She who loves you I ' " 
 
 III 
 
 The magician beat a captivating fanciful rumble on the big 
 drum. The bayadere hung on to a bell and accompanied 
 him. 
 
 The public hesitated. A learned ass playing at cards offers 
 lively interest; a strong man raising loo-lb. weights is a sight 
 one would never tire of; it is impossible to deny, moreover, 
 that a half-naked female giant is a fit subject to give pleasant 
 amusement to people of all ages. But to see " She who loves 
 us," is what one cares about the least, and a thing that does 
 not foreshadow the slightest emotion. 
 
 I had listened to the appeal of the man with the long gown 
 with rapture. His promises responded to my heart's desire ; I 
 saw the hand of Providence in the hazard that had directed my 
 footsteps. This worthless fellow rose singularly in my estima- 
 tion, by reason of the astonishment I experienced in hearing 
 him read my secret thoughts. It seemed to me that I saw 
 him fixing flaming eyes on me, beating the big drum with 
 diabolical fury, shouting out to me to walk-up in a voice louder 
 than the sound of the bell. 
 
 I was placing my foot on the first step, when I felt myself 
 stopped. Having turned round, I saw a man at the foot of 
 the platform holding me by my coat. This man was tall and 
 thin; he had large hands co\ered with cotton gloves that 
 were still larger, and wore a hat that had become russety, a 
 black coat white at the elbows, and dreadful-looking kersey- 
 mere trousers, all yellow with grease and mud. He bent him- 
 
SHE WHO LOVES ME 31 
 
 self double in a long and exquisite reverence, then, in a fluty 
 voice, addressed me in the following language : 
 
 " I am sorry, sir, that a young man who has been well 
 brought up should set a bad example to the crowd. It is 
 showing great levity to encourage the impudence of this rascal, 
 who is speculating on our bad instincts ; for I consider those 
 words shouted out in the open air, which call boys and girls 
 to a debauchery of sight and mind, profoundly immoral. 
 Ah ! the people are weak, sir. We men, rendered strong by 
 education, we have, bear it in mind, grave and imperious 
 duties to perform. Let us not give way to guilty curiosity, 
 let us be worthy in all things. The morality of society depends 
 on us, sir." 
 
 I listened to what he said. He had not let go of my coat, 
 and could not make up his mind to complete his reverence. 
 He discoursed hat in hand, with such courteous calmness, 
 that I never dreamt of getting angry. When he had concluded, 
 I was content to look him in the face without answering. He 
 took this silence for an inquiry. 
 
 "Sir," he said, with another bow, "sir, I am the People's 
 Friend, and my mission is the happiness of humanity." 
 
 He pronounced these words with modest pride, suddenly 
 drawing himself up erect. I turned my back on him and 
 ascended to the platform. As I raised the piece of canvas 
 before entering, I looked at him for the last time. He had 
 delicately taken the fingers of his left hand with those of his 
 right, and sought to efface the wrinkles of his gloves which he 
 was threatened with losing. 
 
 Then, the People's Friend, crossing his arms, tenderly 
 surveyed the bayadere. 
 
 IV 
 
 I let the curtain fall and found myself in the temple. It 
 was a sort of long narrow place devoid of seats, with canvas 
 walls and lighted by a single Argand lamp. A few people, 
 inquisitive girls and youths making a noise, were already 
 assembled there. The arrangements had been made with 
 every regard to decency : a cord stretched down the centre 
 of the booth, separated men from women. 
 
32 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 The Mirror of Love, to tell the truth, was nothing more 
 than a couple of pieces of glass without tinfoil, one in each 
 compartment, little round windows, in fact, looking into the 
 inner part of the booth. The promised miracle was accom- 
 plished with admirable simplicity: it sufficed to apply the 
 right eye to the glass, and, without its being a question of 
 thunder or sulphur, the well-beloved appeared on the other 
 side. How would it be possible to disbelieve so natural a 
 vision ! 
 
 I did not feel the strength to attempt the trial at the outset. 
 The bayadere had cast a look on me as I passed her, that froze 
 my heart. How could I tell what awaited me beyond that 
 piece of glass ? Perhaps a horrible countenance with sparkless 
 eyes and violet lips ; a centenarian thirsting for young blood, 
 one of those deformed creatures whom I see at night in my 
 bad dreams. I thought no more of those blond creatures with 
 whom I charitably people the void in my heart. I remem- 
 bered all the ugly ones who showed me some affection, and I 
 asked myself in terror if it were not one of these whom I was 
 about to see appear. 
 
 I retired into a corner. To regain courage I watched those 
 who, bolder than myself, consulted destiny without so much 
 ado. It was not long before I took peculiar pleasure at the 
 sight of these different faces, the right eye wide open, the 
 left closed with two fingers, each having his particular smile, in 
 conformity with the vision pleasing him more or less. The 
 glass was rather low, and it was necessary to bend slightly for- 
 ward. To my mind nothing could be more grotesque than 
 these men following one another to see the sister soul of their 
 own soul through a hole a few centimetres round. 
 
 First of all two soldiers advanced : a sergeant bronzed 
 beneath Afric's sun and a young conscript, a lad still savour- 
 ing of the plough, whose arms were ill at ease in a greatcoat 
 three times too l^rge for him. The sergeant gave a sceptic 
 laugh. The conscript remained a long time stooping, particu- 
 larly flattered at having a sweetheart. 
 
 Then came a fat man in a white jacket, with a red, puffy 
 face, who gazed quietly without making a grimace of either joy 
 or displeasure, as if it were quite natural that he should be 
 loved by some one. 
 
 He was followed by three schoolboys, bold-faced youths of 
 
SHE WHO LOVES ME 33 
 
 fifteen or sixteen summers, pushing one another to make 
 believe that they enjoyed the honour of being tipsy. All three 
 vowed they recognised their aunts. 
 
 Thus the inquisitive came one after the other to the piece 
 of glass, and it would not be possible for me to remember now, 
 the different expressions of features that struck me then. O 
 vision of the well-beloved ! what severe truths you made 
 those expanded eyes say i They were the real Mirrors of 
 Love, mirrors in which the gracefulness of woman was reflected 
 in a surreptitious glimmer, where lust and stupidity were 
 blended together. 
 
 The girls, at the other piece of glass, were amusing themselves 
 in a much more respectable way. I read nothing but a great 
 deal of curiosity on their faces ; not the least look of naughty 
 desire, not the smallest wicked thought. They came each in 
 turn to cast an astonished glance through the small aperture, 
 and withdrew, some a trifle thoughtful, others laughing like 
 madcaps. 
 
 To tell the truth, I hardly know what they were doing there. 
 If I were a woman and only a trifle pretty, I would never 
 have the silly idea of troubling to go and see the man who 
 loved me. On days when my heart would be sad at being alone 
 — those would be bright, sunny spring days — I would go off' 
 to a flowery lane and make all who passed adore me. In the 
 evening, I would return with a wealth of love. 
 
 Of course, these curious creatures were not all equally pretty. 
 The handsome ones laughed at the magician's science ; they 
 had long since ceased to have need of him. The ugly ones, on 
 the contrary, had never enjoyed such a treat. Amongst them 
 came one with thin hair and a large mouth, who could not tear 
 herself away from the magic mirror. She preserved on her lips 
 the joyous and heartrending smile of an indigent person satis- 
 fying hunger after a prolonged fast. 
 
 I was wondering what were the beautiful ideas that had been 
 awakened in those giddy heads. It was but a poor problem. 
 All had assuredly dreamt of a prince casting himself at their 
 feet ; all wished to gain a better idea of the lover of whom 
 they had but a confused recollection on awakening. There 
 
 
 
34 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 were, doubtless, many deceptions ; princes are becoming rare, 
 and the eyes of our souls which open at night-time on a better 
 world, are otherwise accommodating than those which we 
 make use of in broad daylight. There was also great joy : the 
 vision was realised, the lover had the silky moustache and the 
 raven hair dreamt of. 
 
 Thus each of them, in a few seconds, lived a life of love. 
 Simple romances, as swift as hope, which could be guessed in 
 their high-coloured cheeks and the more amorous heaving of 
 their bosoms. 
 
 After all, these girls were perhaps fools, and I am a fool 
 myself for having seen so many things, when there was no 
 doubt nothing to see. Anyhow, by studying them I re- 
 covered my pluck. I noticed that men and women in general 
 appeared very satisfied with the apparition. The magician 
 would assuredly never have had the unkindness to cause these 
 honest folk, who gave him two sous, the least displeasure. 
 
 I approached and applied my eye to the glass without too 
 great excitement. I perceived a woman leaning over the back 
 of an arm-chair, between red curtains. She was brilliantly 
 lit up by Argand lamps, which were invisible, and stood out 
 in relief against a piece of painted canvas, stretched in the 
 background. This canvas, which was torn in places, must 
 formerly have represented a lover's grove of blue b'ees. 
 
 " She who lovep me " wore, as a well-bred vision should do, 
 a long white gown, just caught in at the waist, and falling on 
 the boards like a cloud. From her forehead hung a long veil, 
 also white, fastened by a wreath of May blossoms. The dear 
 angel, thus attired, was all white and all innocence. 
 
 She leant coquettishly forward, turning her eyes towards 
 me — great caressing blue eyes. She looked bewitching under 
 the veil: flaxen tresses disappearing amidst the muslin, the 
 candid forehead of a virgin, delicate lips, dimples that were 
 nests for kisses. At the first glance I took her for a saint ; at 
 the second, I found she had the air of a good-natured girl, in 
 no way prudish and very accommodating. 
 
 She carried her fingers to her lips and sent me a kiss, with 
 a bow which had nothing of the abode of spirits about it. 
 Noticing that she did not make up her mind to fly away, I 
 fixed her features in my memory an! withdrew. 
 
 As I left, I saw the People's Friend enter. This grave 
 
SHE WHO LOVES ME 3S 
 
 moralist, who seemed to avoid me, was hastening to set the 
 bad example of guilty curiosity. His long back-bone, curved 
 in a half-circle, was quivering with desire; then, not being 
 able to go any lower, he kissed the magic glass. 
 
 VI 
 
 I went down the three stairs ; I found myself again among 
 the crowd decided on seeking " She who loves me," now that 
 I knew her by her smile. 
 
 The lamps smoked, the tumult increased, the throng of 
 people threatened the safety of the booths. The fete had 
 reached that ideal hour of joy, at which one runs the risk of 
 enjoying the happiness of being stifled. 
 
 Standing on my toes, I had an horizon of cotton caps and 
 silk hats. I advanced, jostling the men and turning with 
 precaution round the ample petticoats of the ladies. Perhaps 
 it was this pink hood ; perhaps this tulle cap trimmed with 
 mauve ribbons; perhaps this delicious straw toque with an 
 ostrich feather. Alas I the hood was sixty years of age ; the 
 cap, abominably ugly, was leaning amorously on the shoulder 
 of a sapper ; the toque was shouting with laughter, enlarging 
 the finest eyes in the world, and I did not recognise them in 
 the least. 
 
 Hovering above crowds is a sort of anguish, a kind of 
 immense sadness, as if a breath of pity and terror came 
 from the multitude. I have never found myself in a great 
 gathering of people without experiencing vague uneasiness. 
 It seems to me that a terrible misfortune tlireatens these 
 men assembled together, that a single flash will suffice in the 
 exaltation of their movements and voices, to strike them with 
 immobility and eternal silence. 
 
 Little by little I slackened my pace, contemplating this joy 
 which lacerated my heart. An old beggar, wiih a stiffened 
 body, horribly distorted by paralysis, was standing upright at 
 the foot of a tree, in the yellow light of the lamps. He raised 
 his pallid face towards the passers-by, blinking his eyes in a 
 most lamentable way, in order to excite more pity. He gave 
 his limbs sudden fits of shivering, which shook him like a dead 
 
36 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 branch. The fresh and blushing young girls passed before 
 this hideous sight laughing. 
 
 Further on, two workmen were fighting at the door of a 
 wine-shop. The glasses had been upset in the struggle, and 
 the wine, streaming on the pavement, had the appearance of 
 blood that had come from deep wounds. 
 
 The laughter seemed to change into sobs, the lights became 
 an immense fire, the crowd turned about struck with horror. 
 I moved along, feeling intensely sad, peering into the youthful 
 faces and unable to find " She who loves me." 
 
 VII 
 
 I saw a man standing before one of the posts to which the 
 lamps were affixed, and contemplating it with the air of a 
 person profoundly engrossed in thought. From his anxious 
 look I imagined he was seeking the solution to some serious 
 problem. That man was the People's Friend. 
 
 Turning his head, he perceived me. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " the oil used at these festivals costs twenty 
 sous the litre. In a litre, there are twenty small glass cups 
 like those you see there : that is to say a sou of oil for each 
 cup. This post has sixteen rows of eight cups each : one 
 hundred and twenty-eight cups in all. Moreover — ^follow my 
 calculations carefully — I have counted sixty similar posts in 
 the avenue, which makes seven thousand six hundred and 
 eighty cups, consequently seven thousand six hundred and 
 eighty sous, or rather three hundred and eighty-four francs." 
 
 Whilst speaking thus, the People's Friend gesticulated, 
 accentuating the figures with his voice, curving his long 
 body, as if to put himself within reach of my weak under- 
 standing. When he was silent he threw himself triumphantly 
 backward ; then, he crossed his arms, looking me in the face 
 with deep concern. 
 
 " Three hundred and eighty-four francs worth of oil," he 
 exclaimed, scanning each syllable, "and the poor are in 
 want of bread, sir ! I ask you, and I ask you with tears in 
 my eyes, would it not be more honourable for humanity, 
 to distribute these three hundred and eighty-four francs to 
 
SHE WHO LOVES ME 37 
 
 the three thousand indigent people in this faubourg. Such a 
 charitable measure would give each of them about two sous 
 and a half of bread. This thought is worthy of being pon- 
 dered over by tender-hearted people, sir." 
 
 Seeing that I contemplated him with curiosity, he continued 
 in a low voice, assuring the safety of his gloves between his 
 fingers : 
 
 "The poor should not make merry, sir. ;It is absolutely 
 dishonest for them to forget their poverty for an hour. Who 
 would weep over the people's misfortunes if the government 
 were often to treat them to such saturnalias." 
 
 He wiped away a tear and left me. I saw him enter a 
 wine-shop where he drowned his emotion in five or six drams 
 taken one after the other at the counter. 
 
 VIII 
 
 The last illumination lamp had just gone out. The crowd 
 had dispersed. By the vacillating light of the gas, I saw only 
 a few dark forms strolling beneath the trees, couples of be- 
 lated lovers, drunkards, and policemen giving their melancholy 
 thoughts an airing. The grey and silent booths stretched 
 along on either side of the avenue, hke tents in a deserted 
 camp. 
 
 The morning wind, a wind damp with dew, made the leaves 
 of the elms rustle. The sour emanations of the evening had 
 given place to delicious freshness. Soft silence and the trans- 
 parent shadow of the infinite, fell slowly from the depths of 
 heaven, and the festival of the stars succeeded that of the 
 illumination lamps. Respectable folk would at last be able 
 to amuse themselves a little. 
 
 I felt quite a man again, the hour of my delight having 
 arrived. I was going along at a smart pace, ascending and 
 descending the walks, when I saw a grey shadow flitting along 
 the houses. This shadow came towards me, rapidly, without 
 seeming to see me j by the light step, by the cadenced rhythm 
 of the clothing, I knew it was a woman. 
 
 She was about to knock up against me, when she instinc- 
 tively raised her eyes. I saw her face by the light of a 
 
38 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 neighbouring lamp, and then I recognised "She who loves 
 me:" not the immortal in the cloud of white muslin; but a 
 poor girl of the earth, attired in washed-out calico. She 
 still appeared charming in her misery, although pale and 
 tired. There was no room for doubt : there were the great 
 eyes, the fondling lips of the vision ; and, moreover, gazing 
 at her thus at close quarters, one could perceive that the 
 gentle aspect of her features was the result of sufiFering. 
 
 As she stopped for a second, I grasped her hand, which I 
 kissed. She raised her head and gave me a vague smile 
 without seeking to withdraw her fingers. Seeing I remained 
 silent, and that emotion was choking me, she shrugged her 
 shoulders and resumed her rapid walk. 
 
 I ran after her, accompanied her, my arm round her waist. 
 She laughed to herself; then shivered and said in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " I'm cold : let us walk quick." 
 
 Poor angel, she was cold ! Her shoulders trembled beneath 
 the thin black shawl in the fresh night wind. I kissed her on 
 the forehead and inquired softly : 
 
 " Do you know me ? " 
 
 She raised her eyes a third time and answered without 
 hesitation : 
 
 " No." 
 
 I know not what rapid reasoning passed through my mind. 
 In my turn I shuddered. 
 
 " Where are we going to ? " I asked her. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders with an unconcerned little pout, 
 and answered in her childlike voice : 
 
 " Wherever you like, to my place, to yours ; what does it 
 matter?" 
 
 IX 
 
 We were still walking, descending the avenue. 
 
 On a bench I perceived two soldiers, one of whom was 
 gravely descanting, while the other listened respectfully. It 
 was the sergeant and the conscript The sergeant, who seemed 
 very much affected, made me a mocking bow, murmuring: 
 
 " The rich sometimes lend, sir." 
 
SHE WHO LOVES ME 39 
 
 The conscript, who was a tender and simple soul, said to 
 me in a doleful voice : 
 
 " I had but her, sir : you are stealing from me ' She who 
 loves me.' " 
 
 I crossed the road and took the other path. 
 
 Three boys advanced towards us, holding one another by 
 the arm and singing at the pitch of their voices. I recognised 
 the schoolboys. The unfortunate little fellows no longer 
 needed to feign intoxication. They stopped, bursting with 
 laughter, then followed me for a few paces, each of them 
 shouting after me in an unsteady voice : 
 
 " Hi! sir, the lady is deceiving you; the lady is 'She who 
 loves me 1 '" 
 
 I felt a cold sweat moisten my temples. I hurried along, 
 being anxious to fly, thinking no more of this woman whom 
 I was bearing away in my arms. At the end of the avenue, 
 just as I was stepping from the pavement, at last about to 
 quit this inauspicious neighbourhood, I stumbled over a man 
 lying comfortably in the gutter. With his head resting on the 
 curb-stone and his face turned towards heaven, he was engaged 
 in a very complicated calculation on his fingers. 
 
 He moved his eyes, and, without quitting his pillow, 
 spluttered out : 
 
 " Ah ! It is you, sir. You ought to help me count the 
 stars. I have already found several millions, but I'm afraid 
 of forgetting one of them. The happiness of humanity, sir, 
 depends solely on statistics." 
 
 He was interrupted by a hiccup. Tearfully he continued : 
 
 " Do you know what a star costs ? Providence must 
 assuredly have made a great outlay up there, and the people 
 are in want of bread, sir ! What is the use of those lights ? 
 Are they eatable ? To what practical purpose are they adapt- 
 able, if you please ? What need had we of this eternal 
 festival ? Ah ! Providence never had the least shadow of an 
 idea of social economy." 
 
 He had succeeded in sitting up ; and cast a troubled glance 
 around him, shaking his head indignantly. He then caught 
 sight of my companion. He started, and with his countenance 
 all purple, eagerly stretched out his arms towards her. 
 
 " Eh 1 Eh ! " he continued, " it's ' She who loves me ! '" 
 
40 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " This is how it is," she said to me. " I am poor, I do 
 what I can for a living. Last winter, I passed fifteen hours a 
 day bent over an embroidery frame, and I hadn't always bread. 
 In the spring I threw my needle out of the window. I had 
 found employment which caused me less fatigue and was more 
 lucrative. 
 
 " I dress myself up every evening in white muslin. Alone 
 in a sort of shed, leaning against the back of an arm-chair, 
 all the work I have to do consists in smiling from six o'clock 
 till midnight. From time to time I make a bow, I kiss 
 my hand into space. For that I am paid three francs a 
 sitting. 
 
 " Opposite me, behind a small glazed aperture in the parti- 
 tion, I see an eye staring at me ceaselessly. It's sometimes 
 black, sometimes blue. Without that eye I should be per- 
 fectly happy ; but that spoils the whole thing. At times, 
 seeing it always there, alone and fixed, I am seized with such 
 frightful terror that I am tempted to scream and fly. 
 
 " But one must work to live. I smile, bow, kiss my hand. 
 At midnight I wipe off my paint, and put on my calico gown 
 again. Bah 1 how many women do the amiable before a wall 
 without being compelled to ! " 
 
THE LOVE-FAIRY 
 
 Do you hear the December rain beating against our windows, 
 Ninon ? The wind moans in the long corridor. It is a nasty 
 evening, one of those on which the poor shiver at the doors 
 of the rich, whom the ball bears away in its dances beneath 
 the gilded chandeliers. Leave your satin shoes where they 
 are, and come and sit on my knee, beside the warm grate. 
 Leave your costly jewels alone j I want to tell you a tale to- 
 night, a beautiful fairy tale. 
 
 You must know, Ninon, that once upon a time there was 
 a dark and dismal castle on the summit of a mountain. It 
 was naught but towers, ramparts, and drawbridges loaded 
 with chains. Men encased in steel mounted guard night and 
 day on the battlements, and soldiers alone met With courteous 
 welcome from Count Enguerrand, the lord of the manor. 
 
 If you had seen the old warrior walking down the long 
 galleries, if you had heard his brief and threatening explosions 
 of voice, you would have trembled with fright, just as his 
 niece Odette, the pious and handsome young lady, trembled. 
 Have you never, of a morning, noticed a daisy opening at the 
 first kisses of the sun among the stinging-nettles and brambles ? 
 In a like manner this young girl was blooming among bluff 
 knights. She was a child when, in the midst of play, she 
 perceived her uncle; she stopped, and her eyes filled with 
 tears. Now, she was grown up and handsome ; her bosom 
 was always heaving with gentle sighs; and each time Lord 
 Enguerrand appeared her fright became more acute. 
 
 She resided in a distant turret, passing her time in em- 
 broidering beautiful banners, and resting from her work by 
 praying to the Almighty, whilst contemplating the emerald 
 green country and azure blue sky from her window. How 
 often of a night, rising from her couch, had she gone to gaze 
 
42 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 at the stars, and, when there, how often had her heart of 
 sixteen summers bounded towards celestial space, inquiring 
 of those radiant sisters what it was that affected it so. After 
 these sleepless nights, after these transports of love, she felt 
 inclined to hang round the old knight's neck ; but a harsh 
 word, a cold look stopped her, and she tremblingly resumed 
 her needle-work. You pity the poor girl, Ninon; she was 
 like the fresh, balmy flower, whose brilliancy and perfume are 
 disdained. 
 
 One day Odette, the disconsolate, was dreamily following 
 with her eye the flight of two doves,, when she heard a 
 tender voice at the foot of the castle. She leant out of the 
 window, and saw a handsome youth, who, with a song on his 
 lips, was asking for hospitality. She listened, and could not 
 understand the words ; but the tender voice weighed upon 
 her heart, and tears coursed down her cheeks, wetting a sprig 
 of sweet majoram that she held in her hand. 
 
 The castle gate remained closed, and a warrior, armed cap- 
 k-pie, shouted from the walls : 
 
 " Withdraw : there are none but warriors within.'' 
 
 Odette continued looking. She let the sprig of sweet 
 majoram, wet with tears, which she held in her hand, fall at 
 the singer's feet. The latter raising his eyes, and seeing that 
 lovely fair head, kissed the sprig and departed, turning round 
 at each step. 
 
 When he had disappeared, Odette went to her prayer-desk 
 and said a long prayer. She thanked Heaven without know- 
 ing why ; she felt happy, without understanding the cause of 
 her joy. 
 
 That night she had a beautiful dream. She fancied she 
 saw the sprig of sweet majoram that she had thrown down. 
 Slowly, from amidst the rustling leaves, rose a fairy, but such 
 a charming fairy, with shining wings, a wreath of myosotis 
 and a long green gown, the colour of hope. 
 
 " Odette," she said melodiously, " I am the Love- Fairy. 
 It was I who sent you Lois this morning, the young man 
 with the tender voice ; it was I who, seeing your tears, 
 wished to dry them. I wander about the world gleaning 
 hearts and bringing those who sigh together. I visit both 
 the cottage and the manor-house, I have often found plea- 
 sure in uniting the shepherd's crook to the king's sceptre. 
 
THE LOVE-FAIRY 43 
 
 I scatter flowers beneath the footsteps of my favourites, I 
 enchain them with such brilliant and precious thread that 
 their hearts leap with joy. I live among the plants in the 
 lanes, among the bright embers on the hearths in winter, 
 amidst the drapery of the nuptial bed ; and wherever my foot 
 alights, come kisses and tender words. Weep no more, Odette : 
 I am the Loving-One, the good fairy, and I have come to dry 
 your tears." 
 
 And she returned into her flower, which closing its leaves 
 became a bud again. 
 
 You know very well, Ninon, that the Love-Fairy exists. 
 Look at her dancing on our hearth, and pity the poor people 
 who do not believe in my beautiful fairy. 
 
 When Odette awoke, the sun was shining in her room, the 
 song of a bird ascended from the outside, and the morning 
 breeze, perfumed with the first kiss it had just given to the 
 flowers, fondled her flaxen locks. She arose full of happiness, 
 and passed the day singing, having hope in what the good 
 fairy had told her. At times she gazed at the country, 
 smiling at each bird that flew by, and feeling an impulse 
 within her that made her leap and clap her little hands 
 together. 
 
 In the evening she went down into the large hall of the 
 castle. Beside Count Enguerrand was a knight listening to 
 the old man's stories. She took her distaff', seated herself in 
 front of the hearth, where a cricket was singing, and the ivory 
 spindle spun round rapidly between her fingers. 
 
 Whilst busy at her work, she cast a glance at the knight, 
 and perceived that he had her sprig of sweet majoram in his 
 hands, and then she recognised Lois of the tender voice. 
 She almost shrieked with joy. To conceal her blushes she 
 bent down towards the fire; stirring up the embers with a 
 long iron rod. The burning wood crackled, burst into flames, 
 gave out reports and threw up sheaves of sparks; and sud- 
 denly in the midst of the latter appeared the Loving-One, 
 smiling and ardent. She shook from her green silk gown 
 the pieces of live charcoal, which were sprinkled over it like 
 golden spangles ; and springing into the room, went, invisible 
 to the count, and placed herself behind the young people. 
 There, whilst the old knight was relating a frightful battle 
 with the infidels, she softly said to them : 
 
44 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "Love one another, my children. Leave remembrances to 
 austere old age, leave to it the long stories beside the burning 
 embers. Let naught but the sound of your kisses be mingled 
 with the crackling of the fire. Later on it will be time enough 
 to soothe your sorrow by recalling these happy moments. 
 When one is in love at sixteen, there is no need for the 
 voice; a single look says more than a long speech. Love 
 one another, ray children ; let old age talk." 
 
 Then she enveloped them so thoroughly with her wings, that 
 the count, who was explaining how the giant Buch-Iron-Head 
 was slain by a terrific blow from Giralda-the-Heavy-Sword, did 
 not notice Lois imprinting his first kiss on Odette's quivering 
 forehead. 
 
 I must tell you, Ninon, about those beautiful wings of my 
 Love-Fairy. They were as transparent as glass, and as thin 
 as the wings of gnats. But, when the sweethearts were in 
 danger of being seen, they enlarged, enlarged and became so 
 obscure, so thick that they stopped the look and smothered 
 the sound of kisses. And so the old man went on with the 
 prodigious story for a long time, and for a long time did Lois 
 fondle Odette the fair, under the wicked suzerain's nose. 
 
 Good heavens ! good heavens ! what lovely wings they 
 were ! Young girls, they tell me, sometimes find them again; 
 and it is thus that more than one of ihem is able to hide her- 
 self from the eyes of her parents. Is it true, Ninon ? 
 
 When the count had got to the end of his protracted story, the 
 Love- Fairy disappeared in the flame, and Lois went off, thank- 
 ing his host, and sending Odette a final kiss. The young girl 
 slept so happy that night, that she dreamt of mountains of 
 flowers lighted by thousands of stars, each of which was a 
 thousand times more brilliant than the sun. 
 
 The next day she went down to the garden, searching in 
 the most obscure arbours. She met a warrior, bowed to him, 
 and was about to withdraw when she noticed in his hands the 
 sprig of sweet majoram bathed in tears. And so she again 
 recognised Lois of the tender voice, who had just succeeded 
 in re-entering the castle under a new form of disguise. He 
 made her sit down on a turfy seat beside a spring. They 
 gazed at one another, delighted at seeing each other in broad 
 daylight. The fauvettes were singing, and there was something 
 in the air which indicated that the good fairy must be wander- 
 
THE LOVE-FAIRY 45 
 
 ing in the neighbourhood. I will not repeat to you all the 
 things that the discreet old oak-trees heard ; it was a pleasure 
 to listen to the lovers chattering together so long, so long that 
 a fauvette which happened to be in a neighbouring bush had 
 time to build a nest. 
 
 All at once the heavy tread of Count Enguerrand resounded 
 along the walk. The two poor lovers trembled. But the 
 water at the spring sang more softly, and the Loving-One 
 emerged, laughing and ardent, from the clear stream of the 
 source. She surrounded the lovers with her wings, then 
 lightly tripped along with them, passing beside the count, who 
 was astonished at having heard voices and finding no one. 
 
 She soothes her cherished ones, she walks on, saying to 
 them in a very low voice ; 
 
 " I am she who protects love-making, she who closes the 
 eyes and ears of those who love no more. Fear nothing, 
 handsome lovers ; love one another in broad daylight, in the 
 lanes, beside the springs, wherever you may be. 1 am there, 
 and I watch over you. Providence has placed me here 
 below so that men, those mockers of all righteousness, may 
 never come and trouble your feelings. It gave me my 
 beautiful wings and said to me, ' Go, and may young hearts . 
 rejoice.' Love one another; I am there, and I watch over 
 you." 
 
 And she walked on, imbibing the dew which was her only 
 food, leading along Odette and Lois, whose hands were inter- 
 laced, in a joyful roundabout dance. 
 
 You want me to tell you what she did with the two lovers. 
 Really, my pet, I dare not do so. I am afraid you will not 
 believe me, or else that, jealous of their good fortune, you will 
 cease returning me my kisses. But now you are very curious 
 to know, naughty girl, and I can see that I shall have to 
 satisfy you. 
 
 So, know that the fairy wandered about thus until night. 
 When she wished to separate the lovers, she saw them so 
 pained, but so pained at having to leave one another, that 
 she began to speak to them in a whisper. It seems that she 
 told them something very beautiful, for their faces were beam- 
 ing, and their eyes expanded with delight. And, when she 
 had spoken and they had consented, she touched their fore- 
 heads with her wand. 
 
46 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 Suddenly — oh ! Ninon, what great wondering eyes ! How 
 you would tap your foot, were I not to tell you the end ! 
 
 Lois and Odette were suddenly transformed into sprigs of 
 sweet majoram, but such lovely majoram that only a fairy 
 could make any like it. They found themselves placed side 
 by side, so close to one another that their leaves entwined 
 together. Marvellous flowers grew there, which were always 
 to remain in bloom; exchanging their perfume and dew ever- 
 lastingly. 
 
 As to Count Enguerrand, they say that he consoled himself 
 by relating every night how the giant Buch- Iron-Head was 
 slaughtered by a terrific blow from Giralda-Heavy-Sword. 
 
 And now, Ninon, when we go into the country, we will seek 
 for the enchanted sweet majorams, to ask them in which 
 flower the Love-Fairy is. Perhaps, my pet, a moral is con- 
 cealed in this tale. But I have only told it you, with our 
 feet before the grate, to make you forget the December rain 
 which is beating against our windows, and to instil a little 
 more love in you, to-night, for the young story-teller. 
 
BLOOD 
 
 Here already are many sunbeams, many flowers, many 
 perfumes. Are you not tired, Ninon, of this everlasting 
 spring? Always loving, always chaunting that dream of 
 sixteen summers. You fall asleep at night, naughty girl, 
 when I talk to you at great length of the coquetry of the 
 rose, and the infidelity of the dragon-fly. You close your 
 great eyes wearily, and I, who no longer find inspiration there, 
 stammer on, without coming to a conclusion. 
 
 I'll vanquish your idle eyelids, Ninon. To-day I am going 
 to relate such a terrible tale to you, that you'll not close 
 them for a week. Listen. Terror is delicious after a deal 
 of laughter. 
 
 Four soldiers, on the night of a victory, had encamped in 
 a deserted corner of the battle-field. Night had come, and 
 they were supping joyously among the dead. 
 
 Seated on the grass round a camp fire, they were grilling 
 slices of lamb on the burning embers, and eating them 
 when only half done. The red glare of the fire threw a 
 faint light over the companions, casting their gigantic shadows 
 to a distance. Every now and then, the arms lying around 
 them, slightly flashed, and then amidst the night, one per- 
 ceived men sleeping with their eyes open. 
 
 The soldiers laughed with long peals of merriment, without 
 perceiving the staring gaze that was fixed upon them. The 
 day had been a hard one. Not knowing what the morrow 
 reserved for them, they were enjoying the rations and repose 
 of the moment. 
 
 Night and Death flew across the battle-field, their great 
 wings agitating its silence and horror. 
 
48 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 When the meal was over, Gneuss sang. His sonorous 
 voice uttered false notes in the sad, mournful air ; the song, 
 which burst joyfully from his lips, echoed in sobs. Astounded 
 at these accents issuing from his mouth, and which he failed 
 to recognise, the soldier sang in a higher key, when a terrible 
 cry, proceeding from the darkness, sped through space. 
 
 Gneuss was silent, as if seized with uneasiness, and said 
 to Elberg : 
 
 " Go and see what corpse is awakening." 
 
 Elberg took a flaming brand and disappeared. His com- 
 panions were able to follow him for a few instants by the 
 light of the torch. They saw him stoop down, examining 
 the dead, piercing the bushes with his sword. Then he 
 disappeared. 
 
 "Cldrian," said Gneuss after a silence, "the wolves are 
 wandering about to-night : go and look for our friend." 
 
 And Cldrian in his turn was lost in the darkness. 
 
 Gneuss and Flam, tired of waiting, wrapped themselves 
 up in their cloaks and both lay down beside the smouldering 
 fire. Their eyes were just closing, when the same terrible 
 cry passed over their heads. Flem arose in silence, and 
 walked towards the darkness where his two companions had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Then Gneuss found himself alone. He was afraid, afraid 
 of the darkness through which ran the death-rattle. He 
 threw some dry roots on to the fire, hoping that the bright 
 light would dispel his fright. A red flame burst out, and the 
 ground was lit up in a wide luminous circle; in this circle, 
 the bushes were dancing fantastically, and the dead, sleeping 
 in the shadow of them, seemed shaken by invisible hands. 
 
 Gneuss was afraid of the light He spread out the flaming 
 stalks, and extinguished them beneath his heels. As the 
 darkness returned, more dense and weighty, he shuddered, 
 dreading to hear the cry of death pass by. He sat down, then 
 rose up to call his companions. 
 
 The high notes of his voice frightened him ; and he feared 
 he had attracted the attention of the corpses. 
 
 The moon appeared, and Gneuss, terrified, noticed a pale 
 beam of light gliding across the battle-field. Night no longer 
 hid its abominations. The devastated plain, strewn with 
 fragments and corpses, extended before his eyes, wrapped in 
 
BLOOD 49 
 
 a winding-sheet of light; and this light, which was not the 
 light of day, lit up the darkness without dispelling its silent 
 horror. 
 
 Gneuss, erect, his forehead bathed in perspiration, thought 
 of ascending the hillock to extinguish the pale torch of night. 
 He wondered what the dead were waiting for,, to arise and 
 surround him, now that they saw him. Their immobility 
 caused him anguish; and expecting some terrible event to 
 happen, he closed his eyes. 
 
 And, as he stood there, he felt a tepid warmth at his left 
 heel. He bent down towards the ground, and saw a narrow 
 streak of blood escaping from beneath his feet. This streak 
 bounding from stone to stone, ran along with a merry 
 murmur; it came out of the darkness, twirled about in the 
 light of the moon, to fly away and return into the night ; one 
 would have taken it for a serpent with black scales, the rings 
 gliding along and following one another without end. Gneuss' 
 started back without being able to close his eyes again ; they 
 kept wide open, fixed on the sanguinary brook. 
 
 He saw it slowly swell, increase the breadth of its bed. 
 The brook became a stream, a slow and peaceful stream that 
 a child could have cleared at a bound. The stream became 
 a torrent, and passed rumbling over the ground, casting a 
 reddish spray on either side. The torrent became a river, an 
 immense river. 
 
 This river bore away the corpses, and this blood which had 
 poured from the wounds in such abundance that it carried 
 away the dead, was a horrible prodigy. 
 
 Gneuss continued to retreat before the rising flood. He 
 could no longer see its opposite bank ; it seemed to him that 
 the valley had changed into a lake. 
 
 All at once he found himself with his back against a rocky 
 slope; he had to pause in his flight. Then he felt the 
 waves beating against his knees. The dead, who were borne 
 along by the current, insulted him as they passed by ; each 
 of their wounds became a mouth, that jeered at his fright. 
 The thick ocean rose, continued rising; now it moaned 
 around his hips. He made a supreme effort, and stretching 
 up, clutched the crevices in the rocks ; the rocks gave way, 
 he fell, and the flood covered his shoulders. 
 
 The pale, sad moon looked down upon this sea, and fell 
 
 D 
 
so STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 on it without reflex. Light floated in the sky. The immense 
 expanse of firmament, full of shadows and riotous sounds, 
 seemed like the gaping opening to an abyss. 
 
 The wave rose, rose and reddened Gneuss' lips with its 
 foam. 
 
 II 
 
 Elberg's arrival at daybreak awakened Gneuss, who was 
 sleeping with his head on a stone. 
 
 " Friend," he said, " I lost myself in the bush. As I was 
 sitting at the foot of a tree, sleep overcame me, and my soul's 
 eyes saw strange scenes unrolled before them, which remained 
 impressed on my memory when I awoke. 
 
 "The world was in its infancy. The sky resembled an 
 immense smile. The earth, which was still virgin, expanded 
 its chaste nudity, in the rays of the May sun. The blade 
 of grass grew green and larger than the largest of our oaks ; 
 the trees spread leaves out into the air, that are unknown 
 to us. The sap coursed copiously in the veins of the world, 
 and its flood was so abundant, that being unable to limit itself 
 to the plants, it streamed into the entrails of the rocks and 
 gave them life. 
 
 "The horizons extended calm and radiant. Holy nature 
 was awakening. Like the child who kneels down in the 
 morning, and thanks the God of light, it poured out all its 
 perfumes, all its songs to heaven, penetrating perfumes, un- 
 utterable songs, which my senses could hardly bear, so divine 
 was the impression they produced on me. 
 
 " Sweet and fruitful earth, engendered without pain. Fruit- 
 trees multiplied at will. Fields of corn bordered the highways, 
 as fields of nettles do now. One felt in the air that human 
 toil was not mingled with the breath of heaven. The Almighty 
 alone worked for his children. 
 
 "Man, like the bird, lived on the food Providence gave 
 him. He went about blessing God, picking fruit from the 
 trees, drinking water at the spring, sheltered at night beneath 
 the foliage. His lips had a horror of flesh ; he knew not what 
 the taste of blood was like, he found savour only in such 
 viands as dew and sun prepared for his meals. 
 
 "It was thus that man remained innocent, and that his 
 
BLOOD SI 
 
 innocence crowned him king of the other animals of creation. 
 Concord reigned everywhere. The world was of inconceiv- 
 able whiteness, and was rocked in infinity by inconceivable 
 supreme peace. The birds' wings did not beat to fly away ; 
 the thickets in the forests were not places of refuge. All 
 God's creatures lived in the sun, and formed but one people, 
 having but one law — goodness. 
 
 " I walked among these people, amidst this nature, and felt 
 myself becoming stronger and better. My chest inhaled a full 
 provision cf the air of heaven. Suddenly leaving our impure 
 winds for these breezes of a less infected world, I experienced 
 the delicious sensation of a miner ascending to the open air. 
 
 " As the angel of dreams continued rocking me in my sleep, 
 this is what my mind saw in a forest where it seemed lost. 
 
 "Two men followed a narrow path lost in the foliage. 
 The younger walked in front; happiness beaming upon his 
 lips, and his eyes having a caress for each blade of grass. 
 Sometimes he turned round and smiled at his companion. 
 I know not by what sweet expression it was that I recognised 
 the smile was that of a brother. 
 
 " The lips and eyes of the other man continued mute and 
 gloomy. He cast a look of hatred upon the youth, hastening 
 on, stumbling behind him. He seemed to be pursuing 
 a victim who did not fly. I saw him cut a tree which he 
 roughly fashioned into a club. Then fearing to lose his com- 
 panion, he ran, hiding his weapon behind him. The young 
 man who had sat down to wait for him, arose at his approach, 
 and kissed him on the forehead, as if after a long absence. 
 They set out walking again. Daylight was drawing in. The 
 child perceiving in the distance, between the large trunks of 
 the forest, the soft lines of a hill that looked yellow in the 
 sun's farewell, hastened on. The gloomy man thought he was 
 flying, and raised the club. 
 
 " His young brother turned round with a happy word of 
 encouragement on his lips. The club smashed his face and 
 blood spurted from it. The blade of grass which received 
 the first drop, shook it with horror on the earth. Earth, 
 shuddering and terrified, swallowed this drop ; a long cry 
 of repugnance escaped from its bosom, and the sand on the 
 path turned the hideous beverage into blood-stained moss. 
 
 "At the victim's cry, I noticed the creatures disperse in 
 
52 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 terror. They fled all over the world, avoiding the roads; 
 they gathered together in the glades, and the strongest 
 attacked the weakest. I saw them when alone, polishing 
 their fangs and sharpening their claws. The great brigan- 
 dage of creation was commencing. 
 
 " Then passed before me an everlasting flight The hawk 
 pounced on the swallow, the swallow seized the fly on the 
 wing, the fly settled on the corpse. From worm to lion, all 
 creatures found themselves threatened. The world bit its 
 tail, and went on devouring itself for evermore. 
 
 "Nature itself, struck with horror, had a prolonged con- 
 vulsion. The pure lines of the horizon were broken. Sun- 
 rises and sunsets were attended by blood-like clouds ; the 
 waters heaved with eternal sobs, and the trees, twisting their 
 branches, cast dead leaves every year upon the earth." 
 
 Ill 
 
 As Elberg ceased speaking, Cl^rian appeared; he seated 
 himself between his two companions and said to them : 
 
 " I know not whether I saw or dreamed what I am about 
 to relate to you, the dream was so like reality, and reality so 
 like a dream. 
 
 " I found myself on a road crossing the world. It was 
 bordered by cities, and the multitudes followed it in their 
 journeys. 
 
 " I saw the paving stones were black. My feet slid, and I 
 perceived they were black with blood. The road sloped 
 down on either side; a brook of thick, red water ran in 
 the centre of it. 
 
 " I followed this road on which a crowd was stirring. 
 I went from group to group, watching life pass before me. 
 
 " Here fathers sacrificed their daughters whose blood they 
 had promised to some monstrous divinity. The fair heads 
 bowed beneath the knife, and turned pale at the embrace of 
 death. 
 
 " There proud, trembling virgins killed themselves, to escape 
 the kiss of shame, and the tomb was the white raiment of 
 their virginity. 
 
 " Further on, lovers died amid kisses. This one, weeping 
 
BLOOD S3 
 
 at being abandoned, expired at the waterside, her eyes fixed 
 on the flood which had borne away her heart; that one, 
 murdered in the arms of her lover, met her end clinging to 
 his neck, and both expired in a supreme strain. 
 
 "Further on, men tired of darkness and misery, sent their 
 souls to seek, in a better world, the liberty they had searched 
 for, in vain, on this earth. 
 
 " Everywhere, the feet of kings left sanguinary imprints on 
 the stones. This one walked in the blood of his brothers; 
 that one, in the blood of his people ; this other, in the blood 
 of his God. Their crimson footprints in the dust made the 
 people exclaim : ' A king had been this way.' 
 
 " The priests slaughtered victims ; then stupidly bending 
 over their palpitating entrails, pretended they read the secrets 
 of hgaven there. They wore swords beneath their robes, and 
 preached warfare in the name of their god. Nations at their 
 bidding set upon one another, devouring each other for the 
 glorification of the common Father. 
 
 "All humanity was intoxicated; it battered down walls, 
 wallowed on the flagstones soiled with hideous mire. With 
 closed eyes and grasping a double-edged blade in both 
 hands, it struck into the night and massacred. 
 
 " A damp breath of carnage passed over the crowd which 
 was hidden in the distance in a reddish mist. It ran, borne 
 along in an outburst of panic, it plunged into orgies with 
 shouts that continued increasing in fury. It trampled on 
 those who fell, and made their wounds yield the last drops 
 of blood. It panted with rage, cursing the corpse, when it 
 could no longer tear a groan from it. 
 
 " The earth drank, drank eagerly ; its bowels ceased to feel 
 repugnance for the bitter liquor. Like a being degraded by 
 intoxication, it gorged itself with lees. 
 
 "I hastened on, anxious not to see my brethren any 
 more. The dark road continued stretching ahead as broad 
 as ever at each new horizon; the stream I was following 
 seemed to be bearing the sanguinary flood to some unknown 
 sea. 
 
 " And as I advanced, I saw nature becoming sombre and 
 harsh. The bosom of the plains was profoundly lacerated. 
 Masses of rock divided the ground into sterile hills and 
 dismal dells. The hills rose higher and higher, the dells 
 
54 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 sank deeper and deeper ; stone became mountains, the fields 
 a chasm. 
 
 " There was not a leaf, not a piece of moss ; naught but 
 barren rocks with the summits bleached by the sun and the 
 base gloomy and overshadowed. The road passed through 
 these rocks and was enshrouded in deathlike silence. 
 
 "At last it made a sudden bend, and I found myself on 
 a dismal site. 
 
 "Four mountains, resting heavily against one another, 
 formed an immense basin. Their sides, which were steep 
 and smooth, towered up like the walls of a cyclopean city 
 and formed a gigantic well, the breadth of which extended to 
 the horizon. 
 
 " And this well, into which the stream discharged itself was 
 full of blood. The thick, smooth ocean rose slowly from 
 the chasm. It seemed sleeping in its rocky bed. The sky 
 reflected it in purple clouds. 
 
 " I then understood that all the blood spilt by violence 
 was running there. From the first murder, each wound had 
 shed its tears into this pit, and tears had poured in there in 
 such abundance, that the pit was full." 
 
 " Last night," said Gneuss, " I saw a torrent that was run- 
 ning into this accursed lake." 
 
 " Struck with horror," resumed Cl^rian, " I approached the 
 brink, judging the depth of the flood with the eye. I could 
 tell by the dull sound that it penetrated to the centre of the 
 earth. Then, glancing at the rocks forming the enclosure, 
 I saw that the flood was approaching the top of them. The 
 voice of the abyss cried out to me : the flood, which is rising, 
 will continue to do so and will attain the summit of the rocks. 
 It will rise higher, and then a river, escaping from the terrible 
 basin, will pour down on to the plains. The mountains, 
 weary of struggling with the flood, will sink down. The 
 entire lake will then fall upon the world and inundate it. It 
 is thus that men who are to come, will die drowned in the 
 blood shed by their fathers.'" 
 
 "That day is near at hand," said Gneuss: "the flood was 
 high last night." 
 
BLOOD 55 
 
 IV 
 
 The sun was rising, when Cldrian had completed the 
 account of his dream. The sound of a bugle wafted by 
 the morning breeze, was heard towards the north. It was 
 the signal for the soldiers dispersed over the plain to assemble 
 round the flag. 
 
 The three companions rose and took their arms. As they 
 were setting out, casting a last glance at the extinguished 
 fire, they saw Flem advancing towards them, running in the 
 tall grass. His feet were white with dust. 
 
 "Friends," he said, "I have ran so fast that I know not 
 whence I come. I have seen the trees flying behind me in 
 a disorderly dance for hours. The sound of my footsteps 
 lulling me made me close my eyelids, and, while still running, 
 without slackening my speed, I slept a strange sleep. 
 
 " I found myself on a desolated hill. The scorching sun 
 fell upon the great rocks. I could not set my feet down 
 without the flesh being burnt. I hastened to reach the 
 summit. 
 
 "And, as I bounded onward, I perceived a man walking 
 slowly. He was crowned with thorns; a heavy burden 
 weighed upon his shoulders and his face was bathed in 
 blood-like sweat He advanced slowly, stumbling at each 
 step. 
 
 "The ground was burning hot, I could not bear his tor- 
 ment ; I went up and waited for him beneath a tree at the 
 top of the hilL Then I saw he was carrying a cross. By 
 his crown, his purple robe stained with mud, it seemed to 
 me that he was a king, and I felt great joy at his suffering. 
 
 "Soldiers were following him, hurrying him on with their 
 iron-tipped lances. On reaching the highest rock they 
 stripped him of his garments, and made him lie down on 
 the forbidding timber. 
 
 "The man smiled sadly. He held his hands out wide 
 open to the executioners, and the nails made two ghastly 
 holes in them. Then, bringing his feet together, he crossed 
 them, and one nail sufficed. 
 
 " He lay silent on his back gazing at the sky. Two tears 
 coursed slowly down his cheeks, tears which he did not 
 
S6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 feel and which were lost in the submissive smile upon his 
 lips. 
 
 "The cross was erected, the weight of the body increased 
 the size of the wounds horribly. The crucified man gave a 
 prolonged shudder. Then, he cast his eyes up to heaven 
 again. 
 
 "I gazed at him. Observing his courage in the face of 
 death, I said, ' This man is not a king.' Then I felt pity, and 
 cried out to the soldiers to pierce his heart 
 
 " A feathered songster was singing on the cross. Its song 
 was sad, and sounded in my ears like the voice of a virgin in 
 tears. 
 
 " ' Blood colours the flame,' it sang, ' blood gives purple to 
 the flower, blood reddens the naked. I stood upon the sand 
 and my claws were covered with blood ; I grazed the branches 
 of the oak and my wings were red. 
 
 " ' I met a just man and followed him. I had been bathing 
 at the spring, and my coat was pure. My song said : Be joy- 
 ful, my feathers ; on this man's shoulder you will not be soiled 
 with the rain of murder. 
 
 " ' My song says now : Weep, warbler of Golgotha, weep for 
 your coat stained by the blood of him who kept a shelter for 
 thee in his bosom. He came to give the warblers back their 
 purity, helas ! and men made him wet me with the dew of his 
 wounds. 
 
 " ' I doubt, and I weep over my soiled coat Where shall I 
 find thy brother, O Jesus 1 so that he may open his linen gar- 
 ment to me ? Ah ! poor master, what son born of thee will 
 wash my feathers reddened with your blood?' 
 
 " The crucified man listened to the warbler. The breath of 
 death made his eyelids quiver; agony distorted his lips. He 
 cast his eyes up towards the bird, and they bore an expression 
 of sweet reproach ; his smile was bright and as serene as 
 hope. 
 
 "Then, he uttered a loud cry. His head fell upon his 
 breast, and the warbler flew off, borne away in a sob. The 
 sky turned black, earth shuddered in the darkness. 
 
 " I continued running, and I still slept Dawn had come, 
 the valleys were awakening, smiling in the morning mist The 
 storm of the night had cleared the sky, and had given greater 
 strength to the green leaves. But the path was bordered by 
 
BLOOD 57 
 
 the same thorns as tore me on the previous evening. The 
 same hard, sharp flints rolled beneath my feet ; the same ser- 
 pents stole along in the thickets, and threatened me on the 
 way. The blood of the Just One had ran into the veins of the 
 old world, without giving it back the innocence of its youth. 
 " The warbler passed overhead, and cried to me : 
 " ' Ah ! ah ! I am very sad. I cannot find a spring pure 
 enough to bathe in. Look, the earth is as wicked as formerly. 
 Jesus is dead, and the grass has not flowered. Ah ! ah 1 it is 
 but one more murder.'" 
 
 The bugle continued sounding the departure. 
 
 "Boys," said Gneuss, "our calling is an unpleasant one. 
 Our slumber is troubled by the phantoms of those whom we 
 strike. I, like you, have felt the demon of nightmare weighing 
 on my chest for long hours. For thirty years I have been 
 killing, and I need sleep. Let us leave our brethren there. I 
 know of a glen where ploughs require hands. Shall we taste 
 the bread of toil ? " 
 
 " We will," answered his companions. 
 
 Thereupon the soldiers dug a great hole at the foot of a 
 rock, and buried their arms. They went down and bathed in 
 the river ; then, all four arm in arm disappeared at the turn of 
 the pathway. 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 
 
 I KNOW a young man, Ninon, to whom you would give a 
 good scolding. L^on is passionately fond of Balzac and 
 cannot bear George Sand ; Michelet's book almost made him 
 sick. He naively says that woman is born a slave, and never 
 utters the words love and modesty without laughing. Ah ! 
 how ill he speaks of you I No doubt, he communes with 
 himself at night the better to tear you to pieces during the 
 daytime. He is twenty. 
 
 Ugliness seems to him a crime. Small eyes, a mouth too 
 large, set him beside himself. He pretends that as there 
 are no ugly flowers in the fields, all girls should be born 
 equally beautiful. When by chance he meets an ugly one 
 in the street, he fumes for three whole days about her scanty 
 stock of hair, large feet and thick hands. When on the 
 contrary the woman is pretty, he smiles wickedly, and his 
 silence then is so full of naughty thoughts that it seems quite 
 dreadful. 
 
 I know not which of you would find favour in his eyes. 
 Blondes and brunettes, young and old, graceful and deformed, 
 he envelops you all in the same malediction. The naughty 
 boy I And how laughingly tender are his eyes 1 how soft and 
 fondling his speech ! 
 
 L^on lives in the midst of the Latin Quarter. 
 
 And now, Ninon, I feel very much embarrassed. At the 
 least thing, I would hold my tongue, regretting I ever had 
 the singular idea to commence this story. Your inquisitive 
 mind is eager for the scandal, and I hardly know how to 
 introduce you to a world where you have never placed the 
 tips of your little toes. 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 59 
 
 This world, my well-beloved, would be Paradise, if it were 
 not Hell. 
 
 Let us open the poet's volume and read the song of twenty 
 summers. Look, the window faces the south ; the garret, 
 full of flowers and light, is so high, so high in the sky, that 
 sometimes one hears the angels chatting on the roof. Like 
 the birds that select the loftiest branch to hide their nests 
 from man, so have the lovers built theirs on the last storey. 
 There the sun gives them his first kiss in the morning and 
 his last farewell at night 
 
 What do they live on ? Who knows ? Perhaps on smiles 
 and kisses. They love each other so much, that they have 
 no leisure to think about the missing meal. They have no 
 bread, and yet they throw crumbs to sparrows. When they 
 open the empty cupboard, they satisfy their hunger by laugh- 
 ing at their poverty. 
 
 Their love dates from the blooming of the first blue corn 
 flower. They met in a wheat field. Having long known 
 one another, without ever having seen each other, they took 
 the same path to return to the city. She wore a large nosegay 
 at her bosom, like one betrothed. She ascended the seven 
 floors, and, feeling too tired, was unable to go down again. 
 
 Will she have strength to do so to-morrow ? She does not 
 know. In the meantime she is resting, whilst tripping about 
 the garret, watering the flowers, looking after a home which 
 does not exist. Then she sews, whilst the youth works. 
 Their chairs touch ; little by little, for greater comfort, they 
 end by taking only one for both of them. Night comes. 
 They scold each other for their idleness. 
 
 Ah ! what fibs that poet tells, Ninon, and how delightful 
 his falsehoods are ! May that unalterable child never become 
 a man ! May he continue to deceive us when he can no 
 longer deceive himself! He comes from Paradise to tell us 
 of its love-making. He met two saints there. Musette and 
 Mimi, whom it pleased him to bring among us. They only 
 just grazed the earth with their wings, and went off again 
 in the ray that brought them. Hearts twenty summers old 
 are seeking for those saints, and weeping at not finding them. 
 
 Must I, in my turn, tell you fibs, my well-beloved, by bring- 
 ing them from Paradise, or must I confess that I met them 
 in Gehenna? If there, near the fire, in that arm-chair where 
 
6o STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 you are rocking yourself, a friend were listening to me, I would 
 boldly raise the golden veil with which the poet has decked 
 such unworthy shoulders ! But you — you would close my 
 lips with your little hands, you would get angry, you would 
 vow it was false, because it was so true. How could you 
 believe in lovers of our age drinking in the gutter when they 
 feel thirsty in the street? How angry you would be if I 
 dared tell you that your sisters, the loving ones, have un- 
 fastened their fichus and unbound their hair ! You live 
 laughing and serene in the nest I built for you; you are 
 ignorant of the ways of the world. I shall not have the 
 courage to confess to you that flowers are very sick of those 
 ways, and that to-morrow, perhaps, the hearts that are there 
 will be dead. 
 Close not your ears, darling : you will not have to blush. 
 
 II 
 
 L^on, then, lives in the midst of the Latin Quarter. His 
 hand is more grasped than any other in that land where all 
 hands know one another. His frank look makes each passer- 
 by his friend. 
 
 The women dare not forgive him the hatred he bears them, 
 and are furious they cannot confess they love him. They 
 detest him whilst doting on him. 
 
 Previous to the facts I am about to relate to you, I never 
 knew him to have a sweetheart. He says he is blasd, and 
 speaks of the pleasures of this world as would a Trappist, were 
 he to break his long silence. He has a weakness for good 
 living, and cannot bear bad wine. His linen is very fine, and 
 his garments are always exquisitely elegant. 
 
 I see him sometimes stop before pictures representing 
 virgins of the Italian school with moist eyes. A fine marble 
 procures him an hour's ecstasy. 
 
 L^on, moreover, leads a student's life, working as little as 
 possible, strolling in the sun, lounging obliviously on all the 
 divans he meets with. It is particularly during these hours 
 of semi-slumber that he gives utterance to his worst abuse of 
 women. With closed eyes, he seems to be fondling a vision 
 whilst cursing reality. 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 61 
 
 One May morning I met him looking quite cheerless. He 
 did not Icnow what to do, and was rambling through the 
 streets on the look-out for something to interest him. The 
 pavement was muddy; and although the unforeseen was 
 encountered from place to place by the pedestrian's feet, 
 it was only in the form of a puddle. I took pity on him, 
 and suggested going into the fields to see if the hawthorn 
 were in flower. 
 
 For an hour I had to listen to a lot of long philosophical 
 orations, all of which pointed to the nihility of our pleasures. 
 Houses gradually became scarcer. Already on the thresholds 
 of the doors, we perceived dirty brats rolling over fraternally 
 with great dogs. As we reached the real country, L^on sud- 
 denly stopped before a group of children playing in the sun. 
 He fondled one of them, and then owned to me that he 
 adored fair heads. 
 
 For my part I have always liked those narrow lanes, con- 
 fined between a couple of hedges, which are free from the 
 ruts of great waggon-wheels. The ground is covered with 
 fine moss, as soft to the feet as a velvety carpet. One treads 
 amid mystery and silence ; and when an amorous couple 
 lose themselves there, the thorns in the verdant wall compel 
 the fond girl to press against her lover's heart. L6on and I 
 found ourselves in one of these out-of-the-way walks, where 
 kisses are only overheard by feathered songsters. The first 
 smile of spring had vanquished my philosopher's misanthropy. 
 He experienced prolonged tenderness for each drop of dew, 
 and sang like a schoolboy who had broken out of bounds. 
 
 The lane continued to stretch ahead. The high thick 
 hedges were all our horizon. This sort of confinement, and 
 our ignorance as to where we were, made us doubly merry. 
 
 The pathway gradually became narrower ; we had to walk 
 in single file. The hedges began to take sudden turns, and 
 the lane was transformed into a labyrinth. 
 
 Then, at the narrowest part, we heard a sound of voices ; 
 next, three persons appeared at one of the leafy corners. Two 
 young men marched in front, putting aside the branches that 
 were too long. A young woman followed them. 
 
 I stopped and bowed. The young fellow facing me did 
 the same. After that we looked at each other. The position 
 was delicate; the hedges shutting us in on either side were 
 
6a STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 thicker than ever, and neither of us seemed inclined to turn 
 round. It was then that Ldon, who was behind me, standing 
 up on tip-toe, perceived the young woman. Without uttering 
 a word, he dashed bravely in among the hawthorns ; his 
 clothes were torn by the brambles, and a few drops of blood 
 appeared upon his hands. I had to do as he had done. 
 
 The young men passed by, thanking us. The young 
 woman, as if to reward L^on for his self-sacrifice, stopped 
 before him, wavering, gazing at him with her great black eyes. 
 He immediately sought to frown, and could not. 
 
 When she had disappeared I came out of the bush, sending 
 gallantry to the deuce. A thorn had torn my neck, and my 
 hat was so beautifully suspended between two branches that I 
 had the greatest difficulty imaginable in getting it down. 
 Ldon shook himself. As I had given the pretty passer-by a 
 friendly nod, he inquired if I knew her. 
 
 " Certainly," I answered. " Her name's Antoinette. She 
 was three months my neighbour." 
 
 We had begun walking on again. He held his tongue. 
 Then I talked to him of Mademoiselle Antoinette. 
 
 She was a fresh and delicate little party, with a half- 
 mocking, half-tender look, a determined air, and a smart, 
 nimble gait j in a w^ord, she was a nice girl. She could be 
 distinguished among her fellows by her open-heartedness and 
 probity, qualities peculiarly rare in the society in which she 
 lived. She expressed an ■ opinion about her own self with- 
 out vanity, as also without modesty, and announced openly 
 that she was born to love and take her pleasure where fancy 
 led her. 
 
 For three long winter months I had seen her living, poor 
 and alone, on the produce of her labour. She acted thus 
 without display, without uttering that big word virtue, because 
 that was her idea at the time. So long as her needle sped 
 on, I never knew her to have a lover. She was a good 
 comrade to the men who came to see her ; she pressed their 
 hands, laughed with them, but bolted her door at the first 
 pretence of a kiss. I confess I had tried to court her a 
 bit. One day when I offered her a ring and pendants, 
 she said : 
 
 " My friend, take back your jewellery. When I give myself 
 away it is only for a flower." 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 63 
 
 AVhen in love she was idle and indolent. Lace and silk 
 then took the place of calico. She carefully got rid of all 
 traces of the needle, and the work-girl became a grand lady. 
 
 Besides, when in love, she maintained her grisette liberty. 
 The man she was enamoured of soon knew it ; he knew quite 
 as quickly when she loved him no more. She was not, how- 
 ever, one of those pretty, capricious creatures who change 
 their sweetheart each time they wear out a pair of shoes. 
 She had a broad intelligence and a great heart. But the 
 poor girl often made mistakes ; she placed her own hands 
 in others that were unworthy, and rapidly withdrew them in 
 disgust. And so she was tired of this Latin Quarter, where 
 the young men appeared to her very old. 
 
 At each new wreck her face became a little more sad. She 
 told men disagreeable truths, and scolded herself for being 
 unable to live without loving. Then she shut herself up, 
 until her heart broke the bars. 
 
 I had met her the previous evening. She was in great 
 grief : a sweetheart had just thrown her over, whilst she still 
 cared for him a little. 
 
 " Of course I know," she had said to me, " that in a week's 
 time I should have left him myself : he was an unkind fellow. 
 But I still kissed him tenderly on both cheeks. It's a loss of 
 at least thirty kisses." 
 
 She had added, that since then she had had two suitors 
 at her heels who overwhelmed her with bouquets. She let 
 them do so, and sometimes held this language to them : 
 " My friends, I love neither of you ; you would be great 
 fools to quarrel for my smiles. Be amicable, instead. I can 
 see you are good chaps ; we will amuse ourselves like old 
 chums. But, at the first quarrel, I leave you." 
 
 The poor fellows, therefore, warmly shook hands, whilst 
 wishing each other at the deuce. It was probably them 
 whom we had just met. 
 
 Such was Mademoiselle Antoinette : a poor loving heart 
 gone astray in the land of debauchery; a gentle, charming 
 girl who sprinkled her crumbs of tenderness to all the thieving 
 sparrows on the road. 
 
 I gave Ldon these details. He listened to me without 
 showing much interest, without encroaching on my confidence 
 by the least question. When I was silent he said : 
 
64 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " That girl is too frank ; I don't like her way of under- 
 standing love." 
 
 He had tried so hard to frovm that he had at length 
 succeeded in doing so. 
 
 Ill 
 
 We had at last got away from the hedges. The Seine was 
 running at our feet ; on the opposite bank a village was 
 reflected in the river. We were in a familiar neighbourhood ; 
 we had often wandered in the islands down stream. 
 
 After a long rest beneath a neighbouring oak, L^on 
 announced that he was dying of hunger and thirst, just as 
 I was about to tell him I was dying of thirst and hunger. 
 Then we held council. The result was touching in its 
 unanimity. We would go to the village ; there, we would pro- 
 cure a large basket ; this basket would be nicely filled with 
 viands and bottles ; finally all three, the basket and ourselves, 
 would make for the most verdant isle. 
 
 Twenty minutes later, it only remained for us to find a 
 boat. I had obligingly taken charge of the basket. I say 
 basket, and the term is modest enough. L^on walked on 
 ahead, inquiring of each angler along the river bank for a 
 boat. They were all engaged. I was on the point of suggest- 
 ing to my companion that we should spread our table on the 
 continent, when some one directed us to a place where he said 
 we might perhaps find what we required. 
 
 The man lived in a cottage standing at the comer of two 
 streets, at the end of the village. And it happened that, on 
 turning this corner, we again found ourselves face to face 
 with Mademoiselle Antoinette, followed by her two lovers. 
 One of them, like myself, was bending beneath the weight 
 of an enormous basket ; the other, like L^on, had the busy 
 appearance of a man in search of something he could not 
 find. I cast a look of pity on the poor fellow who was 
 bathed in perspiration, whilst L&n seemed to be thanking 
 me for having accepted a burden that made the young woman 
 laugh rather wickedly. 
 
 The man who let out the boats was smoking on the 
 threshold of his door. For fifty years he had seen thousands 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 65 
 
 of couples come and borrow his oars to reach the desert He 
 loved those amorous blondes who set out with starched fichus 
 and came back with them a trifle crumpled, and with their 
 ribbons in great disorder. He smiled at them on their return, 
 when they thanked him for his boats, which were so familiar 
 with the isles where the grass grew highest, that they went 
 there almost of their own accord. As soon as the worthy 
 man caught sight of our baskets he advanced to meet us. 
 
 " Young people," he said, " I have only one boat left. Those 
 who are too hungry had better sit down to table over there 
 under the trees." 
 
 That remark was certainly a very clumsy one : you never own 
 before a woman that you are too hungry. We held our tongues, 
 hesitating, not daring after that to refuse the boat. Antoinette, 
 who still had a mocking air about her, nevertheless took pity 
 on us. 
 
 "You gentlemen," she said, addressing L^on, "made a 
 sacrifice for us this morning ; we will do the same now." 
 
 I looked at my philosopher. He hesitated ; he stuttered 
 like a person who is afraid to say what he thinks. When he 
 saw me fix my eyes on him, he exclaimed : 
 
 " But there is no question of self-sacrifice now : one boat 
 will suffice. These gentlemen will put us ashore at the first 
 island we come to, and will pick us up on their return. Do 
 you agree to that arrangement, gentlemen ? " 
 
 Antoinette answered that she accepted. The baskets were 
 carefully placed at the bottom of the boat. I took a seat 
 close to mine, and as far away from the oars as possible. 
 Antoinette and L^on, not being able to do otherwise no doubt, 
 sat down side by side on the seat remaining vacant. As to 
 the two sweethearts, they continued to vie with each other in 
 showing good humour and gallantry, and seized the oars in 
 brotherly harmony. 
 
 They reached the current. There, as they balanced the 
 boat, allowing it to descend the stream. Mademoiselle An- 
 toinette pretended that the islands up the river were more 
 deserted and shady. The oarsmen looked at one another 
 disappointed. They turned the boat round and pulled labori- 
 ously up stream, struggling against the current, which was very 
 strong at that spot. There is a kind of tyranny that is very 
 oppressive and very sweet : it is the desire of a tyrant with 
 
 E 
 
66 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 rosy lips, who, in one of her moments of caprice, can ask for 
 the world and pay for it with a kiss. 
 
 The young woman had leant over the side of the boat and 
 dipped her hand in the water. She withdrew it full; then, 
 dreamily, seemed to be counting the pearly drops escaping 
 between her fingers. Ldon watched her and held his tongue, 
 apparently uncomfortable at finding himself so close to an 
 enemy. Twice he opened his hps, no doubt to utter some 
 stupidity; but he closed them quickly on noticing me smile. Yet 
 neither of them seemed very pleased at being such close neigh- 
 bours. They even slightly turned their backs to one another. 
 
 Antoinette, weary of wetting her lace, talked to me about 
 her recent bereavement. She told me she had got over it. 
 But she was still sad ; she could not live without love in 
 summer time. She did not know what to do until autumn 
 came round again. 
 
 " I am looking out for a nest," she added. " It must be all 
 in blue silk. One ought to love longer when furniture, carpets, 
 and curtains are the colour of the sky. The sun would make 
 a mistake, would forget itself there of an evening thinking it 
 was slumbering in a cloud. But I seek in vain ; men are so 
 unkind." 
 
 We were opposite an island. I tell the oarsmen to put us 
 ashore. I had already one foot on the bank, when Antoinette 
 protested, finding the island ugly and devoid of foliage, and 
 declaring she would never consent to abandon us on such a 
 rock. Ldon had not moved from his seat. I returned to my 
 place, and we continued to ascend the river. 
 
 The young woman, with childlike delight, began to describe 
 the nest she had set her mind on. The room must be square ; 
 the ceiling high and arched. The hangings on the walls 
 would be white, strewn with blue corn-flowers bound together 
 in bunches with ribbon. At the four corners would be pier 
 tables loaded with flowers ; another table in the centre also 
 covered with flowers. Then a sofa, but a small one, so that 
 two persons could hardly sit there together whilst pressing 
 very close to one another; no glass to attract the eyes and 
 make one egotistically coquettish; very thick carpets and 
 curtains to drown the sound of kisses. Flowers, sofa, carpet, 
 curtains would be blue. She would put on a blue gown, and 
 would not open the window on days when the sky was cloudy. 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 67 
 
 I wanted, in my turn, to ornament the room a bit, and 
 spoke of the fireplace, a clock, a wardrobe. 
 
 "But," she exclaimed in astonishment, "we shall not warm 
 ourselves and we shall not want to know the time. I consider 
 your wardrobe ridiculous. Do you think me so stupid as to 
 drag our miseries into my nest? I wish to live there free, 
 without care, not always, but for a few happy hours each 
 summer evening. If men became angels they would get tired 
 of Paradise itself. I know all about it I should have the 
 key of Paradise in my pocket." 
 
 We were opposite a second green isle. "Antoinette clapped 
 her hands. It was the most charming little deserted nook 
 that any Robinson Crusoe of twenty summers could have 
 dreamt of. The bank, which was rather high, was bordered 
 by great trees, between which sweet-briars and grass struggled 
 for supremacy in growth. An impenetrable wall built itself 
 up there each spring, a wall of leaves, branches, moss, which 
 continued to rise and reflected itself in the water. Outside, a 
 rampart of interlaced boughs ; within, one knew not what. This 
 ignorance as to what the glades were like, this broad curtain 
 of verdure quivering in the breeze, without ever opening, 
 made the island a mysterious place of seclusion, which the 
 passer-by on the neighbouring banks might easily have taken 
 to be peopled by the pale nymphs of the river. 
 
 We rowed a long way round this enormous mass of foliage, 
 before we found a landing-place. It seemed as if it had 
 determined that it would only have the free birds for inhabi- 
 tants. At last we were able to step on shore under a great 
 bush spreading over the water. Antoinette watched us land, 
 and straining her neck endeavoured to see beyond the trees. 
 
 One of the oarsmen who was keeping the boat in position 
 whilst holding on to a branch, let the craft go. Then the 
 young woman, feeling herself drifting away, extended her arm 
 and seized a root. She clung to it, called for help, and cried 
 out that she did not want to go any further. Then, when the 
 oarsmen had secured the boat, she sprang on to the grass and 
 came to us, all rosy from the effects of her achievement. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, gentlemen," she said to us, "I do not 
 wish to be in your way ; if it pleases you to go to the north, 
 we will go to the south." 
 
68 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 IV 
 
 I had taken up my basket again, and gravely set out to look 
 for the plot of turf that was the least damp. Leon followed 
 me, and was followed himself by Antoinette and her sweet- 
 hearts. In this order we walked round the island. On 
 returning to our point of departure, I sat down, decided not 
 to make any further search. Antoinette took a few steps, 
 appeared to hesitate, then returned and placed herself opposite 
 me. We were at the north, she did not think of going to 
 the south. Ldon then found the site charming, and vowed 
 I could not have made a better selection. 
 
 I do not know how it occurred, the baskets happened to 
 be side by side, the provisions went together so perfectly, 
 when they were spread out on the grass, that neither party 
 was able to distinguish which was which. We had to have 
 but one cloth, and in a spirit of justice, we shared the viands. 
 
 The two lovers had hastened to seat themst:lves on either 
 side of the young woman. They anticipated all her wishes. 
 For one piece of anything she asked for, she regularly received 
 two. Her appetite, however, was good. 
 
 L^on, on the contrary, ate little, but watched us devouring. 
 Being obliged to sit next to me, he held his tongue, giving 
 me a mocking look each time Antoinette smiled at his neigh- 
 bours. As she was receiving food on both sides, she hdd 
 her hands out right and left with equal complacency, tendering 
 thanks each time with her soft voice. I^don, on seeing this, 
 made energetic signs to me which I did not understand. 
 
 The young woman was desperately coquettish that day. 
 With her feet drawn under her petticoats, she almost dis- 
 appeared in the grass ; a poet would have made no difficulty 
 about comparing her to a large flower gifted with looks 
 and smiles. She, who was generally so natural, gave herselt 
 roguish airs, and there was a simpering tone in her voice 
 which I had never noticed before. The lovers, confused 
 at her kind remarks, looked at each other triumphantly. 
 For my part, astonished at this sudden coquetry ; seeing the 
 wicked creature laughing every now and then in her sleeve, 
 I wondered which of us was transforming this simple girl into 
 a shrewd woman. 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 69 
 
 The repast was almost over. We laughed more than we 
 talked. Ldon changed his seat continually, unable to make 
 himself comfortable anywhere. As he had resumed his dis- 
 agreeable manner, I was afraid a speech was coming, and 
 with a look I begged our lady-friend to pardon me for having 
 such a sulky companion. But she was a plucky girl ; a philo- 
 sopher of twenty, however serious he might be, could not put 
 her out of countenance. 
 
 " Sir," she said to L6on, " you are sad ; our merriment 
 seems to annoy you. I am afraid to laugh any more." 
 
 "Laugh, laugh, madam," he answered. "If I hold my 
 tongue, it is because I am unable to find fine phrases to 
 delight you, like these gentlemen." 
 
 "Does that mean that you do not flatter? In that case 
 speak out at once. I am all attention, I want brutal truths." 
 
 " Women do not like them, madam. Besides, when they 
 are young and pretty, what fib can one tell them that is not 
 true?" 
 
 "Come, you see, you are a courtier like the rest. Now 
 you are making me blush. When we are absent, you men 
 tear us to pieces j but let the most insignificant of us appear, 
 and you cannot bow low enough or find language sufficiently 
 tender. That's hypocrisy ! As for myself I am frank, I say : 
 Men are cruel, they do not know how to love. Look here, 
 sir, be straightforward too. What do you say of women ? " 
 
 "Havelfullliberty?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " You will not get angry ? " 
 
 "Eh! no, I will laugh rather than do so." Ldon struck 
 the attitude of an orator. As I knew the speech by heart, 
 having heard it more than a hundred times over, I began 
 to throw pebbles into the Seine to divert myself and bear 
 with it." 
 
