Books: La Mere Bauche from Tales of All Countries
A >>
Anthony Trollope >> La Mere Bauche from Tales of All Countries
Then she looked at him as though she expected some sign of renewed
love. But no such sign was vouchsafed to her. Now that she thirsted
for the touch of his lip upon her check, it was denied to her. He
did as she bade him; he went down, slowly loitering, by himself; and
in about half an hour she followed him, and unobserved crept to her
chamber.
Again we will pass over what took place between the mother and the
son; but late in that evening, after the guests had gone to bed,
Marie received a message, desiring her to wait on Madame Bauche in a
small salon which looked out from one end of the house. It was
intended as a private sitting-room should any special stranger arrive
who required such accommodation, and therefore was but seldom used.
Here she found La Mere Bauche sitting in an arm-chair behind a small
table on which stood two candles; and on a sofa against the wall sat
Adolphe. The capitaine was not in the room.
"Shut the door, Marie, and come in and sit down," said Madame Bauche.
It was easy to understand from the tone of her voice that she was
angry and stern, in an unbending mood, and resolved to carry out to
the very letter all the threats conveyed by those terrible
spectacles.
Marie did as she was bid. She closed the door and sat down on the
chair that was nearest to her.
"Marie," said La Mere Bauche--and the voice sounded fierce in the
poor girl's ears, and an angry fire glimmered through the green
glasses--"what is all this about that I hear? Do you dare to say
that you hold my son bound to marry you?" And then the august mother
paused for an answer.
But Marie had no answer to give. See looked suppliantly towards her
lover, as though beseeching him to carry on the fight for her. But
if she could not do battle for herself, certainly he could not do it
for her. What little amount of fighting he had had in him, had been
thoroughly vanquished before her arrival.
"I will have an answer, and that immediately," said Madame Bauche.
"I am not going to be betrayed into ignominy and disgrace by the
object of my own charity. Who picked you out of the gutter, miss,
and brought you up and fed you, when you would otherwise have gone to
the foundling? And this is your gratitude for it all? You are not
satisfied with being fed and clothed and cherished by me, but you
must rob me of my son! Know this then, Adolphe shall never marry a
child of charity such as you are."
Marie sat still, stunned by the harshness of these words. La Mere
Bauche had often scolded her; indeed, she was given to much scolding;
but she had scolded her as a mother may scold a child. And when this
story of Marie's love first reached her ears, she had been very
angry; but her anger had never brought her to such a pass as this.
Indeed, Marie had not hitherto been taught to look at the matter in
this light. No one had heretofore twitted her with eating the bread
of charity. It had not occurred to her that on this account she was
unfit to be Adolphe's wife. There, in that valley, they were all so
nearly equal, that no idea of her own inferiority had ever pressed
itself upon her mind. But now--!
When the voice ceased she again looked at him; but it was no longer a
beseeching look. Did he also altogether scorn her? That was now the
inquiry which her eyes were called upon to make. No; she could not
say that he did. It seemed to her that his energies were chiefly
occupied in pulling to pieces the tassel on the sofa cushion.
"And now, miss, let me know at once whether this nonsense is to be
over or not," continued La Mere Bauche; "and I will tell you at once,
I am not going to maintain you here, in my house, to plot against our
welfare and happiness. As Marie Clavert you shall not stay here.
Capitaine Campan is willing to marry you; and as his wife I will keep
my word to you, though you little deserve it. If you refuse to marry
him, you must go. As to my son, he is there; and he will tell you
now, in my presence, that he altogether declines the honour you
propose for him."
And then she ceased, waiting for an answer, drumming the table with a
wafer stamp which happened to be ready to her hand; but Marie said
nothing. Adolphe had been appealed to; but Adolphe had not yet
spoken.
"Well, miss?" said La Mere Bauche
Then Marie rose from her seat, and walking round she touched Adolphe
lightly on the shoulder. "Adolphe," she said, "it is for you to
speak now. I will do as you bid me."
He gave a long sigh, looked first at Marie and then at his mother,
shook himself slightly, and then spoke: "Upon my word, Marie, I
think mother is right. It would never do for us to marry; it would
not indeed."
"Then it is decided," said Marie, returning to her chair.
