I

Dedication

To Madame Emile Girardin.

One of the few drawing-rooms where, under the Restoration, the

Archbishop of Besancon was sometimes to be seen, was that of the

Baronne de Watteville, to whom he was particularly attached on account

of her religious sentiments.

A word as to this lady, the most important lady of Besancon.

Monsieur de Watteville, a descendant of the famous Watteville, the

most successful and illustrious of murderers and renegades--his

extraordinary adventures are too much a part of history to be related

here--this nineteenth century Monsieur de Watteville was as gentle and

peaceable as his ancestor of the /Grand Siecle/ had been passionate

and turbulent. After living in the /Comte/ (La Franche Comte) like a

wood-louse in the crack of a wainscot, he had married the heiress of

the celebrated house of Rupt. Mademoiselle de Rupt brought twenty

thousand francs a year in the funds to add to the ten thousand francs

a year in real estate of the Baron de Watteville. The Swiss

gentleman's coat-of-arms (the Wattevilles are Swiss) was then borne as

an escutcheon of pretence on the old shield of the Rupts. The

marriage, arranged in 1802, was solemnized in 1815 after the second

Restoration. Within three years of the birth of a daughter all Madame

de Watteville's grandparents were dead, and their estates wound up.

Monsieur de Watteville's house was then sold, and they settled in the

Rue de la Prefecture in the fine old mansion of the Rupts, with an

immense garden stretching to the Rue du Perron. Madame de Watteville,

devout as a girl, became even more so after her marriage. She is one

of the queens of the saintly brotherhood which gives the upper circles

of Besancon a solemn air and prudish manners in harmony with the

character of the town.

Monsieur le Baron de Watteville, a dry, lean man devoid of

intelligence, looked worn out without any one knowing whereby, for he

enjoyed the profoundest ignorance; but as his wife was a red-haired

woman, and of a stern nature that became proverbial (we still say "as

sharp as Madame de Watteville"), some wits of the legal profession

declared that he had been worn against that rock--/Rupt/ is obviously

derived from /rupes/. Scientific students of social phenomena will not

fail to have observed that Rosalie was the only offspring of the union

between the Wattevilles and the Rupts.

Monsieur de Watteville spent his existence in a handsome workshop with

a lathe; he was a turner! As subsidiary to this pursuit, he took up a

fancy for making collections. Philosophical doctors, devoted to the

study of madness, regard this tendency towards collecting as a first

degree of mental aberration when it is set on small things. The Baron

de Watteville treasured shells and geological fragments of the

neighborhood of Besancon. Some contradictory folk, especially women,

would say of Monsieur de Watteville, "He has a noble soul! He

perceived from the first days of his married life that he would never

be his wife's master, so he threw himself into a mechanical occupation

and good living."

The house of the Rupts was not devoid of a certain magnificence worthy

of Louis XIV., and bore traces of the nobility of the two families who

had mingled in 1815. The chandeliers of glass cut in the shape of

leaves, the brocades, the damask, the carpets, the gilt furniture,

were all in harmony with the old liveries and the old servants. Though

served in blackened family plate, round a looking-glass tray furnished

with Dresden china, the food was exquisite. The wines selected by

Monsieur de Watteville, who, to occupy his time and vary his

employments, was his own butler, enjoyed a sort of fame throughout the

department. Madame de Watteville's fortune was a fine one; while her

husband's, which consisted only of the estate of Rouxey, worth about

ten thousand francs a year, was not increased by inheritance. It is

needless to add that in consequence of Madame de Watteville's close

intimacy with the Archbishop, the three or four clever or remarkable

Abbes of the diocese who were not averse to good feeding were very

much at home at her house.

At a ceremonial dinner given in honor of I know not whose wedding, at

the beginning of September 1834, when the women were standing in a

circle round the drawing-room fire, and the men in groups by the

windows, every one exclaimed with pleasure at the entrance of Monsieur

l'Abbe de Grancey, who was announced.

"Well, and the lawsuit?" they all cried.

"Won!" replied the Vicar-General. "The verdict of the Court, from

which we had no hope, you know why----"

This was an allusion to the members of the First Court of Appeal of

1830; the Legitimists had almost all withdrawn.

"The verdict is in our favor on every point, and reverses the decision

of the Lower Court."

"Everybody thought you were done for."

"And we should have been, but for me. I told our advocate to be off to

Paris, and at the crucial moment I was able to secure a new pleader,

to whom we owe our victory, a wonderful man--"

"At Besancon?" said Monsieur de Watteville, guilelessly.

"At Besancon," replied the Abbe de Grancey.

"Oh yes, Savaron," said a handsome young man sitting near the

Baroness, and named de Soulas.

"He spent five or six nights over it; he devoured documents and

briefs; he had seven or eight interviews of several hours with me,"

continued Monsieur de Grancey, who had just reappeared at the Hotel de

Rupt for the first time in three weeks. "In short, Monsieur Savaron

has just completely beaten the celebrated lawyer whom our adversaries

had sent for from Paris. This young man is wonderful, the bigwigs say.

Thus the chapter is twice victorious; it has triumphed in law and also

in politics, since it has vanquished Liberalism in the person of the

Counsel of our Municipality.--'Our adversaries,' so our advocate said,

'must not expect to find readiness on all sides to ruin the

Archbishoprics.'--The President was obliged to enforce silence. All

the townsfolk of Besancon applauded. Thus the possession of the

buildings of the old convent remains with the Chapter of the Cathedral

of Besancon. Monsieur Savaron, however, invited his Parisian opponent

to dine with him as they came out of court. He accepted, saying,

'Honor to every conqueror,' and complimented him on his success

without bitterness."

"And where did you unearth this lawyer?" said Madame de Watteville. "I

never heard his name before."

"Why, you can see his windows from hence," replied the Vicar-General.

"Monsieur Savaron lives in the Rue du Perron; the garden of his house

joins on to yours."

"But he is not a native of the Comte," said Monsieur de Watteville.

"So little is he a native of any place, that no one knows where he

comes from," said Madame de Chavoncourt.

"But who is he?" asked Madame de Watteville, taking the Abbe's arm to

go into the dining-room. "If he is a stranger, by what chance has he

settled at Besancon? It is a strange fancy for a barrister."

"Very strange!" echoed Amedee de Soulas, whose biography is here

necessary to the understanding of this tale.

In all ages France and England have carried on an exchange of trifles,

which is all the more constant because it evades the tyranny of the

Custom-house. The fashion that is called English in Paris is called

French in London, and this is reciprocal. The hostility of the two

nations is suspended on two points--the uses of words and the fashions

of dress. /God Save the King/, the national air of England, is a tune

written by Lulli for the Chorus of Esther or of Athalie. Hoops,

introduced at Paris by an Englishwoman, were invented in London, it is

known why, by a Frenchwoman, the notorious Duchess of Portsmouth. They

were at first so jeered at that the first Englishwoman who appeared in

them at the Tuileries narrowly escaped being crushed by the crowd; but

they were adopted. This fashion tyrannized over the ladies of Europe

for half a century. At the peace of 1815, for a year, the long waists

of the English were a standing jest; all Paris went to see Pothier and

Brunet in /Les Anglaises pour rire/; but in 1816 and 1817 the belt of

the Frenchwoman, which in 1814 cut her across the bosom, gradually

descended till it reached the hips.