The Chateau of Prince Polignac
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Anthony Trollope >> The Chateau of Prince Polignac
This etext was produced by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk,
from the 1864 Chapman & Hall "Tales of all Countries" edition.
THE CHATEAU OF PRINCE POLIGNAC
by Anthony Trollope
Few Englishmen or Englishwomen are intimately acquainted with the
little town of Le Puy. It is the capital of the old province of Le
Velay, which also is now but little known, even to French ears, for
it is in these days called by the imperial name of the Department of
the Haute Loire. It is to the south-east of Auvergne, and is nearly
in the centre of the southern half of France.
But few towns, merely as towns, can be better worth visiting. In
the first place, the volcanic formation of the ground on which it
stands is not only singular in the extreme, so as to be interesting
to the geologist, but it is so picturesque as to be equally
gratifying to the general tourist. Within a narrow valley there
stand several rocks, rising up from the ground with absolute
abruptness. Round two of these the town clusters, and a third
stands but a mile distant, forming the centre of a faubourg, or
suburb. These rocks appear to be, and I believe are, the harder
particles of volcanic matter, which have not been carried away
through successive ages by the joint agency of water and air.
When the tide of lava ran down between the hills the surface left
was no doubt on a level with the heads of these rocks; but here and
there the deposit became harder than elsewhere, and these harder
points have remained, lifting up their steep heads in a line through
the valley.
The highest of these is called the Rocher de Corneille. Round this
and up its steep sides the town stands. On its highest summit there
was an old castle; and there now is, or will be before these pages
are printed, a colossal figure in bronze of the Virgin Mary, made
from the cannon taken at Sebastopol. Half-way down the hill the
cathedral is built, a singularly gloomy edifice,--Romanesque, as it
is called, in its style, but extremely similar in its mode of
architecture to what we know of Byzantine structures. But there has
been no surface on the rock side large enough to form a resting-
place for the church, which has therefore been built out on huge
supporting piles, which form a porch below the west front; so that
the approach is by numerous steps laid along the side of the wall
below the church, forming a wondrous flight of stairs. Let all men
who may find themselves stopping at Le Puy visit the top of these
stairs at the time of the setting sun, and look down from thence
through the framework of the porch on the town beneath, and at the
hill-side beyond.
Behind the church is the seminary of the priests, with its beautiful
walks stretching round the Rocher de Corneille, and overlooking the
town and valley below.
Next to this rock, and within a quarter of a mile of it, is the
second peak, called the Rock of the Needle. It rises narrow, sharp,
and abrupt from the valley, allowing of no buildings on its sides.
But on its very point has been erected a church sacred to St.
Michael, that lover of rock summits, accessible by stairs cut from
the stone. This, perhaps--this rock, I mean--is the most wonderful
of the wonders which Nature has formed at La Puy.
Above this, at a mile's distance, is the rock of Espailly, formed in
the same way, and almost equally precipitous. On its summit is a
castle, having its own legend, and professing to have been the
residence of Charles VII., when little of France belonged to its
kings but the provinces of Berry, Auvergne, and Le Velay. Some
three miles farther up there is another volcanic rock, larger,
indeed, but equally sudden in its spring,--equally remarkable as
rising abruptly from the valley,--on which stands the castle and old
family residence of the house of Polignac. It was lost by them at
the Revolution, but was repurchased by the minister of Charles X.,
and is still the property of the head of the race.
Le Puy itself is a small, moderate, pleasant French town, in which
the language of the people has not the pure Parisian aroma, nor is
the glory of the boulevards of the capital emulated in its streets.
These are crooked, narrow, steep, and intricate, forming here and
there excellent sketches for a lover of street picturesque beauty;
but hurtful to the feet with their small, round-topped paving
stones, and not always as clean as pedestrian ladies might desire.
And now I would ask my readers to join me at the morning table
d'hote at the Hotel des Ambassadeurs. It will of course be
understood that this does not mean a breakfast in the ordinary
fashion of England, consisting of tea or coffee, bread and butter,
and perhaps a boiled egg. It comprises all the requisites for a
composite dinner, excepting soup; and as one gets farther south in
France, this meal is called dinner. It is, however, eaten without
any prejudice to another similar and somewhat longer meal at six or
seven o'clock, which, when the above name is taken up by the earlier
enterprise, is styled supper.
