<.m< 
 
 
 
\ 
 
HONORE DE BALZAC 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY 
 
 THE 
 
 COUNTRY DOCTOR 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 3 SOMERSET STREET 
 
 BOSTON 
 [892 
 
Copyright, 1886, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 JHm&erstts tyrtst: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 
 
£>"7 
 
 2 
 
 MAtfi/ 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAQE 
 
 I. The Country and the Man 1 
 
 II. O'er Hill and Dale 84 
 
 III. The Napoleon of the People 160 
 
 IV. The Confession of the Country Doctor . 219 
 V. Elegies 268 
 
For wounded hearts, silence and shade 
 
EtSITl 
 
 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE COUNTRY AND THE MAN. 
 
 On a lovely spring morning, in 1829, a man about 
 fifty } T ears of age was riding along a mountainous road 
 which leads to a large village in the neighborhood of 
 La Grande Chartreuse. This village is the market-town 
 of a populous district enclosed within the circumference 
 of a long valley. A torrent, with a rocky bed often 
 dry, but filled at that season by the melted snows, 
 waters this valley, whose heights command on either 
 side the peaks of Dauphine and the Savoie. 
 
 Though all the landscapes nestling within the chain 
 of the two Mauriennes have a family likeness, the region 
 through which the stranger was riding offered to the 
 ej T e a diversity of ground and a change fulness of light 
 and shadow which ma} r be sought in vain elsewhere. 
 At times the valle}', widening suddenly, gave to view 
 an irregular carpet of verdure, which constant irriga- 
 tion, due to the mountains, kept ever fresh and tender 
 to the e} r e. Sometimes a saw-mill showed its humble 
 buildings picturesquely placed, its supply of fir-trees 
 stripped of bark, its watercourse turned from the moun- 
 tain torrent and led through troughs hollowed squarely 
 
2 The Country Doctor. 
 
 in great wooden logs, from whose crevices a film}' thread 
 of water was escaping. Here and there, cottages sur- 
 rounded by gardens filled with fruit-trees, then in 
 flower, wakened the ideas which industrious poverty 
 inspires. Farther on, houses with red roofs, made of 
 flat tiles with rounded edges like the scales of a fish, 
 told of the ease which comes of patient labor. Above 
 each door hung a basket, in which the cheeses were put 
 to diy. The hedges everywhere were bright with grape- 
 vines, twined, as in Ital}', among dwarf elms whose 
 foliage serves as fodder for the cattle. By a caprice of 
 nature, the hills approach each other so closely in some 
 places that there is no longer an}' room for mills, or 
 fields, or cottages. Separated only by the torrent, 
 which darts onward in cascades, the granite walls rise 
 a hundred feet on either side, clothed with dark firs and 
 beeches. Erect, fantastically colored with tufts of moss, 
 and diverse in foliage, these trees form magnificent col- 
 onnades, edged above and below the roadwa} 7 with 
 irregular hedges of arbutus, viburnum, box, and sweet- 
 brier. The fragrance of these shrubs blends with the 
 penetrating odors of the young shoots of larches, pop- 
 lars, and the resinous pine, and with the wilder, more 
 subtile, and mysterious perfumes of a mountainous re- 
 gion, embodying, as it were, the deepest and sweetest 
 secrets of nature, and breathing aromatic airs which 
 stimulate old memories, as scents are wont to do. A 
 few clouds floated among the rocks, veiling and unveil- 
 ing the grizzled summits of the mountains, often as 
 vaporous as the clouds themselves whose downy flakes 
 they seemed to tear. Every instant the landscape 
 changed its aspect, and the sky its light ; the mountains 
 
The Country Doctor. 3 
 
 changed their colors, the slopes their shadows, and the 
 vales their shape. Innumerable vistas opened, which 
 unlooked-for accidents — a ray of sunlight athwart the 
 trunks of trees, an opening glade, a tangled brake — 
 made delicious to the e}'e in the hush of silence, in the 
 season of the year when all is young and the sun kindles 
 a pure heaven. It was indeed a land of beauty ; it was 
 France ! 
 
 The traveller — a man of tall stature — was dressed 
 wholly in blue cloth, as carefully brushed as the glossy 
 hide of the horse on which he sat erect and firm as an 
 old cavalry officer. If his black cravat, his doeskin gloves, 
 the pistols protruding from his holsters, and the port- 
 manteau securely fastened to the crupper of his saddle 
 had not proclaimed him a soldier, his bronzed face, pit- 
 ted with the small-pox, and its regular features stamped 
 with evident insouciance, his decided manner, the as- 
 surance of his glance, the carriage of his head, would 
 all have betrayed the regimental habits of which a sol- 
 dier never divests himself, even after his return to do- 
 mestic life. Other men might have marvelled at the 
 various beauties of this alpine nature, so smiling as it 
 nestles in the upland valleys of France ; but this officer, 
 who had doubtless traversed many lands with the French 
 armies of the imperial wars, enjoyed the landscape 
 without apparent surprise at its manifold changes ; for 
 astonishment is an emotion which Napoleon seems to 
 have eradicated from the minds of his soldiers. The 
 composure of a man's face is a sure sign by which an 
 observer may recognize the men who were formerly 
 enrolled under the ephemeral, but imperishable, eagles 
 of the great emperor. 
 
4 The Country Doctor. 
 
 The traveller was, in fact, one of those officers, now 
 few in number, whom the bullets spared, though he 
 served on all the battlefields commanded hy Napoleon. 
 There was nothing extraordinary about his life. He 
 had fought well and loyally in the ranks, doing his 
 duty by night as by day, under the e}'e of his comman- 
 der or away from him ; never giving an unnecessary 
 sabre-thrust, and incapable of giving one too man}*. 
 The rosette of an officer of the Legion of honor, which 
 he wore in his button-hole, came to him after the battle 
 of the Moskowa, when he was chosen by the unanimous 
 voice of his regiment as the one who, on that great day, 
 proved most worthy to receive it. Belonging as he did 
 to the limited number of men who are seemingly reserved 
 and cold, timid in self-assertion and content within them- 
 selves, — men whose spirit is humiliated at the very 
 thought of soliciting a favor, of whatever nature it may 
 be, — his promotions had come to him only through the 
 slow process of seniority. Made a sub-lieutenant in 
 1802, he was, despite his gray mustache, only in com- 
 mand of a squadron in 1829 ; and yet his life was so 
 pure that no man in the arm}', not even the general, 
 approached him without an involuntary feeling of re- 
 spect, — an uncontested advantage, which his superiors 
 may have been unwilling to forgive. On the other hand, 
 and by wa} T of compensation as it were, the common 
 soldiers were devoted to him with a feeling like that of 
 children towards a good mother, for to them he was 
 both indulgent and severe. Once a soldier in the ranks 
 like themselves, he knew all their miserable joys and 
 their joyous miseries ; the pardonable and the punish- 
 able delinquencies of men whom he always called his 
 
The Country Doctor, 5 
 
 " children," and allowed, during a campaign, to forage 
 for fodder and provisions on the middle-class inhabitants 
 of a country. 
 
 As to his private history, it was wrapped in impene- 
 trable mysterj*. Like all soldiers of his epoch, he had 
 seen the world only through the smoke of cannon, or 
 in the brief intervals of peace, so rare in the European 
 struggles which the emperor maintained. Had he ever 
 thought of marriage? The question remained unan- 
 swered. Though no one doubted that the command- 
 ant 1 Genestas had had his love-affairs as he passed 
 from garrison to garrison and from country to countiy, 
 or shared in the fetes given and received by the regi- 
 ments, still no one had anj T actual knowledge of them. 
 Without prudery, never declining airy jovial amusement, 
 never antagonistic to military morals, he either held his 
 tongue or answered with a laugh, if questioned on the 
 subject of his amours. To the words, " And }'ou, cap- 
 tain, how is it with you ? " addressed to him b} T some 
 officer flushed with wine, he would answer, " Gentlemen, 
 another glass ! " 
 
 A sort of Ba}-ard without assumption, Monsieur Pierre 
 Joseph Genestas had nothing poetical or romantic about 
 him ; in fact he appeared commonplace. His dress was 
 that of a man comfortably well off. Though he had 
 nothing but his pay, and his pension was all he had to 
 look to in the future, nevertheless, like the old wolves 
 of commerce to whom ill-luck teaches an experience 
 which turns to obstinacy, the cavalry captain always 
 kept two 3^ears' pay ahead of him, and never spent the 
 whole of his salaiy. He was so little of a gambler that 
 
 1 Title given to the captain of a squadron of horse. 
 
6 The Country Doctor. 
 
 he looked another way when a hand was wanted at 
 whist or an additional stake at ecarte. But though he 
 allowed himself no unusual expenses, he was not back- 
 ward in those that were customary. His uniforms lasted 
 longer than those of any officer in the regiment, by 
 reason of the care which his limited means had early 
 led him to bestow upon them, — a habit which had now 
 become mechanical. He might have been suspected of 
 avarice were it not for the admirable disinterestedness, 
 the fraternal readiness, with which he opened his purse 
 to some thoughtless young fellow ruined by cards or 
 by other follies. It seemed as though he must himself 
 have met with heavy losses at play, for he showed such 
 delicacy in assisting others. He claimed no right to con- 
 trol the actions of his debtors, and never spoke of their 
 indebtedness. Child of the regiment, alone in the world, 
 he made the army his nation and the squadron his 
 family. Consequently, people seldom asked the reason 
 of his modest economies ; on the contrary, they were 
 glad to suppose he was making a provision of comfort 
 for his old age. He was now on the eve of becoming a 
 lieutenant-colonel of cavahy, and it might be presumed 
 that his ambition looked to a future retirement to coun- 
 try life, with the epaulets and emoluments of a colonel. 
 If the 3'ounger officers talked of Genestas after morn- 
 ing drill, they classed him with the men who begin life 
 by obtaining prizes at college for good conduct and con- 
 tinue for the rest of their da} T s precise, upright, without 
 passions, useful and colorless as white bread ; but older 
 and graver men judged very different!} 7 . Often a glance, 
 an expression as full of meaning as the speech of a 
 savage, escaped the man and revealed the storms of a 
 
The Country Doctor. 7 
 
 soul within him. To those who studied him, his calm 
 brow showed the power of silencing his passions and 
 driving them back into the depths of his heart, — a power 
 dearly won through experience of danger and the un- 
 foreseen disasters of war. The son of a peer of France, 
 who had lately joined the regiment, said one day 
 apropos of Genestas, that he might have been "the 
 most conscientious of priests, or the most honest of 
 grocers — " 
 
 " — and the least fawning of marquises!" he re- 
 marked, eyeing the young dandy, who did not think 
 his commander overheard him. 
 
 All present burst into a laugh ; for the father of the 
 young man was known as the flatterer of all the powers 
 that be, — an elastic man, who rebounded over the heads 
 of revolutions ; and the son took after him. 
 
 The French armies could show other such characters, 
 grand when the occasion offered, simple and unpretend- 
 ing when it had passed, indifferent to gloiy, forgetful of 
 danger ; indeed, more such men were met with than the 
 defects of human nature might allow us to suppose. 
 Nevertheless, we should be strangely mistaken if we be- 
 lieved that Genestas was perfect. Suspicious, given to 
 violent spirts of anger, aggravating in discussion, deter- 
 mined to be thought right when he was obviously in the 
 wrong, he was full of national prejudices. Throughout 
 his militar}- life he had had a fondness for good wine. 
 Though he alwa}'s left the dinner-table with the due 
 decorum of his rank, he was serious and meditative, 
 and never, at such times, admitted any one to his secret 
 thoughts. Though he knew the waj T s of the world 
 and the laws of politeness tolerably well, a species of 
 
8 The Country Doctor. 
 
 army regulation which he observed with the stiffness 
 of a martinet ; though he possessed both natural and 
 acquired sense ; and understood tactics, drill, the prin- 
 ciples of fencing on horseback, and all the secrets 
 of veterinary art, his education in other respects was 
 prodigiously neglected. He knew, though he knew it 
 vaguely, that Caesar was either a consul or a Roman 
 emperor, Alexander a Greek or a Macedonian ; he 
 would have allowed } t ou to say either without contradic- 
 tion. Consequently, when the conversation became 
 historical or scientific he grew silent, and limited his 
 participation in it to little nods of comprehension, like 
 those of a sage who has attained to pyrrhonism. When 
 Napoleon wrote from Schoenbrunn, May 13, 1809, the 
 famous bulletin addressed to the Grand Arm} 7 , mistress 
 of Vienna, declaring that "like Medea, the Austrian 
 princes had strangled their own children," Genestas, 
 lately appointed captain, was unwilling to compromise 
 the dignity of his new rank by asking who Medea was ; 
 he relied upon the genius of Napoleon, confident that 
 the emperor would onty mention officia] matters to the 
 Grand Army and the house of Austria, and concluded 
 that Medea was some Austrian archduchess of equivo- 
 cal behavior. Nevertheless, as the topic might concern 
 military discipline, he felt uneasy about the Medea of 
 the bulletin ; so that when Mademoiselle Raucourt pro- 
 duced Medea on the stage, the captain, having read the 
 announcement, repaired to the Theatre Francais to see 
 the celebrated actress in that mythological character, — 
 as to which he made sundr} 7 inquiries of his neighbor. 
 A man who, in the ranks, had had the energy to learn 
 how to read, write, and cipher, w r as surely capable of 
 
The Country Doctor. 9 
 
 understanding that a captain of cavalry must have an 
 education. Accordingly, from the date of his promo- 
 tion, he read with much ardor all the novels and current 
 books of the da} 7 ; which provided him with a certain 
 amount of knowledge on which he contrived to make a 
 fair appearance. Out of gratitude to these teachers, he 
 went so far as to defend Pigault-Lebrun, declaring that 
 he found him instructive and often profound. 
 
 This officer, whose acquired prudence never allowed 
 him to make a useless expedition, had just left Grenoble 
 and was on his wa}^ towards La Grande Chartreuse, 
 after obtaining from his colonel a leave of absence for 
 eight days. He was not intending to make a long trip ; 
 but, misled from mile to mile bj T the ignorant directions 
 of the peasants whom he questioned by the way, he be- 
 gan to think it prudent not to ride farther without forti- 
 fying his stomach. Though there was little chance of 
 finding any housewife at home, at a season when all 
 were at work in the fields, he nevertheless stopped be- 
 fore some cottages clustered round an open space, which 
 formed an irregular square open to all comers. The soil 
 of this family territory was hard and well-swept, though 
 cut up here and there by manure-pits. Rose-bushes, 
 ivy, and tall shrubs climbed the cracks and crevices of 
 the walls. A straggling currant-bush grew at the en- 
 trance to the square, on which some tattered clothing 
 was hung to dry. The first inhabitant encountered by 
 Genestas was a pig, wallowing in a heap of straw, who, 
 hearing the tramp of a horse, raised his head, grunted, 
 and put to flight a large black cat. 
 
 A young peasant girl, carrying on her head a bundle 
 of herbs, suddenly appeared, followed at a distance by 
 
 VTS ,ITT } 
 
10 The Country Doctor. 
 
 four little brats, all in rags, but bold and noisy, brown 
 and handsome, with daring eyes, — regular devils, who 
 had little of the angel about them. The sun sparkled, 
 and gave I know not what of purity to the air, to the 
 cottages, to the manure-pits, to the tousled heads of 
 the children. The soldier asked if he could have a glass 
 of milk. For all answer the girl uttered a hoarse cry. 
 An elderly woman appeared on the threshold of a cot- 
 tage-door, and the young girl, after pointing to her, 
 disappeared into a stable. Genestas rode towards the 
 woman, carefully guiding his horse lest it should injure 
 the children, who were now running about its legs. He 
 renewed his request, which the woman refused to grant ; 
 she could not skim the cream, she said, which was meant 
 for butter. The officer met the objection by offering 
 to pay for the loss. He fastened his horse to the door- 
 post and entered the cottage. The four children, who 
 belonged to the woman, seemed all of one age, — a cir- 
 cumstance which struck the captain as curious. A fifth, 
 clinging to her skirts, was feeble, pale, and sickly, and 
 — needing, doubtless, all her care — seemed the best 
 beloved, the Benjamin of the family. 
 
 Genestas sat down in a corner of the old citimney- 
 place, where there was no fire ; a colored plaster-cast 
 of the Virgin holding the infant Jesus in her arms was 
 on the mantel-shelf, — sublime emblem ! The soil itself 
 made the floor of the house ; the surface, long since 
 trodden down, though clean, was now roughened like the 
 rind of an orange on a large scale. Within the fire- 
 place hung a wooden shoe filled with salt, a gridiron, 
 and a large kettle. The farther end of the room was 
 completelj' filled by a four-post bedstead, with a seal- 
 
The Country Doctor. 11 
 
 loped vallance. Here and there were three-legged stools, 
 made hy driving three sticks into a mere bit of beech- 
 board. A wooden locker that held the bread ; a large 
 wooden ladle for dipping up water ; some earthenware 
 bowls, and a pail to hold the milk ; a spinning-wheel 
 standing on the locker ; some osier baskets for the 
 cheese hanging against the blackened walls ; a worm- 
 eaten door with an open iron grating, — such were the 
 decorations and furniture of this humble dwelling. Here, 
 then, is the first scene of a drama in which the officer, 
 who was idly tapping the floor with his riding-whip and 
 little suspecting the presence of any drama, was about 
 to assist as a spectator. 
 
 When the old woman, followed hy the sickly little 
 Benjamin, disappeared through a door which opened 
 into her daily, the four children, having sufficiently ex- 
 amined the officer, proceeded to rid themselves of their 
 companion, the pig. That animal, with whom the}' were 
 in the habit of playing, had followed them to the sill of 
 the door. The little monkeys rushed at him so vigor- 
 ously, applying such characteristic slaps, that he was 
 forced to beat a speedy retreat. The enem}^ routed, 
 the children next attacked a door, whose latch yielded 
 to their efforts and broke away from the worn-out sta- 
 ple which held it ; then they darted into a sort of fruit- 
 room, where the captain, amused at the scene, saw them 
 devouring dried plums. The old woman with the parch- 
 ment face and the ragged clothing returned at this 
 moment, bringing a jug of milk for her guest. 
 
 " Ah ! the little scamps ! " she said. 
 
 She followed the children, caught each of them by 
 the arm, and flung them all back into the first room, 
 
12 The Country Doctor. 
 
 without, however, taking the plums from them ; then 
 she carefully fastened the door of her receptacle of 
 plenty. 
 
 "There, there, my darlings, be good. If I didn't 
 keep an e}'e on them, they would eat the whole heap, 
 the rogues ! " she said, looking at Genestas. Then she 
 seated herself on a stool, took the sick child between 
 her knees, and began, with womanly dexterity and ma- 
 ternal care, to comb its head, which was covered with 
 a skin disease. The four little robbers remained quite 
 still, some standing up, others hanging to the bed or 
 against the locker, all dirty and sniffling, but sound 
 and health}', munching their prunes without a word, 
 and gazing at the new-comer with mischievous and 
 mocking eyes. 
 
 1 ' Are they }-our children ? " inquired the soldier. 
 
 "No, monsieur; they are foundlings from the hospi- 
 tal," said the woman. " I get three francs a month and 
 a pound of soap for each of them." 
 
 " But, nry good woman, the}^ must cost 3'ou twice as 
 much." 
 
 "That is what Monsieur Benassis tells us. But if 
 others take the children at that price, we must, too. It 
 is n't ever}' one who can get them ; indeed, we have got 
 to go through a deal o' ceremon}', as 3011 might say. 
 Suppose we do give them our milk for nothing. It 
 does n't cost us anything. Besides, monsieur, three 
 francs, — why, it's quite a sum, — that's fifteen francs 
 a month, not counting five pounds of soap; and in 
 these valleys we 've got to wear our souls out to earn 
 ten sous a da}'." 
 
 u ' Do you own your land?" asked the captain. 
 
The Country Doctor. 13 
 
 1 'No, monsieur, I had some at the time my man 
 died ; but since his death I have been so poor I had 
 to sell it." 
 
 "Then," said Genestas, "how can you keep free of 
 debt at the end of the year, and bring up, feed, and 
 wash for children at two sous a daj T ? " 
 
 " Well, monsieur," she answered, "I don't get round 
 to the Saint Sylvester without debts. But it can't be 
 helped, and the good God lends a hand. I 've two 
 cows. My daughter and I glean in harvest-time, in win- 
 ter we gather wood, and at night we spin. It would n't 
 do, though, to have another such winter as the last. 
 I owe seventy-five francs to the miller for flour. Luck- 
 ily, he is Monsieur Benassis's miller. Ah ! Monsieur 
 Benassis, he 's the poor folks's friend ! He has never 
 wrung his dues from an}' one, no matter who, and he 
 won't begin with me. Besides, our cow has got a calf, 
 and that will help along a bit." 
 
 The four orphans, for whom all human protection 
 was restricted to the kindness of this old peasant wo- 
 man, had now finished eating their prunes. They prof- 
 ited by the fact of her attention being diverted to the 
 officer, and drew up in a close column for another at- 
 tack on the door which parted them from the heap of 
 plums. They advanced, not as French soldiers usually 
 rush to the assault, but silentry, like Germans, driven 
 b} T naive and unblushing greed. 
 
 " Ah ! you little rascals ! will you be done? " 
 
 The old woman got up, caught the strongest of the 
 four, smacked him lightly with her hand, and drove him 
 out of doors. He did not cry ; but the others stood 
 aghast. 
 
14 The Country Doctor. 
 
 "They give 3^011 a good deal of trouble," said Ge- 
 nestas. 
 
 "Oh, no, monsieur! they smell my prunes, the dar- 
 lings ! If I left them alone a moment they 'd eat 
 enough to burst themselves." 
 
 "You love them?" 
 
 At this question, the old woman raised her head, 
 looked at the soldier with a half-amused expression, 
 and replied : " Love them ? don't I love them ! I have 
 just sent back three," she added, sighing. " I am only 
 allowed to keep them till Vaey are six years old." 
 
 " Where is your own child? " 
 
 "I have lost it." 
 
 "How old are you?" asked Genestas, to undo the 
 effect of his previous question. 
 
 "Thirty-eight, monsieur. It will be two years this 
 midsummer since my man died." 
 
 She finished dressing the little sufferer, who seemed 
 to thank her with a wan and loving look. 
 
 ' ' What a life of toil and self-forgetfulness ! " thought 
 the soldier. 
 
 Beneath this roof, worthy to be named with the stable 
 where Christ was born, the hardest duties of maternity 
 were fulfilled cheerfully and without pretension. What 
 hearts are there, buried from human knowledge ! What 
 wealth, what penury ! Soldiers appreciate better than 
 other men how much there is of grandeur in the sublime 
 self-abnegations of poverty, in the gospel of the poor and 
 needy. Elsewhere we may find the Scriptures bound, 
 as it were, in silk and satin, illuminated, illustrated, and 
 adorned ; but here, assuredly, was the spirit of the 
 Book. It was impossible not to believe in some sacred 
 
The Country Doctor. 15 
 
 tradition of the heavens coming <Jown through this wo- 
 man, who had made herself a mother even as Jesus 
 Christ had made himself a man ; who gleaned and 
 toiled and suffered and went in debt for outcast chil- 
 dren, — refusing to perceive that she was ruining her- 
 self, — that she might be their mother. The sight of 
 this woman's life compels us to admit the communion 
 of spirits here below with the intelligences of a higher 
 world. Captain Genestas looked at her and lowered 
 his head. 
 
 "Is Monsieur Benassis a good doctor?" he said, at 
 length. 
 
 " I don't know, monsieur ; but he cures the poor for 
 nothing." 
 
 ' ' It seems," said the captain to himself, "as if the 
 man really were a man." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! yes, monsieur, and a grand man ! There 's 
 no one round here that does n't put him in their prayers, 
 day and night." 
 
 "Here is something for you, mother," said the sol- 
 dier, putting money into her hand; "and this is for 
 the children," — giving her a crown-piece. "Am I 
 far from Monsieur Benassis's house?" he asked after 
 mounting his horse. 
 
 " Oh, no, monsieur, a short three miles at the most." 
 
 The captain rode away, concluding that he had six 
 miles more to go. He had not ridden far, however, 
 when he saw through the trunks of trees a group of 
 houses, then the roofs of the houses clustering round 
 a belfry which rose into a steeple, whose tiles were 
 held, at the angles of the structure, by plates of metal 
 that sparkled in the sunlight, — a species of roofing 
 
- 
 
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 of cbildreii who were pfetyrne ffcrtr to riw f irm die 
 
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 :.•: :-t.- _iei tyli 
 ofOdr severs 
 
 
The Country Doctor. 17 
 
 noticed several roofs of black shingles, still more of 
 thatch, a few of tiles, and six or eight, doubtless those 
 of the curate, the juge-de-paix, and the bourgeois of 
 the neighborhood, in slate. The place gave the idea of 
 an isolated village beyond which no other world existed ; 
 it appeared to touch and hold to nothing ; the inhabit- 
 ants seemed like a single family far removed from social 
 movement, connected with it only by the tax-gatherer 
 or by imperceptible feelers. 
 
 When Genestas had advanced some distance, he saw 
 a road higher up on the mountain-side which commanded 
 the village street. There was. no doubt, an old and a 
 new town. In fact, when the captain reached a spot 
 where he slackened his horse's pace, he could see 
 through an opening between the houses, other and well- 
 built houses, whose new roofs enlivened the old village. 
 From these buildings, above which rose an avenue of 
 young trees, came the songs of bus}* laborers, the hum of 
 workshops, the grinding of files, the sound of hammers, 
 the confused cries of various industries. He noticed the 
 thin smoke from the household chimneys and the fuller 
 volume from the forges of the wheelwrights, the lock- 
 smiths, and the farriers. At last, towards the farther 
 end of the valle}', to which his guide led him, the cap- 
 tain saw some scattered farms and a tract of well-culti- 
 vated fields with plantations skilfully laid out ; like a 
 little corner of Brie nestling in a vast fold of the land- 
 scape, whose existence between the village and the 
 mountains he had not at first sight suspected. 
 
 Presently the child cried out : — 
 
 " There 's the door of his house ! " 
 
 The officer dismounted, slipped the bridle over his 
 
 2 
 
18 The Country Doctor, 
 
 arm, and then, judging that all labor is worth} 7 of its 
 hire, he drew some coppers from his pocket and offered 
 them to the boy, who took them with a puzzled air, 
 opened his great eyes, returned no thanks, and stood 
 by to see what would happen. 
 
 ' ' Civilization is behindhand in these parts ; the reli- 
 gion of labor is in full vigor, and beggary has not pushed 
 its way in," thought Genestas. 
 
 More curious than interested, the small guide leaned 
 against a wall, about four feet high, which encloses the 
 court}* ard of the house, and in which a black wooden 
 lattice is inserted on either side of the gate-posts. The 
 gate, the lower part of which is of wood formerly 
 painted gray, is finished at the top with yellow bars in 
 the form of stanchions. These ornaments, whose color 
 has faded, take the shape of a crescent at the top of 
 each half of the gate, and come together in a huge cone 
 formed by the uprights when the gate is closed. This 
 worm-eaten structure, dappled with velvet mosses, is 
 half-destroyed by the alternate action of sun and rain. 
 Overgrown with aloes and a chance growth of pellitory, 
 the gate-posts hide the shoots of two thornless acacias 
 which are planted within the courtyard, and whose 
 green tops rise in the shape of powder-puffs. The con- 
 dition of this gateway betrayed a want of care in its 
 owner which seemed to annoy the soldier, who knitted 
 his brows like a man forced to admit the loss of an illu- 
 sion. We are accustomed to judge of others by our- 
 selves ; and though we graciously absolve them for faults 
 which are like our own, we condemn them with severity 
 if the} 7 have not our virtues. If the captain wished to 
 find in Monsieur Benassis a careful and orderly man, 
 
The Country Doctor. 19 
 
 the gateway of his dwelling most assuredly proclaimed 
 an absolute indifference to such proprieties. A soldier 
 so wedded to domestic method as Genestas, was likely, 
 on seeing the gate, to form rapid conclusions as to the 
 life and character of its unknown proprietor, and the 
 captain, in spite of his native caution, did not fail to 
 do so. 
 
 The gate was ajar, — another piece of carelessness ! 
 Profiting by this rural trustfulness, the officer rode into 
 the courtyard without ceremony, and fastened his horse 
 to the bars of the lattice. As he knotted the bridle, a 
 neigh was heard in the adjacent stable which made both 
 horse and rider look involuntarily in that direction. An 
 old serving-man opened the door of the building and 
 showed a head covered with the red woollen cap worn 
 habitually by the country people, and precisely like the 
 Phrygian cap with which we. now bedeck the statues of 
 Liberty. As there were stalls for several horses, the 
 man, after asking Genestas if he had come to see Mon- 
 sieur Benassis, offered him the hospitality of the stable 
 for his horse, looking with an expression of tenderness 
 and admiration at the animal, which was very handsome. 
 The captain followed his horse to see how he was likely 
 to fare. The stable was cleau, the litter plentiful, and 
 the two horses of Benassis had the contented look which 
 makes a curate's horse distinguishable among all others 
 of its species. A woman-servant, who came from the 
 interior of the dwelling-house and stood on the portico, 
 seemed to be officially waiting to be questioned by the 
 stranger, who, however, had already heard from the 
 stable-man that Monsieur Benassis was out. 
 
 4 "Our master has gone id the flour-mill," he said. 
 
20 TJie Country Doctor, 
 
 " If you wish to join him, } t ou have only to follow that 
 path which leads to the meadows ; the mill is at the end 
 of it." 
 
 Genestas preferred to give a look to the country, 
 rather than wait an indefinite time for Benassis's return, 
 and he took the path toward the mill. When he reached 
 the end of the village street, which cuts an irregular 
 line on the mountain-side, he saw the valle} T , the mill, 
 and one of the most enchanting landscapes he had ever 
 yet seen. 
 
 The river, checked in its course by the base of the 
 mountains, forms a little lake, from which the peaks 
 rise in tiers, one above another, their numerous valleys 
 suggested to the e3 T e by changing tints of light, or by 
 the outlines, more or less distinct, of their projecting 
 ridges clothed with black pines. The mill, latety built 
 at the spot where the torrent pours into the lake, has 
 the charm of an isolated building hiding beneath the 
 shade of aquatic trees in the midst of waters. On the 
 other side of the river, at the foot of a mountain whose 
 summit was just then lighted b}' the rays of a sun al- 
 ready on the decline, Genestas observed about a dozen 
 deserted cottages, without doors or windows, their bat- 
 tered roofs showing wide gaps. The land around them 
 had been converted into fields, carefully tilled and sown 
 with grain ; and their gardens were now meadows, wa- 
 tered by a system of irrigation laid out with as much 
 art as in Limousin. The captain involuntarily stopped 
 short to contemplate the ruined village. 
 
 Why is it that mankind can never look on ruins with- 
 out deep emotion, be they ever so insignificant? Doubt- 
 less because the} T present an image of misfortune whose 
 
 m 
 
The Country Doctor, 21 
 
 weight is felt under so many and diverse forms hy hu- 
 man nature. Cemeteries bring the thought of death ; 
 deserted villages a vision of life's woes : death is an 
 expected evil, but the sorrows of life are infinite, and 
 infinitude is the secret of the deepest dejection. The 
 officer reached the paved path leading to the mill with- 
 out being able to explain to himself the abandonment 
 of the village. He inquired for Benassis of the miller's 
 man, who was sitting on some sacks of wheat at the 
 door of the building. 
 
 " Monsieur Benassis has gone over there," said the 
 man, pointing to one of the ruined cottages. 
 
 " Was that village burned?" asked the captain. 
 
 " No, monsieur." 
 
 "Then why is it thus?" 
 
 "Ah! why indeed?" answered the miller, with a 
 gesture of his shoulders as he turned into the house. 
 " Monsieur Benassis will inform you." 
 
 The officer crossed a species of bridge made by some 
 large stones among which the torrent flows, and pres- 
 ently reached the cottage. The thatch of its roof was 
 still intact, covered with moss, but without holes, and 
 the doors and windows seemed to be in good condition. 
 As he crossed the threshold, Genestas saw a fire in the 
 chimnej'-place, at the corner of which an old woman was 
 kneeling beside a sick man who was sitting in a chair, 
 while another man stood by with his face turned toward 
 the hearth. The interior of the house formed a single 
 room, lighted through a wretched window-frame filled 
 with calico. The floor was trodden earth. One chair, 
 a table, and a pallet were the whole furniture. Never 
 in his life had the captain seen such bareness, not even 
 
22 Tlie Country Doctor. 
 
 in Russia, where the huts of the raoujiks are like the 
 dens of wild beasts. Nothing showed connection with 
 the things of life ; there was not even a utensil for the 
 preparation of the commonest food. It was like the 
 kennel of a dog without its platter. Were it not for 
 a long blouse hanging from a nail, and some wooden 
 shoes padded with straw, — the only clothing of the sick 
 man, — this cottage would have seemed as deserted as 
 the others. The kneeling woman, who was an aged 
 peasant, was endeavoring to keep the patient's feet in a 
 tub filled with brown water. At the sound of steps, which 
 the jingle of spurs rendered unusual to ears accustomed 
 to the plodding tread of the peasantry, the man turned 
 round, and saw Genestas with an evident surprise, in 
 which the old woman shared. 
 
 U I need not ask," said the soldier, "if you are 
 Monsieur Benassis. As a stranger, impatient to see 
 you, I trust 3^011 will pardon me for seeking you upon 
 your battle-field instead of waiting at your house. Do 
 not let me disturb you ; continue what 3'ou are doing. 
 When you have finished, I will tell you the object of 
 my visit." 
 
 Genestas half seated himself on the edge of the 
 table and remained silent. The fire cast a stronger 
 light within the cottage than the sun could shed with- 
 out, for its rays, intercepted by the summits of the 
 mountains, never reached this portion of the valley. 
 In the glow of the fire, which was made of the resinous 
 pine which sends up a vivid flame, the soldier exam- 
 ined the face of the man whom some secret motive 
 constrained him to seek, to study, and to thoroughly 
 comprehend. Monsieur Benassis, the doctor of the 
 
The Country Doctor. 23 
 
 district, stood with folded arms coldly listening to 
 Genestas, then he returned the captain's bow and gave 
 his attention once more to the sick man, without no- 
 ticing that he was himself the object of the keen scru- 
 tiny of the soldier. 
 
 Benassis was a man of ordinary height, but broad in the 
 shoulders and wide in the chest. An ample green over- 
 coat, buttoned to the throat, prevented the officer from 
 seizing at a glance the characteristic points of the figure 
 and carriage of this personage ; but the shadow and 
 the stillness in which the body was held served to throw 
 the face, then lighted by the reflection of the fire, into 
 strong relief. The man had a face which resembled 
 that of the Faun of sculpture, — the same brow, slightly 
 arched, but full of projections, all more or less signifi- 
 cant ; the same upward turn of the nose, with the spir- 
 ituel expression of the cleft nostril ; and the same high 
 cheek-bones. The line of the lips was sinuous, and 
 the lips themselves thick and red. The chin stood out 
 abruptly. The eyes were brOwn and animated, with an 
 ardent look, to which the pearly whiteness of the e} r e- 
 ball gave extraordinary brilliancy, telling of passions 
 now subdued. The hair once black and now gray, the 
 deep furrows in the face, and the heav} 7 e} r ebrows al- 
 ready whitened, the nose grown veiny and bulbous, the 
 yellow skin marbled with red patches, all denoted fifty 
 years of life and the severe toil of his profession. The 
 soldier could only guess at the shape and capacity of 
 the head, then covered with a cap ; but although it was 
 thus partially concealed, it seemed to him one of those 
 heads which are proverbially called " square." Accus- 
 tomed, through his intercourse with the men of energy 
 
24 The Country Doctor. 
 
 whom Napoleon drew around him, to recognize the 
 personal qualities of those who were destined for great 
 deeds, Genestas felt that there was a mystery in this 
 life thus hidden in obscurity, and asked himself, as he 
 gazed at that remarkable face, — 
 
 " What chance, or fate, can have made him a coun- 
 try doctor ? " 
 
 After earnestly studying that face, which, notwith- 
 standing its analogies to other human faces, revealed a 
 secret and hidden existence at variance with its appar- 
 ently commonplace circumstances, Genestas was pres- 
 ently led to share in the attention the doctor was 
 bestowing upon the sick man, and the sight of the 
 latter completely changed the current of his thoughts. 
 
 In spite of his many military experiences, the old 
 officer felt a shock of surprise, mingled with horror, as 
 his eyes fell on a human face where the light of thought 
 had never shone ; a livid face, whose suffering seemed 
 dumb and innocent, like that on the face of a child 
 unable as } T et to speak and weary of crying ; it was the 
 face of a creature onty, — that of an old and djing cretin. 
 The cretin was the only variety of the human species 
 which the cavalry captain had not yet seen. At the sight 
 of such a forehead, where the flesh made a thick, round 
 fold ; such eyes, like those of a boiled fish ; a head 
 covered with short and stubbly hair without natural 
 juices, a flattened head, deprived of the organs of 
 intelligence, who would not have felt, as Genestas did, 
 an involuntary disgust for a being that had neither the 
 graces of an animal nor the privileges of a man, — 
 who had never possessed either reason or instinct, and 
 had never heard or spoken any language ? Watching 
 
The Country Doctor. 25 
 
 the poor creature as he neared the close of a career 
 which was not life, it seemed difficult to feel a regret : 
 and yet the old woman was gazing at him with tender 
 anxiety, and rubbing his legs, where the scalding water 
 did not reach them, with as much affection as if the man 
 had been her husband. Benassis himself, after stud}*- 
 ing the lifeless face and the lack-lustre eyes, gently took 
 the cretin's hand and felt his pulse. 
 
 '- The bath does not act," he said, shaking his head ; 
 " we must put him back to bed." 
 
 He lifted the inert mass of flesh, carried it to the 
 pallet, from which no doubt he had brought it, and laid 
 it there, carefully extending the legs, already growing 
 cold, and placing the head and hands with as much 
 tenderness as a mother could give to her child. 
 
 "It is all over; he will die," added Benassis, who 
 remained standing by the side of the bed. 
 
 The old woman, with her hands on her hips, dropped 
 a few tears as she looked at the dying creature. Ge- 
 nestas was silent, unable to explain to himself wiry the 
 death of so uninteresting a being should make such 
 an impression on him. He instinctively shared the 
 unbounded pity felt for these wretched creatures in the 
 sunless valleys where fate has given them life. This 
 pit}*, which degenerates into religious superstition in 
 the communities to which cretins belong, is assuredly 
 derived from the purest of Christian virtues, — charity, 
 
 — and from that form of faith which is most conducive 
 to social order, namely, the belief in future recompense, 
 
 — the only belief which can make mankind accept their 
 misery. The hope of winning eternal happiness helps 
 the parents of these poor creatures, and the friends who 
 
26 The Country Doctor. 
 
 surround them, to practise, on a lifelong scale, the provi- 
 dence of motherhood in the sublime care unceasingly 
 given to these inert beings, who, in the first place, can- 
 not understand it, and, in the next, forget it. All-wise 
 religion ! which has placed the mercies of a blind benefi- 
 cence beside the miseries of a blind affliction. In the 
 valleys where the cretins are found, the inhabitants be- 
 lieve that the presence of such beings brings happiness 
 to their families. This belief renders those hapless lives 
 eas} T in their country solitudes, whereas in cities they 
 would be condemned by mistaken philanthropy to the 
 discipline of hospitals. In the upland valley of the 
 Isere, where they abound, the cretins live in the open 
 air with the flocks, which they are trained to watch. 
 They are, at any rate, free and respected, as the victims 
 of misfortune should be. 
 
 Presently the village church-bell slowly tolled at regu- 
 lar intervals, letting the faithful know that death was 
 among them. Travelling through space, the pious 
 thought sounded faintly within the cottage and filled 
 it with tender sadness. Numerous steps were heard 
 along the path, and seemed to denote a crowd, though 
 a silent one. Then the chants of the Church rose sud- 
 denly, and wakened the confused ideas which swa} T all 
 souls, even the most sceptical, forcing them to surren- 
 der the mind to the tender modulations of the human 
 voice. The Church was coming to the succor of the 
 creature that knew it not. The curate appeared, pre- 
 ceded by the cross borne by a choir-boy, and followed 
 by the sacristan bearing the holy-water, and by about 
 fifty other persons — men, women, and children — who 
 had come to join their prayers to those of the Church. 
 
TJie Country Doctor. 27 
 
 The doctor and soldier looked at each other in silence, 
 and withdrew to a corner of the room to make way for 
 the crowd, who knelt down within and without the cot- 
 tage. During the consoling ceremony of the viaticum, 
 celebrated for a being who had never sinned, bat to 
 whom the Christian world was bidding farewell, the 
 greater number of the homely faces showed sincere 
 emotion. Tears rolled down rough cheeks that were 
 cracked bj* the sun and browned by outdoor toil. The 
 feeling of voluntary relationship to those in trouble was 
 a simple one. There were none in the village who did 
 not pity^ the hapless creature ; none who would not 
 have given him of their daily bread : had he not found 
 a father in every lad, a mother in even the merriest 
 of the little girls? 
 
 " He is dead," said the curate. 
 
 The words caused genuine consternation. The wax 
 tapers were lighted. Several persons wished to pass 
 the night beside the corpse. Benassis and the soldier 
 left the cottage. At the door, some peasants stopped 
 the doctor, and said to him, " Ah ! monsieur le maire, 
 if 3 T ou were not able to save him, the good God must 
 indeed have wanted him." 
 
 "I did my best, my children," answered the doctor. 
 "You can hardly imagine, monsieur," he added, turn- 
 ing to Genestas, when the}" were a few steps away from 
 the deserted village, whose last inhabitant had just died, 
 "what true consolation there is for me in the remark of 
 those peasants. Ten }"ears ago, I was nearl} T stoned 
 to death in this A T illage, now abandoned, but then in- 
 habited b}- thirty families." 
 
 Genestas manifested such visible curiosity in his face 
 
28 The Country Doctor. 
 
 and gestures, that the doctor related to him, as they 
 walked along, the history to which the foregoing is a 
 preparation. 
 
 "Monsieur, when I came to settle here, I found a 
 dozen or more cretins in this part of the district," said 
 the doctor, turning round to point to the ruined cottages. 
 " The situation of this hamlet, in a hollow with no cur- 
 rent of air, near a torrent formed by the melting snows, 
 deprived of the sun which only shines on the summit of 
 the mountain, is especially conducive to the propagation 
 of this frightful malady. The laws do not prevent the 
 pairing of these unhappy creatures, who are protected 
 here by a superstition whose strength was at first un- 
 known to me, which I began 03^ condemning, but which 
 I now respect. Cretinism would soon have spread from 
 this little nook throughout the valley. It was surely 
 rendering the countryside a great service to check the 
 spread of the mental and plrysical contagion. And 3'et, 
 notwithstanding its urgent importance, the benefit came 
 near costing the life of the man who undertook to cany 
 it out. Here, as in other social spheres, it is necessaiy, 
 in order to accomplish an3 T reforms, to run counter not 
 only to interests but to something far more difficult to 
 deal with, to religious ideas which have grown into su- 
 perstitions, — the most indestructible form of human 
 thought. 
 
 " I was afraid of nothing. I asked, in the first place, 
 to be appointed ma3'or of the district ; that was granted : 
 then, after obtaining the verbal consent of the prefect, 
 I removed a number of these poor creatures quietly, by 
 night and at nxy own expense, to Aiguebelle in Savoie, 
 where ther^ are many others of their kind, and where 
 
The Country Doctor, 29 
 
 they would be well treated. As soon as this act of hu- 
 manity was known I became an object of horror to the 
 whole population. The curate preached against me. 
 In spite of my efforts to explain to the best minds in 
 the community the importance of removing these idiots, 
 in spite of the fact that I gave my services gratuitously 
 to the sick, I was shot at from the cover of a wood. I 
 went to see the Bishop of Grenoble, and asked him to 
 change the curate. Monseigneur was good enough to 
 let me choose a priest who would share in nry work, and 
 I was so fortunate as to find one of those men who 
 really seem to have fallen from the skies. I pursued 
 my course. After preparing people's minds, I sent 
 away b} r night six more cretins. In this second at- 
 tempt I was supported by certain persons who were 
 under obligations to me, and also b} r members of the 
 common council, to whose economy I appealed, by 
 showing them how costly it was to support the hapless 
 creatures, and how profitable it would be for the village 
 to take their lands (to which the}' had no title) and turn 
 them into pastures, of which the community was much 
 in need. 
 
 "The prosperous people were on my side, but the 
 poor, the old women, the children, and a few joig-headed 
 fellows, remained hostile to me. Unfortunately, my last 
 exportation was not complete. The cretin whom 3-011 
 have just seen was absent from his home at the time ; 
 he was not taken, and was found the next day — the 
 last of his kind — in the village, where there still re- 
 mained a few families whose members, though nearly 
 imbecile, were, so far, exempt from cretinism. 
 
 " I wished to carry out my plans, and I went one day, 
 
 \ 
 
30 The Country Doctor. 
 
 in official clothes, to take that unfortunate cretin from 
 his cottage. My intention was guessed as soon as I 
 left my own door ; the friends of the cretin preceded 
 me, and I found at the cottage an assemblage of women, 
 children, and old men, who received me with insults and 
 a shower of stones. In the midst of the uproar, when 
 I was really in danger of falling a victim to the sort of 
 intoxication which seizes upon a crowd of people when 
 excited by cries and by the agitation of emotions uttered 
 in common, I was saved bj T the cretin ! The poor crea- 
 ture came out of the hut, made his clucking noise, and 
 became at once the supreme head of the fanatics. At 
 this apparition the cries ceased. It occurred to me to 
 propose a compromise ; which the fortunate hush en- 
 abled me to explain. My supporters had not dared to 
 sustain me openly at this crisis ; their help was purely 
 passive. The superstitious crowd were resolved to keep 
 their last idol and watch over him. I saw it was im- 
 possible to take him from them. I therefore promised 
 to leave him in peace in his cottage, on condition that 
 no one entered it, and that all the families of the village 
 should cross the torrent and take up their abode in cer- 
 tain new houses, which I pledged myself to build and to 
 endow with land, the price of which should be returned 
 to me later by the township. 
 
 tfc Well, my dear monsieur, it took me six months to 
 overcome the resistance which was made to the terms of 
 this agreement, advantageous as it was to the families 
 of the old village. The affection of the peasantry for 
 their hovels is an inexplicable fact. No matter how 
 unhealthy his cottage may be, the peasant is more at- 
 tached to it than a banker is to his mansion. Why? 
 
The Country Doctor. 31 
 
 I cannot tell 3*011. Perhaps the strength of feelings is 
 in proportion to their rarity. Perhaps the man who 
 lives little in thought lives much in things, and the less 
 of them he possesses the more he loves what he has. 
 Possibly it is with a peasant as it is with a prisoner ; 
 he does not fritter awa}* the powers of his mind, he con- 
 centrates them on a single idea, and comes in that way 
 to great energy of feeling. 
 
 " Excuse these reflections in a man who is seldom 
 able to exchange his ideas, and pra} 7 believe, monsieur, 
 that I am not much given to abstract thought. Here, 
 all is practice and action. Alas, the fewer ideas these 
 poor people have, the harder it is to make them under- 
 stand their real interests. So I have resigned myself 
 to the petty details of my enterprise. Each of the vil- 
 lagers said to me the same thing, — a thing so full of 
 plain sense as to admit of no answer, — - Ah ! mon- 
 sieur, your houses are not yet built.' ' Well,' I an- 
 swered, ' promise to come and live in them when they 
 are built.' 
 
 " Fortunately, monsieur, I was able to get a decision 
 of the courts to the effect that our village owns the whole 
 mountain on which it stands, and at the foot of which is 
 the old hamlet, now deserted. The value of the wood 
 on the heights was enough to pay for the houses, which 
 were built at once. When the first of my refractories 
 had fairly moved in, the rest followed. The comfort 
 which resulted from the change was too real not to be 
 appreciated even b} T those who clung most superstitiously 
 to their old village without sun, — that is, without soul. 
 The end of the matter was, that the acquisition of the 
 mountain as communal propert}*, which was confirmed 
 
32 The Country Doctor. 
 
 to us b} T the Council of State, gave me great importance 
 in the district. But oh, monsieur, what anxieties ! " said 
 the doctor, lifting a hand which he let fall again with 
 an eloquent gesture. "I alone know the weary way 
 from the village to the prefecture, out of which nothing 
 can be got ; and from the prefecture to the Council of 
 State, into which nothing can be made to enter. 
 
 " However," he resumed, " peace be with the powers 
 that be ! they yielded at last to m}^ importunities, and 
 that is a great deal to sa}^ for them. If people only 
 knew the good often done by a carelessly given signa- 
 ture ! Monsieur, two years after attempting my great 
 little efforts and bringing them to a successful conclu- 
 sion, all the poor households of m} T district owned at 
 least two cows and sent them to pasture on the moun- 
 tain, where, without waiting for the decision of the 
 Council of State, I had cut transversal irrigations like 
 those in Auvergne, Limousin, and Switzerland. The 
 villagers, to their great surprise, saw excellent mead- 
 ows springing up, by which they obtained a greater 
 quantit\- of milk, thanks to the better quality of the 
 grass. The results of this triumph were great. Everj-- 
 one imitated my system of irrigation. The pastures, 
 the cattle, and all their products multiplied. From that 
 time I no longer feared to ameliorate the condition of 
 this little corner of the earth, still so uncultivated, or to 
 civilize its inhabitants, who, up to that time, were almost 
 wholl}' devoid of intelligence. Ah, monsieur, we soli- 
 taries are great talkers ; if anybod}' questions us, no 
 one knows where the reply will end. 
 
 " When I came to this valley the population was 
 seven hundred souls ; now it is two thousand. After 
 
The Country Doetor. 33 
 
 a steady course of mild, but firm government, I became 
 the oracle of my people. I did all I could to deserve 
 their confidence without asking for it, or seeming to 
 desire it : only, I endeavored to inspire respect for my 
 person Iry the religious good faith with which I fulfilled 
 all my engagements, even the most trifling. After 
 pledging myself to take care of the poor creature who 
 has just died, I watched over him better than his former 
 protectors ever did ; he has been fed and cared for as 
 the adopted child of the village commune. Later on, 
 the inhabitants grew to understand the service I had 
 done them against their will. However, they still retain 
 part of their old superstition, and I am far from blam- 
 ing them. Their worship of the cretin has often served 
 me as a text to persuade persons of intelligence to help 
 the unfortunate. But here we are," added Benassis, 
 after a pause, as they came in sight of the roof of his 
 house. 
 
 So far from expecting words of praise or acknowl- 
 edgment from his visitor, he seemed, in relating this 
 episode of his official life, to have yielded to that in- 
 genuous need of expression which is often felt Iry 
 persons who live retired from the world. 
 
 "Monsieur," said the captain, "I have taken the 
 libertj' to put my horse in your stable, and I hope 
 you will excuse me when you know the object of my 
 journe}\" 
 
 " Ah! what is it?" asked Benassis, with the air of 
 a man who leaves his own preoccupation and recollects 
 that his companion is a stranger. 
 
 His naturally frank and communicative nature had 
 led him to treat Genestas as an acquaintance. 
 
 3 
 
34 The Country Doctor. 
 
 "Monsieur," answered the soldier, " I have heard of 
 the wonderful cure you made in the case of Monsieur 
 Gravier of Grenoble, whom you took into your house. 
 I come here in hopes of obtaining the same care ; though 
 without having the same claim upon your kindness. 
 And yet, perhaps you will think I have some title to it. 
 I am an old soldier, whose former wounds give him 
 little rest. You will need at least a week to examine 
 into my condition ; for my sufferings occur only at 
 intervals and — " 
 
 " Well, monsieur," said Benassis, interrupting him; 
 u Monsieur Gravier's bedroom is always read}*. Come." 
 
 They entered the house, and the doctor slammed the 
 door with an eagerness that Genestas attributed to his 
 pleasure at getting a lodger. 
 
 " Jacquotte !" cried Benassis, "this gentleman will 
 dine here." 
 
 "But, monsieur," said the soldier, "had we not 
 better settle the price ? " 
 
 " Price of what?" 
 
 " Of my board. You cannot take me and my horse 
 without — " 
 
 " If you are rich," said Benassis, " you can pay me ; 
 if }<ou are not, I want nothing." 
 
 " Nothing seems to me too dear," said Genestas. 
 " But, whether I am rich or poor, will ten francs a da}*, 
 not counting the value of your professional services, be 
 agreeable to } T ou ? " 
 
 " Nothing is more disagreeable to me than to receive 
 an} r payment whatever for the pleasure of exercising 
 hospitality," answered the doctor, frowning. " As to 
 my services, you can have them only if I like }*ou. 
 
The Country Doctor. 35 
 
 Rich people cannot buy my time ; it belongs to the 
 inhabitants of this valley. I desire neither fame nor 
 fortune ; I ask for no praise and no gratitude from 
 my patients. The money which you give me will go to 
 the apothecaries at Grenoble to pay for the indispens- 
 able medicines of the poor of this district." 
 
 Any one hearing these words, which were said 
 brusquely yet without bitterness, would have thought, 
 as Genestas did, " The man has a fine nature ! " 
 
 " Then, monsieur," said the captain, with his usual 
 tenacity of purpose, "I will pay you ten francs a day ; 
 and you shall do as you like for the rest. That settled, 
 we shall understand each other better," he added, tak- 
 ing the doctor's hand and shaking it with impressive 
 cordiality. " In spite of my ten francs, you will find 
 that I am not an Arab." 
 
 After this dispute, in which Benassis showed no dis- 
 position to appear generous or philanthropic, the pre- 
 tended invalid entered the house of his physician, 
 where everything seemed in keeping with the dilapi- 
 dated gateway and the clothing of its owner. Even 
 trifles revealed a profound indifference to all that 
 was not essentially useful. Benassis took the soldier 
 through the kitchen as the shortest way to the dining- 
 room. Though the kitchen, as smoke-stained as that 
 of an inn, was provided with a sufficient number of 
 cooking utensils, such luxury was owing to Jacquotte, 
 formerly the curate's servant, who now reigned su- 
 preme over the doctor's household, and always spoke 
 lof "us." If a warming-pan was suspended over the 
 mantel-shelf, it is probable that Jacquotte liked to sleep 
 comfortably in winter, and so, by ricochet, warmed her 
 
36 The Country Doctor. 
 
 master's bed ; for he, as she said truly, " paid no atten- 
 tion to anything." Benassis had hired her for precisely 
 what would have seemed an intolerable defect to any 
 one else. Jacquotte wished to rule the house, and the 
 doctor wanted a woman who would rule his house. 
 Jacquotte bought, sold, arranged, changed, placed, 
 and displaced everything according to her own good 
 pleasure. Her master never objected to an} T of her 
 doings ; she ruled over the courtyard, the stable, and 
 the stable-man, the kitchen, the garden, and the mas- 
 ter. The linen was changed, the washing was done, 
 the provisions were stored by her orders. She decided 
 when the pigs were to be killed, scolded the gardener, 
 chose the breakfasts and dinners, ranged from cellar to 
 garret and from garret to cellar, and swept every- 
 thing before her, without ever finding any one to op- 
 pose her. Benassis required but two things, — dinner 
 at six o'clock, and to spend no more than a certain sum 
 monthly. A woman whom everybody obeys is always 
 happy ; accordingly, Jacquotte laughed and sang like a 
 nightingale, upstairs and down, humming when she did 
 not sing, and singing when she did not hum. Clean by 
 nature, she kept the house clean. She used to say that 
 if her own taste had been different Monsieur Benassis 
 would have been very miserable, for the poor man took 
 so little notice of what he ate that she could serve 
 cabbages for partridges and he would never know it ; 
 and if it were not for her, he would wear a shirt a 
 week. Jacquotte was an indefatigable ironer of linen, 
 by nature a rubber of furniture, the devotee of a clean- 
 liness that was truly ecclesiastical, — the most scru- 
 pulous, shining, and sweet-smelling cleanliness in the 
 
The Country Doctor. 37 
 
 world. The sworn enemy of dust, she dusted, swept, 
 and garnished incessantly. The condition of the gate- 
 way caused her real distress. For ten years past, she 
 had extracted from her master on the first of every 
 month a promise to make the gate as good as new, to 
 paint the walls of the house, and otherwise renew 
 things " prettily ; " and, so far, Monsieur had not kept 
 his word. Therefore, whenever she deplored her mas- 
 ter's profound indifference to his own affairs, she sel- 
 dom failed to utter this sacramental phrase, with which 
 she wound up all her praises of her master : — 
 
 " It can't be said that he is actually stupid, because 
 he has almost performed miracles in the neighborhood ; 
 but for all that, he is stupid sometimes, — so stupid 
 that you 've got to put things into his hands as if he 
 were a baby." 
 
 Jacquotte loved the house as though it belonged to 
 her. When Benassis came to the village, it happened 
 to be for sale after the death of its former occupant, 
 the curate, and he bought it as it stood, — house, and 
 ground, furniture, crockery, wine, chickens, the old 
 clock with a painted dial, the horse, and the cook. 
 Jacquotte, a pattern for the culinary species, had a 
 thick waist and large bosom, clothed invariably in 
 brown calico with red spots, which was fastened so 
 tightly that the stuff seemed in danger of cracking if 
 she made the slightest exertion. She wore a plaited, 
 round cap, beneath which her rather pallid face, with 
 its double chin, seemed whiter than it really w r as. 
 Short and active, with brisk, plump hands, Jacquotte 
 w r as a loud and continual talker. If she was silent for 
 a moment and lifted the corner of her apron triangu- 
 
38 The Country Doctor. 
 
 larly, it meant that she was about to address some 
 vehement remonstrance to her master or the man- 
 servant. Of all the cooks throughout the kingdom, 
 Jacquotte was certainly the happiest. To make her 
 happiness as complete as any happiness can be in this 
 lower world, her vanity was perpetually satisfied ; the 
 village accepted her as an authority whose powers com- 
 bined those of the mayor and the garde-champetre. 
 
 Her master, entering the kitchen, found no one there. 
 
 "Where the devil have they gone ! " he said. " Ex- 
 cuse me," he added, turning to Genestas, " for bringing 
 3'ou in this way. The ceremonious entrance is through 
 the garden, but I am so little used to receiving com- 
 pany that — Jacquotte ! " 
 
 At the name, imperiously uttered, a woman's voice 
 answered from the interior of the house ; and a moment 
 later Jacquotte took the offensive, and herself called 
 Benassis, who immediately went to her in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 "Here it is again, monsieur!" she said; "3*011 are 
 alwa}'s doing these things ! You invite people to dinner 
 without letting me know, and you think everything can 
 be served up when you call Jacquotte ! What did 3-011 
 take the gentleman into the kitchen for? The salon 
 could have been opened and a fire lighted ; Nicolle is 
 there now and will soon have it all ready. Now, please 
 take your gentleman into the garden, it will amuse him ; 
 and if he likes pretty things, show him the mountain- 
 ash allej* of the late master ; and then I shall have 
 time to get the dinner ready, and set the table, and see 
 about the salon." 
 
 "Yes. But, Jacquotte,'' continued Benassis, "the 
 
 
The Country Doctor. 39 
 
 gentleman is going to stay here. You must give an 
 eye to Monsieur Gravier's bedroom, and see to the 
 sheets and all that, and — " 
 
 "Now don't go and meddle about sheets and things,"/ 
 said Jacquotte. " If he is going to sleep here I know 
 perfectly well what he wants. You have n't been in- 
 side Monsieur Gravier's room these six months. There 's 
 nothing to be done there ; it is as clean as — So the 
 gentleman is really going to stay here ? " she added, in 
 a softened tone. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "For long?" 
 
 "Faith, I don't know. What does that signify to 
 you?" 
 
