Complete Works of Anatole France

by Anatole France

  And thus began the love of Honey-Bee of Clarides and George of Blanchelande.

  IV

  Which treats of Education in general, and George of Blanche

  lande’s in particular

  So George grew up in the Castle side by side with Honey-Bee, whom he affectionately called his sister though he knew she was not.

  He had masters in fencing, riding, swimming, gymnastics, dancing, hunting, falconry, tennis, and, indeed, in all the arts. He even had a writing-master. This was an old cleric, humble of manner but very proud within, who taught him all manner of penmanship, and the more beautiful this was the less decipherable it became. Very little pleasure or profit did George get out of the old cleric’s lessons, as little as out of those of an old monk who taught him grammar in barbarous terms. George could not understand the sense of learning a language which one knows as a matter of course and which is called one’s mother tongue.

  He only enjoyed himself with Francoeur the squire, who, having knocked about the world, understood the ways of men and beasts, could describe all sorts of countries and compose songs which he could not write. Francoeur was the only one of his masters who taught George anything, for he was the only one who really loved him, and the only good lessons are those which are given with love. The two old goggle-eyes, the writing-master and the grammar-master, who hated each other with all their hearts, were, however, united in a common hatred of the old squire, whom they accused of being a drunkard.

  It is true that Francoeur frequented the tavern “The Pewter Pot” somewhat too zealously. It was here that he forgot his sorrows and composed his songs. But of course it was very wrong of him.

  Homer made better verses than Francoeur, and Homer only drank the water of the springs. As for sorrows the whole world has sorrows, and the thing to make one forget them is not the wine one drinks, but the good one does. But Francoeur was an old man grown grey in harness, faithful and trustworthy, and the two masters of writing and grammar should have hidden his failings from the duchess instead of giving her an exaggerated account of them.

  “Francoeur is a drunkard,” said the writing-master, “and when he comes back from ‘The Pewter Pot’ he makes a letter S as he walks. Moreover, it is the only letter he has ever made; because if it please your Grace, this drunkard is an ass.”

  The grammar-master added, “And the songs Francoeur sings as he staggers about err against all rules and are constructed on no model at all. He ignores all the rules of rhetoric, please your Grace.”

  The Duchess had a natural distaste for pedants and tale-bearers. She did what we all would have done in her place; at first she did not listen to them but as they again began to repeat their tittle-tattle, she ended by believing them and decided to send Francoeur away. However, to give him an honourable exile, she sent him to Rome to obtain the blessing of the Pope. This journey was all the longer for Francoeur the squire because a great many taverns much frequented by musicians separated the duchy of Clarides from the holy apostolic seat. In the course of this story we shall see how soon the Duchess regretted having deprived the two children of their most faithful guardian.

  V

  Which tells how the Duchess took Honeybee and George to the

  Hermitage, and of their encounter with a hideous old woman

  That morning, it was the first Sunday after Easter, the Duchess rode out of the castle on her great sorrel horse, while on? her left George of Blanchelande was mounted on a dark horse with a white star on his black forehead, and on her right Honey-Bee guided her milk-white steed with rose-coloured reins. They were on their way to the Hermitage to hear mass. Soldiers armed with lances formed their escort and, as they passed, the people crowded forward to admire them, and, indeed, all three were very fair to see. Under a veil of silver flowers and with flowing mantle the Duchess had an air of lovely majesty; while the pearls with which her coif was embroidered shone with a soft radiance that well-suited the face and soul of this beautiful lady. George by her side with flowing hair and sparkling eyes was very good to see. And on the other side rode Honey-Bee, the tender and pure colour of her face like a caress for the eyes; but most glorious of all her fair tresses, flowing over her shoulders, held by a circlet of gold surmounted by three gold flowers, seemed the shining mantle of her youth and beauty. The good people said, on seeing her:

  “What a lovely young damsel.”

  The master tailor, old Jean, took his grandson Peter in his arms to point out |Honey-Bce to him, and Peter asked was she alive or was she an image of wax, for he could not understand how any one could be so white and so lovely, and yet belong to the same race as himself, little Peter with his good big weather-beaten cheeks, and his little home-spun shirt laced behind in country fashion.

  While the Duchess accepted the people’s homage with gracious kindness, the two children showed how it gratified their pride, George by his blushes, Honey-Bee by her smiles, and for this reason the Duchess said to them:

  “How kindly these good people greet us. For what reason, George? And what is the reason, Honey-Bee?”

  “So they should,” said Honey-Bee.

  “It’s their duty,” George added.

  “But why should it be their duty?” asked the Duchess.

  And as neither replied, she continued:

  “I will tell you. For more than three hundred years the dukes of Clarides, from father to son, have lance in hand protected these poor people so that they could gather the harvests of the fields they had sown. For more than three hundred years all the duchesses of Clarides have spun the cloth for the poor, have visited the sick, and have held the new-born at the baptismal font. That is the reason they greet you, my children.”

  George was lost in deep thought: “We must protect those who toil on the land,” and Honcy-Bee said: “One should spin for the poor.”

