Sunday, May 27th
Capital cities have one thing peculiar1 to them: their days of rest seem to be the signal for a general dispersion and flight. Like birds that are just restored to liberty, the people come out of their stone cages, and joyfully2 fly toward the country. It is who shall find a green hillock for a seat, or the shade of a wood for a shelter; they gather May flowers, they run about the fields; the town is forgotten until the evening, when they return with sprigs of blooming hawthorn3 in their hats, and their hearts gladdened by pleasant thoughts and recollections of the past day; the next day they return again to their harness and to work.
These rural adventures are most remarkable4 at Paris. When the fine weather comes, clerks, shop keepers, and workingmen look forward impatiently for the Sunday as the day for trying a few hours of this pastoral life; they walk through six miles of grocers’ shops and public-houses in the faubourgs, in the sole hope of finding a real turnip-field. The father of a family begins the practical education of his son by showing him wheat which has not taken the form of a loaf, and cabbage “in its wild state.” Heaven only knows the encounters, the discoveries, the adventures that are met with! What Parisian has not had his Odyssey5 in an excursion through the suburbs, and would not be able to write a companion to the famous Travels by Land and by Sea from Paris to St. Cloud?
We do not now speak of that floating population from all parts, for whom our French Babylon is the caravansary of Europe: a phalanx of thinkers, artists, men of business, and travellers, who, like Homer’s hero, have arrived in their intellectual country after beholding6 “many peoples and cities;” but of the settled Parisian, who keeps his appointed place, and lives on his own floor like the oyster7 on his rock, a curious vestige8 of the credulity, the slowness, and the simplicity9 of bygone ages.
For one of the singularities of Paris is, that it unites twenty populations completely different in character and manners. By the side of the gypsies of commerce and of art, who wander through all the several stages of fortune or fancy, live a quiet race of people with an independence, or with regular work, whose existence resembles the dial of a clock, on which the same hand points by turns to the same hours. If no other city can show more brilliant and more stirring forms of life, no other contains more obscure and more tranquil10 ones. Great cities are like the sea: storms agitate11 only the surface; if you go to the bottom, you find a region inaccessible12 to the tumult13 and the noise.
For my part, I have settled on the verge14 of this region, but do not actually live in it. I am removed from the turmoil15 of the world, and live in the shelter of solitude16, but without being able to disconnect my thoughts from the struggle going on. I follow at a distance all its events of happiness or grief; I join the feasts and the funerals; for how can he who looks on, and knows what passes, do other than take part? Ignorance alone can keep us strangers to the life around us: selfishness itself will not suffice for that.
These reflections I made to myself in my attic17, in the intervals18 of the various household works to which a bachelor is forced when he has no other servant than his own ready will. While I was pursuing my deductions19, I had blacked my boots, brushed my coat, and tied my cravat20; I had at last arrived at the important moment when we pronounce complacently21 that all is finished, and that well.
A grand resolve had just decided22 me to depart from my usual habits. The evening before, I had seen by the advertisements that the next day was a holiday at Sevres, and that the china manufactory would be open to the public. I was tempted23 by the beauty of the morning, and suddenly decided to go there.
On my arrival at the station on the left bank, I noticed the crowd hurrying on in the fear of being late. Railroads, besides many other advantages, possess that of teaching the French punctuality. They will submit to the clock when they are convinced that it is their master; they will learn to wait when they find they will not be waited for. Social virtues24, are, in a great degree, good habits. How many great qualities are grafted25 into nations by their geographical26 position, by political necessity, and by institutions! Avarice27 was destroyed for a time among the Lacedaemonians by the creation of an iron coinage, too heavy and too bulky to be conveniently hoarded28.
I found myself in a carriage with two middle-aged29 women belonging to the domestic and retired30 class of Parisians I have spoken of above. A few civilities were sufficient to gain me their confidence, and after some minutes I was acquainted with their whole history.
