LITTLE FADETTE

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GEORGE SAND

EITTLE FADETTE

II HE twins continued to grow, at their ease

BZ and without more troubles than other children. What is more, so gentle and well-disposed were they by temperament, that they did not seem to suffer from teething or from their growth so much as the rest of these little people.

_ They were fair, and remained fair throughout their lives. They had a robust air, with large blue eyes, well-shaped shoulders, and erect, strongly-set bodies. ‘They were taller and more forward than any of their age, and all the folk from round about passing through the village of La Cosse, would stop to look at them, wondering at their resemblance, and would move on, saying “A fine pair of lads, all the same.”

Thus from an early age the twins were used to being examined and questioned, and did not turn shamefaced and awkward as they grew up. They were quite at their ease with everybody, and instead of hiding behind the bushes, as the children hereabouts do when they spy a stranger, they would look the first-comer straight in the face, though always modestly, and answer all that they were asked, neither shamefacedly ‘nor reluctantly. At a first glance there was no

- a all LITTLE FADETTE 19 difference to be seen between them ; they seemed as like as two peas. But when you had observed them for a few minutes, you would see that Landry was a shade taller and stronger, that he had slightly thicker hair, a bolder nose and a livelier eye. Also, his forehead was broader and his mien more decisive. Moreover, a mark which his brother had on the right cheek, he had on the left, and much more pronounced. So the neighbours were able to distinguish them quite well ; but all the same, it needed a moment or two, and in the dusk or at a little way off, nearly everybody made mistakes, the more so as the twins had exactly the same voice, and, knowing very well that they could be mistaken for each other, they used to answer in each other’s name without troubling to warn you of your mistake. Even their father himself sometimes fell into the trap. It was only their mother, as the old midwife had foretold, who never made mistakes, whether in complete darkness, or as far off as she could see them coming or hear them talking.

In fact, they were identical, and though Landry might have a hint more of gaiety and courage than his elder brother, yet Sylvinet had such friendliness and fineness of temper that you could not have liked him less than his younger. During three months an attempt was made to prevent them from becoming too much accustomed to each other. ‘Three months is a long time, in the country, to observe something contrary to custom. But on the one hand, no great result could be seen to come of it ; and on the other, the village priest had said that Mother Sagette was full of old wives’ tales, and that what a wise God had placed in the laws of Nature could not be displaced by mere men. The result was that all the promises were gradually forgotten. ‘The first time that their baby clothes were taken off for them to be taken to Mass in breeches, they were clothed in the same stuff, for it was a skirt of their mother’s that served — for both garments; and the cut was the same, for it was the only one the village tailor knew.

_In due course it was noticed that their taste in colour was the same. When their Aunt Rosette wanted to make them each a New Year’s gift of a necktie, they both chose the same lilac necktie from the pedlar who hawked his haberdashery from door to door on the back of his Percheron horse. Their aunt asked them if that were because of their fancy for being dressed exactly alike. But the twins did not seek so far for an explanation. Sylvinet answered that it was the prettiest colour and the prettiest pattern for a necktie in all the pedlar’s pack, and Landry added his assurance that all the other neckties were hideous.

“And the colour of my horse?” said the pedlar, with a smile. ‘‘ What do you think of that???

“ Very ugly,” said Landry. “It is like an old magpie.”

“Terribly ugly,” said Sylvinet. ‘“ A draggletailed magpie at that.”

“You see that,” said the pedlar to their aunt, with a judicial air. “These children have the same sight. If one of them sees red as yellow, immediately the other will see yellow as red ; and they must not be thwarted in such a thing, because, you know, if you try to prevent twins from regarding themselves as two prints of one and the same design, they just become idiots and don’t know what they are talking about.”

This the pedlar said because his lilac neckties were a bad dye, and he was anxious to sell two of them at once.

Time passed, and things all went on in the same way. So much alike were the twins dressed, that there was still more often reason for confounding them. And, whether from childish mischief, or from the workings of that law of nature which the Curé had thought it impossible to unmake, it always happened that when one of them had cracked the toe of his sabot, the other very quickly split his, and on the same foot. When one tore his vest or cap, the other reproduced the rent so well that you would have thought the same accident had caused it. And then—laughter and slyly innocent looks from the twins, when they were asked for an account of what had happened !

