Seven years, and other tales

Chapter I

Of all the venerable places of Paris, the Marais may be entitled peer and prince. Other places may boast antiquity more remote;—none can vie with the recollections of past splendour which still linger around this. Here, under the reign of the most magnificent monarch of France, once revelled the gayest and most luxurious of the French nobility. Here they raised noble and enduring mansions, which the hand of time long respected, and which the hammer of the leveller now shamelessly pulls down one after the other, reckless and regardless of the historical tokens it is destroying; sweeping away memorials of Louis Quatorze, whom his contemporaries styled the Great, dwellings still haunted by the frolics of his nobles and the gaieties of his court beauties, and consigning them all to dust and oblivion with philosophic indifference and impartiality.

The Marais, however, is not all pulled down. It is still celebrated for its open stately streets, which trade is slowly in¬ vading, for its large hotels, which commerce now possesses, and for the broad airy gardens which every now and then extend at the back of those lordly-looking abodes, filling the whole neighbourhood with the sweet spring fragrance of young lilac trees, or the rich summer perfume of invisible roses in bloom.

In one of the finest streets of the Marais there stood some years ago a noble-looking mansion, which answered to number two. The lofty gateway and arches, the sculptured windows, and cast-iron balconies; the high slate-covered roof and the tall stacks of chimneys that topped all, like the battlements of a city, bespoke the importance of this dwelling. Yet through that arched gateway, which stood ever open, appeared un-

SEVEN YEARS.

mistakeable tokens that if stone and mortar were stont as ever, the mutability of fortune had affected this once splendid abode. Several boards, nailed on the wall by the staircase, and covered with painted characters, referred you to the various inhabitants of the mansion, and corresponded to other sign¬ boards dangling from the iron balconies. Lamps were to be had on the second floor; buhl furniture on the third; a lacemender tenanted the fourth * the lodgers of the fifth were too humble to claim public attention by any mural inscription. They were satisfied to exist, and left the dignity of boards and signs to their betters.

Every Paris house is built round a yard, and the more an¬ cient the house, the wider this yard is: the rule at least has few exceptions. The yard or court of this house, for it de¬ served the name, was square, paved, and surrounded with walls and windows, out of which various heads often peeped,— heads that did not exactly recall the aristocratic type or the splendid attire of the courtiers of Louis Quatorze. Rough unshaved faces and blue blouses for the men, plain white caps and cotton dresses for the women, made the contrast as strik¬ ing as any republican heart need have wished it. This was indeed the democratic part of the abode; it had nothing to do with the substantial and decorous tenants of the second, third, and fourth floors. Two mean, dark, and modern staircases led to the various lodgings of that cour , which Madame Grand, the portress of the whole house, held in supreme contempt, not to say abhorrence : whereas a real genuine old staircase, coeval with the house itself,—a staircase that opened near the door of the lodge under shelter of the gateway,—conducted with gentle and easy ascent to those apartments with windows on the street, which had Madame Grand’s particular favour, as being tenanted by decent people, and especially, for the world is the same all the world over, by people of substance.

The English system of building is not favourable to the de¬ velopment of staircase; narrow, wooden, and mean, it climbs up two floors and an attic, and, having done what it had to do, it stops. It may be covered with carpet or oil-cloth, or it may not be covered at all,—a mean staircase it is, and will be on to the end.

The continental staircase aims at grandeur; it may not always attain its object, but a sort of dignity is the result of the attempt. The staircases of the Marais, and especially when they claim the seventeenth century as the date of their existence, are famous for their stateliness. The broad and

SEVEN YEAES.

low stone steps ascend slowly, guarded by iron banisters rich in foliage and renaissance ornaments. Such a staircase was that of this particular house : too grand by far for the lamps on the second floor, for the buhl furniture on the third, and the lace-mending business on the fourth, but by no means un¬ suited to the quiet, lady-like tenant of the premier etage, Madame la Roche.

Madame la Roche was born in number two, like her mother and her mother’s mother before her; for this house, which was her property, always descended in the female line, and In number two Madame la Roche, who was seventy and more, devoutly hoped to live and die. The house had under¬ gone many changes in passing through various hands, but the handsome suite of rooms on the first floor had remained almost unaltered since they were first fitted up and furnished for the great-grandmother of Madame la Roche, who entered them a youthful bride of seventeen.

