Here, as in her other books, the author's
strongest desire is to bear witness to the helpful discipline of trouble
and the satisfactions of religion.
strongest desire is to bear witness to the helpful discipline of trouble
and the satisfactions of religion.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v07 - Cic to Cuv
" and he unlocked the gate.
They came thronging up the steps, not more than twoscore,
I imagined, in spite of the noise they had made. But twoscore
of such famished, desperate men, God grant I may never again
see!
John divided the food as well as he could among them; they
fell to it like wild beasts. Meat, cooked or raw, loaves, vegeta-
bles, meal-all came alike, and were clutched, gnawed, and
scrambled for in the fierce selfishness of hunger. Afterward
there was a call for drink.
"Water, Jael; bring them water. "
"Beer! " shouted some.
"Water," repeated John. "Nothing but water. I'll have no
drunkards rioting at my master's door. "
And either by chance or design, he let them hear the click of
his pistol. But it was hardly needed. They were all cowed by
a mightier weapon still- the best weapon a man can use-his
own firm indomitable will.
At length all the food we had in the house was consumed.
John told them so; and they believed him. Little enough,
indeed, was sufficient for some of them: wasted with long fam-
ine, they turned sick and faint, and dropped down even with
bread in their mouths, unable to swallow it. Others gorged
themselves to the full, and then lay along the steps, supine as
satisfied brutes. Only a few sat and ate like rational human
beings; and there was but one, the little shrill-voiced man, who
asked me if he might "tak a bit o' bread to the old wench at
home! "
John, hearing, turned, and for the first time noticed me.
――――――
## p. 4132 (#510) ###########################################
4132
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
«< Phineas, it was very wrong of you; but there is no danger
now. "
No, there was none not even for Abel Fletcher's son.
stood safe by John's side, very happy, very proud.
"Well, my men," he said, looking around with a smile,
"have you had enough to eat? "
―――
-
I
"Oh, ay! " they all cried.
And one man added, "Thank the Lord! "
"That's right, Jacob Baines. And another time trust the
Lord. You wouldn't then have been abroad this summer morn-
ing" and he pointed to the dawn just reddening in the
sky-"this quiet, blessed summer morning, burning and riot-
ing, bringing yourself to the gallows and your children to
starvation. "
"They be nigh that a'ready," said Jacob, sullenly. "Us men
ha' gotten a meal, thankee for i'; bu' what'll become o' the 'ittle
uns a' home? I say, Mr. Halifax," and he seemed waxing
desperate again, "we must get food somehow. "
John turned away, his countenance very sad. Another of the
men plucked at him from behind.
"Sir, when thee was a poor lad, I lent thee a rug to sleep
on; I doan't grudge 'ee getting on; you was born for a gentle-
man, surely. But Master Fletcher be a hard man. ”
"And a just one," persisted John. "You that work for him,
did he ever stint you of a halfpenny? If you had come to him
and said, 'Master, times are hard; we can't live upon our
wages;' he might—I don't say he would-but he might even
have given you the food you tried to steal. "
"D'ye think he'd give it us now? " And Jacob Baines, the
big gaunt savage fellow who had been the ringleader - the
same too who had spoken of his "little uns". -came and looked
steadily in John's face.
"I knew thee as a lad; thee'rt a young man now, as will be
a father some o' these days. Oh! Mr. Halifax, may 'ee ne'er
want a meal o' good meat for the missus and the babies at
home, if 'ee'll get a bit of bread for our'n this day. "
"My man, I'll try. "
He called me aside, explained to me, and asked my advice
and consent, as Abel Fletcher's son, to a plan that had come
into his mind. It was to write orders, which each man pre-
senting at our mill should receive a certain amount of flour.
## p. 4133 (#511) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4133
"Do you think your father would agree? "
"I think he would. "
And
"Yes," John added, pondering, "I am sure he would.
“I
besides, if he does not give some he may lose all. But he would
not do it for fear of that. No, he is a just man. I am not
afraid. Give me some paper, Jael. "
He sat down as composedly as if he had been alone in the
counting-house, and wrote. I looked over his shoulder, admiring
his clear firm handwriting; the precision, concentrativeness, and
quickness with which he first seemed to arrange and then execute
his ideas. He possessed to the full that "business" faculty so
frequently despised, but which out of very ordinary material
often makes a clever man, and without which the cleverest man
alive can never be altogether a great man.
When about to sign the orders, John suddenly stopped.
་
"No; I had better not. "
"Why so? "
"I have no right; your father might think it presumption. "
"Presumption, after to-night! "
"Oh, that's nothing! Take the pen. It is your part to sign
them, Phineas. "
I obeyed.
"Isn't this better than hanging? " said John to the men, when
he had distributed the little bits of paper, precious as pound-
notes, and made them all fully understand the same.
"Why,
there isn't another gentleman in Norton Bury who, if you had
come to burn his house down, would not have had the constables
or the soldiers shoot down one-half of you like mad dogs, and
sent the other half to the county jail. Now, for all your mis-
doings, we let you go quietly home, well fed, and with food for
your children too. Why, think you? "
"I doan't know," said Jacob Baines, humbly.
"I'll tell you.
Christian,"
Because Abel Fletcher is a Quaker and a
"Hurrah for Abel Fletcher! hurrah for the Quakers! " shouted
they, waking up the echoes down Norton Bury streets: which of
a surety had never echoed to that shout before. And so the
riot was over.
John Halifax closed the hall door and came in- unsteadily—
all but staggering. Jael placed a chair for him-worthy soul!
she was wiping her old eyes. He sat down shivering, speechless.
## p. 4134 (#512) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4134
I put my hand on his shoulder; he took it and pressed it
hard.
"O Phineas, lad, I'm glad; glad it's safe over. "
"Yes, thank God! "
"Ay indeed, thank God! "
He covered his eyes for a minute or two, and then rose up,
pale, but quite himself again.
"Now let us go and fetch your father home. "
We found him on John's bed, still asleep. But as we en-
tered he woke. The daylight shone on his face-it looked ten
years older since yesterday. He stared, bewildered and angry,
Where is my son-
where's my Phineas? "
I fell on his neck as if I had been a child. And almost as
if it had been a child's feeble head, mechanically he soothed
and patted mine.
"Thee art not hurt?
"No," John answered;
injured. "
He looked amazed.
"Phineas will tell you.
at John Halifax.
"Eh, young man - oh! I remember.
Nor any one? ”
"nor is either the house or tan-yard
"How has that been? ”
Or stay
better wait till you are at
home. "
But my father insisted on hearing. I told him the whole
without any comments on John's behavior; he would not have
liked it, and besides, the facts spoke for themselves. I told the
simple plain story-nothing more.
Abel Fletcher listened at first in silence. As I proceeded, he
felt about for his hat, put it on, and drew its broad brim down
over his eyes. Not even when I told him of the flour we had
promised in his name, the giving of which would, as we had
calculated, cost him considerable loss, did he utter a word or
move a muscle.