They were two poor sisters, left orphans32 at fifteen, and had lived ever since, as those who work for their livelihood33 must live, by economy and privation. For the last twenty or thirty years they had worked in jewelry34 in the same house; they had seen ten masters succeed one another, and make their fortunes in it, without any change in their own lot. They had always lived in the same room, at the end of one of the passages in the Rue35 St. Denis, where the air and the sun are unknown. They began their work before daylight, went on with it till after nightfall, and saw year succeed to year without their lives being marked by any other events than the Sunday service, a walk, or an illness.
The younger of these worthy36 work-women was forty, and obeyed her sister as she did when a child. The elder looked after her, took care of her, and scolded her with a mother’s tenderness. At first it was amusing; afterward37 one could not help seeing something affecting in these two gray-haired children, one unable to leave off the habit of obeying, the other that of protecting.
And it was not in that alone that my two companions seemed younger than their years; they knew so little that their wonder never ceased. We had hardly arrived at Clamart before they involuntarily exclaimed, like the king in the children’s game, that they “did not think the world was so great”!
It was the first time they had trusted themselves on a railroad, and it was amusing to see their sudden shocks, their alarms, and their courageous38 determinations: everything was a marvel39 to them! They had remains40 of youth within them, which made them sensible to things which usually only strike us in childhood. Poor creatures! they had still the feelings of another age, though they had lost its charms.
But was there not something holy in this simplicity, which had been preserved to them by abstinence from all the joys of life? Ah! accursed be he who first had the bad courage to attach ridicule41 to that name of “old maid,” which recalls so many images of grievous deception42, of dreariness43, and of abandonment! Accursed be he who can find a subject for sarcasm44 in involuntary misfortune, and who can crown gray hairs with thorns!
The two sisters were called Frances and Madeleine. This day’s journey was a feat45 of courage without example in their lives. The fever of the times had infected them unawares. Yesterday Madeleine had suddenly proposed the idea of the expedition, and Frances had accepted it immediately. Perhaps it would have been better not to yield to the great temptation offered by her younger sister; but “we have our follies46 at all ages,” as the prudent47 Frances philosophically48 remarked. As for Madeleine, there are no regrets or doubts for her; she is the life-guardsman of the establishment.
“We really must amuse ourselves,” said she; “we live but once.”
And the elder sister smiled at this Epicurean maxim49. It was evident that the fever of independence was at its crisis in both of them.
And in truth it would have been a great pity if any scruple50 had interfered51 with their happiness, it was so frank and genial52! The sight of the trees, which seemed to fly on both sides of the road, caused them unceasing admiration53. The meeting a train passing in the contrary direction, with the noise and rapidity of a thunderbolt, made them shut their eyes and utter a cry; but it had already disappeared! They look around, take courage again, and express themselves full of astonishment54 at the marvel.
Madeleine declares that such a sight is worth the expense of the journey, and Frances would have agreed with her if she had not recollected55, with some little alarm, the deficit56 which such an expense must make in their budget. The three francs spent upon this single expedition were the savings57 of a whole week of work. Thus the joy of the elder of the two sisters was mixed with remorse58; the prodigal59 child now and then turned its eyes toward the back street of St. Denis.
But the motion and the succession of objects distract her. See the bridge of the Val surrounded by its lovely landscape: on the right, Paris with its grand monuments, which rise through the fog, or sparkle in the sun; on the left, Meudon, with its villas60, its woods, its vines, and its royal castle! The two work-women look from one window to the other with exclamations61 of delight. One fellow-passenger laughs at their childish wonder; but to me it is deeply touching63, for I see in it the sign of a long and monotonous64 seclusion65: they are the prisoners of work, who have recovered liberty and fresh air for a few hours.
At last the train stops, and we get out. I show the two sisters the path that leads to Sevres, between the railway and the gardens, and they go on before, while I inquire about the time of returning.
