The Celibates | Page 5

bound, madam' la mariee, With bonds of gold That
only death unbinds:
"You will go no more to balls or gay assemblies; You must stay at
home While we shall go.
"Have you thought well how you are pledged to be True to your spouse,
And love him like yourself?
"Receive these flowers our hands do now present you; Alas! your
fleeting honors Will fade as they."

This native air (as sweet as that adapted by Chateaubriand to /Ma soeur,
te souvient-il encore/), sung in this little town of the Brie district, must
have been to the ears of a Breton maiden the touchstone of imperious
memories, so faithfully does it picture the manners and customs, the
surroundings and the heartiness of her noble old land, where a sort of
melancholy reigns, hardly to be defined; caused, perhaps, by the aspect
of life in Brittany, which is deeply touching. This power of awakening
a world of grave and sweet and tender memories by a familiar and
sometimes lively ditty, is the privilege of those popular songs which are
the superstitions of music,--if we may use the word "superstition" as
signifying all that remains after the ruin of a people, all that survives
their revolutions.
As he finished the first couple, the singer, who never took his eyes
from the attic curtain, saw no signs of life. While he sang the second,
the curtain stirred. When the words "Receive these flowers" were sung,
a youthful face appeared; a white hand cautiously opened the casement,
and a girl made a sign with her head to the singer as he ended with the
melancholy thought of the simple verses,--"Alas! your fleeting honors
will fade as they."
To her the young workman suddenly showed, drawing it from within
his jacket, a yellow flower, very common in Brittany, and sometimes to
be found in La Brie (where, however, it is rare),--the furze, or broom.
"Is it really you, Brigaut?" said the girl, in a low voice.
"Yes, Pierrette, yes. I am in Paris. I have started to make my way; but
I'm ready to settle here, near you."
Just then the fastening of a window creaked in a room on the first floor,
directly below Pierrette's attic. The girl showed the utmost terror, and
said to Brigaut, quickly:--
"Run away!"
The lad jumped like a frightened frog to a bend in the street caused by
the projection of a mill just where the square opens into the main
thoroughfare; but in spite of his agility his hob-nailed shoes echoed on
the stones with a sound easily distinguished from the music of the mill,
and no doubt heard by the person who opened the window.
That person was a woman. No man would have torn himself from the
comfort of a morning nap to listen to a minstrel in a jacket; none but a
maid awakes to songs of love. Not only was this woman a maid, but

she was an old maid. When she had opened her blinds with the furtive
motion of the bat, she looked in all directions, but saw nothing, and
only heard, faintly, the flying footfalls of the lad. Can there be anything
more dreadful than the matutinal apparition of an ugly old maid at her
window? Of all the grotesque sights which amuse the eyes of travellers
in country towns, that is the most unpleasant. It is too repulsive to
laugh at. This particular old maid, whose ear was so keen, was denuded
of all the adventitious aids, of whatever kind, which she employed as
embellishments; her false front and her collarette were lacking; she
wore that horrible little bag of black silk on which old women insist on
covering their skulls, and it was now revealed beneath the night-cap
which had been pushed aside in sleep. This rumpled condition gave a
menacing expression to the head, such as painters bestow on witches.
The temples, ears, and nape of the neck, were disclosed in all their
withered horror,--the wrinkles being marked in scarlet lines that
contrasted with the would-be white of the bed-gown which was tied
round her neck by a narrow tape. The gaping of this garment revealed a
breast to be likened only to that of an old peasant woman who cares
nothing about her personal ugliness. The fleshless arm was like a stick
on which a bit of stuff was hung. Seen at her window, this spinster
seemed tall from the length and angularity of her face, which recalled
the exaggerated proportions of certain Swiss heads. The character of
their countenance--the features being marked by a total want of
harmony--was that of hardness in the lines, sharpness in the tones;
while an unfeeling spirit, pervading all, would have filled a
physiognomist with disgust. These characteristics, fully visible at this