 " What does it signify, monsieur? Ha, I like that ! as 
 if it did n't signify ! How about the provisions, and — " 
 
 Without continuing the flood of words with which on 
 any other occasion, she would have overwhelmed her 
 master in reproach for his lack of confidence, she fol- 
 lowed him into the kitchen. Guessing that a boarder 
 was in prospect, she was impatient to see Genestas, to 
 whom she made an obsequious courtes}' while examining 
 him from head to foot. The soldier's face had, at the 
 moment, a sad and thoughtful expression, which gave 
 him a harsh appearance ; the colloquy between master 
 and maid seemed to him to reveal the former as a non- 
 entity, and to lessen, much to his regret, the high opin- 
 ion he had begun to form of his character while admir- 
 ing his persistency in saving the little valley from the 
 horrors of cretinism. 
 
 ' ' He does n't please me at all, that man ! " thought 
 Jacquotte. 
 
40 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " If you are not tired, monsieur," said the doctor to 
 his pretended patient, " we will take a turn round the 
 garden before dinner." 
 
 " Willingly," replied the captain. 
 
 They crossed the dining-room, and went to the garden 
 through a sort of antechamber formed at the bottom of 
 the staircase, which separated the dining-room from the 
 salon. This room had a large glass-door and opened 
 on a stone terrace that ran along the facade of the 
 house on the garden side. The garden itself, divided 
 into four large equal squares by paths, bordered with 
 box which outlined a cross, terminated at the farther 
 end in a thick group of mountain-ash trees, the pride of 
 the former proprietor. The captain sat down on a 
 worm-eaten bench, without noticing the grape-vine trel- 
 lises, nor the espaliers, nor the vegetables ; of which 
 Jacquotte took the greatest care, having been trained 
 to it by the ecclesiastical gourmand to whom the house 
 owed its precious garden, — which Benassis himself 
 cared little for. 
 
 Suddenly breaking off the conversation on ordinary 
 topics in which they were now engaged, Genestas said 
 to the doctor : — 
 
 " How did you manage, monsieur, to triple the popu- 
 lation of this valley in ten years? You found seven 
 hundred souls, and now have, as you tell me, more 
 than two thousand." 
 
 " You are the first person who has asked me that 
 question," answered the doctor. " Though my aim has 
 been to make this little corner of the earth as produc- 
 tive as possible, yet the hurry of my busy life has left 
 me little leisure to reflect upon the methods I have 
 
The Country Doctor. 41 
 
 employed to make, on a large scale, what the mendicant 
 friar called a species of ' pebble soup.' Monsieur Gravier 
 himself, one of our benefactors, and to whom I was able 
 to render a service by curing him, never once thought 
 of the theory of the thing, as he followed me across hill 
 and vale to see the practical results." 
 
 They were silent for a moment, during which Benas- 
 sis was buried in thought, without noticing the piercing 
 look with which his guest tried to penetrate him. 
 
 " How was it done, my dear monsieur ? " he resumed ; 
 " why, naturally and by virtue of the social law of at- 
 traction between the necessities we create and the means 
 of satisfying them. That's the secret of it. People 
 without wants are poor. When I came to settle here, 
 there were one hundred and thirty peasant families in 
 this village, and two hundred down there in the valley. 
 The authorities were in keeping with the general pov- 
 erty ; there was a mayor who did not know how to write ; 
 the assistant-ma3'or was a farmer residing a long dis- 
 tance from the township ; the justice of the peace, a 
 poor devil living on his salary, and forced by ignorance 
 to leave the drawing up of deeds and documents to his 
 clerk, who was another unfortunate hardly able to under- 
 stand his business. The former parish priest died at the 
 age of seventy, and his vicar, a man without education, 
 had succeeded him. These persons comprised the whole 
 intelligence of the community which the}' governed. In 
 the midst of this beautiful nature the inhabitants were 
 sunk in degradation ; they lived on potatoes, and milk 
 and its products. The cheeses, which most of them car- 
 ried to Grenoble and its environs in little baskets, were 
 the only produce from which they were able to derive 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CA 
 
42 The Country Doctor. 
 
 a trifling amount of money. Those who were most pros- 
 perous, or least lazy, sowed a little buckwheat for con- 
 sumption in the village, sometimes barley or oats ; never 
 any wheat. The only trade in the whole community 
 was that of the mayor, who owned a saw-mill, and 
 bought felled trees at a low price, which he cut up. The 
 lack of roads compelled him to transport them one 
 by one during the fine weather, by means of a chain 
 fastened at one end to the harness of a horse, and at 
 the other by an iron grapnel to the tree itself. To 
 reach Grenoble either on foot or on horseback, it was 
 necessary to follow the crest of the mountain, the valley 
 being impassable. The land from here to the first vil- 
 lage which you saw as you entered the district, and the 
 pretty road by which I suppose you came, was at all 
 seasons a vast swamp. 
 
 " No political event, no revolution, had ever pene- 
 trated this inaccessible valley, completely shut away 
 from all social movement. Napoleon's name alone had 
 reached it ; and here that name was a religion,' thanks 
 to two or three old soldiers who belonged to the country- 
 side and had returned to their former hearths, telling 
 fabulous tales of the emperor and his armies to the sim- 
 ple folk in the winter evenings. The return of these 
 men to their native valle} T is an almost inexplicable fact. 
 Before my arrival, the recruits who went to the army 
 stayed there. This alone shows the poverty of the re- 
 gion so plainly as to relieve me of picturing it to 3 r ou. 
 
 " Such, monsieur, was the condition of the district 
 when I took charge of it and of certain of its dependen- 
 cies tying on the other side of the mountains, which 
 latter are well cultivated, tolerably happy, and almost 
 
The Country Doctor. 43 
 
 rich. I will not tell you of the hovels, actual stables, 
 where man and beast were huddled together pell-mell. 
 I passed through the village for the first time on my 
 way from La Grande Chartreuse. Not finding any 
 inn, I was obliged to sta}- with the vicar, who occu- 
 pied this very house, which was then for sale. B3' 
 putting question after question, I obtained a superficial 
 knowledge of the deplorable condition of this region, 
 whose delightful climate, excellent soil, and fine natural 
 productions had enchanted me. 
 
 " Monsieur, I was seeking to make myself a life 
 other than the one sorrows had made a burden to me. 
 A thought entered my heart such as God sends to make 
 us willing to bear our griefs. I resolved to instruct and 
 raise this corner of the earth, as a teacher brings up a 
 child. Do not call it benevolence ; nry motive was the 
 need I felt to distract my mind. I wanted to spend 
 the remainder of nry days in some arduous enterprise. 
 The changes to be introduced into this region, which 
 nature had made so rich and man had made so poor, 
 would occupy my whole life ; they attracted me 03* the 
 very difficulty of bringing them about. As soon as I 
 was sure of buying the parsonage-house together with a 
 good deal of barren and unprofitable ground at a low 
 price, I vowed myself solemnly to the life of a country 
 doctor, — the last life a man would choose among his 
 own people. I wished to be a friend to the poor, ex- 
 pecting nothing in return. I allowed myself no illu- 
 sions, either as to the character of the country-people 
 or the obstacles which hinder those who attempt to 
 ameliorate both men and things. I made no idyls 
 about my poor ; I took them for what the}' were, — 
 
44 The Country Doctor. 
 
 ignorant peasants, neither altogether good nor alto- 
 gether bad ; kept by constant toil from the exercise of 
 feeling, and } T et able at times to feel keenly. Above 
 all, I saw that I must act upon them through their in- 
 terests and their immediate well-being. The peasantry 
 are true sons of Saint Thomas the incredulous : they 
 want facts to support words. 
 
 "You will, perhaps, smile at my first steps, mon- 
 sieur," resumed the doctor, after a pause. " I began 
 the difficult enterprise by the manufacture of baskets. 
 These poor people bought at Grenoble the little wicker 
 crates in which the}' keep their cheeses. I suggested 
 to an intelligent young man the idea of cultivating the 
 banks of the mountain torrent, — a large tract of alluvial 
 soil which the freshets 3'early enriched, and where osiers 
 would readily grow. After computing the amount of 
 basket-work which the district yearly required, I searched 
 Grenoble for a joung basket-maker without pecuniary 
 prospects, but a clever workman. When I found the 
 right man, I easily persuaded him to settle here, prom- 
 ising to advance the cost of purchasing osier until my 
 plantations were sufficiently grown to furnish it. I in- 
 duced him to sell his baskets below the price asked for 
 them at Grenoble, and at the same time to make them 
 of better quality. He entered into my ideas. The cul- 
 tivation of the osier-beds and the basket manufactory 
 were, at first, a speculation, whose results could not be 
 reached in less than four } T ears. You know, perhaps, 
 that the osier is not fit to cut until the third 3'ear. Dur- 
 ing his first season, my basket-maker contrived to make 
 enough to feed him. He soon after married a woman 
 of Saint-Laurent du Pont, who had some rnoney. With 
 
The Country Doctor. 45 
 
 that he built himself a good and aiiy house in a healthy 
 situation, whose interior was arranged according to my 
 advice. 
 
 " What a triumph, monsieur ! I had created a village 
 industry ; I had set to work a producer and a number 
 of workmen. You will think my delight childish ; but 
 the first few days after the manufactory was under way 
 I could not pass before the shop without a quickening 
 of my pulses ; and when, inside the new house with its 
 green blinds, a bench before its door, a grape-vine, and 
 bundles of osiers, I saw a clean woman, neatly dressed, 
 suckling a fat and rosy child in the midst of a happy 
 group of workmen, who were singing as they worked, 
 and deftly plaiting the osier under orders of a man 
 who, lately poor and emaciated, w r as now glowing with 
 happiness, then, indeed, monsieur, I could not resist 
 being a basket-maker nvyself for a wiiile ; I used to 
 enter the shop to inquire how they were getting on, and 
 I abandoned myself to a happiness I really cannot ex- 
 plain to }'ou. I was joyful with the joy of these people 
 and with 1113^ own joy. 
 
 "The house of the master- workman, the first man 
 who had firmly believed in me, was now the centre of my 
 hopes. Monsieur, it was the future of this poor country- 
 side which I bore upon mj' heart as the wife of the basket- 
 maker bore her first babe upon her bosom. I had to 
 keep abreast of mairy prejudices and run counter to 
 many ideas. I met with violent opposition, instigated 
 by the ignorant mayor whose office I had taken. His 
 influence, however, vanished before mine, and I resolved 
 to make him my assistant, and associate him with my 
 beneHcent labors. Yes, monsieur, it was into his head, 
 
46 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the thickest and hardest of all, that I first endeavored 
 to shed light. I captured him through his self-love and 
 his self-interest. For six months we dined together 
 daily, and I made him share in my plans of ameliora- 
 tion. Man}* persons would think this forced friendship 
 one of the annoyances of my task ; not so, the man was 
 a necessary instrument, and the most valuable of all. 
 Ill-luck to him who despises the hatchet, or throws it 
 earelessry aside ! And besides, how inconsistent to 
 dream of reforming a region of country and yet shrink 
 from the idea of reforming one man ! 
 
 " The most urgent need of all was for a highway. 
 If we obtained from the municipal council the right to 
 construct a' cross-road between the village and the main 
 road to Grenoble, my assistant-mayor would be the first 
 to profit by it ; for, instead of dragging his trees at 
 great expense through tangled wood-paths, he could 
 transport them easily along a good district road, and 
 open a large business in all kinds of wood ; b} T which 
 he would earn, not a miserable six hundred francs a 
 year, but round sums of money amounting at some 
 future day to a settled fortune. At last the man was 
 fully convinced, and became m}* proselyte. During the 
 whole of one winter, the former ma}*or spent his even- 
 ings at a wine-shop among friends, explaining to them 
 that a good carriage-road would be the making of the 
 country-side b}< enabling everjbod}' to do business with 
 Grenoble. When the municipal council voted to make 
 the road, I obtained from the prefect an advance from 
 the charitable funds of the department, so as to pa} r for 
 certain transportation which our community was unable 
 to undertake for want of hand-carts. To finish the 
 
The Country Doctor. 47 
 
 great work rapidly, and get its results at once appreci- 
 ated by ignorant persons who accused me of wishing to 
 restore feudal labor, I compelled, every Sunda\ r during 
 the first year of my administration, the entire popula- 
 tion, men, women, children, and even old men to go, 
 whether they would or not, to the crest of the moun- 
 tain, where I had myself surveyed and marked out, on 
 excellent soil, the road which now leads from our village 
 to the highwa} T to Grenoble. Abundant material for 
 the making of the road was fortunately found along its 
 track. 
 
 " The undertaking required my utmost patience. 
 Some persons, ignorant of the law, objected to payment 
 in kind ; others, who were almost starving, could not 
 afford to lose the opportunity of an extra day's work. 
 I had to pay the latter at once by distributing wheat, 
 and soothe the former as best I could with amicable 
 words. However, when we had finished two thirds of 
 the road, which is about five miles long, the villagers 
 had found out its advantages ; and the last third was 
 made with an eagerness which really surprised me. I 
 enriched the future of the village by planting a double 
 row of poplars along the lateral ditches on either side 
 of the new road. These trees at the present time are 
 almost a revenue, besides giving a stately appearance 
 to the road, which is always dry by reason of its situa- 
 tion, and so well made that it costs scarcel} 7 two hun- 
 dred francs a year to keep it in repair. I will show 
 it to you, for you may not have seen it ; you probably 
 came hy the pretty lower road, — a route the inhabitants 
 laid out for themselves about three years ago, to open 
 communication with various establishments since set 
 
48 The Country Doctor. 
 
 up along the valley ; thus proving, monsieur, that the 
 common-sense of a communit}^ once so unintelligent, 
 has acquired ideas which, a few years earlier, a trav- 
 eller might well have despaired of ever inculcating. 
 
 ' ' But to go on with my story : — The establishment 
 of nry basket-maker was a fruitful example to the poor. 
 Though the new road was the direct cause of the vil- 
 lage prosperity, } T et it was necessaiy to incite various 
 primitive industries, to make these two germs of pros- 
 perity more useful. While helping the man with the 
 osier-beds, and the basket-maker with his trade, and 
 constructing my road, I quietly continued my work 
 in other directions. I had two horses, my associate 
 the wood-merchant, had three ; we could only have 
 them shod when we went to Grenoble. I therefore 
 persuaded a blacksmith, who knew something about 
 the veterinary art, to come here under promise of cer- 
 tain work. It happened that on the same clay I met 
 an old soldier, at odds with fate, whose only means 
 of living was a pension of one hundred francs. He 
 knew how to read and write, and I gave him the place 
 of clerk at the mairie / by a lucky chance, I found 
 him a wife, and his humble dreams of happiness were 
 accomplished. Monsieur, I had to provide houses for 
 these new-comers, and for my basket-maker, and for 
 the twenty-two families who were to leave the village 
 of the cretins. Twelve other households, whose bread- 
 winners were workmen, producers, and consumers, ac- 
 cordingly came to settle here, — masons, carpenters, 
 tilers, joiners, locksmiths, and glaziers, who found 
 work for some time. They built houses for themselves 
 after building those of other people ; and with them 
 
The Country Doctor. 49 
 
 came additional laborers. In the second year of my 
 administration seventy new houses were built in the 
 district. 
 
 "One form of production compelled another. In 
 peopling the village I created new wants, hitherto un- 
 known to this poverty-stricken people. Wants led to 
 industries, industries to commerce, commerce to profits, 
 profits to comfort, comfort to beneficial ideas. These 
 various work-people wanted their bread ready-baked, 
 and we got a baker. Buckwheat could no longer be 
 the only food of a population that was now raised from 
 its degrading inertia and had grown essential^ active. 
 I had found it eating buckwheat ; my first wish was to 
 give it rye, then rje and wheat, and at last, some day, 
 to see the poorest of these people eating good white 
 bread. | To my mind, intellectual progress depends X 
 entirely on sanitary progress. A butcher shows the f* 
 intelligence and the wealth of a communit}'. He who 
 works eats, and he who eats thinks. / Foreseeing the 
 day when the cultivation of wheat would be a necessity, 
 I had carefully examined the qualities of the soil. I 
 found I could be certain of launching the village into 
 great agricultural prosperity and doubling its popula- 
 tion whenever the time came to undertake the work. 
 
 " It did come. Monsieur Gravier of Grenoble owned 
 certain property in the district, from which he drew no 
 revenue, but which might easily be converted into 
 wheat-lands. He is, as you know, the head of a de- 
 partment at the prefecture. He had already listened 
 very readily to my suggestions. As much from attach- 
 ment to his native place as from conviction under my 
 arguments, he had very kindly furthered my demands ; 
 
 4 
 
 \ 
 
 •r 
 
50 The Country Doctor. 
 
 I succeeded in making him see that he had uncon- 
 sciously served his own interests. After several days 
 of conferences, debates, and persuasions, and after 
 pledging my own property to secure him against the 
 risks of an enterprise from which his wife, a narrow- 
 minded woman, tried to frighten him, he consented to 
 set up four farms of one hundred acres each, and to 
 advance the costs of clearing the land, buying seed- 
 corn, agricultural implements, oxen, etc., and making 
 the necessary farm-roads. I, on nry part, laid out two 
 farms, partly to cultivate my barren and unprofitable 
 tract of land, and partly to teach, b}' example, the use- 
 ful methods of modern agriculture. In six weeks the 
 village population increased by three hundred inhabi- 
 tants. Six farms, where several families settled, large 
 tracts of land to clear, much ploughing and tilling to 
 do, of course brought laborers. Diggers, wheelwrights, 
 journeymen, and mechanics flocked in. The road to 
 Grenoble was alive with persons coming and going, 
 and with the two-wheeled carts of the country-side. 
 There was a general stir of life on all sides. The 
 circulation of money gave birth to a desire to make 
 mone} T ; apathy was past and gone ; the village had 
 waked up. 
 
 " I will end nry story of Monsieur Gravier, one of the 
 benefactors of this district, in two words. Notwithstand- 
 ing the distrust commonly felt b}- the citizen of a coun- 
 try town and b} T a man in office, and relying on my 
 promises, he advanced more than forty thousand francs, 
 without any certainty of recovering them. Each of his 
 farms is now let for a thousand francs ; his farmers 
 have done so well that all of them own at least a him- 
 
The Country Doctor. 51 
 
 dred acres of land, three hundred sheep, twentj T cows, 
 ten oxen, five horses ; and each gives employment to 
 more than twenty persons. During the fourth year 
 our farms were all in working order. We had a wheat 
 harvest which, abundant as it naturally was on virgin 
 soil, seemed miraculous to the country people. I often 
 trembled for the success of my work during that year ! 
 Rain or drought might ruin it, by lessening the confi- 
 dence I was then beginning to inspire. The cultivation 
 of wheat necessitated the flour-mill you have just seen ; 
 and it now brings me in five hundred francs a year. 
 The peasants declare that luck is on my side, and 
 the} T have come to believe in me as firmly as in their 
 relics. 
 
 " These new enterprises, the farms, the mill, the osier- 
 beds, the road-making, have given employment to all 
 the trades and handicrafts I had brought here. Though 
 our outlay of sixty thousand francs is amply covered by 
 the buildings we have put up, 3-et the money has been 
 returned to us by the profits derived from consumers. 
 My efforts to keep alive all budding industries are never 
 relaxed. By my advice, a nurseiyman settled in the 
 hamlet, and I preached the cultivation of fruit-trees to 
 ni} r poor villagers, so as to win a monopoly of the 
 Grenoble fruit-market at some future time. ' You take 
 your cheeses there,' I said to them ; ' why should n't 
 you take fruit, vegetables, chickens, eggs, game, hay, 
 straw, etc. ? ' Each item of that advice was the source 
 of prosperity to those who followed it. Thus a multi- 
 tude of little industries sprang up, whose progress, 
 slow at first, has increased rapidly from da} T to day. 
 Every Monda}' morning at least sixty carts go to Gren- 
 
52 The Country Doctor. 
 
 oble laden with our various produce ; more buckwheat 
 is now cultivated to feed the chickens than was for- 
 merly cultivated to feed the population. 
 
 "The wood business became too large for one estab- 
 lishment, and it is now subdivided. In the fourth year 
 of our industrial era, we had traders in fire-wood, in 
 planks and shingles, in bark ; and then, coal dealers. 
 After a while four new saw-mills for planks and joists 
 were started. The former mayor, in acquiring com- 
 mercial ideas, felt the need of knowing how to read 
 and write. He compared the prices of wood in differ- 
 ent localities, and found such differences, all in favor 
 of his own enterprise, that he gained customers in 
 many new places, and supplies to-day nearly a third of 
 the department. Our means of transportation increased 
 so rapidly that we now employ three wheelwrights, two 
 harness-makers, and each of these employs not less 
 than three apprentices. We use so much iron that a 
 tool-maker has come to the valle}^ and finds sufficient 
 work. The hope of gain soon developed ambitions 
 which drove my now industrious village population to 
 compete with the whole district, and even with the 
 department, and thus increase their profits by increas- 
 ing their sales. I had but to say the word and point 
 the way to fresh markets ; their own good sense did the 
 rest. Four years had sufficed to change the whole 
 aspect of the village. When I first passed through it, 
 I heard not a sound ; but by the beginning of the fifth 
 3 T ear all was life and animation. Joyous songs, the 
 noise of workshops, the sharp or dull creaking of tools, 
 sounded delightfully in my ears. I saw a busy popula- 
 tion coming and going, and settling in the new village, 
 
The Country Doctor. 53 
 
 now planted with trees, and where everything was 
 clean and healthsome. Every inhabitant had a sense 
 of his own well-being ; every face was bright with the 
 contentment that a busy, useful life bestows. 
 
 " These five years are to my mind the first era in the 
 prosperous life of our valley," resumed the doctor after 
 a pause. " During that time I had cleared the ground, 
 and set things fructifying in the heads and in the soil 
 of the community. The onward progress of the popu- 
 lation and its various industries could not now be 
 stopped. A second era was about to open. Soon the 
 little society wished to better its dress. A mercer came 
 among us, then a shoemaker, a tailor, and a hatter. 
 This beginning of luxury was really of as much bene- 
 fit as the butcher and the grocer had been. Next a 
 midwife became essential to my practice, for I was 
 losing much time with my lying-in cases. The newly 
 reclaimed lands gave excellent harvests, and the superior 
 qualit}^ of our agricultural products was maintained by 
 the various kinds of manure which increase of popula- 
 tion afforded. My undertaking was now prepared to 
 develop as it would to all results. 
 
 " Having bettered the sanitary condition of the dwell- 
 ings, and brought the inhabitants gradually to eat better 
 food, and wear better clothes, I now desired that the 
 animals might reap some benefit from this beginning of 
 civilization. On the care and attention given to cattle 
 depends the beauty of breeds and of individual speci- 
 mens ; from that again comes the value of their produce : 
 accordingly, I preached up the sanitary improvement of 
 stables. By comparing the profits derived from well- 
 stalled, well-groomed beasts, with the meagre returns 
 
54 The Country Doctor. 
 
 from neglected animals, I changed, little by little, the 
 management of all the cattle in the district : not a single 
 beast continued to suffer. The cows and oxen were 
 cleaned and rubbed down as they are in Switzerland, 
 and in Auvergne. The sheepfolds, the stables, the 
 cattle-pens, the dairies, the granaries, were remodelled 
 after my own buildings and those of Monsieur Gravier, 
 which are large and airy, and consequently wholesome. 
 The farmers became apostles, and soon converted un- 
 believers by proving the soundness of m} r precepts 
 through actual results. I lent money to those who 
 were without it, — favoring, more especially, the indus- 
 trious poor, for they served as a good example. By 
 my advice, the defective, feeble, or inferior beasts were 
 sold and replaced b} r fine specimens ; so that our pro- 
 duce, after a time, carried the day over that of other 
 districts in all the markets. Our flocks and herds were 
 magnificent, therefore the hides were fine. This step in 
 our progress was of great importance. In rural economy 
 nothing is fruitless. Formerly our fleeces brought low 
 prices, and our hides were of little value ; but when their 
 quality improved, tanners took advantage of the moun- 
 tain torrent to build tan-mills, and the business grew 
 rapidly. 
 
 " Good wine, an article formerly unknown in the vil- 
 lage, where they drank only piquette, made of refuse 
 grape-skins boiled in water, now became a necessit}*. 
 Wine-shops were established. The first of them has 
 lately been enlarged and changed into an inn, where 
 mules are supplied to travellers, who are now beginning 
 to take our road on their way to the Grande Chartreuse. 
 For the last two years there has been enough business 
 
The Country Doctor. 55 
 
 stir to keep two inns going. At the beginning of our 
 second era of prosperitj' the justice of peace died. Hap- 
 pily for us, his successor was a former notary of Gren- 
 oble, ruined by an unfortunate speculation, but who still 
 had enough mone}' to be rich in a village ; Monsieur 
 Gravier advised him to come here. He built himself a 
 pretty house, and seconded my efforts by joining in them. 
 He laid out a farm, and cleared the land, and to-day he 
 has three chalets on the mountain. His family is quite 
 numerous. He got rid of the former clerk and sheriff, 
 and replaced them by men who are much better edu- 
 cated, and, above all, much more industrious than their 
 predecessors. The two new households have started a 
 distillery of potatoes, and a wash-house for fleeces, both 
 useful undertakings which the heads of these families 
 superintend, while at the same time attending to their 
 official duties. 
 
 " As soon as I had raised a revenue for the district, I 
 emploj'ed it, without opposition, to build a town-hall, 
 part of which I used for a free school, with lodging- 
 rooms for the master. For that important function I 
 chose an unfortunate sworn-in priest, cast off by the 
 whole department, who found an as}'lum for his old 
 age in our valley. The schoolmistress is an excellent 
 woman, — so poor that she scarcely knew which way to 
 turn ; and we have thus helped her to a competence. 
 She has lately opened a boarding-school for girls, 
 w r here the well-to-do farmers are beginning to send 
 their daughters. 
 
 "Monsieur, though I have the right to tell you the 
 tale of this little corner of the earth in my own name, 
 there is a point where Monsieur Janvier, the new curate, 
 
56 The Country Doctor. 
 
 a Fenelon reduced to the proportions of a parish-priest, 
 has shared with me in the work of regeneration ; he 
 has been able to infuse a gentle and fraternal spirit 
 into the manners and customs of the country side, so 
 that the population seems now to be of one family. 
 Monsieur Dufau, though he came later, also deserves 
 the gratitude of the community. 
 
 "To sum up our present position by figures, which 
 are more conclusive than any remarks of mine, the vil- 
 lage now owns two hundred acres of woodland and one 
 hundred and sixt}^ acres of pasturage. In round num- 
 bers, it is able to pa} r the curate an additional salaiy of 
 three hundred francs, two hundred to a garde-champe- 
 tre, and as much more to the master and the mistress 
 of the free school ; it has five hundred francs a year to 
 keep the roads in order, and the same sum for repairing 
 the town-hall, the parsonage, the church, and for other 
 expenses. In fifteen years from now it will have a hun- 
 dred thousand francs' worth of wood to cut down ; and 
 it can then pay its assessments without calling on the 
 inhabitants for a farthing. Bj T that time it will be one 
 of the richest districts in France. But perhaps I am 
 boring you with all this?" said Benassis, noticing the 
 absorbed and thoughtful attitude of his listener, which 
 might have been taken for inattention. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " replied the captain. 
 
 "Monsieur," resumed the doctor, "all this trade, 
 industry, agriculture, and consumption of produce was, 
 after all, only local. Our prosperity stopped short at 
 a certain point. To be sure, I applied to the authori- 
 ties for a post-office, and licenses for the sale of tobacco, 
 powder, and cards. I induced the collector of customs, 
 
The Country Doctor. 57 
 
 through the charms of this valley and our new social 
 life, to leave the district where he had hitherto dwelt in 
 preference to the capital of the department, and come 
 to us. At the proper time and place I imported every 
 commodity for which I had roused a need. I brought 
 in new families, new industrials, and let them acquire 
 property and the sense of proprietorship ; thus, as soon 
 as they had earned a little money, they cleared their 
 land. Small farms and holdings spread over the moun- 
 tain, and gradually made it valuable. The poor people 
 whom I had once found carrying their cheeses on foot 
 to Grenoble, were now driving their carts, laden with 
 fruit, eggs, chickens, and turkeys, to market. All were 
 unconsciously looking up in the world. Those who were 
 the worst off had their gardens, their vegetables, and 
 their fruits to cultivate; and — this being a sign of 
 prosperity — none now baked their own bread, regard- 
 ing it as a loss of time. Even the children were busy 
 watching the sheep and cattle. 
 
 "But, monsieur, it was necessary to keep up the 
 industrial impetus, and bring fresh fuel to its hearth. 
 The village had as yet no perennial industry which could 
 lead to commercial production, and so necessitate large 
 transactions, an exchange, and a market. It is not 
 enough for a community to lose none of the wealth it 
 ma\- possess, and which forms its capital. You cannot 
 increase its well-being by merely making its money 
 change hands within its own limits in the game of pro- 
 duction and consumption, however skilfully 3011 may 
 play it. The solution of the problem is not to be found 
 there. When a region of country is fully developed 
 and its products balance its consumption, it must, so as 
 
58 The Country Doctor. 
 
 to create fresh prosperity and increase the public wealth, 
 make exchanges with other markets, which will give it 
 a steady commercial capital. This principle has always 
 led the States that are without territorial basis, such as 
 Tyre, Carthage, Venice, Holland, and England, to seize 
 upon the commerce of transportation. I looked about 
 me in our little sphere for some analogous opening, so 
 as to bring about a third period of commercial activity. 
 Our prosperity, which so far was scarcely apparent to 
 a superficial eye, was to me alone truly astonishing. The 
 inhabitants, who have insensibly grown into a populous 
 community, have not been able to judge of the move- 
 ment while participating in it. 
 
 "At the end of the seventh } T ear I met with two for- 
 eigners, — the real benefactors of this village, which 
 they will, perhaps, metamorphose into a town. One is 
 a Tyrolese of remarkable cleverness, who makes shoes 
 for the countiy-people, and boots for the fashionable 
 society of Grenoble better than an}' Parisian workman 
 can make them. He was a poor wandering musician, — 
 one of those industrious Germans who turn their hand 
 to anything, and can make the tool as well as the work, 
 the music as well as the instrument. He chanced to 
 stop at this village on his way from Italy, through which 
 he had travelled, singing and working as he went. He 
 asked if any one needed shoes. They sent him to me. 
 I ordered two pairs of boots, for which he made the 
 lasts. Surprised at his clever workmanship, I ques- 
 tioned him. I found him careful in his replies ; his 
 manners, his face, all confirmed the good opinion I 
 was inclined to form of him. I proposed that he should 
 take up his abode in the village, and I promised to 
 
The Country Doctor. 59 
 
 help his business to the best of my ability. In fact, 
 I put quite a large sum of money at his disposal. He 
 accepted. I had my own plans. Our hides were im- 
 proved, and we should be able after a time to con- 
 sume them ourselves, b}' making boots and shoes at 
 moderate prices. I now prepared to renew the basket 
 experiment on a large scale. Chance had thrown in 
 my wa} T a remarkably industrious and skilful workman ; 
 and it was ray duty to secure him, and give the village 
 a permanent and productive trade. The demand for 
 boots and shoes naturally never slackens ; and the 
 manufacture is one whose least improvement is at once 
 appreciated b}* the consumer. Fortunately, I was not 
 mistaken, monsieur. We have to-day five tanneries ; 
 the} T dress all the hides of the department, and are 
 sometimes obliged to get their supply from Provence. 
 Each of these tanneries has its own mill. Well, mon- 
 sieur, even these tanneries cannot furnish all the leather 
 my TjTolese needs for his trade. At this moment he 
 is employing forty workmen ! 
 
 " The other man — the history of whose arrival is not 
 less singular, but might seem tedious if I related it to 
 you — is a common peasant who has found a way to 
 make, at a lower price than is asked elsewhere, the 
 broad-brimmed hats which are worn in this region of 
 country. He now exports them into the neighboring 
 departments, and even into Switzerland and Savoie. 
 These two industries, both inexhaustible sources of 
 prosperity, provided the district keeps up their quality 
 and keeps down their price, suggested to me the idea 
 of founding three yearly fairs. The prefect, amazed at 
 our industrial progress, seconded my efforts to obtain 
 
60 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the i'03'al order for their institution. Last j'ear the three 
 fairs were held for the first time ; and already thej T are 
 called, even as far as Savoie, the Hat-and-Shoe fair. 
 
 k ' Hearing of these events, the head-clerk of a notary 
 in Grenoble, a poor young man of education and a hard 
 worker, to whom Mademoiselle Gravier is engaged, 
 went to Paris and petitioned for the right to open a 
 notary's office in the village ; his request was granted. 
 As the practice cost him nothing, he was able to build 
 himself a house opposite to that of the justice of the 
 peace, ou the public square of the new town. We now 
 hold a weekly market, where quite a large business in 
 cattle and wheat is done. Next } T ear, an apothecary 
 will probably settle here ; then a clockmaker, a furni- 
 ture-dealer, a stationer, — in short, all those who supply 
 the superfluities of life. We may end b} T taking on the 
 airs of a little town and building middle-class houses. 
 The education of ideas has so far advanced that I met 
 with no opposition when I proposed in the common 
 council to repair and decorate the church, to build a 
 new parsonage-house, to mark off a fine fair-ground 
 and plant it with trees, and lay out the village itself on 
 a plan which should, at some future time, give us health}-, 
 aiiy streets with frequent openings. 
 
 " This, monsieur, is how we have come to have nine- 
 teen hundred households instead of a hundred and thirty- 
 seven ; three thousand horned cattle instead of eight 
 hundred ; and, in place of seven hundred souls, a village 
 population of over two thousand, — three thousand, 
 counting the inhabitants of the whole valle}'. Within 
 the district, we have twelve rich families, a hundred 
 who are well-to-do, and two hundred who are prosper- 
 
The Country Doctor. 61 
 
 ing. The rest live by their labor. All know how to 
 read and write ; and we send seventeen subscriptions 
 to different newspapers. You will still see many unfor- 
 tunate persons among us ; I do, indeed, see too many 
 of them ; but, at least, no one begs, and there is work 
 for all. I tire two horses a day in attending to the sick ; 
 and I can now ride where I please, at all hours and 
 without risk, round a radius of fifteen miles : if any one 
 were to fire a shot at me he would not live five minutes. 
 The silent affection of the inhabitants of this valley is 
 all that I have personally gained by these changes, be- 
 yond the pleasure of hearing a contented people saj T , in 
 joyous tones, as I pass them: — 'Good-day, Monsieur 
 Benassis.' You will readily understand that the un- 
 sought profits which have come to me from my model 
 farms are to me a means, and not a result." 
 
 " If there were some man in every district to take 
 pattern by }~ou," cried Genestas, with enthusiasm, 
 "France would indeed be great, and able to snap its 
 fingers at all Europe ! " 
 
 "Ah, well! — I have kept you here too long," said 
 Benassis ; " it is almost night. Let us go to dinner." 
 
 The doctor's house on the garden side has a facade 
 with five windows to each stoiy. There is a ground- 
 floor, with one story above it, and a tiled roof with pro- 
 jecting dormer windows. Green blinds contrast with 
 the gray tones of the wall, from end to end of which 
 a grape-vine runs between the two tiers of windows, 
 like a frieze. At the base of the wall, a few Bengal 
 rose-bushes lead a melancholy life, — half-drowned at 
 times b} T the rainfall from the roof, which has no gutter. 
 
62 The Country Doctor. 
 
 As you enter the house, by a large landing at the fool of 
 the stairs which forms an antechamber, a salon with four 
 windows, two on the courtyard and two on the garden, 
 opens to the right. This room, doubtless the cause of 
 much economy and the object of many hopes on the 
 part of the deceased vicar, has a parquet floor, and a 
 panelled wainscot, and is hung with tapestries of the 
 seventeenth centuiy. The large and small arm-chairs, 
 covered with silk damask embroidered with flowers of 
 another color, the gilded branch candlesticks of old 
 date which ornamented the mantel-shelf, and the cur- 
 tains with their heavy tassels, all proclaimed the opu- 
 lence of the late curate. Benassis had supplemented 
 the furniture, which was not without distinction, by two 
 pier-tables of wood carved in wreaths, placed opposite 
 to each other between the windows at both ends of the 
 room, and by an old clock inlaid with brass, which 
 decorated the chimne} T -piece. The doctor himself rarely 
 used this salon, which exhaled the damp odor common 
 to rooms that are always shut up. The deceased vicar 
 still pervaded the atmosphere, and the peculiar smell of 
 his tobacco seemed to issue from the corner of the fire- 
 place where he had been in the habit of sitting. Two 
 large sofas were symmetrically placed on either side of 
 the hearth, where there had been no fire since Monsieur 
 Gravier's visit until to-day, when it was bright with the 
 clear flames of the pine-logs. 
 
 "The evenings are cold," said Benassis; "a fire 
 looks cheerful." 
 
 Genestas, who had grown thoughtful, was beginning 
 to understand the doctor's indifference to the e very-day 
 things of life. 
 
The Country Doctor. 63 
 
 " Monsieur," he said, " 3-011 have the true spirit of a 
 citizen ; I am surprised that after accomplishing so much 
 you have not attempted to enlighten the government." 
 
 Benassis laughed, though gently, and with some sad- 
 ness. 
 
 ' ' Write a treatise on the best way of civilizing France 
 — is that what you mean? " he said. ; ' Monsieur Gra- 
 vier has already suggested it. Alas ! nothing enlight- 
 ens a government ; and of all governments the one least 
 susceptible of enlightenment is the one that thinks itself 
 created to shed light./ No doubt what we have done 
 for this district ought to be done by all other ma}'ors ; 
 hy the municipal officers for their cities, by the sub- 
 prefects for their arrondissements, Ivy the prefects for 
 the departments, by the prime-minister for France, — 
 each in his own sphere of action. Where I have taught 
 m J people to make a road five miles long, some might 
 construct a great highway, others a canal. Just as I 
 encouraged the manufacture of peasants' hats, a minis- 
 ter might release France from the industrial yoke of 
 foreigners by encouraging clockmakers, and bringing 
 to perfection our own iron and steel manufactures, our 
 files and smelting-pots, and by the cultivation of silk 
 and indigo. In the matter of commerce, encouragement 
 does not mean protection. A nation's true policy is to 
 relieve itself of paying tribute to other nations, but to 
 do so without the humiliating assistance of custom- 
 houses and prohibitory laws. Manufacturing industry 
 depends solel}' on itself; competition is its life. Pro- 
 tect it, and it goes to sleep ; it dies from monopoly as 
 well as from the tariff. The nation that succeeds in 
 making all other nations its vassals, will be the one 
 
64 The Country Doctor. 
 
 which first proclaims commercial liberty ; it will have 
 enough manufacturing power to supply its productions 
 at a cheaper price than those of its rivals. France can 
 attain this result much better than England, for France 
 alone has sufficient territory to maintain her agricultural 
 products at prices which will keep down the rate of 
 wages. The French government ought to bear this in 
 mind ; it is, in fact, the whole question of modern poli- 
 tics. My dear sir, these questions have not been the 
 object of my life : the tasks I have tardily taken up 
 came to me accidentally. 
 
 " Moreover, such things are too simple to be called a 
 science ; the\* have nothing dazzling or theoretical about 
 them ; they are so unlucky as to be merely useful. 
 Besides, labor cannot be hurried. To attain success 
 we must get up every morning with the same quantum 
 of courage ; a courage which looks easy and yet is rare, 
 the courage of a teacher, repeating day after day the 
 same lesson, — the least rewarded of all forms of cour- 
 age. We bow with respect before a man who, like you, 
 has shed his blood upon a battle-field, but we sneer at 
 other men who slowly consume the fire of their lives in 
 saying over and over again the same thing to children 
 of the same age. " To do good in obscurity offers no 
 temptation to an}' one. { Civic virtue, which led the great 
 men of former days to do service to the State, and made 
 them willing to take the lowest rank if the.}* could not 
 have the highest, is lacking to our generation. The 
 disease of the present day is superiorit}*. There are 
 more saints than niches ; and the reason is obvious. 
 Losing the monarchy we lost honor ; losing the religion 
 of our fathers we lost the Christian virtues ; and through 
 
The Country Doctor. 65 
 
 our fruitless attempts at government we have lost pa- 
 triotism. Those principles, instead of inspiring the 
 masses, no longer exist, — except, indeed, partially ; for 
 ideas never die. To support society, there is in these 
 da} r s no other prop than selfishness. Individuals be- 
 lieve only in themselves. The future is man and his 
 social existence ; we no longer see anything beyond 
 that. The great man who shall save us from the ship- 
 wreck toward which we arc hastening will doubtless 
 make use of that spirit of individualism to reform the 
 nation ; meantime, while awaiting such regeneration, we 
 are in an age of self-interests and materialism. The 
 latter word brands soeiet}\ We are all ticketed, not 
 according to what we are, but according to what we 
 have. A man of energy in shirt-sleeves wins little or no 
 recognition. This sort of estimate rules in the govern- 
 ment. A minister sends a paltry medal to a sailor who 
 saves a dozen lives at the peril of his own, but he be- 
 stows the cross of honor on a deput}' who sells him a 
 vote. Woe to the country thus constituted ! Nations, 
 li ke indiv iduals, derive their vigor from noble senti- \ 
 ments only. The sentiments of a people are their be- 
 liefs. In these days, instead of beliefs we have nothing 
 but self-interests. If each man thinks only of himself, 
 and puts faith in himself alone, where will 3011 find civic 
 courage? — since the very condition of that virtue is the 
 abnegation of self. Civic courage and military courage 
 come from one and the same principle. You are called 
 upon to give your life's blood at a moment's notice ; ours 
 is poured out drop bj r drop. On either side, the same 
 struggle under different forms. If we wish to civilize 
 the humblest corner of the earth it is not enough to be 
 
6Q The Country Doctor. 
 
 an honest or a virtuous man ; we must be educated : 
 but education, instruction, uprightness, patriotism, are 
 nothing without will, — the firm will with which a man 
 must detach himself from self-interest and consecrate his 
 powers to a social thought. France can boast of more 
 than one educated man, more than one patriot in each 
 district ; but I am certain there is not in every district a 
 man who adds to those precious qualities a stead}' will, 
 and a pertinacity like that of a blacksmith as he beats 
 out his iron. The man who destnyys and the man who 
 builds up are equally the phenomena of will : one pre- 
 pares, the other achieves the work ; the first appears 
 like the genius of evil, the second like the genius of 
 good ; to the one, glory ; to the other, oblivion. Evil 
 has a piercing voice which wakes the vulgar soul and 
 fills it with admiration ; good is long silent. Human 
 self-love chooses the brilliant career. A work of peace, 
 a humble work accomplished without self-seeking, can 
 never be other than accidental, — at least, until education 
 has changed the social principles of France. When 
 these principles are changed, when we are all great 
 citizens, shall we not become, in spite of the comfort of 
 our easy lives, the most wearying and the most wearied, 
 the least artistic, and the most unhappy people on the 
 face of the earth ? It does not concern me to answer 
 these questions ; I am not the head of the nation. 
 
 " Apart from these considerations, there are other 
 difficulties which prevent the government from having 
 fixed principles. Moreover, in the matter of civilization 
 nothing is absolute, "/ideas which suit one nation are 
 dangerous to another ; tfcere are regions of intelligence, 
 as there are of soil. If we have had many bad govern' 
 
The Country Doctor. 67 
 
 ments, it is because government, like taste, emanates 
 originally from a very high and a very pure sentiment. 
 Genius in this direction comes from a tendency of the 
 soul, and not from a science. No one can really meas- 
 ure the acts or the thoughts of an administrator ; his 
 true judges are far removed from him ; the results of his 
 administration are farther still. Thus every one can 
 st3'le himself an administrator without running much 
 risk. The species of seduction which intellect exercises 
 in France inspires great respect for men of ideas ; but 
 ideas are worth little where only will is needed. 
 
 " Besides, government does not consist in imposing 
 ideas or methods more or less useful upon the masses, 
 but in giving safe direction to the good or evil ideas 
 of those masses, thus making them conduce to the 
 general good. If the prejudices and fixed habits of a 
 country lead to evil, the inhabitants will themselves 
 abandon the errors. Do not all errors in rural, politi- 
 cal, or domestic economy lead to losses which self- 
 interests rectify in the long run? Here, in this district, 
 I had the luck to find a tabula rasa. B3- ni}' advice, 
 the earth has been well cultivated ; but there had been 
 no previous mistakes in agriculture, and the soil was 
 good ; it was therefore eas}* for me to introduce culti- 
 vation with five successions of crops, grass, clover, and 
 potatoes. My agricultural system rubbed against no 
 prejudices. No worthless ploughshares were in use, as 
 in some parts of France ; here the hoe sufficed for the 
 little tillage that was done. The wheelwright had an 
 interest in ciTing up my wheel-ploughs, because they 
 threw work in his wa}' ; thus he became my confederate. 
 But in this, as in other things, I always sought to draw 
 
68 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the interests of the one within the interests of the man} T . 
 Soon I advanced from productions which served the 
 immediate wants of a poor community to other produc- 
 tions, .which increased their comfort and well-being. I 
 never drew in from the outer to the inner ; and I only 
 encouraged expectations which were certain to enrich 
 the people, — the profits of which could be seen at a 
 glance. The people who made them were my apostles, 
 and spread my gospel by their own acts, and without 
 being aware of it. 
 
 " Then there 's another consideration. Here we are, 
 fourteen miles from Grenoble ; and the vicinity of a 
 great town offers many an opening for productions. All 
 districts are not at the gates of a large city. In every 
 effort like this of mine, we must consider the character 
 of the region, its situation, its resources ; we must study 
 soil, men, and things, and beware of planting vines 
 in Normandy. So, you see, nothing is more variable 
 than the conditions of government ; in fact, very few 
 general principles can belong to it. Law is uniform ; 
 customs, soils, and intellects are not •^government is 
 the art of applying law without injury to interests ;*Y 
 therefore, its working must be local. On the other side 
 of the mountain at whose feet our deserted village lies, 
 it is impossible to use wheel-ploughs, for there is no 
 depth of earth ; well, if the mayor of that district had 
 tried to imitate our methods, he would have ruined his 
 communit}'. I advised him to make vineyards, and 
 last year that little region had an excellent grape- 
 harvest ; he exchanges his wine for our wheat. 
 
 ' ' And then, too, I have stood well with the people to 
 whom I preached ; we were always in close relations to 
 
The Country Doctor. 69 
 
 each other. I cured my peasantry of their ailments, — 
 always eas}' to cure, for the chief point is to restore the 
 natural strength by substantial food. Country people, 
 either from thrift or indigence, live so badly that their 
 maladies come chiefly from their penuiy ; as a general 
 thing they are health}'. When I resolved, solemnly, to 
 take up this life of obscure resignation, I hesitated long 
 whether to make myself a curate, a country doctor, or a 
 justice of the peace. It is not without reason, nvy dear 
 monsieur, that the three black gowns, priest , l awyer , and 
 doctor, are proverbially classed together ; one stanches 
 the wounds of the soul, another those of the purse, 
 the third those of the body ; they represent societ}' in 
 its three chief aspects of existence, — conscience, prop- 
 erty, and health. Formerly the first, subsequently the 
 s"econd, we're the State itself. Those who preceded us 
 on this earth thought, possibly with reason, that the 
 priest — the guide of ideas — ought to be the sole gov- 
 erning power ; he was king, pontiff, judge. But in those 
 days all was faith and conscience. To-da} r , this is 
 changed ; and we must take our epoch for such as it is. 
 Well, I think that the progress of civilization and the 
 well-being of the masses depends on the three profes- 
 sions. The} T are the powers which directly lead the 
 people to feel the result of actions, of interests, and of 
 principles, — the three great results produced within a 
 nation by events, by propert}-, and by ideas. Time 
 goes on, and brings changes ; properties increase or 
 diminish. All things must be ruled by such mutations ; 
 out of it comes the principle of order. To civilize com- 
 munities, to create production, we must bring the masses 
 to understand how it is that individual interests are one 
 
70 The Country Doctor. 
 
 with national interests, which resolve themselves into 
 actions, interests, and principles. The three profes- 
 sions, handling, as the}^ necessarily do, these human 
 results, seem to be, in our day, the greatest levers of 
 civilization ; they alone offer constantly to the man of 
 character an efficacious means of ameliorating the con- 
 dition of the poorer classes, — with which tliey are in 
 perpetual relation. 
 
 "The peasant, however, would rather listen to the 
 man w r ho prescribes for his body than to the priest who 
 discourses on the salvation of his soul. The one can talk 
 to him about the land he cultivates, the other is obliged 
 to converse of heaven, about which he is in these dajs; 
 unfortunately, little interested. I say unfortunately, 
 for the doctrine of a future life is not only a consola- 
 tion but a proper means of government. Is not religion 
 the only power that can uphold social laws? France 
 has recently vindicated God. When religion was done 
 awa} r with, the government was forced to set up the 
 Terror to compel the enforcement of the laws ; but it 
 was only human terror, and it passed awa}\ 
 
 " Well, monsieur, when a peasant is ill and nailed to 
 a sick-bed, or convalescent, he is forced to listen to 
 reason and argument ; and he will understand both if 
 presented clearly. That was the thought that made a 
 doctor of me. I reckoned with my peasantiy and for 
 them ; I gave them only such advice as would be cer- 
 tain in its effects, and would therefore constrain them 
 to recognize the soundness of my views. With peas- 
 ants, it is essential to be infallible. Infallibility was 
 the making of Napoleon ; it would have made a god of 
 him if the universe had not resounded with his fall at 
 
The Country Doctor. 71 
 
 Waterloo. If Mohammed was able to create a religion 
 after conquering a third of the globe, it was because he 
 concealed from the world the spectacle of his death. To 
 the village mayor and the great conqueror the same prin- 
 ciple applies ; the nation and the district are of the same 
 flock, the breed is the same. I was rigorous towards those 
 I was forced to help with money ; if I had not shown 
 firmness the}' would all have scoffed at me. feasants , 
 quite as often as men of the world, end by making light 
 of those whom they cheat. To be duped is to be weak ; 
 strength governs all things. I have never demanded a 
 penny of any one for my medical services, unless from 
 those who are known to be rich ; but I have left no one 
 in ignorance of the proper price of them. I never give 
 away medicines, unless the sick person is indigent. If 
 my peasantry do not pay me, they at least know the 
 amount of their debt ; sometimes the} 7 ease their con- 
 science by bringing me oats for my horses, or wheat, 
 when it is not too dear. If the miller were to offer me 
 only a few eels for nry services, I should tell him he was 
 generous for so trifling a matter. Such politeness bears 
 fruits ; in winter he will give me a few sacks of flour for 
 the poor. Ah ! monsieur, these people have hearts if 
 we don't blight them. I have come to think more of 
 good and less of evil than I used to." 
 
 "But you must have sorely taxed yourself ? " said 
 Genestas. 
 
 "I! not at all," answered Benassis. "It gave me 
 no more trouble to say a useful thing than to talk non- 
 sense. Meeting them as I did, talking and laughing 
 with them, I was soon able to speak to them of them- 
 selves. At first, they did not listen to me. I had their 
 
72 The Country Doctor. 
 
 prejudices and repugnances to combat ; I was a bour- 
 geois, and to their minds a bourgeois was an enemy. 
 That sort of enmity amused me. Between the doing of 
 good and the doing of evil, there 's but one difference, — 
 a conscience at peace or the reverse ; the trouble re- 
 mains the same. If rascals chose to behave well, they 
 would end by being millionnaires instead of being 
 hanged ; that 's the whole of it — " 
 
 "Monsieur!" cried Jacquotte, "the dinner is get- 
 ting cold." 
 
 "Monsieur," said Genestas, catching the doctor by 
 the arm, " I have only one remark to offer on what I 
 have just heard. I know nothing about the wars of 
 Mohammed, and so I cannot judge of his militaiy 
 talents ; but if 3 T ou had seen the Emperor manoeuvring 
 the campaign in France 3*011 would have taken him for 
 a god ; and if he was vanquished at Waterloo, it was 
 because he was more than man ; he was too mighty for 
 earth and the earth gave way under him, — that is how 
 it was. In other respects I am heartily of 3'our opinion 
 in all things ; and, thunder of heaven ! the mother who 
 bore you did n't waste her time."\ 
 
 "Come!" said Benassis, smiling, "let us go to 
 dinner." 
 
 The dining-room was panelled throughout, and painted 
 gray. The furniture consisted of a few straw chairs, a 
 buffet, some cupboards, a stove, the famous clock of 
 the deceased curate, and white curtains at the windows. 
 The table, covered with a white cloth, bore no signs 
 of luxuiy, and the crockery was of common earthen- 
 ware. The soup, made after a recipe of the late master, 
 was the strongest broth that ever a cook could simmer 
 
The Country Doctor. 73 
 
 and boil clown. The doctor and his guest had hardly 
 eaten it, when a man abruptly entered the kitchen, and 
 in spite of Jacquotte, made a sudden irruption into the 
 dining-room. 
 
 " Well, what is it?" asked the doctor. 
 
 " Why, it's this, monsieur; our good woman, Ma- 
 dame Vigneau, has turned quite white, — so white that 
 we are all frightened." 
 
 "Well," said Benassis, cheerfully, "then. I shall 
 have to go." 
 
 He rose. In spite of the doctor's remonstrances, 
 Genestas., flinging down his napkin, swore in soldier 
 fashion that he would not sta}' at table without his host, 
 and returned to the salon to warm himself, thinking all 
 the while of the wretchedness inevitably to be met 
 with in ever}' state of life to which man is subject here 
 below. 
 
 Benassis soon returned, and the Ijwo friends once 
 more sat down to table. 
 
 " Taboureau came to speak to you just now," said 
 Jacquotte to her master, bringing in the dishes which 
 she had kept hot. 
 
 " Who is ill at his place?" asked the doctor. 
 
 " No one, monsieur ; he wanted to consult you about 
 his affairs, he said ; he is coming back again." 
 
 " Very good. This Taboureau," resumed Benassis, 
 addressing Genestas, "is to me a perfect treatise on 
 philosophy. Study him attentively when he comes ; he 
 can't fail to amuse you. He used to be a day-laborer, 
 — a worth}- man, thrift}', eating little, and working 
 much. As soon as the fellow had a few crowns of his 
 own, his intellect began to develop. He caught the 
 
74 The Country Doctor. 
 
 ideas that I was impressing on the district, and tried 
 to profit 03- them for his own advantage. In eight 
 years he has made a fori une, — really a large fortune 
 in a community like this. Probably he is worth forty 
 thousand francs. I'll give you twenty guesses as to 
 how he made that money, and 3011 will never find out. 
 He is a usurer, — a thorough-going usurer ; and his 
 usury is so part and parcel of the interests of the peo- 
 ple of this district that I should simply waste my time 
 if I tried to undeceive them as to the advantages which 
 they think they get from their dealings with him. 
 When this devil of a fellow saw them all tilling then- 
 lands, he went to the adjoining districts and bought 
 grain, to supply- these poor people with the various 
 kinds of seed the}' needed. Here, as elsewhere, the 
 peasantry, and even some of the farmers, never have 
 the cash to pay for their seeds. To some Master Ta- 
 boureau lent a sack of barley, to be returned by a sack 
 of rye after the harvest ; to others a setier, that is, 
 about nine bushels of wheat, to be repaid by a sack of 
 flour. My man now carries on this singular sort of 
 commerce all over the department. If nothing balks 
 him, he is likel} T to make a million. Well, my dear 
 monsieur, as a clay-laborer Taboureau used to be a 
 worthy fellow, good-natured, obliging, and willing to do 
 a hand's turn for any one who asked him ; but now, 
 in proportion to his gains, Monsieur Taboureau has 
 progressed and grown wrangling and insolent. The 
 richer he becomes, the worse he gets. As soon as 
 a peasant passes from a simple life of labor to an 
 easy life, or to the ownership of landed property, he 
 grows unbearable. He forms a class which is half- 
 
The Country Doctor. 75 
 
 virtuous, half-vicious, half-educated, half-ignorant, 
 which will alwa\'s be the despair of .governments. 
 You will see a little of the spirit of this class in Tabou- 
 reau, — a simple-minded man to all appearance, even 
 illiterate, but certainly deep and clever as regards his 
 own interests." 
 
 The sound of a heavy step announced the approach 
 of the usurer in grains. 
 
 " Come in, Taboureau ! " cried Benassis. 
 
 Thus prepared by the doctor, the captain looked at 
 the peasant, and saw a thin man, much bent, with a 
 projecting forehead, and many wrinkles. The sunken 
 face was pierced b} r a pair of small gray e3'es touched 
 with black. The usurer's lips were tightly closed, and 
 the sharp chin was thrust up to meet a nose that was 
 sarcastically hooked. His high cheek-bones showed 
 the lines and cracks which denote a rambling life and 
 the craftiness that comes of an illicit business. His 
 hair was already turning gray. He wore a blue jacket 
 that was quite clean, whose square pockets stuck out 
 from both hips, and whose open front showed a white 
 waistcoat with a flowery pattern. He planted himself 
 squarely on his legs, leaning on a stick with a knobby 
 end. A little spaniel followed him into the room, in 
 defiance of Jacquotte, and lay down beside him. 
 
 " Well, what is it?" asked Benassis. 
 
 Taboureau looked suspiciously at the unknown per- 
 sonage who was sitting at the doctor's table, and 
 said, — 
 
 "It is not a case of illness, monsieur le maire ; but 
 you know how to heal the wounds of the purse, as well 
 as those of the bodv ; and I've come to consult vou 
 
76 The Country Doctor. 
 
 about a little difficulty I 've had with a man at Saint- 
 Laurent." 
 
 "Why don't 3 T ou go to the justice of the peace, or 
 his clerk?" 
 
 "•Eh! because 3*011 are so much cleverer ; and I'm 
 more sure of my affair if I can get 3*0111* approbation." 
 
 " My dear Taboureau, I am glad to give nry medical 
 advice, gratis, to the poor ; but I shall not examine 
 into the affairs of a man as rich as you are for nothing. 
 It costs something to get hold of science." 
 
 Taboureau twisted his cap. 
 
 " If you want my advice, which will save you the 
 coppers 3*011 would otherwise have to la3 7 out in con- 
 sulting the law3'ers at Grenoble, 3*011 must send a sack 
 of flour to the Martin woman who takes care of the 
 children from the hospital." 
 
 "Well, to be sure, monsieur; I'll do that with 
 pleasure, if you say it is necessar3 r . Can I state my 
 business without disturbing monsieur?" he added, giv- 
 ing a glance at Genestas. -' Well, then, monsieur," he 
 resumed, at a nod from the doctor, " two months ago, 
 a man from Saint-Laurent came to see me. ' Tabou- 
 reau/ he said, ' could you sell me twelve hundred and 
 fifty bushels of barle\ r ?' 'Why not?' I answered, 
 'that's nry business; do you want them at once?' 
 1 No,' he said, ' early in March, for the spring-sowing.' 
 4 Very good,' I said. Then we set about discussing the 
 price ; and having drunk his glass, he agreed to pay 
 me the then market price for barle3 r in Grenoble, and I 
 was to deliver the grain in March, — less the storage 
 waste, of course. But, nxy dear monsieur, barleys 
 have gone up and up, till they 've boiled over like a 
 
The Country Doctor. 77 
 
 Kettle o' milk. Being pressed for money, I 've sold all 
 m} 7 barle} 7 — natural enough, wasn't it, monsieur?" 
 
 "No," said Benassis ; "that barley was no longer 
 yours ; it was left in j r our care. If barley had gone 
 down in value, would n't 30U have compelled } T our pur- 
 chaser to pay the price he had agreed upon ? " 
 
 "But, monsieur, perhaps he wouldn't have paid it; 
 we must swim with the stream, 3011 know. A mer- 
 chant ought to make his profit when he can. After all, 
 goods are not 3'ours till 3*011 've paid for them ; is n't 
 that true, monsieur l'officier? — for I see plainly that 
 3*ou have served in the arm3 T ." 
 
 " Taboureau," said Benassis gravely, " misfortunes 
 will overtake you. Sooner or later, God punishes evil 
 actions. How can so intelligent and capable a man as 
 you, a man who knows exactly what he is about, set such 
 an example of dishonest3 T to this district? If 3*011 cany 
 on such proceedings, how do 30U expect the poor folks 
 to keep honest, and not rob you in return? Your 
 workmen will filch part of the time the3 T owe you, and 
 that will demoralize others. You are wrong. That 
 barle3* was as good as delivered. If the man from 
 Saint-Laurent had carried it away 3 T ou could n't have 
 got it back. You therefore sold something that did 
 not belong to you. The barle3*, by the terms of your 
 agreement, had already been converted into money. 
 But go on." 
 
