August 21, 2025 • 33 mins
Immerse yourself in the enchanting tales of Bernard Capes, crafted to captivate your imagination as you cozy up by the fireplace during the long, chilly days of winter. Let A. Gramour guide you through this collection of stories that promise to entertain and warm your spirit.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section eight of Ada Winter's Fire. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in public domain. For more information
or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. At a
Winter's Fire by Bernard Capes Black ven One, George said, Plansene,
(00:22):
Please say it again, said George. She dimpled at him
and obeyed, with a soft suggestion of accent that was
like a tender confidence. Her feet were sunk in Devonshire grass.
Her name was on the birth register of a little
Devonshire sea town. Yet the son of France was in
her veins as surely as his caress was on her lips. Therefore,
(00:45):
she said George, with a sweet dragging sound that greatly
fluttered the sensibilities of the person addressed, and not infrequently
led them to a light like Prince Dumpling's queen bee
on the very mouth of that honeyed flower of speech.
Now Plansine had put her cheek on George's rough sleeve
and said she I have a confession to make about
(01:07):
something a little silly. Consequently, I have postponed it till now,
when it is too dark for you to see my face. Never,
he murmured fervently. A double cataract could not deprive me
of that vision. It is printed here, Plansine. He smacked
his chest hard on his left side. Yet it sounds hollow, George, Yes,
(01:29):
he said, it is a sandwich box, an empty one.
I would not consign your image to such a deplorable casket.
My heart is what I meant. How I hate sandwiches, misers,
shivering between sheets, a vile gastronomic economy. Poor boy, I
will make you little dough cakes when you go a
painting Plansine your image here, Yes, but your dough cakes.
(01:54):
Then keep your sandwiches, sir, I must. But the person
who invented them was no gentleman. Then Papa would like
to hear you say that. Say what admit the possibility
of any social distinction? It is only a question of sandwiches, George.
Must you be a chartist and believe in Fergus O'Connor
(02:15):
my soul. I cannot go back on my principles. For
all that the violets of your eyes have sprouted under
the shadow of a venerable family tree. That is very
prettily said. You may kiss my thumb nail with the
white spot in it for luck, No, sir, that is presuming.
Now I am snug, and you may talk, Plancine. I
(02:39):
am the son of the people. I hold to my
own no doubt. If I had blue blood to boast of,
I should keep a vial of it in a prominent
place on the drawing room mantelpiece. As it is, I
confess my desire is to carve for myself a name
and art that shall be independent of all adventitious support.
To answer to my vocations straight up and manly. That
(03:04):
is better than nobility. Though I have pride in my own,
I wish Papa though too, that is better than nobility.
Though I have pride in my own, I wish Papa
thought so. Yet he has both himself a fine soul.
For fifty years he has stood squared to adversity with
a smile on his face. Could I ever achieved that?
(03:27):
Already I cry out in poverty because I want an
unencumbered field for work. And yes, one other trifle, one
other trifle, George, He took Plansine's face between his hands
and looked very lovingly into her eyes. I think I
did the old man too much on her, He said, you,
nestling of eighteen. What credit to scout misfortune with such
(03:50):
a bird at one side. Ah, but Papa is sixty nine,
and the bird, but eighteen and eighteen years of heaven
are a good education in happiness. So they coued these two.
The June scents of the little garden were wafted all
about them. The moon had come up out of the sea,
(04:10):
and finding a trellis of branches over their heads, hung
their young brows with coronals of shadowy leaves. Like the
old dame. She was rummaging in her trinket box for
something for her favorites. In the dimly luminous parlor, that
smell of folios and warm coffee of the little dark house.
(04:32):
In the background, the figure of Papa, pouring at the
table over geological maps was visible fifty years ago in Emigres, denounced, proscribed,
and escaped from the ruin of a shattered society. Here
in forty nine, a stately, large boned man placidly enjoying
the consciousness of a serene dignity maintained at the expense
(04:55):
of much and prolonged self effacement. This was Papa, gray
hair thinning, but slightly near the temples, gray mustache and
beard pointed to book flowered dressing, gown girdled about, and
a heart as simple as a child's. This was Papa Papa,
who grubbed over his ordnance surveys, while the young folks
(05:17):
outside whispered of the stars. Right beneath them the latter,
a broad gully of the hills went plunging precipitously, all
rolled with leaf and flower, to the under cliff of
soft blue lias, and the very roof ridges of King's Cob,
whose walls and chimneys, now snowed with light, fretted a
(05:39):
scallop of the striding bay that swept the land here
like a Scythe Plancene's Village, a lofty appennage or suburb
of this little seaboard town at the hill foot, seemed
to rather the parent stock from which the other had
emancipated itself, For all down the steep slope that fled
from upward King's Cob was flung a debris of houses that,
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like the ice fall of a glacier, would appear to
have broken from the main body on yon, careering into
the valley below. It was, in point of fact, however,
but a subordinate hamlet, a hanging garden for the jaded
tourist in the dog days, when his soul stifled in
the oven of the sea level cliffs, an I air
for plant scene, and for George, the earnest painter, a
(06:25):
paradise before the fall. And now, says George, we have
talked all around your confession, and still I wait to
give you absolution. I will confess. I read it in
one of Papa's books, that is called the talmund gracious
meat Pantsine, you should be careful. What did you read?
That whoever wants to see the souls of the dead
(06:47):
plant scene must take finely sifted ashes and strew them
round his bed, and in the morning he will see
their foot tracks as a cox. I did it you
did last night? Yes? And what a business I had
afterwards sweeping them up? And did you see anything something? Yes?
(07:08):
I think so, but it might have been mice. There
are plenty up there. Now. You are not one Plansine,
what did you want with the ghosts of the dead?
Speaker 2 (07:18):
I will tell.
Speaker 1 (07:18):
You, you, tall man, and you will not abuse my confidence. George,
for all your gay independence, you must allow me a
little family pride and a little pathetic interest in the
fortunes of the dead and gondiciosects. It is Mademoiselle de
Jasect that speaks. It is Plancine, who knows so little
(07:40):
that the terror would have guillotined her father, a boy
of fourteen, that he escaped to Prussia, to Belgium, to
England for sixty years, always a wanderer and a fugitive.
