The slopes of the valley showed, in places, a purplish coat, cut by the flare of green broom. Drops of water lighted up, making little beats of color. Between the stones, the dwarf thistle, which had become dry, with its tuft of yellow cotton, looked like old silver. A shower of golden kittens fell from the slender branches of the wild hazel tree. A sort of steam, as from a secret fire, slid over copses of ashen oaks. The river was speckled with sunlight; a great work of light agitated it with ceaseless recoveries of rays. Shadows passed, strange breaths{81}on one-way mirror; but above the dried brambles, the dead fern, a few hard clumps of holly, spear-pointed, sucked up the essence of the day with all their armed leaves; they kept blazing and dying out, according to the course of the clouds.
Jacquier and Jeannette were sweeping the meadows, piling up the dead brush and twigs to burn them. Here and there arose the thick smoke from those braziers which the wind blew down. Around three o'clock it mingled with the mist rising from the valley. Suddenly every path seemed to be cut off, the horizon slid like a slipknot where the earth folded up. The nearby trees, on an opaque mist, were no more than dark traces, mysterious frictions. Jeannette and Jacquier were coming home; Tant-Belle followed them, shaking her frosty fur. Despite the cold, Claire went down the valley road, crossed the Chanaud bridge to{82}come to meet Simon. As soon as she met him, she pulled the warm muffler around the child's neck. Both of them were going back to the Ages in silence, quite happy to be traveling together.
Madame Lautier announced her arrival the day before by a letter-card. Claire had asked for a few days off for Simon. She woke him early, for Madame Lautier would arrive in the morning on the eight o'clock train and it was a long way from Ages to Bonnal station. She dressed herself, by the light of the lamp, in her feast day dress. Simon said few words as she hurried around him. He hid a kind of fear mixed with great curiosity; and he remained serious, realizing that this day was full of unknowns.
Claire covered herself with a cape, and wearing Simon's hair with a cloth beret, she made him climb beside her in the cart driven by{83}the donkey that Jacquier called "Tournebroche". He was very old, very scorched, with an enormous belly; his services were called upon only on rare occasions. Led by him, we were sure to walk much more slowly than on foot. But there would probably be some luggage to carry. Jack growled:
“Goodbye, poor lady.
Day broke; the mists turned white towards the east. Claire, in the stony path, gathered the reins to prevent the donkey from tripping. She wanted to talk, cry, laugh; but something blocked his throat. Simon was leaning on her, full of trouble. It took a good hour to get to Bonnal station. Claire felt very cold. The gatekeeper took her into her little house to warm herself. And she asked many questions to which Mlle. Lautier answered hastily:
“Yes, we are expecting the baby's mother.{84}I was happy to help her by raising Simon. She could keep him with her, but he is not strong and the country air is excellent.
She praised Mme Lautier, while pushing back her grief, for Simon must have had an admirable mother.
“He had to earn a living after the death of my poor brother. Those who said she was not thinking of her little one are bad people.
At that moment, by a miracle of the heart, she decided that Louise Lautier was good and faithful, and that only misfortune had prevented her from fulfilling her duty as a mother.
The train arrived. Claire recognized Louise Lautier coming down from a second-class compartment. She said a few words of welcome and pushed Simon, who was hiding, in front of her. Louise hugged her child for a while, who, the first trouble over, looked up timidly at her.{85}
"Are you happy to see me?"
“Yes, I'm very happy.
He gazed with extreme astonishment at this woman elegantly dressed in a well-cut traveling dress, who gave off a strange perfume. When she got into the cart, he saw her long legs sheathed in shiny silk stockings, so different from those worn by Claire, knitted with heavy black cotton. His trouble returned; he felt like crying, although he was without sadness. On the way, Louise thanked Claire for the good care she had given Simon for so long. She barely answered, weakly, shaking her head.
"He's a big boy now," said Louise.
Laughing, she caressed her child's head, drawing him against his velvet gown where the sparkle of the throat appeared. He was choking with a new sweetness. This mother who arrived like in the tales{86} of fairies, under the wave of an enchanted wand, she was beautiful with her short blond hair, her white neck, her eyes so laughing, so large, in a face whose mouth was the color of cherries.
