No More Learning

"And Indret? where is it? " asks Jack.
"There, that island in front of us. "
In the silvery mist which enveloped the island, Jack saw con-
fusedly lines of great poplars and tall chimneys, whence issued a
thick filthy smoke, spreading over all, blackening even the sky
above it. At the same time he heard a clamorous and resound-
ing din, hammers falling on wrought and sheet iron, dull sounds,
ringing sounds, variously re-echoed by the sonority of the water;
and over everything a continuous and perpetual droning, as if
the island had been a great steamer, stopped, and murmuring,
moving its paddles while at anchor, and its machinery while yet
motionless.
As the boat approached the shore, slowly and yet more slowly,
-for the tide ran strongly and was hard to fight against,- the
child began to distinguish long buildings with low roofs, black-
ened walls extending on all sides with uniform dreariness; then,
on the banks of the river as far as the eye could reach, long
lines of enormous boilers painted with red lead, the startling color
giving a wildly fantastic effect. Government transports, steam
launches, ranged alongside the quay, lay waiting till these boilers
should be put on board by means of a great crane near at hand,
which viewed from a distance looked like a gigantic gibbet.
At the foot of this gallows stood a man watching the ap-
proach of the boat.
"It is Roudic," said the singer; and from the deepest depths
he brought forth a formidable "hurrah! " which made itself
heard even in the midst of all the din of forging and hammering.
"Is that you, young 'un? "
"Yes, by Jove, it is I; are there two such notes as mine in
the whole world? "
The boat touched the shore, and the two brothers sprang into
each other's arms with a mighty greeting.
They were alike; but Roudic was much older, and wanting in
that embonpoint so quickly acquired by singers in the exercise
of trills and sustained notes. Instead of the pointed beard of


## p. 4458 (#232) ###########################################

4458
ALPHONSE DAUDET
his brother, he was shaven, sunburnt; and his sailor's cap, a blue
wool knitted cap, shaded a true Breton face, tanned by the sea,
cut in granite, with small eyes, and a keen glance sharpened by
the minute work of a fitter and adjuster.
"And how are all at home? " asked Labassindre.
Zénaïde, every one? "
"Every one is quite well, thank Heaven. Ah, ah! this is our
new apprentice. He looks like a nice little chap; only he doesn't
look over strong. "
"Strong as a horse, my dear fellow, and warranted by the
Paris doctors. "
"So much the better, then, for ours is a roughish trade. And
now, if you are ready, let us go and see the manager. "
They followed a long alley of fine trees that soon changed
into a street, such as is found in small towns, bordered by white
houses, clean and all alike. Here lived a certain number of the
factory workmen, the foremen, and first hands. The others were
located on the opposite bank, at Montagne or at Basse Indre.
At this hour all was silent, life and movement being concen-
trated within the iron works; and had it not been for the linen
drying at the windows, the flower-pots ranged near the panes,
the occasional cry of a child, or the rhythmical rocking of a
cradle heard through some half-opened door, the place might
have been deemed uninhabited.
"Clarisse,
"Oh! the flag's down," said the singer, as they reached the
gate leading to the workshops. "What frights that confounded
flag has given me before now.
>>
And he explained to his "old Jack," that five minutes after
the arrival of the workmen for the opening hour, the flag over
the gate was lowered, and thus it was announced that the doors
were closed. So much the worse for those who were late; they
were marked down as absent, and at the third offense dismissed.
While he was giving these explanations, his brother conferred
with the gate-keeper, and they were admitted within the doors
of the establishment. The din was frightful; whistlings, groan-
ings, grindings, varying but never diminishing, were re-echoed
from many vast triangular-roofed sheds, standing at intervals on
a sloping ground intersected by numerous railways.
An iron city!
Their footsteps rang upon plates of metal incrusted in the
earth. They picked their way amid heaps of bar iron, pig iron,
ingots of copper; between rows of worn-out guns brought hither