Then he was wrecked on this deer coast and penniless,
started life anew here on this little accomplishments that he
made out a meager existence, and late in the order
(08:02):
of years he was fifty, married and expatriated countrywoman who died. George,
my mother died when I was seventeen months old, and
that is where I stop. My good big father, so lonely,
so poor, and so silent, he tells me little. He
speaks scantily of the pass. But he was a vicomte
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and is the last of his line. And I wanted
the ghost to explain to me so much that I
have never learned. The moonlight fell upon her sweet, pale,
uplifted face. There were tears in her eyes that glittered
like frost. But George, for all his love showed a
little masculine impatience. Reserve is good, he said, But we
(08:48):
can't all be Lord Burleigh's by holding our tongues. There
is a sort of silence that is pregnant with nothing. George,
you cannot mean to insult my father. No, dear, Well,
why does he make such a mystery of his past?
I would have mine as clear as a window for
all to look through. Why does he treat me with
such suave and courteous opposition, permitting my suit, yet withholding
(09:12):
his consent? If you could be a little less democratic, dear,
it is a religion with me, not a brutal indulgence.
Perhaps he cannot dissociate the two. Then he admires your
genius and commence your courage. But your poor purse hungers
my lover, and he desires riches for his plant scene
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and plan scene. She will die a gray haired made
for thee. Oh Richard, O, my king, my sweet, my bird,
my wife. Oh that you could be that now and
kiss me on to fortune. I should be double souled
and inspired a few months, and Madame levi comtesse should
(09:53):
walk in silk attire. I flame at the picture. Why
will your father, not yield you gracefully instead of plying
us with that eternal enigma of black Ven. Because enthusiasm
alone may not command wealth, said a deep voice near them.
Papa had come upon them unobserved. The young man wheeled
(10:13):
in charge while his blood was hot. Mister de jossek,
it is a shame to hold me in this unending suspense.
Is it not better than decided rejection? I have served
like Jacob. You cannot doubt my single hearted devotion. I
doubt nothing, my George, about his accent. There was no
tender compromise. I doubt nothing but that the balance at
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your banker's is excessive. You would not value plan scene
as so much boullion. But yes, my friend, for a
boullion is the algebraic formula as that represents comfort. When
Black Ven slips his apron, George made a gesture of impatience.
When Black then slips his apron, repeated the father quietly,
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I shall be in a position to consider your suit.
That is tatamount to putting me off altogether. It is ungenerous,
It is preposterous. You may or may not be right,
but is simply farcical Plancine cried, George. But he went
on warmly, nevertheless, to make our happiness contingent on that
possible tumbling down of a bit of old cliff, an
(11:22):
accident that, after all, may never happen. Ah, the quiet,
strong voice went on, and in the old eyes turned meanwards.
Mun might have fancied one could read a certain pathos
of abnegation or approaching self sacrifice. But it will and
shortly for I prophecy. It was no idle cruelty of
(11:43):
mine that at first suggested this condition, but a natural
reluctance to sign myself back to utter loneliness. Plancine cried, Papa, Papa,
and sprang into his arms. Illttle patience, said de Chossac,
pressing his mustache to the round head. And you will
honor this weary prophet. I sink I was up upon
(12:07):
the cliffs to day. The great crack is ever widening,
a bowling wind, loud thunderstorm, and that apron of the
hill will tear from its bondage and sink sweltering down
the slopes. In the moment of speaking, a tremor seized
all his limbs, His eyes glared maniacal, his outstretched arm
pointed seawards zicguillotine. He shrieked zychiotine. In the offing of
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the bay was a vessel made for the unseen harbor below.
It stood up black against the moonlight, its sails and yards,
presenting some fantastic resemblance of that engine of blood. George
stepped back and hung his head, embarrassed. He had more
than once been witnessed of a like seizure. It was
the guillotine fright, the fright that had smitten the boy
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of fourteen, and pursued that man ever since with periodic
attacks of illusion. Anything a branch, a doorpost, a window
would suggest the hateful form during those periods, happily brief,
when the poor mind was temporarily unhinged. No doubt, in
earlier years the fits had occurred frequently. Now they were rare,
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and generally it seemed attributable to some strong excitement of emotion.
Planccene knew how to act. She put her hand over
at the frantic eyes and led the old man stumbling
up the garden path. She was going to sing to
him from the little sweet folk ballads of the old
gay France. Before the trouble came.
Speaker 2 (13:39):
The kingwood world is doneter over Thenglercie, but never across
the watertter Shall has been calm to me.
Speaker 1 (13:58):
Love floated on the freshet of her voice, straight into
the heart of the young man who stood without two.
Perhaps at first it had not been the least of
the bitterness in Monsieur de Chosac's cup of calamity, that
his mere pride of name must adjust itself to its
altered conditions, that the Vicomte de j Sacs should have
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been expatriated because he declined when called upon to contribute
his heart's blood to the red conduit in the faubos
scent Antoine was certainly an infamy, but one of which
the very essence was that unquestioning acknowledgment of his rank,
that the land of his adoption should have dubbed him
mister jess instolid unconsciousness, too, of the solecism was an
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outrage of a totally different order, an outrage only to
be condoned on the score that an impenetrable insolar goschari
and not a malicious impertinence, was responsible for it. Mister
Jessex had, however, outlived his sense of the injurious appellation,
had outlived much prejudiced the way of poverty, his memory
(15:09):
of many things, and very early his scorn of the
plebeian processes that, to the impecunious are a condition of
living at all. He was certainly a man of courageous independence,
inasmuch as from the hour of his setting foot in England,
and that was at the outset of the century, he
had controlled his own little fortunes, without a hand to
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help him over the deep places of his first struggles.
