Little Jeanneton's Work; a chronicle of Breton life

Front matter

HAP. I Little Jeanneton's Work; A CHRONICLE OF BRETON LIFE. BY C. A. JONES^ Author of "Only a Girl," " Under the King's Banner," " Four Little Sixes," " Count up the Sunny Days," etc. LONDON : WELLS GARDNER, DARTON & CO., PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS. NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO., Cooper Union. TO MRS. GLADSTONE, IN VERY GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF MANY ACTS OF KINDNESS, THIS Chronicle of Breton Life is (by her permission) DEDICATED. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE i. time's changes .... 3 II. SHEEP AND A SHEPHERDESS . . II III. THE END OF A COUNTRY WALK . . 21 IV. WHAT A SABOT DID . . . .27 V. AT THE CHESTNUT FARM . . -39 VI. AT THE CASTLE . . . . 51 VII. CHLORIS AT THE FARM . . . 6l VIII. CHLORIS BEGINS TO DO MISCHIEF . . 73 IX. A FETE AT THE CASTLE . . 8 1 X. POOR JEAN . . . . . gi XI. A GREAT VICTORY . . . .99 XII.

FLIGHT . . . . .Ill XIII. 'I CANNOT MARRY YOU ' . . . 123 XIV. WATCHING AND WAITING . . . T^5 XV. CASTLES IN THE AIR . . . I45 XVI. A FAITHFUL FRIEND . . . 153 XVII. NEWS ..... l6l XVIII. JOY AND SORROW .... CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIX. jeannette's NEW DOLL . . 1 77 XX. JEANNETON ..... I 85 XXI. HOME AGAIN .... igi XXII. JEAN'S STORY .... 201 XXIII. AN ANSWER TO AN OLD QUESTION . . 2I3 XXIV. A PRISONER AGAIN .... 221 XXV. FROM KERLEONIK TO VERSAILLES . . 22g XXVI. THE RIGHT ROYAL PRESENCE . . 235 XXVII. THE END OF CHLORIS . . . LITTLE JEANNETON'S WORK. ft Chronicle of Breton Life,

Chapter I

CHAPTER I. TIME'S CHANGES.

' ~V\7ELL ! ' said old Madame Levellec, the housekeeper at the Castle of Kerleonik, one of the most famous of Brittany's many famous Castles, ' this has indeed been a fatiguing day.' The remark was made in an undertone, and might have been intended more as a soliloquy, tban for the benefit of the little group of servants who surrounded the worthy old dame. That they fully endorsed her sentiments, as to the day's hardships, was probable, from the fact that they sat about the great kitchen in a listless, purposeless fashion, not having taken the trouble even to light the candles in the iron sockets, which were against the walls, contenting themselves with the light which fell from the bundle of faggots recently thrown upon the hearth, which illuminated the old oak furniture with a strange glow, and threw out in fantastic shadows upon the ceiling, the forms of those who warmed themselves at the bright fire.

These were five in number, reposing, like weary people, upon the wooden benches : Marianne, the cook, and Yvonne, the housemaid, and Margot, the scullery-maid, and Herve, the coachman, and a little boy of fifteen, named Loie, whose duties were not particularly well defined, and who therefore was somewhat the drudge of the other servants. Madame Levellec, in deference to her exalted position, sat, of course, in the arm-chair, which it was one of Loie's duties always to place for her at a proper angle of the chimney corner. But on this day of bustle and excitement, upon which our story begins, Loie had been too much occupied else where to give a thought to the housekeeper's comforts, and the good dame herself was so heated by her numerous walks from one end of the huge castle to the other, that she sank down wearily into her chair near the window, its usual place during the day-time, and, fanning herself vigorously with her pocket-handkerchief, gave utterance to the ejaculation aforesaid, 'this has indeed been a fatiguing day.' ' You may well say that, Madame Levellec,' said the cook ; 'but it is not one day only that has been fatiguing — fifteen would be more like the truth.

