original short stories-13-第4章

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she　had　captivated　himself。　　And　they；　all　four；　walked　along　through　the
wheat　fields；　having　gradually　relapsed　into　silence。　　Whenever　they
passed　a　fence　they　saw　a　countryman　sitting　on　the　stile；　and　a　group　of
brats　climbed　up　to　stare　at　them；　and　every　one　rushed　out　into　the　road
to　see　the　〃black〃　whore　young　Boitelle　had　brought　home　with　him。　　At　a
distance　they　noticed　people　scampering　across　the　fields　just　as　when
the　drum　beats　to　draw　public　attention　to　some　living　phenomenon。　　Pere
and　Mere　Boitelle；　alarmed　at　this　curiosity；　which　was　exhibited
everywhere　through　the　country　at　their　approach；　quickened　their　pace；
walking　side　by　side；　and　leaving　their　son　far　behind。　　His　dark
companion　asked　what　his　parents　thought　of　her。

He　hesitatingly　replied　that　they　had　not　yet　made　up　their　minds。

But　on　the　village　green　people　rushed　out　of　all　the　houses　in　a　flutter
of　excitement；　and；　at　the　sight　of　the　gathering　crowd；　old　Boitelle
took　to　his　heels；　and　regained　his　abode；　while　Antoine；　swelling　with
rage；　his　sweetheart　on　his　arm；　advanced　majestically　under　the　staring
eyes；　which　opened　wide　in　amazement。

He　understood　that　it　was　at　an　end；　and　there　was　no　hope　for　him；　that
he　could　not　marry　his　negress。　　She　also　understood　it；　and　as　they　drew
near　the　farmhouse　they　both　began　to　weep。　　As　soon　as　they　had　got　back
to　the　house；　she　once　more　took　off　her　dress　to　aid　the　mother　in　the
household　duties；　and　followed　her　everywhere；　to　the　dairy；　to　the
stable；　to　the　hen　house；　taking　on　herself　the　hardest　part　of　the　work；
repeating　always：　〃Let　me　do　it；　Madame　Boitelle；〃　so　that；　when　night
came　on；　the　old　woman；　touched　but　inexorable；　said　to　her　son：　〃She　is
a　good　girl；　all　the　same。　　It's　a　pity　she　is　so　black；　but　indeed　she
is　too　black。　　I　could　not　get　used　to　it。　　She　must　go　back　again。　　She
is　too；　too　black！〃

And　young　Boitelle　said　to　his　sweetheart：

〃She　will　not　consent。　　She　thinks　you　are　too　black。　　You　must　go　back
again。　　I　will　go　with　you　to　the　train。　　No　matterdon't　fret。　　I　am
going　to　talk　to　them　after　you　have　started。〃

He　then　took　her　to　the　railway　station；　still　cheering　her　with　hope；
and；　when　he　had　kissed　her；　he　put　her　into　the　train；　which　he　watched
as　it　passed　out　of　sight；　his　eyes　swollen　with　tears。

In　vain　did　he　appeal　to　the　old　people。　　They　would　never　give　their
consent。

And　when　he　had　told　this　story；　which　was　known　all　over　the　country；
Antoine　Boitelle　would　always　add：

〃From　that　time　forward　I　have　had　no　heart　for　anythingfor　anything　at
all。　　No　trade　suited　me　any　longer；　and　so　I　became　what　I　ama　night
scavenger。〃

People　would　say　to　him：

〃Yet　you　got　married。〃

〃Yes；　and　I　can't　say　that　my　wife　didn't　please　me；　seeing　that　I　have
fourteen　children；　but　she　is　not　the　other　one；　oh；　nocertainly　not！
The　other　one；　mark　you；　my　negress；　she　had　only　to　give　me　one　glance；
and　I　felt　as　if　I　were　in　Heaven。〃






A　WIDOW

This　story　was　told　during　the　hunting　season　at　the　Chateau　Baneville。
The　autumn　had　been　rainy　and　sad。　　The　red　leaves；　instead　of　rustling
under　the　feet；　were　rotting　under　the　heavy　downfalls。

The　forest　was　as　damp　as　it　could　be。　　From　it　came　an　odor　of　must；　of
rain；　of　soaked　grass　and　wet　earth；　and　the　sportsmen；　their　backs
hunched　under　the　downpour；　mournful　dogs；　with　tails　between　their　legs
and　hairs　sticking　to　their　sides；　and　the　young　women；　with　their
clothes　drenched；　returned　every　evening；　tired　in　body　and　in　mind。