For better or worse, their fondness kept increasing with their years, and when they could reason a little, these two realised that they could not find amusement with other children unless they were both together. Their father had tried to keep one of them with him throughout one day, while the other stayed with his mother; but so downcast and pale were they both, and so little heart did they show for work, that they were thought to be ill. And when they came together again in the evening, they both made off along the road hand in hand, and were loath to come home, so happy were they to be together; besides, they felt some grudge against their parents for having inflicted this pain on them.

Hardly ever again was another attempt begun : for it must be said that their father and mother, and no less their uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters, had a fondness for the twins that inclined almost to weakness. They were proud of it, by reason of the compliments paid them on the boys’ account, and also because they really were a couple of children who were neither plain, nor stupid, nor naughty. From time to time Barbeau used to feel some concern over what would come of this continual dependence when they reached manhood, and remembering old Mother Sagette’s words, he would try teasing them to stir up some jealousy between them. If they had committed some small fault, he would, for instance, tweak Sylvinet’s ear and say to Landry, “I excuse you this time, Landry, because generally you’re the more sensible.” But Sylvinet was merely consoled for his stinging ear by thus seeing Landry spared, and it was Landry who wept as if he himself had received the punishment. Then again, they tried giving to one only something that both of them desired. But if it were something good to eat, they forthwith shared it—and if it were some toy or trinket for their use, they would just use it in common, or pass it to and fro between themselves without distinction of mine and _ thine. If one of them were complimented on his behaviour in such a way as to seem unjust to the other, the other was only proud and happy at seeing his twin fondled and encouraged, and began to flatter and fondle him likewise. Enact; it was waste of time to seek to part them, body or soul. Nobody likes to thwart, even for their own good, children who are held dear, and so things were soon allowed to drift as God willed ; or else, the teasing was turned into a game. But the game never deceived the twins themselves. They were very sly, and sometimes, for the sake of being left in peace, they would pretend to quarrel and fight. But they were only play-acting, and were careful, roll upon each other as they might, not to do each other the slightest harm. And if some bystander showed surprise at seeing them thus at loggerheads, they would hide and laugh at him, and you could hear them chattering and chirruping like a couple of blackbirds on a bough.

In spite of this great resemblance and this strong inclination, it turned out to be the will of

God, who has fashioned no two things on earth or in heaven absolutely alike, that their lots should be different. And it was then that they were seen to be two creatures distinct in the divine idea of things, and different in their own temperament.

This was seen only when a trial was made, and this trial came about after they had made their first Communion together. Barbeau’s family was increasing, thanks to his two eldest daughters, who were not slow in bringing fine babes into the world. His eldest son, Martin, a decent, strapping lad, had found work elsewhere. His sons-in-law were not idle, but work was not always plentiful. We had had a succession of bad years in our part of the country, due as much to damage from storms as to the straits of trade, and those years forced more good gold out of the country-folks’ pockets than they put into them again. Whence it came that Barbeau had not the means to keep all his tribe with him, and had perforce to think of putting his twins into service under another roof. Old Caillaud of La Priche offered to take one off his hands to goad his oxen, for he had a wide tract to farm and his own boys were all either too old or too young for the job. Mother Barbeau was sadly startled and put out when her husband first spoke of it. One might have thought that she had never foreseen that this was bound to happen one day to her twin boys, and yet she had been worried by that thought all their life long ; but being always submissive to her husband, she could not say a word. Their father was concerned also on their account, and laid his trail from afar. Just at first the twins wept and wept, and spent three whole days out in the woods and fields, never being seen except at meal-times. They said not a word to their parents, and when asked if they had decided to submit, answered nothing. But between themselves they argued it out at length.

The first day they could neither of them do anything but bewail their lot, keeping arm-inarm as if afraid of being parted by sheer force. But their father would not have done that. He had a peasant’s wisdom, which is made up half of patience, half of trust in the power of time. Next day too, when the twins realised that they were not being bullied, and that it was taken for granted that they would see reason, they were more awed by the paternal will than they would ever have been by threats or penalties.

“ All the same,” said Landry, “we must lay our own plans, and see which of us is to be the one to go. For the choice has been left to us, and old Caillaud has said that he cannot take both of us.”

