Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

of St. C ,
Tin-: i'oi;ri:AiT AV MY c \CLI-: 's
,uler or prince of the young men. The I'niatelsbelonged
to thai old race of peasantry which for three or four hundred
years have been in possession from father to sou of a piece of
ground of their own, and cultivated it themselves. The
r, an honest, hard-working woman, with a sharp eye after
profits and gain, managed the household. 'She married
alliance.
<
.
a little village of Provence, in the dioo upon which was lying a large heap of wheat. The crnins
inline of the
lived in that place. JI>
Abba', because in all the village fib x he
ing sil'ied one by one for the purpose of removing the
she said.
'
Everything is not gold that glitters,"
'
Xot a word hud been breathed about a marriage portion and
;
as the parents will not see or speak to the girl, it is most like-
ly they will disinherit her. It is not in any way a marriage
that suits us. What shall we do at home with this fine young
lady ? Does she think we are going to be her humble servants ?
I can tell her it will be no such thing. And what a figure she
will look amongst us in her smart gowns ? They will laugh at
us in the village, and I shall be almost ashamed of being seen
with her. For my part, I have no opinion of those handsome
women. They are always thinking of their faces and their
dress. There is not a bit of use in them. I am certain my
eldest son, when he comes home, will be out of forts about this
marriage. But it is of no good talking. Francois brought her
to the farm, and there was nothing for it but to get them married.
But I wish with all my heart that I do that this mademoiselle
had never darkened our doors.' I did all I could
to make her look on her son's marriage in a different light, and
to persuade her to welcome with a more Christian spirit the
young stranger who had become a member of her family. But
though a good woman as the world goes, Madame Pinatel had
none of the religious principles which would have made her
susceptible of the sort of feelings I tried to instil into her, and
all my efforts were useless.
"Just at that time I was summoned to Aix by the Bishop for
a work which had been begun the year before, and which he
wished me to finish under his eyes. I was absent from my par.
ish about two months, and it was near Christmas when I came
home. larrivedlateoneevening, having walked partofthe way,
and as a cold, drizzling was
^ain beginning to fall, I hastened
towards the dwelling-place of the Pinatels, which stood on the
roadside, about a mile from the village. Their house was
a large, ill-constructed building, the walls of which had never
been plastered. Properly speaking, it had neither sides or
front. The windows seemed to have been made here and there
without any definite plan, and were without panes or blinds.
The entrance door opened upon a sort of yard, encumbered
with rubbish, piles of tors should not be at the trouble of answering. The eldest
Pinatel accordingly began to descaut upon
brushwood, and heaps of manure. There
was not a tree about the house, or the least appearance of a
garden. In summer a burning sun turned the outside of this
habitation into a furnace, and in the winter the icy mistral blew
in unopposed through the rotten boards of the old outside
the drought, whi h
had been unfavorable for the sowing, and on the extraordiu iry
size of two fat pigs which he had sold at the last fair at St.
C . Whilst he was giving me every kind of detail on (lie
subject, his young sister-in-law silently slipped into the room
and seated herself in the corner of the chimney opposite to me;
' her clothes were wet, and she was shivering with cold. D >
not leave, another time, the door open when you go out in the
evening, daughter-in-law, '
the widow Pinatel said to her in a
'
sharp tone of voice. How can I come in again if I shut .t
behind me ? '
she replied with a scowl on her face. No ono
took any further notice of her. The eldest son went on with
his account of the sale of pigs. Tue other brothers had also
their say in the matter, and an animate! discussion arose
as to the size and weight of the animals. In the meantime
I was looking at the young wife with a mixture of
curiosity and compassion. She was dressed like Madame
P.natel, in a brown drugget petticoat, and her cap of pr nted
calico tied under her chin entirely concealed he hair. The white
smoothness of her face was so remarkable that it almost
ed made of marble. She made up the fire a ittle, shivering all
the time in her wet clothes, and holding her head down, as if
afraid that I should speak to her. Seeing this was th case, I
did not say a word, and even took care not to look at her any
more. But I threw into the heartu some logs that were lying
near me, a d movtd aside the iron pot that she might put her
shutters. It was very dark, and as I was crossing the yard,
'g my way with a stick, I heard somebody before me exclaiming
:
'
Francois, is that you at last ?' I advanced and
named myself, upon which the person who had spoken turned
abruptly round towards the house and disappeared. I pushed
open the door, which stood ajar, and, passing through the sta-
the crockery and the saucepans were placed in grand array.
The wall was adorned with the pewter dishes won by the Abbat,
;ome of the household provisions were always hanging
Ht it.
" When I walked in, the fr.mily was sitting round a table
mildew, which is apt to ppc iil the lloiir. This occupation was
carried on by the dun light of a snuffy lamp, and they all ap-
plied themselves, to the ant-like labor with extraordina;
tivity. When I appeared, Madame Piuatel got up and said,
' O dear, you have had to cross the stable without a light, M.
le Curd. We never heard you coming. You found the door
' '
opened, then ? There was somebody in the yard,' I replied ;
'I think it was your new daughter-in-law looking out for her
her eldest son to a girl wuohad for her portion a plot of ground
worta about a thousand crowns, and she lived in very comforta- husband.'
ble terms with her daughter-in-law. She came one day to tell
me the news of her second son's mi! rriage with Mile, de Malpeire.
The widow Pinatel was by no me ins dazzled by the noble
son muttered between his teeth,
' The widow shrugged her shoulders, and the i
'
In that case she is likely to
spend the night out of
'
doors.
'
Is Francois
*
gone up
mountain ?' I asked, thinking it possible tint he might have
been to Malpeire, where great damage had been done after the
Baron's departure.
' What business would he have there re-
plied the widow ;
' he is gone in another direction. You see,
M. le Cure, he is a lad that can never stay long together at
home. He is gone to amuse himself at the fair at
Apt.' I sat down in the post of honor, under the projecting
chimney-piece. Two small logs were slowly burning
on the hearth, and though the hour of supper was past, an
enormous iron pot was still simmering amidst the ashes. The
The Provencal peasants' idea of politeness is to take upon
themselves the whole burden of conversation, so that the visi-
feet ou the ashes. Wh n she had warmed herself, she leant
back against the wall with her arms crossed over her el IP t,
and c osed her eyes like a person who dozes overpowered by
fatigued. The rain continued to fall, t nd I staid 0:1 till lato
in the evening. During all that time the young woman
moved, or opened her yes. At last, just as I was going a\vay,
thinking that the bad weather would la t all the night, somebody
whistled in the yard, and the house-uog ran to the do r
wagging his tail. 'It is Francois !' exclaimed the youug wo-
ble, entered the room where the family usually sat. It was a
Jiiy long apartment, but so dark and smoky that at first
it was difficult to discern anything in it. The widow Pinatel's
bed was iu one corner, screened from sight by curtains of yellow
serge. Her great wooden cupboard always carefully
locked up stood opposite to three or four shelves, upon which
man starting up and rushing to meet he husband.
" The others did not move. The widow Pinatel, casting a
glance at the place her daughter-in-law had just left, muttered,
'
I only hope she has kept the soup warm.'
"A moment afterwards the Abbat came in, and throwing his
stick and heavy woollen cloal; into a corner, said in a cheery
manner, ' Good evening to you all. M. le Cure, how do you
do? and you, mother, is all right with you ?' 'Well, I sup-
she ans wered ;
'
and you,
pose one must always say yes to that, '
son, how do you feel yourself?' 'Why, not amiss as times go,'
he cried, and then, patting his stomach, added with a loud
laugh, '
'
'
but I daresay better soou. You have had no '!'
supper