"POLIGNAC, May 15.
"Here I have been for five days past, in one of the most imposing1 ruined castles left from feudal2 times, on the summit of a great, black lava3 boulder4, like those I told you about in connection with Le Puy and Espaly. You will think my position has changed, and my dream has become reality. No: I am certainly near little Didier, but I have taken it upon myself to watch over him, for his father or protector has not yet appeared. Now see what has happened.
"I felt a wish to see the child again, besides a slight wish to learn more about him; and lastly I had a desire to examine closely this castle of Polignac, which looks from afar like a city of giants, on a rock from the infernal depths. It is the strongest mediæval fortress5 in the country; it was the nest of that terrible race of vultures under whose ravages6 Velay, Forez, and Auvergne have trembled. The ancient lords of Polignac have left everywhere throughout these provinces mementos7 and traditions worthy8 of the legends about the ogre and Blue-Beard. These feudal tyrants9 robbed travellers, pillaged10 churches, murdered the monks11, carried off women, set fire to villages, and this, too, from father to son, through long centuries. The Marquis de Villemer worked out of these facts one of the most remarkable12 chapters of his book; drawing the conclusion that the descendants of this family though innocent, assuredly, of the crimes of their ancestors, seem, by their misfortunes, to have been expiating13 the triumphs of barbarism.
"Their citadel14 was impregnable. The rock is sliced down perpendicularly15 on all sides. The village forms a group below on the little hill which supports the block of lava. It is some distance from Lantriac. The insuperable ravines here make all distances great. Having started early, however, we arrived last Tuesday toward noon, and our little horse carried us to the foot of the postern. Peyraque left me there, in order to take care of our animal, and to look at some others, for he has quite a reputation in veterinary science, and wherever he goes, practice of this kind always comes to him.
"I found a little girl ten years of age to open the door for me; but when I asked to see Dame16 Roqueberte, the child told me with tears that her mother was dying. I hurried to where she lives,—a part of the castle still standing17, in good repair,—and I found her the victim of a brain-fever. Little Didier was playing about the room with another of this poor woman's children; the latter child was quite happy, comprehending nothing, although the elder; while Didier, between smiles and tears, was looking toward the bedside with as much anxiety as a little creature of three years could be expected to show. When he caught sight of me, he came to me at once, and without coquetting before embracing me, as he did the first time, he clung to my dress, pulling me with his little hands, and saying 'mamma,' in a voice so plaintive18 and gentle that my whole heart was won by it. He was certainly telling me about the strange condition of his adopted mother. I drew near the bed. Dame Roqueberte could not speak; she knew no one. Her husband came in after a moment and began to be alarmed, for she had been in this state only a few hours. I told him it was time to send for a physician and a woman to take care of his wife, which he did at once; and as I could not be sure that it was not typhoid fever, I sent the children out of the room, warning the husband that it might be dangerous to leave them there.
"When the physician came at the expiration19 of two hours, he approved what I had done, observing that the disease had not yet defined itself and that the children must be placed in some other house. This change I undertook to make with the help of Peyraque, for the husband had quite lost his senses, and thought of nothing but having candles burnt in the village church and prayers mumbled20 in Latin which he could not understand, but which seemed to him of more efficacy than the doctor's prescriptions21.
"When he had calmed down a little it was already four o'clock; and it was necessary for Peyraque to set out again with me, that the night might not overtake us in the ravine of the Gâgne. There was no moon for the moment, and a storm was impending22. Then poor Roquebert began to lament23, saying that he was ruined unless some one would take care of the children, and especially of 'the child,' meaning by that Didier,—the hen with the golden eggs for his household. Special care was needful for him; he was not strong like the children of the country, and besides he was 'curious,' he wanted to go everywhere, and these ruins are a labyrinth24 of precipices25, where a young gentleman of this adventurous26 temper must not be lost sight of a single moment. He dared not trust him with any one. The money this little one had brought into his house had made others envious27, he had enemies; what did I know about it? In short, Peyraque said to me in a low voice, 'Come, your good heart and my own bright ideas are at one in this matter. Remain here; I see they have the wherewith to lodge28 you comfortably; I will come back to-morrow to see how the case stands, and take you home if there is no further need of you.'