 "When our Maker," he said, "perceived a being was 
 wanting in His creation, and had used up all the mud, He 
 did not know where to find the necessary material wherewith 
 to repair His forgetfulness. He had to turn to the dumb 
 animals ; He took a little flesh from each of them, and with 
 these contributions from the serpent, she-wolf, vulture and 
 so on, He created woman. And so the wise who are familiar 
 with this circumstance, omitted from the Bible, are not sur- 
 
70 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 prised to see woman whimsical and everlastingly a prey to 
 contrary humours, as she is a faithful image of the different 
 elements of which she is composed. Each creature has given 
 her a vice; all the evil dispersed throughout creation has 
 been assembled in her; hence her hypocritical caresses, her 
 treachery, her debauchery " 
 
 Any one would have said that Ldon was repeating a lesson. 
 He held his tongue, searching for the continuation. Antoinette 
 applauded. 
 
 " Women," resumed the orator, " are born coquettish and 
 giddy, just as they are born dark or fair. They give tliem- 
 selves away by egotism, and take little care to choose accord- 
 ing to merit. Let a man be foppish with the regular beauty 
 of a fool, and they will fight over him. Let him be simple 
 and affectionate, ' satisfied with being a man of intelligence, 
 without proclaiming it from the housetops, and they will not 
 even know of his existence. In all matters they must have 
 playthings that sparkle : silk petticoats, golden necklaces, 
 precious stones, lovers combed and pomatumed. As to the 
 springs of the amusing machine, it matters little whether they 
 work well or badly. They have nothing to do with minds. 
 They know all about black hair and amorous lips, but they 
 are ignorant of things connected with the heart It is thus 
 that they throw themselves into the arms of the first simpleton 
 they meet, having full confidence in his grand appearance. 
 They love him because he pleases them ; and he pleases them, 
 because he pleases them. One day the simpleton thrashes 
 them. They then talk about being martyrs ; they are plunged 
 in grief, and say a man cannot touch a heart without breaking 
 it. What foolish creatures. Why do they not seek for the 
 flower of love where it blooms ? " 
 
 Antoinette applaude'd again. The speech, as I knew it, 
 stopped there. L6on had delivered it straight off, as if in 
 a hurry to reach the end. When he had uttered the last 
 sentence, he gazed at the young woman and seemed dreaming. 
 Then, declaiming no longer, he aiided : 
 
 " I never had but one sweetheart. She was ten and I 
 twelve. One day she threw me over, for a big dog who let 
 himself be teased without ever showing his teeth. I wept 
 bitterly and vowed I would never love again. I have kept 
 that vow. I know nothing about women. If I were in love 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 71 
 
 I should be jealous and disagreeable j I should love too 
 fondly ; I should make myself hated ; they would deceive 
 me, and that would be my death." 
 
 He said no more, and, with moist eyes, sought in vain to 
 laugh. Antoinette was no longer joking. She had listened 
 to him very seriously ; then, leaving her neighbours, looking 
 L^on in tKe face, she went and placed her hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " You are a child," she simply said to him. 
 
 A last beam of the sun gliding over the surface of the river, 
 transformed it into a ribbon of creamy gold. We waited for 
 the first star, so as to descend the current in the cool of the 
 evening. The baskets had been carried back to the boat, and 
 we had laid down, here and there, each according to fancy. 
 
 Antoinette and Ldon had seated themselves beneath a 
 large sweet-briar, which extended its limbs above their heads. 
 They were half hidden by the green branches. As their 
 backs were turned to me, I could not see whether they were 
 laughing or crying. They spoke in an undertone, and 
 appeared to be quarrelling. As for myself, I had selected 
 a little mound covered with fine grass ; and stretching out 
 lazily, I saw at the same time the heavens and the turf on 
 which my feet were resting. The two lovers, appreciating, 
 no doubt, the charm of my attitude, had come and laid down, 
 one on my right and the other on my left. 
 
 They profited by their position to talk to me both at the 
 same time. 
 
 The one on my left nudged me slightly with his arm when 
 he found I was no longer listening to him. 
 
 " Sir," he said to me, " I have rarely met a more capricious 
 woman than Mademoiselle Antoinette. You cannot imagine 
 how her head turns at the least thing. For example, when 
 we met you this morning we were on our way to dine two 
 leagues away from here. You had hardly disappeared, when 
 she made us retrace our steps ; the country didn't please her, 
 she said. It's enough to drive one crazy. For my part, I 
 like doing things one can understand." 
 
73 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 The man who was on my right said at the same time, 
 obb'ging me to listen to him : 
 
 " Sir, I have been seeking an opportunity to speak to you 
 in private since this morning. My companion and myself 
 think we owe you an explanation. We have noticed your 
 great friendship for Mademoiselle Antoinette, and we very 
 much regret to interfere with your plans. If we had known 
 of your love a week earlier, we would have withdrawn, so as 
 not to cause a gentleman the least pain ; but now it is rather 
 late : we no longer feel strong enough to make the sacrifice. 
 Besides, I will be straightforward : Antoinette loves me. I 
 pity you, and am ready to give you satisfaction." 
 
 I hastened to allay his fears. But although I vowed to 
 him that I never had been, and never would be Antoinette's 
 sweetheart, he nevertheless continued to lavish the most 
 tender consolation upon me. He found it so delicious to 
 think that he had robbed me of my love. 
 
 The other, annoyed at the attention I was paying to his 
 companion, bent over towards me. To compel me to lend 
 him an ear, he confided to me a great secret. 
 
 "I want to be straightforward with you," he said; "An- 
 toinette loves me. I sincerely pity her other admirers." 
 
 At that moment I heard a peculiar sound; it came from 
 the bush beneath which L&n and Antoinette were sheltering 
 themselves. I couldn't tell whether it was a kiss or the note 
 of a frightened fauvette. 
 
 In the meanwhile, my right-hand neighbour had surprised 
 ray left-hand neighbour, telling me Antoinette loved him. 
 He raised himself and looked at him defiantly. I slipped 
 away from them, and slyly gained a hedge, behind which I 
 ensconced myself. Then they found themselves face to face. 
 
 My cluster of brambles was admirably situated. I could 
 see Antoinette and L^on, but without, however, hearing what 
 they said. They were still quarrelling; only they seemed 
 closer to one another. As to the men in love, they were 
 above me, and I could follow their dispute. The young 
 woman was turning her back to them, so they were able 
 to give vent to their fury at ease. 
 
 "You have behaved very badly," said one; "you should 
 have withdrawn two days ago. Haven't you sufficient intelli- 
 gence to see ? Antoinette prefers me." 
 
THE THIEVES AND THE ASS 73 
 
 "No indeed," answered the other, "I have not that intelli- 
 gence. But you have the stupidity, you, to take for yourself 
 the smiles and glances intended for me." 
 
 "Rest assured, my poor gentleman, that Antoinette loves me." 
 
 "Rest assured, my happy sir, that Antoinette adores me." 
 
 I looked at Antoinette. There was certainly no fauvette in 
 the bush. 
 
 " I am tired of all this," resumed one of the suitors. " Are 
 not you of my opinion, that it is time for one of us to make 
 himself scarce ? " 
 
 " I was about to suggest to you that we should cut one 
 another's throats," answered the other. 
 
 They had raised their voices ; were gesticulating, getting up 
 and sitting down again in their anger. The young woman, 
 attracted by the increasing noise of the quarrel, turned her 
 head. I saw her .look astonished, then smile. She called 
 Ldon's attention to the two young men, and said a few words 
 to him which made him quite merry. 
 
 He rose and went towards the river, leading his companion 
 along with him. They stifled their bursts of laughter, and 
 avoided kicking the stones as they walked along. I thought 
 they were going to hide themselves, so as to cause a search to 
 be made for them afterwards. 
 
 The two wooers were shouting still louder; having no 
 swords, they were making ready to use their fists. In the 
 meantime Ldon had reached the boat ; he helped Antoinette 
 into it, and quietly began to undo the cord ; then he jumped 
 in himself. 
 
 Just as one of the suitors was about to strike the other, 
 he caught sight of the boat in mid-stream. Thunderstruck, 
 forgetting to hit, he pointed it out to his companion. 
 
 " Heh I heh ! " he shouted, running to the bank, " what's 
 the meaning of this joke ? " 
 
 I had been entirely forgotten behind my bush. Happiness 
 and misfortune, alike, make persons egotists. I rose. 
 
 " Gentlemen," I said to the poor fellows who stood gaping 
 and bewildered, "don't you remember the fable? The joke 
 means this : Antoinette, whom you thought you had stolen 
 from me, is being stolen from you." 
 
 "The comparison is gallant!" Ldon shouted out to me. 
 " Those gentlemen are thieves, and madam is an " 
 
74 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 Madam kissed him, and the kiss smothered the ugly 
 word. 
 
 " Brothers," I added, turning towards my stranded com- 
 panions, " here we are without food and without a roof above 
 our heads. Let us build a hut, and live on wild berries until 
 a vessel comes to take us off our desert island." 
 
 VI 
 
 And then ? 
 
 And then, what do I know 1 You are asking me too much, 
 Ninette. Antoinette and Ldon have been living for two 
 months, now, in the sky-blue nest. Antoinette continues a 
 frank and good girl. Leon speaks ill of women more im- 
 petuously than ever. They dote on each other. 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 
 
 At the age of ten, the poor child seemed so delicate, that 
 it was pitiful to see her working as hard as a farm-servant. 
 She had great, wondering eyes, and the sad smile of those 
 who suffer without complaining. The rich farmers who met 
 her of an evening coming out of the wood, ill-clad and loaded 
 with a heavy burden, sometimes offered, when the corn had 
 sold well, to buy her a good petticoat in thick fustian, and 
 she would then answer : " I know of a poor old man, who 
 stands under the church porch, exposed to this December 
 cold, and who has only one blouse ; buy him a cloth jacket, 
 and to-morrow, when I see him so well clad, I shall feel 
 warm." It was for that reason they had nicknamed her 
 Sister-of-the-poor ; and some called her so in derision, on 
 account of her old clothes, whilst others did so as a reward for 
 her kind heart. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor, in her early days, had had a fine lace cradle 
 and enough playthings to fill a room. Then, one morning, 
 her mother did not come to kiss her when it was time to get 
 up. As she cried at not seeing her, they told her that one of 
 God's angels had borne her away to Paradise, and that dried 
 her tears. A month previous, her father had gone in the 
 same way. The dear little thing thought he had just called 
 her mother from the sky, and that the two being united, 
 unable to live without their daughter, would soon send an 
 angel to carry her away in her turn. 
 
 She had forgotten how she had lost her playthings and 
 cradle. From a rich young lady, she became a poor girl, 
 without any one seeming astonished : no doubt wicked people 
 had come, who had stripped her of everything, whilst present- 
 ing the appearance of honest folk. All she remembered was 
 
76 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 having one morning seen her uncle Guillaume and her aunt 
 Guillaumette beside her bed. She felt very much afraid, 
 because they did not kiss her. Guillaumette hurriedly dressed 
 her in a frock of coarse material ; Guillaume, holding her by 
 the hand, led her away to the wretched hut where she was 
 now living. Then, that was all. She felt very weary every 
 night. 
 
 Guillaume and Guillaumette had also been very wealthy. 
 But Guillaume was partial to the society of boon companions, 
 and to nights passed in drinking, without giving a thought to 
 the barrels that were being emptied ; Guillaumette was fond 
 of ribbons, silk gowns, and of wasting long hours in vain 
 endeavours to make herself look young and beautiful ; and so 
 they continued, until at last there was no more wine in the 
 cellar,' and the mirror was sold to purchase bread. Up till 
 then they had shown that good nature of certain wealthy 
 people, which is often only an effect of their own well-being 
 and satisfaction ; they enjoyed happiness more thoroughly by 
 sharing it with others, and thus mingled much egotism with 
 their charity. And so they were incapable of suffering and 
 remaining kind. Regretting the wealth they had lost, having 
 tears only for their own misery, they became hard for the poor 
 world. 
 
 They forgot that their poverty had been brought about by 
 their own selves, they accused each other of their ruin, and 
 felt at heart immense necessity for vengeance ; they were exas- 
 perated at having to eat black bread, and sought to console 
 themselves by the sight of greater suffering than their own. 
 
 And so the rags of Sister-of-the-poor, and her thin little cheeks 
 all pale with tears, pleased them. They would not own, even 
 to themselves, the wicked delight they took in the child's 
 weakness, when she tottered back from the spring, clutching 
 the heavy pitcher in both hands. They beat her for a drop 
 of spilt water, saying that bad temper must be punished ; and 
 they struck her so readily and spitefully, that it was easy to 
 perceive the chastisement was undeserved. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor bore all their misery. They gave her the 
 most tiring work to do, sent her to glean in the mid-day sun, 
 and to pick up dead wood in snowy weather. Then as soon 
 as she returned, she had to sweep, wash, and put everything 
 in order in the hut. The dear little creature had ceased 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 11 
 
 complaining. Happy days were such a long way off, that 
 she did not know one could live without weeping. She 
 never dreamt of there being young ladies who were petted 
 and gay; in the absence of playthings, and kisses of an 
 evening, she accepted strokes and dry bread, as forming 
 also part of her existence. And men of wisdom were 
 surprised to see a child of ten display so much pity for all 
 who suffered, without giving a thought to her own misfortune. 
 
 But, one night, I know not what anniversary Guillaume 
 and Guillaumette were feasting, they gave her a beautiful 
 new sou piece, and allowed her to go out and play for the 
 remainder of the day. Sister-of-the-poor went slowly down 
 to the town, very much troubled with her sou and not 
 knowing what to do to play. In that frame of mind she 
 reached the principal street There was there, on the left, 
 near the church, a shop full of sweets and dolls, which 
 were so beautifully lit up, that the children of the neigh- 
 bourhood dreamed of them, as of a paradise. On that 
 particular evening a lot of little creatures stood on the 
 pavement with gaping mouths and dumb with admira- 
 tion, whilst their hands were pressed against the window 
 panes, as near as possible to the marvels displayed there. 
 Sister-of-the-poor envied their audacity. She stopped in the 
 middle of the street, allowing her little arms to fall beside 
 her, and bringing together her rags which were blown apart 
 by the wind. Feeling somewhat proud at being rich, she 
 clutched her new sou very tight and selected with her eyes 
 the plaything she meant to buy. At last she decided on 
 a doll which had hair like a grown-up person; this doll, 
 which was as tall as she was, wore a white silk gown similar 
 to that of the Holy Virgin. 
 
 The little girl made a few steps forward. She was ashamed, 
 and as she gazed around her before entering the shop, she 
 perceived an ill-clad woman sitting on a stone bench, and 
 nursing a child who was crying in her arms. She stopped 
 again, turning her back to the doll. Her hands, at the 
 child's cries, became locked together in pity ; and, this 
 time without shame, she hurried toward the poor woman, 
 and gave her her beautiful new sou. 
 
 The latter had been observing Sister-of-the-poor for some 
 time. She had seen her stop, then approach the playthings, 
 
^8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 so that when the child came to her, she understood her 
 good heart. She took the sou with tearful eyes; then she 
 retained the little hand that gave it her in her own. 
 
 "My child," she said, "I accept your charity, because I 
 see a refusal would grieve you. But are you beyond necessity 
 yourself? Ill-clad though I be, I can satisfy one of your 
 wishes." 
 
 As the poor woman spoke, her eyes shone like stars, whilst 
 around her head ran a halo, as if formed by a ray of the sun. 
 The child, who was now asleep on her knees, smiled divinely 
 in its slumber. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor shook her fair head. 
 
 " No, madam," she answered, " I have no wish. I wanted 
 to buy that doll you see opposite, but my aunt GuiUaumette 
 would have broken it for me. As you will not take my sou 
 for nothing, I would like you to give me a nice kiss in 
 exchange for it." 
 
 The beggar bent forward and kissed her on the forehead. 
 Sister-of-the-poor, at this kiss, felt herself raised from the 
 earth ; it seemed to her that her interminable fatigue had 
 quitted her ; at the same time her heart became better. 
 
 " My child," added the unknown, " I will not let your 
 charity go unrewarded. I have a sou which I, like you, did 
 not know what to do with until I met you. Princes, high- 
 born dames, have thrown me purses filled with gold, and I 
 have not thought them worthy of it. Take it Whatever 
 happens, act according to your heart." 
 
 Apd she gave it her. It was an old brass sou, jagged at the 
 edges, and with a hole in the centre of it as big as a great 
 lentil. It was so worn that it was impossible to discover from 
 what country it came, but one could still see a half-obliterated 
 hallowed crown on one of its faces. Perhaps it was a piece 
 of heavenly money. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor, noticing it so thin, extended her hand, 
 understanding that such a present could not deprive the 
 beggar of anything, and looking upon it as a token of her 
 friendship. 
 
 "Alas!" she thought, "the poor woman does not know 
 what she says. Princes and fine ladies could do nothing with 
 her sou. It is so ugly that it would not pay for an ounce of 
 bread. I shall not even be able to give it to the poor." 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 79 
 
 The woman, whose eyes shone brighter and brighter, smiled, 
 as if the child had spoken aloud. Softly she said to her : 
 
 " Take it all the same, and you will see." 
 
 Then Sister-of-the-poor accepted it, so as not to disoblige 
 her. She bent down in order to place it in the pocket of 
 her skirt ; when she raised her head again, the bench was 
 vacant. She felt very much astonished, and returned home 
 pondering over her recent meeting. 
 
 II 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor slept in the garret, a sort of loft strewn 
 with pieces of old furniture. On moonlight nights, thanks to 
 a narrow dormer-window, she had light to go to bed by. On 
 others she was obliged to grope her way to reach her couch, 
 a poor one, made of four badly joined planks, and a straw 
 paillasse, which was so lumpy that in places the two sides of 
 the tick touched each other. 
 
 On that particular night the moon was at its full. A 
 luminous stream ran along the beams, filling the garret with 
 light 
 
 When Guillaume and Guillaumette were in bed, Sister-of- 
 the-poor went upstairs. On dark nights she sometimes felt 
 very much afraid at sudden moans, at the sound of footsteps 
 she fancied she heard, and which were nothing more than the 
 cracking of woodwork and the scampering of mice. And so 
 she was very fond of the beautiful satellite whose friendly rays 
 dispersed her fears. On nights when it shone, she opened the 
 dormer-window, and thanked it in her prayers for having 
 returned to see her. 
 
 She was very much pleased to find light in her room. ' She 
 was tired, and would sleep very tranquilly, feeling herself 
 watched over by her good friend the moon. She had often 
 felt it in her sleep wandering thus about the room, silent and 
 gentle, driving away the bad dreams of winter nights. 
 
 She ran and knelt down on an old chest, in the midst of the 
 white light There she prayed to God. Then, going towards 
 the bed, she unhooked her skirt. 
 
 The skirt slid to the ground, and in doing so a quantity 
 
So STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 of big sous fell out of the distended pocket. Sister-of-the- 
 poor, motionless and in terror, watched them rolling about 
 
 She stooped down and picked them up one by one, taking 
 hold of them with the tips of her fingers. She piled them up 
 on the old chest, without seeking to ascertain how many there 
 were, for she could only count up to fifty, and she could see 
 very well that there were several hundred of them. When 
 she could find no more on the ground, she picked up her 
 skirt, and understood by the weight that the pocket was again 
 full. Then, for a good quarter of an hour, she pulled handfuls 
 of sous out of it, thinking she would never reach the bottom. 
 At last she could only feel one more. When she looked at it, 
 she recognised it was the sou the beggar-woman had given 
 her that same evening. 
 
 She then said to herself that the Almighty had just 
 performed a miracle, and that this ugly-looking sou which 
 she had disdained, was a sou such as the wealthy never 
 had. She felt it vibrate between her fingers, ready to 
 multiply agaia And she was all of a tremble lest it 
 should take the fancy to fill the whole garret with wealth. 
 Even now she knew not what to do with those piles of 
 new money that were shining in the moonlight, and she 
 gazed around her quite troubled. 
 
 Like a good work -girl she had always a needle and 
 cotton in her apron pocket, and she looked about her for 
 a piece of old sacking to make a bag. She made it so 
 narrow that she could hardly get her little hand into it; 
 material was wanting, and besides, Sister-of-the-poor was 
 pressed for time. Then, having placed the poor woman's 
 sou right at the bottom, she began to slip the pieces covering 
 the chest into the bag, pile by pile. As each lot fell, the 
 bag became full, and was immediately empty again. The 
 hundreds of big sous had plenty of room there, and it was 
 easy to see that it could have held four times as many. 
 
 After that, Sister-of-the-poor, who was tired, hid the bag 
 under the paillasse, and went to sleep. She laughed in her 
 dreams, thinking of all the alms she would be able to distri- 
 bute the next day. 
 
SISTER-OF-T HE-POOR 8i 
 
 III 
 
 When Sister-of-the-poor awoke the following morning, she 
 fancied she had been dreaming. It was necessary to touch 
 her treasure to believe in its existence. It was a little heavier 
 than on the previous evening, and this made the child under- 
 stand that the wonderful sou had been at work again during 
 the night. 
 
 She dressed herself hurriedly, and went downstairs with 
 her wooden shoes in her hand so as not to make a noise. 
 She had hidden the bag under her fichu and pressed it to 
 her bosom. Guillaume and Guillaumette, who were fast 
 asleep, did not hear her. She had to pass in front of their 
 bed, and she almost fell down with fright at the thought that 
 they were so close to her ; then she began to run, threw the 
 door wide open, and rushed off forgetting to close it again. 
 
 It was in winter, and one of the coldest mornings in 
 December. Day was just breaking. The sky with its pale 
 glimmers of dawn, seemed the same colour as the earth which 
 was covered with snow. This general whiteness, which ex- 
 tended to the horizon, made all the surroundings look very 
 calm. Sister-of-the-poor walked quickly along, following the 
 path leading to the town. All she heard was the cracking 
 of the snow under her wooden shoes. Although very much 
 absorbed in thought, she chose the deepest ruts by way of 
 amusement 
 
 As she approached the town, she remembered she had 
 forgotten in her hurry to pray to God. She knelt down at 
 the roadside. There, alone, lost in the immense and sad 
 serenity of slumbering nature, she pronounced her orison in 
 that childish voice which is so sweet, that God cannot dis- 
 tinguish it from that of angels. She soon arose again, and 
 feeling a chill, hurried on her way. 
 
 There was great poverty in the surrounding country, espe- 
 cially that year, the winter being a hard one, and bread so 
 dear, that only well-to-do folk could purchase it. Poor 
 people, those who lived on sunshine and pity, went abroad 
 in the early morning to see if spring were not coming, bring- 
 ing more bountiful charity along with it. They walked along 
 the roads, or seated themselves on the boundary stones at 
 
83 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 the gates of the towns, beseeching the passers-by to assist 
 them ; for it was so cold in their lofts, that they might just 
 as well take up their lodging on the highway. And there 
 were such numbers of them there, that one might have 
 peopled a large village with them. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor had opened the little bag. On entering 
 the town, she saw a blind man coming towards her, led by 
 a little girl who gazed sadly in her face, taking her for a 
 sister in misfortune, she was so ill-clad. 
 
 "My father," she said to the poor old man, "hold out 
 your hands. Jesus has sent me to you." 
 
 She spoke to the old man because the little girl's fingers 
 were too small, and could not have held more than a dozen 
 big sous. And so, to fill the hands the blind man extended 
 to her, she had to plunge into the sack seven times, they 
 were so long and broad. Then, before passing on, she 
 told the little one to help herself to a final handful of 
 money. 
 
 She was in a hurry to get before the church, near the stone- 
 benches where the poor assembled in the morning; God's 
 house sheltered them from the north winds ; the sun, when 
 it rose, cast its rays right on the porch. She had to stop 
 again. At the corner of an alley, she found a young woman 
 who had no doubt passed the night there, she was so chilled 
 and shivering with cold j with closed eyes, her arms pressed 
 against her breast, she seemed asleep, hoping for nothing 
 but death. Sister-of-the-poor stood before her with her hand 
 full of sous, not knowing how to bestow her charity upon 
 her. She wept, thinking she had come too late. 
 
 "Good woman," she said, and she touched her softly on 
 the shoulder, "look, take this money. You must go and 
 breakfast at the inn and have a sleep before a big fire." 
 
 At that sweet voice, the good woman opened her eyes 
 and held out her hands. She, perhaps, thought she was 
 still sleeping, and dreaming that an angel had descended 
 beside her. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor hurried to the great square. There was 
 a crowd there under the porch awaiting the first ray of sun- 
 shine. The beggars, seated at the feet of the saints, were 
 shivering with cold and huddled against one another without 
 speaking. They were slowly rolling their heads as the dying 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 83 
 
 do. They crowded in the corners, so as not to lose any of 
 the sun, when it made its appearance. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor began on the right, throwing handfuls of 
 sous into the felt hats and the aprons, and with such good 
 heart that many of the pieces rolled on the pavement. The 
 dear child did not count. The little sack performed wonders ; 
 it would not become empty, it swelled out so at each fresh 
 handful the young girl took from it, that it overflowed like a 
 vase which is too full. The poor people stood dumbfounded 
 at this delightful windfall : they picked up the sous that fell, 
 forgetting the sun that was rising, and repeating hurriedly : 
 " God will give it you back." The charity was so bountiful 
 that some good old fellows fancied the stone saints were 
 throwing them this fortune ; and they even still believe so. 
 
 The child laughed at their delight. She went three times 
 round, so as to give the same sum to each ; then she stopped ; 
 not because the little bag was empty, but because she had 
 much to do before evening. As she was about to go away, 
 she perceived a crippled old man in a corner, who, being 
 unable to advance, extended his hands towards her. Feeling 
 sorry at not having seen him, she advanced and tilted up the 
 bag so as to give him more. The sous began to run from 
 this miserable-looking purse like water from a spring with- 
 out stopping, and so abundantly that Sister-of-the-poor soon 
 closed the opening with her fist, for the heap would have 
 risen in a few minutes as high as the church. The poor old 
 man would not have known what to do with so much wealth, 
 and perhaps the rich would have come and robbed him. 
 
 IV 
 
 Then, when those on the grand square had their pockets 
 full, she set out towards the country. The beggars, forgetting 
 to comfort themselves, began to follow her; they gazed at 
 her in astonishment and respect, borne along by an outburst 
 of brotherly feeling. She, standing alone, looking round about 
 her, advanced the first. The crowd came afterwards. 
 
 The child, dressed in a ragged printed calico gown, was 
 indeed a sister to the poor people who formed her suite, 
 sister by her rags and sister by tender pity. She found her- 
 
84 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 self there in a family gathering, giving to her brothers, for- 
 getting herself J she walked along gravely with all the strength 
 of her little feet, happy to act the big girl ; and this little fair 
 thing of ten, followed by her escort of old men, was beaming 
 with naive majesty. 
 
 With her narrow purse in her hand, she went from village 
 to village distributing charity throughout the country. She 
 advanced without picking her way, taking the roads of the 
 plains and the paths of the hills. Sometimes she turned 
 aside, crossing the fields to see if some vagabond were not 
 sheltered beneath the hedges or in the hollow of the ditches. 
 She stood on tip-toe, gazing at the horizon, regretful that she 
 was unable to call all the poverty of the neighbourhood 
 around her. She sighed when she reflected that she was 
 perhaps leaving some one in sufiering behind her ; it was 
 that thought that made her sometimes retrace her footsteps 
 to examine a bush. And, whether she slackened her speed 
 at bends in the roads, or ran forward to meet some person 
 in want, her retinue followed her wherever she went. 
 
 And so it happened that as she was crossing a meadow, a 
 flight of sparrows swooped down before her. The poor little 
 creatures, lost in the snow, chirped in a lamentable way, 
 asking for the food they had sought for in vain. Sister-of- 
 the-poor stopped, taken aback at meeting unfortunates to 
 whom her big sous could be of no assistance ; she gazed at 
 her bag in anger, execrating the money which could not be 
 employed in charity of this kind. In the meanwhile the 
 sparrows surrounded her; they said they belonged to the 
 family, and asked for their share of her favours. Ready to 
 burst out sobbing, not knowing what to do, she drew a hand- 
 ful of sous from the bag, for she could not make up her mind 
 to dismiss them with nothing. The dear child had assuredly 
 lost her head, imagining big sous were sparrows' money, and 
 that these children of God have millers to grind and bakers to 
 knead their daily bread. I know not what she thought of 
 doing, but the fact is that the charity which was given out in 
 handfuls of sous, fell in handfuls of corn on the ground. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor did not seem surprised. She gave the 
 sparrows a regular feast, offering them all sorts of grain, 
 and in such quantity that when spring came, the meadow was 
 covered with grass as thick and high as a forest Since then, 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 85 
 
 that corner of the earth has belonged to the birds of the air j 
 they find abundance of food there in all seasons, notwith- 
 standing that they come by thousands, from more than twenty 
 leagues around. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor resumed her walk, delighted at her new 
 power. She no longer limited herself to distributing big sous. 
 According to the people she met, she gave good smocks, 
 which were very warm, thick woollen petticoats, or boots that 
 were so light and tough that they barely weighed an ounce 
 and yet wore down the stones. All this came from an 
 unknown factory. The materials were wonderfully strong 
 and flexible ; the seams were so finely sewn, that in the 
 hole which one of our own needles would have made, magic 
 needles had easily found room for three of their stitches ; 
 and the most extraordinary thing was that each article of 
 clothing fitted the poor person who put it on. No doubt 
 a workshop of good fairies had been established at the bottom 
 of the bag, and they had brought a pair of fine gold scissors, 
 which cut ten cherubs' gowns out of a roseleaf. It was, 
 certainly, heavenly labour, for the work was so perfect and 
 so quickly sewn. 
 
 The little bag showed no pride on that account. The 
 opening was slightly worn, and the hand of Sister-of-the-poor 
 had perhaps enlarged it a little ; it might now have the 
 dimensions of a couple of linnets' nests. In order that you 
 may not charge me with telling fibs, I must explain to you 
 how the large articles of clothing came out of it, such as 
 petticoats and cloaks five or six yards wide. The truth is, 
 they were folded up like the flower of the poppy before it has 
 burst from the calyx ; and they were folded so cleverly that 
 they were no bigger than the bud of that flower. Then 
 Sister-of-the-poor took the packet between two fingers and 
 slightly shook it. The material was unfolded, extended in 
 length, and became a garment, no longer any good for angels, 
 but suitable for broad shoulders. As to the shoes, I have 
 never been able to ascertain up to this day in what form they 
 left the sack. I have, however, heard say, although I affirm 
 nothing, that each pair was enclosed in a bean, which burst 
 open on touching the ground. And all that, of.course, did 
 not interfere with the handfuls of big sous which fell as thick 
 as hail in March 
 
86 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor continued walking. She did not feel 
 fatigued, although she had done more than twenty leagues 
 since the morning, without eating or drinking. To observe her 
 passing along the roads, leaving hardly a trace of her footsteps, 
 one would have said she was borne along by invisible wings. 
 She had been seen that day at the four corners of the neigh- 
 bourhood. You would not have found an angle of land, 
 plain or mountain, where the slight imprint of her little feet 
 was not marked in the snow. In truth, if Guillaume and 
 Guillaumette were pursuing her, they risked running a whole 
 week before catching her. Not that there was any reason 
 to hesitate about the road she took, for she left a crowd 
 behind her, as kings do on their way ; but because she walked 
 so pluckily that she herself, in other times, would have been 
 unable to make such a journey in less than six full weeks. 
 
 And her retinue continued increasing at each village. All 
 those whom she assisted walked in her train, so that, towards 
 evening, the crowd extended behind her for several hundred 
 yards. It was her good actions that were thus following her. 
 Never had a saint gone before God with such a royal escort 
 
 However, night set ia Sister-of-the-poor was still walking, 
 and the little bag was still at work. At length the child was 
 seen to stop on the summit of a hill ; she remained motionless, 
 gazing at the plains she had just been enriching, and her rags 
 stood out black against the whiteness of the twilight. The 
 beggars formed a circle round her ; they swayed about in 
 great dark masses with the hollow murmuring of crowds. Then 
 there was silence. Sister-of-the-poor, high up in the air, with 
 a people at her feet, smiled. Then, having grown a great deal 
 taller since the morning, and standing upright on the hill, she 
 pointed with her hand to heaven, saying to her people : 
 
 " Thank Jesus ; thank Mary." 
 
 And all her people heard her sweet voice. 
 
 It was very late when Sister-of-the-poor returned homa 
 Guillaume and Guillaumette had fallen asleep, worn out by 
 their anger and threats. She went in by the stable door, 
 which was only closed by a latch, and quickly reached her loft. 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 87 
 
 where she found her good friend the moon, looking so clear 
 and joyful, that it seemed to know how she had been passing 
 her day. Heaven often thanks us thus, by brighter beams of 
 light. 
 
 The child felt in great need of rest ; but before going to 
 bed she wanted to see the miraculous sou again — ^the one that 
 was at the bottom of her bag. It had worked so hard and 
 well that really it deserved a kiss. She seated herself on the 
 chest and began to empty the purse, placing the handfuls of 
 money at her feet. For a quarter of an hour she tried to 
 get to the bottom ; the pile reached up to her knees, and then 
 she was in despair. She could see very well that she would 
 fill the loft without getting on any further with her work. 
 
 In her .perplexity she could think of nothing better than to 
 turn the little bag inside out. The result was a prodigious 
 rush of big sous ; the garret for the nonce was three-parts full 
 of them. The bag was empty. 
 
 The noise, however, awoke Guillaume. Although the floor 
 coming in would not have disturbed the poor fellow's sleep, 
 not the smallest piece of money could have fallen on the flags 
 without him opening his eyes. 
 
 " Heh ! wife," he exclaimed ; "do you hear?" 
 
 And as the old woman grumbled in a bad humour, he 
 resumed : 
 
 "The child has returned home. I think she must have 
 robbed some one, for I can hear the jingle of a full purse up 
 there." 
 
 Guillaumette sat up in bed wide awake, thinking no more of 
 grumbling. She promptly lit the lamp, saying : 
 
 " I knew very well that child was full of vice." 
 
 Then she added, " I will buy a cap with ribbons and a pair 
 of cloth shoes. I shall be proud of myself on Sunday." 
 
 Then both of them, half-dressed, ascended to the garret, 
 Guillaume leading the way and Guillaumette following, holding 
 up the lamp. Their thin, strange-looking shadows extended 
 along the walls. 
 
 They stopped in amazement at the top of the ladder. On 
 the floor was a mass of coins three feet deep, fiUiug every 
 corner, so that it was impossible to perceive a piece of board 
 as large as the hand. In some places the money lay in heaps, 
 which one might have taken for the waves of this sea of big 
 
88 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 sous. In the centre of it, between two of the heaps, Sister-of- 
 the-poor was sleeping in a ray of the moon. The child, over- 
 come by slumber, had been unable to reach her bed ; she had 
 let herself slip softly down, and was dreaming of heaven on 
 this couch of doles. With her arms crossed over her breast 
 she grasped the beggar's magic present in her right hand. 
 Her light, regular respiration could be heard amidst the 
 silence, whilst the beloved planet reflecting around her on 
 the new money enveloped her, as it were, in a circle of 
 gold. 
 
 Guillaume and Guillaumette were not people to be long 
 astonished. The miracle being to their advantage, they did 
 not trouble much about seeking to fathom it, caring very little 
 whether it was the work of the Almighty or Satan. When they 
 had counted the treasure for an instant with their eyes, they 
 wanted to make quite sure that it was not merely an effect of 
 shadow and reflection of the moon. They eagerly stooped 
 down with their hands wide open. 
 
 But what occurred then, is so little worthy of belief, that I 
 hesitate to relate it. Guillaume had hardly taken up a hand- 
 ful of the pieces, when they were transformed into enormous 
 bats. He parted his fingers in terror and the nasty creatures 
 escaped, giving utterance to shrill cries and striking him in 
 the face with their long, black wings. Guillaumette, on her 
 side, caught hold of a litter of young rats, with sharp white 
 teeth, which bit her dreadfully as they escaped down her legs. 
 The old woman, who fainted at the sight of a mouse, was 
 half dead when she felt these creatures running about her 
 petticoats. 
 
 They had stood up, no longer daring to play with this 
 money which looked so new in appearance, but was so un- 
 pleasant to the touch. They gazed at each other ill at ease, 
 encouraging one another with those half laughing, half angry 
 looks of a child that has just burnt itself with a piece of hot 
 pudding. Guillaumette was the first to give way to the 
 temptation the second time; she stretched out her skinny 
 arms, and took two fresh handfuls of sous. As she closed 
 her fists so that nothing could escape, she shrieked with 
 pain, for in truth she had clutched hold of two handfuls 
 of needles, which were so long and pointed that her fingers 
 seemed as if sewn to the palms of her hands. Guillaume, 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 89 
 
 seeing her stoop down, wanted his share of the treasure. He 
 lost no time, but his booty consisted only of two shovelfuls 
 of red-hot cinders, which burnt his skin like gunpowder. 
 
 Then, mad with pain, they fell upon the big sous, plunging 
 right into them, endeavouring to get the best of the miracle 
 by the rapidity of their movements. But the big sous were 
 not to be taken by surprise. Hardly were they touched than 
 they flew away in the form of locusts, wriggled as serpents, ran 
 along as boiling water, were dispersed in smoke ; any form 
 seemed suitable to them, and they did not leave without 
 having slightly burnt or bitten the thieves. 
 
 The fecundity was frightful, so rapid, giving birth to so 
 many different kinds of creatures that unutterable terror 
 reigned there. Flying-toads, owls, vampires, night-moths, 
 rushed to the dormer-window, flapping their wings, and 
 escaping in great flights. Scorpions, spiders, all the hideous 
 denizens of damp places reached the corners in long affrighted 
 columns. Although the loft was full of chinks and crevices, 
 there were not sufficient holes for them, and they were 
 there, hustling one another, and crushing themselves in the . 
 cracks. 
 
 Guillaume and Guillaumette, mad with fright, began to run, 
 borne along in the giddy movement of this strange creation. 
 To the right and left, everywhere, they hastened the bursting 
 into existence of new creatures. Life streamed from their 
 fingers. The living flood rose. This treasure, on which the 
 moon a moment before had been casting its rays, was nothing 
 more than a blackish mass which swayed heavily to and fro, 
 rising, sinking upon itself, as wine in the vat. 
 
 There was soon not a big sou left. The entire heap had 
 become alive. Then Guillaume and Guillaumette, unable to 
 take anything but reptiles, fled, casting two handfuls of snakes 
 in their own faces. 
 
 And, as they had removed all the monsters in these two last 
 handfuls, the loft was empty. Sister-of-the-poor had heard 
 nothing, and was slumbering, calm and smiling. 
 
90 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 VI 
 
 When Sister-of-the-poor awoke, she was troubled with a 
 feeling of remorse. She said to herself that she had been 
 searching out the poverty of the neighbourhood far and wide, 
 without thinking of relieving that of her uncle and aunt 
 
 The dear child had compassion for all suffering. With her, 
 the fact that the poor were poor, came before the question as 
 to whether they were good or bad. She made no distinction 
 among those who wept. She did not consider she had the task 
 of meting out punishments and rewards, but the mission to 
 dry tears. No grand idea of justice found a place in her 
 small mind of ten summers ; she was all charity, all alms. 
 When she thought of the damned in hell, a feeling of pity 
 gained her heart, which she never experienced in so great a 
 measure for souls in purgatory. 
 
 When somebody, one day, told her that a certain poor 
 person did not deserve the bread she gave him, she failed to 
 understand. She refused to believe that it was not sufficient 
 to be hungry, to eat. 
 
 So, Sister-of-the-poor, to make amends for her forgetfulness, 
 took her little bag again, and ran and bought, in beautiful new 
 money, a piece of land adjoining her relatives' hut She also 
 purchased a pair of white and brown oxen, with coats as glossy 
 as silk. She took care not to forget the plough. Then she 
 hired a farm-labourer, who drove the yoke of cattle to the 
 edge of the field, at the door of the cottage. While this was 
 being done, she purchased in the town a quantity of stores of 
 all sorts ; old vine roots, which make a bright fire, the best 
 flour, salt provisions, dry vegetables. She made three large 
 carts follow her, and went from shop to shop, loading them 
 with what she thought necessary for a home. And it was 
 marvellous to see how she spent God's money like a grown-up 
 girl, not purchasing any useless things, as might have been 
 expected of a child so young, but strong furniture, pieces of 
 linen, copper cooking pots, all that a housewife of thirty could 
 dream of. 
 
 When the three carts were full, she came and stood them 
 beside the bullocks and plough. Then it struck her that 
 the cottage was very wretched, very small, to hold all this 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 91 
 
 wealth, and she was grieved that she could not buy a farm, not 
 because she had not the money, but because there was no 
 farm in that part of the country. She resolved to send for the 
 masons and make them build a large house on the same site 
 as the humble dwelling. But, in the meanwhile, as she was 
 in a great hurry, she merely poured a few heaps of big sous on 
 the ground, in front of the carts, to meet the expense of building. 
 
 She set about her work so briskly that it took her less than 
 an hour to arrange everything. Guillaume and Guillaumette 
 were still asleep, having heard neither the sound of the wheels 
 nor the labourer's whip. 
 
 Then Sister-of-the-poor went to the door, with an artful 
 smile on her lips, for she sometimes had a roguish way of 
 doing good. She had hurried a little, out of archness, and 
 was pleased that she had everything ready before her relatives 
 awoke. 
 
 She cast a last look at her purchases, and then began to cry 
 out, as she clapped her hands with all her might : 
 
 " Uncle Guillaume ! Aunt Guillaumette I " 
 
 And as the two old people did not move, she struck the 
 badly-adjusted planks of the shutters with her fist, repeating 
 several times in a louder tone ; 
 
 "Uncle Guillaume, Aunt Guillaumette, open quickly, for- 
 tune wants to come in ! " 
 
 Now, Guillaume and Guillaumette heard this as they slept, 
 and they jumped out of bed, without troubling to wake up. 
 Sister-of-the-poor was still shouting, when they appeared on 
 the threshold, pushing against each other, rubbing their eyes, 
 to see better; and they had been in such a hurry, that 
 Guillaume had on the petticoats and Guillaumette the 
 breeches. They had no idea of this, hnving so many other 
 subjects for amazement. The heaps of big sous rose as 
 high as hay-ricks in front of the three carts which had a 
 magnificent aspect, the caldron and oak furniture standing 
 out against the snow. The bullocks were breathing loudly 
 in the morning breeze. The ploughshare looked so white, in 
 the rays of the early sun, that it seemed as if made of silver. 
 
 The labourer advanced and said to Guillaume : 
 
 "Master, where shall I take the yoke of oxen? This 
 is not the time of year for ploughing. Have no anxiety: 
 your fields are sown and you will have an ample harvest." 
 
92 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 And, during this time, the carters had gone up to 
 Guillaumette. 
 
 "Good lady," they said to her, "here is your furniture 
 and winter stores. Be quick and tell us where we are to 
 unload our carts. One day is hardly enough to get all 
 these things into the house." 
 
 The two old people, with gaping mouths, knew not what 
 to answer. They looked timidly at these goods which they 
 had never seen before, and thought of those horrid sous 
 that had made such dreadful fun of them on the previous 
 night. Sister-of-the-poor, hidden in a corner, was laughing 
 at their bewildered looks ; she did not want to take any 
 other revenge for the slight friendship they had shown 
 her in days of misfortune. The poor little girl had never 
 laughed so much in her life. I assure you, you would have 
 been as merry as she was, to have seen Guillaume in petticoats 
 and Guillaumette in breeches, undecided as to whether they 
 ought to laugh or cry, and pulling the most amusing faces 
 in the world. 
 
 At last, as she saw they were on the point of going in 
 and closing the door and window, she showed herself. 
 
 "My friends," she said to the labourer and carters, "put all 
 this into the cottage ; don't be afraid of cramming the rooms 
 up to the ceilings. I never thought of the smallness of the 
 place, I have purchased so much that we shall now require 
 a country-house. But there lies the money for the masons." 
 
 She spoke thus so as to be heard by her relatives, for 
 she thought with reason, to set their minds at ease, by making 
 them understand that she was the good fairy who brought 
 them these presents. Now Guillaume and Guillaumette had 
 resolved, since the previous night, to flog her, as a punish- 
 ment for having left them a whole day ; but, when they heard 
 her speaking thus, when they saw the men putting down their 
 furniture and stores at their door, they looked at her and 
 burst out sobbing, without knowing why. It seemed to them 
 that a hand was clutching them at their throats. They 
 remained there, standing, ready to choke, not knowing what 
 to do amidst this feeling of emotion which was so strange 
 to them. And, all of a sudden, they discovered that they 
 loved Sister-of-the-poor. Then, laughing amidst their tears, 
 they ran and kissed her, and that relieved their feelings. 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 93 
 
 VII 
 
 A year afterwards, Guillaume and Guillaumette were the 
 richest farmers in the district. They owned a large new 
 farmhouse; their fields stretched so many leagues around, 
 that they went beyond the horizon. 
 
 For a poor person to become rich, is not a rare occurrence ; 
 no one nowadays thinks of being surprised at it. But, when 
 Guillaume and Guillaumette from unkind became good, 
 there were people who refused to believe it. It was the 
 truth notwithstanding. Sister-of-the-poor's relations, having 
 ceased to suffer from cold and hunger, recovered their former 
 good nature. As they had shed many tears, they felt them- 
 selves akin to the unfortunate, and relieved them without 
 egoism. 
 
 Tears, I know, are good advisers. However, if Guillaumette 
 was not over fond of lace, if Guillaume gave up drinking and 
 preferred work, it is my opinion that the big sous possessed 
 some secret virtue which assisted the miracle ; for they were 
 not like ordinary sous which consent to be spent improperly ; 
 they would not allow evildoers to make use of them, but 
 when in the possession of worthy souls, they caused them 
 to be charitable by guiding their hands. Ah ! the honest 
 big sous, they had none of the gloomy stupidity of our 
 ugly gold and silver coins ! 
 
 Guillaume and Guillaumette kissed Sister-of-the-poor from 
 morning till night. At first they spared her all fatigue, and 
 got angry when she spoke of working. It was easy to see 
 they hoped to make a fine young lady of her, with delicate 
 white hands, suitable for tying ribbons. " Carry your head 
 high," they said to her every morning; "don't bother your- 
 self about the rest." But the young girl was not of that 
 mind ; she would have died of sadness if she had remained 
 all day long without any other occupation than that of watching 
 the clouds sail by ; her wealth gave her less distraction than 
 polishing her oak furniture and carefully folding up her fine 
 linen sheets. She therefore amused herself in her own way, 
 saying to her relations : " Let me be, I am warmly clothed 
 and have no use for lace j I prefer household cares to those 
 of dress." 
 
94 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 And she spoke so seriously, that Guillaume and Guillaumette 
 understood that she possessed great intelligence, and ceased 
 interfering with her inclinations. That gave her great pleasure. 
 She rose, as formerly, at five o'clock, and went about her house- 
 hold duties ; not that she swept or washed as in the days of 
 misfortune, for she was not strong enough to keep such a large 
 house clean ; but she looked after the servants, and was not 
 prevented by any feeling of false pride from assisting them in 
 the dairy and poultry yard. She was assuredly the wealthiest 
 and most active young girl in the neighbourhood. Every one 
 marvelled that she did not alter on becoming the owner of a 
 large farm, apart from having more rosy cheeks, and working 
 more merrily. "Dear poverty," she often said, "you taught 
 me how to behave when rich." 
 
 She was very thoughtful for her age, and that sometimes 
 made her sad. I do not know how it was she perceived her 
 big sous had become of little use to her. The fields gave her 
 bread, wine, oil, vegetables, fruit j the flocks supplied her with 
 wool for clothing and meat for meals; she had everj-thing 
 within arms' reach, and the produce of the farm was ample 
 for her requirements, as well as for those of her people The 
 share of the poor was also large, for she no longer distributed 
 alms in money, but in meat, flour, wood for firing, lengths 
 of linen and cloth, and she showed her wisdom in doing so, 
 giving away what she knew the indigent stood in need of, and 
 thus sparing them the temptation of turning the sous of charity 
 to bad account. 
 
 And so, amidst this abundance of riches, several large heaps 
 of big sous remained in the loft, where Sister-of-the-poor was 
 grieved to see them occupying the place of twenty or thirty 
 trusses of straw. She would have much preferred the straw, 
 the reward of labour, to this money which she amassed with- 
 out much merit. And so, little by little, she began to feel 
 great disdain for this sort of wealth, which was good to remain 
 idle in the chests of misers, or to be worn smooth in the hands 
 of dealers in the towns. 
 
 She was so weary of this inconvenient fortune, that one 
 morning she determined to make it disappear. She had kept 
 the little bag that devoured the big sous so easily ; it did its 
 duty in a conscientious way, and soon cleaned out the loft. 
 Sister-of-the-poor had had recourse to a cunning artifice, for 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 95 
 
 she took care not to place the beggar-woman's sou at the 
 bottom of the bag and the money went away for good, without 
 having the temptation to return. 
 
 Thus, she was careful not to become too rich, feeling there 
 would be danger for her heart if she were so. Little by little 
 she gave away a part of her property, which was too extensive 
 for the support of only one family. She arranged her revenue 
 according to her requirements. Then, as there was no need 
 of more hands on the farm, when, in spite of all she did, the 
 sous accumulated in the loft, she went up there, on the sly, 
 and took pleasure in diminishing her wealth. To assure con- 
 tentment she all her life retained possession of the enchanted 
 purse, which gave so generously in times of distress, and in 
 the hour of fortune knew only how to receive. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor had another care. The poor woman's 
 present embarrassed her. She was alarmed at the power it 
 gave her; for, even when one has no mistrust of oneself, 
 there is more pleasure in feeling one is humble than powerful. 
 She would willingly have cast it in the river ; but then some 
 wicked person might find it in the sand and make use of it to 
 the disadvantage of all ; and, in truth, if that party expended 
 half the money in doing harm that she had laid out in doing 
 good, there could be no doubt that he would be the ruin 
 of the neighbourhood. And she then understood that the 
 beggar-woman must have sought for a long time, before giving 
 away her alms. It was a present that would cause people 
 joy or despair, according to the hand that received it. 
 
 She kept the sou. As it had a hole in it, she hung it on 
 a ribbon round her neck, so she could not lose it. But it 
 grieved her to feel it on her bosom. She would have done 
 anything in the world to have found the poor woman again. 
 She would have begged her to take back the deposit, which 
 was too heavy to be retained for long, and to let her live 
 the life of a good girl, performing no miracles but those of 
 work and merry humour. 
 
 But having sought for her in vain, she despaired of ever 
 meeting her. 
 
 One evening as she passed by the church, she entered to 
 say a short prayer. She went right to the end of it, into a 
 little chapel that she loved on account of its obscurity and 
 silence. The coloured-glass windows of a dull blue, lit up 
 
96 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 the flagstones on the ground like a reflection of the moon ; 
 the rather low vaulted roof was echoless. But, on that 
 particular night, the little chapel was quite gay. A stray ray 
 of light, after crossing the nave, fell in full on the humble 
 altar, showing up the gilded frame of an old picture in the 
 darkness. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor, who had knelt down on the bare stones, 
 had a short fit of abstraction at the sight of this lovely farewell 
 of the sun as it sank below the horizon, on that frame which 
 she was not aware was there. Then, bowing her head, she 
 began her prayer. She beseeched the Almighty to send her 
 an angel to take charge of the big sou. 
 
 In the middle of her supplication she raised her forehead. 
 The sun's kiss was slowly ascending ; it had left the frame for 
 the painted canvas. One might have thought that a pale light 
 was issuing from the sacred subject. It reflected on the 
 black wall ; and it was as if some cherub had put aside a 
 comer of the veil of heaven, for one saw the Virgin Mary 
 hushing Jesus to sleep on her knees. 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor stared, searching in her mind. She had, 
 perhaps, seen this beautiful saint and divine child in a dream. 
 They also recognised her no doubt, for she saw them smile at 
 her, and she even saw them leave the canvas, and descend 
 towards her. 
 
 She heard a sweet voice that said : 
 
 "I am the saintly beggar of Heaven. The poor of the 
 earth, offer up to me their tears, and I extend my hand to 
 all who are wretched in order to relieve them. I take these 
 alms of suffering to heaven, and it is they that, collected one 
 by one through centuries, form on the last day treasures of 
 bliss for the elect 
 
 "It is for that reason I wander through the world in poor 
 attire, as becomes a daughter of the people. I console the 
 indigent, my brethren ; I save the wealthy by charity. 
 
 " I saw you one evening, and recognised in you die person 
 I was in search of. My work is very hard. When I meet an 
 angel upon earth, I entrust her with part of my mission. For 
 that purpose I have heavenly sous which have power to do 
 good, and which render pure hands fairy-like. 
 
 " Look, my Jesus is smiling at you ; He is satisfied with 
 you. You have been the beggar of Heaven, for they have all 
 
SISTER-OF-THE-POOR 97 
 
 given you their souls in alms, and you will lead your retinue 
 of poor to paradise. Now, give me that sou which is a 
 burden to you j cherubs only, have the strength to carry good 
 eternally on their wings. Be humble, be happy." 
 
 Sister-of-the-poor listened to the divine word. There she 
 was, bending forward, mute, in ecstacy ; and the blaze of the 
 vision was reflected in her astonished eyes. She remained 
 motionless for a long time. Then, as the ray of light con- 
 tinued to rise, it seemed to her that the gates of heaven were 
 closed ; the Virgin, having placed the ribbon round her neck, 
 slowly disappeared. The child still looked, but she only 
 saw the top of the gilded frame shining feebly in the last rays 
 of light 
 
 Then, no longer feeling the weight of her sou on her breast, 
 she believed in what she had just seen and went away, thank- 
 ing the Almighty. 
 
 It was thus that she had no more care, until the day when 
 the angel she had been awaiting from infancy, bore her away 
 to her mother and father, who, grieved at the separation, had 
 been calling her to paradise for so long. She found, beside 
 them, Guillaume and Guillaumette, who had also left her one 
 day when they felt too weary. 
 
 And more than a century after her death, it was impossible 
 to discover a single beggar in the district ; not that our ugly 
 gold and silver pieces were stored away in the family cup- 
 boards, but because there were always to be found, no one 
 knew how, some of the produce of the Virgin's sou, of those 
 big sous in yellow copper, which are the money of those who 
 labour and of the simple-minded. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF BIG SIDOINE 
 AND LITTLE MJ^D^RIC 
 
 THE HEROES 
 
 At a distance of a hundred feet, Big Sidoine had somewhat 
 the appearance of a poplar, except that he was perhaps taller 
 in stature and of a thicker build. At fifty feet one could 
 clearly distinguish his satisfied smile, his large blue eyes 
 starting out of his head, and his enormous fists, which he 
 swung about in a timid and embarrassed manner. At twenty- 
 five feet one summed him up without hesitation to be a good- 
 hearted fellow, as strong as an army, but a perfect simpleton. 
 Little Mdd^ric, on his side, bore, as regards stature, a strong 
 resemblance to a lettuce, I mean a young lettuce ; but on 
 noticing his fine, restless lips, his clear, broad forehead, 
 on seeing his graceful bow, the ease of his gait, one easily 
 attributed to him more intellect than to the learned brains 
 of forty tall men. His round eyes, similar to those of a 
 titmouse, darted looks as penetrating as steel gimlets, which 
 certainly would have caused him to be considered ill-natured, 
 if long fair lashes had not veiled the malice and boldness of 
 those orbs, with a soft shadow. He wore his hair in curly 
 locks J he laughed so engagingly that one could not help 
 loving him. 
 
 Although it was difficult for Big Sidoine and Little Mdddric 
 to converse freely, they were nevertheless the best friends in 
 the world. Both were sixteen, were born the same day, at 
 the same hour, and had known each other from that time ; 
 for their mothers, who happened to be neighbours, used to 
 place them together in a wicker cradle at the time when Big 
 
 98 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 99 
 
 Sidoine was still satisfied with a bedstead three feet long. 
 No doubt it is a strange thing that two children fed on the 
 same pap should grow up so utterly unlike. This circum- 
 stance puzzled the learned folk of the neighbourhood all the 
 more, as M^ddric, contrary to accepted custom, had certainly 
 dwindled down some inches in height. The five or six 
 learned pamphlets written on this phenomenon by specialists, 
 proved that Providence alone could account for the secret 
 of this strange growth, as it also knows that of the Seven- 
 League Boots, of the Sleeping Beauty, and a thousand other 
 truths so beautiful and simple that one requires the innocence 
 of childhood to understand them. 
 
 The same learned people, whose business it was to account 
 for what cannot be, had set themselves another difficult 
 problem. " How is it," they inquired of one another, without 
 ever giving an answer, " that this great simpleton Sidoine 
 loves that little scamp M6d&ic so tenderly ? and how can 
 this little scamp bestow so many caresses on that great 
 simpleton ? " It is a deep question, calculated to disturb 
 inquiring minds, that of the brotherhood between the blade 
 of grass and the oak. 
 
 I should not pay so much heed to these men of learning, 
 if one of them, the one least considered in the parish, had 
 not said one day, shaking his head, " Well, well ! good 
 people, don't you see the meaning of it all? Nothing is 
 simpler. The little fellows are changelings. When they 
 were in the cradle, when their skin was tender and their 
 skulls thin, Sidoine assumed Mdddric's body, and Mfedferic 
 Sidoine's mind ; so that one grew in body and legs whilst 
 the other grew in intelligence. Hence their affection. They 
 are one person in two beings ; which is, unless I am mistaken, 
 the definition of perfect friendship." 
 
 When the good man had thus spoken, his colleagues 
 roared with laughter and treated him as a madman. A 
 philosopher condescended to point out to him that souls do 
 not transmigrate in this manner ; a naturalist exclaimed simul- 
 taneously in his other ear, that there was no precedent in 
 zoology, of a brother yielding his shoulders to his brother, as 
 he would a piece of cake ; the good man continued, tossing 
 his head : " I have given my explanation, give yours ; we shall 
 then see which of the two is the most reasonable." 
 
loo STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 I have pondered for a long time on these words and found 
 them full of wisdom. Whilst awaiting a better explanation, 
 if, indeed, 1 require one to continue this story, I will keep 
 to that given by the old scholar. I know it will interfere 
 with the clear and geometrical views of many ; but, as I am 
 determined to welcome with gratitude the fresh solutions of 
 the mystery which my readers will no doubt find, I believe I 
 am acting fairly, in so delicate a matter. 
 
 What, thank goodness, was not a subject for controversy — 
 for all right-thinking minds agree often enough on some 
 point — is that Sidoine and Mdddric were all the better for 
 their friendship. Each day they discovered such advantages 
 in being what they were, that they would not have changed 
 body or mind for anything in the world. 
 
 VVhen M6d6nc attracted Sidoine's attention to a magpie's 
 nest at the top of an oak tree, the latter declared himself 
 to be the sharpest child in the neighbourhood; and when 
 Sidoine stooped to take possession of the nest, Mdddric 
 honestly believed that he himself had a giant's stature. It 
 would have been bad for you, if you had treated Sidoine as 
 a simpleton believing he could not answer you back ; Mdddric 
 would have convinced you in three sentences that you were 
 on the verge of idiocy. And Mdd&ic, too, if you had 
 chaffed him on his tiny fists ; only just equal to crushing a 
 fly, it would have been quite another tune : I cannot tell 
 how you would have escaped Sidoine's long arms. Mdddric 
 and Sidoine were both strong and intelligent, as they were 
 never apart, and it had never suggested itself to them that 
 they lacked anything, except on those days when chance 
 separated them. 
 
 To be frank, I must admit that they led somewhat the life 
 of vagrants, having lost their parents when they were quite 
 young ; moreover, they felt themselves capable of eating at all 
 times and in all places. Apart from this, they were not boys 
 to settle down quietly in a hut. I leave you to imagine what 
 kind of a shed would have been required for Sidoine ; whilst 
 as for M^ddric, he would have been content with a cupboard. 
 So that, in order to suit the convenience of both, they lived 
 in the fields, sleeping on the grass in summer, setting the 
 cold at naught in winter beneath a blanket of leaves and dry 
 moss. 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MfiDfiRIC loi 
 
 They thus constituted a singular household. It was 
 Mdddric's part to think; he did that wonderfully, saw at 
 the first glance the fields where the best and most savoury 
 potatoes were to be found, and knew, to within a minute, 
 the time they must be in the cinders to be done to a turn. 
 Sidoine worked ; he dug up the potatoes, which was no small 
 task I can tell you, for, though his companion only ate two 
 or three, he required two or three cartloads for his share ; then 
 he lit the fire, covered the potatoes with embers, and burnt 
 his fingers in withdrawing them. 
 
 These petty domestic cares required neither great cunning 
 nor strength of wrist. But it was good to see the two com- 
 panions in the more serious circumstances of life, such as 
 when they had to protect themselves from wolves during 
 winter nights, or to clothe themselves decently without loosen- 
 ing their purse-strings, which offered considerable difficulty. 
 
 Sidoine was very busy keeping the wolves at a distance ; 
 right and left he distributed kicks which would have over 
 thrown a mountain. On most of these occasions he overthrew 
 nothing at all, for he was very clumsy. He generally emerged 
 from the struggle with his garments in tatters. Then Mdd^ric's 
 part began. It was out of the question to repair the clothes. 
 The sharp boy preferred providing new ones, as either way he 
 had to draw on his imagination. Having a mind fertile in 
 expedients, he provided a fresh texture for each torn smock. 
 It was not so much quality as quantity that troubled him ; 
 imagine a taUor who would have to clothe the towers of Notre- 
 Dame. 
 
 On one occasion, in pressing need, he petitioned the millers, 
 asking for the old sails of all the windmills in the neighbour- 
 hood. As he uttered his request with a charm without its 
 equal, he soon obtained sufficient linen to make a magnificent 
 bag, which did the greatest honour to Sidoine. 
 
 Another time, he had a still more ingenious idea. As a 
 revolution had just broken out in the country, and the people, 
 to convince themselves of their power, destroyed the armorial 
 bearings and tore to shreds the standards used in the last 
 reign, he obtained without difficulty all the old banners 
 which had done duty at public festivals. You can imagine 
 whether the smock made of these silken shreds was splendid 
 to behold. 
 
102 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 But these were court clothes, and Mdd^ric sought for a 
 material which would show greater resistance to the claws and 
 fangs of wild animals. On the night of one of the battles, 
 when the wolves had finally eaten up the standards, he was 
 seized with a sudden idea whilst contemplating the dead left 
 on the field. He told Sidoine to skin them nicely, and dried 
 the skins in the sun. A week later his big brother walked 
 about carrying his head high, gloriously clad in the spoils of 
 their enemies. Sidoine, who like all big men was a little bit 
 vain, was much impressed by these fine new clothes ; so each 
 week he made a frightful carnage among the wolves, clubbing 
 them more cautiously, for fear of spoiling the fur. 
 
 From that moment M^ddric had no further anxiety as 
 regards the wardrobe. I have not told you how he clothed 
 himself, but you have, no doubt, understood that he succeeded 
 in doing so without so many contrivances. The tiniest scrap 
 of ribbon was sufficient for him. He was very graceful, well 
 proportioned, though small ; the ladies quarrelled over him in 
 order to bedeck him with velvet and lace ; and so, one always 
 met him attired in the latest fashion. 
 
 I cannot say that the farmers were over delighted at ha'wng 
 the two friends as neighbours ; but they held Sidoine's fists in 
 such regard, and had so much affection for Mdddric's sweet 
 smiles, that they allowed them to live in their fields as though 
 they belonged to them. The lads, besides, did not encroach 
 on the hospitality; they only appropriated a few vegetables when 
 they were tired of game and fish. Had they been of a more 
 desperate character, they would have ruined the country in 
 three days ; a walk through the cornfields would have sufficed. 
 Therefore, the harm they did not do was borne in mind. 
 Gratitude, even, was felt for the wolves they destroyed by 
 hundreds, and for the number of inquisitive strangers they 
 attracted from the neighbouring towns. 
 
 I hesitate entering on the subject of my story without having 
 given you full details concerning the affairs of my heroes. Can 
 you picture them to yourself? Sidoine, as tall as a tower, clad 
 in grey fur ; M^de'ric, adorned with ribbons and spangles, spark- 
 ling in the grass at his feet like a golden bettle. Can you see 
 them taking their walks abroad by the river-side, supping and 
 sleeping in the glades, living in freedom beneath God's sky? 
 Do you realise how simple Sidoine was, with his huge fists, and 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MED^RIC 103 
 
 what ingenious expedients, what sharp repartee found their 
 abode in Mdddric's little head ? Do you grasp the idea that 
 their union was their strength, that, born far from one another, 
 they would have been poor and very incomplete creatures, 
 compelled to live in accordance with the habits and customs 
 of all the world ? Have you thoroughly understood that if I 
 had bad intentions, I might hide some philosophical problem 
 beneath all this? Are you, finally, prepared to thank me for 
 my giant and dwarf whom I have brought up with special care, 
 in order that they may constitute the most marvellous couple 
 in the world ? Yes ? Well, without further delay I will com- 
 mence the astounding account of their adventures ? 
 
 II 
 
 THEY START ON THEIR TRAVELS 
 
 An April morning — the air was still keen, and slight mists 
 were rising from the damp earth — Sidoine and Mdddric were 
 warming themselves at a large brushwood fire. They had 
 just breakfasted, and were waiting till the embers had died out 
 to take a short walk. Sidoine, seated on a large stone, watched 
 the fire thoughtfully ; but it was well to mistrust that look, for 
 it was a recognised fact that the good fellow never thought of 
 anything. He was smiling blissfully, his fists resting on his 
 knees. M6d6nc, who was lying down opposite, affectionately 
 contemplated his companion's fists ; for although he had seen 
 them grow, he experienced boundless joy and astonishment in 
 gazing at them. 
 
 " Oh the fine pair of fists ! " thought he ; " what powerful 
 fists they are ! How massive and well set are the fingers ! I 
 should not care to receive the slightest fillip from them for all 
 the wealth in the world : it would sufi&ce to fell an ox. This 
 dear Sidoine does not seem to have the least idea that he 
 carries our fortune at his fingers' end." 
 
 Sidoine, who enjoyed the fire, was stretching out his hands 
 in an indolent manner. He wagged his head, and was 
 absorbed in utter forgetfulness of the things of this earth. 
 M^d^ric drew nearer to the fire, which was dying out. 
 
 " Is it not a pity," he resumed in an undertone, " to use such 
 
104 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 fine weapons against a few mangy wolves. They deserve to 
 be turned to better account, such as crushing whole battalions 
 and overthrowing the walls of citadels. We, who were surely 
 intended for a high destiny, are now in our sixteenth year, and 
 have achieved nothing. I am tired of the life we lead in the 
 depths of this lonely valley. I think it high time we con- 
 quered the kingdom that God has in store for us somewhere ; 
 for the more I gaze on Sidoine's fists the more I am convinced 
 they are the fists of a king." 
 
 Sidoine was far from suspecting the great destiny dreamed 
 of by M^d^ric. He had just dozed off, having slept but little 
 the previous night. One felt, on hearing his regular breathing, 
 that he did not even trouble himself to dream. 
 
 " Hallo 1 my beauty," shouted M^d^ric to him. 
 
 He raised his head, cast an anxious look on his companion, 
 opened his eyes wide, and pricked up his ears. 
 
 "Listen," resumed Mdd^ric, "and try to understand, if 
 possible. I am thinking of our future, I consider that we 
 neglect it greatly. Life, my beauty, does not consist in 
 eating fine golden potatoes and in clothing one's self in 
 magnificent furs. It is necessary, also, to make a name in 
 the world, to make a position for one's self. We do not 
 belong to the common run of people, who can rest satisfied 
 with the condition and name of vagrants. Certainly I don't 
 despise the calling, which is that of lizards, animals that are 
 certainly happier than many men ; but we can resume it at 
 any time. It is therefore a question of leaving this country, 
 which is too small for us, at the earliest opportunity and 
 of seeking a wider sphere where we can show ourselves off 
 to advantage. Surely, we shall soon make our fortunes, 
 if you render me the assistance in your power. I mean by 
 distributing blows as I advise and counsel. Do you under- 
 stand me?" 
 
 " I think so," answered Sidoine modestly. " We are going 
 to travel and to fight throughout the journey. It will be 
 delightful." 
 
 "Only,'' resumed Mdddric, "we shall require an object in 
 view to prevent our indulging in the luxury of dallying on 
 the way. You see, my beauty, we are too fond of sunshine. 
 We should be capable of spending our youth in warming 
 ourselves beneath the hedgerows, if we did not know, from 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MfiD]6RIC 105 
 
 hearsay at all events, of the country we wish to reach. I 
 have therefore sought for a country worthy of possessing us. 
 I admit, that, at first, I found none. Fortunately, I recalled 
 a conversation I had, some days ago, with a bullfinch of 
 my acquaintance. He told me he had come in a direct 
 line from an extensive kingdom, called the Kingdom of the 
 Happy, celebrated by the fertility of its soil and the good 
 character of its inhabitants ; it is governed at present by 
 a young queen, the charming Primrose, who, in her kind- 
 ness of heart, is not satisfied with allowing her subjects to 
 live in peace, but is also anxious that the animals of her 
 realm should share the blessedness of her reign. One of 
 these nights, I will tell you the strange stories that my 
 friend the bullfinch has related to me on this subject. 
 Perhaps — for you seem to be uncommonly inquisitive to- 
 day — you wish to know how I propose behaving in the 
 Kingdom of the Happy. To begin with, judging things 
 from a distance, it seems to me advisable to cause the 
 charming Primrose to fall in love with me, and to marry 
 her, in order that we may live in clover ever after, regard- 
 less of the other kingdoms of the world. We will create 
 a position for you in accordance with your tastes, allowing 
 you to keep in training. My beauty, I vow that sooner or 
 later I will plan out such a noble task for you, that in a 
 thousand years, the world will still talk of your fists." 
 
 Sidoine, who had understood, would have hugged his 
 brother had it been possible. He whose imagination was 
 usually very dilatory, saw in his mind's eye, battle-fields as 
 extensive as oceans, a charming outlook which caused his 
 arms to quiver with joy. He rose, buckled the belt of his 
 smock frock, and struck an attitude before M6d6nc. 
 
 The latter was lost in thought, casting sad looks around. 
 
 "The inhabitants of this country have always been good 
 to us," he said at last. "They have tolerated us in their 
 fields. But for them we should not make such a good 
 appearance. We are bound to give a proof of our gratitude, 
 before leaving. What can we do to afford them pleasure ? " 
 
 Sidoine ingenuously thought this question was addressed 
 to him. He had an idea. 
 
 "Brother," answered he, "what do you think of a huge 
 bonfire ? We might burn the next town to the great delight 
 
io6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 of the inhabitants; for, if their tastes are a bit like mine, 
 nothing would entertain them so much as beautiful crimson 
 flames on a very dark night." 
 
 Mdddric shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " My beauty," said he, " I advise you never to meddle in 
 what concerns me. Let me think for a moment. If I stand 
 in need of your arras then you shall work in your turn." 
 
 " I have it," he resumed, after a pause. " There is a 
 mountain in the south which, I am told, inconveniences our 
 benefactors. The valley lacks water, their land is so dry that 
 it produces the worst grapes in the world, which is a con- 
 stant source of grief to the tipplers of the district Tired of 
 sour wine, they recently assembled all their learned societies. 
 Such an erudite gathering would certainly invent rain without 
 more trouble than if God had interfered. The scientists there- 
 fore set to work ; they made remarkable studies on the nature 
 and incline of the lands, deciding that nothing would be easier 
 than to turn the course of the neighbouring stream and bring 
 it into the plain, if that nuisance of a mountain were not 
 exactly in the way. Notice, my beauty, what poor creatures 
 men, our brethren, are. A hundred were there measuring, 
 levelling, making magnificent plans. They stated, without 
 being in error, what the mountain consisted of, marble, 
 chalk, or limestone; if they had wished, they could have 
 weighed it to within a few kilogrammes, yet not one, not 
 even the biggest, thought of removing it somewhere else, 
 where it would no longer be in the way. Take that moun- 
 tain, Sidoine, my beauty. I am going to see where we can 
 place it without doing damage." 
 
 Sidoine opened his arms and delicately encircled the rocks 
 with them. Then, he made a slight effort, throwing himself 
 back, and rose up again, pressing the burden to his chest. 
 He supported it on his knee, waiting until M^ddric had made 
 up his mind. The latter hesitated. 
 
 " I would have it cast into the sea," he muttered, " but 
 such a stone would surely cause a fresh flood. Neither can I 
 have it put down brutally on the earth at the risk of damaging 
 a town or two. The farmers would make a fine ado if 
 I were to thus encumber a field of turnips or carrots. 
 Sidoine, my beauty, observe the dilemma I am in. Mankind 
 has portioned out the earth in an absurd manner. One 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE Mlfici^RIC 107 
 
 cannot shift a miserable mountain without crushing a neigh- 
 bour's cabbages." 
 
 "You speak truly, brother,'' answered Sidoine ; "only please 
 come to a decision as rapidly as possible. It is not that this 
 stone is heavy, but it is so large that it slightly inconveniences 
 me." 
 
 " Come along, then," resumed M6ddric. "We will place it 
 between those two hillsides you see on the north of the plain ; 
 there is a gorge there through which a bitter wind blows over 
 the country. Our stone will completely block it, and shelter 
 the valley from the March and September gales." 
 
 When they had reached the spot, Sidoine was preparing 
 to cast the mountain down from his arms, like the wood- 
 cutter throws his faggot from him on returning from the 
 forest 
 
 " Good heavens ! my beauty," exclaimed Mdd^ric, " let it 
 slide softly if you don't wish to shake the earth for fifty leagues 
 round. Good : do not be in a hurry, and never mind about 
 the scratches. I think it wabbles about ; it would be advis- 
 able to steady it with some rock, so that it may not take into 
 its head to slip when we are no longer here. That is done. 
 Now the worthy people will drink good wine. They will have 
 water for their vines, and sun to ripen the grapes. Listen, 
 Sidoine, I am glad to call your attention to the fact that we 
 are cleverer than a dozen learned societies. In our travels we 
 can alter, at pleasure, the temperature and fertility of the coun- 
 tries we traverse. It is only a question of re-arranging the 
 land a little, of establishing a screen of mountains in the 
 North, after having seen that there is a slope for the waters. 
 I have often noticed that the earth is badly disposed ; and 
 am doubtful whether mankind will ever have sufficient brains 
 to make it an abode worthy of civilised nations. We will 
 work a bit in that direction in our spare time. To-day, we 
 have paid our debt of gratitude. Shake your smock, my 
 beauty ! which is white with dust, and let us start." 
 
 It must be admitted that Sidoine only heard the last word 
 of this speech. He was not a philanthropist ; his mind was 
 too simple for that. He troubled little about a wine he 
 was never to drink. The idea of travelling delighted him. 
 Scarcely had his brother mentioned starting, when joy made 
 him take two or three strides, which outdistanced M^ddric by 
 
io8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 several dozen kilometres. Fortunately, M6d6nc had seized 
 hold of the tail of his smock. 
 
 "Hallo! my beauty," he shouted, "could not you make 
 your movements less rough? Stop for goodness' sake. Do 
 you think that my small legs are equal to such jumps? If 
 you contemplate making strides like that I shall let you go 
 ahead and may perhaps overtake you in a few centuries. 
 Stop, sit down." 
 
 Sidoine sat down, Med^ric caught hold of the edge of his 
 fur trousers with both hands. As he was marvellously active, 
 he climbed lightly on to his companion's knee with the assist- 
 ance of the tufts of fur and rents he met with. Then he 
 advanced along the ihigh which seemed to him a fine spacious 
 highway, straight, broad, and without a rise. Arrived at the 
 end, he placed his foot in the lowest buttonhole of the smock, 
 caught higher up into the second, and thus climbed on to 
 the shoulder. There, he went through his preparations for 
 the journey, and settKng in Sidoine's left ear, made himself 
 comfortable. He had selected this lodging for two reasons : 
 first of all he found himself sheltered from rain and wind, 
 the ear in question being an exceptionally large ear; besides, 
 he could communicate numberless interesting remarks to his 
 companion, and be sure of being heard. 
 
 He bent over the side of a black hole he discovered in 
 the depths of his new abode, and, in a piercing voice, shouted 
 into that abyss : 
 
 "Now, my beauty, you can run if you think fit. Don't 
 loiter in the lanes, and see that we travel quickly. Do you 
 hear me ? " 
 
 "Yes, brother," replied Sidoine. "I would even ask you 
 not to talk so loud, for your breath tickles me unpleasantly." 
 
 And they started o£f. 
 
