The Collection of Antiquities | Page 7

did not know that her shape was graceful, nor her brows beautiful,
nor the outline of her face a perfect oval. I admired as children pray at
that age, without too clearly understanding why they pray. When my
piercing gaze attracted her notice, when she asked me (in that musical
voice of hers, with more volume in it, as it seemed to me, than all other
voices), 'What are you doing little one? Why do you look at me?'--I
used to come nearer and wriggle and bite my finger-nails, and redden
and say, 'I do not know.' And if she chanced to stroke my hair with her
white hand, and ask me how old I was, I would run away and call from
a distance, 'Eleven!'
Every princess and fairy of my visions, as I read the Arabian Nights,
looked and walked like Mlle. d'Esgrignon; and afterwards, when my
drawing-master gave me heads from the antique to copy, I noticed that
their hair was braided like Mlle. d'Esgrignon's. Still later, when the
foolish fancies had vanished one by one, Mlle. Armande remained
vaguely in my memory as a type; that Mlle. Armande for whom men
made way respectfully, following the tall brown-robed figure with their
eyes along the Parade and out of sight. Her exquisitely graceful form,
the rounded curves sometimes revealed by a chance gust of wind, and
always visible to my eyes in spite of the ample folds of stuff, revisited
my young man's dreams. Later yet, when I came to think seriously over
certain mysteries of human thought, it seemed to me that the feeling of
reverence was first inspired in me by something expressed in Mlle.
d'Esgrignon's face and bearing. The wonderful calm of her face, the
suppressed passion in it, the dignity of her movements, the saintly life
of duties fulfilled,--all this touched and awed me. Children are more
susceptible than people imagine to the subtle influences of ideas; they
never make game of real dignity; they feel the charm of real
graciousness, and beauty attracts them, for childhood itself is beautiful,
and there are mysterious ties between things of the same nature.
"Mlle. d'Esgrignon was one of my religions. To this day I can never
climb the staircase of some old manor-house but my foolish
imagination must needs picture Mlle. Armande standing there, like the
spirit of feudalism. I can never read old chronicles but she appears
before my eyes in the shape of some famous woman of old times; she is
Agnes Sorel, Marie Touchet, Gabrielle; and I lend her all the love that
was lost in her heart, all the love that she never expressed. The angel

shape seen in glimpses through the haze of childish fancies visits me
now sometimes across the mists of dreams."

Keep this portrait in mind; it is a faithful picture and sketch of character.
Mlle. d'Esgrignon is one of the most instructive figures in this story;
she affords an example of the mischief that may be done by the purest
goodness for lack of intelligence.
Two-thirds of the emigres returned to France during 1804 and 1805,
and almost every exile from the Marquis d'Esgrignon's province came
back to the land of his fathers. There were certainly defections. Men of
good birth entered the service of Napoleon, and went into the army or
held places at the Imperial court, and others made alliances with the
upstart families. All those who cast in their lots with the Empire
retrieved their fortunes and recovered their estates, thanks to the
Emperor's munificence; and these for the most part went to Paris and
stayed there. But some eight or nine families still remained true to the
proscribed noblesse and loyal to the fallen monarchy. The La
Roche-Guyons, Nouastres, Verneuils, Casterans, Troisvilles, and the
rest were some of them rich, some of them poor; but money, more or
less, scarcely counted for anything among them. They took an
antiquarian view of themselves; for them the age and preservation of
the pedigree was the one all-important matter; precisely as, for an
amateur, the weight of metal in a coin is a small matter in comparison
with clean lettering, a flawless stamp, and high antiquity. Of these
families, the Marquis d'Esgrignon was the acknowledged head. His
house became their cenacle. There His Majesty, Emperor and King,
was never anything but "M. de Bonaparte"; there "the King" meant
Louis XVIII., then at Mittau; there the Department was still the
Province, and the prefecture the intendance.
The Marquis was honored among them for his admirable behavior, his
loyalty as a noble, his undaunted courage; even as he was respected
throughout the town for his misfortunes, his fortitude, his steadfast
adherence to his political convictions. The man so admirable in
adversity was invested with all the majesty