She spoke constantly.
"Are you doing well in class?" Can you read, write and count?
-Yes Madam.
—He calls me: Madame. Do you hear, Miss Lautier? I am your mom; Claire is only your second mother or rather your good aunt.
She kissed him:
“Simon, you're beautiful, you look like me. You have eyes a bit like mine and a small mouth. Claire, I'm very happy. Say, will your venerable donkey climb the hill? He doesn't seem to care much about it. This is a beautiful river.
Simon listened to her, charmed by the sound of her voice, which was delicate. Claire let only broken words be heard.{87}
“Claire, you're not talking, that's understandable in this peaceful country where there's hardly anything but trees, grass and birds.
The sun was peacefully lighting up the countryside. Through the bare woods, the water made marvelous signs, calls for coolness and rest. Junipers escaped the claw of the gorse, in a sparkle of frost. We were approaching the Ages. The donkey tilted its big head as if it were about to somersault, and it puffed, exhorted by Claire, who pricked it with a stick fitted with a sharp point. The horizon became clearer, the air became sharper. The cart turned into the yard. Louise Lautier jumped down lightly and took Simon in her arms.
Claire called Jacquier who uncoupled; he affected not to see Madame Lautier; but, as she came to look at him curiously, he was obliged to stammer a hello into his ruffled beard.{88}
Claire ushered her sister-in-law into the house.
"You are here with us," she said. That's where my poor brother was born.
Louise Lautier grew serious, then she exclaimed:
"Cute, talk!" Tell me how you spend your time here. Maybe you were bored?
At these last words, Claire hastily left the room and took refuge in her room. Louise, without realizing it, opened a suitcase and took out some bags of sweets.
“Give your mouth,” she said, “there's no sweets like that in Ages.
She kept her fur on and noticed that the fire was roasting her in front, while her back was cold. Simon grew bolder little by little. He said, suddenly, with wide eyes:
"Is it really true that you are my mother?"
He caressed the soft bodice where the neck{89}white swelled, uncovered to the birth of the throat.
"How you're dressed, how good you smell!... There aren't any pralines like that at the grocer's." They cannot melt.
Jeannette had just plucked a chicken and, while she was gutting it, she looked with burning curiosity at Louise Lautier. When she slid the spit over the landiers, she said hello, her lips stretching out like a cup to hold it back.
Louise had taken Simon on her lap.
“I must rock you, my little one, since I haven't been able to until now.
He felt a great happiness invade him. Tant-Belle lay down in front of the fire.
"It's a pretty animal," said Louise. I had been given a dog like that.
"I'll give you an ox I made with planks."
Claire who had half-opened the door{90}looked at her sister-in-law eagerly and she saw Simon's eyes shining. She wanted to prepare the bed where the child would sleep with her mother, but she didn't have the strength right now. She was as if dazed; reality frightened her and, little by little, took hold of her completely. Was she going to rush towards Madame Lautier, take Simon away from her, whom she caressed and charmed, and cry: “He is not yours. Go!”
She opened the door completely and said in a low voice:
“Come on, Simon. You have to show your mom your toys and your little closet where your clothes are stored.
But he listened to Louise who told him stories of the city and spoke to him of those magnificent shops and those theaters which are immense palaces full of perfumes and sunshine.{92}{91}
VII
M. Salvat, the teacher at Bonnal, had granted Simon eight days off.
“You have to get to know your mom,” he said, narrowing his eyes slyly.
In the country, the news had spread. Some asserted that Louise had only been Captain Lautier's friend; others knew very well that she was making love to an English prince or to a man who owned herds of oxen in the lands of the devil. With the change he was richer than the President of the Republic. It was also said, under the mantle of the chimneys, at the evenings, that Claire des Ages would be paid for her trouble{93}and that by bringing up the child she had at the same time made her fortune.
