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  THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE, BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE.

  CHAPTER I.

  Up among the Vosges mountains in Lorraine, but just outside the oldhalf-German province of Alsace, about thirty miles distant from thenew and thoroughly French baths of Plombieres, there lies thevillage of Granpere. Whatever may be said or thought here inEngland of the late imperial rule in France, it must at any rate beadmitted that good roads were made under the Empire. Alsace, whichtwenty years ago seems to have been somewhat behindhand in thisrespect, received her full share of Napoleon's attention, andGranpere is now placed on an excellent road which runs from the townof Remiremont on one line of railway, to Colmar on another. Theinhabitants of the Alsatian Ballon hills and the open valleys amongthem seem to think that the civilisation of great cities has beenbrought near enough to them, as there is already a diligence runningdaily from Granpere to Remiremont;--and at Remiremont you are on therailway, and, of course, in the middle of everything.

  And indeed an observant traveller will be led to think that a greatdeal of what may most truly be called civilisation has found its wayin among the Ballons, whether it travelled thither by the new-fangledrailways and imperial routes, or found its passage along thevalley streams before imperial favours had been showered upon thedistrict. We are told that when Pastor Oberlin was appointed to hiscure as Protestant clergyman in the Ban de la Roche a little morethan one hundred years ago,--that was, in 1767,--this region wasdensely dark and far behind in the world's running as regards allprogress. The people were ignorant, poor, half-starved, almostsavage, destitute of communication, and unable to produce from theirown soil enough food for their own sustenance. Of manufacturingenterprise they understood nothing, and were only just far enoughadvanced in knowledge for the Protestants to hate the Catholics, andthe Catholics to hate the Protestants. Then came that wonderfulclergyman, Pastor Oberlin,--he was indeed a wonderful clergyman,--andmade a great change. Since that there have been the two empires,and Alsace has looked up in the world. Whether the thanksof the people are more honestly due to Oberlin or to the lateEmperor, the author of this little story will not pretend to say;but he will venture to express his opinion that at present the ruralAlsatians are a happy, prosperous people, with the burden on theirshoulders of but few paupers, and fewer gentlemen,--apparently acontented people, not ambitious, given but little to politics.Protestants and Catholics mingled without hatred or fanaticism,educated though not learned, industrious though not energetic, quietand peaceful, making linen and cheese, growing potatoes, importingcorn, coming into the world, marrying, begetting children, and dyingin the wholesome homespun fashion which is so sweet to us in thatmood of philosophy which teaches us to love the country and todespise the town. Whether it be better for a people to achieve aneven level of prosperity, which is shared by all, but which makesnone eminent, or to encounter those rough, ambitious, competitivestrengths which produce both palaces and poor-houses, shall not bematter of argument here; but the teller of this story is disposed tothink that the chance traveller, as long as he tarries at Granpere,will insensibly and perhaps unconsciously become an advocate of theformer doctrine; he will be struck by the comfort which he seesaround him, and for a while will dispense with wealth, luxury,scholarships, and fashion. Whether the inhabitants of these hillsand valleys will advance to farther progress now that they are againto become German, is another question, which the writer will notattempt to answer here.

  Granpere in itself is a very pleasing village. Though the amount ofpopulation and number of houses do not suffice to make it more thana village, it covers so large a space of ground as almost to give ita claim to town honours. It is perhaps a full mile in length; andthough it has but one street, there are buildings standing here andthere, back from the line, which make it seem to stretch beyond thenarrow confines of a single thoroughfare. In most French villagessome of the houses are high and spacious, but here they seem almostall to be so. And many of them have been constructed after thatindependent fashion which always gives to a house in a street acharacter and importance of its own. They do not stand in a simpleline, each supported by the strength of its neighbour, but occupytheir own ground, facing this way or that as each may please,presenting here a corner to the main street, and there an end.There are little gardens, and big stables, and commodious barns; andperiodical paint with annual whitewash is not wanting. Theunstinted slates shine copiously under the sun, and over almostevery other door there is a large lettered board which indicatesthat the resident within is a dealer in the linen which is producedthroughout the country. All these things together give to Granperean air of prosperity and comfort which is not at all checked by thefact that there is in the place no mansion which we Englishmen wouldcall the gentleman's house, nothing approaching to the ascendancy ofa parish squire, no baron's castle, no manorial hall,--not even achateau to overshadow the modest roofs of the dealers in the linenof the Vosges.