Think of the last days of the old Baroness ; of the watching, after her death; of getting the Castle ready to receive the Baron and his friends ; and then of the funeral feast ! And such a feast ! All the nobility of the country to be entertained. Let us hope there is a little rest in store for us now ! ' ' Rest ! ' echoed Madame Levellec, in a most dismal tone, ' Rest, indeed ! Who can think of such a thing ? To-night, perhaps, we may be able to get some repose, but to-morrow everything in the Castle must be turned topsy-turvy. How can it be otherwise in a place where nothing has been altered in any way for more than two hundred years ? Of course it is all the old Baroness' fault. Why did she send her son to Court? Because she thought, forsooth, that a Kerleonik's place must be near the King.

As if the place of a good landlord ought not to be in the midst of his tenants, upon his own lands ! ' The Kerleoniks ought to stay at home, and the King could get on very well without them, considering he had to do so for twenty years — that is, from the time our late Baron died until this one was sent off to Court by his mother. However, she chose to do it, and he liked it, and chose, in his turn, to stay there. As you all know, he was not even here to close his mother's eyes, which was the duty of a gentleman and a Christian.' ' And now,' said Marianne, ' of course we shall have a new-fashioned kind of master, who will be a stranger in his own country ; even during the short time he was here he seemed to think everything was very strange — our dress, our customs, even our language. Ah! we shall soon see new things and new people at Kerleonik.' ' New people ! ' said little Loie. ' Shall we, then, be sent away ? ' ' Perhaps it would be too much to say that,' replied Madame Levellec. 'The young Baron began by asking me very politely (oh, what polite ways they learn at Court !) to keep the keys and retain the management of the household ; in fact, he went so far as to say that it would be impossible to find anyone to understand and to fulfil the duties as I have done.

But, on the other hand, I know that a cook is coming from Versailles, and the young Baroness intends bringing her own maid with her; besides these, I have heard rumours of numerous other servants who are to come to the Castle. We shall know more to-morrow, I dare say, for Mon sieur Lorhan, the steward, is to be here to see about the arrangements— thc I ought to say. We shall hear then, how many rooms will have to be set in order.' ' How many rooms ! ' exclaimed Yvonne, in melan choly tones, as visions of hard work rose before her. 'Will there be so many more people in the Castle then'?' ' In any case there must be more than in the old days, when the poor old Baroness lived quite alone,' answered the housekeeper, peevishly. ' To begin with, there is the Baron, then there is the Baroness, and the little Baron, who was born on St. John the Evangelist's day last year, and then there is the little Baroness, who must be ten or twelve years old, and with her, of course, oomes her governess.

They will all be here in less than a fortnight, and everything must be got ready for them.' ' Why are they in such a hurry to come now, when they never came during the old Baroness' life ? ' asked little Loie. ' They did not come then because the Baroness would not hold a Court ; and they come now because the Baron wishes to know something about his estate ; and, besides this, people do not go to Court when they are in deep mourning, and I dare say Madame thinks that, under these circumstances, she may as well be here as where they are. However, they know their own affairs best. AW we have to do is to see that the Castle is in good order for their reception. But now, to bed ! It is getting late. There will be work for all of us in the morning. The steward will arrive before the Angelus.' Madame Levellec rose majestically, and gave the signal for departure.

Margot took a burning brand from the hearth and lit the candles. Each of the servants followed her example, and they all went quietly and thoughtfully to bed; for somehow a feeling of sadness had come into the heart of everyone of them, which had been sent there by Madame Levellec's news — that sooner or later there would be great changes in the Castle, and that servants, fresh from Versailles and all its luxuries, would take the place of the faithful retainers of the dead Baroness. CHAPTER H. Good love, howe'er ill placed, Is better for a man's soul in the end Than if he loved ill what deserves love well. — E. B. Browning.

Chapter II. Sheep And

A SHEPHERDESS. HHIIERE is a pleasant spot in Brittany, not far from the old Castle of Kerleonik, which is known by the name of Pierres Longues, and is the favourite resort of shepherds and shepherdesses with their flocks ; it does not matter how large the flocks may be, there is no fear but that there will be fodder enough for them on those open undulating slopes, where the bright green grass seems in spring-time and summer to be literally sown with golden furze and sweet wild flowers of all kinds. The long pointed stones which gave their name (Pierres Longues) to this calm retreat, had been there for centuries, dating back from the old Druidical days of which the Breton lore tells such marvellous tales. Some of them still stood upright, pointing towards the sunny sky ; others lay upon the ground, covered with wreaths of sweet-brier and bramble.

