Читать книгу A Fire of Driftwood: A Collection of Short Stories (D. K. Broster) (Literary Thoughts Edition) - D. K. Broster - Страница 4

OUR LADY OF SUCCOUR

Yes, the gold was only gilt,

And you never knew it;

Cracked the cup, the wine half spilt,

Lees a-tremble through it.

But you thought the ore was true,

And the draught unshaken:

Doubtless, dreams are best for you,

Dreamer . . . till you waken!

Les Illusions Retenues.

In Madame de Seignelay’s Souvenirs de ma Jeunesse she speaks more than once of a gentleman whom she used to see at her uncle’s house in Angers, when she stayed there as a child about the year 1816. This person, a M. de Beaumanoir, made a great impression on the youthful mind of Madame de Seignelay, ardent Royalist as she always was, for he had fought with La Rochejaquelein and Bonchamps in that great Vendée, “dont on n’est jamais arrivé à me conter trop d’histoires,” as she confesses.

“He was tall,” she says, “but not too tall, had the grand air to perfection, laughed rarely, possessed a charming smile, and limped a little in a way that I found ravishing, for did I not know it to be the result of a wound gained in those combats of heroes and martyrs? M. de Beaumanoir, when I knew him, must have been about eight-and-forty. And I was ten – a child voracious of information, especially on the subject of the Vendée; but I never could arrive at any definite stories of my hero’s heroic deeds. Himself I never dared to question, for, though I adored, I feared him, with a delicious tremor which, alas! I have not felt for many a long year.

“One day, however, I remember summoning my courage and going up to him where he stood alone by the portentous curtains which used to deck my uncle’s salon windows.

“ ‘Monsieur le Vicomte,’ I said breathlessly and suddenly, ‘is it really true that you actually knew le saint Lescure?’

“M. de Beaumanoir started, and looked down at me (no child of mine has ever worn such hideous frocks as I wore in those days). ‘C’est toi donc, petite Vendéenne,’ he said, smiling. ‘Yes, it is quite true. Do you want to hear about him? He was a good man!’

“ ‘A saint!’ I murmured piously.

“M. de Beaumanoir smiled again, and said – I think to himself – ‘There were saints among the Republicans, too.’

“But at the time that last astounding utterance of my hero’s so wrought upon me that all recollection of what he subsequently told me of M. de Lescure was effaced. The idea of righteousness in the ranks of the foe intrigued me to such a point that I sought counsel of my uncle. When I referred the matter to him he first looked puzzled and then began to smile.

“ ‘Et de qui donc t’a-t-il parlé, Charlotte?’ he asked. ‘D’un saint ou d’une sainte? Of the latter, I’ll wager.’

“ ‘I do not understand,’ I replied, somewhat offended. Nor did I understand for years, and though I worshipped M. le Vicomte none the less fervently for his startling lapse from orthodoxy, I believe that I never had another private conversation with him. It was not until after my marriage that I heard the story to which he must have been referring that evening. . . .”