  And thus chatting and meditating they went on their way through meadows starred with flowers. A fringe of blue mountains lay against the distant horizon. George pointed towards the east.

  “Is that a great steel shield I see over there?”

  “Oh no,” said Honey-Bee, “it’s a round silver clasp, as big as the moon.”

  “It is neither a steel shield nor a silver clasp, my children,” replied the Duchess, “but a lake glittering in the sunshine. The surface of this lake, which seen from here is as smooth as a mirror, is stirred by innumerable ripples. Its borders which appear as distinct as it cut in metal are really covered by reeds with feathery plumes and irises whose flower is like a human glance between the blades of swords. Every morning a white mist rises over the lake which shines like armour under the midday sun. But none must approach it for in it dwell the nixies who lure passers by into their crystal abodes.”

  At this moment the bell of the Hermitage was heard.

  “Let us dismount,” said the Duchess, “and walk to the chapel. It was neither on elephants nor camels that the wise men of the East approached the manger.”

  They heard the hermit’s mass. A hideous old crone covered with rags knelt beside the Duchesss, who on leaving the church offered her holy water.

  “Accept it, good mother,” she said.

  George was amazed.

  “Do you not know,” said the Duchess, “that in the poor you honour the chosen of our Lord Jesus Christ? A beggar such as this as well as the good Duke of Rochesnoires held you at the font when you were baptized; and your little sister, Honey-Bee, also had one of these poor creatures as godmother.”

  The old crone who seemed to have guessed the boy’s thoughts leaned towards him.

  “Fair prince,” she cried mockingly, “may you conquer as many kingdoms as I have lost. I was the queen of the Island of Pearls and the Mountains of Gold; each day my table was served with fourteen different kinds of fish, and a negro page bore my train.”

  “And by what misfortune have you lost your islands and your mountains, good woman?” asked the Duchess.

  “I vexed the dwarfs, and they carried me f
ar away from my dominions.”

  “Are the dwarfs so powerful?” George asked.

  “As they live in the earth,” the old woman answered, “they know the virtue of precious stones, they work in metals, and they unseal the hidden sources of the springs.”

  “And what did you do to vex them?” asked the Duchess.

  “On a December night,” said the old woman, “one of them came to ask permission to prepare a great midnight banquet in the kitchen of the castle, which, vaster than a chapter-house, was furnished with casseroles, frying-pans, earthen saucepans, kettles, pans, portable-ovens, gridirons, boilers, dripping-pans, dutch-ovens, fish-kettles, copper-pans, pastry-moulds, copper-jugs, goblets of gold and silver, and mottled wood, not to mention iron roasting-jacks, artistically forged, and the huge black cauldron which hung from the pothook. He promised neither to disturb nor to damage anything. I refused his request, and he disappeared muttering vague threats. The third night, it being Christmas, this same dwarf returned to the chamber where I slept. He was accompanied by innumerable others, who pulled me out of bed and carried me to an unknown land in my nightgown. ‘Such,’ they said as they left me, ‘such is the punishment of the rich who refuse even a part of their treasure to the industrious and kindly dwarf folk who work in gold and cause the springs to flow.’”

  Thus said the toothless old woman, and the Duchess having comforted her with words and money, she and the two children retraced their way to the castle.

  VI

  Which tells of what can be seen from the Keep of Clarides

  It was one day shortly after this that Honey-Bee and George, without being observed, climbed the steps of the watch-tower which stands in the middle of the Castle of Clarides. Having reached the platform they shouted at the top of their voices and clapped their hands.

  Their view extended down the hillside divided into brown and green squares of cultivated fields. Woods and mountains lay dimly blue against the distant horizon.

  “Little sister,” cried George, “little sister, look at the whole wide world!”

  “The world is very big,” said Honey-Bee. “My teachers,” said George, “have taught me that it is very big; but, as Gertrude our housekeeper says, one must see to believe.”

  They went the round of the platform.

  “Here is something wonderful, little brother,” cried Honey-Bee. “The castle stands in the middle of the earth and we are on the watch-tower in the middle of the castle, and so we are standing in the middle of the earth. Ha! ha! ha!”

  And, indeed, the horizon formed a circle about the children of which the watch-tower was the centre.

  “We are in the middle of the earth! Ha! ha! ha!” George repeated.

  Whereupon they both started a-thinking.

  “What a pity that the world is so big!” said Honey-Bee, “one might get lost and be separated from one’s friends.”

  George shrugged his shoulders.

  “How lucky that the world is so big! One can go in search of adventures. When I am grown up I mean to conquer the mountains that stand at the ends of the earth. That is where the moon rises; I shall seize her as she passes, and I will give her to you, Honey-Bee.”

  “Yes,” said Honey-Bee, “give her to me and I will put her in my hair.”

  Then they busied themselves searching for the places they knew as on a map.

  “I recognise everything,” said Honey-Bee, who recognised nothing, “but what are those little square stones scattered over the hillside?”