Little is known but this that for years, turning to
account some small knowledge of draftsmanship he had acquired, he
found employment in ladies academies, of which there was a
plenitude at that date in King's cobb That, however, which
brought him eventually into a modest prominence, not only in
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that same beautiful but indifferently known watering place upon which
he had happened, it would appear fortuitously, but else, and
among men of a certain marque, was a discovery, or
the practical application of one, which in its result procured
him a definite object in life, together with the means
to pursue it. Ammonites and such small geological fry were
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to be found by the thousand in the petrified mudbeds
of the Cob region. But it was left to the ingenuity,
aided by good fortune of the foreigner, to on earth
from the flicking and perishing cliffs of Lias, some of
the earliest and finest specimens of the ichthio and Plesiosaurus
that a past world had yielded to the naturalists. Out
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of these the emigre made money, and so was able
to pursue and enlarge upon his researches. Presently he prospered
into a competence, married poor Mademoiselle Belleville of the Silver
Street Academy, who died of typhoid at the end of
a couple of summers, and so grew into the kindly
old age of the absorbed and gentled naturalists, with his
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plant seene budding at his side. What in all these
fifty years had he forgotten his name, his rank, his
very origin. Much no doubt, but that there was one
haunting memory that had dwelt with him throughout. His child
and her lover were to learn one memory, and that dreadful,
recurring illusion of the guillotine. When black Ven slips his
(17:25):
zepron I shall be in a position to concider yo suit.
Surely that was an odd and enigmatical condition, entirely remote
from the subject at issue. Yet from the moment of
the first impassioned pleadings of the stricken, George de Josac
had insisted upon it as one from which there should
be no appeal. Now, the black then referred to was
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a great mound of lias that rolled up in inland
in the far sweep of the bay from the giddy
margin of the lower ruin of cliffs. These mere compressed
mountains of mud, blown by the winds and battered by
the sea, were in a constant state of yawn and collapse.
Yard by yard they yielded to the scourge of time,
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and landslides were of common occurrence all along the middle slope.
A black Man itself, a wide, deep fissure, dark and impenetrable,
had stretched from ages unrecorded. But even the eventual opening
out of this crevice, and the consequent subsidence of the
incline or apron below it, had been foretold by mister Dishisek,
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And this, in fact was the condition to which he
had alluded. Three Mosieur distrusak, do you hear me? I
am combing, my friend. The light shining steadily through a
front window of the cottage flickered and shifted. The young
man in the rain and storm outside danced with impatience.
(18:54):
Suddenly the door opened and planned scene's father stood there,
candle in hand. Way do you see, my george? The hill? Sir,
the hill it's fallen? You are right, you must stand
by your word. Black ven has slipped his apron. My
god no, there was a despair and exultation in his voice.
My god, no, he whispered again and dived into a
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cupboard under the stair. Thence he reappeared with a horn,
lantern and his old blue cloak. Come, then, he cried,
My hour is upon me, mister dechussek. It will wait
till the morning. No, no, no, do you trifle with
your destiny. It has happened opportunely, while all are within
doors and we have a clear field. How do you know?
(19:37):
Have you seen? Is it possible to descend to it
from above? I passed there less than an hour ago.
It is possible, I'm sure. They set off hurriedly through
the rain beaten night, Not a word passed between them
as they left the village and struck into the high
valley road that ran past at a moderate distance the
head of the bay. The cho Sex strode rapidly in
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advance of his campage. His long cloak whirled in the blast.
It flogged, his gaunt limbs all set to intense action.
He seemed uplifted, translated like one in whom the very
article of a lifelong faith or monomania is about to
be justified. Toiling onward like driven cattle, they swerved from
the road presently and breasted a sharp incline, Their boots
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squatched on the sodden turf. The wind bore on them heavily,
and George saw the dancing lantern go up the slope
in front of him like a will of the wisp,
stop and swing steady, heard the loud cry of jubilation
that issued from the withered throat. He just drew the
moment as realized they stood together on the verge of
the upper cliff of the fissure. It was a cliff
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now twenty thirty feet to its base. The lower ground
had fallen like a dead job had slipped none so
great a distance down the slope leading to the undercliff,
and lay a billowing mass, subsided upon itself. The jusk
would not stand an instant. He must climb down somehow, anyhow,
he cried furvishly. We must search all along what was
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once the bottom of the cleft. It is a rister.
Why not wait till the morning? No? No, now, my god,
I demand it. Others may forestall us if we delay. See,
my friend, I wish but my own, and what proof
of right have I if another should snatch the treacher
is the treasure, It is our fortune. The lights there
yours mine? And little plant scenes? Do you know what
(21:27):
I say? Hurry, hurry, hurry, Well my heart does not burst.
He forced the lantern into the young man's hands. He
was panting and sobbing like a child. Before the other
realized his intention. He had flung himself upon his hands
and knees, had slipped over the edge, and was scrambling
down the broken wall of lias. There is nothing for
George but to take his own life in hand and
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humor his venerated elder. He followed with the lantern, thinking
of plant scene a little, and hoping he should fall
on a soft place. But they got down safely, breathing hard,
extremely dirty caution. It is true, reacts very commonly upon itself.
The moment his companion's feet touched bottom, the jo Sak
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snatched the light from his hand, roughly enough to set
him off his balance, and went scurrying to and fro
along the face of the cliff like a mad thing.
I cannot finds it, he cried, rushing back after an interval, nervous,
in an agony of restlessness, A very pitiable old man, George,
spoke up from the ground. Find what, said he, feeling
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all sopped and dazed. The box z a casket. It
could never perish. It was of sheet iron. Look, look,
my friend, your eyes are younger than mine. A box
a foot long of hot iron. I am sitting upon
something hard, said George. He sprang to his feet and
took the lantern bones, he said, piercing down some old mastodon,
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I expect. Is this your treasure? The Jusek was glaring.
His head drooped lower and lower. His lips were parted,
and the line of strong white teeth showed between them.
His voice, when he spoke, was quite fearful in its
low intensity. Bones, yes, and human where they lie. The
other must be near a la comb, la comb, you
(23:14):
will yield me my own. At last he was shaking
a slow finger at the poor remnants a river, to
the half of a yellow skull. Suddenly he was down
on his knees, tearing at the black, thick soil, diving
into it, tossing it hither and thither. A pause, a
rending exclamation, and he was on his feet again, with
a scream of ecstasy. An oblong casket, rusty, corroded but unbroken,
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was in his hand. Now he whispered sibilant through the wind,
controlling himself, though he was shaking from head to foot.
Now to return, as we have come, Not a word,
not a word, till we have this safe in the
cottage they found, after some searching, a difficult way up.
By and by They stood once more upon the lip
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of the fall, and paused for breath. It was at
this very instant the r sussec dropped the box beside
him and threw up his hand zikioten. He shrieked and
fell headlong into the pit he had just issued from four.
The poor bandaged figure, the approaching death, the dog whining
(24:22):
softly in the yard, I am dying, my little plan Sene.