"And you will marry the capitaine?" said La Mere Bauche.
Marie merely bowed her head in token of acquiescence. "Then we are
friends again. Come here, Marie, and kiss me. You must know that it
is my duty to take care of my own son. But I don't want to be angry
with you if I can help it; I don't indeed. When once you are Madame
Campan, you shall be my own child; and you shall have any room in the
house you like to choose--there!" And she once more imprinted a kiss
on Marie's cold forehead.
How they all got out of the room, and off to their own chambers, I
can hardly tell. But in five minutes from the time of this last kiss
they were divided. La Mere Bauche had patted Marie, and smiled on
her, and called her her dear good little Madame Campan, her young
little Mistress of the Hotel Bauche; and had then got herself into
her own room, satisfied with her own victory.
Nor must my readers be too severe on Madame Bauche. She had already
done much for Marie Clavert; and when she found herself once more by
her own bedside, she prayed to be forgiven for the cruelty which she
felt that she had shown to the orphan. But in making this prayer,
with her favourite crucifix in her hand and the little image of the
Virgin before her, she pleaded her duty to her son. Was it not
right, she asked the Virgin, that she should save her son from a bad
marriage? And then she promised ever so much of recompense, both to
the Virgin and to Marie; a new trousseau for each, with candles to
the Virgin, with a gold watch and chain for Marie, as soon as she
should be Marie Campan. She had been cruel; she acknowledged it.
But at such a crisis was it not defensible? And then the recompense
should be so full!
But there was one other meeting that night, very short indeed, but
not the less significant. Not long after they had all separated,
just so long as to allow of the house being quiet, Adolphe, still
sitting in his room, meditating on what the day had done for him,
heard a low tap at his door. "Come in," he said, as men always do
say; and Marie opening the door, stood just within the verge of his
chamber. She had on her countenance neither the soft look of
entreating love which she had worn up there in the grotto, nor did
she appear crushed and subdued as she had done before his mother.
She carried her head somewhat more erect than usual, and looked
boldly out at him from under her soft eyelashes. There might still
be love there, but it was love proudly resolving to quell itself.
Adolphe, as he looked at her, felt that he was afraid of her.
"It is all over then between us, M. Adolphe?" she said.
"Well, yes. Don't you think it had better be so, eh, Marie?"
"And this is the meaning of oaths and vows, sworn to each other so
sacredly?"
"But, Marie, you heard what my mother said."
"Oh, sir! I have not come to ask you again to love me. Oh no! I am
not thinking of that. But this, this would be a lie if I kept it
now; it would choke me if I wore it as that man's wife. Take it
back;" and she tendered to him the little charm which she had always
worn round her neck since he had given it to her. He took it
abstractedly, without thinking what he did, and placed it on his
dressing-table.
"And you," she continued, "can you still keep that cross? Oh, no!
you must give me back that. It would remind you too often of vows
that were untrue."
"Marie," he said, "do not be so harsh to me."
"Harsh!" said she, "no; there has been enough of harshness. I would
not be harsh to you, Adolphe. But give me the cross; it would prove
a curse to you if you kept it."
He then opened a little box which stood upon the table, and taking
out the cross gave it to her.
"And now good-bye," she said. "We shall have but little more to say
to each other. I know this now, that I was wrong ever to have loved
you. I should have been to you as one of the other poor girls in the
house. But, oh! how was I to help it?" To this he made no answer,
and she, closing the door softly, went back to her chamber. And thus
ended the first day of Adolphe Bauche's return to his own house.
On the next morning the capitaine and Marie were formally betrothed.
This was done with some little ceremony, in the presence of all the
guests who were staying at the establishment, and with all manner of
gracious acknowledgments of Marie's virtues. It seemed as though La
Mere Bauche could not be courteous enough to her. There was no more
talk of her being a child of charity; no more allusion now to the
gutter. La Mere Bauche with her own hand brought her cake with a
glass of wine after her betrothal was over, and patted her on the
cheek, and called her her dear little Marie Campan. And then the
capitaine was made up of infinite politeness, and the guests all
wished her joy, and the servants of the house began to perceive that
she was a person entitled to respect. How different was all this
from that harsh attack that was made on her the preceding evening!