On one of these, a day or two after that most fatiguing day at the Castle upon which Madame Levellec had dwelt so pathetically, a young shepherdess, named Jeannette, sat with her spinning-wheel. Her crook was by her side ; not that she ever needed to use it, for the sheep under her care were sensible animals, and never cared to wander far from the pleasant meads of Pierres Longues. Had they been minded to do so, the dog Cyrus, who had nothing in the world to do but to watch them, would have soon put a stop to any such attempt on their part. And as it may be wondered why, in this simple Breton country, a dog should be found bearing the name of thc great Persian king, it may be as well at once to offer an explanation. The grandfather of the present Baron of Kerleonik had owned a splendid bloodhound whom he called Cyrus, and since then, for fifty years, half the farmers' dogs had rejoiced in the honour of being named after the old favourite at the Castle.

Jeannette was the youngest daughter of a farmer who lived at the Chestnut Farm, one of the dependencies of Kerleonik. She was a bright-looking girl of about fifteen, dark and thin, and, it must be confessed, some what untidy in appearance. Her long hair hung loosely down her back, it was only on fete days that it was drawn neatly up under her white cap with the large wings, when she also donned her bright blue and red skirt, and the black cloth jacket turned back and adorned with velvet. When she was with her sheep, and Cyrus for her only companion, Jeannette was attired in a coarse petticoat and a rough cape, whilst her bare feet were shod only by some large sabots lined with straw ; and, thus equipped, the girl bore cold and heat, rain and sunshine, with as much philosophy as the renowned Cyrus himself, and there she would sit as gay as a lark, singing the old songs of her country, and laughing at the echoes of her voice amid the distant rocks.

She was a laughter-loving maiden ; but on this spring morning she neither laughed nor sang, her distaff had fallen to the ground and lay at her feet, her chin rested on her hand, her elbow on the stone on which she sat, and there passed over her face from time to time an expression that had in it something of mingled sadness and ennui. She was soon, however, roused from her dreams, whatever they may have been. ' Halloo, Jeannette ! ' cried a voice, which caused her to start from her seat ; ' what on earth are you doing ; did you not hear me before ? I have been looking for you and calling to you for the last quarter of an hour ! ' The voice came from a little heap of piled-up stones, at a distance of about ten feet from where the girl sat. A boy of some seventeen or eighteen years old was standing there, wearing the large hat and the loose vest covered with metal buttons, the usual costume of the Breton peasants ; and his long fair hair, blown about by the wind, shone in the bright spring sunshine. ' I did not hear you, Jean,' answered the girl ; ' you must have been shouting against the wind.

Come here ; it is very pleasant at the foot of these great stones.' 'Wait a minute whilst I fetch my cattle.' And Jean proceeded to address his' charges : ' Ho ! ho ! my beauties ! This way, then — now for Red, now for Spotty, now for Black ; there you all are ; there is plenty to eat, and you will be quiet for awhile.' Jean was soon seated by the girl's side, whilst his cows browsed close at hand without any opposition on the part of Cyrus, who, although he was averse to strangers, evidently looked upon Red, and Spotty, and Black as old friends. Jeannette took up her distaff and began to spin indus triously, as though to make up for lost time, and Jean proceeded to take out his knife and carved spoons and plates out of some wood which he had brought with him. ' I am very glad to see you, Jean, ' said the girl, who had recovered her usual gaiety. 'You must have a great deal to tell me of all the grand things you have seen in your travels.