  And the scenery round Granpere is very pleasant, though theneighbouring hills never rise to the magnificence of mountains orproduce that grandeur which tourists desire when they travel insearch of the beauties of Nature. It is a spot to love if you knowit well, rather than to visit with hopes raised high, and to leavewith vivid impressions. There is water in abundance; a pretty lakelying at the feet of sloping hills, rivulets running down from thehigh upper lands and turning many a modest wheel in their course, awaterfall or two here and there, and a so-called mountain summitwithin an easy distance, from whence the sun may be seen to riseamong the Swiss mountains;--and distant perhaps three miles from thevillage the main river which runs down the valley makes for itself awild ravine, just where the bridge on the new road to Munstercrosses the water, and helps to excuse the people of Granpere forclaiming for themselves a great object of natural attraction. Thebridge and the river and the ravine are very pretty, and perhapsjustify all that the villagers say of them when they sing totravellers the praises of their country.

  Whether it be the sale of linen that has produced the large inn atGranpere, or the delicious air of the place, or the ravine and thebridge, matters little to our story; but the fact of the inn mattersvery much. There it is,--a roomy, commodious building, not easilyintelligible to a stranger, with its widely distributed parts,standing like an inverted V, with its open side towards the mainroad. On the ground-floor on one side are the large stables andcoach-house, with a billiard-room and cafe over them, and a longbalcony which runs round the building; and on the other side thereare kitchens and drinking-rooms, and over these the chamber formeals and the bedrooms. All large, airy, and clean, though,perhaps, not excellently well finished in their construction, andfurnished with but little pretence to French luxury. And behind theinn there are gardens, by no means trim, and a dusty summer-house,which serves, however, for the smoking of a cigar; and there isgenerally space and plenty and goodwill. Either the linen, or theair, or the ravine, or, as is more probable, the three combined,have produced a business, so that the landlord of the Lion d'Or atGranpere is a thriving man.

  The reader shall at once be introduced to the landlord, and informedat the same time that, in so far as he may be interested in thisstory, he will have to take up his abode at the Lion d'Or till it beconcluded; not as a guest staying loosely at his inn, but as one whois concerned with all the innermost affairs of the household. Hewill not simply eat his plate of soup, and drink his glass of wine,and pass on, knowing and caring more for the servant than for theservant's master, but he must content himself to sit at thelandlord's table, to converse very frequently with the landlord'swife, to become very intimate with the landlord's son--whether onloving or on unloving terms shall be
left entirely to himself--andto throw himself, with the sympathy of old friendship, into all thetroubles and all the joys of the landlord's niece. If the reader beone who cannot take such a journey, and pass a month or two withoutthe society of persons whom he would define as ladies and gentlemen,he had better be warned at once, and move on, not setting footwithin the Lion d'Or at Granpere.