John at length asked him if he was satisfied.
"Quite satisfied. "
But having said this, he sat so long, his hands locked to-
gether on his knees, and his hat drawn down, hiding all the
face except the rigid mouth and chin - sat so long, so motion-
less, that we became uneasy.
―
John spoke to him gently, almost as a son would have
spoken.
## p. 4135 (#513) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4135
« Are you very lame still? Could I help you to walk
home ? »
My father looked up, and slowly held out his hand.
"Thee hast been a good lad, and a kind lad to us. I thank
thee. »
There was no answer; none. But all the words in the world
could not match that happy silence.
By degrees we got my father home. It was just such another
summer morning as the one two years back, when we two had
stood, exhausted and trembling, before that sternly bolted door.
We both thought of that day; I knew not if my father did also.
He entered, leaning heavily on John. He sat down in the
very seat, in the very room where he had so harshly judged us
-judged him.
Something perhaps of that bitterness rankled in the young
man's spirit now, for he stopped on the threshold.
"Come in," said my father, looking up.
"If I am welcome; not otherwise. "
"Thee are welcome. "
He came in-I drew him in- and sat down with us. But
his manner was irresolute, his fingers closed and unclosed ner-
vously. My father too sat leaning his head on his two hands,
not unmoved. I stole up to him, and thanked him softly for the
welcome he had given.
"There is nothing to thank me for," said he, with something
of his old hardness. "What I once did was only justice, or I
then believed so. What I have done, and am about to do, is
still mere justice. John, how old art thee now? "
«< Twenty.
"Then for one year from this time I will take thee as my
'prentice, though thee knowest already nearly as much of the
business as I do. At twenty-one thee wilt be able to set up for
thyself, or I may take thee into partnership—we'll see.
But »
and he looked at me, then sternly, nay fiercely, into John's
steadfast eyes - "remember, thee hast in some measure taken
that lad's place. May God deal with thee as thou dealest with
my son Phineas-my only son! "
"Amen! " was the solemn answer.
And God, who sees us both now -ay, now! and perhaps not
so far apart as some may deem - he knows whether or no John
Halifax kept that vow.
-
## p. 4136 (#514) ###########################################
4136
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
PHILIP, MY KING
L
OOK at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my King!
For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood's regal dignities.
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand,
With love's invisible sceptre laden;
I am thine Esther to command,
Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden,
Philip, my King!
Oh the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my King!
When those beautiful lips are suing,
And some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest all glorified! - Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair,
For we that love, ah, we love so blindly,
Philip, my King!
I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,
Philip, my King:
Ay, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now,
That may rise like a giant, and make men bow
As to one God-throned amidst his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer,
Let me behold thee in coming years!
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my King!
A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my King,
Thou too must tread, as we tread, a way
Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray:
Rebels within thee and foes without
Will snatch at thy crown. But go on, glorious,
Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,
As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious,-
"Philip, the King! »
## p. 4137 (#515) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4137
TOO LATE
OULD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
C In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do:
Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Oh to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few:
Do you know the truth now, up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?
I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you;
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows
I love you, Douglas, tender and true.
Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew,
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
NOW AND AFTERWARDS
"Two hands upon the breast, and labor is past. "
wo hands upon the breast,
And labor's done;
"Tw
-
Two pale feet crossed in rest,-
The race is won;
Two eyes with coin-weights shut,
And all tears cease;
RUSSIAN PROVERB.
Two lips where grief is mute,
Anger at peace: "
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot;
God in his kindness answereth not.
## p. 4138 (#516) ###########################################
4138
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
"Two hands to work addressed
Aye for his praise;
Two feet that never rest
Walking his ways;
Two eyes that look above
Through all their tears;
Two lips still breathing love,
Not wrath, nor fears:"
So pray we afterwards, low on our knees.
Pardon those erring prayers; Father, hear these!
## p. 4139 (#517) ###########################################
4139
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
(PAULINE DE LA FERRONAYS)
(1820-1891)
M
ADAME CRAVEN has told the story of her home life in 'Récit
d'une Sour: Souvenirs de Famille' (The Story of a Sister).
She has given a charming idyllic picture of a Catholic
French family-cultivated, simple-minded, and loving, and all ani-
mated by religious fervor. She has depicted with the strength of a
personal experience the hopes and fears of those who see their dear-
est friends dying of consumption. She loves to show the gradual re-
nunciation of life, the ennobling influence of sorrow, the triumph of
faith over death and bereavement. Her affectionate nature, full of
admiring enthusiasm for those she loved, led her to idealize real
people as the characters of her books.
She was born at Paris, but had early advantages of travel unusual
for a French girl. Her father was Ambassador to Berlin; the family
were in Italy for a time; and after her marriage with Augustus
Craven she lived a great deal in his native England. So the titles
of her books reflect a certain cosmopolitan spirit. She was interested
in English politics, and wrote a number of sketches on the subject.
The lives of devout Catholic friends appealed to her strongly, and
she wrote that of Sister Nathalie Narishkine of the Charity Saint
Vincent de Paul, which was cordially indorsed by Cardinal Newman;
and that of Lady Georgiana Fullerton.
Her 'Reminiscences,' recollections of England and Italy, show the
same keenly sympathetic power of observation. She also translated
from the Italian. But her most popular work has been stories. The
Story of a Sister' (1866), a collection of memoirs, was enthusiastically
admired by Catholic readers, and translated into English, was widely
read in England and America. It was followed by several novels, of
which the most popular have been Anne Séverin,' 'Le Mot de
l'Enigme' (The Veil Withdrawn), and 'Fleurange. ' These have all
been translated into English, and the last especially has continued in
favor for twenty years.
Here, as in her other books, the author's
strongest desire is to bear witness to the helpful discipline of trouble
and the satisfactions of religion. She treats simple problems of love
and duty, depicts primitive emotion, and deals very little in the com-
plex psychology of later fiction. In a strong, fluent, fervid style she
demonstrates that religious ecstasy is the most perfect of all joy, and
that in Catholicism alone all difficulties may find solution.
## p. 4140 (#518) ###########################################
4140
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
ALBERT'S LAST DAYS
From A Sister's Story'
Ο
NE of these latter days, Albert suddenly threw his arm round
me and exclaimed: "I am going to die, and we might have
been so happy! " O my God! I felt then as if my heart
would really break.