Of course you went to the Chapel of Madame Sainte Anne, that they tell us about at the fetes ? Ives Nicolank found her likeness in a bush, with a light burning above it. I will sing the story to you, and you will be able to tell me if you saw any thing like it. Of course you did go to Sainte Anne's — it is quite near your grandfather's village ? ' ' Yes, I went there, and I have the medal with Madame Sainte Anne's likeness, which is sold at the door of the chapel. But I really have not much to tell you. Whilst Grandfather was ill, Father and I always stayed with him, and as soon as he was well we came home. And what have you been doing here ? Is the white cow sold ? And have the grey hen's eggs been hatched yet ? ' ' Oh, yes ; everything is all right at the farm ; but, Jean, if you had but arrived yesterday morning instead of yesterday evening ' ' Well, what then ?

I should have seen you a day sooner, that is all ; and that would, of course, have been a pleasure to me, but I do not see any other reason.' ' What ! You do not know then, you have not heard, that the Baron has arrived ?' ' Yes ; I heard it last night. But it makes no difference to me that I can see.' ' No difference to you ! ' answered Jeannette, impati ently. Of course it does not, since you were not there ; but if you had been you would have seen how grand it was.' ' What was grand, Jeannette ? You do not even tell me what you are talking about.' ' The carriages, and the Baron, and the Baroness, and everybody. There were no rejoicings on their return, because of the old Baroness' death ; but I had to take some cream to the Castle, and, when I heard that they were coming, I hid behind a hedge to see them pass.

If you only knew how beautiful the carriages were ! The old Baroness' were nothing to them. And then the servants ! Footmen with powdered hair and three cornered hats ; and then came some beautiful young ladies, dressed in blue, and yellow, and green, with lovely little white aprons trimmed with lace, and caps all lace and ribbons ; aud their skin was so white, and their hands so pretty ! They might have been queens, or, at least, cousins of the Baron's ; but they were nothing of the kind : the beautiful young ladies were only Madame's soubrettes. After them came a still grander carriage, and in that sat the Baron and Baroness, and some other ladies whom I could not see.' 'What kind of animals are soubrettes?' asked Jean, sulkily. Evidently the splendours with which Jeannette was entertaiuing him did not meet with his approbation. ' The servants who wait upon the ladies who go to the Court are called soubrettes,' answered Jeannette, with an air of mingled superiority and pique. ' You certainly do not know much, Jean ! ' 'And you know a great deal too much, Jeannette.

These people had much better have stayed where they were. During the fifteen years he has been with the King, the Baron has forgotten all the old Brittany customs. As he has adopted those of the Court, let him keep them to himself ; he should not bring them here. Good-bye ! The sun is high in the heavens, and I have a long way to walk before I can get my dinner.' 'Au revoir, Jean!' said Jeannette; but she spoke so low that he did not hear the words, and the lad turned on his heel, and called to his cows, and soon was far away ; whilst the girl, with a sullen look upon her young face, resumed her spinning. For some reason or other she did not sing at all through that long spring day. C

Chapter III

It befell in that pleasant summer time. — Kingsley.

CHAPTER III. THE END OF

A COUNTRY WALK. TWTADEMOISELLE Carmelinde dela Roche Haubert was the last descendant of a race of Paladins who in the Crusades and in the wars of France had fought bravely for their King and their country. But, somehow or other, they lost all their money, and Mademoiselle Carmelinde, alone in the world and penni less, would have had to seek a convent cell as her asylum, had not the young Baroness of Kerleonik asked her to take charge of the education of her little daughter. The offer was gratefully accepted ; Mademoiselle had no vocation for the religious life, and she was very fond of children. She was a good, honest, true-hearted woman, with a tinge of romance in her composition ; which, per haps, when it is coupled with discretion, is not a bad attribute in those who have to deal with children.

She was perfectly charmed when she heard that the time of mourning for the old Baroness was to be spent at Kerleonik. No more Court etiquette, no more assemblies, no stupid walks along terraces or THE END OF A COUNTRY WALK. through noisy streets ; and in place of all this, fields, shepherds, shepherdesses, and sheep ; and then the supreme felicity of reading some idyll, sitting under the shade of a spreading oak ! She was great at heraldry and genealogy, and had instructed her pupil in both these sciences, but she left all the books upon the subjects in Paris, and filled a box with all the pastorals she could sind, written in every language she could in the faintest degree understand. Little Adelaide de Kerleonik was as delighted as her governess at the thought of a country life. She was a well-trained little damsel, fully alive to all the dignities of her position as the daughter of a great nobleman, but she was very tired of those stiff conventional walks ; and as to those assemblies of her mother's, to which she was brought down for an hour or so, that she might learn good manners, she did nothing but yawn behind her little fan all the time she sat in a corner, trying to notice how the grand-looking ladies bowed and curtseyed.