  Michel Voss, the landlord, in person was at this time a tall, stout,active, and very handsome man, about fifty years of age. As his sonwas already twenty-five--and was known to be so throughout thecommune--people were sure that Michel Voss was fifty or thereabouts;but there was very little in his appearance to indicate so manyyears. He was fat and burly to be sure; but then he was not fat tolethargy, or burly with any sign of slowness. There was still thespring of youth in his footstep, and when there was some weight tobe lifted, some heavy timber to be thrust here or there, some hugelumbering vehicle to be hoisted in or out, there was no arm aboutthe place so strong as that of the master. His short, dark, curlyhair--that was always kept clipped round his head--was beginning toshow a tinge of gray, but the huge moustache on his upper lip wasstill of a thorough brown, as was also the small morsel of beardwhich he wore upon his chin. He had bright sharp brown eyes, a noseslightly beaked, and a large mouth. He was on the whole a man ofgood temper, just withal, and one who loved those who belonged tohim; but he chose to be master in his own house, and was apt tothink that his superior years enabled him to know what youngerpeople wanted better than they would know themselves. He was lovedin his house and respected in his village; but there was somethingin the beak of his nose and the brightness of his eye which was aptto make those around him afraid of him. And indeed Michel Vosscould lose his temper and become an angry man.

  Our landlord had been twice married. By his first wife he had nowliving a single son, George Voss, who at the time of our tale hadalready reached his twenty-fifth year. George, however, did not atthis time live under his father's roof, having taken service for atime with the landlady of another inn at Colmar. George Voss wasknown to be a clever young man; many in those parts declared that hewas much more so than his father; and when he became clerk at thePoste in Colmar, and after a year or two had taken into his handsalmost the entire management of that house--so that people began tosay that old-fashioned and wretched as it was, money might still bemade there--people began to say also that Michel Voss had been wrongto allow his son to leave Granpere. But in truth there had been afew words between the father and the son; and the two were so likeeach other that the father found it difficult to rule, and the sonfound it difficult to be ruled.

  George Voss was very like his father, with this difference, as hewas often told by the old folk about Granpere, that he would neverfill his father's shoes. He was a smaller man, less tall by acouple of inches, less broad in proportion across the shoulders,whose arm would never be so strong, whose leg would never grace atight stocking with so full a development. But he had the same eye,bright and brown and very quick, the same mouth, the same aquilinenose, the same broad forehead and well-shaped chin, and the samelook in his face which made men know as by instinct that he wouldsooner command than obey. So there had come to be a few words, andGeorge Voss had gone away to the house of a cousin of his mother's,and had taken to commanding there.

  Not that there had been any quarrel between the father and the son;nor indeed that George was aware that he had been in the leastdisobedient to his parent. There was no recognised ambition forrule in the breasts of either of them. It was simply this, thattheir tempers were alike; and when on an occasion Michel told hisson that he would not allow a certain piece of folly which the sonwas, as he thought, likely to commit, George declared that he wouldsoon set that matter right by leaving Granpere. Accordingly he didleave Granpere, and became the right hand, and indeed the head, andbackbone, and best leg of his old cousin Madame Faragon of the Posteat Colmar. Now the matter on which these few words occurred was aquestion of love--whether George Voss should fall in love with andmarry his step-mother's niece Marie Bromar. But before anythingfarther can be said of these few words, Madame Voss and her niecemust be introduced to the reader.

  Madame Voss was nearly twenty years younger than her husband, andhad now been a wife some five or six years. She had been broughtfrom Epinal, where she had lived with a married sister, a widow,much older than herself--in parting from whom on her marriage therehad been much tribulation. 'Should anything happen to Marie,' shehad said to Michel Voss, before she gave him her troth, 'you willlet Minnie Bromar come to me?' Michel Voss, who was then hotlyin love with his hoped-for bride--hotly in love in spite of hisfour-and-forty years--gave the required promise. The said 'something'which had been suspected had happened. Madame Bromar had died, andMinnie Bromar her daughter--or Marie as she was always afterwardscalled--had at once been taken into the house at Granpere. Michelnever thought twice about it when he was reminded of his promise.'If I hadn't promised at all, she should come the same,' he said.'The house is big enough for a dozen more yet.' In saying this heperhaps alluded to a little baby that then lay in a cradle in hiswife's room, by means of which at that time Madame Voss was able tomake her big husband do pretty nearly anything that she pleased. SoMarie Bromar, then just fifteen years of age, was brought over fromEpinal to Granpere, and the house certainly was not felt to be toosmall because she was there. Marie soon learned the ways and wishesof her burly, soft-hearted uncle; would fill his pipe for him, andhand him his soup, and bring his slippers, and put her soft armround his neck, and became a favourite. She was only a child whenshe came, and Michel thought it was very pleasant; but in fiveyears' time she was a woman, and Michel was forced to reflect thatit would not be well that there should be another marriage andanother family in the house while he was so young himself,--therewas at this time a third baby in the cradle,--and then Marie Bromarhad not a franc of dot. Marie was the sweetest eldest daughter inthe world, but he could not think it right that his son should marrya wife before he had done a stroke for himself in the world.Prudence made it absolutely necessary that he should say a word tohis son.

