Madeleine was feeling restless, so she asked Berthe to come and sit by her bed and talk to her.
‘Tell me a story,’ she commanded, and Berthe delightedly launched forth on her favourite theme, that of Madeleine’s resemblance to her youngest brother.
‘Oh, he often comes to me and says, “Tell me a story, Berthe,” like that, “tell me a story, Berthe,” and I’ll say, “Do you think I have nothing better to do, sir, than tell you stories. Off you go and dig cabbages;” and he’ll say, with a bow, “Dig them yourself, Madame”—oh, he’s malin, ever pat with an answer; he is like Monsieur Jacques in that way. One day——’
‘Please tell me a story,’ Madeleine persisted. ‘Tell me the one about Nausicaa.’
‘Ah! that was the one that came back to me when Mademoiselle turned with such zeal to housewifery!’ and she chuckled delightedly.
‘Tell it to me!’
‘Well, it was a pretty tale my grandmother used to tell; she heard it from her grandmother, who had been tire-woman to a great lady in the reign of good King Francis.’
‘Begin the tale,’ commanded Madeleine firmly.
‘Oh, Mademoiselle will have her own way—just like Albert,’ winked Berthe, and began,—
‘Once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, there lived a rich farmer near Marseilles. My grandmother was wont to say he was a king, but that cannot have been, for, as you will see, his daughter did use to do her own washing. Mademoiselle hates housework, doesn’t she? I can see you are ill-pleased when Madame talks of a ménage of your own——’
‘Go on,’ said Madeleine. Berthe cackled, ‘Just like Albert!’ she exclaimed.
‘Well, this farmer had an only daughter, who was very beautiful; she had an odd name: it was Nausicaa. She was rêveuse, like Mademoiselle and me, and used to love to lie in her father’s orchard reading romances or looking out over the sea, which lay below. She did not care for the sons of the farmers round that came wooing her with presents of lambs and apples or with strings of beads which they bought from sailors at the harbour; they seemed to her clumsy with their foolish grins and their great hands, for Nausicaa was exceeding nice,’ and Berthe winked meaningly. ‘And there were merchants, too, with long beards and grave faces, and gold chains, who sought her hand, but she was aware that they looked on her as nothing better than the rare birds their ships brought them from the Indies. Well, one night, Our Lady appeared to her in a dream and said: “Lève-toi, petite paresseuse, les jeunes demoiselles doivent s’occuper du mariage et de leur ménage.” And she bade Nausicaa go to the river, and wash all her linen, for if a Prince came he would be ill-pleased to find her foul. And Nausicaa woke up feeling very strange and as if fair wondrous things were coming to meet her. ’Tis a fancy that seizes us all at times, and much good it does us!’ And Berthe gave her long, soft chuckle, while Madeleine scowled at her.
‘As soon as she was dressed, Nausicaa ran into the fields to find her father, and she put her arms round his neck and hid her face on his shoulder and said, laughing,—
‘“Father, I am fain you should lend me a cart and four mules for to-day,” and her brothers, who were standing near, laughed and asked who was waiting for her at the other end. And Nausicaa tossed her head and said she did but want to wash her linen in the river. And her father pinched her ear and kissed her and said that he would order four of his best mules to be harnessed. And when her mother heard of her project she clapped her hands with joy and winked at the old nurse, for she divined the thought in Nausicaa’s mind, and the poor soul was exceeding glad.’
‘Go on,’ Madeleine commanded feverishly, forestalling a personal deviation.
‘Well, the mother filled a big hamper full of the delicate fare that Nausicaa liked best—pain d’épice, and quince jam and preserved fruits and a fine fat capon, and bade four or five of the dairymaids go with her and help her with her washing, and Nausicaa filled a great basket with her linen, and they all climbed into the cart, and Nausicaa took the reins and flicked the whip, and the mules trotted off. When they got to the river they rolled up their sleeves and set to, and they laughed and talked over their work, for Nausicaa was not proud. And when all the linen was washed and laid out on the grass to dry they sat down and ate their dinner and talked, and Nausicaa sang them songs, for she had brought her lute with her. And then they played at Colin-Maillard and at ball, and then they danced a Branle, and poor grannie used always to say that they were as lovely as the angels dancing in Paradise. Every one, of course, was comely long ago’—and Berthe interrupted her narration to chuckle.