After　dinner；　in　the　large　drawing…room；　everybody　played　lotto；　without
enjoyment；　while　the　wind　whistled　madly　around　the　house。　　Then　they
tried　telling　stories　like　those　they　read　in　books；　but　no　one　was　able
to　invent　anything　amusing。　　The　hunters　told　tales　of　wonderful　shots
and　of　the　butchery　of　rabbits；　and　the　women　racked　their　brains　for
ideas　without　revealing　the　imagination　of　Scheherezade。　　They　were　about
to　give　up　this　diversion　when　a　young　woman；　who　was　idly　caressing　the
hand　of　an　old　maiden　aunt；　noticed　a　little　ring　made　of　blond　hair；
which　she　had　often　seen；　without　paying　any　attention　to　it。

She　fingered　it　gently　and　asked；　〃Auntie；　what　is　this　ring？　　It　looks
as　if　it　were　made　from　the　hair　of　a　child。〃

The　old　lady　blushed；　grew　pale；　then　answered　in　a　trembling　voice：　〃It
is　sad；　so　sad　that　I　never　wish　to　speak　of　it。　　All　the　unhappiness　of
my　life　comes　from　that。　　I　was　very　young　then；　and　the　memory　has
remained　so　painful　that　I　weep　every　time　I　think　of　it。〃

Immediately　everybody　wished　to　know　the　story；　but　the　old　lady　refused
to　tell　it。　　Finally；　after　they　had　coaxed　her　for　a　long　time；　she
yielded。　　Here　is　the　story：

〃You　have　often　heard　me　speak　of　the　Santeze　family；　now　extinct。　　I
knew　the　last　three　male　members　of　this　family。　　They　all　died　in　the
same　manner；　this　hair　belongs　to　the　last　one。　　He　was　thirteen　when　he
killed　himself　for　me。　　That　seems　strange　to　you；　doesn't　it？

〃Oh！　it　was　a　strange　familymad；　if　you　will；　but　a　charming　madness；
the　madness　of　love。　　From　father　to　son；　all　had　violent　passions　which
filled　their　whole　being；　which　impelled　them　to　do　wild　things；　drove
them　to　frantic　enthusiasm；　even　to　crime。　　This　was　born　in　them；　just
as　burning　devotion　is　in　certain　souls。　　Trappers　have　not　the　same
nature　as　minions　of　the　drawing…room。　　There　was　a　saying：　'As
passionate　as　a　Santeze。'　　This　could　be　noticed　by　looking　at　them。
They　all　had　wavy　hair；　falling　over　their　brows；　curly　beards　and　large
eyes　whose　glance　pierced　and　moved　one；　though　one　could　not　say　why。

〃The　grandfather　of　the　owner　of　this　hair；　of　whom　it　is　the　last
souvenir；　after　many　adventures；　duels　and　elopements；　at　about　sixty…
five　fell　madly　in　love　with　his　farmer's　daughter。　　I　knew　them　both。
She　was　blond；　pale；　distinguished…looking；　with　a　slow　manner　of
talking；　a　quiet　voice　and　a　look　so　gentle　that　one　might　have　taken　her
for　a　Madonna。　　The　old　nobleman　took　her　to　his　home　and　was　soon　so
captivated　with　her　that　he　could　not　live　without　her　for　a　minute。
His　daughter　and　daughter…in…law；　who　lived　in　the　chateau；　found　this
perfectly　natural；　love　was　such　a　tradition　in　the　family。　　Nothing　in
regard　to　a　passion　surprised　them；　and　if　one　spoke　before　them　of
parted　lovers；　even　of　vengeance　after　treachery；　both　said　in　the　same
sad　tone：　'Oh；　how　he　must　have　suffered　to　come　to　that　point！'　That　was
all。　　They　grew　sad　over　tragedies　of　love；　but　never　indignant；　even
when　they　were　criminal。

〃Now；　one　day　a　young　man　named　Monsieur　de　Gradelle；　who　had　been
invited　for　the　shooting；　eloped　with　the　young　girl。

〃Monsieur　de　Santeze　remained　calm　as　if　nothing　had　happened；　but　one
morning　he　was　found　hanging　in　the　kennels；　among　his　dogs。

〃His　son　died　in　the　same　manner　in　a　hotel　in　Paris　during　a　journey
which　he　made　there　in　1841；　after　being　deceived　by　a　singer　from　the
opera。

〃He　left　a　twelve…year…old　child　and　a　widow；　my　mother's　sister。　　She
came　to　my　father's　house　with　the　boy；　while　we　were　living　at
Bertillon。　　I　was　then　seventeen。

〃You　have　no　idea　how　wonderful　and　precocious　this　Santeze　child　was。
One　might　have　thought　that　all　the　tenderness　and　exaltation　of　the
whole　race　had　been　stored　up　in　this　last　one。　　He　was　always　dreaming
and　walking　about　alone　in　a　great　alley　of　elms　leading　from　the　chateau
to　the　forest。　　I　watched　from　my　window　this　sentimental　boy；　who　walked
with　thoughtful　steps；　his　hands　behind　his　back；　his　head　bent；　and　at
times　stopping　to　raise　his　eyes　as　if　he　could　see　and　understand　things
that　were　not　comprehensible　at　his　age。

