The Alkahest

Madame Claes’s state of health seemed a sufficient reason for the change, and the payment of her husband’s debts put a stop to the current gossip; moreover, the political viciss

the French or by the enemy, so many foreigners came there, so many of the country-people sought refuge within

ely came to see her. It is true that after dinner he remained some hours in the parlor, near her bed; but as she no longer had the strength to keep up a conversation, he merely said a few words, invariably the s

heir virgin love, murmuring in fitful words from heart to heart. The inflection of their voices, to them so full of charm, to her was heart-breaking; a glance of mutual understanding surprised between the two threw her, half-dead as she was, back to th

iments on which all life has smiled; these retain their spring-time gaiety, their harvest-time of joy, seasons that never fail of laughter or of fetes; but there are other loves, framed in melancholy, circled by distress, whose pleasures are painful, costly, burdened by fears, poisoned by remorse, or blackened by despair. The love in the heart of Marguerite and Emmanuel, as yet unknown to them for lo

om the lips of the young girl supplanted the honeyed language of lovers; the sighing of their hearts, surcharged with joy at some interchange of looks, was scarcely distinguishable from the sighs wrung from them by the mother’s sufferings. Their happy little moments of indirect avowal, of unuttered promises, of smothered effusion, were like the allegories of Raphael painted on a

was for hours together in depths of thought from which he looked at her without seeing her, it was only during those cruel moments that she forgot her griefs. His indifference to the dying woman would have seemed criminal to a stranger, but Madame Claes and her daughters were accustomed to it; they knew his heart and they forgave him. If, during the day

nt the semblance of health. Balthazar came to her bedside, took her hand, saw the misleading color on her cheek, and to him she seemed well. When he asked, “My dear wife, how are you to-day?” she answered, “Better, dear friend,” and made him t

enjoyed those moments of communion, of passionate unreserve which feed the life of the heart; and finally there came a time when even these rare pleasures ceased. Physical suffering was now a boon to the poor woman, helping her to endure the void of separation, which might have killed her had she been truly living. Her bodily pain became so great that there were times when she was joyful in the thought that he whom she loved was

in this condition of passive gloom the House of Claes reached the first weeks of the year 1816. Pierquin, the lawyer, was destined, at

onversation, “Monsieur Claes has directed me to borrow three hundred thousand fra

the ceiling; then she thanked the notary with a sad sm

e who loses his balance and a mere pebble rolls him to the depth of the abyss he had so long and so courageously skirted. When the notary left her, Madame Claes told Marguerite to

g angel. Both women felt, no doubt, that sad and mutual confidences must now be made between them; the daughter looked at the mother, the mother at the daughter, tears flowing from their eyes. Several times, as Madame Claes rested from her writing, Marguerite said: “Moth

ild,” said the mother,

the words, “To my

ave rested awhile,” said Madame Claes

hters and her two sons were kneeling by her bed and praying. It was Thursday. Gabriel and Jean had been br

she cried. “You have never fo

stop

ing the pallor on her mother’s face, “go

mulquinier to make Balthazar come and speak to him. On hearing of

y sons away, and bring your uncle here. It is time to give me

s she made a sign to Marguerite, who

ad given. “I have had no money for the household expenses during the last ten days; I owe six months’ wages to the servants. Twice I have tried to ask my f

“My God! thou callest me to thyself in time!

, which brought the fires

t may so happen, because he has spent vast sums in searching for a secret whose discovery is to bring glory and wealth to his family, and he will no doubt need money, perhaps he may demand it of you — should that time come, treat him with the tenderness of a daughter, strive to reconcile the interests of which you will be the sole protector with the duty which you owe to a father, to a great man who sacrificed his happiness and his life to the glory of his family; he can only do wron

rguerite, kissing the swollen eyelids of

e property and the household. If you married, your husband might not share your

and said, “Have you nothing else

y child?” cried the

r answered; “I pr

lf for all. Happiness makes us selfish. Be strong; preserve your own good sense to guard others who as yet have none. Ac

; her strength was gone; the inward struggle bet

illed by the children and the household. When the ceremony was about to begin, Madame Cl

is my h

tones that all present shuddered. Martha, in spite of her great age, darted out of the room,

for you, to administer the last sacraments,

g,” answere

s’s eyes never left the parlor door, but her husband did not appear until the ceremony wa

” she said to him with an angelic tende

ins oxygen and a substance of the nature of imponder

rrupted his words and b

he demanded. “Are you w

e Abbe de Solis, indignant at his conduct; “

ollowed by the family, who accompanied him to the court-yard. Balthazar stood as

ave killed you!” he sai

in your love, and you have taken my life a

oom. “Have I for one moment ceased to love you?” he went on, sit

and actions from me. How is it that you fear me? Have I ever given you one word, one look, one gesture of reproach? And yet, you have sold your last pictures, you have sold even the wine in your cellar, you are borrowing money on your property, and have said no word to me. Ah! I go from life weary of life. If you are doing wrong, if you delude yourself in following the unattainable, have I not shown you that my love could share your faults, could walk beside you and be happy, though you led me in the paths of crime? You loved me too well — that was my glory; it is now my death. Balthazar, my illness has lasted long; it began on the day when here, in this place where I am about to

ped his whitened head in

I know your genius: but to the vulgar eye genius is mania. Fame is a sun that lights the dead; living, you will be unhappy with the unhappiness of great minds, and your children will be ruined. I go before I see your fame, wh

” said Cl

ot belong to wife or family; he sucks up the moisture of the earth about him, like a majestic tree — and I, poor plant, I could not rise to the height of your life, I die at its feet. I have waited for this last day to tell you these dreadful thoughts: they came to me in the lightnings of desolation and anguish. Oh, spare my children! let these word

cried Claes in a

man ap

atus, everything! Be careful, but destroy a

t Lemulquinier. “Marguerite!” she c

y and uttered a piercing cry as sh

repeated the

h such authority, that the cry was like a dying bequest. The terrified family ran to her side

h meaning: the daughter judged the father, and already the father trembled, seeing in his daughter an instrument of vengeance. Though memories of the love with which his Pepita had filled his life crowded upon his mind, and gave to her dying words a sac

soul, and that soul was now departed. The grief of the family was so intense that the parlor, where t