――
JUNE 26TH. Before mass, which was again said at twelve
o'clock at night in his room, Albert looked at me a long time,
and then said with deep feeling, "God bless you! " Then he
made the sign of the cross on my forehead, and added, "And
God bless your mother, too. " After a while he said, "Good-by. "
I seemed surprised, and perhaps frightened, and then he said,
"Good-night," as if to change the sad meaning of the word he
had used. And all the while I wished so much to speak openly
to him of his death. It was I perhaps who prevented it, by my
fear of exciting him. During that last mass, every time that I
looked at him he made me a sign to look at the altar. The
window was open, but the night was quite dark. At the moment
of communion the Abbé Martin de Noirlieu and Albert's father,
who was serving mass, came up to him. The Abbé gave one-
half of the sacred Host to him, and the other to me. Even in
this solemn moment there was something very sweet to me in
this. Albert could not open his lips without much suffering -it
was for this reason that the Abbé Martin had divided the Host;
but even so, he had some difficulty in swallowing, and they were
obliged to give him some water. This disturbed him, but the
Abbé Gerbet-who was present-assured him it did not signify.
Then Albert exclaimed: "My God! Thy will be done! " O my
God! this thanksgiving of his must, I think, have been pleasing
to thee!
Before mass he had said to the Abbé Martin, who was speak-
ing to him of his sufferings, "The only thing I ask of God now
is strength to fulfill my sacrifice. " "You are nailed to the cross
with our Lord Jesus Christ," the Abbé said, and Albert answered
in a very sweet and humble way, "Ah! but I am such a miser-
ble sinner! " The altar had a blue-silk frontal, and was dressed
with flowers. It was Eugénie who had arranged it.
The blue
silk was one of my trousseau dresses that had never been made
up, and now was applied to this use.
## p. 4141 (#519) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4141
JUNE 27TH. -Albert was light-headed; was continually talking
of going into the country, and pointing to me, cried, "She is
coming with me! She is coming with me! " (I was in the habit
of writing down every word he said on these latter days of his
life; and these words, "She is coming with me," were the last
I wrote. ) After dinner that same day we were sitting by his
side, without speaking. Eugénie bent over him and gently sug-
gested his receiving extreme unction. His countenance did not
change in the least. He said gently and quite quietly, "Will it
not be taking advantage of the graces the Church bestows to
receive it yet? " He was anointed however that same evening,
and during the whole time I was standing near him, with my
hand on his right shoulder. Eugénie was on the other side of
me.
An explanation of this sacrament, which we had read to-
gether in our happy days, made me understand all that was
going on. The thought flashed through me with a wild feeling
of grief: "What, must his soul be purified even of its ardent
love for me? Must that too be destroyed? " But I did not shed
a single tear. His own wonderful calm was so holy. When it
was over, Albert made a little sign of the cross on the Abbé
Dupanloup's forehead, who received it with respect, and affec-
tionately embraced him. Then I approached, feeling that it was
my turn to receive that dear sign of the cross, which was a
sweet habit of happier days. He kissed me, his parents,
Eugénie, Fernand, Montal, and then Julian (his servant), who
was weeping bitterly. When it came to that, Albert burst into
tears, and that was more than I could bear; but he quickly
recovered fortitude when I kissed him again, and beckoned to
the Sister, whom he would not leave out in this tender and
general leave-taking, but with his delicate sense of what was
befitting, and in token of gratitude he kissed the hand which
had ministered to him, in spite of her resistance. M. l'Abbé
Dupanloup, who gave him extreme unction, had prepared him
for his first communion, and never forgot the edification it had
given him at that time to find Albert on his knees praying in
the same place where he had left him three hours before in the
Church of St. Sulpice that church in which his beloved remains
were so soon to be deposited. I sat down by his side. He was
asleep, and I held his hand in mine while Eugénie was writing
the following lines to Pauline:-
-
-
## p. 4142 (#520) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4142
"O Pauline, what a night has this been! and yet not terri-
ble,—no, a most blessed night. Albert has just received extreme
unction. What wonderful graces God bestows: but why were
you not here to receive that dear angel's blessing, who, fitter for
Heaven than ourselves, is going before us there.
? " After
relating all that has been mentioned, she adds: "Pauline, I could
not have conceived anything more touching, more holy, more
soothing, or a more heavenly peace. I bless God that nothing in
all this time has troubled my notions of happiness in death. "
ALEXANDRINE TO THE ABBÉ GERBET
THE SAME DAY.
I should feel it a great mercy if you could come, but I am
however perfectly composed. I entreat you, continue your prayers
for me, for I can no longer pray for myself. I can only think.
of God, and remind him that I asked for faith in exchange for
happiness.
ALEXANDRINE.
ALEXANDRINE'S JOURNAL
JUNE 28TH. -To-night I called Albert's attention to the rising
moon. I thought it had the lurid aspect which once before I
saw at Rome, when I thought he was dying at Civita Vecchia.
The window was open. We looked on the fine trees of the
Luxembourg, and the perfume of the honeysuckles and many
flowers was sometimes almost too powerful on the night air.
Montal came in later and brought me Albert's letters to him,
which I had asked for. It was as if a dagger had been driven
into my heart. Still I immediately began to read those pages,
which though heart-rending were very sweet. The Abbé Martin
gave Albert absolution and the plenary indulgence for the night.
I was kneeling by his side, and said to him afterwards, "Do
kiss me. " He raised his feeble head, put up his lips, and kissed
Then I asked him to let me kiss his eyes. He shut them
in token of assent. Later still, feeling unable any longer to
forbear pouring my whole heart into his, and longing to take
advantage of the few moments yet remaining to us of life, I said
to him:"Albert, Montal has brought me your letters. They
comfort me very much.
"Stop! " he cried feebly.
"Stop! I cannot bear it-it troubles me! "—"O Albert! I
worship you! "-The cry burst forth in the anguish of not being
me.
## p. 4143 (#521) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4143
able to speak to him, for the fear of troubling his soul forced
me to be silent; but those were the last words of my love for
him that my lips ever uttered, and he heard them, as he had
asked -even as he lay dying. O my God! whom alone I now
worship, thou hast forgiven me for that rash word which I
never again shall use but to thee, but which I cannot help being
glad and thou wilt pardon my weakness-to have said to my
poor dying love. I wanted to sit up, but from grief and want of
sleep my head was confused, and wandered so much that I
thought I was speaking to Fernand at the window when he was
not even there. Then I became afraid of losing my senses, and
Eugénie forced me to lie down on the bed. I trusted more to
her than any one else to waken me in time. Already, once or
twice, I had experienced that terrible feeling when roused from
sleep, of thinking that the dreadful moment was come.
I was
resolved at any cost to be there.
At about three o'clock in the morning, the 29th of June, I
saw Eugénie at my bedside, and was terrified; but she calmed
me, and said that Albert had asked, "Where is Alex? » "Do
you want her? " Eugénie had said. "Of course I want her," he
replied, and then began to wander again. I behaved as if I had
lost my senses. I passed twice before Albert's bed, and then
went into the next room, not the least knowing what I was
about. Eugénie came in, holding clasped in her hands the cru-
cifix indulgenced for the hour of death, which the Abbé Dupan-
loup had lent her. She appeared then as a meek angel of death,
for that crucifix was a sign that the end drew near.