The dejeuner, or dinner, at the Hotel des Ambassadeurs, on the
morning in question, though very elaborate, was not a very gay
affair. There were some fourteen persons present, of whom half were
residents in the town, men employed in some official capacity, who
found this to be the cheapest, the most luxurious, and to them the
most comfortable mode of living. They clustered together at the
head of the table, and as they were customary guests at the house,
they talked their little talk together--it was very little--and made
the most of the good things before them. Then there were two or
three commis-voyageurs, a chance traveller or two, and an English
lady with a young daughter. The English lady sat next to one of the
accustomed guests; but he, unlike the others, held converse with her
rather than with them. Our story at present has reference only to
that lady and to that gentleman.
Place aux dames. We will speak first of the lady, whose name was
Mrs. Thompson. She was, shall I say, a young woman of about thirty-
six. In so saying, I am perhaps creating a prejudice against her in
the minds of some readers, as they will, not unnaturally, suppose
her, after such an announcement, to be in truth over forty. Any
such prejudice will be unjust. I would have it believed that
thirty-six was the outside, not the inside of her age. She was
good-looking, lady-like, and considering that she was an
Englishwoman, fairly well dressed. She was inclined to be rather
full in her person, but perhaps not more so than is becoming to
ladies at her time of life. She had rings on her fingers and a
brooch on her bosom which were of some value, and on the back of her
head she wore a jaunty small lace cap, which seemed to tell, in
conjunction with her other appointments, that her circumstances were
comfortable.
The little girl who sat next to her was the youngest of her two
daughters, and might be about thirteen years of age. Her name was
Matilda, but infantine circumstances had invested her with the
nickname of Mimmy, by which her mother always called her. A nice,
pretty, playful little girl was Mimmy Thompson, wearing two long
tails of plaited hair hanging, behind her head, and inclined
occasionally to be rather loud in her sport.
Mrs. Thompson had another and an elder daughter, now some fifteen
years old, who was at school in Le Puy; and it was with reference to
her tuition that Mrs. Thompson had taken up a temporary residence at
the Hotel des Ambassadeurs in that town. Lilian Thompson was
occasionally invited down to dine or breakfast at the inn, and was
visited daily at her school by her mother.
"When I'm sure that she'll do, I shall leave her there, and go back
to England," Mrs. Thompson had said, not in the purest French, to
the neighbour who always sat next to her at the table d'hote, the
gentleman, namely, to whom we have above alluded. But still she had
remained at Le Puy a month, and did not go; a circumstance which was
considered singular, but by no means unpleasant, both by the
innkeeper and by the gentleman in question.
The facts, as regarded Mrs. Thompson, were as follows:- She was the
widow of a gentleman who had served for many years in the civil
service of the East Indies, and who, on dying, had left her a
comfortable income of--it matters not how many pounds, but
constituting quite a sufficiency to enable her to live at her ease
and educate her daughters.
Her children had been sent home to England before her husband's
death, and after that event she had followed them; but there, though
she was possessed of moderate wealth, she had no friends and few
acquaintances, and after a little while she had found life to be
rather dull. Her customs were not those of England, nor were her
propensities English; therefore she had gone abroad, and having
received some recommendation of this school at Le Puy, had made her
way thither. As it appeared to her that she really enjoyed more
consideration at Le Puy than had been accorded to her either at
Torquay or Leamington, there she remained from day to day. The
total payment required at the Hotel des Ambassadeurs was but six
francs daily for herself and three and a half for her little girl;
and where else could she live with a better junction of economy and
comfort? And then the gentleman who always sat next to her was so
exceedingly civil!
The gentleman's name was M. Lacordaire. So much she knew, and had
learned to call him by his name very frequently. Mimmy, too, was
quite intimate with M. Lacordaire; but nothing more than his name
was known of him. But M. Lacordaire carried a general letter of
recommendation in his face, manner, gait, dress, and tone of voice.
In all these respects there was nothing left to be desired; and, in
addition to this, he was decorated, and wore the little red ribbon
of the Legion of Honour, ingeniously twisted into the shape of a
small flower.
M. Lacordaire might be senior in age to Mrs. Thompson by about ten
years, nor had he about him any of the airs or graces of a would-be
young man. His hair, which he wore very short, was grizzled, as was
also the small pretence of a whisker which came down about as far as
the middle of his ear; but the tuft on his chin was still brown,
without a gray hair. His eyes were bright and tender, his voice was
low and soft, his hands were very white, his clothes were always new
and well fitting, and a better-brushed hat could not be seen out of
Paris, nor perhaps in it.