 Ill 
 
 SHORT DISQUISITION ON MUMMIES 
 
 Sidoine would never have petitioned the Board of Works 
 for the erection of bridges and roads. He usually walked 
 across country, paying little heed to ditches and still less to 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE m6d£RIC 109 
 
 hillocks; he expressed disdain for the angles of trodden 
 paths. The good fellow practised geometry unawares, as he 
 had found out, without assistance, that the straight line is 
 the shortest road from one point to another. 
 
 He thus went through a dozen kingdoms, taking heed not to 
 place his foot in the centre of a town, for he felt this would 
 have displeased the inhabitants. He strode over two or three 
 seas without wetting himself overmuch. He did not deign 
 to bother about the streams, taking them for those narrow 
 streaks of water with which the earth is furrowed after heavy 
 rain. The travellers he met amused him greatly; he saw 
 them perspire as they went up the inclines, go to the north 
 in order to reach the south, read the finger-posts by the 
 roadside, anxious about wind, rain, ruts, floods and the pace 
 of their horses. He was indirectly aware of the absurdity 
 of these poor people, who light-heartedly risk being thrown 
 over a precipice when they might remain so comfortably by 
 their fireside. 
 
 "Devil take itl" Mdd^ric would have said, "when you 
 are so constituted you should stay at home." But for the 
 time being Mdd&ic was not watching the earth. At the 
 end of a quarter of an hour's walk, however, he wanted to 
 take his bearings. He thrust out his nose, bent over the 
 plain, turned to the four points of the compass, and saw 
 nothing but sand, nothing but an extensive desert filling 
 up the horizon. The site displeased him. 
 
 " Good heavens 1 " thought he, " how thirsty the people 
 here must be. I notice the ruins of many towns, and I 
 could swear the inhabitants have died for want of a glass 
 of wine. Surely this is not the Kingdom of the Happy. 
 My friend the bullfinch described it as prolific in vineyards 
 and fruits of all kinds; 'you even find there,' he added, 
 ' springs of clear water,' which is excellent for rinsing bottles. 
 That madcap of a Sidoine has certainly lost his way." 
 And turning towards the depths of the ear he exclaimed : 
 " Hallo 1 my beauty 1 where are you going to ? " 
 " Straight ahead of course," replied Sidoine without stopping 
 "You are a fool, my beauty," resumed Mdddric. "You 
 do not seem to understand that the earth is round, and 
 that by always going straight ahead you will get nowhere. 
 We have clearly lost our way." 
 
I TO STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "Well!" said Sidoine, running all the faster, "it does not 
 matter to me ; I am at home everywhere." 
 
 "Pray stop, simpleton 1" again exclaimed Mdddric. "It 
 makes me perspire to see you walk thus. I ought to have 
 kept a look-out on the road. No doubt you stepped across 
 the residence of the charming Primrose, without paying any 
 more attention to it than to the hut of a charcoal-burner; 
 palace and cottage are the same to your long legs. Now, we 
 must scurry through the world haphazard. I will watch empires 
 pass, from the height of your shoulder, until the day when we 
 shall discover the Kingdom of the Happy. Meanwhile there 
 is no hurry ; we are not expected. I think it advisable to sit 
 down a moment, in order to consider the peculiar country 
 we are crossing at present, in greater comfort Sit down, my 
 beauty, on that mountain at your feet" 
 
 "That, a mountain!" answered Sidoine, sitting down; "it 
 is a paving-stone, or may the devil take me 1 " 
 
 To tell the truth this paving-stone was one of the great 
 pyramids. Our comrades, who had just crossed the African 
 desert, found themselves at that time in Egypt. Sidoine, 
 possessing no exact historical knowledge, looked upon the 
 Nile as a muddy brook ; as for the Sphinx and obelisks, they 
 seemed to him heaps of gravel of a peculiar and extremely 
 ugly shape. Mdddric, who knew everything, without having 
 learnt anything, was vexed at the little attention his brother 
 gave to this mud and stones, which had been visited and 
 admired for over five hundred leagues around. 
 
 "Hallo! Sidoine," he said, "endeavour to assume, if pos- 
 sible, a look of respectful astonishment and admiration. It 
 is the worst possible taste to keep calm in view of such a 
 scene. I dread lest any one should notice you wagging your 
 head thus, before the ruins of ancient Egypt We should 
 sink in the estimation of cultured people. Bear in mind it 
 is not a question of understanding, no one cares to do that, 
 but to appear deeply impressed at the great interest felt in 
 these stones. You have just sufficient sense to extricate your- 
 self with honour. There, you see the Nile, that yellowish 
 water which stagnates in the mud. I am told it is a very 
 ancient stream; however, I presume it is no older than the 
 Seine or the Loire. The people of antiquity were satisfied 
 in knowing its mouths: we inquisitive persons, taking plea- 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^Dl^RIC iii 
 
 Bure in interfering with what does not concern us, have sought 
 to find its sources for some centuries, without succeeding 
 in discovering the smallest reservoir. Men of learning are 
 divided ; according to some, a spring exists somewhere, which 
 it is only a question of thoroughly searching for ; others, who 
 seem to be in the right, maintain that they have explored every- 
 where, and that the stream has certainly no source. I have 
 no decided opinion on the subject, as I seldom think of it; 
 besides which, no solution would' benefit me in any way. 
 Now look at those hideous animals which surround us; 
 scorched by millions of suns ; it is affirmed that it is out of 
 sheer spite that they do not speak ; they know the secret of 
 creation, and the everlasting smile they assume, is simply 
 to scoff at our ignorance. For my part I do not consider 
 them so vindictive ; they are good blocks of stone, very 
 simple-minded, and know less than people believe. Continue 
 listening, my beauty; never fear learning too much. I will 
 tell you nothing about Memphis, the ruins of which we can 
 see on the horizon, I will tell you nothing about it for the 
 best of reasons, that I did not live in the time of its greatness. 
 I mistrust the historians who have mentioned it. Like others, 
 I might read the hieroglyphics on the obelisks and ruined 
 walls ; but as I am scrupulous on all historical points, apart 
 from the fact that it would not entertain me, I should be in 
 constant dread of mistaking an A for a B, and of inculcating 
 errors into you which would have disastrous consequences 
 for you. I prefer adding to these general remarks a slight 
 disquisition on mummies. There is nothing pleasanter to see 
 than a well-preserved mummy. The Egyptians, no doubt, 
 buried each other with all this coquetry, in view of the great 
 pleasure we should experience, some day, in digging them 
 up again. As to the pyramids, according to general opinion, 
 they served as tombs, unless they were intended for another 
 use which has escaped us. For example, judging from that 
 on which we are sitting — for I wish you to notice that our 
 seat is one of the finest pyramids — I should think, but for 
 the slight comfort they afford when put to such use, that 
 they had been erected by a hospitable people to serve as 
 resting-places for weary travellers. I will conclude with a 
 moral. Know, my beauty, that thirty dynasties sleep at our 
 feet; kings repose in thousands in the sand, swathed in 
 
iia STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 bandages, their cheeks are fresh, and they have still their teeth 
 and hair. One could, by careful search, make a charming 
 collection of them, which would be of great interest to cour- 
 tiers. The misfortune is that their names are forgotten, and 
 they could not be properly labelled. They are more dead 
 than their corpses. If ever you become a king, remember 
 these poor royal mummies sleeping in the desert ; they 
 have conquered the worms for five thousand years, and could 
 not live ten centuries in the memory of mankind. I have 
 finished. Nothing develops the mind like travel. I intend 
 perfecting your education, in this manner, by giving you a 
 practical course of lectures on the various objects we shall 
 meet with on the road." 
 
 During this long discourse, Sidoine, in order to gratify his 
 companion, had assumed the silliest expression imaginable. 
 Bear in mind that this was precisely the expression required. 
 But, in truth, he was gaping with weariness, gazing in despair 
 on the Nile, the Sphinx, Memphis, the pyramids, and even 
 doing his utmost to think of the mummies, although without 
 any satisfactory result He sought surreptitiously to see if he 
 could not discover some object on the horizon which would 
 allow him to interrupt the lecturer politely. As the latter 
 ceased speaking, he perceived somewhat tardily, two bands of 
 men appear on the two opposite sides of the plain. 
 
 "Brother," he said, "I am weary of the dead. Tell me 
 who are these people advancing towards us." 
 
 IV 
 
 SIDOINE'S FISTS 
 
 I omitted to tell you that it was about noon when our 
 travellers, seated on one of the great pyramids, discoursed 
 in this manner. In the plain the waters of the Nile rolled 
 heavily on their way, like the flow of molten metal. The sky 
 was as white as the roof of some enormous oven heated for a 
 gigantic baking ; there was not a shadow on the land, which 
 slumbered breathless, overcome by a leaden sleep. In the 
 intense immobility of the desert, the two armies formed in 
 columns, advanced like serpents gliding slowly over the sand. 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M:6d:^RIC 113 
 
 They grew longer and longer. Soon they ceased to be mere 
 caravans and became two large armies, two nations in count- 
 less file spreading from one horizon to the other, casting dark 
 shadows upon the dazzling whiteness of the earth. Those 
 coming from the north wore blue coats, the others approaching 
 from the south were clad in green smocks. All carried long 
 spears with steel points on their shoulders, so that, at each 
 step, a flash of lightning silently enveloped them. They were 
 marching against one another. 
 
 " My beauty," exclaimed Mdd&ic, " let us take up a good 
 position, for, unless I am mistaken, we shall witness a fine 
 sight. These good people are not deficient in intellect. The 
 spot is well chosen to afford an opportunity of effectually cut- 
 ting the throats of a few hundreds of thousands of men. They 
 will massacre each other at ease, and the vanquished will have 
 a fine race-course when it is a question of decamping with the 
 utmost speed. Tell me of such another plain for fighting to 
 the great enjoyment of onlookers." 
 
 However, the two armies had halted facing one another, 
 and divided by a broad strip of land. They uttered terrible 
 yells, brandished their weapons, shook their fists at each 
 other, but did not advance a step. Each appeared to hold 
 the enemy's lances in great respect. 
 
 " Oh I the cowardly rascals ! " repeated Mdd^ric, who grew 
 impatient; "do they intend sleeping here? I could vow 
 they have come over a hundred leagues for the mere pleasure 
 of cuffing each other. And, now, they hesitate to exchange 
 a single blow. I ask you, my beauty, is it right for two 
 or three million men to assign a meeting in Egypt, on the 
 stroke of noon, merely to stand face to face and vilify one 
 another. Will you fight, knaves ? But just look at them ; 
 they are yawning in the sunshine like lizards ; they don't 
 appear to consider that we are waiting. Hallo, arch cowards ! 
 will you fight or not ? " 
 
 The Blues took two steps forward as if they had heard 
 Mdd^ric's exhortations. The Greens, perceiving this manoeuvre, 
 prudently took two steps back. Sidoine felt scandalised. 
 
 " Brother," said he, " I feel a strong inclination to take part 
 in the fray. The dance will never begin unless I set it going. 
 Don't you think this a good opportunity to try my fists ? " 
 
 "Of course," answered M.6d6nc; "you have had a brilliant 
 
 H 
 
114 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 idea for once in your life. Turn up your sleeves and do some 
 good work." 
 
 Sidoine turned up his sleeves and rose. 
 
 "Which shall I begin with?" asked he, "the Blues or the 
 Greens ? " 
 
 Mdderic considered a moment. 
 
 " My beauty," he answered, " the Greens are certainly the 
 most cowardly. Cuff them well, so as to teach them that fear 
 is no protection against blows. Wait a minute. I do not 
 wish to miss any part of the show ; first of all I will settle 
 myself comfortably." 
 
 Saying this, he climbed on to his brother's ear, lay there flat 
 on his face, careful to show only his head ; then he seized a 
 lock of hair which he found at hand, so as not to be thrown 
 during the medley. Having thus made his arrangements he 
 announced himself ready for the fight 
 
 Sidoine, without a word of warning, immediately fell on the 
 Greens. He beat time with his fists, using them as flails, and 
 administering blows to the army in rapid succession, just as if 
 it were corn on the threshing-floor. At the same time, when 
 some closer ranks stopped his way, he sent his feet right and 
 left into the very midst of the battalions. It was a fine fight 
 I assure you, and deserved to be celebrated in an epic poem 
 of twenty-four cantos. Our hero trod on the spears without 
 paying any more heed to them than if they had been blades 
 of grass. He went hither and thither making large gaps on 
 every side, crushing some against the earth, throwing others 
 twenty or thirty yards high. The poor creatures died without 
 even having the consolation of knowing what rough hand had 
 fallen upon them. For at first, when Sidoine was quietly 
 resting on the pyramid, he could not be clearly distinguished 
 from the blocks of granite. Then, when he rose, he had 
 not given the enemy time to look at him. Observe that it 
 required two full minutes to follow the outline of that huge 
 body before reaching the face. 
 
 The Greens had therefore no definite idea as to the cause 
 of the vigorous cuffs which overthrew them by hundreds. 
 The greater number no doubt thought when dying, that the 
 pyramid was falling down upon them, for they could not con- 
 ceive that a man's fists could bear such a striking resemblance 
 to hewn stones. 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 115 
 
 Mdddric, amazed at this exploit, quivered with delight ; he 
 clapped his hands, bent over at the risk of falling, lost his 
 balance, and quickly clung again to the lock of hair. At last, 
 unable to remain silent under such circumstances, he leapt 
 on to the hero's shoulder, where he kept his footing by hold- 
 ing to the lobe of the ear. From there he at times gazed 
 across the plain, and at others turned to shout out a few 
 words of encouragement. 
 
 "Oh! dear, dear!" he cried; "what blows, by Jove! 
 What a fine sound of hammers on the anvil Hey, my 
 beauty, strike to your left ; polish oif that cavalry man who is 
 preparing to escape, for me. Now hurry up; strike to your 
 right, yonder, on that knot of warriors bedecked with gold and 
 embroidery ; strike with feet and fists together, for I think we 
 have to do with princes, dukes, and other swaggerers. Well ! 
 those are good thumps. The ground is as clear as if the 
 scythe had been over it. Evenly, my beauty, evenly ! Work 
 methodically and the task will be more rapidly accomplished. 
 That's good I they fall by hundreds in perfect order. I like 
 regularity in everything. What a marvellous sight ; one might 
 compare it to a cornfield on harvest-day when the sheaves are 
 stacked in long symmetrical rows alongside the furrows. Strike, 
 strike, my beauty I Don't trouble to crush the fugitives one 
 by one ; bring them back speedily by the seats of their 
 trousers, and catch at least two or three dozen at a time. Oh, 
 dear me, what clouts, what shoves, what triumphant kicks ! " 
 
 M^d&ic burst into raptures, turning on all sides, unable to 
 find sufficiently choice expressions to express his delight. Of 
 a truth Sidoine did not strike any harder or quicker. At the 
 beginning he had assumed an easy gait, continuing his task 
 phlegmatically without increasing his pace. He was only sur- 
 veying the edge of the army. When he noticed a fugitive, he 
 was satisfied with bringing him back to his post with a fillip, 
 in order that he might take part in the feast when his turn 
 should come. After a quarter of an hour of these tactics, all 
 the Greens found themselves lying nicely on the plain without 
 a survivor to carry the news of the defeat to the remainder of 
 the nation — a rare and distressing incident which has not since 
 been repeated in the annals of the world. 
 
 M^dJric did not like to see blood flow. When all was over 
 he said to Sidoine : 
 
ii6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "As you have annihilated this army, my beauty, it seems 
 to me fair that you should bury it." 
 
 Sidoine having looked around, noticed five or six sand- 
 heaps at hand j he sent them on to the battle-field with 
 vigorous kicks, and smoothed them out with his hand so as 
 to make a single hillock of them, which served as a grave for 
 about eleven hundred thousand men. In similar cases a con- 
 queror rarely bestows such care on the vanquished. This 
 showed how good-natured my hero could be, hero though he 
 was, when occasion offered. 
 
 During the affray, the Blues, amazed at this reinforcement 
 which came to them from the top of one of the great pyramids, 
 had had time to realise that this was not an avalanche of 
 paving-stones, but a man in flesh and bone. First of all they 
 thought of rendering him some assistance; then, seeing the 
 easy way in which he worked, realising that they would rather 
 be in the way, they discreetly retired to a distance in fear of 
 the splinters. They stood on tip-toe, hustled one another to 
 see better, and welcomed each blow with a round of applause. 
 When the Greens were annihilated and buried, they uttered 
 loud shrieks, congratulated themselves on the victory, moving 
 about in tumultuous confusion, and all speaking at once, 
 
 Sidoine, however, being thirsty, went down to the edge of 
 the Nile to drink a draught of fresh water ; he dried it up at a 
 mouthful. Fortunately for Egypt he found the beverage so 
 hot and tasteless that he hastened to eject the stream back to 
 its bed without swallowing a drop. See on what a country's 
 fertility rests. 
 
 In a very bad temper he returned to the plain, and, rubbing 
 his hands, looked at the Blues. 
 
 " Brother," he said, in an insinuating tone, " what if I were 
 now to knock these about a little. They make a great noise. 
 What do you think of a few fisticuffs to reduce them to 
 respectful silence?" 
 
 "Mind you don't," replied M^ddric; "I have been watch- 
 ing them for a moment, and I believe they have the best 
 intentions in the world. They are certainly talking of you. 
 Endeavour, my beauty, to assume a majestic attitude; for, 
 unless I am mistaken, your great destiny is about to be 
 accomplished. See, here comes a deputation." 
 
 A solemn silence had succeeded the tumult of a million of 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC ity 
 
 men, each giving vent to his individual opinion without heark- 
 ening to his neighbour's. The Blues had no doubt come to 
 an understanding ; which is surprising, for in the assemblies of 
 our country, where the members do not exceed a few hundred, 
 they have hitherto been unable to agree over the slightest 
 trifle. 
 
 The army filed oflf in two columns. Soon it formed an 
 immense circle. In the midst of this circle was Sidoine, 
 embarrassed to know what to do with himself; he cast down 
 his eyes, ashamed to see so many people looking at him. 
 As for Mdd^ric, he realised that at this decisive moment, his 
 presence would give rise to needless and even dangerous 
 surprise. He prudently retired into the ear that had served 
 as his abode since morning. 
 
 The deputation stopped within twenty steps of Sidoine. 
 It did not consist of warriors, but of old men, bald-headed, 
 with magisterial beards flowing in silvery waves on their blue 
 coats. The hands of these old men had assumed the dry 
 wrinkles of the parchments they constantly fingered; their 
 eyes, accustomed solely to the light of smoky lamps, only 
 bore the splendour of the sun's rays by blinking the lids, as 
 would an owl astray in broad daylight ; their spines were 
 curved, as though they were constantly at a desk ; whilst 
 spots of oil and streaks of ink — mysterious signs which were 
 of no small account in their high renown for science and 
 wisdom — formed the strangest patterns on their gowns. 
 
 The oldest, driest, blindest, most bespeckled of the learned 
 company advanced three steps, bowing low ; after which, 
 having drawn himself up, he spread out his arms, in order 
 to accompany his words with suitable gestures. 
 
 "My lord giant," said he in a solemn tone, "I, prince of 
 orators, senior member and dean of all academies, grand 
 ofificer of all the orders, address you in the name of the 
 nation. Our king, a wretched creature, died a couple of 
 hours ago from a stomach complaint, with which he was 
 seized at the sight of the Greens on the opposite side of the 
 plain. We are therefore without a master to load us with 
 taxes, and to have us slaughtered for the public weal. This 
 is, as you know, a state of freedom which is generally dis- 
 pleasing to a people. We need a king immediately; and, 
 in our haste to prostrate ourselves at royal feet, we have 
 
ii8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 thought of you, who fight so bravely. We hope, in oflFering 
 you the crown, to express our gratitude for your devotedness 
 to our cause. I feel that such a circumstance requires a 
 speech in a learned language — Sanscrit, Hebrew, Greek, or, 
 at all events, Latin — but may the necessity I am under to 
 improvise, the certainty that later on I can make amends for 
 this lack of propriety, be my excuse." 
 
 The old man paused. 
 
 "I was sure," thought Mdddric, "that my beauty's fists 
 were those of a king." 
 
 MED^RIC'S SPEECH 
 
 " My lord giant," continued the prince of orators, " it re- 
 mains for me to tell you what the nation has resolved, and 
 what proof of your fitness for regal power it requires at your 
 hands before placing you on the throne. It is weary of having 
 as masters, men who resemble their subjects in all points, who 
 are unable to strike the slightest blow without injuring them- 
 selves, and who cannot make a long-winded speech every 
 third day without dying of consumption at the end of four or 
 five years. In a word, it requires a king who will entertain 
 it, and it is persuaded that, amongst pleasures in good taste, 
 there are two, especially, of which it could never tire — ^thrash- 
 ings sharply administered, and the empty and resonant phrases 
 of a royal proclamation. I admit I am proud to belong to a 
 nation that appreciates the transitory pleasures of this life so 
 thoroughly. Its desire to have an entertaining king on the 
 throne appears to me even more praiseworthy. What we 
 require amounts to this. Princes are gilt toys which nations 
 bestow on themselves, in order to procure entertainment and 
 diversion by watching them glitter in the sun^ but these 
 playthings almost always cut and bite, just like steel knives — 
 bright blades with which mothers frighten their children to 
 no purpose. Now we wish our plaything to be harmless, to 
 entertain, to divert us in accordance with our tastes, without 
 our running the risk of wounding ourselves in turning it over 
 and over between our fingers. We require heavy blows, for 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 119 
 
 that game makes our warriors laugh and amuses them 
 thoroughly, whilst giving them courage ; we need long-winded 
 speeches to provide occupation for the good folk of the 
 kingdom in applauding and criticising them, smartly rounded 
 sentences which will keep the orators of the day in good 
 temper. You have already, my lord giant, supplied part of 
 the programme to the perfect satisfaction of the most un- 
 accommodating. I speak truthfully; never have fists made 
 us laugh more heartily. Now, to crown our desires, you 
 must go through the second ordeal. Choose your own sub- 
 ject, tell us of the love you bear us, of your duty towards us, 
 of the great events which will mark your reign. Instruct us, 
 entertain us ; we will listen to you." 
 
 The prince of orators, having thus spoken, bowed again. 
 Sidoine, who had listened with uneasiness to the exordium, 
 and had followed ihe various issues with anxiety, was very 
 much alarmed at the peroration. To make a long speech in 
 public seemed to him an absurd idea, out of keeping with 
 his usual habits. He looked cunningly at the learned grey 
 beard, fearing some cutting jest ; wondering to himself if a 
 good blow well aimed at that yellow brow would not solve 
 the difficulty. But the worthy fellow was not spiteful. This old 
 man had spoken to him with so much courtesy, that it seemed 
 hard to answer him so roughly. Having sworn not to open 
 his lips, appreciating, besides, the awkwardness of his position, 
 he shifted from one foot to the other, twirled his thumbs, and 
 laughed his simplest laugh. As he became more and more 
 idiotic, he thought he had come across an ingenious idea. 
 He bowed lowly to the old gentleman. 
 
 But at the end of five minutes the army became impatient. 
 I think I told you these incidents were taking place in Egypt 
 on the stroke of noon. As you know, nothing tries one's 
 temper so much as waiting in the midday sun. Increasing 
 murmurs from the Blues bore witness to the fact that the 
 lord giant must be quick, or they would throw him over and 
 seek a more talkative king elsewhere. 
 
 Sidoine, surprised that these good people were not satisfied 
 with a bow, immediately made three or four more, one upon 
 the other, turning from side to side, so that each might have 
 his share. 
 
 Then arose a storm of oaths and laughter, one of those 
 
120 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 popular tempests in which every one makes fun of some sort 
 — some whistling like blackbirds, others clapping their hands 
 in mockery. It became a surging tumult decreasing to swell 
 again, resembling the noise of the ocean's waves. It was a 
 capital apprenticeship for royalty as regards a nation's spirit. 
 
 Suddenly, during a few moments' silence, a sweet, melodious 
 voice was heard issuing from the heights of Sidoine — a sweet 
 soft child's voice like a silver bell, with delightful modulations. 
 
 " My well-beloved subjects," it said. Deafening cheers in- 
 terrupted it at these first words. What a delightful sovereign ! 
 with fists that could crush mountains, and a voice which 
 would make the May breeze envious ! 
 
 The prince of orators, amazed at this phenomenon, turned 
 to his learned colleagues. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said to them, " here is a giant who 
 possesses a peculiar voice for his species. I would not have 
 credited it had I not heard it, that a throat capable of swallow- 
 ing an ox and its horns, could utter such marvellously deli- 
 cate sounds. There is some anatomical curiosity here which 
 we must study and explain at all costs. We will discuss 
 this important subject at our next meeting ; we will make a 
 fine scientific fact of it, which shall be expounded at our 
 universities." 
 
 " Come, my beauty," Mdd&ic whispered softly in Sidoine's 
 ear, " open your jaws wide ; keep them going in time, as 
 though you were cracking nuts. It is well that you should 
 move them vigorously, as those who do not hear you will at 
 least see you are speaking. Do not omit the gestures either : 
 curve your arms gracefully during well-toned periods ; wrinkle 
 your brows and throw out your hands when there are bursts 
 of eloquence, endeavour even to cry at pathetic parts. Above 
 all, no blunders. Follow the lead. Do not stop suddenly in 
 the midst of a sentence, nor continue when I am silent. Insert 
 full stops and commas, my beauty. It is not difficult ; the 
 greater number of our statesmen do nothing more. Attention ! 
 I am about to begin." 
 
 Sidoine opened his mouth frightfully wide and began to 
 gesticulate, with the look of one of the damned. M^ddric 
 expressed himself in these terms : 
 
 " My beloved subjects, allow me, in accordance with 
 custom, to express my surprise and declare myself unworthy 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE m6d£rIC 121 
 
 of the honour you are bestowing upon me. I do not believe 
 a single word I have just uttered ; I believe I deserve, as 
 every one does, to be a bit of a king in turn ; and I do not 
 know why I was not born a prince's son, which would have 
 saved me the trouble of founding a dynasty. 
 
 " In the first instance, in order to secure my future freedom, 
 I must call your attention to present circumstances. You look 
 on me as a good engine of war ; it is indeed on that account 
 alone that you offer me the crown. I comply. Unless I am 
 mistaken, this is what is called Universal Suffrage. The in- 
 vention seerns excellent ; nations will be all the better for it 
 when it is perfected. Therefore be so good as to blame your- 
 selves when occasion offers, if I fail to keep all the fine promises 
 I am making, for I might unintentionally forget some of them, 
 and it would not be fair to punish me for a slip of memory, 
 when you, yourselves, may have been lacking in judgment. 
 
 "I am anxious to deal with the programme I long since 
 sketched out in view of the day when I should have leisure to 
 be king. It is charming in simplicity, and I commend it to 
 my brethren — those sovereigns who may find themselves 
 encumbered with their people. This is it in its innocence 
 and simplicity ; war abroad, peace at home. 
 
 " War abroad is good policy. It rids the nation of quarrel- 
 some people, allowing them to go and be maimed out of the 
 country. I allude to those who are born with clenched fists, 
 who, owing to their temperament, would from time to time 
 feel the need of a slight. revolution, if they had not to thrash 
 some neighbouring state. In each nation a certain number of 
 blows have to be distributed ; prudence demands that these 
 blows should be given some five or six hundred leagues from 
 the capital. Let me express myself clearly. The organisation 
 of an army is simply a prudent measure, taken to separate 
 riotous from reasonable men ; the aim in making war is to 
 cause as many of these rioters as possible to disappear, and 
 so allow the sovereign to live in peace, having only reasonable 
 men as subjects. I know one hears of glory, conquest and 
 other stuff and nonsense. Those are idle words which 
 gratify fools. If kings launch their armies against each other 
 at the least provocation, it is because they understand one 
 another, and enjoy bloodshed. I intend following their 
 example with a view to impoverish the blood of my subjects, 
 
122 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 otherwise they might develop high fever. But one thing 
 perplexes me. The further one goes the more difficult it is 
 to find cause for war ; we shall soun be compelled to live at 
 peace for want of a pretext to fight one another. I have had 
 to draw on my imagination. Fighting to avenge an injury 
 is not to be thought of : we have nothing to avenge, for no 
 one provokes us, our neighbours are courteous and have good 
 manners. 
 
 " The seizure of border lands, under the pretence of 
 enlarging our dominions, is an old idea which has never suc- 
 ceeded when put into practice, and which conquerors have 
 always regretted. To fall out over a few bales of cotton, or 
 some hundredweight of sugar, would cause us to be looked 
 upon as vulgar merchants, as thieves who object to be robbed ; 
 whilst our great aim is to be a charming people, dreading the 
 cares of business, and devoted to the ideal and witty sayings. 
 No acknowledged system in the matter of warfare would satisfy 
 us. But, after deep thought, a brilliant idea has occurred to 
 me. We will always fight for others and never for ourselves, 
 which will obviate our having to account for the blows we 
 strike. Just imagine how convenient this method will be, and 
 the honour we shall derive from such enterprises. We will 
 assume the title of benefactors of nations, we will publish 
 abroad our disinterestedness, we will assume the part of up- 
 holders of good causes, of faithful followers of great ideas. 
 This is not all. As those we do not assist might express their 
 surprise at this strange policy, we will answer boldly that 
 our passion for lending our armies to those who ask for the 
 loan of them, is due to a generous wish to pacify the world, to 
 pacify it thoroughly by means of pike-thrusts. We will say 
 that our soldiers go forth as civilisers, cutting the throats of 
 those who do not promptly become civilised, sowing the most 
 fruitful ideas in pits dug on battle-fields. They will baptize 
 the earth with a baptism of blood, to hasten the birth of liberty. 
 But we will not add that they will have an endless task, waiting 
 in vain for a harvest which cannot rise on graves. 
 
 " That, my dear subjects, is what I have planned. The idea 
 has all the magnitude and absurdity requisite for success. 
 Therefore, those among you who feel a desire to proclaim one 
 or two republics are requested not to do so in my dominions. 
 I charitably grant them access to the kingdoms of other 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE m6D]£rIC 123 
 
 monarchs. Let them liberally distribute provinces, change 
 the order of governments, consult the will of the peoples ; let 
 them go and get killed in neighbouring countries, in the name 
 of freedom, and leave me to govern my own dominions as 
 arbitrarily as I please. 
 
 " My reign will be a martial reign. 
 
 " To ensure peace at home is a harder problem to solve. In 
 spite of ridding one's self of evildoers a spirit of rebellion 
 always exists in the multitude against their chosen master. I 
 have often thought of that latent hatred that nations have for 
 all time experienced towards their sovereigns ; but I admit 
 that I could never find a sensible or logical reason for it. We 
 will give this subject for competition at our universities, so 
 that our men of learning may hasten to tell us whence the 
 evil comes and what the remedy is. But, whilst awaiting the 
 aid of science, we will employ the simple means bequeathed 
 to us by our predecessors to allay the unhealthy anxiety of 
 our subjects. They are certainly not infallible. If we em- 
 ploy them, it is because no ropes have yet been invented, 
 which are sufficiently long and strong to bind down a nation. 
 Progress advances so slowly. We will therefore select our 
 ministers with care. We do not require excessive intellec- 
 tual and moral qualities ; it will suffice if they are second-rate 
 in everything. But what we shall exact is that they have 
 powerful lungs, and have been well exercised in shouting 
 ' Long live the King ! ' in the loudest and most exalted 
 manner possible. To utter a fine ' Long live the King 1 ' 
 according to rule, raising it artistically, making it die away in 
 a whisper of love and admiration, is a rare merit which cannot 
 be too handsomely rewarded. However, to be candid, we 
 depend but little on our ministers ; they hinder rather than 
 assist. If our opinion had sway, we would dispense with 
 these gentlemen and combine the duties of king and ministers 
 in our own person. We set great hopes on certain laws we 
 propose enforcing. They will permit of a man being seized 
 by the collar and cast into the river without further explana- 
 tion, after the excellent method of the mutes of the seraglio. 
 You can easily foresee how convenient such an expeditious 
 law will be ; it is so troublesome to have to abide by form, to 
 have to believe candidly that a crime has been committed, to 
 find a person guilty. We shall, moreover, enlist the services 
 
124 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 of well subsidised newspapers which will sound our praises, 
 conceal our faults, conferring more virtues upon us than on 
 all the saints in Paradise. We shall have others paid more 
 handsomely, which will attack our policy, discuss our politics, 
 but in such a dull, clumsy manner, that they will bring all 
 sensible and intelligent people over to our side. As to the 
 newspapers we shall not subsidise, they will not be allowed 
 either to blame or praise us ; in any case we shall suppress 
 them at the earliest opportunity. 
 
 " We must also protect art, for there is no great reign without 
 great artists. In order to create as many as possible, we shall 
 abolish liberty of thought. It would perhaps be as well to 
 bestow a small pension on retired writers, I mean on all those 
 who have succeeded in making their fortunes, and who hold 
 patents for turning out prose or verse. As to the young men, 
 those who merely possess talent, they will have beds reserved 
 to them in our hospitals. If they are not quite dead by the 
 time they are fifty or sixty, they will share the benefits we shall 
 shower upon the world of letters. But the real pillars of our 
 throne, the glories of our reign, will be the stonecutters and 
 masons. We will depopulate the rural districts, summon to 
 our side all men of good will, and make them take the trowel 
 in hand. That will be a touching and sublime sight Broad 
 streets, straight streets passing through a town from one end to 
 the other I fine white walls, fine yellow walls, rising as by magic ! 
 Magnificent buildings adorning immense squares, ornamented 
 with shrubs and street lamps. To build is nothing, but what 
 a charm there is in pulling down ! We shall demolish more than 
 we shall build. The city will be razed to the ground, levelled, 
 cleansed. We will convert a town of old plaster into one of 
 new plaster. Such miracles will, I know, cost a great deal of 
 money ; but as it is not I who will pay, the expense troubles 
 me but little. Anxious, above all, to leave glorious traces 
 of my reign, I consider that nothing is more fit to astonish 
 coming generations than a frightful consumption of bricks and 
 mortar. Besides, I have noticed that the more a king builds, 
 the more satisfied are his people. They do not seem to know 
 what fools defray the cost of these buildings; they innocently 
 believe that their good-natured sovereign is ruining himself 
 in order to give them the pleasure of beholding a forest of 
 scaffoldings. All will be for the best. We will make the tax- 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MEDERIC 125 
 
 payers pay dearly for the improvements and distribute the 
 pence to the workmen, so that they may rest quietly on their 
 ladders. We shall thus provide bread for the people, and 
 ensure the admiration of posterity. Is it not very ingenious ? 
 If any dissatisfied person complained, it would certainly be 
 from sheer jealousy. 
 
 " My reign shall be a reign of masons. 
 
 " You see, my beloved subjects, that I am disposed to be 
 a very diverting king. I will burden you with fine wars in 
 the four quarters of the globe, which will bring you blows 
 and glory: at home, I will cheer you with great heaps of 
 ruins and interminable clouds of plaster dust. I shall not 
 spare you speeches ; I will make them as empty as possible, 
 thus sharpening the wits of the inquisitive who will have 
 the courage to search for what is not in them. This is 
 enough for to-day ; I am dying of thirst. But, in conclusion, 
 I promise you to deal shortly with the serious difficulty of 
 the budget; it is a subject which requires to be prepared 
 a long while in advance, in order to be suitably intricate 
 and obscure. Perhaps you would also wish to hear me 
 deal with religion. In order not to disappoint you in your 
 expectations, I must inform you, at once, that I never 
 intend to express my views on this subject. Therefore 
 spare me indiscreet questions; never urge me to hold 
 opinions in regard to that matter which is particularly dis- 
 agreeable to me. Now, my beloved subjects, may God bless 
 you." 
 
 Such was Mdd&ic's speech. Of course you understand 
 that I am giving you, here, a brief abstract of it, for it lasted 
 six hours, and the limits of this story do not allow of my 
 transcribing it in full. Had not the orator to lengthen his 
 phrases, turn his periods, and so thoroughly drown his thoughts 
 in a deluge of words, that the people listening to him might 
 not grasp their meaning? In any case my abstract is con- 
 formable to the spirit of the speech. If the army heard what 
 it chose to hear, it was thanks to the speaker's oratorical pre- 
 cautions and to the length of his sentences. Is it not always 
 so under such circumstances ? 
 
 Sidoine vigorously worked his arms and jaws during his 
 brother's speech. Some of his gestures were much applauded ; 
 sometimes they were famihar without being trivial, then again 
 
latf STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 they were noble and poetically attractive. To speak the 
 truth he at times gave himself strange contortions, and made 
 bounds which were not precisely in good taste; but this 
 risky mimicry was attributed to inspiration. What gained 
 the day, was the surprising manner in which he opened 
 his mouth. He lowered his chin, then raised it again by 
 even jerks; he caused his lips to assume all the figures of 
 geometry from the straight line to the circle, not omitting 
 the triangle and square; whilst at the last ring of each 
 sentence he even put out his tongue, a poetical boldness 
 which proved a prodigious success. 
 
 When Me'd^ric ceased speaking, Sidoine understood that 
 he must conclude by a master stroke. He took advantage 
 of the favourable moment, then hiding his face with his hand, 
 and without moving, he shouted in a powerful voice : 
 
 " Long live Sidoine I., king of the Blues I " 
 
 The lord giant knew when to put in a word if required. 
 At the piercing sound of his voice, each battalion believed 
 it had iieard the battalion next to it utter the enthusiastic 
 shout. As nothing is more contagious than a stupid blunder, 
 the whole army sang in chorus : 
 
 " Long live Sidoine I., king of the Blues." 
 
 There was a startling noise for the space of ten minutes. 
 Meanwhile Sidoine, becoming more and more civilised, was 
 prodigal in bows. 
 
 The soldiers spoke of carrying him in triumph ; but the 
 prince of orators, having quickly summed up his weight, 
 pointed out to them the difficulty of such a proceeding. He 
 undertook to settle the matter with Sidoine. He rendered 
 him homage as his king, in the name of the people, whilst 
 bestowing on him the titles and privileges of his new position. 
 He afterwards invited him to march at the head of the army 
 and make his entry into his kingdom, which was about ten 
 miles away. 
 
 Mdddric, meanwhile, was holding his sides, and thinking he 
 would die of laughter. His own speech had greatly amused 
 him. It was quite another matter when Sidoine acclaimed 
 himself. 
 
 " Bravo, pretty majesty ! " he said in a whisper. " I am 
 pleased with you ; I no longer despair as regards your educa- 
 tion. Allow these good people to do as they like. Let us try 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 127 
 
 the calling of kings ; we can give it up in a week if it bores us. 
 For my part, I shall not be sorry to sample it before marrying 
 the charming Primrose. Apart from this, continue to avoid 
 blunders, walk regally, rest satisfied with gestures, and leave 
 speech to me. It is needless to inform this good people that 
 we are two, for that might authorize them to consider them- 
 selves under a republic. Now, my beauty, let us quickly 
 enter our capital." 
 
 The annals of the Blues thus relate the accession of the 
 great king Sidoine I. to the throne. The incidents recorded 
 here, can be perused in full detail therein, and it may also be 
 remarked that the ofBcial historian draws attention in various 
 passages to the fact that these events took place in Egypt, on 
 the stroke of noon, in a temperature of a hundred and nine 
 degrees. 
 
 VI 
 
 MfiDfiRIC EATS BLACKBERRIES 
 
 I will spare you the description of the triumphal entry of 
 our heroes, and of the public rejoicings which took place on 
 that occasion. 
 
 Sidoine played the part of a majesty nobly. He graciously 
 received some fifty deputations which came to swear allegiance 
 to him ; he even listened without yawning overmuch to the 
 speeches of the heads of the different state bodies. In truth 
 he was in great need of sleep ; he would willmgly have sent 
 these worthy people off to bed, in order to seek repose himself, 
 if Mdddric had not whispered to him that a king, belonging to 
 his people, only slept when the rascallions of his kingdom 
 consented to his doing so. 
 
 At length the grand functionaries conducted him to his 
 palace, a kind of huge barn, before which the schoolboys 
 raised their hats. Ants greet thus the stones by the wayside. 
 Sidoine, who had made use of a pyramid for a stool, showed 
 by an expressive gesture how restricted he considered this 
 dwelling. M^ddric, in his sweetest tones, said that he had 
 noticed an extensive cornfield at the gates of the town, and 
 suggested that this was a more worthy abode for a great prince. 
 The ears of corn would make him a lovely golden couch, 
 
128 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 which would be marvellously soft, and he would have as 
 canopy the great celestial curtains which God's golden nails 
 secure to the walls of Paradise. 
 
 As the people were very fond of shows and masquerades, 
 he announced his intention, with a view to attaining popularity, 
 of giving up the former palace to bear-keepers, rope-dancers, 
 and fortune-tellers. Furthermore, a show of puppets, so per- 
 fectly constructed as to be mistaken for live actors, would be 
 established there. The multitude received this proposal with 
 gratitude. 
 
 When the question of an abode was settled, Sidoine re- 
 tired, being anxious to get to bed. He soon perceived a 
 detachment of armed men following him respectfully. Like a 
 good king, he took them for enthusiastic soldiers, and did not 
 trouble himself any more about them. However, when he had 
 stretched himself out voluptuously on his pallet of fresh straw, 
 he saw the soldiers post themselves at the four comers of the 
 field, marching backward and forward with drawn swords. 
 This manoeuvre excited his curiosity. He partly raised him- 
 self, whilst M6d6nc, anticipating his wish, called to one of the 
 men who had drawn quite close to the royal couch. 
 
 " Hallo i my friend," he shouted, " can you tell me what 
 makes you and your companions leave your beds at this hour 
 to roam around mine ? If you have evil designs on wajrfarers, 
 it is unseemly to expose your king to the necessity of bearing 
 witness against you in order that you may be hanged. If you 
 are waiting for your sweethearts, though naturally interested in 
 the increase of my subjects, I do not care to assist at these 
 family details. Now, candidly, what are you doing here ?" 
 
 "Sire, we are keeping guard over you," answered the 
 soldier. 
 
 " You are keeping guard over me ? And against whom, may 
 I ask ? The enemy is not at the frontier that I am aware of, 
 and it is not with your swords -that you will protect me from 
 gnats. Come, speak up. Against whom are you protecting 
 me?" 
 
 " I do not know, Sire. I will summon my captain." 
 
 When the captain came up and heard the king's question, 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 " Good heavens 1 Sire, how can your majesty ask such a 
 simple question? Is your majesty unacquainted with these 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MJ^D^RIC 129 
 
 minor details? All kings are protected from their subjects. 
 There are here a hundred good fellows whose sole duty con- 
 sists in spearing the curious. We are your bodyguard, Sire. 
 But for us, your subjects, a people who absorb monarchs, 
 would already have destroyed a fearful number.'' 
 
 Sidoine laughed till tears filled his eyes. The thought of 
 those poor fellows keeping guard over him had at first seemed 
 a rare joke ; but when he learnt that they were protecting him 
 from his subjects, he gave a fresh roar of laughter, which almost 
 choked him. As for M6d6nc, his cheeks were bursting, letting 
 loose a perfect storm in his beauty's ear. 
 
 " Come, clowns," he shouted, " take up your baggage and 
 clear off as quick as possible. Do you think I am such a simple- 
 ton as to follow the example of your timorous kings who close 
 ten or tw.elve doors upon themselves, and station a sentinel in 
 front of each? I look after myself, my worthy friends, and I 
 do not like to be gazed at when asleep ; for my foster-mother 
 always told me I was not beautiful when snoring. If you 
 must absolutely watch over some one, I beg you to protect the 
 people against the king, instead of protecting the king against 
 the people; you will be making better use of your night watches, 
 and be earning your money more honestly. On summer even- 
 ings, if you wish to give me pleasure, send your wives with fans, 
 or, if it rains, vote me an army of umbrellas. But as to your 
 swords, what in the name of patience do you think is their use 
 to me ? Now, good night, gentlemen of the bodyguard." 
 
 Captain and soldiers withdrew without further ado, delighted 
 with a prince who was so easy to serve. Then our friends, 
 glad that they were alone, were able to talk freely about the 
 astonishing adventures that had befallen them since morning. 
 I mean to say, you understand, that M^ddric chattered away 
 for half an hour, moralising on everything, begging his beauty 
 to carefully follow the thread of his reasoning. At the first 
 words the beauty snored like a top. Our chatterbox no longer 
 understanding what he meant himself, postponed the remainder 
 of his observations to the following day. It was thus that 
 King Sidoine I. spent his first night in the open air, in a 
 deserted field, at the gates of his capital. 
 
 The events which took place on the following days are not 
 worthy of being recorded in detail, though they were as strange 
 and marvellous as all those I have selected in which the heroes 
 
130 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 took part. Our king in two persons — see on what a mystery 
 rests ! — having accepted the crown out of sheer good nature, 
 avoided attempting the slightest reform. He allowed the 
 people to act according to their own will, which is recognised 
 to be the best way of reigning ; the easiest for the sovereign, 
 the most profitable for the subjects. 
 
 At the end of a week Sidoine had already won five pitched 
 battles. He felt called upon to lead his army to the two first. 
 But he soon perceived that instead of rendering him assistance, 
 it impeded him by getting between his legs, and running the 
 risk of receiving kicks. He therefore determined to disband 
 the troops, declaring that in future he, alone, would take the 
 field. This was the subject of a fine proclamation, which 
 began in this remarkable manner : " There is nothing so satis- 
 factory in fighting as to know why one does so. Therefore, 
 as the king, when he declares war, alone knows the cause of 
 his good pleasure, logic demands that the king, alone, should 
 fight." The soldiers greatly appreciated these ideas ; in truth, 
 for want of a good reason for going on fighting, they had turned 
 tail in many battles. They had also often expressed astonish- 
 ment, when talking at evening in the ambulances with wounded 
 foes, of the peculiar custom of princes, who had fists like all 
 the world, and yet who caused thousands of men to be killed 
 to satisfy their private quarrels. 
 
 But if you recollect the charter, you will remember that the 
 Blues had chosen a master with the sole object of being 
 diverted by seeing and hearing him act with his fists and 
 tongue. The army therefore obtained leave to follow its chief 
 at a distance of two kilometres. In this manner it had the 
 pleasure of witnessing battles, without running any of the 
 attendant risks. 
 
 Mdddric spoke even more than Sidoine fought. By the end 
 of a week he had already enriched the literature of the country 
 with thirteen bulky volumes. When he awoke on the third 
 day he discovered that he knew Greek and Latin without 
 having learnt these languages at any college; he was thus 
 able to quote ten pages of Demosthenes in answer to the 
 prince of orators, who had thought to puzzle him by reciting 
 five pages of Cicero. From that moment, which was that 
 when the nation ceased to understand him, the orator-king 
 acquired even more popularity than the warrior-king. 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 131 
 
 In powit-oCiaet''Sie Blue nation was in rapturous transports. 
 It at length possessed the long-dreamt-of prince, an ideal 
 prince, devoting his energies to its pleasures, never interfering 
 in serious matters. Still as a people, even a satisfied people, 
 always grumbles a little, the worthy man was credited with 
 peculiar tastes ; as, for example, his obstinacy in insisting on 
 sleeping in the open air. Besides, I believe I told you that 
 Sidoine was a great fop ; so soon as he had a budget within 
 reach, he quickly discarded his wolves' skins for magnificent 
 garments of silk and velvet, finding some compensation in 
 gazing at himself, for the cares of his new profession. He 
 was blamed for this innocent pleasure though he entailed no 
 other expense ; he was accused of requiring too much satin, of 
 tearing too much lace. Dew, it is true, spots fine materials, 
 and there is nothing that cuts them like' straw. Now, Sidoine 
 slept without undressing himself. 
 
 In conclusion, there were scarcely more than five or six 
 thousand discontented persons in this kingdom of thirty 
 million men ; courtiers without occupation who had put their 
 backs up, people with irritable nerves whom the long speeches 
 made feverish, and more especially perverse creatures who 
 were angry at public peace. After reigning a week, Sidoine 
 could have appealed to universal suffrage without fear. 
 
 When M^ddric awoke on the ninth day, he was seized with 
 a longing to run about the fields. He was tired of living 
 confined to the house, I mean in Sidoine's ear ; he was bored 
 at playing the part of a mere mind. He descended slowly. 
 His beauty was still sleeping, and as he only intended to be 
 away a quarter of an hour, he did not inform him of his 
 proposed walk. 
 
 A fresh April morning is a delightful thing. The sky was 
 vaulted pale and high. A clear sun, with a white glow and 
 without heat, was rising above the mountains. The leaves 
 which had expanded on the previous day shone in green tufts 
 in the country ; the rocks and land stood out in large yellow 
 and red patches. One might have said, on seeing how clean 
 everything appeared, that all nature was new. 
 
 Mdddric, before proceeding further, paused on a hillock. 
 Then, having sufficiently admired the great place as a whole, 
 he thought of taking advantage of the pleasures of the lanes 
 without troubling about the horizon. He went along the firs' 
 
132 STORt£St.FOR NINON 
 
 path he came toj then, when he reaRrTfgdJ:'l.e_ejid_ tr^v 
 another. He lost his way amidst the sweet-briers, ran 
 in the grass, stretched himself on the moss, tired out the 
 echo with his voice, endeavouring to make a great noise 
 because he found himself surrounded by absolute silence. 
 He admired the fields in detail and in his own way, which is 
 the correct one, catching glimpses of the sky through the trees, 
 creating a universe for himself from a hollow bush, discovering 
 fresh worlds at each turn of the hedges. He became tipsy by 
 inhaling too much of the pure and rather chilly air he found 
 in the avenues, and ended by stopping, out of breath, de- 
 lighted with the white rays of the sun and the charming tones 
 of the landscape. 
 
 Now, he paused at the foot of a high bramble hedge, those 
 brambles with coarse leaves and long thorny branches, which 
 certainly produce the best fruit a man of refined taste can eat. 
 I am speaking of those luscious clusters of wild blackberries, 
 pervaded with the perfume of the neighbouring lavender and 
 rosemary. Do you remember how appetising they are, black 
 beneath green leaves, and the fresh flavour, partly sweet and 
 partly sour, which they have for palates worthy of appre- 
 ciating them ? 
 
 Mdd&ic, like all who love freedom and a vagabond life, 
 was a large consumer of blackberries. He was rather proud 
 of it, having only met, during his meals along the hedges, 
 simple-minded creatures, dreamers and lovers ; which led him 
 to conclude that fools could not appreciate this savoury fruit, 
 and that they were a feast bestowed by angels in paradise on 
 the good souls in this world. Simpletons are far too stupid 
 to appreciate such a treat; they are only comfortable when 
 seated at a table cutting huge pears which melt into pure 
 water. A fine task, indeed, requiring only a knife ; whereas 
 in order to eat blackberries a dozen rare qualities are neces- 
 sary : the correct eye which discovers the most exquisite 
 hedges, those where the sun's rays and the dew have ripened 
 the fruit to a turn ; the knowledge of thorns, that marvellous 
 power of searching in a thicket without scratching one's-self ; 
 the wit to know how to waste one's time, to spend an entire 
 morning over one's breakfast, whilst walking two or three 
 leagues along a path fifty strides long. I am passing over 
 other qualities that are equally deserving of mention. Some 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^DfiRIC 133 
 
 people will never attempt to lead tiiis life of poets, feed on 
 pure air, moralise or sleep between two morsels. Idlers, 
 chosen children of heaven, alone know the refinements of 
 this pleasant occupation. 
 
 That is why Mdddric prided himself on his love for black- 
 berries. 
 
 The brambles in front of which he had just stopped 
 were laden with an abundance of rich bunches. He was in 
 raptures. 
 
 "Good gracious," he exclaimed, "what fine fruit, what a 
 marvel. Blackberries in April, and blackberries of such a size ; 
 this seems to me as surprising as a pail of water turned into 
 wine. It has been well said that nothing strengthens faith 
 like the sight of the supernatural ; for the future I will believe 
 all the old women's tales told me in childhood. Personally I 
 appreciate miracles when they fill my glass or my plate. Now 
 to breakfast, as it has pleased Providence to alter the course 
 of the seasons in order to provide me with what I like." 
 
 Saying this, M.6d6nc gracefully stretched out his fingers 
 and seized a large berry which would have provided a meal 
 for two sparrows. He enjoyed it leisurely, then smacked his 
 lips, nodding his head in a satisfied manner, like a connois- 
 seur tasting old wine. Then the brand being sampled, the 
 breakfast began. The glutton went from bush to bush, in- 
 haling the sunshine in the intervals, discovering differences 
 in taste, unable to make up his mind. Whilst walking, he 
 discoursed aloud, having acquired the habit of soliloquy 
 when in company with the silent Sidoine; when aloile, he 
 nevertheless addressed his friend, concluding that his presence 
 was of little importance to the conversation. 
 
 "My beauty," he said, "I do not know of any more philo- 
 sophical task than that of eating blackberries along the lanes. 
 It is quite a lifelong apprenticeship. See what skill one must 
 display to reach the high branches, which, bear in mind, 
 always present the choicest fruit. I make them bend by 
 drawing the lowest boughs down by degrees; a fool would 
 break them, but I let them spring back to provide for next 
 season. There are also the thorns, which scratch clumsy 
 people. I utilise them ; they serve me as hooks in perform- 
 ing this delicate operation. If you wish to judge a man and 
 know him as thoroughly as God who created him, place him 
 
134 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 with an empty stomach in front of a bramble bush laden with 
 berries on a bright morning. Ah ! poor fellow ! a blackberry 
 at the end of a high branch suffices to awaken the seven 
 deadly sins." 
 
 And Mdd^ric, quite pleased to exist, ate, made speeches, 
 and blinked his eyes so as to take in his little scene of 
 action more satisfactorily. Apart from this he had utterly 
 forgotten his majesty Sidoine I., the Blue nation, and all 
 the regal comedy. The king in two persons had left his 
 body amongst his subjects ; his mind was roaming in the 
 fields, lost among the hedges, thoroughly enjojing itself. It 
 is thus, at night, that the soul takes its flight on the wings of 
 a dream to sport in some unknown corner, oblivious of the 
 prison from which it has escaped. Is not this comparison 
 very ingenious? And though I denied concealing a philo- 
 sophical truth beneath this shght veil of fiction, does it not 
 tell you the opinion you should form of my giant and dwarf? 
 
 However, as Mdddric was making sweet eyes at a black- 
 berry, he was recalled to the sad realities of life in the most 
 unforeseen manner. A bull-dog, and not one of the smallest, 
 suddenly came dashing along the pathway, barking loudly, 
 and showing his white teeth and bloodshot eyes. Have you 
 noticed, Ninette, the nice hospitable character of dogs in 
 the country? When these faithful animals have received the 
 benefits of education from man, they possess the sense of 
 ownership in the highest degree. They consider it a crime 
 to tread on another's ground. This one, who would have 
 devoured Mdd^ric for merely removing the quantity of earth 
 that clings to the boots of a passer-by, became furious on 
 seeing him eat the blackberries that grew freely at the will 
 of sun and rain. He rushed at him with open jaw. 
 
 Mdddric cettainly did not expect him. He had a confirmed 
 hatred for those great beasts of brutal appearance, who are 
 considered amongst animals what gendarmes are amongst 
 men. He scampered off, full speed, frightened and alarmed 
 as to the consequences of this ill-fated meeting. He did not 
 reason on this occasion; but as from habit he had become 
 very logical, though he had lost his head, he set himself 
 the following proposition : This dog has four legs ; I have 
 two, which are weaker and less fit. He deduced from it : He 
 is able to run farther and quicker than I. He was naturally 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MlfeD^RIC 135 
 
 led to think : I shall be devoured ; and ended in victoriously 
 concluding : It is merely a question of time. The conclusion 
 gave him cold shivers. He turned and saw the dog ten paces 
 off; he ran faster, the dog ran faster still; he jumped a ditch, 
 the dog followed him. Breathless, with outstretched arms, 
 he continued without a will ; he felt sharp fangs entering his 
 flesh, and with closed lids saw two bloodshot eyes shining in 
 the dark. The dog's bark encompassed him, made him choke, 
 as waves do a drowning man. 
 
 Two jumps more and all would have been over with 
 M6d6nc. And here, Ninon, allow me to complain of the 
 lack of assistance rendered by our mind to our body when 
 the latter finds itself in a fix. What, I ask, had Mdddric's 
 intellect dwindled to whilst his body had but two wretched 
 legs to depend on? A fine idea fleeing to save one's-self! 
 Every one does the same thing. If his mind had not been 
 wool-gathering, the ingenious child would, at the outset, have 
 quietly climbed up a tree, as he did at the end of a quarter of an 
 hour's mad race, instead of growing breathless and running the 
 risk of pleurisy. That is what I consider a stroke of genius; he 
 was inspired from above. When he was astride a strong branch 
 he was astonished at having thought of such a simple thing. 
 
 The bull-dog, in a furious spring, struck violently against the 
 tree, then set about walking round and round its trunk, bark- 
 ing ferociously. M^ddric took it easy, and recovered speech. 
 
 " Alas ! alas I " he exclaimed, " my poor beauty, I am 
 severely punished for wishing to go out unaccompanied by 
 your fists. This is another proof of how indispensable we 
 are to one another ; our affection is the work of Providence. 
 What are you doing without me, having only your arms to 
 help you out of a dilemma? What am I doing here myself 
 up a tree, unable to strike the slightest blow on this dog's 
 muzzle ? Alas ! alas ! it is all over with us." 
 
 The dog, tired of barking, had gravely settled himself 
 on his hind-legs, his neck outstretched, his snout drawn up. 
 He gazed at Mdddric without moving a muscle. The latter, 
 seeing the brute paying him unremitting attention, appeared 
 to think it invited him to speak. He determined upon 
 utilising such an auditor, anxious to be listened to for once 
 in his life. Besides, words were his only resource to help 
 him out of his difficulty. 
 
136 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " My friend," he said, in a honeyed voice, " I do not wish 
 to detain you any longer. Go about your business. I shall 
 easily find my way again. I will even admit to you, that at 
 a few leagues from here are a good people who must be greatly 
 concerned at my absence. I am a king, if you must know 
 everything. You are aware that kings are precious jewels, whom 
 nations do not like to lose. Withdraw, therefore. It would 
 be most improper to have to set down in history, one of these 
 days, how the stupid obstinacy of a dog sufficed to overthrow 
 a great empire. Would you like a post at my court ? To be 
 keeper of the viands at the palace? Tell me what position 
 can I offer you, that your excellency may deign to with- 
 draw?" 
 
 The dog .did not move. M^d^ric thought to have got over 
 him by the bait of an official post ; he prepared to come down. 
 The dog was undoubtedly not ambitious, for he growled afresh, 
 standing up against the tree. 
 
 " The devil take you ! " muttered Mdd^ric. 
 
 Having exhausted his eloquence, he felt in his pockets. 
 This is a means which usually proves successful, in so far as 
 mankind is concerned. But what is the use of throwing a 
 purse to a dog, unless to raise a bump on his head ? Besides, 
 M^ddric was not a fellow to carry a purse about him ; he 
 looked on money as being absolutely useless, having always 
 lived on principles of free trade. He found something better 
 than a handful of coppers ; I mean to say that he found a lump 
 of sugar. As my hero was very greedy by nature, this find 
 must in no way surprise you. I am anxious to point out to you 
 how naturally all the details connected with this story occur, 
 and how truthful they are. 
 
 Mdddric, holding the sugar between his finger and thumb, 
 showed it to the dog, who opened his mouth without more 
 ado. Then the besieged came slowly down. When he was 
 near the ground he let the prize drop ; the dog snapped it up, 
 swallowed it, and did not even lick his snout before setting 
 upon Mdddric. 
 
 "You villain," shouted the latter, briskly ascending to his 
 branch again, " you eat my sugar and want to bite me ! Well, 
 I can see you have been carefully brought up ; you are an 
 apt pupil of the egotism of your masters, cringing before them, 
 and always eager for the flesh of passers-by." 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 137 
 
 VII 
 
 WHEREIN SIDOINE BECOMES TALKATIVE 
 
 Mdd^ric was about to continue in this strain, when he 
 heard a rumbling noise behind him like the sound of a dis- 
 tant cataract. Not a breath of wind disturbed the leaves ; 
 the neighbouring stream flowed with too discreet a murmur 
 to utter such complaints. M^deric, surprised, set aside the 
 branches questioning the horizon. At the first glance he could 
 see nothing ; the landscape on this side spread out grey and 
 barren, like a plain stretching from hillock to hillock, till it 
 reached the mountains which formed its boundaries. But as 
 the noise increased he looked more attentively, and then per- 
 ceived a rock of peculiar construction rising from a dip in the 
 earth. This rock — for it was difficult to take it for anything 
 but a rock — was of the shape and colour of a nose, but of a 
 gigantic nose, out of which several hundred ordinary noses 
 might easily have been made. This nasal organ, turned in a 
 despairing manner towards the sky, had the appearance of a 
 nose which had had its placidity disturbed by some great 
 sorrow. Without doubt it was this nose that was making 
 the noise. 
 
 When M^ddric had carefully examined the rock, he hesitated 
 a moment, not daring to believe his eyes. Then finding him- 
 self on familiar ground, he could doubt no longer. 
 
 " Hallo, my beauty ! " he exclaimed in astonishment, " why 
 does your nose parade the fields all alone ? May I die, if that 
 is not it there, ready to faint away like a calf which is being 
 slaughtered." 
 
 At those words the nose — the rock, incredible though it 
 seems, was nothing but a nose after all — the nose became 
 pitifully excited. Something like a landslip occurred. A long 
 greyish block, resembling a large obelisk lying on the ground, 
 moved, bent itself double, rising from one end and stretching 
 itself out from the other. A head appeared, a chest was 
 defined, the whole joined to two legs, which, though out of 
 proportion, would nevertheless have been called legs in all 
 languages, both ancient and modern. 
 
 When Sidoine had assembled his limbs he assumed a sitting 
 
138 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 posture, his fists in his eyes, his knees high and wide apart 
 He was sobbing in a heart-rending manner. 
 
 " Oh 1 oh 1 " said M^d^ric, " 1 was sure of it ; in all the 
 world there is but my beauty who has a nose of that size. 
 I know that nose as well as I know my village steeple. Hallo I 
 my poor brother, so you also have serious trouble. I assure 
 you I only intended absenting myself for ten minutes at the 
 most ; if you find me again at the end of ten hours, it is 
 assuredly the fault of the sun and of bushes laden with black- 
 berries. We will forgive them. By the way, ju5t fling that 
 dog aside ; we shall then be able to speak more comfortably." 
 
 Sidoine, still sobbing, stretched out his arm and seized the 
 dog by the nape of the neck. He swung him for a moment, 
 and sent him howling and writhing straight into the sky, with 
 a speed of several thousand miles to a second. M^ddric 
 thoroughly enjoyed the ascent. He followed the animal with 
 his eyes. When he saw it enter the magnetic sphere of the 
 moon, he clapped his hands and congratulated his comrade 
 on having at last peopled that satellite for the gratification of 
 future astronomers. 
 
 " Now, my beauty," he said, jumping to the ground, " what 
 about our people ? " 
 
 Sidoine, on hearing this question, began moaning afresh j 
 rolling his head, and smearing his face with his tears. 
 
 "Pooh!" continued Mdddric, "are our subjects dead? 
 Did you annihilate them in a fit of spleen, considering the 
 kingly people liable to abdication like all other monarchs ? " 
 
 " Brother, brother," sobbed Sidoine, " our subjects have 
 behaved badly." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " They lost their temper over a trifle " 
 
 "The villains!" 
 
 " and turned me adrift " 
 
 "The unmannerly creatures !" 
 
 " like no nobleman ever dismissed a footman." 
 
 " Just look at the aristocrat ! " 
 
 At each pause Sidoine uttered a deep sigh. When he came 
 to a full stop in his speech, his emotion having reached its 
 height, he again burst into tears. 
 
 " My beauty," resumed M^utfric, " it is no doubt dishearten- 
 ing for a master to be dismissed by his footmen ; but I do ijot 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 139 
 
 see in this a cause for such distress. If your grief did not 
 once more bear witness to your kind heart and ignor-mce of 
 social intercourse, I would reprove you for lamenting what is 
 after all but a very frequent occurrence. One of these days 
 we will take up the study of history ; you will see it is an old 
 habit of nations to ill-treat princes once they are tired of them. 
 In spite of what some people say, God never had the strange 
 fancy of creating a peculiar race with the object of imposing 
 on His children, masters elected by Him from father to son. 
 Do not therefore be surprised if those who are governed wish 
 in their turn to govern, for every man has a right to that 
 ambition. It is a relief to be able to reason out one's mis- 
 fortunes. Come, dry your tears. They would do credit to an 
 effeminate creature, a braggart fed on praise who had forgotten 
 his status as a man through practising that of a king too long. 
 But we, monarchs of a day, know how to walk without other 
 escort than our shadow, and bask in the sunshine, having for 
 sole kingdom the dust on which we set our feet." 
 
 " You take it easy," answered Sidoine dolefully. " The pro- 
 fession pleased me. I fought to my heart's content; I wore 
 Sunday clothes every day of the week ; I slept on fresh straw. 
 Reason away and explain to your heart's content ; as for me, 
 I wish to cry." 
 
 And he wept ; then, suddenly pausing in the midst of a sob, 
 he said : 
 
 "This is how things came about " 
 
 "My beauty," interrupted Mdd^ric, "you are becoming 
 talkative. Despair is not good for you." 
 
 "This morning at about six o'clock, as I was dreaming 
 peacefully, I was awakened by a great noise. I opened an 
 eye. The people surrounded my couch, and appeared very 
 excited, awaiting my awakening with a view to some judgment. 
 All right ! said I to myself, this concerns Mdddric ; let us 
 sleep again. And I did so. At the end of I don't know how 
 many minutes, I felt my subjects tugging respectfully at me by 
 the comer of my royal smock. I was compelled to open both 
 eyes. The people were growing impatient. What is amiss with 
 my brother Mdddric? thought I, in a bad humour. There- 
 upon I sat up. On perceiving this the good people surround- 
 ing me uttered a murmur of satisfaction. Do you understand 
 me, brother j and cannot I relate when occasion offers ? " 
 
140 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "Decidedly; but if you relate in that style you will be 
 relating till to-morrow. What did our subjects want ? " 
 
 "Ah! there you are. I do not think I quite understood 
 them. An old man approached me leading a cow by a halter. 
 He placed it at my feet, with its head turned towards me. 
 Two groups formed on the right and left of the beast, facing 
 each flank, and shaking their fists in each other's faces. The 
 one on the right shouted, ' It is white ! ' that on the left, ' It is 
 black 1 ' Then the old man, bowing repeatedly, said to me in 
 a humble tone, ' Sire, is it black, or is it white ? ' " 
 
 "But," interrupted Mdddric, "that was deep philosophy. 
 Was the cow black, my beauty?" 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 " Then it was white ? " 
 
 " Oh ! certainly not. Besides, I did not at first trouble 
 much about the beast's colour. It was you who had to reply. 
 I had merely to look on. Still you did not speak. I thought 
 you were preparing your speech, and was about to settle down 
 to sleep comfortably. The old fellow, who had bent himself 
 in two to hear my answer, feeling his back ache, repeated, 
 ' Sire, is it white, or is it black ? ' " 
 
 "My beauty, you dramatise your story in accordance with 
 all the rules of the art. If I only had time, I would make a 
 tragic author of you. But go on." 
 
 " ' Ah I the sluggard 1 ' I said to myself at last, ' he sleeps 
 like a king.' However, the people again became impatient 
 It was a question of awakening you as quietly as possible 
 without attracting their attention. I slipped a finger into my 
 left ear ; it was empty. I slipped it into my right ear ; that 
 was also empty. It was from the moment I made those move- 
 ments that the people lost their temper." 
 
 " No wonder ! my beauty. Are you so ignorant of the art of 
 pantomime ? To scratch one's ear signifies that one is puzzled, 
 and when you have a judgment to deliver you go and scratch 
 both!" 
 
 "Brother, I was greatly concerned. I rose without paying 
 further attention to the people. I actively searched all my 
 pockets, those of my smock, of my breeches; every one of 
 them, in fact. Nothing in the left-hand, nothing in the 
 right-hand pockets. My brother Mdddric was no longer 
 about me. For a moment I hoped I migiit find him in some 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MlfeO^RIC 141 
 
 out-of-the-way gusset. I examined the seams, looked over 
 each fold. No one. There was no more a Mdddric in my 
 clothes than in my ears. The people, astounded at this 
 strange performance, no doubt suspected me of seeking for 
 an answer in my pockets ; they waited a few moments, then 
 began to hoot me with no more respect than if I had been the 
 least deserving of consideration among the peasantry. Admit, 
 brother, it required a strong head to escape safe and sound 
 from such a situation." 
 
 " I admit it willingly, my beauty. And what about the 
 cow?" 
 
 " The cow ! It was the cow that puzzled me. When I had 
 ascertained that I must speak in public, I summsned all the 
 common-sense I could master to my aid, 10 enable me to 
 survey the cow without prejudice. The old man had just 
 risen, calling out to me in an angry tone that everlasting sen- 
 tence which was taken up in chorus by the people, ' Is it 
 white ? is it black ? ' On my word of honour, brother Mdd^ric, 
 it was both black and white. I perceived that whilst some 
 would have it black, the others would have it white, and that 
 is exactly what worried me." 
 
 " You are very simple-minded, my beauty ; the colour of 
 objects depends on the position of the people. Those on the 
 left and those on the right, only seeing one side of the cow 
 at a time, were equally right and equally in error. You, 
 looking straight at it, formed another opinion about it. Was 
 this the correct one ? I dare not say ; for bear in mind that 
 some one standing at the tail might have given utterance to a 
 fourth opinion quite as logical as the three first." 
 
 "Well, brother Mdd^ric, why moralise so much? I don't 
 pretend I was the only one in the right. But I say the cow 
 was both white and black ; and I can certainly say this, as it 
 is what I saw. My first idea was to impart to the crowd the 
 truth revealed to me by my eyes, and I did so good-naturedly, 
 being simple enough to think this conclusion the best possible 
 one, as it ought to have satisfied every one, whilst giving offence 
 to none." 
 
 " What ! my poor beauty, you spoke ? " 
 
 "Could I remain silent? The people were there, their 
 ears wide open, thirsting for verbosity as the earth hankers for 
 rain after two months of drought The jocular ones, seeing 
 
142 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 my confused and stupid look, exclaimed that my warbler's 
 voice had disappeared just at the mating season. I turned 
 my sentence over seven times in my mouth, then partly closing 
 my eyelids, and rounding my arms, I uttered the following 
 words in the most fluted voice possible : ' My well-beloved 
 subjects, the cow is both black and white 1 ' " 
 
 " Oh dear me I my poor beauty, in what school did you learn 
 to utter speeches consisting of one sentence ? Have I ever 
 set you such a bad example ? You had there a subject to fill 
 a couple of volumes, and you cast all the fruit of your obser- 
 vations into a dozen words ! Of course you were understood : 
 your speech was pitiable ! " 
 
 " I believe you, brother. I had spoken very softly. One 
 and all, men, women, children, old men, stopped up their ears, 
 looking at each other affrighted, as though they had heard 
 thunder rumbling overhead. Then they made a great outcry : 
 'And who is the uncouth person who is bellowing like that?' 
 they inquired. Our king has been changed. This man is not 
 our gentle lord, whose sweet voice charmed our ears. Be off 
 with you quickly, wretched giant, whose only use is to frighten 
 our daughters when they cry. Did you hear the simpleton 
 affirm that this cow is white and black? It is white. It is 
 black. Is he mocking us in stating that it is black and white ? 
 Come, be off witli you. What a silly pair of fists ! What 
 ugly appendages, when he swings them stupidly about, as if 
 he did not know what to do with them. Throw them aside, 
 that you may run faster. You would cure us of having kings, 
 if we could be cured of that ill. Come, be off quickly. Clear 
 out of the kingdom. What possessed us to take a fancy to 
 men several yards high ? Nothing is more artistically con- 
 structed than gnats. We want a gnat." 
 
 Sidoine on recalling this tumultuous scene could no longer 
 control his feelings ; his tears started afresh. Mdddric did not 
 utter a word, for his beauty was assuredly awaiting his sympathy 
 to yield still more to his grief. 
 
 "The people," he resumed, after a pause, "pushed me 
 slowly out of their territory. I walked backwards, step by 
 step, not thinking of defending myself without daring to open 
 my lips, trying to hide my fists which had excited such an 
 uproar. You know I am very shy by nature, and nothing 
 vexes me so much as to see a crowd busying itself about 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 143 
 
 mp. Therefore, when I found myself in the open fields, I 
 soon made up my mind : I turned my back on my revolu- 
 tionary subjects, and ran with all the speed I could command. 
 I heard them grumble at my flight louder than they had done 
 two minutes previously at my slowness in withdrawing. They 
 called me coward ; shook their fists at me, forgetting they ran 
 the risk of putting me in mind of my own ; and ended by throw- 
 ing s;ones after me when I had outdistanced them. Alas ! 
 brother Mdd^ric, these are sad adventures." 
 
 "Come, cheer up," sensibly answered M^ddric; "let us 
 hold council. What do you think of a slight reproof being 
 administered to our subjects, not with a view to subjugating 
 them — for, after all, they were not bound to retain us once 
 they were no longer satisfied with us — but to show them that . 
 they cannot turn out people such as we are with impunity ? I 
 vote for a brief shower of clouts." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Sidoine, " can one read in history of such 
 punishments being inflicted?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly. Kings sometimes destroy a town ; at 
 others towns behead kings. It is sweet reciprocation. If it 
 will amuse you, we will belabour those on whose behalf we 
 fought yesterday." 
 
 "No, brother; it would be a sad task. I belong to the 
 class of people who do not care to eat chickens bred in their 
 own poultry yards." 
 
 "Well said, my beauty. Let us then bequeath the task of 
 making us regretted to the king who succeeds us. Besides, 
 that kingdom was too small; you could not move without 
 passing the frontiers. We have tarried long enough by the 
 wayside. We must, without further delay, seek the Kingdom 
 of the Happy, which is an extensive kingdom, where we shall 
 reign in comfort. Above all let us keep together. We will 
 spend some morning in completing our education, in acquir- 
 ing perfect knowledge of this world in a corner of which we 
 shall rule. Is the matter settled, my beauty ? " 
 
 Sidoine ceased weeping, he no longer thought, no longer 
 spoke. Tears, for a briei space of time, had placed thoughts in 
 his brain and words on his lips. All disappeared simultaneously. 
 
 " Listen and do not reply," added Mdddric. " We will step 
 across our former kingdom, and set out towards the East in 
 quest of a new realm." 
 
144 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 VIII 
 
 THE CHARMING PRIMROSE QUEEN OF THE KINGDOM 
 OF THE HAPPY 
 
 It is high time, Ninon, to tell you of the marvels of the 
 Kingdom of the Happy. Here are the particulars that M6d6nc 
 had from his friend the bullfinch. 
 
 The Kingdom of the Happy is situated in a world that geo- 
 graphers have as yet been unable to discover, but which kind- 
 hearted beings of all ages have well known, having visited it 
 in dreams. I cannot tell you anything concerning its extent, 
 the height of its mountains, the length of its rivers ; its boun- 
 daries are not clearly defined, and, up to the present, the 
 science of geometry in this fortunate country has consisted in 
 dividing the land into allotments, according to the require- 
 ments of each family. Spring does not reign there eternally, 
 as you might fancy ; flowers have their thorns, the plain is 
 strewn with rocks ; twilight is succeeded by dark night, which 
 is followed in turn by dawn. The fertility, the salubrious 
 climate, and supreme beauty of this kingdom, find their origin 
 in the delightful harmony and wise equilibrium of the elements. 
 The sun ripens the fruits which rain has produced, night rests 
 the fields from the fertilising labour of the day. The sun 
 never scorches the crops, cold never arrests the flow of the 
 streams. There is nothing that is supreme, everything is 
 counterbalanced, has its part in the universal order of things ; 
 so that this world, where all opposite influences are in equal 
 quantity, is a world of peace, justice, and duty. 
 