Albert saw
it, seized it himself, kissed it fervently, and exclaimed, "I thank
thee, my God! " After that he became quite calm. They changed
his position, and turned his head towards the rising sun. He
had fallen into a kind of sleep, with his beloved head resting on
my left arm. I was standing, and afraid of slipping from my
place. The Sister wanted to relieve me, but Eugénie told her
not to do so, and that I was glad to be there. When Albert
awoke he spoke in his usual voice, and in quite a natural way,
to Fernand.
―――――――
—
At six o'clock he was then lying in an arm-chair near the
window. I saw and knew that the moment was come.
Then I felt so great a strength pass into me that nothing could
have driven me from my place as I knelt by his side. My sister
Eugénie was close to me. His father was kneeling on the other
## p. 4144 (#522) ###########################################
4144
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
side. His poor mother stood leaning over him, the Abbé Mar-
tin by her side. O my God! No one spoke except his father,
and each one of his words were words of blessing, the worthiest
that could accompany the dying agony of a son. "My child, who
hast never caused us pain,—the very best of sons,-we bless
you. Do you hear me still, my child? You are looking at your
Alexandrine, "- his dying eyes had turned towards me,-" and
you bless her also. " The Sister began to say the Litany for the
Agonizing. And I his wife-felt what I could never have
conceived; I felt that death was blessed, and I said in my heart:
"Now, O Lord Jesus, he is in Paradise! " The Abbé Martin
began to give the last absolution, and Albert's soul took flight
before it was over.
A GENEROUS ENEMY
From Fleurange': by permission of American Publishers' Corporation
As
S THE silence lengthened, and she looked at Vera with ever-
increasing surprise, a sudden apprehension seized her, and
a fugitive and remote glimpse of the truth crossed her
mind.
Nothing in the world was more vague than her recollection
of the name murmured a single time in her presence; but that
once was in a conversation of which Count George was the sub-
ject, and she remembered that she had then believed that they
were talking of a marriage desired by the Princess for her son.
Was it regretfully now that Vera brought to another this
permission to accompany him?
Such was the question that Fleurange asked herself. Then
approaching Vera, she said to her gently:-
"If you have been intrusted with a message for me, Made-
moiselle, how can I thank you sufficiently for having taken the
trouble to bring it to me yourself? »
But Vera hastily withdrew her hand, retreating a few steps
as she did so. Then as if she were a prey to some emotion
which she could not conquer, she fell back in an arm-chair
placed near the table; and for some minutes remained pale,
panting for breath, her expression gloomy and wild, from time
to time brushing away fiercely the tears that in spite of all her
efforts escaped from her eyelids.
## p. 4145 (#523) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4145
Fleurange, motionless with surprise, looked at her with
mingled terror and interest; but soon the frank decision of her
character conquered her timidity. She went straight to the point.
"Countess Vera," she said, "if I have not conjectured rightly
the motive which brings you here, tell me the truth. There is
going on between us at this moment something which I do not
understand. Be sincere; I will be so too. Let us not remain
like this toward one another. Above all, do not look at me as
if I were not only a stranger, but an enemy. "
At this word Vera raised her head.
"Enemies! " she repeated: "Well, it is true; at this moment
we are so! "
What did she mean to say? Fleurange folded her arms, and
looked at her attentively, seeking to find an explanation to this
enigma of her words; to the still more obscure enigma of her face,
which expressed by turns the most conflicting sentiments; to the
enigma of her eyes, which now regarded her with hate, now
with the gentleness and almost the humility of a suppliant.
At last Vera seemed to decide to go on:-
"Yes, you are right," she said: "I must put an end to your
suspense, and explain to you my strange conduct; but I need
courage to do it, and to come here as I have done, to address
myself to you as I am about to do, there must have been-with-
out my knowing why-"
-
"Well," Fleurange said with a smile, "what else? "
"There must have been in my heart a secret instinct which
assured me that you were good and generous!
-
This conclusion, after this beginning, did not clear up the
situation,— on the contrary, rendered it more involved than ever.
"This is enough by way of introduction," Fleurange said,
with a certain tone of firmness. "Speak clearly, Countess Vera;
tell me all without reserve; you may believe me when I beseech
you to have no fear. Though your words were to do me a harm
which at this moment I can neither foresee nor comprehend,
speak; I require it of you; hesitate no longer. "
"Well then, here! " said Vera, throwing suddenly upon the
table a paper which till then she had held concealed.
Fleurange took it, looked at it, and at first blushed; then she
grew pale.
"My petition! " she said; "you bring it back to me? It has
been refused then. "
VII-260
## p. 4146 (#524) ###########################################
4146
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"No, it has not been sent. "
"You mean to say that the Empress, after having shown so
much kindness towards me, has changed her mind and refused
to undertake it? "
«No.
She has given orders to me, on the contrary, to send
your petition, and to add to it her own recommendation. "
"Well ? »
"I have disobeyed her orders. "
"I await the explanation which you are no doubt intend-
ing to give me. Go on without interrupting yourself; I shall
listen. "
"Well then, first of all, answer me. Did you know that
George von Walden was the husband who was promised to me,
-for whom my father destined me from childhood? "
"Who was promised you? - from childhood? No, I did not
know it. But no matter; go on. "
"It is true, it is no matter: this is not the question, although
I was obliged to refer to it. It is no longer a question of his
misfortune, of his fearful sentence, of that frightful Siberia to
which you propose to accompany him-to share a fate which
you can neither alleviate, nor, possibly, endure yourself. The
question is now, to save him from this destiny; to give back to
him life, honor, liberty, all that he has lost. His estates, his
fortune, his rank, all may yet be restored to him! This is what
I have come to tell you, and to ask you to aid in its accom-
plishment. "
"All this can be restored to him! " said Fleurange, in an
altered voice. "By what means? By whose power? "
"That of the Emperor, invoked, and of his clemency obtained
through my entreaties; but upon two conditions, one of which is
imposed upon George, the other of which depends upon me. To
these two conditions is joined a third, and that one rests with
you, with you only! "
The great eyes of Fleurange were fixed upon Vera, with an
expression of profound astonishment, mingled with anguish.
"Finish, I implore you! " she said. "Finish, if you are not
dreaming in saying such words to me, or I in hearing them;-
if we are not both mad, you and I! "
Vera clasped her hands together and cried passionately:-
"Oh, I beseech you, have mercy upon him! "
She stopped, suffocated by her emotion.
## p. 4147 (#525) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4147
Fleurange continued to look at her with the same expression,
and without speaking made a sign to her to go on.
She seemed to concentrate her attention to understand the
words that were said to her.