‘Grannie used always to go on like this: “They laughed and played as maidens will when they are among themselves, but they little knew what was watching them from behind a bush of great blue flowers,” and we used to say, with our eyes as round as buttons—“Was it a bear, grannie?” “No.” “Was it a lutin, then?” And we were grievously disappointed when she would say, “No, it was a man!” Well, it was a great Roman lord called Ulysse who had fought with Charlemagne at the Siege of Troy, and when he started on his voyage home, Saint Nicholas, the sailors’ saint, who did not love him, pestered him with storms and shipwrecks and monstrous fish so that the years passed and he got no nearer home. And all the time he kept on praying to Our Lady to give him a safe and speedy return, and at last she heard his prayer, and when Saint Nicholas had once again wrecked his ship she rescued him from the sea and walked over the waves with him in her arms as if he were a little child till she reached the river near Marseilles, and then she laid him among the rushes by its banks, and there he slept. And when he woke up she worked a miracle so that the wrinkles and travel-stains and sunburn dropped away from him, and his rags she changed into a big hat with fine plumes, and a jerkin of Isabelle satin, and a cloak lined with crimson plush, and breeches covered with ribbons, so that he was once more the fine young gallant that had years ago started for the wars. And she told him to step out from behind the bush and accost Nausicaa. Oh, believe me, he knew what to say, for he was as malin as a fox! He made as fine a bow as you could see and told Nausicaa that she must be a king’s daughter. And her heart was fluttering like a bird—poor, pretty soul!—as she remembered her dream. Not that she had need to call it to mind, for, as Mademoiselle doubtless will understand, she had thought of nothing else all day!’ Madeleine looked suspiciously at the comic mask, but Berthe went on,—
‘And then my lord Reynard tells of his misfortunes, and the hours he had spent struggling in the cold sea, and of his hunger, and of how his ship was lost, and he longing for his own country, “until I saw Mademoiselle,” with another bow, so that tears came to the eyes of Nausicaa and her maids, and shyly kind, she asked him if he would be pleased to take shelter under her father’s roof, which, as you will believe, was just what he had been waiting for! And her parents welcomed the handsome stranger kindly, the father as man to man, the mother a little shyly, for she saw that he was a great lord, though he did not tell his name, and she feared that he might think poorly of their state. All the same, her mind was busy weaving fantasies, and when she told them to her husband he mocked her for a vain and foolish woman, but for all that, he looked troubled and not well pleased. Nausicaa did not tell her parents of her dream, but that evening when her old nurse was combing her hair—my grannie used to say it was a comb made of pink coral—she asked her whether she thought that dreams might be taken as omens, and the old woman, who from the question divined the truth, brought out a dozen cases of dreams coming true.’
‘Does it end happily?’ Madeleine interrupted feverishly.
‘Mademoiselle will see,’ chuckled Berthe, her expression inexpressibly sly.
‘Don’t look so strangely, Berthe, you frighten me!’ cried Madeleine. She was in a state of great nervous excitement.
‘But, Mademoiselle, it is only a tale—it is just like Albert, he will sometimes cry his eyes out over a sad tale. I remember one evening at the Fête des Rois, the Curé——’
‘Go on with the story,’ cried Madeleine.
‘Where was I? Oh, yes.... Well, Ulysse stayed with them some days, and he would borrow a blue smock from one of Nausicaa’s brothers and help to bring in the hay, and in the evening tell them stories of strange countries or play to them on the lute. And he would wander with Nausicaa in the orchard, and though his talk was pretty and full of fleurettes, he never spoke of love. Well, one evening a Troubadour—Mademoiselle knows what that is?’
‘Of course!’
‘Came to the door and they asked him in, and after supper he sang them songs all about the Siege of Troy and the hardships undergone by Charlemagne and his knights when they fought there for la belle Hélène, and as he listened Ulysse could not keep from weeping, and they watched him, wondering. And when the song was finished they were all silent. And then Ulysse spoke up, saying he would no longer keep his name from them—“and, indeed,” he added proudly, “it is not a name that need make its bearer blush, for,” said he, “I am the lord Ulysse!” At that they all exclaimed with wonder, and Nausicaa turned as white as death, but Ulysse did not look at her. Then he told them of all the troubles sent him by Saint Nicholas and how fain he was to get to his own country and to his lady who was waiting for him in a high tower, but that he had no ship. Then Nausicaa’s father clapped him on the shoulder, although he was such a great lord, and told him that he had some ships of his own to carry his corn to barren countries like England, and that he should have one to take him home. Then he filled up their glasses with good red Beaume and drank to his safe arrival, but Nausicaa said never a word and left the room. And next morning she was there, standing by a pillar of the door to bid him godspeed, smiling bravely, for though she was but a farmer’s daughter she had a noble fierté. But after he had gone she could do nothing but weep, and pray to the Virgin to send her comfort. And some tell that in time she forgot the lord Ulysse and the grievous sorrow he had brought on her, and wedded with a neighbouring farmer and gat him fair children.
‘But others tell that the poor soul could not rid herself of the burden of her grief, but did use to pass the nights in weeping and the days in roaming, wan and cheerless, by the sea-waves or through the meadows. And one eve as she wandered thus through a field of corn, it chanced that one of God’s angels was flying overhead, and he saw the damsel, and his strange bloodless heart was filled with love and pity of her, and he swooped down on her and caught her up to Paradise.
‘ ... There is Madame calling me!’ and Berthe hurried from the room.
Madeleine lay quite still on her bed, with a frightened shadow in her eyes. Ever since Jacques’s dissertation on the Symmetry of the Comic Muse, terror had been howling outside the doors of her soul, but now it had boldly entered and taken possession.