For a long time no one had gone to this house perched above the valley, but the day after Louise's arrival, the widow Ruteau, the grocer from Bonnal, had the courage, despite her obesity, to on foot along the path from the village to Les Ages. She asked for three sacks of potatoes and half a year's beans. She had sat down by the fireside, and in a face yellowed by a sedentary life, her eyes went back and forth, agitated with curiosity. She regarded with a kind of passion Louise Lautier, dressed like the greatest ladies and much better than the chatelaines of the country. This perfume, this make-up, this shimmering of the velvet, all these signs, which seemed to him to reveal an immense richness, dazzled him. She left reluctantly, stammering confused words, leaving Claire very surprised.
In the same day, as if they{94}had agreed to meet, the clog-maker came to offer a pair of clogs for Simon and he wanted to buy a few yards. The blacksmith needed scrap metal and brought Jacquier a repaired ploughshare with unaccustomed rapidity. Old poor parents, women broken by age filled the room under futile pretexts. Louise Lautier decided to stay in the room where she had slept with Simon. The good people were leaving; on the threshold they prudently put many questions to Claire, who barely answered them. They sighed at not having seen the one whose voice they heard through the partition.
It was an event in this campaign. And they said, “Is she going to take the little one? Have you seen his furs? The coat is as shiny as silk; it is not rabbit, certainly, but one of those beasts which are worth more than a thousand loaves of four pounds.” We were telling{95}that she looked like she was laughing at the world, not knowing the pain of earning a living. Nothing was known of his parents, but Captain Lautier, had he not died, would have found great heirlooms. The best informed asserted that they had been married. However most of these people, who live in the same circle, preferred to arrange tales full of the taste of the adventure of which they are fond. Mother Bontier, an annuitant, who owned property in the sun, asserted that the last serial of her Paris newspaper told a story in which there was a woman like Louise Lautier, just as beautiful, just as well dressed; she couldn't live with her little one, because her great friend was jealous as a tiger and this child was not his. She concluded, knitting by her fire:
-You realize.
The truth was quite different. Louise Lautier, seized by a stroke of passion, had{96}ran away from the marital home, shortly before her husband's death, to follow a Parisian industrialist who had made a quick fortune. After years of this liaison, she felt a weariness and, for the sake of moral cleanliness, she had worked for two years in a store, where she was now the first saleswoman. The daughter of little peasant day laborers from the Beauce, she had experienced a lot of misery at a very young age. It was in Paris, in a milliner's workshop, that Captain Lautier had immediately distinguished and loved her because of her great beauty and her playful character. It was quite true that her friend dissuaded her from bringing Simon to Paris. To veil his jealousy, he invoked a hundred reasons, the first of which was that the child would grow stronger in the pure air and the life of the fields. She still had time to keep him close to her. He still loved Louise Lautier and Simon would remind him too much of the fault committed, this{97}sort of crime which had been to betray a man exposed to death to save the country in danger.
Louise, near her little one, in this rustic house of the Ages, drove this thought away with horror. She had not wanted to strike Captain Lautier in the heart before the enemy bullet laid him on the ground he was defending. A new ardor, which she did not know, seized her darkly under the pure eyes of Simon, where it rekindled another flame in hers, which passion had blinded. It was as if fresh eyes suddenly returned to him. She was becoming peaceful, helpless, a child. While Claire applied herself to leaving her alone, with Simon, she fed the rabbits, the chickens, and she listened to him eagerly when he spoke of the simplest things, using quite naive words. But, sometimes, in the evening, after walks in the fields where{98}such strong loneliness, an evil spirit took hold of her and she said:
“You will leave this gloomy country; you will live with me with my life. You will know all the pleasures that I have known.
He barely answered, raised his head as if towards a horizon where everything seemed to grow, unreal.