 The Kingdom of the Happy is well peopled; from what 
 date has this been so ? No one knows ; but it is certain that 
 no one would take the nation to be ten years old. It does not 
 appear to suspect to what height of perfection human beings 
 can attain ; it lives peacefully without having to vote daily, to 
 maintain one law, twenty laws which will require in their turn 
 twenty other laws, to insure them also being maintained. 
 The edifice of iniquity and oppression has not got beyond its 
 foundation-stone. Some great sentiments, as simple as home 
 truths, take the place of rules : brotherhood in the sight of 
 God, need of rest, knowledge of the insignificance of human 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE m6d6rIC 145 
 
 nature, the undefined hope of eternal peace. There is a tacit 
 understanding amongst these passers-by of an hour, who ques- 
 tion the use of elbowing one another when the road is wide, 
 and leads small and great to the same goal. Harmonious 
 nature, which is ever placid, has influenced the character of' 
 the inhabitants ; they have, like it, a soul rich in feeling, acces- 
 sible to all sentiments. This soul, wherein the slightest in- 
 crease of passion would raise a storm, enjoys a calm that 
 nothing will destroy, owing to the just equalisation of good 
 and bad faculties. 
 
 You see, Ninon, that these people are not angels, and that 
 their world is no paradise. A dreamer of our impulsive 
 countries could ill adapt himself to this temperate clime, 
 where the heart must beat regularly ; or to the caresses of a 
 pure and tepid atmosphere. He would despise those peaceful 
 landscapes enveloped in white light, stormless, and with no 
 dazzling mid-days. But what a peaceful home for those who, 
 recently awakened from death, recall amid sighs, the delightful 
 slumber they enjoyed in the eternity of the past, and who from 
 hour to hour await the rest of future everlastingness. Those 
 beings refuse to suffer, they aspire to that equality, that holy 
 calm which recalls their true nature, that of nonexistence. 
 Feeling both good and wicked, they have made it a rule to 
 annihilate mankind as far as possible, to cause him to resume 
 his place in creation, by regulating the harmony of their soul 
 by that of the universe. 
 
 Among such a people there cannot be much hierarchy. It 
 is satisfied with existing, and does not divide itself into hostile 
 castes, which dispenses with the necessity of having a history. 
 It declines to submit to that selection of fate which appoints 
 certain men as rulers over their fellows, by giving them a larger 
 part of intellect than the usual share heaven is able to assign 
 to each of its children. Brave men and poltroons, simpletons 
 and men of genius, good and wicked resign themselves, in this 
 land, to being nothing individually, and the only merit they 
 recognise is that of forming part of the human family. From 
 this idea of justice a small society has sprung, which at first 
 sight appears to be somewhat monotonous, possessing but 
 shght individuality, yet forming a charming whole, which har- 
 bours no malice, and is a true people in the correct sense of 
 the word. 
 
146 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 And so there are neither small nor great, rich nor poor, no 
 titles, no social scale, none above, none below, none who elbow 
 others; the nation is without care, it lives calmly, is loving and 
 philosophical, and consists of men who have ceased to be 
 such. However, in the early days of the kingdom, in order 
 not to be pointed at by their neighbours, they had fallen in 
 with accepted notions by proclaiming a king. They did not 
 feel the need of him, they considered the step a mere for- 
 mality, and perhaps a shrewd way to shelter their liberty 
 beneath the wing of monarchy. They selected the humblest 
 citizen, who possessed sufficient intelligence to feel he was the 
 brother of his subjects, and was not so foolish as to become 
 malicious with time. This selection was one of the causes of 
 the peaceful prosperity of the kingdom. The step once taken, 
 the king gradually forgot that he had a people, the people that 
 they had a king. Ruler and ruled thus went side by side, 
 unconsciously protecting one another for centuries ; laws were 
 observed in that they did not make themselves felt; the 
 country enjoyed perfect order, which was the result of its 
 unique position in history j a free monarchy contained in a 
 free people. 
 
 Tiie annals relating to the history of the sovereigns of the 
 Kingdom of the Happy would be curious readmg. Certainly 
 great deeds and humanitarian reforms would hold but a small 
 place therein, and would yield but slight interest ; worthy folk 
 would, however, find pleasure in noting with what innocent 
 simplicity that race of excellent men, who were born kings 
 quite naturally, succeeded one another on the throne, and 
 how they wore the crown as easily as one wears fair or dark 
 hair in one's cradle. The nation having given itself the trouble 
 to select a master at the commencement, did not intend to 
 bother itself further in the matter, and understood that it had 
 given its vote once for all. Respect for hereditary transmis- 
 sion did not account for its acting thus, for it ignored the 
 meaning of the term ; but this course of action seemed to it 
 by far the simplest. 
 
 Therefore, at the time of the reign of the charming Prim- 
 rose, no genealogist, in tracing back the family tree, could 
 have followed, in its various branches, that long line of 
 kings, descendants of a common ancestor. They succeeded 
 to the royal inheritance throughout ages, without having to 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MfiDfiRIC 147 
 
 trouble themselves lest some beggar should rob them of it in 
 transit. Many of them even appeared unaware of the high 
 sinecure which they had inherited from their ancestors. 
 Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, uncles, 
 aunts, nephews, nieces, had handed down the royal sceptre 
 from hand to hand like an heirloom. 
 
 Had it not been for the good nature of the kings themselves 
 in coming forward, the people would in the end have failed 
 to recognise its king for the time being, owing to the family 
 connection which had at length become numerous and in- 
 volved. Sometimes a circumstance occurred when a king 
 became an absolute necessity. As everything considered, it 
 is wise to follow the ordinary course of events, the nation there- 
 upon called on their legitimate ruler to declare himself Then 
 the one who had the gilt stick in a corner of his house took it 
 modestly, acted his part, and retired when the farce was over. 
 These short appearances set the memory of the nation in 
 order. 
 
 It must be pointed out, to the honour of the reigning dynasty, 
 that two kings had never presented themselves in answer to 
 the people's summons ; amongst heirs, the fact is worthy of 
 being noted : there was never any great nephew covetous of 
 the prize which had fallen to the share of the eldest branch. 
 However, I cannot affirm that the charming Primrose was 
 directly descended from the king who founded the dynasty. 
 You know that one is not always the daughter of one's father. 
 But it is certain that the title of queen was transmitted to her 
 according to the civil laws of consanguinity. There coursed 
 through her veins a pink blood which perhaps did not con- 
 tain a drop of the regal article, but which certainly preserved 
 a tinge of the blood of the first man. That dynasty develop- 
 ing without shock, traversing ages at the will of births and 
 deaths, is a splendid example for the peoples and princes of 
 our shores. 
 
 The father of the charming Primrose, forgetting as he grew 
 old the great art of his ancestors, conceived the peculiar idea 
 of wishing to introduce some reforms in the government. A 
 republic was on the verge of being proclaimed. Thereupon 
 the old man died, and so spared his subjects the trouble of 
 getting angry. They avoided changing a political system which 
 had suited them so well for centuries, and quietly allowed 
 
148 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 the only daughter of the late king, the charming Primrose, who 
 was twelve years old, to ascend the throne. 
 
 The child, who possessed great common sense for her age, 
 was careful to avoid following her father's example. Having 
 learnt the cost of insisting on making a nation happy which 
 declared it enjoyed perfect felicity, she sought elsewhere for 
 beings to console and for existences to soften. According 
 to the story, heaven had endowed her with one of those 
 women's souls embodying pity and love, puffs of breath from 
 a better God, and of such pure essence that men have been 
 obliged to invent quite a multitude of angels and cherubims 
 to account for this penetrating kindness. Ah ! yes, Ninon ; 
 we people heaven with our sweethearts, with our soft-voiced 
 sisters, with our mothers — those holy souls, the guardian 
 angels of our prayers. God loses nothing by this belief, 
 which is mine. If He needs a celestial army. He possesses 
 up there, around His throne, the compassionate thoughts of 
 all true-hearted women who love in this world. 
 
 Primrose, from her birth, evinced several proofs of her 
 mission ; she was born to protect the weak, and to perform 
 acts of peace and justice. I will not say that the sun shone 
 more brightly on the day she came into the world, or that 
 there was greater happiness in human hearts. Yet, on that 
 occasion the swallows talked over the event later than usual. 
 If the wolves were not affected, it was because tears of joy do 
 not belong to them by nature ; the lambs on passing the door 
 bleated more softly, glancing at one another with moist eyes. 
 Among the beasts of the country — I mean the good beasts — 
 there was an emotion which softened their sad state of brutes 
 for an hour. A Messiah was born who had been expected by 
 these poor creatures ; I ask you the question, and without 
 sacrilegious mockery, whether in their sufferings and darkness 
 they do not hope for a Saviour as we do ? 
 
 Primrose, on opening her eyes in her cradle, bestowed her 
 first smile on the family dog and cat, who were seated on their 
 haunches, one on either side of the cot, as becomes high 
 functionaries. She shed her first tear, stretching forth her 
 hands towards a cage wherein a nightingale was sadly singing ; 
 when, to pacify her, the frail prison was handed her, she 
 opened it, and smiled again on seeing the bird spread out its 
 wings. 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^DlfeRIC 149 
 
 I cannot relate to you her youth from day to day, spent in 
 placing handfuls of corn near ant-hills, not quite at the edge, 
 in order not to deprive the labourers of the pleasure of work, 
 but at a short distance, so as to spare the limbs of the tiny 
 creatures ; her happy youth, of which she made one long 
 holiday, relieving herself of the necessity she felt of being 
 kind, giving her heart the constant joy of doing good, of help- 
 ing the unfortunate : sparrows and cockroaches saved from the 
 hands of mischievous boys, goats consoled with a caress for 
 the loss of their kids, domestic animals plentifully fed on bones 
 and soups, bread-crumbs placed on the roof, bits of straw 
 held out towards drowning insects, kind actions and gentle 
 words of all kinds. 
 
 As I have told you, she attained the age of discretion early 
 in life. What with her had at first been the instinct of the 
 heart, soon became judgment and line of conduct. It was no 
 longer her innate kindness only that prompted her to love the 
 brute creation ; that common sense which we display to hold 
 dominion, had in her case the rare result of increasing her 
 affection by helping her to realise how dumb creatures need 
 to be loved. When she walked through the lanes with girls of 
 her own age, she sometimes preached her mission, and it was 
 a charming sight to see this rosy-lipped doctor, explaining with 
 earnest simplicity to her disciples, the new religion which 
 teaches us to extend a helping hand to the most unfortunate 
 of the earth. She often said that she had formerly felt great 
 pity, when thinking of creatures deprived of speech, and thus 
 unable to make their wants known to us ; she dreaded in her 
 early years to pass by them when they were hungry or athirst, 
 and to go on her way without having relieved them, giving 
 them a hateful impression of the wicked heart of a little girl 
 ignoring charity. It was from this, she said, that all the mis- 
 understanding between God's children from man to worm 
 came ; they do not understand their different languages, and 
 despise one another, because they cannot comprehend each 
 other sufficiently, to give mutual assistance in a brotherly way. 
 
 Many a time when facing a huge ox, who fixed his mournful 
 eyes on her for hours together, she had anxiously sought to 
 ascertain what the poor creature that was looking at her so 
 sadly, wanted. But now, as far as she was concerned, she no 
 longer dreaded being thought unkind. She knew the language 
 
ISO STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 of each beast j she owed this language to the affection of dear 
 unfortunate ones, who had taught it her during a long associa- 
 tion. And when one asked her how to acquire those thousand 
 languages to put an end to the misunderstandings which render 
 creation wicked, she replied with a sweet smile : " Love animals 
 and you will understand them." 
 
 Her logic, moreover, was not very profound ; she judged 
 by her own heart, without troubling herself about philosophical 
 ideas she was unacquainted with. Her view of things pos- 
 sessed this peculiarity, in our era of pride : she did not consider 
 man alone in God's work. She loved life in all its forms ; she 
 beheld creatures, from the humblest to the highest, crushed 
 beneath the same law of suffering. In this brotherhood of 
 tears she could make no distinction between those who possess 
 a soul and those to whom we do not allow one. Stones alone 
 left her unmoved, and yet during the hard frosts of January 
 she would think of those poor stones which must have felt so 
 cold on the highways. She had become attached to animals 
 as we become attached to the blind and dumb, because they 
 can neither see nor hear. She sought out the most miserable 
 creatures to satisfy her great craving to love. 
 
 She certainly was not so foolish as to believe that a man was 
 concealed under the skin of a donkey or a wolf; those are 
 ridiculous inventions which might occur to a philosopher, but 
 are not intended for the fair head of a little girl. The wise 
 man who has declared that he loves beasts because they are 
 men in disguise, is a perfect egotist As for her, thank God, 
 she looked on animals as mere animals. She loved them 
 simply, believing they live, and experience joys and sorrows 
 just as we do. She treated them as sisters, whilst realising the 
 difference existing between their being and ours, but at the 
 same time telling herself that God, having given them life, has 
 created them to be comforted. 
 
 When the charming Primrose ascended the throne, seeing 
 that she could not perform a deed of charity in working for 
 the welfare of her people, she determined to labour for the 
 happiness of the animals in her kingdom. As the men de- 
 clared themselves to be perfectly satisfied, she devoted herself 
 to the well-being of insects and lions. She thus appeased her 
 craving to love. 
 
 It must be admitted that if peace reigned in the cities it was 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE m£d£RIC 151 
 
 not the same in the forests. Primrose had at all times ex- 
 perienced sad surprise at seeing the perpetual warfare which 
 raged amongst the brute creation. She could not understand 
 the spider sucking the fly's blood, the bird feeding on the 
 spider. One of her most oppressive nightmares consisted in 
 seeing, on rough winter nights, a kind of terrible round dance, 
 an immense circle filling the heavens; it was formed of all 
 creatures in single file devouring one another ; it revolved un- 
 ceasingly, borne along in the fury of the horrible feast. Fear 
 brought a cold sweat to the child's brow, when she realised 
 that this feast could have no end, that the creatures would 
 eternally whirl round thus amidst agonising yells. 
 
 But this to her mind was a dream ; the dear child was 
 ignorant of the fatal law of life which cannot be without 
 death. She believed in the sovereign power of her tears. 
 
 This is the fine plan which she had formed, in her sim- 
 plicity and kindness of heart, for the greater happiness of the 
 animals of her kingdom. 
 
 She had scarcely attained power, before she had it pro- 
 claimed with sound of trumpet at the cross-roads of every 
 forest, in the poultry-yards, and on the squares of large cities, 
 that every animal tired of a vagrant life, would find sure 
 shelter at the court of the charming Primrose. The pro- 
 clamation stated, besides, that the pensioners, once instructed 
 in the difficult science of happiness, according to the laws of 
 heart and reason, would enjoy abundant board and be exempt 
 from tears. As winter was drawing near and food becoming 
 scarce, hungry wolves, chilly insects, all the domestic animals 
 in the country, stray cats and dogs, and some five or six dozen 
 curious wild animals answered the young queen's summons. 
 
 She lodged them commodiously in a spacious shed, giving 
 them a thousand comforts which were new to them. Her 
 system of education was as simple as her mind ; it consisted 
 in loving her pupils greatly ; preaching mutual affection by 
 example. She had a similar cell built for each, without 
 troubling about their different natures, provided them with 
 comfortable beds of straw and heather, clean troughs at a 
 proper height, coverings in winter time, and leafy branches 
 in summer. She sought as far as possible to lead them to 
 forget their vagrant life with its pungent joys ; she had there- 
 fore regretfully had the barn surrounded with strong iroij 
 
152 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 railings to assist in tlie conversion, thus placing a barrier 
 between the revolutionary spirit of the beasts outside and the 
 good disposition of her disciples. Morning and night she 
 visited them, assembled them in a common room, where 
 she petted them according to individual deserts. She did 
 not make them long speeches, but incited them to friendly 
 discussions on delicate points of fraternity and abnegation, 
 encouraging well-thinking orators and kindly rebuking those 
 who raised their voices rather too high. Her aim was to 
 blend them little by little into a same people ; she hoped 
 to make each species lose its individual language and customs 
 and to lead them all unconsciously to universal unity, confusing 
 for them, by means of continual contact, their various ways of 
 seeing and hearing. Thus she set the weak under the paws 
 of the strong, she brought the grasshopper with its sharp cry 
 and the bull snorting with all the might of its nostrils, to hold 
 converse together, she placed greyhounds beside hares, and 
 foxes in the very midst of hens. But the step she thought 
 the cleverest was to serve the same food in all the porringers. 
 As this food could not be flesh or fish, the ordinary, for one 
 and all, consisted in a basin of milk a day, which was smaller 
 or larger according to the boarder's appetite. 
 
 Everything being planned in this manner, the charming 
 Primrose awaited results. They could not fail to be good, 
 she thought, as the means employed were excellent The 
 men of her kingdom proclaimed themselves happier and 
 happier, losing their temper if ever a philanthropist sought to 
 point out their misery to them. The animals, on the con- 
 trary, admitted their misfortunes and endeavoured to attain 
 perfect happiness. At this period, the charming Primrose 
 found herself to be without doubt the best and most satisfied 
 of queens. 
 
 Mdddric knew no more concerning the Kingdom of the 
 Happy. His friend the bullfinch had given him to under- 
 stand that one fine morning he had flown away from the 
 hospitable barn, without explaining the reason for that unac- 
 countable flight. 
 
 Candidly, that bullfinch must have been a good-for-nothing 
 scapegrace, who did not like milk, but preferred the sun 
 and briars. 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MlilDERIC 15^ 
 
 IX 
 
 WHEREIN m£d£RIC POPULARISES ASTRONOMY, HIS- 
 TORY, THEOLOGY, PHILOSOPHY, EXACT AND 
 NATURAL SCIENCES, AS WELL AS VARIOUS 
 OTHERS. 
 
 The giant and the dwarf travelled across country trifling 
 away their time in the sunshine, anxious to reach their desti- 
 nation, but forgetting themselves at each bend of the path. 
 M^d^ric had once more taken up his quarters in Sidoine's ear ; 
 he was satisfied with the lodging in every way, and continually 
 discovered fresh comforts in it. 
 
 The two brothers walked along at random. M^ddric allowed 
 himself to be led according to the fancy of Sidoine's legs, 
 without troubling as to the way ; and as these legs easily covered 
 twenty degrees of longitude at a step, it follows that at the 
 end of the first morning, the travellers had already gone an 
 incalculable number of times round the world. Towards 
 noon, Mdd&ic, tired of being silent, was unable to let seas 
 and continents pass by again, without giving his companion a 
 lesson in geographj'. 
 
 " See, my beauty," he said, " at this present moment there 
 are millions of poor children, shut up in cold rooms, ruining 
 their eyesight and puzzling their brains in studying the world 
 on dirty scraps of paper, coloured blue, green, and red, and 
 covered with lines and strange names like a cabalistic conjuring 
 book. Man is to be pitied for only seeing grand sights when 
 brought down to his own level. Formerly I chanced to glance 
 at one of those books, in which the countries that are known 
 were comprised in some twenty or thirty leaves ; it is not an 
 entertaining collection, and is good at the best to stock a 
 child's memory. Why cannot the sublime work spread out 
 before us, be displayed to them so that they may behold its 
 greatness at a glance ? But the children, sons of our mothers, 
 are not of a build to take in the whole page. Angels alone 
 would be capable of true science, should there be some sour- 
 tempered clever old saint up above to give lessons in geography. 
 So as it pleases God to set out this beautiful natural map 
 
154 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 before us, I wish to take advantage of this rare opportunity to 
 draw your attention to the various manners and customs of 
 the world." 
 
 " Brother M^ddric," interrupted Sidoine, " I am an igno- 
 ramus, and greatly fear I shall not understand you. Though 
 talking does not tire you much, it is better for us both that 
 you should keep silent." 
 
 " As usual, my beauty, you speak foolishly. It is just now to 
 my interest to converse with you concerning human knowledge ; 
 for, understand, I intend nothing less than to popularise this 
 knowledge. To begin with, do you know the meaning of 
 popularise ? " 
 
 " No j and even at the risk of again speaking foolishly, I 
 must say that the expression seems to me a barbarous one." 
 
 " To popularise a science, my beauty, means to dilute it, to 
 render it as insipid as possible, that it may be easily understood 
 by the brains of children and persons of small intellect This 
 is what happens : learned men despise truths hidden beneath 
 thick draperies and prefer them in their nakedness ; children, 
 concluding rightly that the time for serious study always comes 
 soon enough, continue to play till they reach the age when 
 they can climb the rough road to knowledge without being 
 blindfolded ; persons of weak intellect — I allude to those who 
 are not wise enough to stop their ears — hearken as well as they 
 can to the finest diffusion of knowledge, overcram their brains 
 with it, and thus become utter simpletons. So that no one 
 profits by this eminently philanthropical idea which consists in 
 placing science within reach of all, no one, unless it be he who 
 popularises it. He has performed a great feat. You cannot, 
 my beauty, in all conscience, prevent me doing the same if I 
 feel in the least inclined." 
 
 " Talk away, brother Mdd^ric, your speeches do not prevent 
 my walking." 
 
 " Those are wise words. My beauty, pray look attentively 
 at the four points of the horizon. From this height we cannot 
 distinguish our brother men, we can easily mistake their towns 
 for heaps of gray paving-stones, cast into the hollows of the 
 plains or on the slopes of the hills. The world seen thus, 
 presents a spectacle of peculiar grandeur; here long ridges 
 of rocks ; there, in the sunken parts, pools of water ; then, at 
 distant intervals, some forests forming dark patches on the 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 155 
 
 light-coloured earth. This view possesses the beauty of an 
 immense extent of horizon ; but man will always feel more 
 delight in contemplating a hillside cottage with a couple of 
 sweet-briars and a stream of water at its door." 
 
 Sidoine made a wry face on hearing this poetical detail. 
 Mdderic resumed : 
 
 " It is aflSrmed that, at distant intervals, frightful earthquakes 
 wreck continents, upheave the seas, and transform the horizon. 
 A new act begins in the great tragedy of Eternity. At the 
 present moment I can imagine I am looking at one of those 
 anterior worlds, when geographers did not exist. Happy 
 mountains, fortunate streams, calm oceans, you live in peace 
 for thousands of centuries, without, names in the sight of God, 
 transitory shapes of a world that may perhaps change to- 
 morrow. My beauty and I, look down on you from above 
 as your Creator must see you, and we do not trouble our- 
 selves concerning the depths of the waters, the heights of 
 the mountains, nor the various temperatures of the countries. 
 Listen, Sidoine, I am popularising more than ever ; I am in 
 the midst of the physical geography of the globe. For the 
 Eternal there must exist as many different worlds as there 
 have been subversions. You can understand that. But man, 
 creature of a moment, can only look on the earth from one 
 point of view. Since the birth of Adam the landscapes have 
 not altered ; they are such as the waters of the last flood left 
 them to our forefathers. My task is, therefore, singularly 
 simplified. We have only to study stationary lines, a certain 
 clearly defined configuration. The recollection of what we 
 see will suflSce. Look and you will be learned. The map is 
 a fine one, I fancy, and you possess sufficient intelligence to 
 open your eyes." 
 
 "I open them, brother; I see oceans, mountains, rivers, 
 islands, and a thousand other things. E\en when I close my 
 eyelids I see these things again in darkness ; that is no doubt 
 what you termed the recollection of what we see. But I 
 think it would be well to give me the names of these marvels, 
 and to tell me something of the inhabitants after describing 
 the house." 
 
 "Well, my beauty, I have been able, in a few words, to 
 give you a course of geography similar to that of the angels. 
 I should- not complete your education in ten years were I 
 
iS6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 to teach you the frivolous things retailed to the students 
 I mentioned previously. Man has delighted in confusing 
 everything on earth ; he has given twenty different names to 
 the same peak ; he has invented continents and disowned 
 even more; he has founded so many kingdoms, and anni- 
 hilated so many, that each stone in the fields has assuredly 
 served as boundary to some vanished nation. Those well- 
 defined lines, that eternity of selfsame boundaries, exist for 
 God alone. When human nature is introduced upon this 
 vast scene terrible confusion ensues. It is so easy every 
 hundred years to take a sheet of paper and sketch a new 
 world, the one existing for the time being. If the Creator's 
 world had undergone all the changes of the world of man, we 
 should have the strangest medley of colours and lines spread 
 out before us, instead of this natural map, which is so clear. 
 I cannot appreciate the whims our brethren have indulged 
 in. I again tell you to look attentively. In a glance you will 
 learn more than all the geographers in the world know; for 
 with your own eyes you will have seen the great boundaries 
 of the terrestrial crust, which these gentlemen are still seeking 
 with their levels and compasses. Unless I am mistaken, this 
 is rather a very popularised lesson in physical and political 
 geography." 
 
 As the teacher ceased speaking, the pupil, who for the time 
 being was travelling over fields of ice, stepped across the pole, 
 without more ado, and placed his foot on the other hemisphere. 
 It was noon on one side and midnight on the other. The 
 comrades, leaving a bright April sun behind them, continued 
 their journey in the clearest moonlight that could ever be seen. 
 Sidoine, simple-minded by nature, almost fell backward in 
 astonishment at the want of logic the sun and moon appeared 
 to him to display at that moment. He looked up and studied 
 the stars. 
 
 " My beauty," Mdd^ric shouted in his ear, " now or never is 
 the time to popularise astronomy for your benefit. Astronomy 
 is the geography of the planets. It teaches that the earth 
 is a speck of dust cast into space. It is amongst all a whole 
 some science when taken in reasonable doses. But I will not 
 dwell on that branch of human knowledge; I know you are 
 modest and not inquisitive as regards mathematical formulas. 
 But if you possessed the least pride I should have, in order 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MEDERIC 157 
 
 to cure you of the bad habit, to bring to your notice, proof 
 in hand, the appalling truths of space. No man, however 
 insane he may be, could be so stupid as to believe for a 
 moment, when contemplating the stars on a clear night, 
 that God created the universe for the greater enjoyment of 
 humanity. 
 
 " There is in the vault of heaven an everlasting denial of those 
 false theories which, taking man only into account in the midst of 
 creation, dispose of God's will towards him, as though God had 
 solely the earth to consider. What is done with other worlds ? 
 If the work has an aim, will not the entire work be devoted to 
 attaining that aim ? We, the infinitely small, study astronomy 
 in order to learn what place we hold in creation. Look at the 
 sky, ray beauty, observe it well. Giant though you be, you have 
 infinity overhead, with all its mysteries. If ever you should 
 have the unfortunate idea to philosophise on your origin and 
 end, this infinity would prevent you drawing any conclusions." 
 
 "Brother Mdddric, popularising is an amusing game. I 
 should like to know the cause of night and day. These are 
 strange phenomena which I have never before thought about." 
 
 "My beauty, it is thus with all things. We see them constantly 
 without understanding them in the least. You ask me what 
 day is. I dare not popularise this serious physical question 
 for you. Know simply that, like you, scientists are unable to 
 account for light ; each one has formed his own pet theory in 
 support of his argument ; yet the world is none the less lit up. 
 But, to my great honour be it said, I can attempt to popularise 
 the phenomenon of night. First of all understand that night 
 does not exist." 
 
 " Night does not exist, brother M^ddric ? Yet I see it." 
 
 " Well, my beauty, close your eyes and listen to me. Do you 
 not know that man's intelligence alone sees clearly ; the eyes 
 are a gift of the spirit of evil, and mislead one. It is certain 
 that night does not exist, if day does. You will soon under- 
 stand me. In summer, at harvest time, when the sun scorches 
 and travellers cannot bear the glare of the white roads, they 
 seek a wall, in the shadow of which they walk in comparative 
 darkness. We are at the present moment walking in the 
 shade of the earth, in what is popularly called complete dark- 
 ness. But though travellers walk in the shade, do not the 
 neighbouring fields still enjoy the sun's rays? And though 
 
iS8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 we cannot see and do not know where to place our feet, has 
 the infinite lost a single ray of light? Therefore night does 
 not exist if day does." 
 
 "Why this last restriction, brother? Can it be possible day 
 does not exist ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my beauty, day does not exist if night does. Oh ! 
 the fine diffusion of knowledge, and how I wish I had a few 
 dozen children here that I might make them forget their 
 toys ! Listen : light is not one of the essential conditions of 
 space ; it is undoubtedly an entirely artificial phenomenon. 
 Our sun is waning, they say ; the stars will forcibly be ex- 
 tinguished. Then total darkness will again hold sway in its 
 kingdom, that kingdom of space from which we sprang. 
 Everything considered, night exists, if day does not." 
 
 "As for me, brother, I am inclined to think that neither 
 exists." 
 
 " It may be so, my beauty. If we could command the neces- 
 sary time to acquire an abstract of all knowledge, I mean the 
 length of several men's' lives, I would prove to you by means 
 of a third argument, that both night and day exist But we 
 have devoted sufficient time to physical science ; let us turn 
 to the natural ones." 
 
 M6d6nc and Sidoine did not stop to speak. As, after all, the 
 only aim of their journey was to discover the Kingdom of the 
 Happy, they descended the globe from north to south, from 
 east to west without pausing. This way of seeking an empire 
 certainly possessed great advantages, but it could not be said to 
 be free of annoyance. Since the previous evening, Sidoine had 
 risked getting colds and chilblains, by going without transition 
 from oppressive tropical heat to the icy winds of the poles. 
 What annoyed him most was the sudden disappearance of the 
 sun, when he passed from one hemisphere to the other. All 
 the lectures in the world could not have made him understand 
 this phenomenon, which produced in his mind the same efiect as 
 the irritating alternation of light and darkness which occurs in 
 a room when a shutter is opened and closed rapidly. You can 
 judge from this how quickly the comrades walked. As for 
 M6d6nc, more comfortably settled in his beauty's ear than on 
 the cushions of the best hung carriage, he did not trouble much 
 about the incidents of the journey, but sheltered himself from 
 the cold and heat. Besides, he cared little about the flashes 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MEDERIC 159 
 
 of day and night. The travellers had now re-entered the 
 hemisphere where daylight reigned. Mdd^ric popped out 
 his head. 
 
 "My beauty,'' he said, "the most interesting study in 
 natural science is that of tlie various races of the same animal 
 species. On the other hand, the study of the human species 
 offers peculiar attraction to scientists, as it claims having 
 cost the Creator an entire day's labour, and that it does not 
 belong to the same order of creation as other creatures. We 
 will therefore examine the various races of mankind. Keep 
 in the sunlight so as to see our brethren, and to be able to 
 read the truth of my statements on their faces. You can 
 convince yourself, at the first glance, that to a disinterested 
 observer the countenances are equally ugly in all countries. I 
 know that in every land they discern features of rare beauty in 
 some ; but this is mere imagination, as the different races do 
 not agree on the subject of absolute beauty, each worshipping 
 what his neighbour despises ; a truth is true, if it be always 
 true and true for all. I will not lay greater stress on universal 
 ugliness. There are four human races — you see them at your 
 feet — the black, red, yellow, and white. There are certainly 
 intermediate shades ; by seeking, one could manage to estab- 
 lish the entire scale, from black to white, passing through all 
 colours. One question, the only one I intend to go deeply 
 into to-day, presents itself at the outset to the man who wishes 
 to popularise successfully. Here it is. Was Adam white, 
 yellow, red, or black? If I affirm he was white, being white 
 myself, I do not know how to explain the peculiar changes of 
 colour which have arisen amongst my brethren. As they, no 
 doubt, all picture the first man as like themselves, they are 
 as perplexed as I am when they look on me. We will admit 
 that the question is a knotty one. Learned scientists would 
 perhaps explain the fact by the various influences of climate 
 and food, by a hundred fine reasons difficult to foresee and 
 comprehend. As for me, I popularise, and you will have no 
 trouble in understanding me. My beauty, if to-day one sees men 
 of four colours, black, red, yellow, and white, it is because God 
 in the beginning created four Adams, one white, one yellow, 
 one red, and one black." 
 
 " Brother M6d6nc, your explanation fully satisfies me. But 
 tell me, is it not somewhat impious ? Where would be the 
 
i6o STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 universal brotherhood of men ? Besides, is there not a holy 
 book in existence, dictated by God Himself, which speaks of 
 only one Adam? I am simple-minded, and it would be 
 wrong of you to tempt me to think evil." 
 
 " My beauty, you are too exacting. I cannot be right with- 
 out proving others to be wrong. No doubt my view of the 
 matter, which is, moreover, a personal one, attacks an old 
 belief worthy of respect on account of its great age. But how 
 can it harm God if we study His work freely as He has allowed 
 us this freedom ? Discussing His work is not denying Him. 
 Even were I to deny the Creator under one form, it would 
 be to present Him to you in another. Ah, my beauty, I 
 am popularising theology now 1 Theology is the science of 
 God." 
 
 " Good," interrupted Sidoine, " I am acquainted with that. 
 To master it one only needs an upright mind. Here, at 
 last, is a simple science which does not require reasoning 
 out." 
 
 "What are you saying, my beauty? Theology a simple 
 science ! Requiring no reasoning out I It is easy, certainly, 
 for simple minds, to acknowledge a God, and to limit science 
 to that, for it allows of their being wise at small cost But 
 anxious minds, once having found God, make Him their God. 
 Each one has his own, whom he has brought down to his own 
 level, so that he may understand Him ; each defends his idol, 
 and attacks his neighbour's. This has given rise to a count- 
 less mass of books, to an endless subject for heated discus- 
 sions J the manner of being of Him who is, the best method 
 for worshipping Him, His manifestation on earth, the final end 
 He has in view. Heaven preserve me from popularising such 
 a science as that. I care too much for my sanity." 
 
 Mdd^ric ceased speaking; he was saddened by those 
 thousand truths he had been heaving up. Sidoine, no longer 
 hearing him, took a stride and landed in China. The in- 
 habitants, their towns, and civilisation, greatly astonished him. 
 He determined to ask a question. 
 
 " Brother Mdd^ric," he said, " here is a nation which makes 
 me wish to hear you popularise history. Surely this empire 
 holds an important place in the annals of mankind ? " 
 
 " My beauty," answered M^d^ric, " since you do not appear 
 to tire of being taught, I will give you a course of universal his- 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M]£d6rIC 161 
 
 tory in a few words. My method is only simple ; one of these 
 days I mean to adapt it throughout. It rests on the unsub- 
 stantiality of man. When the historian questions the centuries 
 of the past, he beholds communities sprung from primeval 
 simplicity, rise to the highest state of civilisation, and then 
 relapse into ancient barbarism. Thus empires rise and fall 
 by turn. Whenever a nation fancies it has reached the height 
 of science, that very science causes its downfall, and the world 
 is brought back to its first state of ignorance. At the begin- 
 ning of time Egypt erected her pyramids, and built her cities 
 along the banks of the Nile. Within the shadow of her temples 
 she solved the deep problems which humanity is stiil seeking to 
 understand now. She was the first to have the idea of the 
 unity of God and the immortality of the soul ; then she expired 
 at the close of Cleopatra's revels, carrying with her the secrets 
 of eighteen centuries. 
 
 " Greece was then smiling, perfumed and harmonious ; her 
 name comes down to us amid shouts of liberty and sublime 
 melodies J she peopled the heavens with her dreams, she 
 deified marble with her chisel ; soon weary of glory, weary of 
 love, she became effaced, leaving nought but ruins to bear 
 witness to her past glories. 
 
 " Then Rome arises, grown great on the spoils of the world. 
 The warrior subjugates other nations, rules by written law, and 
 loses liberty on acquiring power j she inherited the wealth 
 of Egypt, the courage and poetry of Greece; she was all 
 voluptuousness and splendour ; but when the warrior became 
 a courtesan, a hurricane from the north burst over the eternal 
 city, and scattered art and civilisation to the four winds." 
 
 If ever a speech made Sidoine yawn it was the one Mfeddric 
 thus delivered. 
 
 "And China?" he modestly inquired. 
 
 " China ! " exclaimed Mdd^ric, " devil take you ! Here my 
 treatise on Universal History is incomplete, I have lost the 
 spirit required for such a task. Does China exist? You 
 think you see it, and I admit that appearances are in your 
 favour; but open the first book on history you may come 
 across, you will not find ten pages dealing with that empire, 
 which those roguish geographers assert to be so extensive. 
 Half the world has always absolutely ignored the history of 
 the other half." 
 
i62 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " Yet the world is not so large," remarked Sidoine. 
 
 " Moreover, my beauty, without popularising furtlier, I hold 
 China in great esteem, I even fear it a little, like all that is 
 unknown. I think I see in her the great nation of the future. 
 In a little time when our civilisation collapses, as all previous 
 civilisations have done, the extreme East will no doubt inherit 
 the science of the West, and will in its turn become the 
 courteous and learned country above all others. This is a 
 mathematical deduction of my historical method." 
 
 " Mathematical ! " said Sidoine, who had just regretfully left 
 China. " That is it, I wish to study mathematics." 
 
 " Mathematics, my beauty, have made many ungrateful per- 
 sons. I consent, however, to let you taste of this' source of all 
 truths. It is bitter ; it requires time for man to become accus- 
 tomed to the divine voluptuousness of eternal certitude. For, 
 you must know, exact sciences alone give that certainty sought 
 for in vain by philosophy." 
 
 " Philosophy ! you could not speak better, brother Mdd^ric. 
 It appears to me that philosophy must be a very agreeable 
 study." 
 
 " Assuredly it possesses certain attractions, my beauty. The 
 poorer classes enjoy visiting madhouses, attracted by their 
 taste for the extraordinary and the enjoyment they derive from 
 the sight of human suffering. I am surprised they do not 
 read the history of philosophy with avidity ; for madmen, 
 though philosophers, are nevertheless very entertaining fools. 
 Medicine " 
 
 " Medicine 1 why did you not mention it sooner ? I wish 
 to be a doctor, to cure myself when I get a fever." 
 
 "So be it Medicine is a fine science; when it cures it 
 will become a useful one. Up to then, one can study it as an 
 artist, without practising it, which is more humane. It has 
 some connection with Law, which one merely studies as an 
 amateur, out of curiosity, and never troubles about afterwards." 
 
 " Then, brother M 6d6nc, I see no drawback to commencing 
 with the study of law." 
 
 " A few words about rhetoric to begin with, my beauty.'' 
 
 "Yes, rhetoric suits me fairly well" 
 
 "In Greek " 
 
 " Greek, I ask nothing better." 
 
 "In Latin " 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE Ml^D^RIC 163 
 
 "Latin first of all, then Greek, just as you please, brother 
 Med^ric; but would it not be as well to make a start 
 with English, German, Italian, Spanish, and other modern 
 languages ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear me, my beauty ! " cried M^ddric, out of breath, 
 "let us popularise in measure, I beg of you. My mouth is 
 parched. I humbly admit I can only utter a certain number of 
 words a minute. Each science, if it please God, shall have its 
 turn. Pray let us have some method. My first lesson is not 
 precisely remarkable for the clearness with which it was 
 expounded, nor for the logical connection of the subjects. 
 Let us continue talking, if it please you ; but in future let us 
 talk in the orderly and calm manner which signalises the 
 conversation of respectable people." 
 
 " Brother M^ddric, your wise words give me food for thought. 
 I care little to speak, and even less to listen, as in the second 
 instance I have to think in order to understand, a task which 
 is unnecessary in the first. I should certainly like to sound 
 the depths of all human knowledge ; but really I would prefer 
 to remain ignorant of it all my life, if you cannot convey it to 
 me in a few words." 
 
 " Well, my pet, why did you not tell me of your horror of 
 detail? From the beginning, without speaking, I would by 
 means of a gesture have given you the gist of a thousand 
 and one truths. Listen no longer, look. This is supreme 
 science." 
 
 Saying this M^ddric climbed on to Sidoine's nose, the nose 
 he had compared to the steeple of his village church. He sat 
 astride on the tip, his legs dangling in space. Then he leant 
 slightly back, looking at his comrade in a sly and bantering 
 manner. He next raised his right hand wide open, placed 
 his thumb at the tip of his own nose, and, turning to the four 
 points of the horizon, saluted the earth by playing with his 
 fingers in the air in the most gallant manner conceivable. 
 
 "Well, then," said Sidoine, "the dunces are not those one 
 thinks. Many thanks for your popularising." 
 
1 64 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 VARIOUS STRANGE AND UNFORESEEN MEETINGS 
 WHICH HAPPENED TO SIDOINE AND MfiDfiRIC 
 
 When night came Sidoine stopped short. I say night, and 
 express myself badly. The periods we term night and day did 
 not exist for people following the course of the sun, making 
 day and night according to their fancy. In truth, our travel- 
 lers had been scouring the world for about twelve hours. 
 
 " My fists itch," said Sidoine. 
 
 " Scratch them, my beauty," answered M^deric. " I can 
 suggest no other means of relief But, tell me, has not 
 education softened your bellicose temperament a bit ? " 
 
 "No, brother. To tell the truth, my profession of king 
 sickened me of blows. Men are really too easy to kill." 
 
 "That, my beauty, is humanity well understood. Come! 
 continue walking I You know we are in search of the Kingdom 
 of the Happy." 
 
 " Do I know it 1 Are we really seeking the Kingdom of 
 the Happy?" 
 
 "Why, we are doing nothing else. Man never went so 
 directly to his goal. That kingdom must be strangely situated, 
 I admit, to escape us so completely. Perhaps it would be as 
 well to ask our way." 
 
 " Yes, brother, let us pay attention to the roads if we wish 
 them to lead us anywhere." 
 
 At that moment Sidoine and M^d^ric found themselves on 
 a highway not far from a town. On both sides stretched ex- 
 tensive parks enclosed by low walls, over which hung branches 
 of fruit-trees laden with apples, pears, and peaches, appetising 
 to the eye, and which would have sufficed for the dessert of an 
 army. 
 
 As they advanced, they perceived a miserable-looking man 
 seated against one of these walls. On their approaching him, 
 the poor creature rose, dragging his feet and shaking with 
 hunger. 
 
 "Charity, my kind gentlemen ! " he asked. 
 
 " Charity 1 " exclaimed Mdddric to him. " I don't know 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 165 
 
 where it is to be found, my friend. Have you lost your way 
 the same as we ? You would do us a favour if you could tell 
 us where to find the Kingdom of the Happy." 
 
 "Charity, my kind gentlemen," repeated the beggar. "I 
 have not eaten for three days." 
 
 " Not eaten for three days ! " said Sidoine, astonished. " I 
 could not do as much." 
 
 "Not eaten for three days!" resumed M6d6nc. "Why 
 attempt such a thing, my good fellow? It is universally 
 acknowledged that one must eat to live." 
 
 The man had seated himself once more at the foot of the 
 wall. He rubbed his hands one against the other, closing his 
 eyes from exhaustion. 
 
 " I am very hungry," he said in a low voice. 
 
 "Do you not like peaches, pears, or apples?" asked 
 Mdddric. 
 
 " I like everything, but I have nothing." 
 
 "Well, my friend, are you bhnd? Stretch out your hand. 
 There, over your nose, is a magnificent peach which will give 
 you food and drink combined." 
 
 "That peach does not belong to me," answered the beggar. 
 
 The two comrades looked at each other amazed at this 
 answer, and not knowing whether to laugh or lose their 
 temper. 
 
 " Listen, old chap," continued Mdddric, " we do not care 
 to be trifled with. If you have made a bet that you will die 
 of hunger, win your wager in your own way. If, on the 
 contrary, you wish to live as long as possible, eat and digest 
 in the sunshine." 
 
 "Sir," answered the beggar, "I see you are a stranger in 
 this country. You would otherwise know that one can easily 
 die of hunger here without having made a bet to do so. 
 Here, some eat and some do not. Each belongs to one 
 or the other class, according to the accident of one's birth. 
 Moreover, this is an accepted state of things ; you must have 
 come from a distance to be surprised at it." 
 
 "What strange stories. And how many are there of you 
 who do not eat?" 
 
 "Why, several hundred thousand." 
 
 " Well, brother M^ddric, interrupted Sidoine, " this meeting 
 seems to me one of the strangest and most unforeseen. I 
 
i66 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 could not have believed that there existed on the earth people 
 who possessed the peculiar gift of living without eating. You 
 evidently did not popularise everything for me." 
 
 " My beauty, I was unaware of this peculiarity. I should 
 advise naturalists to study it as a fresh and well-defined trait 
 dividing the human from other animal species. I understand 
 now that, in this country, peaches do not belong to everybody. 
 The meanness of man has its grandeur. When all do not 
 share a common wealth, there arises from this injustice a 
 beautiful and supreme justice, which protects the goods of 
 each individual." 
 
 The beggar had resumed his sweet and heartrending smile. 
 He was bowed down as though forgetful of all, yielding him- 
 self to the will of heaven. He muttered again, in his drawling 
 voice : 
 
 " Charity, my kind gentlemen ! " 
 
 " Charity, my man," said Mdddric, " I know not where it is. 
 This peach is not yours and you do not dare take it, thus 
 obeying the laws of your country, and conforming to those 
 ideas of respect for the property of others, that you imbibed 
 with your mother's milk. Those are good beliefs which 
 must be well instilled into men if they do not wish the frail 
 scaffolding of their society to fall beneath the attack of the 
 first inquiring mind. I who do not belong to that society, 
 who refuse to fraternise with my brethren, can set their laws 
 at defiance without in the least injuring their legislation or 
 their moral creeds. So take this fruit, poor wretch, and eat 
 it. If I damn myself, I do it with a light heart." 
 
 Whilst speaking thus, Mdd^ric gathered the peach and 
 ofiFered it to the beggar. The latter seized the fruit which he 
 looked at longingly. Then, instead of biting into it, he threw 
 it back over the wall into the park. Mdd^ric watched him 
 without expressing surprise. 
 
 " My beauty," said he to Sidoine, " pray look at that man. 
 He is the truest type of humanity. He suffers, he obeys ; he 
 is proud of suffering and of obeying. I consider him a very 
 wise man." 
 
 Sidoine took several strides, sad at heart at thus forsaking 
 a poor fellow dying of hunger. Yet he did not endeavour to 
 account to himself for the poor wretch's conduct ; he would 
 have had to have been more man than he was to solve such 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MlfeD^RIC 167 
 
 a problem. Before starting he had picked up the peach ; and 
 he was now looking about him for a less scrupulous beggar 
 to whom he could give it. 
 
 As he drew near the town, he saw a party of rich lords 
 come out from one of the gates, accompanying a litter on which 
 an old man was reclining. When ten paces off, he perceived 
 that the old man was barely over forty ; age could not have 
 withered his features or whitened his hair. Surely the poor 
 wretch was dying of hunger, to judge by the pallor of his face, 
 and the weakness that rendered his limbs so languid. 
 
 " Brother M6d6nc," said Sidoine, " offer my peach to this 
 poor person. I cannot understand how he lacks everything 
 whilst reclining in velvet and silk. But he looks so ill that 
 he can only be a pauper." 
 
 M^ddric thought like his beauty. 
 
 " Sir," said he politely to the man in the litter, " no doubt 
 you have not eaten this morning. Life has its accidents." 
 
 The man half opened his eyes. 
 
 " I have not eaten for ten years past," he answered. 
 
 " What did I say ! " exclaimed Sidoine. " The poor 
 fellow." 
 
 " Alas ! " resumed Mdderic, " it must be double suffering 
 to lack bread amidst the luxury surrounding you. Here, my 
 friend, take this peach, satisfy your hunger." 
 
 The man did not even open his eyes. He shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " A peach," said he ; " inquire if my bearers are thirsty. 
 This morning, my maids, lovely girls with bare arms, knelt 
 before me offering me their baskets full of the fruits they had 
 just gathered in my orchards. The smell of all that food 
 sickened me." 
 
 "Then you are not a beggar?" interrupted Sidoine, dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 " Beggars eat sometimes. I have told you I never do so." 
 
 " And this horrible malady is called ? " 
 
 Mdddric understanding the complaint of this poor fellow 
 bedecked with jewels and lace, undertook to answer Sidoine. 
 
 " This ailment is that of poor millionaires," he said. " It 
 has no scientific name, as drugs have no effect upon it ; it is 
 cured by a strong dose of poverty. My beauty, if this noble- 
 man no longer eats, it is because he has too much to devour." 
 
i68 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Sidoine, "this is a very strange world! 
 That one does not eat, when one has no peaches, I can 
 understand, up to a certain point ; but I decline to accept as 
 logic, the fact that one also does not eat, when one owns forests 
 of fruit-trees. In what absurd country are we, pray ? " 
 
 The man in the litter slightly raised himself, roused from his 
 lethargy by- Sidoine's simplicity. 
 
 " Sir," he replied, " you are in the heart of the country of 
 advanced civilisation. Pheasants are very expensive ; my dogs 
 will no longer have them. Heaven preserve you from the 
 feasts of this world. I am going to a worthy woman of my 
 acquaintance, to try and eat a slice of good black bread. Your 
 healthy appearance has given me an appetite." 
 
 The man lay down again, and the procession slowly resumed 
 its way. Sidoine, following it with his eyes, shrugged his 
 shoulders, shook his head and snapped his fingers, thus giving 
 very evident signs of disdain and surprise. Then he stepped 
 over the town, his hands still holding the peach he found such 
 difificulty in giving away. M^ddric was wrapt in thought 
 
 At the end of a dozen strides Sidoine experienced a slight 
 resistance at his left leg. He thought his trousers had come 
 in contact with some brambles ; but, having stooped down, he 
 was very much astonished ; it was a man of covetous and cruel 
 appearance who thus impeded his advance. This man was 
 simply demanding the traveller's purse. 
 
 Sidoine imagined he saw naught but hungry beggars on the 
 road, and was anxious to display his newly acquired charity. 
 He did not clearly hear the man's request, so he seized him by 
 the nape of the neck, and raised him to the level of his face, 
 in order to talk more freely. 
 
 " Hallo ! poor devil," he said to him, " are you not hungry ? 
 I willingly give you this peach, if it can allay your sufferings." 
 
 " I am not hungry," answered the brigand uneasily, " I have 
 just left an excellent tavern, where I have been eating and 
 drinking enough to last me for three days." 
 
 " Then what do you require of me ? " 
 
 " Mine would be a fine trade if I waylaid travellers merely 
 to take peaches from them. I want your purse ? " 
 
 " My purse ! and what for, since you will not feel hungry 
 for three days ? " 
 
 " To become rich." 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MjfeD^RIC 169 
 
 Sidoine, amazed, placed M^deric in his other hand. He 
 looked at him seriously. 
 
 " Brother," said he, " the people of this country have agreed 
 to make game of us. God cannot have created beings so 
 devoid of common sense. Now, here is an idiot who is not 
 hungry, and yet waylays travellers to demand their purses, a 
 madman who has a good appetite, and who seeks to lose it in 
 becoming rich." 
 
 "You are right," answered M6d6nc, "all this is perfectly 
 ridiculous. Only you seem to me not to quite understand the 
 class of beggar you are holding in your hand. Thieves make 
 it their business to accept only the gifts they take." 
 
 " Listen," then said Sidoine to the brigand. " First of all 
 you shall not have my purse, and for a very good reason. 
 Besides, I think it right to inflict a slight chastisement on you. 
 Everything considered, that which is should be j I cannot let 
 you eat in peace, when I have just left a poor fellow dying of 
 hunger. Brother M^ddric will one day read me the statutes, 
 so that I may return and hang you in due form. To-day I 
 will content myself with washing your ugly face in the pond at 
 my feet. Drink sufficient for three days, my friend." 
 
 Sidoine loosened his hold, and the thief fell into the pond. 
 An honest man would have been drowned ; the rogue saved 
 himself by swimming. 
 
 The travellers continued on their way without looking back, 
 Sidoine still holding his peach, and Me'ddric pondering over 
 the three last meetings. 
 
 " My beauty," suddenly said the latter, " you string your 
 sentences together in fine style now. You never spoke so 
 well before." 
 
 " Oh ! " answered Sidoine, " it is a habit easy to acquire. I 
 no longer fight, I talk." 
 
 " Be quiet, please, I wish to acquaint you with some serious 
 reflections. I am reconstructing in my mind the sad state of 
 society, which has been able to place before us in less than an 
 hour, an honest man dying of hunger, a rogue who has had 
 enough to eat for three days, and a powerful man rendered 
 impotent. There is much to be learned from this." 
 
 " No more teaching, for pity's sake, brother. I simply wish 
 to believe that to-day we have met men of peculiar races which 
 have not yet been described by any traveller." 
 
I70 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " I understand you, my beauty. I have read many curious 
 details in old books. There are countries where the inhabitants 
 have but one eye in the centre of the forehead, others where 
 their bodies are half man and half horse, others still where 
 their heads and chests are all one. Without doubt we are now 
 crossing a country where people carry their minds in their 
 heels, which prevents them judging things clearly, and makes 
 them act and speak in a remarkably absurd manner. They 
 are monsters. Man created after the image of his Maker, is a 
 far superior being." 
 
 " That is it, brother Meddric, we are in a land of monsters. 
 Now look ! Do you see this fourth beggar whom I was expect- 
 ing, coming towards us ? Is he not sufiSciently ragged, thin, 
 famished, and scared ? For certain he is walking on his mind, 
 as you were saying just now." 
 
 The man who was approaching kept to the edge of the ditch, 
 delighting in performing feats of equilibrium. He advanced, 
 his hands behind his back, carrying his head high ; his thin 
 clothes hung on his poor body, his face expressed I know not 
 what strange medley of happiness and suffering. He appeared 
 to be dreaming, on an empty stomach, of a rich and plentiful 
 feast. 
 
 " I shall be unable to understand the world at all," resumed 
 Sidoine, "if this vagrant refuses my peach. He is dying of 
 hunger, and seems to be neither a rogue nor an honest man. 
 The thing is to offer it him politely. Brother Mdd^ric, under- 
 take this delicate task." 
 
 Mdddric stepped down to the ground. As he stood on the 
 tip of Sidoine's shoe the man noticed him. 
 
 " Oh ! " said he, " what a pretty little insect 1 My charm- 
 ing fellow, do you drink dew and feed on flowers ? " 
 
 " Sir," answered Mdderic, " pure water disagrees with me, 
 and I cannot endure perfumes, for they give me the headache." 
 
 " Hallo ! the insect speaks ! What a fortunate meeting ! 
 You relieve me of great embarrassment, my charming beetle." 
 
 " So, you admit you are hungry." 
 
 " Hungry ! did I say that ? Certainly I am ever hungry." 
 
 "And you would willingly eat a peach?' 
 
 " The peach is a fruit I appreciate, on account of the velvety 
 down of its skin. But thank you ; I cannot eat. I have at 
 last found what I have been seeking for the past hour," 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MED^RIC 171 
 
 "Well," said Sidoine, out of patience, " what were you seek- 
 ing, my famished one, if it was not a morsel of bread ?" 
 
 " Good ! " exclaimed the poor fellow, " a second find ! A 
 giant in flesh and blood. Sir giant, I was seeking an idea." 
 
 At this answer Sidoine sat down by the roadside, anticipating 
 long explanations. 
 
 " An idea," resumed he, " what sort of dish is that ? " 
 
 " Sir giant," continued the man, without answering, " I am 
 a born poet. You are aware that poverty is the mother of 
 genius. I have therefore cast my purse into the stream. 
 Since that happy day I leave to fools the sad task of seeking 
 their food. I, who no longer need to trouble myself with this 
 detail, seek for ideas along the roadside. I eat as little as 
 possible, in order to acquire as much genius as I can. Do 
 not waste your pity on me ; I am really only hungry when 
 I do not meet with my precious ideas. What fine feasts I 
 have occasionally. Just now, on seeing your graceful little 
 friend, two or three exquisite stanzas came to my mind ; a 
 harmonious metre, rich rhymes, and a most brilliant con- 
 clusion. Imagine if I did not have my fill. Then, when I 
 beheld you, I honestly feared the after effects of such a treat. 
 I had an antithesis, a very good antithesis ; the most dainty 
 morsel that can be served to a poet. You see for yourself 
 that I cannot accept your peach." 
 
 " Good heavens i " exclaimed Sidoine after a moment's 
 silence, " this country is even more absurd than I thought. 
 Here is a strange madman." 
 
 "My beauty," answered M6d6nc, "this is a madman, but a 
 harmless one, a generous beggar, giving men more than he 
 receives at their hands. I feel that I love the highways and 
 the pleasant chase after ideas as he does. Let us weep or 
 laugh, if you will, at seeing him great and ridiculous; but 
 pray let us not place him in the same category as the three 
 monsters we met a while ago." 
 
 " Rank him as you please, brother," resumed Sidoine in a 
 bad temper. " The peach is still on my hands, and these four 
 fools have so disturbed my thoughts concerning the fruits of 
 the earth, that I dare not bite it." 
 
 The poet, meanwhile, had seated himself by the roadside 
 and was writing with his finger in the dust. A pleasant smile 
 brightened his haggard face, giving a childlike expression 
 
172 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 to his worn features. In his dream, he heard Sidoine's last 
 words, and as though waking up he said : 
 
 " Sir, is that peach really in your way ? Give it me. I 
 know of a bush near here which is idolised by the sparrows of 
 the neighbourhood. I will place your offering upon it, and I 
 can promise you that it will not be refused. To-morrow I will 
 come for the stone and will plant it in some corner for the 
 sparrows of future springs. 
 
 He took the peach and resumed writing. 
 
 " My beauty," said Mdd^ric, " our offering is now bestowed. 
 To ease your mind I would point out to you that we are 
 returning to the sparrows what belonged to them. In regard 
 to ourselves, as men do not enjoy providential food, we will 
 endeavour not to eat what Heaven sends us any more. Our 
 passage through this country has given rise in our minds to 
 new and sad problems. We will study them shortly. At 
 present let us be satisfied with seeking the Kingdom of the 
 Happy." 
 
 The poet was still writing lying down in the dust, his bare 
 head exposed to the sun's rays. 
 
 " Hallo ! sir," M^ddric called out, " can you direct us to the 
 Kingdom of the Happy ? " 
 
 " The Kingdom of the Happy ? " answered the madman, 
 raising his head j " you could not have applied to any one 
 better informed. I often visit that country." 
 
 "What! is it near here? We have traversed the world 
 without finding it." 
 
 "The Kingdom of the Happy, sir, is everywhere and 
 nowhere. Those who follow the beaten tracks with eyes wide 
 open, those who seek it like a kingdom of the earth displaying 
 its towns and fields to the light of day, will pass it by, their 
 whole life long, without ever discovering it. Extensive though 
 it be , it occupies but little space in this world." 
 
 "And the road to it, I pray you?" 
 
 " Oh I the road is plain and direct. In whatever country 
 you may find yourself, whether at the north or south, the 
 distance is the same, and with a stride you can cross the 
 frontier." 
 
 " Good ! " interrupted Sidoine ; " this concerns me. In 
 which direction must I take that stride?" 
 
 " It does not signify in which direction, I tell you. Come, 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MISd^RIC 173 
 
 let me introduce you. First of all close your eyes. Good. 
 Now, raise your leg." 
 
 Sidoine, with closed eyes, and his leg in the air, waited a 
 moment. 
 
 "Set down your foot," ordered the poet; "now you are 
 there, gentlemen." 
 
 He had not moved from his dusty bed, and was quietly 
 finishing a stanza. 
 
 Sidoine and Med^ric were already right in the centre of the 
 Kingdom of the Happy. 
 
 XI 
 
 A MODEL SCHOOL 
 
 "Have we reached our destination, brother?" asked 
 Sidoine. "I am tired and in great need of a throne to 
 rest on." 
 
 "Let us walk on, my beauty,'' answered Mdddric. "We 
 must become acquainted with our kingdom. The country 
 seems to me peaceful. We shall be able to lie late a-bed 
 in the morning, I think. To-night we will rest." 
 
 The two travellers crossed towns and fields, gazing around. 
 Earth having saddened them, they found relaxation in the 
 clear horizons and silent crowds of this isolated corner of 
 the universe. I have said that the Kingdom of the Happy 
 was not a paradise of streams flowing with milk and honey, 
 but a country of subdued light and saintly quietude. 
 
 Mdddric understood the admirable equilibrium of this 
 kingdom. A ray the less and it would have been night ; one 
 ray more and the light would have been overpowering. He 
 said to himself that here must be the abode of wisdom, where 
 man consented to mete out to himself both good and evil, to 
 accept his condition under heaven without rebelling either by 
 his affections or his crimes. 
 
 As he and his companion advanced, they came upon a 
 barn, surrounded by iron railings, and standing in the centre 
 of a field. M^ddric recognised the model school founded by 
 the charming Primrose for her dear animals. He had long 
 wished to know the results of this attempt at perfection. 
 
174 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 He made Sidoine lie down at the foot of the wall; then 
 both, resting their foreheads against the railings, were able to 
 contemplate and follow in all its details, a strange scene which 
 completed their education. 
 
 At first sight they did not know what curious creatures 
 were before them. Three months' pampering, of mutual 
 instruction and frugal diet, had quite tired out the poor 
 animals. The lions, bald and mangy, looked like enormous 
 gutter cats ; the wolves carried their heads low, and were more 
 crestfallen than homeless dogs ; as to the other beasts of a 
 delicate kind, they lay pell-mell on the ground, displaying 
 naught but fleshless ribs and elongated muzzles. The birds 
 and insects were even less recognisable, having lost their 
 beautiful colourings and gloss. All these miserable creatures 
 were trembling with hunger and cold, no longer being what 
 the Almighty had created them, but finding themselves on 
 the other hand perfectly civilised. 
 
 M6d6nc and Sidoine succeeded, by degrees, in recognising 
 the various animals. In spite of their respect for progress 
 and the benefits of instruction, they could not help pitying 
 these victims of good. It is sad to see creation decay. 
 
 The animals of the model school dragged themselves 
 moaning to the centre of the barn ; there they ranged them- 
 selves in a circle. They were about to hold a council. 
 
 A lion, having preserved most breath, spoke first. 
 
 " My friends," said he, " the dearest wish of us all who 
 have the hapjiiness to be shut up here, is to persevere in 
 the excellent spirit of brotherhood and perfection which we 
 are following with such astonishing results." 
 
 A grunt of approval interrupted him. 
 
 "There is no need for me," he resumed, "to go through 
 the delightful list of the rewards which await our efforts. We 
 shall constitute a single people in the future, we shall have 
 but one language ; whilst it will be a great joy for each of us 
 to be no longer himself and to ignore who he is. Have you 
 pictured the delight of that hour when distinction of races will 
 cease to exist, when all animals will have only one thought, 
 one taste, one interest? What a glorious day, my friends, 
 and how merry it will be ! " 
 
 Another grunt testified to the unanimous satisfaction of the 
 assembly. 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^Dil^RlC 175 
 
 As our prayers are hastening the advent of that day," 
 continued the lion, "it would be advisable to take measures 
 to ensure our witnessing its arrival. The regimen pursued 
 here, up till now, is certainly excellent, but I think it is not 
 very substantial. First of all we must live, and we are 
 growing thinner and thinner ; death cannot be far ofT if, in 
 the praiseworthy desire to feed our souls, we continue to 
 neglect feeding our bodies. It would really be too absurd 
 to attempt to reach a paradise which we could not enjoy, on 
 account of the means employed to attain it. A radical reform 
 is necessary. Milk is a very moralising food, of easy digestion, 
 which singularly softens customs ; but I think I sum up all 
 opinions in saying that we can no longer stand milk, that 
 nothing is more tasteless, and finally, that we require a more 
 varied and less sickening ordinary." 
 
 A perfect ovation of howls, and a noise of opening and 
 closing of jaws greeted the orator's concluding words. The 
 hatred of milk was popular amongst these worthy animals, 
 who had lived on this luscious beverage for three months. 
 Tile daily bowl made them feel ill. Ah, how sweet a little 
 gall would have seemed to them ! 
 
 Wlien silence reigned once more the lion resumed : 
 
 "My friends, the subject of our discussion is therefore 
 decided on. We are holding a council to proscribe milk, 
 and to replace it by a food which would, whilst fattening us, 
 at the same time assist us towards good thoughts. Thus we 
 are each going to propose our dish ; then we will decide in 
 favour of that which receives the greatest number of votes. 
 That dish will henceforth constitute the ordinary for all of us. 
 I think it useless to impress upon you the frame of mind that 
 should guide you in your choice. It is the utter abnegation of 
 your personal tastes, the search for a food that would suit each 
 one equally well, and above all afford guarantees of morality 
 and health." 
 
 At this point of the address enthusiasm was at its height. 
 Nothing is pleasanter than to lay stress upon morality when 
 the stomach has been previously lined. One sole thought, a 
 touching unanimity of feeling ruled the assembly. 
 
 The lion, on his side, discoursed in an humble and affable 
 manner. His eyes cast down, he would have converted his 
 brethren of the desert, he presented such an edifying spectacle. 
 
176 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 By a sign he again secured attention, and wound up with these 
 words : 
 
 " I consider myself authorised, by reason of my long ex- 
 perience, to be the first to give you my advice on this delicate 
 subject. I will do so with all the modesty which beseems a 
 simple member of this assembly ; but also with all the authority 
 of a beast who is convinced. That is to say, I despair of our 
 future unity if my dish is not unanimously accepted. On my 
 soul and conscience, having long meditated on the food which 
 would suit us best, taking into consideration our common 
 interests, I declare, I affirm resolutely, that nothing will satisfy 
 the stomach and the heart of each of us, so well as a large slice 
 of raw meat eaten in the morning, a second slice at noon, and 
 a third at night." 
 
 The lion paused to receive the just applause that his pro- 
 posal seemed to him to deserve. He was of good faith, 
 and was astonished at the paucity of grunts. Farewell 
 unanimity. The assembly no longer approved with absolute 
 unreserve. The wolves and remaining wild beasts, the birds 
 and insects of sanguinary appetites, applauded the excellence of 
 the choice. But animals of other species, those which live in 
 the meadows or at the edges of pools, bore witness, by their 
 silence and sad expressions, to the slight civilising virtue they 
 granted flesh. 
 
 Some minutes elapsed full ot enmity and uneasiness. One 
 risks much in disputing the advice of the powerful, especially 
 when they talk in the name of fraternity. At length a sheep 
 more venturesome than her sisters, decided on speaking. 
 
 " As we are here," she said, "to express our opinions frankly, 
 let me give you mine with the simplicity which suits my nature. 
 I admit that I have no experience of the dish proposed by my 
 brother the lion ; it may be excellent for the stomach, and of 
 exquisite taste; I must ask to be excused in regard to that 
 point of the discussion. But I think this food would have a 
 bad influence on morality. One of the firmest foundations of 
 our progress should be respect for life ; it is not respecting it 
 to feed ourselves on dead bodies. Does not my brother the 
 lion fear being led astray by his zeal, of starting an endless 
 war, in selecting such an ordinary, instead of arriving at that 
 beautiful unity he spoke of so eloquently? I know we 
 are honest beasts; it is not a question of devouring one 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MfiDfiRIC 177 
 
 another. Far from me so evil a thought. Since men declare 
 they can eat us without ceasing to be good souls, creatures 
 according to the spirit of God, we can surely eat men and 
 remain good, brotherly animals aiming at absolute perfection. 
 Yet I fear evil temptations, force of habit, if some day men 
 become scarce. Therefore I cannot vote for such an impru- 
 dent diet. Believe me, one dish alone agrees with us, a food 
 which the earth produces in abundance, healthy, refreshing, 
 easy and amusing to collect, and extremely varied. O the 
 luxuriant feasts, my good brothers ! Lucerne, vegetables, all 
 the grasses of the plain, all the herbs of the hillside I I speak 
 advisedly without afterthought j moved only by the innocent 
 desire to live without killing. I tell you truly, apart from 
 vegetarianism, there will be no unanimity." 
 
 The sheep ceased speaking and stealthily endeavoured to 
 judge the effect produced by her speech. Some faintly ex- 
 pressed assent, rose from the quarter of the assembly occupied 
 by horses, oxen, and other consumers of corn and herbage. 
 As to the beasts which had approved the lion's choice, they 
 appeared to welcome this new proposal with strange disdain, 
 and a grimace boding ill for the orator. 
 
 A silkworm, near-sighted and devoid of tact, then began to 
 speak. He was an austere philosopher, troubling little about 
 the judgment of others, preaching good for good's sake. 
 
 "To live without killing," said he, "is a fine maxim. I can 
 only applaud the conclusion arrived at by my sister the sheep. 
 But my sister seems to me very gluttonous. We seek for one 
 dish and she offers us fifty; she even seems to enjoy the 
 thought of a princely menu with numerous dishes of varied 
 flavour. Does she forget that sobriety and a disdain for tasty 
 morsels are virtues necessary to beasts who pride themselves 
 on their progress? The future of a society depends on its 
 food: to eat little and of one dish only, is the sole means of 
 hastening the advent of high, strong, and durable civilisation. 
 I therefore propose, for my part, that we keep our appetites in 
 check, and especially that we content ourselves with one kind 
 of leaf. The choice being merely a matter of taste, I hope to 
 satisfy every one's by selecting the mulberry leaf." 
 
 " Come, you old dotard," exclaimed a pelican, " are we not 
 thin enough without running the risk of getting a stomach-ache 
 through feeding on damp vegetation? Fraternise with the 
 
 M 
 
178 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 sheep. I would agree with my brother the lion, but that 1 
 think he has made a mistake in proposing red flesh. Flesh 
 alone gives the body the strength to do good, but I mean 
 fish's flesh, white and delicate ; that is a savoury food which 
 every one likes. In conclusion, and this last argument must 
 convince you, as the seas occupy twice the space of the con- 
 tinents on the globe, we could not have a more extensive 
 larder. My brothers will appreciate these reasons." 
 
 The brothers abstained from understanding. In order to 
 end the debate they thought it well to shout all at once. 
 There were as many opinions as animals ; no two poor minds 
 agreeing together, no two natures alike. Each creature started 
 gesticulating, speechifying, suggesting his food, defending it 
 on the score of morality and gluttony. To believe them, if 
 all the proposed dishes had been accepted, the entire world 
 would have been made into a stew ; there was nothing which 
 was not declared to be excellent food, from leaf to wood, flesh 
 to stone. Deep knowledge, as M^deric said, showing what 
 the earth is, namely, a foetus but half alive, wherein life and 
 death hold in our day contests of equal strength. 
 
 In the midst of this tumult, a young cat exerted himself to 
 make the assembly understand that he wished to impart a 
 decisive truth to it. He made such good use of his claws and 
 throat that he succeeded in obtaining some quiet. 
 
 " Well," said he, " my good brethren, for pity's sake cease 
 this discussion which grieves all tender hearts here present 
 My own bleeds at the sight of this painful scene. Alas ! we 
 are far from the gentle customs and wise sayings which for my 
 part I have sought from my youth up. This is a fine subject 
 for a quarrel, a wretched question of food, the sustenance of a 
 perishable body ! Collect your minds, and you will laugh at 
 your anger and abandon this miserable dispute. The more or 
 less felicitous choice of a paltry article of diet, is not worth 
 occupying our thoughts for a moment Let us live as we have 
 done, merely troubling about moral reforms. Brethren, let us 
 philosophise and drink our bowl of milk ! After all, milk has 
 a pleasant taste ; I think it preferable to the dishes by which 
 you seek to replace it." 
 
 Frightful yells greeted these last words. The young cat's 
 unfortunate suggestion ended by making the animals furious, 
 recalling to their minds the tasteless beverage, with which they 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MED^RIC 179 
 
 had washed their insides for three long months. They were 
 seized with terrible hunger, sharpened by great anger. Nature 
 gained the upper hand. In a moment they forgot the good 
 manners due between civilised animals and simply flew at 
 one another's throats. Those who had chosen flesh, having 
 come to the end of their arguments, found it easier to preach 
 by example. The others, having no corn, or herbage, or fish, 
 or other dish to avenge themselves on, were content to facili- 
 tate the vengeance of their brethren. 
 
 For some minutes there was a horrible commotion. The 
 number of famished was rapidly diminishing, without a single 
 wounded animal remaining on the ground. It was a strange 
 struggle in which the dead fell no one knew where. The de- 
 vourer had barely time to satisfy himself, when he, in his turn, 
 was devoured. They fattened one another; the feast began 
 with the weakest to end with the strongest. After a quarter 
 of an hour the ground was clear. Ten or twelve wild beasts 
 in all, seated on their haunches, with half closed eyes, and 
 languid limbs, satiated with food, were complacently licking 
 their jaws. 
 
 The model school had therefore had for result the greatest 
 possible unity, that which consists in assimilating another's 
 soul and body to one's self. Perhaps this is the unity that 
 man has a vague idea of, the final goal, the mysterious work of 
 those worlds tending to confound all creatures in one being. 
 But what bitter raillery of the thoughts of our age that promise 
 perfection and fraternity to creatures possessing different in- 
 stincts and habits, particles of dust wherein the same breath 
 of life produces contrary effects ! Without philosophising 
 further, lions are lions. 
 
 " Brother Mdd^ric," said Sidoine, " there are in front of us 
 ten or twelve scoundrels who have a heavy weight of sins on 
 their consciences. They have spoken as well as possible, but 
 have acted like bullies. Let me see if my fists have grown 
 cramped." 
 
 Saying this, he struck a blow on the shed which pulverised 
 the beams and shattered the hewn stone to pieces. The 
 remaining animals, the sole hope of brute regeneration, 
 did not utter a cry. M^ddric seemed to regret this 
 execution. 
 
 " Come ! my beauty," he exclaimed. " Why did you not 
 
i8o STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 consult me ? That blow will bring you sadness and remorse. 
 Listen to me." 
 
 " What 1 brother, have I not struck justly? " 
 
 "Yes, according to the idea we have of right But, be- 
 tween ourselves, and I say it softly so as not to disturb a 
 necessary belief, are not good and evil part of human creation ? 
 Does a wolf really commit crime when he eats a lamb? Man, 
 the friend of the lamb, who would take him a dish of vegetables, 
 is he not more ridiculous than the wolf is guilty ? " 
 
 " Brother, do you mean to draw from this a logical con- 
 clusion, that good and evil do not exist?" 
 
 "Perhaps so, my beauty. You see we too often seek to 
 hasten the time appointed by God. There are certain laws, no 
 doubt, of divine origin, which we cannot account for, and to 
 which we have given the ugly name of fatalities. We admit, 
 by a rare blasphemy, that evil may have been created, and we 
 set ourselves up as judges, rewarding and punishing because 
 our intellect is too feeble to grasp everything, and to show us 
 that all is good in the sight of God. Perceive the absurd 
 justice of your blow. You have punished these beasts for 
 acting according to the laws by which they must live. You 
 judged them egotistically, from the purely human standpoint, 
 influenced especially by that fear of death which has given 
 man respect for life. In short, you were scandalised at seeing 
 one race devour another, when you yourself do not scruple to 
 feed on the flesh of both." 
 
 " Brother M^d^ric, speak more clearly, or I shall not feel 
 the least remorse for my blow." 
 
 " I understand you, my beauty. After all I am willing : evil 
 exists, and this dispenses me with proving that absolute good 
 is impossible. Besides, the ruins on which we are seated are 
 a proof of it. But, tell me, did you wish to eat these wild 
 animals ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I am not partial to big game." 
 
 " Then, my dear fellow, why kill them ? " 
 
 Sidoine looked very foolish when this question was put to 
 him. He sought for an answer which he did not find. The 
 greatest surprise was depicted in his large blue eyes. Then, 
 as a man who has at last discovered a truth, he exclaimed : 
 
 "Why, my blow was absurd, as you said. One should 
 only kill to eat. That is a very practical precept which 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MfiD^RIC i8i 
 
 embodies, in the highest degree, the relative and human justice 
 of wliich you have told me. Men should write it in letters of 
 gold on the walls of their tribunals and on the standards of 
 their armies. Alas 1 my poor fists I One should only kill 
 to eat." 
 
 XII 
 
 MORAL 
 
 The sun had just disappeared behind the western hills. 
 Tiie earth, veiled in a soft shadow, was already half slumbering, 
 pensive and melancholy. A white opaque sky overhung the 
 horizon. There comes each evening a time of great sadness j 
 it is not yet night, light is fading slowly away as though 
 regretfully; and man in this farewell, feels strange anxiety, 
 a great need of hope and faith in his heart The first rays of 
 morning bring songs to one's lips; the last rays of evening 
 bring tears to one's eyes. Is it the dispiriting thought of 
 labour constantly resumed, unceasingly abandoned ; the eager 
 wish, mingled with dread, for eternal rest? Is it the resem- 
 blance of everything human to that slow agony of light and 
 sound ? 
 
 Sidoine and M6d6nc had seated themselves on the ruins of 
 the shed. A star shone above the dark branches of an oak 
 tree, amid the evanescence of earth and sky. And they 
 both looked at this consoling light, piercing with a ray of hope 
 the mournful veil of twilight. 
 
 The sound of a sobbing voice brought their eyes back to 
 the path. They beheld Primrose, all white in the darkness, 
 advancing towards them between the hedges. She came 
 along slowly with hair unbound. 
 