## p. 4459 (#233) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4459
to be melted down, rusty outside, all black within and almost
smoking still, venerable masters of fire about to perish by fire.
Roudic, as they passed along, pointed out the various quar-
ters of the establishment: "This is the setting-up room, these
the workshops of the great lathe and little lathe, the braziery,
the forges, the foundry. " He had to shout, so deafening was the
noise.
Jack, half dazed, looked with surprise through the workshop
doors, nearly all open on account of the heat, at a swarming of
upraised arms, of blackened faces, of machinery in motion in a
cave-like darkness, dull and deep, lit up by brief flashes of red
light.
Out poured the hot air, with mingled odors of coal, burned
clay, molten iron and the impalpable black dust, sharp and burn-
ing, which in the sunlight had a metallic sparkle, the glitter of
coal that may become diamond.
But what gave a special character to these formidable works
was the perpetual commotion of both earth and air, a continual
trepidation, something like the striving of a huge beast impris-
oned beneath the foundry, whose groans and burning breath
burst hissing out through the yawning chimneys. Jack, fearful
of appearing too much of a novice, dared not ask what it was
made this noise, which even at a distance had so impressed
him.
.
As they talked, they passed along the streets of the iron-
works laid with rails, crowded at this hour, the working day just
at an end, with a concourse of men of all kinds and sizes and
trades; a motley of blouses, pilot jackets, the coats of the design-
ers mixing with the uniforms of the overseers.
The gravity with which this deliverance from toil was effected
struck Jack forcibly. He compared this scene with the cries, the
jostling on the pavements which in Paris enliven the exit from
the workshops, and make it as noisy as that of a school. Here,
rule and discipline were sensibly felt, just as on board a man-of-
war.
A warm mist of steam floated over this mass of human be-
ings, a steam that the sea breeze had not yet dispersed, and
which hung like a heavy cloud in the stillness of this July even-
ing. From the now silent workshops evaporated the odors of
the forge. Steam whistled forth in the gutters, sweat stood on
all the foreheads, and the panting that had puzzled Jack a little


## p. 4460 (#234) ###########################################

4460
ALPHONSE DAUDET
while ago had given place to a breath of relief from these two
thousand chests wearied with the day's labor.
As he passed through the crowd, Labassindre was soon recog-
nized.
"Hullo! young 'un, how are you? "
He was surrounded, his hand eagerly shaken, and from one
to another passed the words: -
"Here, look at Roudic's brother, the fellow who makes four
thousand pounds a year just by singing. "
Every one wished to see him, for one of the legends of the
workshops was this supposed fortune of the quondam blacksmith,
and since his departure more than one young fellow-worker had
searched to the very bottom of his larynx, to try if the famous
note, the note worth millions, were not by some happy chance to
be found there.
In the midst of this cortège of admirers, whom his theatrical
costume impressed still more, the singer walked along with his
head in the air, talking and laughing, casting "Good morning,
Father So-and-so! Good morning, Mother What-'s-your-name! "
towards the little houses enlivened by women's faces looking out,
towards the public-houses and cook-shops which were frequent in
this part of Indret; where also hawkers of all kinds held sway,
exposing their merchandise in the open air: blouses, shoes, hats,
kerchiefs, all the ambulating trumpery to be found in the neigh-
borhood of camps, barracks, and factories.
As they made their way through this display of wares, Jack
imagined he saw a familiar face, a smile, parting the various
groups to reach him; but it was only a lightning flash, a mere
vision swept away at once by the ever changing tide of the mass
flowing away and dispersing through the great industrial city,
and spreading itself over to the other side of the river in long
ferry-boats, active, numerous, heavily laden, as if it were the
passage of an army.
Evening was closing in over the dispersing crowd. The sun
went down. The wind freshened, moving the poplars like palms;
and the spectacle was imposing of the toiling island in its turn
sinking to repose, restored to nature for the night. As the
smoke cleared, masses of verdure became visible between the
workshops. The river could be heard lapping the banks; and
the swallows, skimming the water with tiny twitter, fluttered
around the great boilers ranged along the quay.


## p. 4461 (#235) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4461
THE WRATH OF A QUEEN
From Kings in Exile'
Α'
LL the magic beauty of that June night poured in through
the wide-open casement in the great hall. A single lighted
candelabrum scarcely disturbed the mystery of the moonlight,
which streamed in like a "milky way. " On the table, across some
dusty old papers, lay a crucifix of oxydized silver. By the side of
the crucifix was a thick broad sheet of parchment, covered with
a big and tremulous writing. It was the death-warrant of roy-
alty, wanting nothing but the signature, one stroke of the pen,
and a strong and violent effort of will to give this; and that was
the reason why this weak King hesitated, sitting motionless, his
elbows resting on the table, by the lighted candles prepared for
the royal seal.
―
Near him, anxious, prying, yet soft and smooth, like a night-
moth or the black bat that haunts ruins, Lebeau, the confidential
valet, watched him and silently encouraged him; for they had
arrived at the decisive moment that the gang had for months
expected, with alternate hopes and fears, with all the trepidation,
all the uncertainty attending a business dependent upon such a
puppet as this King. Notwithstanding the magnetism of this
overpowering desire, Christian, pen in hand, could not bring
himself to sign. Sunk down in his arm-chair, he gazed at the
parchment, and was lost in thought. It was not that he cared
for that crown, which he had neither wished for nor loved,
which as a child he had found too heavy, and that later in life
had bowed him down and crushed him by its terrible responsi-
bilities. He had felt no scruple in laying it aside, leaving it in
the corner of a room which he never entered, forgetting it as
much as possible when he was out; but he was scared at the
sudden determination, the irrevocable step he was about to take.
However, there was no other way of procuring money for his
new existence, no other means of meeting the hundred and
twenty thousand pounds' worth of bills he had signed, on which
payment would soon be due, and which the usurer, a certain
Pichery, picture-dealer, refused to renew. Could he allow an
execution to be put in at Saint-Mandé? And the Queen, the
royal child; what would become of them in that case? If he
must have a scene for he foresaw the terrible clamor his