The girl's forehead was bowed on the homely quilt. Nay,
cry not, little one. I go very happy that he
indicated by a motion of his eyelids, the fatal box,
which yet unopened, lay on a table by the sunny window,
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shall repay thee for thy long devotion, for thy poverty,
and for thy brave sweetness with the old Papa. No, no, no,
but they are diamonds. Plants, such diamonds, my bird. They
flashed at Versailles, at the little Trianon. They were honored
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to lie on the breast of a beautiful and courageous woman,
thine ant plant scene, the most noble, the Comte Deesse
de la Morne. She gave her wealth, almost her life
for her king, all but her diamonds. It was at Brussels,
whither I had escaped from the terror. Ay a weak
and desolate boy of but fourteen, I lived with her
(25:32):
in her common, cheap lodging. For five years. We made
out our friendless and deserted existence in company. In truth
we were an embarrassment, and they looked at us askance.
Long after her mind failed her, the memory of her
own former beauty dwelt with her. Yet he could not comprehend,
(25:54):
but that it was still a talisman to conjure with.
Even to the end she would deck herself and coquette
to her glass. But she was good and faithful. Plant seen,
and at the last, when she was dying, she gave
me the spocks. It contains all that is left to
me of my former condition. She said, it shall make
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thy fortune for thee in England, my nephew. Whither thou
must journey when poor Doren is underground. By that I
knew it was her cherished diamond she bequeathed me. They
do not want thee here, she said, thou must take
both for England. When I am gone. Val George, my friend,
(26:37):
the young man was standing sorrowfully by the open window.
He could have seen the sailing boats in the bay,
the sailing clouds in the sky, placidly floating over a
world of serene and verduous loveliness. But his vision was
all inward, of the piteous calm following storm and disaster,
in which the dying voice from the bed was like
the lapping of little waves. He came once and stood
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over plant scene, not daring to touch her. It was
not vitifulness, but my great love, said the broken gentle voice,
as I made the condition. All of you I cannot extoll,
knowing what I have known. But you are an honest gentleman,
and the true my brave, and you shall make this,
(27:23):
dearest a noble husband. Waveringly, George stole his hand towards
the bowed head and let it rest there. From the
battered face. A smile broke, like flowers from a blasted soil,
besholding my countenance only as ice foresaw as the means
to enrich you both were approaching my grasp. I waited
(27:46):
for the hill to break away, that I might recover
my casket. It was there, it is here, and now
my plan. Sine shall never know poverty more, or her
husband restrict the scope of his so admirable art on
the score of necessity. He saw the eyes questioning what
(28:07):
the lips would not ask. But how I lost it,
he said, I took the box. I obeyed her behests.
The moment was acute, the times peremptory. I sailed for England,
hurriedly and secretly, never to this day, having feasted my
eyes on what lies was in there with me. When
(28:27):
La Combe, Madame Zarana, in the old days, a stolid
berry chon who had lived upon her bounty to the end,
the rogue, the ingrate. We we were wrecked upon this coast.
We plunged and came ashore. I know not who were
lost or saved, but La Comma and I clung together
(28:48):
and were thrown upon the land, as the box steel
in my grasp. As we climbed the hills where a
stair had been cut. We broke eastwards from the upper
slopes and staggered on through the blond darkness. Suddenly Le
Comte stopped. The day was faint then on the watery horizon,
and in the ghostly light I saw his face and
(29:10):
read the murder in it. We were standing on the
verge of the cleft under black ven no fussa, he whispered,
you must go down, sair. He snatched the box from
my hand in the instant of his doing so, Stricken
by the death terror, the affection to which I was
in much subjects, seized me. I screamed, my God, the guillotine.
(29:33):
Taken by surprise, he started back, staggered, and flent down,
crashing to his fate he had designed for me. I
seemed to lie prostrate for hours, while his moans came
up fainter and fainter, so as they ceased. Then I
rose and faced life, lonely, friendless, and a beggar. The
(29:55):
restless wandering of his eyes traveled over his daughter's head
to the rusty casket by the window. Oh it was
very well, he whispered. I thank my God that he
has permitted me as a perfect moment to realize my
investment in that dead rascal's dishonesty. Have I ever desired
(30:15):
wealth save for my little pupon here? And I have
so litrizedy, my George. But the old natress had such
faith in his predictions. Now his vision was glazing. The
muscles of his face were quietly settling to the repose
that death only can command. Now I would sez the
(30:38):
fruit of my prophecy, would see it all hung on
his neck in the hair of my child, that I
may die rejoicing. Canst thou force the casket? George? The
young man turned with a stifled groan. Some tools lay
on a shelf hard by. He grasped a chisel and
went to his task with shaking hands. The box was
(31:00):
all eaten and corroded. It was a matter of but
a few seconds to praise it open. The lid fell
back on the table with a rusty clang. Ah, cried
the dying man. But now dost as I sees em quick,
quick to Glorifie's little head? Are not exquisite? George was
gazing down with a dull, vacant feeling at his heart.
(31:23):
Ozze not repeated the voice in terrible excitement. They, mister
de chassek, they are loveliness itself. Plancine, I will not
touch them. You must be the first. He strode to
the kneeling girl, lifted almost roughly, dragging her to her feet. Come,
he said, and supporting her across the room, whispering madly
(31:45):
into her hair. Pretend, for God's sake, pretend. Plancene's swimming
eyes looked down, looked upon a litter of perished rags
of paper, and lying in the midst of the rubbish,
an ancient, stained and cockled min each other of a
powdered Louis Sais coquette. This was all. This was the
(32:06):
treasure the old crazed vanity had thought sufficient to build
her nephew his fortune the diamonds. Probably these had long
before been sacrificed to the armies, ineffectively maneuvering for the
destruction of Monsieur Vito's enemies. Plancine lifted her head. Thereafter,
George never ceased to recall with a glad pride the
(32:27):
nobility that had shone in her eyes. My Papa, she cried, softly,
going swiftly to the bed. They are as beautiful as
the stars that glittered over the old untroubled France. De
Chossack sprang upon his pillow theiguillotine. He cried, zibims break
into flowers. The axes is shaft of light, and so
(32:49):
the glowing blade descended. End of section eight. Recording by
mat Tantillo.
