The Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton | Page 8

All Saints' Day the marriage took
place.
As to the next few years, the evidence on both sides seems to show that
they passed happily for the couple. No one was found to say that Yves
de Cornault had been unkind to his wife, and it was plain to all that he
was content with his bargain. Indeed, it was admitted by the chaplain
and other witnesses for the prosecution that the young lady had a
softening influence on her husband, and that he became less exacting

with his tenants, less harsh to peasants and dependents, and less subject
to the fits of gloomy silence which had darkened his widow-hood. As
to his wife, the only grievance her champions could call up in her
behalf was that Kerfol was a lonely place, and that when her husband
was away on business at Rennes or Morlaix--whither she was never
taken--she was not allowed so much as to walk in the park
unaccompanied. But no one asserted that she was unhappy, though one
servant-woman said she had surprised her crying, and had heard her say
that she was a woman accursed to have no child, and nothing in life to
call her own. But that was a natural enough feeling in a wife attached to
her husband; and certainly it must have been a great grief to Yves de
Cornault that she gave him no son. Yet he never made her feel her
childlessness as a reproach--she herself admits this in her evidence--but
seemed to try to make her forget it by showering gifts and favours on
her. Rich though he was, he had never been open-handed; but nothing
was too fine for his wife, in the way of silks or gems or linen, or
whatever else she fancied. Every wandering merchant was welcome at
Kerfol, and when the master was called away he never came back
without bringing his wife a handsome present--something curious and
particular--from Morlaix or Rennes or Quimper. One of the
waiting-women gave, in cross-examination, an interesting list of one
year's gifts, which I copy. From Morlaix, a carved ivory junk, with
Chinamen at the oars, that a strange sailor had brought back as a votive
offering for Notre Dame de la Clarte, above Ploumanac'h; from
Quimper, an embroidered gown, worked by the nuns of the Assumption;
from Rennes, a silver rose that opened and showed an amber Virgin
with a crown of garnets; from Morlaix, again, a length of Damascus
velvet shot with gold, bought of a Jew from Syria; and for Michaelmas
that same year, from Rennes, a necklet or bracelet of round
stones--emeralds and pearls and rubies--strung like beads on a gold
wire. This was the present that pleased the lady best, the woman said.
Later on, as it happened, it was produced at the trial, and appears to
have struck the Judges and the public as a curious and valuable jewel.
The very same winter, the Baron absented himself again, this time as
far as Bordeaux, and on his return he brought his wife something even
odder and prettier than the bracelet. It was a winter evening when he

rode up to Kerfol and, walking into the hall, found her sitting listlessly
by the fire, her chin on her hand, looking into the fire. He carried a
velvet box in his hand and, setting it down on the hearth, lifted the lid
and let out a little golden-brown dog.
Anne de Cornault exclaimed with pleasure as the little creature
bounded toward her. "Oh, it looks like a bird or a butterfly!" she cried
as she picked it up; and the dog put its paws on her shoulders and
looked at her with eyes "like a Christian's." After that she would never
have it out of her sight, and petted and talked to it as if it had been a
child--as indeed it was the nearest thing to a child she was to know.
Yves de Cornault was much pleased with his purchase. The dog had
been brought to him by a sailor from an East India merchantman, and
the sailor had bought it of a pilgrim in a bazaar at Jaffa, who had stolen
it from a nobleman's wife in China: a perfectly permissible thing to do,
since the pilgrim was a Christian and the nobleman a heathen doomed
to hellfire. Yves de Cornault had paid a long price for the dog, for they
were beginning to be in demand at the French court, and the sailor
knew he had got hold of a good thing; but Anne's pleasure was so great
that, to see her laugh and play with the little animal, her husband would
doubtless have given twice the sum.
So far, all the evidence is at one, and the narrative plain sailing; but