That was the last time that our fingers clung thus together, but the nightingale’s note still sounds, the vine puts forth its branches, and love still twists young hearts in its supple tendrils. Night came on, as I stood there, gazing up at the silvered treetops. I could not tear myself away from that magic shadow which dimmed my homeward path, and even destroyed the wish to find it. Three times I tried, but found myself back where I started, so I gave it up, and took a lodging for that night at the sign of the Moonbeam. It was not a very good inn to sleep in: I lay there turning over the pages of my life, thinking of what I had done and left undone, and of the dreams from which I had awakened. In such dark hours what sadness rises from the depths of our hearts, what vanished hopes!—How far off seem the bright visions of early boyhood, and how poor and bare the reality looks. I thought of all my expectations, and the small results of my labors; of my wife, who certainly cannot be called either good-natured or good-looking, of my sons who hardly seem to belong to me, with whom I have nothing in common:—of the faithlessness and folly of those around us, of our poor France torn by civil wars and religious persecutions; of my works of art scattered, life itself a handful of ashes, soon to be blown away by the breath of the Destroyer.—I put my face close up against the oak tree, and lay there weeping quietly all among the big roots which cradled me like a father’s arms; and I felt that he listened, and consoled me, for when, many hours later, I awoke, I found myself snoring with my nose in a tuft of moss, with nothing remaining of my troubles but a sore feeling in my heart, and a slight cramp in the calf of my leg.
The sun was just rising, and the tree above me was so full of birds that it dripped with their singing like a ripe bunch of grapes. The robin, the linnet, and my special favorite, the thrush, sang as if to bursting.—I like Master Thrush because he does not care for any weather, is the first to begin singing, and the last to stop, and like me, is always in a good humor.—They had all passed safely through the dangers of the night, which darkens their little lives every twenty-four hours, but as soon as the curtain begins to rise, and the first ray of dawn puts fresh color into life—Twee-ee, twee, twee, twee, tweet! with what sweet cries and transports of joy they greet the new day. In the glory of the morning all is forgotten, the dark night, the cold and the terrors. If only the birds could teach us the secret of their unalterable faith, through which they are born afresh with every dawning day!
All this merry whistling cheered me up wonderfully, and lying there on my back, I began to whistle too, the same tune; pretty soon from the wood where he was hiding came the cry of the cuckoo. I could lie still no longer, and jumped gaily to my feet; a hare near by followed my example, seeming to laugh at me as he passed; (you know he once split his lip open by too much laughter). Then at last I started off towards home, singing at the top of my lungs. All is good, the sky, the wood. Oh! my friends the world is round, if you can’t swim, you will be drowned. Throw open all the windows of your five senses, and let the great earth in. What is the use of sulking because everything does not come your way? The more you sulk, the less you get. I do not suppose that the Duke, the King, or even God Himself, has all the desire of his heart; ought I to groan and struggle, because I cannot exceed the limits set for me? Should I even be better off if I could get outside of them? No, no, I have nothing to complain of in this world, and I mean to stay here as long as I possibly can. Suppose that I had never been born? I really cannot bear to think of a world without Breugnon, or what is perhaps even worse, Breugnon without the world! A plague on all such nonsense! things are well enough as they are, and you may be sure that I shall hold tight to all that belongs to me.
When I got back to Clamecy, I was a whole day behind time, and you may guess what sort of a welcome I had, and also how little I minded. I just shut myself up in the garret, and put it all down on paper, as you see. There was no one there to listen, so if the fancy took me I could speak out loud, going over in retrospect all that happened, both pleasures and pains, and the pleasure that we get out of pain, for—
“That which breaks the heart to bear,
Is sometimes sweet to tell and hear.”
VI
BIRDS OF PASSAGE
OR
THE SERENADE AT ASNOIS
We heard yesterday morning that Clamecy was to entertain two distinguished guests, the Demoiselle de Termes and the Comte de Maillebois; they were on their way to the Château of Asnois, where they were to stay for a month or so. The Town Council, according to usage, voted to send a delegation to our noble visitors in the name of the city, in order to offer them our congratulations on their safe arrival (as if it were a miracle to come from Paris to Nevers in a warm easy carriage without upsetting or losing your way!) It being also the custom to make a little present, the Council decided to add some cakes with icing, made in Clamecy, of which we are not a little proud. My son-in-law, Florimond Ravisé, is our principal pastry cook, so he proposed to send three dozen, which was opposed by the Council, who thought two dozen would be plenty; however, Florimond being an alderman, his views prevailed, and the cakes were baked at the expense of the town. Some one suggested that noble ears ought to be tickled at the same time as the palate; so in order that the exalted strangers should listen to a serenade while they were enjoying our cakes, and have all their senses charmed at once, we chose also four of our best musicians, two violas, two hautboys, a tambourine, and a flageolet player—myself. In point of fact I was not invited, but I never miss a chance to see a new face if I can help it, and I was particularly anxious to behold these Court birds of paradise with their shining plumage, and all their airs and graces; besides, I adore any novelty, wherever it comes from,—like a true son of Pandora. If I had my way I would soon take the lid off all the boxes, or souls, within my reach, black or white, thick or thin, high or low; I like to poke my nose into affairs that are none of my business, to find out secrets of the heart, and generally know all that goes on; in a word, I am devoured by curiosity, but as there is no reason, as far as I can see, why one should not add profit to pleasure, I took with me two fine carved panels, which the Seigneur of Asnois had ordered and which were easily stowed away on one of the carts provided by the town to carry the delegation, the musical instruments, and the iced cakes. My little Glodie went too, because she was Florimond’s daughter, and it cost nothing; and another alderman took his little boy, if I remember rightly. Finally the apothecary stuck in a lot of sweetmeats, spirits, and cordials of his own manufacture; also of course at the expense of the city. Florimond was indignant, and protested with some reason; he said if every butcher, baker, and candlestick maker were to do the same, the town would be ruined; but there was no use in talking, as the other man was equally a member of the Council with himself, and as we all know, great men make laws and the rest obey them.
Our two carts were soon loaded with the Mayor, the panels, the presents, the children, four musicians, and four Councilors. I went on foot, however, for I am not yet so feeble as to be dragged about in a cart, like a calf on its way to the butcher. The weather was not quite to my liking, for the air was close and sultry, with a sun hot enough to roast you beating down on our heads, and clouds of dust and flies about us; we none of us minded, however, as we were out on a spree; Florimond was peevish, but then he is always bothering, like a girl, about his complexion.
Our worthy citizens sat up very stiff and proper as long as we could see St. Martin’s tower, but when we got well outside the town, all formality dropped off, and left us, as you may say, in our shirt-sleeves. We cracked a few rather doubtful jokes, for that is the way we generally begin, and then there was singing; his honor the Mayor leading off, while I accompanied him on the flageolet, and the rest joined in the chorus. In the midst of all the voices and instruments I could hear my little Glodie’s shrill sweet pipe like a sparrow.