A Life (10 page)

Later that evening, at home once more and back in her bedroom, she felt strangely agitated and so filled with emotion that the slightest thing moved her to tears. Seeing her clock, she thought that the little bee was beating like a heart, the heart of a friend; that it would be the witness to her entire life, that she would live out her joys and sorrows to the sound of its brisk, regular tick-tock; and she stopped the gilded insect in its flight to plant a kiss upon its wings. At that moment she could have kissed anything. She remembered having hidden an old doll from her childhood at the back of a drawer; she looked for it, found it again  with the joy of one reunited with a much-loved friend, and, hugging it to her chest, covered the toy's painted cheeks and curly flax with burning kisses.

And, still holding it in her arms, she reflected.

Was this
him
, the husband promised by a thousand secret voices, placed in her path by a supremely benevolent Providence? Was this the being created especially for her, to whom she would devote her life? Were they the two predestined persons whose affections would unite and hold fast to one another, merging indissolubly, engendering
love
?

She did not yet feel all the tumultuous surges of her whole being, the wild ecstasies, the profound upheavals of self in which she believed passion to consist. It seemed to her nevertheless that she was beginning to love him, for she sometimes felt quite faint at the thought of him; and she did think of him, all the time. His presence caused her pulse to race; she blushed or turned pale each time she caught his gaze, and she trembled at the sound of his voice.

She hardly slept that night.

Then, day by day, the unsettling desire to love took hold of her more and more. She kept consulting her feelings, just as she consulted daisies, clouds, coins tossed in the air.

And then, one evening, her father said to her:

'Tomorrow morning you must make yourself beautiful.'

'Why, Papa?' she enquired.

'It's a secret,' he replied.

And when she came downstairs the next morning, all fresh looking in a brightly coloured dress, she found the drawing-room table covered in boxes of confectionery; and, on a chair, an enormous bouquet of flowers.

A carriage entered the courtyard. On it was marked: 'LeratConfectionerFéamp. Wedding Breakfasts'; and Ludivine, with the help of a pantry-boy, was removing a succession of large flat baskets through a flap-door at the back of the carriage. They smelled good.

The Vicomte de Lamare appeared. His trousers were tight-fitting and strapped down inside dainty polished boots which  showed off the smallness of his feet. The lace of his shirt-frill tumbled from the opening of his long, waisted morning-coat, while a finely-woven cravat wound several times round the neck obliged him to carry his head higha dark-haired, handsome head that bore the mark of grave distinction. He seemed different from usual, with that particular appearance which grooming suddenly lends to even the most familiar of faces. Jeanne observed him in astonishment as if she had never seen him before; he looked every inch the gentleman, she thought, a great nobleman from head to toe.

He bowed with a smile:

'So, my dear companion before God,
*
are you ready?'

'But for what?' she stammered. 'What's happening?'

'You'll find out all in good time,' said the Baron.

The horse and carriage advanced to the door; Madame Adélaïde, in her best finery, came down from her room supported by Rosalie, who seemed so impressed by the elegant appearance of Monsieur de Lamare that Papa muttered:

'I say, Vicomte, I do believe that our maid finds you to her liking.'

He blushed to the roots of his hair and pretended not to have heard; picking up the large bouquet of flowers, he presented it to Jeanne. She accepted it, even more astonished than before. The four of them climbed into the barouche; and Ludivine the cook, who was bringing the Baroness some cold broth to sustain her on the journey, declared:

'It's just like a wedding, Madame, and no mistake.'

On reaching Yport they alighted from the carriage; and as they walked through the village, the fishermen came out of their houses, dressed in their new clothes (the creases were still visible), greeted them, shook hands with the Baron, and fell in behind as though this were a procession.

The Vicomte had offered Jeanne his arm, and together they walked in front.

When they reached the church, they stopped; and the great silver cross appeared, held aloft by a choirboy walking in front of another young lad, dressed in red and white, who was carrying  the stoup of holy water in which the sprinkler was dipped.

