My Memoirs. Marguerite Steinheil

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I saw this projected union in a new light; I grew used to the idea that I might become Mme. Steinheil, and at length I consented to meet the painter in Beaucourt.

      He arrived a few days later, put up at my grandmother's, called on us every day and made the acquaintance of the whole family. He pleased every one, and his slow, serene and dignified ways, were in such perfect accord with my mother's character that she asked me how I could hesitate to marry such an ideal man. M. Steinheil's timidity was taken as the delightful sign of a deep love.

      He was most attentive to me, spoke so convincingly, though without any passion—of the happiness that would be ours, and seemed so desperately anxious to hear me say "yes" after he had proposed, that I had not the heart to say "no."

      Our engagement lasted four months, during which we exchanged letters that became longer and more frequent as the weeks passed by. Such noble feelings were expressed in his letters that I grew more and more happy at the thought of becoming the wife of Adolphe Steinheil.

      Towards the end of June my fiancé reached Beaucourt with his family, whom I had met in Paris a few weeks before, when I had gone there with my mother to purchase my trousseau. M. Steinheil at once set to work on a portrait of me—a small oil-painting on wood—á la Meissonier, which was never to be completed. I was to discover later on, that my husband seldom went to the end of an idea or a plan, and was possessed of an unconquerable dread of all final decisions.

      Our marriage took place in July at the Beaucourt Temple—the dear temple where I had spent so many hours, including the most tragic one of my short life.

      M. Steinheil was a Catholic, but had consented to our marriage being celebrated in a Protestant church and had also agreed that our children, if we had any, were to be brought up in the Protestant faith. The Japy family—all staunch Huguenots—had been most strict on this point.

      Two days before the wedding, I received the following letter, which is worth mentioning, for it recalls a pretty tradition, which, like most pretty traditions, is on the wane or has already disappeared.

      "Beaucourt, July 9, 1890.

      "Mademoiselle,—On the occasion of your marriage, we have decided to meet you at the church-door in order to pay to you our compliments, according to custom.

      "Pray accept, Mademoiselle, our heartiest good wishes, and believe in our most respectful feelings.

      "For the Young People of Beaucourt, and by the request of the Organising Committee.

      "Eugene Pommier."

      On the day of my marriage, all the youths and maidens in the neighbourhood formed an aisle outside the church, and they held garlands of roses and ribbons to which turtle-doves were lightly attached. As I proceeded I broke the garlands and the flowers dropped on my white dress and were scattered on the ground, and the severed ribbons allowed the doves to escape, one after another, over my head. On the threshold of the church, one of the young men made a pretty speech and then, according to the old tradition stopped M. Steinheil and made him dash a glass to pieces—which is supposed to show that he renounces the joys of bachelordom. Next, the "head" of the delegation delivered a speech in which my future husband was duly told what a great honour Beaucourt conferred upon him in giving him as a bride one of its own demoiselles. Would he please bear this in mind, and also remember that they all relied upon him to make me "infinitely happy."...

      The Temple was decorated with foliage and flowers, and the floor was strewn with roses. These, I was told later on, were a present from the poor of the neighbourhood, who had wished to give a surprise—and I was not only surprised, but touched—to "her who had for many years helped her father to relieve their misery," and "who after the death of her beloved father, had done her best to continue his work of mercy." Those roses were indeed the most beautiful wedding-present I received.

      The young ladies of Beaucourt sang a chorus. The words had been specially written by a local poet, young and full of excellent intentions, and the music composed by my father, years ago. My pastor, M. Bach, was so eloquent that I burst into sobs like every one else; and as we left the Temple, my husband and I were greeted by the strains of a warlike march played by the Beaucourt band, and we shook hands with the forty-five musicians whom for so many years, I had seen at home, at the rehearsals conducted by my father.

      A reception followed, and I saw once more all the dear faces I loved, except, alas, that of my grand-papa from Russia... M. Doriand had been unable to leave Moscow, and I never heard from him or saw him again.

      In my mother's brougham, my husband and I drove to the station where we entrained for Besançon, and thence we went on to Italy.

      We were to remain there a month, but at the end of ten days, I felt so home-sick and depressed that we returned to Beaucourt, where I ran into my mother's arms and begged her to let me stay with her—for ever. My husband entreated me to come with him to Paris, and I followed him....

CHAPTER III

       ARRIVAL IN PARIS. A SEPARATION. MARTHE.

       PARISIAN LIFE.

       Table of Contents

      I SHALL never forget that arrival in Paris. It was on a Sunday morning, M. Steinheil had warned his sister when to expect us. He talked awhile with the concierge in the lodge, then joined me in the garden, where I was patiently waiting in the pouring rain, and said: "I am extremely sorry. My sister, I hear, has gone to mass, and she has the keys of the house...."

      I spent half an hour in the lodge, distressed by the smell of fried onions which came from the kitchen. At last, Mlle. Marguerite Steinheil returned from church. She wore a morning dress which I would not have allowed my maid to wear. It was 9 A.M., and I felt hungry—in spite of the fried onions—but breakfast was not mentioned. I had a painful impression when I entered the house—my home.... The hall was very dusty; there was no carpet, and nothing was ready for the arrival of a young wife. I asked the way to my bedroom, and burst into tears.

      Very tenderly, my husband tried to console me. Then he fetched the wedding-presents sent by his friends, dried my tears with his handkerchief, as one does to a crying child, and I partly forgot my sorrow.

      Mlle. Steinheil lived with us. She was very affectionate, in her way, but abnormally old-fashioned. My husband was entirely under her domination and under that of all the other members of his family.

      The next day I resolved to re-arrange the drawing-room, which was cold, dreary, and as unattractive as could be. I transformed the curtains, changed the position of the furniture, put flowers everywhere, placed here a bergère, there a pretty chiffonnier, there a Louis Seize arm-chair taken from the furniture which had been sent to me from Beaucourt, and everything I disliked I removed to my husband's vast studio.

      Delighted at having arranged the salon to my taste I went and fetched Adolphe to show him what I had done. He was quite upset, and began by telling me: "It is rather awkward, all this furniture you have sent up to my studio, and curiously enough you have taken from the studio the very things I need for my pictures, as backgrounds, as ornaments."

      At that moment my sister-in-law entered. She glanced around her, looked at her brother, and then, turning to me: "My dear little girl," she said, with an air of outraged piety, "never, you understand me, never has the furniture in this room been touched since the death of our venerated father." Her tone froze me to the marrow, and somewhat СКАЧАТЬ