There was one, and one only, among all these folk who did not share their illusions.And that one, needless to say, was Chesnel the notary.Although his devotion, sufficiently proved already, was simply unbounded for the great house now reduced to three persons; although he accepted all their ideas, and thought them nothing less than right, he had too much common sense, he was too good a man of business to more than half the families in the department, to miss the significance of the great changes that were taking place in people's minds, or to be blind to the different conditions brought about by industrial development and modern manners.He had watched the Revolution pass through the violent phase of 1793, when men, women, and children wore arms, and heads fell on the scaffold, and victories were won in pitched battles with Europe; and now he saw the same forces quietly at work in men's minds, in the shape of ideas which sanctioned the issues.The soil had been cleared, the seed sown, and now came the harvest.To his thinking, the Revolution had formed the mind of the younger generation; he touched the hard facts, and knew that although there were countless unhealed wounds, what had been done was past recall.The death of a king on the scaffold, the protracted agony of a queen, the division of the nobles' lands, in his eyes were so many binding contracts; and where so many vested interests were involved, it was not likely that those concerned would allow them to be attacked.Chesnel saw clearly.His fanatical attachment to the d'Esgrignons was whole-hearted, but it was not blind, and it was all the fairer for this.The young monk's faith that sees heaven laid open and beholds the angels, is something far below the power of the old monk who points them out to him.The ex-steward was like the old monk;he would have given his life to defend a worm-eaten shrine.
He tried to explain the "innovations" to his old master, using a thousand tactful precautions; sometimes speaking jestingly, sometimes affecting surprise or sorrow over this or that; but he always met the same prophetic smile on the Marquis' lips, the same fixed conviction in the Marquis' mind, that these follies would go by like others.
Events contributed in a way which has escaped attention to assist such noble champions of forlorn hope to cling to their superstitions.What could Chesnel do when the old Marquis said, with a lordly gesture, "God swept away Bonaparte with his armies, his new great vassals, his crowned kings, and his vast conceptions! God will deliver us from the rest." And Chesnel hung his head sadly, and did not dare to answer, "It cannot be God's will to sweep away France." Yet both of them were grand figures; the one, standing out against the torrent of facts like an ancient block of lichen-covered granite, still upright in the depths of an Alpine gorge; the other, watching the course of the flood to turn it to account.Then the good gray-headed notary would groan over the irreparable havoc which the superstitions were sure to work in the mind, the habits, and ideas of the Comte Victurnien d'Esgrignon.
Idolized by his father, idolized by his aunt, the young heir was a spoilt child in every sense of the word; but still a spoilt child who justified paternal and maternal illusions.Maternal, be it said, for Victurnien's aunt was truly a mother to him; and yet, however careful and tender she may be that never bore a child, there is something lacking in her motherhood.A mother's second sight cannot be acquired.
An aunt, bound to her nursling by ties of such pure affection as united Mlle.Armande to Victurnien, may love as much as a mother might; may be as careful, as kind, as tender, as indulgent, but she lacks the mother's instinctive knowledge when and how to be severe;she has no sudden warnings, none of the uneasy presentiments of the mother's heart; for a mother, bound to her child from the beginnings of life by all the fibres of her being, still is conscious of the communication, still vibrates with the shock of every trouble, and thrills with every joy in the child's life as if it were her own.If Nature has made of woman, physically speaking, a neutral ground, it has not been forbidden to her, under certain conditions, to identify herself completely with her offspring.When she has not merely given life, but given of her whole life, you behold that wonderful, unexplained, and inexplicable thing--the love of a woman for one of her children above the others.The outcome of this story is one more proof of a proven truth--a mother's place cannot be filled.A mother foresees danger long before a Mlle.Armande can admit the possibility of it, even if the mischief is done.The one prevents the evil, the other remedies it.And besides, in the maiden's motherhood there is an element of blind adoration, she cannot bring herself to scold a beautiful boy.
A practical knowledge of life, and the experience of business, had taught the old notary a habit of distrustful clear-sighted observation something akin to the mother's instinct.But Chesnel counted for so little in the house (especially since he had fallen into something like disgrace over that unlucky project of a marriage between a d'Esgrignon and a du Croisier), that he had made up his mind to adhere blindly in future to the family doctrines.He was a common soldier, faithful to his post, and ready to give his life; it was never likely that they would take his advice, even in the height of the storm;unless chance should bring him, like the King's bedesman in The Antiquary, to the edge of the sea, when the old baronet and his daughter were caught by the high tide.
Du Croisier caught a glimpse of his revenge in the anomalous education given to the lad.He hoped, to quote the expressive words of the author quoted above, "to drown the lamb in its mother's milk." THISwas the hope which had produced his taciturn resignation and brought that savage smile on his lips.