After eight days, she announced her departure. She could not break the circle of her habits, still completely taken by the corruption of money and pleasure. Her friend had promised to marry her and, these days, he was begging her to give up this profession of saleswoman in which he only saw a whim. He would still know how to drag her into the whirlwind, but she had to wipe out the whole past in a single stroke. Torn between opposing thoughts, she left the Ages in haste. Little by little, in the silence of this countryside, she heard other voices.{100}{99}
VIII
Claire, in the presence of Louise Lautier, had been immediately distraught, not finding the words she would have liked to say, good words, according to her heart. This woman seemed strange to him, as if she had spoken an unknown language. She wondered with fear how Simon could be her son. He was docile, full of gracious humility, a friend of silence. Now, when evening fell, she isolated herself, remembered her sister-in-law again, tried to reform her gestures and reawaken her words. She was terrified. Before leaving, Louise had spoken to her of the man she abominated, for Captain Lautier, through him,{101}had gone to the next world with terrible pain in his heart. Lightly spoken words had hurt her. She knew now that Louise would remarry someone who had lived in indignity and that she wanted to force him to keep Simon close to her. This was the condition she would set for this union. If he didn't accept, she would leave him forever. But he loved her passionately.
Claire discovered better what an uncertain life Louise led. Simon would be lost by the weakness of his mother and the perversity of a stepfather who only wanted pleasure and money. If the child, moving away from the Ages, had found support for his soul, wisdom, modesty, the good old virtues that keep him healthy, Claire would have mastered his pain. But everything she had taught him from the cradle would fade a little more each day. He would no doubt become one of those{102}men of joy who frolic like manure roosters. This little one, formed by her with the help of God, would be snatched from her to deliver him defenseless to evil. She remembered that Louise, before the train carried her away, had exclaimed:
“Now that I know him, I couldn't live without him.
Claire had regretted not being able to speak well like city people, to express clearly the sweet pain she had had in raising Simon. She would have begged that we not lose her soul which was beautiful. But how could he not be caught in the trap of the pleasure constantly tense in the city, this terrible pleasure which his mother could no longer do without and on which she had based her life? She could only gaze at Louise with immense fear of this strange charm coming out of her. When Simon looked at his mother in wonder, she felt that he was breaking away from the Ages; she saw him get away{103}go far. She had kept silent, smothered her heart. She couldn't say anything, and in the shadows she had to cut living flesh. Ah! kneel humbly at Louise's feet and whisper: “This little boy is the treasure you have in this world. You entrusted it to me, it is even more beautiful today. Riches, pleasures do not count with him. My brother's death should have enlightened you. And you still think of eating well, of living in opulence with silk and velvet dresses, furs, jewelry. This little one, he is more precious than anything. You will give him your joys, but I, who am not his mother, gave him the best of my heart. The heart, it does not shine much and it will forget me, if you cannot change.
She was silent, Louise Lautier was too far from her.
Now Simon often spoke of{104}his mother, with regret, and his eyes became fixed in a reverie in which a new horizon lived, a greater happiness at merely being glimpsed. So there was another realm where everything is sweet, shiny, easy. He retained in the hollow of his hands the caresses of Louise Lautier, so lively, so gay; and Claire seemed sadder to him. The house was filled with shadows; he no longer tasted the same simple joys. He secretly took pride in being loved by a woman whose slightest words sounded sweet and far more graceful, no doubt, than the fairies of the mill and the river.
When he returned to school, after this week's leave, M. Salvat called him and said:
“Your mother should have paid me a visit to thank me for the care I gave you.
Simon did not know what to answer; he saw clearly that M. Salvat was not happy. pen{105}In class, the teacher looked at him, scratching his neck more than usual, and he shrugged his heavy shoulders. Simon had always been a good student, docile to the teaching of this grey-looking master, and he was surprised at this change of mood. He felt more isolated, his classmates turned away from him, in class and during recess. Some even looked at him defiantly. He was full of a sweetness that was his only defence. When he was jostled at play time, he didn't get angry, but he stood against the fence wall apologetically. He wanted, in spite of the strange air thickening around him, to play leapfrog as before; it was still he who was bent over, hands on his knees. One day, Mother Ruteau's eldest son, the grocer, a strong boy with violent gestures, took off his beret and threw it in the mud. Simon shrugged his shoulders and said, "That's silly...",{106}but he did not complain to M. Salvat who was standing under the shed, his hands crossed behind his back.