Section eight of Ada Winter's Fire. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in public domain. For more information
or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. At a
Winter's Fire by Bernard Capes Black ven One, George said, Plansene,
(00:22):
Please say it again, said George. She dimpled at him
and obeyed, with a soft suggestion of accent that was
like a tender confidence. Her feet were sunk in Devonshire grass.
Her name was on the birth register of a little
Devonshire sea town. Yet the son of France was in
her veins as surely as his caress was on her lips. Therefore,
(00:45):
she said George, with a sweet dragging sound that greatly
fluttered the sensibilities of the person addressed, and not infrequently
led them to a light like Prince Dumpling's queen bee
on the very mouth of that honeyed flower of speech.
Now Plansine had put her cheek on George's rough sleeve
and said she I have a confession to make about
(01:07):
something a little silly. Consequently, I have postponed it till now,
when it is too dark for you to see my face. Never,
he murmured fervently. A double cataract could not deprive me
of that vision. It is printed here, Plansine. He smacked
his chest hard on his left side. Yet it sounds hollow, George, Yes,
(01:29):
he said, it is a sandwich box, an empty one.
I would not consign your image to such a deplorable casket.
My heart is what I meant. How I hate sandwiches, misers,
shivering between sheets, a vile gastronomic economy. Poor boy, I
will make you little dough cakes when you go a
painting Plansine your image here, Yes, but your dough cakes.
(01:54):
Then keep your sandwiches, sir, I must. But the person
who invented them was no gentleman. Then Papa would like
to hear you say that. Say what admit the possibility
of any social distinction? It is only a question of sandwiches, George.
Must you be a chartist and believe in Fergus O'Connor
(02:15):
my soul. I cannot go back on my principles. For
all that the violets of your eyes have sprouted under
the shadow of a venerable family tree. That is very
prettily said. You may kiss my thumb nail with the
white spot in it for luck, No, sir, that is presuming.
Now I am snug, and you may talk, Plancine. I
(02:39):
am the son of the people. I hold to my
own no doubt. If I had blue blood to boast of,
I should keep a vial of it in a prominent
place on the drawing room mantelpiece. As it is, I
confess my desire is to carve for myself a name
and art that shall be independent of all adventitious support.
To answer to my vocations straight up and manly. That
(03:04):
is better than nobility. Though I have pride in my own,
I wish Papa though too, that is better than nobility.
Though I have pride in my own, I wish Papa
thought so. Yet he has both himself a fine soul.
For fifty years he has stood squared to adversity with
a smile on his face. Could I ever achieved that?
(03:27):
Already I cry out in poverty because I want an
unencumbered field for work. And yes, one other trifle, one
other trifle, George, He took Plansine's face between his hands
and looked very lovingly into her eyes. I think I
did the old man too much on her, He said, you,
nestling of eighteen. What credit to scout misfortune with such
(03:50):
a bird at one side. Ah, but Papa is sixty nine,
and the bird, but eighteen and eighteen years of heaven
are a good education in happiness. So they coued these two.
The June scents of the little garden were wafted all
about them. The moon had come up out of the sea,
(04:10):
and finding a trellis of branches over their heads, hung
their young brows with coronals of shadowy leaves. Like the
old dame. She was rummaging in her trinket box for
something for her favorites. In the dimly luminous parlor, that
smell of folios and warm coffee of the little dark house.
(04:32):
In the background, the figure of Papa, pouring at the
table over geological maps was visible fifty years ago in Emigres, denounced, proscribed,
and escaped from the ruin of a shattered society. Here
in forty nine, a stately, large boned man placidly enjoying
the consciousness of a serene dignity maintained at the expense
(04:55):
of much and prolonged self effacement. This was Papa, gray
hair thinning, but slightly near the temples, gray mustache and
beard pointed to book flowered dressing, gown girdled about, and
a heart as simple as a child's. This was Papa Papa,
who grubbed over his ordnance surveys, while the young folks
(05:17):
outside whispered of the stars. Right beneath them the latter,
a broad gully of the hills went plunging precipitously, all
rolled with leaf and flower, to the under cliff of
soft blue lias, and the very roof ridges of King's Cob,
whose walls and chimneys, now snowed with light, fretted a
(05:39):
scallop of the striding bay that swept the land here
like a Scythe Plancene's Village, a lofty appennage or suburb
of this little seaboard town at the hill foot, seemed
to rather the parent stock from which the other had
emancipated itself, For all down the steep slope that fled
from upward King's Cob was flung a debris of houses that,
(06:01):
like the ice fall of a glacier, would appear to
have broken from the main body on yon, careering into
the valley below. It was, in point of fact, however,
but a subordinate hamlet, a hanging garden for the jaded
tourist in the dog days, when his soul stifled in
the oven of the sea level cliffs, an I air
for plant scene, and for George, the earnest painter, a
(06:25):
paradise before the fall. And now, says George, we have
talked all around your confession, and still I wait to
give you absolution. I will confess. I read it in
one of Papa's books, that is called the talmund gracious
meat Pantsine, you should be careful. What did you read?
That whoever wants to see the souls of the dead
(06:47):
plant scene must take finely sifted ashes and strew them
round his bed, and in the morning he will see
their foot tracks as a cox. I did it you
did last night? Yes? And what a business I had
afterwards sweeping them up? And did you see anything something? Yes?
(07:08):
I think so, but it might have been mice. There
are plenty up there. Now. You are not one Plansine,
what did you want with the ghosts of the dead?
Speaker 2 (07:18):
I will tell.
Speaker 1 (07:18):
You, you, tall man, and you will not abuse my confidence. George,
for all your gay independence, you must allow me a
little family pride and a little pathetic interest in the
fortunes of the dead and gondiciosects. It is Mademoiselle de
Jasect that speaks. It is Plancine, who knows so little
(07:40):
that the terror would have guillotined her father, a boy
of fourteen, that he escaped to Prussia, to Belgium, to
England for sixty years, always a wanderer and a fugitive.