 She seated herself by Mdd^ric's side. Then, resting her 
 head on his shoulder, said : 
 
 " O friend, how wicked animals are ! " 
 
 And clasping her hands together she wept freely, letting the 
 tears run down her cheeks without seeking to wipe them 
 away. 
 
 "Poor despised creatures," she continued, "I loved them 
 like sisters. I thought that by petting them, I had made 
 
i82 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 them forget their fangs and claws. Is it then so difficult to 
 keep from being cruel ? " 
 
 M^ddric was careful not to answer. The science of good 
 and evil was not intended for this child. 
 
 " Tell me," said he, " are you not the charming Primrose, 
 queen of the Kingdom of the Happy ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I am Primrose." 
 
 " Then, my darling, dry your tears. I am come to marry 
 you." 
 
 Primrose wiped her eyes ; and placing her hands in Mddd- 
 ric's, she gazed into his face. 
 
 " 1 am only an ignorant creature," she said sofdy. " Here 
 are wicked eyes, which however do not frighten me. There 
 is kindness, beneath I know not what sad raillery, in those 
 orbs. Do you need ray caresses to become better ? '' 
 
 " I need them," answered Mdddric ; " I have travelled the 
 world and am weary." 
 
 " Heaven is kind," resumed the child. " It does not allow 
 my love rest I will marry you, dear lord." 
 
 Having said this she again sat down. She was thinking of 
 that feeling of unknown pity which was rising within her; she 
 had never before experienced such a desire to console. She 
 inquired of herself, in" her simplicity, whether she had not at 
 last discovered the mission entrusted by God to the tender- 
 hearted and charitable young queens of this world. Men 
 enjoy such perfect happiness that they get vexed at the 
 slightest favour; animals have a bad character difficult to 
 understand. Surely, since Heaven had given her tears and 
 the inclination to caress, she could not in her turn bestow 
 them upon any other creature save her dear lord, who had 
 told her he stood in great need of them. To conceal nothing, 
 she felt herself quite another being ; she no longer thought of 
 her people, she completely forgot her poor pupils on whose 
 tomb she was sitting. Her love, offered to all creation, and 
 which creation refused, had just become greater in being fixed 
 on a single being. She was lost in this infinity, heedless of 
 the world, ignorant of evil, realising that she was obeying God, 
 and tliat one hour of such ecstacy is preferable to a thousand 
 years of progress and civilisation. 
 
 All three. Primrose, Sidoine and Mdderic, were silent. 
 Around them reigned immense stillness, large indistinct 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE m£d£RIC 183 
 
 shadows transformed the country into a lake of gloom, with 
 heavy and motionless waves : above their heads was a moon- 
 less sky studded with stars, a black vault riddled with golden 
 holes. There, on the ruins of the model school, each following 
 his own train of thought, and with the world at their feet, they 
 sat musing in the darkness. Primrose, slight and supple, had 
 passed her arras around Mdddric's neck, and was leaning upon 
 his breast, her eyes wide open, gazing into the night. Sidoine, 
 half reclining, ashamed and despairing, was hiding his fists and 
 thinking in spite of himself. 
 
 Suddenly he spoke, and his rough voice wore an accent of 
 indescribable sadness. 
 
 " Alas 1 brother Mdd^ric," he said, " how empty my poor 
 head is since the day when you stored it with thoughts I 
 Where are my mangy wolves which I destroyed with such glee, 
 my fine potato-fields that the neighbours planted, my fearless 
 stupidity which protected me from bad dreams ? " 
 
 "My beauty," asked M^ddric softly, "do you regret our 
 wanderings and the science we have acquired ? " 
 
 "Yes, brother. I have seen the world and have not un- 
 derstood it. You endeavoured to make me spell it out, but 
 your lessons had a certain bitterness which has disturbed my 
 peaceful tranquillity. At the start I had instinctive beliefs, 
 an implicit faith in my natural whims : at the journey's end 
 I can no longer see my life clearly. I do not know where to 
 go nor what to do." 
 
 " I admit, my beauty, that I have taught you in a haphazard 
 way. But tell me, in this mass of sciences, imprudently dis- 
 turbed, do you not recall some real and practical truths ? " 
 
 " Well, brother M^ddric, it is exactly those beautiful truths 
 which sadden me. I know now that the earth, with its fruits 
 and harvests, does not belong to me; I even doubt my right to 
 amuse myself by killing flies on the walls. Could you not 
 have spared me the terrible agony of thought ? Ah, I absolve 
 you now from your promise." 
 
 " What had I promised you, my beauty ? " 
 
 "To give me a throne to fill, and men to slay. My poor 
 fists, what can I do with them now? Are they not useless 
 enough and in the way ! I shall not have courage to raise 
 them against a gnat. We find ourselves in a kingdom which 
 i$ wisely indifferent to human grandeur and misery ; no war, 
 
1 84 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 no court, hardly a king. Alas ! and it is we who are this 
 shadow of a monarch. This is no doubt the punishment of 
 our ridiculous ambition. Brother Mdddric, I beg you, calm 
 my troubled mind." 
 
 " Do not be anxious, do not upset yourself, my beauty, we 
 have reached our destination. It was written that we should 
 be kings, but that is a fatality for which we shall be able to 
 console ourselves. Our travels have had the excellent result 
 of changing our former thoughts of power and conquests. In 
 this sense, our reign over the Blues was a training as salutary 
 as it was rough. Destiny has its logic. We must thank fate 
 that, unable to dispense with royalty, it has given us a fine 
 kingdom, as extensive and fertile as we could wish, wherein 
 we will live as honest men. In following the calling of 
 honorary king, we shall at least gain liberty, not having to 
 bear the burden of the duty ; we will grow old in our dignity : 
 enjoying our crown as misers, I mean by showing it to no 
 one ; thus, our existence will have a noble aim, that of leaving 
 our subjects undisturbed, and our reward will be the peace 
 they will give us. My beauty, do not despair. We are about 
 to resume our careless life, forgetful of all painful sights, all the 
 evil thoughts of the world we have just travelled over ; we are 
 going to be perfectly ignorant and have no other care than 
 that of loving one another. In our royal domains, in the sun- 
 shine in winter, beneath the oak trees in summer, my mission 
 will be to fondle Primrose, whilst hers will consist in returning 
 me two caresses for one ; you, as you could not keep your 
 fists at rest without being bored to death, shall during this 
 time dig our fields, sow them with corn, reap the harvests, 
 gather the vintage, so that we shall eat bread and drink wine 
 belonging to us. We will never kill again, not even to eat. 
 On these points alone do I consent to remain wise. As I 
 told you at starting, ' I will set you such a fine task that in 
 a thousand years the world will still talk of your fists.' For 
 labourers of the future will marvel when passing through these 
 fields. On seeing their eternal fertility, they will say among 
 themselves, ' King Sidoine formerly worked here.' I foretold 
 it, my dear fellow, your fists were destined to be the fists of a 
 king ; only they will be the fists of a working king, the finest, 
 the rarest in existence." 
 
 On hearing these words, Sidoine could not contain himself 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE M^D^RIC 185 
 
 for joy. His duty in the household seemed to him by far the 
 most agreeable, as it was that which required the greatest 
 strength. 
 
 " Egad 1 brother," he exclaimed, " reasoning is a fine thing 
 when one reasons wisely. I am quite consoled. I am king 
 and reign over my field. Nothing could be better. You will 
 see my fine vegetables, my corn as tall as reeds, my vintages 
 fit to intoxicate a province. Ah 1 I was born to wrestle with 
 the earth. From to-morrow, I will work and sleep in the sun. 
 I will think no more." 
 
 As Sidoine finished speaking he crossed his arms and went 
 off into a half doze. Primrose was still gazing into the dark- 
 ness, smiling, her arms round Mdddric's neck and hearing 
 only the beating of her friend's heart. 
 
 After a pause the latter resumed : 
 
 " My beauty, I have to finish with a speech. It will be the 
 last, I vow. AH history, it is said, requires a moral. If ever 
 some poor creature, weary of silence, takes it into his head to 
 relate the astounding story of our adventures, he will certainly 
 cut the silliest figure imaginable in the eyes of his readers, in 
 that he will appear to them perfectly absurd if he sticks to the 
 truth. I even fear he may be stoned, on account of the liberty 
 of speech and bearing of his heroes. As this poor creature 
 will no doubt be born in later times, in the midst of a society 
 perfect in every sense, his indifference and denials will justly 
 offend the legitimate pride of his contemporaries. It would, 
 therefore, be charitable before leaving the scene, to seek the 
 morality of our adventures, so as to spare our historian the 
 sorrow of passing for a mendacious man. However, if he has 
 some feeling of honesty, this is what he will pen on the last 
 page : ' Good people who have perused my work, we are, you 
 and me, utter dunces. To our minds, nothing is so near to 
 reason as folly. It is true I have made game of you ; but 
 before that I made game of myself. I believe man is notiiing. 
 I doubt everything else. The joke of our apotheosis has 
 lasted too long. We lie impudently in declaring ourselves 
 God's master-piece, the creature superior to all, for whom He 
 created heaven and earth. No doubt, one could not imagine 
 a more consoling fable; for if my brethren were to admit, 
 to-morrow, what they are, they would probably go and commit 
 suicide, each in his own corner. I do not fear to lead their 
 
1 86 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 reason to this extreme point of logic ; they have inexhaustible 
 charity, a copious provision of respect and admiration for 
 their own being. Therefore, I have not even the hope of 
 making them agree as to their nothingness, which would have 
 been as good a morality as any other. Besides, for a belief 
 that I should deprive them of, I could not give them a better 
 one ; perhaps I will try later on. To-day, I am full of sad- 
 ness; I have related my bad dreams of the past night I 
 dedicate the story to humanity. My gift is worthy of it ; and 
 after all, what matters one freak more amid the freaks of the 
 world? I shall be accused of being behind my time, of 
 denying progress in the days most rich in conquests. Well, 
 good people, your new lights are as yet but darkness. The 
 great mystery escapes us now as it escaped us in the past. 
 I am saddened as each so-called truth is discovered, for it is 
 not the one I seek, the single and entire Truth which alone 
 would heal my diseased mind. In six thousand years we 
 have not been able to advance a step. If, at this hour, to 
 spare you the trouble of considering me stark mad, you must 
 absolutely have a moral to the adventures of my giant and 
 dwarf, perhaps I shall satisfy you in giving you this one : ' Six 
 thousand years and yet again six thousand years will lapse 
 without our ever completing our first stride.' That, my beauty, 
 is what a conscientious historian would deduce from our history. 
 But you can imagine, what fine yells would greet such an 
 inference ! I positively decline to be a cause of scandal 
 for our brethren. From this moment, anxious to see our 
 legend, duly authorised and approved, diffused over the world, 
 I draw the moral as follows : ' Good people who have read 
 me,' the poor creature will write, ' I cannot give you the 
 fifteen or twenty morals of this story in detail. There are 
 some for all ages, and for all conditions. It suffices that you 
 collect your wits and interpret my words correctly. Bat the 
 true moral, the most moralising one, that which I intend 
 turning to account in my next story, is this : When you set out 
 for_the Kingdom of the Happy, you must know the way. Are 
 you edified? I am very glad of it.' What? Sidoine, my 
 beauty, you do not applaud ? " 
 
 Sidoine was asleep. The moon had just risen in the 
 heavens ; a soft light filled the horizon, giving a bluish tinge 
 to space, and falling in sheets of silver from the heights, down 
 
BIG SIDOINE AND LITTLE MfiDfiRIC 187 
 
 upon the plain. The gloom had disappeared ; a deeper silence 
 reigned around. Serene sadness had succeeded the dread of 
 the previous hour. At the first ray, Me'd^ric and Primrose, 
 entwined and motionless, appeared at the summit of the 
 ruins; whilst at their feet lay Sidoine, radiant in the broad 
 beams of light. 
 
 He opened one eye, and still half asleep, said : 
 " I hear. Brother Mdddric, where is wisdom ? " 
 " My beauty," M^ddric replied, " take a spade." 
 " I hear," said Sidoine. " Where is happiness ? " 
 Then Primrose, unclasping her arms, slowly raised herself. 
 She stretched out her hps and kissed Mdddric on the mouth. 
 Sidoine, satisfied, relapsed into sleep, nodding his head 
 twirling his thumbs, more stupid than ever 1 
 
PART II 
 
 TO NINON 
 
 It is just ten years, my dear soul, since I told you my first 
 tales. What delightful lovers we were then ! I had recently 
 come from that land of Provence, where I had grown up so 
 free, so confiding, so full of all the hopes of life. I belonged 
 to you, to you alone, to your tenderness, to your dream. 
 
 Do you remember, Ninon ? That remembrance is now the 
 only joy on which my heart reposes. Until twenty we ran 
 along the same paths together. I can hear your little feet on the 
 hard ground, I perceive the hem of your white skirt grazing 
 the wild plants ; I feel your breath among the distant wafts 
 of sage, which reach me like puffs of youth. Those charm- 
 ing hours are fresh in my memory : it was a morning, on the 
 bank, beside the barely awakened water, all pure, all rosy with 
 the first red rays of heaven ; it was an afternoon, among the 
 trees, in a leafy recess, with the country overcome, slumbering 
 around us, without a rustle ; it was an evening, in the middle 
 of a field, slowly becoming enveloped in the bluish flood of 
 twilight that stole down the hills ; it was a night, walking along 
 an endless road, both advancing towards the unknown, indif- 
 ferent even to the stars, finding our pleasure in leaving the 
 city, in losing ourselves far, very far away, in the depths of the 
 discreet darkness. Do you remember, Ninon ? 
 
 What a happy life ! We had launched ii:to love, art, dream- 
 land. There is not a bush that has not hidden our kisses, 
 smothered our chat. I led you along, I walked you about 
 like the living poetry of my childhood. We two had heaven, 
 earth, trees and waters, even the naked rocks that bounded 
 the horizon, to ourselves. It seemed to me, at that age, that on 
 
TO NINON 189 
 
 opening my arms, I could take all the country on my breast, 
 to give it a kiss of peace. I felt the strength, the desires, the 
 kind-heartedness of a giant. Our excursions, like those of 
 schoolboys out of bounds, our love-making, like that of the 
 free birds, had inspired me with great contempt for the world, 
 and a quiet belief in one's own energy. Yes, it was in your 
 constant tenderness, my friend, that formerly I laid up that 
 fund of courage, at which my companions, later on, were so 
 frequently surprised. The illusions of our hearts were plates 
 of finely tempered steel, and they still protect me. 
 
 I left you, I left that Provence of which you were the soul, 
 and it was you whom I invoked, as a good angel, from the eve 
 of the struggle. You had my first book. It was teeming with 
 your being, all scented with the perfume of your hair. You 
 had despatched me to the battle, with a kiss on the forehead, 
 like a fond sweetheart who desires to see the soldier whom 
 she loves conquer. And as for me, that kiss was the only thing 
 I always remembered j I only thought of you, I could only 
 speak of you. 
 
 Ten years have passed. Ah ! my dear soul, how many 
 tempests have roared, what a quantity of dark water, what 
 ruins have passed since then, beneath the crumbling bridges 
 of my dreams ! Ten years of hard labour, ten years of bitter- 
 ness, of blows given and received, of everlasting battle I My 
 heart and brain are all gashed with wounds. If you were to 
 see your sweetheart of former times, that tall, supple youth who 
 dreamed of moving mountains in a trice, if you saw him passing 
 along in the dim daylight of Paris, with his cadaverous coun- 
 tenance, heavy with weariness, you would shudder, my poor 
 Ninon, regretting the bright sun, the fiery middays extinguished 
 for ever. Some nights I am so broken down that I feel a 
 cowardly desire to seat myself by the roadside, at the risk of 
 sleeping for ever in the ditch. And do you know, Ninon, 
 what it is that unceasingly urges me on, what gives me courage, 
 each time I waver? It is your voice, my well-beloved, your 
 distant voice, your pure, slender voice recalling to me my 
 vows. 
 
 I know, indeed, that you are a courageous girl. I can un- 
 bare my wounds to you, and you will only love me the more. 
 It will ease me to complain to you, who will console me. I 
 have not put down the pen for a single day, my friend ; I have 
 
19© STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 fought as a soldier who has to earn his bread : if glory comes, 
 it will spare me eating my bread dry. What bad work, and 
 how disgusted I still feel at it I For ten years I have fed the 
 furnace of journalism, like so many others, with the best that 
 was in me. Of this colossal labour there remains nothing but 
 a few cinders. Sheets of paper cast before the wind, flowers 
 fallen in the mire, a blend of what was excellent and the 
 worst, all spoilt in the common trough. I have touched every- 
 thing, I have dirtied my hands in this torrent of turbid medio- 
 crity running to the overflow. My love of the absolute was 
 bleeding, in the midst of these stupidities, so full of importance 
 in the morning, so utterly forgotten at night When I dreamt 
 of some stroke given in a block of granite that would 
 be eternal, some living labour placed erect for ever, I blew 
 bubbles that were burst by the wings of insects buzzing in the 
 sun. I would have glided into the hebetude of the calling if, 
 in my love of power, I had not had a consolation, that of this 
 ceaseless production, which broke me to every description of 
 fatigue. 
 
 Then, my friend, I was armed for war. You would never 
 believe into what fits of rage nonsense threw me. I had the 
 passion of my opinions; I would have liked to have thrust 
 what I believed down the throats of others. A book made me 
 ill, a picture put me in despair, as if it were a public catas- 
 trophe ; I lived in a constant battle of admiration and con- 
 tempt. Beyond letters and art, the world ceased to exist. And 
 what strokes of the pen, what furious shocks to clear the plat- 
 form I Now I shrug my shoulders. I am an old, hardened 
 offender ; I have preserved my faith ; I think I am even still 
 more intractable ; but I am satisfied to shut myself up and 
 work. That is the only way to discuss things in a healthy 
 manner; for works are only arguments, in the everlasting 
 discussion of the beautiful. 
 
 I have not come out of the battle intact, as you very well 
 imagine. I have scars almost everywhere, as I have told you, 
 on the brain and heart I no longer reply ; I wait for them 
 to become accustomed to my manner. Perhaps I shall thus 
 return to you whole. You see, my friend, I have quitted our 
 gallant pathways of lovers, where flowers grow, where one only 
 gathers smiles. I have taken the high-road, grey with dust, 
 with sorry trees ; I have even, I own it, stopped curiously be- 
 
TO NINON 191 
 
 fore dead dogs lying beside the landmarks j I have spoken of 
 truth; I have pretended that one could write everything; I 
 have wished to prove that art is in life and not elsewhere. 
 Naturally they pushed me into the gutter. I, Ninon, I who 
 passed my youth in gathering daisies and blue corn-flowers for 
 your bosom ! 
 
 You will forgive me my infidelity as a lover. Men cannot 
 always be tied to girls' petticoats. A time comes when your 
 flowers are too sweet. Do you remember the pale autumn 
 evening, the evening of our farewell ? It was on leaving your 
 frail arms that Truth bore me away in her hard hands. I had 
 a mania for correct analysis. After the ordinary daily labour, 
 I encroached upon my nights, I wrote the books that haunted 
 me, page by page. If I am proud of anything, it is of that 
 will which has slowly made me independent of the calling. I 
 have lived, without departing from my opinions. I owed you 
 this explanation, you who have a right to know what sort of 
 man, the child, whose beginning you encouraged, has become. 
 
 At present, my only grief is in being alone. The world 
 ends at my garden railing. I have shut myself up at home 
 so that my life may be entirely devoted to work, and I 
 have so thoroughly encompassed myself that people have 
 ceased to come. That is what has made me think of you, 
 my dear soul, amidst the struggle. I was too lonely, after ten 
 years' separation ; I wanted to see you again, to kiss your hair, 
 to tell you I love you always. That relieves me. Come, 
 and be not afraid, I am not so black as I am painted. I 
 assure you I love you still. I dream of having roses again, to 
 place a nosegay of them in your bosom. I feel an inclination 
 to drink new milk. If I did not fear to raise a laugh, I would 
 take you under some hedge, with a white lamb, so that we 
 might all three tell one another tender things. 
 
 And do you know what I have done, Ninon, to keep you 
 beside me all this night ? I will give you a thousand guesses. 
 I have rummaged in the past, I have searched among the 
 hundreds of pages written here and there, whether I could not 
 find some that would be sufficiently delicate for your ears. It 
 has given me pleasure to place this plum right in the midst of 
 thorns. Yes, I wanted this feast for us two. We will become 
 children again and picnic on the grass. They are tales; 
 nothing but tales, jam in the toy tea-service of children. Is 
 
192 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 it not charming ? Three gooseberries and two raisins will be 
 enough to satisfy our hunger, and we will get tipsy on five 
 drops of wine in limpid water. Listen, you inquisitive 
 creature. I have first of all some tales that are good enough ; 
 some even that have a commencement and an end; others, 
 it is true, go bare-footed, after having cast off all sense of 
 propriety. But, I must warn you that, further on, we shall 
 meet with fanciful things that are absolutely all at sea. To 
 be sure! I have gleaned all'I had, to keep you the whole 
 night. There, I sing the song of "Dost thou remember?" 
 They are our remembrances, one after the other, my girl; 
 sweetness itself to us, the best part of our love. If they seem 
 dry to others, so much the worse I They have no need to 
 meddle in our affairs. Then, to retain you after that, I shall 
 commence a long story, the last, which will take us, I hope, 
 till morning. It is right at the end of the others, placed there 
 on purpose to send you to sleep in my arms. We will let the 
 volume fall from our hands, and will kiss each other. 
 
 Ah ! Ninon, what a wealth of ^ pink and white ! However, 
 I cannot promise that, in spite of all my care to remove the 
 thorns, there is not a drop of blood or two in my bunch of 
 flowers. My hands are no longer pure enough to tie up nose- 
 gays without danger. But do not be alarmed : if you prick 
 yourself, I will kiss your fingers, I will drink your blood. The 
 nosegay will be more fragrant. 
 
 To-morrow, I shall have grown ten years younger. It seems 
 to me that it was but yester eve, I came from the further end of 
 our youth, with the honey of your kiss upon my lips. It will 
 be the beginning of ray task over again. Ah ! Ninon, I have 
 done nothing yet. I weep over this mountain of paper black- 
 ened with ink ; I am grieved to think that I have been unable 
 to satisfy my thirst for reality, that vast nature escapes from 
 my arms which are too short I feel the fierce desire to grasp 
 the earth, strain it to me, see all, know all, say all. I should 
 like to lay humanity on a white page, every being, every thing; 
 and produce a work that would be an immense ark. 
 
 And do not expect me for a long time at the trysting-place, 
 where I promised to meet you, in Provence, when the task is 
 completed. There is so much to be accomplished. I want 
 truth in the novel, the drama, everywhere. Remind me of 
 you in future, only at night; come on the moonbeam that 
 
TO NINON 193 
 
 glides between my curtains, at a time when I shall be able 
 to weep with you unseen. I require all my manhood. Later 
 on, oh I later on, it will be I who will go and meet you out in 
 the country still warm with our tenderness. We shall be very 
 old ; but we shall always love one another. You shall take 
 me on a pilgrimage to the river bank, to the edge of the barely 
 awakened water ; into the leafy recesses, with the burning 
 country slumbering around us ; amidst the meadows, becoming 
 gently enveloped in the bluish veil of twilight ; along the 
 endless highway, indifferent to the stars, having but one desire 
 to lose ourselves in the obscurity. And the trees, the blades 
 of grass, even the stones, will recognise us from a distance, 
 by our kisses, and will bid us welcome. 
 
 Listen : so that we may not be seeking each other I want to 
 tell you behind which hedge I will go and find you. You know 
 the spot where the river makes a bend, beyond the bridge, 
 lower down than the wash-house, just opposite the great cur- 
 tain of poplars? Do you remember, we kissed hands there 
 one fine May morning ? Well ! On the left, .there is a haw- 
 thorn hedge, that wall of verdure at the foot of which we lay 
 down to see only the blue of heaven. It is behind the haw- 
 thorn hedge, my dear soul, that I give you the appointment, 
 years iience, one day when the sun is pale, when your heart 
 will know I am in the neighbourhood. 
 
 tUlLE ZOLA. 
 Paris, irf October 1874. 
 
A BATH 
 
 I'll give you a thousand chances, Ninon. Seek, invenli 
 imagine : it is a real fairy-tale, something terrifying and im- 
 probable You know the little baroness, that delightful 
 
 Adeline de C , who had vowed No, you'll never 
 
 guess : I prefer relating it all to you. 
 
 Well ! Adeline is positively going to be married a second 
 time. You doubt it, don't you ? You say it is necessary to 
 be at Mesnil-Rouge, sixty-seven leagues from Paris, to put 
 faith in such a tale. You may laugh ; the wedding will none 
 the less take place. Fancy, that poor Adeline, who was a 
 widow at twenty-two, and whose hatred and contempt for 
 men made so pretty ! The deceased, who was certainly a 
 worthy man, fairly well preserved, and who would have been 
 perfect but for the infirmities that killed him, thoroughly 
 schooled her in matrimony in a couple of months. She had 
 declared that her experience was sufficient And she is 
 marrying again ! See how we are I 
 
 It is true Adeline had bad luck. An adventure such as 
 happened to her could not have been foreseen. And sup- 
 posing I were to tell you who she is about to marry ! You 
 
 know Count Octave de R , that tall young man whom she 
 
 so cordially detested. They could not meet without ex- 
 changing ill-natured smiles, without metaphorically cutting 
 each other's throats with pleasant phrases. Ah, the poor crea- 
 tures ! if you only knew where they finally met I can 
 
 see very well that I shall have to tell you all about it. It 
 is quite a novel. It rains this morning. I'll put it into 
 chapters. 
 
 '9* 
 
A BATH 195 
 
 The ch3,teau is six miles from Tours. From Mesnil-Rouge 
 I can see the slate roofs buried in the verdure of the park. 
 They call it the ChUteau-of-the-Sleeping-Beauty, because it was 
 formerly inhabited by a lord who nearly married one of his 
 milkmaids there The dear child lived shut up in it, and I 
 think her ghost returned to the place. Never did stones 
 possess such a perfume of love. 
 
 The Beauty who sleeps there now is the old Countess de 
 
 M , one of Adeline's aunts. For the last thirty years she 
 
 has been coming to pass a winter at Paris. Each of her 
 nieces and nephews gives her a fortnight during the fine 
 weather. Adeline is very punctual. Besides, she likes the 
 chiteau, a legendary ruin, which is crumbling to pieces under 
 the influence of rain and wind, in the centre of a virgin forest. 
 
 The elderly countess has given formal orders that neither the 
 ceilings, which are a network of cracks, nor the stray branches 
 that bar the walks, are to be touched. She enjoys the sight 
 of the wall of foliage that thickens there each spring, and she 
 frequently remarks that the building is more solid than her- 
 self. The truth of the matter is that an entire wing is on the 
 ground. Those pleasant retreats, built under Louis XV., 
 were as transient as the love-making of the period. The 
 plaster-work is full of fissures, the floors have given way, and 
 moss has penetrated even to the alcoves. The damp atmos- 
 phere of the park has given to the place a freshness, through 
 which, however, the musky perfume of the tenderness of other 
 times still passes. 
 
 The park threatens to invade the mansion. Trees have 
 grown up at the foot of the perrons and in the clefts of the 
 steps. Only the broad avenue can be used for driving ; and 
 even then the coachman has to lead his horses by the bridles. 
 To right and left the underwood is virgin, crossed by a few 
 rare paths, which are dark with shade, and along which you 
 advance with your hands stretched out in front of you, putting 
 aside the grass. And the great trees that have fallen down 
 make blind alleys of these bits of roads, whilst the contracted 
 glades resemble wells opening on the blue of heavea Moss 
 hangs from the branches, and the woody nightshade forms a 
 
196 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 curtain beneath the brushwood; the swarming of insects, the 
 murmur of birds that you do not see, give strange life to this 
 enormous mass of foliage. I have often experienced little 
 shudders of fright, on my way to pay the countess a visit ; the 
 woods wafted a disquieting breath to the back of my neck. 
 
 But there is a particularly delicious and disturbing corner 
 in the park : it is to the left of the chateau, at the extremity 
 of a flower-garden, where the only things that grow now are 
 poppies as tall as myself. There is a grotto beneath a cluster 
 of trees, buried in a drapery of ivy, the ends of which trail on 
 the grass. The grotto which has been overrun, concealed, is 
 nothing more than a dark recess, in the depths of which one 
 perceives the whiteness of a smiling plaster Cupid with a finger 
 on his mouth. The poor boy-god has but one arm, and on 
 his right eye is a patch of moss which makes him half blind. 
 He seems to be watching, with his sickly smile of an invalid, 
 over some amorous lady who has been dead for a century. 
 
 Sparkling water, issuing from the grotto, expands in a broad 
 sheet in the centre of the glade, and then escapes by a brook 
 which is lost beneath the leaves. It is a natural pond, with a 
 sandy bottom, on which the great trees cast their shadows ; 
 an aperture showing blue sky forms an azure spot in the 
 centre of the pond. Rushes have grown, and water-lilies have 
 unfurled their round leaves there. One hears naught in the 
 emerald daylight of this globe of verdure, which seems to have 
 issues above and below on the lake of open air, but the melody 
 of the water, ever falling, with an appearance of sweet lassitude. 
 Long water-flies are skating in a corner. A chaffinch comes 
 to drink with dainty manners, fearing to wet its claws. A 
 sudden rustling of the leaves produces an effect on the pond, 
 comparable to a virgin beating her eyelids in a swoon. And, 
 from the darkness of the grotto, the plaster Cupid ordains 
 silence, repose, and absolute discretion on the part of woods 
 and water, as regards this voluptuous corner of nature. 
 
 II 
 
 When Adeline grants her aunt a fortnight, this wild spot 
 becomes civilised. The walks must be widened, so that Ade- 
 line's skirts may be able to pass along them. She arrived, 
 
A BATH 197 
 
 this season, with thirty-two trunks, which had to be carried on 
 men's shoulders, because the railway-van has never dared 
 venture among the trees. It would have sta)'ed there, I vow, 
 if it had. 
 
 Besides, Adeline is a savage, as you know. Between you 
 and me she is cracked — there. At the convent she was troubled 
 with imaginations that were really very funny. I suspect her 
 of coming to the Chateau-of-the-Sleeping-Beauty to satisfy her 
 appetite for extravagance, far away from the inquisitive. The 
 aunt remains seated in her arm-chair ; the chateau belongs to 
 the dear child, who must have the most extraordinary fantasti- 
 cal dreams there. They relieve her. When she quits this 
 hole, she behaves herself for a year. 
 
 During a fortnight, she is the fairy, the soul of the verdure. 
 She may be perceived in gala toilette, airing her white lace and 
 silken bows amidst the bushes. I have even been assured 
 that she has been seen attired as a Pompadour marchioness 
 with powder and patches, seated on the grass in the most de- 
 serted corner of the park. At other times a little fair young 
 man has been caught sight of walking along the alleys. I'm 
 horribly afraid that that young man was naught else than this 
 darling madcap. 
 
 I know she rummages about in the chiteau from cellar to 
 garret. She ferrets in all the most obscure corners, sounds 
 the walls with her little fists, sniffs at all the dust of past ages 
 with her pink nose. You may find her standing on steps, lost 
 in the depths of huge cupboards, with her ear listening atten- 
 tively at the windows, gazing dreamily in front of the chimneys, 
 evidently actuated by the desire to climb up inside and have 
 a look. Then, as she probably fails to find what she is in 
 search of, she runs about the flower-garden where the tall 
 poppies are, the paths dark with shade and the glades bright 
 with sun. She is always seeking, carrying her bead very high, 
 catching the distant and vague perfume of a flower of tender- 
 ness which she cannot pluck. 
 
 Positively, I told you so, Ninon, the old chateau has an 
 odour of love, amidst its wild-looking trees. A girl was shut 
 up there, and the walls have preserved the perfume of that 
 tenderness, like those old trunks in which bouquets of violets 
 have been put away. I'd vow it is that scent that gets into 
 Adeline's head and acts upon her senses. Then, when she 
 
1 98 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 has inhaled this perfume of old love, when she is overcome by 
 it, she would set out on a ray of the moon to visit the land of 
 fairy-tales, and would let herself be kissed on the forehead by 
 all the cavaliers who happened to pass that way and were good 
 enough to awaken her from her dream of a hundred years. 
 
 She has fits of languidness, and carries little stools into the 
 wood to sit down. But, on very hot days, she finds relief in 
 bathing, at night, in the pond beneath the lofty foliage. That 
 is her retreat. She is the maid of the spring. The rushes 
 show her tenderness. When she lets her skirts fall to the 
 ground and enters the water, with all the tranquillity of a Diana 
 feeling confidence amidst the solitude, the plaster Cupid 
 smiles at her. She has only water-lilies for a sash, but you 
 must know that even the fish are discreetly slumbering. She 
 swims softly, with her white shoulders protruding from the 
 water, and any one might think it was a swan spreading out its 
 wings and darting noiselessly along. The coolness calms her 
 restlessness. She would be absolutely tranquil were it not for 
 the one-armed Cupid smiling at her. 
 
 One night, she penetrated to the bottom of the grotto, in 
 spite of the horrible fright the damp darkness gave her ; and, 
 standing on tip-toe, placed her ear to the Cupid's lips to see 
 if he wouldn't tell her something. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The frightful part of the business, this season, is that when 
 poor Adeline reached the chateau, she found Count Octave 
 de R , that tall young man, her mortal enemy, in posses- 
 sion of the best bed-room. It seems he is in some degree a 
 
 cousin of old Madame de M . Adeline has vowed she 
 
 will dislodge him. She bravely undid her boxes, and recom- 
 menced her excursions and the endless quest. Octave quietly 
 watched her from his window, for a week, smoking cigarettes. 
 In the evening bitter words and sullen warfare had ceased. 
 He was so polite, that she ended by thinking him a bore and 
 troubled no more about him. He continued to smoke ; she 
 knocked about the park and took her baths. 
 
 She usually went to the sheet of water about midnight, when 
 every one was asleep, and was particularly careful to find out 
 
A BATH 199 
 
 whether Count Octave had blown out his candle. Then she 
 crept downstairs as if she were going to meet her sweetheart, 
 with desires that were quite sensual for the cold water. She 
 had had exquisite little shudders of fright since she knew there 
 was a man at the chateau. Supposing he opened a window, 
 supposing he were to catch sight of a corner of her shoulder 
 through the leaves I The thought of it alone made her shiver 
 when she emerged, sparkling all over, from the water, and a ray 
 of the moon whitened her statue-like nudity. 
 
 One night she went downstairs at about eleven o'clock. 
 The chS.teau had been buried in slumber for two long hours. 
 That night she felt particularly bold. She had listened at the 
 count's door, and had fancied she heard him snoring. Fie ! a 
 man who snores ! That had made her feel great contempt for 
 men, and caused her to long for the honest caresses of the 
 water, which sleeps so sweetly. She lingered beneath the 
 trees, taking pleasure in unfastening her garments one by one. 
 It was very dark, the moon was only just rising, and the dear 
 child's white form merely cast a vague whiteness on the bank 
 like that of a young birch-tree. Puffs of hot wind came from 
 the heavens, and passed across her shoulders in warm kisses. 
 She was quite at ease, rather languid, somewhat stifled by the 
 heat, but full of a feeling of careless happiness, which made 
 her try the spring with her foot as she stood on the bank. 
 
 The moon, however, was turning, and already lighting up 
 a corner of the sheet of water. Then Adeline, in terror, 
 perceived a head upon the surface which was gazing at her 
 from this illuminated corner. She slid down, and when the 
 water reached her chin, crossed her arms as if to bring all 
 the trembling veil of the pond across her breast ; then in an 
 unsteady voice she inquired : 
 
 " Who is there ? — ^What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " It is I, madame," quietly answered Count Octave, " Don't 
 be alarmed, I'm taking a bath." 
 
 IV 
 
 A formidable silence ensued. On the sheet of water there 
 was naught but ripples, which spread out slowly around 
 Adeline's shoulders, and came to an end against the count's 
 
2 00 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 chest with a slight flopping sound. The latter quietly raised 
 his arms, as if about to seize hold of a branch of willow to 
 enable him to get out of the water. 
 
 " Remain where you are ; I command you to do so," shouted 
 Adeline in a terrified voice. " Get into the water again, get 
 into the water at once !" 
 
 " But, madame," he answered, advancing until the water 
 was up to his neck, " I've been here over an hour." 
 
 " That doesn't matter, sir, I will not have you get out, you 
 understand. We'll wait." 
 
 The poor baroness was going crazy. She spoke of waiting, 
 but hardly knowing why, her mind being quite upset by the 
 perspective of the terrible events threatening her. Octave 
 smiled. 
 
 " But," he ventured to remark, " it seems to me that by 
 turning one's back " 
 
 " No, no, sir ! Don't you see the moon ! " 
 
 As a matter of fact the moon had advanced, and was falling 
 in full upon the pond. It was a superb moon. The pond 
 was shining amidst the dark leaves like a silver mirror; the 
 rushes and water-lilies at the edges formed cleverly designed 
 shadows, as if washed-in with a brush and Indian ink. A 
 warm shower of stars fell upon the basin through the small 
 opening in the leaves. The stream of water ran behind 
 Adeline with a low, mocking sound. She ventured to glance 
 into the grotto, and saw the plaster Cupid smiling at her with 
 a knowing look. 
 
 "The moon, certainly," murmured the count; "however, by 
 turning one's back " 
 
 " No, no, a thousand times no. We'll wait until the moon's 
 no longer there. You see, it is advancing. When it reaches 
 that tree we shall be in the shade." 
 
 " But, you see, it'll take a good hour before it gets behind 
 that treel" 
 
 "Oh I three-quarters of an hour at the most That 
 doesn't matter. We'll wait. When the moon is behind the 
 tree you can retire." 
 
 The count wanted to protest ; but, as he moved about as 
 he spoke, and uncovered himself to the waist, she uttered such 
 sharp little cries of distress that, out of politeness, he had to 
 advance into the pond until the water reached his chin. He 
 
A BATH 2or 
 
 had the delicacy not to move. Then they both remained 
 there, tete-a-tite with a vengeance, one may say. The two 
 heads, the baroness' adorable fair head with those great eyes 
 that you remember, and the count's handsome head, set off 
 with slightly ironical moustachios, stayed quietly, motionless 
 on the smooth water, a yard or two from one another. The 
 plaster Cupid grinned more broadly than ever from beneath 
 his ivory drapery. 
 
 V 
 
 Adeline had thrown herself among the water-lilies. When 
 the coolness of the bath had restored her, and she had made 
 her preparations to pass an hour there, she perceived that the 
 water was really shockingly limpid. She could see her naked 
 feet on the sand at the bottom. It must be mentioned that 
 the wicked moon was also bathing, rolling in the water, and 
 filling it with its wriggling, eel-like rays. It was a bath of 
 liquid, transparent gold. Perhaps the count was able to see 
 
 the naked feet on the sand, and if he saw feet and head 
 
 Adeline covered herself under the water with a sash of water- 
 lilies. Then she quietly drew the large round leaves that were 
 floating on the surface around her, and made a broad collar 
 of them. When dressed in that style she felt more at ease. 
 
 The count, however, had ended by taking the thing stoic- 
 ally. Not having come across a root whereon to sit, he had 
 resigned himself to kneeling. And so as not to appear abso- 
 lutely ridiculous, with water up to his chin like a man lost in 
 a huge barber's dish, he had got into conversation with the 
 countess, avoiding all that might remind her of the unpleasant- 
 ness of their respective positions. 
 
 " It has been very warm to-day, madam." 
 
 " Yes, sir, oppressively hot. Fortunately, it is cooler in 
 these shady places." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly. This good aunt is a worthy person, is 
 she not ? " 
 
 "A worthy person, indeed." 
 
 Then they spoke about the last races and the balls already 
 announced for the forthcoming winter. Adeline, who was 
 beginning to feel cold, reflected that the count must have seen 
 
202 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 her whilst she loitered on the bank. That was simply horrible. 
 Only she had doubts as to the importance of the mishap. It 
 was dark under the trees, and the moon had not yet risen. 
 Then, she remembered now, that she had stood behind the 
 trunk of a great oak tree ; that trunk must have covered her. 
 But, in truth, this count was an abominable man. She hated 
 him ; she would have liked to have seen him slip down and 
 drown himself. It was not she, indeed, who would have ex- 
 tended her hand to help him. Why, when he saw her 
 advancing, did he not shout out that he was there, that he 
 was taking a bath? The question came so clearly to her 
 mind that she could not withhold it from her lips. She inter- 
 rupted the count, who was talking about the latest shape of 
 bonnets. 
 
 " But I was not aware," he answered. " I assure you I was 
 very much afraid — you were all white. I thought it was the 
 Sleeping-Bqauty who was showing herself, you know, the girl 
 who was shut up here. I was so frightened that I couldn't 
 call out." 
 
 VI 
 
 Within half-an-hour they were good friends. Adeline said 
 to herself that she made no difficulty about wearing low-neck 
 dresses at evening parties, and that she could therefore cer- 
 tainly show her shoulders. She had come out of the water a 
 little, and had torn open her high gown, which inconvenienced 
 her at the throat. Then she had risked her arms. She re- 
 sembled a nymph of the spring, with her bare throat, her 
 naked arms, and clothed in all that mass of verdure, which 
 expanded and extended behind her like a long train of satin. 
 
 The count grew tender. He had obtained permission to 
 make a few steps in order to get near a root. His teeth were 
 beginning to chatter, and he gazed at the moon with great 
 interest. 
 
 " Hey ! it advances slowly," remarked Adeline. 
 
 " Eh 1 no, it has wings," he responded with a sigh. 
 
 She laughed, adding : 
 
 " We shall have to wait at least a quarter of an hour." 
 
 Then he took a cowardly advantage of the situation. He 
 made her a declaration. He explained how he had been in 
 
A BATH 203 
 
 love with her for two years, and that if he had teased her, it 
 was because he had found that more amusing than paying her 
 insipid compliments. Adeline, who was beginning to feel 
 very anxious, pulled her green gown up to her throat, and 
 thrust her arras into the sleeves. Only the tip of her rosy 
 nose could be seen outside the water-lilies ; and as the light of 
 the moon fell full in her eyes, she felt quite giddy and dazzled. 
 She had lost sight of the count, when all at once she heard a 
 loud dabbling sound, and felt the agitated element rise to 
 her lips. 
 
 "Will you have the kindness not to move?" she exclaimed. 
 " Will you be good .enough not to walk about like that in the 
 water ? " 
 
 "But I was not walking," said the count "I slipped — 
 I love you I " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, don't move, we'll talk of all that when 
 it's dark. Wait till the moon is behind the tree." 
 
 vn 
 
 The moon hid behind the tree. The plaster Cupid burst 
 out laughing, 
 
THE STRAWBERRIES 
 
 One morning in June, on opening the window, I received a 
 puff of fresh air in the face. There had been a violent storm 
 during the night. The sky looked like new, as if the shower 
 had scoured it in its remotest corners. The roofs and trees, 
 the top branches of which I could perceive between the 
 chimneys, were still dripping with rain, and this bit of horizon 
 was smiling beneath the golden sun, whilst an odour of wet 
 earth rose from the neighbouring gardens. 
 
 " Come, Ninette," I cried gaily, " put on your hat, my girl 
 — we'll go out into the country." 
 
 She clapped her hands. She was ready in ten minutes, 
 which was very good for a coquette of twenty summers. 
 
 At nine o'clock we were in the Verrieres woods. 
 
 II 
 
 How discreet those woods are, and what a number of sweet- 
 hearts have aired their love in them ! The copses are deserted 
 during the week and you can stroll there side by side, with 
 arms entwining each other's waists and lips seeking Ups, with- 
 out fear of being seen by any save the songsters in the thickets. 
 The broad, open walks stretch through the masses of lofty 
 trees ; the soil is carpeted with fine grass on which the sun, 
 penetrating the foliage, casts circles of gold. And there are 
 hollow footways, very shady, narrow paths, where you are 
 compelled to keep close to one another. And there are also 
 impenetrable thickets, where you may be lost, if the kisses 
 ^re too sweet. 
 
 W4 
 
THE STRAWBERRIES 205 
 
 Ninon left my arm and ran like a puppy, delighted at the 
 sensation of the plants grazing her ankles. Then she returned 
 and hung on my shoulder weary and caressing. The wood 
 still spread out before us like a boundless sea with leafy 
 waves. The rustling silence, the life-like shadows that fell 
 from the tall trees troubled, intoxicated us with all the glow- 
 ing sap of spring. You become a child again amidst the 
 mystery of the copses. 
 
 " Oh I strawberries, strawberries ! " exclaimed Ninon, leap- 
 ing across a ditch like a goat at liberty, and searching among 
 the bushes. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Strawberries, alas ! no, but strawberry plants, a whole bed 
 of them spread out beneath the brambles. 
 
 Ninon did not give a thought to the insects of which she is 
 so horribly afraid. She boldly moved her hands amongst the 
 plants, raising each leaf, and was in despair at not meeting 
 with the smallest bit of fruit. 
 
 " They have been before us," she said, pouting with vexa- 
 tion. " Oh ! come, let us make a good search ; there are, no 
 doubt, some left." 
 
 And we set ourselves to search most conscientiously. We 
 advanced prudently, step by step, with bent backs, strained 
 necks, our eyes fixed on the ground, without risking a word, 
 for fear we might make the strawberries fly away. We had 
 forgotten the forest, the silence and the shadows, the broad 
 walks and narrow paths. It was a question of straw- 
 berries, nothing but strawberries. At each clump we came 
 to, we stooped, and our quivering hands met beneath the 
 leaves. 
 
 We went along in this way for more than a league, bending 
 down, straying to right and left. There was not the tiniest 
 strawtaerry. There were superb strawberry plants, with fine 
 dark-green leaves. I noticed Ninon pinch her lips and tears 
 glisten in her eyes. 
 
2o6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 IV 
 
 We had come to a broad slope, on which the sun fell per- 
 pendicularly, with oppressive heat. Ninon advanced towards 
 the incline determined not to search any further afterwards. 
 All at once she uttered a shriek. I hastened forward, afraid, 
 thinking she had hurt herself. I found her on the ground ; 
 the emotion had brought her to a sitting posture, and with 
 her finger she pointed out a small strawberry to me, hardly as 
 large as a pea, and ripe on one side only. 
 
 " You pick it," she said to me, in a low, fondling tone. 
 
 I had seated myself beside her, at the bottom of the slope. 
 
 " No," I answered. " You found it, and you must gather it" 
 
 " No ; do me the pleasure, pick it." 
 
 I pleaded my own cause so long and so well that Ninon at 
 last made up her mind to break the stalk with her finger. But 
 it was quite another matter, when the question arose as to 
 which of us two was to eat this poor little strawberry which it 
 had taken us a good hour to find. Ninon wanted to force it 
 into my mouth. I firmly resisted ; then, I ended by making 
 concessions, and it was decided that the strawberry should be 
 divided into two parts. 
 
 She placed it between her teeth, saying to me with a smile : 
 
 " Come, take your share." 
 
 I took it. I know not if the strawberry was divided in a 
 brotherly and sisterly way. I do not know even if I tasted it, 
 so sweet seemed the honey of Ninon's kiss to me. 
 
 The slope was overspread with strawberry plants, and they 
 were genuine ones. The harvest was plentiful and joyously 
 gathered. We had spread a white handkerchief on the ground, 
 both of us solemnly vowing we would place our booty there, 
 without pocketing any part of it. It seemed to me, however, 
 that I several times saw Ninon put her hand to her mouth. 
 
 When harvesting was over, we decided it was time to look 
 for a shady nook where we could lunch at ease. I discovered 
 a charming spot, a nest of leaves, a few steps away. The hand- 
 kerchief was scrupulously placed beside us. 
 
THE STRAWBERRIES 207 
 
 Ye gods ! how delightful it was there, on the moss, in the 
 voluptuous enjoyment of verdure and fresh air I Ninon gazed 
 at me with moist eyes. The sun had brought a soft pinkness 
 to her neck. Perceiving all the tenderness of my feeling in 
 my look, she bent towards nie, holding out her two hands, 
 with a gesture of adorable confidence. 
 
 The sun which was blazing on the lofty foliage, cast golden 
 circles, at our feet, on the fine grass. The feathered songsters 
 became silent and refrained from looking. When we sought 
 for the strawberries to eat them, we perceived with amazement 
 that we were lying right on the-handkerchief. 
 
BIG MICHU 
 
 One afternoon, at the four o'clock recreation, Big Michu 
 took me aside in a comer of the playground He had a 
 serious look, which somewhat alarmed me ; for Big Michu was 
 a lusty fellow, with great fists, whom I would not have liked 
 to have had for an enemy for anything in the world. 
 
 " Listen," he said to me with his coarse peasant's voice, 
 which had hardly any polish to it, "listen, will you be 
 one?" 
 
 I answered frankly, " Yes ! " flattered at being something 
 with Big Michu. Then he explained to me that it was a ques- 
 tion of a conspiracy. The thing he confided to me gave me 
 a delicious sensation that I have perhaps never experienced 
 since. At last I was to take part in the mad adventures of 
 life, I was to have a secret to keep, a battle to fight. And, 
 truly, the inavowable terror I felt at the idea of compromising 
 myself in this manner, counted for a good half in the intense 
 delight that my new character of an accomplice gave me. 
 
 And so, while Big Michu spoke, I stood in admiration before 
 him. He initiated me in rather a rough tone, such as one 
 would employ towards a recruit in whose energy one has but 
 scanty confidence. Nevertheless, the tremor of joy, the air of 
 enthusiastic ecstacy that I must have shown in listening to him, 
 ended in giving him a better opinion of me. 
 
 As the bell rang a second time, and as we both went to take 
 our places in the ranks, to return to the school-room, he said 
 to me in an undertone : 
 
 " That's understood, is it not ? You'll be one of us. Any- 
 how, you won't be afraid : you won't peach ? " 
 
 »' Oh no, you'll see — honour bright." 
 
 »8 
 
BIG MICHU 209 
 
 He looked at me with his grey eyes straight in the face, 
 with the true dignity of ripe manhood, and added : 
 
 " Otherwise, you know, I'll not lick you ; but I'll tell every 
 one you're a sneak, and you'll be put in Coventry." 
 
 I still remember the singular effect that threat produced on 
 me. " Pooh ! " I said to myself, " they may give me two 
 thousand lines if they like ; I'll be blowed if I peach on 
 Michu ! " I awaited the dinner hour with febrile, impatience. 
 The revolt was to break out in the dining-halL 
 
 II 
 
 Big Michu came from the Var. His father, who was a 
 peasant, with a few bits of land, had taken up arms in '51, at 
 the time of the insurrection brought about by the coup d'etat. 
 Left for dead on the plain of Uchine, he had succeeded in 
 hiding himself. When he reappeared he was left alone. Only 
 the authorities in the neighbourhood, the notabilities, persons 
 of independent means, both great and small, alluded to him 
 as " that brigand of a Michu." 
 
 This brigand, this worthy, illiterate man, sent his son to the 
 
 college of A . No douljt he desired him to be learned for 
 
 the triumph of the cause which he had only been able to sup- 
 port by arms. We had some vague idea of this story at the 
 college, and this made us regard our schoolfellow in the light 
 of a very redoubtable personage. 
 
 Besides, Big Michu was much older than we were. He was 
 over eighteen, although he was still only in the fourth form. 
 But no one dared make fun of him. His was one of those 
 straightforward minds that learn with difficulty and are in- 
 capable of conjecture; only, when he did know a thing he 
 knew it thoroughly and for ever. Being as strong as a bull, 
 he was the master during play-hours. For all that, he was ex- 
 tremely gentle. I never but once saw him angry ; he wanted to 
 strangle an usher who was teaching us that all republicans were 
 thieves and murderers. Big Michu was very nearly expelled.' 
 
 It was onjy later on, when I recalled my former schoolfellow 
 to mind, that I was able to understand his gentle, and, at the 
 same time, vigorous attitude. His father must have made a 
 man of him in tender years. 
 
 
 
2IO STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 III 
 
 Big Michu liked the college, and that was one of the many 
 things that astonished us. He experienced but one torment, 
 of which he did not dare to speak — hunger. Big Michu was 
 always hungry. 
 
 I do not remember ever having witnessed such an appetite. 
 He, who was very proud, sometimes went so far as to play the 
 most humiliating comedies to cheat us out of a piece of bread, 
 a lunch, or our morsel in the afternoon. Brought up in the 
 open air, at the foot of the Maures chain of mountains, he 
 suffered more than we from the paucity of the college table. 
 
 That was one of our great subjects of conversation in the 
 playground, standing up against the wall which sheltered us 
 with its streak of shade. We others were dainty. I parti- 
 cularly remember a certain dish of codfish with a brown sauce, 
 and another of haricot beans with a white sauce, which had 
 become the subject of general malediction. On days when 
 these dishes appeared, we did not finish them. Big Michu, 
 out of human respect, protested with us, although he would 
 willingly have swallowed all the six allowances at his table. 
 
 Big Michu only complained of the quantity of provisions. 
 Chance, as if to exasperate him, had placed him at the end of 
 the table, beside the usher, a puny young man who allowed 
 us to smoke when out walking. According to the regulations, 
 the ushers had a right to double allowances. So, when 
 sausages were served, you should have seen Big Michu eyeing 
 the ends of the two bags of mystery which lay side by side on 
 the little usher's plate. 
 
 "I'm twice as big as he is," he said to me one day, "and 
 he has twice as much to eat as I have. No fear of him leaving 
 anything; he doesn't get too much himself I" 
 
 IV 
 
 Now, the leaders had decided that we were at length to 
 rebel against the codfish with brown sauce, and the haricot 
 beans with white sauce. 
 
 The conspirators naturally proposed to Big Michu to be 
 
BIG MICHU ail 
 
 their chief. The plan these gentlemen had formed was 
 of heroic simplicity. They thought it would suffice to put 
 their appetites on strike, to refuse all food until the head- 
 master formally announced that the daily fare would be im- 
 proved. Big Michu's approval of this idea is one of the finest 
 specimens of courage and self-sacrifice I know of He accepted 
 the post of leader of the movement with the quiet heroism of 
 those ancient Romans who sacrificed themselves for the public 
 weal. 
 
 Just reflect a bit ! He did not care a fig about seeing the 
 codfish and the haricot beans disappear; he only wanted one 
 thing, to have more, as much as he liked ! and to crown all, 
 they asked him to fast ! He has owned to me since, that never 
 had that republican virtue which his father had instilled into 
 him, solidarity, the self-sacrifice of the individual in the interest 
 of the community, been put to so severe a test, in so far as he 
 was concerned. 
 
 The strike commenced that evening in the dining-hall — it 
 was the day for codfish with brown sauce — with a spirit of 
 unanimity that was really grand. Bread only was allowed 
 The dishes came, but we did not touch them ; we ate our dry 
 bread. And we did so solemnly, without talking in an under- 
 tone as was our custom. It was only the youngsters who 
 laughed. 
 
 Big Michu was superb. He went so far this first night as 
 not touch his bread. He had placed his two elbows on the 
 table, and gazed disdainfully at the httle usher who was 
 devouring his own allowance. 
 
 The usher in charge, however, had been to fetch the head- 
 master, who entered the dining-hall like a tempest. He re- 
 buked us roughly, asked us what we could complain about in 
 the dinner, which he tasted and pronovinced exquisite. 
 
 Then Big Michu stood up. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " it is the codfish which is rotten, and we are 
 unable to digest it." 
 
 " Ah ! well," exclaimed that puny creature of an usher, with- 
 out giving the headmaster time to answer, "on other evenings 
 you have nevertheless eaten almost the whole dish yourself." 
 
 Big Michu crimsoned to the roots of his hair. That even- 
 ing they simply sent us off to bed, with the remark that we 
 would perhaps think better of it on the morrow. 
 
STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 The next day and the day following, Big Michu was terrible. 
 The usher's observation had wounded him to the heart. He 
 encouraged us. He told us we should be cowards if we gave 
 in. He now put all his pride in showing that when he chose 
 not to eat, he did not do so. 
 
 He was a real martyr. We others, we hid chocolate, pots of 
 jam, even pork butcher's dainties, in our desks, and so avoided 
 eating the bread, with which we filled our pockets, dry. He 
 who had no relative in the town, and who, for that matter, 
 abstained from such delicacies, limited himself to the few 
 crusts he was able to find. 
 
 On the second day the headmaster having stated that, as the 
 pupils obstinately refused to touch the dishes, no more bread 
 would be supplied, the revolt burst out at noon. It was the 
 day for haricot beans with white sauce. 
 
 Big Michu, whose head must have been affected by his 
 frightful hunger, suddenly rose. He took the plate of the 
 usher, who was eating with a famous appetite, to set us at 
 defiance and excite our envy, threw it into the middle of 
 the room, and then burst out singing the " Marseillaise " in a 
 powerful voice. It was like the blast of a trumpet setting us 
 all in action. Plates, glasses, bottles, had a bad time of it. 
 And the masters, striding over the breakage, hastened to leave 
 us in possession of the dining-hall. The puny creature of an 
 usher, in his flight, received a dish of haricot beans on his 
 shoulders, and the sauce made him a broad white collar. 
 
 It was a question, however, of fortifying the position. Big 
 Michu was appointed general. He ordered the tables to be 
 piled up against the doors. I remember we had all taken 
 our knives in our hands. And they were still thundering out 
 the "Marseillaise." The revolt was becoming a revolution. 
 Fortunately we were left to ourselves for three long hours. 
 Apparently the military had been sent for. Those three hours 
 of riot sufficed to calm us. 
 
 At the end of the dining-hall were two large windows look- 
 ing on to the playground. The most timid, horrified at the 
 long impunity granted us, softly opened one of the windows 
 and disappeared. They w ere followed by degrees by the other 
 
BIG MICHU 213 
 
 pupils. Soon after Big Michu had only about a dozen rebels 
 around him. Then he said to them roughly : 
 
 "Follow the others, a single culprit will suffice." 
 
 Then speaking to me, who was hesitating, he added : 
 
 " I give you back your word, do you hear ? " 
 
 When the military had burst open one of the doors, they 
 found Big Michu all alone, seated quietly at the end of a table, 
 in the midst of the broken crockery. He was sent home to 
 his father the same evening. For our part, we gained very 
 little by this revolt. They certainly avoided for some time 
 giving us haricot beans and codfish. Then the dishes reap- 
 peared ; only the codfish was done with white sauce, and the 
 haricot beans with browa 
 
 VI 
 
 It was a long time after that, when I saw Big Michu again. 
 He had not been able to continue his studies. He, in his 
 turn, was cultivating the few bits of land which his father had 
 left him when he died. 
 
 " I would have made a bad lawyer or a bad doctor," he said 
 to me, " for I had a very thick head. It's much better that 
 I should be a peasant. It's my trade. All the same you 
 others let me in beautifully. And I, as it so happened, 
 was particularly fond of codfish and haricot beans." 
 
THE FAST 
 
 When the vicar ascended the pulpit, in his ample surplice 
 of angelic whiteness, the little baroness was sanctimoniously 
 seated in her customary place, near a hot-air grating, opposite 
 the chapel of the Holy Angels. 
 
 After the usual meditation, the vicar delicately passed a fine 
 cambric handkerchief over his lips ; then, he opened his arms, 
 like a seraph about to take his flight, bent his head, and 
 spoke. First of all his voice seemed like a stream of running 
 water in the great nave, like an enormous sigh of the wind 
 amidst the leaves. And the puflf of wind gradually increased, 
 the breeze became a tempest, the voice rolled beneath the 
 arched roof with the majestic growl of thunder. But, never- 
 theless, the vicar's tone, from time to time, even in the midst 
 of his most formidable bursts of rhetoric, suddenly became 
 soft, casting a bright ray of sunshine into the gloomy hurri- 
 cane of his eloquence. 
 
 The little baroness, at the first buzz among the leaves, had 
 taken up the greedy and delighted attitude of a person of re-, 
 fined understanding, making ready to taste all the delicacy of 
 a symphony she loved. She seemed charmed at the exquisite 
 sweetness of the harmonious sentences at the commencement ; 
 she then followed the swelling of the voice, and the rising of 
 the final storm, husbanded with so much science, with the 
 attentiveness of a connoisseur; and when the voice had 
 reached its highest pitch, when it thundered, increased in 
 volume by the echoes of the nave, the little baroness was un- 
 able to restrain a discreet bravo and a nod of satisfaction. 
 
 Then there was celestial joy, and all devout persons were in 
 ecstacies. 
 
THE FAST 2 IS 
 
 II 
 
 The vicar, however, was saying something; his music 
 accompanied words. He was preaching on fasting, and was 
 relating how agreeable the mortifications of the creature were 
 to the Almighty. Bending over the edge of the pulpit, in the 
 attitude of a great white bird, he sighed : 
 
 " The hour has come, my brothers and sisters, when all of 
 us like Jesus should bear our cross, crown ourselves with 
 thorns, ascend our Calvary, with naked feet among the flints 
 and brambles." 
 
 The little baroness no doubt found the sentence nicely 
 turned, for she gently blinked her eyes, as if tickled at the 
 heart. Then, the vicar's symphony lulling her, she let her- 
 self fall into a semi-dreamy state, full of inward voluptuous- 
 ness, whilst following the melodious sentences. 
 
 Opposite her, she saw one of the long windows of the choir, 
 grey with fog. The rain could not have ceased. The dear 
 child had come to hear the sermon in most abominable 
 weather. One must of course suffer a little when one is reli- 
 gious. Her coachman had received a frightful downpour, and 
 she even, on jumping to the ground, had slightly wetted the 
 tips of her boots. Her miniature brougham, however, was an 
 excellent one, closing well and padded like an alcove. But 
 it is so sad to see, through the damp glasses, a line of busy 
 umbrellas, hurrying along on either pavement ! And she re- 
 flected that if it had been fine, she could have come out in her 
 victoria. That would have been much more gay. 
 
 At heart, her great fear was that the vicar might hurry 
 too quickly through his sermon. She would then have 
 to wait for her carriage, for she would certainly never con- 
 sent to pick her way in such weather. And she made the 
 calculation, that at the rate the vicar was going, his voice 
 would never hold out for two hours ; her coachman would get 
 there too late. This uneasiness somewhat troubled her pious 
 pleasure. 
 
2i6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 III 
 
 The vicar, with sudden outbursts of wrath which brought 
 him up erect, his hair all in a flutter, his fists stretched for- 
 ward, like a man troubled by the avenging spirit, thundered 
 forth : 
 
 " And above all woe to ye, sinners of the gentle sex, if you 
 do not pour the perfume of your remorse, the fragrant oil of 
 your repentance on the feet of Jesus. Believe me, tremble 
 and fall on both knees on the stone. It is by coming and 
 confining yourselves in the purgatory of penitence, opened by 
 the church during these days of universal contrition ; it is by 
 wearing down the flags with your foreheads pallid with fasting, 
 by becoming acquainted with the pangs of hunger and cold, 
 silence and darkness, that you will deserve divine pardon, on 
 the brilliant day of triumph ! " 
 
 The little baroness, drawn from her reverie by this terrible 
 explosion, slowly nodded her head, as if she were exactly of 
 the angry priest's opinion. One must secure birches, go into 
 some very dark, damp, icy corner, and there whip oneself; 
 there was no doubt about that in her mind. 
 
 Then she resumed her musings, and was lost in comfort and. 
 tender ecstacy. She was seated at her ease on a low chair with 
 a broad back, and had an embroidered cushion under her feet, 
 which prevented her feeling the cold stone flags. She was 
 leaning half back, enjoying the church, that great vessel per- 
 vaded with vapours of incense, and the secluded parts of which, 
 full of mysterious shadows, were becoming rich in dehghtful 
 visions. The nave, with its hangings in red velvet, its gold 
 and marble ornaments, its appearance of an immense boudoir 
 filled with disturbing perfumes, and lit with the subdued light 
 of a night lamp, closed and as if ready for superhuman love, 
 had gradually enveloped her with the charm of its pomp. 
 It was the festival of her senses. Her pretty, plump person, 
 flattered, petted, fondled, was indulging itself. And the 
 voluptuousness she tasted was due above all to her feeling 
 herself so small amidst such immense beatitude. 
 
 But without her being aware of it, what tickled her most 
 deliciously, was the warm breath from the hot-air grating which 
 
THE FAST 217 
 
 opened almost beneath her skirts. She was very chilly, was 
 the little baroness. The hot-air grating discreetly wafted its 
 warm caresses along her silk stockings. Drowsiness overtook 
 her in this delightful bath. 
 
 IV 
 
 The vicar was still full of wrath. He plunged all the devout 
 persons who were present into the boiUng oil of hell. 
 
 " If you listen not to the voice of God, if you listen not to 
 my voice, which is that of God Himself, I tell you truly, you 
 will one day hear with anguish the crackling of your bones, 
 you will feel your flesh melting on burning coal, and then you 
 will cry out in vain : ' Pity, Lord, pity, I repent i ' God will 
 be merciless, and will kick you back into the bottomless pit ! " 
 
 At this last sentence a shudder ran through the congrega- 
 tion. The little baroness, who was decidedly going to sleep 
 under the influence of the warm air, which circulated 
 among her skirts, smiled vaguely. She knew the vicar very 
 well, did the little baroness. He had been her guest at dinner 
 on the previous evening. He was extremely partial to truffled 
 salmon pitd, and pomard was his favourite wine. He was 
 certainly a handsome man, between thirty-five and forty, dark, 
 with a visage so round and so rosy, that one would have had no 
 difficulty in taking his priestly countenance for the merry face 
 of a servant girl on a farm. He was also a society man, played 
 a good knife and fork, and had a smart tongue. He was 
 adored by the women, and the little baroness was passionately 
 fond of him. He said to her in such a delightfully sugary 
 voice : " Ah ! madam, with such a toilette, you would damn 
 a saint." 
 
 And he did not damn himself, the dear man. He ran about 
 serving out the same polite attention to the countess, the 
 marchioness, and his other penitents, and that made him the 
 spoilt child of the ladies. 
 
 When he was the guest of the little baroness, of a Thursday, 
 she took care of him as if he were some dear creature to 
 whom the least draught might give a cold, and to whom a bad 
 dish would certainly give an indigestion. In the drawing- 
 room his arm-chair was beside the fireplace; at table, the 
 
2i8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 servants had orders to keep a careful eye on his plate, to pour 
 out a certain pomard, aged twelve years, to him alone, and he 
 drank it, and he drank it closing his eyes fervently, as if he had 
 been taking the communion. 
 
 He was so good, so good, was the vicar ! Whilst from the 
 height of the pulpit he spoke of crackling bones and of limbs 
 being grilled, the little baroness in her semi-state of slumber, 
 saw him at her table, sanctimoniously wiping his lips and say- 
 ing to her : " This bisque soup, madam, would cause you to 
 find grace with God the Father, had not your beauty already 
 sufficed to ensure your entry into paradise." 
 
 When the vicar had done with anger and threats he began 
 to sob. Those were his usual tactics. He would be almost on 
 his knees in the pulpit, showing only his shoulders, tlien, all 
 at once, he would rise up, then bend, as if struck down by grief, 
 wipe his eyes, with a loud crumpling sound of starched muslin, 
 throw his arms up in the air, to the right and left, and take 
 the postures of a wounded pelican. That was tht bouquet, 
 the final, the grand orchestral piece, the exciting scene of the 
 catastrophe. 
 
 "Weep, weep," he said tearfully in an expiring voice j 
 " weep on yourselves, weep on me, weep on God " 
 
 The little baroness was fast asleep, with her eyes open. The 
 heat, the incense, the increasing obscurity had quite overcome 
 her. She had gathered herself up into a ball, and was entirely 
 absorbed with the voluptuous sensations she experienced, 
 whilst slyly dreaming of very pleasant things. 
 
 Beside her, in the chapel of the Holy Angels, was a great 
 fresco, representing a group of handsome, half-nude young 
 men, with wings at their backs. They smiled with a smile of 
 bashful lovers, and in their inclining, kneeling attitudes, seemed 
 to be worshipping some invisible baroness. The handsome 
 fellows had tender lips, skins as soft as satin, and muscular 
 arms ! The worst of it was that one of them bore a striking 
 
 resemblance to the young Duke de P , one of the little 
 
 baroness' good friends. She was wondering, in her sleep, 
 whether the duke would look well in the nude, with wings 
 
THE FAST 2T9 
 
 at his back ? And at times she imagined the great pink cherub 
 was wearing the duke's swallow-tail coat. Then the dream 
 became more distinct : it was really the duke, very scantily 
 clad, who, from the depth of darkness, was blowing her kisses. 
 
 When the little baroness awoke she heard the vicar pro- 
 nouncing the final sentence : 
 
 " And that is the grace I wish you." 
 
 For a moment she was bewildered ; she thought the vicar 
 was wishing her the young duke's kisses. 
 
 There was a great noise with chairs. Every one left ; the 
 little baroness had guessed correctly, her coachman had not 
 yet arrived at the bottom of the steps. That devil of a vicar 
 had hurried on his sermon, robbing his penitents of at least 
 twenty minutes' eloquence. 
 
 And as the little baroness was waiting impatiently in one of 
 the aisles, she met the vicar, who was precipitately leaving the 
 vestry. He was looking for the time at his watch, and had the 
 busy air of a man who does not wish to miss an appointment. 
 
 " Ah ! how late I am, dear madam," he said. " You know 
 I am expected by the countess. There is a spiritual concert, 
 followed by a small collation." 
 
THE SHOULDERS OF THE 
 MARCHIONESS 
 
 The marchioness sleeps in her great bed, beneath ample 
 yellow satin curtains. At noon, at the smart stroke of the 
 clock, she decides on opening her eyes. 
 
 The room is warm. The carpets, the hangings over the 
 doors and windows, make it a soft nest, which defies the cold. 
 It is pervaded by warmth and perfumery, and is like everlast- 
 ing spring. 
 
 And, so soon as the marchioness is well awake, she seems a 
 victim to sudden anxiety. She casts off the bedclothes and 
 rings for Julie. 
 
 " Did madam ring ? " 
 
 "Tell me, does it thaw?" 
 
 Oh! good marchioness! in what a troubled tone did she 
 make this inquiry I Her first thought is about the terrible 
 cold weather, the north wind which she does not feel, but 
 which blows so keenly in the hovels of the poor. And she 
 asks if Heaven has been merciful, whether she can allow her- 
 self to be warm without remorse, without thinking of all those 
 who shiver. 
 
 " Does it thaw, Julie ? " 
 
 Her lady's maid hands her the morning peignoir, which she 
 has just been warming in front of a good fire. 
 
 "Oh, no, madam, it does not thaw. On the contrary it 
 freezes harder — they have just found a man frozen to death on 
 the top of an omnibus." 
 
 The marchioness is as merry as a child; she claps her 
 hands, exclaiming: 
 
 " Ah 1 so much the better ! I'll go skating this afternoon." 
 
THE SHOULDERS OF THE MARCHIONESS 221 
 
 II 
 
 Julie softly draws back the curtains, so that the sudden 
 daylight may not hurt the tender sight of the delicious mar- 
 chioness. 
 
 The room is filled with the bluish reflex of the snow which 
 conveys quite a gay light to it. The sky is grey, but it is such 
 a pretty grey that it reminds the marchioness of a pearl-grey 
 silk gown she wore, the previous evening, at the ministerial 
 ball. This gown was trimmed with white guipure, similar to 
 the streaks of snow she perceives at the edge of the roofs, 
 against the pale sky. 
 
 The previous evening she had been charming with her new 
 diamonds. She had gone to bed at five o'clock, and her head 
 was still a bit heavy. However, she has seated herself before 
 a glass, and Julie has raised her mass of fair hair. The peig- 
 noir slips down, and the shoulders remain bare to the centre 
 of her back. 
 
 A whole generation has already grown old gazing on the 
 marchioness' shoulders. Since ladies of a merry disposition, 
 thanks to a powerful government, have been able to wear low- 
 neck, gowns and dance at the Tuileries, she has trotted her 
 shoulders through the crowded drawing-rooms of the official 
 world, with an assiduity that has made her the living signboard 
 of the charms of the Second Empire. She has been obliged 
 to follow the fashion and cut down her gowns, now to the 
 small of the back, now to the centre of the bosom ; so that 
 the dear woman, dimple by dimple, has shown all the treasures 
 of her bodice. There is hardly a bit of her back and bosom 
 that is unknown, from the Madeleine to Saint Thomas d'Aquin. 
 The so widely displayed shoulders of the marchioness are the 
 voluptuous coat of arms of the reign. 
 
 Ill 
 
 It would certainly be of no use to describe the marchioness' 
 shoulders. They are as well known as the Pont Neuf. For 
 eighteen years they have formed part of the public shows. It 
 suffices to catch sight of the smallest part of them in a draw- 
 
223 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 ing-room, at the theatre, or elsewhere, to exclaim : " By Jove ! 
 the marchioness ! I know her by the beauty spot on her left 
 shoulder ! " 
 
 They are very fine shoulders, for the matter of that, white, 
 plump, provoking. The gaze of a government passing over 
 them has increased their delicacy, somewhat in the way of 
 those flagstones which are eventually polished by the feet of 
 the crowd. 
 
 If I were the husband or lover, I would sooner go and kiss 
 the glass door knob of a minister's private room, worn by the 
 hands of favour-hunters, than graze with my lips those shoul- 
 ders on which the warm breath of all gallant Paris has passed. 
 When one thinks of the thousands of desires they have 
 awakened, one wonders what sort of clay nature employed in 
 kneading them, in order that they might not be eaten away 
 and crumble into dust, like those nudities of statues exposed 
 to the open air of the gardens, and of which the outline has 
 been devoured by the winds. 
 
 The marchioness has placed her modesty elsewhere. She 
 has made her shoulders an institution. And how she has 
 struggled for the government of her choice ! Always on the 
 breach, everywhere at once, at the Tuileries, with the ministers, 
 in the embassies, with simple millionaires, convincing the un- 
 decided with smiles, propping up the throne with her alabaster 
 breasts, displaying in times of danger little hidden and delicious 
 corners, more persuasive than the arguments of orators, more 
 decisive than the swords of soldiers, and threatening, in order 
 to gain a vote, to cut down her chemisettes until the most 
 ferocious members of the opposition acknowledge themselves 
 vanquished. 
 
 The shoulders of the marchioness have always remained 
 entire and victorious. They have supported a world, without 
 a wrinkle ever having come to spoil their marble whiteness. 
 
 IV 
 
 When the marchioness left Julie's hands this afternoon, 
 attired in a delicious Polish toilette, she went skating. She 
 skates adorably. 
 
 It was bitterly cold in the wood, and there was a north wind 
 
THE SHOULDERS OF THE MARCHIONESS 223 
 
 which nipped the noses and lips of the ladies, as if fine sand 
 were being blown into their faces. The marchioness laughed, 
 and was amused at feeling cold. From time to time she went 
 and warmed her feet at the brasiers that had been lighted on 
 the shores of the little lake. Then she returned to the icy air, 
 skimming along like a swallow grazing the ground. 
 
 Ah ! what delightful sport, and how lucky it is there is no 
 thaw 1 The marchioness will be able to skate all the week. 
 
 The marchioness, on her way home, noticed a wretched 
 woman in one of the side avenues of the Champs Elysdes, 
 shivering, half dead with cold, at the foot of a tree. 
 
 " Poor thing ! " she murmured, as if annoyed. 
 
 And as the carriage was going too quick, and the mar- 
 chioness could not find her purse, she threw her bouquet to 
 the poverty-stricken creature, a bouquet of white lilac quite 
 worth five louis. 
 
MY NEIGHBOUR JACQUES 
 
 I WAS then living in the Rue Gracieuse, the garret of my 
 twenty summers. The Rue Gracieuse is a steep lane, which 
 descends from the knoll of Saint Victor, behind the Jardin des 
 Plantes. 
 
 I ascended two floors — houses are low in those parts — 
 assisting myself with a cord so as not to slip on the worn 
 stairs, and I thus reached my hovel in most absolute obscurity. 
 The room, which was large and cold, had the naked and 
 dim aspect of a vault. I have experienced brilliant sunlight, 
 however, amidst this darkness, and there were days when my 
 heart was beaming. 
 
 On those occasions the merry laughter of a little girl reached 
 me from the adjoining garret, which was peopled by a whole 
 family, father, mother, and a brat seven or eight years old. 
 