"I confess I desired this decision; it seemed as if it were a duty as well as a privilege to watch over the child. Peyraque returned the next day, and as I saw that Dame Roqueberte, though out of danger, would not be able to sit up for some days, I consented to remain, telling Peyraque not to come after me till the end of the week.
"I am very comfortable here, in a vast room, which is, I believe, an old hall for the guards, that has been divided into several portions for the use of the farmers. The beds, though very rustic29, are clean, and the housekeeping I attend to myself. I have the three children at my side all the time. The little girl does the cooking while I superintend; I see to the attendance which must be given the mother; I wash and dress Didier myself. He is clothed like the others, in a little blue blouse, but with more care, especially since I have made it my concern,—and I am so fond of him that I dread30 the moment when I shall have to leave him. You know my passion for children,—that is, for some children; this one is certainly well born. Charley would be as jealous of him as a tiger. Because, you see, this Didier is surely the son of a superior man or woman. He is of high, fine descent, morally speaking; his face is of a somewhat dull whiteness with little flushes of color like those on standard roses. He has brown eyes of admirable shape and expression, and a forest of black hair, half inclined to curl, which is fine and soft as silk. His little hands are perfect, and he never soils them. He does not dig in the earth, and never touches anything: he passes his life in looking at things. I am sure he has thoughts beyond his years which he cannot express, or rather, a series of dreams, charming and divine, that cannot be translated into human language; yet he talks very fluently for one of his age, both in French and patois31. He has caught the accent of the country, but makes it very sweet by his infantile lisp. He has the prettiest reasons in the world for doing as he pleases, and what he pleases is to be out of doors, climbing over the ruins, or crawling into their crevices32; once there, he sits down, gazing at the tiny flowers, and especially at the insects, without touching33 them, but following all their motions, apparently34 interested in these living marvels35, while the other children think only of crushing and destroying them.
"I have tried to give him his first notions in reading, being persuaded (contrary to the father's opinion perhaps) that the earlier you begin with children the more you spare them the heavy strain on the attention, so painful when their strength and activity have found greater development. I have tested his intelligence and curiosity; they are unusual, and with our wonderful method, which succeeded so well with your children, I am sure I could teach him to read in a month.
"And then this child is all soul, and his self-will melts into boundless36 affection. Our fondness is growing too fast really, and I ask myself how we are ever going to part.
"Besides, although I miss my Justine and Peyraque, I enjoy myself exceedingly among these magnificent ruins, commanding as they do one of the loveliest spots on earth. The air is so pure that the white stones, mixed with rough fragments of lava, are as bright as if just from a quarry37. And then the interior of this immense castle is stored with very curious things.
"You must know that the Polignac family pretend to a descent from Apollo or his priests in a direct line; and that tradition consecrates38 the existence here of a temple to this god,—a temple of which some fragments yet remain. As for myself, I think there is no doubt of it, and that just to see these fragments is enough. The question to decide is whether the inscriptions39 and carvings40 were brought here to decorate the castle according to Renaissance41 usage, or whether the castle was built upon these vestiges42. Dame Roqueberte tells me the scientific men of the country have been disputing over it for fifty years, and for my own part I agree with those who think the curbstone of the well was the mouthpiece of the god's oracles43. The orifice of this immense well, with which another and a smaller well grotesquely44 communicates, was closed by a colossal45 head of noble outline, whose perforated mouth gave forth46 the subterranean47 voice of the priestess. Why not? Those who say it was only the mask of a fountain are no surer. The head has been preserved from destruction in the lower story of a little tower, along with a pile of stone bullets found in the well. I have amused myself by taking a sketch48 of it, which I send you in this letter, with a portrait of my little Didier at its foot, lying sound asleep at full length upon the temple of the god. It does not look like him, to be sure; but it will give you an idea of the fantastic and charming picture which I have had before my eyes for the last fifteen minutes.
"As for other matters, I do not read at all here. I have not Peyraque's eight or ten stray volumes and his big old Protestant Bible. I no longer try to improve myself; I hardly think of it even. I mend the clothing of my Didier, following him step by step; I dream, I am sad, but not rebellious49, and not given to wondering any further about a state of things to which I ought to submit,—and I am in good health, which is the most important thing.