  Madame Voss was certainly nearly twenty years younger than herhusband, and yet the pair did not look to be ill-sorted. Michel wasso handsome, strong, and hale; and Madame Voss, though she was acomely woman,--though when she was brought home a bride to Granperethe neighbours had all declared that she was very handsome,--carriedwith her a look of more years than she really possessed. She hadborne many of a woman's cares, and had known much of woman's sorrowsbefore she had become wife to Michel Voss; and then when the babescame, and she had settled down as mistress of that large household,and taught herself to regard George Voss and Marie Bromar almost asher own children, all idea that she was much younger than herhusband departed from her. She was a woman who desired to excel herhusband in nothing,--if only she might be considered to be in somethings his equal. There was no feeling in the village that MichelVoss had brought home a young wife and had made a fool of himself.He was a man entitled to have a wife much younger than himself.Madame Voss in those days always wore a white cap and a dark stuffgown, which was changed on Sundays for one of black silk, and brownmittens on her hands, and she went about the house in soft carpetshoes. She was a conscientious, useful, but not an enterprisingwoman; loving her husband much and fearing him somewhat; liking tohave her own way in certain small matters, but willing to be led inother things so long as those were surrendered to her; careful withher children, the care of whom seemed to deprive her of the power ofcaring for the business of the inn; kind to her niece, good-humouredin her house, and satisfied with the world at large as long as shemight always be allowed to entertain M. le Cure at dinner onSundays. Michel Voss, Protestant though he was, had not theslightest objection to giving M. le Cure his Sunday dinner, oncondition that M. le Cure on these occasions would confine hisconversation to open subjects. M. le Cure was quite willing to eathis dinner and give no offence.

  A word too must be said
of Marie Bromar before we begin our story.Marie Bromar is the heroine of this little tale; and the reader mustbe made to have some idea of her as she would have appeared beforehim had he seen her standing near her uncle in the long roomupstairs of the hotel at Granpere. Marie had been fifteen when shewas brought from Epinal to Granpere, and had then been a child; butshe had now reached her twentieth birthday, and was a woman. Shewas not above the middle height, and might seem to be less indeed inthat house, because her aunt and her uncle were tall; but she wasstraight, well made, and very active. She was strong and liked touse her strength, and was very keen about all the work of the house.During the five years of her residence at Granpere she hadthoroughly learned the mysteries of her uncle's trade. She knewgood wine from bad by the perfume; she knew whether bread was thefull weight by the touch; with a glance of her eye she could tellwhether the cheese and butter were what they ought to be; in amatter of poultry no woman in all the commune could take her in; shewas great in judging eggs; knew well the quality of linen; and waseven able to calculate how long the hay should last, and what shouldbe the consumption of corn in the stables. Michel Voss was wellaware before Marie had been a year beneath his roof that she wellearned the morsel she ate and the drop she drank; and when she hadbeen there five years he was ready to swear that she was thecleverest girl in Lorraine or Alsace. And she was very pretty, withrich brown hair that would not allow itself to be brushed out of itscrisp half-curls in front, and which she always wore cut shortbehind, curling round her straight, well-formed neck. Her eyes weregray, with a strong shade indeed of green, but were very bright andpleasant, full of intelligence, telling stories by their glances ofher whole inward disposition, of her activity, quickness, and desireto have a hand in everything that was being done. Her father JeanBromar had come from the same stock with Michel Voss, and she, too,had something of that aquiline nose which gave to the innkeeper andhis son the look which made men dislike to contradict them. Hermouth was large, but her teeth were very white and perfect, and hersmile was the sweetest thing that ever was seen. Marie Bromar was apretty girl, and George Voss, had he lived so near to her and nothave fallen in love with her, must have been cold indeed.