 The father had an angular appearance, and a head placed 
 askant between two pointed shoulders. His bony face was 
 yellow, with big black eyes deeply set beneath bushy eyebrows. 
 This man, notwithstanding his lugubrious appearance, pre- 
 served a good, timid smile ; any one would have set him down 
 as a big child of fifty, for he became troubled and blushed 
 like a girl. He sought the dark, and gUded along the walls 
 with the humility of a pardoned convict 
 
 A few greetings exchanged between us, had made a friend of 
 him. His strange features, which bore the imprint of a rest- 
 less, good-natured look, pleased me. Little by little, we had 
 come to shaking hands. 
 
MY NEIGHBOUR JACQUES 225 
 
 II 
 
 At the end of six months, I was still ignorant as to what 
 was the calling that gave Jacques and his family bread. He 
 spoke little. I had certainly, in a purely disinterested way, 
 questioned his wife on two or three occasions; but I had 
 only received evasive answers which she stammered out with 
 embarrassment 
 
 One day — it had rained the previous night, and my heart 
 was aching — as I was descending the Boulevard d'Enfer, I 
 noticed one of those pariahs of the working classes of Paris 
 advancing towards me, a man attired in black raiment and a 
 black hat, wearing a white necktie and carrying under his arm 
 the narrow coffin of a new-born babe. 
 
 He was walking with lowered head, holding his light bur- 
 den with dreamy unconcern, kicking the pebbles before him 
 on the road. It was a dull morning. This passing sadness 
 gave me pleasure. The man raised his head at the sound of 
 my footsteps, then quickly turned it aside, but too late : I had 
 recognised him. My neigl; our Jacques was an undertaker's 
 man. 
 
 I watched him disappear, ashamed of his shame. I felt 
 sorry I had not taken the other side of the street. He pro- 
 ceeded on his way, hanging his head still lower, and no doubt 
 saying to himself that he had just lost the grasp of the hand 
 we exchanged each evening. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I met him next day on the stairs. He stood timidly up 
 against the wall, making himself small, small, humbly holding 
 back the folds of his blouse, so that it might not touch my 
 garments. He stood there bowed down, and I perceived that 
 his poor hoary head was shaking with emotion. 
 
 I stopped, looked him in the face, and extended my hand 
 to him, wide open. 
 
 He raised his head, hesitated, and in his turn looked me in 
 the face. I saw his great eyes become troubled, and his sallow 
 countenance showing red spots. Then, suddenly taking my 
 
226 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 arm, he accompanied me to my garret, where he at length 
 recovered speech. 
 
 "You are an honest young fellow," he said to me; "the 
 grasp of your hand has made me forget many a sour look." 
 
 And he took a seat and unbosomed himself to me. He 
 confessed that before being in the business, he felt, like others, 
 uncomfortable when he met an undertaker's man. But since 
 then, in his long journeys, amidst the silence of the funeral 
 procession, he had thought the thing over, and was astounded 
 at the disgust and fear he awakened on his way. 
 
 I was then twenty, and would have hugged an executioner. 
 I launched out into philosophical reflections, and sought to 
 prove to my neighbour Jacques that his work was sacred. But 
 he shrugged his pointed shoulders, silently rubbed his hands, 
 and, resuming his slow and embarrassed tone of voice, said : 
 
 " The gossip of the neighbourhood, you see, sir, the savage 
 looks of the passers-by trouble me little, so long as my wife and 
 child have bread. One thing worries me. I can't sleep at 
 night when I think of it. My wife and myself are elderly 
 people, who care no more for shame. But young girls are 
 ambitious. My poor Marthe will blush for me later on. When 
 she was five years of age she saw one of my companions, and 
 she cried so, and was so frightened that I have never dared 
 put on the black cloak before her. I dress and undress on 
 the stairs. 
 
 I felt pity for my neighbour Jacques. I suggested to him 
 that he should leave his clothes in my room, and come and 
 put them on at ease, out of the cold. He took all kinds of 
 precautions to remove his forbidding garments to my lodging. 
 I saw him regularly from that day, morning and night He 
 dressed and undressed in a corner of my attic. 
 
 IV 
 
 I had an old trunk that was worm-eaten and crumbling 
 away to dust. My neighbour Jacques made it his wardrobe ; 
 he laid newspapers at the bottom of it, and carefully folded up 
 his black clothes on them. 
 
 Sometimes, at night, when nightmare awoke me with a 
 start, I cast an affrighted look at the old trunk, which stood 
 
MY NEIGHBOUR JACQUES 227 
 
 against the wall like a coffin, and I fancied I saw the hat, the 
 black cloak, and white necktie issue from it. 
 
 The hat rolled round my bed, snoring and jumping with 
 little starts ; the cloak expanded, and, flapping its folds like 
 great black wings, silently flew about the room, displaying 
 all its breadth ; the white necktie became longer and longer, 
 then began to creep slowly towards me with head erect and 
 wriggling tail. 
 
 I opened ray eyes immoderately wide, and perceived the 
 old trunk standing motionless and dark in its corner. 
 
 I was constantly having dreams at that time, dreams of love 
 and also dreams that were sad. My nightmare gave me plea- 
 sure; I liked my neighbour Jacques, because he lived among 
 the dead, and brought me the acrid odours of the cemeteries. 
 He had told me secrets, and I was penning the first pages of 
 " The Reminiscences of an Undertaker's Man." 
 
 In the evening, before my neighbour Jacques undressed, he 
 sat down on the old trunk to give me an account of his day. 
 He was very fond of talking of his dead people. One time it 
 was a young girl — the poor child, who had died of consumption, 
 did not weigh heavy ; another time it was an old man — this old 
 man, whose coffin had strained his arms, was a big, fat func- 
 tionary, who must have carried away his gold with him in his 
 pockets. And I had private details about each corpse ; I 
 knew their weight, the noises that had proceeded from their 
 coffins, the way in which they had had to be carried down, 
 at the turns of the staircases. Some evenings my neighbour 
 Jacques came home more talkative and with a beaming face. 
 He leant against the walls, with his cloak hooked over his 
 shoulder, his hat on the back of his head. He had come 
 across generous heirs, who had treated him to "the quarts 
 of wine and piece of Brie cheese of consolation." And he 
 ended by displaying tender feelings. He vowed to me that 
 when the time came, he would carry me to my grave with all 
 the kindly consideration of a friend. 
 
2 28 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 I lived thus for more than a year, with my attention taken 
 up with the dead. 
 
 One morning my neighbour Jacques failed to make his 
 appearance. A week later, he was dead. 
 
 When two of his companions removed the body, I was on 
 the threshold of my door, and heard them joking as they 
 carried down the cofBn, which seemed to make a sullen 
 remonstrance at each knock it received. 
 
 One of them, a little fat fellow, said to the other, who was 
 tall and thin : 
 
 "The biter's bit" 
 
THE PARADISE OF CATS 
 
 An aunt bequeathed me an Angora cat, which is certainly 
 the most stupid animal I know of. This is what my cat 
 related to me, one winter night, before the warm embers. 
 
 I was then two years old, and I was certainly the fattest and 
 most simple cat any one could have seen. Even at that tender 
 age I displayed all the presumption of an animal that scorns 
 the attractions of the fireside. And yet what gratitude I owed 
 to Providence for having placed me with your aunt 1 The 
 worthy woman idolised me. I had a regular bedroom at the 
 bottom of a cupboard, with a feather pillow and a triple-folded 
 rug. The food was as good as the bed ; no bread or soup, 
 nothing but meat, good underdone meat. 
 
 Well ! amidst all these comforts, I had but one wish, but one 
 dream, to slip out by the half-open window, and run away on 
 to the tiles. Caresses appeared to me insipid, the softness of 
 my bed disgusted me, I was so fat that I felt sick, and from 
 morn till eve I experienced the weariness of being happy. 
 
 I must tell you that by straining my neck I had perceived 
 the opposite roof from the window. That day four cats 
 were fighting there. With bristling coats and tails in the air, 
 ihey were rolling on the blue slates, in the full sun, amidst 
 oaths of joy. I had never witnessed such an extraordinary 
 sight. From that moment my convictions were settled. Real 
 happiness was upon that roof, in front of that window which 
 the people of the house so carefully closed. I found the proof 
 of this in the way in which they shut the doors of the cupboards 
 where the meat was hidden. 
 
230 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 I made up my mind to fly. I felt sure there were other 
 things in life than underdone meat. There was the unknown, 
 the ideal. One day they forgot to close the kitchen window. 
 I sprang on to a small roof beneath it. 
 
 II 
 
 How beautiful the roofs were ! They were bordered by 
 broad gutters exhaling delicious odours. I followed those 
 gutters in raptures of delight, my feet sinking into fine 
 mud, which was deliciously warm and soft. I fancied I was 
 walking on velvet. And the generous heat of the sun melted 
 my fat 
 
 I will not conceal from you the fact that I was trembling in 
 every limb. My delight was mingled with terror. I remem- 
 ber, particularly, experiencing a terrible shock that almost 
 made me tumble down into the street. Three cats came 
 rolling over from the top of a house towards me, mewing most 
 frightfully, and as I was on the point of fainting away, they 
 called me a silly thing, and said they were mewing for fun. 
 I began mewing with them. It was charming. The jolly 
 fellows had none of my stupid fat. When I slipped on the 
 sheets of zinc heated by the burning sun, they laughed at me. 
 An old torn, who was one of the band, showed me particular 
 friendship. He offered to teach me a thing or two, and 
 I gratefully accepted. Ah! your aunt's cat's meat was far 
 from my thoughts! I drank in the gutters, and never had 
 sugared milk seemed so sweet to me. Everything appeared 
 nice and beautiful. A she-cat passed by, a charming she-cat, 
 the sight of her gave me a feeling I had never experienced 
 before. Hitherto, I had only seen these exquisite creatures, 
 with such delightfully supple backbones, in my dreams. 
 I and my three companions rushed forward to meet the new- 
 comer. I was in front of the others, and was about to pay 
 my respects to the bewitching thing, when one of my comrades 
 cruelly bit my neck. I cried out with pain. 
 
 "Bah!" said the old tom, leading me away; "you will 
 meet with stranger adventures than that" 
 
THE PARADISE OF CATS 231 
 
 III 
 
 After an hour's walk I felt as hungry as a wolf. 
 
 " What do you eat on the roofs ? " I inquired of my friend 
 the torn. 
 
 "What you can find," he answered shrewdly. 
 
 This reply caused me some embarrassment, for though 
 I carefully searched I found nothing. At last I perceived a 
 young work-girl in a garret preparing her lunch. A beautiful 
 chop of a tasty red colour was lying on a table under the 
 window. 
 
 " There's the very thing I want," I thought, in all simplicity. 
 
 And I sprang on to the table and took the chop. But the 
 work-girl, having seen me, struck me a fearful blow with a 
 broom on the spine, and I fled, uttering a dreadful oath. 
 
 "You are fresh from your village then?" said the torn. 
 " Meat that is on tables is there for the purpose of being 
 longed for at a distance. You must search in the gutters." 
 
 I could never understand that kitchen meat did not belong 
 to cats. My stomach was beginning to get seriously angry. 
 The torn put me completely to despair by telling me it would 
 be necessary to wait until night. Then we would go down 
 into the street and turn over the heaps of muck. Wait until 
 night I He said it quietly, like a hardened philosopher. I 
 felt myself fainting at the mere thought of this prolonged fast. 
 
 IV 
 
 Night came slowly, a foggy night that chilled me to the 
 bones. It soon began to rain, a fine, penetrating rain, driven 
 by sudden gusts of wind. We went down along the glazed 
 roof of a staircase. How ugly the street appeared to me ! It 
 was no longer that nice heat, that beautiful sun, those roofs 
 white with light where one rolled about so deliciously. My 
 paws slipped on the greasy stones. I sorrowfully recalled to 
 memory my triple blanket and feather pillow. 
 
 We were hardly in the street when my friend the torn began 
 to tremble. He made himself small, very small, and ran 
 Stealthily along beside the houses, telling me to follow as 
 
232 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 rapidly as possible. He rushed in at the first street door he 
 came to, and purred with satisfaction as he sought refuge there. 
 When I questioned him as to the motive of his flight, he 
 answered : 
 
 " Did you see that man with a basket on his back and a 
 stick with an iron hook at the end ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well I if he had seen us he would have knocked us on the 
 heads and roasted us ! " 
 
 " Roasted us 1 " I exclaimed. " Then the street is not ours ? 
 One can't eat, but one's eaten ! " 
 
 However, the boxes of kitchen refuse had been emptied 
 before the street doors. I rummaged in the heaps in despair. 
 I came across two or three bare bones that had been lying 
 among the cinders, and I then understood what a succulent 
 dish fresh cat's meat made. My friend the tom scratched 
 artistically among the muck. He made me run about until 
 morning, inspecting each heap, and without showing the least 
 hurry. I was out in the rain for more than ten hours, shiver- 
 ing in every limb. Cursed street, cursed liberty, and how 
 I regretted my prison ! 
 
 At dawn the tom, seeing I was staggering, said to me with a 
 strange air : 
 
 " Have you had enough of it ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," I answered. 
 
 "Do you want to go home?" 
 
 "I do, indeed; but how shall I find the house?" 
 
 " Come along. This morning, when I saw you come out, 
 I understood that a fat cat like you was not made for the 
 lively delights of liberty. I know your place of abode and will 
 take you to the door." 
 
 The worthy tom said this very quietly. When we had 
 arrived, he bid me "Good-bye," without betraying the least 
 emotion. 
 
 " No," I exclaimed, " we will not leave each other so. You 
 must accompany me. We will share the same bed and the 
 same food. My mistress is a good woman " 
 
THE PARADISE OF CATS 233 
 
 He would not allow me to finish my sentence. 
 
 " Hold your tongue," he said sharply, " you are a simpleton. 
 Your eflfeminate existence would kill me. Your life of plenty 
 is good for bastard cats. Free cats would never purchase your 
 cat's meat and feather pillow at the price of a prison. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 And he returned up on to the roofs, where I saw his long 
 outline quiver with joy in the rays of the rising sun. 
 
 When I got in, your aunt took the whip and gave me a 
 thrashing which I received with profound delight. I tasted 
 in full measure the pleasure of being beaten and being warm. 
 Whilst she was striking me, I thought with rapture of the meat 
 she would give me afterwards. 
 
 VI 
 
 You see — concluded my cat, stretching itself out in front of 
 the embers — real happiness, paradise, my dear master, consists 
 in being shut up and beaten in a room where there is meat 
 
 I am speaking from the point of view of cats. 
 
LILI 
 
 You come from the fields, Ninon, from real fields with their 
 broad views and penetrating fragrance. You are not so silly 
 as to immure yourself in a casino, at some fashionable water- 
 ing-place. You go where the crowd does not go, to some 
 leafy nook in the heart of Burgundy. Your retreat is a white 
 house, hidden like a nest amidst the trees. It is there that 
 you pass your springs, in the healthy open air. And thus, 
 when you return to me for a few days, your dear friends are 
 astonished at your cheeks which are as fresh as your hawthorn 
 blossoms, and at your lips as red as your sweet-briar. 
 
 But your mouth is all sugary, and I would vow that no later 
 than yesterday you were eating cherries. You see you are not 
 a little lady afraid of wasps and brambles. You walk along 
 bravely in the full glare of the sun, knowing very well that 
 your sunburnt neck is as transparent as clear amber. And you 
 run about the fields in a cotton gown and broad-brimmed hat 
 like a peasant girl who loves the land. You cut the fruit with 
 your little embroidery scissors, performing but a slight task, it 
 is true, but working with all your heart and returning home, 
 proud of the rosy scratches the thistles have left on your white 
 hands. 
 
 What will you do next winter? Nothing. You will feel 
 dull, will you not ? You are not fond of a fashionable life. 
 Do you remember that ball I took you to one night? You 
 had bare shoulders and were shivering in the carriage. It 
 was stifling hot beneath the raw light of the chandeliers. 
 You remained sitting back in your arm-chair, suppressing 
 little yawns behind your fan. Ah ! how dull it was ! And, 
 when we returned, you murmured, showing me your faded 
 bouquet : 
 
 «34 
 
LILI 235 
 
 " Look at these poor flowers. I should die like them, if I 
 lived in that hot air. What has become of you, my dear 
 spring ? " 
 
 We'll go to no more balls, Ninon. We'll stay at home at 
 our fireside. We'll love one another ; and, when we're weary 
 of that, we'll still love one another. 
 
 I remember your exclamation of the other day : " Really 
 women are very indolent." I thought all day of that avowal. 
 Man has taken all the work and has left you dangerous reverie. 
 Wrong is the result of much musing. What can one think of 
 when embroidering all day ? One builds castles in the air or 
 one falls asleep like the Sleeping Beauty whilst awaiting the 
 kisses of the first knight who may pass along the road. 
 
 "My father," you have often said to me, "was a worthy 
 man, who let me grow up at home. I did not learn wrong 
 after the manner of those delicious dolls who, at the boarding- 
 school, hide their cousins' letters in their prayer-books. I have 
 never confused God with a bogie, and I confess I have always 
 had more dread of causing ray father pain than of being 
 cooked in the devil's caldrons. I must tell you, also, that 
 I bow naturally, without having studied the art of making 
 curtsies ; my dancing-master, moreover, did not teach me to 
 cast down my eyes, to smile, or to lie with my face ; I am 
 absolutely unfamihar with those grimaces of coquettes which 
 form the most important part of the education of a well-born 
 young lady. I have grown freely, like a vigorous plant That 
 is why the air of Paris makes me gasp for breath." 
 
 II 
 
 Recently, on one of those rare fine afternoons that spring 
 reserves for us, I found myself seated in the Tuileries gardens 
 in the slender shade of the great chestnut trees. Children 
 were at play, breaking the dull rumbling sound in the adjoin- 
 ing streets with their shrill laughter. 
 
 My eyes ended by resting on a little girl, six or seven years 
 of age, whose young mother was in conversation with a friend 
 a few steps away from me. She was a fair-haired child, reach- 
 ing a little higher than my knee, and already had the manners 
 of a young lady. She was wearing one of those delicious 
 
236 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 toilettes in which Parisians alone know how to deck their 
 children: a puffed pink silk skirt, showing legs encased in 
 pearl-grey stockings ; a low-neck bodice, trimmed with lace ; 
 a toque with white feathers ; for jewels a coral necklace and 
 bracelet. She resembled her mamma, with a little extra dose 
 of coquetry. 
 
 She had succeeded in obtaining possession of her mamma's 
 sunshade, and was walking gravely about with it open, 
 although there was not the smallest stream of sunshine 
 under the trees. She was practising walking lightly, gliding 
 gracefully along as she had seen grown-up persons do. She 
 was unaware that she was being watched. She was rehearsing 
 her part quite conscientiously, trying different expressions of 
 countenance, graceful pouts, learning movements of the head, 
 glances, smiles. She ended by getting to the trunk of an old 
 chestnut tree, to which she very seriously made half a dozen 
 low bows. 
 
 She was a little woman. I was really terrified at her self- 
 assurance and knowledge. She was not seven, and was 
 already familiar with the arts of an enchantress. It is only at 
 Paris that one meets with such precocious little girls, who 
 know how to dance before they can say their alphabet 
 I remember the country children; they are clumsy and un- 
 wieldy; they crawl stupidly along the ground. There is no 
 fear of Lili spoiling her beautiful dress; she prefers not to 
 play; she carries herself very upright in her starched petti- 
 coats, finding her pleasure in being looked at, and in hearing 
 people around her exclaim ; " Ah ! what a charming child ! " 
 
 In the meantime Lili was still bowing to the trunk of the 
 old chestnut. All at once I saw her draw herself up and make 
 ready; the sunsh\3.de on a slope, her lips wreathed in smiles, and 
 with rather a giddy air about her. I was not long in under- 
 standing what it all meant. Another little girl, a brunette in a 
 green skirt, was advancing along the broad walk. She was a 
 friend, and it was a question of meeting her in the most elegant 
 manner possible. 
 
 The two children slightly touched each other's hand, and 
 made the grimaces which are usual among ladies in the same 
 station of life. When they had gone through the customary 
 polite inquiries, they began walking side by side, conversing in 
 shrill voices. There was no question of playing. 
 
LILI 237 
 
 " You have a very pretty gown there." 
 
 " The trimming is Valencienne lace, is it not ? " 
 
 " Mamma was unwell this morning. I was very much afraid 
 I should be unable to come, as I promised you." 
 
 " Have you seen Thdrfese's doll ? She has a magnificent 
 trousseau." 
 
 "Is that sunshade yours ? It is beautiful" 
 
 Lili turned very red. She was showing off with her mamma's 
 sunshade because she perceived she eclipsetl her friend, who 
 had none. The latter's question embarrassed her, as she saw 
 that if she told the truth she wpuld be vanquished. 
 
 " Yes," she answered graciously. " It was papa who made 
 me a present of it." 
 
 That was the finishing stroke. She understood how to lie, 
 as she understood how to be beautiful. She could grow up 
 now; she was ignorant of nothing it was necessary to know 
 to be a pretty woman. When girls have such educations how 
 can poor husbands sleep in peace ? 
 
 At that moment a little boy of eight passed by, dragging along 
 a waggon loaded with stones. He was uttering terrible gees ! 
 acting the carter ; he was playing with all his heart, and as he 
 passed by Lili he almost knocked up against her. 
 
 " How brutal a man is ! " she said disdainfully. " Observe 
 the disorder of that child's dress ! " 
 
 The young ladies laughed contemptuously. The child must 
 certainly have appeared a very little boy to them to play at 
 horses in this way. Twenty years hence, if one of them marries 
 him, she will always treat him with the superiority of a woman 
 who knew how to wield a sunshade at seven, whereas at that 
 age he only knew how to tear his breeches. 
 
 Lili had resumed her stroll, after having carefully arranged 
 the folds of her skirt. 
 
 "Just look," she continued, "at that great booby of a girl 
 in a white frock over there, who looks bored to death. The 
 other day she sent to me to ask if I would allow her to be 
 introduced to me. Only fancy, my dear, the daughter of a 
 small clerk. I refused, as you may suppose ; one ought not to 
 compromise oneself." 
 
 Lili pouted like an offended princess. Her friend was 
 decidedly beaten. She had no sunshade, and no one had as 
 yet begged the favour of being presented to her. She lost her 
 
238 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 colour like a woman who is present at a rival's triumph. 
 She had passed her arm round Lili's waist, endeavouring to 
 crumple her frocli behind, without her perceiving it. And she 
 smiled at her, moreover, with an adorable smile, displaying 
 little white teeth that were ready to bite. 
 
 As they walked away from their mothers, they at last 
 noticed I was watching them. From that moment they be- 
 came more sugary, and put on the coquettish airs of young 
 ladies who wish to deserve and engage attention. A gentle- 
 man was there looking at them. Ah I daughters of Eve, the 
 devil tempts you at the cradle ! 
 
 Then, they burst out laughing. A detail of my toilette must 
 have surprised, have appeared very comical to them ; it was 
 no doubt my hat, the shape of which had ceased to be the 
 fashion. They were making fun of me, literally ; they were 
 joking, with their hands before their mouths, retaining their 
 peals of laughter as ladies do in drawing-rooms. At length 
 I felt ashamed, I reddened, and was at a loss to know what to 
 do with myself. And I ran away, leaving the field in pos- 
 session of these two brats, who had all the gaiety and strange 
 looks of grown-up women. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ah I Ninon, Ninon, take those girls away to the farms, dress 
 them in brown hoUand and let them roll about in the pools 
 where the ducks dabble. They will return as stupid as geese, 
 as healthy and strong as young trees. When we marry them, 
 we will teach them to love us. They will know quite enough. 
 
THE LEGEND OF CUPID'S LITTLE 
 BLUE MANTLE 
 
 I 
 
 The beautiful girl with auburn hair was born on a December 
 morning, as the pure snow was slowly falling. There were 
 positive signs in the air which proclaimed the mission of love 
 she came to perform ; the sun shone pink on the white snow, 
 and over the roofs passed the perfume of lilac and the songs 
 of birds, as in springtime. 
 
 She first saw daylight in a hovel, no doubt out of a feeling 
 of humility, so as to show that the only riches she prized were 
 those of the heart. She had no family, she could love all 
 humanity, having arms that were sufficiently lithe to embrace 
 the whole world. As soon as she reached the age of love, she 
 left the obscurity where she had been collecting her thoughts, 
 and began to walk along the highways and byways, seeking the 
 hungry, whom she satisfied with her glances. 
 
 She was a tall, well-developed girl, with black eyes and ruby 
 lips. Her flesh was of a dull, pale tint, and was covered with 
 a slight down which gave her skin the appearance of white 
 velvet. When she walked her body swayed gently to and fro. 
 
 She had understood, on leaving the straw where she was 
 born, that it was part of her mission to attire herself in silk 
 and lace. Nature had gifted her with white teeth and rosy 
 cheeks ; she was able to find necklaces of pearls as pure as the 
 former, and skirts that were pink like the latter. 
 
 And when she was equipped, it was nice to meet her on 
 the foot-paths, on bright May mornings. Her heart and lips 
 were at the service of all who came forward. When she 
 found a beggar at the edge of a ditch, she questioned him with 
 
 "39 
 
240 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 a smile ; if he complained of burnings, of sharp pangs in the 
 heart, her lips quickly gave him alms, and the beggar's misery 
 was relieved. 
 
 Consequently, all the poor of the parish knew her. They 
 thronged to her door awaiting the distribution. She came 
 down morning and night, like a charitable sister, dividing her 
 treasures of tenderness amongst them, giving each his share 
 
 She was as good and sweet as white bread. The poor of 
 the parish had nicknamed her Cupid's Little Blue Mantle. 
 
 11 
 
 Now, it happened that a terrible epidemic ravaged the land. 
 All the young men were attacked by it, and the majority ran 
 the risk of dying. 
 
 The symptoms of the scourge were terrifying. The heart 
 ceased to beat, the brain was unhinged, the victim became 
 stupid. The young men walked about sniggering like silly 
 clowns, purchasing hearts at the fair as children buy sticks of 
 barley-sugar. When the epidemic attacked worthy young 
 men, the complaint showed itself by intense sadness and 
 excessive despair. Artists wept before their works at their 
 helplessness, unsated lovers went and threw themselves into 
 the rivers. 
 
 You can imagine that the beautiful child showed herself to 
 advantage on this momentous occasion. She established 
 ambulances, and nursed the sick day and night, using her lips 
 to close the wounds, and thanking heaven for the great task 
 that had been set her. 
 
 She was quite a providence to the young men. She saved 
 a large number. Those whose hearts she could not heal, were 
 those who were already without a heart Her treatment was 
 simple : she gave the sick her helping hands and warm breath. 
 She never asked for payment. She ruined herself with a light 
 heart, distributing charity by the mouthful 
 
 Consequently, the misers of the time wagged their heads, 
 when they saw the young prodigal scattering in that manner her 
 great wealth of charms. Among themselves they said : 
 
 "She will die on a straw pallet, she who gives away her 
 heart's blood, without ever weighing the drops." 
 
LEGEND OF CUPID S LITTLE BLUE MANTLE 241 
 
 III 
 
 And, indeed, one day as she was searching her heart, she 
 found it empty. She shuddered in terror ; she had barely a 
 few sous' worth of tenderness left, and the epidemic was at its 
 height. 
 
 The child was beside herself; she did not give a thought to 
 the immense fortune she had so foolishly squandered, but felt 
 in burning need of charity herself, and that made her wretched- 
 ness the more frightful It was so sweet to go in quest of 
 beggars in the bright sunshine, so sweet to love and to be 
 loved 1 And, now, she must stand in the shade, awaiting in 
 her turn charity, which perhaps would never come. 
 
 For a moment, she had the sensible thought of saving 
 preciously the few sous that remained to her, and spending 
 them very prudently. But she felt so cold in her loneliness, 
 that she ended by going out in search of the May sunshine. 
 
 On her way, at the first road-stone, she met a young man 
 whose heart was evidently withering from inanition. At that 
 sight her sense of fervent charity awoke. She could not aban- 
 don her mission. And, beaming with kindness, superior in 
 her abnegation, she brought the remainder of her heart to her 
 lips, bent down slowly, and gave the youth a kiss, saying to 
 him: 
 
 " Look, that is my last louis. Give me the change." 
 
 IV 
 
 The young man gave her the change. 
 
 That same evening she sent her poor a circular letter, inform- 
 ing them that she found herself compelled to suspend her 
 charity. The dear girl had only just sufficient left to live 
 on in comfortable ease, with the last famished soul she had 
 assisted. 
 
 The legend of Cupid's Little Blue Mantle has no moraL 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 
 
 The blacksmith was a big fellow, the biggest in the neighbour- 
 hood ; he had knotty shoulders, his face and arms were black 
 with the flames of the forge and the dust from the iron of the 
 hammers. He had the great blue eyes of a child, as clear as 
 steel, fixed in a square head, beneath thick bushy hair. His 
 heavy jaw was replete with laughter and sounds of sonorous 
 breath, similar to the puffing and merry creaking of his bellows ; 
 and when he raised his arras with a gesture that marked the 
 satisfaction he felt at his strength — a. gesture he had contracted 
 while working at the anvil — he seemed to be bearing the 
 weight of his fifty years with even greater ease than that which 
 he displayed in wielding " the young lady," a ponderous lump 
 weighing twenty-five pounds, a dreadful little girl which he 
 alone was able to set dancing, between Vernon and Rouen. 
 
 I lived a year with the blacksmith, a whole year of convales- 
 cence. I had lost my heart, lost my head, I had left, going 
 whither chance led me, endeavouring to become myself again, 
 in search of a spot where I could be at peace and work, where 
 I could recover my vigour. It was thus that one evening, on 
 the highway, after having passed the village, I perceived the 
 forge, all alone, all aflame, standing broadside at the four cross 
 roads. The glare was such, that the cart-door, which stood 
 wide open, set the open space outside ablaze, and made the 
 poplars which grew in a line opposite, beside a brook, smoke 
 like torches. The cadence of the hammers resounded half a 
 league away, in the peaceful twilight, and resembled the gallop 
 of some iron host approaching nearer and nearer. Then, 
 there, in the gaping doorway, in the light, in the uproar, 
 amidst the vibration of that thunder, I stopped, happy and 
 already consoled at the sight of that labour, at gazing on those 
 human hands twisting and flattening out the red-hot bars. 
 
 S43 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 243 
 
 On that autumn evening I saw the blacksmith for the first 
 time. He was forging a ploughshare. With his shirt open, 
 displaying his splendid chest, his ribs at each breath marking 
 his metallic-like frame which had been put to the test, he 
 threw himself back, gave a plunge, and brought down the 
 hammer. And he did so, without a pause, with a smooth 
 and continuous swaying of the body and a resolute pulsion of 
 the muscles. The hammer swung round in a perfect circle, 
 carrying the sparks along with it and leaving a flash behind. 
 It was "the young lady" which the blacksmith had thus set 
 in motion with both hands ; whilst his son, a strapping young 
 fellow of twenty, held the flaming iron at the end of the pincers 
 and beat it also, striking dull-sounding blows, which smothered 
 the ringing dance of the elder's dreadful little girl. Toe, toe ; 
 toe, toe ; one would have taken it for the grave voice of a 
 mother encouraging the early lisping of her child. "The 
 young lady " continued waltzing, agitating the spangles of her 
 gown, and leaving the imprint of her heels in the ploughshare 
 she was fasliioning, each time she rebounded on the anvil. A 
 crimson flame ran on to the ground, lighting up the prominent 
 outlines of two workmen whose great shadows spread over the 
 dark and confused corners of the forge. Little by little the 
 blaze paled, the blacksmith stopped. He stood there black, 
 erect, leaning on the handle of the hammer, and did not even 
 trouble to wipe away the perspiration on his brow. I heard 
 the panting of his flanks, which were still quivering, amidst the 
 rumbling of the bellows which his son was slowly drawing. 
 
 I slept at the blacksmith's that night, and became a fixture 
 there. He had a vacant room upstairs above the forge, which 
 he offered me, and which I accepted. From five o'clock in 
 the morning, before day broke, I associated myself with my 
 host's work. I awoke amidst the mirth of the entire house- 
 hold, who continued in high spirits until nightfall. The ham- 
 mers were dancing below. It seemed as if " the young lady " 
 forced me to get out of bed by knocking at the ceiling and 
 calling me a lazy fellow. All the modestly furnished room, 
 with its big cupboard, its deal table, its two chairs, was creak- 
 ing, shouting to me to be quick. And I had to go down. 
 Below I found the forge already ablaze. The bellows were 
 purring, a blue and red flame ascended from the coal — where 
 a round star seemed to be shining — under the influence of the 
 
244 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 gusts of wind which penetrated the fuel. In the meanwhile 
 the blacksmith was preparing the day's task. He was moving 
 iron in the corners, turning over ploughs, examining wheels. 
 When he perceived me he stuck his fists into his sides, the 
 worthy man, and he laughed, making his mouth reach from 
 ear to ear. He felt amused at having brought me out of bed 
 at five o'clock. I believe he set hammering in the morning 
 simply for the pleasure of hammering, to give notice with the 
 formidable peal of his hammers that it was time to rise. He 
 placed his great hands on my shoulders, and bent forward as 
 if he were speaking to a child, telling me I looked better since 
 I had been living amongst his old iron. And every morning 
 we drank white wine together seated on the bottom of a little 
 old cart turned upside down. 
 
 Then, I often spent a whole day at the forge. In winter 
 particularly, when it was rainy weather, I have passed all 
 my time there. I took an interest in the work. This 
 continual struggle between the blacksmith and raw iron 
 which he manipulated as he pleased, fascinated me like a 
 powerful drama. I followed the metal with my eyes from the 
 furnace to the anvil and met with constant surprises at the 
 sight of it bending, extending, rolling, like a piece of soft wax 
 in response to the workman's victorious exertion. When the 
 plough was completed, I knelt down before it, I no longer re- 
 cognised the shapeless mass of the previous day. I examined 
 the pieces, dreaming that astonishingly strong fingers had taken 
 them and fashioned them thus without the aid of fire. Some- 
 times I smiled when I remembered a young girl whom I had 
 perceived, formerly, opposite my window, engaged whole days, 
 twisting pieces of copper wire with her delicate hands, and 
 then fixing artificial violets to them by the adjunct of silk 
 thread. 
 
 The blacksmith never complained. I have often seen him 
 of an evening, after having beaten iron for a day of fourteen 
 hours, laughing his hearty laugh and rubbing his arms with an 
 air of satisfaction. He was never sad, never weary. He 
 would have shored-up the house with his shoulders had it 
 shown signs of collapsing. He would say in the winter that it 
 was nice and warm in his shop. In summer he set the door 
 wide open and let the perfume of the hay enter. When the 
 fine weather came, I used to go and sit down beside him, at 
 
THE BLACKSMITH 343 
 
 the end of the day, before the door. We were half way up a 
 hill, and from where we sat, we could see the entire breadth of 
 the valley. He took pleasure in gazing on this immense ex- 
 panse of tilled land, which faded out of sight on the horizon 
 in the pale lilac twilight. 
 
 And the blacksmith often joked. He said that all this land 
 belonged to him, that the forge had supplied all the neighbour- 
 hood with ploughs for two hundred years. That was his pride. 
 Not a crop grew without his help. If the plain were green in 
 May and golden in July, it owed that change of colour to him. 
 He loved the harvests as his daughters, was in raptures at the 
 bright sunshine, and shook his fist at a bursting hailstorm. He 
 often pointed out to me some piece of land far away, which 
 seemed no larger than the back of my jacket, and told me in 
 what year he had wrought a plough for that square of oats or 
 rye. Sometimes he set down his hammers during work-time, 
 and went and gazed at the roadside with his hand shading his 
 eyes. He was watching his numerous family of ploughs biting 
 into the land, tracing their furrows opposite to him and to the 
 right and left. The valley was full of them. To see the teams 
 slowly moving along, one would have said they were regiments 
 on the march. The ploughshares glittered in the sun with the 
 brilliancy of silver. And he, extending his arms, called me, 
 shouted to me to come and see what splendid work they were 
 doing. 
 
 All that clangorous old iron that resounded underneath me, 
 put iron into my blood. It did me more good than the 
 chemist's drugs. I was accustomed to the uproar, I had need 
 of the music of the hammers on the anvil to feel myself alive. 
 In my room, which the snorting of the bellows made quite 
 cheerful, I recovered my poor head. Toe, toe ; toe, toe ; it 
 was like the merry pendulum that regiilated my hours of 
 labour. At the hardest part of the work, when the blacksmith 
 became angry, when I heard the red-hot iron cracking beneath 
 the bounds of the frantic hammers, I felt the heated blood of 
 a giant in my wrists ; I would have liked to have flattened 
 out the world with a stroke of my pen. Then, when the 
 blacksmith's shop was quiet, all became silent in my skull ; I 
 went down, and when I saw that metal vanquished and still 
 smoking, I felt ashamed of my own work. 
 
 Ah ! how superb I have sometimes seen the blacksmith look 
 
246 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 on sultry afternoons ! He was stripped to the waist, and his 
 muscles were strained and salient, like some of those grand 
 figures of Michael Angelo, who are straightening themselves 
 in a final effort. In looking at him, I found that modern sculp- 
 tural line, which our artists laboriously search for among the 
 remains of ancient Greece. He seemed to me a hero made 
 greater by labour, the untiring child of this century, who was 
 for ever beating the implement of our analysis on the anvil, 
 who was fashioning the society of the near future out of iron 
 and by iron. He toyed with his hammers. When he felt in 
 a merry mood, he took up "the young lady" and kept on 
 thumping. He then produced thunder at home amidst the 
 rosy flush of the furnace. I fancied I heard the sigh of the 
 people at their task. 
 
 It was there, in the blacksmith's shop, amidst the ploughs, 
 that I cured myself for ever of the evils of idleness and doubt 
 
THE SLACK SEASON 
 
 When the workmen reach the factory in the morning they 
 find it looking frigid, as if overcast by a cloud of ruin. The 
 machine with its slender limbs and motionless wheel, stands 
 silent at the end of the great room ; and this adds to the 
 feeling of depression, for its puffing and vibration, in ordinary 
 times, convey to the whole house the courage of a giant inured 
 to the task. 
 
 The master comes down from his little private room, and 
 with an air of sadness addresses the workmen thus : 
 
 " My good fellows, there is no work to-day — I receive no 
 orders; countermands reach me from all quarters, I shall 
 remain with goods on my hands. This month of December, 
 on which I relied, this month which, in previous years, has 
 been a very busy one, threatens to ruin the most stable firms — 
 we must suspend everything." 
 
 And noticing the workmen looking at one another dreading 
 to return home, in terror of approaching hunger, he added in 
 a lower tone : 
 
 " I am not an egotist, no, I vow I am not. My position, 
 also, is dreadful, more so perhaps than yours. I have lost 
 fifty thousand francs in a week. I am stopping work to-day 
 so as not to deepen the abyss ; and I have not the first sou of 
 the money I shall require to meet my acceptances on the isth. 
 You see I am speaking to you as to friends, I am hiding 
 nothing from you. To-morrow, perhaps, the process-servers 
 will be here. It is no fault of ours, is it ? We have struggled 
 on to the end. I would have liked to have helped you 
 through this bad time ; but it is all over now, I'm struck 
 down J I've no more bread to share." 
 
 Then, he held out his hand to them. The workmen 
 
248 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 grasped it in silence. And, for some minutes, they remained 
 there, gazing with clenched fists at their useless tools. On 
 other mornings, the files sang, the hammers marked the 
 rhythm from daybreak ; and all this seems already to be 
 sleeping in the dust of bankruptcy. Twenty or thirty families 
 will be without food in the coming week. Some of the women 
 who had been working in the factory have tears in the corners 
 of their eyes. The men endeavour to appear more firm. 
 They put on a plucky look and say that no one can die of 
 hunger in Paris. 
 
 Then, when the master leaves them, and they see him walk 
 away bowed down in a week, overwhelmed by a disaster which 
 is perhaps even more serious than he acknowledges, they 
 withdraw one by one, choking before they are out of the 
 room, with lumps rising in their throats, and as disheartened 
 as if they were leaving a deathbed. The corpse is work, the 
 great silent machine, the sinister skeleton of which stands 
 there in the obscurity. 
 
 n 
 
 The workman is outside, in the road, on the pavement 
 He has been running about the streets for a week without 
 being able to find employment. He has been from door 
 to door, offering his arms, his hands, his whole self for any 
 kind of labour, the most revolting, the hardest, the most fatal. 
 All doors have been closed to him. 
 
 Then, he was willing to work at half price. The doors did 
 not open. Were he to work for nothing, he could not be 
 employed. It is the slack season, the terrible slack season 
 that sounds the death-knell of the garrets. The panic has 
 stopped all trades, and money, cowardly money, has hidden 
 itself away. 
 
 At the end of a week it is, indeed, all up with him. The 
 workman has made a last effort, and he returns home slowly, 
 his hands empty, worn out with wretchedness. It is raining 
 on that particular night, and Paris looks dismal in the mud. 
 He walks along in the downpour without feeling it, thinking 
 of nothing but his hunger, stopping so as to reach his destina- 
 tion later. He has leant over a parapet of the Seine j the 
 
THE SLACK SEASON 249 
 
 swollen waters flow with a prolonged noise ; sprays of white 
 foam are scattered in the air at one of the piers of the bridge. 
 He leans more forward, the huge torrent passes beneath him, 
 hailing him furiously to come. Then he says to himself that 
 it would be cowardly, and he goes away. 
 
 It has stopped raining. The gas is flaming in the windows 
 of the jewellers' shops. If he were to break a sheet of glass, 
 he could grasp with one hand wherewith to give him bread 
 for years. Lights are appearing in the kitchens of the restau- 
 rants ; and behind the white muslin curtains he sees persons 
 eating. He hurries along, ascends to the faubourg, passing 
 by the eating-houses, where poultry is roasting on spits, by the 
 ham, and beef, and pastry-cooks' shops, by all that epicurean 
 part of Paris, which displays its comestibles at hours when one 
 is hungry. 
 
 As his wife and little girl had been crying in the morning, 
 he had promised to bring food home at night He had not 
 dared to go and tell them he had lied, before the evening. 
 As he walked along he was thinking how he would go in, what 
 he would tell them to give them patience. However, they could 
 not remain any longer without eating. He was willing to try 
 and do so, but his wife and the little one were too delicate. 
 
 And, for a moment, he has the idea of begging. But when 
 a lady and gentleman pass beside him, and he thinks of 
 extending his hand, his arm becomes stiff, and he feels a lump 
 in his throat He stands there on the pavement, whilst 
 respectable persons turn aside their heads, fancying, at the 
 sight of his ferocious, starving look, that he must be intoxi- 
 cated. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The workman's wife has gone down to the front door, 
 leaving the little one asleep upstairs. The woman is quite 
 thin, and is dressed in a cotton gown. She is shivering in 
 the icy blast of the wind in the street 
 
 She has nothing more at home. She has pawned every- 
 thing. A week without work was sufficient to clear out the 
 lodging. On the previous evening she sold the last lot of 
 wool from her mattress to the second-hand dealer ; the mat- 
 tress had gone thus ; now, there only remained the tick. She 
 
2 so STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 has hung that up before the window to keep out the draught, 
 for the liitle one coughs a great deal 
 
 Without saying anything to her husband, she, on her side, 
 had endeavoured to get work. But the slack season has been 
 more cruel for the women than the men. There are unhappy 
 creatures in rooms on her landing whom she hears sobbing at 
 night. She met one begging at the corner of a street; another 
 is dead ; another has disappeared. 
 
 She, fortunately, is married to a good man, a husband who 
 does not drink. They would be in comfort, if the slack 
 seasons had not despoiled them of alL She has used up all 
 her credit. She owes money to the baker, the grocer, and 
 does not even dare pass by their shops any more. In the 
 afternoon she went to her sister to borrow a franc ; but there, 
 also, she had found such poverty that she began to cry without 
 speaking, and both of them, her sister and herself, had wept for 
 a long time together. Then, as she was leaving, she promised to 
 take her a piece of bread if her husband brought anything home. 
 
 The husband does not return. It rains. She seeks shelter 
 under the doorway ; great drops of water splash down at her 
 feet, and the fine rain soaks her thin gown. At times she 
 feels impatient) she goes out, notwithstanding the downpour, 
 goes to the end of the street, to see if she cannot perceive the 
 person she is expecting coming along the road in the distance 
 And when she returns she is wet through ; she smooths down 
 her hair with her hands, to wipe it; she still takes patience 
 although troubled with short feverish shivers. 
 
 Passers-by elbow her as they go backwards and forwards ; 
 she makes herself as small as possible so as not to be in any 
 one's way. Men stare her full in the face ; at times she feels 
 warm wafts of breath skim across her neck. It seems as if all 
 the dubious side of Paris, the street with its mud, its raw lights, 
 its rolling of carriages, would like to clutch her and cast her in 
 the gutter. She is hungry, any one can take her. There is a 
 baker opposite, and she thinks of the little one asleep upstairs. 
 
 Then, when her husband at length appears, hurrying along 
 close to the houses like a worthless fellow, she dashes forward 
 and gazes at him anxiously. 
 
 " Well I " she stammers. 
 
 He does not answer, but hangs his head. Then, she goes 
 upstairs the first, as pale as death. 
 
THE SLACK SEASON 251 
 
 IV 
 
 Upstairs, the little one is not sleeping. She has woke up, 
 she is thinking in front of a candle end that is flickering on a 
 corner of the table. And something monstrous and heart- 
 rending passes over the countenance of that chit of seven, who 
 has the worn and serious features of a grown-up woman. 
 
 She is seated at the edge of a trunk which serves her for a 
 bed. Her bare feet are dangling down, shivering with cold ; 
 her sickly, doll-like hands gather the rags that form her cover- 
 ing, about her chest. She feels a burning there, a fire she 
 would like to extinguish. She is thinking. 
 
 She has never had any playthings. She cailnot go to school 
 because she has no shoes. She remembers that when she was 
 younger her mother used to take her out into the sun. But 
 that was a long while ago. It had been necessary to move ; 
 and, since then, it seemed as if an intense chill had spread 
 over her home. Tiien, she had ceased to be happy ; she had 
 been always hungry. 
 
 She is entering upon something very profound, without 
 being able to understand it. Every one is hungry then ? She 
 has sought, however, to accustom herself to the feeling and 
 has been unable. She thinks she must be too little, that it is 
 necessary to be big to understand. Her mother, no doubt, 
 knows all about this matter which is concealed from children. 
 If she dared she would ask her who it is that puts you into the 
 world in this way in order that you may be hungry. 
 
 Then, their home is so unsightly ! She looks at the window 
 where the tick of the mattress is flapping, at the bare walls, the 
 rickety furniture, at all that disgraceful aspect of the garret to 
 which the slack season conveys such a look of despair. She 
 fancies, in her ignorance, that she must have dreamt of warm 
 rooms with beautiful shiny things ; she closes her eyes to see 
 them again ; and, through her eyelids, which have become 
 thinner, the candle-light seems a great blaze of gold into which 
 she would like to go. But the wind is blowing, and such a 
 draught comes through the window that she is seized with a fit 
 of coughing. Her eyes become full of tears. 
 
 Formerly she felt afraid when left all alone. Now she does 
 not know whether she is afraid or not ; it is all the same to her. 
 
asa STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 As they have not had anything to eat since the previous even- 
 ing, she fancies her mother has gone downstairs to get some 
 bread. Then that thought interests her. She will cut her bread 
 into very small pieces ; she will take them slowly, one by one. 
 She will play with her bread. 
 
 Her mother has returned, her father has closed the door. 
 The little one looks at both their hands very much surprised; 
 and, as her parents say nothing, she repeats, after a moment, 
 in a hum-drum tone : 
 
 " I'm hungry, I'm hungry." 
 
 The father is seated in an obscure comer, with his head be- 
 tween his hands ; he remains there, bowed down, his shoulders 
 quivering with heavy, silent sobs. The mother, stifling her 
 tears, has come to put the little one to bed again. She covers 
 her with all the clothes in the place, and tells her to be good 
 and go to sleep. But the child, whose teeth are chattering 
 with cold, and who feels the burning in her chest more acutely, 
 becomes very bold. She hangs round her mother's neck, and 
 then murmurs softly : 
 
 "Tell me, mamma, why are we hungry?" 
 
THE LITTLE VILLAGE 
 
 Where is the little village ? In what dip of the ground are 
 its white habitations hidden ? Are they grouped round the 
 church, at the bottom of some hollow ? Or do they follow- 
 on one after the other along the highway? Or, again, do 
 they climb the side of a hill, like capricious goats, ranging in 
 terraces and half hiding their red roofs amidst the foliage ? 
 
 Has the little village a name that sounds sweet to the ear ? 
 Is it a tender name, easy to French lips, or some German 
 name, harsh, bristling with consonants, as guttural as the 
 croaking of a raven ? 
 
 And are there harvests, are there vintages at the little 
 village ? Is it a land of corn or a land of vines ? What are 
 the inhabitants doing at the present time, in the fields, in 
 broad daylight? As they return in the evening, along the 
 lanes, do they stay to take a glance at the bountiful crops, 
 thanking Heaven for a good year ? 
 
 II 
 
 I can easily picture it to myself upon a hillside. It is there, 
 lying so unassumingly among the trees, that, from a distance, 
 one would take it for a mass of fallen rocks, covered with moss. 
 But coils of smoke issue from amidst the branches ; on a path- 
 way running down the slope, children are pushing along a 
 wheelbarrow. Then, looking from the plain, you gaze at it 
 with a feeling of jealous envy ; and you go your way bearing 
 along with you the remembrance of this nest of which you 
 have just caught a glimpse. 
 
aS4 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 No, I rather fancy it is in a corner of the plain, beside a 
 stream. It is so small that a curtain of poplars suffices to 
 conceal it from view. Its thatched cottages vanish in the 
 osier-holt on the bank, like modest women at the bath. For 
 a sward, it has a bit of green meadow; a quickset hedge 
 encloses it on all sides, like a garden. You pass by it without 
 seeing it. The voices of the women who are washing, resound 
 like the notes of feathered songsters. There is not a single 
 streak of smoke. It slumbers peacefully in the recesses of its 
 verdant alcove. 
 
 None of us know it. The neighbouring town is hardly aware 
 of its existence, and it is so humble that no geographer has 
 ever troubled about it. It is nothing. When its name is 
 uttered it recalls no remembrance. Among the swarm of 
 towns with ringing appellations, it is a place unknown, without 
 history, glory, or shame, and it stands modestly in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 And it is no doubt for that reason that the little village 
 smiles so sweetly. Its labourers live in the desert ; its babes 
 roll on the river's bank ; the women spin in the shade of the 
 trees. As for itself, quite delighted at its obscurity, it finds 
 ample pleasure in the charm of open air. It is so far from 
 the mud and noise of great cities ! Its ray of sunshine suffices 
 it. It takes delight in its silence, its humility, and in that 
 curtain of poplars hiding it from the whole worlcL 
 
 III 
 
 And to-morrow, perhaps, the whole world will know of the 
 existence of the little village. 
 
 Ah ! what wretchedness ! The river will be crimson, the 
 curtain of poplars will have been swept away by bullets, the 
 gutted cottages will testify to the silent despair of the families ; 
 the little village will be famous. 
 
 The song of women washing at the stream will be heard 
 no more ; there will be no more babes rolling on the river 
 banks, no more harvests, no more silence, no more happy 
 humility. A new name in history, victory or defeat, a new 
 sanguinary page, a new corner of our country enriched with 
 the blood of our offspring. 
 
THE LITTLE VILLAGE 255 
 
 It smiles, it slumbers, it does not know that it will give its 
 name to a butchery, and to-morrow it will weep, its name will 
 re-echo through Europe with a death-rattle. Then it will 
 remain on the earth like a stain of blood. It, so gay, so 
 tender, will be surrounded by a dark sinister circle, it will see 
 pallid visitors pass before its ruins, as one passes before the 
 slabs at the Morgue. It will be accursed. 
 
 As for us, if it be Austerlitz or Magenta, we shall hear it 
 resound in our hearts as the trumpet's blast. And, if it be 
 Waterloo, it will roll lugubriously in our memory, like the 
 sound of a drum muffled with crape, that heads the funeral 
 procession of a nation. 
 
 How it will then regret its solitary river-banks, its ignorant 
 peasantry, its remote corner, so far removed from men, known 
 only to the swallows who returned there each spring 1 Defiled, 
 ashamed, with its sky overcast by a flight of carrion crows, and 
 its slimy soil stinking of death, it will go down- to posterity as 
 a place of slaughter, an ominous spot where two nations slew 
 one another. 
 
 The nest of love, the nest of peace, the little village will 
 be naught henceforth but a cemetery, the common pit where 
 weeping mothers will not be able to go and place their wreaths. 
 
 IV 
 
 France has strewn the world with these distant graveyards. 
 We could kneel and pray at the four corners of Europe. Pere 
 Lachaise, Montmartre, Montparnasse, are not our only fields 
 of rest ; there are others that bear the names of all our vic- 
 tories and all our defeats. There is not a corner beneath the 
 whole canopy of heaven, from China to Mexico, from the 
 snow of Russia to the sand of Egypt, where some murdered 
 Frenchman does not lie. 
 
 They are silent and deserted cemeteries, wrapped in heavy 
 slumber amidst the intense peacefulness of the country. The 
 greater number of them, almost all, spread out beside some 
 desolate hamlet, the crumbling walls of which are still full of 
 horror. Waterloo was but a farm, at Magenta there were 
 barely fifty houses. A frightful blast has blown over these 
 infinitely small places, and the syllables that form their names, 
 
856 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 which were innocent the previous evening, have taken such an 
 odour of blood and powder that people will for ever shudder 
 when they find them on their lips. 
 
 Thoughtfully I cast my eyes on a map of the seat of war. I 
 followed the banks of the Rhine, I searched among the plains 
 and the mountains. Was the little village to the right or left 
 of the river? Must I look for it in the neighbourhood of the 
 fortresses, or further on in some broad expanse of solitude ? 
 
 And then, closing my eyes, I endeavoured to picture to 
 myself that peaceful spot, that curtain of poplar trees drawn 
 before the white houses, that piece of meadow-land skimmed 
 by the wings of the swallows, those songs of the women 
 washing, that virgin soil to which war was to do violence, and 
 the news of the contamination of which was to be brutally 
 blown to the four comers of the horizon by the bugles. 
 
 But where then is the little village?* 
 
 * The little village was in Alsace. Its name was Woeith. — Author'^ 
 NoU 
 
SOUVENIRS 
 
 Oh ! the everlasting rain, the horrid rain, the grey rain that 
 drapes the skies of May and June in crape I You go to the 
 window and draw back the curtain. The sun is swamped. 
 Between two showers, it rises to the surface, pallid, turned 
 green, like a heavenly body that has committed suicide in de- 
 spair, and which some celestial mariner drags back with his 
 boathook. 
 
 Do you remember, Ninon, the bitter north wind in spring, 
 after it has rained ? You leave Paris with the spring weather 
 of the poets, the springtime one has been longing for in one's 
 heart, a mild season, a profusion of flowers, delicious twilights. 
 You reach your destination at nightfall. The sky is death- 
 like, not a spark of brightness lights up the sunset which re- 
 calls to mind a dismal grate full of cold cinders. You have to 
 stride across pools of water in the pathways with the gnawing 
 damp of the foliage on your shoulders. And when you are 
 in the great melancholy room which winter has made chilly, 
 you shiver, you close doors and windows, and light a great 
 fire of old vine stalks, hurling imprecations against the sun's 
 laziness ! 
 
 The rain keeps you confined to the house for a week. In 
 the distance, in the middle of the lake formed by the inun- 
 dated meadows, there is always the same curtain of poplar 
 trees melting into water, streaming with it and looking thin 
 and indistinct in the vapour that envelops them. Then a grey 
 ocean, a fine rain drifting along and barring the horizon. You 
 yawn, you endeavour to take an interest in the ducks that ven- 
 ture into the downpour, in the blue umbrellas of the country- 
 folk passing by. You yawn wider. The chimneys smoke, the 
 
 »57 B 
 
2S8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 green wood sweats without burning, it seems as if the flood 
 were rising, that it's roaring at the door, that it penetrates 
 through all the chinks like fine sand. And in despair you tal<e 
 the train again, you return to Paris vowing that sun and spring 
 do not exist. 
 
 And yet nothing causes me more despair than those cabs 
 which you meet hurrying towards the railway stations. They 
 are loaded with trunks, and their occupants pass through the 
 city with the beaming countenances of prisoners who have just 
 been set at liberty. 
 
 I tramp along the pavements, I watch them rolling towards 
 blue rivers, great seas, great mountains, great woods. This 
 one is perhaps bound for a hollow amidst rocks, that I know 
 of near Marseilles ; you are quite at your ease in that hollow, 
 where you can strip as in a bathing-machine, and where the 
 waves come to meet you. That one is certainly running off 
 to Normandy, to that verdant nook I love, near the hillside 
 which produces that light tart wine with the bouquet that so 
 agreeably tickles the inside of one's throat. That other is no 
 doubt setting out for the unknown, here or there, some place 
 where one will assuredly be very comfortable, in the shade, 
 perhaps in the sun, I don't know ; in a word, there where I 
 am burning to go. 
 
 The drivers flog their sorry nags with the handles of their 
 whips. They seem to have no idea that they are whipping 
 my dream. They are saying to themselves that the trunks 
 are heavy and the gratuities light. They do not even know 
 that they are saddening the hearts of the poor fellows who 
 pass along on Slianks's mare, and whose destiny it is to char 
 the soles of their boots at Paris, on the burning pavement, 
 in July and August, 
 
 Oh ! that string of cabs, loaded with trunks, rolling towards 
 the railway stations ! that vision of the great cage thrown 
 open, of happy birds taking their flight ! that cruel raillery 
 of liberty crossing our galleys of streets and squares ! that 
 nightmare of all my springs troubling me in my dungeon, 
 filling me with an uncontrollable desire for foliage and cloud- 
 less skies I 
 
SOUVENIRS aS9 
 
 I should like to become quite small, very small indeed, and 
 slip into the big trunk of that lady with the pink bonnet, whose 
 brougham is going in the direction of the Lyons railway 
 station. One would assuredly feel very comfortable in that 
 lady's trunk. I can picture to myself the silky skirts, the fine 
 linen, all kinds of soft things perfumed and pleasant. I would 
 lie on some pale silk, I would have cambric pocket-hand- 
 kerchiefs beneath my nose, and if I were cold, faith, never 
 mind ! I would cover myself with all the petticoats. 
 
 The lady is extremely pretty. Twenty-five at the most A 
 lovely chin with a dimple that must deepen when she smiles. 
 I should like to make her laugh just to see. That rascal of 
 a coachman is very fortunate to drive her about in his box. 
 She must be fond of violets. I am sure her linen is scented 
 with that perfume. It is exquisite. I roll at the bottom of 
 her trunk for hours and days together. I have hollowed out 
 a place to lie in at the left-hand corner, between the bundle 
 of chemises and a large cardboard box that is somewhat in my 
 way. I had the curiosity to raise the lid of that box; it 
 contained two hats, a small pocket-book full of letters, then 
 things I would not look at. I placed the cardboard box 
 under my head and made a pillow of it. I roll, roll. The 
 stockings are on my right ; beneath me are three costumes, 
 and on my left I feel things that offer more resistance, which 
 I fancy I recognise as pairs of little boots. Good gracious, 
 how comfortable one feels among all these musk-pervaded 
 chiffons ! 
 
 Where may we be going to ? Shall we stop in Burgundy ? 
 Shall we turn aside towards Switzerland or go down as far as 
 Marseilles? I picture to myself that we are going to that 
 rocky hollow, you know, where one can strip as in a bathing- 
 machine, and where the waves come to meet you. She will 
 bathe. One is a hundred leagues away from idiots. The 
 inlet, at its extremity, is rounded off by the deep blue of the 
 Mediterranean. Above, at the edge of the hollow, are three 
 pines. And, with bare feet on the large slabs of yellow stone 
 which pave the sea, we dislodge arapedes with the points of 
 our knives. She doesn't look stuck-up. She will enjoy tiie 
 open-air, and we shall be like children. If she cannot swim, 
 I will teach her. 
 
 The trunk is being terribly shaken, we must be ascending 
 
26o STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 the Rue de Lyon. And how dehghtful it will be when, on 
 reaching Marseilles, she opens her trunk ! She will be very 
 much surprised to find me there, in the left-hand corner. 
 I trust I shall not crumple all these flounces, on which I am 
 lying, too much ! — " What, sir! you are there, you have dared!" 
 " Certainly, madam ; there is nothing one would not dare to 
 
 get out of prison " And I will explain it to her and she 
 
 will forgive me. 
 
 Ah ! here we are at the railway station. I think they are 
 booking me 
 
 Alas ! alas ! it rains, and the lady with the pink bonnet is 
 on her way all alone in the rain, with her big trunk, to go and 
 yawn at the house of some old aunt in the country, where she 
 will shiver, in a bad temper, at the chilly spring. 
 
 II 
 
 One must have resided in a pious and aristocratic town, one 
 of those small places where the grass grows in the streets, and 
 where the convent bells strike the hours in the sleepy atmos- 
 phere, to know what processions on Corpus Christi day are 
 like. 
 
 At Paris, four priests walk round the Madeleine. In 
 Provence the clergy have possession of the thoroughfares for 
 a week. AH the population of the Middle Ages is resuscitated 
 on those bright afternoons, and proceeds along, singing hymns 
 and trotting candles about, with a couple of gendarmes at the 
 head, and the Mayor, girded with his sash, at the taiL 
 
 I have not forgotten them. They were delightful times for 
 us college boys, who only wanted an excuse to run about th^ 
 streets. To be candid, processions in those amorous towns 
 are just the thing for lovers. The girls show off their new 
 gowns all along the way. A new gown is indispensable. 
 There is not a young girl, however poor she may be, who on 
 those occasions does not drape herself in a piece of brand 
 
SOUVENIRS 261 
 
 * new printed calico. In the evening the churches are in 
 obscurity, and many are the hands that meet. 
 
 I belonged to a musical club that took part in all the solem- 
 nities. I have heavy sins on my conscience. I tax myself with 
 having at that period awakened more than one functionary at 
 daybreak with a concert, on his return from Paris with the red 
 ribbon. I tax myself with having trotted the official divinity 
 about, as well as the saints who make it rain, and the holy virgins 
 who cure cholera. I have even assisted the moving-out of a 
 convent of cloistered nuns. The poor girls, wrapped up in 
 large pieces of grey linen so that no one might see their faces 
 or limbs, stumbled, supported each other like phantoms of the 
 departed surprised by dawn. And tiny white hands, child-like 
 hands, appeared at the edge of the grey cloths. 
 
 Alas ! yes, I have partaken of the vestry collations. We 
 ' were not paid for what we did ; they gave us a few cakes. I 
 
 remember that on the day the nuns were installed in the new 
 convent we were served by means of a turning-box. Bottles, 
 plates of cakes followed one another in the wall as if by 
 enchantment. And what bottles, ye gods I of every shape, 
 every colour, containing every kind of hquor. I have often 
 dreamt of that strange cellar which could supply such a 
 variety of choice wines. It was a hotch-potch of good 
 things. 
 
 I have long done penitence since those days of error, and I 
 think I have been pardoned. 
 
 The streets which the procession is to follow are decked 
 from early morning with flags. Each window has something. 
 In the wealthy quarters there are old tapestries displaying 
 great mythological figures, all the pagan Olympia, nude and 
 pallid, coming to see Catholic Olympia pass by with its pale 
 virgins and bleeding Christs ; there are also silk quilts taken 
 from the beds of certain noble dames, damask curtains un- 
 hooked from the poles in the drawing-rooms, velvety carpets, 
 and all sorts of costly material that astonishes the passers-by. 
 The middle classes show their embroidered muslins and finest 
 linen ; and, in the quarters of the poor, the good women, 
 rather than display nothing, hang out their neckerchiefs and 
 
262 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 scarves which they have tacked together. Then the streets 
 are worthy of the Host, 
 
 They have swept the thoroughfares. In certain corners they 
 have arranged halting-places, and these arouse much jealousy 
 and hatred, which lasts for months and months. If that in 
 the Chartreux quarter is more beautiful than that of Saint 
 Mark, it is sufficient to turn the hair of the devout in the 
 latter quarter grey. All the neighbourhood contributes to- 
 wards these halting - places. One has brought the candle- 
 sticks, another the gilded vases, another the flowers, another 
 the lace. It is a shelter that the quarter presents to heaven. 
 
 In the meantime two rows of chairs have been placed along 
 the narrow footways. The sightseers are waiting, they are 
 very noisy, laughing with that south-of- France laughter which 
 sounds like a clarion. The windows are becoming filled with 
 spectators. The heat decreases ; and, amidst the gentle rising 
 breeze, one hears the peal of bells and beating of drums in the 
 distance. 
 
 It is the procession that has left the church. 
 
 In front of it walk all the young bucks of the towa This 
 promenade is a regular thing. They come there to see and 
 be seen. The girls are at the doors. There are discreet 
 greetings, smiles, whisperings among comrades. The young 
 men go all round the town in this way, between two rows of 
 flag-bedecked windows, solely to pass beneath a particular 
 one. They look up, and that is all. The afternoon is warm, 
 the bells peal; the children cast handfuls of broom flowers 
 and roses picked to pieces into the street and gutters. 
 
 The road is rosy ; the broom flowers form patches of gold 
 on the pale pink. First of all two gendarmes show themselves, 
 then comes the file of children brought up by charity, of 
 schools, benefit societies, old ladies and old gentlemen. A 
 Christ is borne along by a beadle at arm's length. A thickset 
 monk carries a complicated emblem in which all the instru- 
 ments of the Passion are represented. Four buxom maidens, 
 bursting in their white frocks, are steadying, by the aid 
 of ribbons, an immense banner, on which a little sheep is 
 depicted innocently sleeping. Then, above the heads, in the 
 
SOUVENIRS 263 
 
 candle-light, which seems awed by the light of day, rise the 
 silver incense-burners, casting flashes and leaving a thick 
 cloud of smoke behind them, which twirls round for a moment 
 in its whiteness, like a shred of all those muslin gowns that 
 are passing along behind one another. 
 
 The procession moves slowly with a dull tramp, above 
 which is heard the sound of suppressed voices. There is a 
 clash of cymbals and a jingle of brass, followed by shrill 
 utterances that die away, faint and feeble, in the broad 
 expanse of open air. A muttering of lips is heard. And, 
 suddenly, there are long silences. Now the procession glides 
 along softly ; the scene resembles a chapel all lit up, and lost 
 in the sunshine. Distant drums are beating a march. 
 
 I remember the penitents. There were some of all colours 
 — white, grey, blue. The latter have attributed to themselves 
 the terrible mission of burying executed criminals. They 
 number among them the most illustrious names of the city. 
 Attired in a blue serge gown, with a pointed headpiece and a 
 long veil perforated with a couple of holes for the eyes, they 
 look really ferocious. As the holes are often too far apart, 
 the eyes seem to squint beneath this terrifying mask. At the 
 hem of the gown you perceive light grey trousers and patent- 
 leather boots. 
 
 The penitents excite the most curiosity of all. A proces- 
 sion without them is a poor affair. Here, at last, are the clergy. 
 Sometimes small children carry palm leaves, ears of corn on 
 cushions, wreaths, and pieces of gold plate. But the devout 
 are turning round their chairs, kneeling, and casting their 
 eyes to the ground. The canopy is advancing. It is monu- 
 mental, hung with red velvet, surmounted by clusters of 
 plumes, and supported by gilt poles. I have seen sub-prefects 
 carrying this immense awning, beneath which sickly religion 
 takes an airing in the June sun. A band of children of the 
 choir walk backwards, swinging the incense-burners high into 
 the air. One hears naught but the psalmody of the priests 
 and the silvery sound of the chains of the incense-burners 
 each time they are swung forward. 
 
 Limping Catholicism is creeping along beneath the blue 
 
264 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 sky of old convictions. The sun sets ; its rosy blushes fade 
 away on the housetops ; twilight brings great peacefulness ; 
 and, in that limpid air of the south, the procession moves 
 off with voices that are dying away, depicting the melancholy 
 effacement of an entire age descending into the tomb. 
 
 The authorities follow in their official attire, the Law Courts, 
 the Faculties, without counting the churchwardens, with their 
 carved and gilded lanterns. And the vision disappears. The 
 rose leaves, the golden flowers of the broom are crushed to 
 atoms ; and nothing now rises from the street but the unplea- 
 sant smell of all these faded flowers. 
 
 Sometimes the procession is overtaken by darkness as it 
 returns by the narrow, crooked lanes in the old quarter of 
 the city. The white gowns become nothing more than vague 
 indications of something light ; the penitents form a confused 
 dark line along the pavements ; the small candle flames cast 
 will-o'-the-wisps and slowly falling stars on the blackness of 
 the houses boxing up the narrow way. And voices are 
 accompanied by a sort of quiver, as of fright, amidst these 
 crosses, these banners, this canopy, the supports of which are 
 hardly distinguishable in the gloom. 
 
 That is the time when the rogues fondle the young minxes. 
 The organ booms at the end of the church, the Host has 
 returned home. Then the girls go oflf with kisses on their 
 necks and love letters in their pocket 
 
 III 
 
 When I cross the bridges on these sultry evenings, the 
 Seine calls to me with a friendly roar. It runs broad and 
 fresh with amorous languor, offering itself to one and loitering 
 between the quays. Water has something of the crumpling 
 sound of a silk skirt. It is a gentle lover, and inspires one 
 with an irresistible desire to spring towards it 
 
SOUVENIRS 26s 
 
 The owners of the floating bathing establishments, who had 
 watched the persistent fall of rain in May with terror, perspire 
 in beatitude beneath the sultry June sun. The water at last 
 is warm. P'rom six o'clock in the morning there is a crush. 
 Bathing drawers are not given time to dry, and towards 
 evening, there are no more gowns. 
 
 1 remember my first visit to one of these baths, to one of 
 these great wooden tubs, in which the bathers turn about in 
 much the same way as straws dance at the bottom of a pot of 
 boiling water. 
 
 I had just come from a small town, from a little river where 
 I had dabbled with absolute freedom, and I was horrified at 
 this trough in which water took the colour of soot. 
 
 Towards six o'clock in the evening the crowd is such that 
 one must calculate one's plunge in order not to take a seat on 
 somebody's back, or dash into a person's stomach. There is 
 froth on the water, the white bodies give it a neutral tint, 
 whilst the pieces of cloth stretched on cords by way of a 
 ceiling, allow a dim light to penetrate within. 
 
 The noise is frightful. At times the water spurts up, under 
 the influence of a sudden plunge, and rolls with the sound of 
 distant artillery. Some jokers, beating the river with their 
 hands, imitate the tic-tac of water-mills; and there are others 
 who practise falling backward, so as to make as much racket 
 as possible and inundate the establishment. But that is 
 nothing in comparison to the intolerable yells, that yelping 
 of voices which reminds one of a school in playtime. Man 
 becomes a child again in pure water. Grave persons walking 
 along the quays, cast startled looks at those flapping cloths, 
 between which they perceive great capering nude figures. 
 Ladies pass along more rapidly. 
 
 I have nevertheless enjoyed some pleasant hours there, in 
 the very early morning, whilst the city still slumbered. It 
 is no longer the swarm of kan shoulders, bald heads and 
 enormous stomachs of the afternoon. The bath is almost 
 deserted. A few young fellows are s«imminj there in a 
 resolute manner. The water is fresher after its night's rest. 
 It is more pure, more virgin-like. 
 
266 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 You must go there before five o'clock. The air is mild 
 when the city awakens. Nothing is more delicious than to 
 follow the quays, gazing at the water with that covetous look 
 of lovers. It will be yours. The water slumbers in the bath. 
 You will arouse it. You can take it silently in your arms. 
 You feel the current flowing with a fleeting caress along your 
 body, from the back of your neck to your heels. 
 
 The rising sun casts rosy streaks on the cloths that deck the 
 ceiling. But the more ardent kisses of the river cause a shiver 
 to run over one's skin, and it is then good to wrap one's self 
 in a gown and take a walk along the galleries. You are at 
 Athens with bare feet, the neck at liberty, and a simple robe 
 wound round you. Trousers, waistcoat, frock coat, boots and 
 hat, are far away. You enjoy your state of nudity at your ease 
 in this piece of linen. You are borne away in fancy's dream 
 to springtime in Greece, at the edge of the eternal blue of the 
 Archipelago. 
 
 But you must run off as soon as the band of bathers arrive. 
 They bring the heat of the streets clinging to their heels with 
 them. The river is no more the virgin of early morn; it is the 
 noon-day girl who gives herself away to every one, who is all 
 bruised, all warm with the embraces of the crowd. 
 
 And what frights ! Ladies passing along the quays do well 
 to hurry on. A museum of antiquities, caricatured by some 
 witty artist, would not present anything so painfully comical. 
 
 It is a terrible trial for a modern man, a Parisian, to strip 
 himself. Prudent fellows never go to cold baths. One day 
 they pointed out a counsellor of state to me there, who looked 
 so pitiful with his pointed shoulders and his poor, flat stomach, 
 that every time I came across his name in the papers, I could 
 not repress a smile. 
 
 There are the fat, thin, tall, and short ; those who float on 
 the water like bladders, those who bury themselves in it, and 
 seem to melt away like sticks of barley-sugar. The flesh is 
 flabby, the bones prominent, the heads enter into the shoulders 
 or are perched upon necks that resemble those of plucked 
 fowls, the arras are as long as paws, and the legs are drawn up 
 like the twisted appendages of ducks. Some are all buttock, 
 
SOUVENIRS 267 
 
 others all stomach, and there is another kind with neither 
 one nor the other. It is a grotesque and lamentable exhibi- 
 tion, and pity stays the burst of hilarity one feels inclined to 
 give at the sight of it. 
 
 The worst of it all is that these miserable bodies, retain the 
 pride of the black coats and purses they have left in the cloak- 
 room. Some drape themselves, gather up the corners of 
 their gowns, in the attitudes of purse - proud landlords. 
 Others walk in their extravagant nudity, with the dignity 
 of heads of departments passing among their multitude of 
 clerks. The youngest put on airs as if they fancied themselves 
 behind the scenes of some small theatre in short coats ; the 
 oldest forget that they have taken off their stays, and that they 
 are not at the fireside, in the mansion of the beautiful Countess 
 deB . 
 
 During an entire season, at the baths of the Pont-Royal, 
 I saw a fat man as round as a barrel and as red as a ripe 
 tomato, who posed as Alcibiades. He had studied the folds 
 of his gown before one of David's paintings. He was on the 
 Agora ; he smoked with antique gestures. When he deigned 
 to cast himself into the Seine, it was Leander crossing the 
 Hellespont to join Hero. The poor creature. I still remember 
 his short torso to which the water gave violet blotches. O 
 human hideousness ! 
 
 No, I prefer my little river to that. We did not even put 
 on drawers. What was the good of them ? The kingfishers 
 and wagtails did not trouble to blush. And we chose the 
 holes, the goures as they call them in the South. 
 
 You could cross the river without wetting your feet, by 
 jumping from stone to stone ; but the holes were of a tragic 
 character. Some devoured two or three children every year. 
 There were most awful legends connected with them, and 
 there were boards covered with threats which, however, troubled 
 us but little. We used them for targets, and in many instances 
 there only remained a bit of wood held on by a nail, which 
 swung backward and forward in the wind. 
 
 The water was burning hot in the evening. The fierce sun 
 heated that in the holes to such a degree, that it was necessary 
 
268 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 to allow it to cool in the first freshness of twilight. We 
 remained naked on the sand for hours, wrestling, throwing 
 stones at the boards, catching frogs with our hands in the 
 mud. Night set in, and an immense sigh, a sigh of relief, 
 passed over the trees. Then it was a bathing party without 
 end. When we were tired, we lay down in the water, at the 
 edge of it, where it was shallow, with our heads on tufts of 
 grass. It was then that ushers were judged with severity, and 
 that exercises sped away in the smoke of our first pipes. 
 
 Good old river where I learnt to float, tepid water in which 
 the little white fish were cooking, I love thee still as a sweet- 
 heart of my childhood. You took a comrade of ours one 
 night, in one of those holes which we laughed at, and it is 
 perhaps that stain of blood on your green gown, which has left 
 within me a thrill of desire for your narrow streak of water. 
 There are sobs in your innocent prattle. 
 