The furniture was handsome, substantial, and good, and a constitutional indolence, hereditary in the lady proprietresses of the place, had resisted the insidious innovations of fashion. Accordingly the museum of Cluny itself scarcely boasted more treasures in carved cabinets, inlaid tables, precious china, and curiosities of all sorts, than did the rooms of Madame la Roche, who was lazily glad to be possessed of so many valua¬ bles, but who in reality, and save for the sake of old family associations, did not care one rush about them all.

In these large, roomy, and comfortable rooms, that looked out on the street and ignored the vulgar yard behind, Madame la Roche lived on all the more pleasantly that she possessed and enjoyed the privilege and luxury of a garden, which, though small, rivalled the suspended gardens of Babylon, being like them artificially raised above the common level of this world.

Number two was a corner house.

Madame la Roche’s rooms ended in and gave out on a square terrace, which formed the angle of two streets, and in¬ terposed between both the green sward of a little pelouse, the silver spray of a diminutive fountain, and the foliage and flowers of luxuriant lilac and laburnum trees. A bosquet covered with roses, where Madame la Roche liked to sit, and a handsome aviary, completed the delights of the place. To crown all, it was not overlooked by more than a dozen win¬ dows ; some people, indeed, might have thought this too much, but Madame la Roche, who had never done any thing

SEVEN TEAKS.

in lier life, had nothing to hide, and would have lived in a glass house with perfect satisfaction to herself.

In this garden, for a garden it was, a young girl walked gathering flowers, on a lovely May morning, some years ago. It was early yet; the grass sparkled with dew, which falls alike not merely on the good and the wicked, but on city guilt and pas¬ toral innocence ; the fragrance of the lilac and of the laburnum was almost overpowering ; the little fountain splashed merrily in its stone basin edged with bright flowers, and the birds in the aviary sang their most gleesome carols, whilst daring sparrows pecked the seed scattered by the wealthy little prodigals, and hopped about pert and free in the sanded walks. The young girl paused in the path she was following, put her hand in a tiny apron pocket, drew out some crumbs, which she scattered at her feet, and immediately an eager crowd gathered around her fearless and confident.

The young girl looked at them with a pleased and tri¬ umphant smile, unconscious that, as she stood there with her flowers in her hand, she afforded a subject of contemplation to a tall and stout young upholsterer opposite, who stood conven¬ iently on a ladder, not indeed for the purpose of looking at her, for he was hanging up chairs in his newly-opened shop, but who yet made the most of the advantage he derived from this ele¬ vated position by taking a survey of the garden and its early tenant.

She was very young, barely sixteen, and even fastidious eyes might have been pleased with her light supple figure and graceful motions; but, though her dark hair neatly plaited shone in the sun, though her mobile face had all the expres¬ sive vivacity of the Parisian type, if the name of type can in¬ deed be given to anything belonging to that complex race, the young girl was not pretty. Her complexion was pale and even sallow, and she was decidedly thin. Her attire was neat but simple; a little cotton print dress and white collar and sleeves proved her to be a true Parisian in taste and toilette.

The sparrows were fed, and, resuming her task of gather¬ ing flowers, the young girl was turning round, when her quick eye,perceived, above the low stone wall that surrounded the garden, the full outlines of a masculine face. She did not pause in her task, but darting a second glance, she endeavoured to discover to whom the face belonged. She perceived the ladder, and standing on it the charmed gazer, whose eyes seemed rivetted on her every motion. She also saw, though he did not, two or three workingmen in the shop, curiously

SEVEN YEAES.

watching their master on the ladder, and evidently unable to guess what he was looking at so intently. She could even in the morning stillness of the streets overhear their comments on the subject.

u The master is studying the design of Madame la Roche’s window draperies,” said one man.

“ Real Louis Quinze style, I believe,” replied another.

The young girl, determined to undeceive them, though not caring to appear, here raised her voice, and began to sing in tones so young and gay as to prove very clearly that the in¬ dividual on the ladder might have some more modern object to contemplate than the Louis Quinze draperies of Madame, la Roche.