 Genestas threw a glance of intelligence at the doctor 
 to make him observe the man's immovabilit3*. Not a 
 fibre of his face quivered at the reprimand, his brow 
 had not flashed, his small e3*es were calm. 
 
 "Listen to me, Taboureau. Deliver that barley at 
 
78 The Country Doctor. 
 
 once, or } r ou will lose the respect of everj'body. Even 
 if 3'our pockets gain by such conduct, you will be held 
 up as a man without faith or decency, without honesty, 
 without honor — " 
 
 "Go on, don't be afraid; tell me I'm a knave, a 
 rascal, a thief. They say those things in business, 
 monsieur le maire, without offence. In business, don't 
 you see, every man 's for himself." 
 
 " Well, then, why do you voluntarily put yourself in 
 a position to deserve such terms? " 
 
 " But, monsieur, if the law is on my side — " 
 
 " The law is not on 3'our side." 
 
 "Are you sure of that, monsieur, — sure, quite sure? 
 It 's an important matter, don't you see." 
 
 "Of course I am sure. If I were not at dinner, I 
 would read 3'ou the Code. If 3'ou go to law about it 
 you will lose yoxxr case ; and you will never set foot 
 within my doors again. I will not receive persons I 
 don't respect. Do you hear me? you will lose 3'our 
 case." 
 
 "Nay, nay, monsieur; I sha'n't lose it," said Ta- 
 boureau. " Look here, monsieur le maire, it 's the Saint- 
 Laurent man that owes me the barley ; it 's I who 
 bought it from him ; and it 's he who won't deliver it. 
 I wanted to be quite certain that I should win the case 
 before I went to the sheriff and involved uryself in 
 costs." 
 
 Genestas and the doctor looked at each other, trying 
 to hide their surprise at the clever trick of the man to 
 get at the judicial truth of the matter. 
 
 "Well, Taboureau, your man keeps bad faith, and 
 you had better not deal with such persons." 
 
TJie Country Doctor. 79 
 
 " Ah, monsieur ! but they understand business." 
 
 " Good-day to }~ou, Taboureau." 
 
 u Your servant, monsieur le maire, and company." 
 
 "Well," said Benassis, when the usurer had disap- 
 peared, " don't you believe that in Paris a man like that 
 would soon be a millionnaire ? " 
 
 Dinner over, the doctor and his guest returned to 
 the salon, where they talked for the rest of the even- 
 ing on war and politics, in the course of which conver- 
 sation Genestas manifested the most violent antipathy 
 to Englishmen. 
 
 "Monsieur," said his host, "may I know whom I 
 have the honor to receive as my guest ? " 
 
 "My name is Pierre Bluteau," answered Genestas. 
 " I am a captain at Grenoble." 
 
 "Very good, monsieur. Do you wish to follow the 
 same system as Monsieur Gravier? He liked, after 
 breakfast, to accompany me on my rounds through the 
 neighborhood. I am not sure that you will take much 
 interest in the matters which occupy me, for they are 
 very commonplace ; you are neither the owner of prop- 
 erty nor the mayor of a village, and you will see noth- 
 ing in this district that you have not seen elsewhere, — 
 all cottages look alike. However, you will get the air, 
 and it gives an object to your ride — " 
 
 " Nothing could please me better than } T our proposal. 
 I feared to make it myself lest you should think me 
 troublesome." 
 
 Captain Genestas — to whom we shall continue to 
 give his own name instead of his crafty alias — was 
 ushered by his host into a bedroom on the second floor, 
 over the salon. 
 
80 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " Good ! " exclaimed Benassis ; "Jacquotte has lighted 
 3 T onr fire. If there is anything 30U want, the bell-rope 
 is close to the bed's head." 
 
 " I don't believe I shall want anything," said Genes- 
 tas. " Here is even a boot-jack. One needs to be an 
 old trooper to know the value of that article. In war- 
 times, monsieur, I 've known it happen that one would 
 almost burn down a house to get at a boot-jack. After 
 a long march, and specially after an engagement, the 
 feet swell so in the damp leather that no effort can get 
 the boots off. I have had to sleep more than once with 
 my boots on." 
 
 The captain looked with some surprise about the 
 room, which was commodious, neat, and even hand- 
 some. ' ' What luxuiy ! " he said. ' ' I suppose }*ou 
 are as well lodged?" 
 
 "Come and see," said the doctor. "I am your 
 neighbor : we are onlv separated by the staircase." 
 
 Genestas was a good deal surprised, on entering the 
 doctor's quarters, to see a bare room, whose walls had 
 no other decoration than an old yellowish paper with 
 brown spots, discolored in places. The bed — of iron 
 coarsely varnished, and surmounted by a wooden pole 
 from which fell a pair of gray cotton curtains, at the 
 side of which lay a shabby strip of threadbare carpet 
 — resembled a hospital bed. At its head stood one 
 of those night-tables with four legs, whose rolling front 
 opens or shuts with a noise like that of castanets. Three 
 chairs, two armchairs made of straw, a chest of drawers 
 in walnut- wood, on which stood a very ancient basin 
 and a water-pitcher, the cover of the latter being held 
 to it b}' a leaden hinge, completed the furniture. The 
 
The Country Doctor. 81 
 
 hearth of the fireplace was cold ; and all the doctor's 
 shaving-things were scattered on the painted stone 
 mantel-shelf, under an old mirror, which was hanging 
 by a bit of twine. The tiled floor, neatly swept, was 
 worn and cracked and hollowed in several places. Gra}- 
 cotton curtains, with green fringes, hung at the two 
 windows. Everything, even to the round table on which 
 straggled a few papers, an inkstand, and some pens, — 
 everything in this abode of simplicity, to which the 
 excessive neatness of Jacquotte bestowed a sort of 
 correction, gave the idea of a life that was half mo- 
 nastic, indifferent to things, yet full of feelings. An 
 open door enabled the captain to look into a study 
 where the doctor, no doubt, seldom sat. This room 
 was in much the same state as the bedroom. A 
 few dusty books lay sparsely scattered about the dusty 
 shelves, while rows of bottles and labelled phials sug- 
 gested that pharmacy occupied more space there than 
 science. 
 
 " You will ask me why there is such a difference be- 
 tween your room and mine," said Benassis. " Well, I 
 have alwa} T s felt ashamed of those who put their guests 
 to sleep in a garret, and give them such disfiguring 
 looking-glasses that when a man looks at himself he 
 seems either larger or smaller than nature, either pallid 
 and sickly or struck with apoplexy. We ought to try 
 to make a friend's transient apartment as agreeable as 
 possible ; don't you think so? HospitaluVv seems to me 
 as much a happiness and luxury as it is a virtue ; but 
 under whatever aspect you consider it, not excepting 
 that of its being a speculation, ought we not to display 
 For friend and guest all the little caresses, the little 
 
 6 
 
82 The Country Doctor. 
 
 cajoleries of life? To your room, therefore, belong the 
 handsome pieces of furniture, the warm carpet, the cur- 
 tains, the clock, the candelabra, and the night-lamp ; 
 you must have the wax candles, and Jacquotte's best 
 attentions ; doubtless she has already brought you the 
 new slippers, some milk, and a warming-pan. I hope 
 you have never been more comfortably seated than you 
 will be in the luxurious armchair, discovered I don't 
 know where by the late curate. One thing is certain ; if 
 we wish to find patterns of all that is good, and beauti- 
 ful, and convenient we must have recourse to the Church. 
 I hope that everything in your room will please you. 
 You will find some capital razors and good soap, and 
 all the little accessories which make home-life so pleas- 
 ant. But, my dear Monsieur Bluteau, if m}' theories of 
 hospitalit}' do not fully explain the difference between 
 your room and mine, you will understand the naked- 
 ness of my quarters and the untidiness of my study 
 to-morrow, when you witness the incessant coming 
 and going which takes place in my house. In the first 
 place, my life is not home-keeping ; I am always out. 
 "When I am in the house, the peasantry come to see me 
 at all hours, and I belong to them, body, soul, and 
 chamber. Could I burden myself with the vexations 
 of etiquette, or with those caused by the inevitable 
 havoc those wortlry people would involuntarily make 
 among my things? Luxury is only suitable in man- 
 sions, castles, boudoirs, and the chambers of our 
 friends. Indeed, I am only in the house to sleep, 
 and therefore, what do I want with the trappings of 
 wealth ? You don't know how indifferent I am to the 
 things of life." 
 
The Country Doctor. 83 
 
 They bade each other a friendly good-night, and shook 
 hands cordially as they parted. Before he slept, the 
 captain made more than one reflection upon this man, 
 who, hour by hour, was increasing in proportions to his 
 mind. 
 
84 The Country Doctor. 
 
 c\ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 o'er hill and dale. 
 
 The friendship that every horseman feels for his 
 steed led Genestas early to the stable ; and he was well 
 pleased with the grooming Nicolle had bestowed upon 
 his horse. 
 
 "Up already, Captain Bluteau?" cried Benassis, 
 who came to meet his guest. " You are a true soldier, 
 and hear reveille wherever you go, even in a village." 
 
 "Are you well?" answered Genestas, stretching out 
 his hand with a friendly motion. 
 
 " I am never positively well," answered Benassis, in 
 a tone that was half-sad, half-merry. 
 
 " Has monsieur slept well?" said Jacquotte to Gen- 
 estas. 
 
 "Faith, my beauty! you made my bed as if for a 
 bride." 
 
 Jacquotte smiled as she followed her master and the 
 captain. After seeing them at table, she remarked to 
 Nicolle, — 
 
 " He's a good fellow, all the same, that officer." 
 
 "I should think so!" said Nicolle, "he has given 
 me fort}- sous, alread}\" 
 
 " We will begin by visiting two death-beds," said 
 Benassis to his guest, as they left the dining-room. 
 " Though doctors are not usually fond of coming face 
 
The Country Doctor. 85 
 
 to face with their victims, so-called, I shall take you to 
 two houses where } T ou will be able to make a rather curi- 
 ous observation on human nature. You will there see 
 two scenes which will prove to you how much a people 
 living on the mountains differ in the expression of their 
 feelings from the dwellers on a plain. That portion of 
 our district which lies on the upper slopes and summits 
 preserves customs of an antique t3'pe, which vaguely 
 recall the scenes of the Bible. There is, along this 
 whole chain of mountains, a distinct line traced by 
 nature, above which the aspect of everything changes. 
 Above, is strength ; below, cleverness and dexterit} T ; 
 above, noble sentiments ; below, a perpetual recollec- 
 tion of the material interests of life. Except the valle} T 
 of Ajou, where the northern slopes are peopled with 
 idiots and the southern with an intelligent race, — two 
 distinct populations separated onl} 7 by a rivulet, yet 
 dissimilar at all points, stature, carriage, plrysiognomy, 
 manners, customs, and occupations, — I have never 
 seen these differences more marked than they are here. 
 This fact ought to compel all administrators of govern- 
 ment to study locally the application of the laws. But 
 the horses are ready, let us start." 
 
 In a short time the riders reached a house which 
 stood in a part of the village that faced the mountains 
 of the Grande Chartreuse. At the door of this house, 
 whose general appearance was tolerably neat, they 
 saw a coffin covered with black cloth, placed on two 
 chairs surrounded by four wax tapers ; and near by, on 
 a stool, a copper vessel filled with holy-water, in which 
 la}- a branch of box. Each person who entered the 
 courtyard knelt beside the bod}', said a Pater, and 
 
86 The Country Doctor. 
 
 sprinkled a few drops of holy-water upon the bier. 
 Above the black cloth rose the green tufts of a jasmine 
 which grew beside the entrance ; and over the moulding 
 of the doorway ran the tortuous shoots of a grape-vine, 
 already in leaf. A 3*oung girl was sweeping the path 
 before the house in obedience to that vague desire for 
 adornment which all ceremonies, even the most mourn- 
 ful, impart. The eldest son of the deceased, a young 
 peasant twentj T -two years of age, was leaning motion- 
 less against the casing of the doorway. His eyes were 
 full of tears that did not fall, or perhaps he wiped them 
 furtivety away from time to time. At the moment when 
 Benassis and Genestas entered the courtyard, having 
 fastened their horses to one of the poplars which stood 
 outside the little wall, breast-high, above which they had 
 taken note of the scene within, the widow was coming out 
 of a cattle-shed, followed by a woman who carried a jug 
 of milk. 
 
 " Take courage, my good Pelletier," said the latter. 
 
 " Ah, my good woman," replied the widow, " when 
 one has lived twenty-five years with a man, it is very 
 hard to part with him ! " and her ej'es filled with tears. 
 " Are you going to pa} T me the two sous?" she added 
 after a pause, holding out her hand. 
 
 " To be sure ! I forgot," said the other woman, tak- 
 ing out the money. " Well, console yourself, neighbor. 
 — Ah ! here is Monsieur Benassis ! " 
 
 "Well, poor mother; are you better?" asked the 
 doctor. 
 
 " As for that, my dear monsieur," she said, crying, 
 " one has to keep about all the same. I sa} r to myself 
 that my man won't suffer any more, — and he did suffer 
 
TJie Country Doctor. 87 
 
 so! But walk in, gentlemen. Jacques ! put chairs for 
 the gentlemen ; come ! stir yourself. Bless me ! you 
 won't bring your father back to life if 3*011 stand there 
 a hundred years ! You have got to do double work 
 now." 
 
 "No, no, my good woman," said Benassis, "let 
 your son be quiet ; we don't intend to sit down. You 
 have a lad there who will take care of you, and who 
 is well able to replace his father." 
 
 "Go and get dressed, Jacques," cried the widow; 
 " the} T '11 be here to fetch you before long." 
 
 " Well, good-by, mother," said Benassis. 
 
 "Gentlemen, your servant," she replied. 
 
 " Here you see death," said the doctor to Genestas, 
 as the}' rode away, " taken as an expected event, which 
 does not interfere with the ordinary life of the family. 
 The people do not even wear mourning ; in the villages, 
 either from poverty or thrift, they will not go to that 
 expense. Throughout these valleys mourning is never 
 worn. Now, the wearing of mourning is neither a cus- 
 tom nor a law ; it is something better, — it is an institu- 
 tion derived from all laws whose enforcement depends 
 on the one principle — morality. Well, in spite of our 
 efforts, neither Monsieur Janvier nor I have been able 
 to make our peasantry understand of what importance 
 such outward observances are to the maintenance of 
 social order. These worthy folks, so lately emanci- 
 pated from their old thraldoms, are not quick to seize 
 the new ties which ought to bind them to these public 
 principles. So far, they have got no further than the 
 rudimentary ideas which lead to order and physical 
 well-being. Later, if any one continues my work, they 
 
88 The Country Doctor. 
 
 will come to understand principles which help to pre- 
 serve the rights of all. It is not enough to be an up- 
 right man, we must be seen to be one. Society does 
 not exist on moral ideas only ; to last, it requires ae- 
 t ions that are in harmony with such ideas. In most of 
 the rural districts, out of every hundred families whom 
 death deprives of their head, only a few, gifted with 
 lively sensibilit}', preserve a remembrance of the dead 
 for airy length of time ; the others totally forget them 
 before the end of the year. Is not such forgetfulness 
 a sore thing ? Religion is the heart of a people ; it is 
 the expression of their feelings, which it raises by giv- 
 ing them an object. Without a God visibly worshipped, 
 religion would not exist, and human laws would have 
 little real vigor. Though the conscience belongs to God 
 alone, the body falls under the social law ; therefore, is 
 it not the beginning of atheism to efface the outward 
 signs of religious grief, and not to exhibit forcibly to the 
 eyes of children who cannot yet reflect — indeed, to 
 the eyes of all who learn Iry example — the duty of oil- 
 ing laws by a visible submission to the decrees of Prov- 
 idence, who afflicts and consoles, and gives and takes 
 awaj- the blessings of life ? 
 
 41 I confess that having passed through my period of 
 scoffing and of scepticism, I have, here in this place, 
 learned to understand the value of religious ceremonies, 
 of family solemnities, and the importance of certain 
 usages and celebrations around the domestic hearth. 
 The base of all society must always be the family. 
 There, where law and power take their rise, obedience 
 should be taught. Seen in all their consequences, the 
 family bond and paternal authority are two principles 
 
The Country Doctor. 89 
 
 which are still too little developed in our new legislative 
 system. The family, the district, and the department 
 represent our whole country. Laws should therefore be 
 based on those three great divisions. In my opinion, 
 the marriage of men and women, the birth of children, 
 the death of fathers, cannot be surrounded with too 
 many observances. That which makes the strength of 
 Catholicism, that which has rooted it so firmly in the 
 manners and morals of the people, is precisely the 
 splendor by which it associates itself with the solemn 
 things of life, and surrounds them with ceremonies, so 
 simple and appealing, yet so grand whenever the priest 
 rises to the height of his mission, and makes his office 
 accord with the sublimity of Christian morality. For- 
 merly I used to think the Catholic religion a mass of 
 bigotry and superstition, cleverly manipulated, which an 
 intelligent civilization ought to bring to justice ; here, 
 in this village, I have come to recognize both its politi- 
 cal necessity and its moral usefulness ; here I have 
 understood its power as expressed in the very name it 
 bears. Religion means bond; and surely worship — in 
 other words, the expression of religion — constitutes 
 the sole tie that can bind the social elements and give 
 them a lasting form. Here, too, I have found the balm 
 which religion pours into the wounds of life : without 
 discussing the matter, I feel how admirably it harmonizes 
 with the passionate nature and manners of the southern 
 peoples. 
 
 " Take the other road," said the doctor, interrupting 
 himself; "we are making for the upland. There we 
 shall overlook two valleys, and you will have a fine 
 view. At a height of three thousand feet above the 
 
90 The Country Doctor. 
 
 Mediterranean we shall see both Dauphine and Savoie, 
 the mountains of Lyonnais, and the Rhone. We shall 
 enter another district, a mountainous one, where you 
 will see, at a farmhouse owned by Monsieur Gravier, 
 the second scene that I spoke of, — certain local cere- 
 monies which realize my idea of what is due to the great 
 events of life. In this district mourning is religiously 
 worn. The poor will even beg the means to buy black 
 clothing ; and, under the circumstances, no one ever 
 refuses to help them. A widow refers to her loss nearly 
 every day, and alwa}'s with tears ; ten years after her 
 misfortune her feelings are as deep as on the morrow of 
 the death. Manners and customs are patriarchal ; the 
 authority of the father is unlimited, — his word is law. 
 [ He eats alone, seated at the upper end of the table ; his 
 wife and his children wait upon him, and those around 
 never address him without using certain formulas of 
 respect. Such customs are, to my mind, a noble edu- 
 cation. The result is that in this district the inhabi- 
 tants are, as a general thing, upright, thrifty, and 
 industrious. Every father of a family is in\the habit of 
 dividing his property equally among his children when 
 old age renders him unfit for labor; his children then 
 support him. In the last century, an old man, ninety 
 years of age, after, making this division among his four 
 children, spent three months of eveiy year with each of 
 them. When he left the eldest to go to the 3'oungest, 
 a friend said to him, ' Well, are 3'ou satisfied?' 'Yes, 
 truly,' replied the old man ; ' they treat me as if I were 
 their child.' That saying seemed so remarkable to 
 an officer named Vauvenargues, a celebrated moralist 
 then in garrison at Grenoble, that he repeated it in the 
 
The Country Doctor. 91 
 
 salons of Paris, where the touching words were heard 
 and afterwards published by a writer named Chamfort. 
 In this district we often hear sayings that are even 
 more striking, but the}- lack historians able to repeat 
 them." 
 
 "I have seen the Moravian brotherhoods, and the 
 Lollards of Bohemia and Hungary," said Genestas : 
 " they are Christians who bear some resemblance to 
 your mountaineers. Those worthy souls endure the 
 miseries of war with the patience of angels." 
 
 "Monsieur," replied the doctor, "simple manners 
 and customs must be nearly alike in all parts of the 
 world. Truth has but one aspect. A country life may 
 kill ideas, but it also weakens vice and develops vir- 
 tue. In fact, the less men congregate together, the 
 fewer the crimes, the misdemeanors, the evil feelings 
 we encounter. The purity of the air has much to do 
 with the innocency of morals." 
 
 TheHwo horsemen, who were riding at a foot-pace 
 along a ston}^ road, now reached the upland of which 
 Benassis had spoken. This tract of ground turns round 
 the edge of a high peak of bare rock which overtops it, 
 and on which there is not a vestige of vegetation. The 
 summit is gray, cleft on all sides, abrupt and inaccessi- 
 ble ; the fertile upland, hemmed in by rocks, stretches 
 below this peak and forms an irregular terrace of about 
 thirty acres in breadth. Towards the south, the eye 
 takes in, through a wide notch, the French Maurienne, 
 Dauphine, the crags of Savoie, and the mountains of 
 Lyonnais. As Genestas gazed at the view, just then 
 illuminated b} T the sunshine of a spring morning, cries 
 of lamentation reached his ear. 
 
92 The Country Doctor. 
 
 "Come," said Benassis, "the Wail has begun. 1 
 Wail is the name they give to this part of the funeral 
 ceremonies." 
 
 The soldier then perceived, on the western flank of 
 the precipice, a large farm which forms a square enclo- 
 sure. The arched gateway of granite has an air of 
 grandeur which the decay of its structure, the age of 
 the trees that surround it, and the plants which grow in 
 its clefts, only enhance. The house itself is at the far- 
 ther end of the courtyard, on each side of which are 
 barns, sheepfolds, stables, cattle-sheds and carriage- 
 houses ; in the centre is a large pool where the manure 
 lies rotting. This yard, whose aspect in rich and pop- 
 ulous farms is usually so animated, was now silent and 
 gloom}-. The door of the poultry-yard was closed ; 
 all the animals were shut up in their own quarters, 
 whence their cries were scarcel} T heard. The stables 
 and the sheds were carefully closed. The path leading 
 to the house had been swept. Such perfect order where 
 disorder usually reigned, the lack of life and movement 
 in so noisy a place, the calm of the mountain, the 
 shadow cast from the summit of the peak, all contribu- 
 ted to affect the soul. Though Genestas was accus- 
 tomed to strong impressions, he was unable to restrain 
 a shudder wmen he saw a dozen men and women ranged 
 on either side the door of the great hall, crying aloud 
 with terrible unanimity of intonation, "The Master 
 is dead ! " — repeating it twice during the time it took 
 him to walk from the gateway to the house. When the 
 cry ceased, loud moans came from the interior, and the 
 roice of a woman was heard through the windows. 
 
 1 Le Chant est commence. 
 
Tlie Country Doctor. 93 
 
 " I dare not intrude upon such grief," said Genestas 
 to the doctor. 
 
 " I alwaj'S visit the afflicted," answered Benassis ; 
 " partly to see that no bad effects are caused by grief, 
 and partly to give a certificate of the death : you can 
 accompany me without scruple. Besides, the scene is 
 so imposing and we shall find so man}' persons present, 
 that you will not be noticed." 
 
 As Genestas followed the doctor, he saw that the 
 first room was full of family relations. The two men 
 passed through this assemblage and placed themselves 
 near the door of a bedroom, which opened into a great 
 hall that served as kitchen and living-room for the 
 family, or we might rather say, colony ; for the length 
 of the table indicated the habitual presence of about 
 fort}' persons. The arrival of Benassis interrupted the 
 discourse of a woman of tall stature, plainly dressed, 
 whose hair was dishevelled, and who held, with an elo- 
 quent gesture, the hand of the dead man clasped within 
 her own. The latter, dressed in his best clothes, lay 
 rigid on his bed, the curtains of which had been drawn 
 back. The calm face, which told of heaven, and above 
 all, the silvery hair, produced a scenic effect. On 
 either side of the bed stood the children and the nearest 
 relations of the married pair. Each side of the family 
 kept its own place, — the relations of the wife to the left, 
 those of the husband to the right. Men and women were 
 on their knees and praying ; most of them were weep- 
 ing. Wax tapers surrounded the bed. The curate of 
 the parish and his clergy had taken their station in the 
 middle of the chamber beside an empt} T bier. It was a 
 tragic sight to see the head of the family in presence 
 
 UNIVERSITY ) 
 
94 The Country Doctor. 
 
 of the open coffin which was about to close on him 
 forever. 
 
 44 Ah! my dear lord," said the widow, pointing to 
 the doctor, " if the science of that good man could not 
 save thee, it was written above that thou shouldst pre- 
 cede me to the grave ! Yes, this hand is cold that 
 once pressed mine in friendship. I have lost, forever, 
 my dear companion ; and our house has lost its pre- 
 cious head ; for thou wert indeed our guide ! Alas ! 
 all those who mourn with me have known the light of 
 thine heart and the worth of thy presence ; but I alone 
 knew thy gentleness, tlry patience ! Oh, my husband ! 
 nry man! must I bid thee farewell — farewell to thee 
 our prop, to thee my good master? We, thy children, 
 — for thou hast cherished all alike, — we have lost our 
 father ! " 
 
 The widow threw herself upon the body, clasped it 
 in her arms, bathed it with tears, warmed it with kisses, 
 and while she did so the serving-folk cried out, — 
 
 ki Our Master is dead ! " 
 
 " Yes," resumed the widow, " he is dead. The well- 
 beloved man who gave us our daily bread, who planted 
 and garnered for us, who watched for our happiness, 
 who led us through life with an authority that was full 
 of gentleness — he is dead ! I ma\- say it now in his 
 presence, he never gave me a moment's grief; he was 
 good, and strong, and patient; when we tortured him to 
 restore his precious health, the dear lamb said to us, 
 ' Leave me in peace, my children ; all is useless,' in the 
 self-same voice with which he had said, a few days 
 earlier, ' All is well with me, my friends.' Yes, great 
 God ! a few days have sufficed to take away from us the 
 
The Country Doctor. 95 
 
 joy of our home ; to darken our lives by closing the 
 eyes of the best of men, the most upright, the most 
 venerated of men, — a man who had not his equal at the 
 plough ; who went fearlessly, by night and by da} r , upon 
 the mountains, and returned always with a smile for nis 
 wife and children. He was the loved of all. When he 
 was absent, our hearth was sad ; we had no appetite to 
 eat. Alas ! how will it be with us when our guardian 
 angel is under ground, and we see him no more? — 
 no more, m} r friends ! no more, my good relations ! no 
 more, my children ! Yes, my children have lost their 
 good father ; our relations have lost their good rela- 
 tion ; my friends have lost a good friend ; and I have 
 lost my all, for the house has lost its master ! " 
 
 She took the hand of the dead, knelt down, the bet- 
 ter to la} r her face to his, and kissed him. The serving- 
 people cried aloud three times, — 
 
 " The Master is dead ! " 
 
 At that moment the eldest son approached his mother, 
 and said, — 
 
 "My mother, the people from Saint-Laurent are 
 approaching ; the}^ will want wine." 
 
 " My son," she answered in a low voice, quitting the 
 solemn and grievous tone in which she had given 
 utterance to her feelings, " take the keys ; from hence- 
 forth you are master here. See that all shall find a 
 welcome such as }'our father would have given ; for 
 them let nothing seem changed." 
 
 "Would that I could see thee once again, my noble 
 man," she resumed. "Alas! thou canst not feel me; 
 I cannot warm thee ! All that I now desire is to com- 
 fort thee, and make thee know that while I live thou 
 
96 The Country Doctor. 
 
 shalt dwell in the heart thou hast rendered happy ; that 
 thy dear remembrance shall abide forever in this cham- 
 ber. Yes, it shall be full of thee so long as God shall 
 leave me here. Hear me, dear man ! I swear to keep 
 thy bed such as it is to-day ; never did I enter it with- 
 out thee ; cold and empt}* it shall remain. In losing 
 thee I have lost all that makes the life of woman, — 
 master, husband, father, companion, friend, man — 
 all ! " 
 
 " The Master is dead ! " wailed the servants. 
 
 While the cry was caught up and echoed, the widow 
 took scissors that were hanging at her girdle, and cut 
 off her hair, which she placed in the hand of her hus- 
 band. Silence fell on all. 
 
 "That act," said Benassis, "signifies that she will 
 not remarry ; many of her relations expected her reso- 
 lution." 
 
 "Take it, m} 7 master," she said, with a transport of 
 heart and voice that stirred all present. " Keep, in 
 the tomb, the faith that I have pledged thee. Thus we 
 shall be one forever ; and I will dwell among thy chil- 
 dren, and love the offspring which kept thy spirit 
 young. Pray God thou mayst hear me, my man, my 
 only treasure, and learn that thou canst make me live ; 
 thou, dead, canst make me live to be obedient to thy 
 sacred will, and to honor thy memory ! " 
 
 Benassis pressed the soldier's hand to invite him to 
 follow him, and the}' went out. The first hall was full 
 of persons who had come from another district among 
 the mountains. All were silent and absorbed, as if the 
 sorrow and mourning which hovered above the dwelling 
 had already seized upon their own lives. As Benassis 
 
The Country Doctor. 97 
 
 and the captain crossed the threshold, they heard one of 
 the new-comers sa} T to the sons of the deceased, — 
 
 "When did he die?" 
 
 "Ah!" cried the eldest, who was a man about 
 twenty-five years of age, "I did not see him die. He 
 called me, and I was not there ! " Sobs choked his 
 words, but he continued: "The night before, he said 
 to me, ' Boy, go to the village and pay our taxes ; my 
 funeral ceremonies may hinder you from thinking of 
 them ; we might be tardy in paying them, and that has 
 never happened.' He seemed better, and I went. 
 During my absence he died, and I received no last 
 embrace. In his dying moments he did not see me at 
 his side, as I had ever been ! " 
 
 " The Master is dead ! " cried all the people. 
 
 "Alas! he is dead ; and I received neither his last 
 glance nor his last sigh. Why think of taxes? Was 
 it not better to lose our mone} T than to have left the 
 house ? Could our whole fortune pay me for that last 
 farewell? No; my God! If thy father be ill, never 
 leave him, Jean ; you will lay up remorse that ma}' last 
 your lifetime." 
 
 "My friend," said Genestas to the young man, " I 
 have seen thousands of men die on the battlefields, and 
 death never waited for their sons to come and bid them 
 farewell. Take comfort; you are not the only one." 
 
 "A father, monsieur!" he answered, bursting into 
 tears. " A father, who was so good a man ! " 
 
 " This funeral oration," said Benassis, as he led the 
 captain towards the farm-buildings, " will last until the 
 bod}' is placed in the coffin, and during all that time 
 the language of the desolate woman will increase in 
 
 7 
 
98 The Country Doctor. 
 
 strength and imagery. But to speak thus before that 
 imposing assembly, a woman must have earned the 
 right to do so by a spotless life. If the widow could 
 be reproached with the least wrong-doing, she would 
 not dare to utter a word : otherwise, she would con- 
 demn herself, and be at once her own accuser and her 
 judge. Such a custom, which judges both the living 
 and the dead, is sublime, is it not? They will put on 
 their mourning eight days hence, before the last general 
 meeting. Meantime, the family relations will remain 
 with the widow and children to help them to arrange 
 their affairs, and to offer consolation. This assemblage 
 of friends has a great influence on the minds of all ; it 
 represses evil passions by that natural human respect 
 which takes hold of men when the}' are in presence of 
 one another. On the day when the mourning garments 
 are first put on, a solemn repast is prepared, at which 
 all the relations are present, and bid each other fare- 
 well. All is done gravely ; and any one who failed in 
 the duties imposed by the death of the head of his 
 family would have no one present at his own Wail." 
 
 At this moment the doctor, who was near the cattle- 
 shed, opened the door, and made the soldier enter, 
 wishing to show it to him. 
 
 "See, captain," he said, "all our cattle-sheds have 
 been rebuilt on this plan. Is it not fine?" 
 
 Genestas could not help admiring the vast area 
 where the cows and oxen were ranged in two lines ; 
 their tails towards the lateral walls, their heads facing 
 the middle of the building, into which the3 r entered by 
 a rather wide alley between their stalls and each outer 
 wall. The open mangers gave to view their horned 
 
The Country Doctor. 99 
 
 heads and their brilliant eyes. A master could thus 
 run his e} T e with ease over all his cattle. The fodder, 
 which was placed under the rafters, where a sort of 
 floor had been constructed, was thrown from thence, 
 without labor or waste, into the racks. Between the 
 two rows of mangers was a wide paved space, clean, 
 and well ventilated b}* a current of air. 
 
 "During the winter," remarked Benassis, walking 
 with Genestas to the centre of the stable, " the veillees 
 — that is, the evening gatherings and occupations — 
 are carried on in this place. Here the work-tables are 
 set, and everybody is kept warm at no cost. The 
 sheepfolds are built on the same plan. You have no 
 idea how readily all animals adapt themselves to a sys- 
 tem. I often admire them as they file into the stables. 
 Each knows its station, and makes way for those who 
 should pass first. See, there is room between the ani- 
 mals and the outer wall to either milk them or rub them 
 down. The floor inclines enough to let the water run 
 off easily." 
 
 " This cattle-shed enables me to judge of all the 
 rest," said Genestas. "Without meaning to flatter 
 you, you have indeed got fine results." 
 
 " Not obtained without trouble,'" answered Benassis. 
 " But see what beasts ! " 
 
 "They are certainly magnificent, and you have good 
 reason to boast of them." 
 
 " Now," resumed the doctor, when they had passed 
 through the gatew r ay and mounted their horses, " w r e 
 will ride across our newly cleared ground and b} T some 
 wheat-fields, — a little corner of my district which I 
 call ' La'Beauce.' " 
 
100 The Country Doctor. 
 
 The two horsemen rode for an hour over hill and dale, 
 and among the fields, on the cultivation of which the 
 soldier complimented the physician. Then they regained 
 the village boundaries, and followed the mountain-road, 
 sometimes silent, sometimes conversing, according as 
 the pace of their steeds allowed them to speak or com- 
 pelled them to keep silence. 
 
 "I promised yesterday," said Benassis, as they en- 
 tered a little gorge by which they were to issue into the 
 wide valley, " to show 3'ou one of our soldiers who 
 came back from the army after the fall of Napoleon. 
 If I am not mistaken, we shall find him a few steps 
 farther on, digging out a, sort of natural reservoir, where 
 the water from the mountain collects and which the silt 
 is apt to choke with its deposits. But to make the man 
 interesting, I must tell you the stoiy of his life. He is 
 named Gondrin, and was taken by the draft of 1792, 
 when eighteen 3'ears of age, and put in the artillery. 
 As a common soldier, he went through all the Italian 
 campaigns under Napoleon, followed him to Egypt, re- 
 turned to France after the peace of Amiens, was then 
 enrolled among the pontoniers of the Guard, served 
 steadily in German}', and, for a final service, the poor 
 laborer went to Russia." 
 
 " Then we are brothers-in-arms, as it were," said 
 Genestas. "I went through the same campaigns. 
 Men had to be made of iron to resist the changes and 
 caprices of all those climates. Upon m} T word, the 
 good God must have given a special lease of life to 
 those who are still on their pins after marching over 
 Italy, Egypt, German}, Portugal, and Russia." 
 
 " Well, you '11 see the remnants of such a man. Tou 
 
The Country Doctor. 101 
 
 know all about the retreat, — useless therefore to tell 
 you. '1\ly fellow was a pontonier at the passage of the 
 Beresina. He helped to construct the bridge over which 
 the army passed ; and in order to plant the first props, 
 he went into the water up to his middle. General Ebk ; , 
 who had the pontoniers in his command, could find only 
 fort}'-two who had grit enough, as Gondrin says, to 
 attempt the work. The general himself got into the 
 water to encourage and support them, and he promised 
 eacli man an extra pension of a thousand francs and 
 the cross of the Legion of honor. The first man who 
 entered the Beresina had his leg taken off by a block of 
 ice, and the man followed his leg. But you will under- 
 stand the difficulties of the undertaking by the results. 
 Of the forty-two pontoniers, Gondrin is the only one 
 alive at this da\\ Thirty-nine perished in the Beresina, 
 and two others died miserabl}- in a Polish hospital. 
 Our poor fellow did not get back from Wilna till 1814, 
 after the return of the Bourbons. General Eble, of 
 whom Gondrin can't speak without tears in his e}es, 
 was dead. The old pontonier, then deaf and infirm, and 
 unable to read or write, could find no other protector 
 or defender. He begged his wa}- to Paris, and made 
 efforts at the War office to obtain, not the promised 
 pension of a thousand francs, not the cross of the 
 Legion of honor, — merely the retiring pension to which 
 he was entitled after twemVy-two 3-ears' service and I 
 can't tell you how many campaigns. In vain ; he could 
 get neither back-pay nor the costs of his journey home- 
 ward, nor his pension. After a year of useless petition- 
 ing, during which he implored the help of those whose 
 lives he had helped to save, the old man came back 
 
102 The Country Doctor. 
 
 here, broken down but resigned. This unrecognized 
 hero now digs ditches at ten sous a fathom. Accus- 
 tomed to work in swamps, he undertakes, as he says, the 
 work which no other man is willing to do. By draining 
 bogs, and cutting trenches through inundated lands, he 
 earns, perhaps, three francs a day. His deafness gives 
 a sad expression to his face. He is naturally no talker, 
 but he is full of soul. He and I are good friends ; he 
 dines with me on the anniversaries of the battle of 
 Austerlitz, the Emperor's fete-day, and the disasters at 
 Waterloo ; and I alwa3's present him at dessert with a 
 napoleon, which pays for his quarterly allowance of wine. 
 The feelings of respect which I have for that man are 
 shared by the whole community, who would willingly 
 support him. If he works, it is from self-respect. In 
 every house where he is known the people follow my 
 example and invite him to dinner. I could not make 
 him take my twenty-franc piece if it were not given as 
 a portrait of the Emperor. The injustice he has met 
 with has wounded him deeply, but he grieves more over 
 the loss of his cross than over that of his pension. 
 When General Eble presented the surviving pontoniers 
 to the Emperor after the bridge was built, Napoleon 
 kissed our poor Gondrin, who might now be dead but 
 for the glory of that embrace. He lives in the remem- 
 brance of it, and in the hope of Napoleon's return. 
 Nothing could convince him that the Emperor is dead ; 
 he is persuaded that his captivity is due to Englishmen, 
 and I believe that on the slightest pretext he would kill 
 even the best of those rich aldermen who are now 
 travelling for their pleasure through France." 
 
 " Come, let us get on ! " cried Genestas, rousing him- 
 
m, 
 
 } he Country Doctor. 103 
 
 self from the deep attention with which he had been 
 listening to the doctor. " I wish to see that man." 
 
 And the two riders put their horses to a quick trot. 
 
 " The second soldier of whom I spoke to you," said 
 Benassis, " is still another of those men of iron who 
 make up our armies. He has lived, as all French sol- 
 diers do, amid shot and wounds and victories. He has 
 suffered much and worn no epaulets but the woollen 
 ones. His nature is jovial ; he loves Napoleon to fan- 
 aticism, and the Emperor gave him the cross on the 
 field of Valontina. A true Dauphinois, he has always 
 taken care to keep in line ; and thus he has his retiring- 
 pension and also that of the Legion. He is an infantry- 
 soldier, named Goguelat, and entered the guard in 1812. 
 After a fashion, he's a sort of housekeeper to Gondrin. 
 The} T both live with the widow of a pedler, to whom 
 they pay over their money. The good creature lodges, 
 feeds, clothes, and cares for them as if they were her 
 children. Goguelat is the postman of the district. In 
 that capacit}* he is also the gossip of the neighborhood, 
 and the habit of retailing news has made him the orator 
 of the veillees, or evening gatherings, the talker-in-chief; 
 in fact, Gondrin looks upon him as a wit, and a knowing 
 fellow. When Goguelat discourses of Napoleon, the 
 other seems to guess at his words by the mere motion 
 of his lips. If the}' are going to-night to a veillee which 
 is to take place in one of nry barns, and if we can see 
 them without being seen ourselves, 3011 shall be a spec- 
 tator of the scene. Here we are at the pool, but I 
 don't see my friend Gondrin." 
 
 The doctor and his companion looked about them 
 carefully, and saw nothing but the pick-axe, the 
 
104 The Country Doctor. 
 
 shovel, the wheelbarrow, and the militar}' jacket of 
 the pontonier, lying beside a mound of black mud ; no 
 vestige of the man could be seen along the various 
 stony beds made by the streams of water, which 
 formed irregular hollows, nearly all of them shaded 
 by little shrubs. 
 
 41 He can't be far off. Ohe ! Gondrin ! " cried Benassis. 
 
 At this moment Genestas observed the smoke of a 
 pipe issuing from the tangled branches of a thicket, 
 and pointed it out to the doctor, who repeated his call. 
 Presently the old pontonier thrust out his head, recog- 
 nized the ma3'or, and came down a little pathwa}\ 
 
 " Well, ray old man ! " cried Benassis, making a sort 
 of ear-trumpet with the palm of his hand. " Here is a 
 comrade, an Egyptian, who wants to see 3 T ou." 
 
 Gondrin raised his head quickly and gave Genestas 
 the deep scrutinizing glance which old soldiers learn to 
 give at each other through the habit of prompt decision 
 in moments of danger. Seeing the red ribbon in the 
 captain's buttonhole, he silently carried the back of his 
 hand to his forehead. 
 
 " If the Little Corporal were still alive," cried the 
 officer, "} T ou would have your cross, and a fine pen- 
 sion ; for 3 T ou saved the lives of those who wore the 
 epaulets, and who got across that river on the first of 
 October, 1812. But, my friend," added the captain, 
 getting off his horse, and taking the man's hand in his 
 own with a sudden impulse of the heart," I am not the 
 minister of war." 
 
 Hearing these words, the old soldier straightened him- 
 self on his legs, after knocking the ashes out of his pipe 
 and laying it away ; then he replied, bowing his head : — 
 
'The Country Doctor. 105 
 
 4k I only did my duty, my officer; but others have 
 not done theirs by me. The}' demand my papers ! 
 1 My papers?' I said to them, 4 why, the}' are the 
 29th Bulletin.'" 
 
 ' ' You must try again, comrade. By the help of a little 
 influence you can't fail in these days to obtain justice." 
 
 4i Justice ! " cried the old man in a tone which made 
 the doctor and rhe captain quiver. 
 
 There was a moment's silence, during which the 
 riders looked at this shattered relic of the iron sol- 
 diery picked by Napoleon from three generations of 
 martial men. Gondrin was certainly a fine specimen 
 of that indestructible mass which might bend, but was 
 never broken. The old man was scarcely five feet in 
 height ; his shoulders and chest were enormously de- 
 veloped ; his tanned face, seamed with wrinkles, hollow 
 and yet muscular, still retained some traces of a war- 
 like career. Everything about him was rough-hewn. 
 His brow was like a square of stone ; the scant}' gray 
 hair grew feebly, as though life were already lacking to 
 the weary head ; but his arms, covered with hair like his 
 breast, which was partly seen through the opening of 
 the coarse shirt, showed extraordinary vigor, and he 
 stood as firmly on his bent and twisted legs as if 
 they were an immovable pedestal. 
 
 kfc Justice!" he repeated, "there's none for such as 
 we ! Who is there to stand up for us, and get us our 
 dues? The bread-basket has got to be filled," he said, 
 tapping his stomach, "it won't give us time to wait. 
 And so, as the promises of men who spend their lives 
 in warm corners of the government-offices have n't 
 the virtue of vegetables, I've come back here to get 
 
106 The Country Doctor. 
 
 m 3' P a >' oll t °f mother earth," he said, striking the 
 mud with his shovel. 
 
 " Old comrade, this won't do ! " said Genestas. " I 
 owe my life to 3*011 ; and I should be most ungrateful 
 if I did not do a hand's turn to help you. I remember 
 crossing the bridge at Beresina, and I know other old 
 campaigners who keep its memoiy green ; they will 
 help me to get your services to the country rewarded 
 as they should be." 
 
 '•You'll be called a Bonapartist ; don't meddle with 
 it, my officer. Besides, I 've gone to the rear ; I 've 
 made m}* hole here, like a spent ball. Only, I did n't 
 expect, after crossing the desert on camels and drink- 
 ing my wine b}* a corner of the fire of Moscow, to die 
 under the trees my father planted," he said, going back 
 to his work. 
 
 "Poor old man," said Genestas; "in his place, I 
 should do the same. Alas ! the father of us all is no 
 more. Monsieur," he added, turning to Benassis, "the 
 resignation of the man is what saddens me most. He 
 does not know how much he interests me ; he will take 
 me for one of those gilded scoundrels who care nothing 
 for the sorrows of a soldier." 
 
 The captain turned abruptly, seized the old man by 
 the hand, and shouted in his ear : — 
 
 •• By the cross I wear, which formerly meant honor, 
 I swear to do all that is humanly possible to get you 
 a pension ; even if I have to swallow ten rebuffs from 
 the minister of war, and petition the king, the dauphin, 
 and the whole concern." 
 
 Hearing these words, old Gondrin trembled, looked 
 at Genestas, and said, — 
 
The Country Doctor. 107 
 
 5t You must have been a common soldier?" 
 
 The captain nodded. At the sign, the old man 
 wiped his hand, took that of Genestas, wrung it with 
 an action full of feeling, and said : — 
 
 " My general, when I went into the water down 
 there, I meant to give my life for the arm}* ; therefore 
 I gained something, for, you see, I am still on nry 
 stumps. Come, do you want to know what is really 
 at the bottom of my heart? Well, here it is ! ever since 
 the other was driven away I have had no interest in 
 anything. They 've put me here," he added gayly, 
 pointing to the ground; "I've got twenty thousand 
 francs to get out of it, and I '11 take them in detail, — 
 as the other used to say." 
 
 "Well, comrade," said Genestas, much moved b}- 
 the sublimity of this forgiveness, "you have here, at 
 least, the one thing you cannot prevent me from giving 
 you-" 
 
 He struck his heart, looked earnestly at the old man 
 for a moment, remounted his horse, and rode away 
 beside Benassis. 
 
 " Such administrative cruelties foment the quarrel 
 of the poor against the rich," said the doctor. "The 
 men to whom power is momentarily confided never 
 think seriously of the effect in the long run of an injus- 
 tice done to a man of the people. A poor man, obliged 
 to earn his daily bread, does not struggle long with 
 them, that is true ; but he talks, and finds an echo in 
 other suffering hearts. Each iniquhy is multiplied by 
 the number of those who feel that it strikes them. The 
 leaven works. It is nothing at first, but it leads to 
 dire evil ; such injustices keep up in the minds of the 
 
108 The Country Doctor. 
 
 people a covert hatred against social superiority. The 
 bourgeois becomes, and remains, an enem}" to the poor 
 man, who forthwith puts him outside the pale of law 
 and deceives and robs him. To the poor, robbery is 
 no longer a delinquency or a crime, but a vengeance. 
 If, when a question of justice to the poor man arises, 
 an administrator maltreats him and cheats him of his 
 acquired rights, how can we expect the unhappy starv- 
 ing creature to feel resignation at his wrongs, or respect 
 for property. It makes me quiver to think that some 
 young clerk whose business it is to dust the papers in 
 a government office, enjoys the thousand francs pension 
 that was promised to Gondrin. And yet you will find 
 persons who have never realized the extremes of suffer- 
 ing, denouncing the excesses of popular vengeance ! 
 On the day when our government gives cause for more 
 individual misery than prosperit}' its overthrow hangs 
 hy a thread ; in overthrowing it, the people square the 
 account after their own fashion. Statesmen should 
 picture to their minds the poor man sitting at the feet 
 of Justice, — a divinity that was invented for him 
 alone." 
 
 As they reached the confines of the village, Benassis 
 saw two persons walking before them on the road, and 
 he said to the captain, who had been riding pensively 
 for some time : — 
 
 "You have seen the resigned poverty of an army 
 veteran, now you shall see that of an old husbandman. 
 Here 's a man who all his life has dug and tilled and 
 sowed and reaped for the interests of others." 
 
 Genestas observed an old man walking in compan}' 
 with an old woman. The man seemed to suffer from 
 
The Country Doctor. 109 
 
 sciatica, and walked with difficulty, his feet in wretched 
 wooden shoes. On his shoulder he carried a work- 
 man's satchel, in the pocket of which were a number 
 of tools, whose handles, blackened by sweat and by 
 long usage, jostled together with a slight noise. The 
 pocket on the other side of the satchel contained bread, 
 a few raw onions, and some nuts. The man's legs 
 seemed distorted ; his back was bent double b}- habitual 
 toil, which forced him to walk in a decrepit attitude, 
 and to lean on a long stick to preserve his equilibrium. 
 His hair, white as snow, hung down beneath a miser- 
 able hat, rust} T from the action of the weather, and re- 
 sewn here and there with white thread. His garments 
 of coarse cloth were patched in a hundred places, show- 
 ing diversities of color. He was, in fact, a sort of 
 human ruin, and none of the characteristics which 
 make other ruins so touching were lacking here. His 
 wife, more erect than himself, but likewise clothed in 
 rags, wore a coarse cap, and carried on her back, sus- 
 pended by a strap passed through its handles, an 
 earthenware jug, which was round in outline and flat- 
 tened on the sides. 
 
 The pair raised their heads as the} r heard the horses' 
 feet, recognized Benassis, and stopped short. These 
 two old persons, one decrepit through toil, the other, 
 his faithful companion, equally a wreck, both of them 
 with faces whose features were effaced by wrinkles, 
 with skins blackened by the sun and hardened by 
 the inclemencies of the w r eather, were grievous to be- 
 hold. If the stoiy of their lives had not been written 
 on their countenances, their attitudes would have re- 
 vealed it. Both had toiled ceaselessly, and ceaselessly 
 
110 The Country Doctor. 
 
 had they suffered together, with many griefs to share, 
 and few joys. They seemed to have grown used to 
 their hapless fate, just as prisoners grow accustomed 
 to their prison ; in them, all was simple-mindedness. 
 Their faces were not devoid of a certain cheerful frank- 
 ness. If closely examined, their monotonous life — the 
 lot of the poor — seemed almost enviable. They bore 
 the marks of suffering, but not of grief. 
 
 " Well, my brave old Moreau ; so you persist in still 
 working?" exclaimed the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Benassis ; I '11 clear one or two more 
 heaths for you before I give up the ghost," answered 
 the old man merrily, his little black eyes twinkling. 
 
 "Is it wine your wife is carrying? If you. won't 
 take any rest, at least 3-011 must drink wine." 
 
 "Rest! wiry, that tires me. When I'm at work in 
 the sun, clearing the land, the sun and the air put new 
 life into me. As to wine, yes, monsieur, that's wine; 
 and I know very well it is you who have helped us to 
 buy it for next to nothing from the mayor of Conrteil. 
 Ah ! you may be as sly as you please, but your works 
 are known all the same." 
 
 "Well, good-lry, mother; I suppose 3 T ou are going 
 to the play at Champferlu to-day?" 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, it began last night." 
 
 "Keep up your courage," said Benassis; "you 
 ought to feel happy sometimes, when 3-011 look at the 
 mountain, which has been almost wholly cleared by 3-our 
 two selves." 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," said the old woman, "it's our 
 work ; we 've earned the right to eat our bread." 
 
 " See," said Benassis to Genestas, "labor and the 
 
The, Country Doctor. Ill 
 
 soil to cultivate, — that 's the capital of the poor. The 
 worth} 7 man would think himself degraded if he begged 
 or went to an almshouse ; he means to die with a 
 spade in his hand, in the open fields, in the sunlight ! 
 Faith, he has a noble courage ! By dint of working, 
 labor has become his breath of life ; but he is not 
 afraid of death ; he is deeply philosophical without sus- 
 pecting it. It was the sight of old Moreau that gave 
 me the idea of founding an asj'lum in this district for 
 laborers and working-men, indeed for all country-peo- 
 ple who, having worked throughout their lives, have 
 reached an honorable but penniless old age. Monsieur, 
 I did not reckon on the fortune I have made here, 
 which is personally valueless to me. A man who has 
 fallen from the summits of hope needs but little here 
 below. The life of idlers is the onty life that is costly ; 
 perhaps it may even be called a social theft to con- 
 sume without producing. Napoleon, when told of the 
 discussions that arose, after his fall, on the subject of 
 his pension, declared that he only needed a horse and 
 three francs a day. When I came here, I renounced 
 mone} T . Since then, I have come to recognize that 
 money represents faculties, and is necessary to the pur- 
 pose of doing good. I have, therefore, in my will, 
 given this house to found a home where unfortunate old 
 men without a refuge, and less proud than Moreau, may 
 spend their last days. Also, a portion of the nine 
 thousand francs a }ear which m} r farms and the flour- 
 mill bring in will be employed to give, in severe win- 
 ters, a certain amount of relief in their own homes to 
 individuals who are really necessitous. The establish- 
 ment will be under the control of the municipal council, 
 
112 The Country Doctor. 
 
 to whom I have added the curate as president. In this 
 way, the fortune which chance has helped me to make in 
 this village will sta}^ here. The rules of my institution 
 are all drawn up in my will ; it would be wearisome if I 
 repeated them to}ou now, — enough to say that I have 
 foreseen everything. I have even created a reserve- 
 fund, which will some da} T enable the council to pay 
 scholarships to young persons who ma} T show a hopeful 
 inclination for the arts or sciences. So, even after my 
 death my work of civilization will still go on. Don't 
 you know, Captain Bluteau, that when we once begin a 
 task, there is something within us always goading us 
 not to leave it incomplete ? That instinct of order and 
 perfection is one of the clearest signs we have of a future 
 destiny. Come, let us ride fast ; I must finish nry rounds, 
 and there are still five or six patients to visit." 
 
 After trotting sometime in silence, Benassis said to 
 his companion with a laugh : — 
 
 11 Faith, Captain Bluteau, you make me chatter like a 
 jackdaw, and you tell me nothing of your own life, which 
 must be a curious one. A soldier of your age has seen 
 too much not to have mairy an adventure to relate." 
 
 " But," answered Genestas, " my life is an army life ; 
 all military faces look alike. Never having been in com- 
 mand, being always under orders to receive or give the 
 sabre-cuts, I have done like all the rest. I went where 
 Napoleon led us ; I was in line in all the battles where 
 the Guard was engaged. Those events are well known. 
 To look after our horses, suffer hunger and thirst at 
 times, fight when necessaiy, — that's the whole life of 
 a soldier. Isn't it as simple as how-d '3'e-do? There 
 are private battles for each of us in the mere casting a 
 
Tlie Country Doctor. 113 
 
 shoe, which leaves us in the lurch. In fact, I have seen 
 so many countries that seeing has grown to be a matter- 
 of-course ; and I 've seen so man} 7 dead men that I 
 have come to count my own life as a mere nothing." 
 
 "Nevertheless, you must have been personally in 
 peril at certain times, and those particular dangers 
 would be interesting if related by you." 
 
 " Perhaps so," answered the captain. 
 
 " Well, tell me the thing that most stirred you. 
 Don't be afraid. I won't think you wanting in modesty 
 even if you tell me some trait of heroism. When a 
 man is certain of the comprehension of those in whom 
 he confides, may he not feel a certain pleasure in saying, 
 ' I did that ' ? "" 
 
 "I'll tell }'ou a circumstance which at times lias 
 caused me some remorse. During our fifteen years of 
 fighting, it never once happened that I killed a man ex- 
 cept in legitimate defence. We are formed in line, we 
 charge ; if we don't knock over those we meet they 
 won't ask permission to bleed us ; therefore we must 
 sla}' not to be slain, and the conscience is easy. But, 
 my dear monsieur, I did once take the life of a 
 comrade under peculiar circumstances. When I reflect 
 upon it the thing troubles me ; the convulsed face of 
 the man comes back to me sometimes. You shall judge. 
 It was during the retreat from Moscow. We looked 
 more like a herd of overdriven cattle than the grand 
 arnvy of France. Farewell to discipline and banners ! 
 every man was his own master ; and the Emperor, as 
 you might sa} r , knew the point at which his power 
 stopped. When we arrived at Studzianka, a little vil- 
 lage above the Beresina, we found barns, hovels to 
 
 8 
 
114 The Country Doctor. 
 
 pull down for firewood, potatoes in the ground, and a 
 few beet- roots. For some time past we had met with 
 neither houses nor victuals ; so the army junketed. 
 First come, as you may suppose, were first served, and 
 they ate up everything. I was among the last. Hap- 
 pily for me, I was hungry for nothing but sleep. I saw 
 a barn, entered it, found a score of generals and supe- 
 rior officers, all men of great merit ; I say it without flat- 
 tery, — Junot, Narbonne, the Emperor's aide-de-camp, 
 in short, the bigwigs of the army. There were also a 
 few private soldiers who would n't have given up their 
 straw litter to a marshal of France. Some were asleep 
 standing, leaning against the wall for want of room ; 
 others lay stretched on the floor, and all w r ere so huddled 
 together to keep warm that I looked in vain for a cor- 
 ner to stow myself. There was I, stepping, I might 
 say, over a floor of men ; some groaned, others said 
 nothing, but no one made room for me ; they would n't 
 have moved to avoid a cannon-ball, and they certainly 
 were not obliged to follow the rules of a decent and 
 puerile civility. I saw, at last, at the farther end of the 
 barn, a sort of interior roof, on which no one had had 
 the wit, or perhaps the strength, to clamber. I got up 
 there and settled nryself ; tying at full length, I could 
 look down upon the men below me, stretched out like 
 calves. That melancholy sight almost made me laugh. 
 Some were gnawing frozen carrots and expressing a sort 
 of animal pleasure ; the generals, wrapped in shabby 
 shawls, were snoring like thunder. A burning pine- 
 knot lighted up the barn ; if it had set fire to the place 
 no one would have risen to put it out. I lay on my 
 back, and before going to sleep, I naturally cast my eyes 
 
The Country Doctor. 115 
 
 above me ; there I beheld the main beam, which sup- 
 ported the joists on which the roof rested, swaying gen- 
 tly from east to west — that cursed beam was actually 
 dancing! 'Messieurs,' I said, 'there's a comrade out- 
 side who wants to warm himself at our expense.' The 
 beam was on the point of falling. ' Messieurs ! Mes- 
 sieurs ! we shall be killed ; look at the beam !' cried I, 
 loud enough to rouse my bedfellows. Monsieur, they 
 did look at the beam ; but those who had been asleep 
 turned over and slept again, and those who were eating 
 never so much as answered me. Seeing this, I was 
 forced to leave my nook at the risk of another man's 
 taking it, for I felt bound to save such a nest of heroes. 
 I ran out, turned the angle of the barn, and spied a tall 
 devil of a Wurtemberger, who was dragging at the beam 
 with a certain enthusiasm. ' Let go ! let go ! ' I cried, to 
 make him understand he must stop that work. ' Get out 
 of my sight, or I'll strike you dead,' he said in German. 
 * Get out of my sight, indeed ! ' I answered ; ' that 's not 
 the point ; ' and I took his own gun, wilich he had laid 
 on the ground, and shot him through the body ; then I 
 turned in and went to sleep. That's the whole of it." 
 
 " It was a case of legitimate defence, directed against 
 one man for the safetj^ of many ; } T ou can't reproach 
 vourself with that," said Benassis. 
 
 "The others," resumed Genestas, "thought it was 
 some notion of mine ; but notion or not, many of those 
 men are sleeping to-day in opulent mansions without a 
 feeling of gratitude in their hearts." 
 
 " Do 3 t ou do good merely for the sake of that exorbi- 
 tant interest called gratitude ? " said Benassis, laugh- 
 ing. " That's usury." 
 
116 The Country Doctor* 
 
 " I know very well," said Genestas, " that the merit 
 of a good deed evaporates with the first profit we derive 
 from it. Even to relate it is to draw a dividend of 
 self-love, which is worth as much to us as gratitude. 
 Still, if a modest man keeps silence, the obliged party 
 will never speak of the obligation. According to your 
 theory, the people need good examples ; and if every- 
 body keeps silence, where will 30U find them? Another 
 thing ! if our poor pontonier, who saved the French 
 arm}' at Beresina, and has never had a chance to tell 
 his deed to his own advantage, had lost the use of his 
 hands, would his sense of duty fulfilled give him his 
 dail} T bread? Answer me that, philosopher." 
 