 IV 
 
 I care for but one sort of sport with the gun, a sport accom- 
 panied by tranquil charms with which Parisians are unfamiliar. 
 Here, in the fields, are hares and partridges. You do not 
 waste powder on sparrows, you disdain larks, reserving your 
 shot for larger birds. In Provence hares and partridges are 
 rare ; sportsmen stay abroad for feathered warblers, for all the 
 little birds in the bushes. When they have killed their dozen 
 becaficos, they return home very proud. 
 
 I have often wandered over ploughed ground for whole days 
 to take back three or four wheatears. I sank up to the ankles 
 in the soil, which gave way like fine sand. In the evening, 
 when I could no longer stand, I returned home delighted. 
 
 If, by a miracle, a hare passed between my legs I watched it 
 run with righteous astonishment, so little was I accustomed to 
 meet with such large creatures. I remember a covey of par- 
 tridges getting up one morning in front of me ; I remained so 
 stupefied at that loud sound of wings, that I discharged my gun 
 without aiming, and peppered a telegraph pole. 
 
 Besides, I acknowledge that I have always been a wretched 
 shot If I have killed a good many sparrows in my time, I 
 have never been able to bring down a swallow. 
 
SOUVENIRS 269 
 
 That is no doubt why I prefer shooting in ambush. 
 
 Imagine a sort of small round construction sunk into the 
 ground, and rising a little more than three feet above it. This 
 hut, built up with loose stones, is roofed with tiles, which are 
 hidden as much as possible by sprays of ivy. You might take 
 it for a ruined tower rased near to its foundations, and hidden 
 in the grass. 
 
 The narrow space within receives light from loopholes, which 
 are closed by movable windows. The retreat has generally a 
 fire-place and cupboards ; I have even known one with a 
 divan. Dead trees are planted round the hut, and at the foot 
 of them are hung the cages of the decoy birds, imprisoned 
 songsters whose business it is to call those that are free. 
 
 The tactics are simple. The sportsman, quietly shut up, 
 smokes his pipe and waits. He watches the dead trees 
 through the loopholes. Then, when a bird perches on a 
 dry branch, he methodically takes his gun, rests the barrel on 
 the edge of a loophole, and annihilates the wretched creature 
 almost at the muzzle. 
 
 That is the only way in which people of Provence shoot 
 birds of passage, ortolans in August, and thrushes in 
 November. 
 
 I used to set out at three o'clock on icy cold mornings in 
 November. I had a league to go in the dark, loaded like a 
 mule; for it is necessary to take the decoy birds with you, and 
 I can assure any one that some thirty cages are not carried so 
 easily in a hilly country, along paths that are barely traced out. 
 You place the cages on long wooden frames, where they are 
 secured close to one another by strings. 
 
 When I reached my destination it was still dark, the table- 
 land expanded, broad, savage, in a mass of gloom, wiih its 
 multitude of grey scrubby bushes. All around me, in the 
 darkness, I heard that murmur of the pines, that great con- 
 fused voice, which resembles the lamentations of the waves. 
 I was then fifteen, and did not always feel very comfortable. 
 It was already an emotion, a palpitating pleasure that I was 
 experiencing. 
 
 But I had to be quick. Thrushes are early birds. I hung 
 up my cages and shut myself in the hut It was too soon as 
 
2 70 STORIES- FOR NINON 
 
 )et, I could not distinguish the branches of the dead trees. 
 And notwithstanding I heard the harsh whistling of the 
 thrushes above my head. Those vagabonds travel by night. 
 I lit a fire grumbling, and hastened to get a bright blaze that 
 shone rosy on the cinders. As soon as the sport begins not a 
 bit of snio'<e must issue from the hut. It might frighten away 
 the game. Whilst waiting for daybreak I grilled mutton chops 
 on the embers. 
 
 And I went from loophole to loophole, searching for the 
 first pale glimmer of daylight. Nothing yet ; the bare limbs of 
 the dead trees were dimly distinguishable. My eyesight was 
 bad even then, and I was afraid of firing at a black spot on one 
 of the branches, as sometimes happens. I did not rely on 
 my eyes alone, I listened. The silence was disturbed by a 
 thousand sounds, those whisperings, those profound sighs of 
 the earth at its awakening. The wail of the pines increased, 
 and, at times, it seemed to me as if an innumerable flight of 
 thrushes were about to swoop down upon the hut, whistling 
 furiously. 
 
 But the clouds were becoming milky. The dead trees stood 
 out in black against the clear sky with singular distinctness. 
 Then all my faculties were strained, and I was bent double 
 with anxiety. 
 
 How my heart leapt when I suddenly perceived the long 
 silhouette of a thrush on one of the dead trees ! The thrush 
 stretches out its neck, shows itself off to the first ray of the 
 sun, in the stream of morning light. I clutched my gun with 
 the utmost precaution, so as not to knock the barrel or stock 
 against anything. I fired, the bird fell. I did not go to pick 
 it up, that might have driven away other victims. 
 
 And I began to wait again, agitated by a feeling of excite- 
 ment similar to that of a gambler who has had a lucky hand, 
 and is in doubt as to what chance may have in store for him. 
 All the pleasure of this kind of sport is in the unforeseen, in 
 the willingness of the game to come and be slaughtered. 
 Will another thrush perch on one of the dead trees? The 
 question is perplexing. But I was not particular: when 
 thrushes failed to come, I killed small birds. 
 
SOUVENIRS 271 
 
 1 see the little hut again now, at the edge of the great 
 deserted plateau. A frtsh perfume of thyme and lavender 
 comes from the hills. The decoys whistle softly amidst the 
 loud rustling of the pines. The sun shows a lock of its 
 flaming hair on the horizon ; and there, on one of the dead 
 trees, in the white light, a thrush stands motionless. 
 
 Go you and run after the hares, and do not laugh, or you 
 will drive my thrush away. 
 
 I have two cats. One of them, Frangoise, is as white as a 
 May morning. The other, Catherine, is as black as a stormy 
 night. 
 
 Fran9oise has the laughing, round head of a European girl. 
 Her great eyes, which are of a pale green colour, cover almost 
 all her face. Her nose and rosy lips are coated with carmine. 
 Any one would say they were painted like a virgin madly in 
 love with her form. She is fat, plump, Parisian to the end 
 of her claws. She seeks to attract attention when she walks, . 
 giving herself engaging airs, turning up her tail with the sudden 
 shiver of a little lady gathering up the train of her gown. 
 
 Catherine has the pointed and delicately moulded head of an 
 Egyptian goddess. Her eyes, which are as yellow as golden 
 moons, have the same fixity and impenetrable harshness as 
 the pupils of a barbarian idol. The corners of her thin lips 
 display the everlasting ironic smile of the Sphinx. When she 
 squats on her hind paws, holding her head up motionless, she 
 is a divinity in black marble, the great hieratic Pacht of the 
 Theban temples. 
 
 Both pass their days on the yellow sand in the garden. 
 
 Frangoise rolls on her back, and is very busy with her 
 ablutions, licking her paws with the delicate care of a coquette 
 who is whitening her hands in oil of sweet almonds. She has 
 not three ideas in her head. It is easy to see that by her. 
 crazy-like air of a very fashionable lady. 
 
 Catherine thinks. She thinks, looking without seeing, 
 
27« STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 penetrating with her gaze the unknown world of the gods. 
 She remains sitting up erect for hours, implacable, smiling 
 with her strange smile of a sacred animal. 
 
 When I caress Frangoise with my hand, she curves her 
 back and slightly mews with delight. She is so happy at 
 having attention paid to her ! She looks up with a wheedling 
 movement, returning my caress by rubbing her nose against 
 my cheek. Her hair quivers, her tail is gently waved. And 
 she ends by closing her eyes, going oflf into a doze, and softly 
 purring. 
 
 When I want to caress Catherine, she avoids my hand. 
 She prefers a solitary existence amidst her religious dream. 
 She has the modesty of a goddess who feels irritated and 
 wounded at all human contact. If I succeed in taking her on 
 my knees, she flattens herself out, stretches her neck, fixes 
 her eyes ready to escape at a bound. Her nervous limbs 
 and lean body are inert beneath my fingers which are fondling 
 her. She does not deign to lower herself to the joy of love 
 for a mortal. 
 
 And so Frangoise is a daughter of Paris, doxy or marchio- 
 ness, she is a Hght-headed, charming creature, who would give 
 herself away for a compliment on her white coat ; whilst 
 Catherine is the daughter of some city in ruins, I know not 
 where, out there in the region of the sun. They belong to 
 two civilisations ; one is a modern doll, the other an idol of a 
 nation that has ceased to exist 
 
 Ah ! if I could but read in their eyes ! I take them in my 
 arms, I gaze at them fixedly, so that they may tell me their 
 secret. They do not lower their eyelids, and it is they that 
 study me. I read nothing in the glassy transparency of those 
 orbs which open like fathomless holes, like dim wells throwing 
 out bright sparks. 
 
 And Frangoise purrs more tenderly, whereas the yellow 
 glances of Catherine pierce me like brass wire. 
 
SOUVENIRS 273 
 
 Frangoise recently became a mother. This madcap has a 
 good heart. She gives the most tender attention to the one 
 kitten that has been left her. She takes it up delicately by the 
 nape of the neck and carries it into all the cupboards in the 
 house. 
 
 Catherine watches her, lost in deep thought. The kitten 
 interests her. In its presence she gives herself the attitudes of 
 an ancient philosopher reflecting on the life and death of crea- 
 tures, building up a whole system of philosophy in dreamland. 
 
 Yesterday, in the absence of the mother, she went and 
 crouched down beside the little one. She smelt it, turned it 
 over with her paw. Then, she suddenly carried it into a dark 
 corner. There, thinking herself well hidden, she stood before 
 the little creature, with flashing eyes, and quivering spine, like 
 a priestess preparing for a sacrifice. I believe she was about 
 to crush the victim's head between her teeth, when I promptly 
 interfered and drove her away. As she ran off she cast dia- 
 bolical, cringing looks at me in silence, without swearing. 
 
 Well ! I still like Catherine ; I like her because she is per- 
 fidious and cruel, like a fiend of hell. What care I for the 
 gentle gracefulness of Frangoise, her delightful airs, her ways 
 of a madcap ! All our daughters of Eve are white and purr 
 as she does. But I have never yet been able to find a sister 
 to Catherine, a perverse, cold creature, a black idol wrapped in 
 an eternal dream of evil. 
 
 VI 
 
 The rose-trees in the cemeteries bear large flowers, as white 
 as milk and of a deep red. The roots penetrate to the bottom 
 of the coflfins, to take whiteness from virgin bosoms and bright 
 crimson from wounded hearts. This white rose is the bloom 
 of a child who died at sixteen ; this red one is the last drop of 
 blood of a man fallen in the struggle. 
 
 O brilliant flowers, living flowers, that contain something of 
 our dead ! 
 
274 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 In the country, the plum and apricot trees grow boldly be- 
 hind the church, along the crumbling walls of the little grave- 
 yard. The warm sun gilds the fruit, the open air gives it a 
 delicious taste. And the housekeeper of the parish priest 
 makes preserves which are renowned for more than ten leagues 
 round. I have tasted them. You would think — to use the 
 happy expression of the country folk — that you were swallowing 
 Paradise. 
 
 I know one of those little village churchyards where there 
 are superb gooseberry bushes growing as high as trees. The 
 red gooseberries beneath the green leaves resemble bunches 
 of cherries. And I have seen the beadle come there of a 
 morning, with a small loaf of bread under his arm, and quietly 
 breakfast sitting at the edge of an old tombstone. He was 
 surrounded by a swarm of sparrows. He picked the goose- 
 berries and threw the sparrows crumbs of bread ; and all those 
 little creatures ate with a famous appetite above the skulls. 
 
 The graveyard looks quite gay. The grass grows thick 
 and strong. In one of the corners clusters of wild poppies 
 form a sheet of crimson. Fresh air comes in abundance 
 from the plain, with pufTs of all the pleasant perfumes of 
 new-mown hay. Bees buzz in the sun at noon ; little grey 
 lizards lie in ecstasy at the entrance to their holes, inhaling the 
 heat with open jaws. The dead are warm ; and it is no longer 
 a graveyard, it is a corner of universal life, where the souls of 
 the dead pass into the trunks of the trees, where there remains 
 naught but a vast kiss of what was yesterday and what will be 
 to-morrow. The flowers are girls' smiles; the fruits are the 
 requirements of men. 
 
 There, it is no crime to gather corn-flowers and poppies. 
 Children come and make nosegays. The parish priest is only 
 angry when they climb up into the plum-trees. The plum- 
 trees are his, but the flowers belong to every one. Sometimes 
 they are obliged to mow the graveyard ; the grass is so high 
 that the black wooden crosses are lost in it ; then, the priest's 
 mare eats the hay. The villagers are not spiteful, and not one 
 of the parishioners thinks of taxing the mare with biting into 
 the souls of the dead. 
 
 Mathurine had planted a rose-tree on the tomb of her affi- 
 anced lover, and every Sunday in May, Mathurine went and 
 picked a rose which she placed in her neckerchief. She 
 
SOUVENIRS ' 275 
 
 passed the Sunday amidst the perfume of her departed love. 
 When she cast her eyes on her neckerchief, she fancied her 
 lover smiled at her. 
 
 I like cemeteries, beneath a blue sky. I go there bare- 
 headed, forgetful of my hatreds, as into a holy city where one 
 is all affection and forgiveness. 
 
 One morning recently, I went to Pfere Lachaise. The white 
 sepulchres of the burial-ground rose in terraces against the 
 blue horizon. Tufts of trees grew on the slope, and through 
 the still light screen of their leaves, one could see the shining 
 corners of great tombs. Spring is kind to the deserted fields 
 where rest our dearly beloved dead ; it sprinkles the soft paths 
 along which the young widows slowly wend their way, with 
 grass ; it whitens the marbles with bright and childlike gaiety. 
 The cemetery, from a distance, resembles an enormous bouquet 
 of verdure, picked out here and there by a tuft of hawthorn 
 blossom. The tombs are as virgin flowers of herbs and 
 foliage. 
 
 I followed the paths slowly. What thrilling silence, what 
 penetrating fragrance, what puffs of gentle warmth, coming 
 from one knows not where, like the fondling breath of women 
 whom one does not see ! One feels that a whole people 
 sleeps in that agitated and mournful earth beneath the tread 
 of passers-by. From each of the shrubs that form the clusters 
 of verdure, from each cleft in the flagstones, escapes a soft and 
 regular respiration,- accompanied by all the peacefulness of the 
 last sleep, as if it were that of a child crawling along the ground. 
 
 More winters have passed over Musset's slab of marble. I 
 found it looking whiter, more sympathetic. The last showers 
 have given it a new appearance. A ray of sunshine, falling from 
 a neighbouring tree, lit up the poet's delicate and nervous 
 profile with lifelike brightness. That medallion, with its ever- 
 lasting smile, has a charm that saddens one. 
 
 How can one account for the strange power that Musset 
 exercised over my generation ? There are few young men 
 who, after having read him, have not preserved a feeling of 
 everlasting gentleness in their hearts. And yet Musset taught 
 
276 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 us neither how to live, nor how to die ; he fell down at every 
 step ; in his agony he could only rise upon his knees and cry 
 like a child. No matter, we love him ; we love him fondly, 
 like a sweetheart who gives our heart feeling by wounding it. 
 
 The fact is, that he raised the wail of despair of the 
 century, that he was the youngest and most afflicted of us all. 
 
 The willow which pious hands have planted before his 
 tomb, is still languishing. Never has that willow, in the shade 
 of which he chose to sleep, grown vigorous and free in the 
 strength of its sap. Its yellow foliage droops sadly, the ends 
 of its branches hang down like heavy, weary tears. Perhaps 
 its roots go and absorb in the dead man's heart, all the bitter- 
 ness of a life thrown away. 
 
 I remained for a long time musing. Over there was the 
 tumult of Paris. Here, the chirp of a bird, the buzzing of an 
 insect, the sudden cracking of a branch. Then long silences, 
 during which the breath of the tomb was heard louder. Only 
 an inhabitant of the neighbourhood, some person of small 
 independent means, was walking softly along the path, his feet 
 in slippers, his hands behind his back, like a worthy bourgeois 
 sniffing the first warm air. 
 
 My souvenirs were awakening. They recalled to me my 
 youth, that long happy time when I ran along the footpaths 
 of my dear Provence. Musset was then my companion. 
 I carried him in my game-bag; and, behind the first bush 
 I forgot my gun on the sward, and read the poet, in that 
 warm shade of the south, perfumed with sage and lavender. 
 I owe him my first sorrow and my first joy. Even now, 
 amidst that passion for exact analysis which has got possession 
 of me, when sudden gusts of youth flush my cheeks, I think of 
 that despairing one, and I thank him for having taught me 
 how to weep. 
 
 VII 
 
 May, the month of flowers, the month of nests ! The sun 
 is discreetly smiling to-day, and I will have faith in the 
 sun. I walk along the streets in the clear morning air. 
 
SOUVENIRS 277 
 
 giving the whole of my attention to the merry-making of the 
 sparrows. 
 
 If it rain to-night, heaven forgive my chaunt of joy which 
 greets the spring. 
 
 This morning a young woman, a young wife who was about 
 to become a mother, was seated in front of a lawn in the Park 
 Monceau. She wore a grey silk gown. Her little gloved 
 hands, the lace on her skirt and bodice, the delicate pale tint of 
 her face, bore testimony to the elegant and opulent indolence 
 of her existence. She was one of the happy of this world. 
 
 The young woman was watching two sparrows who were 
 boldly hopping about the grass at her feet. First one, then 
 the other, came and stole a sprig of hay and flew oflf to a 
 neighbouring tree. They were building their nest. The 
 female carefully took each straw, plaited it with the other 
 materials that had already been brought there, and smoothed 
 it with the warm and thrilling weight of her throat. It was a 
 stealthy coming and going, a labour of love in which tender- 
 ness took the place of strength. 
 
 The unknown in grey silk, watched the two lovers who were 
 hastily preparing the cradle. She was learning the ways of poor 
 people, who have only a few sprigs of hay and the warmth of 
 their caresses to protect their little ones on cool nights. 
 
 She smiled with sad sweetness, and I fancied I could read 
 her reverie in her dreamy eyes. 
 
 " Alas 1 I am rich, and I can never feel the joy of those 
 birds. At this moment a cabinetmaker is putting together 
 the rosewood cradle in which a Normandy or Picardy wet- 
 nurse will rock my child. A loom is somewhere manufactur- 
 ing the woollen and linen stuffs to keep his delicate limbs 
 warm. A work-girl is hemming the baby-linen. A midwife 
 will attend to the newborn's first requirements. I shall be 
 only half a mother to the dear little creature ; I shall bring it 
 into the world naked ; he will not have everything from me. 
 And these sparrows make the cradle, weave and hem the 
 materials j they have nothing, they create all by a miracle of 
 love ; they transform the first hole they come to in a wall, into 
 a warm nest They are artisans of tenderness, who are envied 
 by young mothers." 
 
278 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 Nests grow naturally in the hedges and trees out in the 
 country, like living flowers. They open, they bloom at the 
 first ray of sunshine, and the sound of chirping comes from 
 them at the time when the hawthorn exhales its perfume. 
 
 The chaffinches, goldfinches, and bullfinches select shrubs 
 for alcoves; the rooks and magpies ascend to the loftiest 
 branches of the poplars ; the larks and fauvettes remain on 
 the ground, in the corn and bushes. These lovers, who are 
 jealous of their tenderness, require the great silence of the 
 country. I know very well that there are wretches who steal 
 nests in order to pluck the young ones, and who eat the eggs 
 in omelettes. And so the birds hide themselves more closely 
 each season ; they go to deserted spots. 
 
 Only sparrows and swallows dare to confide their love to 
 the walls and trees of Paris. They live and love among us. 
 We certainly .have canaries in cages who lay and sit. But what 
 sad sweethearts they make ! One would think our canaries 
 were married before the mayor. Their enforced union, the 
 habit of imprisoning them behind bars is as stupid as a 
 marriage. They have pale and peevish young ones, who 
 never expand their wings with the freedom of the offspring of 
 love. 
 
 You should see the sparrows at liberty in the holes in the 
 old walls, the swallows at liberty on the chimney-tops. They 
 love and breed in the open air, and marriages among thera 
 are marriages of inclination. 
 
 The swallows make Paris their summer villa. As soon as 
 the travellers arrive they visit the empty cradles which they 
 abandoned at the first cold weather. They repair the frail 
 habitation, strengthen it, furnish it with down. And the 
 poets, the lovers who pass by with open ears and hearts hear 
 their little tender cries above the rumbling of the cabs. 
 
 But the real native of Paris, the urchin of the air, is the 
 free sparrow, the fellow who wears the grey blouse of the 
 dweller in the faubourg. He is vulgar, perky, ashamed of 
 nothing. His chirp is like a mockery, he flaps his wings in a 
 bantering way ; the twists and tu-rns of his head give him a 
 devil-may-care manner, which is both jocular and aggressive. 
 
SOUVENIRS 279 
 
 He certainly prefers paths that are grey with dust, the noisy 
 boulevards, to the cool shade of Meudon and Montmorency. 
 He takes pleasure in the racket of wheels, drinks in the gutter, 
 eats bread, walks quietly along the pavements. He has left 
 the fields, where the company of stupid, backward animals, 
 wearied him, to come and live among us, lodging beneath our 
 tiles, getting light at night from the gas, and in the daytime 
 doing his little business in our streets, either loitering or in a 
 hurry. 
 
 The sparrow is a Parisian who does not pay taxes. He 
 is the spoilt child of the feathered tribe, and has a weakness 
 for gingerbread and modern civilisation. 
 
 It is in the public gardens, particularly, that you should 
 study the lively and tender manners of the sparrows in the 
 month of May. There are persons who go to the Jardin des 
 Plantes to stand before bars and gaze at the animals im- 
 prisoned there. If you visit the menagerie one of these days, 
 just look at the creatures at liberty, the sparrows who are flying 
 about in the sunshine. 
 
 The sparrows chirp a song of triumph around the bars. 
 They loudly extol the open air. They enter the cages with 
 impunity, fill them with their freedom, and are the everlasting 
 despair of the unhappy prisoners. They steal crumbs of bread 
 from the monkeys and bears ; the monkeys show them their 
 fists, the bears protest with a swinging of the head that is full 
 of disdainful impatience. The sparrows fly off, they are free 
 and merry creatures in that ark in which man endeavours to 
 confine creation. 
 
 In May the sparrows in the Jardin des Plantes, build their 
 nests beneath the tiles on the neighbouring houses. They 
 become more caressing, they try to steal a piece of wool or 
 hair from the coats of the animals. One day I saw a great 
 lion stretching out his powerful head between his extended 
 paws, and gazing at a sparrow that was boldly hopping between 
 the bars of his cage. The eyes of the wild beast were half 
 closed in a sweet, poignant reverie. The great lion was 
 dreaming of boundless horizons. He allowed the sparrow to 
 Steal a red hair from his paw. 
 
28o STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 VIII 
 
 I went to the markets on one of these recent nights. Paris 
 is gloomy at those early hours. They have not yet given it a 
 bit of toilet. It resembles some vast dining-room still warm 
 and greasy with the meal of the previous evening ; bones are 
 lying about, and the dirty cloth in the form of paving-stones 
 is covered with refuse. The masters went to bed without 
 giving orders to clear away ; and, it is only in the morning 
 that the servant sweeps up with her broom and spreads clean 
 linen for lunch. 
 
 There is great tumult at the markets. They form a 
 colossal larder engulfing all the food of slumbering Paris. 
 When it opens its eyes it will already have its stomach full. 
 Crimson quarters of meat, baskets of fish sparkling like silver, 
 mountains of vegetables breaking up the obscurity with white 
 and green dabs, are piled up in the quivering rays of morning 
 light, amidst the hubbub of the crowd. It is an avalanche of 
 eatables, carts emptied on the pavement, cases torn asunder, 
 sacks ripped open and the contents bursting out of them, a 
 rising flood of salads, eggs, fruit, poultry, which threatens to 
 reach the neighbouring streets and inundate all Paris. I went 
 by curiosity into the middle of this turmoil, when I perceived 
 women rummaging with both hands in great blackish heaps 
 piled up on the ground. I could only see imperfectly in the 
 dancing light of the lanterns, and I thought first of all that they 
 consisted of scraps of meat that were being sold cheaply. 
 
 I approached. The heaps of refuse meat were heaps of 
 roses. 
 
 All that is peculiar to the streets of Paris in springtime 
 trails on this muddy spot, amongst the eatables of the market. 
 On big holidays the sale commences at two o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 The gardeners in the suburbs bring their great bunches of 
 flowers. These, according to the season, have a current price 
 like leeks and turnips. This sale takes place at night The 
 women hawkers, the small tradeswomen, who thrust their 
 arms up to the elbows in heaps of roses, seem to be com- 
 
SOUVENIRS a8i 
 
 initting a crime, plunging their hands to the bottom of some 
 sanguinary work. 
 
 It is now a matter of toilet. The disembowelled bullocks 
 that are bleeding, will be washed, wreathed in garlands, decked 
 with artificial flowers ; the roses that are being trodden under 
 foot, will be mounted on bits of osier, and will have an unob- 
 trusive perfume in their ruffles of green leaves. 
 
 I had stopped before these poor expiring flowers. They 
 were still damp, brutally squeezed by the bonds that cut into 
 their delicate stalks. They preserved the strong smell of the 
 cabbages in the company of which they had come. And there 
 were bunches in agony that had rolled into the gutter. 
 
 I picked up one of them. It was all muddy on one side. 
 It will be washed in a bucket of water and will recover its 
 sweet, delicate perfume. A little mud that will remain at the 
 bottom of its petals, will be the only sign of its visit to the 
 gutter. The lips that will kiss it to-night will be less pure, 
 perhaps, than it. 
 
 Then, amidst the abominable riot in the markets, I remem- 
 bered that walk I took with you, Ninon, some ten years ago. 
 Spring was bursting forth, the new foliage shone in the bright 
 April sun. The little pathway following the hill was bordered 
 with large clumps of violets. As one passed along, one felt a 
 sweet perfume rise around that filled one's being with lassitude. 
 
 You leant upon my arm quite faint, as if the sweet smell 
 had sent you off to sleep with love. The country looked 
 bright, and small flies were whirling round in the sun. Great 
 silence descended from heaven. Our kiss was so soft, that it 
 did not frighten the chaffinches among the cherry trees in 
 bloom. 
 
 In a field at the bend of a road, we saw some old women 
 stooping down, gathering violets which they threw into large 
 baskets. I called one of them to me. 
 
 " Do you want some violets ? " she asked me. " How many ? 
 A pound ? " 
 
 She sold her flowers by the pound ! We hurried away, both 
 of us feeling sad, fancying we saw spring opening a grocery in 
 the amorous country. I slipped along the hedges, and stole 
 a few sorry violets, which smelt all the sweeter to you. But 
 
282 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 then we found that violets, quite small ones that were dread- 
 fully afraid, and knew how to hide among ihe leaves by means 
 of a thousand devices, grew in the wood above, on the table- 
 land. 
 
 You quickly ttirew away the stolen violets, those stupid 
 ones that came up in cultivated ground and were sold by the 
 pound. You wanted flowers at liberty, offspring of the dew 
 and rising sun. For two long hours I ferreted in the grass. 
 As soon as I found a violet I ran to sell it you, and you 
 bought it off me with a kiss. 
 
 And I thought of those distant things amidst those fulsome 
 smells, in the deafening riot at the markets, whilst standing 
 before those poor dead flowers on the ground. I remembered 
 my sweetheart, and that bunch of dry violets I had preserved 
 at the bottom of a drawer at home. When I returned I counted 
 the faded stalks j there were twenty, and I felt on my lips the 
 delicious burn of twenty kisses. 
 
 IX 
 
 I have paid a visit to the gipsy encampment opposite the 
 military station, at the gate of Saint Ouen. These savages 
 must be having a good laugh at this great stupid city for taking 
 an interest in them. I only had to follow the crowd ; all the 
 faubourg was moving round their tents, and I was ashamed 
 to see even persons who did not look like absolute idiots 
 arriving in open carriages with liveried footmen. 
 
 When this poor Paris possesses a curiosity it goes into 
 enthusiasm over it. The case of these gipsies is as follows. 
 They came to tin stewpans and mend the cooking-pots of the 
 faubourg. Only from the first day, at the sight of the urchins 
 who stared them out of countenance, they understood the sort 
 of civilised city they had to deal with, and so they hastened 
 to sever their connection with cooking-pots and stewpans. 
 Comprehending that they were taken in the light of a curious 
 menagerie, they consented with mocking good humour to 
 show themselves for two sous. The encampment is sur- 
 
SOUVENIRS 283 
 
 rounded by a paling ; two men are placed at two very narrow 
 openings, where they collect the offerings of the ladies and 
 gentlemen who desire to visit the kennels. There is so much 
 rushing and crushing in the place that it has been necessary 
 to have recourse to policemen. The gipsies sometimes turn 
 away their heads, so as not to burst out laughing in the faces 
 of the worthy people, who forget themselves sometimes so far, 
 as to throw them bits of silver. 
 
 I can picture them to myself counting the receipts at night- 
 time when the public are no longer there. What jeering ! 
 They have crossed France, amidst the rebuffs of the peasantry 
 and the distrust of the rural police. They reach Paris in fear 
 of being thrown into gaol. And they awaken amidst the golden 
 dream of an entire population of ladies and gentlemen in 
 ecstasy before their rags. They, they who are driven from 
 town to town ! I fancy I can see them, draped in their tatters, 
 standing erect on the talus of the fortifications, and giving 
 utterance to a huge peal of contemptuous laughter at slumbering 
 Paris. 
 
 The paling surrounds seven or eight tents, which form a 
 kind of street. Behind the tents small, raw-boned, sinewy 
 horses nibble the scorched grass. Low wheels of vehicles are 
 visible beneath shreds of old awning. 
 
 Within is an unbearable stench of filth and misery. The 
 ground is already trodden down, dusty and purulent. The 
 bedding is being aired on the pointed palings. There are 
 straw pallets, faded rugs, square mattresses, on which two 
 families must sleep at ease, all the output of some leper hos- 
 pital, drying in the sun. In the tents, set up in Arab fashion, 
 very high, and opening like curtains hanging from the canopy 
 of a bedstead, are heaps of rags, saddles, harness, a lot of bric- 
 k-brac without a name, objects that have ceased to have either 
 colour or form, lying there in a layer of superb filth, which is 
 warm in tone and likely to send a painter into ecstasies. 
 
 I think, however, I found the kitchen at the extremity of 
 the encampment, in a tent that was smaller than the others. 
 There were some iron stewpans and three-legged cooking-pots ; 
 I even recognised a plate. But there was no appearance of cook- 
 ing. The stewpans serve, perhaps, to make the Sabbath broth. 
 
284 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 The men are tall and strong, with round faces and very long, 
 curly black hair, which is glossy and greasy. They are attired 
 in all the cast-off garments picked up on the road. One of 
 them was walking about, dressed in a chintz curtain with great 
 yellow flowers. Another had a jacket which must originally 
 have been a dress coat from which the tails had been torn. 
 Several have women's petticoats. They smile in their long, 
 thin, glossy beards. Their favourite .head-covering seems to 
 be the crowns of old felt hats, out of which they have made 
 skull-caps by cutting off the brims. 
 
 The women also are tall and strong. The shrivelled-up old 
 ones are hideous in their half-naked emaciation and dishevelled 
 hair, and resemble witches who have been burnt in hell fire. 
 Among the young ones, there are some who are very beautiful 
 beneath their coating of filth, with their bronzed skin and great 
 soft black eyes. They give themselves a coquettish appear- 
 ance ; their hair is plaited in two thick tresses, which are looped 
 up and fastened behind the ears, and tied tight at distances by 
 pieces of red ribbon. In their coloured petticoats, with their 
 shoulders covered by a shawl fastened like a sash, their heads 
 decked with a neckerchief tightened across their foreheads, 
 they had the grand air of barbarian queens fallen to the depths 
 of vermin. 
 
 And the children, a whole flock of them on the move. 
 I saw one in a shirt, with a man's huge waistcoat flapping 
 against his calves ; he had a beautiful blue stag-beetle in his 
 hand. Another, a very small child, two years old at the most, 
 was running about naked, absolutely naked, amidst the noisy 
 laughter of the prying girls of the neighbourhood. And he 
 was so dirty, the dear little fellow, so green and red, that you 
 might have mistaken him for a Florentine bronze, one of those 
 charming little figures of the Renaissance period. 
 
 The whole band is impassive in presence of the noisy 
 curiosity of the crowd. Men and women are sleeping in the 
 tents. A mother is suckling a little yellow-coloured mite, who 
 looks as if he were made of brass, at a bare black breast that 
 looks like a gourd become brown by use. Other women who 
 are squatting down, gaze seriously at these strange Parisians 
 who are ferreting airiong the filth. I inquired of one of them 
 what she thought of us ; she feebly smiled, without answering. 
 
 A handsome girl of some twenty summers strolls about 
 
SOUVENIRS a8s 
 
 among the idlers, and tempts ladies in hats and silk gowns to 
 have their fortunes told. I saw her go through the perfor- 
 mance. She took a young woman's hand, retained it in hers 
 in a fondling way, until the hand in the end remained there. 
 Then she gave the person to understand that she must put a 
 piece of money in it ; a ten-sou piece was not sufficient, she 
 must have a couple, and she even talked about five francs. 
 At the expiration of a few seconds, after having promised long 
 life, children, and much happiness, she took the two ten-sou 
 pieces and used them to make signs of the cross at the edge 
 of the young woman's hat, and at the word Amen, slipped 
 them into her pocket, an immense pocket, in which I caught 
 a glimpse of handfuls of silver. 
 
 She certainly sells a tahsman. She breaks a little bit of 
 reddish stuif, which looks like dried orange peel, between her 
 teeth ; she ties it up in the corner of the pocket-handkerchief 
 of the person whose fortune she has been telling ; then, she 
 impresses upon her that she must be sure and add bread, salt, 
 and sugar to it. This will prevent all illness and keep away 
 the devil. 
 
 And the hussy goes through her work with an astounding 
 air of gravity. If one of the pieces of money that have been 
 put in her hand is taken back, she vows that her good pre- 
 dictions will turn into frightful evils. The system is simple, 
 but the gesture and tone are capital. 
 
 Gipsies are tolerated in the little town in Provence where 
 I was brought up; but they do not excite extraordinary 
 curiosity. They are accused of eating the lost dogs and cats, 
 and that makes persons of the bourgeois class look askance 
 at them. Respectable people turn aside their heads when 
 they have to go into their vicinity. 
 
 They arrive with their habitations on wheels, and take up 
 their quarters on a bit of waste land in the outskirts. Some 
 spots are inhabited from year to year by tribes of children in 
 rags, and men and women stretched in the sun. I have seen 
 creatures of superb beauty there. We youngsters, who did 
 not feel the same disgust as respectable persons, used togo 
 and peer into the carts where these people sleep in winter. 
 
286 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 And, I remember that one day, when my heart was swollen 
 with some boyish sorrow, I had an idea of getting up into one 
 of those carts that was leaving, and going off with those tall, 
 beautiful girls, whose black eyes frightened me, of going a long 
 way off, to the end of the world, rolling for ever on the roads. 
 
 A young chemist who was a friend of mine said to me one 
 morning : 
 
 " I know a learned old man who has shut himself up in a 
 little house on the Boulevard d'Enfer, to study the crystallisa- 
 tion of the diamond, in quiet He has already made remark- 
 able progress. Shall I take you to see him ? " 
 
 I accepted with secret terror. A sorcerer would have 
 frightened me less, for I have but little fear of the devil ; but 
 I am afraid of money, and I confess that the man who one of 
 these days happens to find the philosopher's stone, will strike 
 me with respectful horror. 
 
 On the way, my friend gave me some details concerning the 
 manufacture of precious stones. Our chemists have been 
 inquiring into the subject for a long time. But the crystals 
 they have hitherto produced are so small, and the cost of 
 manufacture is so high, that the experiments have, till now, 
 been limited to the simple curiosity of men of science. That 
 is how the matter stands. It is merely a question of discover- 
 ing more powerful agents and a less expensive process, to turn 
 the articles out at a low figure. 
 
 In the meanwhile we had reached our destination. My 
 friend, before ringing, warned me that the old man of learning 
 disliked inquisitive persons, and would no doubt give me a 
 sorry welcome. I would be the first of the profane to pene- 
 trate within the sanctuary. 
 
 The chemist opened to us, and I confess that he first of all 
 struck me as looking stupid, and of having the emaciated and 
 down-trodden air of a cobbler. He greeted my friend affec- 
 tionately, accepting my presence with a surly growl, as if I had 
 
SOUVENIRS 287 
 
 been a dog belonging to his young disciple, We crossed a 
 neglected garden. At the bottom of it was the house — a 
 hovel in ruins. The tenant had pulled down all the partitions, 
 so as to leave but one large, lofty room. Within was the 
 complete apparatus of a laboratory, and amongst it strange- 
 looking vessels, of which I did not attempt to understand the 
 use. All the luxury and furniture consisted of a form and 
 table stained black. 
 
 It was in this wretched hole that I was more blindly 
 dazzled than I have ever been in my life. Set on the ground 
 along the wall were the remains of worn-oiit baskets, the 
 osier of which was bursting, filled to the brim with precious 
 stones. Each heap consisted of one sort. The rubies, 
 amethysts, emeralds, sapphires, opals, turquoises, thrown into 
 the corners like shovelfuls of stones beside the road, shone with 
 brilliant flashes, lighting up the room with their sparkling fire. 
 They were like beacons, live coal, red, violet, green, blue, pink. 
 And one would have said there were millions of fairies' eyes 
 laughing in the dark, on a level with the ground. Never has 
 such a treasure existed, even in an Arab story j never has 
 woman dreamt of such a paradise. 
 
 I could not restrain a burst of admiration. 
 
 "What wealth 1 " I exclaimed. " There are milliards there." 
 
 The learned old man shrugged his shoulders. He seemed 
 to be gazing at me with an air of profound pity. 
 
 " Each of those heaps costs a few francs," he said to me 
 in his slow, hollow tone of voice. "I shall sprinkle them 
 to-morrow over the walks of my garden in the place of gravel." 
 
 Then, turning towards my friend, and taking up the stones 
 in handfuls, he continued : 
 
 "Look at these rubies; they are the finest I have yet 
 produced. I am not satisfied with these emeralds ; they are 
 too pure ; all natural ones are flaky, and I do not want to beat 
 nature. What puts me to despair is my not having been able to 
 produce the white diamond. I recommenced my experiments 
 yesterday. As soon as I have succeeded, the labour of my life 
 will be crowned, I shall die happy." 
 
 The man had become greater. He no longer appeared to 
 
288 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 me stupid; I began to tremble before this pallid old man 
 who had it in his power to pour a miraculous shower over 
 Paris. 
 
 "But you must be afraid of thieves?" I inquired of him. 
 " I see solid iron bars at your doors and windows. That is a 
 precaution." 
 
 "Yes, I am afraid at times,'' he murmured, "afraid that 
 idiots may kill me before I have discovered the white diamond. 
 Those stones which will be worthless in a short time may 
 tempt my heirs now. It is of my heirs that I am in terror; 
 they know that by causing me to disappear they will bury the 
 secret of my invention with me, and that they will thus main- 
 tain the value of this pretended treasure." 
 
 He became thoughtful and sad. We had seated ourselves 
 on the heap of diamonds, and I watched him, his left hand 
 buried in the basket of rubies, whilst he made handfuls of 
 emeralds run through his right. Children make sand pass 
 through their fingers in the same way. 
 
 After a silence I exclaimed : 
 
 " You must lead an intolerable existence t You live here in 
 the hatred of mankind. Have you no amusement?" 
 
 He gazed at me in surprise. 
 
 "I work," he answered simply; "I never feel dull. When 
 I am gay, on my days of folly, I put some of these stones in 
 my pocket, and I go and sit down at the end of my garden, 
 behind a loophole which looks on to the boulevard. There 
 I from time to time throw a diamond into the middle of the 
 road." 
 
 He still laughed at the thought of this capital joke. 
 
 " You could never imagine the grimaces the people who 
 find my stones make. They shake, look behind them, then 
 run away as pale as death. Ah ! the poor people, what capital 
 comedies they have performed to me. I have passed many 
 merry hours there." 
 
 His dry voice gave me inexpressible discomfort. He was 
 evidently making fun of me. 
 
 " Hey 1 young man," he resumed, " I have enough there to 
 purchase many women; but I am an old devil. You can 
 
SOUVENIRS 389 
 
 understand that if I felt the least ambition, I should long ago 
 have been king somewhere. Bah t I would not kill a fly; I 
 am good, and that is why I allow men to live." 
 
 He could not have told me more politely that if the fancy 
 took him, he would send me to the scaffold. 
 
 Strange thoughts rose within me and rang in my ears until I 
 was giddy. The eyes of fairies of precious stones gazed at me 
 with their piercing glances, red, violet, green, blue, pink. I 
 had clenched my fists without knowing it ; in the left I had a 
 handful of rubies, in the right a handful of emeralds. And, if 
 I must say all, I was urged by an almost irresistible desire to 
 slip them into my pockets. 
 
 I let the accursed stones go, and went off with a sound of 
 galloping gendarmes in my ears. 
 
 XI 
 
 I had gone to Versailles, and was ascending the spacious 
 Cour des Mardchaux, a stony solitude that has often reminded 
 me of the barren land of La Crau, where an ocean of pebbles 
 is turning green in the bright sun. 
 
 Last winter, I saw the chiteau with its bluish roof, in snowy 
 weather, looking majestic and gloomy against the grey sky, like 
 the royal palace of cold. It still looks sad in the summer, 
 more melancholy, more abandoned, in the warmth of the air, 
 amidst the luxuriant growth of the trees in the park. Each 
 time the fine weather comes, the old trunks make themselves 
 young again with their leaves. The old chateau is in the 
 pangs of death ; the sap of life no longer rises in its stones 
 which are crumbling to, dust ; implacable ruin is at hand, 
 gnawing off the corners, disjoining the flagstones, pursuing 
 hourly its deadly task. 
 
 Habitations, whether they be hovels or palaces, have their 
 complaints from which they suffer and from which they die. 
 They are great living bodies, persons who have a childhood 
 and old age ; some are robust until the moment of their death, 
 others are weary and shaky before the time. I remember 
 
 T 
 
290 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 houses standing by the roadside that I have caught a glimpse 
 of from a railway carriage window : newly erected buildings, 
 unpretentious pavilions, deserted country-houses, ruined keeps. 
 And all these stone beings spoke to me, told me what sort of 
 health they enjoyed, and what illness was killing them. When 
 a man closes his doors and windows and leaves his abode, it is 
 the blood of the house flowing away. The residence stands 
 for years in the sun wearing the furrowed features of the dying ; 
 then some winter night, it is blown down by a gust of wind. 
 
 The Chateau of Versailles is dying from this desertion. Its 
 size was too great for man to put life into it. It would require 
 quite a nation of tenants to make vitality circulate in those 
 endless corridors, in that long succession of immense rooms. 
 It was the colossal error of the pride of a monarch, who des- 
 tined it to ruin from its birth, by making it too large. The 
 glory of Louis XIV. no longer overspreads even the room in 
 which he slept, a frigid chamber to which his regal ashes 
 convey naught but a little more dust. 
 
 I ascended the Cour des Mar^chaux, and I saw on the right, 
 in an out-of-the way part of that sandy tract, the old woman, 
 the legendary Sarcleuse, who has been removing the weeds 
 from between the paving-stones, for half a century. From 
 morn till eve she is there amidst the field of pebbles, struggling 
 against the invasion, against the increasing mass of wild wall- 
 flowers and poppies. She walks, bent double, examining each 
 cleft, singling out the green blades and straggling moss. It 
 takes her almost a month to go from one end of her desert 
 to the other. And behind her the grass grows again, victori- 
 ously, so thick, so implacable, that, when she recommences 
 her everlasting task, she finds the same weeds come up once 
 more, the same graveyard-like corners invaded by butyraceous 
 flowers. 
 
 Sarcleuse knows the flora of these ruins. She knows that 
 poppies prefer the south side, that dandelions grow at the 
 north, that wallflowers select the clefts in the pedestals. Moss 
 is a leper that spreads everywhere. There are plants that 
 nothing can destroy, you may pull them up by the roots but 
 they always grow again ; a drop of blood has perhaps fallen 
 
SOUVENIRS 89 1 
 
 there, an evil spirit must be buried beneath and be continually 
 thrusting forth its reddish spikes beyond the ground. In this 
 burial-place of royalty the dead have a strange effloresence. 
 
 But you should hear Sarcleuse relate the story of these 
 weeds. They have not grown at each period with equal 
 strength. Under Charles X., they were still timid; they 
 barely spread out like fine grass, as a carpet of tender green 
 that softened the paving-stones beneath the tread of ladies. 
 The court still came to the chiteau, the heels of the courtiers 
 trampled the ground, did in a morning what it takes Sarcleuse 
 a whole month to accomplish. Under Louis Philippe, the 
 weeds became more bold ; the chiteau, peopled by the peace- 
 ful phantoms of the historical museum, commenced to be 
 nothing more than the palace of the departed. And it was 
 under the Second Empire that the weeds triumphed; they 
 then grew unmolested, taking possession of their prey, threa- 
 tening at a moment to gain the galleries, to overspread the 
 large and small apartments with verdure. 
 
 I pondered, at the sight of Sarcleuse walking slowly along, 
 with her apron full of weeds, and bending down in her old 
 printed calico skirt. She represents the last show of pity 
 which prevents the nettles rising and hiding the tomb of 
 monarchy. She looks after this barren land, where the green 
 stuff of the ditches grows, like a worthy woman. 
 
 I fancied to myself that she was the ghost of some 
 marchioness who had come from one of the boskets of the 
 park and who worshipped these ruins. She struggles without 
 end, with her stiff fingers, against the relentless moss. She 
 displays obstinacy in her futile task, and feels that if she were 
 to stay for a moment, the mass of weeds would overgrow and 
 envelop her. At times, when she draws herself up, she casts 
 a prolonged gaze across the field of stones, and her eyes reach 
 its distant corners, where the vegetation is more luxuriant. 
 And she stays thus, for a moment, with her pale face, under- 
 standing perhaps the uselessness of her unfaihng care, and 
 delighted at the bitter joy of being the supreme comforter of 
 these paving-stones. 
 
 But the day will come when the fingers of Sarcleuse will 
 
293 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 grow stiffer still. Then the chateau will crumble down in a 
 final sob of the wind. The field of stones will be a prey to 
 nettles, thistles, and all sorts of weeds. It will become enor- 
 mous bush, a coppice of rough, twisted shrubs. And Sarcleuse 
 will be lost in the thickets, putting aside handfuls of twigs 
 taller than herself, making a pathway amidst blades of couch- 
 grass as big as young birch-trees, still struggling, until the 
 time when these blades will enthral her on every side, will clasp 
 her by the limbs, by the waist, by the throat, to cast her dead 
 into this ocean, which will whirl her round and round in the 
 ever rising wave of verdure. 
 
 XII 
 
 War, infamous war, accursed war ! We young fellows did 
 not know what it was in 1859. We were still on the forms at 
 school. The dreadful word which made our mothers turn 
 pale, only reminded us of holidays. 
 
 And amidst our souvenirs we merely recalled those delight- 
 ful summer evenings when people made merry in the streets ; 
 the news of a victory in the morning wafted a breath of 
 holiday-making through Paris; and as soon as it was twilight 
 the shopkeepers illuminated their establishments and the raga- 
 muffins let off" farthing squibs in the streets. In front of the 
 cafds there were gentlemen drinking beer and discussing 
 politics ; whilst, there, in an out-of-the-way comer of Italy 
 or Russia, the dead, extended on their backs, were watching 
 the stars appear with their great, open, glassy eyes. 
 
 I remember that when I left college on that day in 1859, 
 when news of the battle of Magenta was noised abroad, I went 
 to the Place de la Sorbonne to have a look, to stroll about 
 in that atmosphere of fever that pervaded the streets. There 
 were a lot of urchins there shouting " Victory ! victory ! " We 
 sniffed a holiday. And amidst the yells and laughter I heard 
 sobs. It was an old cobbler weeping at the further end of his 
 shop. The poor fellow had two children in Italy. 
 
 Those sobs have frequently since then re-echoed in my 
 memory. At each rumour of war it seems that the old cobbler, 
 the hoary-headed people, are weeping amidst the thrilling 
 warmth of feeling on the public squares. 
 
SOUVENIRS 893 
 
 But I have a still better recollection of that other war, the 
 campaign in the Crimea. I was then fourteen, and lived buried 
 in the country, and was so thoughtless, that all I saw in war 
 was the constant passage of troops, whose presence had be- 
 come one of our greatest enjoyments. 
 
 I believe almost all the soldiers who went to the East 
 passed through the little town where I resided in the south of 
 France. A newspaper in the neighbourhood announced what 
 regiments would come that way beforehand. The departures 
 took place about five o'clock in the morning. From four 
 o'clock we were all at the public walk ; not a single day 
 scholar was missing at the gathering. 
 
 Ah ! what fine men I And the cuirassiers, and the lancers, 
 and the dragoons, and the hussars ! We had a weakness for 
 the cuirassiers. When the sun rose and its slanting rays blazed 
 upon the cuirasses, we fell back, blinded, fascinated, as if an 
 army of stars on horseback had passed before us. 
 
 Then the trumpets sounded. And they started. 
 
 We left with the soldiers. We followed them along the 
 broad, white roads. The band was playing then, thanking the 
 town for its hospitality. And there was a savour of holiday- 
 making in the clear, bright morning air. 
 
 I remember having Travelled leagues in that way. We 
 marched with our books fastened to our backs by a strap, like 
 a knapsack. It was agreed at first that we would never accom- 
 pany the soldiers beyond the powder-mill; then we went as 
 far as the bridge ; then we ascended the hill ; then we were 
 all for the next village. 
 
 And when we became frightened and agreed to stop, we 
 would climb a hill, and from there follow the regiment with 
 the eyes, in the distance, between the dips in the land, along 
 the winding road, and watch it lose itself and disappear with 
 its thousands of small flashes, in the brilliant light on the 
 horizon. 
 
 On those days we gave very little thought to the college ! 
 We played truant and amused ourselves at each heap of stones. 
 And it was not an uncommon thing for all of us to go down 
 to the river and pass the time there until evening, 
 
294 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 There is not much love for soldiers in the south of France. 
 I have seen some of them crying with fatigue and rage, seated 
 on the pavement with their billets in their hands : the bour- 
 geois, the sharp-nosed persons of small independent means, 
 the stout big men of business, had refused to take them in. 
 The authorities had to deal with the matter. 
 
 Our house was an hospitable one. My grandmother, who 
 was a Beauceronne, smiled on all the young men from the 
 north, for they reminded her of home. She talked with them, 
 inquired the name of their village, and how delighted she was 
 when it happened to be within a few leagues of her own I 
 
 They sent us two men from each regiment We could not 
 accommodate them, and so we put them up at the inn ; but 
 before they left my grandmother made them submit to her 
 little interrogation. 
 
 I remember two coming one day who belonged to her own 
 village. She would not allow these to leave. She gave them 
 their dinner in the kitchen, and it was she who filled their 
 glasses. I went to see the two soldiers on returning home 
 from college ; I think we even drank each other's health. 
 
 One was tall and the other short. I remember very well 
 that at the moment of departure the eyes of the tall one 
 swelled with tears. He had left a poor old mother in his 
 village, and he effusively thanked my grandmother, who 
 reminded him of his dear Beauce and all he had abandoned. 
 
 "Nonsense," said the worthy woman to him, "you will 
 return, and will have the Cross of the Legion of Honour." 
 
 But he shook his head in grief. 
 
 "Well," she continued, "if you come back this way, you 
 must call and see me. I will keep you a bottle of this wine 
 which you find so good." 
 
 The two poor fellows began to laugh. That invitation had 
 made them forget, for a moment, the terrible future, and they 
 no doubt fancied themselves back again, and at table in that 
 little hospitable house, drinking to dangers that were over. 
 They formally undertook to return and empty the bottle. 
 
 How many regiments I followed at that time, and how 
 many pale-faced soldiers came and knocked at our door! 
 
SOUVENIRS 295 
 
 I shall always remember the endless procession of those men 
 marching to death. Sometimes, by closing my eyes, I see 
 them again. I recall certain faces, and I ask myself : " In 
 what out-of-the-way ditch is that one lying ? " 
 
 Then the regiments became more scarce, and one day we 
 saw the men passing by in the reverse sense, limping, bleed- 
 ing, dragging themselves along the highway. Ah ! no, indeed ! 
 we did not go to await them, we did not accompany those 
 cripples. They were not our iine soldiers. They were not 
 worth the least trouble. 
 
 The sad procession continued for a long time. The army 
 scattered the dying along the road. Sometimes my grand- 
 mother said : 
 
 " And those two fellows from Beauce, you know, are they 
 forgetting me ? " 
 
 But one evening, at twilight, a soldier came and knocked 
 at the door. He was alone. He was the short one. 
 
 " My comrade's dead," he said as he came in. 
 
 My grandmother brought the bottle. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I shall have to drink all alone." 
 
 And when he saw himself there at table, raising his glass, 
 and looked for his comrade's to touch it, he heaved a huge 
 sigh, murmuring : 
 
 " He entrusted me with the duty of going to console the 
 old party. I would sooner have remained out there in his 
 place." 
 
 Later on I had Chauvin for comrade at the offices of a 
 company. We were both junior clerks and sat close together 
 at the end of a gloomy apartment, a capital hole to do 
 nothing in whilst awaiting the time to leave. 
 
 Chauvin had been a sergeant, and had returned from Sol- 
 ferino suffering from fever he had caught in the rice plantations 
 in Piedmont He swore at his affliction, but consoled himself 
 by putting the responsibility of it on the shoulders of the 
 Austrians. It was those tatterdemalions who had arranged 
 him in that way. 
 
 What hours were passed in gossiping! I had found my 
 old soldier, and I was determined not to part with him before 
 I had ejftracted some truths. I was not satisfied with big 
 
296 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 words: glory, victory, laurels, warriors, which in his mouth 
 resounded most magnificently. I allowed his flood of en- 
 thusiasm to pass. I assailed him with inquiries for details. I 
 consented to listen to the same story twenty times over, in 
 order to grasp the real spirit of it. Chauvin ended by con- 
 fiding some lovely things to me, without imagining he was 
 doing so. 
 
 He was as simple as a child at heart. He did not boast 
 for his own gratification ; he simply spoke in the ordinary 
 bragging military way. He was unwittingly a humbug, a good 
 fellow whom barrack life had transformed into a provoking 
 blockhead. 
 
 He had stories, witticisms all ready, one felt it. Sentences 
 prepared beforehand, embellished his anecdotes about "un- 
 conquerable troopers " and " brave officers rescued from 
 slaughter by the heroism of their soldiers." I endured the 
 Italian campaign four hours daily for two years. But I do 
 not regret it. Chauvin completed my education. 
 
 Thanks to him, thanks to the avowals he made to me in 
 our black hole, I know what warfare is without the thought of 
 evil; real warfare, not that of which historians relate the heroic 
 episodes, but that which sweats fear in the bright sunshine 
 and glides into deeds of blood like a drunken strumpet 
 
 I questioned Chauvin. 
 
 " And the soldiers, did they go gaily under fire ? " 
 
 " The soldiers ! did they push them forward, then ! I 
 remember recruits who had never been in action, and who 
 reared like skittish horses. They were afraid ; twice they fled. 
 But they brought them back again, and a battery killed half 
 You should have seen them then, covered with blood, blinded, 
 dashing on the Austrians like wolves. They were beside them- 
 selves, howling with rage, they wished to die." 
 
 "It was an apprenticeship that had to be gone through," 
 I said to encourage him. 
 
 " Oh yes ! a hard one, I'll answer for it. You see the 
 pluckiest of all experience icy sweats. You must be tipsy to 
 fight well. You then cease to see anything, and strike blows 
 before you like a madman," 
 
SOUVENIRS 297 
 
 And he went on with his recollections. 
 
 " One day they had placed us at a hundred yards from a 
 village occupied by the enemy, with orders not to move and 
 not to fire. But you see those tatterdemalions of Austrians 
 opened a frightful fusillade on our regiment. There was no 
 possibility of getting away. We ducked our heads at each 
 shower of bullets. I saw some throw themselves down flat on 
 their stomachs. It was shameful. They left us there for a 
 quarter of an hour. And the hair of two of my comrades 
 turned white." 
 
 Then he continued : 
 
 " No, you have not the least idea of it. The thing is all 
 arranged in books. Look here ; on the night of Solferino, we 
 did not even know if we were conquerors. There were reports 
 that the Austrians would come and massacre us. I can assure 
 you we didn't feel very lively. And so, when they made us 
 rise the next morning before daybreak, we were shivering, and 
 in mortal fear of the battle being resumed more fiercely than 
 ever. We would have been conquered that day, for we hadn't 
 two penn'orth of courage left. Then, they came and said to 
 us, 'Peace has been signed,' and all the regiment began 
 capering about, displaying an idiotic sort of joy. Soldiers 
 grasped one another's hands and danced round like young 
 girls. I'm not telling falsehoods, don't you think it. I was 
 there. We were very pleased." 
 
 Chauvin, who saw me smile, imagined I could not believe 
 that such an immense liking for peace existed in the French 
 army. He was deliciously simple. I sometimes drew him 
 out considerably. I asked him : 
 
 " And you, were you never afraid ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I," he replied, laughing modestly, " I was like the 
 others — I didn't know. Do you suppose you are aware 
 whether you are courageous or not ? You tremble and strike, 
 that's the truth. I was once knocked down by a spent bullet. 
 I remained on the ground, thinking to myself that if I got up, 
 something worse might happen to me." 
 
STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 XIII 
 
 He died gallantly as he had lived. 
 
 Do you remember, my friends, that mild spring, when we 
 used to go and see him at his little house at Clamart. Jacques 
 welcomed us with his pleasant smile. And we dined in the 
 bower covered with ivy grape, whilst Paris out there, on the 
 horizon, was roaring in the falling night. 
 
 You never knew all about him. I, who grew up in the 
 same place as he did, can read his heart to you. He had 
 been living at Clamart for two years, with that tall, fair girl who 
 faded away so sweetly. It is quite a story, as charming as it 
 is painful. 
 
 Jacques had met Madeleine at the FSte of Saint Cloud. 
 He took to loving her because she was sad and ailing. He 
 wished to give the poor girl two seasons of affection before she 
 entered her grave. And he went and hid himself with her, in 
 that dip in the ground at Clamart, where roses grow as thick 
 as poppies. 
 
 You know the house. It is a very modest one, all white, 
 buried hke a nest among the green foliage. From the thresh- 
 old one breathed an atmosphere of quiet affection. Jacques, 
 little by little, had become extremely fond of the dying girL 
 He watched the disease making her paler every day, with feel- 
 ings of bitter tenderness. Madeleine, like one of those small 
 oil lamps in churches, which flare up brightly before going out, 
 was all smiles and shed lustre on the little white house with 
 her blue eyes. 
 
 The child hardly went abroad for two seasons. She filled 
 the small garden with her charming being, her light gowns and 
 nimble footsteps. It was she who planted the large fallow 
 wall-flowers with which she made us nosegays. And the gera- 
 niums, the rhododendrons, the heliotropes, all those living 
 flowers, lived by her and for her. She was the soul of this bit 
 of nature. 
 
 Then, in the autumn, you remember, Jacques came one 
 night and said to us in his drawling voice : " She is dead." 
 She had died in her bower, like a child going off to sleep at 
 
SOUVENIRS 299 
 
 the pale hour when the sun retires for the night. She had 
 died amidst her verdure, in the out-of-the-way corner where 
 love had soothed her agony for two years. 
 
 I had never seen Jacques after that. I knew he still lived 
 at Clamart, in the bower, with his thoughts on Madeleine. 
 I had been so broken down with fatigue since the commence- 
 ment of the siege, that I had quite forgotten him, when hear- 
 ing on the morning of the 13th, that they were fighiing in 
 the vicinity of Meudon and Sevres, I all at once recalled to 
 mind the little white house hidden among the green leaves, 
 with Madeleine, Jacques, all of us taking tea in the garden, 
 amidst the intense peacefulness of evening, in front of Paris 
 which was snoring with a rumbling, hollow noise on the 
 horizon. 
 
 Then I went out by the Vanves gate and proceeded straight 
 before me. The roads were encumbered with wounded. I 
 thus reached Moulineaux, where I heard of our success ; but, 
 when I had turned the wood and found myself on the hillside, 
 I felt a terrible pang in my heart. 
 
 Opposite me, in the trampled down, devastated fields, I saw 
 nothing more on the site of the little white house, than a black 
 hole where shot and fire had passed. I descended the hill 
 with tearful eyes. 
 
 Ah ! my friends, what a frightful sight ! You know, the 
 hawthorn hedge, it was levelled to the roots by bullets. The 
 large fallow wall-flowers, the geraniums, the rhododendrons, 
 were lying around, cut to pieces, pounded to bits, so lamen- 
 table to see, that I felt the same pity for them, as if I had 
 had the bleeding limbs of poor fellows of my acquaintance 
 before me. 
 
 All one side of the house has fallen down. Its gaping 
 wound displays Madeleine's room, that chaste apartment, 
 hung with rose-coloured chintz, the curtains of which one 
 could always see drawn, from the road. That room, brutally 
 thrown open by the Prussian cannonade, that love-pervaded 
 alcove that can now be seen from any spot in the valley, made 
 
300 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 my heart bleed, and I said to myself that I was in the centre 
 of the cemetery of our youth. The ground covered with rem- 
 nants of all kinds, ploughed up by shells, resembled land 
 recently upheaved by the shovels of grave-diggers, and where 
 in mind's eye one pictures to oneself the new cofBns. 
 
 Jacques must have had to abandon this house riddled by 
 shot. I went on further, I entered the bower, which, by 
 miracle, has remained almost intact. There, Jacques was 
 sleeping on the ground, in a pool of blood, his chest pierced by 
 more than twenty wounds. He had not quitted the ivy grape 
 where he had loved, he had died where Madeleine had died. 
 
 I picked up his empty cartridge-box, his broken chassepot 
 at his feet, and I saw the hands of the poor departed were 
 black with powder. Jacques, alone with his weapon, had 
 madly defended Madeleine's white phantom for the space of 
 five hours. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Poor Neuilly ! I shall long remember the lamentable walk 
 I took yesterday, April 25, 1871. At nine o'clock, as soon 
 as the armistice concluded between Paris and Versailles be- 
 came known, a large crowd went towards the Porte Maillot. 
 This gate no longer exists ; the batteries at Courbevoie and 
 Mount Valerian have reduced it to a heap of rubbish. When 
 I passed through the ruin National Guards were occupied in 
 repairing the gate — Si useless task, for a few cannon-shots will 
 suffice to dash away the sacks and paving-stones they were 
 piling-up there. 
 
 From the Porte Maillot you walk amidst destruction. All 
 the neighbouring houses have fallen in. Through the broken 
 windows I catch sight of bits of costly furniture ; a curtain in 
 ribbons hangs from a balcony, a canary still Kves in a cage 
 suspended at the top of a garret window. The more one ad- 
 vances the greater are the disasters. The avenue is strewn 
 with remnants, ploughed up by shells ; any one would call it 
 the vale of tears, the accursed Calvary of civil war. 
 
SOUVENIRS 301 
 
 I turned into the cross streets, hoping to escape this horrible 
 high-road along which one came upon pools of blood at every 
 step. Alas! in the narrow thoroughfares that run into the 
 avenue the devastation is perhaps more terrible still. There 
 they fought foot to foot with cold steel. The houses have 
 been taken and retaken ten times over ; the soldiers of the 
 two parties have broken through the walls to effect an entrance 
 into the interior, and they have struck down with pickaxes 
 what the shells have spared. It is particularly the gardens 
 that have suffered. The poor spring gardens ! The surround- 
 ing walls have gaping breaches, the flower beds are up-heaved, 
 the paths trampled down, laid waste. And over all this vision 
 of spring, tainted with blood, a mass of lilac is blossoming all 
 alone. Never has the month of April seen such bloom. Per- 
 sons who feel curious enter the gardens by the open breaches. 
 They carry armfuls of lilac away on their shoulders,, and the 
 bunches are so cumbrous that sprigs of them fall away at every 
 step, so that the streets of Neuilly are soon all strewn with 
 flowers, as if made ready for a procession. 
 
 The crowd is grieved at the damage done to the houses, at 
 the holes in the walls. But there is something that looks still 
 more sad. It is the removing of the inhabitants of the unfor- 
 tunate village. There are three or four thousand persons 
 hurrying away, carrying their most precious articles along with 
 them. I see some people returning to Paris with a small 
 basket of linen, and an enormous clock in imitation gilt bronze 
 in their arms. All the carts for removing furniture have been 
 retained. The people go even so far as to carry away ward- 
 robes with looking-glass doors, on stretchers, like wounded 
 mortals whom the slightest shock might kill. 
 
 The inhabitants have suffered frightfully. I had some con- 
 versation with one of the fugitives who had been shut up in a 
 cellar for a fortnight with some thirty others. These unfor- 
 tunate creatures were dying of hunger. One of them having 
 volunteered to go and fetch food, was struck down on the 
 threshold of the cellar, and his corpse remained for six days at 
 the bottom of the steps. Is not such warfare, which permits 
 of dead bodies rotting thus amidst the living, real nightmare? 
 Is it not ungodly warfare ? Sooner or later the country will 
 suffer for these crimes. 
 
302 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 The crowd strolled about on the scene of the struggle until 
 five o'clock. I saw little girls who had come quietly from the 
 Champs Elys^es playing with their hoops among the ruins. 
 And their smiling mothers talked together, and occasionally 
 stopped, with a delightful little look of horror. Strange people 
 are those of Paris, who forget themselves amongst loaded ord- 
 nance, who indulge in their love of sauntering idly to and fro, 
 and examining everything that excites their interest, to the point 
 of wishing to see whether the shot is really in the cannon's 
 mouth. Some National Guards, at the Porte Maillot, had to 
 get angry with ladies who insisted on touching a mitrailleuse in 
 order to understand its mechanism. 
 
 When I left Neuilly, at about seven o'clock, not a cannon- 
 shot had been fired. The crowd was slowly re-entering Paris. 
 One might have imagined, when in the Champs Elysees, that 
 one was. watching a late return of the public from the Long- 
 champs races. And for a long time afterwards, up to dark, 
 you met pedestrians, whole families, bowed down under loads 
 of lilac. There is naught at this hour on our mantelpieces, but 
 bunches of sweet-scented flowers from the sinister village 
 where people of the same nationality are slaughtering one 
 another, or from the accursed avenue with houses wrecked 
 in gore. 
 
 We have just had three days' sunshine. The boulevards 
 were swarming with people sauntering to and fro. What 
 causes me unremitting astonishment is the lively aspect of the 
 squares and public gardens. In the Tuileries ladies are em- 
 broidering in the shade of the chestnuts, children are at play, 
 whilst up there, in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe, shells 
 are bursting. This intolerable sound of artillery no longer 
 even causes this little playful world to turn their heads. You 
 see mothers holding young children in each hand, who go close 
 to the formidable barricades thrown up on the Place de la 
 Concorde, and examine them. 
 
 But the most characteristic feature are the pleasure-parties 
 the Parisians have been making for a week to the knoll of 
 Montmartre. All Paris has fixed a rendezvous there, in some 
 waste ground on the western slope. This is a magnificent amphi- 
 theatre for viewing the battle which is being fought between 
 
SOUVENIRS 303 
 
 Meuilly and Asniferes. They had brought chairs and camp- 
 stools with them. Enterprising people had even placed forms 
 there ; for two sous you were seated as in the pit of a theatre. 
 Women particularly, came in great numbers. Then there were 
 loud bursts of laughter among the crowd. Each time they 
 perceived a shell burst in the distance they stamped with joy, 
 and made some good joke which ran through the groups like 
 a squib of gaiety. I even saw people bring their luncheons 
 there, a piece of pork-butcher's delicacy on bread. So as not 
 to quit the spot, they ate standing upright, and sent for wine 
 at a retailer's in the neighbourhood. These crowds require 
 sights ; when the theatres close and civil war opens they go 
 and see people die in earnest, with the same bantering 
 curiosity as they d'splay in waiting for the fifth act of a 
 melodrama. 
 
 " It's so far off," said a charming young woman, who was 
 fair and pale, " that it does not affect me at all to see them 
 jump. When men are cut in two, one would think they were 
 being folded up like skeins of silk or thread." 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 
 
 SPRING 
 
 On that particular day, at about five o'clock in the morning, 
 the sun entered with delightful abruptness into the little room 
 I occupied at the house of my uncle Lazare, parish priest of 
 the hamlet of Dourgues. A broad yellow ray fell upon my 
 closed eyelids, and I awoke in light. 
 
 My room, which was whitewashed, and had deal furniture, 
 was full of attractive gaiety. I went to the window and gazed 
 at the Durance, which traced its broad course amidst the dark 
 green verdure of the valley. Fresh puffs of wind caressed my 
 face, and the murmur of the trees and river seemed to caU 
 me to them. 
 
 I gently opened my door. To get out I had to pass through 
 my uncle's room. I proceeded on tip-toe, fearing the creak- 
 ing of my thick boots might awaken the worthy man, who 
 was still slumbering with a smiling countenance. And I 
 trembled at the sound of the church bell tolling the Angelus. 
 For some days past my uncle Lazare had been following me 
 about everywhere, looking sad and annoyed. He would per- 
 haps have prevented me going over there to the edge of the 
 river, and hiding myself among the willows on the bank, so as 
 to watch for Babet passing, that tall dark girl who had come 
 with the spring. 
 
 But my uncle was sleeping soundly. I felt something like 
 remorse in deceiving him and running away in this manner. I 
 stayed for an instant and gazed on his calm countenance, 
 with its gentle expression enhanced by rest, and I recalled 
 to mind with feeling the day when he had come to fetch 
 me in the chilly and deserted home which my mother's funeral 
 was leaving. Since that day, what tenderness, what devoted- 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 305 
 
 ness, what good advice he had bestowed on me 1 He had 
 given me his knowledge and his kindness, all his intelligence 
 and all his heart. 
 
 I was tempted for a moment to cry out to him : 
 
 " Get up, uncle Lazare I let us go for a walk together along 
 that path you are so fond of beside the Durance. You will 
 enjoy the fresh air and morning sun. You will see what an 
 appetite you will have on your return ! " 
 
 And Babet, who was going down to the river in her light 
 morning gown, and whom I should not be able to see ! My 
 uncle would be there, and I would have to lower my eyes. It 
 must be so nice under the willows, lying flat on one's stomach, 
 in the fine grass ! I felt a languid feeling creeping over me, 
 and, slowly, taking short steps, holding my breath, I reached 
 the door. I went downstairs, and began running like a madcap 
 in the delightful, warm May morning air. 
 
 The sky was quite white on the horizon, with exquisitely 
 delicate blue and pink tints. The pale sun seemed like a 
 great silver lamp, casting a shower of bright rays into the 
 Durance. And the broad, sluggish river expanding lazily over 
 the red sand, extended from one end of the valley to the other, 
 like a stream of liquid metal. To the west, a line of low rugged 
 hills threw slight violet streaks on the pale sky. 
 
 I had been living in this out-of-the-way corner for ten years. 
 How often had I kept my uncle Lazare waiting to give me my 
 Latin lesson ! The worthy man wanted to make me learned. 
 But I was on the other side of the Durance, ferreting out 
 magpies, discovering a hill which I had not yet climbed. 
 Then, on my return, there were remonstrances : the Latin was 
 forgotten, my poor uncle scolded me for having torn my 
 trousers, and he shuddered when he noticed sometimes that 
 the skin underneath was cut. The valley was mine, really 
 mine ; I had conquered it with my legs, and I was the real 
 landlord by right of friendship. And that bit of river, those 
 two leagues of the Durance, how I loved them, how well we 
 understood one another when together! I knew all the 
 whims of my dear stream, its anger, its charming ways, its 
 different features at each hour of the day. 
 
 When I reached the water's edge on that particular morning, 
 I felt something like giddiness at seeing it so gentle and so 
 white. It had never looked so gay. I slipped rapidly be- 
 
 V 
 
3o6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 neath the willows, to an open space where a broad patch of 
 sunlight fell on the dark grass. There I laid me down on 
 my stomach, listening, watching the pathway by which Eabet 
 would come, through the branches. 
 
 " Oh ! how sound uncle Lazare must be sleeping I " I 
 thought. 
 
 And I extended myself at full length on the moss. The 
 sun struck gentle heat into my back, whilst my breast, buried 
 in the grass, was quite cooL 
 
 Have you never examined the turf, at close quarters, with 
 your eyes on the blades of grass ? Whilst I was waiting for 
 Babet, I pried indiscreetly into a tuft which was really a whole 
 world. In my bunch of grass there were streets, cross roads, 
 public squares, entire cities. At the bottom of it, I distin- 
 guished a great dark patch where the shoots of the previous 
 spring were decaying sadly, then slender stalks were growing 
 up, stretching out, bending into a multitude of elegant forms, 
 and producing frail colonnades, churches, virgin forests. I 
 saw two lean insects wandering in the midst of this immensity ; 
 the poor children were certainly lost, for they went from colon- 
 nade to colonnade, from street to street, in an affrighted, 
 anxious way. 
 
 It was just at this moment that, on raising my eyes, I saw 
 Babet's white skirts standing out against the dark ground at 
 the top of the pathway. I recognised her printed calico gown 
 which was grey with small blue flowers. I sunk down deeper 
 in the grass, I heard my heart thumping against the earth and 
 almost raising me with slight jerks. My breast was burning 
 now, I no longer felt the freshness of the dew. 
 
 The young girl came nimbly down the pathway, her skirts 
 skimming the ground with a swinging motion that charmed 
 me. I saw her at full length, quite erect, in her proud and 
 happy gracefulness. She had no idea I was there behind the 
 willows ; she walked with a light step, she ran without giving a 
 thought to the wind, which slightly raised her gown. I could 
 distinguish her feet, trotting along quickly, quickly, and a piece 
 of her white stockings, which was perhaps as large as one's 
 hand, and which made me blush in a manner that was alike 
 sweet and painful. 
 
 Oh I then, I saw nothing else, neither the Durance, nor the 
 willows, nor the whiteness of the sky. What cared I for the 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 307 
 
 valley 1 It was no longer my sweetheart ; I was quite in- 
 different to its joy and its sadness. What cared I for my 
 friends, the stones, and the trees on the hills ! The river 
 could run away all at once if it liked ; I would not have re- 
 gretted it. 
 
 And the spring, I did not care a bit about the spring ! Had 
 it borne away the sun that warmed my back, its leaves, its 
 rays, all its May morning, I should have remained there, in 
 ecstasy, gazing at Babet, running along the pathway, and 
 swinging her skirts deliciously. For Babet had taken the 
 valley's place in my heart, Babet was the spring. I had never 
 spoken to her. Both of us blushed when we met one 
 another in my uncle Lazare's church. I could have vowed she 
 detested me. 
 
 She talked on that particular day for a few minutes with the 
 women who were washing. The sound of her pearly laughter 
 reached as far as me, mingled with the loud voice of the 
 Durance. Then she stooped down to take a little water in 
 the hollow of her hand ; but the bank was high, and Babet, 
 who was on the point of slipping, saved herself by clutching 
 the grass. I gave a frightful shudder, which made my blood 
 run cold. I rose hastily, ahd, without feeling ashamed, with- 
 out reddening, ran to the young girl. She cast a startled look 
 at me; then she began to smile. I bent down, at the risk'of 
 falling. I succeeded in filling my right hand with water by 
 keeping my fingers close together. And I presented this new 
 sort of cup to Babet, asking her to drink. 
 
 The women who were washing laughed. Babet, confused, 
 did not dare accept ; she hesitated, and half turned her head 
 away. At last she made up her mind, and delicately pressed 
 her lips to the tips of my fingers ; but she had waited too long, 
 all the water had ran away. Then she burst out laughing, she 
 became a child again, and I saw very well that she was making 
 fun of me. 
 