## p. 4462 (#236) ###########################################

4462
ALPHONSE DAUDET
cowardice must rouse. was it not better to have it now, and
brave once fo all anger and recriminations? And then- all this
was not really the determining reason.
He had promised the Comtesse to sign this renunciation; and
on the faith of this promise, Séphora had consented to let her
husband start alone for London, and had accepted the mansion
Avenue de Messine, and the title and name that published her
to the world as the king's mistress, reserving, however, anything
further till the day when Christian himself would bring her the
deed, signed by his own hand. She assigned for this conduct
the reasons of a woman in love: he might, later on, return to
Illyria, abandon her for the throne and power; she would not be
the first person whom these terrible State reasons have made
tremble and weep. D'Axel, Wattelet, all the gommeux of the
Grand Club little guessed when the king, quitting the Avenue de
Messine, rejoined them at the club with heavy fevered eyes, that
he had spent the evening on a divan, by turns repulsed or
encouraged, his feelings played upon, his nerves unstrung by the
constant resistance; rolling himself at the feet of an immovable,
determined woman, who with a supple opposition abandoned to
his impassioned embrace only the cold little Parisian hands, so
skillful in defense and evasion, while she imprinted on his lips.
the scorching flame of the enrapturing words: -"Oh! when you
have ceased to be king, I shall be all yours-all yours! She
made him pass through all the dangerous phases of passion and
coldness; and often at the theatre, after an icy greeting and a
rapid smile, would slowly draw off her gloves and cast him a
tender glance; then, putting her bare hand in his, she would
seem to offer it up to his ardent kiss.
"Then you say, Lebeau, that Pichery will not renew? "
"He will not, sire. If the bills are not paid, the bailiffs will
be put in. "
-―――――
How well he emphasized with a despairing moan the word
"bailiffs," so as to convey the feeling of all the sinister formali-
ties that would follow: bills protested, an execution, the royal
hearth desecrated, the family turned out of doors. Christian
saw nothing of all this. His imagination carried him far away
to the Avenue de Messine: he saw himself arriving there in
the middle of the night, eager and quivering; ascending with
stealthy and hurried step the heavily carpeted stairs, entering the
room where the night-light burned, mysteriously veiled under


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ALPHONSE DAUDET
4463
lace:"It is done-I am no longer king. You are mine, mine. "
And the loved one held out her hand.
"Come," he exclaimed, starting out of his fleeting dream.
And he signed.
The door opened and the Queen appeared. Her presence in
Christian's rooms at such an hour was so unforeseen, so unex-
pected, they had lived so long apart, that neither the King in
the act of signing his infamy, nor Lebeau, who stood watching
him, turned round at the slight noise she made. They thought
it was Boscovich coming up from the garden. Gliding lightly
like a shadow, she was already near the table, and had reached
the two accomplices, when Lebeau saw her. With her finger on
her lips she motioned him to be silent, and continued to advance,
wishing to convict the king in the very act of his treachery, and
avoid all evasion, subterfuge, or useless dissimulation; but the
valet set her order at defiance and gave the alarm, "The Queen,
sire! "
The Dalmatian, furious, struck straight in the face of this
malevolent caitiff with the powerful hand of a woman accustomed
to handle the reins; and drawing herself up erect, waited till the
wretch had disappeared before she addressed the king.
"What has happened, my dear Frédérique ? and to what am I
indebted for-? "
Standing bent over the table that he strove to hide, in a
graceful attitude that showed off his silk jacket embroidered in
pink, he smiled, and although his lips were rather pale, his voice
remained calm, his speech easy, with that polished elegance
which never left him when addressing his wife, and which placed.
a barrier between them like a hard lacquer screen adorned with
flowery and intricate arabesques. With one word, one gesture,
she put aside the barrier behind which he would fain have shel-
tered himself.
"Oh! no phrases, no grimacing- if you please. I know what
you were writing there. Do not try to give me the lie. ”
Then drawing nearer, overwhelming his timorous objection by
her haughty bearing:-
"Listen to me, Christian," and there was something in her
tone that gave an impression of solemnity to her words; "listen
to me: you have made me suffer cruelly since I became your
wife. I have never said anything but once the first time, you
remember. After that, when I saw that you had ceased to love
--