Now, during the weeks which Mrs. Thompson had passed at La Puy, the
acquaintance which she had formed with M. Lacordaire had progressed
beyond the prolonged meals in the salle a manger. He had
occasionally sat beside her evening table as she took her English
cup of tea in her own room, her bed being duly screened off in its
distant niche by becoming curtains; and then he had occasionally
walked beside her, as he civilly escorted her to the lions of the
place; and he had once accompanied her, sitting on the back seat of
a French voiture, when she had gone forth to see something of the
surrounding country.
On all such occasions she had been accompanied by one of her
daughters, and the world of Le Puy had had nothing material to say
against her. But still the world of Le Puy had whispered a little,
suggesting that M. Lacordaire knew very well what he was about. But
might not Mrs. Thompson also know as well what she was about? At
any rate, everything had gone on very pleasantly since the
acquaintance had been made. And now, so much having been explained,
we will go back to the elaborate breakfast at the Hotel des
Ambassadeurs.
Mrs. Thompson, holding Mimmy by the hand, walked into the room some
few minutes after the last bell had been rung, and took the place
which was now hers by custom. The gentlemen who constantly
frequented the house all bowed to her, but M. Lacordaire rose from
his seat and offered her his hand.
"And how is Mees Meemy this morning?" said he; for 'twas thus he
always pronounced her name.
Miss Mimmy, answering for herself, declared that she was very well,
and suggested that M. Lacordaire should give her a fig from off a
dish that was placed immediately before him on the table. This M.
Lacordaire did, presenting it very elegantly between his two
fingers, and making a little bow to the little lady as he did so.
"Fie, Mimmy!" said her mother; "why do you ask for the things before
the waiter brings them round?"
"But, mamma," said Mimmy, speaking English, "M. Lacordaire always
gives me a fig every morning."
"M. Lacordaire always spoils you, I think," answered Mrs. Thompson,
in French. And then they went thoroughly to work at their
breakfast. During the whole meal M. Lacordaire attended assiduously
to his neighbour; and did so without any evil result, except that
one Frenchman with a black moustache, at the head of the table, trod
on the toe of another Frenchman with another black moustache--
winking as he made the sign--just as M. Lacordaire, having selected
a bunch of grapes, put it on Mrs. Thompson's plate with infinite
grace. But who among us all is free from such impertinences as
these?
"But madame really must see the chateau of Prince Polignac before
she leaves Le Puy," said M. Lacordaire.
"The chateau of who?" asked Mimmy, to whose young ears the French
words were already becoming familiar.
"Prince Polignac, my dear. Well, I really don't know, M.
Lacordaire;--I have seen a great deal of the place already, and I
shall be going now very soon; probably in a day or two," said Mrs.
Thompson.
"But madame must positively see the chateau," said M. Lacordaire,
very impressively; and then after a pause he added, "If madame will
have the complaisance to commission me to procure a carriage for
this afternoon, and will allow me the honour to be her guide, I
shall consider myself one of the most fortunate of men."
"Oh, yes, mamma, do go," said Mimmy, clapping her hands. "And it is
Thursday, and Lilian can go with us."
"Be quiet, Mimmy, do. Thank you, no, M. Lacordaire. I could not go
to-day; but I am extremely obliged by your politeness."
M. Lacordaire still pressed the matter, and Mrs. Thompson still
declined till it was time to rise from the table. She then declared
that she did not think it possible that she should visit the chateau
before she left Le Puy; but that she would give him an answer at
dinner.
The most tedious time in the day to Mrs. Thompson were the two hours
after breakfast. At one o'clock she daily went to the school,
taking Mimmy, who for an hour or two shared her sister's lessons.
This and her little excursions about the place, and her shopping,
managed to make away with her afternoon. Then in the evening, she
generally saw something of M. Lacordaire. But those two hours after
breakfast were hard of killing.
On this occasion, when she gained her own room, she as usual placed
Mimmy on the sofa with a needle. Her custom then was to take up a
novel; but on this morning she sat herself down in her arm-chair,
and resting her head upon her hand and elbow, began to turn over
certain circumstances in her mind.
