The World's Greatest Books - Volume 4 Part 42

So saying, he went off and left us.

"I am surprised," said the baronet, "what he can intend by this?"

"When we reflect," I replied, "on the various schemes--Amazement! Do I see my lost daughter? It is--it is my Olivia!"

"As for you, squire," said Jenkinson, "this young lady is your lawful wedded wife. Here is the licence to prove it. He commissioned me, gentlemen," he continued, "to procure him a false licence and a false priest in order to deceive this young lady. What did I do, but went and got a true licence and a true priest. To my shame, I confess it, my only design was to keep the licence and let the squire know that I could prove it upon him whenever I wanted money."

"How could you," I cried, "add to my miseries by the story of her death?"

"That," replied Jenkinson, "is easily answered. I thought the only probable means of freeing you from prison was by submitting to the squire, and consenting to his marriage with the other young lady. But this you had vowed never to grant while your daughter was living, so I had to join with your wife in persuading you that she was dead."

Mr. Thornhill's a.s.surance had now entirely forsaken him. He fell on his knees before his uncle, and implored compa.s.sion.

"Thy vices, crimes, and ingrat.i.tude," said the baronet, "deserve no compa.s.sion; but a bare competence shall be supplied thee, and thy wife shall possess a third part of that fortune which once was thine." Then, turning to Sophia, he caught her to his breast with ardour. "I have sought," he cried, "for a woman who, a stranger to my fortune, could think I had merit as a man. How great must be my rapture to have made a conquest over such sense and such heavenly beauty!"

On the next day Sophia was wedded to Sir William Thornhill; and my son George, now freed from justice, as the person supposed to be wounded by him was detected to be an impostor, led Miss Wilmot to the altar. As soon as I had awakened that morning, I had heard that my merchant had been arrested at Antwerp, and that my fortune had been restored to me.

It may not be improper to observe, with respect to Mr. Thornhill, that he now resides as companion at a relation's house. My eldest daughter has told me that when he reforms she may be brought to relent.

I had now nothing on this side of the grave to wish for. All my cares were over. It only remained that my grat.i.tude in good fortune should exceed my submission in adversity.

EDMOND AND JULES DE GONCOURT

Renee Mauperin

Edmond de Goncourt, born at Nancy on May 26, 1822, and his brother Jules, born in Paris on December 17, 1830, were primarily artists, who, while wandering over France, knapsack on back, discovered that their note-books also made them writers. In 1850 they entered upon a literary partners.h.i.+p which only finished with the death of the younger brother on June 20, 1870. Their earliest literary endeavours consisted of a series of historical studies dealing with the France of the second half of the eighteenth century. It was not until 1860, with the publication of their first novel, "Les Hommes de Lettres," that they discovered their true bent lay in fiction.

"Renee Mauperin," which is, perhaps, the best known of their books, was published in 1864. As a psychological a.n.a.lysis of contemporaneous youth, it is probably without its equal in French fiction. "The plot of the story," wrote Edmond de Goncourt, "is secondary. The authors have rather preferred to paint the modern young woman as she is: the product of the artistic and masculine system of education in force during the last thirty years. We have also attempted to portray the modern young college man influenced by the republican ideas of the time since Louis Philippe." Edmond de Goncourt died on July 16, 1896.

_I.--A Wayward Girl_

"Yes, I love riding and hunting. I never miss a meet. The wind blowing through one's hair, the hounds, the horns, the trees flying past you--it is intoxicating! In those moments I feel brave. Life has few other pleasures for a well-brought-up girl like me. Everything is shocking! I dance, yes ... but do you think I am allowed to talk to my partner? Yes, no, no, yes--that's all! That's proper. And I am allowed to read if the books and articles are proper. I paint in oils, and that shocks my family; a young lady must not go beyond copying roses in water-colours.

Isn't the current strong here?"

Renee Mauperin and young Reverchon, her parent's guest, were swimming in the Seine.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed the girl, as she noticed the evening sun gilding the river and the banks where country and suburb merged into each other.

"You are an artist by nature, mademoiselle."

"Ouf!" she exclaimed with a comic intonation.

A boat approached.