“ Oh ho ! ” said the first of the two speakers in the shop.

The other lauMied without restraint.

O

The young man on the ladder coloured to the very temples, and slowly descended; the young girl in the garden, delighted at his exposure, continued singing as any lark, and did not enter until her apron was full of flowers. She then pushed open a glass door, and stepping into a handsome dining-room, gaily lit with the morning sun, she began settling her flowers in a pair of old blue china vases, that looked made to set off their brilliant colours.

Presently one of the doors of the dining-room opened, and a short, stout, and round woman, long past middle age, put her head in, and said coaxingly :

u Fanny, dear, can you come ? ’’

“ Not on any account,” calmly replied Fanny; 11 you see, Marie, how I am engaged.”

“ Why yes, so you are,” answered Marie, “ so you are. I always tell Charlotte so.” And her head vanished.

Presently another door opened, and another female face, older, calmer, and paler than Marie's, made its appearance.

“ Child,” it said, “ I think it is time to attend to that ironing.”

“ I shall see to nothing till I have settled my flowers,” rebelliously replied Fanny.

There was a pause as of doubt, then the head vanished, the door closed, and Fanny was left mistress of the field. She continued her task like one too much accustomed to such victo¬ ries to care for them; but the low twinkling of a silver bell was heard in a room within. At once Fanny threw down her flowers, and darted away to answer the summons.

SEVEN TEARS.

Chapter II

Madame la Roche was sitting in an arm-chair in her room Heavy damask curtains half hid the lofty bed ,* ancient en gravings and tarnished portraits in oval frames hung on the walls; lady-like knick-nacks were scattered about on spindlelegged tables. Pots-pourris, vases of every shape, screens and stands numberless, made a pretty confusion about the place. The window was open, the morning air came in and breathed gently over Madame la Roche, who sat, as we said, in an arm¬ chair, with composure in her calm face, and the happiness of repose in her hands gently folded on her knees. A loose morn¬ ing gown robed her person, a pretty morning cap framed her face, soft, aged, and fair ; a face on which care had left few lines, and these few time had gently smoothed away.

At her hand stood a small table, on which was placed the little silver dinner-bell with which Madame la Roche had sum¬ moned attendance, and which the young girl had so promptly answered, that it had scarcely ceased to ring before the lady’s door opened, and Panny appeared on the threshold.

“ My dear, it was Marie I rang for,” said Madame la Roche, smiling.

“But I was there in the diningroom,” replied Fanny, a little jealously, “ there was no harm in coming.”

“ Oh ! no,” meditatively said the elder lady, “ I do not think there can be harm in that. Well, child, I rang to say that I think I shall breakfast in the garden this morning.”

u I shall get it all ready,” cried Fanny, with great eager¬ ness. “ In five minutes I shall come for you.”

“ Yery well, my dear,” placidly replied Madame la Roche; u you need not hurry ; ten minutes will do.”

But Fanny was already gone. With a calm wonder at the strange hastiness of youth, Madame la Roche again leaned back in her chair, smoothed her lap, and once more folded up¬ on it her dimpled white hands, hands made for idleness, or, as Madame la Roche would have said in the polite and courtly speech with which she clothed her thoughts, “ hands which Nature had intended for repose.”

Fortune had kindly seconded Nature in the case of Madame la Roche. She was born, nursed, and reared in affluence. She married young a rich lawyer, w T ho soon left her a widow, with a handsome fortune and an only child, a daughter, who mar-

SEVEN YEARS.

ried early like her mother, and like her mother was wedded to happiness and prosperity.