Simon thought he was cherished by Claire and that pretty mother with her hair cut short like the handsome pages whose slender image one saw in the Illustrated History of France. When he returned to the Ages, through the lonely countryside, his sadness faded away; he followed in the marvelous wake left behind by Louise Lautier. Soon she would take him to the city where joy is changeable like the sun playing in white clouds. He would never be bored, and when someone hurt him she would caress him with her gentle, light hands. For that time to come, he could endure a few bad jokes. Those who seemed to disdain him did not have a mother like his; they showed their resentment.
Day by day, we made her life more{107}tough at school; and, as he was of a sensitive nature with a closed heart, everything touched him to the quick. He was careful not to complain in front of Claire, for fear of causing her pain. When she couldn't see him, he cried at night, in his little bed. In the morning, no trace of sorrow appeared in his eyes. But this school which he had loved, which he used to enter happily, he began to hate. She frightened him like a big sneaky machine.
Claire continued to watch over him ardently, but he felt that she was hiding something too heavy. She who usually spoke little, she became even more taciturn, never ceasing, when he was off, to work on the estate, in the house or the barn. One evening, as she held him in a kiss, he saw her mouth tremble, then she left him hastily. Louise Lautier wrote more often; Claire never failed to read to{108}Simon the passages of the letter which concerned him, phrases from memory. He remarked:
—Mama Claire, you don't laugh when there's good news. I can't laugh, if you don't laugh, you, the first.
Then she smiled weakly, but Simon saw that she was in pain. He felt mystery around him, whereas he wanted everything to be simple, clear, like water from the fountain. Every evening, Claire Lautier prayed for her sister-in-law and made Simon recite three Aves , so that his mother would be preserved from all harm.
One day he said:
“She is ill, since you always pray for her. Yet she looks very fresh.
One morning in March when the first spring rush was felt, he left as usual for Bonnal. He knew his lessons marvellously; he had stayed up late so that his homework had no{109} mistake. His intelligence had increased, all of a sudden, it seemed; his eyes opened better to the world. The valley of the Gartempe, lit by the morning sun, showed the green color which the grass of the meadows spreads, the drained gold of the broom in flower, the sharper arrow of the juniper. The river flowed in a dusting of fresh life. On the branches of the oaks on the fence, the last dead leaves melted with the breaths of the season which ran with the taste of pure water.
Simon, as he approached the school, was singing between his teeth a song of bonhomie which turned to a bourree rhythm. The air from the valley, so strong that it seemed to dilate the earth this morning, had bathed his child's heart, full of goodwill. In class, he was interrogated; he replied with such a certainty of memory, such a clear intelligence that M. Salvat eulogized him aloud and proposed him in{110}example to his classmates. During the first recess, he approached Léonard Rutaud and offered him a beautiful boxwood spinning top:
“Take it, Leonard. I give it to you, and don't think I'm mean.
The boy looked at Simon in surprise. He thrust his hands into his pockets and shook his strong shoulders. He responded with grunts after taking the spinning top. Then he burst out into a kind of wild laughter, ran to join his playmates, while Simon felt a greater void opening up around him. For a moment, he wondered that the kindness with which he was filled did not win over his comrades. He was left alone, sitting on a wooden block in the shed. To repress his grief, he thought of his mother, of Claire, who would have suffered a great deal if they had been able to see him thus, isolated and rejected. Thanks to a game of bar, Léonard Rutaud came to hit him so violently that he fell.
"Be careful," growled Leonardo with{111}a feigned fury, you are always on my way.
He got up, brushed his beret with the back of his sleeve and he had the strength to smile. M. Salvat, who had only seen this scene from a distance, shouted confused orders; then he began to weed a little garden where he would sow queen-daisies and Chinese carnations. Simon pretended to have a lot of fun drawing geometric lines on the ground, with the tip of a pebble. He couldn't wait to get back to class. There he felt protected.
At noon, he ate, as usual, under the shed, the meal that Claire Lautier had prepared for him: slices of salt, homemade bread, two soft-boiled eggs. He gave a little to companions less equipped than himself, out of simple kindness; he was only shown a recognition as short as the time to swallow a mouthful.