Then he was wrecked on this deer coast and penniless,
started life anew here on this little accomplishments that he
made out a meager existence, and late in the order
(08:02):
of years he was fifty, married and expatriated countrywoman who died. George,
my mother died when I was seventeen months old, and
that is where I stop. My good big father, so lonely,
so poor, and so silent, he tells me little. He
speaks scantily of the pass. But he was a vicomte
(08:25):
and is the last of his line. And I wanted
the ghost to explain to me so much that I
have never learned. The moonlight fell upon her sweet, pale,
uplifted face. There were tears in her eyes that glittered
like frost. But George, for all his love showed a
little masculine impatience. Reserve is good, he said, But we
(08:48):
can't all be Lord Burleigh's by holding our tongues. There
is a sort of silence that is pregnant with nothing. George,
you cannot mean to insult my father. No, dear, Well,
why does he make such a mystery of his past?
I would have mine as clear as a window for
all to look through. Why does he treat me with
such suave and courteous opposition, permitting my suit, yet withholding
(09:12):
his consent? If you could be a little less democratic, dear,
it is a religion with me, not a brutal indulgence.
Perhaps he cannot dissociate the two. Then he admires your
genius and commence your courage. But your poor purse hungers
my lover, and he desires riches for his plant scene
(09:32):
and plan scene. She will die a gray haired made
for thee. Oh Richard, O, my king, my sweet, my bird,
my wife. Oh that you could be that now and
kiss me on to fortune. I should be double souled
and inspired a few months, and Madame levi comtesse should
(09:53):
walk in silk attire. I flame at the picture. Why
will your father, not yield you gracefully instead of plying
us with that eternal enigma of black Ven. Because enthusiasm
alone may not command wealth, said a deep voice near them.
Papa had come upon them unobserved. The young man wheeled
(10:13):
in charge while his blood was hot. Mister de jossek,
it is a shame to hold me in this unending suspense.
Is it not better than decided rejection? I have served
like Jacob. You cannot doubt my single hearted devotion. I
doubt nothing, my George, about his accent. There was no
tender compromise. I doubt nothing but that the balance at
(10:37):
your banker's is excessive. You would not value plan scene
as so much boullion. But yes, my friend, for a
boullion is the algebraic formula as that represents comfort. When
Black Ven slips his apron, George made a gesture of impatience.
When Black then slips his apron, repeated the father quietly,
(11:00):
I shall be in a position to consider your suit.
That is tatamount to putting me off altogether. It is ungenerous,
It is preposterous. You may or may not be right,
but is simply farcical Plancine cried, George. But he went
on warmly, nevertheless, to make our happiness contingent on that
possible tumbling down of a bit of old cliff, an
(11:22):
accident that, after all, may never happen. Ah, the quiet,
strong voice went on, and in the old eyes turned meanwards.
Mun might have fancied one could read a certain pathos
of abnegation or approaching self sacrifice. But it will and
shortly for I prophecy. It was no idle cruelty of
(11:43):
mine that at first suggested this condition, but a natural
reluctance to sign myself back to utter loneliness. Plancine cried, Papa, Papa,
and sprang into his arms. Illttle patience, said de Chossac,
pressing his mustache to the round head. And you will
honor this weary prophet. I sink I was up upon
(12:07):
the cliffs to day. The great crack is ever widening,
a bowling wind, loud thunderstorm, and that apron of the
hill will tear from its bondage and sink sweltering down
the slopes. In the moment of speaking, a tremor seized
all his limbs, His eyes glared maniacal, his outstretched arm
pointed seawards zicguillotine. He shrieked zychiotine. In the offing of
(12:33):
the bay was a vessel made for the unseen harbor below.
It stood up black against the moonlight, its sails and yards,
presenting some fantastic resemblance of that engine of blood. George
stepped back and hung his head, embarrassed. He had more
than once been witnessed of a like seizure. It was
the guillotine fright, the fright that had smitten the boy
(12:56):
of fourteen, and pursued that man ever since with periodic
attacks of illusion. Anything a branch, a doorpost, a window
would suggest the hateful form during those periods, happily brief,
when the poor mind was temporarily unhinged. No doubt, in
earlier years the fits had occurred frequently. Now they were rare,
(13:17):
and generally it seemed attributable to some strong excitement of emotion.
Planccene knew how to act. She put her hand over
at the frantic eyes and led the old man stumbling
up the garden path. She was going to sing to
him from the little sweet folk ballads of the old
gay France. Before the trouble came.
Speaker 2 (13:39):
The kingwood world is doneter over Thenglercie, but never across
the watertter Shall has been calm to me.
Speaker 1 (13:58):
Love floated on the freshet of her voice, straight into
the heart of the young man who stood without two.
Perhaps at first it had not been the least of
the bitterness in Monsieur de Chosac's cup of calamity, that
his mere pride of name must adjust itself to its
altered conditions, that the Vicomte de j Sacs should have
(14:21):
been expatriated because he declined when called upon to contribute
his heart's blood to the red conduit in the faubos
scent Antoine was certainly an infamy, but one of which
the very essence was that unquestioning acknowledgment of his rank,
that the land of his adoption should have dubbed him
mister jess instolid unconsciousness, too, of the solecism was an
(14:46):
outrage of a totally different order, an outrage only to
be condoned on the score that an impenetrable insolar goschari
and not a malicious impertinence, was responsible for it. Mister
Jessex had, however, outlived his sense of the injurious appellation,
had outlived much prejudiced the way of poverty, his memory
(15:09):
of many things, and very early his scorn of the
plebeian processes that, to the impecunious are a condition of
living at all. He was certainly a man of courageous independence,
inasmuch as from the hour of his setting foot in England,
and that was at the outset of the century, he
had controlled his own little fortunes, without a hand to
(15:30):
help him over the deep places of his first struggles.
Little is known but this that for years, turning to
account some small knowledge of draftsmanship he had acquired, he
found employment in ladies academies, of which there was a
plenitude at that date in King's cobb That, however, which
brought him eventually into a modest prominence, not only in
(15:52):
that same beautiful but indifferently known watering place upon which
he had happened, it would appear fortuitously, but else, and
among men of a certain marque, was a discovery, or
the practical application of one, which in its result procured
him a definite object in life, together with the means
to pursue it. Ammonites and such small geological fry were
(16:16):
to be found by the thousand in the petrified mudbeds
of the Cob region. But it was left to the ingenuity,
aided by good fortune of the foreigner, to on earth
from the flicking and perishing cliffs of Lias, some of
the earliest and finest specimens of the ichthio and Plesiosaurus
that a past world had yielded to the naturalists. Out
(16:38):
of these the emigre made money, and so was able
to pursue and enlarge upon his researches. Presently he prospered
into a competence, married poor Mademoiselle Belleville of the Silver
Street Academy, who died of typhoid at the end of
a couple of summers, and so grew into the kindly
old age of the absorbed and gentled naturalists, with his
(17:01):
plant seene budding at his side. What in all these
fifty years had he forgotten his name, his rank, his
very origin. Much no doubt, but that there was one
haunting memory that had dwelt with him throughout. His child
and her lover were to learn one memory, and that dreadful,
recurring illusion of the guillotine. When black Ven slips his
(17:25):
zepron I shall be in a position to concider yo suit.