## p. 4464 (#238) ###########################################

4464
ALPHONSE DAUDET
me, I left you to yourself. Not that I was ignorant of anything
you did —not one of your infidelities, not one of your follies
remained unknown to me. For you must indeed be mad, mad
like your father, who died of exhaustion, mad with love for Lola;
mad like your grandfather John, who died in a shameful delirium,
foaming and framing kisses with the death-rattle in his throat,
and uttering words that made the Sisters of Charity grow pale.
Yes, it is the same fevered blood, the same hellish passion that
devours you.
At Ragusa, on the nights of the sortie, it was at
Fodora's that they sought you. I knew it, I knew that she had
left her theatre to follow you. I never uttered a single reproach.
The honor of your name was saved. And when the King was
absent from the ramparts, I took care his place should not be
empty. But here in Paris-"
Till now she had spoken slowly, coldly, in a tone of pity and
maternal reproof, as though inspired thereto by the downcast
eyes and pouting mouth of the King, who looked like a vicious
child receiving a scolding. But the name of Paris exasperated
her. A city without faith, a city cynical and accursed, its blood-
stained stones ever ready for sedition and barricades! What pos-
sessed these poor fallen kings, that they came to take refuge in
this Sodom! It was Paris, it was its atmosphere tainted by car-
nage and vice that completed the ruin of the historical houses;
it was this that had made Christian lose what the maddest of his
ancestors had always known how to preserve the respect and
pride of their race. Oh! When on the very day of their arrival,
the first night of their exile, she had seen him so excited, so gay,
while all around him were secretly weeping, Frédérique had
guessed the humiliation and shame she would have to undergo.
Then in one breath, without pausing, with cutting words that
lashed the pallid face of the royal rake, and striped it red as
with a whip, she recalled one after the other all his follies, his
rapid descent from pleasure to vice, and vice to crime.
"You have deceived me under my very eyes, in my own
house; adultery has sat at my table, it has brushed against my
dress.
When you were tired of that dollish little face who had
not even the grace to conceal her tears, you went to the gutter,
wallowing shamelessly in the slime and mud of the streets, and
bringing back the dregs of your orgies, of your sickly remorse,
all the pollution of the mire. Remember how I saw you totter
and stammer on that morning, when for the second time you lost
――――


## p. 4465 (#239) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4465
your throne. What have you not done! Holy Mother of angels!
What have you not done! You have traded with the royal seal,
you have sold crosses and titles. "
And in a lower tone, as though she feared lest the stillness
and silence of the night might hear, she added:-
"You have stolen, yes, stolen! Those diamonds, those stones
torn from the crown-it was you who did it, and I allowed my
faithful Greb to be suspected and dismissed. The theft being
known, it was necessary to find a sham culprit to prevent the
real one ever being discovered. For this has been my one, my
constant preoccupation: to uphold the King, to keep him un-
touched; to accept everything for that purpose, even the shame
which in the eyes of the world will end by sullying me. I had
adopted a watchword that sustained me, and encouraged me in
my hours of trial: All for the crown! ' And now you want to
sell it that crown that has cost me such anguish and such
tears; you want to barter it for gold, for the lifeless mask of that
Jewess, whom you had the indecency to bring face to face with
me to-day. "
Crushed, bending low his head, he had hitherto listened with-
out a word, but the insult directed against the woman he loved
roused him. Looking fixedly at the queen, his face bearing the
traces of her cutting words, he said politely, but very firmly:-
"Well, no, you are mistaken. The woman you mention has
had nothing to do with the determination I have taken. What I
am doing is done for you, for me, for our common happiness.
Tell me, are you not weary of this life of privations and expe-
dients? Do you think that I am ignorant of what is going on
here; that I do not suffer when I see you harassed by a pack
of tradespeople and duns? The other day when that man was
shouting in the yard I was coming in and heard him. Had it
not been for Rosen I would have crushed him under the wheels
of my phaeton. And you
And you-you were watching his departure
behind the curtains of your window.
Queen. We owe money to every one.
cry against us. Half the servants are unpaid. The tutor even
has received nothing for the last ten months. Madame de Silvis
pays herself by majestically wearing your old dresses. And there
are days when my councilor, the keeper of the royal seals, bor-
rows from my valet the wherewithal to buy snuff. You see I
am well acquainted with the state of things. And you do not
A nice position for a
There is a universal out-
VIII-280