How delightful it would be to be in the country, to see the peasants, and the farms, and the cottages, and to drink a glass of new milk from a red cow, to be handed her by a shepherdess in a flowered petticoat and a hat streaming with ribbons, leading her favourite lamb by a silken string ! Then, perhaps, in the distance would be heard the piping of some shepherd, and she and Mademoiselle would come upon him suddenly, and he would modestly THE END OF A COUNTRY WALK. 23 offer them a nest of little doves, which would be lying in his straw hat, and which he had j-ust taken from the top of an oak, without in the least soiling his light green satin garments. Adelaide, the town-bred child, gleaned her ideas of country life, shep- A herds and shepherdesses, from Mademoiselle's favourite idylls, and from pictures, and, above all, from her last new doll — her beautiful Chloris — who was dressed as a shepherdess.

How charming it would be to verify the details of the waxen lady's costume by seeing the dresses of the real shepherdesses! It was the morning after the arrival of thc family at Kerleonik that the governess and her pupil started for their first walk in the neighbourhood of the Castle. Oh, how the child enjoyed it ! She ran hither and thither, carolling blithely, and, for the first time in her little life of twelve years, picked the sweet violets and primroses, which grew in wild profusion in every direction in which the delighted pair walked. Sometimes a rabbit crossed their path ; sometimes a squirrel, perched upon a tree, sprang suddenly to the ground, and rushed past them like a flash of lightning, his eyes so mischievously bright, his tail so long and bushy. Mademoiselle smiled contentedly as she saw all this, and quoted verses from her pastorals ; and Adelaide THE END OF A COUNTRY WALK. 24 laughed aloud in childish glee : it was all so new and so charming.

True, she had not yet come across any snow-white sheep, nor seen a shepherdess in the least like Chloris ; but there were so many other things to look at, that she had not even time to think about their absence. Our friend Jeannette, sitting in her usual place on the stone, saw the little lady and her governess slowly wend ing their way to where she sat ; she gazed upon them as though they were apparitions, which the faintest breath of air would cause to disappear. She watched Adelaide, who sprang about as lightly as any fairy between the tufts of furze and the black berry bushes ; and her admiration rose to its height as she saw her balance herself upon tip-toe, so that she might ireach a golden spray of broom, which hung tempt ingly above her head. Then Adelaide advanced a little nearer to the shepherdess, and Jeannette saw her stoop to pick a gilliflower which was growing between two stones.

But she did not touch it. All of a sudden she became as pale as death, and a cry of terror rang through the sweet spring air. The next minute the poor child fell to thc ground, motionless and unconscious.

Chapter IV

Presence of mind, and courage in distress, Are more than armies to procure success. — Dryden.

CHAPTER IV. WHAT

A SABOT DID. TE ANNETTE flew to the rescue in an instant; but she did not attempt to raise the child, seeing there was something more important to be done first. A venomous snake, which lay basking in the sunshine at the foot of the gilliflower, had been disturbed from his mid-day slumber by Adelaide's intrusion, and was preparing to make a dart upon the enemy. Jeannette was courageous, and the sight of a snake did not frighten her ; she struck the creature a fierce blow with her distaff, which made it fall back, and, with out giving it time to prepare for another attack, she took off her sabot and struck it on the head. She repeated the blows several times, for she knew that snakes take a deal of killing ; and whilst she was thus engaged, Mademoiselle arrived upon the scene, pale and agitated, for she had heard her pupil's cry and had made all possible haste to get to her, but her long dress kept catching in the brambles and con siderably retarded her progress.