 " Perhaps there 's no hard and fast law in moralit} f ," 
 said Benassis ; "but such an idea is dangerous; it 
 allows selfishness to interpret cases of conscience to its 
 own advantage. Listen to me, captain ; is n't the man 
 who strictly obeys the principles of moralit} 7 greater 
 than he who la3's them aside, though it be from neces- 
 sity? Our pontonier, utterl}' helpless and dying from 
 hunger, is sublime with the sublimit}' of Homer, is he 
 not? Human life is doubtless the trial-scene of virtue 
 as it is of genius, — both demanded by a better world. 
 Virtue and genius seem to me the noblest forms of the 
 complete and unfailing self-devotion which Jesus Christ 
 came into the world to teach to man. Genius continues 
 poor, while it lights that world ; virtue keeps silence, 
 as she sacrifices herself for the good of others." 
 
 " Agreed, monsieur," said Genestas ; " but the earth 
 is inhabited by men and not by angels ; we are none of 
 us perfect." 
 
 " You are right," replied Benassis. " For myself, I 
 
The Country Doctor. 117 
 
 have grossly abused the faculty of wrong-doing. But 
 ought we not to strain after perfection? Is not virtue 
 a noble ideal which the soul should contemplate unceas- 
 ingly as its celestial model ? " 
 
 "Amen," said the soldier. "I grant }*our position. 
 A virtuous man is a noble sight ; but admit also that 
 virtue is a divinity who may, in all honor, allow herself 
 a little human conversation." 
 
 " Ah, monsieur," said the doctor, smiling with a sort 
 of bitter melancholy, " yours is the indulgence of one 
 who is at peace with himself. I am stern as one who 
 sees the stains upon his life which must be washed 
 awa}\" 
 
 The riders had now reached a cottage standing near 
 the brink of the torrent. The doctor entered it ; Ge- 
 nestas remained at the threshold of the door, looking 
 first at the sparkling landscape before him and then to 
 the interior of the cottage, where a man was lying in 
 bed. After examining the patient, Benassis suddenly 
 exclaimed : — 
 
 " I needn't come here any more, my good woman, 
 if you don't do what I order. You have given bread 
 to your husband — do you want to kill him? What 
 the mischief! if 30U let him swallow anything but his 
 dog-grass infusion I won't set m} r foot in here again., 
 and you ma} T go and get a physician where you please." 
 
 " But, ni} T dear Monsieur Benassis, nry poor old man 
 cried with hunger ; when a man has n't had anything in 
 his stomach for fifteen daj T s — " 
 
 " Now, then, do you mean to listen to me ? If you let 
 your man eat a single mouthful of bread until I allow him 
 nourishment, you '11 kill him — do you hear me?" 
 
118 The Country Doctor, 
 
 " 1 '11 deny him everything, my dear good monsieur. 
 Is he an} T better ? " she asked, following the doctor to 
 the door. 
 
 ' ' No ; you 've made him worse by giving him things 
 to eat. Can't I induce you, thoughtless creature that 
 you are, not to feed people who must live on a diet? 
 Peasants are incorrigible," he added, turning to Genes- 
 tas ; " if a patient has n't eaten airything for some da3*s, 
 they think he '11 die, and they stuff him with soup and 
 wine. Here 's a foolish woman who has nearly killed 
 her husband." 
 
 ' ' Killed my husband ! what, with a poor little sop of 
 bread and wine ? " 
 
 " Exactly, my good woman ; I am astonished to find 
 him alive after the little sop you gave him. Don't for- 
 get, now, to do precisely as I tell }*ou." 
 
 "Oh! my dear Monsieur Benassis, I'd rather die 
 myself than fail this time." 
 
 " Well, we shall see. To-morrow afternoon I '11 come 
 again and bleed him." 
 
 " Let us follow the stream on foot," said Benassis to 
 Genestas ; " from here to the house where I am going 
 there is no bridle-path. The little bo}' of these people 
 will hold our horses. Admire our lovely valley," he 
 said presently ; "is n't it like an English garden? We 
 are going to the house of a workman who is, inconsola- 
 ble for the loss of a child. His eldest son, when still 
 a lad, wished to do a man's work ; during the last har- 
 vest the poor boy exceeded his strength, and he died 
 of debility at the end of the autumn. It is the first 
 time I have met with the paternal sentiment so fully 
 developed. The peasants usually regret their dead 
 
Tfie Country Doctor. 119 
 
 as the loss of some useful thing which added to their 
 means of support ; and grief is apportioned to the 
 age. The child when adult becomes a revenue to 
 the father. But this poor man loved his son. ' Noth- 
 ing can console me for this loss,' he said to me one da} r 
 when I found him in a field, standing stock still, lean- 
 ing on his sc}'the, forgetful of his work, and holding in 
 his hand the whetstone which he had taken out to use, 
 but was not using. He has never again spoken of his 
 grief; but he has grown taciturn and ailing. To-day 
 one of his little girls is ill." 
 
 As they talked, Benassis and his guest reached a 
 little house standing on a paved road that led to a tan- 
 mill. There, under some willows, they saw a man about 
 forty years of age, who was standing still, eating a 
 piece of bread, rubbed over with garlic. 
 
 " Well, Gasnier, is the little girl better?" 
 
 "I don't know, monsieur," he answered, with a 
 gloonry air; lt you'll see for yourself; nry wife is with 
 her. I fear death has set foot within my house to carry 
 them all away from me, in spite of 3-0111' care." 
 
 '- Death does not take up its abode in an}* house, 
 Gasnier ; it has not the time. Don't lose courage." 
 
 Benassis went into the house, followed b}' the father. 
 Half an hour later he came out, accompanied by the 
 mother, to whom he said : — 
 
 ' ' Don't be the least uneasy ; do exactly what I have 
 told you to do ; she is saved." 
 
 " If all this bores you," said the doctor to Genestas, as 
 they mounted their horses, " I will put 3-011 into the road 
 to the village, and 3-ou can easil}* find 3-our wa3' home." 
 
120 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " No ; on my word of honor, it does not bore me." 
 
 "But you will everywhere see cottages that are all 
 alike. Nothing is apparently more monotonous than 
 the country." 
 
 " Let us go on," said the soldier. 
 
 For several hours they rode about the country, trav- 
 ersing the whole breadth of the district, and returning 
 in the afternoon to the part nearest the village. 
 
 "Now I must go down there," said the doctor to 
 Genestas, pointing to a spot surrounded b}' elms. 
 "Those trees are possibly two hundred } T ears old," he 
 added. "The woman for whom a lad came to fetch 
 me last evening, saying she had turned white, lives 
 there." 
 
 " Was it airything dangerous?" 
 
 "No," said Benassis, "merely the result of preg- 
 nancy. She is in her last month, and women are 
 subject to spasms at that time. But, as a matter of 
 precaution, I must see that nothing alarming super- 
 venes ; I shall deliver her myself. Besides, if we go 
 there, I can show you one of our new industries, a 
 brick-field. The road is good; will you gallop?" 
 
 " Can your horse keep up with mine?" said Genes- 
 tas, as he called to his beast, "On, Neptune ! " 
 
 In the twinkling of an e} T e the captain was a hundred 
 feet in advance, disappearing in a cloud of dust ; but in 
 spite of his horse's speed he heard the doctor at his 
 side. Benassis said a word to his animal, and shot 
 beyond the captain, who rejoined him only at the brick- 
 field, where he found the doctor quietly fastening his 
 horse to the staple of a log-fence. 
 
 "The devil take you!" cried Genestas, looking at 
 
The Country Doctor. 121 
 
 the doctor's horse, which neither sweated nor panted, 
 1 ' what kind of animal is that ? " 
 
 " Ah !" replied Benassis, laughing, " }'ou took him 
 for a screw. The history of the noble beast is too Ions: 
 to tell you now : suffice it to say, Roustan is a true 
 barb from the Atlas, and a barb is the equal of an 
 Arab. Mine goes up the mountain-side at full gallop 
 without turning a hair, and trots with a sure foot along 
 the precipices. He was a gift w T eli-earned, moreover. 
 A father gave him to me in return for the life of his 
 daughter, one of the richest heiresses in Europe, whom 
 I found dying on the road to Savoie. If I were to tell 
 3'ou how I cured that young woman, }'ou would set me 
 down for a quack. Hey ! I hear the bells of horses 
 and the roll of a cart along the road ; let 's see if it is 
 Vigneau himself: if it is, look well at the man." 
 
 Presently the captain saw four enormous horses har- 
 nessed like those owned by the well-to-do farmers of 
 Brie. The woollen ear-knots, the bells, the leathern 
 straps, all had a comfortable sort of spruceness. In 
 the huge waggon, painted blue, stood a stout, chubby- 
 cheeked lad, browned by the sun, who whistled as he 
 held his whip like a soldier presenting arms. 
 
 " No ; it is only the waggoner," said Benassis. 
 "But just admire how the industrial well-being of the 
 master is reflected everywhere, even in the equipment 
 of his cart and cartman. Is n't that an indication of a 
 commercial intelligence somewhat rare in the depths of 
 a country district?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed; it all looks well set-up," replied the 
 soldier. 
 
 "Just so: Vigneau owns two such teams; besides 
 
122 The Country Doctor. 
 
 which he has a little cob on which he goes about 
 attending to his affairs ; for his business has now 
 spread pretty far. Four years ago the man owned 
 nothing, — I'm mistaken, he owned debts. But let us 
 go in." 
 
 " My lad," said Benassis to the cartman, " Madame 
 Vigneau is of course at home ? " 
 
 "Monsieur, she is in the garden. I saw her just 
 now, over the hedge. I'll tell her you are here." 
 
 The captain followed Benassis, who led him across a 
 wide piece of ground shut in by hedges. In a corner 
 of the enclosure was a mound of white earth, and the 
 potter's clay necessary to the fabrication of bricks and 
 tiles. On another side were piles of fagots and cut wood 
 to supply the furnaces ; farther on, in an open space 
 fenced with hurdles, several workmen were crushing 
 white stones, or manipulating the clay for bricks. Fa- 
 cing the entrance, and under the great elms, the manu- 
 facture of tiles, both round and square, was carried on 
 in a large hall, as it were, of shade and verdure, closed 
 in by the roof of the drying-house ; near which was seen 
 the kiln with its deep jaws, its long shovels, its black 
 and sunken pathway. Parallel with these buildings 
 stood another, of somewhat squalid appearance, which 
 served as a dwelling-house for the family, and with 
 which the coach-house, stables, cattle-sheds, and barns 
 were connected. Pigs and poultry roamed about the 
 wide enclosure ; but the cleanliness of the different 
 establishments, and the repair in which all w r ere kept, 
 testified to the vigilance of a master. 
 
 "The predecessor of Vigneau," said Benassis, "was 
 a miserable fellow, an idler who cared for nothing but 
 
The Country Doctor. 128 
 
 drink. Formerly a journeyman, he knew how to heat 
 the furnace and shape his bricks, but that was all ; he 
 had neither activity nor commercial intelligence. If no 
 one came to buy his merchandise, he let it stay where it 
 was till it deteriorated and became a total loss. He was 
 alwa}'s at starvation point. His wife, whom he rendered 
 half-idiotic by ill-usage, grovelled in wretchedness. The 
 laziness, the miserable stupidity of the man made me so 
 unhappy, and the sight of the brickyard was so disa- 
 greeable to me, that I avoided passing this wa}'. Fort- 
 unately the man had an attack of paralysis, and I sent 
 him to the hospital at Grenoble. The owner of the 
 property, seeing the condition it was in, consented to 
 take back the lease without discussion, and I looked 
 about for new tenants willing to share in the improve- 
 ments I wished to introduce throughout all the village 
 industries. The husband of a lady's maid of Madame 
 Gravier, a poor journeyman, earning very poor wages 
 from the potter for whom he worked, and who could 
 scarcely support his family, listened to my advice. He 
 had the courage to hire the brick-field without having a 
 penn} T in hand. He came here, taught his wife and the 
 old mother of his wife, and his own mother, how to shape 
 the bricks, and made them his workmen. Upon my word 
 of honor, I don't see how they ever managed. Proba- 
 bly Vigneau borrowed wood to heat his furnace ; he 
 must have gone at night and fetched his claj- by the 
 hodful, and worked it by day ; in fact, he secretly dis- 
 pla}~ed a really boundless energy ; and the two old 
 mothers, clothed in rags, worked like negro-slaves. 
 Vigneau managed to bake several batches, and passed 
 his first year eating bread which was dearly bought by 
 
124 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the sweat of all their brows ; but he held firm. His 
 courage, his patience, his capabilities, made him an 
 object of interest to mairy persons, and he became 
 known. Indefatigable in his business, he went in the 
 morning to Grenoble and sold bis tiles and bricks, get- 
 ting home towards the middle of the day, and going out 
 again at night : he seemed to multiply himself at his 
 work. 
 
 "Towards the end of the first 3-ear, he hired two 
 young lads to help him. Seeing that, I lent him some 
 money. Well, monsieur, from year to year the condi- 
 tion of the family has improved. By the second year, 
 the old women shaped no more bricks, and crushed no 
 more stones ; the}' cultivated little gardens, made the 
 soup, mended the clothes, spun in the evening and 
 gathered wood in the daytime. The young woman, 
 who knows how to read and write, keeps the accounts. 
 Vigneau bought a little horse on which he went about 
 the neighborhood and got custom ; then he studied the 
 art of brick-making, found means to manufacture the 
 fine, white, square brick, and sold it below the ordinary 
 price. When he set up his first cart his wife became 
 almost elegant. Everything about his household was 
 in keeping with his circumstances ; and he has always 
 maintained order, economy, and cleanliness, — the gen- 
 erative principles of his prosperity. After a time, he 
 empk>3 7 ed six workmen, and paid them well ; next, a 
 cartman, putting his stables on a good footing : in short, 
 little by little, by taxing his ingenuit} T , improving his 
 work, and extending his business, he has arrived at ease 
 and a competence. Last 3'ear he bought the brickyard ; 
 next year he will rebuild his house. At the present time, 
 
The Country Doctor. 125 
 
 the whole family are healthy and well-clothed. The wife, 
 formerly pale and thin, sharing, as she did, the cares and 
 anxieties of the master, is once more plump and fresh 
 and pretty. The two old mothers are very happy, and 
 attend to the minor details of the housekeeping and 
 the business. Labor has brought nione}* ; and money, 
 by giving peace of mind, has brought health, plenty, 
 and happiness. Really, this household is, to me, the liv- 
 ing epitome of my district, and of all young commercial 
 States. This brickyard, once so gloomy, empty, dirty, 
 and unproductive, is now in full operation, much pat- 
 ronized, animated, rich, and amply stocked. Large quan- 
 tities of wood are on hand, and all the material needed 
 for the coming season ; you know, of course, that brick- 
 making can be carried on only during a part of the 3'ear, — 
 from June to September. Is n't it a pleasure to see such 
 activity? Vigneau has had a hand in every building 
 that has gone up in the village. Always wide-awake, 
 always coming and going about his business, always 
 active, he is called by his townsmen the 4 knight of 
 duty.'" 1 
 
 Benassis had scarcely finished speaking, when a well- 
 dressed young woman, wearing a prett} r cap, white 
 stockings, a silk apron, and a pink dress, — an attire 
 which recalled her former position of lady's-maid, — 
 opened the iron gate which led from the garden, and 
 came forward as quickly as her condition would permit. 
 The two friends went forward to meet her. Madame 
 Vigneau was a plump and rather pretty woman, with 
 a sunburnt skin, whose natural complexion, however, 
 
 1 Le de"vorant, devoirant: compagnon da devoir. — Diet. Hist, d' Ar- 
 got, L. Larchey. Au association of working-men. — Littre. 
 
126 The Country Doctor. 
 
 must have been fair. Though her forehead showed a 
 few lines, the traces of her former poverty, her coun- 
 tenance was happy and prepossessing. 
 
 "Monsieur Benassis," she said, in a pleading tone 
 of voice, as she saw him pause, "won't you do me the 
 honor to rest awhile in my house?" 
 
 " Willingly," he said ; " go in, captain." 
 
 "You gentlemen must have found it very warm. 
 "Will you take a little milk, or wine? Monsieur Be- 
 nassis, do taste the wine my husband has had the kind- 
 ness to get for my confinement. You can tell me if it 
 is good." 
 
 "You have a good man for a husband." 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," she said calmly, turning round; 
 " my lot is a rich one." 
 
 "We will not take anything, Madame Vigneau ; I 
 only came to see that nothing serious had happened 
 to you." 
 
 "Nothing," she said; "I was, as you see, at work 
 in the garden, for the sake of doing something." 
 
 At this moment, the two mothers came in to see 
 Benassis, and the waggoner stood still in the court- 
 yard, in a position that enabled him to gaze at the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Come, give me your hand," said Benassis to Ma- 
 dame Vigneau. 
 
 He felt the young woman's pulse with scrupulous 
 attention, remaining silent and thoughtful. Meanwhile 
 the three women examined the captain with the naive 
 curiosity that country people feel no shame in exhibiting. 
 
 " You can't be better," exclaimed the doctor gayly. 
 
 " Will she be confined soon? " cried the two mothers. 
 
The Country Doctor. 127 
 
 " This week, no doubt. Vigneau is out?" he asked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur," replied the young wife; "he 
 wants to attend to all his affairs so that he can staj 7 at 
 home when I am ill, the dear man." 
 
 "Well, my children, you'll prosper. Keep on mak- 
 ing a fortune, and making a family." 
 
 Genestas was full of admiration for the neatness that 
 reigned inside the house, though it was almost in ruins 
 without. Seeing his surprise, Benassis said to him : — 
 
 "There is no one like Madame Vigneau for making 
 a good home about her. I wish several people in the 
 village would come here and take a lesson." 
 
 The wife turned her head away, blushing ; but the 
 two mothers let their faces beam with the pleasure they 
 felt at the doctor's praises. All three accompanied 
 him to the place where the horses were standing. 
 
 "Well," said Benassis, addressing the two old wo- 
 men, "you are very happy, are not you? Don't } t ou 
 long to be grandmothers ? " 
 
 "Ah! don't speak of it," said the }'oung woman; 
 " they provoke me so ! My two mothers want a boy, 
 my husband wishes for a little girl. I think it will be 
 very difficult to please them all." 
 
 "But you — what do you want?" asked Benassis, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur, I want a child." 
 
 " See, she is already a mother," said the doctor to 
 the soldier, as he took his horse by the bridle. 
 
 " Adieu, Monsieur Benassis," said the young woman, 
 " m}- husband will be very sorry he was away when he 
 hears that you have been here." 
 
128 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " He won't forget to send my thousand tiles to the 
 Granges-aux-Belles ? " 
 
 " You know he would put aside every other order 
 for yours. His greatest regret is that he has to let 
 you pay him ; but I tell him that your money brings 
 happiness, — and so it does." 
 
 "Good-by," said Benassis. 
 
 The three women, the waggoner, and two workmen 
 who came out of the brickyard, remained in a group 
 near the log-fence, so as to enjo}* his presence to the 
 last moment ; as we all are apt to do with our cherished 
 friends. The inspirations of the heart are alike every- 
 where ; the same sweet customs of friendship are found 
 in ever}' land. 
 
 Looking at the position of the sun, Benassis said to 
 his companion : " We have still two hours of daylight, 
 and if you are not very hungry we will go and see a 
 charming young creature, to whom I usually give the 
 time that is left between the last visit I have to pay and 
 my dinner hour. They call her, in the district, my 
 ' good friend ; ' but you are not to think that this title, 
 — used in these parts to mean a future wife — covers 
 or implies the slightest scandal. Although my care of 
 this poor girl has made her the object of a quite con- 
 ceivable jealousy, yet the opinion held by all as to my 
 character prevents any evil suppositions. If none can 
 understand the whim to which I seem to have yielded 
 in giving the Fosseuse a small income, so that she may 
 live without being obliged to work, they nevertheless, 
 one and all, believe in her virtue ; and every one knows 
 that if my affection for her passed the limits of friendly 
 interest, I should not hesitate to marry her. But," 
 
TJie Country Doctor. 129 
 
 added the doctor, forcing a smile, " neither in this dis- 
 trict nor elsewhere, does there exist a wife for ine. A 
 very warm-hearted man feels an unconquerable need to 
 attach himself to one thing, or to one being, among the 
 man} 7 things and beings that surround him, — above all 
 when, to him, life is a desert. For that reason, mon- 
 sieur, we should always judge favorably of a man who 
 loves his horse or his dog. Among the suffering flock 
 which fate has confided to my care, this poor sick girl 
 is to me what the sun is to my own land, my native 
 Languedoc ; or the pet lamb the shepherd maidens deck 
 with faded ribbons, to whom the} T talk as the} 7 let them 
 browse along the wheat-fields, and whose lagging step 
 even the sheep-dog never hastens." 
 
 While saying these words, Benassis remained stand- 
 ing, his hand on his horse's mane, about to mount and 
 yet not mounting, as if the feelings that moved him 
 were incompatible with an} 7 violent action. 
 
 " Come," he said, " come and see her. To take 30U 
 there proves, does it not? that I treat her like a sister." 
 
 When they had both mounted, Genestas said to the 
 doctor: " Am I indiscreet in asking you for some in- 
 formation about your Fosseuse? Among the many 
 lives you have made known to me, hers cannot be the 
 least interesting." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Benassis, stopping his horse, " per- 
 haps 3011 cannot share the interest with which the Fos- 
 seuse inspires me. Her destiny resembles mine ; we 
 have both missed our vocation ; the feelings I have for 
 her, the emotions I pass through when I see her, are 
 caused b} 7 the similarity of our fate. When you entered 
 the career of arms }*ou either followed your inclinations 
 
 y 
 
130 The Country Doctor. 
 
 or you came to like your profession ; otherwise 3*011 
 would not have stayed until your present age under 
 the galling 3'oke of military discipline ; }*ou can there- 
 fore comprehend neither the sufferings of a soul whose 
 desires are ever reviving and forever disappointed, nor 
 the ceaseless grief of a being forced to live outside 
 the pale of his own sphere. Such sufferings remain a 
 secret between the human soul and God, who sends the 
 affliction ; for they alone know the force of the emotions 
 caused by the adverse circumstances of life. Yet 30U 
 yourself, a witness hardened to the sight of misfortunes 
 produced b}' a long war, have you never felt a sadness 
 in your heart as } T ou looked at a tree whose leaves were 
 yellow in the spring-time, — a tree that languished and 
 died because it stood on ground where the conditions 
 necessary to its development were lacking? When I 
 was a lad of twent}*, the passive melancholy of a stunted 
 plant was grievous to me ; and now I turn my head 
 from the sight. My youthful distress was a vague pre- 
 sentiment of the sorrows of my manhood ; a sort of 
 sympathy between m} T present and the future I instinct- 
 ively perceived in that vegetable life, withering untimely 
 before the appointed end of things and men." 
 
 " I thought, when I saw how good you are, that 3*011 
 had suffered." 
 
 " You see, monsieur," resumed the doctor, making 
 no reply to Genestas's words, " that to speak of the 
 Fosseuse is to speak of myself. The Fosseuse is a plant 
 exiled from its native soil, — a human plant, consumed 
 03* sad or searching thoughts which live and multiply on 
 one another. The poor girl is always ailing. In her, 
 the spirit kills the body. Could I look coldly upon the 
 
The Country Doctor. 131 
 
 feeble creature, a prey to the greatest and the least- 
 comprehended anguish that there is in this selfish world, 
 when I, a man, inured to suffering, am tempted night 
 after night to refuse to bear the burden of such sorrow 
 any longer? Perhaps I should refuse, were it not for a 
 thought which soothes my anguish and fills my heart 
 with sweet illusions. Even if all were not the children 
 of one God, still, the Fosseuse would be my sister in 
 suffering." 
 
 Benassis pressed the flanks of his horse and rode 
 rapidly forward, as if he feared to continue a conversa- 
 tion thus begun. 
 
 "Monsieur," he resumed, when the horses were again 
 trotting together, " Nature has, so to speak, created this 
 poor girl for suffering, just as she creates other women 
 for pleasure. In observing such predestinations it is 
 impossible not to believe in another life. Everything 
 reacts upon the Fosseuse : if the weather is gray and 
 sombre, she is sad and weeps with the skies, — that is 
 her own expression. She sings with the birds, grows 
 calm and serene with the blue heavens ; she is even 
 beautiful on a lovely day. A delicate perfume is to her 
 an almost inexhaustible pleasure. I have seen her, the 
 livelong da}', enjoying the fragrance of mignonette after 
 one of those rainy mornings which draw out the soul 
 of flowers and give to the da}' I know not what of fresh- 
 ness and brilliancy' ; on such da} T s she expands with na- 
 ture and the blossoming plants. If the atmosphere is 
 heavy and electrical, she is nervously excited and can- 
 not be calmed ; she goes to bed, and complains of many 
 different ills without knowing what is the matter with 
 her. If I question her, she says her bones are soften- 
 
132 The Country Doctor. 
 
 ing, or that her flesh is turning to water. During the 
 period of such inanimation, she is conscious of life only 
 through suffering. Her heart is outside of her, — to give 
 3-011 another of her sa3 r ings. Sometimes I find the poor 
 girl weeping at the scene our mountains give at sunset, 
 when innumerable magnificent clouds cluster about their 
 golden peaks. 'Why do you weep, my child?' I say 
 to her. ' I do not know,' she answers ; ' I am like one 
 bewildered b} T looking up there. I don't know where I 
 am, I see so far.' ' What do you see? ' ' Monsieur. I 
 cannot tell it to 3 r ou.' There is no use in questioning 
 her further, 3-011 cannot get a word from her ; she will 
 give 3011 glances full of thoughts, or she will remain, 
 with moist e3'es, mute and visibly collecting herself in 
 meditation. Her absorption of mind is so great that it 
 communicates itself to others ; at least it acts upon me 
 like a cloud overcharged with electric^. I pressed her 
 one da3' with questions. With all my will I desired to 
 talk with her, and I said a few sharp words ; well, she 
 burst into tears. At other times she is gay, attractive, 
 smiling, busy, intelligent, and sparkling ; she converses 
 with pleasure, and expresses new and original ideas. 
 She is, however, incapable of settling to an3 T regular 
 work ; if she goes to the fields, she spends hours in 
 watching a flower, in looking at the colors of the water, 
 or studying the picturesque marvels found in the depths 
 of still, clear pools, — the bright mosaic of pebbles, 
 earth, and sand, of water-plants and mosses, and those 
 brown sediments whose tones offer to the eye such curi- 
 ous contrasts. When I first came to this place, the 
 poor girl was wasting with hunger ; ashamed to eat the 
 bread of others, she would not ask for charit3' until con- 
 
The Country Doctor. 133 
 
 strained to do so by the extremity of suffering. Some- 
 times shame gave her energ}', and for a few days she 
 worked in the fields ; but her strength was soon ex- 
 hausted, and illness obliged her to gi\e up a labor she ■ 
 had scarcely begun. No sooner was she better, than 
 she went to a neighboring farm and asked for the care 
 of the cattle ; but after fulfilling the duty for a while 
 with intelligence, she suddenly left it and went away 5 
 without giving any reason. The regular daily labor 
 was doubtless too heavy a yoke for one whose whole 
 nature is independent and capricious. Then she took 
 to searching for truffles and mushrooms, which she sold 
 in Grenoble. In town, tempted by gewgaws, she forgot 
 her poverty as soon as she had a few coppers in her 
 pocket, and bought ribbons and trumpery, without 
 thinking of her bread on the morrow. Then, if some 
 village girl coveted her brass cross, or the Jeannette 
 heart with its velvet ribbon, she gave them readily, 
 happy in bestowing pleasure ; for she lives 03- her heart. 
 Thus, by turns beloved, pitied, and despised, the poor 
 girl suffered from everything ; from her idleness, from 
 her beauty, from her coquetiy, — for she is dainty, co- 
 quettish, and inquisitive ; in short, she is a woman, and 
 3'ields to her tastes and impressions with the simplicity 
 of a child. Tell her of some noble action, and she 
 quivers and blushes, her bosom heaves, she weeps with 
 joy ; speak to her of thieves and miscreants, and she is 
 pale with terror. Nowhere can 3011 find a nature more 
 true, a heart more frank, an honest3 T more delicate than 
 hers. Give her a hundred pieces of gold to take care 
 of, and she will buiy them in a corner and continue to 
 beg her bread." 
 
134 The Country Doctor, 
 
 The doctor's voice changed as he said these words. 
 
 " I wished to prove her, monsieur," he resumed, 
 " and I repented it, — a test is a form of espial, or at 
 least a species of distrust." 
 
 Here the doctor stopped, as if making some secret 
 reflection, and he did not, therefore, observe the confu- 
 sion into which these words had thrown his companion ; 
 who to conceal his embarrassment stooped to disentan- 
 gle the reins of his horse. Benassis soon went on, — 
 
 "I should like to see my Fosseuse married; and 
 would willingly give one of my farms to any worthy 
 fellow who would make her happy ; and she could be 
 made happy. Yes, the poor girl would love her children 
 to madness, and all her superabundant feelings would 
 pour themselves into the one sentiment which to a 
 woman includes them all, — motherhood. But no man 
 has yet pleased her. She has, however, a dangerous 
 sensibility. She knows it, and admitted to me her ner- 
 vous susceptibility when she saw that I perceived it 
 She belongs to the small number of women in w 7 hom the 
 slightest contact produces a perilous tremor ; for that 
 reason, we ought to admire her discretion and her 
 womanly pride. She is as wild as a nightingale. Ah ! 
 what a rich nature, monsieur! she was born to be 
 opulent and loved ; she would have been so gracious 
 and constant ! At the age of twenty-two she is perish- 
 ing, — a victim to the too-responsive fibres of an organ- 
 ization which is over-strong or else too delicate. A 
 love betrayed would drive her mad, m} T poor Fosseuse ! 
 After stud}'ing her temperament, and recognizing the 
 genuine nature of her protracted nervous seizures, and 
 her electric aspirations ; after finding her in positive 
 
Tlie Country Doctor. 135 
 
 harmony with the fluctuations of the atmosphere and 
 with the changes of the moon (a fact I have carefully 
 verified), — I have taken charge of her, monsieur, as of 
 a being apart from others, whose unhealthy existence 
 could be understood by none but me. She is, as I have 
 said to you, the lamb with ribbons. But you will now 
 see her ; this is her little house." 
 
 By this time they had gone a third of the way up the 
 mountain along a terraced road bordered with shrubs, 
 which they climbed at a foot-pace. At an angle where 
 the road turns back upon itself, Genestas saw the house. 
 The little dwelling stands on one of the projecting 
 cliffs of the mountain. A pretty sloping lawn of about 
 three acres, planted with trees, across which a brook 
 was flowing in cascades, was surrounded by a low 
 wall, high enough to serve as enclosure but not so high 
 as to shut out the view. The house, built of brick, with 
 a flat roof which projected some feet, made a charming 
 point in the landscape. It was of two stories, with the 
 door and window-shutters painted green. Facing south, 
 it was neither so wide nor so deep as to require any 
 other openings than those on its front, whose rustic 
 charm was simpry that of excessive neatness. Follow- 
 ing a German fashion, the projection of the eaves was 
 lined with planks painted white. A few acacias in 
 flower and other sweet-smelling trees, wild roses, climb- 
 ing shrubs, a large walnut-tree which the axe had 
 spared, and two or three weeping-willows planted near 
 the brook, grew about the house. Behind it was a solid 
 group of beeches and fir-trees, making a dark back- 
 ground, from which the pretty building sharply detached 
 itself. At this time of day the air was fragrant with 
 
136 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the odors of the mountain and the garden. The sk}*, 
 pure and tranquil, was cloudy near the horizon. In the 
 distance, the peaks were beginning to catch the rosy 
 tints which the setting sun so often gives to them. At 
 this height, the whole valley can be seen from Grenoble 
 to the circular rocky basin in whose depths lies the 
 little lake which Genestas had crossed the evening be- 
 fore. Above the house, and at some distance from it, 
 is a line of poplars showing the direction of the road 
 leading from the valle}' to the highway of Grenoble. 
 The village, now obliquely crossed by the ra} T s of the 
 declining sun, sparkled like a diamond, and reflected in 
 every pane of glass a ruby light which seemed to ripple 
 over them. At the sight, Genestas stopped his horse, 
 and pointed to the village manufactories, the new town, 
 and the house of the Fosseuse. 
 
 ' ' Excepting always the victory of Wagram and Na- 
 poleon's re-entrance to the Tuileries in 1815," he said, 
 sighing, " this gives me the highest emotions I have 
 ever known. I owe this pleasure to you, monsieur ; for 
 you have taught me to know the beauties a man may 
 find in the country." 
 
 "Yes," said the doctor, smiling, " it is better to build 
 cities than to take them." 
 
 ' ' Oh, monsieur ! the taking of Moscow, and the sur- 
 render of Mantua ! Don't you know what that was ? 
 Is it not the glory of evety one of us ? If it were not for 
 England, Frenchmen would have understood each other, 
 and he would not have fallen — our Emperor! I may 
 declare to you now that I love him ; he is dead, and," 
 added the soldier, looking about him, — " there are no 
 spies here, — what a sovereign he was ! He divined 
 
The Country Doctor. 137 
 
 the souls of men. He would have put you in his coun- 
 cil of state, for he was an administrator — and a great 
 administrator, down to knowing how many cartridges 
 were left in the box after a battle. Poor man ! while 
 3'ou were telling me of your Fosseuse, I thought of him, 
 lying dead at Saint Helena, — he ! Hein ! was that a 
 climate and a dwelling fit for a man accustomed to live 
 with his feet in the stirrups and his seat on a throne ? 
 They say he gardened there ! Damn it, he was n't born 
 to plant cabbages ! But now we have to serve the 
 Bourbons, and serve them loyally, too ; for after all, 
 as 3 t ou said yesterday, France is France." 
 
 Uttering the last words, Genestas dismounted and 
 mechanically imitated Benassis, who fastened the bridle 
 of his horse to a tree. 
 
 " Is it possible she is absent? " said the doctor, not 
 seeing the Fosseuse on the threshold of the door. 
 
 They entered, and found no one on the ground-floor. 
 
 " She must have heard the steps of the horses," said 
 Benassis, smiling, " and she has run up to put on a 
 ribbon, a belt, or some such frippery." 
 
 He left Genestas by himself, and went upstairs to 
 find her. 
 
 The captain looked about the room. The walls were 
 covered with gray paper scattered over with roses ; the 
 floor had a straw matting, laid like a carpet. The 
 chairs and tables were of wood with the bark still on. 
 Flower-stands, made of hoops wound with osier , and 
 filled with plants and mosses, ornamented the room, 
 whose windows were draped with curtains of white 
 cambric fringed with red. On the mantel-shelf was a 
 
138 The Country Doctor. 
 
 mirror, and a plain porcelain vase between two lamps ; 
 before an armchair stood a footstool of fir-bark ; near 
 it a table covered with linen already cut out, parts of 
 shirts, a few gussets, and all the apparatus of a sewing- 
 woman, — basket, scissors, thread, and needles. All 
 was clean and fresh, like a shell lately tossed by the sea 
 upon a beach. On the other side of the passage, at 
 the end of which was the staircase, Genestas found the 
 kitchen : the upper floor, like the ground-floor, must 
 therefore have had but two rooms. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," said Benassis to the Fosseuse ; 
 " come down." 
 
 As he heard these words, Genestas hastil}' retreated 
 to the salon. A young girl, slight and well-made, in a 
 dress of pink cambric with tiny stripes, belted round the 
 waist, now showed herself, blushing with modest}' and 
 slryness. Her face was not remarkable, except for a 
 certain flatness of the features, — making it resemble the 
 Cossack and Russian faces which the disasters of 1814 
 have, unhappily, made popularly known in France. 
 The Fosseuse had, like those northern peoples, a nose 
 turned upward and flattened at the end. Her mouth 
 was wide, her chin small, her hands and arms red, her 
 feet large and strong, like those of a peasant. Though 
 constantly exposed to the harsh and drying winds and 
 to the action of the sun and air, her complexion was 
 pale, like that of a wilted plant. But this paleness 
 made the face interesting at the first glance ; and she 
 had so sweet an expression in her blue eyes, such grace 
 iu her movements, and in her voice so much soul, that 
 notwithstanding the discrepancy between her features 
 and the qualities Benassis had attributed to her, the 
 
The Country Doctor. 139 
 
 captain recognized the ailing and capricious creature 
 the doctor had pictured, a prey to the sufferings of a 
 nature balked of its development. 
 
 After quickly mending the fire, made of peat and 
 dried twigs, the Fosseuse sat down in the arm-chair, 
 took the unfinished shirt and remained, half-bashful, 
 under the e}'es of the officer, not daring to look up, — 
 calm apparentl}*, though the quick heaving of her 
 bosom, the beauty of which Genestas noticed, disclosed 
 her fear. 
 
 "Well, m}- poor child, how are you getting on with 
 your work?" asked Benassis, picking up some pieces of 
 the linen that was destined to become a shirt. 
 
 The Fosseuse looked at the doctor with a timid, sup- 
 plicating air. 
 
 "Don't scold me, monsieur," she said; "I've done 
 nothing to-da} T , though the shirts were ordered by you 
 for persons who are greatly in need of them. But the 
 weather was so fine I went to walk. I've gathered 
 you a quantity of mushrooms and some white truffles, 
 which I carried to Jacquotte. She was very glad to get 
 them, for it seems you have people to dinner. I was 
 so glad that I guessed right ; something told me to go 
 and gather them." And she began to sew. 
 
 " You have a very pretty house, mademoiselle," said 
 Genestas. 
 
 "It is not mine, monsieur," she answered, looking 
 at the stranger with e}'es that seemed to blush, "it 
 belongs to Monsieur Benassis." And she softly turned 
 her e3'es upon the doctor. 
 
 " You know very well, my child," he said, taking her 
 hand, " that no one will ever turn vou out of it." 
 
140 The Country Doctor. 
 
 The Fosseuse rose with a hasty movement and left 
 the room. 
 
 " Well?" said the doctor to the soldier, " what do 
 you think of her ? " 
 
 " I must say," answered Genestas, " that she strangely 
 interests me. You have indeed made her a pretty 
 nest." 
 
 " Bah ! a fifteen or twenty sous paper — well chosen, 
 I admit ; that 's all. The furniture does not amount 
 to much ; it was all made by my basket-maker, who 
 wished to show his gratitude. The Fosseuse herself 
 made the curtains with a few yards of calico. The 
 house and its simple fittings strike 3'ou as prett}^ be- 
 cause you see them on a mountain slope, in a lonely 
 region where you did not expect to find an}' fitness of 
 things. The secret of this charm is in the sort of har-. 
 mony which reigns between the house and Nature 
 which has brought together the brooks and a few well- 
 grouped trees, and has carpeted the little lawn with 
 her finest grasses, her fragrant strawberry-plants, and 
 the pretty violets — Well, what was the matter ? " he 
 added, addressing the Fosseuse, who now returned. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," she answered; " I thought one 
 of my hens was missing." 
 
 She was not telling the truth, but the doctor alone 
 noticed it. He whispered in her ear, — 
 
 " You have been crying? " 
 
 " Why do you say those things to me before other 
 people?" she answered. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Genestas, "you make a great 
 mistake by living here alone ; in such a pretty cage as 
 this you ought to have a husband." 
 
The Country Doctor. 141 
 
 ■' That is true," she said, " but how can it be helped? 
 I am poor, and I am difficult to please. I don't feel 
 inclined to carry a man's dinner to the fields ; nor to 
 drag a hand-cart ; nor to feel the poverty of those I 
 might love, and be unable to remove it ; nor yet to hold 
 children in my arms all day, and mend a man's ragged 
 clothing. Monsieur le cure tells me such thoughts are 
 not Christian. I know that; but what's to be done? 
 Some days I would rather eat dry bread than have to 
 prepare my dinner. Would you have me burden a man 
 with my defects? He might wear himself out toying to 
 satisf}' my caprices ; and that would n't be just. Bah ! 
 fate has flung me a hard lot, and I must carr}' it alone." 
 
 " Besides, she was born a do-nothing, nry poor Fos- 
 seuse," said Benassis, " and we must take her as she is. 
 But what she tells you only means she has never loved 
 any one yet," he added, laughing. 
 
 Then he rose, and went out a moment on the lawn. 
 
 " You must love Monsieur Benassis very much," 
 Genestas said to the j'oung girl. 
 
 " Oh, yes, monsieur! and there are many people in 
 the district, like nryself, who would gladly cut them- 
 selves in pieces for him. But he who cures others has 
 something within himself that nothing can cu^e. You 
 are his friend ; perhaps you know what it is ? Who 
 could have wounded a man like him ? — the true image 
 of the good God upon earth ! I know many here who 
 believe their wheat grows better if he has passed by the 
 fields." 
 
 " And you, do you believe it? " 
 
 " I, monsieur, when I have seen him — " She seemed 
 to hesitate, then she added, "I am happ3 T for t^p rest 
 
142 The Country Doctor, 
 
 of the day." She bowed her head, and began to ply 
 her needle with singular deftness. 
 
 " Well, has the captain been telling you tales of 
 Napoleon?" asked the doctor, re-entering. 
 
 -- Has monsieur ever seen the Emperor?" cried the 
 Fosseuse, gazing into the face of the officer with pas- 
 sionate curiosity. 
 
 4 ' Bless me! yes," said Genestas, "a thousand 
 times ! " 
 
 ' ' Ah ! I wish I could know something about the 
 army ! " 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow we will come and take our 
 morning coffee with you, and then }*ou shall hear ' some- 
 thing about the army,' m} r child," said Benassis, taking 
 her by the neck and kissing her brow. " She is my 
 daughter," he added, turning to Genestas. " If I have 
 not kissed her on the forehead I miss something from 
 my daily life." 
 
 The Fosseuse pressed his hand, and said in a low 
 voice, " Oh, how good you are! " The}* left her, but 
 she followed to see them mount. When Genestas was 
 in the saddle, she whispered in Benassis's ear, -'Who 
 is he?" 
 
 -'Ha! ha! " replied the doctor, putting his foot in 
 the stirrup, " a husband for you, perhaps." 
 
 She remained standing, and watched them as they 
 rode down the winding way. When they had passed 
 below the garden they saw her, perched on a heap of 
 stones, and watching still to give them a last nod. 
 
 " Monsieur, there is something very extraordinary 
 about that girl," said Genestas to the doctor, when they 
 were at some distance from the house. 
 
TJie Country Doctor. 143 
 
 " Yes, is there not? I have told nryself a score of 
 times that she would make a charming wife ; but I can- 
 not love her otherwise than as we love a sister or a 
 mother ; my heart is dead." 
 
 "Has she any relations ?" asked Genestas. "Who 
 were her father and mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is quite a history," said Benassis. " She has 
 neither father nor mother nor relatives. Her very name 
 has an interest for me. The Fosseuse was born in this 
 village. Her father, a laborer of Saint-Laurent du Pont, 
 was called the Fosseur, no doubt an abbreviation offos- 
 soyeur, because the office of grave-digger had been 
 from time immemorial in his family. There is all the 
 gloom of a cemetery in that name. According to an 
 old Roman custom, still used here as in other parts of 
 France, which consists in giving to women the names 
 of their husbands, with the feminine termination of the 
 words, this girl is called the Fosseuse from Fosseur, 
 her father's name. The laborer married, for love, the 
 lady's maid of a certain countess, whose property is not 
 many miles from this district. Here, as in most country 
 regions, the passion of love counts for little in mar- 
 riage. As a general thing the peasant wants a wife 
 to bear him children, to make him good soup and bring 
 it to the fields, to spin the cloth for his shirts, and mend 
 his coats. For a long time, no such event as a marriage 
 for love had happened in this valley, where it often 
 happens that a young man will leave his betrothed for 
 some richer girl who has three or four more acres of 
 land. The fate of the Fosseur and his wife was not 
 sufficiently happ}^ to wean the country-people from such 
 selfish calculations. La Fosseuse, the mother, was a 
 
144 The Country Doctor. 
 
 handsome woman, who died in giving birth to her 
 daughter. The husband took his loss so much to heart 
 that he was dead within a j T ear, leaving nothing what- 
 ever to his child but her feeble and precarious life. 
 The little girl was charitably cared for by a neighbor, 
 who brought her up till she was nine years old ; by that 
 time, her support became too heavy an expense for the 
 wortlry woman, and the child was sent to beg on the 
 highroad at the season of the } T ear when travellers pass 
 this way. It happened that the orphan begged at the 
 chateau of the countess, and was kept there in memory 
 of her mother. She was trained to become in time the 
 waiting-maid of the daughter of the house, who was 
 married five years later. Meantime, the poor child fell 
 a victim to the caprices of rich people, who for the 
 most part are neither gracious nor consistent in their 
 generosity ; benevolent by fits and starts, now patrons, 
 then friends, often masters, they make the already false 
 position of orphan children in whom they take an in- 
 terest, still more false ; they thoughtlessly toy with their 
 hearts and lives and future careers, regarding them as 
 of little account. The Fosseuse became at first almost 
 the companion of the young heiress ; she was taught 
 to read and write, and her future mistress sometimes 
 amused herself by giving the girl music lessons. By 
 turns lady's-maid and companion, her masters made 
 an incomplete being of her. She contracted a taste for 
 luxury and fine clothes, and acquired manners that 
 were out of keeping with her real position. Since then, 
 misfortunes have harshly tutored her spirit, but they 
 have never effaced its sense of belonging to a better 
 destinj\ At last, one day, one fatal day, the young 
 
The Country Doctor. 145 
 
 countess, then married, discovered the girl, who by that 
 time was only her waiting-maid, decked out in one of 
 her ball-dresses and dancing before a glass. The or- 
 phan, just sixteen years old, was pitilessly sent away. 
 Her indolence drove her back into poverty ; she wan- 
 dered about the roads, begging or working in the man- 
 ner I told you. Often she thought of jumping into the 
 water, — sometimes of giving herself to the first-comer ; 
 the greater part of the time she lay in the sun at the 
 foot of a wall, thoughtful and gloomy, with her head 
 in the grass. Travellers used to fling her a few sous, 
 just because she asked for nothing. For a whole year 
 she was in the hospital at Annecy, after a laborious 
 harvest, at which she had worked beyond her strength 
 in the hope of killing herself. You should hear her tell 
 of her feelings and ideas during this period of her life ; 
 her confidences are often very curious. She came back 
 to this valle} 7 about the time I resolved to settle here. 
 Wishing to understand the morale of all my people, 
 I studied her character, which interested me ; then, 
 after discovering her organic imperfections, I resolved 
 to take care of the poor girl. Perhaps in time she will 
 get accustomed to work at her needle ; but in any case, 
 I have made a provision for her." 
 
 " She is very lonel\ T up there," said Genestas. 
 
 "No," replied Benassis ; "one of my shepherd- 
 women sleeps in her house. You did not notice m} r 
 farm buildings which are above the house, for they are 
 hidden among the fir-trees. Oh, she is perfectly safe. 
 Besides, we have no lawless fellows in our valle} 7 ; if, 
 by chance, one turns up, I send him to the army ; they 
 make excellent soldiers.'"' 
 
 10 
 
146 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " Poor girl ! " said Genestas. 
 
 "The country-people don't pity her," replied the 
 doctor. "On the contrary, they think her ver} 7 for- 
 tunate. There's this difference between her and the 
 other women, only they can't see it, — to them God has 
 given strength, to her weakness." 
 
 As the two riders emerged upon the new road to 
 Grenoble, Benassis, who foresaw its effect upon Gen- 
 estas, reined up, with a satisfied look, to enjoy his 
 surprise. Two walls of verdure, sixty feet high, bor- 
 dered, as far as the eye could reach, a wide road raised 
 and rounded in the middle like the gravel- walk of a 
 garden, and made a natural monument which any man 
 might well be proud to have created. Each tree, left 
 untrimmed, took the shape of the enormous green palm 
 which makes the Lombardy poplar one of the finest 
 specimens of vegetation. One side of the road, which 
 was already in shadow, resembled a vast rampart of 
 black foliage ; while the other, strongly lighted by the 
 setting sun which touched the 3'oung shoots with tints 
 of gold, offered in contrast a play of light and its 
 reflections, as the sunshine and the breeze touched the 
 swaying curtain of leaves. 
 
 "You must be very happ} T here," cried Genestas. 
 "There is so much to give you pleasure." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Benassis, " the love of nature is the 
 onl} r love which does not disappoint our human hopes. 
 Here there are no deceptions. These poplars are 011I3* 
 ten 3'ears old ; but did you ever see an}* better grown ? " 
 
 "God is great!" said the soldier, stopping in the 
 middle of the road, of which he could see neither the 
 beginning nor the end. 
 
The Country Doctor. 147 
 
 " You do me good," said the doctor. " It gives nie 
 pleasure to hear }"ou say what I so often think in the 
 middle of this avenue. Surely, there is something reli- 
 gious in this spot. We are two specks as we stand 
 here, and the sense of our littleness brings us back to 
 God." 
 
 They rode slowly and in silence, listening to the foot- 
 fall of their horses, which sounded along the verdant 
 gallery as if they were pacing under the vaults of a 
 cathedral. 
 
 " How many emotions there are of which city people 
 know nothing," said the doctor. ' ' Do you smell 
 the odors exhaled by the gum of the poplars and the 
 young shoots of the larch ? how delicious ! " 
 
 44 Listen ! " exclaimed Genestas ; " wait a moment." 
 
 They heard a song in the distance. 
 
 44 Is it a woman, or a man, or a bird? " said the cap- 
 tain in a low voice ; "or is it the voice of the glorious 
 scener}- ? " 
 
 4 'It is something of them all," replied the doctor, 
 dismounting and fastening his horse to the branch of 
 a poplar. 
 
 He signed to the officer to do as he did, and to fol- 
 low him. They walked slowly along a footpath, be- 
 tween hedges of hawthorn white with bloom that shed 
 its penetrating perfume on the moist evening atmos- 
 phere. The sunbeams poured into the narrow way with 
 a sort of impetuosity, which the shadows cast b} T the 
 tall curtain of poplars made all the more perceptible ; 
 the vigorous jets of light enveloping in ruddy tints a 
 cottage placed at the farther end of the sand}' pathway. 
 A dust of gold seemed scattered on its thatched roof, 
 
148 The Country Doctor. 
 
 usually brown like the shell of a horse-chestnut, and 
 whose ragged eaves were green with house-leeks and 
 various mosses. The cottage itself could scarcely be 
 seen in the haze of light ; the old walls, the door, 
 and all about it had a fugitive glo^ ; all was acci- 
 dentally beautiful, as the human face is sometimes seen 
 to be under the influence of a passion that warms and 
 colors it. In the free life of the open air we meet with 
 fleeting sylvan loveliness which snatches from our hearts 
 the wish of the apostle when he said to Jesus on the 
 mountain, " Let us build here our tabernacle." Nature 
 at this moment seemed to have a voice as pure and 
 sweet as she herself is pure and sweet ; but the voice was 
 sad, like the sun-gleams that were dropping westward, 
 — vague images of death, divine warning given by 
 the sun in the heavens, as the flowers and the pretty 
 ephemeral insects give it upon earth. At this hour the 
 tints of the sky are full of sadness, and the voice was sad. 
 It sang a popular song, a song of love and of regret, 
 that roused the national hatred of France against Eng- 
 land until Beaumarchais restored its poetic value, and 
 placed it on the French stage in the mouth of a page 
 opening his heart to his godmother. The air was sung 
 without words, in plaintive tones, by a voice which 
 vibrated on the soul and moved it to pity. 
 
 " The swan's song ! " said Benassis. " Not twice in 
 a generation does that song reach the ears of man. 
 Make haste, I must stop it. The child is killing him- 
 self; it is cruel to listen any longer — Hush ! Jacques, 
 hush ! " cried the doctor. 
 
 The song ceased. Genestas stood still, motionless 
 and bewildered. A cloud obscured the sun ; the land- 
 
The Country Doctor. 149 
 
 scape and the voice were mute together. Cold shadows 
 and silence succeeded the soft splendors of light, the 
 warm breath of the atmosphere, and the song of the 
 child. 
 
 " Why do you disobe} T me?" said Benassis. "I 
 will give you no more rice-cakes, no more snail-soup, 
 or fresh dates, or white bread. Do 3*011 want to die, 
 and leave your poor mother all alone?" 
 
 Genestas advanced into a little courtyard, kept toler- 
 ably clean, and saw a boy of fifteen, feeble as a woman, 
 blonde in complexion, with scarcely any hair, and a 
 color in his cheeks that looked like rouge. Pie rose 
 slowly from the bench where he had been sitting under 
 a tall jasmine and some lilac-bushes, which grew wild 
 and had nearly covered him with their foliage. 
 
 " You know," continued the doctor, " that I told 3011 
 to go to bed before the sun, and not expose 3'ourself 
 to the evening air ; and also not to talk : WI13*, then, 
 do you sing ? " 
 
 " But, Monsieur Benassis, it is very warm here ; and 
 it is so good to be warm. I am always cold. I felt so 
 comfortable that I never thought ; I began to sing 
 Malbroug s'e?i va-t-en guerre, just for amusement, and 
 then I listened to myself, for my voice is exactly like 
 the pipe of 3 r our shepherd." 
 
 " Well, nry poor Jacques, don't do it again ; do you 
 hear? Give me 3 T our hand." 
 
 The doctor felt his pulse. The bo\ T 's blue e3 T es were 
 habitually gentle, but fever now made them brilliant. 
 
 " Ah, I knew it, 3 T ou are in a perspiration," said 
 Benassis ; " is your mother here? " 
 
 " No, monsieur." 
 
150 The Country Doctor. 
 
 The sick lad, followed by Benassis and the captain, 
 entered the cottage. 
 
 1 ' Light a candle, Captain Bluteau," said the doctor, 
 as he helped Jacques to take off his coarse and ragged 
 clothing. 
 
 When Genestas had lighted the room he was struck 
 with the excessive thinness of the lad, who was nothing 
 more than skin and bone. After the little peasant was 
 put to bed, Benassis tapped his chest and listened to 
 the noise his fingers made ; then, having noted those 
 sounds of evil augury, he drew the bedclothes over the 
 boy, stood a few feet away, and watched him. 
 
 " How do you feel, my little man? " 
 
 " Quite well, monsieur." 
 
 Benassis placed a little table with four turned legs 
 beside the bed, looked for a glass and phial that were 
 on the mantel-shelf, and made a drink b}' pouring into 
 some water a few drops of a brown liquid contained 
 in the phial, which he measured carefully by the light 
 of the candle held by Genestas. 
 
 " Your mother is late in coming home." 
 
 " Here she comes now, monsieur ; I hear her step on 
 the path." 
 
 The doctor and the officer waited and looked about 
 them. At the foot of the bed lay a mattress of dry 
 moss, without sheets or covering, on which the mother 
 no doubt slept in her clothes. Genestas pointed to this 
 couch, and Benassis gently inclined his head as if to 
 say that he had alread} 7 admired the motherly devotion. 
 The clattering of wooden shoes sounded in the court- 
 yard, and Benassis went out to meet the woman. 
 
 14 You must sit up with Jacques to-night, mere Colas. 
 
Tlie Country Doctor, 151 
 
 If he sa} T s he is suffocating, give him the drink I have 
 left in a glass on the table. Be careful not to let him 
 have more than two or three swallows at a time. The 
 quantit3 T in the glass ought to last all night. Above 
 all, don't touch the phial. Begin b}' changing the boy's 
 clothing. He has been in a perspiration." 
 
 "I haven't had time to wash his shirts to-day, my 
 dear monsieur. I had to cany my hemp to Grenoble 
 to get some mone}\" 
 
 " Well, I'll send 3'ou some shirts." 
 
 " Is he worse, nry poor lad?" said the woman. 
 
 " We can't expect him to be better, mere Colas. He 
 has had the imprudence to sing ; but don't scold him, 
 don't speak harshly to him, take courage. If Jacques 
 complains very much send a neighbor to fetch me. 
 Adieu." 
 
 The doctor called to his companion, and they returned 
 along the path. 
 
 44 Is that peasant lad consumptive? " asked Genestas. 
 
 "Yes, indeed he is," answered Benassis. " Science 
 can't save him, unless through some miracle of nature. 
 The professors at the School of Medicine in Paris used 
 to tell us about the phenomenon 3 T ou have just wit- 
 nessed. Certain forms of the disease produce changes 
 in the voice which give the victims a momentary faculty 
 of emitting vocal sounds whose perfection is never at- 
 tained by any virtuoso. I have made you spend a 
 melancholy day, monsieur," said the doctor, when he 
 had mounted. "On all sides suffering, on all sides 
 death, but also resignation. Countiy-people die philo- 
 sophically ; the}' suffer, they say nothing, they crouch 
 down as the beasts do. But don't let us talk of death 
 
152 The Country Doctor. 
 
 an} T more ; wc will ride faster. I want to get back 
 to the village before dark, so that 30U ma3 T see the new 
 quarter." 
 
 "Hey! there's a fire somewhere," said Genestas, 
 pointing to a part of the mountain where a tongue of 
 flame was shooting up. 
 
 " It is harmless. Our lime-burner is probably light- 
 ing his kiln. That industry, which is new here, utilizes 
 the heaths." 
 
 The sudden report of a gun was heard. Benassis 
 let an involuntaiy exclamation escape him, and said, 
 with a gesture of impatience, — 
 
 " If that is Butifer, we '11 soon see which of us is the 
 stronger." 
 
 " The shot came from over there," said Genestas, 
 pointing to a beechwood situated above them on the 
 mountain ; " trust the ears of an old soldier." 
 
 " Let's get there quickly," cried Benassis, heading in 
 a straight line for the little wood, and sending his horse 
 at full speed over the fields and ditches as though he 
 were riding a steeple-chase, — so anxious was he to 
 catch the offender in the act. 
 
 "The man you are after is running away," cried 
 Genestas, barely able to keep up with the doctor. 
 
 Benassis wheeled his horse round, retraced his steps, 
 and the man he was pursuing presently showed himself 
 on a projecting crag some hundred feet above the riders. 
 
 "Butifer," said Benassis, observing the man's long 
 gun, " come down." 
 
 Butifer recognized the doctor, and responded by 
 a friendly and respectful gesture implying perfect 
 obedience. 
 
The Country Doctor. 153 
 
 •' I can Imagine," said Genestas, " that a man under 
 the influence of fear, or some other violent sentiment, 
 could climb up that point of rock ; but how can he ever 
 get down again ? " 
 
 "I am not uneas}-," answered Benassis ; "the goats 
 ought to be jealous of that fellow. You'll see." 
 
 Accustomed, through his experience of war, to judge 
 of the intrinsic value of men, the captain admired the 
 singular agility and graceful precision of all Butifer's 
 movements, as he came down the broken face of the 
 rock he had so audaciously scaled. The lithe and 
 vigorous body of the hunter balanced itself easily in all 
 the positions which the steep ridges of the precipice 
 compelled it to take ; the foot was planted on an edge 
 of rock as tranquilly as on a floor, so sure did the man 
 seem of being able to make his footing good ; and he 
 managed his long gun as though it were a cane. Butifer 
 was a young man of medium height, thin, spare, and 
 sinew} 7 , whose virile beaut} T impressed Genestas when he 
 stood beside him. He belonged to the class of smugglers 
 who ply their trade without violence, and empk>3 T only 
 craft and patience to cheat the revenue. His face was 
 manly, and much burned by the sun. His eyes, of a clear 
 yellow, gleamed like those of an eagle, to whose beak his 
 slim nose, slightly curved at the end, bore a strong 
 resemblance. His cheek-bones were covered with down. 
 His red mouth, half-open, disclosed teeth of dazzling 
 whiteness. His beard, his mustache, his red whiskers 
 — which he had allowed to grow and which curled 
 naturally — intensified the virile and indomitable ex- 
 pression of his features. In him, all denoted strength. 
 The muscles of his hands, continually exercised, had a 
 
154 The Country Doctor. 
 
 size and solidity which were remarkable. His chest 
 was broad ; his brow bore the signs of an untutored 
 intellect. He had the intrepid and resolute, though 
 quiet air of a man who was accustomed to risk his life, 
 and who had so often exercised his bodily or his intel- 
 lectual powers in perils of all kinds that he no longer 
 felt the least doubt of himself. He was dressed in 
 a blouse torn by the briers, and wore leathern soles 
 bound to his feet by strips of eelskin ; a pair of blue 
 trousers, pieced and slashed open, exposed to sight his 
 red legs, lean, wiry, and active as those of a deer. 
 