Surely that was an odd and enigmatical condition, entirely remote
from the subject at issue. Yet from the moment of
the first impassioned pleadings of the stricken, George de Josac
had insisted upon it as one from which there should
be no appeal. Now, the black then referred to was
(17:49):
a great mound of lias that rolled up in inland
in the far sweep of the bay from the giddy
margin of the lower ruin of cliffs. These mere compressed
mountains of mud, blown by the winds and battered by
the sea, were in a constant state of yawn and collapse.
Yard by yard they yielded to the scourge of time,
(18:09):
and landslides were of common occurrence all along the middle slope.
A black Man itself, a wide, deep fissure, dark and impenetrable,
had stretched from ages unrecorded. But even the eventual opening
out of this crevice, and the consequent subsidence of the
incline or apron below it, had been foretold by mister Dishisek,
(18:31):
And this, in fact was the condition to which he
had alluded. Three Mosieur distrusak, do you hear me? I
am combing, my friend. The light shining steadily through a
front window of the cottage flickered and shifted. The young
man in the rain and storm outside danced with impatience.
(18:54):
Suddenly the door opened and planned scene's father stood there,
candle in hand. Way do you see, my george? The hill? Sir,
the hill it's fallen? You are right, you must stand
by your word. Black ven has slipped his apron. My
god no, there was a despair and exultation in his voice.
My god, no, he whispered again and dived into a
(19:16):
cupboard under the stair. Thence he reappeared with a horn,
lantern and his old blue cloak. Come, then, he cried,
My hour is upon me, mister dechussek. It will wait
till the morning. No, no, no, do you trifle with
your destiny. It has happened opportunely, while all are within
doors and we have a clear field. How do you know?
(19:37):
Have you seen? Is it possible to descend to it
from above? I passed there less than an hour ago.
It is possible, I'm sure. They set off hurriedly through
the rain beaten night, Not a word passed between them
as they left the village and struck into the high
valley road that ran past at a moderate distance the
head of the bay. The cho Sex strode rapidly in
(19:59):
advance of his campage. His long cloak whirled in the blast.
It flogged, his gaunt limbs all set to intense action.
He seemed uplifted, translated like one in whom the very
article of a lifelong faith or monomania is about to
be justified. Toiling onward like driven cattle, they swerved from
the road presently and breasted a sharp incline, Their boots
(20:22):
squatched on the sodden turf. The wind bore on them heavily,
and George saw the dancing lantern go up the slope
in front of him like a will of the wisp,
stop and swing steady, heard the loud cry of jubilation
that issued from the withered throat. He just drew the
moment as realized they stood together on the verge of
the upper cliff of the fissure. It was a cliff
(20:44):
now twenty thirty feet to its base. The lower ground
had fallen like a dead job had slipped none so
great a distance down the slope leading to the undercliff,
and lay a billowing mass, subsided upon itself. The jusk
would not stand an instant. He must climb down somehow, anyhow,
he cried furvishly. We must search all along what was
(21:05):
once the bottom of the cleft. It is a rister.
Why not wait till the morning? No? No, now, my god,
I demand it. Others may forestall us if we delay. See,
my friend, I wish but my own, and what proof
of right have I if another should snatch the treacher
is the treasure, It is our fortune. The lights there
yours mine? And little plant scenes? Do you know what
(21:27):
I say? Hurry, hurry, hurry, Well my heart does not burst.
He forced the lantern into the young man's hands. He
was panting and sobbing like a child. Before the other
realized his intention. He had flung himself upon his hands
and knees, had slipped over the edge, and was scrambling
down the broken wall of lias. There is nothing for
George but to take his own life in hand and
(21:48):
humor his venerated elder. He followed with the lantern, thinking
of plant scene a little, and hoping he should fall
on a soft place. But they got down safely, breathing hard,
extremely dirty caution. It is true, reacts very commonly upon itself.
The moment his companion's feet touched bottom, the jo Sak
(22:09):
snatched the light from his hand, roughly enough to set
him off his balance, and went scurrying to and fro
along the face of the cliff like a mad thing.
I cannot finds it, he cried, rushing back after an interval, nervous,
in an agony of restlessness, A very pitiable old man, George,
spoke up from the ground. Find what, said he, feeling
(22:32):
all sopped and dazed. The box z a casket. It
could never perish. It was of sheet iron. Look, look,
my friend, your eyes are younger than mine. A box
a foot long of hot iron. I am sitting upon
something hard, said George. He sprang to his feet and
took the lantern bones, he said, piercing down some old mastodon,
(22:52):
I expect. Is this your treasure? The Jusek was glaring.
His head drooped lower and lower. His lips were parted,
and the line of strong white teeth showed between them.
His voice, when he spoke, was quite fearful in its
low intensity. Bones, yes, and human where they lie. The
other must be near a la comb, la comb, you
(23:14):
will yield me my own. At last he was shaking
a slow finger at the poor remnants a river, to
the half of a yellow skull. Suddenly he was down
on his knees, tearing at the black, thick soil, diving
into it, tossing it hither and thither. A pause, a
rending exclamation, and he was on his feet again, with
a scream of ecstasy. An oblong casket, rusty, corroded but unbroken,
(23:39):
was in his hand. Now he whispered sibilant through the wind,
controlling himself, though he was shaking from head to foot.
Now to return, as we have come, Not a word,
not a word, till we have this safe in the
cottage they found, after some searching, a difficult way up.
By and by They stood once more upon the lip
(24:01):
of the fall, and paused for breath. It was at
this very instant the r sussec dropped the box beside
him and threw up his hand zikioten. He shrieked and
fell headlong into the pit he had just issued from four.
The poor bandaged figure, the approaching death, the dog whining
(24:22):
softly in the yard, I am dying, my little plan Sene.