“What can it matter to me whether I go or whether I stay, if we really have to be parted?” said Sylvinet. “I’m not just thinking of having to go and live somewhere else. If I were going with you, I should grow used to being away from home.”

“That’s what they say,” Landry went on. “And yet the one who stays with our parents will certainly be better off ; he won’t suffer so much as the one who will never again see his twin, or his father, or his mother, his garden, his animals, everything he usually enjoys.”

Landry spoke firmly enough. But Sylvinet only wept afresh ; for he had less grit than his brother, and the idea of losing all and leaving everything behind him at one time pained him so deeply that now he could set no check on his tears.

Landry wept too, but neither so much nor in the same way. For his thought was always to shoulder the greater part of the burthen himself, and he wanted to see how much his brother could bear so that he might spare him the rest. He knew well that Sylvinet was more afraid than . he was of going to live in a strange place and — making one of a family other than his own.

“Listen, Sylvinet,” said hes “16 4we “eah decide on being separated, it is better that I should be the one to go. You know quite well that I’m a bit stronger than you. When we are ill— and that nearly always happens to us both at the same time—the fever is always harder on you than on me. They say we shall perhaps die if we're parted. Well, I don’t believe I shall die ; but I shouldn’t answer for you, and that’s why I'd like to think of you being with our mother,

Pi.

She will comfort you and look after you. And indeed, if there’s any difference made between us at all, and there’s very little, I think it is you who are the favourite. You are the nicest and

the fondest, I know that. So you stay, and [ll go. We shan’t be very far from each other. Caillaud’s land touches ours, and we'll see each other every day. I like hard work, myself. It will distract me. And I run better than you do, so I can come faster and see you as soon as my day’s work is done. You won't have very much to do, so you can walk round and see me at my work. I shall be much easier in my mind about you than if you were away from home and me still there. So, for that reason, I ask you to stay.”

Ill

YLVINET would not hear of it. Although

he was more tenderly devoted to his parents, and to his little sister Nanette than Landry was, he dreaded leaving the troublesome part to his beloved twin.

At last, when they had thrashed out the whole question from start to finish, they took straws and drew lots. It fell to Landry. But Sylvinet was not satisfied with the trial and wanted to tempt fortune once again, this time by tossing a penny for heads or tails. Three times it came down tails for Sylvinet, and still it was Landry who had to go.

“So you see that’s how fate wills it,” said Landry, “and you know that one should never fly in the face of fate.”

Three days later Sylvinet was still weeping bitterly, but Landry’s eyes were almost dry. At first the thought of having to go away from home had perhaps been harder for Landry to bear than for his brother, because he had been surer of his own courage, and had been quite alive to the hopelessness of trying to oppose his parents’ will. But so often did Landry go over his misfortunes in his mind, that its edge soon became dulled and he was able to consider things more sensibly. Sylvinet, on the other hand, by dint of bewailing his lot, had never had the courage to reason with himself. So much so, that when Landry was already quite resolved to leave, Sylvinet was not yet prepared to see him go.

Landry, again, had rather more self-respect than his brother. The twins had always heard so much of how they would grow up to be only half a man if they could not grow used to parting from one another that Landry, who was beginning to be proudly conscious of his fourteen years, was eager to prove that he was no longer a child. He had always been the first to persuade and to lead his brother ever since the time when they had first gone off hunting for birds’ nests, in the forks of trees, right to the present day. And so on this occasion too he succeeded in calming him. When they came home in the evening, Landry told his father that they were ready to bow to their duty, that they had drawn lots, and that it was he, Landry, who should go to mind the big oxen at La Priche.

Then Barbeau drew his twin sons on to his knees, although they were by now strong, wellgrown lads, and spoke to them in this manner :

“My boys, your obedience shows me that you have come now to years of discretion, and I am well pleased. Remember that when a child is pleasing to his father and mother, he is pleasing to God in Heaven as well. And sooner or later God will reward him. I know not which of you it was who yielded first, but God knows, and He will bless him for having spoken well, as He will bless the other for having hearkened to His word.”

With that he led the twins to their mother, that she might say a kind word to them; but — Mother Barbeau found it so hard to restrain her tears that she could not utter a word, and had to be content with kissing them fondly.

