“Altitude has always agreed with me.”
I admit that on this occasion I sided with grandfather. The tower chamber with its four views, its isolation, its special odour (it had never been opened except when some one went for apples, which used to ripen there all winter long) had long had an irresistible attraction for me. Since it was henceforth to be inhabited I promised myself to visit it frequently.
This episode was soon put into the shade by another, much more important and of a character to make a much deeper impression upon my imagination. Coming home from school one morning, I learned from my usual source of information, Aunt Deen, that this time it was settled. She imparted this news with an air of great mystery, but mystery itself with her was noisy in its manifestation. The word settled assumed upon her lips a formidable importance. What was settled?
“The deed is signed. Just now. I am very glad.”
What deed? I didn’t understand a word of it all.
“Well, we are to remain in our house. They can never trouble us again.”
Didn’t I already know that they had been utterly routed, dispersed, chastised, overcome, beaten, reduced to nothingness, like the Persians in my ancient history whom a handful of Greeks had chased into the sea? How should she think to surprise me by telling me a secret already several days old, perhaps several weeks old, and about which every one had been talking freely? A child does not enter the region of preparations, delays, formalities and judicial scribblings. But a capital event shortly illustrated Aunt Deen’s declaration.
Grandfather returned earlier than usual from his walk, and as one of us remarked upon his abnormal punctuality he took himself off without a word. When, after the second bell, we entered the dining-room with empty stomachs and ravenous appetites, what was our surprise to find him already there, sitting at table, but not in his official place, the place of honour in the centre opposite our mother, as is fitting for the head of the family, the reigning king. Without confiding his intention to any one, he had changed the napkin rings and had taken his place at the end of the table, opposite the window. It is true that he had chosen a very good place whence he could see the trees in the garden and even a bit of sky between their branches. To a lover of sunshine the view was not unimportant. But all the same it was a revolution in the family life and the entire domestic economy. Or rather, I was not mistaken, it was an abdication.
I was well up in abdications. Had I not been obliged to study in my history book those of the sluggard kings, whose hair they cut off before immuring them in a cloister?—and in spite of myself I gazed at grandfather’s slightly curling white hair. Above all I had heard my brother Bernard reciting the story of Charles V, by which I had been strongly impressed. That master of the world, laying aside his grandeur, had retired to a monastery of Estramadura, where he mended clocks, and to give himself a foretaste of death had had his funeral celebrated while he was still alive. Historians that dote upon truth have since then assured me that these details are fabulous. I am sorry, for I have not forgotten them, whereas an innumerable number of demonstrated facts have dropped out of my memory. But at that time I believed with iron conviction in the retirement of Charles V, the false obsequies and the clocks. Grandfather also knew how to mend clocks, and I at once established relations between the two sovereigns.
Aunt Deen, punctual for once, and our mother, who was not far behind us, shared our astonishment. Then all eyes were fixed upon our father, who was just then entering the room. At a glance he took in the situation, and with him decision was never slow to follow. He came forward with rapid steps.