Only Adolphe,--he alone kept aloof. Though he was present there he
said nothing. He, and he only, offered no congratulations.
In the midst of all these gala doings Marie herself said little or
nothing. La Mere Bauche perceived this, but she forgave it. Angrily
as she had expressed herself at the idea of Marie's daring to love
her son, she had still acknowledged within her own heart that such
love had been natural. She could feel no pity for Marie as long as
Adolphe was in danger; but now she knew how to pity her. So Marie
was still petted and still encouraged, though she went through the
day's work sullenly and in silence.
As to the capitaine it was all one to him. He was a man of the
world. He did not expect that he should really be preferred, con
amore, to a young fellow like Adolphe. But he did expect that Marie,
like other girls, would do as she was bid; and that in a few days she
would regain her temper and be reconciled to her life.
And then the marriage was fixed for a very early day; for as La Mere
said, "What was the use of waiting? All their minds were made up
now, and therefore the sooner the two were married the better. Did
not the capitaine think so?"
The capitaine said that he did think so.
And then Marie was asked. It was all one to her, she said. Whatever
Maman Bauche liked, that she would do; only she would not name a day
herself. Indeed she would neither do nor say anything herself which
tended in any way to a furtherance of these matrimonials. But then
she acquiesced, quietly enough if not readily, in what other people
did and said; and so the marriage was fixed for the day week after
Adolphe's return.
The whole of that week passed much in the same way. The servants
about the place spoke among themselves of Marie's perverseness,
obstinacy, and ingratitude, because she would not look pleased, or
answer Madame Bauche's courtesies with gratitude; but La Mere herself
showed no signs of anger. Marie had yielded to her, and she required
no more. And she remembered also the harsh words she had used to
gain her purpose; and she reflected on all that Marie had lost. On
these accounts she was forbearing and exacted nothing--nothing but
that one sacrifice which was to be made in accordance to her wishes.
And it was made. They were married in the great salon, the dining-
room, immediately after breakfast. Madame Bauche was dressed in a
new puce silk dress, and looked very magnificent on the occasion.
She simpered and smiled, and looked gay even in spite of her
spectacles; and as the ceremony was being performed, she held fast
clutched in her hand the gold watch and chain which were intended for
Marie as soon as ever the marriage should be completed.
The capitaine was dressed exactly as usual, only that all his clothes
were new. Madame Bauche had endeavoured to persuade him to wear a
blue coat; but he answered that such a change would not, he was sure,
be to Marie's taste. To tell the truth, Marie would hardly have
known the difference had he presented himself in scarlet vestments.
Adolphe, however, was dressed very finely, but he did not make
himself prominent on the occasion. Marie watched him closely, though
none saw that she did so; and of his garments she could have given an
account with much accuracy--of his garments, ay! and of every look.
"Is he a man," she said at last to herself, "that he can stand by and
see all this?"
She too was dressed in silk. They had put on her what they pleased,
and she bore the burden of her wedding finery without complaint and
without pride. There was no blush on her face as she walked up to
the table at which the priest stood, nor hesitation in her low voice
as she made the necessary answers. She put her hand into that of the
capitaine when required to do so; and when the ring was put on her
finger she shuddered, but ever so slightly. No one observed it but
La Mere Bauche. "In one week she will be used to it, and then we
shall all be happy," said La Mere to herself. "And I,--I will be so
kind to her!"
And so the marriage was completed, and the watch was at once given to
Marie. "Thank you, maman," said she, as the trinket was fastened to
her girdle. Had it been a pincushion that had cost three sous, it
would have affected her as much.
And then there was cake and wine and sweetmeats; and after a few
minutes Marie disappeared. For an hour or so the capitaine was taken
up with the congratulating of his friends, and with the efforts
necessary to the wearing of his new honours with an air of ease; but
after that time he began to be uneasy because his wife did not come
to him. At two or three in the afternoon he went to La Mere Bauche
to complain. "This lackadaisical nonsense is no good," he said. "At
any rate it is too late now. Marie had better come down among us and
show herself satisfied with her husband."