## p. 4466 (#240) ###########################################

4466
ALPHONSE DAUDET
know my debts yet. I am over head and ears in debt. Every-
thing is giving way around us. A pretty state of things, indeed;
you will see that diadem of yours sold one day at the corner of
a street with old knives and forks. "
Little by little, gradually carried away by his own scoffing
nature and the jesting habits of his set, he dropped the mod-
erate tone he commenced with, and in his insolent little snuffling
voice began to dwell upon the ludicrous side of the situation,
with jeers and mockery, borrowed no doubt from Séphora, who
never lost an opportunity of demolishing by her sneering obser-
vations the few remaining scruples of her lover.
"You will accuse me of making phrases, but it is you who
deafen yourself with words. What, after all, is that crown of
Illyria that you are always talking about? It is worth nothing
except on a king's head; elsewhere it is obstruction, a useless
thing, which for flight is carried hidden away in a bonnet-box or
exposed under a glass shade like the laurels of an actor or the
blossoms of a concierge's bridal wreath. You must be convinced
of one thing, Frédérique. A king is truly king only on the throne,
with power to rule; fallen, he is nothing, less than nothing,
a rag.
Vainly do we cling to etiquette, to our titles, always
bringing forward our Majesty, on the panels of our carriages,
on the studs of our cuffs, hampering ourselves with an empty
ceremonial. It is all hypocrisy on our part, and mere politeness
and pity on the part of those who surround us -our friends and
our servants. Here I am King Christian II. for you, for Rosen,
for a few faithful ones. Outside I become a man like the rest,
M. Christian Two. Not even a surname, only 'Christian,' like an
actor of the Gaété. "
He stopped, out of breath; he did not remember having ever
spoken so long standing. The shrill notes of the night-birds, the
prolonged trills of the nightingales, broke the silence of the night.
A big moth that had singed its wings at the lights flew about,
thumping against the walls. This fluttering distress and the
smothered sobs of the Queen were the only sounds to be heard;
she knew how to meet rage and violence, but was powerless
before this scoffing banter, so foreign to her sincere nature;
it found her unarmed, like the valiant soldier who expects
straight blows and feels only the harassing stings of insects. See-
ing her break down, Christian thought her vanquished, and to
complete his victory he put the finishing touch to the burlesque


## p. 4467 (#241) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4467
picture he had drawn of kings in exile. "What a pitiful figure
they cut, all these poor princes in partibus, figurants of royalty,
who drape themselves in the frippery of the principal characters,
and declaim before the empty benches without a farthing of
receipts! Would they not be wiser if they held their peace and
returned to the obscurity of common life? For those who have
money there is some excuse. Their riches give them some right
to cling to these grandeurs.
But the others, the poor cousins of
Palermo for instance, crowded together in a tiny house with their
horrid Italian cookery. It smells of onions when the door is
opened. Worthy folk certainly, but what an existence! And
those are not the worst off. The other day a Bourbon, a real
Bourbon, ran after an omnibus. Full, sir,' said the conductor.
But he kept on running. 'Don't I tell you it is full, my good
man? ' He got angry; he would have wished to be called 'Mon-
seigneur as if that should be known by the tie of his cravat!
Operetta kings, I tell you, Frédérique. It is to escape from
this ridiculous position, to insure a dignified and decent exist-
ence, that I have made up my mind to sign this. "
And he added, suddenly revealing the tortuous Slavonic nature
molded by the Jesuits:- "Moreover, this signature is really a
mere farce. Our own property is returned to us, that is all,
and I shall not consider myself in the slightest degree bound
by this.
Who knows? -these very thousands of pounds may
help us to recover the throne. "
The Queen impetuously raised her head, looked him straight
in the eyes for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, saying:
"Do not make yourself out viler than you are. You know
that when once you have signed — but no. The truth is, you lack
strength and fortitude; you desert your kingly post at the most
perilous moment, when a new society, that will acknowledge
neither God nor master, pursues with its hatred the representa-
tives of Divine right, makes the heavens tremble over their heads
and the earth under their steps. The assassin's knife, bombs,
bullets, all serve their purpose. Treachery and murder are on
every side.
In the midst of our pageantry or our festivities, the
best of us as well as the worst, not one of us does not start if
only a man steps forward out of the crowd. Hardly a petition
that does not conceal a dagger. On leaving his palace what king
is certain of returning alive? And this is the hour you choose
to leave the field! "