Thus, with few cares and sorrows, with little to trouble her, and almost nothing to do, Madame la Roche had led the smoothest of smooth lives, aud calmly reached her seventieth year. She had a kind heart, an amiable temper, a very easy disposition, and only a few passive faults, from which no one had ever suffered. Her life had been spent in the house in which we now find her; here she was born, and here, like her predecessors, she devoutly hoped to die, u as late as I can,” she smilingly added. In the meantime Madame la Roche kept a man-servant, a cook, two maids nearly as old as herself, and, instead of the parrot or lap dog which every lady worn in years is expected to possess, a merry girl of sixteen, named Fanny, who happened to be the god-daughter of her maid Charlotte. With the chatter of Fanny Madame la Roche amused herself; when her garden and rooms did not afford her sufficient exer¬ cise she took a drive in an ancient family carriage, and called on a few friends, whom every now and then she invited to din¬ ner. Every Sunday she went to hear mass and vespers in the neighbouring church. How the rest of her time was spent Madame la Roche would have found it hard to say, but though she might certainly have led a more useful life, even scandal herself could not say that her existence could be more harm¬ less than it was. Her temper was all but perfect, and it was almost a matter of history that no one had ever seen Madame la Roche disturbed.

Still as five minutes went by, then ten, and even fifteen, and as neither Fanny nor breakfast appeared, Madame la Roche wondered gently, moved in her chair, and finally stretched out her hand and rung again with just a touch of impatience. This first call not being answered, she renewed it, and presently the door opened, Marie appeared, and walked in with a resolute look. We have already said that Marie was short, round, and stout; we may add that she now wore a conical Norman cap, that she had a red face, a quick eye, a quick tongue, and considerable vigour of mind and body. Fastidious j)eople thought Marie rather fiery, and spoke about her temper, but it was agreed that her heart was in the right place,—for it seems this useful organ is not always where it should be in the human frame,—and this advantage was held sufficient to counteract many faults.

“ Marie,” began Madame la Roche, “I have rung twice.”

u I was ironing,”’ said Marie shortly, “ doing Madame 1 *

SEVEN YEARS.

Charlotte’s work. Besides, Madame knows this is my time for putting on my cap.”

Madame la Roche did not attempt to dispute the latter ar¬ gument. The hat of G essler himself was not a sterner emblem of absolute power in ill-fated Uri, than the lofty cap of Marie in Madame la Roche’s household. She added to its importance by referring to it in a stately fashion, that admitted of no joking or light talk on the subject. And every one accordingly stood in secret or acknowledged dread of it; every one from Madame la Roche downwards, save Fanny, who was a spoiled, irreverent child, and afraid of nothing the sun shone upon.

u Could not Fanny have helped you to iron ? ” said Mad¬ ame la Roche.

“ Fanny! ” cried Marie, firing up, 11 Fanny was in the gar¬ den gathering flowers. I did not think Madame -would turn upon Fanny ! ”

11 Dear me ! ” exclaimed Madame la Roche, “ I did not think of that; the dear child cannot be in two places at once, of course.”

“ There is nothing Fanny does not do to please Madame, I am sure.”

“I never complain of'her,” placidly said Madame la Roche; “ I am sorry you do sometimes, Marie.”

“ I, Madame?” Marie looked suffocated, to use the French idiom.

“ Yes, I heard you grumbling this morning because the flaps of your cap were not ironed out to your liking. I do not wish to hear Fanny grumbled at.”

“ Oh ! if Madame begins at my poor cap,” sarcastically said Marie.

“ Dear me,” plaintively said her mistress, “ it is not your cap I care about just now, but my breakfast, which I cannot get.”

Before Marie could open her lips and say she was and had long been aware that Madame did not care about her or her cap either, the door opened, and Charlotte appeared like a dove of peace. Marie snuffed and tossed her head. She and Charlotte were inseparable foes of forty-five years’ standing, united but on one point—love for Fanny, though each affected to consider the other the enemy, or at least the antagonist, of this common darling.

Charlotte was short and stout like Marie, though she did not in the least resemble her. Hers was a mild breadth of countenance, a placid weight of figure, to which the vivacious Marie had no claim. Like Marie, she had a temper of her

SEVEN YEARS.

own, but it was sweet and honeyed even whilst it provoked, and, bee-like, stung to the quick. Charlotte was a widow, and had nursed Madame la Roche’s daughter, in virtue of which office she assumed a calm dignity nothing could ruffle, and which did more than anything else to disturb Marie’s equa¬ nimity.