Behind them came three elderly cantors, one of whom had a limp, then the serpent-player,
*
and then the priest, whose stomach bulged out beneath the gold-embroidered stole overlapped across it. He bid them good day with a smile and a nod; then, with eyes half-closed, lips moving in prayer, and biretta pulled well down over his forehead, he followed his surplice-clad attendants in the direction of the sea.

On the beach a crowd was waiting round a new boat draped with garlands. Its mast, sail, and rigging were covered in long ribbons which fluttered in the breeze, and its name
Jeanne
could be seen in gold letters on the stern.

Père Lastique, who had been charged with looking after this boat which the Baron had bought, stepped forward to meet the cortège. The men all doffed their hats in unison; and a line of pious women, wearing huge, black cloaks that fell in great folds from their shoulders, knelt down in a circle before the cross.

The priest, flanked by two choirboys, came and stood at one end of the boat, while at the other end the three elderly cantorsgrubby-looking in their white habits, chins unshaven, with a solemn expression on their faces and eyes firmly fixed on their book of plainsongsang loud and flat in the clear morning air.

Each time they drew breath, the serpent-player continued with his solitary bellowing; and his little grey eyes vanished behind his bulging, breath-filled cheeks. The skin on his neck, and even on his forehead, seemed to be coming away from his flesh, so hugely did he swell as he blew.

The calm, limpid sea looked as though it were attending the baptism of one of its skiffs in a mood of quiet contemplation, barely breaking on the shore in wavelets no larger than a finger, with the faint sound of a rake scraping the shingle. And the great white seagulls, their wings outstretched, wheeled past in the blue sky, soaring away and returning in long, curved flight above the kneeling crowd, as if they too wanted to see what was going on.

But the singing drew to a close after a rousing amen that lasted fully five minutes; and the priest, in a thick voice, gurgled a few words in Latin of which only the sonorous endings were audible.

Then he walked round the boat sprinkling it with holy-water and began to murmur prayers, having now taken up a position beside the hull and facing the 'godfather' and 'godmother' who stood quite still, hand in hand.

The young man retained the serious expression of a handsome swain, but the young lady, suddenly overcome with emotion and feeling faint, began to tremble so violently that her teeth were chattering. The dream which had been haunting her for some time had just assumed, all at once and somewhat in the manner of a hallucination, the appearance of reality. There had been talk of weddings, and here was a priest, who was giving his blessing, with people in surplices chanting prayers. Was she not the bride?

Had her fingers twitched nervously? Had her own heart's obsession coursed through her veins and communicated itself to the heart of the man standing next to her? Did he understand? Did he guess? Had he, too, been overwhelmed by this seeming intoxication of love? Or was it rather that he simply knew from experience that no one could resist him? She suddenly realized that he was squeezing her hand, gently at first, then firmly, and more firmly still, almost crushing it. And without any change of expression or anyone noticing, he said, oh yes, most certainly, he quite distinctly said:

'Oh, Jeanne, if you wished it, this might be the moment of our betrothal.'

She bent her head very slowly, which perhaps meant 'yes'. And the priest, who was still sprinkling holy-water, cast a few drops on their fingers.

It was over. The women stood up. The return journey was a rout. The cross, still in the choirboy's hands, had lost its dignity; away it flew, swaying to right and left, or pitching forwards as if it were about to land flat on the ground. The priest, his praying at an end, was trotting along behind; the cantors and the serpent-player had disappeared up a side-street, in a hurry to get changed, and the fishermen hastened along in groups. As though kitchen smells were wafting through their brains, one single thought was causing them to lengthen their stride and their mouths to water,  reaching down to the pit of their stomach and setting their stomachs rumbling.

A good lunch was waiting for them at Les Peuples.

The big table had been laid in the courtyard beneath the apple-trees. Sixty persons took their place; fishermen and farmworkers. The Baroness, in the middle, had the two priests on either side, the one from Yport and the one from Les Peuples. The Baron, opposite her, was flanked by the mayor and his wife, a thin and already elderly woman of peasant stock, who kept acknowledging people with little waves of the hand to right and left. Her narrow face was tightly framed in her large Norman bonnet, just like the head of a white-crested hen, and her eyes were round and permanently astonished; she ate in short, rapid bursts as if she were pecking at her plate with her nose.