The girl's forehead was bowed on the homely quilt. Nay,
cry not, little one. I go very happy that he
indicated by a motion of his eyelids, the fatal box,
which yet unopened, lay on a table by the sunny window,
(24:46):
shall repay thee for thy long devotion, for thy poverty,
and for thy brave sweetness with the old Papa. No, no, no,
but they are diamonds. Plants, such diamonds, my bird. They
flashed at Versailles, at the little Trianon. They were honored
(25:08):
to lie on the breast of a beautiful and courageous woman,
thine ant plant scene, the most noble, the Comte Deesse
de la Morne. She gave her wealth, almost her life
for her king, all but her diamonds. It was at Brussels,
whither I had escaped from the terror. Ay a weak
and desolate boy of but fourteen, I lived with her
(25:32):
in her common, cheap lodging. For five years. We made
out our friendless and deserted existence in company. In truth
we were an embarrassment, and they looked at us askance.
Long after her mind failed her, the memory of her
own former beauty dwelt with her. Yet he could not comprehend,
(25:54):
but that it was still a talisman to conjure with.
Even to the end she would deck herself and coquette
to her glass. But she was good and faithful. Plant seen,
and at the last, when she was dying, she gave
me the spocks. It contains all that is left to
me of my former condition. She said, it shall make
(26:15):
thy fortune for thee in England, my nephew. Whither thou
must journey when poor Doren is underground. By that I
knew it was her cherished diamond she bequeathed me. They
do not want thee here, she said, thou must take
both for England. When I am gone. Val George, my friend,
(26:37):
the young man was standing sorrowfully by the open window.
He could have seen the sailing boats in the bay,
the sailing clouds in the sky, placidly floating over a
world of serene and verduous loveliness. But his vision was
all inward, of the piteous calm following storm and disaster,
in which the dying voice from the bed was like
the lapping of little waves. He came once and stood
(27:00):
over plant scene, not daring to touch her. It was
not vitifulness, but my great love, said the broken gentle voice,
as I made the condition. All of you I cannot extoll,
knowing what I have known. But you are an honest gentleman,
and the true my brave, and you shall make this,
(27:23):
dearest a noble husband. Waveringly, George stole his hand towards
the bowed head and let it rest there. From the
battered face. A smile broke, like flowers from a blasted soil,
besholding my countenance only as ice foresaw as the means
to enrich you both were approaching my grasp. I waited
(27:46):
for the hill to break away, that I might recover
my casket. It was there, it is here, and now
my plan. Sine shall never know poverty more, or her
husband restrict the scope of his so admirable art on
the score of necessity. He saw the eyes questioning what
(28:07):
the lips would not ask. But how I lost it,
he said, I took the box. I obeyed her behests.
The moment was acute, the times peremptory. I sailed for England,
hurriedly and secretly, never to this day, having feasted my
eyes on what lies was in there with me. When
(28:27):
La Combe, Madame Zarana, in the old days, a stolid
berry chon who had lived upon her bounty to the end,
the rogue, the ingrate. We we were wrecked upon this coast.
We plunged and came ashore. I know not who were
lost or saved, but La Comma and I clung together
(28:48):
and were thrown upon the land, as the box steel
in my grasp. As we climbed the hills where a
stair had been cut. We broke eastwards from the upper
slopes and staggered on through the blond darkness. Suddenly Le
Comte stopped. The day was faint then on the watery horizon,
and in the ghostly light I saw his face and
(29:10):
read the murder in it. We were standing on the
verge of the cleft under black ven no fussa, he whispered,
you must go down, sair. He snatched the box from
my hand in the instant of his doing so, Stricken
by the death terror, the affection to which I was
in much subjects, seized me. I screamed, my God, the guillotine.
(29:33):
Taken by surprise, he started back, staggered, and flent down,
crashing to his fate he had designed for me. I
seemed to lie prostrate for hours, while his moans came
up fainter and fainter, so as they ceased. Then I
rose and faced life, lonely, friendless, and a beggar. The
(29:55):
restless wandering of his eyes traveled over his daughter's head
to the rusty casket by the window. Oh it was
very well, he whispered. I thank my God that he
has permitted me as a perfect moment to realize my
investment in that dead rascal's dishonesty. Have I ever desired
(30:15):
wealth save for my little pupon here? And I have
so litrizedy, my George. But the old natress had such
faith in his predictions. Now his vision was glazing. The
muscles of his face were quietly settling to the repose
that death only can command. Now I would sez the
(30:38):
fruit of my prophecy, would see it all hung on
his neck in the hair of my child, that I
may die rejoicing. Canst thou force the casket? George? The
young man turned with a stifled groan. Some tools lay
on a shelf hard by. He grasped a chisel and
went to his task with shaking hands. The box was
(31:00):
all eaten and corroded. It was a matter of but
a few seconds to praise it open. The lid fell
back on the table with a rusty clang. Ah, cried
the dying man. But now dost as I sees em quick,
quick to Glorifie's little head? Are not exquisite? George was
gazing down with a dull, vacant feeling at his heart.
(31:23):
Ozze not repeated the voice in terrible excitement. They, mister
de chassek, they are loveliness itself. Plancine, I will not
touch them. You must be the first. He strode to
the kneeling girl, lifted almost roughly, dragging her to her feet. Come,
he said, and supporting her across the room, whispering madly
(31:45):
into her hair. Pretend, for God's sake, pretend. Plancene's swimming
eyes looked down, looked upon a litter of perished rags
of paper, and lying in the midst of the rubbish,
an ancient, stained and cockled min each other of a
powdered Louis Sais coquette. This was all. This was the
(32:06):
treasure the old crazed vanity had thought sufficient to build
her nephew his fortune the diamonds. Probably these had long
before been sacrificed to the armies, ineffectively maneuvering for the
destruction of Monsieur Vito's enemies. Plancine lifted her head. Thereafter,
George never ceased to recall with a glad pride the
(32:27):
nobility that had shone in her eyes. My Papa, she cried, softly,
going swiftly to the bed. They are as beautiful as
the stars that glittered over the old untroubled France. De
Chossack sprang upon his pillow theiguillotine. He cried, zibims break
into flowers. The axes is shaft of light, and so
(32:49):
the glowing blade descended. End of section eight. Recording by
mat Tantillo.
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