"Good old Peyraque comes in, bringing your letter. Ah! my sister, do not give up weakly, or I shall be in despair. You say he is pale, already ill; and this gave you so much pain that you came near betraying me. Camille, if you have not strength enough to see a courageous50 man suffer, and if you do not understand that my courage alone can support his, I will set out again; I will go farther away still, and you shall not know where I am. Consider yourself notified, that the day I see the mark of a strange foot upon the sand of my island, I shall disappear so entirely51 that—"
Caroline left the sentence unfinished; Peyraque, who had just given her Madame Heudebert's letter, came back saying, "Here is the gentleman coming."
"Who? what?" cried Caroline, rising and evidently quite troubled. "What gentleman?"
"The father of the unknown child,—M. Bernyer he calls himself."
"Then you know his name? No one here knew it or would tell it."
"On my word, I am not very curious; but he threw his valise on a bench at Roquebert's door, and my eye happened to fall upon it, so I read."
"Bernyer! I don't know any such person; perhaps I might show myself without getting into difficulty."
"Why, certainly you must see him, to tell him about the little one; now is the time."
Roquebert came in, however, and defeated Peyraque's design. M. Bernyer was asking for his son; but, according to his custom, he had gone into a room, reserved for him especially, and did not wish, just then, to see any one not of the family.
"It is all the same," added Roquebert. "I will tell him how you took care of my wife and the little boy, and he will certainly give me something good to repay you with. Otherwise I will do it myself, out of my own pocket. Be easy about that."
He took the child in his arms and went out, closing the door behind him, as if to shut out even a curious look from following him into the passage leading to the stranger's room.
"Well, let us set out," said Caroline, whose eyes were full of tears at the thought that she would probably never see Didier again.
"No," replied Peyraque, "let us wait a little and see what the gentleman will think, when he knows you have stayed here five days to take care of his child."
"But don't you see, my friend, that Roquebert will take care not to tell him? He will never dare to own that, during his wife's illness, he knew of nothing better than trusting the child to a stranger. And beside, is he not anxious to keep Didier a year longer, which would be very feasible? Will he let us give the father a hint that the child would not only be better cared for, with us, but also educated as he needs to be at his age? No, no. Dame Roqueberte herself, in spite of the care I have given her, will say that no one knows me, that perhaps I am only an adventuress; and while seeking gratitude52 and confidence, we shall look as if we were intriguing53 to get the few sous which have been offered us already."
"But when we refuse them it will be seen who we are. I am known myself; it is understood that Samuel Peyraque has never lied or held out his hand for money."
"This stranger knows nothing of all that, and he will inquire of the Roqueberts only because he knows nobody else. Let me set out quickly, my dear friend; I suffer every minute I stay here."
"Just as you like," said Peyraque. "I have not unharnessed, and we can let the horse rest at Le Puy; but nevertheless, if you would trust me, we should remain here one or two hours. Going thither54 from here, we would naturally meet on the way; the child would come to you and ask for you himself, he is so fond of you already. Look here now! If the gentleman should see you only one minute, I am sure he would say, 'Here is a person who is like no one else: I must speak to her.' And when he had talked with you—"
Arguing in this way, Peyraque followed Caroline, who had gathered up her clothing and was turning her steps toward the castle gate, quite determined55 to start. Passing before the bench where the stranger's valise was still lying beside his travelling-cloak, she read the name which Peyraque had reported faithfully; but at the same time she made a gesture of surprise and hurried along with unusual agitation56.
"Nothing,—a fancy!" replied Caroline, when they were out of the enclosure. "I imagined I recognized the hand of the person who wrote the name of Bernyer on that valise."
"Bah! it was written just like print."
"That is true; I am silly! Never mind; let us go on, my good Peyraque."
Caroline was absorbed in thought all the way. She accounted for the singular emotion which the sight of this disguised handwriting had caused her by what she had just experienced in reading her sister's letter; but she had a new anxiety. M. de Villemer had never told her that he had seen the castle of Polignac with his own eyes, but he had given a fine description of it, and an accurate one, in his book; he had taken it as an example of the strength of feudal restorations in the Middle Ages, and Caroline knew he often travelled into the provinces, in order to get a distinct impression of historic places. She searched all the recesses58 of her memory to find what could not possibly be there, to see if the Marquis had not accidentally chanced to tell her that he had visited Polignac. "No," replied she to herself, "if he had said so, I should have been impressed by it on account of the names Lantriac and Le Puy, which Justine had mentioned." Then she tried to remember whether, in connection with Polignac, she had not spoken of Lantriac and Justine; but she had never mentioned either of them to him, she was quite sure; so she grew calmer.