Barbeau, who was far from being dull-witted, knew well enough which of the two was the more courageous, and which the more clinging. He was anxious not to let Sylvinet’s good resolutions grow cold, for he could see that Landry, for his own part, was quite resolved, and that one thing only, his brother’s grief, could make him waver. So he went to rouse Landry before dawn, taking great care not to disturb the other brother, who lay asleep by his side.

~ Come along, youngster,” he whispered. “ We must be setting off for La Priche before your mother has time to see you: we must spare her the pain of farewells, for you know how unhappy she is. I am going to take you to your new master and carry your bundle for you.”

“ Mayn’t I say good-bye to Sylvinet ?” asked Landry. “He'll bear me a grudge if I slip away without telling him.”

“If your brother wakes and sees you going off, your own distress will make him weep all the more. Come, Landry, you’ve a kind heart, and you wouldn’t like to make your mother ill,

LITTLE FADETTE Zr

Do your duty right to the end, my son. Leave as though nothing were happening. ‘This very evening, no later, I shall bring your brother to see you, and as to-morrow is Sunday, you'll be able to come over and see your mother some time during the day.”

Landry obeyed bravely, and crossed the threshold without turning to look back. But Mother Barbeau was not so sound asleep nor so carefree that she could not hear every word that her husband had been saying to Landry. The poor woman realised the good sense of her husband’s remarks, and did not stir, except to lift the curtain of her bed just enough to see Landry as he went out. Her heart was so full that she threw herself to the foot of the bed, making as if to go and embrace him; but she stopped short when she reached the twins’ bed. ‘There Sylvinet was still lying in a deep sleep. The poor lad had cried so much for three days, and for the best part of three nights, that he was quite worn out and was even showing signs of feverishness, for he tossed and turned on his pillow with sighs and groans, yet could not rouse himself.

Mother Barbeau contemplated the only twin left to her and could not but admit to herself that she would part from him with an even heavier heart. ‘True, Sylvinet was the more tender of the pair, either by reason of a weaker temperament, or because God has decreed by the laws of nature that when two beings love one another, whether it be the love of friendship or the love of man and woman, the love of one is always deeper than that of the other. Barbeau was if anything a trifle fonder of Landry because he laid more store by courage and hard work than by caresses and endearments. But Sylvinet, with his grace and his winning ways, had more of his mother’s affection.

So there she stood gazing at the unfortunate boy, so pale and woe-begone, and told herself that it would be a thousand pities to send him away to work as yet, that her Landry had more mettle to withstand such trials, and that his love for his mother and his twin did not trouble him enough to endanger his health. He was a lad with a high ideal of duty, she thought ; but all the same, his heart must be a little hard, or he could not have left without hesitating, and without so much as one backward glance or one little tear. ‘‘ He could not have taken a single step on his way, she reflected, “without falling on his knees, and imploring God to give him strength. And he would have come to my bed where I lay pretending to be asleep, were it only to take one look at me, and kiss the hem of my curtain. My Landry, to be sure, is a real boy. He only asks to be alive, to be active, to work, and to roam. But my other boy’s heart is like a girl’s, so gentle and tender that one can’t help loving him like the apple of one’s eye.”

Whilst Mother Barbeau was pondering thus on her way back to bed, where she could sleep no longer, Barbeau was leading Landry across the fields and meadows towards La Priche. When they stood at the top of the little rise which blotted out the buildings of La Cosse as soon as one dropped down its further side, Landry stopped. He looked back. His heart was so heavy that he could go no further, and he sat down amongst the bracken. His father walked on ahead, pretending not to notice, but after a few minutes he called to him very kindly and said :

“Look, day is breaking already, Landry, my boy. We must make haste if we’re to arrive before the sun is up.”

Landry stood up. And as he had vowed he would not let his father see him cry, he forced back the big tears that were welling into his eyes. He made as if his knife had dropped out of his pocket, and reached La Priche without showing his distress, but none the less it was very great.

IV LD Caillaud saw that it was the stronger

and more diligent of the twins who had. been brought to him, and was very pleased to welcome the lad. He knew quite well that the decision could not have been made without pain, and being a decent man and a good neighbour, a close friend of Barbeau’s, he did his best to encourage and hearten the boy.