The evening passed quietly. Mr. Sal{112}vat, to form the taste of his pupils who were preparing for the certificate, read aloud. Simon listened eagerly. It was a village story, in England, but the works, the festivals seemed to him to revolve in the same circle, in the same green light of the grasses and the fountains which enchanted the country where Captain Lautier was born. Sometimes he thought he saw through the story a field in the domain of the Ages, lined with oaks, hazel trees and where an ever-lively spring flowed. When Mr. Salvat asked, “What did you take away from what I just read?” Simon, alone, could repeat everything. It was a simple tale, animated by good people, lit by a wood fire, when the winter wind blows outside. There was a house covered with red tiles; the earth was cool as in Limousin. A child was going to look,{113}
M. Salvat was happy; the pages he had just read pleased him better, arranged, transformed a little in the mouth of a little boy from this country. He again praised Simon. Jacques Bontier, the son of the peasant annuitant from Bonnal, and Léonard Rutaud sighed in spite in their satchel.
When class was over, Simon hurried out and reached the Route des Ages. He forgot bullying and he was peaceful in this evening charmed by the birth of spring. He was coming back as usual, calmly, without lingering. He soon reached the river at the Chanaud bridge. The sun cast a red cast there; under aspens he struggled, a teal of fire that bleeds and drowns.
As Simon was about to take the path that climbs, turning towards the Ages, he heard Léonard Rutaud shouting wildly:
-Here it is! Here it is! The son of the hen!{114}
Before he could turn around, a flurry of punches knocked him to the ground. He got up, leaned against a tree and looked at the troop of his comrades who booed him. The most relentless were Léonard Rutaud and Jacques Bontier. When he had caught his breath, he asked:
-What do you want from me? I didn't hurt you.
Then Jacques Bontier, a boy with short, kicking legs, approached very close to him and shouted:
“Your mother is nothing. She sold herself to have dresses!
At this cry, which pierced him, Simon threw down his bag and rushed at Bontier. He began to strike relentlessly with his clenched fists. With a turn of the loins, he got rid of Leonardo who wanted to grab his hands. He clawed and bit; blood ran down his little face, but he did not feel the blows being dealt to him. Panting, in front of the retreating band, he shouted:{115}
"You are bad guys. My mother is good, beautiful, much more beautiful than yours!
Léonard Rutaud rushed forward again to try to slap him, but when he saw Simon braced against a tree, his hands outstretched to push him away, his eyes burning, he was frightened. The troop moved off, vociferating, and from afar rained down a hail of stones on Simon, none of which hurt him, for he was hurrying off into the woods.
He ran for a long time and, despite the steepness of the hill, he felt no fatigue. Suddenly he fell to the ground, and he was shaking convulsively, while sobs shook him. He was no more than a small being lost in an immense solitude. Little by little, confusedly, through the shadows descending from the valley, he discovered the cowardice of this world. He got up with difficulty under this great weight which runs{116}baits his child size too soon. He was bareheaded, having lost his beret, the bag containing his books, his notebooks, and, despite the cold, the sweat flowed with the blood from his scratched face. He sought the path that led to the Ages; he wandered for a long time, then he heard Claire's calls. Then he cried out, seized with such sudden horror that his body bristled.
"My little one, my little one!" called Claire.
She saw him at last, in the shadows, where his poor face was a white spot. He began to sob louder, recounting how he had been attacked. Claire couldn't speak, suffocated with great grief, but she took him in her arms hastily, and if she had spoken, she would have fallen down and couldn't get up. She entered, pressing him against her, into the Hall of Ages, and immediately washed his face, quenched the blood with lavender water, prepared the bed in which she laid him. All the{117}two, they were silent; and she didn't want to cry for fear of hurting him more. Finally she said, harshly suppressing her sobs, a fire of obscure pain:
“Your mom is good, Simon. She has always been good. The world is mean. Sleep easy, cute. I am here, near you.
And, leaning over his bedside, she lowered the wick of the lamp so that the shadows would caress him and put him to sleep.
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