"Well, Renee, how is the water?" asked one of the rowers.

"Splendid, thanks, Denoisel," she replied, as she mounted the steps lowered for her.

"I was almost getting nervous for you. And Reverchon? Ah, there he is!"

Renee was the youngest daughter of a distinguished Napoleonic officer, who, at the time of the revolution of 1830, was elected deputy, and fought with all his ardour for the Liberal cause, but who subsequently, at the urging of his wife, a tyrannical conventional member of the _bourgeois_, retired from the world of politics and established a sugar refinery, so as to be able to provide suitably for his three children.

The first two, a boy born in 1826 and a daughter in 1827, were a disappointment to the old soldier. They were too reasonable, too "grown-up" before they were children, but in Renee, who was born after an interval of eight years, M. Mauperin found ample consolation. His heart revelled in her pranks and merry laughter, and she grew up the pet of her father, whose affection she returned with all her heart. She was now twenty; her brother Henri, serious, studious, plodding and determined to make a career, was a lawyer, and had made some reputation by his articles on statistical subjects; and Henriette, her elder sister, had found a husband in M. Davarande, whose wealth and position allowed her to devote herself to the life of empty amus.e.m.e.nt, divided mainly between long rounds of calls, the opera, and the Bois, which filled the days of the moneyed Paris _bourgeoisie_ of that time.

Madame Mauperin, delighted with Henriette's match, was anxious to find an equally suitable partner for Renee; but the high-spirited girl had a will of her own, and seemed to take almost a pleasure in crossing her mother's transparent matrimonial schemes. Quite a number of eligible young men had been introduced to the house at La Briche--and had left it without having furthered their suit. Reverchon had now been invited with similar intentions, and Renee was no more amenable than before. While her mother filled the young man's ears with praise of her accomplishments, the wayward girl, with her charming ingenuous talk, did her best to demonstrate her lack of those negative conventional virtues that were expected from a well-educated French girl in those days. She made Madame Mauperin turn first crimson, then pale, when she finally proceeded to cut Denoisel's hair in the drawing-room after dinner.

Denoisel was the son of Mauperin's bosom friend, who had fought by his side in many battles, and who on his death-bed had made him his son's guardian. Mauperin became more than a guardian to the boy--he became his father. When Henri and Henriette were born, it seemed to Denoisel that he had been given a brother and sister; but he adored the baby Renee, and he alone succeeded in making her listen and obey.

"Sometimes," said Henri to Denoisel as they travelled back to Paris, "my sister's follies are harmless enough; but to-night ... before that fellow ... I am sure the marriage will fall through. And such an excellent match!"

"You think so? I began to fear for her. And that's why I lent myself to her prank. He is too hopelessly commonplace--a tailor's dummy! He would never have understood her. Your sister ought to marry a man of intelligence and character."

And Madame Mauperin, as she prepared for bed, lectured her husband upon acceding to all his favourite's whims.

"Another marriage missed! Henri spoke to me this evening. He is sure Reverchon will not have her."

"Well, what of it?"

"Why, he is the tenth! Renee will get an awful reputation. She will see when she is thirty ... and you too." Then, after a pause, "And now about your son. He is twenty-nine now. He, at any rate, has no objection to marriage. Have you ever thought of finding him a suitable wife?"

She continued to talk and to grumble until Mauperin fell asleep.

"Henri is reasonable enough, but he is a young man, and you know the danger. It's driving me mad! What do you think of trying Madame Rosieres?"

There was no reply. Madame Mauperin resigned herself to silence, and turned to find the sleep which only came with morning.

_II.--Plots and Plays_

Next morning Madame Mauperin proceeded to Paris, and drove to her son's apartments in the Rue Taitbout. She found him at work. After some beating about the bush she approached the object of her visit.

"I fear," she began, "that you must have some reason for ..."

"For not marrying, isn't it? My dear mother, you need not worry. I know that wealth is needed for a successful career, and that the best and most honourable way to obtain it is a good marriage. And I am determined to make a career. I shall get married soon enough... and better, perhaps, than you think."

At La Briche, meanwhile, M. Mauperin vainly tried to be stern with his pet.