"I am listening," she said at last; "I am listening quietly
and attentively; speak to me with the same composure. "
Vera resumed in a calmer tone:
"This morning, at the moment when I had just read your
petition, and learned for the first time who the exile was whom
you desired to follow,- at this very moment the Emperor arrived
at the palace, and sent for me. "
"The Emperor? " said Fleurange, with surprise.
« Yes.
They came thronging up the steps, not more than twoscore,
I imagined, in spite of the noise they had made. But twoscore
of such famished, desperate men, God grant I may never again
see!
John divided the food as well as he could among them; they
fell to it like wild beasts. Meat, cooked or raw, loaves, vegeta-
bles, meal-all came alike, and were clutched, gnawed, and
scrambled for in the fierce selfishness of hunger. Afterward
there was a call for drink.
"Water, Jael; bring them water. "
"Beer! " shouted some.
"Water," repeated John. "Nothing but water. I'll have no
drunkards rioting at my master's door. "
And either by chance or design, he let them hear the click of
his pistol. But it was hardly needed. They were all cowed by
a mightier weapon still- the best weapon a man can use-his
own firm indomitable will.
At length all the food we had in the house was consumed.
John told them so; and they believed him. Little enough,
indeed, was sufficient for some of them: wasted with long fam-
ine, they turned sick and faint, and dropped down even with
bread in their mouths, unable to swallow it. Others gorged
themselves to the full, and then lay along the steps, supine as
satisfied brutes. Only a few sat and ate like rational human
beings; and there was but one, the little shrill-voiced man, who
asked me if he might "tak a bit o' bread to the old wench at
home! "
John, hearing, turned, and for the first time noticed me.
――――――
## p. 4132 (#510) ###########################################
4132
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
«< Phineas, it was very wrong of you; but there is no danger
now. "
No, there was none not even for Abel Fletcher's son.
stood safe by John's side, very happy, very proud.
"Well, my men," he said, looking around with a smile,
"have you had enough to eat? "
―――
-
I
"Oh, ay! " they all cried.
And one man added, "Thank the Lord! "
"That's right, Jacob Baines. And another time trust the
Lord. You wouldn't then have been abroad this summer morn-
ing" and he pointed to the dawn just reddening in the
sky-"this quiet, blessed summer morning, burning and riot-
ing, bringing yourself to the gallows and your children to
starvation. "
"They be nigh that a'ready," said Jacob, sullenly. "Us men
ha' gotten a meal, thankee for i'; bu' what'll become o' the 'ittle
uns a' home? I say, Mr. Halifax," and he seemed waxing
desperate again, "we must get food somehow. "
John turned away, his countenance very sad. Another of the
men plucked at him from behind.
"Sir, when thee was a poor lad, I lent thee a rug to sleep
on; I doan't grudge 'ee getting on; you was born for a gentle-
man, surely. But Master Fletcher be a hard man. ”
"And a just one," persisted John. "You that work for him,
did he ever stint you of a halfpenny? If you had come to him
and said, 'Master, times are hard; we can't live upon our
wages;' he might—I don't say he would-but he might even
have given you the food you tried to steal. "
"D'ye think he'd give it us now? " And Jacob Baines, the
big gaunt savage fellow who had been the ringleader - the
same too who had spoken of his "little uns". -came and looked
steadily in John's face.
"I knew thee as a lad; thee'rt a young man now, as will be
a father some o' these days. Oh! Mr. Halifax, may 'ee ne'er
want a meal o' good meat for the missus and the babies at
home, if 'ee'll get a bit of bread for our'n this day. "
"My man, I'll try. "
He called me aside, explained to me, and asked my advice
and consent, as Abel Fletcher's son, to a plan that had come
into his mind. It was to write orders, which each man pre-
senting at our mill should receive a certain amount of flour.
## p. 4133 (#511) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4133
"Do you think your father would agree? "
"I think he would. "
And
"Yes," John added, pondering, "I am sure he would.
“I
besides, if he does not give some he may lose all. But he would
not do it for fear of that. No, he is a just man. I am not
afraid. Give me some paper, Jael. "
He sat down as composedly as if he had been alone in the
counting-house, and wrote. I looked over his shoulder, admiring
his clear firm handwriting; the precision, concentrativeness, and
quickness with which he first seemed to arrange and then execute
his ideas. He possessed to the full that "business" faculty so
frequently despised, but which out of very ordinary material
often makes a clever man, and without which the cleverest man
alive can never be altogether a great man.
When about to sign the orders, John suddenly stopped.
་
"No; I had better not. "
"Why so? "
"I have no right; your father might think it presumption. "
"Presumption, after to-night! "
"Oh, that's nothing! Take the pen. It is your part to sign
them, Phineas. "
I obeyed.
"Isn't this better than hanging? " said John to the men, when
he had distributed the little bits of paper, precious as pound-
notes, and made them all fully understand the same.
"Why,
there isn't another gentleman in Norton Bury who, if you had
come to burn his house down, would not have had the constables
or the soldiers shoot down one-half of you like mad dogs, and
sent the other half to the county jail. Now, for all your mis-
doings, we let you go quietly home, well fed, and with food for
your children too. Why, think you? "
"I doan't know," said Jacob Baines, humbly.
"I'll tell you.
Christian,"
Because Abel Fletcher is a Quaker and a
"Hurrah for Abel Fletcher! hurrah for the Quakers! " shouted
they, waking up the echoes down Norton Bury streets: which of
a surety had never echoed to that shout before. And so the
riot was over.
John Halifax closed the hall door and came in- unsteadily—
all but staggering. Jael placed a chair for him-worthy soul!
she was wiping her old eyes. He sat down shivering, speechless.
## p. 4134 (#512) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4134
I put my hand on his shoulder; he took it and pressed it
hard.
"O Phineas, lad, I'm glad; glad it's safe over. "
"Yes, thank God! "
"Ay indeed, thank God! "
He covered his eyes for a minute or two, and then rose up,
pale, but quite himself again.
"Now let us go and fetch your father home. "
We found him on John's bed, still asleep. But as we en-
tered he woke. The daylight shone on his face-it looked ten
years older since yesterday. He stared, bewildered and angry,
Where is my son-
where's my Phineas? "
I fell on his neck as if I had been a child. And almost as
if it had been a child's feeble head, mechanically he soothed
and patted mine.
"Thee art not hurt?
"No," John answered;
injured. "
He looked amazed.
"Phineas will tell you.
at John Halifax.
"Eh, young man - oh! I remember.
Nor any one? ”
"nor is either the house or tan-yard
"How has that been? ”
Or stay
better wait till you are at
home. "
But my father insisted on hearing. I told him the whole
without any comments on John's behavior; he would not have
liked it, and besides, the facts spoke for themselves. I told the
simple plain story-nothing more.
Abel Fletcher listened at first in silence. As I proceeded, he
felt about for his hat, put it on, and drew its broad brim down
over his eyes. Not even when I told him of the flour we had
promised in his name, the giving of which would, as we had
calculated, cost him considerable loss, did he utter a word or
move a muscle.