He sent at once for some soup and a mouthful of wine to put heart into. him, for it was easy to see that his grief was sore. Then he took him along to yoke the oxen, and showed him how he liked that done. Landry, as it happened, was no novice in this work, for his own father had a fine pair of oxen which he had often harnessed and handled wonderfully well. As soon as the boy saw Caillaud’s stout oxen, the best-kept, best-fed, best-bred in all the countryside, he felt his pride aglow at having such noble cattle at the end of his goad. And he was delighted to show that he was neither awkward nor timid, and had nothing new to learn. His father made a point of showing off his points, and when the time came for going out to the fields, all the Caillaud children, boys and girls, big and small, came to kiss the twin. The youngest of them tied a sprig of flowers with ribbons to his hat, because this was his first day at work, and a day to be celebrated by the family who were taking him in. Before leaving him, his father admonished him in the presence of the farmer, bidding him satisfy his new master in everything, and to tend his cattle as carefully as if they were his very own.

On that score Landry promised to do his best, and went off to the ploughing. There, he put a good face on things, and worked well too throughout the day, and came back to the house with a good appetite ; for it was his first day of toil as hard as this, and a little fatigue is a sovereign remedy against heartbreak.

But the day had been harder to pass for poor Sylvinet, over at the Bessoniétre : for you must know that Barbeau’s house and property at La Cosse had come to be so called since the birth of the two children, and also because a short time afterwards a servant of the house had given birth to a pair of twin girls, who had not lived. The peasantry are always giving playful nicknames, and so house and land had received this name of ‘“‘ La Bessoniére ” ; and wherever Landry and Sylvinet were seen, the children would always gather round and shout, “Here are the Jdessons of the Bessoniére !|”

Well, there was great sadness that day at Barbeau’s Bessoniére. When Sylvinet woke up and saw no sign of his brother by his side, he c+2 knew what had happened; but he could not believe that Landry could have gone off like that without saying good-bye. He felt angry with him, even in his sorrow.

““ What have I done?” he said to his mother. “How can I have vexed him? I have always yielded in everything he advised me to do. He told me not to cry in front of you, mother darling, and so I kept back my tears until my head seemed to be bursting. He promised that he wouldn’t go away without saying something again to hearten me; and he was going to eat his dinner with me at the end of the Cheneviére, at the place where we always used to go and talk and play, the pair of us. I wanted to pack his bundle for him, and to give him my knife, for it’s better than his. So you must have made up his bundle last night without telling me, mother ? And you knew that he wanted to go off without saying good-bye to me?”

“T did your father’s will,’ answered Mother Barbeau.

And she said all she could think of to comfort him. But he would listen to nothing ; and not until he saw that she was in tears also, did he turn and kiss her, asking pardon for having added to her own sorrow, and promising to stay with her to make amends. But no sooner had she left him to attend to the poultry and the washing than he set off running in the direction of La Priche, not thinking whither he was going, but just carried along by his instinct, like a pigeon speeding after his mate without thought of the road to be followed.

He would have reached La Priche, had he not met his father, who was on his way back. He took the boy’s hand to lead him home, saying :

“We shall go this evening. But you mustn’t go and distract your brother while he’s working : his master would not be pleased. Besides, our own goodwife is in trouble, and it is you I am counting on to comfort her.”

V

HEN Sylvinet came back he clung to his mother’s skirts like a little child. All day he stayed with her, talking always of Landry, unable to stop thinking of him, and visiting every spot and corner that they used to visit together. In the evening he went to La Priche with his father, who wanted to accompany him. Sylvinet was wild with the desire to go and embrace his twin, and had not been able to eat any supper, such was his haste to be off. He was sure that Landry would come part of the way to meet him, and kept fancying that he saw him running in his direction. But although Landry would have been eager to do so, he did not stir. He was afraid of being laughed at by the young people and the boys at La Priche on the score of this twin-brotherly fondness, which was regarded almost as an affliction; and so Sylvinet found him at table, eating and drinking as if he had been with the Caillaud family all his life. Nevertheless, when Landry saw him coming in his heart leapt for joy, and had he not restrained himself, he would have overturned table and bench to embrace him the sooner. But he dared not, because his masters were eyeing him with curiosity: it amused them to see in \ 38 this fondness a real novelty, and, as the local schoolmaster used to say, a “ phenomenon of nature.” Fs