"Mamma," said Mimmy, "why won't you go with M. Lacordaire to that
place belonging to the prince? Prince--Polly something, wasn't it?"
"Mind your work, my dear," said Mrs. Thompson.
"But I do so wish you'd go, mamma. What was the prince's name?"
"Polignac."
"Mamma, ain't princes very great people?"
"Yes, my dear; sometimes."
"Is Prince Polly-nac like our Prince Alfred?"
"No, my dear; not at all. At least, I suppose not."
"Is his mother a queen?"
"No, my dear."
"Then his father must be a king?"
"No, my dear. It is quite a different thing here. Here in France
they have a great many princes."
"Well, at any rate I should like to see a prince's chateau; so I do
hope you'll go." And then there was a pause. "Mamma, could it come
to pass, here in France, that M. Lacordaire should ever be a
prince?"
"M. Lacordaire a prince! No; don't talk such nonsense, but mind
your work."
"Isn't M. Lacordaire a very nice man? Ain't you very fond of him?"
To this question Mrs. Thompson made no answer.
"Mamma," continued Mimmy, after a moment's pause, "won't you tell me
whether you are fond of M. Lacordaire? I'm quite sure of this,--
that he's very fond of you."
"What makes you think that?" asked Mrs. Thompson, who could not
bring herself to refrain from the question.
"Because he looks at you in that way, mamma, and squeezes your
hand."
"Nonsense, child," said Mrs. Thompson; "hold your tongue. I don't
know what can have put such stuff into your head."
"But he does, mamma," said Mimmy, who rarely allowed her mother to
put her down.
Mrs. Thompson made no further answer, but again sat with her head
resting on her hand. She also, if the truth must be told, was
thinking of M. Lacordaire and his fondness for herself. He had
squeezed her hand and he had looked into her face. However much it
may have been nonsense on Mimmy's part to talk of such things, they
had not the less absolutely occurred. Was it really the fact that
M. Lacordaire was in love with her?
And if so, what return should she, or could she make to such a
passion? He had looked at her yesterday, and squeezed her hand to-
day. Might it not be probable that he would advance a step further
to-morrow? If so, what answer would she be prepared to make to him?
She did not think--so she said to herself--that she had any
particular objection to marrying again. Thompson had been dead now
for four years, and neither his friends, nor her friends, nor the
world could say she was wrong on that score. And as to marrying a
Frenchman, she could not say she felt within herself any absolute
repugnance to doing that. Of her own country, speaking of England
as such, she, in truth, knew but little--and perhaps cared less.
She had gone to India almost as a child, and England had not been
specially kind to her on her return. She had found it dull and
cold, stiff, and almost ill-natured. People there had not smiled on
her and been civil as M. Lacordaire had done. As far as England and
Englishmen were considered she saw no reason why she should not
marry M. Lacordaire.
And then, as regarded the man; could she in her heart say that she
was prepared to love, honour, and obey M. Lacordaire? She certainly
knew no reason why she should not do so. She did not know much of
him, she said to herself at first; but she knew as much, she said
afterwards, as she had known personally of Mr. Thompson before their
marriage. She had known, to be sure, what was Mr. Thompson's
profession and what his income; or, if not, some one else had known
for her. As to both these points she was quite in the dark as
regarded M. Lacordaire.
Personally, she certainly did like him, as she said to herself more
than once. There was a courtesy and softness about him which were
very gratifying to her; and then, his appearance was so much in his
favour. He was not very young, she acknowledged; but neither was
she young herself. It was quite evident that he was fond of her
children, and that he would be a kind and affectionate father to
them. Indeed, there was kindness in all that he did.
Should she marry again,--and she put it to herself quite
hypothetically,--she would look for no romance in such a second
marriage. She would be content to sit down in a quiet home, to the
tame dull realities of life, satisfied with the companionship of a
man who would be kind and gentle to her, and whom she could respect
and esteem. Where could she find a companion with whom this could
be more safely anticipated than with M. Lacordaire?
And so she argued the question within her own breast in a manner not
unfriendly to that gentleman. That there was as yet one great
hindrance she at once saw; but then that might be remedied by a
word. She did not know what was his income or his profession. The
chambermaid, whom she had interrogated, had told her that he was a
"marchand." To merchants, generally, she felt that she had no
objection. The Barings and the Rothschilds were merchants, as was
also that wonderful man at Bombay, Sir Hommajee Bommajee, who was
worth she did no know how many thousand lacs of rupees.