 I was very silly. I bent forward again. This time I took 
 the water in both hands and hastened to put them to Babet's 
 lips. She drank, and I felt the warm kiss from her mouth run 
 up my arms to my breast, which it filled with heat. 
 
 " Oh ! how my uncle must sleep ! " I murmured to myself. 
 
 Just as I said that, I perceived a dark shadow beside me, 
 and, having turned round, I saw my uncle Lazare, in person, 
 
3o8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 a few paces away, watching Babet and me as if offended. His 
 cassock appeared quite white in the sun; in his look I saw 
 reproaches which made me feel inclined to cry. 
 
 Babet was very much afraid. She turned quite red, and 
 hurried off stammering : 
 
 " Thanks, Monsieur Jean, I thank you very much." 
 
 As for me, wiping my wet hands, I stood motionless and 
 confused before my uncle Lazare. 
 
 The worthy man, with folded arms, and bringing back 
 a corner of his cassock, watched Babet, who was running 
 up the pathway without turning her head. Then, when she 
 had disappeared behind the hedges, he lowered his eyes to me, 
 and I saw his pleasant countenance smile sadly. 
 
 " Jean," he said to me, " come into the broad walk. Break- 
 fast is not ready. We have half an hour to spare." 
 
 He set out with his rather heavy tread, avoiding the tufts of 
 grass wet with dew. A part of the bottom of his cassock that 
 was dragging along the ground, made a dull crackling sound. 
 He held his breviary under his arm ; but he had forgotten his 
 morning lecture, and he advanced dreamily, with bowed head, 
 and without uttering a word. 
 
 His silence tormented me. He was generally so talkative. 
 My anxiety increased at each step. He had certainly seen 
 me giving Babet water to drink. What a sight, O Lord ! The 
 young girl, laughing and blushing, kissed the tips of my fingers, 
 whilst I, standing on tip-toe, stretching out my arms, was lean- 
 ing forward as if to kiss her. My action now seemed to me 
 frightfully audacious. And all my timidity returned. I in- 
 quired of myself how I could have dared to have my fingers 
 kissed so sweetly. 
 
 And my uncle Lazare who said nothing, who continued 
 walking with short steps in front of me, without giving a single 
 glance at the old trees he loved ! He was assuredly preparing 
 a sermon. He was only taking me into the broad walk to 
 scold me at his ease. It would occupy at least an hour : 
 breakfast would get cold, and I would be unable to return to 
 the water's edge and dream of the warm burns that Babefs 
 lips had left on my hands. 
 
 We were in the broad walk. This walk, which was wide and 
 short, ran beside the river ; it was shaded by enormous oak 
 trees, with trunks lacerated by seams, stretching out their 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 309 
 
 great, tall branches. The fine grass spread like a carpet 
 beneath the trees, and the sun, riddling the foliage, em- 
 broidered this carpet with a rosaceous pattern in gold. In the 
 distance, all around, extended raw green meadows. 
 
 My uncle went to the bottom of the walk, without altering 
 his step and without turning round. Once there, he stopped, 
 and I kept beside him, understanding that the terrible moment 
 had arrived. 
 
 The river made a sharp curve ; a low parapet at the end of 
 the walk formed a sort of terrace. This vault of shade opened 
 on a valley of light. The country expanded wide before us, 
 for several leagues. The sun was rising in the heavens, where 
 the silvery rays of morning had become transformed into a 
 stream of gold ; blinding floods of light ran from the horizon, 
 along the hills, and spread out into the plain with the glare of 
 fire. 
 
 After a moment's silence, my uncle Lazare turned towards 
 me. 
 
 " Good heavens, the sermon I " I thought, and I bowed 
 my head. My uncle pointed out the valley to me, with an 
 expansive gesture ; then, drawing himself up, he said, slowly : 
 
 "Look, Jean, there is the spring. The earth is full of joy, 
 my boy, and I have brought you here, opposite this plain of 
 light, to show you the first smiles of the young season. 
 Observe what brilliancy and sweetness ! Warm perfumes rise 
 from the country and pass across our faces like puffs of life." 
 
 He was silent and seemed dreaming. I had raised my 
 head, astonished, breathing at ease. My uncle was not 
 preaching. 
 
 " It is a beautiful morning," he continued, " a morning of 
 youth. Your eighteen summers find full enjoyment amidst 
 this verdure which is at most eighteen days old. All is great 
 brightness and perfume, is it not ? The broad valley seems to 
 you a delightful place : the river is there to give you its fresh- 
 ness, the trees to lend you their shade, the whole country to 
 speak to you of tenderness, the heavens themselves to kiss 
 those horizons that you are searching with hope and desire. 
 The spring belongs to fellows of your age. It is it that teaches 
 the boys how to give young girls to drink " 
 
 I hung my head again. My uncle Lazare bad certainly 
 seen me. 
 
310 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "An old fellow like me," he continued, "unfortunately 
 knows what trust to place in the charms of spring. 1, my poor 
 Jean, I love the Durance because it waters these meadows and 
 gives life to all the valley ; I love this young foliage because 
 it proclaims to me the coming of the fruits of summer and 
 autumn ; I love this sky because it is good to us, because its 
 warmth hastens the fecundity of the earth. I should have had 
 to tell you this one day or other ; I prefer telling it you now, 
 at this early hour. It is spring itself that is giving you the 
 lesson. The earth is a vast workshop wherein there is never 
 a slack season. Observe this flower at our feet ; to you it is 
 perfume ; to me it is labour, it accomplishes its task by pro- 
 ducing its share of life, a little black seed which will work in 
 its turn, next spring. And, now, search the vast horizon. All 
 this joy is but the act of generation. If the country be smiling, 
 it is because it is beginning the everlasting task again. Do 
 you hear it now, breathing hard, full of activity and haste? 
 The leaves sigh, the flowers are in a hurry, the com grows 
 without pausing ; all the plants, all the herbs are quarrelling as 
 to which shall spring up the quickest ; and the running water, 
 the river comes to assist in the common labour, and the young 
 sun which rises in the heavens, is entrusted with the duty of 
 enlivening the everlasting task of the labourers." 
 
 At this point my uncle made me look him straight in the 
 face. He concluded in these terms : 
 
 "Jean, you hear what your friend the spring says to you. 
 He is youth, but he is preparing ripe age ; his bright smile is 
 but the gaiety of labour. Summer will be powerful, autumn 
 bountiful, for the spring is singing at this moment, while 
 courageously performing its work." 
 
 I looked very stupid. I understood my uncle Lazare. He 
 was positively preaching me a sermon, in which he told me I 
 was an idle fellow and that the time had come to work. 
 
 My uncle appeared as much embarrassed as myself After 
 having hesitated for some instants he said, slightly stammering : 
 
 "Jean, you were wrong not to have come and told me all — 
 as you love Babet and Babet loves you " 
 
 " Babet loves me ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 My uncle made me an ill-humoured gesture. 
 
 " Eh ! allow me to speak. I don't want another avowal. 
 She owned it to me herself." 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 311 
 
 " She owned that to you, she owned that to you I " 
 
 And I suddenly threw my arras round my uncle Lazare's 
 neck. 
 
 " Oh ! how nice that is 1 " I added. " I had never spoken 
 to her, truly. She told you that at the confessional, didn't 
 she ? I would never have dared ask her if she loved me, 
 and I would never have known anything. Oh ! how I thank 
 you!" 
 
 My uncle Lazare was quite red. He felt that he had just 
 committed a blunder. He had imagined that this was not my 
 first meeting with the young girl, and here he gave me a cer- 
 tainty, when as yet I only dared dream of a hope. He held 
 his tongue now ; it was I who spoke with volubility. 
 
 " I understand all," I continued. " You are right, I must 
 work to win Babet. But you will see how courageous I shall 
 be. Ah I how good you are, my uncle Lazare, and how well 
 you speak I I understand what the spring says ; I, also, will 
 have a powerful summer and an autumn of abundance. One 
 is well placed here, one sees all the valley ; I am young like it, 
 I feel youth within me demanding to accomplish its task " 
 
 My uncle calmed me. 
 
 " Very good, Jean," he said to me. " I had long hoped to 
 make a priest of you, and I imparted to you my knowledge 
 with that sole aim. But what I saw this morning at the water- 
 side, compels me to definitely give up my fondest. hope. It is 
 Heaven that disposes of us. You will love the Almighty in 
 another way. You cannot now remain in this village, and I 
 only wish you to return when ripened by age and work. I 
 have chosen the trade of printer for you ; your education will 
 serve you. One of my friends, who is a printer at Grenoble, 
 is expecting you next Monday." 
 
 I felt anxious. 
 
 " And I shall come back and marry Babet ? " I inquired. 
 
 My uncle smiled imperceptibly ; and, without answering in 
 a direct manner, said : 
 
 "The remainder is the will of Heaven." 
 
 "You are heaven, and I have faith in your kindness. Oh I 
 uncle, see that Babet does not forget me. I will work for her." 
 
 Then my uncle Lazare again pointed out to me the valley 
 which the warm golden light was overspreading more and 
 more. 
 
312 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " There is hope," he said to me. " Do not be as old as I 
 am, Jean. Forget my sermon, be as ignorant as this land. It 
 does not trouble about the autumn ; it is all engrossed with 
 the joy of its smile ; it labours, courageously and without a 
 care. It hopes." 
 
 And we returned to the parsonage, strolling along slowly in 
 the grass, which was scorched by the sun, and chatting with 
 concern of our approaching separation. 
 
 Breakfast was cold, as I had foreseen ; but that did not trouble 
 me much. I had tears in my eyes each time I looked at my 
 uncle Lazase. And, at the thought of Babet, my heart beat 
 fit to choke me. 
 
 I do not remember what I did during the remainder of the 
 day. I think I went and lay down under the willows at the 
 riverside. My uncle was right, the earth was at work. On 
 placing my ear to the grass I seemed to hear continual 
 sounds. Then I dreamed of what my life would be. Buried 
 in the grass until nightfall, I arranged an existence full of 
 labour divided between Babet and my uncle Lazare. The 
 energetic youthfulness of the soil had penetrated my breast, 
 which I pressed with force against the common mother, and 
 at times I imagined myself to be one of the strong willows 
 that lived around me. In the evening I could not dine. My 
 uncle, no doubt, understood the thoughts that were choking 
 me, for he feigned not to notice my want of appetite. As 
 soon as I was able to rise from table, I hastened to return and 
 breathe the open air outside. 
 
 A fresh breeze rose from the river, the dull splashing of 
 which I heard in the distance. A soft light fell from the sky. 
 The valley expanded, peaceful and transparent, like a dark 
 shoreless ocean. There were vague sounds in the air, a sort 
 of impassioned tremor, like a great flapping of wings passing 
 above my head. Penetrating perfumes rose with the cool air 
 from the grass. 
 
 I had gone out to see Babet ; I knew she came to the par- 
 sonage every night, and I went and placed myself in ambush 
 behind a hedge. I had got rid of my timidness of the morn- 
 ing ; I considered it quite natural to be waiting for her there, 
 because she loved me and I had to tell her of my departure. 
 
 When I perceived her skirts in the limpid night, I advanced 
 noiselessly. Then I murmured in a low voice : 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 313 
 
 " Babet, Babet, I am here." 
 
 She did not recognise me, at first, and started with fright. 
 When she discovered who it was, she seemed still more 
 frightened, which very much surprised me. 
 
 "It's you. Monsieur Jean," she said to me. "What are 
 you doing there ? What do you want ? " 
 
 I was beside her and took her hand. 
 
 " You love me fondly, do you not ? " 
 
 "II who told you that?" 
 
 " My uncle Lazare." 
 
 She stood there in confusion. Her hand began to tremble 
 in mifte. As she was on -the point of running away, I took 
 her other hand. We were face to face, in a sort of hollow in 
 the hedge, and I felt Babet's panting breath running all warm 
 over my face. The freshness of the air, the rustling silence 
 of the night, hung around us. 
 
 " I don't know," stammered the young girl, " I never said 
 that — his reverence the cui6 misunderstood — For mercy's 
 sake, let me be, I am in a hurry," 
 
 "No, no," I continued, "I want you to know that I am 
 going away to-morrow, and to promise to love me always." 
 
 " You are leaving to-morrow ! " 
 
 Oh ! that sweet cry, and how tenderly Babet uttered it 1 
 I seem still to hear her apprehensive voice full of afQiction 
 and love. 
 
 "You see,'' I exclaimed in my turn, "that my uncle Lazare 
 said the truth. Besides, he never tells fibs. You love me, 
 you love me, Babet ! Your lips this morning confided the 
 secret very softly to my fingers." 
 
 And I made her sit down at the foot of the hedge. My 
 memory has retained my first chat of love in its absolute 
 innocence. Babet listened to me like a little sister. She was 
 no longer afraid, she told me the story of her love. And 
 there were solemn sermons, ingenious avowals, projects with- 
 out end. She vowed she would marry no one but me, I 
 vowed to deserve her hand by labour and tenderness. There 
 was a cricket behind the hedge, who accompanied our chat 
 with his chaunt of hope, and all the valley, whispering in the 
 dark, took pleasure in hearing us talk so softly. 
 
 On separating we forgot to kiss each other. 
 
 When I returned to my little room, it appeared to me that 
 
314 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 I had left it for at least a year. That day which was so short, 
 seemed an eternity of happiness. It was the warmest and 
 most sweetly-scented spring-day of my life, and the remem- 
 brance of it is now like the distant, faltering voice of my 
 youth. 
 
 II 
 
 SUMMER 
 
 When I awoke at about three o'clock in the morning on that 
 particular day, I was lying on the hard ground tired out, and 
 with my face bathed in perspiration. The hot heavy atmos- 
 phere of a July night weighed me down. 
 
 My companions were sleeping around me, wrapped in their 
 hooded cloaks; they speckled the grey ground with black, 
 and the obscure plain panted ; I fancied I heard the heavy 
 breathing of a slumbering multitude. Indistinct sounds, the 
 neighing of horses, the clash of arms rang out amidst the 
 rustling silence. 
 
 The army had halted at about midnight^ and we had received 
 orders to lie down and sleep. We had been marching for 
 three days, scorched by the sun and blinded by dust The 
 enemy were at length in front of us, over there, on those hills 
 on the horizon. At daybreak a decisive battle would be 
 fought. 
 
 I had been a victim to despondency. For three days I had 
 been as if trampled on, without energy and without thought 
 for the future. It was the excessive fatigue, indeed, that had 
 just awakened me. ' Now, lying on my back, with my eyes 
 wide open, I was thinking whilst gazing into the night, I 
 thought of this battle, this butchery, which the sun was about 
 to light up. For more than six years, at the first shot in each 
 fight, I had been saying good-bye to those I loved the most 
 fondly, Babet and uncle Lazare. And now, barely a month 
 before my discharge, I had to say good-bye again, and this 
 time perhaps for ever. 
 
 Then my thoughts softened. With closed eyelids I saw Babet 
 and my uncle Lazare. How long it was since I had kissed 
 them I I remembered the day of our separation j my uncle 
 weeping because he was poor, and allowing me to leave like 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 313 
 
 that, and Babet, in the evening, had vowed she would wait for 
 me, and that she would never love another. I had had to 
 quit all, my master at Grenoble, my friends at Dourgues. A 
 few letters had come from time to time to tell me they 
 always loved me, and that happiness was awaiting me in my 
 well-beloved valley. And I, I was going to fight, I was going 
 to get killed. 
 
 I began dreaming of my return. I saw my poor old uncle 
 on the threshold of the parsonage extending his trembling 
 arms ; and behind him was Babet, quite red, smiling through 
 her tears. I fell into their arms and kissed them, seeking for 
 expressions 
 
 Suddenly the beating of drums recalled me to stem reality. 
 Daybreak had come, the grey plain expanded in the morning 
 mist. The ground became full of life, indistinct forms ap- 
 peared on all sides ; a sound that became louder and louder 
 filled the air ; it was the call of bugles, the galloping of horses, 
 the rumble of artillery, the shouting out of orders. War came 
 threatening, amidst my dream of tenderness. I rose with diffi- 
 culty ; it seemed to me that my bones were broken, and that 
 my head was about to split. I hastily got my men together ; 
 for I must tell you that I had won the rank of sergeant. We 
 soon received orders to bear to the left and occupy a hillock 
 above the plain. 
 
 As we were about to move, the sergeant-major came running 
 .along and shouting : 
 
 " A letter for Sergeant Gourdon I " 
 
 And he handed me a dirty crumpled letter, which had been 
 lying perhaps for a week in the leather bags of the post-office. 
 I had only just time to recognise the writing of my uncle 
 Lazare. 
 
 " Forward, march I " shouted the major. 
 
 I had to march. For a few seconds I held the poor letter 
 in my hand, devouring it with my eyes ; it burnt my fingers ; I 
 would have given everything in the world to have sat down 
 and wept at ease whilst reading it. I had to content myself 
 with slipping it under my tunic against my heart 
 
 I have never experienced such agony. By way of consola- 
 tion I said to myself what my uncle had so often repeated to 
 me ; I was in the summer of my life, at the moment of the 
 fierce struggle, and it was essential that I should perform my 
 
3i6 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 duty bravely, if I would have a peaceful and bountiful autumn. 
 But these reasons exasperated me the more : this letter, which 
 had come to speak to me of happiness, burnt my heart, which 
 had revolted against the folly of war. And I could not even 
 read it I I was perhaps going to die without knowing what it 
 contained, without perusing my uncle Lazare's aflfectionate 
 remarks for the last time. 
 
 We had reached the top of the hilL We were to await 
 orders there to advance. The battle-field had been marvel- 
 lously chosen to slaughter one another at ease. The immense 
 plain expanded for several leagues, and was quite bare, without 
 a house or tree. Hedges and bushes made slight spots on the 
 whiteness of the ground. I have never since seen such a 
 country, an ocean of dust, a chalky soil, bursting open here 
 and there, and displaying its tawny bowels. And never either 
 have I since witnessed a sky of such intense purity, a July day 
 so lovely and so warm ; at eight o'clock the sultry heat was 
 already scorching our faces. O the splendid morning, and 
 what a sterile plain to kill and die in 1 
 
 Firing had broken out with irregular cracking sounds, a long 
 time since, supported by the solemn growl of the cannon. The 
 enemy, Austrians dressed in white, had quitted the heights, 
 and the plain was studded with long files of men, who looked 
 to me about as big as insects. One might have thought it 
 was an ant-hill in insurrection. Clouds of smoke hung over 
 the battle-field. At times, when these clouds broke asunder, 
 I perceived soldiers in flight, smitten with terrified panic. Thus 
 there were currents of fright which bore men away, and outbursts 
 of shame and courage which brought them back under fire. 
 
 I could neither hear the cries of the wounded, nor see the 
 blood flow. I could only distinguish the dead which the bat- 
 talions left behind them, and which resembled black patches. 
 I began to watch the movements of the troops with curiosity, 
 irritated at the smoke which hid a good half of the show, ex- 
 periencing a sort of egotistic pleasure at the knowledge that I 
 was in security, whilst others were dying. 
 
 At about nine o'clock we were ordered to advance. We 
 went down the hill at the double and proceeded towards the 
 centre which was giving way. The regular beat of our foot- 
 steps appeared to me funeral-like. The bravest among us 
 were panting, pale and with haggard features. 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 317 
 
 I have made up my mind to tell the truth. At the first 
 whistle of the bullets, the battalion suddenly came to a halt, 
 tempted to fly. 
 
 " Forward, forward 1 " shouted the chiefs. 
 
 But we were riveted to the ground, bowing our heads 
 when a bullet whistled by our ears. This movement is in- 
 stinctive; if shame had not restrained me, I would have 
 thrown myself flat on my stomach in the dust 
 
 Before us was a huge veil of smoke which we dared not 
 penetrate. Red flashes passed through this smoke. And, 
 shuddering, we still stood 'still. But the bullets reached us j 
 soldiers fell with yells. The chiefs shouted louder : 
 
 " Forward, forward ! " 
 
 The rear ranks, which they pushed on, compelled us to 
 march. Then, closing our eyes, we made a fresh dash and 
 entered the smoke. 
 
 We were seized with furious rage. When the cry of " Halt 1 " 
 resounded, we experienced difficulty in coming to a standstill. 
 As soon as one is motionless, fear returns and one feels a wish 
 to run away. Firing commenced. We shot in front of us, 
 without aiming, finding some relief in discharging bullets into 
 the smoke. I remember I pulled my trigger mechanically, 
 with lips firmly set together and eyes wide open; I was 
 no longer afraid, for, to tell the truth, I no longer knew if I 
 existed. The only idea I had in my head, was that I would 
 continue firing until all was over. My companion on the left 
 received a bullet full in the face and fell on me ; I brutally 
 pushed him away, wiping my cheek which he had drenched 
 with blood. And I resumed firing. 
 
 I still remember having seen our colonel, M. de Montre- 
 vert, firm and erect on his horse, gazing quietly towards the 
 enemy. That man appeared to me immense. He had no 
 rifle to amuse himself with, and his breast was expanded to its 
 full breadth above us. From time to time, he looked down, 
 and exclaimed in a dry voice : 
 
 " Close the ranks, close the ranks ! " 
 
 We closed our ranks like sheep, treading on the dead, stupe- 
 fied, and continuing firing. Until then, the enemy had only 
 sent us bullets ; a dull explosion was heard and a shell carried 
 oflf five of our men. A battery which must have been oppo- 
 site us and which we could not see, had just opened fire 
 
3i8 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 The shells struck into the middle of us, almost at one spot, 
 making a sanguinary gap which we closed unceasingly with 
 the obstinacy of ferocious brutes. 
 
 " Close the ranks, close the ranks 1 " the colonel coldly re- 
 peated. 
 
 We were giving the cannon human flesh. Each time a 
 soldier was struck down, I was taking a step nearer death, I 
 was approaching the spot where the shells were falling heavily, 
 crushing the men whose turn had come to die. The corpses 
 were forming heaps in that place, and soon the shells would 
 strike into nothing more than a mound of mangled flesh; 
 shreds of limbs flew about at each fresh discharge. We could 
 no longer close the ranks. 
 
 The soldiers yelled, the chiefs themselves were moved. 
 
 " With the bayonet, with the bayonet ! " 
 
 And amidst a shower of bullets the battalion rushed in fury 
 towards the shells. The veil of smoke was torn asunder; we 
 perceived the enem/s battery flaming red, which was firing at 
 us from the mouths of all its pieces, on the summit of a 
 hillock. But the dash forward had commenced, the shells 
 stopped the dead only. 
 
 I ran beside Colonel Montrevert, whose horse had just been 
 killed, and who was fighting like a simple soldier. Suddenly 
 I was struck down ; it seemed to me as if my breast opened 
 and my shoulder was taken away. A frightful wind passed 
 over my face. 
 
 And I fell. The colonel fell beside me. I felt myself 
 dying. I thought of those I loved, and fainted whilst search- 
 ing with a withering hand for my uncle Lazare's letter. 
 
 When I came to myself again I was lying on my side in the 
 dust. I was annihilated by profound stupor. I gazed before 
 me with my eyes wide open without seeing anything ; it seemed . 
 to me that I had lost my limbs, and that my brain was empty. 
 I did not sufier, for life seemed to have departed from my 
 flesh. 
 
 The rays of a hot implacable sun fell upon my face like 
 molten lead. I did not feel it. Life returned to me little by 
 little ; my limbs became lighter, my shoulder alone remained 
 crushed beneath an enormous weight. Then, with the instinct 
 of a wounded animal, I wanted to sit up. I uttered a cry of 
 pain, and fell back upon the ground. 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 319 
 
 But I lived now, I saw, I understood. The plain spread 
 out naked and deserted, all white in the broad sunlight. It 
 exhibited its desolation beneath the intense serenity of heaven; 
 heaps of corpses were sleeping in the warmth, and the trees 
 that had been brought down, seemed to be other dead who 
 were drying. There was not a breath of air. A frightful 
 silence came from those piles of inanimate bodies ; then, at 
 times, there were dismal groans which broke this silence, and 
 conveyed a long tremor to it. Slender clouds of grey smoke 
 hanging over the low hills on the horizon, was all that broke 
 the bright blue of the sky. The butchery was continuing on 
 the heights. 
 
 I imagined we were conquerors, and I experienced selfish 
 pleasure in thinking I could die in peace on this deserted plain. 
 Around me the earth was black. On raising my head I saw 
 the enemy's battery on which we had charged, a few feet away 
 from me. The struggle must have been horrible: the mound was 
 covered with hacked and disfigured bodies ; blood had flowed 
 so abundantly that the dust seemed like a large red carpet. 
 The cannon stretched out their dark muzzles above the corpses. 
 I shuddered when I observed the silence of those guns. 
 
 Then gently, with a multitude of precautions, I succeeded 
 in turning on my stomach. I rested my head on a large 
 stone all splashed with gore, and drew my uncle Lazare's 
 letter from my breast. I placed it before my eyes; but my 
 tears prevented me reading it. 
 
 And whilst the sun was roasting me in the back, the acrid 
 smells of blood were choking me. I could form an idea of 
 the woeful plain around me, and was as if stiffened with the 
 rigidness of the dead. My poor heart was weeping in the 
 warm and loathsome silence of murder. 
 
 Uncle Lazare wrote to me : 
 
 " My dear Boy, — I hear war has been declared ; but 
 I still hope you will get your discharge before the campaign 
 opens. Every morning I beseech the Almighty to spare you 
 new dangers ; He will grant my prayer, He will, one of these 
 days, let you close my eyes. 
 
 " Ah I my poor Jean, I am becoming old, I have great need 
 of your arm. Since your departure I no more feel your youth- 
 fulness beside me, which gave me back my twenty summers. 
 Do you remember our strolls in the morning along the oak- 
 
346 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 tree walk ? Now I no longer dare go beneath those trees ; I 
 am alone, I am afraid. The Durance weeps. Come quickly 
 and console me, assuage my anxiety " 
 
 The tears were choking me, I could not continue. At that 
 moment a heartrending cry jvas uttered a few steps away from 
 me ; I saw a soldier suddenly rise, with the muscles of his face 
 contracted ; he extended his arms in agony, and fell to the 
 ground, where he writhed in frightful convulsions; then he 
 ceased moving. 
 
 " I have placed my hope in the Almighty," continued my 
 uncle, " He will bring you back safe and sound to Dourgues, 
 and we will resume our peaceful existence. Let me dream out 
 loud, and tell you my plans for the future. 
 
 " You will go no more to Grenoble, you will remain with 
 me ; I will make my child a son of the soil, a peasant who 
 shall live gaily whilst tiUing the fields. 
 
 " And I will retire to your farm. In a short lime my trem- 
 bling hands will no longer be able to hold the Host I only 
 ask Heaven for two years of such an existence. That will be 
 my reward for the few good deeds I may have done. Then 
 you will sometimes lead me along the paths of our dear valley, 
 where every rock, every hedge will remind me of your youth 
 which I so greatly loved " 
 
 I had to stop again. I felt such a sharp pain in my 
 shoulder, that I almost fainted a second time. A terrible 
 anxiety had just taken possession of me ; it seemed as if the 
 sound of the fusillade was approaching, and I thought with 
 terror that our army was perhaps retreating, and that in its 
 flight it would descend to the plain and pass over my body. 
 But I still saw nothing but the slight clouds of smoke hanging 
 over the low hills. 
 
 My uncle Lazare added : 
 
 "And we shall be three to love one another. Ah! my 
 well-beloved Jean, how right you were to give her to drink 
 that morning beside the Durance. I was afraid of Babet, 
 I was ill-humoured, and now I am jealous, for I can see very 
 well that I shall never be able to love you as much as she 
 does. 'Tell him,' she repeated to me yesterday, blushing, 
 ' that if he gets killed, I shall go and throw myself into the 
 river at the spot where he gave me to drink.' 
 
 " For the love of God 1 be careful of your life. There are 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 32t 
 
 things that I cannot understand, but I feel that happiness 
 awaits you here. I already call Babet ray daughter; I can 
 see her on your arm, in the church, when I shall bless your 
 union. I wish that to be my last mass. 
 
 " Babet is a fine, tall girl now. She will assist you in your 
 work " 
 
 The sound of the fusillade had gone farther away. I was 
 weeping sweet tears. There were dismal moans among 
 soldiers who were in their last agonies between the cannon 
 wheels. I perceived one who was endeavouring to get rid of 
 a comrade, wounded as he was, whose body was crushing 
 his chest; and, as this wounded man struggled and com- 
 plained, the soldier pushed him brutally away, and made him 
 roll down the slope of the mound, whilst the wretched creature 
 yelled with pain. At that cry a murmur came from the heap 
 of corpses. The sun which was sinking, shed rays of a light 
 fallow colour. The blue of the sky was softer. 
 
 I finished reading my uncle Lazare's letter. 
 
 "I simply wished," he continued, "to give you news of 
 ourselves, and to beg you to come as soon as possible and 
 make us happy. And here I am weeping and gossiping like 
 an old child. Hope, my poor Jean, I pray and God is good. 
 
 " Answer me quickly, and give me, if possible, the date of 
 your return. Babet and I are counting the weeks. We trust 
 to see you soon ; be hopeful." 
 
 The date of my return ! — I kissed the letter, sobbing, and 
 fancied for a moment that I was kissing Babet and my uncle. 
 No doubt I should never see them again. I would die like a 
 dog in the dust, beneath the leaden sun. And it was on that 
 desolated plain, amidst the death-rattle of the dying, that those 
 whom I loved dearly were saying good-bye. A buzzing silence 
 filled my ears ; I gazed at the pale earth spotted with blood, 
 which extended, deserted, to the grey lines of the horizon. 
 I repeated : " I must die." Then, I closed my eyes, and 
 thought of Babet and my uncle Lazare. 
 
 I know not how long I remained in a sort of painful 
 drowsiness. My heart suffered as much as my flesh. Warm 
 tears ran slowly down my cheeks. Amidst the nightmare that 
 accompanied the fever, I heard a moan similar to the con- 
 tinuous plaintive cry of a child in suffering. At times, I 
 awoke and stared at the sky in astonishment. 
 
 Z 
 
32a STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 At last I understood that it was M. de Montrevert, lying a 
 few paces off, who was moaning in this manner. I had 
 thought him dead. He was stretched out with his face to 
 the ground and his arms extended. This man had been good 
 to me ; I said to myself that I could not allow him to die 
 thus, with his face to the ground, and I began crawling slowly 
 towards him. 
 
 Two corpses separated us. For a moment I thought of 
 passing over the stomachs of these dead men to shorten the 
 distance ; for, my shoulder made me suffer frightfully at every 
 movement. But I did not dare. I proceeded on my knees, 
 assisting myself with one hand. When I reached the colonel, 
 I gave a sigh of relief ; it seemed to me that I was less alone ; 
 we would die together, and this death shared by both of us no 
 longer terrified me. 
 
 I wanted him to see the sun, and I turned him over as 
 gently as possible. When the rays fell upon his face, he 
 breathed hard ; he opened his eyes. Leaning over his body, 
 I tried to smile at him. He closed his eyelids again ; I under- 
 stood by his trembling lips that he was conscious of his 
 sufferings. 
 
 " It's you, Gourdon," he said to me at last, in a feeble 
 voice ; " is the battle won ? " 
 
 " I think so, colonel," I answered him. 
 
 There was a moment of silence. Then, opening his eyes 
 and looking at me, he inquired — 
 
 " Where are you wounded ? " 
 
 " In the shoulder — and you, colonel ? " 
 
 " My elbow must be smashed. I remember ; it was the 
 same bullet that arranged us both like this, my boy." 
 
 He made an effort to sit up. 
 
 " But come," he said with sudden gaiety, " we are not 
 going to sleep here ? " 
 
 You cannot believe how much this courageous display of 
 joviality contributed towards giving me strength and hope. I 
 felt quite different since we were two to struggle against death. 
 
 " Wait," I exclaimed, " I will bandage up your arm with 
 my handkerchief, and we will try and support one another as 
 far as the nearest ambulance." 
 
 " That's it, my boy. Don't make it too tight. Now, let us 
 take each other by the good hand and try to get up." 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 323 
 
 We rose staggering. We had lost a great deal of blood ; 
 our heads were swimming and our legs failed us. Any one 
 would have mistaken us for drunkards, stumbling, supporting, 
 pushing one another, and making zigzags to avoid the dead. 
 The sun was setting with a rosy blush, and our gigantic 
 shadows danced in a strange way over the field of battle. It 
 was the end of a fine day. 
 
 The colonel joked ; his lips were crisped by shudders, his 
 laughter resembled sobs. I could see that we were going to 
 fall down in some corner never to rise again. At times we 
 were seized with giddiness, and were obliged to stop and close 
 our eyes. The ambulances formed small grey patches on the 
 dark ground at the extremity of the plain. 
 
 We knocked up against a large stone, and were thrown 
 down one on the other. The colonel swore like a pagan. 
 We tried to walk on all-fours, catching hold of the briars. In 
 this way we did a hundred yards on our knees. But our 
 knees were bleeding. 
 
 " I have had enough of it," said the colonel, lying down ; 
 " they may come and fetch me if they will. Let us sleep." 
 
 I still had the strength to sit half up, and shout with all the 
 breath that remained within me. Men were passing along 
 in the distance picking up the wounded ; they ran to us and 
 placed us side by side on a stretcher. 
 
 " Comrade," the colonel said to me during the journey, 
 "Death will not have us. I owe you my life, I will pay 
 my debt, whenever you have need of me. Give me your 
 hand." 
 
 I placed my hand in his, and it was thus that we reached 
 the ambulances. They had lighted torches ; the surgeons were 
 cutting and sawing, amidst frightful yells ; a sickly smell 
 came from the blood-stained linen, whilst the torches cast 
 dark rosy flakes into the basins. 
 
 The colonel bore the amputation of his arm with courage ; 
 I only saw his lips turn pale and a film come over his eyes. 
 When it was my turn, a surgeon examined my shoulder. 
 
 " A shell did that for you," he said ; " an inch lower and 
 your shoulder would have been carried away. The flesh, only, 
 has suffered." 
 
 And when I asked the assistant, who was dressing my 
 wound, whether it was serious, he answered me with a laugh. 
 
$t4 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "Serious! you will have to keep to your bed for three 
 weeks, and make new blood." 
 
 I turned my face to the wall, not wishing to show my tears. 
 And with my heart's eyes I perceived Babet and my uncle 
 Lazare stretching out their arms towards me. I had finished 
 with the sanguinary struggles of my summer day. 
 
 Ill 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 It was nearly fifteen years since I had married Babet in my 
 uncle Lazare's little church. We had sought happiness in our 
 dear valley. I had made myself a farmer ; the Durance, my 
 first sweetheart, was now a good mother to me, who seemed to 
 take pleasure in making my fields rich and fertile. Little by 
 little, by following the new methods of agriculture, I became 
 one of the wealthiest landowners in the neighbourhood. 
 
 We had purchased the oak-tree walk and the meadows bor- 
 dering on the river, at the death of my wife's parents. I had 
 had a modest house built on this land, but we were soon 
 obliged to enlarge it; each year I found a means of rounding 
 off our property by the addition of some neighbouring field, 
 and our granaries were too small for our harvests. 
 
 Those first fifteen years were uneventful and happy. They 
 passed away in serene joy, and all they have left within me 
 is the remembrance of calm and continued happiness. My 
 uncle Lazare, on retiring to our home, had realised his dream ; 
 his advanced age did not permit of his reading his breviary of 
 a morning ; he sometimes regretted his dear church, but con- 
 soled himself by visiting the young vicar who had succeeded 
 him. He came down from the little room he occupied at sun- 
 rise, and often accompanied me to the fields, enjoying himself 
 in the open air, and finding a second youth amidst the healthy 
 atmosphere of the country. 
 
 One sadness alone made us sometimes sigh. Amidst the 
 fruitfulness by which we were surrounded, Babet remained 
 childless. Although we were three to love one another we 
 sometimes found ourselves too much alone : we would have 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 325 
 
 liked to have had a little fair head running about amongst us, 
 who would have tormented and caressed us. 
 
 Uncle Lazare had a frightful dread of dying before he was 
 a great-uncle. He had become a child again, and felt sorrow- 
 ful that Babet did not give him a comrade who would have 
 played with him. On the day when my wife confided to us 
 with hesitation, that we would no doubt soon be four, I saw 
 my uncle turn quite pale, and make efforts not to cry. He 
 kissed us, thinking already of the christening, and speaking of 
 the child as if it were already three or four years old. 
 
 And the months passed in concentrated tenderness. We 
 talked together in subdued voices, awaiting some one. I no 
 longer loved Babet, I worshipped her with joined hands, I 
 worshipped her for two, for herself and the little one. 
 
 The great day was drawing nigh. I had brought a midwife 
 from Grenoble who never moved from the farm. My uncle 
 was in a dreadful fright ; he understood nothing about such 
 things, he went so far as to tell me that he had done wrong in 
 taking holy orders, and that he was very sorry he was not a 
 doctor. 
 
 One morning in September, at about six o'clock, I went into 
 the room of my dear Babet who was still asleep. Her smiling 
 face was peacefully reposing on the white linen pillow-case. I 
 bent over her holding my breath. Heaven had blessed me 
 with the good things of this world. I all at once thought of 
 that summer day when I was moaning in the dust, and at the 
 same time I felt around me, the comfort due to labour and 
 the quietude that comes from happiness. My good wife was 
 asleep, all rosy, in the middle of her great bed ; whilst the 
 whole room recalled to me our fifteen years of tender 
 affection. 
 
 I kissed Babet softly on the lips. She opened her eyes and 
 smiled at me without speaking. I felt an almost uncontrollable 
 desire to take her in my arms, and clasp her to my heart ; but, 
 latterly, I had hardly dared press her hand, she seemed so 
 fragile and sacred to me. 
 
 I seated myself at the edge of the bed, and asked her in a 
 low voice : 
 
 "Is it for to-day?" 
 
 " No, I don't think so," she replied. " I dreamt I had a 
 boy : he was already very tall and wore adorable little black 
 
326 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 moustachios. Uncle Lazare told me yesterday that he also 
 had seen him in a dream." 
 
 I acted very stupidly. 
 
 " I know the child better than you do," I said. " I see it 
 every night. It's a girl " 
 
 And as Babet turned her face to the wall, ready to cry, I 
 realised how foolish I had been, and hastened to add : 
 
 "When I say a girl — I am not quite sure. I see a very 
 small child with a long white gown — ifs certainly a boy." 
 
 Babet kissed me for that pleasing remark. 
 
 "Go and look after the vintage," she continued, "I feel 
 calm this morning." 
 
 "You will send for me if anjrthing happens?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, I am very tired : I shall go to sleep again. You'll 
 not be angry with me for my laziness ? " 
 
 And Babet closed her eyes, looking languid and affected. I 
 remained leaning over her, receiving the warm breath from 
 her lips in my face. She gradually went oflF to sleep, without 
 ceasing to smile. Then I disengaged my hand from hers with 
 a multitude of precautions. I had to manoeuvre for five 
 minutes to bring this delicate task to a happy issue. After that 
 I gave her a kiss on her forehead, which she did not feel, and 
 withdrew with a palpitating heart, overflowing with love. 
 
 In the courtyard below, I found my uncle Lazare, who was 
 gazing anxiously at the window of Babet's room. So soon as 
 he perceived me he inquired : 
 
 ••Well, is it for to-day?" 
 
 He had been putting this question to me regularly every 
 morning for the past month. 
 
 " It appears not," I answered him. " Will you come with 
 me and see them picking the grapes?" 
 
 He fetched his stick, and we went down the oak-tree walk. 
 When we were at the end of it, on that terrace which over- 
 looks the Durance, both of us stopped, gazing at the valley. 
 
 Small white clouds floated in the pale sky. The sun was 
 shedding soft rays, which cast a sort of gold dust over the 
 country, the yellow expanse of which spread out all ripe. One 
 saw neither the brilliant light nor the dark shadows of summer. 
 The foliage gilded the black earth in large patches. The river 
 ran more slowly, weary at the task of having rendered the fields 
 fruitful for a season. And the valley remained calm and strong. 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 327 
 
 It already wore the first furrows of winter, but it preserved 
 within it the warmth of its last labour, displaying its robust 
 charms, free from the weeds of spring, more majestically 
 beautiful, like that second youth of woman who has given 
 birth to life. 
 
 My uncle Lazare remained silent ; then, turning towards 
 me, said : 
 
 " Do you remember, Jean ? It is more than twenty years 
 ago since I brought you here early one May morning. On 
 that particular day I showed you the valley full of feverish 
 activity, labouring for the fruits of autumn. Look : the valley 
 has just performed its task again." 
 
 " I remember, dear uncle," I replied. " I was quaking with 
 fear on that day ; but you were good, and your lesson was con- 
 vincing. I owe you all my happiness." 
 
 "Yes, you have reached the autumn. You have laboured 
 and are gathering in the harvest. Man, my boy, was created 
 after the way of the earth. And we, like the common mother, 
 are eternal : the green leaves are born again each year from 
 dry leaves ; I am born again in you, and you will be born again 
 in your children. I am telling you this so that old age may 
 not alarm you, so that you may know how to die in peace, as 
 dies this verdure, which will shoot out again from its own 
 germs next spring." 
 
 I listened to my uncle and thought of Babet, who was sleep- 
 ing in her great bed spread with white linen. The dear creature 
 was about to give birth to a child after the manner of this 
 fertile soil which had given us fortune. She also had reached 
 the autumn : she had the beaming smile and serene robustness 
 of the valley. I seemed to see her beneath the yellow sun, 
 tired and happy, experiencing noble delight at being a mother. 
 And I no longer knew whether my uncle Lazare was talking 
 to me of my dear valley, or of my dear Babet. 
 
 We slowly ascended the hills. Below, along the Durance, 
 were the meadows, broad, raw green swards; next came the 
 yellow fields, intersected here and there by greyish olive and 
 slender almond trees, planted wide apart in rows ; then, right 
 up above, were the vines, great stumps with shoots trailing 
 along the ground. 
 
 The vine is treated in the south of France like a hardy 
 housewife, and not like a delicate young lady, as in the north. 
 
328 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 It grows somewhat as it likes, according to the good will of 
 rain and sun. The stumps, which are planted in double rows, 
 and form long lines, throw sprays of dark verdure around them. 
 Wheat or oats are sown between. A vineyard resembles an 
 immense piece of striped material, made of the green bands 
 formed by the vine leaves, and of yellow ribbon represented 
 by the stubble. 
 
 Men and women stooping down among the vines, were 
 cutting the bunches of grapes, which they then threw to the 
 bottom of large baskets. My uncle and I walked slowly 
 through the stubble. As we passed along, the vintagers 
 turned their heads and greeted us. My uncle sometimes 
 stopped to speak to some of the oldest of the labourers. 
 
 " Heh ! Father Andr^," he said, " are the grapes thoroughly 
 ripe ? Will the wine be good this year ? " 
 
 And the countryfolk, raising their bare arms, displayed the 
 long bunches, which were as black as ink, in the sun ; and 
 when the grapes were pressed they seemed to burst with 
 abundance and strength. 
 
 " Look, Mr. Cur^," they exclaimed, " these are small ones. 
 There are some weighing several pounds. We have not had 
 such a task these ten years." 
 
 Then they returned among the leaves. Their brown jackets 
 formed patches in the verdure. And the women, bareheaded, 
 with small blue handkerchiefs round their necks, were stoop- 
 ing down singing. There were children rolling in the sun, in 
 the stubble, giving utterance to shrill laughter and enlivening 
 this open-air workshop with their turbulency. Large carts 
 remained motionless at the edge of the field waiting for the 
 grapes; they stood out prominently against the dear sky, 
 whilst men went and came unceasingly, carrying away full 
 baskets, and bringing back empty ones. 
 
 I confess that in the centre of this field, I had feelings of 
 pride I heard the ground producing beneath my feet ; ripe 
 age ran all powerful in the veins of the vine, and loaded the 
 air with great puffs of it. Hot blood coursed in my flesh, I 
 was as if elevated by the fecundity overflowing from the soil 
 and ascending within me. The labour of this swarm of work- 
 people was my doing, these vines were my children ; this 
 entire farm became my large and obedient family. I experi- 
 enced pleasure in feeling my feet sink into the heavy land. 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 329 
 
 Then, at a glance, I took in the fields that sloped down to 
 the Durance, and I was the possessor of those vines, those 
 meadows, that stubble, those olive-trees. The house stood 
 all white beside the oak-tree walk ; the river seemed like a 
 fringe of silver placed at the edge of the great green mantle 
 of my pasture-land. I fancied, for a moment, that my frame 
 was increasing in size, that by stretching out my arms, I would 
 be able to embrace the entire property, and press it to my 
 breast, trees, meadows, house, and ploughed land. 
 
 And as I looked, I saw one of our servant-girls racing, out 
 of breath, up the narrow pathway that ascended the hill. Con- 
 fused by the speed at which she was travelling, she stumbled 
 over the stones, agitating both her arms, and hailing us with 
 gestures of bewilderment. I felt choking with inexpressible 
 emotion. 
 
 " Uncle, uncle," I shouted, " look how Marguerite's run- 
 ning. I think it must be for to-day." 
 
 My uncle Lazare turned quite pale. The servant had at 
 length reached the plateau ; she came towards us jumping 
 over the vines. When she reached me, she was out of breath ; 
 she was stifling and pressing her hands to her bosom. 
 
 " Speak ! " I said to her. " What has happened ? " 
 
 She heaved a heavy sigh, agitated her hands, and finally was 
 able to pronounce this single word : 
 
 " Madam " 
 
 I waited for no more. 
 
 " Come I come quick, uncle Lazare 1 Ah 1 my poor dear 
 Babet!" 
 
 And I bounded down the pathway at a pace fit to break 
 my bones. The vintagers, who had stood up, smiled as they 
 saw me running. Uncle Lazare, who could not overtake me, 
 shook his walking-stick in despair. 
 
 " Heh ! Jean, the deuce ! " he shouted, " wait for me. I 
 don't want to be the last." 
 
 But I no longer heard uncle Lazare, and continued 
 running. 
 
 1 reached the farm panting for breath, full of hope and 
 terror. I rushed upstairs and knocked with my fist at Babet's 
 door, laughing, crying, and half crazy. The midwife set the 
 door ajar, to tell me in an angry voice not to make so much 
 noise. I stood there abashed and in despair. 
 
330 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 " You can't come in," she added. " Go and wait in the 
 courtyard." 
 
 And as I did not move, she continued ; " All is going on 
 very well. I will call you." 
 
 The door was closed. I remained standing before it, unable 
 to make up my mind to go away. I heard Babet complaining 
 in a broken voice. And, while I was there, she gave utterance 
 to a heartrending scream that struck me right in the breast 
 like a bullet. I felt an almost irresistible desire to break the 
 door open with my shoulder. So as not to give way to it, I 
 placed my hands to my ears, and dashed downstairs. 
 
 In the courtyard I found my uncle Lazare, who had just 
 arrived out of breath. The worthy man was obliged to seat 
 himself on the brink of the well. 
 
 " Hallo ! where is the child ? " he inquired of me. 
 
 " I don't know," I answered ; " they shut the door in my 
 face Babet is in pain and in tears." 
 
 We gazed at one another, not daring to utter a word. We 
 listened in agony, without taking our eyes off Babet's window, 
 endeavouring to see through the little white curtains. My 
 uncle, who was trembhng, stood still, with both his hands 
 resting heavily on his walking-stick ; I, feeling very feverish, 
 walked up and down before him, taking long strides. At times 
 we exchanged anxious smiles. 
 
 The carts of the vintagers arrived one by one. The baskets 
 of grapes were placed against a wall of the courtyard, and bare- 
 legged men trampled the bunches under foot in wooden 
 troughs. The mules neighed, the carters swore, whilst the 
 wine fell with a dull sound to the bottom of the vat Acrid 
 smells pervaded the warm air. 
 
 And I continued pacing up and down, as if made tipsy by 
 those perfumes. My poor head was breaking, and as I watched 
 the red juice run from the grape I thought of Babet I said 
 to myself with manly joy, that my child was born at the prolific 
 time of vintage, amidst the perfume of new wine. 
 
 •I was tormented by impatience, I went upstairs again. But 
 I did not dare knock, I pressed my ear against the door, and 
 heard Babet's low moans and sobs. Then my heart failed me, 
 and I cursed suffering. Uncle Lazare, who had crept up 
 behind me, had to lead me back into the courtyard. He 
 wished to divert me, and told me the wine would be excel- 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 331 
 
 lent ; but he spoke without attending to what he said And 
 at times we were both silent, listening anxiously to one of 
 Babet's more prolonged moans. 
 
 Little by little the cries subsided, and became nothing 
 more than a painful murmur, like the voice of a child falling 
 off to sleep in tears. Then there was absolute silence. This 
 soon caused me unutterable terror. The house seemed empty, 
 now that Babet had ceased sobbing. I was just going upstairs, 
 when the midwife opened the window noiselessly. She leant 
 out and beckoned me with her hand : 
 
 " Come," she said to me. 
 
 I went slowly upstairs, feeling additional delight at each step 
 I took. My uncle Lazare was already knocking at the door, 
 whilst I was only half way up to the landing, experiencing a 
 sort of strange delight in delaying the moment when I would 
 kiss my wife. 
 
 I stopped on the threshold, my heart was beating double. 
 My uncle had leant over the cradle. Babet, quite pale, with 
 closed eyelids, seemed asleep. I forgot all about the child, 
 and going straight to Babet, took her dear hand between mine. 
 The tears had not dried on her cheeks, and her quivering lips 
 were dripping with them. She raised her eyelids wearily. She 
 did not speak to me, but I understood her to say : " I have 
 suffered a great deal, my dear Jean, but I was so happy to 
 suffer ! I felt you within me." 
 
 Then, I bent down, I kissed Babet's eyes and drank her 
 tears. She laughed with much sweetness; she resigned her- 
 self with caressing languidness. The fatigue had made her all 
 aches and pains. She slowly moved her hands from the sheet, 
 and taking me by the neck, placed her lips to my ear : 
 
 " It's a boy," she murmured in a weak voice, but with an 
 air of triumph. 
 
 Those were the first words she uttered after the terrible 
 shock she had undergone. 
 
 " I knew it would be a boy," she continued, " I saw the 
 child every night. Give him me, put him beside me." 
 
 I turned round and saw the midwife and my uncle quarrel- 
 ling. The midwife had all the trouble in the world to prevent 
 uncle Lazare taking the little one in his arms. He wanted to 
 nurse it. 
 
 I looked at the child whom the mother had made me 
 
332 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 forget. He was all rosy. Babet said with conviction that he 
 was like me ; the midwife discovered that he had his mother's 
 eyes ; I, for my part, could not say, I was almost crying, I 
 smothered the dear little thing with kisses, imagining I was 
 still kissing Babet. 
 
 I placed the child on the bed. He kept on crying, but this 
 sounded to us like celestial music. I sat on the edge of the 
 bed, my uncle took a large arm-chair, and Babet, weary and 
 serene, covered up to her chin, remained with open eyelids 
 and smiling eyes. 
 
 The window was wide open The smell of grapes came in 
 along with the warmth of the mild autumn afternoon. One 
 heard the trampling of the vintagers, the shocks of the carts, 
 the cracking of whips ; at times the shrill song of a servant 
 working in the courtyard, reached us. All this noise was 
 softened in the serenity of that room, which still resounded 
 with Babet's sobs. And the window-frame enclosed a large 
 strip of landscape, carved out of the heavens and open 
 country. We could see the oak-tree walk in its entire length 
 then the Durance, looking like a white satin ribbon, passed 
 amidst the gold and purple leaves; whilst above this square 
 of ground, were the limpid depths of a pale sky with blue 
 and rosy tints. 
 
 It was amidst the calm of this horizon, amidst the exhala- 
 tions of the vat and the joys attendant upon labour and repro- 
 duction, that we three talked together, Babet, uncle Lazare, 
 and myself, whilst gazing at the dear little new-born babe. 
 
 " Uncle Lazare," said Babet, " what name will you give the 
 child?" 
 
 " Jean's mother was named Jacqueline," answered my uncle. 
 " I shall call the child Jacques." 
 
 "Jacques, Jacques," repeated Babet. "Yes, it's a pretty 
 name. And, tell me, what shall we make the little man : 
 parson or soldier, gentleman or peasant ? " 
 
 I began to laugh. 
 
 " We shall have time to think of that," I said. 
 
 "But no," continued Babet almost angry, "he will grow 
 rapidly. See how strong he is. He already speaks with his 
 eyes." 
 
 My uncle Lazare was exactly of my wife's opinion. He 
 answered in a very grave tone : 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 333 
 
 "Make him neither priest nor soldier, unless he have an 
 irresistible inclination for one of those callings — to make him 
 a gentleman, would be a serious " 
 
 Babet looked at me anxiously. The dear creature had not 
 a bit of pride for herself; but like all mothers, she would have 
 liked to be humble and proud before her son. I could have 
 sworn that she already saw him a notary or a doctor. I kissed 
 her and gently said to her : 
 
 "I wish our son to live in our dear valley. One day, he 
 will find a Babet of sixteen, on the banks of the Durance, to 
 whom he will give some water. Do you remember, my dear 
 
 ? The country has brought us peace : our son shall be a 
 
 peasant as we are, and happy as we are." 
 
 Babet, who was quite touched, kissed me in her turn. She 
 gazed at the foliage and the river, the meadows, and the sky, 
 through the window ; then she said to me, smiling : 
 
 " You are right, Jean. This place has been good to us, it 
 will be the same to our little Jacques. Uncle Lazare, you 
 will be the godfather of a farmer." 
 
 Uncle Lazare made a languid, affectionate sign of approval 
 with the head. I had been examining him for a moment, and 
 saw his eyes becoming filmy, and his lips turning pale. Leaning 
 back in the arm-chair, opposite the window, he had placed 
 his white hands on his knees, and was watching the heavens 
 fixedly with an expression of thoughtful ecstasy. 
 
 I felt very anxious. 
 
 "Are you in pain, uncle Lazare?" I inquired of him. 
 " What is the matter with you? Answer, for mercy's sake." 
 
 He gently raised one of his hands, as if to beg me to speak 
 lower ; then he let it fall again, and said in a weak voice : 
 
 " I am broken down," he said. " Happiness, at my age, 
 is mortal. Don't make a noise. It seems as if my flesh 
 were becoming quite light: I can no longer feel my legs 
 or arms." 
 
 Babet raised herself in alarm, with her eyes on uncle 
 Lazare. I knelt down before him, watching him anxiously. 
 He smiled. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," he resumed. " I am in no pain ; a 
 feeling of calmness is gaming possession of me; I believe I am 
 going off into a good and just sleep. It came over me all at 
 once, and I thank the Almighty. Ah ! my poor Jean, I ran 
 
334 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 too fast down the pathway on the hillside ; the child caused 
 me too great joy." 
 
 And as we understood, we burst out into tears. Uncle 
 Lazare continued, without ceasing to watch the sky : 
 
 " Do not spoil my joy, I beg of you. If you only knew 
 how happy it makes me, to fall asleep for ever in this arm- 
 chair I I have never dared expect such a consoling death. 
 All I love is here, beside me — and see what a blue sky! 
 The Almighty has sent a lovely evening." 
 
 The sun was sinking behind the oak-tree walk. Its slant- 
 ing rays cast sheets of gold beneath the trees, which took the 
 tones of old copper. The verdant fields melted into vague 
 serenity in the distance. Uncle Lazare became weaker and 
 weaker amidst the touching silence of this peaceful sunset, 
 entering by the open window. He slowly passed away, like 
 those slight gleams that were dying out on the lofty branches. 
 
 " Ah ! my good valley," he murmured, " you are sending 
 me a tender farewell. I was afraid of coming to my end in 
 the winter, when you would be all black." 
 
 We restrained our tears, not wishing to trouble this saintly 
 death. Babet prayed in an undertone. The child continued 
 uttering smothered cries. 
 
 My uncle Lazare heard its wail in the dreaminess of his 
 agony. He endeavoured to turn towards Babet, and still 
 smiling, said : 
 
 " I have seen the child and die very happy." 
 
 Then, he gazed at the pale sky and yellow fields, and, throw- 
 ing back his head, heaved a gentle sigh. 
 
 No tremor agitated uncle Lazare's body ; he died as one 
 falls asleep. 
 
 We had become so calm, that we remained silent and with 
 dry eyes. In the presence of such great simplicity in death, 
 all we experienced was a feeling of serene sadness. . Twilight 
 had set in, uncle Lazare's farewell had left us confident, like 
 the farewell of the sun which dies at night to be born again in 
 the morning. 
 
 Such was my autumn day, which gave me a son, and carried 
 off my uncle Lazare in the peacefulness of the twilight 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 33S 
 
 IV 
 WINTER 
 
 There are dreadful mornings in January that chill one's 
 heart. I awoke on this particular day with a vague feeling of 
 anxiety. It had thawed during the night, and when I cast my 
 eyes over the country from the threshold, it looked to me like 
 an immense dirty grey rag, soiled with mud and rent to tatters. 
 
 The horizon was shrouded in a curtain of fog, in which the 
 oak-trees along the walk lugubriously extended their dark arms, 
 like a row of spectres guarding the vast mass of vapour 
 spreading out behind them. The fields had sunk, and were 
 covered with great sheets of water, at the edge of which hung 
 the remnants of dirty snow. The loud roar of the Durance 
 was increasing in the distance. 
 
 Winter imparts health and strength to one's frame when the 
 sun is clear and the ground dry. The air makes the tips of 
 your ears tingle, you walk merrily along the frozen pathways, 
 which ring with a silvery sound beneath your tread. But I 
 know of nothing more saddening than dull, thawing weather : 
 I hate the damp fogs which weigh one's shoulders down. 
 
 I shivered in the presence of that copper-like sky, and 
 hastened to retire indoors, making up my mind that I would 
 not go out into the fields that day. There was plenty of work 
 in and around the farm-buildings. 
 
 Jacques had been up a long time. I heard him whistling 
 in a shed, where he was helping some men remove sacks of 
 corn. The boy was already eighteen years old ; he was a tall 
 fellow, with strong arms. He had not had an uncle Lazare 
 to spoil him and teach him Latin, and he did not go and 
 dream beneath the willows at the riverside. Jacques had 
 become a real peasant, an untiring worker, who got angry when 
 I touched anything, telling me I was getting old and ought to 
 rest. 
 
 And as I was watching him from a distance, a sweet lithe 
 creature, leaping on my shoulders, clapped her little hands 
 to my eyes, inquiring : 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 I laughed and answered ; 
 
336 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 "It's little Marie, who has just been dressed by her 
 mamma." 
 
 The dear little girl was completing her tenth year, and for 
 ten years she had been the delight of the farm. Having , 
 come the last, at a time when we could no longer hope to have 
 any more children, she was doubly loved. Her precarious 
 health made her particularly dear to us. She was treated as 
 a young lady ; her mother absolutely wanted to make a lady 
 of her, and I had not the heart to oppose her wish, so little 
 Marie was a pet, in lovely silk skirts trimmed with ribbons. 
 
 Marie was still seated on my shoulders. 
 
 " Mamma, mamma," she cried, " come and look ; I'm 
 playing at horses." 
 
 Babet, who was entering, smiled. Ah 1 my poor Babet, how 
 old we were ! I remember we were shivering with weariness, 
 on that day, gazing sadly at one another when alone. Our 
 children brought back our youth. 
 
 Lunch was eaten in silence. We had been compelled to 
 light the lamp. The reddish glimmer that hung round the' 
 room was sad enough to drive one crazy. > 
 
 " Bah ! " said Jacques, " this tepid rainy weather is better 
 than intense cold that would freeze our vines and olives." 
 
 And he tried to joke. But he was as anxidus as we were, 
 without knowing why. Babet had had bad dreams. We 
 listened to the account of her nightmare, laughing with our 
 lips but sad at heart. 
 
 " This weather quite upsets one," I said to cheer us all up. 
 
 " Yes, yes, it's the weather," Jacques hastened to add. "I'll 
 put some vine branches on the fire." 
 
 There was a bright flame which cast large sheets of light 
 upon the walls. The branches burnt with a cracking sound, 
 leaving rosy ashes. We had seated ourselves in front of the 
 chimney ; the air, outside, was tepid ; but great drops of icy 
 cold damp fell from the ceilings inside the farmhouse. Babet 
 had taken little Marie on her knees ; she was talking to her in 
 an undertone, amused at her childish chatter. 
 
 "Are you coming, father?" Jacques inquired of me. "We 
 are going to look at the cellars and lofts." 
 
 I went out with him. The harvests had been getting bad 
 for some years past. We were suffering great losses : our vines 
 and trees were caught by frost, whilst hail had chopped up 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 337 
 
 our wheat and oats. And I sometimes said that I was growing 
 old, and that fortune, who is a woman, does not care for old 
 men. Jacques laughed, answering that he was young, and was 
 going to'court fortune. 
 
 I had reached the winter, the cold season. I felt distinctly 
 that all was withering around me. At each pleasure that de- 
 parted, I thought of uncle Lazare, who had died so calmly ; 
 and with fond remembrances of him, asked for strength. 
 
 Daylight had completely disappeared at three o'clock. We 
 went down into the common room. Babet was sewing in the 
 chimney corner, with her head bent over her work ; and little 
 Marie was seated on the ground, in front of the fire, gravely 
 dressing a doll. Jacques and I had placed ourselves at a 
 mahogany writing-table, which had come to us from uncle 
 Lazare, and were engaged in checking our accounts. 
 
 The window was as if blocked up ; the fog, sticking to the 
 panes of glass, formed a, perfect wall of gloom. Behind this 
 wall stretched emptiness, the unknown. A great noise, a loud 
 roar, alone arose in the silence and spread through the 
 obscurity. 
 
 We had dismissed the workpeople, keeping only our old 
 woman-servant. Marguerite, with us. When I raised my 
 head and listened, it seemed to me that the farmhouse hung 
 suspended in the middle of a chasm. No human sound came 
 from the outside, I heard naught but the riot of the abyss. 
 Then I gazed at my wife and children, and experienced the 
 cowardice of those old people who feel themselves too weak 
 to protect those surrounding them against unknown peril. 
 
 The noise became harsher, and it seemed to us that there 
 was a knocking at the door. At the same instant, the horses in 
 the stable began to neigh furiously, whilst the cattle lowed as 
 if choking. We had all risen, pale with anxiety. Jacques 
 dashed to the door and threw it wide open. 
 
 A wave of muddy water burst into the roomi 
 
 The Durance was overflowing. It was it that had been 
 ^making the noise, that had been increasing in the distance 
 since morning. The snow melting on the mountains had 
 transformed each hillside into a torrent which had swelled the 
 river. The curtain of fog had hidden from us this sudden rise 
 of water. 
 
 It had often advanced thus to the gates of the farm, when 
 
 Y 
 
338 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 the thaw came after severe winters. But the flood had never 
 increased so rapidly. We could see through the open door 
 that the courtyard was transformed into a lake. The water 
 already reached our ankles. 
 
 Babet had caught up little Marie, who was crying and 
 clasping her doll to her. Jacques wanted to run and open the 
 doors of the stables and cowhouses ; but his mother held him 
 back by his clothes, begging him not to go out. The water 
 continued rising. I pushed Babet towards the staircase. 
 
 " Quick, quick, let us go up into the bedrooms," I cried. 
 
 And I obliged Jacques to pass before me. I left the ground- 
 floor the last. 
 
 Marguerite came down in terror from the loft where she 
 happened to find herself. I made her sit down at the end of 
 the room beside Babet, who remained silent, pale, and with 
 beseeching eyes. We put little Marie into bed; she had 
 insisted on keeping her doll, and went quietly to sleep press- 
 ing it in her arms. This child's sleep relieved me; when I 
 turned round and saw Babet, listening to the little girl's regular 
 breathing, I forgot the danger, all I heard was the water 
 beating against the walls. 
 
 But Jacques and I could not help looking the peril in the 
 face. Anxiety made us endeavour to discover the progress of 
 the inundation. We had thrown the window wide open, we 
 leant out at the risk of falling, searching into the darkness. 
 The fog, which was thicker, hung above the flood, throwing 
 out fine rain which gave us the shivers. Vague steel-like 
 flashes were all that showed the moving sheet of water, amidst 
 the profound obscurity. Below, it was splashing in the court- 
 yard, rising along the walls in gentle undulations. And we 
 still heard naught but the anger of the Durance, and the 
 affrighted cattle and horses. 
 
 The neighing and lowing of these poor beasts pierced me 
 to the heart. Jacques questioned me with his eyes ; he would 
 have liked to try and deliver them. Their agonising moans 
 soon became lamentable, and a great cracking sound was 
 heard. The oxen had just broken down the stable doors. 
 We saw them pass before us, borne away by the flood, rolled 
 over and over in the current. And they disappeared amid 
 the roar of the river. 
 
 Then I felt choking with anger. I became as one possessed, 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 339 
 
 I shook my fist at the Durance. Erect, facing the window, I 
 insulted it. 
 
 "Wicked thing ! " I shouted amidst the tumult of the waters, 
 "I loved you fondly, you were my first sweetheart, and now you 
 are plundering me. You come and disturb my farm, and 
 
 carry off my cattle. Ah ! cursed, cursed thing. Then you 
 
 gave me Babet, you ran gently at the edge of my meadows. 
 I took you for a good mother. I remembered uncle Lazare 
 felt affection for your limpid stream, and I thought I owed you 
 gratitude. You are a barbarous mother, I only owe you my 
 hatred " 
 
 But the Durance stifled my cries with its thundering voice ; 
 and, broad and indifferent, expanded and drove its flood 
 onward with tranquil obstinacy. 
 
 I turned back to the room and went and kissed Babet, who 
 was weeping. Little Marie was smiling in her sleep. 
 
 " Don't be afraid," I said to my wife. " The water cannot 
 always rise. It will certainly go down. There is no danger." 
 
 "No, there is no danger," Jacques repeated feverishly. 
 "The house is solid." 
 
 At that moment Marguerite, who had approached the 
 window, tormented by that feeling of curiosity which is the 
 outcome of fear, leant forward like a mad thing and fell, utter- 
 ing a cry. I threw myself before the window, but could not 
 prevent Jacques plunging into the water. Marguerite had 
 nursed him, and he felt the tenderness of a son for the poor 
 old woman. Babet had risen in terror, with joined hands, 
 at the sound of the two splashes. She remained there, 
 erect, with open mouth and distended eyes, watching the 
 window. 
 
 I had seated myself on the wooden handrail, and my ears 
 were ringing with the roar of the flood. I do not know how 
 long it was that Babet and I were in this painful state of stupor, 
 when a voice called to me. It was Jacques who was holding 
 on to the wall beneath the window. I stretched out my hand 
 to him, and he clambered up. 
 
 Babet clasped him in her arms. She could sob now ; and 
 she relieved herself. 
 
 No reference was made to Marguerite. Jacques did not 
 dare say he had been unable to find her, and we did not 
 dare question him anent his search. 
 
340 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 He took me apart and brought me back to the window. 
 
 " Father," he said to me in an undertone, " there are more 
 than seven feet of water in the courtyard, and the river is still 
 rising. We cannot remain here any longer." 
 
 Jacques was right. The house was falling to pieces, the 
 planks of the outbuildings were going away one by one. Then 
 this death of Marguerite weighed upon us. Babet, bewildered, 
 was beseeching us. Marie alone remained peaceful in the big 
 bed, with her doll between her arms, and slumbering with the 
 happy smile of an angel. 
 
 The peril increased at every minute. The water was on the 
 point of reaching the handrail of the window and pouring 
 into the room. Any one would have said that it was an engine 
 of war making the farmhouse totter with regular, dull, hard 
 blows. The current must be running right against the fagade, 
 and we could not hope for any human assistance. 
 
 "Every minute is precious," said Jacques in agony. "We 
 shall be crushed beneath the ruins. Let us look for boards, 
 let us make a raft." 
 
 He said that in his excitement. I would naturally have 
 preferred a thousand times to be in the middle of the river, on 
 a few beams lashed together, than beneath the roof of this 
 house which was about to fall in. But where could we lay 
 hands on the beams we required? In a rage I tore the 
 planks from the cupboards, Jacques broke the furniture, we 
 took away the shutters, every piece of wood we could reach. 
 And feeling it was impossible to utilise these fragments, we 
 cast them into the middle of the room in a fury, and continued 
 searching. 
 
 Our last hope was departing, we understood our misery and 
 want of power. The water was rising ; the harsh voice of the 
 Durance was calling to us in anger. Then, I burst out sob- 
 bing, I took Babet in my trembling arms, I begged Jacques to 
 come near us. I wished us all to die in the same embrace. 
 
 Jacques had returned to the window. And, suddenly, he 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Father, we are saved ! — Come and see." 
 
 The sky was clear. The roof of a shed, torn away by the 
 current, had come to a standstill beneath our window. This 
 roof, which was several yards broad, was formed of light 
 beams and thatch ; it floated, and would make a capital raft 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 341 
 
 I joined my hands together and would have worshipped this 
 wood and straw. 
 
 Jacques jumped on the roof, after having firmly secured it. 
 He walked on the thatch, making sure it was everywhere 
 strong. The thatch resisted; therefore we could adventure 
 on it without fear. 
 
 " Oh ! it will carry us all very well," said Jacques joyfully. 
 " See how little it sinks into the water ! The difficulty will he 
 to steer it." 
 
 He looked around him and seized two poles drifting along 
 in the current, as they passed by. 
 
 " Ah 1 here are oars," he continued. " You will go to the 
 stern, father, and I forward, and we will manoeuvre the raft 
 easily. There are not twelve feet of water. Quick, quick ! get 
 on board, we must not lose a minute." 
 
 My poor Babet tried to smife. She wrapped little Marie 
 carefully up in her shawl ; the (jhild had just woke up, and, 
 quite alarmed, maintained a silence which was broken by deep 
 sobs. I placed a chair before the window and made" Babet 
 get on the raft. As I held her in my arms I kissed her with 
 poignant emotion, feeling this kiss was the last. 
 
 The water was beginning to pour into the room. Our feet 
 were soaking. I was the last to embark; thertl undid the 
 cord. The current hurled us against the wall ; it required pre- 
 cautions and many efforts to quit the farmhouse. 
 
 The fog had little by little dispersed. It was about mid- 
 night when we left. The stars were still buried in mist ; the 
 moon which was almost at the edge of the horizon, lit up the 
 night with a sort of wan daylight. 
 
 The inundation then appeared to us in all its grandiose 
 horror. The valley had become a river. The Durance, swollen 
 to enormous proportions and washing the two hillsides, passed 
 between dark masses of cultivated land, and was the sole thing 
 displaying life in the inanimate space bounded by the horizon. 
 It thundered with a sovereign voice, maintaining in its anger 
 the majesty of its colossal wave. Clumps of trees emerged in 
 places, staining the sheet of pale water with black streaks. 
 Opposite us I recognised the tops of the oaks along the walk ; 
 the current carried us towards these branches, which for us 
 were so many reefs. Around the raft floated various kinds 
 of remains, pieces of wood, empty barrels, bundles of grass ; 
 
342 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 the river was bearing along the ruins it had made in its 
 anger. 
 
 To the left we perceived the lights of Dourgues — flashes 
 of lanterns moving about in the darkness. The water could 
 not have risen as high as the village ; only the low land had 
 been submerged. No doubt assistance would come. We 
 searched the patches of light hanging over the water ; it seemed 
 to us at every instant that we heard the sound of oars. 
 
 We had started at random. As soon as the raft was in the 
 middle of the current, lost amidst the whirlpools of the river, 
 anguish of mind overtook us again ; we almost regretted having 
 left the farm. I sometimes turned round and gazed at the 
 house, which still remained standing, presenting a grey aspect 
 on the white water. Babet, crouching down in the centre of 
 the raft, in the thatch of the roof, was holding little Marie on 
 her knees, the child's head against her breast, to hide the horror 
 of the river from her. Both were bent double, leaning forward 
 in an embrace, as if reduced in stature by fear. Jacques, stand- 
 ing upright in the front, was leaning on his pole with all his 
 weight ; from time to time he cast a rapid glance towards us, 
 and then silently resumed his task. I seconded him as well as 
 I could, but our efforts to reach the bank remained fruitless. 
 Little by little, notwithstanding our poles, which we buried into 
 the mud until we nearly broke them, we drifted into the open ; 
 a force that seemed to come from the depths of the water drove 
 us away. The Durance was slowly taking possession of us. 
 
 Struggling, bathed in perspiration, we had worked ourselves 
 into a passion ; we were fighting with the river as with a living 
 being, seeking to vanquish, wound, kill it It strained us 
 in its giant-like arms, and our poles in our hands, became 
 weapons which we thrust into its breast It roared, flung its 
 slaver into our faces, wriggled beneath our strokes. We 
 resisted its victory with clenched teeth. We would not be 
 conquered. And we had mad impulses to fell the monster, 
 to calm it with blows from our fists. 
 
 We went slowly towards the offing. We were already at the 
 entrance to the oak-tree walk. The dark branches pierced 
 through the water, which they tore with a lamentable sound. 
 Death, perhaps, awaited us there in a collision. I cried out to 
 Jacques to follow the walk by clinging close to the branches. 
 And it was thus that I passed for the last time in the middle • 
 
JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS 343 
 
 of this oak-tree alley, where I had walked in my youth and 
 ripe age. In the terrible darkness, above the howling depth, 
 I thought of uncle Lazare, and saw the happy days of my 
 youth smiling at me sadly. 
 
 The Durance triumphed at the end of the alley. Our poles 
 no longer touched the bottom. The water bore us along in 
 its impetuous bound of victory. And now it could do what 
 it pleased with us. We gave ourselves up. We went down- 
 stream with frightful rapidity. Great clouds, dirty tattered 
 lags hung about the sky ; when the moon was hidden there 
 came lugubrious obscurity. Then we rolled in chaos. Enor- 
 mous billows as black as ink, resembling the backs of fish, 
 bore us along, spinning us round. I could no longer see either 
 Babet or the children. I already felt myself dying. 
 
 I know not how long this last run lasted. The moon was 
 suddenly unveiled, and the horizon became clear. And in 
 that light I perceived an immense black mass in front of us 
 which blocked the way, and towards which we were being 
 carried with all the violence of the current. We were lost, 
 we would be broken there. 
 
 Babet had stood upright. She held out little Marie to me : 
 
 " Take the child," she exclaimed. " Leave me alone, leave 
 me alone ! " 
 
 Jacques had already caught Babet in his arms. In a loud 
 voice he said : 
 
 " Father, save the little one — I will save mother.'' 
 
 We had come close to the black mass. I thought I recog- 
 nised a tree. The shock was terrible, and the raft, split in 
 two, scattered its straw and beams in the whirlpool of water. 
 
 I fell, clasping little Marie tightly to me. The icy cold 
 water brought back all my courage. On rising to the surface 
 of the river, I supported the child, I half laid her on my neck 
 and began to swim laboriously. If the little creature had not 
 lost consciousness but had struggled, we should both have re- 
 mained at the bottom of the deep. 
 
 And, whilst I swam, I felt choking with anxiety. I called 
 Jacques, I tried to see in the distance ; but I heard nothing 
 save the roar of the waters, I saw naught but the pale sheet 
 of the Durance. Jacques and Babet were at the bottom. She 
 must have clung to him, dragged him down in a deadly strain 
 of her arras. What frightful agony ! I wanted to die ; I sunk 
 
344 STORIES FOR NINON 
 
 slowly, I was going to find them beneath the black water. 
 And as soon as the flood touched little Marie's face, I 
 struggled again with impetuous anguish to get near the water- 
 side. 
 
 It was thus that I abandoned Babet and Jacques, in despair 
 at having been unable to die with them, still calling out to 
 them in a husky voice. The river cast me on the stones, like 
 one of those bundles of grass it leaves on its way. When 
 I came to myself again, I took my daughter, who was opening 
 her eyes, in my arms. Day was breaking. My winter night 
 was at an end, that terrible night which had been an accom- 
 plice in the murder of my wife and son. 
 
 At this moment, after years of regret, one last consolation 
 remains to me. I am the icy winter, but I feel the approach- 
 ing spring stirring within me. As my uncle Lazare said, 
 we never die. I have had four seasons, and here I am re- 
 turning to the spring, there is my dear Marie commencing the 
 everlasting joys and sorrows over again. 
 
 THE EMD