Jeanne, seated beside the 'godfather', was afloat with happiness. She saw nothing, thought nothing, said nothing, as her head swam with joy.

'But what is your Christian name?', she asked.

'Julien,' he replied. 'Didn't you know?'

But she did not answer, thinking:

'How often I shall be saying that name in future!'

When the meal was over, they left the courtyard to the fishermen and went to the other side of the house. The Baroness began to take her exercise, supported by the Baron and escorted by her two priests. Jeanne and Julien walked towards the copse and entered its narrow, overgrown paths; and suddenly he took hold of her hands:

'Tell me now, will you be my wife?'

Again she bent her head; and as he stammered: 'Please tell me, I beg you!', she lifted her eyes towards his, quite gently, and in the look she gave him he read her reply.

IV

One morning the Baron entered Jeanne's bedroom before she had risen, and sat down at the foot of her bed:

'Monsieur le Vicomte de Lamare has asked us for your hand in marriage.'

She felt like hiding her face under the sheets.

Her father went on:

'We have postponed making our reply.'

She was gasping for breath, choking with emotion. Presently the Baron added with a smile:

'We didn't want to do anything without asking you. Your mother and I are not opposed to such a marriage, but we have no wish to force you into it. You are much wealthier than he is, but when a whole life's happiness is at stake, it doesn't do to become preoccupied with money. He has no surviving relatives; so if you were to marry him, it would be like a son joining our family, whereas with someone else it is you, our daughter, who would be going off to be with strangers. We like the boy. Do you . . . like him?'

'I accept, Papa,' she stammered, blushing to the roots of her hair.

And Papa, gazing deep into her eyes and still smiling, muttered:

'I thought as much, young lady.'

She spent the rest of the day as though in a state of inebriation, not knowing what she was doing, absent-mindedly picking up the wrong thing by mistake, and her legs felt limp with fatigue although she had walked nowhere.

Towards six o'clock, as she was sitting with Mama beneath the plane-tree, the Vicomte appeared.

Jeanne's heart began to beat wildly. The young man came towards them without apparent emotion. When he reached them, he took the Baroness's hand and kissed her fingers; and then, lifting the young lady's quivering hand in its turn, he placed upon it a long, full kiss of tenderness and gratitude.

And so began the blissful period of engagement. They would converse alone in the corner of the drawing-room or else seated on the bank at the far side of the copse overlooking the wild heathland. Sometimes they would stroll along Mama's avenue, he talking of the future, she staring at the dusty trail left by the Baroness's foot.

The matter being now decided, there was a general desire to hasten its conclusion; and so it was agreed that the ceremony should take place in six weeks' time, on the fifteenth of August; and that the young couple would depart immediately on their honeymoon. Asked which country she would like to visit, Jeanne decided on Corsica, where they would be more on their own together than in the cities of Italy.

They awaited the moment appointed for their union without undue impatience, but suffused, wrapped all about in a delicious tenderness of feeling, savouring the exquisite charm of inconsequential caresses, of squeezed fingers, of passionate gazes so protracted that their very souls seemed to merge, and all the while dimly aware of a vague longing for more substantial embraces.

It was decided to invite no one to the wedding apart from Aunt Lison, the Baroness's sister, who lived as a paying guest in a convent at Versailles.

After their father's death, the Baroness had wanted to keep her sister by her; but the old maid, convinced that she was a burden to everyone, no better than a useless nuisance, withdrew into one of those religious houses that rent out apartments to persons having the misfortune to be all alone in the world.

From time to time she would come and spend a month or two with her family.

She was a small woman of few words, who faded into the background and appeared only at mealtimes before then retiring once more to her room where she would remain closeted for hours on end.

She had the kind face of a little, old lady, even though she was only forty-two, and a gentle, sad look in her eyes; she had never counted for anything in her family. As a small child, hardly any-  one had ever kissed her, seeing that she was neither pretty nor boisterous; and she used to sit sweetly and quietly in the corner. Ever since then she had always been the one to be sacrificed. As a young girl, nobody had taken the slightest interest in her.