John at length asked him if he was satisfied.
"Quite satisfied. "
But having said this, he sat so long, his hands locked to-
gether on his knees, and his hat drawn down, hiding all the
face except the rigid mouth and chin - sat so long, so motion-
less, that we became uneasy.
―
John spoke to him gently, almost as a son would have
spoken.
## p. 4135 (#513) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4135
« Are you very lame still? Could I help you to walk
home ? »
My father looked up, and slowly held out his hand.
"Thee hast been a good lad, and a kind lad to us. I thank
thee. »
There was no answer; none. But all the words in the world
could not match that happy silence.
By degrees we got my father home. It was just such another
summer morning as the one two years back, when we two had
stood, exhausted and trembling, before that sternly bolted door.
We both thought of that day; I knew not if my father did also.
He entered, leaning heavily on John. He sat down in the
very seat, in the very room where he had so harshly judged us
-judged him.
Something perhaps of that bitterness rankled in the young
man's spirit now, for he stopped on the threshold.
"Come in," said my father, looking up.
"If I am welcome; not otherwise. "
"Thee are welcome. "
He came in-I drew him in- and sat down with us. But
his manner was irresolute, his fingers closed and unclosed ner-
vously. My father too sat leaning his head on his two hands,
not unmoved. I stole up to him, and thanked him softly for the
welcome he had given.
"There is nothing to thank me for," said he, with something
of his old hardness. "What I once did was only justice, or I
then believed so. What I have done, and am about to do, is
still mere justice. John, how old art thee now? "
«< Twenty.
"Then for one year from this time I will take thee as my
'prentice, though thee knowest already nearly as much of the
business as I do. At twenty-one thee wilt be able to set up for
thyself, or I may take thee into partnership—we'll see.
But »
and he looked at me, then sternly, nay fiercely, into John's
steadfast eyes - "remember, thee hast in some measure taken
that lad's place. May God deal with thee as thou dealest with
my son Phineas-my only son! "
"Amen! " was the solemn answer.
And God, who sees us both now -ay, now! and perhaps not
so far apart as some may deem - he knows whether or no John
Halifax kept that vow.
-
## p. 4136 (#514) ###########################################
4136
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
PHILIP, MY KING
L
OOK at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my King!
For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood's regal dignities.
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand,
With love's invisible sceptre laden;
I am thine Esther to command,
Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden,
Philip, my King!
Oh the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my King!
When those beautiful lips are suing,
And some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest all glorified! - Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair,
For we that love, ah, we love so blindly,
Philip, my King!
I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,
Philip, my King:
Ay, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now,
That may rise like a giant, and make men bow
As to one God-throned amidst his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer,
Let me behold thee in coming years!
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my King!
A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my King,
Thou too must tread, as we tread, a way
Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray:
Rebels within thee and foes without
Will snatch at thy crown. But go on, glorious,
Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,
As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious,-
"Philip, the King! »
## p. 4137 (#515) ###########################################
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4137
TOO LATE
OULD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
C In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do:
Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Oh to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few:
Do you know the truth now, up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?
I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you;
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows
I love you, Douglas, tender and true.
Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew,
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
NOW AND AFTERWARDS
"Two hands upon the breast, and labor is past. "
wo hands upon the breast,
And labor's done;
"Tw
-
Two pale feet crossed in rest,-
The race is won;
Two eyes with coin-weights shut,
And all tears cease;
RUSSIAN PROVERB.
Two lips where grief is mute,
Anger at peace: "
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot;
God in his kindness answereth not.
## p. 4138 (#516) ###########################################
4138
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
"Two hands to work addressed
Aye for his praise;
Two feet that never rest
Walking his ways;
Two eyes that look above
Through all their tears;
Two lips still breathing love,
Not wrath, nor fears:"
So pray we afterwards, low on our knees.
Pardon those erring prayers; Father, hear these!
## p. 4139 (#517) ###########################################
4139
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
(PAULINE DE LA FERRONAYS)
(1820-1891)
M
ADAME CRAVEN has told the story of her home life in 'Récit
d'une Sour: Souvenirs de Famille' (The Story of a Sister).
She has given a charming idyllic picture of a Catholic
French family-cultivated, simple-minded, and loving, and all ani-
mated by religious fervor. She has depicted with the strength of a
personal experience the hopes and fears of those who see their dear-
est friends dying of consumption. She loves to show the gradual re-
nunciation of life, the ennobling influence of sorrow, the triumph of
faith over death and bereavement. Her affectionate nature, full of
admiring enthusiasm for those she loved, led her to idealize real
people as the characters of her books.
She was born at Paris, but had early advantages of travel unusual
for a French girl. Her father was Ambassador to Berlin; the family
were in Italy for a time; and after her marriage with Augustus
Craven she lived a great deal in his native England. So the titles
of her books reflect a certain cosmopolitan spirit. She was interested
in English politics, and wrote a number of sketches on the subject.
The lives of devout Catholic friends appealed to her strongly, and
she wrote that of Sister Nathalie Narishkine of the Charity Saint
Vincent de Paul, which was cordially indorsed by Cardinal Newman;
and that of Lady Georgiana Fullerton.
Her 'Reminiscences,' recollections of England and Italy, show the
same keenly sympathetic power of observation. She also translated
from the Italian. But her most popular work has been stories. The
Story of a Sister' (1866), a collection of memoirs, was enthusiastically
admired by Catholic readers, and translated into English, was widely
read in England and America. It was followed by several novels, of
which the most popular have been Anne Séverin,' 'Le Mot de
l'Enigme' (The Veil Withdrawn), and 'Fleurange. ' These have all
been translated into English, and the last especially has continued in
favor for twenty years.
Here, as in her other books, the author's
strongest desire is to bear witness to the helpful discipline of trouble
and the satisfactions of religion. She treats simple problems of love
and duty, depicts primitive emotion, and deals very little in the com-
plex psychology of later fiction. In a strong, fluent, fervid style she
demonstrates that religious ecstasy is the most perfect of all joy, and
that in Catholicism alone all difficulties may find solution.
## p. 4140 (#518) ###########################################
4140
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
ALBERT'S LAST DAYS
From A Sister's Story'
Ο
NE of these latter days, Albert suddenly threw his arm round
me and exclaimed: "I am going to die, and we might have
been so happy! " O my God! I felt then as if my heart
would really break.