## p. 4468 (#242) ###########################################

4468
ALPHONSE DAUDET
"Ah! if fighting could do it! " eagerly said Christian II. "But
to struggle as we do against ridicule, against poverty, against all
the petty meannesses of life, and feel that we only sink deeper
every day—"
A ray of hope lit up her eyes:-"Is it true? would you fight?
Then listen. "
Breathlessly she related, in a few rapid words, the expedition
she and Elysée had been preparing for the last three months by
letters, proclamations, and dispatches, which Father Alphée, ever
on the move, carried from one mountain village to the other.
This time it was not to the nobility they appealed, but to the
people; the muleteers, the porters of Ragusa, the market-gardeners
of Breno, of La Brazza, the islanders who go to market in their
feluccas, the nation which had remained faithful to the mon-
archical tradition, which was ready to rise and die for its king,
on condition that he should lead them. Companies were form-
ing, the watchword was already circulating, only the signal now
remained to be given.
The Queen, hurling her words at Christian to rout his weak-
ness by a vigorous charge, had a cruel pang when she saw
him shake his head, showing an indifference which was even
greater than his discouragement. Perhaps at the bottom of his
heart he was annoyed that the expedition should have been so
far organized without his knowledge. But he did not believe in
the feasibility of the plan. It would not be possible to advance
into the country; they would be compelled to hold the islands,
and devastate a beautiful country with very little chance of suc-
cess: a second edition of the Duc de Palma's adventure, a useless
effusion of blood.
"No, really, my dear Frédérique, you are led away by the
fanaticism of your chaplain and the wild enthusiasm of that hot-
headed Gascon. I also have my sources of information, far more
reliable than yours. The truth is, that in Dalmatia, as in many
other countries, monarchy has had its day. They are tired of it,
they will have no more of it. "
"Oh! I know the coward who will have no more of it," said
the Queen. And she went out hurriedly, leaving Christian much
surprised that the scene should have ended so abruptly.
He
hastily thrust the deed into his pocket, and prepared to go out
in his turn, when Frédérique reappeared, accompanied this time
by the little prince.


## p. 4469 (#243) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4469
Roused out of his sleep and hurriedly dressed, Zara, who had
passed from the hands of his nurse to those of the Queen with-
out a word having been uttered, opened wide his bewildered
eyes under his auburn curls, but asked no questions; he remem-
bered confusedly in his poor little dizzy head similar awakenings
for hasty flights, in the midst of pallid faces and breathless
exclamations. It was thus that he had acquired the habit of
passive obedience; that he allowed himself to be led anywhere,
provided the Queen called him in her grave and resolute voice,
and held ready for his childish weakness the shelter of her ten-
der arms and the support of her strong shoulder. She had said:
"Come! " and he had come with confidence, surprised only at the
surrounding silence, so different from those other stormy nights,
with their visions of blood and flames, roar of cannon, and rattle
of musketry.
He saw the King standing, no longer the careless good-
natured father who at times surprised him in his bed or crossed
the schoolroom with an encouraging smile, but a stern father,
whose expression of annoyance became more accentuated as he
saw them enter. Frédérique, without uttering one word, led the
child to the feet of Christian II. and abruptly kneeling, placed
him before her, crossing his little fingers in her joined hands:-
"The king will not listen to me, perhaps he will listen to
you, Zara. Come, say with me, 'Father. ' » The timid voice re-
peated, "Father. "
-
"My father! my king! I implore! do not despoil your child.
Do not deprive him of the crown he is to wear one day.
Remember that it is not yours alone; it comes from afar, from
God himself, who gave it six hundred years ago to the house of
Illyria. God has chosen me to be a king, father.
It is my
inheritance, my treasure; you have no right to take it from me. '»
The little prince accompanied his fervent murmur with the
imploring looks of a supplicant; but Christian turned away his
head, shrugged his shoulders, and furious though still polite, he
muttered a few words between his teeth: "Exaggeration! most
improper; turn the child's head. " Then he tried to withdraw
and gain the door. With one bound the Queen was on her feet,
caught sight of the table from which the parchment had disap-
peared, and comprehending at once that the infamous deed was.
signed, that the king had it in his possession, gave a despairing
shriek:


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ALPHONSE DAUDET
4470
"Christian! "
He continued to advance towards the door.
She made a step forward, picking up her dress as if to pur-
sue him; then suddenly said:—
"Well, be it so. "
He stopped short and turned round. She was standing before
the open window, her foot upon the narrow stone balcony, with
one arm clasping her son ready to bear him into death, the other
extended menacingly towards the cowardly deserter. The moon
lit up from without this dramatic group.
"To an operetta King, a Queen of tragedy," she said, stern
and terrible. "If you do not burn this instant what you have
just signed, and swear on the cross that it will never be re-
peated, your race is ended, crushed, wife and child, there on the
stones. "
Such earnestness seemed to inspire her vibrating tone, her
splendid figure bent towards the emptiness of space as though to
spring, that the King, terrified, dashed forward to stop her.
"Frédérique ! "
At the cry of his father, at the quiver of the arm that held
him, the child-who was entirely out of the window-thought
that all was finished, that they were about to die. He never
uttered a word nor a moan; was he not going with his mother?
Only, his tiny hands clutched the queen's neck convulsively, and
throwing back his head with his fair hair hanging down, the
little victim closed his eyes before the appalling horror of the
fall.
Christian could no longer resist. The resignation, the cour-
age of this child, who of his future kingly duties already knew
the first to die well-overcame him. His heart was bursting.
He threw upon the table the crumpled parchment which for a
moment he had been nervously holding in his hand, and fell sob-
bing in an arm-chair. Frédérique, still suspicious, read the deed
through from the first line to the very signature, then going up
to a candle, she burned it till the flame scorched her fingers,
shaking the ashes upon the table; she then left the room, carry-
ing off her son, who was already falling asleep in her arms in
his heroically tragic attitude.
Translation of Laura Ensor and E. Bartow.


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4471
MADAME DU DEFFAND
(MARIE DE VICHY-CHAMROND)
(1697-1780)
M
ADAME DU DEFFAND is interesting as a personality, a type,
and an influence. Living through nearly the whole of the
eighteenth century, she assimilated its wealth of new ideas,
and was herself a product of the thought-revolution already kindling
the spirit of 1789.
She very early showed her mental independence by puzzling
questions upon religion. The eloquent Massillon attempted to win
her to orthodoxy. But he soon gave up the task, told the Sisters to
buy her a catechism, and went off declar-
ing her charming. The inefficacy of the
catechism was proved later, when the
precocious girl developed into the grace-
ful, unscrupulous society woman. She was
always fascinating to the brightest men
and women of her own and other lands.
But the early years of social triumph, when
she still had the beautiful eyes admired
by Voltaire, are less significant than the
nearly thirty years of blindness in the con-
vent of St. Joseph, which after her afflic-
tion she made her home. Here she held
her famous receptions for the literary and
social celebrities of Paris. Here Mademoiselle Lespinasse endured a
miserable ten years as her companion, then rebelled against her
exactions, and left to establish a rival salon of her own, aided by
her devoted D'Alembert. His preference Madame du Deffand never
forgave. Henceforth she opposed philosophy, and demanded from
her devotees only stimulus and amusement. It was here that Hor-
ace Walpole found the "blind old woman" in her tub-like chair, and
began the friendship and intellectual flirtation of fifteen years. It
proved a great interest in her life, notwithstanding Walpole's dread
of ridicule at a suggestion of romance between his middle-aged self
and this woman twenty years older.
MADAME DU DEFFAND
She was a power in the lives of many famous people, intimate
with Madame de Staël, Voltaire, Montesquieu, Madame de Choiseul,
the Duchess of Luxembourg, Madame Necker, Hume, Madame de
1



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4472
MADAME DU DEFFAND
Genlis. In her salon old creeds were argued down, new ideas dis-
seminated, and bons mots and witty gossip circulated. She has re-
counted what went on, and explained the reign of clever women in
her century. Ignoring her blindness, she lived her life as gayly as
she could in visiting, feasting, opera-going, and letter-writing. But
even her social supremacy and brilliant correspondence with Voltaire,
Walpole, and others, did not satisfy her. She wished to appeal to
the heart, and she appealed only to the head. Of all ills she most
dreaded ennui, and the very dread of it made her unhappy. She
became more and more insufficient to herself, until at eighty-three
she died with clear-sighted indifference.
"She was perhaps the wittiest woman who ever lived," says
Saintsbury. Hers was an inextinguishable wit, always alert, epi-
grammatic, enriching the language with proverbial phrases.
During her life Voltaire's science of unbelief and Rousseau's
appeal to nature and sentiment were stimulating Europe. For Rous-
seau, Madame du Deffand had no respect; but Voltaire's philosophy
appealed to her egotism. It bade a human being investigate his own.
puzzles, and seek solution in himself. Madame du Deffand agreed,
but failed to find satisfaction in her anxious analysis; she envied
believers in God, and longed for illusions, yet allowed herself none.
Jealous, exacting, critical, with all the arrogance of the old aris-
tocracy, she was as merciless to herself as to others.
«All my
judgments have been false and daring and too hasty.
never known any one perfectly.
To whom then can I have
recourse? " she cries despairingly.
I have
•
Sainte-Beuve emphasizes her noblest quality: with all her faults
she was true. She lived out her life frankly, boldly, without self-
deception or imposition. So in the entertaining volumes of her let-
ters and pen-portraits of acquaintances, she has left a valuable record.
She takes us back a century, and shows not only how people looked
and what they did, but how they thought and felt.
TO THE DUCHESSE DE CHOISEUL
PARIS, Sunday, December 28th, 1766.
D
o You know, dear Grandmama [a pet name], that you are the
greatest philosopher that ever lived? Your predecessors
spoke equally well, perhaps, but they were less consistent
in their conduct. All your reasonings start from the same senti-
ment, and that makes the perfect accord one always feels be-
tween what you say and what you do. I know very well why,