  “Houses,” George replied. “Those are houses. Don’t you recognise the capital of the Duchy of Clarides, little sister? After all, it is a great city; it has three streets, and one can drive through one of them. Don’t you remember that we passed through it last week when we went to the Hermitage?”

  “And what is that winding brook?”

  “That is the river. See the old stone bridge down there?”

  “The bridge under which we fished for crayfish?”

  “That’s the one; and in one of the niches stands the statue of the ‘Woman without a Head.’ One cannot see her from here because she is too small.”

  “I remember. But why hasn’t she got a head?”

  “Probably because she has lost it.”

  Without saying if this explanation was satisfactory, Honey-Bee gazed at the horizon.

  “Little brother, little brother, just see what sparkles by the side of the blue mountains? It is the lake.”

  “It is the lake.”

  They then remembered what the Duchess had told them of these beautiful and dangerous waters where the nixies dwell.

  “We will go there,” said Honey-Bee.

  George was aghast. He stared at her with his mouth wide open.

  “But the Duchess has forbidden us to go out alone, so how can we go to this lake which is at the end of the earth?”

  “How can we go? I don’t know. It’s you who ought to know, for you are a man and you have a grammar-master.”

  This piqued George who replied that one might be a man, and even a very brave man, and yet not know all the roads on earth. Whereupon Honey-Bee said drily with a little air of scorn which made him blush to his ears:

  “I never said I would conquer the blue mountains or take down the moon. I don’t know the way to the lake, but I mean to find it!”

  George pretended to laugh.

  “You laugh like a cucumber.”

  “Cucumbers neither laugh nor cry.”

  “If they did laugh they would laugh like you. I shall go along to the lake. And while I search for the beautiful waters in which the nixies live you shall stay alone at home like a good girl. I will leave you my needle-work and my doll. Take care of them, George, take good care of them.”

  George was proud, and he was conscious of the humiliation with which Honey-Bee covered him.

  Gloomily and with head bowed he cried in a hollow voice:

  “Very well, then, we will go to the lake.”

  VII

  In which is described how George and Honey-Bee went to the

  lake

  The next day after the midday meal, the Duchess having gone to her own room George took Honey-Bee by the hand. “Now come!” he said. “Where?” “Hush!”

  They crept down stairs and crossed the courtyard. After they had passed the postern, Honey-Bee again asked where they were going.

  “To the lake,” George said resolutely. Honey-Bee opened her mouth wide but remained speechless. To go so far without permission and in satin shoes! For her shoes were of satin. There was no sense in it.

  “We must go and there is no need to be sensible.”

  Such was George’s proud reply. She had once humiliated him and now she pretended to be astonished.

  This time it was he who disdainfully sent her back to her dolls. Girls always tempt one on to adventures and then run away. So mean! She could remain. He’d go alone.

  She clung to his arm; he pushed her away.

  She hung about his neck.

  “Little brother,” she sobbed, “I will follow you.”

  He allowed himself to be moved by such touching repentance.

  “Come then, but not through the town; we may be seen. We will follow the ramparts and then we can reach the highway by a cross road.”

  And so they went hand in hand while George explained his plans.

  “We will follow the road we took to the Hermitage and then we shall be sure to see the lake, just as we did the other day, and then we can cross the fields in a bee line.”

  “A bee line” is the pretty rustic way of saying a straight line; and they both laughed because of the young girl’s name which fitted in so oddly.

  Honey-Bee picked flowers along the ditches; she made a posy of marshmallows, white mullein, asters and chrysanthemums; the flowers faded in her little hands and it was pitiful to see them when Honey-Bee crossed the old stone bridge. As she did not know what to do with them she decided to throw them into the water to refresh them
, but finally she preferred to give them to the “Woman without a head.”

  She begged George to lift her in his arms so as to make her tall enough, and she placed her armful of wild flowers between the folded hands of the old stone figure.

  After she was far away she looked back and saw a pigeon resting on the shoulder of the statue.

  When they had been walking some time, said Honey-bee, “I am thirsty.”

  “So am I,” George replied, “but the river is far behind us, and I see neither brook nor fountain.”

  “The sun is so hot that he has drunk them all up. What shall we do?”

  So they talked and lamented when they saw a peasant woman approach who carried a basket of fruit.

  “Cherries!” cried George. “How unlucky: I have no money to buy any.”

  “I have money,” said Honey-Bee.

  She pulled out of her pocket a little purse in which were five pieces of gold.

  “Good woman,” she said to the peasant, “will you give me as many cherries as my frock will hold?”

  And she raised her little skirt with her two hands. The woman threw in two or three handfuls of cherries. With one hand Honey-Bee held the uplifted skirt and with the other she offered the woman a gold piece.

  “Is that enough?”

  The woman clutched the gold piece which would amply have paid not only for the cherries in the basket but for the tree on which they grew and the plot of land on which the tree stood.

  The artful one replied:

  “I’m satisfied, if only to oblige you, little princess.”

  “Well then, put some more cherries in my brother’s cap,” said Honey-Bee, “and you shall have another gold piece.”