 "You see the man who once shot at me," said Ben- 
 assis in a low voice to the soldier. " If now I expressed 
 a wish to be rid of any one he would kill him without 
 hesitation. Butifer," continued the doctor, addressing 
 the poacher, " I thought you a man of honor, and I 
 pledged my word for you because you had pledged 
 yours to me. My promise to the procureur-du-roi at 
 Grenoble rested on yours that you would hunt no more ; 
 that you would settle down and work and live pru- 
 dently. It was 3*ou who fired that shot, — here, on land 
 belonging to the Comte de Labranchoir. Hein ! sup- 
 pose his game-keeper had heard it, foolish man ? It is 
 lucky for you, I won't indict you, for this is not } T our 
 first offence, and you. have no license to carry arms. 
 Did n't I let you keep your gun simply because I knew 
 your affection for it?" 
 
 "It is a beauty," said the captain, recognizing a 
 duck-gun from the manufactory at Saint-Etienne on 
 the Loire. 
 
 The poacher looked up at Genestas as if to thank 
 him for his approbation. 
 
The Country Doctor. 155 
 
 " Butifer," continued Benassis, "your conscience 
 ought to reproach you. If you recommence }-our old 
 courses, you'll find yourself cornered some day in a 
 park enclosed with walls. No protection can then 
 save you from the gal^s ; } T ou '11 be branded, dis- 
 graced. Bring me your gun this very night, I '11 take 
 care of it for you." 
 
 Butifer clasped the stock of his treasure with a con- 
 vulsive movement. 
 
 "You are right, monsieur le maire," he said. "I 
 have done wrong ; I have broken my pledge ; I 'm a 
 dog. My gun must go to you, but you will get it as a 
 legacy. The last shot fired by the child of my mother 
 goes through my brain. I can't help it ; I have done 
 as you wished ; I have kept quiet all winter ; but in 
 the spring the sap rises. I don't know how to dig ; 
 I have n't got the heart to spend my life fattening 
 chickens ; and I can't bend m} T spine to spade vege- 
 tables, nor lash the air driving carts, nor live in a stable 
 and rub down a horse's hide : must I therefore perish 
 of hunger? — I can't live, except up there," he said, 
 after a pause, pointing to the mountains. "I've been 
 out a week. I saw a chamois, and the chamois is 
 there," he added, nodding at the crag. "It is at }'Our 
 service. My good Monsieur Benassis, let me keep my 
 gun. Listen, on my word of honor I '11 leave the dis- 
 trict ; I '11 go to the Alps, where the chamois hunters 
 won't sa}' me nay, — on the contrary, thej' '11 welcome me 
 with pleasure ; and I shall perish on a glacier. To tell 
 the honest truth, I would rather live a }-ear or two on 
 the heights, awa}' from governments, and revenue- 
 officers, and gamekeepers, and prosecutors, than grovel 
 
156 The Country Doctor. 
 
 in your bogs for a hundred years. There 's no one but 
 you that I 'd regret to leave ; all the others weary my 
 life out. When you are in the right, you at least don't 
 attack others tooth and nail." 
 
 " And Louise? " said Benassis. 
 
 Butifer was silent and thoughtful. 
 
 " Hey ! my lad," cried Genestas, " learn to read and 
 write, join my regiment, ride a horse, and be a carabi- 
 neer. If the ' boot and saddle ' ever sounds for a real 
 war, you '11 see that the good God meant you to live in 
 the midst of cannon, and shot, and battles. You'll 
 come to be a general ! " 
 
 "Yes, if Napoleon would return," said Butifer. 
 
 "You remember our agreement?" said the doctor. 
 "You promised to become a soldier at 3'our second 
 outbreak. I give you six months to learn to read and 
 write, and then I shall find some young fellow of family 
 who wants a substitute." 
 
 Butifer looked at the mountains. 
 
 "Oh! you can't go to the Alps," cried Benassis. 
 " A man like you, a man of honor, full of noble quali- 
 ties, ought to serve his country and command a brigade, 
 and not die at the tail of a chamois. The life you lead 
 will land you in the galle}'S. Your tremendous exer- 
 tions will force you to take long rests ; and after a while 
 you '11 contract the vices of a laz} r life, which will de- 
 stroy all 3'our ideas of order, and lead you to abuse your 
 own health and punish yourself; I want, in spite of 
 yourself, to put } t ou in the right way." 
 
 " Must I die a lingering death of disgust and weari- 
 ness ? I stifle in a city. I can't bear more than one 
 day in Grenoble when I take Louise there." 
 
The Country Doctor. 157 
 
 " We all have inclinations which we must learn 
 to fight if we mean to be useful to our fellows. But 
 it is getting late, and I'm in a hurry. You must come 
 and see me to-morrow, and bring your gun ; we will 
 talk it all over, my son. Adieu. Sell your chamois at 
 Grenoble." 
 
 "That's what I call a man," said Genestas, as they 
 rode on. 
 
 " A man with his feet on a bad road," answered Be- 
 nassis. " But what can one do? You heard him. Isn't 
 it deplorable to see a man with such fine qualities throw 
 himself away? If an enemy were to invade France, 
 Butifer at the head of a hundred young fellows could 
 hold a division in the Maurienne for a month ; but in 
 times of peace he can only spend his energy in braving 
 the laws. He needs some force or other to overcome ; 
 when he is not risking his life, he is fighting society and 
 helping the smugglers. That fellow will cross the Rhone 
 by himself in a little boat to carry shoes into Savoie ; 
 he can escape, heavily laden, to inaccessible peaks, 
 where he is able to live for a couple of days on a crust. 
 He loves danger as another man loves sleep. By dint 
 of enjoying pleasures which give him intense sensations 
 he has put himself outside of the interests of everyday 
 life. Now, I am not willing that such a man, by fol- 
 lowing the unconscious tendency of such a life, should 
 become a brigand and die on the scaffold. But see, 
 captain, how the village looks from here." 
 
 Genestas saw in the distance a large square planted 
 with trees, in the middle of which was a fountain sur- 
 rounded by poplars. The outer circle of this open 
 ground was defined by slopes, on which three tiers of 
 
158 The Country Doctor, 
 
 trees of different species were planted, — first acacias, 
 then the Japanese ailanthus, lastty, to crown the bank, 
 some small elms. 
 
 "That is the ground where we hold our fairs," said 
 Benassis. " The main street begins with the two good 
 houses of which I spoke to you, — that of the justice 
 of the peace and the notary." 
 
 They now entered a wide street rather neatly paved 
 with cobble-stones, on either side of which about a 
 hundred new houses had been built ; all of them sepa- 
 rated by gardens. The church, whose portico made a 
 pretty perspective, closed the end of this street, from 
 the centre of which two others had lately been laid out, 
 where several houses were alread}' built. The mairie, 
 situated on an open square near the church, was oppo- 
 site the parsonage. As Benassis rode forward, women, 
 children, and men whose day's work was over, came 
 out on their doorsteps. Some took off their caps to him, 
 others bade him good-evening ; the little children jumped 
 about his horse, as if the kindness of the animal were as 
 well known to them as that of its master. The scene 
 was one of mute or murmured gladness that, like all 
 deep sentiments, had its own reserves, and its commu- 
 nicative attraction. Genestas thought, as he noted the 
 welcome that was proffered to the doctor, that the latter 
 had been too modest in the account he had given 
 over-night of the affection felt for him in the district. 
 It was indeed the sweetest of royalties, — one whose 
 divine rights are written on the hearts of the subjects ; 
 a royalty that is real. However dazzling the rays of 
 the power or the glory a man enjoys, his soul soon 
 gauges the satisfactions that all external action procures 
 
The Country Doctor. 
 
 159 
 
 for him ; he perceives his real nothingness when he finds 
 nothing changed, nothing new, nothing grander in the 
 exercise of his physical faculties. Kings may possess 
 the earth, but they are forced, like other men, to live in 
 a little circle and submit to its laws ; and their happiness 
 depends on the personal impressions they receive. 
 Throughout his district Benassis met with nothing but 
 obedience and friendship. 
 
 LIBRy^ 
 SITT 
 
160 TJie Country Doctor, 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 
 THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 "Do pray come, monsieur," cried Jacquotte ; "these 
 gentlemen have been waiting for you such a time. But 
 that's always the wa}- ! you spoil my dinner when it 
 ought to be particularly good. It is all sodden by this 
 time." 
 
 "Well, well, here we are," said Benassis, laughing. 
 
 The riders dismounted and entered the salon, where 
 the guests invited by the doctor were assembled. 
 
 "Messieurs," said he, taking Genestas by the hand, 
 "I have the honor to present to you Monsieur Bluteau, 
 captain of a regiment of cavalr} r in garrison at Grenoble, 
 — an old soldier, who has promised to stay some time 
 among us." 
 
 Then, addressing Genestas, he motioned to a tall, 
 thin old man with gray hair, dressed in black, and 
 said: "This is Monsieur Dufau, the justice of the 
 peace of whom I spoke to you, and who has so greatly 
 contributed to the prosperity of this district. This 
 gentleman," he continued, taking Genestas up to a pale 
 young man of medium height, also dressed in black, 
 and who wore spectacles, "is Monsieur Tonnelet, the 
 son-in-law of Monsieur Gravier, the first notary who 
 settled in the village." Then, turning to a stout man, 
 half-peasant, half-bourgeois, with a coarse, blotched 
 
The Country Doctor. 161 
 
 face, that was, however, full of good-humor, "This," 
 he said, " is Monsieur Cambou, my worth}' associate, and 
 the wood-merchant to whom I owe the good-will this 
 community has bestowed upon me. He is one of the 
 projectors of the new road which you admired so much. 
 I need not," added Benassis, motioning towards the 
 curate, " tell you the profession of this gentleman. You 
 see a man whom no one can help loving." 
 
 The countenance of the priest attracted the attention 
 of the soldier by an expression of moral beauty whose 
 seduction was irresistible. At first sight, the face 
 might seem ill-favored, for the lines were rugged and 
 severe. The slight figure, its emaciation, its attitude, 
 all told of great physical weakness ; but the countenance, 
 always placid, testified to the deep inward peace of 
 a Christian, and the strength begotten by chastity of 
 soul. His eyes, which seemed to reflect the skies, re- 
 vealed the inextinguishable fires of charity which con- 
 sumed his heart. His gestures, infrequent and natural, 
 were those of a modest man, and his movements ha 
 the virgin simplicit}' of a young girl's. His presence 4 
 inspired respect and a vague desire for closer relations 
 to him. 
 
 44 Ah, monsieur le maire ! " he said, bending as if to 
 escape the praise Benassis bestowed upon him. 
 
 The tones of his voice stirred the soldier to his very 
 centre, and the few words uttered 03- this unknown man 
 threw him into a rever}* that was almost religious. 
 
 "Messieurs," said Jacquotte, coming into the very 
 middle of the room, and standing with her hands on her 
 hips, " the soup is on the table." 
 
 Invited by the doctor, who called each in turn, to 
 
 11 
 
162 The Country Doctor. 
 
 avoid the ceremonies of precedence, the five guests 
 passed into the dining-room and sat down at table, 
 after listening to the Benedicite, which the curate re- 
 cited in a low voice, without emphasis. The table was 
 covered with a cloth of the double damask invented in 
 the da}*s of Henry IV. by the brothers Graindorge, — 
 clever manufacturers, who gave their name to the heavy 
 fabric so well known to housekeepers. The linen, of 
 dazzling whiteness, smelt of the thyme which Jacquotte 
 put into her washtubs. The dinner-service was white 
 porcelain with a blue edge, in perfect preservation. 
 The decanters had the antique octagon shape which in 
 these da} T s is found only in the provinces. The han- 
 dles of the knives were of carved horn, and each repre- 
 sented a grotesque figure. These relics of a past 
 luxury, which were nevertheless almost new, seemed in 
 keeping with the frankness and warm-heartedness of 
 the master of the house. The attention of Genestas 
 was arrested for a moment by the cover of the soup- 
 tureen, topped by a bunch of vegetables in high relief, 
 and very well colored after the manner of Bernard 
 Paliss} r , a celebrated potter and enameller of the six- 
 teenth centur}^. 
 
 The assembled company was not wanting in original- 
 ity. The powerful heads of Benassis and Genestas con- 
 trasted admirably with the apostolic head of Monsieur 
 Janvier, just as the withered faces of the justice of the 
 peace and the assistant-mayor threw the younger face 
 of the notaiy into relief. Society seemed to be repre- 
 sented by these diverse plrysiognomies, all bearing 
 signs of inward contentment, satisfaction in the pres- 
 ent, and faith in the future. Monsieur Tonnelet and 
 
The Country Doctor. 163 
 
 Monsieur Janvier, less advanced in life, liked to search 
 into the events of the future, which the}' felt belonged 
 to them ; the other guests preferred to keep the con- 
 versation to the past ; but all looked with serious eyes 
 upon the things of life, and their opinions reflected a 
 double tinge of melancholy ; one side had the pallor of 
 the evening twilight, the memory, nearly effaced, of 
 joys that never could return ; the other, like the dawn, 
 gave promise of another day. 
 
 " You must be very tired to-night, monsieur le cure," 
 said Monsieur Cambon. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur," answered Monsieur Janvier, " the 
 funeral of the poor cretin and that of Pere Pelletier 
 were at different hours." 
 
 " We can now pull down the hovels of the old vil- 
 lage," said Benassis to his associate. " To clear away 
 these houses will bring us in at least as much as an 
 acre of fields. The district will also save the hundred 
 francs it cost to support Claude the cretin." 
 
 " We ought to put that hundred francs for the next 
 three years into building a bridge with one arch over 
 the great brook on the lower road," said Monsieur 
 Cambon. " The people of the village, and of the val- 
 ley too, have a habit of crossing the land of Jean 
 Francois Pastureau, and they will end by spoiling it in a 
 way to injure the poor man." 
 
 " Certainly," said the justice of the peace, " the 
 money could not be better applied. To my thinking, 
 the abuses of the right of way are one of the great evils 
 in the country. A tenth of all the suits brought in the 
 courts relates to this abuse ; it attacks, almost with 
 impunity, the rights of property in very many districts. 
 
164 The Country Doctor. 
 
 Respect for property and respect for law are sentiments 
 too often ignored ; it is necessary to promulgate them. 
 Many persons think it dishonorable to lend assistance 
 to the law, and the saying, ' go and get hanged else- 
 where,' which has passed into a proverb, and seems 
 based on a feeling of laudable generosity, is, at bottom, 
 only a hypocritical formula which serves to gloss over 
 our own egotism. We are — and we had better avow 
 it — wanting in patriotism. The true patriot is the 
 citizen who is sufficiently convinced of the importance 
 of the laws to insist on their being executed, even at 
 his own risk and peril. Let an evil-doer go free, and 
 we make ourselves guilty of his future crimes." 
 
 " All things hang together," said Benassis. '* If the 
 ma} T ors kept the roads in good repair the people would 
 make no by-paths. If common councils were better 
 educated they would stand by the owners of property 
 and the mayors whenever they oppose an unjust right 
 of way : all should unite to make ignorant persons 
 see that castle, field, cottage, and tree are equally 
 sacred, and that the question of Right is not affectc d 
 by the different values of property. But such ideas 
 cannot be forced ; they depend on the moral state of 
 the population, and we cannot completely reform that 
 without the efficacious assistance of the curates. This 
 is not addressed to you, Monsieur Janvier." 
 
 "I don't take it to myself," said the curate, laugh- 
 ing. " Is n't my heart set on making Catholic doctrine 
 chime with jour administrative creed ? I often en- 
 deavor in my pastoral teachings as to theft to inculcate 
 the very ideas you have uttered on the matter of rif/ht. 
 God does not measure the theft by the value of the 
 
The Country Doctor. 165 
 
 thing stolen ; he judges the thief. That has been gist 
 of the parables I try to adapt to the intelligence of my 
 parishioners." 
 
 " You have succeeded, monsieur le cure," said Cam- 
 bon. "I can judge of the changes you have worked 
 in the minds of the people, by comparing the present 
 state of the district with its past. Certainly there are 
 few neighborhoods where the working-men are as scru- 
 pulous as they are here in giving their full hours of 
 labor. The cattle are better cared for, and do no 
 damage unless accidentally. The woods are respected. 
 In short, 3011 have made our peasantry understand that 
 the leisure of the rich is the reward of a thrifty and 
 serious life." 
 
 " If that is so, monsieur le cure," said Genestas, 
 " you ought to be well pleased with your flock." 
 
 " Monsieur," said the priest, " we can't expect to 
 find angels here below. Wherever there is poverty 
 there is suffering. Suffering and poverty are living 
 forces, which have their abuses just as power has. 
 When a peasant has six miles to walk to his daily 
 work, and returns weary in the evening, only to see a 
 sportsman cutting across fields and meadows to get 
 the sooner to his dinner, do you think he can have 
 much scruple in doing likewise ? Of those who seize a 
 right of way, about which you were complaining just 
 now, who is the delinquent? — the man who works, or 
 he who amuses himself? The rich and the poor both 
 bring evil upon us in these days, the one as much 
 as the other. Faith, like power, should descend from 
 the celestial and the social heights above us ; neverthe- 
 less, in our time, the upper classes have less faith than 
 
166 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the body of the people, to whom God promises in a 
 future life a compensation for their woes in this, if they 
 bear them patiently. While I submit to ecclesiastical 
 discipline, and defer to the opinions of my superiors, I 
 nevertheless think that for a long time to come we 
 ought to be less exacting in matters of doctrine, and 
 endeavor to bring the religious sentiment back into 
 the heart, here, in this land, where men are discussing 
 Christianity instead of practising its maxims. The 
 philosophism of the rich has been a fatal example to the 
 poor, and the cause of long interregnums in the king- 
 dom of God. The power that we gain to-day over our 
 flocks depends entirely on our personal influence. Is it not 
 a misfortune that the faith of a district is owing to the 
 respect felt for one man ? When Christianity has again 
 fertilized the social system by impregnating all classes 
 with its essential principles, its worship will no longer 
 be called in question. The worship of a religion is 
 its outward form ; societies only exist by forms and 
 signs. To you the banner, to us the cross." 
 
 "Monsieur le cure," said Genestas, "I should like 
 to know why you prevent these poor people from dancing 
 on Sunday." 
 
 " Monsieur," answered the cure, "we do not dislike 
 dancing in itself; we only forbid it as being one cause 
 of the immorality which disturbs the peace and cor- 
 rupts the manners of the country. If we purify the 
 spirit of family, and insist on the sacredness of its 
 bonds, do we not cut off the evil at its roots? " 
 
 " I know," said Monsieur Tonnelet, " that disorders 
 must be expected in all districts, but in ours they are 
 becoming rare. If some of our peasants have no scru- 
 
The Country Doctor. 167 
 
 pie in cheating a neighbor of a furrow of earth when 
 they till it, or in cutting the osiers of another man when 
 the} T want them, at least these things are mere pecca- 
 dilloes compared to the sins of the city-folk. I think 
 the peasants of this valle} 7 are veiy religious." 
 
 44 Oh, religious ! " said the curate, smiling ; " fanati- 
 cism is not to be dreaded here." 
 
 "■But, monsieur le cure," said Cambon, "if all the 
 villagers went to mass, and confessed to }'ou once a 
 week, how could the} T cultivate the land? moreover, 3'ou 
 would need three priests, instead of one, to attend to 
 your duties." 
 
 44 Monsieur," returned the curate, " labor is prayer. 
 The practice of duty carries with it a knowledge of the 
 religious principles that are the life of societies." 
 
 44 What do you make of patriotism ? " asked Genestas. 
 
 44 Patriotism," replied the curate, gravel}', "inspires 
 only transient emotions ; religion renders them lasting. 
 Patriotism is a momentary forgetfulness of self-interest ; 
 Christianity is a complete S3'stem of opposition to the 
 depraved tendencies of mankind." 
 
 14 And yet, monsieur, during the wars of the Revolu- 
 tion — " 
 
 "Yes, during the Revolution we did marvels," said 
 Benassis, interrupting Genestas ; " but twenty years 
 later, in 1814, our patriotism was already dead ; whereas 
 France and Europe have flung themselves upon Asia 
 twelve times in a hundred 3-ears, — driven to it by 
 religious sentiment." 
 
 " Perhaps," said the justice of the peace, " it is easy 
 to make terms with the selfish interests which are at the 
 bottom of the struggles of nation against nation, whereas 
 
168 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the religious wars undertaken for the maintenance of 
 dogma, the object of which can never be precise, are 
 necessarily interminable." 
 
 "Monsieur! }'ou are not serving the fish," said 
 Jacquotte, who, aided by Nicolle, was waiting on 
 table. 
 
 Faithful to her usual custom, the cook brought in 
 each dish by itself, one after the other, — a fashion 
 which has the inconvenience of obliging gastronomes 
 to eat a great deal, while moderate people, whose 
 hunger has been appeased b}' the first dishes, are com- 
 pelled to leave the choice ones untouched. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur," said the priest to the justice of the 
 peace, " how can 3'ou assert that the religious wars had 
 no distinct purpose? Formerly, religion was so pow- 
 erful a bond in society that material interests could not 
 be separated from religious questions. Every soldier 
 knew for what he was fighting." 
 
 " If the3 T fought so often for religion, God must have 
 built that structure very imperfectly," said Genestas. 
 " A divine institution ought to convince the minds of 
 men by its inherent quality of truth, ought it not?" 
 
 All the guests looked at the curate. 
 
 "Messieurs," said Monsieur Janvier, "religion is 
 to be felt, not defined. We cannot judge the means 
 nor the ends of the Almighty." 
 
 " From that point of view, a man must believe in 
 all your genuflections ! " said Genestas, in the jovial 
 tone of an old soldier, little accustomed to think of 
 God. 
 
 "Monsieur," said the priest gravely, " the Catholic 
 religion brings human cares and perplexities to a safe 
 
The Country Doctor. 169 
 
 end. But were it otherwise, I might still ask what 3-011 
 risk in believing its truths ? " 
 
 " Not much," said Genestas. 
 
 " Well ; and what do you not risk by believing noth- 
 ing? However, let us speak of the earthly interests 
 which more nearly touch you. See how strongly the 
 linger of God is imprinted on the things of life by the 
 hand of his vicar. Men have lost much in wandering 
 from the paths marked out by Christianity. The 
 Church, whose history few people take the trouble to 
 read, and which they judge by certain erroneous opinions 
 designedly spread abroad among the masses, offers that 
 perfect model of government which men are searching 
 for to-day. The principle of election has long made 
 the Church a great political power. Formerly, there 
 was not a single religious institution that was not based 
 on liberty and equality. All vocations co-operated in 
 the work. The heads of colleges, abbes, bishops, the 
 general of the order, and the Pope himself were con- 
 scientiously chosen to meet the needs of the Church. 
 The\- gave expression to its idea ; blind obedience was 
 therefore their due. I refrain from speaking of the 
 social benefits of that idea, — an idea which has made 
 the modern nations, which has inspired so man}* poems, 
 cathedrals, statues, pictures, and musical works, — and 
 I will only ask you to observe that your general elections, 
 trial by jury, and the two Chambers have their roots in 
 provincial and oecumenical councils, in the episcopate, 
 and the college of cardinals, — w r ith this difference, as it 
 seems to me, that the present philosophical ideas on 
 civilization pale before the sublime and divine idea of 
 Catholic communion, the type of a universal social 
 
170 The Country Doctor. 
 
 communion, brought about by the Word and by the 
 Deed united under the control of religious truth. It will 
 be difficult for the new political systems, however per- 
 fect they are held to be, to do again the marvellous 
 works of the ages in which the Church controlled the 
 human intellect." 
 
 " Why so?" asked Genestas. 
 
 " Because, in the first place, election, to become a 
 principle, requires absolute equality in the electors , 
 they must be ' equal quantities,' to use a geometrical 
 expression, and that equalit}^ modern politics can never 
 | obtain. Moreover, the great things of social existence 
 , x <r lean only be done by the power of such sentiments as 
 ^ « \fr fc-re able to unite men, and modern philosophy has based 
 ^Jy the laws on personal interests, which isolate them. 
 Formerly, far more than at present, men were found 
 among the nations who were generously inspired by a 
 maternal sense of the unrecognized rights and sufferings 
 i^J I of the masses. Thus the priest, child of the middle 
 y classes, opposed the material forces of the world, and 
 protected the people from their oppressors. The Church 
 has had territorial possessions, but her temporal inter- 
 ests, which, it was thought, would consolidate and 
 strengthen her, have, in the end, weakened her action. 
 Indeed, whenever the priest has privileged property, he 
 appears as an oppressor. If the State pays him, he is 
 servant to the State, and his time, heart, and life belong 
 to it ; the citizens regard his virtues as mere duties, 
 and his benevolence, quenched by the doctrine of free- 
 « will, drys up in his heart. But if the priest be poor, if 
 he is voluntarily a priest, without other support than 
 his God, without other fortune than the hearts of the 
 
 t V 
 
The Country Doctor. 171 
 
 faithful, he becomes the missionary of America, he 
 makes himself an apostle, he is the prince of good : he 
 reigns through destitution, he falls through opulence." 
 
 Monsieur Janvier had held the attention of the guests. 
 The}' remained silent, reflecting on such novel lan- 
 guage from the lips of a simple curate. 
 
 " Monsieur Janvier, among the truths which you 
 have uttered, there is, I think, one serious error," said 
 Benassis. " I do not like, as you know, to argue about 
 the public interests which are now being discussed by 
 modern writers and authorities. To my thinking, a 
 man who conceives a political system ought, if he is 
 conscious of the power to apply it, to keep silence, lay 
 hold of the necessary authority, and act. But if he 
 remains in the happy obscurity of a private citizen, 
 is it not mere folly to try to convert the masses by in- 
 dividual discussions? Nevertheless, T shall combat 
 you, my dear pastor, because I am now speaking among 
 men of principle, accustomed to put their lights to- 
 gether in the search for truth. My ideas may seem 
 strange to you ; but they are the fruit of reflections 
 which the catastrophes of our last forty years have 
 forced upon me. Universal suffrage, demanded by 
 those who form what is called the constitutional opposi- 
 tion, was an excellent principle for the Church, because, 
 as you have just observed, dear pastor, its individuals 
 were educated, disciplined b} r the religious sentiment, 
 and, one and all, imbued with the same thought, know- 
 ing well what they wanted, and whither they went. 
 But the triumph of the ideas under help of which mod- 
 ern liberalism imprudently makes war upon the pros- 
 perous government of the Bourbons, will lead to the 
 
172 The Country Doctor. 
 
 ruin of France, and of the liberals themselves. The 
 chiefs of the Left know this. For them the struggle is 
 simply one for the possession of power. If, which God 
 forbid, the bourgeoisie were, under the banner of the 
 opposition, to strike down the social superiorities against 
 which its vanity rebels, its triumph would be at once 
 followed by a struggle between itself and the masses, 
 who would then regard it as a species of nobilit}^, 
 — paltry, it is true, — whose wealth and whose privi- 
 leges would be all the more obnoxious because the two 
 classes are nearer together. In such a struggle, soci- 
 ety, I will not say the nation, will once more perish ; 
 for the triumph, always momentar}', of the suffer- 
 ing masses brings with it the worst disorders. The 
 battle will be desperate, and without quarter ; for it will 
 come of fundamental differences, instinctive or acquired, 
 among the electors, the most numerous and the least 
 enlightened of whom will carry the day against social 
 eminence in a system where votes are counted and not 
 weighed. It follows from this that a government is 
 never more strongly organized, consequently never 
 more perfect, than when it is formed for the defence of 
 a limited Privilege. What I mean by ' privilege ' is 
 not the sort of right unrighteously .conceded in former 
 times to the few to the injury of the many ; no, I mean 
 more particularly the social circle to which the evolu- 
 tions of power are confined. Power is, as it were, the 
 heart of a State. Nature, in all her creations, shuts in 
 the vital principle to give it greatei stamina ; so with 
 the body politic. Let me explain my meaning b} T an 
 example : say that France has a hundred peers ; they 
 are a hundred causes of offence and no more. Abolish 
 
The Country Doctor. . 173 
 
 the peerage, and at once every rich man becomes a 
 privileged person. Instead of a hundred, you have ten 
 thousand, and you enlarge the sore of social inequal- 
 ities. In fact, to the working-classes the right to live 
 without working constitutes, in itself, a privilege. In 
 their eyes, those who consume without producing are 
 robbers. They demand visible labor, and take no ac- 
 count of the intellectual productions which enrich them. 
 So, by multiplying their objects of envy, } T ou extend 
 the struggle over all parts of the social bod} T , instead 
 of limiting it to a narrow circle. Whenever the attack 
 and the defence become general over the whole field, 
 the ruin of the nation is imminent. There will always 
 be fewer rich than poor ; therefore to the latter victory 
 will belong so soon as the struggle becomes material. 
 And histoiy proves nry position. The Roman republic 
 owed its conquest of the world to the institution of 
 senatorial privilege. The senate upheld the idea of 
 power. But as soon as the knights and the new men 
 extended the action of the government, by enlarging the 
 order of the patricians, the national cause was lost. 
 In spite of Sylla, and after Caesar, Tiberius made 
 Rome an empire, — a system under which power, being 
 concentrated in the hands of one man, gave to tha£ 
 mighty dominion a few more centuries of existence. 
 The emperor was no longer in Rome when the eter 
 nal city fell into the hands of barbarians. When our 
 own soil was conquered, the Franks who divided it in- 
 vented feudal privileges to secure their individual pos- 
 sessions. The hundred, or the thousand chiefs who 
 seized the territory formed their institutions with the 
 object of defending the rights they had won through 
 
174 The Country Doctor. 
 
 conquest. Feudalism lasted just so long as preroga- 
 tive was restricted within limits. But when the num- 
 bers of the privileged class rose from five hundred to 
 fifty thousand there was revolution. The action of 
 their power, by becoming too extended, was without 
 elasticity or strength ; and it was also without defence 
 against the acquired liberties of money and thought 
 which it had not foreseen. Therefore the triumph of 
 the bourgeoisie over the monarchical system, which has 
 for its object the increase, in the eyes of the people, of 
 the numbers of the privileged class, will find its inevi- 
 table end in the triumph of the masses over the bour- 
 geoisie. When that struggle arises, its weapon in 
 hand will be the right of suffrage, given without restric- 
 tion to the masses. He who votes, discusses. Author- 
 ity when discussed does not exist. Can 3-ou imagine a 
 society without authority ? No. Well then, authority 
 means force ; and force rests on a judgment rendered. 
 
 "Such," continued Benassis, " are the reasons which 
 have led me to think that the principle of election is 
 one that will prove fatal to the existence of modern 
 governments. I think I have sufficiently proved my 
 attachment to the poor and suffering ; I cannot be 
 accused of wishing them ill : but while I admire them 
 in the laborious paths they tread with sublime patience 
 and resignation, I declare my belief that the}' are in- 
 capable of sharing in the work of government. The 
 proletaries seem to me the wards of a nation, to remain 
 always under guardianship. And so, in my opinion, 
 messieurs, the word 'election' is about to cause as 
 much harm as the words ' conscience ' and ' liberty,' — 
 words ill-understood and ill-defined, and flung to the 
 
The Country Doctor. 175 
 
 people as the s}-mbols of revolt and the watch- words of 
 destruction. The guardianship of the masses seems 
 to me both just and necessary to the maintenance of 
 societ}-." 
 
 " Your system runs atilt against all the ideas of the 
 present day," said Genestas, interrupting the doctor; 
 " and so we have some right to ask for your reasons." 
 
 " I will give them willingly, captain." 
 
 " What 's that the master is saj'ing?" cried Jac- 
 quotte, returning to her kitchen. "If the poor dear 
 man is n't advising them to crush down the people, and 
 they are listening to him ! " 
 
 " I would n't have believed it of Monsieur Benassis ! " 
 answered Nicolle. 
 
 " If I demand vigorous laws to restrain the ignorant 
 masses," resumed the doctor, after a slight pause, "I 
 also wish the social system to be a light and open net- 
 work, through which every one who feels within himself 
 the faculty for better things may rise above the crowd. 
 All power aims at its own preservation. To live, gov- 
 ernments should, to-day as much as in former days, 
 draw strong men about them, taking such men where- 
 ever they can find them, making defenders of them and 
 thus withdrawing from the masses the element of energy 
 which incites them to revolt. B} T opening to public 
 ambition careers that are both arduous and eas}', — 
 arduous to feeble and half-formed desires, easy to 
 vigorous wills, — a State prevents revolutions caused 
 by the obstructions which superiority encounters when 
 seeking to rise to its proper level. Our forty years 
 of national disturbance ought to prove to men of sense 
 that eminence is the consequence of social order. 
 
176 The Country Doctor. 
 
 Eminence is of three kinds, and all are incontestable : 
 eminence of thought, eminence of political gifts, emi- 
 nence of fortune. Are not these, in other words, art, 
 power, and mone}', — or, the principle, the means, and 
 the result? Now, if we suppose a clean sweep, a tabula 
 rasa, all the social parts absolutely equal, births in the 
 same proportion, and each famil}* owning an equal share 
 of the land, } r ou will soon find the old inequalities 
 of fortune cropping up : and the argument from that 
 flagrant truth is that eminence of fortune, of thought, 
 of power, is a fact that must be submitted to, — a fact 
 which the masses will ever consider oppressive as they 
 see the privileges of the rights so justly acquired. The 
 social contract, resting on this foundation, must there- 
 fore ever be a compact between those who possess and 
 those who possess not. According to this principle, 
 the laws will be made by those whom the laws are to 
 benefit ; for they have, of course, the instinct of self- 
 preservation and the foresight of danger. They are 
 more interested in the tranquillity of the masses than 
 the masses themselves. What the people wants is 
 happiness ready-made. If } T ou consider societ}' from 
 that standpoint, if you view it in its entirety, you will 
 agree with me that the right of election should only be 
 exercised by men who possess propeily, power, or in- 
 telligence ; and you will also admit that their repre- 
 sentatives should possess none but extremely limited 
 functions. The legislator, messieurs, ought to be su- 
 perior to his generation. He takes note of the tendency 
 of public errors, and records the points towards which 
 the ideas of a nation incline ; he works more for the 
 future than for the present ; more for the generation 
 
The Country Doctor. 177 
 
 that is coming than for the one that is passing away. 
 Now, if 3'ou call upon the masses to make the laws, can 
 the masses rise superior to themselves? No. The 
 more faithfully the assembly represents the opinions of 
 the crowd, the less will it understand the true meaning 
 of government, the less elevated will be its views, the 
 less precise, the more vacillating will be its legislation ; 
 for the mob is, in France especially, and ever will be, a 
 mob. The law carries with it subjection to rules ; all 
 rules are in opposition to natural habits, and to the 
 interests of individuals : will the masses ever consent 
 to make or bear laws against themselves? No. Often 
 the tendency of laws must lie in direct opposition to the 
 tendency of habits and customs. Frame the laws on 
 the habits of a people, and you will give a premium of 
 encouragement, in Spain, to fanaticism and do-nothing- 
 ism ; in England, to the mercantile spirit ; in Italy, to 
 the love of arts, destined to express society, but which 
 never can be societ}' itself; in German}', to nobiliary 
 classifications ; and in France, to the spirit of frivolity, 
 to fashions in ideas, to the habit of dividing ourselves 
 into factions by which we are rent to pieces. Look at 
 what has happened in the fort}' years since the electoral 
 colleges first had a hand in the laws : we have fort} r thou- 
 sand laws. A people with forty thousand laws has no 
 law. Can five hundred mediocre intellects — for no gene- 
 ration has more than a hundred great minds at its com- 
 mand — can such intellects have the force to rise above 
 these considerations? No. Men brought from time to 
 time, from five hundred different localities, will never un- 
 derstand the spirit of law in unison : yet law is unity. 
 "But," continued the doctor, "I go further still. 
 
 12 
 
178 The Country Doctor. 
 
 Sooner or later a parliament falls under the sceptre of a 
 man, and instead of having the dynasties of kings, you 
 have the ever- changing and costly ctynasties of prime 
 ministers. At the bottom of all deliberations we find 
 Mirabeau, Dan ton, Robespierre, or Napoleon, — procon- 
 suls or an emperor. In fact, it needs a given quantity 
 of force to raise a given quantity of weight. This force 
 can be divided among a more or less large number 
 of levers ; but their power must be in proportion to 
 the weight. Now here the weight is the ignorant 
 and suffering mass of beings, which make the base 
 of all societies. Power, being in its nature repressive, 
 has need of great concentration to oppose an equal 
 resistance to the surge of popular movement. That 
 is the application of the principle I stated to 30U 
 just now, when speaking of the restriction of the gov- 
 ernment privilege to the few. If you admit men of 
 talent, they bow to this natural law and bring the na- 
 tion under it ; if 3-011 assemble men of inferior qualities, 
 they are vanquished sooner or later, b} T the superior 
 element : the deputy of talent recognizes the reasons of 
 State, the man of mediocrity makes terms with force. 
 In short, an assembly yields to an idea, like the Con- 
 vention during the Terror ; to a power, like the Corps 
 Legislatif under Napoleon ; to a system or to mone}', 
 as it does to-da} T . The republican parliament of which 
 some good souls dream is an impossibility ; those who 
 wish it are ready-made dupes, or future tyrants. A 
 deliberating assembly which discusses the dangers of a 
 nation when it ought to force it to take action, is ridic- 
 ulous ; don't }'ou think so? Let the people send repre- 
 sentatives to impose or rescind taxes ; that, indeed, is 
 
The Country Doctor. 179 
 
 just and has been allowed at all times, — by the worst 
 tyrants as well as the most compliant of kings. Let 
 this elective bod}', which changes like the needs and 
 the ideas which it represents, oppose, on behalf of all, 
 the concession of obedience to a bad law ; that is well. 
 But suppose five hundred men, gathered from all parts 
 of the empire, were to make a good law ; would it not 
 be a poor joke which sooner or later the populations 
 would have to pay for ? They change tyrants, that is 
 all. Authority and law ought therefore to be the work 
 of one, who, b} r the force of things, is continually com- 
 pelled to submit his actions to public approbation. But 
 the modifications brought into the exercise of power — 
 whether that of one man, or of many men, or of a mul- 
 titude — can only be found in the religious institutions 
 of a people. Religion is the only counterbalancing agent 
 that is really efficacious against abuses of the supreme 
 power. If the religious sentiment perishes among a 
 people, the masses become seditious on principle, and 
 the prince makes himself a tyrant b} T necessity. The 
 Chambers which are interposed between the sovereign 
 and his subjects are mere palliatives to these two ten- 
 dencies. Parliamentary assemblies, as T have just said, 
 become the accomplice of insurrection or of tyranny. 
 
 " Nevertheless," continued Benassis, checking himself, 
 "the government of one, towards which I lean, is not 
 an unmixed good ; for the result of politics will depend 
 forever on manners and morals and beliefs. If a nation 
 has grown old, if philosophy and the spirit of con- 
 trovers}' have corrupted it to the marrow of its bones, 
 that nation is marching on to despotism in spite of its 
 forms of liberty ; in like manner, the sounder nations 
 
 
180 The Country Doctor. 
 
 will find liberty in spite of the forms of despotism. 
 From all this comes the necessity for great restrictions 
 on electoral rights, the necessit} T for a strong authority, 
 the necessity for a powerful religion which shall make 
 the rich man the friend of the poor man, and teach the 
 poor entire resignation. Also there is urgent need of 
 confining parliaments to questions of taxation, and the 
 enrolment of the laws, taking from them the direct duty 
 of law-making. Mairy minds form other ideas on this 
 subject, I know. To-da}', as in former da3*s, we find 
 men searching ardently for the highest good, who desire 
 to change the ordering of society to something wiser 
 and better than at present. But innovations which tend 
 towards complete social upsetting, must have a univer- 
 sal sanction. To such innovators I advise patience. 
 When I consider the time which was required for the 
 establishment of Christianity, a moral revolution which 
 was meant to be purely pacific, I shudder to think of 
 the horrors of a revolution for material interests, and 
 jl cling to the maintenance of existing institutions. To 
 each his own thought, sa} T s Christianity : to each his 
 own field, says modern law. Modern law has placed 
 itself in harmon} r with Christianity. To each his own 
 thought, is a consecration of the rights of intellect ; to 
 each his own field, is the consecration of the rights of 
 property won by the toils of labor. Out of this comes 
 society. Nature has founded human life on the senti- 
 ment of self-preservation ; social life is founded on 
 self-interest. Those seem to me the essential politi- 
 cal principles. In subordinating these two egotistic 
 sentiments to the thought of a future life, religion 
 i softens the hardship of social contacts. Thus, God tern- 
 
The Country Doctor, 181 
 
 pers the sufferings that come through the friction of 
 interests by the sentiment of religion, which has made 
 self-forge tfulness a virtue, just as he has lessened, 
 through the action of unknown laws, the frictions in the 
 mechanism of his worlds. Christianity bids the poor 
 to bear with the rich, and commands the rich to com- 
 fort the miseries of the poor ; to me, those words are 
 the essence of all laws, human or divine." 
 
 " I, who am not a statesman," said the notary, " I call 
 a sovereign the liquidator of a society that ought to 
 be in a perpetual state of liquidation ; he transmits to 
 his successor a capital equal to the one he received — " 
 
 " I am not a statesman," said Benassis, quickly. " It 
 only needs plain common-sense to improve the condi- 
 tion of a district, a village, or an arrondissement. Tal- 
 ent of course is necessaiy to govern a department, but 
 those four spheres of administration have horizons which 
 can be taken in at a glance by ordinary eyes ; their in- 
 terests, however, are fastened to the greater interests 
 of the State b} T visible ties. In the higher regions all 
 is on the larger scale ; the e3'e of a statesman ought to 
 see the whole field from the vantage-ground on which 
 he is placed. To produce much good in a department, 
 an arrondissement, a district, or a village, it is only 
 necessary to foresee results for ten j'ears ahead ; but 
 when the nation is in question, a statesman must fore- 
 cast its destinies and measure its course throughout a 
 century. The genius of a Colbert and a Sully is noth- 
 ing unless it rests upon the will which made the Napo- 
 leons and the Cromwells. A great minister, messieurs, 
 is a great thought, written upon all the } T ears of the 
 centiuy whose splendor and prosperity are his work. 
 
182 The Country Doctor* 
 
 ' Stability is the quality he most needs. Indeed, in all 
 things human, is not stabilit} 7 the highest expression of 
 strength? We have seen too many men of late with 
 ministerial ideas instead of national ideas, not to ad- 
 mire the true statesman as one who presents to us the 
 greatest of human poems. To look beyond the present 
 and forestall destiny ; to be above power, and to hold 
 it only from a conviction of usefulness ; to la} 7 aside his 
 passions and all vulgar ambitions that he may remain 
 master of his faculties, and foresee, decide, and act 
 unceasingly ; to make himself just and absolute ; to 
 maintain order on the grandest scale ; to impose silence 
 on his own heart, and listen only to his intellect ; to 
 be neither trustful nor distrustful, neither grateful nor 
 ungrateful, never unprepared for an event, nor sur- 
 prised by an idea ; to live, in short, by the esteem of 
 the masses, and hold the master}' by spreading over 
 them the wings of his own spirit, seeing, not the de- 
 tails, but the consequences of everything, — is not that 
 to be a little more than man ? The names of those 
 great and glorious fathers of the nations should be held 
 . forever in popular remembrance." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, during which the 
 guests looked at each other. 
 
 " Messieurs, you have said nothing of the army," 
 cried Genestas. wt The military organization seems to 
 me the true type for all good civil society ; the sword 
 is the guardian of a people." 
 
 " Captain," replied the justice of the peace, laughing, 
 " an old lawyer once said that empires began by the 
 sword and ended with an inkstand ; we have got to 
 the inkstand." 
 
The Country Doctor. 183 
 
 " Messieurs, now that we have settled the destinies 
 of the world, let us talk of other things. Captain, take 
 a glass of Hermitage," cried the doctor, gayly. 
 
 " Two, rather than one," said Genestas, holding out 
 his glass ; " I will drink them to your health, as to that 
 of a man who does honor to our species." 
 
 " And whom we love," said the curate in a gentle 
 voice. 
 
 " Monsieur Janvier, do 3*011 wish to make me commit 
 the sin of pride ? " 
 
 " Monsieur le cure said in a low voice what all the 
 district says in a loud one," said Cambon. 
 
 " Messieurs, I propose that we escort Monsieur Jan- 
 vier to the parsonage ; it is bright moonlight." 
 
 "So be it," said the guests, and the}* prepared to 
 accompany the curate. 
 
 " Now let us go to my barn," said the doctor, taking 
 Genestas by the arm, after saying good-night to the 
 curate and his other guests. " And there, Captain 
 Bluteau, you will hear about Napoleon. We shall find 
 a few old cronies who will set Goguelat, the postman, 
 to declaiming about the people's god. Nicolle, my 
 stable-man, was to put a ladder by which we can get 
 into the ha}*-loft through a window, and find a place 
 where we can see and hear all that goes on. A veillee 
 is worth the trouble, believe me. Come ; it is n't the 
 first time I 've hidden in the hay to hear the tale of a 
 soldier or some peasant 3*arn. But we must hide ; if 
 these poor people see a stranger the}* are constrained 
 at once, and are no longer their natural selves." 
 
 "Eh! my dear host," said Genestas, "haven't I 
 
184 The Country Doctor. 
 
 often pretended to sleep, that I might listen to my 
 troopers round a bivouac ? I never laughed more 
 heartily in the Paris theatres than I did at an account 
 of the retreat from Moscow, told in fun, by an old ser- 
 geant to a lot of recruits who were afraid of war. He 
 declared the French army slept in sheets, and drank its 
 wine well-iced ; that the dead stood still in the roads ; 
 Russia was white ; they curried the horses with their 
 teeth; those who liked to skate had lots of fun, and 
 those who fancied frozen puddings ate their fill ; the 
 women were usually cold, and the onry thing that was 
 really disagreeable was the want of hot water to shave 
 with ; in short, he recounted such absurdities that an old 
 quartermaster, who had had his nose frozen off and was 
 known by the name of Nez-restant, laughed himself." 
 
 " Hush," said Benassis, " here we are ; I '11 go first ; 
 follow me." 
 
 The pair mounted the ladder and crouched in the hay, 
 without being seen or heard by the people below, and 
 placed themselves at ease, so that they could see and 
 hear all that went on. The women were sitting in groups 
 round the three or four candles that stood on the tables. 
 Some were sewing, some knitting ; several sat idle, their 
 necks stretched out and their heads and e}"es turned to 
 an old peasant who was telling a story. Most of the 
 men were standing, or lying on bales of hay. These 
 groups, all perfectly silent, were scarcely visible in the 
 flickering glimmer of the tallow-candles encircled by 
 glass bowls full of water, which concentrated the light 
 in raj's upon the women at work about the tables. The 
 size of the barn, whose roof was dark and sombre, still 
 further obscured the rays of light, which touched the 
 
The Country Doctor. 185 
 
 heads with unequal color, and brought out picturesque 
 effects of light and shade. Here, the brown forehead 
 and the clear eyes of an eager little peasant-girl shone 
 forth ; there, the rough brows of a few old men were 
 sharply defined by a luminous band, which made fan- 
 tastic shapes of their worn and discolored garments. 
 These various listeners, so diverse in their attitudes, all 
 expressed on their motionless features the absolute 
 abandonment of their intelligence to the narrator. It 
 was a curious picture, illustrating the enormous influ- 
 ence exercised over every class of mind by poetry. In 
 exacting from a story-teller the marvellous that must 
 still be simple, or the impossible that is almost believ- 
 able, the peasant proves himself to be a true lover of 
 the purest poetry. 
 
 "Though the house had an evil look," the peasant 
 was saying as the new listeners settled themselves in 
 the hay, "that poor hunchbacked woman was so tired 
 after carrying her hemp to market that she went in ; 
 besides, night was coming on. She asked for nothing 
 but a place to sleep in ; as for food, she pulled a crust 
 out of her wallet and ate it. So then, the woman of 
 the house, who was the wife of the brigands, not know- 
 ing what they had agreed to do that night, welcomed 
 the hunchback and put her in an upper room without a 
 light. The poor thing threw herself on a miserable 
 pallet, said her prayers, thought about her hemp, and 
 began to go to sleep ; but before she was fairly off, she 
 heard a noise, and saw two men come in with a lantern ; 
 each of them held a knife. She was seized with fear, 
 because, don't you see, the great lords liked patties 
 made of human flesh, and in those days people made 
 
186 The Country Doctor. 
 
 them for them. But the old woman's skin was as hard 
 as horn, and she comforted herself by thinking that 
 they'd know she was bad eating. The two men passed 
 the hunchback and went to a bed that stood in the great 
 attic, and in which the}' had put the gentleman with 
 the big valise, who was supposed to be a necromancer. 
 The tallest of the two men raised the lantern, and took 
 the gentleman by the feet; then the shortest — he that 
 had pretended drunk — la}' hold of his head, and cut it 
 off in a twinkling, with one blow, — crack ! Then they 
 left the head and the body lying there all in the blood, 
 and stole the valise, and went away. Now here 's the 
 old woman in a fine quandary what to do. First she 
 thought of getting away without being seen, not know- 
 ing as yet that Providence had put her there for the 
 glory of God and the punishment of the crime. She 
 was afraid, and when people are afraid they don't 
 trouble themselves about other things. But the woman 
 of the house frightened the brigands by asking about the 
 hunchback, and so the}*- came softl}' back, up the little 
 wooden staircase. The poor creature crouched in a 
 heap with fear, and heard them disputing in a low 
 voice: 'I tell you to kill her.' 'We mustn't kill 
 her.' ' Kill her, I sa} r .' ' No ! ' The old woman, who 
 was n't a fool, shut up her eyes and pretended to sleep. 
 She lay like an infant, with her hand on her heart, and 
 breathing as easy as a cherub. The man that held the 
 lantern opened the slide and flashed the light on the 
 eyes of the old woman ; but she never winked, for she 
 was afraid of her life. ' Don't you see she sleeps like 
 a dormouse?' says the tall one. 'Old women are so 
 sly,' answers the short one ; ' I shall kill her, and then 
 
The Country Doctor. 187 
 
 we '11 be easy. We can salt her, and feed her to the 
 pigs.' Though she heard every word of this, the old 
 hunchback never stirred. ' Well, well, she really is 
 asleep,' said the short bully, seeing that she did n't 
 budge. That's how she saved her life. And you may 
 well say she was courageous. There 's not many young 
 girls here that would breathe like the cherubim if they 
 heard talk of pigs. The two brigands then began to 
 cany away the dead man. They rolled him up in a 
 sheet and flung him into the courtyard ; and the old 
 hunchback heard the pigs grunting ' hon, hon ! ' and 
 hustling about to eat him. 
 
 " So then, the next daj-," resumed the narrator, after 
 a pause, " the hunchback left the house, after paying 
 two sous for her lodging. She took her wallet, be- 
 haved as if nothing had happened, asked the news of 
 the neighborhood, went out quietly, and then, you may 
 think she ran away. Not at all ; fear clogged her legs, 
 — but to her great good luck, as you shall see. She 
 had n't gone half a mile when she saw one of the brig- 
 ands following her, to spy if she really had seen noth- 
 ing. She guessed what he was after, and sat down on 
 a stone. ' What 's the matter, my good woman ? ' said 
 the short brigand, — for it was the short one, the worst 
 of the two, that was after her. ' Ah, my good man,' 
 she answered, ' my wallet is so heavy, and I 'm so 
 tired ; I do want the arm of an honest man to get 
 home on ' (j-ou see she was a sly one). So then the brig- 
 and offered to accompan}^ her. She accepted. The 
 man took her arm in his to see if she was afraid. Hey ! 
 the woman did n't tremble a bit, and walked along quite 
 at her ease. So there they were, talking agriculture and 
 
188 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the best way to grow hemp, till they got to the en- 
 trance of the town where the hunchback lived, and 
 then the brigand left her, for fear of meeting some one 
 who would bring him to justice. The woman got home 
 at noon, and thought over all the events of her journey, 
 and of the night before, while waiting for her husband. 
 The hemp-grower came home towards evening. He 
 was hungry and wanted food. While she was greas- 
 ing her pan to fry him something, she told how she 
 had sold the hemp, and went on gossiping, woman- 
 fashion ; but she didn't say a word about the pigs, or 
 the gentleman who was robbed and murdered and eaten. 
 She fired her greasy pan, so as to clean it ; but when 
 she came to wipe it, it was full of blood. ' What did 
 you put into it? ' she says to her husband. ' Nothing,' 
 he answers. She thought she must have got some 
 woman's crotchet in her head, so she put the pan back 
 on the fire. Behold ! down came a head through the 
 chimne} r . ' Just look at that ! ' said the old woman ; 
 4 if it is n't the very head of the dead man. Goodness ! 
 how he looks at me. What can he want?' ' That you 
 avenge me ! ' said a voice. ' What a fool 3-011 are ! ' 
 said the hemp-grower ; 'you're as blind as a mole, and 
 you haven't got common-sense. With that he takes 
 the head, which bit his fingers, and flung it into the 
 3 T ard. ' Make me an omelet,' he said, ' and don't you 
 worry about that ; it 's a cat.' ' A cat ! ' she cried ; 
 4 why, it was as round as a ball.' She put her frying- 
 pan on the fire and, lo and behold ! down came a leg. 
 Same thing over again. The man, who was n't any 
 more surprised to see the leg than he had been to see 
 the head, laid hold of it and threw it into the yard- 
 
The Country Doctor. 189 
 
 To cut a long stoiy short, the other leg, two arms, the 
 body, and the whole of the murdered traveller came 
 down the chimney, one after the other. No omelet, of 
 course. The old hemp-man got very hungry. ' By the 
 powers above ! ' said he, ' if m} r omelet is n't made, I'll 
 find a waj^ of settling that man.' ' Then you do admit 
 it is a man ? ' said the hunchback. ' Wiry did } T ou stand 
 me out just now that it was n't a head, }x>u great plague, 
 you ? ' The old woman broke the eggs and fried the 
 omelet, and served it without any further grumbling, 
 for the squabble made her rather uneasy. The hus- 
 band sat down and began to eat. The hunchback, who 
 was frightened, said she was n't hungiy. Tap, tap ! came 
 a knock on the door. ' Come,' said the hemp-grower. 
 In walked the dead traveller, who sat down on a stool, 
 and said : ' Remember God, who gives eternal peace to 
 those who believe in His name ! Woman, thou didst 
 see me put to death, and thou hast said nothing ! I 
 have been eaten by hogs ! Hogs cannot enter paradise. 
 Therefore I, who am a Christian, must go to hell, be- 
 cause a woman holds her tongue. Such a thing was 
 never known before. Thou must deliver me,' — and 
 much more such talk. The hunchback, who was getting 
 more and more frightened, cleaned up her ftying-pan, 
 put on her Sunday clothes, and went and told the truth 
 to the justice ; so the crime was found out, and the 
 robbers were very properly broken on the wheel in the 
 market-place. After this the couple had what was 
 much more agreeable to them, to wit, a male child, 
 who became in course of time a king's baron. Now 
 that 's the true storv of the Courageous Hunchbacked 
 Woman." 
 
190 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " I don't like such stories," said the Fosseuse, 
 " the}' make me dream. I prefer the adventures of 
 Napoleon." 
 
 "That's right," said the game-keeper. "Come, 
 Monsieur Goguelat, tell us about the Emperor." 
 
 " The evening is half over," said the postman, " and 
 I don't like to shorten the victories." 
 
 " Never mind ; go on ! You 've told them so many 
 times we know them all by heart ; but it is always a 
 pleasure to hear them again." 
 
 " Yes ! tell us about the Emperor," cried many voices 
 together. 
 
 " Since } t ou wish it," replied Goguelat. " But you '11 
 see it is n't worth much when I have to tell it on the 
 double-quick, charge ! I 'd rather tell about a battle. 
 Shall I tell about Champ- Aubert, where we used up all 
 the cartridges and spitted the enem}^ on our bayonets ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! the Emperor ! the Emperor ! " 
 
 The veteran rose from his bale of hay and cast upon 
 the assemblage that black look laden with miseries, 
 emergencies, and sufferings, which distinguishes the 
 faces of old soldiers. He seized his jacket bj' the two 
 front flaps, raised them as if about to pack the knap- 
 sack which formerly held his clothes, his shoes, and all 
 his fortune ; then he threw the weight of his bod}' on 
 his left leg, advanced the right, and yielded with a good 
 grace to the demands of the company. After pushing 
 his gray hair to one side to show his forehead, he raised 
 his head towards heaven that he might, as it were, put 
 himself on the level of the gigantic history he was about 
 to relate. 
 
 " You see, nry friends, Napoleon was born in Cor- 
 
The Country Doctor. 191 
 
 sica, a French island, warmed b}^ the sun of Italy, 
 where it is like a furnace, and where the people kill 
 each other, from father to son, all about nothing : that's 
 a way they have. To begin with the marvel of the 
 thing, — his mother, who was the handsomest woman of 
 her time, and a knowing one, bethought herself of dedi- 
 cating him to God, so that he might escape the dangers 
 of his childhood and future life ; for she had dreamed that 
 the world was set on fire the day he was born. And 
 indeed it was a prophecy ! So she asked God to protect 
 him, on condition that Napoleon should restore His holy 
 religion, which was then cast to the ground. Well, that 
 was agreed upon, and we shall see what came of it. 
 
 " Follow me closely, and tell me if what you hear is 
 in the nature of man. 
 
 " Sure and certain it is that none but a man who 
 conceived the idea of making a compact with God 
 could have passed unhurt through the enemy's lines, 
 through cannon-balls, and discharges of grape-shot that 
 swept the rest of us off like flies, and always respected 
 his head. I had proof of that — I myself — at Eylau. 
 I see him now, as he rode up a height, took his field- 
 glass, looked at the battle, and said, ' All goes well.' 
 One of those plumed busy-bodies, who plagued him 
 considerably and followed him ever}' where, even to his 
 meals, so the}^ said, thought to play the wag, and 
 took the Emperor's place as he rode away. Ho ! in a 
 twinkling, head and plume were off! You must under- 
 stand that Napoleon had promised to keep the secret of 
 his compact all to himself. That 's why all those who 
 followed him, even his nearest friends, fell like nuts, — 
 Duroc, Bessieres, Lannes, — all strong as steel bars, 
 
192 The Country Doctor. 
 
 though he could bend them as he pleased. Besides, — 
 to prove he was the child of God, and made to be the 
 father of soldiers, — was he ever known to be lieutenant 
 or captain? no, no; commander-in-chief from the start. 
 He did n't look to be more than twenty-four years of 
 age when he was an old general at the taking of Tou- 
 lon, where he first began to show the others that the}* 
 knew nothing about manoeuvring cannon. 
 