Yet she was agitated59 and thoughtful. Why had she taken such a fancy to this unknown child? What was the peculiarity60 in his eyes, his attitude, and his smile? Was it that he looked like the Marquis? In the idea which had so suddenly presented itself, of educating a little child and wishing for this one, might there not have been a vague instinct more powerful than chance or Peyraque's instigations?
With all this uneasiness there came, too, in Caroline's despite, the secret torment61 of a confused jealousy62. "He has a son, then, a child of love?" said she to herself. "He must, then, have loved some woman passionately63 before he knew me, for frivolous64 adventures are incompatible65 with his exclusive nature, and there has been an important mystery in his past life! The mother is still living perhaps. Why is she supposed to be dead?"
Advancing among these feverish66 speculations67, she recalled the words of the Marquis under the cedar68 in the Jardin des Plantes, and the struggle she had caught a glimpse of between his filial duty and some other duty, some other love, of which she herself might not be the object after all. Who knew whether the old Marchioness had not been equally at fault, whether the Marquis had told his mother the name of the person he wanted to marry; in short, whether she herself and Madame de Villemer had not both missed the truth?
Thus working herself into an involuntary excitement, Caroline strove in vain to feel reconciled to her fate. She loved, and for her the stronger feeling now was the fear rather than the hope of not being loved in return.
"What is the trouble?" asked Peyraque, who had learned to read her anxieties in her face.
She replied by overwhelming him with questions about this M. Bernyer whom he had seen once. Peyraque had a keen eye and a memory; but, habitually69 thoughtful and reserved, he bestowed70 his attention only on people who especially interested him. He drew, then, a picture of this pretended Bernyer so vague and incomplete that Caroline made no progress. She slept poorly that night, but toward morning she grew calm, and awoke saying to herself that there had been no common sense in her excitement of the day before.
Peyraque, having to go his rounds, could not linger till her awakening71. He came in at nightfall. His air was triumphant72.
"Our affair is working well," said he. "M. Bernyer will come here to-morrow, and you may rest easy; he is an Englishman, a sailor. You don't know any such person, do you?"
"No, not at all," replied Caroline. "You saw him again, then?"
"No, he had just gone out; but I saw Dame Roqueberte, who is better and begins to have her senses. She told me the little one cried last night, and before he fell asleep asked over and again for his Charlette. The father inquired who she was. It seems that Roquebert had no great wish to speak of you; but his wife, who is a good Christian73, and the little girl, who is fond of you too, said you were an angel from heaven, and the gentleman replied he would like to thank you, and make you some recompense. He asked where you lived; he has never been at our house, but remembered me perfectly74, and said he would come and see us soon. He promised the child this, and even that he would bring you back, in order to make him go to sleep."
"In all this," said Caroline, "I see only one thing, and that is, this stranger is coming to offer me money."
"Well, let him do it; so much the better! It will be an opportunity to show him you are not what he thinks. You will see one another, you will converse75; he will find you are an educated young lady, above what he supposes you are, and I will tell him your history, because this history of yours does you credit."
"No, no," replied Caroline, quickly. "What! shall I intrust my secret to a stranger, after so many precautions to conceal76 my name and position?"
"But since you do not know him?" said Justine. "If you are agreed on the matter of the child, he should be intrusted with the whole. Having his secret, we can afford to give him ours. He would have no inducement to betray it."
"Justine!" cried Mlle de Saint-Geneix, who was near a window that faced the street. "Listen! Heaven! not another word. There he is, certainly, this M. Bernyer. He is coming here, and it is—yes, I was sure—it is he! It is M. de Villemer! O my friends, hide me! Tell him I am gone, that I am not coming back!—If he sees me, if he speaks to me,—can't you feel that I am lost?"
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1
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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7
mementos
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| 纪念品，令人回忆的东西( memento的名词复数 ) | |
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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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tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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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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expiating
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| v.为（所犯罪过）接受惩罚，赎（罪）( expiate的现在分词 ) | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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consecrates
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| n.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的名词复数 )；奉献v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的第三人称单数 )；奉献 | |
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39
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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40
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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42
vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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oracles
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| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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45
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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46
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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48
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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