How Madame la Roche got on between these two domi¬ neering spirits no one exactly knew. Both treated her like their peculiar property, but after different methods. Marie thought it good to rouse her mistress, and Charlotte to smooth her down. Madame la Roche let them both have their way, happy if she could now and then have hers. But, as we said, Charlotte now came as a dove of peace, and, ig¬ noring Marie’s aggressive sniff, she said soothingly:

“Breakfast is ready, if Madame will come out to it.”

Madame la Roche rose and took Charlotte’s arm. Marie looked on wrathfully, and asked sharply : “ May I know what Madame rang for ? ”

“ I do not feel very strong,” evasively replied Madame la Roche, “ give me your arm too, Marie.” Thus supported on either side, the gentle and politic lady walked through stately rooms out into the terrace-like garden, where Fanny stood beaming with smiles ready to receive and lead her to the bosquet. Here, though she had taken somewhat more than five minutes to prepare it, she had certainly provided a most dainty-looking little dejeuner. A snow-white cloth covered the rude garden table. Elegant sevres china waited for the rich coffee in the old silver coffee-pot; croissants, a very pleasant French cake, a variety of small loaves, and pats of fresh butter, appeared on several plates. The two old ser¬ vants uttered exclamations of delight.

“ Beautiful! ” said Charlotte.

u No one does it like her! ” cried Marie,

“ My dear,” said Madame la Roche smiling, “your reward shall be to breakfast with me.”

“ And we will wait on you both,” zealously volunteered Marie.

Fanny was too much accustomed to such favours to dis¬ pute them. She sat down opposite her kind protectress and breakfasted with her without using a bit of ceremony, either in accepting the compliment, or in allowing her god-mother or Marie to wait on her.

It was no unusual event to see Madame la Roche break¬ fast in the garden; yet numerous heads soon appeared at the various windows that overlooked it, for the laudable purpose

SEVEN YEARS.

of watching the proceedings below, and of overhearing such snatches of the conversation as might rise upwards; to which impertinent survey Madame la Roche and Fanny both re¬ mained indifferent. That Marie felt more on the subject than they did a remark uttered by Charlotte soon made apparent.

44 How red you are in the face, Marie,” she kindly remarked, — 44 quite pimply.”

a Perhaps I am, and perhaps I am not,” shortly said Marie.

44 A great deal depends on temper,” pursued Charlotte, 44 as I often told my daughter Monica, who is now in America with her good-for-nothing husband, poor dear,—as I often told her, 4 look at me, child, you see what a clear, smooth complexion I have; all temper, love, all temper. Be passionate, and you will be red; be calm, and you will be clear and pale.’ No one knows what temper has to do with complexion.”

44 Temper or complexion, I know this much,” wrathfully said Marie, 44 that if I had the head of that fellow up there under my right arm, and that of the grinning little monkey by him under my left arm, I should squeeze them both soundly ! ”

44 Dear me, what an extraordinary wish ! ” said Madame la Roche, putting down her cup and looking calmly surprised. 44 I once heard of a Roman Emperor who wished all the world had but one head—but do you know, Marie, it would hurt you,” added Madame la Roche, suddenly struck with that practical objection to Marie’s plan.

“ I should not care,” recklessly said Marie, “ I hate look¬ ers-on.”

“ Let them look,” good-naturedly replied Madame la Roche; “they like to see the birds, I dare say, and the flowers, and Fanny.”

“ If is all Marie’s cap,” remarked Charlotte ; 44 she will not believe that Parisians never will get accustomed to those high steeple-like caps.”

44 1 have worn my Norman cap sixty years,”—loftily began Marie. °

“ And more,” put in Charlotte,— 44 sixty-five years at least, Marie.”

. Take a way the things,” hastily said Madame la Roche, rising; 44 Fanny, my love, give me your arm and show me the new flowers.”

The new flowers were as far from the seene of contest as the limits of the garden allowed. They had been set at the foot of the low wall that overlooked the street. Madame la

SEVEN YEARS.

Roche bent over them as if to inhale their fragrance, then looking clown at the newly-opened shop opposite, she said slowly : “ Fanny, my dear, who is that young man that never took his eyes off of you whilst we were at breakfast ? ”

Fanny’s eyes were deceitfully raised to every third and fourth floor of every surrounding house, as with a look of great innocence she answered : “ I see no young man, Mad¬ ame.”

