The awakening

by Henry Bordeaux

"The sun shines very brightly in there."

"Yes, but he will need rest after a day in the train."

And the two old women, equally devoted, made active preparations for receiving, as well as they could, the one who filled their motherly hearts. But while Fanchette, with her tongue out, was absorbed in watching her stew pan, Mme. Derize, opening her cupboard and rearranging her rooms, was somewhat uneasy. At first she had interpreted Albert's telegram favorably: this departure from Paris (which, although she had never been there, she feared as a bad town where ideas of truth and error underwent a change),—this return, must be the prelude to a reconciliation: everything contributed to her confusion. The thought of having her son to herself, all to herself, also helped to make her happy. He generally stopped with his wife and children at the Molay-Norrois apartment, which was more comfortable and roomy. This exception to an established rule, to which she submitted without any recriminations, was like a slight return for her self-sacrifice. How she would caress and pet him! Not too much, however: one must not make men effeminate; and, besides, he deserved to be scolded. For the first time since he was a child, he had caused her a real heartache. She did not recognize, did not understand his conduct. Marriage, in her eyes, was an indissoluble, sacred union, which only death could break asunder, which even death itself had not broken for her, although it had pitilessly shattered a happiness of too short duration. What would become of children if each of the parents had the right to begin life anew? They had not asked to be born, and was it not necessary, after bringing them to light, to transmit to them that other light which is the tradition of the family? Has anyone ever realized anything without a purposeful aim and a definite acceptance? She had written all that when she heard of Elizabeth's departure and the infidelity which was the cause of it. She had even wanted to go away, but Albert told her of his proposed departure for Paris. Five times, with her slow, yet still firm step, very much to her credit, braving the recriminations and the cool welcome of the Molay-Norrois, she had gone to her daughter-in-law to induce her to be patient and to forgive, trying especially to win the interest of the innocent little victims, Marie Louise and Philippe. But she had succeeded neither in moving nor convincing Elizabeth, and had met with a formal, obstinate decision. On the other hand, she knew the character of her son Albert, imperious, even proud, as is frequently the case with superior natures. She too, sanguine in her affection, her nobility of soul and her straightforwardness, had often suffered from it. The forbearance of a mother is not to be expected from others! Elizabeth, in going away after his breach of faith, had only acted within her rights. It remained with him to give up his passion, to link the broken ties. But she knew that he would not yield readily. And upon further reflection, the feeble hope which the telegram had raised, flew away as do birds which by chance have flown into a room and are eager to find their way into the open.

A little breeze was coming in through the open windows, after the day's intense heat. In the month of June, the light lingers late, and it was not yet evening, only that intermediate hour of twilight when the weary sun is slowly preparing to sink below the horizon. Madame Derize noticed a little regretfully this menace of a finality which was not immediate, but quite in keeping with her meditations. It was the hour she chose to visit the neighboring cemetery of Saint Roch. The dead can always wait. She contented herself with putting a little water in a vase on the bureau in his room, before a photograph, which, with time, had faded and could never have been very clear. And she even spread the flowers so that the picture was in evidence.

"There," she thought, "his father will speak to him. Ah, if only he might have brought him up."

She lived in the eastern section of the town which is almost part of the country. Parallel with the old ramparts runs the Boulevard des Adieux, with its tall trees and its little hills covered with grass. The gate which crosses it is called by the same melancholy name, and leads to the beautiful "L'Ile Verte" that must be traversed in order to reach the cemetery. All the funeral processions pass this way. The consciousness of death is ever present. For this reason, it is a section not very attractive to prospective tenants, despite the view of the foliage, the green slopes on the left between the branches of birches and lime trees, Mont-Rachais and Saint-Eynard, whose cliffs take on, under the setting sun, a brilliant color, alternately pink and violet.

This little flat of six rooms on the second floor at the corner of the Boulevard and the Rue Lesdiguières, had been occupied by Mme. Derize only since her son's marriage. She had then believed that her task was finished, and so retreated to the neighborhood of the tombs. Until then, on Albert's account, she had lived in the newer neighborhood near Saint-André Square: young men need scenes of activity and movement, and not quiet streets and reminders of death. When she saw him in a new home and realized that he was attracted to and even taken possession of by the Molay-Norrois set, who were proud of his growing fame, she returned quite naturally to the cemetery which contained her happiness and her youth. There rested her parents, to whom she owed this strength of resistance which results from a happy childhood, her husband whom she had lost after only four years of married life and whose memory still persisted after thirty-six years. It seemed to her as if she had not formerly had time to mourn him sufficiently, and that she was now paying a debt; as old age comes on, we have need of warmth and sunshine, and we recall both from the best days we have spent. He had been cut off at the height of his power by a crushing accidental illness, just as he was completing the building of one of those factories operated by the "white coal" which is making the fortune of Dauphiné to-day. Without a diploma he proved himself to be a pioneer. Albert's was the third attempt at prominence in the Derize family: the grandfather had already been stricken down before he found success. Thus families often present incomplete sketches of the descendant who will do them honor, or are impeded in their normal development by adverse fate, and do not succeed in flowering.