――
JUNE 26TH. Before mass, which was again said at twelve
o'clock at night in his room, Albert looked at me a long time,
and then said with deep feeling, "God bless you! " Then he
made the sign of the cross on my forehead, and added, "And
God bless your mother, too. " After a while he said, "Good-by. "
I seemed surprised, and perhaps frightened, and then he said,
"Good-night," as if to change the sad meaning of the word he
had used. And all the while I wished so much to speak openly
to him of his death. It was I perhaps who prevented it, by my
fear of exciting him. During that last mass, every time that I
looked at him he made me a sign to look at the altar. The
window was open, but the night was quite dark. At the moment
of communion the Abbé Martin de Noirlieu and Albert's father,
who was serving mass, came up to him. The Abbé gave one-
half of the sacred Host to him, and the other to me. Even in
this solemn moment there was something very sweet to me in
this. Albert could not open his lips without much suffering -it
was for this reason that the Abbé Martin had divided the Host;
but even so, he had some difficulty in swallowing, and they were
obliged to give him some water. This disturbed him, but the
Abbé Gerbet-who was present-assured him it did not signify.
Then Albert exclaimed: "My God! Thy will be done! " O my
God! this thanksgiving of his must, I think, have been pleasing
to thee!
Before mass he had said to the Abbé Martin, who was speak-
ing to him of his sufferings, "The only thing I ask of God now
is strength to fulfill my sacrifice. " "You are nailed to the cross
with our Lord Jesus Christ," the Abbé said, and Albert answered
in a very sweet and humble way, "Ah! but I am such a miser-
ble sinner! " The altar had a blue-silk frontal, and was dressed
with flowers. It was Eugénie who had arranged it.
The blue
silk was one of my trousseau dresses that had never been made
up, and now was applied to this use.
## p. 4141 (#519) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4141
JUNE 27TH. -Albert was light-headed; was continually talking
of going into the country, and pointing to me, cried, "She is
coming with me! She is coming with me! " (I was in the habit
of writing down every word he said on these latter days of his
life; and these words, "She is coming with me," were the last
I wrote. ) After dinner that same day we were sitting by his
side, without speaking. Eugénie bent over him and gently sug-
gested his receiving extreme unction. His countenance did not
change in the least. He said gently and quite quietly, "Will it
not be taking advantage of the graces the Church bestows to
receive it yet? " He was anointed however that same evening,
and during the whole time I was standing near him, with my
hand on his right shoulder. Eugénie was on the other side of
me.
An explanation of this sacrament, which we had read to-
gether in our happy days, made me understand all that was
going on. The thought flashed through me with a wild feeling
of grief: "What, must his soul be purified even of its ardent
love for me? Must that too be destroyed? " But I did not shed
a single tear. His own wonderful calm was so holy. When it
was over, Albert made a little sign of the cross on the Abbé
Dupanloup's forehead, who received it with respect, and affec-
tionately embraced him. Then I approached, feeling that it was
my turn to receive that dear sign of the cross, which was a
sweet habit of happier days. He kissed me, his parents,
Eugénie, Fernand, Montal, and then Julian (his servant), who
was weeping bitterly. When it came to that, Albert burst into
tears, and that was more than I could bear; but he quickly
recovered fortitude when I kissed him again, and beckoned to
the Sister, whom he would not leave out in this tender and
general leave-taking, but with his delicate sense of what was
befitting, and in token of gratitude he kissed the hand which
had ministered to him, in spite of her resistance. M. l'Abbé
Dupanloup, who gave him extreme unction, had prepared him
for his first communion, and never forgot the edification it had
given him at that time to find Albert on his knees praying in
the same place where he had left him three hours before in the
Church of St. Sulpice that church in which his beloved remains
were so soon to be deposited. I sat down by his side. He was
asleep, and I held his hand in mine while Eugénie was writing
the following lines to Pauline:-
-
-
## p. 4142 (#520) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4142
"O Pauline, what a night has this been! and yet not terri-
ble,—no, a most blessed night. Albert has just received extreme
unction. What wonderful graces God bestows: but why were
you not here to receive that dear angel's blessing, who, fitter for
Heaven than ourselves, is going before us there.
? " After
relating all that has been mentioned, she adds: "Pauline, I could
not have conceived anything more touching, more holy, more
soothing, or a more heavenly peace. I bless God that nothing in
all this time has troubled my notions of happiness in death. "
ALEXANDRINE TO THE ABBÉ GERBET
THE SAME DAY.
I should feel it a great mercy if you could come, but I am
however perfectly composed. I entreat you, continue your prayers
for me, for I can no longer pray for myself. I can only think.
of God, and remind him that I asked for faith in exchange for
happiness.
ALEXANDRINE.
ALEXANDRINE'S JOURNAL
JUNE 28TH. -To-night I called Albert's attention to the rising
moon. I thought it had the lurid aspect which once before I
saw at Rome, when I thought he was dying at Civita Vecchia.
The window was open. We looked on the fine trees of the
Luxembourg, and the perfume of the honeysuckles and many
flowers was sometimes almost too powerful on the night air.
Montal came in later and brought me Albert's letters to him,
which I had asked for. It was as if a dagger had been driven
into my heart. Still I immediately began to read those pages,
which though heart-rending were very sweet. The Abbé Martin
gave Albert absolution and the plenary indulgence for the night.
I was kneeling by his side, and said to him afterwards, "Do
kiss me. " He raised his feeble head, put up his lips, and kissed
Then I asked him to let me kiss his eyes. He shut them
in token of assent. Later still, feeling unable any longer to
forbear pouring my whole heart into his, and longing to take
advantage of the few moments yet remaining to us of life, I said
to him:"Albert, Montal has brought me your letters. They
comfort me very much.
"Stop! " he cried feebly.
"Stop! I cannot bear it-it troubles me! "—"O Albert! I
worship you! "-The cry burst forth in the anguish of not being
me.
## p. 4143 (#521) ###########################################
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4143
able to speak to him, for the fear of troubling his soul forced
me to be silent; but those were the last words of my love for
him that my lips ever uttered, and he heard them, as he had
asked -even as he lay dying. O my God! whom alone I now
worship, thou hast forgiven me for that rash word which I
never again shall use but to thee, but which I cannot help being
glad and thou wilt pardon my weakness-to have said to my
poor dying love. I wanted to sit up, but from grief and want of
sleep my head was confused, and wandered so much that I
thought I was speaking to Fernand at the window when he was
not even there. Then I became afraid of losing my senses, and
Eugénie forced me to lie down on the bed. I trusted more to
her than any one else to waken me in time. Already, once or
twice, I had experienced that terrible feeling when roused from
sleep, of thinking that the dreadful moment was come.
I was
resolved at any cost to be there.
At about three o'clock in the morning, the 29th of June, I
saw Eugénie at my bedside, and was terrified; but she calmed
me, and said that Albert had asked, "Where is Alex? » "Do
you want her? " Eugénie had said. "Of course I want her," he
replied, and then began to wander again. I behaved as if I had
lost my senses. I passed twice before Albert's bed, and then
went into the next room, not the least knowing what I was
about. Eugénie came in, holding clasped in her hands the cru-
cifix indulgenced for the hour of death, which the Abbé Dupan-
loup had lent her. She appeared then as a meek angel of death,
for that crucifix was a sign that the end drew near.