“ No, my dear, not up there, but down below in the up¬ holsterer’s shop there is a very tall young man, who looked at you so much whilst we were at breakfast, that I scarcely think it was the first time he did it. Do you know who he is ? ”

“ The master of that new upholsterer’s shop, I believe,” replied Fanny.

“ Can you read his name for me, my dear ? ” u Jean Baptiste Watt,” said Fanny, casting a careless glance over the gilt letters of the new shop.

11 Very well,” said Madame la Roche, drawing herself up slightly, “ I shall give Monsieur Jean Baptiste Watt one or two further trials; and if he continues to stare so at you, I shall politely recpiest him to discontinue his impertinence, and remind him that it is rude and unneiglibour-like to intrude even his looks on the privacy of two ladies enjoying themselves in their own garden.”

Fanny smiled demurely, and Madame la Roche, satisfied with the lofty resolve to which she had arrived, took a turn round her garden, and enjoyed her pelouse, her fountain, and her birds, like the owner of thirty acres.

Chapter III

Fanny was a dressmaker by trade. She went out to work almost every day. She fed the birds or gathered flowers be¬ fore she left, whilst Madame la Roche was still in her room. How, therefore, could her protectress watch over the good or bad behaviour of their young neighbour ? And as it so hap¬ pened that Fanny neither complained of him nor alluded to him in any fashion, the matter slipped out of the good lady’s mind, and Jean Baptiste Watt looked, or did not look, at his pleasure. Charlotte, who never put her foot in the garden when she could help doing so, exercised no surveillance over her god-daughter, and when Marie entered its precincts it was to scowl up at the window of the two offenders on whose heads

SEVEN YEARS.

she had longed to visit the condign punishment Madame la Roche deprecated. On the low regions of street and shop Marie rarely cast a look.

We need scarcely say that Jean Baptiste Watt went on looking,—so long, at least, as Fanny would give him an oppor¬ tunity, which was but seldom, the young girl being of a coy nature, willing enough to tantalize him with a glimpse of her young face, half seen amongst green shrubs and slender trees, but by no means inclined to afford him a full and convenient object for contemplation. Matters might have gone on thus, however, for ever so long, but for the unexpected interference of Monsieur Noiret.

Monsieur Noiret was one of Madame la Roche’s oldest friends. He was sixty years odd; a dry and withered, but stately old gentleman, stronger, more active, and healthier than many a younger man. He was a gentleman of the old school too; he wore a queue, small-clothes, black silk stock¬ ings, and shoes with gold buckles to them. Ills features were sharp, yet not without a quiet humour tinged->with sarcasm ; his keen brown eyes twinkled beneath his strong grey eye¬ brows with mischievous light, and his white teeth gleamed, almost too white and sharp, behind his full good-humoured mouth. To these particulars we need only add, that Monsieur Noiret was a bachelor, that he enjoyed a comfortable income, and that several times a year he dined in state with Madame la Roche. He had been dining with her on this particular day, one of the brightest in June; the meal was over, and was followed by the traditional cup of black coffee, which Madame la Roche and her guest took in the garden, with Fanny as waiter.

The evening was clear and calm ; not a breath of air stirred the roses of the bosquet, now in full bloom, and to whose hue Monsieur Noiret, more courteously than veraciously, compared Fanny’s cheek.

“ Yes, the child is not amiss,” said Madame la Roche, looking kindly at her favourite. “ She grows, too, does she not, Monsieur Noiret ? ”

“ Like a lily,” said Monsieur Noiret, smiling his fullest smile; “ straight, fair, and modest, but with more than a lily’s power to blush.”

Fanny, w T ith whom Monsieur Noiret was no favourite, looked disdainful, as much as to imply that she did not blush on his account.

“ And Fanny has admirers, I perceive,” continued Mon-

SEVEN YE AES.

sieur Noiret, leaning back in his chair and glancing carelessly at the opposite shop. “ That tall yellow-haired upholsterer has a decided admiration for Fanny.”