I soon join them again at the next station, where they have stopped at the little garden belonging to the gatekeeper; both are already in deep conversation with him while he digs his garden-borders, and marks out the places for flower-seeds. He informs them that it is the time for hoeing out weeds, for making grafts66 and layers, for sowing annuals, and for destroying the insects on the rose-trees. Madeleine has on the sill of her window two wooden boxes, in which, for want of air and sun, she has never been able to make anything grow but mustard and cress; but she persuades herself that, thanks to this information, all other plants may henceforth thrive in them. At last the gatekeeper, who is sowing a border with mignonette, gives her the rest of the seeds which he does not want, and the old maid goes off delighted, and begins to act over again the dream of Paired and her can of milk, with these flowers of her imagination.
On reaching the grove67 of acacias, where the fair was going on, I lost sight of the two sisters. I went alone among the sights: there were lotteries68 going on, mountebank69 shows, places for eating and drinking, and for shooting with the cross-bow. I have always been struck by the spirit of these out-of-door festivities. In drawing-room entertainments, people are cold, grave, often listless, and most of those who go there are brought together by habit or the obligations of society; in the country assemblies, on the contrary, you only find those who are attracted by the hope of enjoyment70. There, it is a forced conscription; here, they are volunteers for gayety! Then, how easily they are pleased! How far this crowd of people is yet from knowing that to be pleased with nothing, and to look down on everything, is the height of fashion and good taste! Doubtless their amusements are often coarse; elegance71 and refinement72 are wanting in them; but at least they have heartiness73. Oh, that the hearty74 enjoyments75 of these merry-makings could be retained in union with less vulgar feeling! Formerly76 religion stamped its holy character on the celebration of country festivals, and purified the pleasures without depriving them of their simplicity.
The hour arrives at which the doors of the porcelain77 manufactory and the museum of pottery78 are open to the public. I meet Frances and Madeleine again in the first room. Frightened at finding themselves in the midst of such regal magnificence, they hardly dare walk; they speak in a low tone, as if they were in a church.
“We are in the king’s house,” said the eldest79 sister, forgetting that there is no longer a king in France.
I encourage them to go on; I walk first, and they make up their minds to follow me.
What wonders are brought together in this collection! Here we see clay moulded into every shape, tinted80 with every color, and combined with every sort of substance!
Earth and wood are the first substances worked upon by man, and seem more particularly meant for his use. They, like the domestic animals, are the essential accessories of his life; therefore there must be a more intimate connection between them and us. Stone and metals require long preparations; they resist our first efforts, and belong less to the individual than to communities. Earth and wood are, on the contrary, the principal instruments of the isolated81 being who must feed and shelter himself.
This, doubtless, makes me feel so much interested in the collection I am examining. These cups, so roughly modelled by the savage82, admit me to a knowledge of some of his habits; these elegant yet incorrectly formed vases of the Indian tell me of a declining intelligence — in which still glimmers83 the twilight84 of what was once bright sunshine; these jars, loaded with arabesques85, show the fancy of the Arab rudely and ignorantly copied by the Spaniard! We find here the stamp of every race, every country, and every age.
My companions seemed little interested in these historical associations; they looked at all with that credulous86 admiration which leaves no room for examination or discussion. Madeleine read the name written under every piece of workmanship, and her sister answered with an exclamation62 of wonder.
In this way we reached a little courtyard, where they had thrown away the fragments of some broken china.
Frances perceived a colored saucer almost whole, of which she took possession as a record of the visit she was making; henceforth she would have a specimen87 of the Sevres china, “which is only made for kings!” I would not undeceive her by telling her that the products of the manufactory are sold all over the world, and that her saucer, before it was cracked, was the same as those that are bought at the shops for sixpence! Why should I destroy the illusions of her humble88 existence? Are we to break down the hedge-flowers that perfume our paths? Things are oftenest nothing in themselves; the thoughts we attach to them alone give them value. To rectify89 innocent mistakes, in order to recover some useless reality, is to be like those learned men who will see nothing in a plant but the chemical elements of which it is composed.
On leaving the manufactory, the two sisters, who had taken possession of me with the freedom of artlessness, invited me to share the luncheon90 they had brought with them. I declined at first, but they insisted with so much good-nature, that I feared to pain them, and with some awkwardness gave way.