Albert saw
it, seized it himself, kissed it fervently, and exclaimed, "I thank
thee, my God! " After that he became quite calm. They changed
his position, and turned his head towards the rising sun. He
had fallen into a kind of sleep, with his beloved head resting on
my left arm. I was standing, and afraid of slipping from my
place. The Sister wanted to relieve me, but Eugénie told her
not to do so, and that I was glad to be there. When Albert
awoke he spoke in his usual voice, and in quite a natural way,
to Fernand.
―――――――
—
At six o'clock he was then lying in an arm-chair near the
window. I saw and knew that the moment was come.
Then I felt so great a strength pass into me that nothing could
have driven me from my place as I knelt by his side. My sister
Eugénie was close to me. His father was kneeling on the other
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MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
side. His poor mother stood leaning over him, the Abbé Mar-
tin by her side. O my God! No one spoke except his father,
and each one of his words were words of blessing, the worthiest
that could accompany the dying agony of a son. "My child, who
hast never caused us pain,—the very best of sons,-we bless
you. Do you hear me still, my child? You are looking at your
Alexandrine, "- his dying eyes had turned towards me,-" and
you bless her also. " The Sister began to say the Litany for the
Agonizing. And I his wife-felt what I could never have
conceived; I felt that death was blessed, and I said in my heart:
"Now, O Lord Jesus, he is in Paradise! " The Abbé Martin
began to give the last absolution, and Albert's soul took flight
before it was over.
A GENEROUS ENEMY
From Fleurange': by permission of American Publishers' Corporation
As
S THE silence lengthened, and she looked at Vera with ever-
increasing surprise, a sudden apprehension seized her, and
a fugitive and remote glimpse of the truth crossed her
mind.
Nothing in the world was more vague than her recollection
of the name murmured a single time in her presence; but that
once was in a conversation of which Count George was the sub-
ject, and she remembered that she had then believed that they
were talking of a marriage desired by the Princess for her son.
Was it regretfully now that Vera brought to another this
permission to accompany him?
Such was the question that Fleurange asked herself. Then
approaching Vera, she said to her gently:-
"If you have been intrusted with a message for me, Made-
moiselle, how can I thank you sufficiently for having taken the
trouble to bring it to me yourself? »
But Vera hastily withdrew her hand, retreating a few steps
as she did so. Then as if she were a prey to some emotion
which she could not conquer, she fell back in an arm-chair
placed near the table; and for some minutes remained pale,
panting for breath, her expression gloomy and wild, from time
to time brushing away fiercely the tears that in spite of all her
efforts escaped from her eyelids.
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MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4145
Fleurange, motionless with surprise, looked at her with
mingled terror and interest; but soon the frank decision of her
character conquered her timidity. She went straight to the point.
"Countess Vera," she said, "if I have not conjectured rightly
the motive which brings you here, tell me the truth. There is
going on between us at this moment something which I do not
understand. Be sincere; I will be so too. Let us not remain
like this toward one another. Above all, do not look at me as
if I were not only a stranger, but an enemy. "
At this word Vera raised her head.
"Enemies! " she repeated: "Well, it is true; at this moment
we are so! "
What did she mean to say? Fleurange folded her arms, and
looked at her attentively, seeking to find an explanation to this
enigma of her words; to the still more obscure enigma of her face,
which expressed by turns the most conflicting sentiments; to the
enigma of her eyes, which now regarded her with hate, now
with the gentleness and almost the humility of a suppliant.
At last Vera seemed to decide to go on:-
"Yes, you are right," she said: "I must put an end to your
suspense, and explain to you my strange conduct; but I need
courage to do it, and to come here as I have done, to address
myself to you as I am about to do, there must have been-with-
out my knowing why-"
-
"Well," Fleurange said with a smile, "what else? "
"There must have been in my heart a secret instinct which
assured me that you were good and generous!
-
This conclusion, after this beginning, did not clear up the
situation,— on the contrary, rendered it more involved than ever.
"This is enough by way of introduction," Fleurange said,
with a certain tone of firmness. "Speak clearly, Countess Vera;
tell me all without reserve; you may believe me when I beseech
you to have no fear. Though your words were to do me a harm
which at this moment I can neither foresee nor comprehend,
speak; I require it of you; hesitate no longer. "
"Well then, here! " said Vera, throwing suddenly upon the
table a paper which till then she had held concealed.
Fleurange took it, looked at it, and at first blushed; then she
grew pale.
"My petition! " she said; "you bring it back to me? It has
been refused then. "
VII-260
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MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"No, it has not been sent. "
"You mean to say that the Empress, after having shown so
much kindness towards me, has changed her mind and refused
to undertake it? "
«No.
She has given orders to me, on the contrary, to send
your petition, and to add to it her own recommendation. "
"Well ? »
"I have disobeyed her orders. "
"I await the explanation which you are no doubt intend-
ing to give me. Go on without interrupting yourself; I shall
listen. "
"Well then, first of all, answer me. Did you know that
George von Walden was the husband who was promised to me,
-for whom my father destined me from childhood? "
"Who was promised you? - from childhood? No, I did not
know it. But no matter; go on. "
"It is true, it is no matter: this is not the question, although
I was obliged to refer to it. It is no longer a question of his
misfortune, of his fearful sentence, of that frightful Siberia to
which you propose to accompany him-to share a fate which
you can neither alleviate, nor, possibly, endure yourself. The
question is now, to save him from this destiny; to give back to
him life, honor, liberty, all that he has lost. His estates, his
fortune, his rank, all may yet be restored to him! This is what
I have come to tell you, and to ask you to aid in its accom-
plishment. "
"All this can be restored to him! " said Fleurange, in an
altered voice. "By what means? By whose power? "
"That of the Emperor, invoked, and of his clemency obtained
through my entreaties; but upon two conditions, one of which is
imposed upon George, the other of which depends upon me. To
these two conditions is joined a third, and that one rests with
you, with you only! "
The great eyes of Fleurange were fixed upon Vera, with an
expression of profound astonishment, mingled with anguish.
"Finish, I implore you! " she said. "Finish, if you are not
dreaming in saying such words to me, or I in hearing them;-
if we are not both mad, you and I! "
Vera clasped her hands together and cried passionately:-
"Oh, I beseech you, have mercy upon him! "
She stopped, suffocated by her emotion.
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4147
Fleurange continued to look at her with the same expression,
and without speaking made a sign to her to go on.
She seemed to concentrate her attention to understand the
words that were said to her.
"I am listening," she said at last; "I am listening quietly
and attentively; speak to me with the same composure. "
Vera resumed in a calmer tone:
"This morning, at the moment when I had just read your
petition, and learned for the first time who the exile was whom
you desired to follow,- at this very moment the Emperor arrived
at the palace, and sent for me. "
"The Emperor? " said Fleurange, with surprise.
« Yes.
