Part 18 (1/2)
This last explanation not only gives a true presentation of the personages of this drama, and a serious meaning even to its petty details, but it also throws a vivid light upon the scene where so many social interests are now marshalling.
CHAPTER X. THE SADNESS OF A HAPPY WOMAN
At the moment when the general was getting into his caleche to go to the Prefecture, the countess and the two gentlemen reached the gate of the Avonne, where, for the last eighteen months, Michaud and his wife Olympe had made their home.
Whose remembered the pavilion in the state in which we lately described it would have supposed it had been rebuilt. The bricks fallen or broken by time, and the cement lacking to their edges, were replaced; the slate roof had been cleaned, and the effect of the white bal.u.s.trade against its bluish background restored the gay character of the architecture.
The approaches to the building, formerly choked up and sandy, were now cared for by the man whose duty it was to keep the park roadways in order. The poultry-yard, stables, and cow-shed, relegated to the buildings near the pheasantry and hidden by clumps of trees, instead of afflicting the eye with their foul details, now blended those soft murmurs and cooings and the sound of flapping wings, which are among the most delightful accompaniments of Nature's eternal harmony, with the peculiar rustling sounds of the forest. The whole scene possessed the double charm of a natural, untouched forest and the elegance of an English park. The surroundings of the pavilion, in keeping with its own exterior, presented a certain n.o.ble, dignified, and cordial effect; while the hand of a young and happy woman gave to its interior a very different look from what it wore under the coa.r.s.e neglect of Courtecuisse.
Just now the rich season of the year was putting forth its natural splendors. The perfume of the flowerbeds blended with the wild odor of the woods; and the meadows near by, where the gra.s.s had been lately cut, sent up the fragrance of new-mown hay.
When the countess and her guests reached the end of one of the winding paths which led to the pavilion, they saw Madame Michaud, sitting in the open air before the door, employed in making a baby's garment. The young woman thus placed, thus employed, added the human charm that was needed to complete the scene,--a charm so touching in its actuality that painters have committed the error of endeavoring to convey it in their pictures. Such artists forget that the SOUL of a landscape, if they represent it truly, is so grand that the human element is crushed by it; whereas such a scene added to Nature limits her to the proportions of the personality, like a frame to which the mind of the spectator confines it. When Poussin, the Raffaelle of France, made a landscape accessory to his Shepherds of Arcadia he perceived plainly enough that man becomes diminutive and abject when Nature is made the princ.i.p.al feature on a canvas. In that picture August is in its glory, the harvest is ready, all simple and strong human interests are represented. There we find realized in nature the dream of many men whose uncertain life of mingled good and evil harshly mixed makes them long for peace and rest.
Let us now relate, in few words, the romance of this home. Justin Michaud did not reply very cordially to the advances made to him by the ill.u.s.trious colonel of cuira.s.siers when first offered the situation of bailiff at Les Aigues. He was then thinking of re-entering the service.
But while the negotiations, which naturally took him to the Hotel Montcornet, were going on, he met the countess's head waiting-maid. This young girl, who was entrusted to Madame de Montcornet by her parents, worthy farmers in the neighborhood of Alencon, had hopes of a little fortune, some twenty or thirty thousand francs, when the heirs were all of age. Like other farmers who marry young, and whose own parents are still living, the father and mother of the girl, being pinched for immediate means, placed her with the young countess. Madame de Montcornet had her taught to sew and to make dresses, arranged that she should take her meals alone, and was rewarded for the care she bestowed on Olympe Charel by one of those unconditional attachments which are so precious to Parisians.
Olympe Charel, a pretty Norman girl, rather stout, with fair hair of a golden tint, an animated face lighted by intelligent eyes, and distinguished by a finely curved thoroughbred nose, with a maidenly air in spite of a certain swaying Spanish manner of carrying herself, possessed all the points that a young girl born just above the level of the ma.s.ses is likely to acquire from whatever close companions.h.i.+p a mistress is willing to allow her. Always suitably dressed, with modest bearing and manner, and able to express herself well, Michaud was soon in love with her,--all the more when he found that his sweetheart's dowry would one day be considerable. The obstacles came from the countess, who could not bear to part with so invaluable a maid; but when Montcornet explained to her the affairs at Les Aigues, she gave way, and the marriage was no longer delayed, except to obtain the consent of the parents, which, of course, was quickly given.
Michaud, like his general, looked upon his wife as a superior being, to whom he owed military obedience without a single reservation. He found in the peace of his home and his busy life out-of-doors the elements of a happiness soldiers long for when they give up their profession,--enough work to keep his body healthy, enough fatigue to let him know the charms of rest. In spite of his well-known intrepidity, Michaud had never been seriously wounded, and he had none of those physical pains which often sour the temper of veterans. Like all really strong men, his temper was even; his wife, therefore, loved him utterly.
From the time they took up their abode in the pavilion, this happy home was the scene of a long honey-moon in harmony with Nature and with the art whose creations surrounded them,--a circ.u.mstance rare indeed! The things about us are seldom in keeping with the condition of our souls!
The picture was so pretty that the countess stopped short and pointed it out to Blondet and the abbe; for they could see Madame Michaud from where they stood, without her seeing them.
”I always come this way when I walk in the park,” said the countess, softly. ”I delight in looking at the pavilion and its two turtle-doves, as much as I delight in a fine view.”
She leaned significantly on Blondet's arm, as if to make him share sentiments too delicate for words but which all women feel.
”I wish I were a gate-keeper at Les Aigues,” said Blondet, smiling.
”Why! what troubles you?” he added, noticing an expression of sadness on the countess's face.
”Nothing,” she replied.
Women are always hiding some important thought when they say, hypocritically, ”It is nothing.”
”A woman may be the victim of ideas which would seem very flimsy to you,” she added, ”but which, to us, are terrible. As for me, I envy Olympe's lot.”
”G.o.d hears you,” said the abbe, smiling as though to soften the sternness of his remark.
Madame de Montcornet grew seriously uneasy when she noticed an expression of fear and anxiety in Olympe's face and att.i.tude. By the way a woman draws out her needle or sets her st.i.tches another woman understands her thoughts. In fact, though wearing a rose-colored dress, with her hair carefully braided about her head, the bailiff's wife was thinking of matters that were out of keeping with her pretty dress, the glorious day, and the work her hands were engaged on. Her beautiful brow, and the glance she turned sometimes on the ground at her feet, sometimes on the foliage around, evidently seeing nothing, betrayed some deep anxiety,--all the more unconsciously because she supposed herself alone.
”Just as I was envying her! What can have saddened her?” whispered the countess to the abbe.
”Madame,” he replied in the same tone, ”tell me why man is often seized with vague and unaccountable presentiments of evil in the very midst of some perfect happiness?”
”Abbe!” said Blondet, smiling, ”you talk like a bishop. Napoleon said, 'Nothing is stolen, all is bought!'”
”Such a maxim, uttered by those imperial lips, takes the proportions of society itself,” replied the priest.
”Well, Olympe, my dear girl, what is the matter?” said the countess going up to her former maid. ”You seem sad and thoughtful; is it a lover's quarrel?”