But Madame Bauche took Marie's part. "You must not be too hard on
Marie," she said. "She has gone through a good deal this week past,
and is very young; whereas, capitaine, you are not very young."
The capitaine merely shrugged his shoulders. In the mean time Mere
Bauche went up to visit her protegee in her own room, and came down
with a report that she was suffering from a headache. She could not
appear at dinner, Madame Bauche said; but would make one at the
little party which was to be given in the evening. With this the
capitaine was forced to be content.
The dinner therefore went on quietly without her, much as it did on
other ordinary days. And then there was a little time for vacancy,
during which the gentlemen drank their coffee and smoked their cigars
at the cafe, talking over the event that had taken place that
morning, and the ladies brushed their hair and added some ribbon or
some brooch to their usual apparel. Twice during this time did
Madame Bauche go up to Marie's room with offers to assist her. "Not
yet, maman; not quite yet," said Marie piteously through her tears,
and then twice did the green spectacles leave the room, covering eyes
which also were not dry. Ah! what had she done? What had she dared
to take upon herself to do? She could not undo it now.
And then it became quite dark in the passages and out of doors, and
the guests assembled in the salon. La Mere came in and out three or
four times, uneasy in her gait and unpleasant in her aspect, and
everybody began to see that things were wrong. "She is ill, I am
afraid," said one. "The excitement has been too much," said a
second; "and he is so old," whispered a third. And the capitaine
stalked about erect on his wooden leg, taking snuff, and striving to
look indifferent; but he also was uneasy in his mind.
Presently La Mere came in again, with a quicker step than before, and
whispered something, first to Adolphe and then to the capitaine,
whereupon they both followed her out of the room.
"Not in her chamber," said Adolphe.
"Then she must be in yours," said the capitaine.
"She is in neither," said La Mere Bauche, with her sternest voice;
"nor is she in the house!"
And now there was no longer an affectation of indifference on the
part of any of them. They were anything but indifferent. The
capitaine was eager in his demands that the matter should still be
kept secret from the guests. She had always been romantic, he said,
and had now gone out to walk by the river side. They three and the
old bath-man would go out and look for her.
"But it is pitch dark," said La Mere Bauche.
"We will take lanterns," said the capitaine. And so they sallied
forth with creeping steps over the gravel, so that they might not be
heard by those within, and proceeded to search for the young wife.
"Marie! Marie!" said La Mere Bauche, in piteous accents; "do come to
me; pray do!"
"Hush!" said the capitaine. "They'll hear you if you call." He
could not endure that the world should learn that a marriage with him
had been so distasteful to Marie Clavert.
"Marie, dear Marie!" called Madame Bauche, louder than before, quite
regardless of the capitaine' s feelings; but no Marie answered. In
her innermost heart now did La Mere Bauche wish that this cruel
marriage had been left undone.
Adolphe was foremost with his lamp, but he hardly dared to look in
the spot where he felt that it was most likely that she should have
taken refuge. How could he meet her again, alone, in that grotto?
Yet he alone of the four was young. It was clearly for him to
ascend. "Marie," he shouted, "are you there?" as he slowly began the
long ascent of the steps.
But he had hardly begun to mount when a whirring sound struck his
ear, and he felt that the air near him was moved; and then there was
a crash upon the lower platform of rock, and a moan, repeated twice,
but so faintly, and a rustle of silk, and a slight struggle somewhere
as he knew within twenty paces of him; and then all was again quiet
and still in the night air.
"What was that?" asked the capitaine in a hoarse voice. He made his
way half across the little garden, and he also was within forty or
fifty yards of the flat rock. But Adolphe was unable to answer him.
He had fainted and the lamp had fallen from his hands and rolled to
the bottom of the steps.
But the capitaine, though even his heart was all but quenched within
him, had still strength enough to make his way up to the rock; and
there, holding the lantern above his eyes, he saw all that was left
for him to see of his bride.
As for La Mere Bauche, she never again sat at the head of that
table,--never again dictated to guests,--never again laid down laws
for the management of any one. A poor bedridden old woman, she lay
there in her house at Vernet for some seven tedious years, and then
was gathered to her fathers.
As for the capitaine--but what matters? He was made of sterner
stuff. What matters either the fate of such a one as Adolphe Bauche?