〃Often；　after　dinner　on　clear　evenings；　he　would　say　to　me：　'Let　us　go
outside　and　dream；　cousin。'　　And　we　would　go　outside　together　in　the
park。　　He　would　stop　quickly　before　a　clearing　where　the　white　vapor　of
the　moon　lights　the　woods；　and　he　would　press　my　hand；　saying：　'Look！
look！　but　you　don't　understand　me；　I　feel　it。　　If　you　understood　me；　we
should　be　happy。　　One　must　love　to　know！　　I　would　laugh　and　then　kiss
this　child；　who　loved　me　madly。

〃Often；　after　dinner；　he　would　sit　on　my　mother's　knees。　　'Come；　auntie；'
he　would　say；　'tell　me　some　love…stories。'　　And　my　mother；　as　a　joke；
would　tell　him　all　the　old　legends　of　the　family；　all　the　passionate
adventures　of　his　forefathers；　for　thousands　of　them　were　current；　some
true　and　some　false。　　It　was　their　reputation　for　love　and　gallantry
which　was　the　ruin　of　every　one　of　these…men；　they　gloried　in　it　and　then
thought　that　they　had　to　live　up　to　the　renown　of　their　house。

〃The　little　fellow　became　exalted　by　these　tender　or　terrible　stories；
and　at　times　he　would　clap　his　hands；　crying：　'I；　too；　I；　too；　know　how
to　love；　better　than　all　of　them！'

〃Then；　he　began　to　court　me　in　a　timid　and　tender　manner；　at　which　every
one　laughed；　it　was；　so　amusing。　　Every　morning　I　had　some　flowers　picked
by　him；　and　every　evening　before　going　to　his　room　he　would　kiss　my　hand
and　murmur：　'I　love　you！'

〃I　was　guilty；　very　guilty；　and　I　grieved　continually　about　it；　and　I
have　been　doing　penance　all　my　life；　I　have　remained　an　old　maidor；
rather；　I　have　lived　as　a　widowed　fiancee；　his　widow。

〃I　was　amused　at　this　childish　tenderness；　and　I　even　encouraged　him。
I　was　coquettish；　as　charming　as　with　a　man；　alternately　caressing　and
severe。　　I　maddened　this　child。　　It　was　a　game　for　me　and　a　joyous
diversion　for　his　mother　and　mine。　　He　was　twelve！　　think　of　it！　　Who
would　have　taken　this　atom's　passion　seriously？　　I　kissed　him　as　often　as
he　wished；　I　even　wrote　him　little　notes；　which　were　read　by　our
respective　mothers；　and　he　answered　me　by　passionate　letters；　which　I
have　kept。　　Judging　himself　as　a　man；　he　thought　that　our　loving　intimacy
was　secret。　　We　had　forgotten　that　he　was　a　Santeze。

〃This　lasted　for　about　a　year。　　One　evening　in　the　park　he　fell　at　my
feet　and；　as　he　madly　kissed　the　hem　of　my　dress；　he　kept　repeating：　'I
love　you！　　I　love　you！　　I　love　you！　　If　ever　you　deceive　me；　if　ever　you
leave　me　for　another；　I'll　do　as　my　father　did。'　　And　he　added　in　a
hoarse　voice；　which　gave　me　a　shiver：　'You　know　what　he　did！'

〃I　stood　there　astonished。　　He　arose；　and　standing　on　the　tips　of　his
toes　in　order　to　reach　my　ear；　for　I　was　taller　than　he；　he　pronounced　my
first　name：　'Genevieve！'　in　such　a　gentle；　sweet；　tender　tone　that　I
trembled　all　over。　　I　stammered：　'Let　us　return！　let　us　return！'　　He　said
no　more　and　followed　me；　but　as　we　were　going　up　the　steps　of　the　porch；
he　stopped　me；　saying：　'You　know；　if　ever　you　leave　me；　I'll　kill
myself。'

〃This　time　I　understood　that　I　had　gone　too　far；　and　I　became　quite
reserved。　　One　day；　as　he　was　reproaching　me　for　this；　I　answered：　'You
are　now　too　old　for　jesting　and　too　young　for　serious　love。　　I'll　wait。'

〃I　thought　that　this　would　end　the　matter。　　In　the　autumn　he　was　sent　to
a　boarding…school。　　When　he　returned　the　following　summer　I　was　engaged
to　be　married。　　He　understood　immediately；　and　for　a　week　he　became　so
pensive　that　I　was　quite　anxious。