One knows what a critical period a new industry always goes through, when it is first exploited. If the leader fails, it is soon discredited. Rather than run a dangerous risk, Albert's mother, deprived of her entire fortune, had preferred to liquidate. This liquidation left to her child only an estate situated at Saint Martin d'Uriage, almost in the mountains, consisting of a house, farm, woods and meadows, which was not entirely unencumbered and the income of which was only a little more than two thousand francs. Alone, she would have gone there: the nearness of the church and the peace of the country were calling her. Albert was only three years old. From that time he was her aim in life. She hoped that he would realize the success lost by his father and his grandfather. To make some money and to give him a better education, she opened a kindergarten, and when he was older, asked for and obtained a modest situation in the post office at Grenoble, much better suited to her capacity for order, intelligence and good organization. In allowing him to find himself, to realize himself by first divining his worth, she gave him life a second time. He rewarded her by quick progress in his career, by his talent and later by his affection, a rather sheltering affection, somewhat changeable and very reserved in difficult periods, but which could be at times so confiding, so delicate, so deep, that the old woman, as she thought of it, felt her eyes fill with tears and her heart grow heavy. As soon as he began to earn money, he made her give up all work: Must he not be allowed to repay her? When he married, although their property of Saint-Martin, inherited from his father, and, besides, entirely freed by himself of all debt, was inscribed in his marriage-contract and even enabled him to treat on even terms with the Molay-Norrois, yet he still continued to pay her the income, to which he added a moderate allowance, for he did not intend that anyone, not even his wife, should realize that keen struggle with poverty which he and his mother had known, in order that no such imputation should be associated with the memory of his dead father.

Nothing binds strong natures like trials borne in common. Even the sharing of physical fatigue creates a feeling of comradeship and a community of interest. During these years of struggle, an exceptional intimacy had united Mme. Derize and her son. She had gone on with her studies in order to keep abreast with him. With what understanding and respect he had helped her when seeking her advice! And how she quieted his ambitious desires, taught him this virtue so difficult to acquire, especially by strong natures, and yet so indispensable, that no ardor, no rapidity of work can make supply: patience! As if she thought him her superior, she tried to turn him from scattering his forces, from splitting up his energies, from destroying himself by newspaper work, lecturing, and all those small accomplishments which a first success seems to require, and the habitual acceptance of which becomes the more dangerous because it satisfies a need for activity while permitting pleasant limitations. Instinctively and without knowing how to explain it—did she not smile in telling him what a superstitious respect she had for big books—she understood that concentration on a single object, strengthened by the habit of continuity, is the only way to give expression to lasting work. Thus she encouraged him to great efforts, and was doubtless of assistance in the planning of his "History of the Workman in Modern Society," so useful to-day, and of that "History of the Peasant in the Nineteenth Century," which was to be a résumé of rustic life, and to show its everlasting nobility.

However, she could never be induced to follow him to Paris, either because she feared to find herself out of her element, far from her accustomed sphere, or that, and rightly so, she did not wish to take a place which would soon be filled by another woman. From afar, she kept in touch with him by a regular correspondence, and the holidays found them together in their country house at Saint-Martin. Albert's marriage brought about great changes in these lives, with so much in common. She expected it, but she suffered as a result of it: nobody had her confidence. She was even spared the trouble of withholding her influence, as she had for a long time promised herself to do. Very much in love with the hesitating Elizabeth, whose parents kept him waiting for their consent, as if they wished thereby to accentuate the value of their favor, Albert, with the impetuosity and forgetfulness of youth, turned entirely to his love. She thought she had lost him forever. The new family of which he became a member, more brilliant, more desirable than his own, set in a more striking frame, flattered him and turned his head. He was not born satiated like those blasé young men, who cannot be diverted or amused; he keenly appreciated the pleasures of luxury and society. It is often true of authors and artists whose talent demands observation and contact with life, that they are attracted by worldly things. The Molay-Norrois had a very large circle and entertained extensively. As Albert observed his young wife, he saw an unknown light shed upon his own life. It was during that time that his mother moved to the Boulevard des Adieux, and as a traveler who descends in the evening from the still lighted mountain to the plain, so she began to come again into close touch with the past, which had been concealed by the shadow of death. Later on she noticed regretfully, sadly, that her daughter-in-law had not replaced her in the effective rôle of adviser, which requires attention and daily effort. She feared that as a result of Elizabeth's one-sided character, Albert would be ruined by the failure which she believed she had detected. But the situation adjusted itself and grew peaceful, as do those lakes, threatened by a storm and then spared. He added to his lesser writings, doubled his income, readily assumed new financial obligations and sought solitude, only to write his great work, which advanced, but with less rapidity, acuteness, enthusiasm and intellectual force. Elizabeth took charge of the health of her two children, paid visits, dressed well, retained her beautiful, placid face. And beneath this show of happiness was hidden an intimate drama, which had suddenly revealed itself, and his mother reproached herself for being unable to foresee it, when it would have been possible to avert the danger....