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MADAME DU DEFFAND
4473
loving you madly, I am ill at ease with you. It is because I
know that you must pity everybody who is unlike yourself. My
desire to please you, the brief time that I am permitted with
you, and my eagerness to profit by it, all trouble, embarrass,
intimidate me and discompose me.
I exaggerate, I utter platitudes; and end by being disgusted
with myself, and eager to rectify the impression I may have
made upon you.
You wish me to write to M. de Choiseul, and to make my
letter pretty and bright. Ah, indeed! I'm the ruler of my own
imagination, am I! I depend upon chance. A purpose to do or
to say such or such a thing takes away the possibility. I am not
in the least like you. I do not hold in my hands the springs of
my spirit. However, I will write to M. de Choiseul. I will
seize a propitious moment. The surest means of making it come
is to feel hurried.
I am sending you an extract from an impertinent little pam-
phlet entitled 'Letter to the Author of the Justification of Jean
Jacques. ' You will see how it treats our friend. I am not sure
that it should be allowed; whether M. de Choiseul should not
talk to M. de Sartines about it. It is for you to decide, dear
Grandmama, if it is suitable, and if M. de Choiseul ought to
permit licenses so impertinent.
I am dying to see you. In spite of my fear, in spite of my
dreads, I am convinced that you love me because I love you.
TO MR. CRAWFORD
SUNDAY, March 9th, 1766.
I
READ your letter to Madame de Forcalquier, or rather I gave
it to her to read. I thought from her tone that she liked it,
but she will not commit herself. She is more than incom-
prehensible. The Trinity is not more mysterious. She is com-
posed of systems, which she does not understand herself; great
words, great principles, great strains of music, of which nothing
remains. However, I am of your opinion, that she is worth
more than all my other acquaintances. She agrees that it would
be delightful to have you live in this country; but if she were
only to see you en passant, it hardly matters whether you came
or not; that she has not forgotten you, but that she will forget


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4474
MADAME DU DEFFAND
you. Eh! Why shouldn't she forget you? She does not know
A hundred speeches of the sort which vex me.
you. .
What is certain is, that her
They say of people who have too much vivacity that they
were put in too hot an oven. They might say of her, on the
contrary, that she is underdone. She is the sketch of a beauti-
ful work, but it is not finished.
sentiments, if she has sentiments, are sincere, and that she does
not bore you.
I showed her your letter because I thought that
would give you pleasure; but be sure that no one in the world,
not even she, shall see what you write me in future except
Niart [her secretary], who as you know is a well.
I have just made you a fine promise that I will not show
your letters; perhaps I shall never be able to show them.
Truly, truly, I am like Madame de Forcalquier, and do not know
you!
I spent three hours with Mr. Walpole yesterday, but only half
an hour alone with him. Lord George and his wife returned his
short call, but your Dr. James stayed there all the time. He is
a very gloomy, uninteresting man.
Have you seen Jean Jacques? Is he still in London? Have
you seen your father? Imagine yourself tête-à-tête with me in
the corner of the fireplace, and answer all my questions, but
especially those which concern your health. Have you seen the
doctors? Have they ordered you the waters? And tell me too,
honestly, if I shall ever see you again. Reflect that you are
only twenty-five years old, that I am a hundred, and that it only
requires a brief kindness to put pleasure in my life. No, I will
not assume the pathetic. Do just what pleases you.
TO HORACE WALPOLE
TUESDAY, August 5th, 1766.
I
HAVE received your letter of July 31st-no number, sheets of
different sizes. All these observations mean nothing, unless
it is that a person without anything to do or to think occupies
herself with puerile things. Indeed, I should do very wrong not
to profit by all your lessons, and to persist in the error of believ-
ing in friendship, and regarding it as a good; no, no; I renounce
my errors, and am absolutely persuaded that of all illusions that
is the most dangerous.