 " After that, down came our slip of a general to com- 
 mand the grand army of Italy, which had n't bread, nor 
 munitions, nor shoes, nor coats, — a poor army, as naked 
 as a worm. 'My- friends,' said he, ' here we are together. 
 Get it into your pates that fifteen days from now you 
 will be conquerors, — new clothes, good gaiters, famous 
 shoes, and ever}- man with a great-coat ; but, my children, 
 to get these things you must march to Milan where they 
 are.' And we marched. France, crushed as flat as a 
 bed-bug, straightened up. We were thirty thousand 
 bare-feet against eight} 7 thousand Austrian bullies, all 
 fine men, well set-up. I see 'em now ! But Napoleon 
 — he was then only Bonaparte — he knew how to put 
 the courage into us ! We marched by night, and 
 we marched by day ; we slapped their faces at Monte- 
 notte, we thrashed them at Rivoli, Lodi, Arcole, Mil- 
 lesimo, and we never let 'em up. A soldier gets the 
 taste of conquest. So Napoleon whirled round those 
 Austrian generals, who did n't know where to poke 
 themselves to get out of his way, and he pelted 'em 
 well, — nipped off ten thousand men at a blow some- 
 times, by getting round them with fifteen hundred 
 Frenchmen, and then he gleaned as he pleased. He 
 took their cannon, their supplies, their money, their 
 
The Country Doctor. 193 
 
 munitions, in short, all they had that was good to take. 
 He fought them and beat them on the mountains, he 
 drove them into the rivers and seas, he bit 'em in the 
 air, he devoured 'em on the ground, and he lashed 'em 
 everywhere. Hey ! the grand army feathered itself 
 well; for, d'ye see, the Emperor, who was also a wit, 
 called up the inhabitants and told them he was there to 
 deliver them. So after that the natives lodged and 
 cherished us ; the women too, and very judicious they 
 were. Now here's the end of it. In Ventose, '96, — 
 in those times that was the month of March of to-day, 
 — we lay cuddled in a corner of Savoie with the mar- 
 mots ; and yet, before that campaign was over, we were 
 masters of Italy, just as Napoleon had predicted ; and 
 b} 7 the followiag March — in a single year and two cam- 
 paigns — he had brought us within sight of Vienna. 
 'T was a clean sweep. We devoured their armies, one 
 after the other, and made an end of four Austrian 
 generals. One old fellow, with white hair, was roasted 
 like a rat in the straw at Mantua. Kings begged for 
 mercy on their knees ! Peace was won. 
 
 " Could a man have done that? No; God helped 
 him, to a certainty ! 
 
 " He divided himself up like the loaves in the Gos- 
 pel, commanded the battle by day, planned it by night ; 
 going and coming, for the sentinels saw him, — never 
 eating, never sleeping. So, seeing these prodigies, the 
 soldiers adopted him for their father. Forward, march ! 
 Then those others, the rulers in Paris, seeing this, said 
 to themselves : ' Here 's a bold one that seems to .get 
 his orders from the skies ; he 's likely to put his paw on 
 France. We must let him loose on Asia ; we will send 
 
 13 
 
194 The Country Doctor. 
 
 him to America, perhaps that will satisfy him.' But 
 't was written above for him, as it was for Jesus Christ. 
 The command went forth that he should go to Egj-pt. 
 See, again, his resemblance to the Son of God. But 
 that 's not all. He called together his best veterans, 
 his fire-eaters, the ones he had particularly put the 
 devil into, and he said to them like this : ' My friends, 
 they have given us Egypt to chew up, just to keep us 
 bus} r , but we '11 swallow it whole in a couple of cam- 
 paigns, as we did Italy. The common soldiers shall be 
 princes and have the laud for their own. Forward, 
 march ! ' ' Forward, march ! ' cried the sergeants, and 
 there we were at Toulon, road to Eg}pt. At that time 
 the English had all their ships in the sea ; but when we 
 embarked. Napoleon said, k They won't see us. It is 
 just as well that you should know from this time forth 
 that your general has got his star in the sky, which 
 guides and protects us.' What was said was done. 
 Passing over the sea, we took Malta like an orange, 
 just to quench his thirst for victory ; for he was a man 
 who could n't live and do nothing. 
 
 " So here we are in Egypt. Good. Once here, other 
 orders. The Eg3'ptians, d' ye see, are men who, ever 
 since the earth was, have had giants for sovereigns, and 
 armies as numerous as ants ; for, }ou must understand, 
 that 's the land of genii and crocodiles, where they 've 
 built pyramids as big as our mountains, and buried their 
 kings under them to keep them fresh, — an idea that 
 pleased 'em mightily. So then, after we disembarked, 
 the Little Corporal said to us, ' My children, the coun- 
 ty you are going to conquer has a lot of gods that you 
 must respect ; because Frenchmen ought to be friends 
 
The Country Doctor. 195 
 
 with everybody, and fight the nations without vexing 
 the inhabitants. Get it into your skulls that you are 
 not to touch anything at first, for it is all going to be 
 yours soon. Forward, march ! ' So far, so good. But 
 all those people of Africa, to whom Napoleon was fore- 
 told under the name of Kebir-Bonaberdis, — a word of 
 their lingo that means ' the sultan fires,' — were afraid 
 as the devil of him. So the Grand-Turk, and Asia, and 
 Africa, had recourse to magic. They sent us a demon, 
 named the Mahdi, supposed to have descended from 
 heaven on a white horse, which, like its master, was 
 bullet-proof; and both of them lived on air, without food 
 to support them. There are some that say the}* saw 
 them ; but I can't give you any reasons to make you 
 certain about that. The rulers of Arabia and the 
 Mamelukes tried to make their troopers believe that the 
 Mahdi could keep them from perishing in battle ; and 
 they pretended he was an angel sent from heaven to 
 fight Napoleon and get back Solomon's seal. Solomon's 
 seal was part of their paraphernalia which the} T vowed 
 our general had stolen. You must understand that we 'd 
 given 'em a good many wry faces, in spite of what he 
 had said to us. 
 
 "Now, tell me how they knew that Napoleon had a 
 pact with God ? Was that natural, d' ye think ? 
 
 ' ' They held to it in their minds that Napoleon com- 
 manded the genii, and could pass hither and thither in 
 the twinkling of an e3*e, like a bird. The fact is, he 
 was eveiy where. At last, it came to his carrying off a 
 queen, beautiful as the dawn, for whom he had offered 
 all his treasure, and diamonds as big as pigeon's eggs, — 
 a bargain which the Mameluke to whom she partial- 
 
196 The Country Doctor. 
 
 larly belonged positively refused, although he had sev- 
 eral others. Such matters, when they come to that pass, 
 can't be settled without a great many battles ; and, 
 indeed, there was no scarcit} 7 of battles ; there was 
 fighting enough to please everybod}\ We were in line 
 at Alexandria, at Gizeh, and before the Pj'ramids ; we 
 marched in the sun and through the sand, where some, 
 who had the dazzles, saw water that they could n't 
 drink, and shade where their flesh was roasted. But 
 we made short work of the Mamelukes ; and everybody 
 else yielded at the voice of Napoleon, who took pos- 
 session of Upper and Lower Egypt, Arabia, and even 
 the capitals of kingdoms that were no more, where 
 there were thousand of statues and all the plagues of 
 Egypt, more particularly lizards, — a mammoth of a 
 country where everybody could take his acres of land 
 for as little as he pleased. Well, while Napoleon was 
 busy with his affairs inland, — where he had it in his 
 head to do fine things, — the English burned his fleet 
 at Aboukir ; for the}' were always looking about them 
 to annoy us. But Napoleon, who had the respect of 
 the East and of the West, whom the Pope called his 
 son, and the cousin of Mohammed called 4 his dear 
 father,' resolved to punish England, and get hold of 
 India in exchange for his fleet. He was just about to 
 take us across the Red Sea into Asia, a country where 
 there are diamonds and gold to pay the soldiers and 
 palaces for bivouacs, when the Mahdi made a treaty 
 with the Plague, and sent it down to hinder our victo- 
 ries. Halt ! The army to a man defiled at that parade ; 
 and few they were who came back on their feet. Dying 
 soldiers could n't take Saint- Jean d'Acre, though they 
 
The Country Doctor. 197 
 
 rushed at it three times with generous and martial 
 obstinac3'. The Plague was the strongest. No sa}'ing 
 to that enemy, ' M}' good friend.' Every soldier lay 
 ill. Napoleon alone was fresh as a rose, and the whole 
 army saw him drinking in pestilence without its doing 
 him a bit of harm. 
 
 " Ha ! my friends ! will you tell me that that's in the 
 nature of a mere man ? 
 
 " The Mamelukes, knowing we were all in the ambu- 
 lances, thought they could stop the wa}* ; but that sort 
 of joke would n't do with Napoleon. So he said to his 
 demons, his veterans, those that had the toughest hide, 
 ' Go, clear me the way.' Junot, a sabre of the first cut, 
 and his particular friend, took a thousand men, no 
 more, and ripped up the army of the pacha who had 
 had the presumption to put himself in the way. After 
 that, we came back to headquarters at Cairo. Now, 
 here 's another side of the stor} T . Napoleon absent, 
 France was letting herself be ruined by the rulers in 
 Paris, who kept back the pay of the soldiers of the 
 other armies, and their clothing, and their rations ; 
 left them to die of hunger, and expected them to la} T 
 down the law to the universe without taking any trouble 
 to help them. Idiots ! who amused themselves 03- chat- 
 tering, instead of putting their own hands in the dough. 
 Well, that 's how it happened that our armies were 
 beaten, and the frontiers of France were encroached 
 upon : The Man was not there. Now observe, I say 
 man because that 's what they called him ; but 't was 
 nonsense, for he had a star and all its belongings ; it 
 was we who were only men. He taught history to 
 France after his famous battle of Aboukir, where, with- 
 
198 The Country Doctor. 
 
 out losing more than three hundred men, and with a 
 single division, he vanquished the grand arm} 7 of the 
 Turk, seventy-five thousand strong, and hustled more 
 than half of it into the sea, r-r-rah ! 
 
 " That was his last thunder-clap in Egypt. He said 
 to himself, seeing the way things were going in Paris, 
 ' I am the saviour of France. I know it, and I must 
 go.' But, understand me, the army didn't know he 
 was going, or they 'd have kept him by force and made 
 him Emperor of the East. So now we w r ere sad ; for 
 He was gone who was all our joy. He left the com- 
 mand to Kleber, a big mastiff, who came off duty at 
 Cairo, assassinated by an Egyptian, whom they put to 
 death by empaling him on a bayonet ; that 's the way 
 they guillotine people down there. But it makes 'em 
 suffer so much that a soldier had pit}' on the criminal 
 and gave him his canteen ; and then, as soon as the 
 Egyptian had drunk his fill, he gave up the ghost with 
 all the pleasure in life. But that's a trifle we could n't 
 laugh at then. Napoleon embarked in a cockleshell, a 
 little skiff that was nothing at all, though 't was called 
 1 Fortune ; ' and in a twinkling, under the nose of Eng- 
 land, who was blockading him with ships of the line, 
 frigates, and anything that could hoist a sail, he crossed 
 over, and there he was in France. For he always had 
 the power, mind you, of crossing the seas at one 
 straddle. 
 
 " Was that a human man? Bah ! 
 
 " So, one minute he is at Frejus, the next in Paris. 
 There, they all adore him ; but he summons the govern- 
 ment. fc What have you done with my children, the 
 soldiers?' he says to the lawyers. 'You're a mob of 
 
The Country Doctor. 199 
 
 rascally scribblers ; }'ou are making France a mess of 
 pottage, and snapping your fingers at what people think 
 of you. It won't do ; and I speak the opinion of ever} T - 
 body.' So, on that, they wanted to battle with him 
 and kill him — click ! he had 'em locked up in barracks, 
 or flying out of windows, or drafted among his fol- 
 lowers, where they were as mute as fishes, and as pli- 
 able as a quid of tobacco. After that stroke — consul ! 
 And then, as it was not for him to doubt the Supreme 
 Being, he fulfilled his promise to the good God, who, 
 you see, had kept His word to him. He gave Him back 
 his churches, and re-established His religion ; the bells 
 rang for God and for him : and lo ! everybody was 
 pleased ; pri?no, the priests, whom he saved from be- 
 ing harassed ; secundo, the bourgeois, who thought 
 only of their trade, and no longer had to fear the ra- 
 piamus of the law, which had got to be unjust ; tertio, 
 the nobles, for he forbade they should be killed, as, 
 unfortunately, the people had got the habit of doing. 
 
 "But he still had the Enemy to wipe out; and he 
 wasn't the man to go to sleep at a mess-table, because, 
 d'3 T e see, his e}e looked over the whole earth as if it 
 were no bigger than a man's head. So then he ap- 
 peared in Italy, like as though he had stuck his head 
 through the window. One glance was enough. The 
 Austrians were swallowed up at Marengo like so man}' 
 gudgeons by a whale ! Ouf ! The French eagles sang 
 their pagans so loud that all the world heard them — 
 and it sufficed ! ' We won't play that game any more,' 
 said the German. ' Enough, enough ! ' said all the 
 rest. To sum up: Europe backed down, England 
 knocked under. General peace ; and the kings and 
 
200 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the peoples made believe kiss each other. That 's the 
 time when the Emperor invented the Legion of honor — 
 and a fine thing, too. ' In France ' — this is what he 
 said at Boulogne before the whole array — ' eveiy man 
 is brave. So the citizen who does a fine action shall 
 be sister to the soldier, and the soldier shall be his 
 brother, and the two shall be one under the flag of 
 honor.' 
 
 " We, who were down in Egypt, now came home. 
 All was changed ! He left us general, and he}" ! in a 
 twinkling we found him Emperor. France gave her- 
 self to him, like a fine girl to a lancer. When it 
 was done — to the satisfaction of all, as } T ou may 
 say — a sacred ceremony took place, the like of which 
 was never seen under the canop} 7 of the skies. The 
 Pope and the cardinals, in their red and gold vestments, 
 crossed the Alps expressly to crown him before the 
 army and the people, who clapped their hands. There 
 is one thing that I should do ver} T wrong not to tell 
 you. In Eg} r pt, in the desert close to Syria, the Red 
 Man came to him on the Mount of Moses, and said, 
 ' All is well.' Then, at Marengo, the night before the 
 victory, the same Red Man appeared before him for the 
 second time, standing erect and saying : ' Thou shalt 
 see the world at thy feet ; thou shalt be Emperor of 
 France, King of Italy, master of Holland, sovereign of 
 Spain, Portugal, and the Illyrian provinces, protector 
 of Germany, saviour of Poland, first eagle of the Legion 
 of honor — all.' This Red Man, } t ou understand, was 
 his genius, his spirit, — a sort of satellite who served 
 him, as some sa} T , to communicate with his star. I 
 never really believed that. But the Red Man himself 
 
The Country Doctor. 201 
 
 Is a true fact. Napoleon spoke of him, and said he 
 came to him in troubled moments, and lived in the 
 palace of the Tuileries under the roof. So, on the day 
 of the coronation, Napoleon saw him for the third time ; 
 and they were in consultation over many things. 
 
 " After that, Napoleon went to Milan to be crowned 
 king of Italy, and there the grand triumph of the soldier 
 began. Every man who could write was made an 
 officer. Down came pensions ; it rained duchies ; treas- 
 ures poured in for the staff which did n't cost France a 
 pen ivy ; and the Legion of honor provided incomes for 
 the private soldiers, — of which I receive mine to this 
 da}-. So here were the armies maintained as never 
 before on this earth. But besides that, the Emperor, 
 knowing that he was to be the emperor of the whole 
 world, bethought him of the bourgeois, and to please 
 them he built fairy monuments, after their own ideas, in 
 places where you'd never think to find any. For in- 
 stance, suppose you were coming back from Spain and 
 going to Berlin — well, you 'd find triumphal arches along 
 the way, with common soldiers sculptured on the stone, 
 every bit the same as generals. In two or three years, 
 and without imposing taxes on an}- of you, Napoleon 
 filled his vaults with gold, built palaces, made bridges, 
 roads, scholars, fetes, laws, vessels, harbors, and spent 
 millions upon millions, — such enormous sums that he 
 could, so they tell me, have paved France from end to 
 end with five-franc pieces, if he had had a mind to. 
 
 " Now, when he sat at ease on his throne, and was 
 master of all, so that Europe waited his permission to 
 do his bidding, he remembered his four brothers and 
 his three sisters, and he said to us, as it might be in 
 
202 The Country Doctor. 
 
 conversation, in an order of the day, c M3' children, is 
 it right that the blood relations of your Emperor should 
 be begging their bread? No. I wish to see them in 
 splendor like myself. It becomes, therefore, absolutely 
 necessary to conquer a kingdom for each of them, — to 
 the end that Frenchmen may be masters over all lands, 
 that the soldiers of the Guard shall make the whole 
 earth tremble, that France may spit where she likes, 
 and that all the nations shall saj r to her, as it is written 
 on my copper coins, ' ' God protects you ! " ' ' Agreed ! ' 
 cried the army. ' We '11 go fish for thy kingdoms with 
 our bayonets.' Ha ! there was no backing down, don't 
 you see ! If he had taken it into his head to conquer 
 the moon, we should have made ready, packed knap- 
 sacks, and clambered up; happily, he didn't think of 
 it. The kings of the countries, who liked their com- 
 fortable thrones, were, naturahV, loathe to budge, and 
 had to have their ears pulled ; so then — Forward, 
 march ! We did march ; we got there ; and the earth 
 once more trembled to its centre. Hey ! the men and 
 the shoes he used up in those days ! The enemy dealt 
 us such blows that none but the grand arnry could have 
 borne the fatigue of it. But you are not ignorant that 
 a Frenchman is born a philosopher, and knows that a 
 little sooner, or a little later, he has got to die. So 
 we were ready to die without a word, for we liked to 
 see the Emperor doing that on the geographies." 
 
 Here the narrator nimbi}' described a circle with his 
 foot on the floor of the barn. 
 
 "And Napoleon said, 'There, that's to be a king- 
 dom.' And a kingdom it was. Ha ! the good times ! 
 The colonels were generals ; the generals, marshals ; 
 
The Country Doctot 20 
 
 a 
 
 and the marshals, kings. There 's one of 'em still on 
 his throne, to prove it to Europe ; but he 's a Gascon 
 and a traitor to France for keeping that crown ; and 
 he doesn't blush for shame as he ought to do, be- 
 cause crowns, don't you see, are made of gold. I who 
 am speakiug to }'Ou, I have seen, in Paris, eleven kings 
 and a mob of princes surrounding Napoleon like the 
 rays of the sun. You understand, of course, that every 
 soldier had the chance to mount a throne, provided 
 alwa3 T s he had the merit ; so a corporal of the Guard 
 was a sight to be looked at as he walked along, for each 
 man had his share in the victoiy, and 't was plainly set 
 forth in the bulletin. What victories they were ! Aus- 
 terlitz, where the army manoeuvred as if on parade ; 
 Eylau, where we drowned the Russians in a lake, as 
 though Napoleon had blown them into it w T ith the breath 
 of his mouth ; Wagram, where the army fought for three 
 days without grumbling. We won as man}' battles as 
 there are saints in the calendar. It was proved then be- 
 yond a doubt, that Napoleon had the sword of God in 
 his scabbard. The soldiers were his friends ; he made 
 them his children ; he looked after us, he saw that we 
 had shoes, and shirts, and great-coats, and bread, and 
 cartridges ; but he alwa} r s kept up his majesty ; for, 
 don't you see, 't was his business to reign. No matter 
 for that, however ; a sergeant, and even a common sol- 
 dier, could sa} r to him, ' my Emperor,' just as 3-ou saj T to 
 me sometimes, ' nry good friend.' He gave us an an- 
 swer if we appealed to him ; he slept in the snow like 
 the rest of us ; and, indeed, he had almost the air of a 
 human man. I who speak to you, I have seen him 
 with his feet among the grapeshot, and no more uneasy 
 
204 The Country Doctor. 
 
 than you are now, — standing stead} T , looking through 
 his field-glass, and minding his business. 'T was that 
 kept the rest of us quiet. I don't know how he did it, 
 hut when he spoke, he made our hearts burn within us ; 
 and to show him we were his children, incapable of 
 balking, did n't we rush at the mouths of the rascally 
 cannon, that belched and vomited shot and shell with- 
 out so much as saying, 4 Look out ! ' Why ! the dying 
 must needs raise their heads to salute him and cry, 
 4 Long live the Emperor ! ' 
 
 " I ask you, was that natural? would they have done 
 that for a human man ? 
 
 " Well, after he had settled the world, the Empress 
 Josephine, his wife, a good woman all the same, man- 
 aged matters so that she did not bear him any children, 
 and he was obliged to give her up, though he loved her 
 considerably. But, you see, he had to have little ones 
 for reasons of state. Hearing of this, all the sover- 
 eigns of Europe quarrelled as to which of them should 
 give him a wife. And he married, so the}' told us, an 
 Austrian archduchess, daughter of Caesar, an ancient 
 man about whom people talk a good deal, and not in 
 France only, — where any one will tell you what he did, 
 — but in Europe. It is all true, for I myself who 
 address you at this moment, I have been on the Danube, 
 and have seen the remains of a bridge built by that 
 man, who, it seems, was a relation of Napoleon in 
 Rome, and that 's how the Emperor got the inheritance 
 of that city for his son. So after the marriage, which 
 was a fete for the whole world, and in honor of which 
 he released the people of ten years' taxes, — which they 
 had to pay all the same, however, because the assessors 
 
The Country Doctor. 205 
 
 didn't take account of what he said, — his wife had a 
 little one, who was King of Rome. Now, there 's a 
 thing that had never been seen on this earth ; never 
 before was a child born a king with his father living. 
 On that day a balloon went up in Paris to tell the news 
 to Rome, and that balloon made the journey in one 
 day ! 
 
 " Now, is there any man among yon who will stand 
 up here and declare to me that all that was human? 
 No ; it was written above ; and may the scurvy seize 
 'em who deny that he was sent by God himself for the 
 triumph of France ! 
 
 "Well, here's the Emperor of Russia, that used to 
 be his friend, he gets angry because Napoleon did n't 
 many a Russian ; so he joins with the English, our 
 enemies, — to whom our Emperor always wanted to say 
 a couple of words in their burrows, only he was pre- 
 vented. Napoleon gets angry too ; an end had to be 
 put to such doings ; so he says to us : c Soldiers ! you 
 have been masters of every capital in Europe, except 
 Moscow, which is now the ally of England. To con- 
 quer England, and India which belongs to the English, 
 it becomes our peremptory dut} T to go to Moscow.' 
 Then he assembled the greatest army that ever trailed 
 its gaiters over the globe ; and so marvellously in hand 
 it was that he reviewed a million of men in one day. 
 1 Hourra ! ' ] cried the Russians. Down came all Russia 
 and those animals of Cossacks in a flock. 'T was nation 
 against nation, a general hurly-burly, and beware who 
 could ; ' Asia against Europe,' as the Red Man had 
 
 1 Battle-cry of the Cossacks. 
 
206 The Country Doctor. 
 
 foretold to Napoleon. 'Enough/ cried the Emperor, 
 'I'll be ready.' 
 
 "So now, sure enough, came all the kings, as the 
 Red Man had said, to lick Napoleon's hand ! Austria, 
 Prussia, Bavaria, Saxon} r , Poland, Italy, every one of 
 them were with us, flattering us ; ah, it was fine ! The 
 eagles never cawed so loud as at those parades, perched 
 high above the banners of all Europe. The Poles were 
 bursting with joy, because Napoleon was going to re- 
 lease them ; and that 's why France and Poland are 
 brothers to this day. 4 Russia is ours,' cried the army. 
 We plunged into it well-supplied ; we marched and we 
 marched, — no Russians. At last we found the brutes 
 entrenched on the banks of the Moskova. That 's where 
 I won my cross, and I 've got the right to say it was 
 a damnable battle. This was how it came about. The 
 Emperor was anxious. He had seen the Red Man, who 
 said to him, ' My son, you are going too fast for your 
 feet ; you will lack men ; friends will betray you.' So 
 the Emperor offered peace. But before signing, "Let 
 us drub those Russians ! ' he said to us. ' Done ! ' cried 
 the army. ' Forward, march ! ' said the sergeants. My 
 clothes were in rags, my shoes worn out, from trudging 
 along those roads, which are very uncomfortable ones ; 
 but no matter ! I said to myself, ' As it 's the last of 
 our earthquakings, I '11 go into it, tooth and nail ! ' 
 We were drawn up in line before the great ravine, — 
 front seats, as 'twere. Signal given; and seven hun- 
 dred pieces of artillery began a conversation that would 
 bring the blood from your ears. Then — must do jus- 
 tice to one's enemies — the Russians let themselves be 
 killed like Frenchmen ; they would n't give way ; we 
 
The Country Doctor. 207 
 
 could n't advance. ' Forward ! ' some one cried, ' here 
 comes the Emperor ! ' True enough ; he passed at a 
 gallop, waving his hand to let us know we must take 
 the redoubt. He inspired us ; on we ran, I was the 
 first in the ravine. Ha ! my God ! how the lieutenants 
 fell, and the colonels, and the soldiers ! No matter ! 
 all the more shoes for those that had none, and epau- 
 lets for the clever ones who knew how to read. ' Vic- 
 tory ! ' cried the whole line ; i Victory ! ' — and, would 
 you believe it? a thing never seen before, there lay 
 twenty-five thousand Frenchmen on the ground. 'T was 
 like mowing down a wheat-field ; only in place of the 
 ears of wheat put the heads of men ! We were sobered 
 by this time, — those who were left alive. The Man 
 rode up ; we made the circle round him. Ha ! he knew 
 how to cajole his children ; he could be amiable when 
 he liked, and feed 'em with words when their stomachs 
 were ravenous with the hunger of wolves. Flatterer! 
 he distributed the crosses himself, he uncovered to the 
 dead, and then he cried to us, ' On ! to Moscow ! ' 
 ' To Moscow ! ' answered the army. 
 
 14 We took Moscow. Would you believe it? the Rus- 
 sians burned their own city ! 'T was a haystack six 
 miles squp.re, and it blazed for two days. The build- 
 ings crashed like slates, and showers of melted iron 
 and lead rained down upon us, which was naturally 
 horrible. I may say to you plainly, it was like a flash 
 of lightning on our disasters. The Emperor said, 
 4 We have done enough ; my soldiers shall rest here.' 
 So we rested awhile, just to get the breath into our 
 bodies and the flesh on our bones, for we were really 
 tired. We took possession of the golden cross that 
 
208 The Country Doctor. 
 
 was on the Kremlin ; and every soldier brought away 
 with him a small fortune. But out there the winter 
 sets in a month earlier, — a thing those fools of science 
 did n't properly explain. So, coming back, the cold 
 nipped us. No longer an army — do } 7 ou hear me ? — 
 no longer any generals, no longer an}' sergeants even. 
 'T was the reign of wretchedness and hunger, — a reign 
 of equality at last. No one thought of anything but to 
 see France once more ; no one stooped to pick up his 
 gun or his money if he dropped them ; each man fol- 
 lowed his nose, and went as he pleased without caring 
 for glory. The weather was so bad the Emperor could n't 
 see his star ; there was something between him and the 
 skies. Poor man ! it made him ill to see his eagles fly- 
 ing away from victory. Ah ! 't was a mortal blow, } T ou 
 may believe me. 
 
 " Well, we got to the Beresina. M3 7 friends, I can 
 affirm to you by all that is most sacred, by nry honor, 
 that since mankind came into the world, never, never, 
 was there seen such a fricassee of an arm}'' — guns, 
 carriages, artillerj-wagons — in the midst of such 
 snows, under such relentless skies ! The muzzles of 
 the muskets burned our hands if we touched them, the 
 iron was so cold. It was there that the army was 
 saved by the pontoniers, who were firm at their post ; 
 and there that Gondrin, — sole survivor of the men 
 who were bold enough to go into the water and build 
 the bridges by which the army crossed, — that Gondrin, 
 here present, admirably conducted himself, and saved 
 us from the Russians, who, I must tell 3-ou, still re- 
 spected the grand army, remembering its victories. 
 And," he added, pointing to Gondrin, who was gazing 
 
Tlie Country Doctor. 209 
 
 at him with the peculiar attention of a deaf man, " Gon- 
 drin is a finished soldier, a soldier who is honor itself, 
 and he merits your highest esteem. 
 
 " I saw the Emperor," he resumed, " standing by 
 the bridge, motionless, not feeling the cold — was that 
 human? He looked at the destruction of his treasure, 
 his friends, his old Egyptians. Bah ! all that passed 
 him, women, army-wagons, artillery, all were shat- 
 tered, destroyed, ruined. The bravest carried the 
 eagles ; for the eagles, d' ye see, were France, the 
 nation, all of you ! they were the civil and the military 
 honor that must be kept pure ; could their heads be 
 lowered because of the cold? It was only near the 
 Emperor that we warmed ourselves, because when he 
 was in danger we ran, frozen as we were — we, who 
 would n't have stretched a hand to save a friend. 
 They told us he wept at night over his poor family of 
 soldiers. Ah ! none but he and Frenchmen could have 
 got themselves out of that business. We did get out, 
 but with losses, great losses, as I tell 3'ou. The Allies 
 captured our provisions. Men began to betray him, as 
 the Red Man predicted. Those chatterers in Paris, 
 who had held their tongues after the Imperial Guard 
 was formed, now thought he was dead ; so they hood- 
 winked the prefect of police, and hatched a conspirac}- 
 to overthrow the empire. He heard of it ; it worried 
 him. He left us, saying : ' Adieu, my children ; guard 
 the outposts ; I shall return to you.' Bah ! without 
 him nothing went right ; the generals lost their heads, 
 the marshals talked nonsense and committed follies ; 
 but that was not surprising, for Napoleon, who was kind, 
 had fed 'em on gold ; they had got as fat as lard, and 
 
 14 
 
210 The Country Doctor. 
 
 would n't stir ; some stayed in camp when the} 7 ought 
 to have been warming the backs of the enemy who was 
 between us and France. 
 
 " But the Emperor came back, and he brought re- 
 cruits, famous recruits ; he changed their backbone 
 and made 'em dogs of war, fit to set their teeth into 
 anything ; and he brought a guard of honor, a fine 
 body indeed ! — all bourgeois, who melted away like 
 butter on a gridiron. 
 
 " Well, spite of our stern bearing, here's everything 
 going against us ; and yet the army did prodigies of valor. 
 Then came battles on the mountains, nations against 
 nations, — Dresden, Lutzen, Bautzen. Remember these 
 da} 7 s, all of you, for 't was then that Frenchmen were 
 so particularly heroic that a good grenadier only lasted 
 six months. We triumphed always ; yet there were 
 those English, in our rear, rousing revolts against us 
 with their lies ! No matter, we cut our way home 
 through the whole pack of the nations. Wherever the 
 Emperor showed himself we followed him ; for if, by 
 sea or land, he gave us the word ' Go ! ' we went. At 
 last, we were in France ; and man} 7 a poor foot-soldier 
 felt the air of his own country restore his soul to 
 satisfaction, spite of the wintry weather. I can say for 
 myself that it refreshed my life. Well, next, our busi- 
 ness was to defend France, our countiy, our beautiful 
 France, against all Europe, which resented our having 
 laid down the law to the Russians, and pushed them 
 back into their dens, so that they could n't eat us up 
 alive, as northern nations, who are daint} 7 and like 
 southern flesh, have a habit of doing, — at least, so 
 I 've heard some generals say. Then the Emperor saw 
 
The Country Doctor, 211 
 
 his own father-in-law, his friends who n he had made 
 kings, and the scoundrels to whom he had given back 
 their thrones, all against him. Even Frenchmen, and 
 allies in our own ranks, turned against us under secret 
 orders, as at the battle of Leipsic. Would common 
 soldiers have been capable of such wickedness? Three 
 times a da} 7 men were false to their v/ord s — and the}' 
 called themselves princes ! 
 
 " So, then, France was invaded. Wherever the Em- 
 peror showed his lion face, the eneiuy retreated ; and 
 he did more prodigies in defending France than ever he 
 had done in conquering Italy, the East, Spain, Europe, 
 and Russia. He meant to bury every invader under 
 the sod, and teach 'em to respect the soil of France. 
 So he let them get to Paris, that he might swallow 
 them at a mouthful, and rise to the height of his genius 
 in a battle greater than all the rest, — a mother-battle, 
 as 't were. But there, there ! the Parisians were afraid 
 for their twopenny skins, and their trumpery shops ; 
 they opened the gates. Then the Ragusades began, 
 and happiness ended. The Empress was fooled, and 
 the white banner flaunted from the windows. The 
 generals whom he had made his nearest friends aban- 
 doned him for the Bourbons, — a set of people no one 
 had heard tell of. The Emperor bade us farewell at 
 Fontainebleau : ( Soldiers ! ' — I can hear him now ; we 
 wept like children ; the flags and the eagles were lowered 
 as if for a funeral : it was, I may well say it to you, it 
 was the funeral of the Empire ; her dapper armies were 
 nothing now but skeletons. So he said to us, standing 
 there on the portico of his palace : ' My soldiers ! we 
 are vanquished by treachery ; but we shall meet in 
 
212 The Country Doctor. 
 
 heaven, the country of the brave. Defend my child, 
 whom I commit to you. Long live Napoleon II. ! ' He 
 meant to die, that no man should look upon Napoleon 
 vanquished ; he took poison, enough to have killed a 
 regiment, because, like Jesus Christ before his Passion, 
 he thought himself abandoned of God and his talisman. 
 But the poison did not hurt him. 
 
 " See again ! he found he was immortal. 
 
 " Sure of himself, knowing he must ever be The 
 Emperor, he went for a while to an island to study out 
 the nature of these others, who, you may be sure, com- 
 mitted follies without end. Whilst he bided his time 
 down there, the Chinese, and the wild men on the coast 
 of Africa, and the Barbary States, and others who are 
 not at all accommodating, knew so well he was more 
 than man that they respected his tent, sa}ing to touch it 
 would be to offend God. Thus, d'3'e see, when these 
 others turned him from the doors of his own France, 
 he still reigned over the whole world. Before long he 
 embarked in the same little cockleshell of a boat he had 
 had in Egypt, sailed round the beard of the English, 
 set foot in France, and France acclaimed him. The 
 sacred cuckoo flew from spire to spire ; all France cried 
 out with one voice, ' Long live the Emperor ! ' In 
 this region, here, the enthusiasm for that wonder of the 
 ages was, I may sa}^ solid. Dauphine behaved well ; 
 and I am particularly pleased to know that her people 
 wept when they saw, once more, the gray top-coat. 
 March first it was, when Napoleon landed with two 
 hundred men to conquer that kingdom of France and of 
 Navarre, which, on the twentieth of the same month 
 was again the French Empire. On that day our Man 
 
The Country Doctor. 213 
 
 was in Paris ; he had made a clean sweep, recovered his 
 dear France, and gathered his veterans together by 
 saying no more than three words, ' I am here.' 
 
 " 'T was the greatest miracle God had yet done ! Be- 
 fore him, did ever man recover an empire by showing 
 his hat? And these others, who thought they had 
 subdued France ! Not the}* ! At sight of the eagles, a 
 national army sprang up, and we marched to Waterloo. 
 There, the Guard died at one blow. Napoleon, in 
 despair, threw himself three times before the cannon of 
 the enemy without obtaining death. We. saw that. 
 The battle was lost. That night the Emperor called 
 his old soldiers to him ; on the field soaked with our 
 blood he burned his banners and his eagles, — his poor 
 eagles, ever victorious, who cried ' Forward ' in the 
 battles, and had flown the length and breadth of Europe, 
 they were saved the infamy of belonging to the enemy : 
 all the treasures of England could n't get her a tail- 
 feather of them. No more eagles ! — the rest is well- 
 known. The Red Man went over to the Bourbons, like 
 the scoundrel that he is. France is crushed ; the soldier 
 is nothing ; they deprive him of his dues ; they dis- 
 charge him to make room for broken-down nobles — 
 ah, 't is pitiable ! They seized Napoleon bj 7 treachery ; 
 the English nailed him on a desert island in mid-ocean 
 on a rock raised ten thousand feet above the earth ; 
 and there he is, and will be, till the Red Man gives 
 him back his power for the happiness of France. 
 These others sa}~ he 's dead. Ha, dead ! 'Tis eas} 7 to 
 see they don't know Him. They tell that fib to catch 
 the people, and feel safe in their hovel of a government. 
 Listen ! the truth at the bottom of it all is that his friends 
 
214 The Country Doctor, 
 
 have left him alone on the desert isle to fulfil a proph 
 ecy, for I forgot to say that his name, Napoleon, means 
 ' lion of the desert.' Now this that I tell yon is true as 
 the Gospel. All other tales that you hear about the 
 Emperor are follies without common-sense ; because, 
 d' ye see, God never gave to child of woman born the 
 right to stamp his name in red as he did, on the earth, 
 which forever shall remember him ! Long live Napo- 
 leon, the father of his people and of the soldier ! " 
 
 " Long live General Eble ! " cried the pontonier. 
 
 " How happened it you were not killed in the ravine 
 at Moskova? " asked a peasant woman. 
 
 "How do I know? We went in a regiment, we 
 came out a hundred foot-soldiers ; none but the line 
 were capable of taking that redoubt : the infantry, d' ye 
 see, that 's the real army." 
 
 "And the cavalry! what of that?" cried Genestas, 
 letting himself roll from the top of the ha}', and appear- 
 ing with a suddenness which made the bravest utter a 
 cry of terror. "Eh! my old veteran, you forget the 
 red lancers of Poniatowski, the cuirassiers, the dra- 
 goons ! they that shook the earth when Napoleon, im- 
 patient that the victory was delayed, said to Murat, 
 fc Sire, cut them in two.' Ha, we were off! first at a 
 trot, then at a gallop, ' one, two,' and the enenry 's 
 line Was cut in halves like an apple with a knife. A 
 charge of cavalry, my old hero ! why, 't is a column of 
 cannonballs ! " 
 
 " How about the pontoniers? " cried Gondrin. 
 
 " My children," said Genestas, becoming suddenly 
 quite ashamed of his sortie when he saw himself in the 
 midst of a silent and bewildered group, " there are no 
 
The Country Doctor. 215 
 
 spies here, — see, take this and drink to the Little 
 Corporal." 
 
 ' ' Long live the Emperor ! " cried all the people 
 present, with one voice. 
 
 " Hush, my children ! " said the officer, straggling to 
 control his emotion. "Hush! he is dead. He died 
 sa} r ing : ' Gloiy, France, and battle.' My friends, he 
 had to die, he ! but his memory — never ! " 
 
 Goguelat made a gesture of disbelief; then he said in 
 a low voice to those nearest to him, " The officer is still 
 in the service, and he 's told to tell the people the 
 Emperor is dead. We must n't be angry with him, 
 because, d' ye see, a soldier has to obey orders." 
 
 As Genestas left the barn he heard the Fosseuse 
 say, ' ' That officer is a friend of the Emperor and of 
 Monsieur Benassis." On that, all the people rushed to 
 the door to get another sight of him, and by the light of 
 the moon the\ T saw the doctor take his arm. 
 
 " I committed a great folly," said Genestas, " let us 
 get home quickly. Those eagles — the cannon — the 
 campaigns ! I no longer knew where I was." 
 
 "What do you think of ny Goguelat?" asked 
 Benassis. 
 
 " Monsieur, so long as such tales are told, France 
 will carry in her entrails the fourteen armies of the 
 Republic, and ma}'' at an}' time renew the conversation 
 of cannon with all Europe. That 's my opinion." 
 
 Shortly after, they reached the house and sat down 
 thoughtfully for awhile on either side the fireplace in 
 the salon, where the clying embers still sent up a few 
 sparks. Notwithstanding the proofs of confidence 
 which he had received from the doctor, Genestas 
 
216 The Country Doctor. 
 
 hesitated to put a searching question which might seem 
 indiscreet. Yet, after giving him a few scrutinizing 
 glances, and meeting a look full of courteous amenity, 
 a look only seen on the lips of a really strong man, he 
 was encouraged to say : — 
 
 ' Monsieur, your life differs so essentially from that 
 of other men that 3'ou will not be surprised if I ask you 
 the cause of your retirement. Though my curiosity 
 may seem to 3'ou intrusive, 3011 will at least admit that 
 it is veiy natural. Let me tell 3*011 something. I have 
 had comrades with whom I never grew intimate, not 
 even when we had made many campaigns together ; 
 but I have had others to whom I would say, ' Get nrj T 
 money with yours from the paymaster,' three da}'s after 
 first seeing them and getting drunk together, as will 
 sometimes happen to the best of men in a merry mood. 
 Well, you are one of those to whom I make myself a 
 friend without asking permission, — indeed, without 
 fully knowing why." 
 
 ' ' Captain Bluteau — " 
 
 For some time past, whenever the doctor gave him 
 nis false name, Genestas could not repress a slight gri- 
 mace. Benassis caught the pained expression on his 
 face, and looked fixedly at the officer to discover its 
 cause ; but, as it was impossible for him to guess the 
 truth, he attributed the look to some plrysical suffering, 
 and after a pause he went on : — 
 
 " Captain, I will speak to 3'ou of myself. Several 
 times to-da}' I have been led to do so, as I explained 
 the improvements I have brought about in this valley ; 
 but it was in connection with the district and its inhabi- 
 tants, in whose interests my own are necessarily mixed 
 
The Country Doctor. 217 
 
 up. But, to tell you 1113' histoiy will oblige me to speak 
 of myself ouly, and m}- life has little in it that is inter- 
 esting to others." 
 
 " Were it as simple as that of your Fosseuse," an- 
 swered Genestas, kW I still should wish to hear it, that 
 I might know what chances and changes have thrown 
 a man of your quality into this district." 
 
 " Captain, for twelve years I have kept silence. 
 Now that I await, on the verge of my grave, the blow 
 that is to cast me into it, I will have the good faith to 
 tell } T ou that this silence begins to weigh upon me. 
 For twelve 3'ears I have suffered without the consola- 
 tion that friendship gives to wounded hearts. My poor 
 sick people, my peasants, show me many an example 
 of resignation ; but they have me to understand them, 
 and the}^ feel it ; while I have none to gather my secret 
 sighs, none to give me the hand-clasp of a true man, 
 — that best of consolations, which so few lack, not 
 even Gondrin." 
 
 With a sudden impulse, Genestas held out his hand 
 to Benassis, who was deeply moved at the action. 
 
 4i Perhaps the Fosseuse would have understood me, 
 as the angels would," he resumed, in an altered voice; 
 "but also she might have loved me, and that would 
 have been a misfortune. Captain, none but an old 
 soldier, indulgent like 3'ourself, or a young man full of 
 illusions, could listen to my confession and enter into 
 it ; it can be comprehended only bj T a man to whom 
 all the wa3's of life are fully known, or b3 T a youth 
 who is a total stranger to them. For lack of a priest, 
 the old crusaders died on the battle-field confessing to 
 the cross of their sword-hilts ; the3* made it the faithful 
 
218 The Country Doctor. 
 
 mediator between their souls and God. And so you, 
 one of Napoleon's finest sabres, you, hard and strong 
 as steel, you, perhaps, will comprehend me well. To 
 enter fully into my story, it is quite necessary to pos- 
 sess certain delicacies of feeling, and to share in the 
 natural beliefs of simple hearts ; all of which seem 
 ridiculous to those philosophers who apply to their pri- 
 vate interests the maxims which belong to the govern- 
 ment of States. I shall speak to you in good faith, as 
 a man who seeks to justif}^ neither the good nor the evil 
 of his life; and who hides nothing from you, because 
 he is here to-da}', far removed from the world, indiffer- 
 ent to the judgment of men, and full of hope in God." 
 
 Benassis paused; then he rose and said: "Before 
 beginning my tale I will order tea. For twelve years 
 Jacquotte has never failed to come and ask if I wished 
 for it ; she would certainly interrupt us now. Will you 
 take some, captain?" 
 
 " Thank } 7 ou, no." 
 
 Benassis soon returned. 
 
The Country Doctor. 219 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CONFESSION OF THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 
 " I was born," resumed the doctor, " in a small town 
 in Languedoc, where my father had lived for some time ; 
 and there my childhood was passed. When eight years 
 old, I was sent to a school at Sorreze, which I did not 
 leave until I went to finish my education in Paris. My 
 father's youth had been wild and prodigal, but his 
 wasted patrimony was replaced by a fortunate mar- 
 riage, and by the slow savings of a provincial life, 
 where more pride is felt in the possession of money 
 than in the spending of it, and where the natural am- 
 bitions of men die out or turn to avarice, in default of 
 generous nutriment. Becoming rich, and having but 
 one son, he wished to transmit to me the cold expe- 
 rience he had gained in exchange for his vanished illu- 
 sions, — last and noble error of old men, who vainly 
 strive to bequeath their virtues and their prudence to 
 children who are enamoured of life and in haste to 
 enjoy it. This desire on the part of my father led him 
 to lay down a plan for nry education of which, in the end, 
 I became a victim. He carefully concealed from me the 
 real value of his property, and condemned me, in my own 
 interests, to suffer during my best } T ears the privations 
 and anxieties of a young man eager to acquire his in- 
 dependence ; he wished to instil into me the virtues of 
 
220 The Country Doctor. 
 
 poverty — patience, a thirst for knowledge, and the love 
 of work. By thus forcing me to recognize the value of 
 wealth, he hoped to teach me the lesson of preserving 
 my inheritance ; and therefore, as soon as I was old 
 enough to listen to advice, he urged me to adopt and 
 follow some profession. My tastes inclined me to the 
 study of medicine. From Sorreze, where for ten years 
 I had been under the half-conventual discipline of the 
 Oratorians in the solitude of a provincial Lyceum, I 
 was brought, without an intervening moment, to the 
 capital. 
 
 " My father accompanied me, for the purpose of pre- 
 senting me to one of his friends. The two old men 
 took, without my knowledge, the most minute precau- 
 tions against the effervescence of nry youth, then so 
 innocent. M} T allowance was closely calculated, and 
 brought down to the actual necessaries of life, and I 
 could only draw my quarterly stipend by presenting the 
 receipts for the payment of m}^ terms at the School of 
 Medicine. This mortifying distrust was concealed un- 
 der a pretence of business methods. In other respects 
 m}- father was liberal as to the expenses of m} T educa- 
 tion and the ordinary pleasures of Parisian life. His 
 old friend, who was glad to have a young man to guide 
 through the labyrinth I was about to enter, was one of 
 those men who class their feelings as carefully as they 
 docket their papers. By consulting the note- book of a 
 preceding }*ear, he always knew what he had done in the 
 month, day, and hour that corresponded to the current 
 year. Life was to him an enterprise, of which he kept 
 a commercial account. He was a man of much merit, 
 but shrewd, over-precise, distrustful, and never without 
 
The Country Doctor. 221 
 
 specious reasons to explain the precautions he took 
 against me. He bought my books ; he paid for nu 
 lessons ; when I wished to learn to ride, the worthy 
 man inquired in person for the best school, took me 
 there himself, and forestalled my wishes by putting a 
 horse at my disposal for the holidaj's. But in spite of 
 these devices of old age, which I learned to' baffle as 
 soon as I had an interest in escaping them, the excellent 
 man was a second father to me. ' My friend,' he sai<\ 
 as soon as he perceived that I should break my tether 
 unless he lengthened it, ' young men are often hurried 
 into follies by the impetuosity of their age ; you may 
 some day find yourself in want of monej- ; in that case, 
 come to me. Your father formerly did me a great ser- 
 vice, and I shall alwaj's have a trifle at your command ; 
 but never deceive me, and never be afraid to tell me 
 your errors. I have been young, and we shall under- 
 stand each other like comrades.' 
 
 " My father installed me in a second-class boarding- 
 house in the Latin quarter, among respectable people, 
 where I had a tolerably well-furnished room. This first 
 stage of independence, the kindness of my father, the 
 sacrifices he seemed to be making for me, gave me, 
 nevertheless, but little pleasure. Perhaps we must 
 taste the sweets of liberty before we can understand its 
 full value. Now, the memory of my free childhood was 
 nearly obliterated by the restraints of a conventual 
 school-life, the burden of which my mind had not as yet 
 thrown off; and the injunctions of my father had just 
 put fresh tasks upon me. Moreover, Paris, to mj' eyes, 
 was an enigma ; it affords no amusement until we have 
 learned to study its pleasures. Thus I found my posi- 
 
222 The Country Doctor. 
 
 tion little changed, unless it were that my new lyceum 
 was on a larger scale, and called itself the School of 
 Medicine. Nevertheless I studied vigorously, I at- 
 tended the lectures with assiduity, I flung myself into 
 work with all my strength, taking no relaxation ; for 
 the treasures of science which abound in Paris roused 
 and delighted mj r imagination. 
 
 "Soon, however, a few imprudent intimacies, whose 
 dangers were veiled by the thoughtless, confiding friend- 
 ship which captivates all young men, carried me insen- 
 sibly into the dissipations of Paris. I took a passion- 
 ate delight in the theatre and in actors, and this began 
 the work of my demoralization. The theatres of a city 
 are baneful to 3*oung men, who never come out of them 
 without emotions against which the} r struggle nearly 
 always fruitlessly ; so also with soeiet}-,, whose laws 
 seem to me to be the accomplices of the debauchery 
 there committed. Our legislation has, as it were, shut 
 its eyes to the passions w r hich torment a young man be- 
 tween the ages of twenty and twenty-five. In Paris 
 everything assails him ; his appetites are perpetually 
 provoked. Religion preaches virtue to him, and the 
 laws command 1 him to practise it, but the things of life, 
 and manners, and customs invite him to evil ; the best 
 of men and the most pious of women make light of con- 
 tinence. The great cit} r of Paris seems to regard it as 
 a duty to encourage vice ; for the obstacles it puts in 
 the way of all careers where a young man can honorably 
 make his fortune are even more numerous than the 
 snares it sets for his passions which dissipate it. 
 
 "■For a long time I went night after night to some 
 theatre, and contracted, little by T little, idle habits. I 
 
The Country Doctor. 223 
 
 compromised with my sense of duty ; often I put off 
 my most pressing occupations to the morrow ; soon, 
 instead of endeavoring to acquire knowledge, I did 
 only such tasks as were absolutely necessary to pass 
 my examinations before taking my medical degree. At 
 the lectures I no longer listened to the professors, who, 
 as I called it, prosed. I flung down my old gcds, and 
 became a Parisian ; in short, I led the unbalanced life 
 of a young provincial who, let loose in the great citj', 
 still retains a few true sentiments and still believes in 
 certain moral precepts, though he allows himself to be 
 corrupted b}' bad examples, from which, at the same 
 time, he desires to escape. I made a poor fight ; I had 
 accomplices within myself. Yes, monsieur, my face is 
 not deceptive ; I have had all the passions whose im- 
 print is now upon it. Nevertheless, I kept, deep in 
 my heart, the sentiment of moral perfection, which, 
 throughout nry errors, never left me, and was destined 
 to bring back to God, through remorse and weariness, 
 the man whose } T outh had quenched its thirst in the 
 pure waters of religion. He who keenly feels the 
 passionate joys of earth will sooner or later be at- 
 tracted by the flavor of the fruits of heaven. 
 
 " I went through the thousand delights, the countless 
 despairs which more or less actively surround all 3*outh 
 at its outset. Sometimes I mistook my sense of vigor 
 for the power of a firm will, and deluded myself as to 
 the extent of my abilities ; sometimes at sight of the 
 smallest obstacle in my way I fell into deeper discour- 
 agement than was natural to me. I conceived vast 
 schemes, I dreamed of glory, I buckled to work ; and 
 then some pleasure-party scattered my noble, half- 
 
224 The Country Doctor, 
 
 willed fancies. Yet the vague memory of these grand, 
 miscarried conceptions left deceitful gleams behind 
 them, which led me to believe in myself, without giving 
 me the energy to bring anything to birth. This indo- 
 lence, full of self-sufficiency, made me neither more nor 
 less than a fool ; for a fool is one who does nothing to 
 justify the good opinion he forms of himself. I had 
 activity without a purpose ; I wanted the flowers of 
 life without the labor that makes them bloom. Ignor- 
 ing obstacles, I believed everything easy ; the successes 
 of science and the successes of fortune I attributed to 
 luck. To my mind, genius was charlatanism ; I imag- 
 ined myself a man of science, because it was in my 
 power to become one ; and without reflecting on the 
 patience that begets great work or the doing that 
 reveals its difficulties, I drew at sight upon all its 
 glories. 
 
 " My pleasures were rapidly exhausted. The theatre 
 did not long amuse me ; Paris was soon a void and a 
 desert to a poor student whose only societ} 7 was that of 
 an old man who knew nothing of the actual world, and 
 the wearisome persons to be met with in a boarding- 
 house. Like all other young men who are disgusted 
 with the life they lead, who have no fixed ideas, and no 
 settled purpose in their minds, I wandered for da}'s 
 about the streets, along the quays, through the mu- 
 seums and the public gardens. An aimless life is 
 harder to bear at that age than at any other, for it is 
 full of wasted sap and of movement that leads to no re- 
 sult. I ignored the power that a firm will puts into the 
 hands of a j 7 oung man if he is able to conceive a pur- 
 pose, and if he brings to bear on the execution of it all 
 
The Country Doctor. 225 
 
 his vital forces strengthened still further b\* the intrepid 
 beliefs of j-outh. In childhood we are simply innocent, 
 ignorant of the dangers of life ; in youth we perceive 
 its difficulties and its limitless extent. At the sight, a 
 youth's courage sometimes fails ; while still new to the 
 business of social life he falls a prey to a sort of idiocy, 
 a feeling of dull stupidity, as though he were helpless 
 in a foreign land. At eveiy age, the utterly unknown 
 is a cause of involuntary terror. A }'Oung man is like 
 a soldier who marches to the mouths of cannon, and runs 
 away from a ghost. He hesitates among the world's 
 maxims ; he knows neither how to give nor how to take, 
 how to defend himself nor how to attack ; he loves 
 women, and respects them as if he feared them. His 
 qualities stand in his way ; he is all generosity, all mod- 
 esty, and free from the calculations of self-interest ; if 
 he lies, it is for his pleasure, not his advantage ; in 
 dubious paths, his conscience, with which he has not 
 yet compromised, shows him the right way, though he 
 dela3*s to take it. Men born to live by the inspira- 
 tions of the heart instead of listening to the dictates of 
 the head, often remain a long time in this fluctuating 
 position. It was mine. I became the plaything of two 
 contending influences, — impelled on the one hand by 
 the desires of a young man, restrained on the other 
 by sentimental timidity. 
 
 "The emotions excited by Parisian life are cruel to 
 souls endowed w r ith keen sensibility ; the advantages 
 which superior men or rich men there enjo}' irritate 
 the passions of other men. In that world of grandeur 
 and of littleness, envy is oftener a dagger than a spur. 
 Amid the constant struggle of ambitions, desires, and 
 
 15 
 
226 The Country Doctor. 
 
 hatreds, it is impossible to escape being either the 
 victim or the accomplice of the general movement ; 
 insensibly, the perpetual sight of vice made happy 
 and virtue contemptible leads a young man to waver. 
 Parisian life quickly destroys the texture of his con- 
 science ; and then begins, soon to be accomplished, 
 the infernal work of his demoralization. The first of 
 all pleasures, the one which in the beginning includes 
 all others, is environed with such perils that it is im- 
 possible not to reflect on the smallest actions to which 
 it incites, and not to calculate their every consequence. 
 Such calculations lead to selfishness. If some poor 
 student, swept onward b} r the impetuosity of his pas- 
 sions, is disposed to rise out of self, those whom he 
 sees about him exhibit and inspire such distrust of 
 higher things that it is very difficult for him not to 
 share in that distrust, and not to put himself on guard 
 against his own generous impulses. Such a struggle 
 withers and shrinks the soul, drives the life to the brain, 
 produces Parisian callousness, and results in that code 
 of manners and morals where, under a bewitching fri- 
 volity and fictitious enthusiasms, lurk policy or lucre. 
 In that world, the intoxication of happiness does not 
 hinder the most artless of women from keeping her head 
 clear. Such an atmosphere naturally influenced both 
 my feelings and m} T behavior. The errors which poi- 
 soned 1113' life might perhaps have weighed lightly on 
 the consciences of other men, but Southern natures have 
 a religious faith which compels them to believe in Cath- 
 olic truth and in the certaint} T of another life. Such 
 beliefs give depth to their passions, and persistency to 
 their remorse. 
 
The Country Doctor. 227 
 
 "At the time when T was studying medicine, military 
 men were the masters of societ}' ; to please a woman it 
 was necessary to be at least a colonel. What could a 
 poor student be in such society? Nothing. Goaded 
 by the vigor of my passions, finding no outlet for them, 
 hampered at every step and in every wish by the want 
 of money, regarding study and its honors as too slow 
 a means to procure pleasures that tempted me, vacillat- 
 ing between the promptings of an inward shame and 
 the force of evil examples, meeting with every facility 
 for profligacy in low places, and every difficulty in at- 
 tempting to enter good societ}-, — I passed sad da}*s, a 
 prey to the surgings of passion, to the sloth that kills, 
 to a despondency which broke at times into sudden ela- 
 tions. This crisis ended in a way that is common 
 enough in the lives of young men. 
 
 "I have always had the deepest repugnance to injur- 
 ing the peace of households ; partly, perhaps, because 
 the natural frankness of nvy feelings prevents me from 
 disguising them, and it would have been physically 
 impossible to me to live in a position of flagrant false- 
 hood. On the other hand, pleasures snatched in haste 
 never tempted me ; I like better to taste nry happiness. 
 Not being actually vicious, I was helpless against my 
 isolation ; I made many abortive attempts to enter 
 society, where I might have met with some woman will- 
 ing to devote herself to teaching me the perils of the way, 
 who would have formed my manners, advised me with- 
 out wounding my pride, and introduced me wherever I 
 could have made friends who would have been useful to 
 me in m} r future career. In my despair, some danger- 
 ous intrigue might perhaps have seduced me ; but all 
 
228 The Country Doctor. 
 
 that was beyond mj' reach, even the peril of it; inex- 
 perience threw me back into solitude, where I remained 
 face to face with my thwarted passions. 
 
 " Finally, monsieur, I formed a connection, at first a 
 secret one, with a young girl whom I persuaded, will- 
 ingly or unwillingly, to share my life. She belonged 
 to an honest family of small means ; it was not long 
 before she left her simple life, fearlessly confiding to me 
 a future which virtue had hitherto made hopeful to her. 
 The narrowness of my means probably seemed to her 
 the surest guarantee of my faithfulness. From that 
 moment, the tempest which had raged in my heart, my 
 extravagant desires, nry ambitions, all subsided into 
 happiness, — the happiness of a young man who as yet 
 knows nothing of the ways of the world, of its maxims, 
 its conventions, or the strength of its prejudices ; but a 
 happiness as complete as that of a child. A first love 
 is like a new childhood thrown across our days of pain 
 and labor. 
 
 "There are some men w T ho learn to know life at a 
 glance, who judge it for what it is, who see its errors 
 and profit by them, understand its social maxims and 
 turn them to their own advantage, and know how to 
 estimate the bearings of everything. Such frigid men 
 are wise in their generation, according to human laws. 
 But there are others, poor poets, high-strung natures, 
 who feel deeply and commit errors. I was one of them. 
 My first attachment was not a real passion. I followed 
 my instinct and not my heart. I sacrificed a poor girl to 
 myself, and found no lack of reasons to assure me I was 
 doing no wrong. As for her, she was devotion itself, — 
 a heart of gold, a just spirit, a noble soul. She never 
 
The Country Doctor. 229 
 
 gave me any but the best advice. At first, her love 
 revived m}* courage ; she gently led me, by her belief in 
 me, to take up my studies, predicting success and fame 
 and fortune. In these days, medical science touches 
 closely on all other sciences, and its distinctions, though 
 difficult to win, are well rewarded. Fame is always a 
 fortune in Paris. This tender young girl forgot herself 
 in me, shared my life and bore with its caprices, and 
 her economy brought luxury within my narrow means. 
 I had more to spend upon my fancies when we were 
 two together than I had ever had alone. 
 
 " Monsieur, it was the best part of all my life. I 
 w r orked eagerly, for I had an object, I was encouraged ; 
 I brought home my thoughts, I related my actions to 
 one who knew how to win my love, and, better still, 
 to inspire respect for the discretion she displayed, in a 
 situation where discretion might, perhaps, be thought 
 impossible. But nrv da}s were all alike, monsieur. 
 This monotony of happiness, the most delightful condi- 
 tion there is on earth, whose value is not felt till we have 
 passed through all the tempests of the heart, — that sweet 
 state into which no weariness of life can enter, where the 
 most secret thoughts are shared, where we are compre- 
 hended — ah ! to an ardent man, hungiy for social dis- 
 tinctions, wearied of seeking fortune because she came 
 with lagging feet, such happiness grew to be a clog. 
 My old dreams assailed me ; I vehemently desired the 
 pleasures of wealth, and now I demanded them in the 
 name of love. I expressed these wishes without reserve, 
 at night, when a dear voice questioned me, and I sat, 
 morose and melancholy, and absorbed in voluptuous 
 dreauis of imaginary opulence. I must have made that 
 
230 The Country Doctor. 
 
 gentle creature, — who had vowed herself to m^ happi- 
 ness, — I must indeed have made her suffer. To her, 
 the worst of griefs was to see me long for something 
 that she could not give. Oh, monsieur ! the devotion 
 of women is sublime ! " 
 
 The exclamation revealed some secret anguish, and 
 the doctor fell into a passing reveiy, which Genestas 
 refrained from interrupting. 
 