That it would behove her, on her own account and that of her
daughters, to take care of her own little fortune in contracting any
such connection, that she felt strongly. She would never so commit
herself as to put security in that respect out of her power. But
then she did not think that M. Lacordaire would ever ask her to do
so; at any rate, she was determined on this, that there should never
be any doubt on that matter; and as she firmly resolved on this, she
again took up her book, and for a minute or two made an attempt to
read.
"Mamma," said Mummy, "will M. Lacordaire go up to the school to see
Lilian when you go away from this?"
"Indeed, I cannot say, my dear. If Lilian is a good girl, perhaps
he may do so now and then."
"And will he write to you and tell you how she is?"
"Lilian can write for herself; can she not?"
"Oh yes; I suppose she can; but I hope M. Lacordaire will write too.
We shall come back here some day; shan't we, mamma?"
"I cannot say, my dear."
"I do so hope we shall see M. Lacordaire again. Do you know what I
was thinking, mamma?"
"Little girls like you ought not to think," said Mrs. Thompson,
walking slowly out of the room to the top of the stairs and back
again; for she had felt the necessity of preventing Mimmy from
disclosing any more of her thoughts. "And now, my dear, get
yourself ready, and we will go up to the school."
Mrs. Thompson always dressed herself with care, though not in
especially fine clothes, before she went down to dinner at the table
d'hote; but on this occasion she was more than usually particular.
She hardly explained to herself why she did this; but, nevertheless,
as she stood before the glass, she did in a certain manner feel that
the circumstances of her future life might perhaps depend on what
might be said and done that evening. She had not absolutely decided
whether or no she would go to the Prince's chateau; but if she did
go -. Well, if she did; what then? She had sense enough, as she
assured herself more than once, to regulate her own conduct with
propriety in any such emergency.
During the dinner, M. Lacordaire conversed in his usual manner, but
said nothing whatever about the visit to Polignac. He was very kind
to Mimmy, and very courteous to her mother, but did not appear to be
at all more particular than usual. Indeed, it might be a question
whether he was not less so. As she had entered the room Mrs.
Thompson had said to herself that, perhaps, after all, it would be
better that there should be nothing more thought about it; but
before the four of five courses were over, she was beginning to feel
a little disappointed.
And now the fruit was on the table, after the consumption of which
it was her practice to retire. It was certainly open to her to ask
M. Lacordaire to take tea with her that evening, as she had done on
former occasions; but she felt that she must not do this now,
considering the immediate circumstances of the case. If any further
steps were to be taken, they must be taken by him, and not by her;--
or else by Mimmy, who, just as her mother was slowly consuming her
last grapes, ran round to the back of M. Lacordaire's chair, and
whispered something into his ear. It may be presumed that Mrs.
Thompson did not see the intention of the movement in time to arrest
it, for she did nothing till the whispering had been whispered; and
then she rebuked the child, bade her not to be troublesome, and with
more than usual austerity in her voice, desired her to get herself
ready to go up stairs to their chamber.
As she spoke she herself rose from her chair, and made her final
little bow to the table, and her other final little bow and smile to
M. Lacordaire; but this was certain to all who saw it, that the
smile was not as gracious as usual.
As she walked forth, M. Lacordaire rose from his chair--such being
his constant practice when she left the table; but on this occasion
he accompanied her to the door.
"And has madame decided," he asked, "whether she will permit me to
accompany her to the chateau?"
"Well, I really don't know," said Mrs. Thompson.
"Mees Meemy," continued M. Lacordaire, "is very anxious to see the
rock, and I may perhaps hope that Mees Lilian would be pleased with
such a little excursion. As for myself--" and then M. Lacordaire
put his hand upon his heart in a manner that seemed to speak more
plainly than he had ever spoken.
"Well, if the children would really like it, and--as you are so very
kind," said Mrs. Thompson; and so the matter was conceded.
"To-morrow afternoon?" suggested M. Lacordaire. But Mrs. Thompson
fixed on Saturday, thereby showing that she herself was in no hurry
for the expedition.
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Mimmy, when they had re-entered their own
room. "Mamma, do let me tell Lilian myself when I go up to the
school to-morrow!"