We had only to look for a convenient spot. I led them up the hill, and we found a plot of grass enamelled with daisies, and shaded by two walnut-trees.
Madeleine could not contain herself for joy. All her life she had dreamed of a dinner out on the grass! While helping91 her sister to take the provisions from the basket, she tells me of all her expeditions into the country that had been planned, and put off. Frances, on the other hand, was brought up at Montmorency, and before she became an orphan31 she had often gone back to her nurse’s house. That which had the attraction of novelty for her sister, had for her the charm of recollection. She told of the vintage harvests to which her parents had taken her; the rides on Mother Luret’s donkey, that they could not make go to the right without pulling him to the left; the cherry-gathering; and the sails on the lake in the innkeeper’s boat.
These recollections have all the charm and freshness of childhood. Frances recalls to herself less what she has seen than what she has felt. While she is talking the cloth is laid, and we sit down under a tree. Before us winds the valley of Sevres, its many-storied houses abutting92 upon the gardens and the slopes of the hill; on the other side spreads out the park of St. Cloud, with its magnificent clumps93 of trees interspersed94 with meadows; above stretch the heavens like an immense ocean, in which the clouds are sailing! I look at this beautiful country, and I listen to these good old maids; I admire, and I am interested; and time passes gently on without my perceiving it.
At last the sun sets, and we have to think of returning. While Madeleine and Frances clear away the dinner, I walk down to the manufactory to ask the hour. The merrymaking is at its height; the blasts of the trombones resound95 from the band under the acacias. For a few moments I forget myself with looking about; but I have promised the two sisters to take them back to the Bellevue station; the train cannot wait, and I make haste to climb the path again which leads to the walnut-trees.
Just before I reached them, I heard voices on the other side of the hedge. Madeleine and Frances were speaking to a poor girl whose clothes were burned, her hands blackened, and her face tied up with bloodstained bandages. I saw that she was one of the girls employed at the gunpowder96 mills, which are built further up on the common. An explosion had taken place a few days before; the girl’s mother and elder sister were killed; she herself escaped by a miracle, and was now left without any means of support. She told all this with the resigned and unhopeful manner of one who has always been accustomed to suffer. The two sisters were much affected97; I saw them consulting with each other in a low tone: then Frances took thirty sous out of a little coarse silk purse, which was all they had left, and gave them to the poor girl. I hastened on to that side of the hedge; but, before I reached it, I met the two old sisters, who called out to me that they would not return by the railway, but on foot!
I then understood that the money they had meant for the journey had just been given to the beggar! Good, like evil, is contagious98: I run to the poor wounded girl, give her the sum that was to pay for my own place, and return to Frances and Madeleine, and tell them I will walk with them.
I am just come back from taking them home; and have left them delighted with their day, the recollection of which will long make them happy. This morning I was pitying those whose lives are obscure and joyless; now, I understand that God has provided a compensation with every trial. The smallest pleasure derives99 from rarity a relish100 otherwise unknown. Enjoyment is only what we feel to be such, and the luxurious101 man feels no longer: satiety102 has destroyed his appetite, while privation preserves to the other that first of earthly blessings103: the being easily made happy. Oh, that I could persuade every one of this! that so the rich might not abuse their riches, and that the poor might have patience. If happiness is the rarest of blessings, it is because the reception of it is the rarest of virtues.
Madeleine and Frances! ye poor old maids whose courage, resignation, and generous hearts are your only wealth, pray for the wretched who give themselves up to despair; for the unhappy who hate and envy; and for the unfeeling into whose enjoyments no pity enters.
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1
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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agitate
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| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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grafts
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| 移植( graft的名词复数 )； 行贿； 接穗； 行贿得到的利益 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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lotteries
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| n.抽彩给奖法( lottery的名词复数 )；碰运气的事；彩票；彩券 | |
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mountebank
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| n.江湖郎中；骗子 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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glimmers
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| n.微光，闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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arabesques
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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abutting
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| adj.邻接的v.（与…）邻接( abut的现在分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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resound
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| v.回响 | |
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gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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satiety
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| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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