She saw the dead snake, and Jeannette standing with uplifted hand above it ; she WHAT A SABOT DID. saw Adelaide lying senseless on the ground, and all she could do was to throw herself on her knees beside the child, and cry : ' Oh, my darling ! my darling ! has the snake killed you?' ' Oh, no ! ' answered Jeannette, cheerfully ; ' it had no time to bite her.' Somewhat reassured, Mademoiselle proceeded to take her pupil in her arms, and to bathe her face with some scent, which she always carried about with her, and in a very short time Adelaide opened her eyes, and, remem bering the cause of her alarm, looked round anxiously to see if the snake was still there. Jeannette understood the meaning of that look, and she took up the reptile by the end of its tail and pre sented it to the child. Adelaide drew back timidly. ' Do not be afraid, Mademoiselle,' said Jeannette ; ' it is dead ! ' ' Oh, the horrible beast !

I saw his head and his wicked eyes, and his open mouth, and I thought I was dead. Did you kill him ? ' 'Yes, with my sabot, Mademoiselle,' answered the shepherdess, making a very low curtsey, and still holding the snake in her hand. ' They are dangerous creatures, are these snakes ; if they bite you, you may die. You must not walk in the sun in these dry places without looking to see where you are going, for if you tread upon one of them it puts him into a passion, and then ' Jeannette did not finish the sentence, probably think- P. 28. ing she had made it clear enough, and beginning, now that the excitement was over, to stand a little in awe of the Baron's daughter and the grand lady who owned such a lovely smelling-bottle. ' Then you saved my life?' said Adelaide, after a pause. 'Certainly,' answeied Mademoiselle; 'and the Baron and Baroness will not fail to reward her for her courage.

What is your name, my little one ? ' ' Jeannette, at your service,' (with a still deeper curtsey). I am the daughter of Pierre Gouarhe, the farmer at Chestnut Farm, which belongs to the Baron.' 'Oh, I am very glad!' said Adelaide. ' What were you doing when you saw me ? Are you not afraid of snakes ? ' ' Oh, no : I have my sabot, and of course I have to come here very often with my sheep.' 'You have sheep?' cried Adelaide, excitedly. 'She has sheep, Mademoiselle — have you seen them ? ' ' No, my child, I have been too much occupied with you. Are you well enough to walk? We must be thinking of returning to the Castle. We shall see the sheep another time.' ' The sheep are quite at your service, my ladies, and the shepherdess also,' answered Jeannette, with a third and still lower curtsey. She could not understand why these grand people should be so anxious to see the sheep, but she hoped they would comeback again before very long.

Meanwhile Adelaide was looking for the shepherdess, who, naturally, would be with her sheep. ' Where is the shepherdess ? ' she asked. ' I am the shepherdess, Mademoiselle, and I can show you the sheep in one instant. Hi ! Cyrus ! bring the animals, my good dog.' Cyrus, who was reposing calmly beneath the shade ofthe trees, jumped up at once, and displayed his shaggy person to the little lady. She was rather afraid at first, thinking that some wild beast stood before her, but when she saw Jeannette pat the rough head she was reassured. Cyrus sprang forward at full gallop, and the next minute a tumultuous flock of sheep, came running, jumping, and tumbling against each other, towards the shepherdess. ' There they are ! ' said Jeannette, proudly ; ' and the Baron has not finer sheep than ours, on any one of his farms.

You see they are well taken care of.' Adelaide gazed, Mademoiselle Carmelinde gazed — and neither of them believed their eyes. Was it possible that sheep were not white? That they were not adorned with coloured ribbons and gar lands of roses ? Could these be sheep ? Could that be a shepherdess ? Mademoiselle Carmelinde was struck dumb with astonishment. Adelaide was the first to speak. ' I thought sheep were white,' she said to Jeannette. ' Some are white and some are black ; these are the white ones ; their skins are beautiful. They will be shorn next month, when there is no further clanger of frost.' ' Ah ! ' said Adelaide, who failed to see any beauty in the flock before her. ' And where is your lamb ? ' ' There are a great many lambs there with their mothers. There is one ! Look at it, my little lady.' Adelaide's face brightened.