 "Well, monsieur," resumed Benassis, "an event 
 which ought to have completed the marriage thus 
 begun, put an end to it, and was the first cause of my 
 after sorrows. My father died, leaving a considerable 
 fortune. Matters relating to my inheritance took me 
 for some months into Languedoc, and I went alone. I 
 recovered nry libeily. Every obligation, even the 
 sweetest, weighs upon youth ; we must have experience 
 of life before we can admit the necessity of a }~oke and 
 the virtue of labor. I felt, with the vivacit}- of a Lan- 
 guedocian, all the delight of coming and going without 
 having to render an account, even a voluntary one, of 
 nry doings. If I did not wholly forget the ties that 
 bound me, I was so occupied with pleasurable interests 
 that the recollection of them grew insensibly weaker. 
 I could not think without a pang of renewing them on 
 my return ; and then I asked myself why I should renew 
 them at all. It is true I received letters full of deep 
 tenderness ; but at twenty-two years of age a young 
 man fancies that all women are equally tender ; he 
 cannot }^et distinguish between heart and passion ; he 
 confuses all in a general sense of pleasure, which seems, 
 at first, to include all. It was only later, when I had 
 come to a knowledge of men and things, that I learned 
 
The Country Doctor. 231 
 
 to appreciate what there was of true nobility in those 
 letters, where nothing selfish ever mingled in the ex- 
 pression of feelings, where the rejoicings over my pros- 
 perity were for me alone, and where no hint that I 
 could change was ever uttered, because the writer knew 
 herself incapable of change. But already I was giving 
 myself up to ambitious calculations ; I thought of 
 plunging into the pleasures of wealth, of becoming a 
 personage, and making a prosperous marriage. I con- 
 tented myself by sa3 7 ing, with the cold conceit of a fop, 
 4 She is very fond of me.' Already I was anxious to 
 find a means of freeing myself from the connection. 
 
 "Such embarrassments and their attendant shame 
 lead to cruelty ; to escape blushing before his victim, 
 the man who has begun by wounding her soon kills 
 her. The reflections I have since made on my conduct 
 at that time have revealed to me many abysses in m} 7 
 own heart. Believe me, monsieur, those who sound the 
 vices and virtues of human nature to their depths have 
 studied them in good faith within themselves. Our 
 own conscience is the point of departure. We reason 
 from ourselves to man, never from man to us. 
 
 " When I returned to Paris, I went to live in a house 
 I had hired, without informing the only person who had 
 an interest in my actions of my return to Paris or my 
 change of feeling. I was bent on playing a part among 
 the young men of fashion. At the end of a few days, 
 after tasting the first sweets of opulence, and when I 
 felt sufficiently elated not to fall, as I thought, into 
 weakness, I visited the poor creature I was intending 
 to abandon. With the natural tact of women she 
 guessed my secret feelings, and hid her tears. She 
 
232 The Country Doctor. 
 
 must have despised me ; bet ever gentle and good, she 
 showed no contempt. This forbearance harassed me 
 greatly. Assassins of the home or the highway wish 
 their victims to act in self-defence ; the struggle seems 
 to justify the killing. At first, I continued my visits 
 very affectionately. Though I was no longer tender, I 
 made an effort to appear amiable ; after that I insen- 
 sibly became polite, until one da} r , by a sort of tacit 
 agreement, she allowed me to treat her like a stranger, 
 and I considered that I was acting very suitably. Nev- 
 ertheless, I flung myself with a sort of fury into the 
 world, to stifle in amusements the little remorse that 
 remained to me. He who despises himself cannot live 
 alone ; I led the dissipated life which young men of 
 fortune lead in Paris. Having a good education and a 
 powerful memory, I seemed to have more mind than I 
 really had, and I was thus led to think myself of more 
 consequence than others. My superiority was so read- 
 ily admitted on all sides that I took no pains to main- 
 tain it. Of all the influences of life, praise is the most 
 skilfully treacherous. In Paris, policy in every walk of 
 life knows how to smother talent at its birth under the 
 wreaths flung in heaps upon its cradle. I did no 
 honor to my reputation, I took no advantage of my 
 standing to open a way to a career, I made no useful 
 connections. On the contrary, I gave waj' to frivoli- 
 ties of every kind. I had those ephemeral passions 
 which are the shame of the salons of Paris, where each 
 heart searching for a true love is satiated in the pursuit 
 of it, falls into the libertinage of polite society, and 
 ends by being as much astonished at a real passion as 
 the world is at a fine action. 
 
The Country Doctor. 233 
 
 " I imitated others ; T often wounded fresh and can- 
 did souls by the same blows which were lacerating me 
 secretly. In spite of the false appearances by which I 
 was judged, I had within me an unconquerable delicacy 
 which I always obeyed. Many a time I was duped 
 when I would have blushed not to be ; and I brought 
 myself into trouble by a natural good faith for which I 
 was thankful in my heart. The world is full of respect 
 for cleverness, under whatever form it shows itself; 
 results make law. Society", therefore, ascribed to me 
 vices, qualities, victories, and defeats that were not 
 mine, credited me with successes in gallantry of which 
 I knew nothing, blamed me for actions in which I had 
 no share. My pride made me disdain to refute the 
 calumnies, nry vanity led me to accept each flattering 
 mistake. M} r life was outwardly happy, inwardly mis- 
 erable. Had it not been for the sorrows that were 
 about to overtake me, I should gradually have lost all 
 my good qualities, and allowed my evil ones to triumph 
 through the continual play of passions, through the 
 abuse of enjoyments which enervate the body, and b} T 
 those detestable habits of selfishness which wear out, 
 in the end, -the springs of the soul. 
 
 "I was ruining myself financially, — in this wise: 
 Whatever a man's fortune may be, he is sure to find in 
 Paris some one of superior fortune whom he makes an 
 object of emulation and seeks to surpass. Like so many 
 other harebrained youths, I fell a victim to this ambition ; 
 at the end of four years I was obliged to sell certain 
 portions of my property and mortgage others. Then a 
 terrible blow struck me down. It was nearly two years 
 since I had seen the young girl I had abandoned ; but 
 
234 The Country Doctor. 
 
 at the rate I was living, misfortunes would doubtless 
 have carried me back to her. One evening, in the midst 
 of a ga\- company, I received a note written in a feeble 
 hand, which contained something like these words : — 
 
 " ' I have not long to live ; my friend, I wish to see you that 
 I may know the fate of my child, whether he will be yours; 
 and also to soften the regret you may one day feel for my 
 death.' 
 
 " The letter horrified me ; it revealed the secret suf- 
 ferings of the past, while it opened the mysteries of the 
 future. I went out on foot, not waiting for my carriage, 
 and crossed the whole of Paris, driven b}' remorse, and 
 grasped by the violence of my first feeling, — a feel- 
 ing which became lasting as soon as I saw m}' victim. 
 The neatness under w T hich her poverty was hidden gave 
 signs of the anguish of her life. She spared me what 
 shame she could, and spoke of her sufferings with a 
 noble reserve after I had solemnly promised to adopt 
 her child. She died, monsieur, — in spite of the care I 
 lavished upon her, in spite of all the resources of science, 
 which I vainly invoked. All my care, 1113' too-late de- 
 votion, only served to make her last moments less bit- 
 ter. She had toiled ceaselessly to maintain her child. 
 The maternal sentiment had supported her under pov- 
 erty, but not against the keenest of her griefs, — my 
 desertion. A hundred times she had thought of appeal- 
 ing to me ; a hundred times her woman's pride arrested 
 her. She had wept — but never cursed me — as she 
 thought that of all the gold I was pouring out in floods 
 upon nry caprices, not one drop was turned, by a pass- 
 ing memory, to help the lives of mother and child in 
 that poor home. 
 
The Country Doctor. 235 
 
 "A good priest of the Saint-Sulpice, whose merciful 
 words restored her calm of mind, helped her at this 
 crisis, and she had come to diy her tears in the shadow 
 of the altars where she sought for hope. The anguish 
 I had poured into her heart was insensibly appeased. 
 One day she overheard her child repeat the words, l My 
 father ! ' — words that she had never taught him ; and in 
 that moment she forgave me. But, through grief and 
 tears, through daily and nightly toil, her health gave 
 wa}\ Religion, bringing its consolations and the cour- 
 age to bear the woes of life, h|td come too late. She 
 was attacked with heart-disease, caused by grief, by 
 the expectant hope of my return, — a hope forever 
 rising and forever crushed. At last, feeling that she 
 was near the end, she wrote me from her death-bed 
 those few short words, free from reproach, inspired b}' 
 religion and also by her belief in me. She knew, she 
 said, I was more blind than wicked ; she even went so 
 far as to blame herself for the woman's pride that car- 
 ried her too far. ' If I had written earlier,' she said, 
 ' perhaps we might have had time to make our child 
 legitimate bj* marriage.' 
 
 " Monsieur, beside that bed where I learned to know 
 the value of a devoted heart, I changed forever. I was 
 at an age when the eyes still weep. During the last 
 days of that precious life, my actions and my tears 
 testified to the repentance of a man who was stricken 
 to the heart. I recognized too late that soul of quality 
 which the frivolities of the world, the emptiness and 
 selfishness of women of fashion had taught me to desire 
 and prompted me to seek. Weary of shams, weary of 
 listening to lies, I had asked for love, the true love of 
 
230 The Country Doctor. 
 
 which fictitious passions had driven me to dream ; and 
 it was here, killed b} T me ; I could not keep it, though 
 it still was mine. 
 
 ' k Four years' experience had revealed to me my true 
 character. My temperament, the nature of my imag- 
 ination, my religious principles, dormant rather than 
 destroyed, m} 7 style of mind, my reserved and sensitive 
 heart, — all these had been leading me for some time past 
 to solve the troubles of m}* life in the enjoyments of the 
 heart, and to spend the passions of my nature in the 
 delights of family life, the truest of all delights. By 
 dint of floundering in the void of existence without an 
 object, of pursuing pleasures devoid of all the senti- 
 ments that ought to embellish them, the thought of a 
 home life had lately roused my keenest emotions. 
 Thus the change which now took place in my life and 
 morals was lasting, though sudden. My southern na- 
 ture, deteriorating under the influence of a life in Paris, 
 would assuredly not have led me to pity the fate of a 
 deserted girl if some trifler had related it in a merry 
 company, — in France, the horror of a crime disap- 
 pears in the wit of a clever saying, — but in presence 
 of this celestial creature, who was to me without re- 
 proach, all sophistries were silenced : the coffin was 
 there ; my child smiled at me, not knowing that I had 
 killed its mother. She died ; she died happy in the 
 knowledge that I loved her, and that in this new love 
 nothing was due to pity, nor even to the tie that now 
 united us so closety. Never shall I forget the last hours 
 of that dying life, when, with love reconquered and her 
 mother-heart at rest, her sorrows ceased. The plenty 
 and the luxury with which she was surrounded, the joy 
 
The Country Doctor. 237 
 
 of her child, who seemed more lovely in the pretty gar- 
 ments of his age, were to her the pledges of a happ} 7 
 future for the little being in whom she thought to live 
 again. 
 
 "The vicar of Saint-Sulpice, a witness to my despair, 
 made it all the deeper by giving me no empty consola- 
 tions ; he laid the gravity of my obligations before me. 
 But I did not need a spur ; my conscience spoke loudly 
 enough. A woman had nobly trusted me ; I had lied to 
 her in sa} 7 ing that I loved her, and then I had betrayed 
 her. I had caused the sorrows and misfortunes of a 
 poor girl who, having accepted the humiliations of the 
 world for my sake, ought to have been sacred to me. 
 She died forgiving me, forgetting all her wrongs, for 
 she rested on the promises of a man who had already 
 broken his word to her. After giving me her girlish 
 faith, Agathe found in her heart another faith to give 
 me, the faith of a mother. Oh ! monsieur, that child ! 
 her child ! God alone knows what it was to me. The 
 dear little being, like its mother, was graceful in all its 
 movements, in its speech, in its ideas ; but to me — ' 
 it was more than a child. It was my pardon, my 
 honor. I cherished it like a father, but I longed to 
 love it as its mother would have loved it ; I thought my 
 remorse would change to joy if I could make it feel it 
 had never lost its mother's breast. Thus I was bound 
 to my son by every human tie, and every religious 
 hope. I had in my heart all the tenderness that God 
 has given to mothers. The voice of the child made me 
 quiver ; I looked at him for hours as he lay asleep, with 
 an ever-springing joy ; often m} T tears fell on his brow. 
 I taught him to come to me and say his prayers on my 
 
238 The Country Doctor. 
 
 bed as soon as he waked in the morning. What sweet 
 emotions the pure and simple prayer of our Lord uttered 
 by the pure fresh lips of the child have given me, — 
 but also, what terrible anguish ! One morning, after 
 saying, ' Our Father, who art in heaven,' he stopped : 
 'Why not "our mother?'" he asked me. The words 
 overpowered me. I adored my son, but I had cast 
 more than one fatal misfortune upon his life. Though 
 the laws recognize the faults of youth, and have in a 
 measure protected them, by giving (with some unwill- 
 ingness) a legal existence to natural children, the world 
 has added the support of insurmountable prejudices to 
 the reluctance of the law. 
 
 " From this period of my life, monsieur, come the 
 serious reflections I have made on the basis of soci- 
 eties, on their machinery, on the duties of man, and 
 the morality which ought to actuate every citizen. 
 Genius apprehends at once the ties which bind the 
 soul of man to the destinies of society ; religion in- 
 spires pure minds with the principles necessary to hap- 
 piness ; but repentance alone can imprint them on an 
 ardent and impetuous imagination : repentance enlight- 
 ened me. I lived for a child, and through that child I 
 was led to meditate on great social questions. I re- 
 solved to supply him in advance with every means of 
 success, and thus pave a sure way for his future eleva- 
 tion. I had him taught English, German, Italian, Span- 
 ish, and surrounded him with persons of those countries 
 whose business it was to make him acquire from in- 
 fancy the pronunciation of each language. To my 
 great jo} T , I found him a child of excellent disposition, 
 and I made the most of it by instructing him while I 
 
The Country Doctor. 239 
 
 amused him. I endeavored to let not a single false idea 
 get into his mind ; above all, I tried to accustom him 
 early to use his intelligence. I sought to give him the 
 clear vision that generalizes with sure yet rapid glance, 
 and the patience which condescends to minute details ; 
 and finally, I taught him how to suffer and keep silence. 
 I never allowed an impure, nor even an unclean, word 
 to be uttered in his hearing ; it was my first care that 
 the men and the things about him should help to enno- 
 ble him, to uplift his soul, to give him a love of truth, 
 a horror of falsehood, and make him simple and natural 
 in language, in actions, and in manners. The liveli- 
 ness of his imagination made him eagerly seize all les- 
 sons from the outside ; and the readiness of his mental 
 faculties made other studies easy to him. What a 
 charming plant he was to cultivate ! Ah ! what happi- 
 ness is equal to a mother's ! I understood now how his 
 mother had lived and borne her sorrows. 
 
 "This, monsieur, was the great event of my life ; and 
 now I come to the catastrophe which drove me to this 
 district. I shall tell you the commonest of all histories, 
 and the simplest, } T et to me it is terrible. 
 
 " After giving, for several years, all my thoughts and 
 care to the child of whom I sought to make a man, my 
 solitude began to frighten me ; my son was growing 
 up, he would soon leave me. Love is the principle of 
 existence in my soul. I felt the need of affection, a 
 need ever disappointed, } T et ever reviving and growing 
 stronger with age. I had in me all the conditions for 
 a true attachment. I had been tried ; I knew the mean- 
 ing of constancy, and the happiness of turning a sacrifice 
 into a pleasure ; the woman I loved must needs be first 
 
240 The Country Doctor. 
 
 in our joint actions and in all my thoughts. I delighted 
 in imagining a love that should reach the degree of cer- 
 taint} T when emotions so interpenetrate two beings that 
 happiness passes into the life, the look, the words, and 
 is no longer an external agitation. Love is then to the 
 life what religion is to the soul ; it inspires it, sustains 
 and enlightens it. I interpreted conjugal love differently 
 from other men ; I felt that its beauty, its glory, lay pre- 
 cisely in those things which prove the ruin of man}^ house- 
 holds. I keenly felt the moral grandeur of a double 
 life so closely shared that the common acts of existence 
 should afford no obstacle to the permanence of feeling. 
 
 " But where find hearts beating so perfectly with 
 isochronous movement (pardon the scientific term) that 
 such celestial union could be brought about? If they 
 exist, nature or chance throws them so far asunder that 
 the}' cannot join ; or they know each other too late and 
 are too soon separated by death. Such fatality must 
 have a meaning, but I have never searched for it. I 
 suffer too much from m}- wounds to stud}' them. Per- 
 haps perfect happiness is a prodigy that our species 
 cannot perpetuate. 
 
 " My desire for a marriage of this kind had other 
 motives. I was without friends. To me the world was 
 a desert. There is something about me which impedes 
 the tender phenomenon of the union of souls. Persons 
 have sought me out, but nothing has ever kept them 
 near me, no matter what advances I made towards 
 them. With many men, I have silenced my sense of 
 what the world calls superiority ; I walked at their 
 pace, adopted their ideas, laughed with their laugh, 
 and made the best of their faults of character. If I had 
 
The Country Doctor. 241 
 
 attained to fame I would have sold it to them for a 
 little affection. These men left me without a regret. 
 Snares and sufferings are all that Paris holds for hearts 
 that seek true sentiments. Wherever I turned in social 
 life the earth crumbled under my feet. To some per- 
 sons my kindliness meant weakness ; yet if I showed 
 the talons of a man conscious of the strength to grasp 
 authority, the}' thought me wicked. To others, the hap- 
 py laugh which ceases at twenty and which we are half- 
 ashamed to indulge in later, was a source of ridicule ; 
 I amused them. In these days the world is bored, 3-et 
 it will have gravity in its most trifling intercourse. It 
 is a horrible epoch, which bows before the polished, 
 cold and commonplace man whom it hates, and } r et 
 obe3 T s. I discovered later the reason of these appar- 
 ent inconsistencies. Mediocrity, monsieur, is sufficient 
 for the ordinary purposes of life ; it is the daily garb 
 of society ; all that emerges from the soft shadow 
 cast by commonplace people is too striking for the 
 daily uses of the world ; genius and originality are 
 jewels which it locks away, and onty wears on great 
 occasions. 
 
 " And so, monsieur, solitary as I was in the midst 
 of Paris, finding nothing to satisfy me in the world 
 around me, which took my all and returned me nothing, 
 unable to have enough of my child to fill my soul be- 
 cause I was a man and not a woman, — it came to pass 
 that one day, when I felt my life growing chill and I 
 bent beneath the weight of w$ secret wretchedness, I 
 met the woman who was to make me know love in all 
 its violence, the honor of a love avowed, love, with its 
 teeming hopes of happiness — in short, Love ! 
 
 16 
 
242 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " I had renewed my intimacy with the old friend of 
 nry father who formerly looked after nry interests. It 
 was in his house that I met the }'oung girl for whom I 
 felt the love that was to last as long as life itself. The 
 older a man grows, monsieur, the more he recognizes 
 the immense influence of ideas upon events. Certain 
 estimable prejudices, growing out of noble religious 
 ideas, were the actual cause of nry great misfortune. 
 The young girl I speak of belonged to an extremely 
 pious family, whose Catholic opinions originated in the 
 spirit of a sect improperly called Jansenist, which was 
 formerly the cause of much ..rouble in France, — 3011 
 know why ? " 
 
 " No," said Genestas. 
 
 '_' Jansenius, bishop of Ypres, wrote a book supposed 
 to contain teachings in conflict with those of the Holy 
 See. Later, the actual text of the book was thought 
 not to be heretical ; and some writers even went so far 
 as to deny the existence of an} T such doctrines. This 
 originally insignificant dispute gave birth to two parties 
 in the Gallican church, — that of the Jansenists, and 
 that of the Jesuits. There were great men on both sides. 
 It was a struggle between two powerful bodies. The 
 Jansenists accused the Jesuits of teaching a relaxed 
 morality, and themselves affected an excessive purity 
 of manners and principles ; they were, in France, a 
 species of Catholic Puritan, if the terms can be allied. 
 During the French Revolution, there grew up, as a 
 result of the unimportant schism produced b} 7 the Con- 
 cordat, a body of purer Catholics, who would not recog- 
 nize the bishops appointed by the revolutionary power 
 and the transactions of the Pope. This faithful flock 
 
The Country Doctor. 243 
 
 formed what was called the 'little church,' whose shep- 
 herds taught, as did the Jansenists, the exemplary 
 regularity of life and conduct which appears to be a 
 law necessary to the existence of all proscribed and 
 persecuted sects. Several Jansenist families belonged 
 to the ' little church.' The parents of this young girl 
 were among those who embraced the two puritanisms ; 
 both equally stern, and giving to the character and 
 countenance of their followers an imposing dignity ; for 
 it is the propeily of absolute doctrines to ennoble simple 
 actions by connecting them with the future life. From 
 a sense of that life comes a splendid and winning purit}' 
 of heart, a respect for one's self and others, a delicate 
 sense of justice and injustice ; also a vast charitj', at 
 the same time a strict equit3 r , na}', an implacable one ; 
 and a profound horror of every vice, above all for false- 
 hood, which includes them all. 
 
 "I cannot recall any moments in my life more de- 
 lightful than those during which, at the house of nry old 
 friend, I saw and admired for the first time this timid, 
 true 3'oung girl, trained to obedience, in whom all the 
 special virtues of that faith shone forth without pro- 
 ducing in her any sign of pride. Her supple and slen- 
 der figure lent a grace to her movements that no 
 austerity could hide ; the outline of her face had the 
 distinction and her features the delicacy of a young girl 
 of noble blood ; her glance was gentle }*et proud, her 
 brow calm ; her head was crowned with abundant hair, 
 simply braided, and yet it served, unknown to her, as an 
 adornment. Captain, she was to me the type of a per- 
 fection which each man finds in the woman who inspires 
 him with love. To love at all must he not see in her 
 
244 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the quality of that beaut} T which his individual nature 
 dreams of, and prefigures? When I spoke to her, she 
 answered simply, without alacrity nor yet false modesty, 
 — unaware of the pleasure which the harmony of her 
 voice with her exterior beauty gave me. These angels 
 all bear the same signs, by which the heart knows them ; 
 the same sweetness of voice, the same tenderness in 
 the eyes, the same purity of the skin, and something 
 pretty in the gestures. Those gifts all harmonize and 
 blend, and unite to charm although we are not able to 
 seize the essence of their charm. A divine soul breathes 
 in every movement. I loved her passionately. This 
 love awakened and then satisfied the feelings it aroused : 
 ambition, fortune, all my dreams were realized. Beau- 
 tiful, noble, rich, and well brought up, she possessed 
 advantages which the world arbitrarily demands in a 
 woman placed in the high position I desired to reach ; 
 well educated, she was able to express her thoughts 
 with the sparkling eloquence that is so rare and yet so 
 common in France, where the pretty words of many 
 women are mere emptiness, while hers betra} T ed a wit 
 that was full of sense. Above all, she had a deep sense 
 of her own dignity that made others respect her ; I 
 know of no quality more beautiful in a wife — 
 
 "I pause, captain; who can picture the woman he 
 loves ! between her and the man who loves her nrys- 
 teries pre-exist which escape analysis. 
 
 " I took my old friend into mj* confidence; he pre- 
 sented me to the family, and gave me the support of 
 his honorable character. Though I was received at first 
 with the cold reserve peculiar to exclusive persons, who, 
 however, never give up a friend they once accept, later on 
 
The Country Doctor. 245 
 
 I came to be more familiarly welcomed. No doubt I owed 
 this evidence of regard to the conduct I pursued under 
 these circumstances. Notwithstanding my passion, I 
 did nothing to lower myself in my own eyes ; I showed 
 no servile desire to please ; I did not natter those on 
 whom my fate depended. I showed myself for what I 
 was, — and, above all, a man. After my character be- 
 came known, my old friend, as anxious as I was nryself 
 to put an end to my sad celibacy, spoke to the father of 
 my wishes ; they were favorably received, though still 
 with the cautious reserve that people of the world seldom 
 lay aside. From a desire to help me to a ' good mar- 
 riage,' — an expression which turns a solemn act into a 
 commercial enterprise, where each side seeks to deceive 
 the other, — the old man kept silence on what he called 
 the error of my youth. He feared that the existence of 
 my child might rouse moral objections in comparison 
 with which all questions of fortune were as nothing, and 
 so lead to a rupture of the marriage. He was right. 
 ' It is,' he said to me, ' a matter which can very well be 
 settled between you and your wife, from whom }'ou will 
 easily obtain absolution.' To silence my scruples, he 
 employed all the specious arguments which the ordi- 
 nary wisdom of the world suggests. I must declare, 
 monsieur, that my own feelings prompted me to lay the 
 whole matter lo} T ally before the head of the family ; but 
 the inflexibility of his character led me to pause and 
 reflect, and the possible consequences of my avowal 
 alarmed me. I basely compromised with in 3- conscience ; 
 I resolved to wait, and win from my future wife such 
 decided proofs of affection that my happiness could not 
 be jeopardized by the confession. The resolution to 
 
246 The Country Doctor. 
 
 avow all at a favorable moment seemed to justify the 
 sophistries of the world and of my old friend. 
 
 u I was now received by the parents of the } T oung 
 girl on the footing of a future husband, though with- 
 out the knowledge of the friends of the family. The 
 distinctive characteristic of these pious families is un- 
 limited reserve ; they keep silence about everything, 
 even matters that are of no consequence. You would 
 hardty believe, monsieur, how much this gentle gravit} 7 , 
 mingling with every action, adds depth to the charac- 
 ter of their feelings. Among such families all occupa- 
 tions are useful ; the women employ their leisure in 
 making clothes for the poor ; the talk is never frivolous ; 
 laughter, indeed, is not banished, but the jests are sim- 
 ple and without acrimony. At first, the conversation, 
 stripped of the piquancy which gossip and scandalous 
 tales give to the conversations of the world, seemed 
 strange to me. The father and uncle read the news- 
 papers, but my future wife had never cast her eyes 
 upon those pages which all, even the most harmless, 
 tell of the crimes and vices of the communitj^. Later, 
 however, my soul received from that pure atmosphere 
 the same impression which our e}'es receive from neu- 
 tral tints, — a soft repose, a soothing quietude. The 
 life was outwardly one of frightful monoton}'. The in- 
 terior aspect of the house had a chilling influence ; eveiy 
 morning I saw the furniture, even the pieces that were 
 in daily use, ranged exactly in their proper places, and 
 the smallest articles in scrupulous order. 
 
 " And yet, this manner of life won upon me. After 
 conquering the first repugnance of a man accustomed 
 to the pleasures of variet} 7 in the, luxury and stir of 
 
The Country Doctor. 247 
 
 Parisian life, I perceived the advantages of such an 
 existence. It develops ideas to their fullest extent, 
 and stimulates involuntary meditation : the heart rules, 
 nothing distracts it, it comes finally to the perception of 
 something, I know not what, as limitless as the ocean. 
 In such a life, as in a cloister, where the same things are 
 ever and ever recurring, thoughts detach themselves 
 from things, and return, unshackled, to the infinitude of 
 feelings. To a man as sincerely in love as I was, the 
 silence, the simplicity of life, the almost monastic repe- 
 tition of the same acts performed at the same hours, all 
 gave greater force to love. In such deep calm, the 
 slightest motion, a word, a gesture, became of enormous 
 interest. Nothing being forced or conventional in the 
 expression of feelings, a smile, a glance gave, to those 
 whose hearts were one, inexhaustible methods of ex- 
 pressing themselves. I began to understand that lan- 
 guage, with all its magnificent possibilities, has nothing 
 so varied or so eloquent as the communion of glances 
 and the harmony of smiles. Many a time did I send my 
 soul to my lips or to my eyes, and tell the ardor of my 
 love in speechless utterance to the young girl who sat 
 beside me, — always tranquil, and ignorant of the secret 
 meaning of my presence ; for her parents wished to leave 
 her free to choose in the most important act of her life. 
 But no sooner does a true passion enter into us than 
 the mere presence of the woman we love satisfies our 
 most violent desires. When admitted to her presence 
 our happiness is like that of a Christian in communion 
 with God. To see her, is it not to adore her? If for 
 me, more than for any other, it was torture to be denied 
 the right to utter the transports of my heart, if I was 
 
248 The Country Doctor. 
 
 forced to bury in its depths those burning words which 
 fail to render the more burning emotions the} T endeavor 
 to express, 3*et this constraint, by imprisoning my pas- 
 sion, made it rush forth more vehemently in little things, 
 and the trifling circumstances of our common life grew 
 to have an excessive value. To admire her for hours 
 together ; to wait for an answer and listen with delight 
 to the modulations of her voice, that I might find within 
 them the secret of her thoughts ; to watch the trembling 
 of her fingers as I gave her some object for which she 
 searched ; to find pretexts to lightly touch her dress, her 
 hair, or take her hand, or make her speak more than 
 she wished to speak, — all these nothings were great 
 events to me. During such hours of ecstasy, the eyes, 
 the gestures, the voice conve3 T to the soul mysterious 
 proofs of love. Such was my language, — the only 
 utterance which the virginal reserve of this young girl 
 permitted. For her manners never changed ; she was 
 with me as a sister with a brother ; only, as my passion 
 grew, the contrast between my words and hers, between 
 her looks and mine, became more striking, and I ended 
 by divining that her timid silence was the only means 
 by which she was able to express her feelings. Was 
 she not always in the salon when I came? did she 
 not stay there till my visit, perhaps expected and de- 
 sired, was over? such silent tribute, did it not reveal 
 the secret of her innocent soul? surely, she listened 
 to my words with a pleasure she knew not how to 
 hide. 
 
 " This reserve in our manners, and the repression of 
 our love, at last put the parents out of patience. Seeing 
 that I was nearly as timid as their daughter, they judged 
 
Tlie Country Doctor. 249 
 
 favorably of my character, and thought me worth}^ of 
 their esteem. The father and mother spoke to my old 
 friend, and said man}- flattering things ; they called me 
 their adopted son, and praised more especially my moral 
 principles. It is quite true that I had renewed my 
 youth. In that pure and religious circle the man of 
 thirty- two became once more the youth full of beliefs. 
 Summer was nearly over ; the business which had kept 
 the family in Paris, contrary to their habits, was fin- 
 ished, and in the month of September they were to 
 leave for a countr} T -seat in Auvergne, where the father 
 invited me to spend two months in an old chateau nest- 
 ling among the mountains of the Cantal. When this 
 cordial invitation was given, I made no immediate an- 
 swer. IVTy hesitation brought me the sweetest, most 
 delightful involuntary expression by which a modest 
 young girl ever betrayed the secrets of her heart. Eve- 
 lina — oh, God!" exclaimed Benassis, who became 
 silent and thoughtful. 
 
 " Forgive me, Captain Bluteau," he resumed, after a 
 a long pause. "For the first time in twelve years I 
 have uttered a name that hovers ever in my thoughts 
 — that a voice cries to me when I sleep. Evelina, 
 then, since I have named her, raised her head with a 
 movement whose rapidity contrasted strongly with the 
 innate quietness of all her movements. She looked at 
 me without pride, but with a sort of pained anxiet}' ; 
 then she blushed, and lowered her eyes. The very 
 slowness with which the lids were dropped gave me a 
 pleasure I know not how to express, a pleasure hitherto 
 unknown to me. I could only answer in a broken voice. 
 The emotions of my heart spoke straight to hers, and 
 
250 The Country Doctor. 
 
 she thanked me with a look that was soft and almost 
 tearful. We had told each other all. 
 
 " I went with the family to their country-place. From 
 the day when our hearts understood each other, all 
 tilings about us wore a new aspect ; nothing now was 
 without a meaning. Though true love is ever the same, 
 it takes the form of our ideas, and is alwa}-s like and 
 unlike to itself in each being ; for in each the passion 
 is a unique growth, expressing individual s3 T mpathies. 
 The poet and the philosopher alone know the depth of 
 meaning in a definition of love now grown common- 
 place, namely, the egotism of a double self. We love 
 ourselves in that other. But if the expression of love is 
 so diverse that each pair of lovers have not their like 
 throughout the centuries, love nevertheless follows a 
 law in its wa} T s of utterance. All young girls, even the 
 most chaste, use the same language, and differ only in 
 the grace of their ideas. But there was this exception 
 in the case of Evelina : to aii3 T other young girl the 
 innocent betrayal of her emotions would have seemed 
 natural ; to her it was a concession made to tumultuous 
 feelings, which overcame the habitual calm of her relig- 
 ious youth ; each furtive glance was violently snatched 
 from her b}' love. This constant struggle between her 
 heart and her principles gave to the slightest action of 
 her life, so tranquil on the surface yet so deepty stirred 
 within, a steadfast character, greatly superior to the ex- 
 aggerations of most young girls whose manners soon 
 take the tone of the society about them. 
 
 " During the journe}', Evelina observed the beauties 
 of nature and talked of them with enthusiasm. When 
 we are forbidden to express the joy the presence of our 
 
The Country Doctor. 251 
 
 beloved gives us we ponr the feelings that overflow our 
 hearts upon external objects ; and those our hidden 
 feelings glorify. The poetry of the landscape which 
 flitted past our eyes was, for each of us, an interpreter 
 fully understood ; the praises that we gave it contained, 
 to our own souls, the secrets of our love. Evelina's 
 mother amused herself, ever}^ now and then, with a few 
 feminine sallies at her daughter's expense. ' You 
 have travelled through this valley twenty times, my 
 dear child, without seeming to admire it,' she said, 
 after some speech of Evelina's that seemed to her too 
 warm. * Mother, I was not then old enough to under- 
 stand this sort of beauty.' Forgive me for relating 
 this trifle, which can have no charm for you, captain ; 
 to me the simple answer brought untold happiness, 
 welling up in the glance she gave me. So, each village 
 lighted by the rising sun, each ivy-covered ruin that we 
 looked at together, served to imprint more deeply on 
 our souls, by the memoiy of a material thing, the ten- 
 der emotions in which, for us, our future la}'. 
 
 ct We reached the chateau, where I sta} T ed about foily 
 da} T s. That short period, monsieur, is the only time 
 of complete happiness which heaven has granted me. 
 I tasted jo} T s unknown to the dwellers in a city. I felt 
 the pleasure two lovers feel in living under the same 
 roof; marrying each other, as it were, before marriage, 
 walking together along the fields, able to be at times 
 alone, sitting beneath a tree in the depths of some 
 lovely valle}", looking at the buildings of an old mill, 
 snatching some half-given confidence from the tender 
 talks that lead us a little more, and more, into each 
 other's hearts. Ah ! monsieur, life in the open air, the 
 
252 The Country Doctor. 
 
 beauties of heaven and earth, harmonize so well with 
 the delights and the perfections of the soul ! To smile 
 upon each other as we contemplate the skies, to mingle 
 quiet speech with the song of birds beneath the dewy 
 foliage, to loiter homeward with reluctant step, listen- 
 ing to the bells that summon us all too soon ; to admire 
 together some glimpse of scenery, follow the capricious 
 flight of insects, or watch the golden-fly, that fragile 
 creation allied to pure and loving girlhood, — is not this 
 to be daily drawn a little nearer towards heaven? To 
 me, those fort}' days hold memories that color all my 
 life, — memories the more beautiful and infinite, because 
 never again was I to meet with comprehension. To-day 
 many a scene, simple apparent!}', though full of bitter 
 meaning for a wounded heart, recalls the vanished yet 
 unforgotten love. Do you remember the sunset light on 
 the cottage of little Jacques, — how at one moment the 
 sunbeams glorified all nature, and then, suddenly, the 
 scene grew dark and gloom}'? Those aspects, so widely 
 different, showed me a faithful picture of this period of 
 nry life. Monsieur, I received from Evelina the first, the 
 sole, sublime proof of love that an innocent girl is al- 
 lowed to give, — all the dearer because it is given fur- 
 tively ; precious promise of love, the echo of the language 
 spoken in a better world. Sure, then, of being loved, I 
 swore in my thoughts to tell her all, to keep no secret 
 from her. I felt ashamed that I had delayed so long to 
 speak to her of the troubles I had brought upon myself. 
 " Unfortunately, on the morrow of that happy day, I 
 received a letter from my son's tutor, which made me 
 tremble for the life so clear to me. I left, without con- 
 fiding my secret to Evelina, and without giving her 
 
The Country Doctor. 253 
 
 parents any other reason than important business. My 
 departure alarmed them. Fearing that I had some 
 entanglement of the heart, the}' wrote to Paris to in- 
 quire into my conduct. Inconsistently with their relig- 
 ious principles, they distrusted me without giving me a 
 chance to meet their suspicions. One of their friends 
 informed them, without iny knowledge, of the events of 
 my } r outh, exaggerated my errors, and dwelt on the 
 existence of my child, which I had, they said, intention- 
 all} 7 concealed. When, soon after, I wrote to nry in- 
 tended father-in-law, I received no answer. The family 
 returned to Paris ; 1 called at the house and was not 
 admitted. Much alarmed, I sent my old friend to in- 
 quire the motives of a conduct I could not understand. 
 When he learned them, the good old man nobly took 
 the whole blame of my silence upon himself, tried to 
 defend me, but did no good. Motives of interest and 
 morality were too powerful in the family, their preju- 
 dices too fixed ; it was impossible to change their 
 resolution. 
 
 "My despair knew no bounds. At first I tried to 
 quell the storm ; but my letters were sent back to- me 
 unopened. When all human means were exhausted, 
 when the father and mother had told my old friend, who 
 was in truth the real cause of nrv misfortune, that they 
 would forever refuse their daughter to a man who had 
 upon his conscience the death of a woman and the life 
 of a natural son, even if Evelina implored them on her 
 knees — then, monsieur, there remained to me but one 
 last ray of hope, feeble as the willow twig to which 
 some unhappy wretch clings when drowning. I dared 
 to hope that Evelina's love would be stronger than the 
 
254 The Country Doctor. 
 
 resolution of her parents. Her father might have con- 
 cealed from her his motives for thus killing our love ; I 
 wished her to decide my fate on a knowledge of the facts. 
 I wrote to her. Alas ! monsieur, it was in tears and 
 sorrow, and not without man}' hesitations, that I wrote 
 the only love-letter of my life. I have but a vague 
 remembrance of the words despair dictated to me ; 
 doubtless I told my Evelina that if she were sincere and 
 true she could not, she ought not to love any man but 
 me ; otherwise her life would be a falsehood ; she would 
 be false to her future husband or to me. I asked her, 
 was it not a betra} T al of all the womanly virtues to deny 
 to a lost lover the faithfulness she would have given 
 him had the marriage, already celebrated in our hearts, 
 taken place? what woman would not think it dearer to 
 be bound by the promises of the heart than by the 
 chains of law? I defended my errors, appealing to the 
 purity of innocence, forgetting nothing that could, as I 
 thought, soften a noble and generous heart. As I have 
 told you all, I will show you her answer, and my final 
 reply." 
 
 Benassis rose, and went to his own room. He soon 
 returned, holding in his hand a well worn portfolio, 
 from which he took, not without strong emotion, a few 
 papers carelessly folded, which trembled in his hand. 
 
 " Here is the fatal letter," he said. " The child who 
 wrote the words did not know what value the very pa- 
 per that contained her thoughts would have for me. 
 Here," he added, showing another letter, "is the last 
 \\-\ that my anguish drew from me ; 30U shall judge of 
 it presently. My old friend carried my supplication, 
 delivered it secretly, and humiliated his gra}' hairs by 
 
The Country Doctor. 255 
 
 imploring Evelina to read it and to answer it. Here 
 is what she wrote to me : — 
 
 " 'Monsieur, — ' 
 
 " To me who was her ' loved one,' the chaste name 
 she had found to express a chaste love — she called me 
 monsieur! That one word told all. But listen to the 
 letter : — 
 
 " ' It is cruel for a young girl to discover the duplicity of 
 a man to whom her life was to have been confided ; never- 
 theless, I ought to forgive you, for we all are weak. Your let- 
 ter has touched me; but do not write again; I cannot bear 
 the pain it causes me. We are parted forever. The excuses 
 you offer have affected me; they have stifled the feeling that 
 had risen in my heart against you, — I loved so much to 
 think you pure ! But you and I are too feeble against my 
 father's will. Yes, monsieur, I have dared to speak in your 
 behalf. To beseech my parents I have risen above the great- 
 est fear I ever felt, I have even cast aside the habits of 
 my life. And now I yield to your prayers ; I am guilty of 
 doing wrong in answering you without my father's knowl- 
 edge; but my mother knows of it; her indulgence, leaving 
 me free to be this one last moment with you, proves to me 
 how much she loves me, and strengthens me in my obedience 
 to the wishes of my family — which I was very near to dis- 
 regarding. 
 
 " ' Monsieur, I write to you for the first and last time. I for- 
 give you, without reserve, for the sorrows you have brought 
 upon my life. Yes, you are right; a first love can never be 
 effaced. I am no longer a pure young girl ; I could never be 
 a chaste wife. I know not therefore what may be my destiny. 
 Monsieur, the year that you have filled will echo through my 
 life; but I will not blame you. I shall be ever loved — you 
 say — Why do you tell me so? Can those words calm the 
 
256 The Country Doctor. 
 
 troubled soul of a poor solitary girl? Have you not wrecked 
 my future life, and given me memories that must forever 
 cling to me? If, now, I can only give myself to Jesus, will 
 he accept a bleeding heart? But he does not send afflictions 
 without a purpose; they have a meaning; he meant to call 
 me to himself — to him, my only refuge. Monsieur, there is 
 nothing left for me in life. You can cheat your grief witli 
 the natural ambitions of men; this is not meant as a re- 
 proach, but rather as a sort of consolation. I think that if 
 we both bear to-day a heavy burden, my share is the heaviest. 
 He in whom I put my trust, and of whom you can feel no 
 jealousy, he has joined our lives together, and he puts them 
 asunder according to his will. I have seen that your relig- 
 ious beliefs were not based upon the pure and living faith 
 that alone can help us to endure our earthly woes. Mon- 
 sieur, if God deigns to hear the entreaties of my fervent 
 ceaseless prayer, he will grant you the illuminations of his 
 spirit. 
 
 "'Farewell, you who should have been my guide; you, 
 whom I called my loved one without shame; you, for whom I 
 still can pray without dishonor. God orders our lives ac- 
 cording to his will; he may call you to himself before me : 
 if I am left alone in the world, then, monsieur, confide to me 
 your child.' 
 
 "This letter, full of generous sentiments, disappointed 
 my hopes," resumed Benassis. " At first I could think 
 only of my sorrow ; later, I welcomed the balm she had 
 tried to pour into my wounds, forgetting herself. But in 
 the first moments of my despair I wrote to her some- 
 what harshly. 
 
 " ' Mademoiselle, — That word alone will tell you that 
 I resign you and obey you. A man still finds some sweet- 
 ness, terrible though it be, in obeying the woman he loves — 
 even when she bids him leave her. You are right; I stand 
 
The Country Doctor. 257 
 
 condemned in my own eyes. Once, I cast away the devotion 
 of a young girl ; it is fitting that my love should now be 
 rejected. But I little thought that the only woman to whom 
 I have made gift of my soul should be the instrument of this 
 vengeance. I could not have suspected such harshness, per- 
 haps I ought to say such virtue, in a heart which seemed to 
 me so tender and so loving. At this moment the full strength 
 of my love is revealed to me; it survives the bitterest of all 
 griefs, — the contempt you show for me in breaking, without 
 regret, the ties that bound us. 
 
 " ' Farewell forever. I keep the humble pride of repent- 
 ance ; and I will seek a way to expiate the errors for which you, 
 my mediator in heaven, are without pity. God may be less 
 cruel. My sufferings — sufferings filled with you — are the 
 punishment of a wounded heart that will henceforth bleed 
 in solitude. Yes, for wounded hearts, silence and shade. No 
 other image of love can enter my heart. Though I am not 
 a woman, I felt, as you feel, that when I said, " I love thee," 
 it was a vow for life. Yes, those words, whispered in my 
 beloved's ear, were not a lie. If I could change, your con- 
 tempt would be justified: I cannot ; you will remain the idol 
 of my solitary life. Repentance and love are virtues that 
 should inspire all other virtues; and so, despite the gulf that 
 parts us, you will still be the principle of my actions. Though 
 you have filled my heart with bitterness, no bitter thoughts 
 of you are in it: what beginning of better things would that 
 be which did not purify my soul of the leaven of anger? 
 
 " ' Farewell, then, only heart that I have loved in this 
 world, and from which I am driven. Was ever farewell so 
 tender or so full of feeling? bears it not away a soul, a 
 life, that no power on earth can resuscitate? 
 
 " ' Adieu — to you, peace; to me, suffering.' " 
 
 Genestas and Benassis looked at each other for a 
 moment, each in the grasp of thoughts that can never 
 be communicated. 
 
 17 
 
258 The Country Doctor. 
 
 ' ' After sending this last letter, the rough copy of 
 which was, as you see, preserved, and is to me the 
 representative of all my joys, now withered," said Be- 
 nassis, "I fell into a state of unutterable depression. 
 The earthly ties that hold a man to life were bound 
 together in this one hope, and it was lost. I had to 
 bid farewell to the delights of wedded love, to let die 
 the generous feelings that were budding in the depths 
 of my heart. The prayers of a repentant soul, thirsting 
 for good, for beauty, virtue, uprightness, were repulsed 
 b} r persons who were truly religious. Monsieur, at first 
 m} T mind was tossed about by frantic resolutions, but 
 the sight of my son controlled them. My attachment 
 to him increased through the misfortunes of which he 
 was the innocent cause, and for which I alone was to 
 blame. He became my consolation. At thirty-four 
 years of age I could still hope to be nobly useful to my 
 country : 1 resolved to make myself a distinguished 
 man, and wipe out by fame or by the splendor of power 
 the stain on my son's birth. How many noble emotions 
 I owe to him ; and how living a life he made me live 
 during the days when I worked for his future ! — I 
 stifle !" cried Benassis, in a choking voice. " Even at 
 the end of eleven years, I cannot dwell upon that fatal 
 period. That child, monsieur — I lost him ! " 
 
 The doctor was silent, and hid his face in his hands, 
 letting them fall when he recovered calmness. Genes- 
 tas saw, not without emotion, the tears that bathed his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Monsieur, this thunderbolt uprooted me," con- 
 tinued Benassis ; " I did not recover a sane moral sense 
 until 1 had transplanted myself into another soil than 
 
The Country Doctor. 259 
 
 that of social life. It was not until later that I saw the 
 hand of God in my misfortunes ; when I did, I resigned 
 myself and listened to his voice. My resignation could 
 not be speedy ; my higher nature had to be awakened. 
 I spent the last tires of my natural impetuosity in that 
 final struggle ; I hesitated long before I chose the only 
 course it was fitting for a Catholic to take. At first, I 
 wished to kill myself. These events developed an ex- 
 cessive melancholy in my mind, and I coldly resolved 
 on this act of despair. I considered it allowable to quit 
 life, since life itself quitted us. Suicide seemed to be 
 a natural act. Sorrows, I thought, produce the same 
 ravages upon the soul of man that extreme sufferings 
 produce upon his body ; surely, the intelligent being 
 suffering under a moral malady has the right to kill 
 himself, as a lamb, giddy with the staggers, breaks its 
 head against a tree. Are the ills of the soul easier to 
 cure than those of the body ? I doubt it. I know not 
 which is the greater coward, the man who is alwa}'s 
 hoping, or he who no longer hopes. Suicide seemed to 
 me the last stage of a moral malad} T , just as natural 
 death is the last stage of a physical malady ; but since 
 the moral life is placed under the control of the human 
 will, its cessation ought surely to be in accordance with 
 the action of the mind. It is the thought that kills, 
 not the pistol. Moreover, does not the fact that mere 
 chance can strike us down in the happiest moment of 
 our lives, absolve a man who declines to live an} T longer 
 a wretched life ? 
 
 "And yet, monsieur, these meditations, which filled 
 my mind in those first clays of mourning, lifted me to 
 higher considerations. For a time, I shared the noble 
 
260 The Country Doctor. 
 
 beliefs of pagan antiquity, — always, however, demand- 
 ing from them better rights for man. I believed I could, 
 \>y the light of modern torches, dig deeper than the an- 
 cients had dug into questions formerly reduced to sys- 
 tems. Epicurus permitted suicide. Was it not the 
 natural outcome of his philosoplry? He required, at any 
 price, the gratification of his senses ; that enjoyment 
 failing him, it was natural and permissible, he thought, 
 for the animate being to return to the repose of inani- 
 mate nature. The sole end of man being happiness 
 and the hope of happiness, death became a good to one 
 who suffered and suffered hopelessly, and to take it 
 voluntarily was a final act of wisdom. That act, how- 
 ever, he neither praised nor blamed; he merely said, 
 pouring a libation to Bacchus, ' Death is no cause 
 for laughter, nor for tears.' 
 
 " Zeno, and the other Stoics, though of a higher mo- 
 rality and more imbued with the doctrine of duty than 
 the Epicureans, recommended suicide in certain cases. 
 They reasoned thus : Man differs from the brutes in 
 that he is the sovereign master of his own person. 
 Take away from him the right of life and death over 
 himself, and you make him the slave of men and of 
 events. This right of life and death, well understood, 
 is the effective counterpoise of natural and social evils : 
 this individual right, if made over b\ r man to his fellows 
 begets tyranny. Man's power cannot exist unless he 
 has an unlimited freedom of action. Has he to escape 
 the shameful consequences of an irremediable wrong- 
 doing? the common man swallows the shame and lives 
 on ; the wise man drinks the hemlock and dies. Has 
 he to endure for the rest of his life the gout whicli burns 
 
The Country Doctor. 261 
 
 his bones, or a cancer which eats up his face? the wise 
 man sees that the moment has come ; he sends awa}' 
 the quacks, and says a last farewell to friends whose 
 lives he would otherwise sadden by his existence. Or it 
 may be that he falls under the power of a tyrant whom 
 he has combated with weapons in his hand — what shall 
 he do ? The oath of allegiance is offered ; he must take 
 it, or lose his head : the fool laj's his neck on the block, 
 the coward takes the oath, the wise man strikes to his 
 own heart a last blow for liberty. ' Free men,' cries the 
 Stoic, ' learn to keep yourselves free ! — free from }'our 
 passions, by sacrificing them to duty ; free from your 
 fellows, by the poison or the dagger which puts you be- 
 yond their reach ; free of fate, by drawing the line 
 beyond which it can have no grip upon you ; free of 
 prejudices, by never confounding them with duties ; 
 free of all animal apprehensions, b} T knowing how to 
 surmount the grosser instincts which chain down the 
 lives of so many unfortunates.' 
 
 "After clearing these arguments from the philo- 
 sophic tangle of the ancients, I believed I had found a 
 Christian sanction for them under the laws of free-will, 
 which God has given to men to enable him to judge 
 them at his tribunal in the last day ; I said to myself, 
 I will answer for my deed there.' But, monsieur, 
 Jiese very reasonings forced me to think of the morrow 
 of death ; and soon I found myself face to face with my 
 early beliefs. 
 
 "The whole of human life becomes of grave importance 
 if eternit} 7 bears its weight upon our lightest resolutions. 
 When the thought of the future life acts with all its 
 force upon the soul of man, and makes him feel within 
 
262 The Country Doctor. 
 
 himself something unspeakably vast that puts him in 
 contact with the infinite, all things change strangely. 
 From such a point of view life is very grand and very 
 petty. The sense of my own errors had never led me 
 to think of heaven so long as I could find comfort for 
 my sorrows on earth. To love, to consecrate myself 
 to the happiness of one woman, to be the head of a 
 family, — that surely was a noble way of expiating the 
 errors which stung my soul. When that wa}~ came to 
 nought, still there was expiation in consecrating my 
 life to that of my child. But when, after these efforts 
 of my soul, disdain and death wrapped me in eternal 
 mourning, when all my feelings were wounded and I 
 could see nothing left to me here below, — then I raised 
 my eyes to heaven, and I saw God. 
 
 u However, I still tried to make religion an accomplice 
 in my death. I re-read the Gospels, and found no text 
 in which suicide was forbidden ; but that reading filled 
 me, penetrated me with the divine thought of the Saviour 
 of men. Certainly he has said nothing of immortality, 
 but he has told us of his Father's mansions. He has 
 nowhere forbidden parricide, but he condemns all evil. 
 The glory of his apostles, and the proof of their mis- 
 sion, is less that they gave laws than that they spread 
 throughout the earth the new spirit of the new law, 
 The courage that a man displays in killing himself now 
 seemed to me his own condemnation. If he has the 
 strength to die, he ought to have the strength to strug- 
 gle : to refuse to suffer is weakness, not strength. 
 Moreover, to quit this life from disappointment — is 
 not that to abjure the Christian faith which Jesus has 
 anchored on these sublime words : ' Blessed are they 
 
The Country Doctor. 263 
 
 who mourn ? ' Suicide no longer seemed to me permis- 
 sible in an}' crisis of human life ; not even to a man who, 
 through a false conception of the grandeur of the spirit, 
 kills himself a moment before the executioner lets fall 
 the axe. Jesus Christ, in suffering himself to be cruci- 
 fied, taught us to obey all human laws, no matter how 
 unjustly applied. The word resignation graven on his 
 cross, intelligible to those who have the eyes to read the 
 sacred writing, appeared to me in all its divine clearness. 
 " I still possessed about eight}' thousand francs; at 
 first I wished to go far from men, to wear out niy life 
 in the depths of some solitary region ; but misanthropy, 
 a form of vanity hidden under the quills of a hedgehog, 
 is not a Catholic virtue. The heart of a misanthropist 
 never bleeds, it contracts ; and mine bled from every 
 vein. Thinking over the laws of the Church and the 
 help she offers to the afflicted, I came to understand 
 the value of prayer in solitude, and I determined to 
 i enter religion ' — to use the beautiful expression of 
 our forefathers. Though firmly resolved on this, I 
 nevertheless reserved the right of examining the ways 
 by which I could attain that end. After turning the 
 remains of my estate into money, I left Paris tranquilly. 
 The peace of God was a hope that could not fail me. 
 Attracted from the first by the rule of Saint Bruno, I 
 made my way on foot to the Grande Chartreuse, full of 
 earnest thoughts. That day was a solemn one for me. 
 I was not prepared for the magnificent scenery which 
 opens along the road which leads from Grenoble through 
 this valley, where superhuman power is visible at ever}' 
 step. Those beetling rocks, those precipices, those tor- 
 rents that make their voices heard amid the silence, that 
 
264 The Country Doctor. 
 
 solitude hemmed in by mountains and yet limitless, ths*fc 
 sanctuary to which man's barren wonder alone can pene- 
 trate, that wilderness of horror, softened by nature's 
 picturesque creations, those primeval pine-trees and 
 those plants of a day — such things in themselves were 
 enough to make me serious. It would be difficult to 
 laugh in traversing the desert of Saint Bruno ; there, 
 all melancholy sentiments prevail. I saw the Grande 
 Chartreuse ; I walked beneath those ancient, silent 
 arches ; I heard the water of the spring falling, drop by 
 drop, below the cloisters. I entered a cell that I might 
 take the measure of my own nothingness ; I breathed 
 the peace profound my predecessor had known there, 
 and I read with tender emotion the words he had written 
 above his door, following the customs of a monastery ; 
 all the precepts of the life I sought to live were in those 
 three Latin words, — Fnge, late, taceP 
 
 Genestas bowed his head as if he understood them. 
 
 " I made mj T decision," continued Benassis. " This 
 cell, panelled in pine, this hard bed, this loneliness, 
 met the wants of my soul. The Brethren were in the 
 chapel ; I went to pray among them. There m} T reso- 
 lution vanished. Monsieur, I will not judge the Cath- 
 olic church ; I am strongly orthodox, I believe in its 
 works and in its laws. But as I listened to the chanted 
 prajers of those old men, nameless to the world and 
 dead to the world, I per ceived, even in the depths of 
 the cloister, a species of sublime selfishness? Such 
 retreat from life can profit none but the man himself; 
 it is a slow suicide. I do not condemn it, monsieur. 
 If the Church has opened such tombs, they are doubtless 
 necessary to some Christians who are useless to the 
 
The Country Doctor. 265 
 
 world. I believed that I should do better by mak- 
 ing my repentance useful to the lives of others. On 
 my journey back from the monastery, I thought over 
 the ways in which I might put in practice that form of 
 resignation. I imagined the life of a common sailor, 
 and condemned myself in thought to serve my country 
 in the lowest rank, renouncing all intellectual functions. 
 But, although it was a life of toil and devotion, it 
 seemed to me of too little use. Should I not frustrate 
 God's intentions ? If he had given me powers of mind, 
 was it not my duty to use them for the good of others? 
 Moreover, — if I may speak quite frankly, — I felt within 
 my soul a need of expansion which mere mechanical 
 obligations would have galled. In a sailor's life I could 
 see no nourishment for the loving-kindness which re- 
 sults from nry organization, just as each flower exhales 
 its own especial perfume. 
 
 " I was, as I have already told 3*011, obliged to pass 
 the night in this hamlet. During that night I believed 
 I heard the voice of God in the compassion to which 
 the state of this poor valley moved me. I had tasted 
 the agonizing joys of motherhood ; I resolved to give 
 myself wholly up to them, to satisfy the maternal in- 
 stinct in a wider sphere than that of a mother, by 
 becoming a sister of mercy to the whole region, and 
 continually healing the wounds of the poor. I saw the 
 finger of God marking out 1113' destiny when I remem- 
 bered that the first serious thought of my 3'outh had led 
 me to the study of medicine, and I resolved to practise 
 1113' profession here. Moreover, for wounded hearts, 
 silence and shade : I had said this in my letter ; that 
 which I had promised myself to do, I would cany out ; 
 
266 The Country Doctor. 
 
 and so I entered the path of silence and resignation. 
 The Fuge, late, tace, of the Carthusian is my motto in 
 this place ; my work is an active prayer ; my moral 
 suicide is the life of my district, over which I love to 
 sow with outstretched hand the seeds of happiness and 
 jo} T , — giving that I have not. 
 
 " The habit of living among the peasantiy, my com- 
 plete separation from the world, have greatly altered 
 me. My face has changed its expression ; it is now 
 used to the sun, which has hardened and wrinkled it. 
 I have the appearance and demeanor of a countryman 
 in dress, speech, negligence of non-essentials, and a 
 dislike to all that is affectation. My friends in Paris, 
 or the dainty women on whom I formerly danced at- 
 tendance, could not recognize in me a man who was 
 once the fashion, the sybarite accustomed to the lux- 
 uries, the frippery, and the refinements of Paris. The 
 external things of life are now absolutely indifferent to 
 me, as tl^ are to all who follow the train of one idea. 
 I have no other object in life but to leave it. I desire 
 to do nothing to hasten nor yet retard m} T end ; but I 
 shall lie down to die without regret when the daj T of my 
 last illness comes. 
 
 "Monsieur, I have now told } t ou, in all sincerity, the 
 events of my life before I came to live in this place. I 
 have not concealed m} r errors : they were great ; they 
 were in common with those of other men. I have suf- 
 fered much, I suffer daily ; but I see in my sufferings 
 the promise of a happy future. And yet, in spite of my 
 resignation, there are pangs I know not how to bear. 
 To-day, in your presence, unknown to 3-011, I well-nigh 
 gave wa}' to my inward torture." 
 
The Country Doctor. 267 
 
 Genestas sprang from his chair. 
 
 "Yes, Captain Blnteau, } t ou were present. You re- 
 member that you showed me the bed of mere Colas 
 after we had put Jacques into his? Well, if I am un- 
 able to see any child without thinking of the angel I 
 have lost, you can understand ni} T distress as I held in 
 my arms one that was stricken with death. I cannot 
 look composedly on a child." 
 
 Genestas grew pale. 
 
 "Yes, the pretty blond heads, the innocent faces of 
 the children I meet, speak to me of m} T sorrows, and re- 
 awaken the agom\ It is horrible to me to think so 
 man}' people thank me for the little good I do, when 
 that good is but the fruit of m}- remorse. Captain, you 
 alone know the secret of nry life. If I had drawn nay 
 courage from a purer source than the memoiy of nvy 
 errors, I should be a happier man, — but then, there 
 would be nothing to tell you about my life." 
 
268 The Country Doctor. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ELEGIES. 
 
 As Benassis ceased speaking, he was struck with the 
 expression of deep solicitude on the soldier's lace. 
 Touched to have been so well understood, he half- 
 regretted having distressed his guest, and said to 
 him : — 
 
 "But, Captain Bluteau, my misfortunes — " 
 
 "Don't call me Captain Bluteau," cried Genestas, 
 interrupting the doctor, and jumping up with a hasty 
 movement that implied a sort of inward vexation. 
 " There's no Captain Bluteau, I'm a scoundrel ! " 
 
 Benassis looked at him with amazement, as he moved 
 here and there about the salon, like a bumble-bee toying 
 to get out of a room it has got into by mistake. 
 
 " But who are you, then?" asked Benassis. 
 
 "Ah! that indeed!" replied the soldier, coming 
 back to the doctor ; whom, however, lie dared not face. 
 " I have deceived you," he added, in an altered voice. 
 " For the first time in my life I have acted a lie. I am 
 well punished, for now I cannot tell you the object of 
 mj r visit, nor the reason for such cursed spying. Since 
 I have, as I ma}' say, looked into }'our soul, I would 
 rather let you strike me than hear } t ou call me Bluteau. 
 You may forgive me this imposture, but I shall never 
 
The Country Doctor. 269 
 
 forgive myself, — I, Pierre Joseph Genestas, who to 
 save his life would not have lied before a court- 
 martial ! " 
 
 "Are you Captain Genestas?" cried Benassis, ris- 
 ing. He took the officer's hand and shook it very 
 affectionately, saying: "Monsieur, we are, as you re- 
 marked just now, friends without knowing it. I have 
 long desired to meet you, for I have heard so much of 
 3 T ou from Monsieur Gravier, — - a man out of Plutarch/ 
 he used to say to me." 
 
 " I am not from Plutarch," answered Genestas. " I 
 am unworthy of you ; I deserve a thrashing. I ought 
 to confess my secret — But no, no ! I have done well 
 to wear a mask, and come and see for myself what 
 manner of man you are. And now I see plainly I must 
 hold my tongue. If I had frankly told 3'ou my object 
 at the start, I should have given you pain. God forbid 
 that I should add to your griefs." 
 
 " But I do not understand you, captain." 
 
 " We'll let the matter drop. I am not a sick man ; 
 I have spent a good day ; and I shall go away to-mor- 
 row morning. When 3*011 come to Grenoble, you'll 
 find one friend the more, and not a fair-weather friend 
 either. The purse, the sabre, the blood of Pierre Jo- 
 seph Genestas, all are yours. You have sown 3 T our 
 seed on good ground. When I get nry retirement, I 
 shall find some sort of hole and get nryself made mayor 
 of it, and try to imitate you. I shall lack 3 r our science, 
 but I '11 study." 
 
 "You will do well, monsieur; the property-owner 
 who emplo3*s his time in correcting the mistakes and 
 raising the methods of work in his district, does as 
 
270 The Country Doctor, 
 
 much good as the best of doctors. If one relieves the 
 sufferings of a few men, the other helps to cure the 
 wounds of his country. But you excite my curiositj^. 
 Can I be useful to you in any way?" 
 
 " Useful ! " exclaimed the captain in a broken voice. 
 u Good God ! my dear Monsieur Benassis, it is impos- 
 sible for me now to mention the service I came to ask 
 of you. I 've killed man}' a Christian in nry da} r , — you 
 can kill people and still have a good heart, — but rough 
 as I seem to you, there are some things I am able to 
 comprehend." 
 
 " Speak frankly." 
 
 " I don't wish to inflict pain upon you." 
 " Ah ! captain, I can bear a great deal." 
 "Monsieur," said the captain, trembling, "it con- 
 cerns the life of a child." 
 
 Benassis's forehead contracted suddenly ; but he 
 made a motion as if to ask Genestas to continue. 
 
 "A child," resumed the captain, " whose life might 
 still be saved by close and constant watching. But 
 where was I to find a doctor willing to devote himself 
 to one patient? Certainly not in a city. I had heard 
 of 3'ou as an excellent man, and a yet I was afraid of be- 
 ing misled b} r your reputation. I thought before con- 
 fiding nry little fellow to this Monsieur Benassis, of 
 whom I was told such great things, that I would study 
 him, and now — " 
 
 " Enough," said the doctor, " is the child yours?" 
 " No, nry good friend, no. But to explain the mat- 
 ter, I shall have to tell you a tale in which I play rather 
 a sorry part. You have confided to me your secrets, 
 and I can surely do the same to you." 
 
The Country Doctor, 271 
 
 "Wait a moment, captain," said the doctor, calling 
 Jacqnotte, who came at once, and whom he told to 
 bring his tea. " The truth is, captain, when everybody 
 is asleep, I can't sleep. My sorrows oppress me, and 
 I try to forget them in tea. It produces a sort of ner- 
 vous inebriation, a sleep without which I could not live. 
 Do 3'ou still refuse it? " 
 
 "I should prefer a little of } T our Hermitage," said 
 Genestas. 
 
 " So be it. Jacquotte," he said to the servant, 
 " bring the wine and some biscuits, — to each his own 
 night-cap," added the doctor, addressing his guest. 
 
 " That tea must do you a great deal of harm," said 
 Genestas. 
 
 " It gives me horrible attacks of gout. But I can't 
 give up the habit ; it is too soothing. It gives me a 
 few moments every night when life is less of a burden. 
 Come, I am ready to listen to your story ; it may help 
 to quiet the feelings which my own recollections have 
 just evoked." 
 
 "Well," said Genestas, putting his empty glass on 
 the mantel-shelf, "after the retreat from Moscow, 
 my regiment stopped to recruit in a little town in 
 Poland. We bought horses at their weight in gold ; 
 and stayed in garrison until the Emperor returned. So 
 far, so good. I must tell you that I then had a friend. 
 During the retreat my life was more than once saved by 
 a cavalry sergeant, named Renarcl, who did things for 
 me that must needs make men friends, — outside the de- 
 mands of discipline, of course. We lodged in the same 
 house, — one of those wooden rat-traps which contain 
 a whole family, though Frenchmen would n't think of 
 
272 The Country Doctor. 
 
 stabling a horse in them. This particular hovel be- 
 longed to Jews, who carried on their forty-and-one 
 wa} T s of making mone}* in it ; and the old Jew father, 
 whose fingers were never too frozen to grab gold, had 
 made a very good thing for himself out of our retreat. 
 Those creatures live in dirt, and die in filthy lucre ! 
 The house was built over a cellar, — all in wood, 
 understand, — in which cellar the old fellow had hidden 
 away his children, especially a daughter, handsome as 
 Jewesses usually are when they keep themselves clean 
 and are not blonde. She was seventeen }'ears old, 
 white as snow, velvety eyes, lashes as black as a rat's 
 tail, glossy clustering hair that one wanted to handle, — 
 in short, a perfect beauty. I discovered this hiding- 
 place one night when they thought I'd gone to bed, 
 and I was walking up and down the street quietly, 
 smoking my pipe. The children were swarming and 
 crawling about, like a litter of puppies ; 'twas funny to 
 see them. The father and mother were at supper. By 
 dint of gazing fixedly through the cloud of smoke 
 which the old Jew was blowing from his pipe, I saw 
 the young girl sitting there, like a brand-new napoleon 
 among a lot of copper sous. 
 
 "My dear Benassis," said the captain, after a mo- 
 mentary pause, " I have never had time to reflect about 
 love. Yet when I saw that young girl, I knew that 
 I had never really felt it ; but here it was, in my head, 
 in my heart, and eveiywhere else. I had fallen in love 
 from the crown of my head to the soles of uiy feet, oh, 
 violently ! I stood still, smoking my pipe and looking 
 at the Jewess, till she put out her candle and went to 
 bed. Impossible for me to go to sleep ! I stood 
 
The Country Doctor. 273 
 
 about all night, filling m}' pipe, smoking it, and walk- 
 ing up and down the street. I had never been like 
 that before. It was the only time in nry life I thought 
 of marrying. When it was daylight, I saddled my 
 horse and galloped him for two hours across the coun- 
 try to clear m} 7 head. I nearly foundered the beast 
 without knowing what I was about." 
 
 Genestas stopped, looked uneasily at his new friend, 
 and then said : — 
 
 " Excuse me, Benassis ; I am no orator, I talk as it 
 comes. If I were in a salon, I should be embarrassed, 
 but with 3-011, here, in the country — " 
 
 " Go on," said the doctor. 
 
 " When I got back to my room, I found Renard all 
 of a fluster. Thinking I was killed in a duel, he was 
 cleaning his pistols, and meaning to pick a quarrel with 
 whoever had sent me to the shades. Ha ! that 's just 
 like an old stager! I confided my love to him, and 
 showed him the kennel of children. As Renard knew 
 the lingo of these outlandish folk, I asked him to help 
 me in making my proposals to the father and mother, 
 and in setting up an intercourse with Judith — her 
 name was Judith. So, monsieur, for two weeks I was 
 the happiest of men, and every night the old Jew 
 invited us to sup with Judith. You know all about 
 such things, so I sha'n't put 3'ou out of patience, — and 
 yet, if 3-011 don't know the joys of tobacco, you can't 
 realize the happiness of an honest man quietly smok- 
 ing his pipe, with his friend Renard and the father of 
 the daughter, and gazing at his princess. Yes, it was 
 very agreeable. But I must tell 30U that Renard was 
 a young man of good connections, a Parisian. His 
 
 18 
 
274 The Country Doctor. 
 
 father was a wholesale grocer, who had brought him up 
 to be a. notary ; but the draft caught him, and he had 
 to bid adieu to the inkstand. With a figure made to 
 wear a uniform, and the face of a girl, he knew the 
 art of cajoling everybody he came across. It was he 
 whom Judith loved ; she cared for me as much as a 
 horse cares for roast chicken. 
 
 "Well, while I was smoking in ecstasy, and travel- 
 ling to the moon as I looked at Judith, Renard, who 
 you see had n't stolen his name, was sapping his mine. 
 The traitor came to terms with the girl, and they were 
 married after the fashion of those parts, without waiting 
 for permissions from France, which would have taken 
 a long while to come. Renard did promise to many her 
 according to French law, if the marriage was ever at- 
 tacked ; as it was, however, once in France, Madame 
 Renard was nothing more than Mademoiselle Judith. 
 If I had known all that, I should have killed Renard, 
 sharp, without giving him time to sneeze ; but the fact 
 was, father, mother, daughter and fox played into each 
 other's hands like thieves at a fair. While I smoked 
 my pipe and worshipped Judith for a saint in a niche, 
 Renard was making his appointments and carrying 
 on his little game. You are the only person to whom 
 I have ever told this story, which I call infamous ; I 
 have always wondered how a man who would die of 
 shame if he stole a bit of gold, can rob his friend of 
 wife and happiness without a scruple. However that 
 ma}- be, there were my traitors married and happy, 
 while I, like an imbecile, sat gazing at Judith, and 
 playing tenor in the farce of throwing dust in my eyes. 
 But, you must know, they paid singular!}- dear for their 
 
The Country Doctor. 275 
 
 deception. On the word of an honest man, God gives 
 more attention to the things of this world than we think 
 for, as }*ou shall see. 
 
 " Down came the Russians. The campaign of 1813 
 began. We were surrounded. One fine morning the 
 order was issued to be on the battle-field of Lutzen by 
 a certain hour. The Emperor knew what he was about 
 when he ordered us to be off at once. The Russians 
 had turned our flank. Our colonel got into a scrape 
 by going to say good-by to a Polish lady who lived 
 a mile from the town, and the advance-guard of the 
 Cossacks pounced upon him and his escort. We had 
 only time to mount and form, in front of the town, 
 before we had to rush into a cavalry skirmish and drive 
 the Russians back, so as to slip quietry off during the 
 night. We charged and fought for three hours, and did 
 some fine feats of arms. While we were engaged, the 
 guns and the ammunition waggons and all our supplies 
 and material got awa}' in the advance ; for we had, 30U 
 must know, a park of artillery and a large quantity of 
 powder which the Emperor was desperately in need of, 
 and of course they had to be got to him at any cost. 
 Our resistance imposed on the Russians ; the} T thought 
 we must surely be supported by an army corps. How- 
 ever, before long, the scouts let them know their mis- 
 take, and they found out they had only a regiment of 
 cavalry and a few infantry stragglers in front of them. 
 So, monsieur, towards evening the}^ made such a hot 
 attack, meaning to demolish us, that a good many of 
 us were left on the field. 
 
 " We were surrounded. Renard and I were in the 
 front rank. I saw Renard charging and fighting like 
 
276 The Country Doctor. 
 
 a demon — he was thinking of his wife. Thanks to 
 him we regained the town, which the siek had put into 
 a state of defence ; ah! but 'twas pitiful. He and I 
 got there last ; we found the way barred by a lot of 
 Cossacks, through whom we spurred. One of the sav- 
 ages was about to spear me with a lance ; Renard saw 
 him and dashed his horse between us to ward off the 
 blow ; the poor beast, a fine animal, faith ! received it, 
 and as he fell, dragged Renard and the Cossack with 
 him. I killed the Cossack, and took Renard in nvy 
 arms and put him before me on my horse, like a sack 
 of wheat. ' Adieu, captain, it is all over with me/ 
 said Renard. ' We '11 see about that,' said I. By that 
 time, I had got into the town ; I dismounted, and 
 propped him in the angle of a house, on a little straw. 
 His head was crushed and the brains were in his hair ; 
 but he could speak — ah ! he was a gallant fellow. 
 ' We are quits,' he said ; ' I have given you nry life, 
 but I took Judith from you. Take care of her child, if 
 she has one, and marry her.' 
 
 " Monsieur, at first I left him like a dog; but when 
 my rage was over I went back ; he was dead. The 
 Cossacks had set fire to the town. I recollected Judith, 
 and went to fetch her ; mounted her behind me, and 
 thanks to the- speed of my horse, I regained the regi- 
 ment, which, meantime, had made good its retreat. As 
 for the Jew and his family, they had disappeared like 
 rats in a barn ; Judith alone was left, waiting for Re- 
 nard. I told her nothing at first, as you '11 readily be- 
 lieve. Monsieur, I had to take charge of that woman 
 all through the disasters of the campaign of 1813 ; find 
 her lodging, make her comfortable, — in short, care for 
 
The Country Doctor, 211 
 
 her ; and I really think she hardly perceived the state 
 the arm} T was in. I took care to keep her always thirty 
 miles ahead of us, on the road to France. She gave 
 birth to a son while we were fighting at Hanau. I was 
 wounded in that affair, and rejoined Judith in Stras- 
 bourg ; then I came back to Paris, where I had the 
 great misfortune to be invalided from my wound during 
 the campaign of France. If it had n't been for that 
 unlucky chance, I should have entered the grenadiers 
 of the Guard, to which the Emperor had promoted 
 me. 
 
 " So, monsieur, the end of it was, I had been obliged 
 to support a woman and a child that did not belong to 
 me, and I had three ribs broken. You can easily be- 
 lieve that m}' pay was not the revenue of France. 
 Father Renard, an old shark without any teeth, would 
 have nothing to say to his daughter-in-law ; and the 
 Jew father had vanished. Judith was dying. One 
 morning she wept as she bathed my wound. ' Judith,' 
 said I, ' jour child has no one to look to.' ' Neither 
 have I,' she answered. ' Bah ! ' I said, ' we will get 
 the necessaiy papers, and I will marry you myself, and 
 acknowledge as mine the child of — ' I could n't finish. 
 Ah ! my dear monsieur, what is there that one would n't 
 do for such a look of thanks from dying eyes as Judith 
 gave me ? I knew then that I still loved her, and from 
 that day her little one came into my heart. While the 
 papers were being got read}', and the father and mother 
 Jews were on their wa} T , the poor woman grew worse. 
 The evening before her death, she had the strength to 
 dress and deck herself, and go through all the usual 
 ceremonies, and sign their heaps of papers. Then, when 
 
278 The Country Doctor. 
 
 her son had a name and a father, she lay down again ; 
 I kissed her hands and her forehead, and she died. 
 
 ' ' That was my wedding. The day after, having 
 bought the few feet of earth where the poor girl lies, I 
 realized that I was the father of an orphan. During 
 the campaign of 1815 I put him out to nurse. Since 
 then, without anybody's knowing my true history, which 
 is not a pleasant one to tell, I have taken care of the 
 little monkey as if he were mine ; his Jew grandfather 
 has gone to the devil, ruined, and is wandering with, his 
 family somewhere between Russia and Persia. There 's 
 a chance that he may make a fortune there, for it seems 
 he understands the business of precious stones. I put 
 the bo} r at a preparatory school ; but lately I have al- 
 lowed him to be pressed so hard in mathematics to get 
 him into the Ecole Polytechnique and see him graduate 
 with credit, that the poor little fellow has fallen ill. He 
 has a weak chest. The Paris doctors think he might 
 have a chance if he could run wild in the mountains and 
 if, above all, he were taken proper care of and watched 
 at all hours by a man of judgment. I thought of 30U, 
 and I came here to reconnoitre your ideas and 3'our 
 ways of life. After what you have told me, I cannot 
 put the distress of caring for a sick child upon } T ou — 
 even thougb we are now such good friends." 
 
 " Captain," said Benassis, after a moment's silence, 
 " bring me Judith's child. God doubtless means me 
 to bear this last trial, and I will do so. I offer my 
 sufferings to Him, whose son died on the cross. But 
 my feelings during } T our recital were sweet and tender, 
 and is not that a favorable augur}' ? " 
 
 Genestas pressed both hands of Benassis within his 
 
The Country Doctor. 279 
 
 own, not restraining the tears which rose in his eyes 
 and rolled slowty down his tanned cheeks. 
 
 " Let us keep the secret of it," he said. 
 
 " Yes, captain ; but } T ou are not drinking } T our wine." 
 
 "I am not thirsty," said Genestas ; "in fact, I am 
 half-bewildered." 
 
 " When will you bring him to me? " 
 
 "To-morrow, if you like. He has been in Grenoble 
 for the last two days." 
 
 "Well, then, start early in the morning and come 
 back at once. I '11 expect you at the house of my 
 Fosseuse, where we will all breakfast together." 
 
 "Agreed," said Genestas. 
 
 The two friends rose to go to bed, bidding each other 
 good- night. When they reached the landing which 
 separated their two rooms, Genestas put his light on 
 the window-sill and turned to Benassis : — 
 
 " By the God who made me ! " he cried with naive 
 enthusiasm, "I won't part from you this night without 
 saying that }"ou, third among Christians, have made 
 me feel that there is something up there" and he 
 pointed to the skies. 
 
 The doctor answered with a smile that was full of 
 sadness, and wrung the hand Genestas held out to him 
 ver} T affectionately. 
 
 Before dawn of the next day, Genestas started for 
 the city , and about noon he was again upon the high- 
 road between the village and Grenoble, near the path 
 which led up to the cottage of the Fosseuse. He was 
 driving one of those light open cars with four wheels, 
 drawn by one horse, which are frequently met on all 
 
280 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the roads of that mountainous region. The captain 
 was accompanied by a thin, frail lad, who seemed to be 
 about twelve years old, though he was in fact nearly 
 sixteen. Before leaving the carriage, Genestas looked 
 about him in all directions, to find some peasant work- 
 ing in the fields who would take the vehicle to Benas- 
 sis's stable, for the narrowness of the way did not allow 
 him to drive up to the house. The game-keeper, hap- 
 pening to come out upon the road at this moment, 
 relieved Genestas of his difficult}*, and the latter, with 
 his adopted son, started on foot among the mountain- 
 paths to keep his appointment. 
 
 "You'll be delighted to run wild for a whole j T ear 
 over this beautiful country, won't you, Adrien? — to 
 learn how to hunt, and ride a horse, instead of getting 
 pale over your books : hey ? — Look, see ' " 
 
 Adrien cast the weaiy 7 glance of a sick child over the 
 valle} T , — evidently indifferent, as most }*oung people are, 
 to the beauties of nature, — and then, without pausing 
 in his walk, he said, " You are very kind, father." 
 
 Genestas was hurt by the languid indifference of the 
 lad, and did not speak again till they reached the house 
 of the Fosseuse. 
 
 u You are punctual, captain," cried Benassis, rising 
 from a wooden bench on which he had been sitting. 
 
 But he immediately sat down again and looked 
 thoughtfully at Adrien, slowly examining the pallid, 
 weary face of the bo} 7 ; not without admiring the fine 
 oval lines which predominated on what was really a 
 noble countenance. The child was the living image of 
 his mother, — inheriting her olive skin, and her fine black 
 eyes full of spiritual melanchoty. All the characteristics 
 
The Country Doctor. 281 
 
 of the beaut}' peculiar to the Jewesses of Poland distin- 
 guished that handsome head, which seemed too heavy 
 for the fragile bod}' that bore it. 
 
 -- Do you sleep well, my little man? " asked Benassis. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " Show me your knees ; turn up 3*0111" trousers." 
 
 Adrien blushed, unfastened his garters and showed 
 a knee to the doctor, who felt it carefully. 
 
 -- Good. Now speak, shout — shout loudly." 
 
 Adrien shouted. 
 
 -' That will do. Now give me your hands." 
 
 The lad held out his soft white hands, blue-veined 
 like those of a woman. 
 
 ' - What school were you at in Paris ? " 
 
 "At the Saint-Louis." 
 
 " The master in your dormitory read his breviary 
 during the night, did n't he? " 
 
 "•Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " And you could not go to sleep again? " 
 
 Adrien not replying, Genestas said, — 
 
 -- The head-master was a very worthy priest, and he 
 advised me to take my little man away on account of 
 his health." 
 
 --Well," answered Benassis, with a clear, penetrat- 
 ing look into the lad's eyes, "here's a good chance. 
 Yes, we'll make a man of him. You and I will live 
 together like comrades, my boy. We '11 go early to 
 bed, and rise early. I'll teach your son to ride a 
 horse, captain. After a month or so devoted to mak- 
 ing him a new stomach on a milk diet, I '11 get him a 
 hunting outfit and a license to shoot, and turn him over 
 to Butifer ; the}' can go after the chamois together. 
 
282 The Country Doctor. 
 
 Give the boy five or six months of such a life and you 
 won't know him again, captain. Butifer will be happy ; 
 I know the fellow's wa} r s — he '11 have you over in 
 Switzerland, and across the Alps, my little friend ; 
 he '11 make you scramble up to the tops of those peaks 
 over there, and you '11 grow six inches in six months. 
 Butifer is an honest fellow," he added, turning to 
 Genestas. " We can safely give him a sum of money 
 to defray the expenses of such a journey and the hunt- 
 ing. The responsibility will keep him steady for six 
 months ; for him, that will be just so much gained." 
 
 Genestas's face brightened more and more as the 
 doctor spoke. 
 
 " Come, let us go to breakfast. The Fosseuse is 
 impatient to see you," said Benassis, giving a little tap 
 to Adrien's cheek. 
 
 " Then } t ou don't think him consumptive?" asked the 
 captain, taking the doctor's arm and leading him aside. 
 
 ' ' Not more than you or I." 
 
 "Then, what is the matter with him?" 
 
 "Bah!" said Benassis, "he is at a bad moment, 
 that's all." 
 
 The Fosseuse here showed herself on the threshold 
 of her door, and Genestas noticed, not without sur- 
 prise, her simple and coquettish attire. She was no 
 longer the peasant-girl of the night before, but an 
 elegant young woman, who gave him a few glances 
 beneath which he felt he was feeble. He turned his 
 e}*es to the table, which was without a cloth, but so well 
 waxed that it shone as if varnished. On it were eggs, 
 butter, a pate, and mountain strawberries whose fra- 
 grance filled the air. The poor girl had put flowers all 
 
The Country Doctor. 283 
 
 about the room, showing plainly that for her at least 
 the day was a fete. At sight of it all, Genestas could 
 not help coveting the simple house with its pretty lawn ; 
 and he looked at their peasant mistress with an air 
 that expressed both hope and fear. Then he turned 
 his eyes on Adrien, to whom the Fosseuse was serving 
 eggs and pa}'ing ceremonious attention. 
 
 " Captain," said Benassis, " you know the condition 
 on which you receive hospitality here. You must tell 
 my Fosseuse some military tale." 
 
 " We must first let monsieur breakfast comfortably," 
 said the Fosseuse, " and after he has taken his coffee — " 
 
 "Yes, truly I will;" replied the captain, "though 
 I shall put a condition to my tale. You must tell us 
 some adventure of your former life." 
 
 "But, monsieur," she said blushing, "nothing ever 
 happened to me that is worth telling. Will 3*011 have 
 some more of this rice pate, my little friend," she said 
 to Adrien, seeing that his plate was empty. 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 " The pate is delicious," remarked Genestas. 
 
 " What will you say to her coffee a la creme /" cried 
 Benassis. 
 
 " I would rather listen to our pretty hostess." 
 
 " You are beginning badly, Genestas," said the 
 doctor. " Listen, my child," he added, turning to the 
 Fosseuse, whose hand he pressed. " This officer, 
 whom you see beside you, hides a good heart under a 
 stern exterior ; 3^011 can speak at 3*our ease before him. 
 But speak, or hold 3*our tongue, just as 3*011 like ; we 
 will not urge you. My poor child, if 3*011 are ever to be 
 understood in this world it will be b3* the three persons 
 
284 The Country Doctor. 
 
 who are now with 3011. Tell us your past loves ; 
 that will not be trenching on the actual secrets of your 
 heart." 
 
 "Here is the coffee, which Maiiette is bringing in," 
 she answered. " When 30U are all served I will tell you 
 Day early loves ; but Monsieur Genestas is not to for- 
 get his promise," she added, giving the captain a glance 
 that was both modest and provocative. 
 
 " I am incapable of doing so, mademoiselle," said 
 Genestas, respectfully. 
 
 " When I was sixteen," said the Fosseuse, " although 
 I was weak!}-, I was forced to beg m}- bread on the 
 highwa3's of Savoie. I slept at Echelles, in a great 
 manger full of straw. The innkeeper who let me sleep 
 there was a good man, but his wife could not endure 
 me, and was alwa3's scolding me. That made me 
 unhapp3 r , for I was not a bad little beggar. I pra3 r ed 
 to God night and morning ; I never stole ; I went my 
 wa3 T as Heaven willed, and begged nry food, fur I did 
 not know how to work ; I was very poorly, — incapable 
 of labor, or of looking after m3 T health. Well, I was 
 driven away from the inn, on account of a dog. With- 
 out friends or relations ever since I w r as born, I had 
 never seen on an3 T face a look that did me good. 
 The old woman Morin, who took me when a baby, 
 was dead: she had been kind to me, but I cannot 
 remember that she ever caressed me. The poor crea- 
 ture tilled the earth like a man, and if she ever did take 
 me on her knee, she also rapped my ringers with a 
 spoon if I ate the soup too fast out of the porringer. 
 Poor old woman ! there 's never a day I do not pra3 r 
 for her. May the good God give her, up there, a 
 
The Country Doctor. ?85 
 
 happier life than she had here below ; specially a better 
 bed: she was always complaining of the hard mat: 
 on which we slept together. 
 
 "You can't imagine, my dear gentlemen.*' resir.. 
 the Fosseuse after a momentary pause, "how it hurts 
 one's soul to get nothing but harsh words and rebuffs, 
 and looks which cut you to the heart like knives. I 
 have lived among old paupers who did not mind it a 
 bit ; but I was not born for such a life. A mere * no ' 
 always made me weep. Many an evening I came back 
 sadder than ever to my manger : and I never was com- 
 forted till I had said my prayers. In all God's earth 
 there was no creature on whose heart I could rest mine. 
 The blue sky was my only friend. I always felt happy 
 when the sky was all blue. When the wind swept away 
 the clouds. I lay amoug the rocks and looked up at it. 
 Then I dreamed I was a great lady. By d'nt of gazing 
 into heaven, I thought I was bathed in its olue : I lived 
 up there in my soul, nothing tied me down ; I mounted 
 up. and up. — and I was glad. 
 
 " But to come back to my loves." she said, changing 
 her tone. " I must tell you that the innkeeper's dog 
 had a little puppy, dainty as a lady, all white, with black 
 spots on its paws. — oh. I see the cherub now! The 
 poor little thing was the only creature that ever gave 
 me a kind look in those days. I gave him the best of 
 what I had to eat : he understood me : he always came 
 to meet me at night when I got back : he was not 
 ashamed of my poverty, and would jump upon me and 
 lick my feet. Ah ! there was something so kind in his 
 eyes, so grateful, that often I cried to see it. As I 
 was saying, that was the onlv creature that loved me. 
 
286 The Country Doctor. 
 
 In winter he slept at ni}' feet. I suffered so when he 
 was whipped that I taught him not to go about the houses 
 and steal bones ; and after a while he was satisfied to eat 
 nry bread. If I were sad, he would stand in front of me 
 and look in my eyes, as much as to say : ' You are sad, 
 my poor Fosseuse.' If travellers flung me sous, he 
 picked them out of the dust, and brought them to me. 
 When I had him for a friend, I was less unhappy. I 
 put aside a few sous every day, trying to get fifty francs 
 and buy him of Pere Manseau, the innkeeper. One 
 day the wife saw the dog was fond of me, and took it 
 into her head to dote on him. Now 3011 must know he 
 hated her. Animals spy out souls ; they guess who 
 loves them in a minute. I had a piece of gold sewn 
 into the top of my petticoat ; so I said to Pere Man- 
 seau : ' My dear monsieur, I meant to have offered you 
 a year's savings for your dog, but I see that 3'our wife 
 wants him for herself, though she does not really care 
 for him. Sell him to me now for twent}' francs ; and 
 here they are.' ' No, my little one,' he said, ' put up 
 your twent}' francs. God preserve me from taking the 
 money of the poor. Keep the dog. If m} 7 wife makes 
 a fuss, do you go awa} 7 .' His wife made a terrible 
 scene about it ; ah, mere} 7 me ! you would have thought 
 the house was on fire ; you don't know what she said. 
 Seeing that the dog was given to me out of friendship, 
 and that she could not get him, she had him poisoned. 
 M3' poor dear dog died in my arms ; I wept over him as 
 if he were m3 T child, and buried him under a fir-tree. 
 
 " Oh ! 3'ou don't know what I laid in that grave. I 
 said to myself, as I sat beside it, that I should be alone 
 upon earth, that nothing would prosper with me, that I 
 
The Country Doctor. 287 
 
 should become what I was before I had him, — a creature 
 without a human being belonging to me ; I should see 
 no look of friendliness in any face. I sat there all that 
 night, beneath the stars, praying God to have pit}' upon 
 me. When I went back to the high-road, I found a 
 poor little bo}', only ten years old, who had no hands. 
 ' The good God has heard me,' I thought ; for I had 
 never praj*ed to him as I did that night. ' I will take 
 care of the poor child,' I said to nryself. ' We will beg 
 together, and I will be his mother. Two together, we 
 shall do well ; perhaps I shall have more courage for 
 him than I had for nryself.' At first the little one 
 seemed happ} 7 ; 'twould have been hard not to be. I 
 did everything he wished, I gave him all I had that 
 was best; in fact, I was his slave, and he tyrannized 
 over me ; but that seemed better than to be alone. 
 Ah ! as soon as the little wretch knew I had a gold 
 piece sewn in my petticoat, he undid the stitches, and 
 stole it from me, — stole the price of my poor dog, that 
 I was keeping to say masses for its soul : a child with- 
 out hands ! it made me shudder. 
 
 "Ah!" she went on, "that theft disheartened me 
 more for life than I know how to tell. Was all I loved 
 to perish in my hands? One day I saw a pretty open 
 carriage coming up the side of the mountain near 
 Echelles. In it was a young lady as beautiful as the 
 Virgin Mary, and a young man who looked very like 
 her. ' Oh ! see that pretty girl,' the }'oung man said 
 to her as he threw me a bit of mone}-. None but you, 
 Monsieur Benassis, can know the pleasure that compli- 
 ment gave me, — but the gentleman ought not to have 
 flung me the rnone^. Then, impelled by I don't know 
 
288 The Country Doctor. 
 
 what sort of whimsey in my head, I set off running 
 along some paths which make a short cut, and got to 
 the rocks of the Echelles before the carriage, which 
 crawled up. I saw the young man again. He was quite 
 surprised to see me ; and I felt so glad nry heart beat 
 up, into my throat; something, I don't know what, 
 drew me to him. After he recognized me I started 
 again, feeling very sure that he and the 3'oung lady 
 would go to see the cascades of Couz. When they 
 got out of the carriage, they saw me again under the 
 walnut-trees which line the road ; and that time they 
 questioned me, and seemed to take an interest in me. 
 Never in my life did I hear such sweet voices. I 
 thought about them for months, always hoping they 
 would come back. I would have given two 3'ears of 
 nry life to see him again, he was so gentle. — There! 
 up to the daj' I first saw Monsieur Benassis, those were 
 the great events of my life ; for when 1113' mistress sent 
 me away because I wore her miserable ball-dress, I 
 only pitied her. I forgave her ; and to tell the hon- 
 est truth, if 3*ou '11 permit me to sa3 T it, I thought 
 n^self a great deal better than she, though she is a 
 countess." 
 
 "Well," said Genestas, after a moment's silence, 
 "3-011 see that God is your friend, for here you are 
 in clover." 
 
 At these words the Fosseuse looked at Benassis with 
 e3 T es full of gratitude. 
 
 " I wish I were rich ! " exclaimed the officer. 
 
 The exclamation was followed by total silence. 
 
 " You owe me a stoiy now," said the Fosseuse in a 
 coaxing: voice. 
 
The Country Doctor. 289 
 
 " And I will tell you one," answered Genestas. 
 "The evening before the battle of Friedland," he con- 
 tinued, after a pause, " I had been sent with a de- 
 spatch to the headquarters of General Davoust, and I 
 was returning to my bivouac, when, at the angle of a 
 road, I came face to face with the Emperor. Napoleon 
 looked at me. 'You are Captain Genestas?' he said. 
 ' Yes, sire.' ' Don't keep along that road,' he said ; 
 ' take the other to the left ; it will bring you sooner to 
 your division.' You can't imagine what a tone of kind- 
 ness the Emperor put into those few words — he who 
 had so much upon his mind. At that very moment 
 he was reconnoitring his battlefield for the next day. 
 I tell you that little matter to show what a memory 
 he had, and also to let you see I was one of those 
 whose face he knew. In 1815 I took the oath. If it 
 had n't been for that, I should have been a colonel to- 
 day ; but I never had the least intention of betiding 
 the Bourbons. At the time, I thought only of defend- 
 ing France. I commanded a squadron of horse attached 
 to the grenadiers of the Guard, and, in spite of the 
 pain I still felt from my wound, I swung my sabre at 
 Waterloo. 
 
 "Well," continued the captain, " when all was over, 
 I accompanied Napoleon to Paris. Then, in spite of 
 his orders, I followed him to Rochefort ; it comforted 
 me to keep watch and see that no harm happened to 
 him b} T the wa}\ So, when he came to the shores of 
 the sea and paced up and down, he saw me standing 
 sentinel ten paces from him. ' Well, Genestas,' he 
 said, ' so vve are not dead 3'et?' The words broke nvy 
 heart. If you had heard them, you'd have shuddered, 
 
 19 
 
290 The Country Doctor. 
 
 as I did, from head to foot. He pointed to a cursed 
 English ship blockading the port, and said, ' When 
 I look at that, I regret I did not drown nryself in the 
 blood of my Guard.' 
 
 "Yes," resumed Genestas, looking at the doctor and 
 the Fosseuse, "those were his very words. 'The 
 marshals who dissuaded you from charging yourself,' 
 I said to him, ' and kept you in your carriage, were 
 not your true friends.' ' Come with me ! ' he cried, 
 quickly. ' Sire,' I said, 'gladly would I go with you, 
 but I have a little one hanging to me just now who has 
 lost his mother, and I am not free.' So it was Adrien 
 here who kept me from going to Saint Helena. ' See,' 
 said Napoleon, ' I have never given 3011 anything ; 3011 
 are not one of those who always had one hand full and 
 the other open ; here is the snuff-box I have used during 
 this last campaign. I give it to you. Sta} r in France ; 
 before all else she needs brave men. Remain in the 
 army, and think of me. You are the last of 1113' Egypt- 
 ians whom I shall see on the soil of France.' He gave 
 me the little snuff-box. ' Engrave two words upon it, 
 Honor, Country,' he said ; ' they are the history of our 
 last two campaigns.' Then his suite rejoined him, 
 and I spent the rest of the morning with them. The 
 Emperor came and went along the shore. He was 
 quite calm, but at times his brows contracted. Ify 
 midday the embarkation was thought impossible. The 
 English knew he was in Rochefort ; either he must 
 deliver himself up to them, or recross France. We 
 were all anxious. The minutes weighed like hours. 
 Napoleon was between the Bourbons, who would have 
 shot him, and the English, who are not honorable 
 
The Country Doctor. 291 
 
 men ; for the)* can never wash out the shame of cast- 
 ing upon a barren rock the enemy who went to them 
 for hospitality. 
 
 4 'At this anxious moment some one — I don't know 
 who — presented to him a lieutenant, Doret, a sailor 
 who came to propose a means of getting him to Amer- 
 ica. At that time there was a government brig in port, 
 also a merchant vessel. ' Captain,' said the Emperor, 
 ' how will 3*011 manage it?' ' Sire,' answered the man, 
 ' you will embark on the merchantman ; I with a few de- 
 voted men will take the brig and run up the Bourbon flag, 
 under shelter of which we can get alongside the Eng- 
 lishman, and set fire to him : we shall blow up together, 
 and 3*ou will pass free.' ' We will go with you ! ' I cried 
 to the man. Napoleon looked at us and said, ' Captain 
 Doret, live, for the good of France.' It was the only 
 time I ever saw Napoleon show emotion. Then he waved 
 his hand, and went away. I left Rochefort when I saw 
 him go on board that English ship. He was lost, and 
 he knew it. There was a traitor in the town who had 
 signalled his presence to his enemies. Knowing this, 
 Napoleon played his last card ; he did what he had 
 done before on the field of battle ; he went to his ene- 
 mies, instead of waiting until they came to him. You 
 speak of griefs ; no words can tell the despair of those 
 who loved him for himself." 
 
 "Where is his snuff-box?" asked the Fosseuse. 
 
 " At Grenoble, in a box," answered the captain. 
 
 " I will go and see it, if you will let me," she said. 
 '-To think that }*ou have something his fingers have 
 touched ! His hand was beautiful ? " 
 
 "Very beautiful." 
 
292 The Country Doctor. 
 
 " Is it true that he is dead?" 
 
 " Yes, truly, he is dead, my poor child." 
 
 "I was so little in 1815 that I could only just see his 
 hat in the streets of Grenoble ; and then I came near 
 being crushed." 
 
 " What good coffee this is," said Genestas. " Well, 
 Adrien, don't you like the country? You will often 
 come and see mademoiselle, will you not? " 
 
 The child did not answer ; he seemed afraid of look- 
 ing at the Fosseuse. The doctor did not take his eyes 
 from the lad, and seemed to read into his soul. 
 
 " Of course he will come and see her," said Benassis. 
 " Now let us go home. I must get a fresh horse for a 
 long ride I have to take ; and while I am gone, you 
 can settle things with Jacquotte." 
 
 "Will you come with us?" said Genestas to the 
 Fosseuse. 
 
 " Willingly," she replied. "I have several things 
 to return to Madame Jacquotte." 
 
 The\ T started on their way to the doctor's house ; but 
 the Fosseuse, joyous in the presence of the little com- 
 pany, led them along hidden paths through the wildest 
 part of the mountain. 
 
 "Monsieur," she said to Genestas, after a short 
 silence, " you have told me nothing of 3'onrself, and 1 
 wanted to hear some of your warlike adventures. 1 
 like what you said of Napoleon, but it gives me pain. 
 If 3'ou would be so very kind as — " 
 
 " She is right enough," said Benassis. gently. " Tell 
 us some of }Our famous adventures as we walk along. 
 Come, now, something interesting, — like your beam in 
 the barn at Beresina." 
 
The Country Doctor. 293 
 
 "I have so few recollections," said Genestas. " There 
 are some people to whom everything happens, but I 've 
 never been the hero of any adventure. Well, here 's the 
 only droll thing I ever met with : In 1805, when a 
 sub-lieutenant, I was with the grand army at Auster- 
 litz. Before the taking of Ulm, we fought several en- 
 gagements where the cavalry had a fine chance, for it 
 was under the command of Murat, who never refused 
 trumps. After one of the first brushes of the cam- 
 paign, we got possession of a bit of territoiy where 
 there were a number of fine countiw-houses. One even- 
 ing nvy regiment camped in the park of a chateau be- 
 longing to a young and pretty woman, a countess. I 
 went, naturally, to lodge in the house, and got there as 
 soon as I could, to prevent pillage. As I entered the 
 salon a cavalry sergeant had just levelled his carbine at 
 the countess, demanding what she certainly would never 
 have given him. I struck the weapon up with my 
 sabre ; it went off and shattered a mirror. Then I 
 dealt the fellow a blow with the flat of my blade, and 
 stretched him on the floor. At the lady's cries, and 
 hearing the shot, all her people rushed in, and threatened 
 me. ' Stop ! ' said the countess in German to those who 
 wanted to run me through ; ' that officer saved my life.' 
 On that they all went out. The lad}* gave me her 
 handkerchief, a beautiful, embroidered handkerchief, 
 which I still have, and told me I should always be sure 
 of a resting-place in her house ; and if I ever had 
 a trouble, no matter what, to come to her, I would 
 find her a sister, a devoted friend, — in short, all sorts 
 of honeyed words. She was as beautiful as a wed- 
 ding-morn, and as pla} T fui as a kitten. We dined 
 
294 The Country Doctor. 
 
 together, and by the next day I was over head and ears 
 in love. Alas! I had to be in line at Gnntzberg, — I 
 think that was the place. So I rode away armed with 
 the handkerchief. The fight came off. I kept saying 
 to myself: 'Oh, for a ball! Among them, isn't there 
 one for me?' Of course I didn't want it in the thigh, 
 for then I could n't have gone back to the chateau ; but 
 I longed for a good wound in the arm, which my prin- 
 cess would have bathed and caressed. So I dashed 
 like a madman at the enemy. No such luck ! I came 
 out safe and sound ; and after that, forward, march ! 
 no more countess. There, that's all." 
 
 By this time the}' had reached Benassis's house, and 
 the doctor speedily mounted and rode off. When he 
 returned, the cook, to whom Genestas had specially 
 recommended his boy, had already taken possession of 
 Adrien, and had put him in the famous bedroom of 
 Monsieur Gravier. She was much astonished when 
 her master ordered a simple cot-bed to be put in his 
 own room for the lad, — ordering it, too, in so impera- 
 tive a tone that Jacquotte could say nothing against 
 it. After dinner the captain started on his return to 
 Grenoble, happy in the assurances Benassis again gave 
 him as to the speed}' recovery of his boy. 
 
 In the early days of December, eight months after he 
 had confided his child to the doctor's care, Genestas 
 was appointed lieutenant -colonel to a regiment then in 
 garrison at Poitiers. He was thinking of letting Be- 
 nassis know of his approaching departure, when he re- 
 ceived a letter, in which his friend told him of Adrien's 
 complete recovery. He wrote : — 
 
The Country Doctor. 295 
 
 " The boy has grown tall and strong, and he feels per- 
 fectly well. Since you saw him he has profited so much by 
 Butifer's instructions that he is now as good a shot as our 
 smuggler himself: he is, moreover, brisk and agile, a good 
 walker, and a good horseman. Everything about him has 
 changed. The boy of sixteen, who formerly seemed no more 
 than twelve, now looks to be twenty. His eye is bold and 
 confident. In short, he is a man, and a man whose future 
 you ought now to take into consideration." 
 
 "I'll go and see Benassis to-morrow, and take his 
 advice as to what profession I shall put the fellow to," 
 thought Genestas, as he went to a farewell supper given 
 to him by the officers of the regiment ; for he was to 
 leave Grenoble in a few days. 
 
 When the lieutenant-colonel came home that night, 
 his servant gave him a letter brought by a messenger, 
 who had waited a long time for an answer. Though 
 rather dizzy with the toasts his comrades had been 
 drinking in his honor, Genestas recognized the hand- 
 writing of his son, supposed that he was only asking 
 for the gratification of some fancy, and left the letter 
 lying on his table, from which he picked it up the next 
 morning when the fumes of the champagne had been 
 slept awa}\ 
 
 "My dear Father, — " 
 
 "Ah! you little scamp," he said to himself, "you 
 are never at a loss how to cajole me when you want 
 anything." 
 
 Then he went on, and read these words : — 
 
 " The good Monsieur Benassis is dead, — " 
 
296 The Country Doctor. 
 
 The letter dropped from his hands ; and a long time 
 elapsed before he resumed the reading of it. 
 
 " This misfortune has thrown consternation over the whole 
 country, and is the more surprising, because Monsieur Be- 
 nassis was perfectly well the night before, and showed no 
 signs of illness. The day before yesterday, just as if he 
 knew his end were near, he went to see all his patients, even 
 those that were farthest off: he spoke to every one whom 
 he met, and said, ' Good-by, friends.' He came home 
 as usual, to dine with me, about five o'clock. Jacquotte 
 thought he looked rather red and purplish in the face, but, 
 as the weather was cold, she did not give him a hot footbath, 
 as she was in the habit of doing when the blood seemed to 
 rush to his head. So the poor woman has been crying out, 
 through her tears, for the last two days, — ' If I had only 
 given him the bath, he would be alive now.' 
 
 " Monsieur Benassis was very hungry when he came in, 
 and ate a good dinner, and he seemed gayer than usual. 
 We laughed a great deal; indeed, I never heard him laugh 
 so much. After dinner, about seven o'clock, a man from 
 Saint-Laurent-du-Pont came to fetch him for a pressing 
 case. He said to me: ' I must go, though my digestion 
 is not finished, and I don't like to get on horseback in such 
 a state, — especially not when it is so cold ; it is enough to 
 kill a man.' However, he went off. 
 
 " About nine o'clock, Goguelat, the postman, brought a 
 letter for Monsieur Benassis. Jacquotte, who was tired 
 with having washed that day, went to bed, leaving the let- 
 ter with me, and asking me to prepare the tea by the fire 
 in Monsieur Benassis's chamber, — where I still sleep on 
 my little cot-bed. I put out the fire in the salon, and went 
 upstairs to wait for my good friend. Before putting the 
 letter on the chimney-piece I looked, out of curiosity, at 
 the postmark and the writing. The letter came from Paris, 
 and the address seemed to be written by a woman. I 
 
The Country Doctor. 297 
 
 tell you all this because of the effect the letter had on 
 subsequent events. 
 
 " Towards ten o'clock I heard the horse's step. Monsieur 
 Benassis said to Nicolle, 'It is frightfully cold; I don't feel 
 well.' ' Shall I wake Jacquotte? ' asked Nicolle. ' No, no,' 
 he answered. Then he came upstairs. ' I have your tea all 
 ready,' I said to him. 'Thank you, Adrien,' he replied, 
 smiling — you know how! It was his last smile. He took 
 off his cravat as if it choked him. ' It is very hot here,' he 
 said. Then he threw himself into his armchair. ' A let- 
 ter came for you, my good friend; here it is,' I said. He 
 took it, looked at the writing, and exclaimed; 'My God! 
 perhaps she is free!' Then he laid his head back, and his 
 hands trembled. At last he put a light on the table, and 
 opened the letter. The tone of his exclamation had been so 
 startling that I kept looking at him as he read, and I saw 
 him flush and weep. Suddenly, he fell forward, head fore- 
 most; I picked him up and saw that his face was purple. 
 ' I am dead,' he said, stammering, and making a frightful 
 effort to straighten himself up. 'Bleed me! bleed me!' he 
 cried, seizing my hand. 'Adrien, burn that letter.' He 
 held it out to me, and I threw it in the fire. 
 
 " I called Jacquotte and Nicolle. but only Nicolle heard me; 
 he came, and helped me lay Monsieur Benassis on my little 
 bed. Our good friend no longer knew us. After that he 
 opened his eyes once or twice, but he saw nothing. As 
 Nicolle rode through the village to fetch Monsieur Bordier, 
 the surgeon, he alarmed the whole neighborhood. Mon- 
 sieur Janvier, Monsieur Dufau, all those whom you know, 
 were the first to get here. Monsieur Benassis was then 
 almost dead; there was no hope. Monsieur Bordier cauter- 
 ized the soles of the feet, but could get no signs of life. 
 It was an attack of gout combined with a rush of blood to 
 the head. 
 
 " As for me, I am very sad and very unhappy. I can truly 
 say that, excepting you, there is no one I loved so much. 
 
298 The Country Doctor. 
 
 I learned more from talking with Monsieur Benassis in the 
 evenings than from all the things they taught me in school. 
 
 " The next morning, when his death was known in the vil- 
 lage, you can hardly believe what a scene there was. The 
 courtyard, the garden, were filled with people, sobbing and 
 weeping. No one went to work; each related what Monsieur 
 Benassis had said to him the last time they met: some told 
 of all the good he had done to them ; those who were less 
 afflicted spoke for others. The crowd increased from hour 
 to hour, and all the people wanted to see him. The sad 
 tidings spread quickly. The people of this district and the 
 neighboring districts seemed to have but one thought: men, 
 women, girls, and boys flocked to the village from a circuit 
 of thirty miles. Wheu the funeral took place, the coffin was 
 borne by the four oldest persons in the village ; though not 
 without the greatest difficulty, for between Monsieur Benas- 
 sis's house and the church there were at least five thousand 
 persons, most of them kneeling as at the procession of the 
 Host. The church could not hold all the people. When 
 the service began there fell, in spite of the sobs, such a deep 
 silence over the crowd that the chants and the bell could be 
 heard to the end of the street. But when it came to remov- 
 ing the body to the new cemetery which Monsieur Benassis 
 had just given to the village, — little thinking, poor man, 
 that he was to be the first buried there, — a great cry arose. 
 Monsieur Janvier wept as he said the prayers, and all pres- 
 ent had tears in their eyes. 
 
 " At last he was buried. In the evening the crowd dis- 
 persed and went to their homes, spreading grief and mourn- 
 ing throughout the country. The next morning, Gondrin, 
 Goguelat, Butifer, the gamekeeper, and some others, set to 
 work to raise a pyramid of earth, twenty feet high, over the 
 spot where he lies, which they are going to sod, and every- 
 body is at work upon it. 
 
 " Such, my dear father, are the events of the last few days. 
 The will of Monsieur Benassis was found lying open on his 
 
The Country Doctor. 299 
 
 table, by Monsieur Dufau. The disposition that our kind 
 friend has made of his property has increased, if possible, 
 the attachment that all feel for him, and the grief occasioned 
 by his death. And now, my good father, I hope to receive 
 by Butifer, who carries this note, an answer telling me what 
 I must do. Will you come and fetch me? or am I to join 
 you at Grenoble? Tell me what you wish, and be sure of 
 my perfect obedience. 
 
 " Adieu, dear father; I send you the tender regard of your 
 affectionate son, 
 
 "• Adrien Genestas." 
 
 " Well, I must go there," cried the soldier. 
 
 He ordered his horse to be saddled, and started on 
 one of those December mornings when the sky is 
 covered with a gray veil, when the breeze is not 
 strong enough to drive away the fog, through which 
 the dripping houses and the leafless trees no longer 
 wear their customary expression. The silence was grim 
 — there are silences that are dazzling. In fine weather 
 the least sound has a joyous tone, but on a gloomy day 
 Nature is not silent, she is mute. The fog was clinging 
 to the trees and condensing into drops, which dripped 
 slowly upon the fallen leaves like tears. All noise died 
 away in the humid atmosphere. Colonel Genestas, 
 whose heart was wrung Iry thoughts of death and keen 
 regret, was in sympathy with this saddened nature. He 
 involuntarily compared the soft spring heavens and the 
 valley he had seen so J030US on his previous journey 
 with the melancholy aspect of those leaden skies, those 
 mountains stripped of their green drapeiy and not 
 yet swathed in robes of snow, — whose effects have a 
 beauty of their own. A naked landscape is a painful 
 sight to a man on his way to an open grave ; to him, 
 
300 The Country Doctor. 
 
 that grave seems everywhere. The black fir-trees, 
 which here and there clothed the overhanging heights, 
 blended their images of mourning with the other influ- 
 ences that gripped the soldier's heart, and every time 
 his eyes took in the valley to its full extent, he thought 
 of the sorrow that brooded over it, and the void that 
 was caused by the death of one man. 
 
 Genestas soon arrived at the place where he had for- 
 merly obtained a cup of milk. Seeing smoke from the 
 chimney of the cottage where the hospital children were 
 taken care of, his thoughts turned more particularly to 
 the beneficent mind of his friend, and he resolved to 
 stop and make a gift to the poor woman in Benassis's 
 name. Fastening his horse to a tree, he opened the 
 door of the house without rapping. 
 
 " Good-day, mother," he said to the old woman, 
 whom he found in the chimney-corner with all the chil- 
 dren squatting round her. " Do you remember me? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! very well, my dear monsieur. You came 
 here on a prett}' spring morning, and gave me some 
 money." 
 
 "Well, mother, here's more for you and the little 
 ones." 
 
 " Mv good monsieur, I thank you. May God bless 
 you ! " 
 
 "Don't thank me; you owe the money to our poor 
 friend Monsieur Benassis." 
 
 The old woman raised her head and looked at Ge- 
 nestas. " Ah, monsieur," she said, " though he has 
 given his property to our poor valley, and we are all his 
 heirs, we have lost our true wealth : he made everything 
 come right for us." 
 
The Country Doctor, 301 
 
 " Good-by, mother; pray for him," said Genestas, 
 tapping the children lightly with his riding-whip as he 
 turned away. 
 
 Then, followed to the door by all the little family and 
 the old woman herself, he mounted his horse and rode 
 on. Taking the lower road to the village, he came to the 
 bridle-path which led up to the cottage of the Fosseuse. 
 When he reached the angle at which the house could be 
 seen, he noticed, with much uneasiness, that the doors 
 and blinds were all closed ; then he returned to the 
 village b} T the great high-road, whose poplars were now 
 leafless. As he entered it, he saw an old laborer 
 dressed in what seemed to be his Sunday clothes, walk- 
 ing all b} T himself and without his tools. 
 
 " Good-day, Moreau." 
 
 "Ah! good-day, monsieur — I remember 3'ou," said 
 the old man after a moment's silence. "You are the 
 friend of our departed mayor. Oh ! monsieur, would n't 
 it have been better if the good God had taken a poor 
 rheumatic man like me? lam good for nothing; but 
 he was eveiTbody's joy." 
 
 " Can you tell me why the Fosseuse is not at home?" 
 
 The old man looked at the sky. 
 
 " What o'clock is it, monsieur! There's no sun to 
 tell the time o' day," he said. 
 
 "It is ten o'clock." 
 
 " Well, then, she is either at mass or in the cemeter}-. 
 She goes there every day. Though Monsieur Benassis 
 left her an annuity of five hundred francs and that 
 house during her lifetime, she is half-crazy with grief." 
 
 " Where are 3*011 going, my good man?" 
 
 " To the funeral of that poor little Jacques, who was 
 
302 The Country Doctor. 
 
 my nephew. The weakly thing died yesterday morning ; 
 it really seemed as if 'twas that dear Monsieur Benassis 
 who kept him alive. Ah ! those j'oung ones, they die ! " 
 added Moreau, in a tone half-plaintive, half-jocular. 
 
 At the entrance to the village, Genestas stopped his 
 horse as he overtook Goguelat and Gondrin, both carry- 
 ing spades and pickaxes. 
 
 " Well, my old troopers," he cried, " we have had the 
 misfortune to lose him." 
 
 "That's enough, enough, nry officer," replied Go- 
 guelat in a surly tone. " We know it too well ; we have 
 just been cutting sods for his grave." 
 
 "It will be a noble life' for yoxx to tell of," said 
 Genestas. 
 
 " Yes," answered Goguelat, " barring the battles, he 
 was the Napoleon of our vallejV 
 
 When Genestas reached the parsonage, he saw Butifer 
 and Adrien talking at the door with Monsieur Janvier, 
 who had doubtless just returned from saying mass. 
 Butifer, seeing that the officer was about to dismount, 
 came forward to hold his horse, while Adrien threw his 
 arms round his father's neck. The soldier was greatly 
 moA^ed b}' that show of tenderness, but he hid his feel- 
 ings and said : — 
 
 "Well! you are improved, Adrien. Bless me, you 
 are almost a man, thanks to our poor friend. And I 
 shall not forget master Butifer, your instructor." 
 
 "Ah! my colonel," exclaimed Butifer, "take me 
 with 3 t ou to }-our regiment. Now that Monsieur 
 Benassis is dead, I am afraid of myself. Did n't he wish 
 me to be a soldier? well, I '11 do his will. He told you 
 about me, and 3 T ou '11 be forbearing — " 
 
The Country Doctor. 303 
 
 " Agreed, my good fellow," said Genestas, grasping 
 his hand. "Make yourself easy ; I'll get you some 
 good employment — Ah ! monsieur le cure." 
 
 " Colonel, I am as deeply grieved as all the people 
 in the district, but I feel more keenly than they how 
 irreparable a loss it is to us. That man was an angel. 
 Happily, he died without suffering ; God loosened with 
 pitying hand the bonds of a life that was a constant 
 benefit to us." 
 
 " Maj T I ask you to come with me to the cemetery; 
 I want to sa}^ as it were a farewell to him." 
 
 Butifer and Adrien followed Genestas and the curate, 
 who walked a few paces in advance, talking as they 
 went. When the lieutenant-colonel had passed through 
 the village by the road leading to the little lake, he saw, 
 on the hither side of the mountain, a large piece of 
 rocky ground, enclosed by walls. 
 
 "That is the cemeteiy," said the curate. "Three 
 months before he came — he, the first — to lie there, 
 our dear friend was impressed with the evils that result 
 from putting grave-yards around churches, and, to en- 
 force the law which requires that the}' shall be at a given 
 distance from all dwelling-houses, he himself gave this 
 piece of ground to the community. To-da}' we bury a 
 little child in it — beginning; thus with Innocence and 
 Virtue. Is death, then, a recompense? Does God teach 
 us a lesson when He calls to Himself two perfect beings ? 
 Is the trial of our 3-outh by ph}*sical suffering, of our 
 manhood by moral suffering, the way to Him? See, 
 there is the rustic monument we are putting up to him." 
 
 Genestas saw a p} T ramid of earth about twent} r feet 
 high, still bare, though the base was parth 7 turfed by 
 
804 The Country Doctor. 
 
 the bus} 7 hands of the villagers. The Fossense, bathed 
 in tears, was sitting with her head in her hands, on 
 the stones which held in place a large cross made of a 
 fir-tree with the bark left on. The soldier read the 
 following words cut in large letters into the wood. 
 
 D. O. M. 
 
 Here lies 
 
 The Good Monsieur Benassis, 
 
 The Father 
 
 of us all. 
 
 Pray for Him. 
 
 " Was it you, monsieur le cure," said Genestas, 
 "who gave that inscription?" 
 
 " No," replied the curate, " we have put the words 
 that have been said and echoed from the tops of those 
 mountains as far as Grenoble." 
 
 Standing silent for a moment and then approaching 
 the Fosseuse, who did not hear him, Genestas said to 
 the curate: " As soon as I get my retirement, I shall 
 come back and end my days among you." 
 
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