  At the end of these five years Marie had become a woman, and wasknown by all around her to be a woman much stronger, both in personand in purpose, than her aunt; but she maintained, almostunconsciously, many of the ways in the house which she had assumedwhen she first entered it. Then she had always been on foot, to beeverybody's messenger,--and so she was now. When her uncle and auntwere at their meals she was always up and about,--attending them,attending the public guests, attending the whole house. And itseemed as though she herself never sat down to eat or drink.Indeed, it was rare enough to find her seated at all. She wouldhave a cup of coffee standing up at the little desk near the publicwindow when she kept her books, or would take a morsel of meat asshe helped to remove the dishes. She would stand sometimes for aminute leaning on the back of her uncle's chair as he sat at hissupper, and would say, when he bade her to take her chair and eatwith them, that she preferred picking and stealing. In all thingsshe worshipped her uncle, observing his movements, caring for hiswants, and carrying out his plans. She did not worship her aunt,but she so served Madame Voss that had she been withdrawn from thehousehold Madame Voss would have found herself altogether unable toprovide for its wants. Thus Marie Bromar had become the guardianangel of the Lion d'Or at Granpere.

  There must be a word or two more said of the difference betweenGeorge Voss and his father which had ended in sending George toColmar; a word or two about that, and a word also of what occurredbetween George and Marie. Then we shall be able to commence ourstory without farther reference to things past. As Michel Voss wasa just, affectionate, and intelligent man, he would not probablyhave objected to a marriage between the two young people, had theproposition for such a marriage been first submitted to him, with aproper amount of attention to his judgment and controlling power.But the idea was introduced to him in a manner which taught him tothink that there was to be a clandestine love affair. To him Georgewas still a boy, and Marie not much more than a child, and--withoutmuch thinking--he felt that the thing was improper.

  'I won't have it, George,' he had said.

  'Won't have what, father?'

  'Never mind. You know. If you can't get over it in any other way,you had better go away. You must do something for yourself beforeyou can think of marrying.'

  'I am not thinking of marrying.'

  'Then what were you thinking of when I saw you with Marie? I won'thave it for her sake, and I won't have it for mine, and I won't haveit for your own. You had better go away for a while.'

  'I'll go away to-morrow if you wish it, father.' Michel had turnedaway, not saying another word; and on the following day George did goaway, hardly waiting an hour to set in order his part of his father'sbusiness. For it must be known that George had not been an idlerin his father's establishment. There was a trade of wood-cuttingupon the mountain-side, with a saw-mill turned by water beneath,over which George had presided almost since he had left theschool of the commune. When his father told him that he was boundto do something before he got married, he could not have intended toaccuse him of having been hitherto idle. Of the wood-cutting andthe saw-mill George knew as much as Marie did of the poultry and thelinen. Michel was wrong, probably, in his attempt to separate them.The house was large enough, or if not, there was still room foranother house to be built in Granpere. They would have done well asman and wife. But then the head of a household naturally objects toseeing the boys and girls belonging to him making love under hisnose without any reference to his opinion. 'Things were not made soeasy for me,' he says to himself, and feels it to be a sort of dutyto take care that the course of love shall not run altogethersmooth. George, no doubt, was too abrupt with his father; orperhaps it might be the case that he was not sorry to take anopportunity of leaving for a while Granpere and Marie Bromar. Itmight be well to see the world; and though Marie Bromar was brightand pretty, it might be that there were others abroad brighter andprettier.

  His father had spoken to him on one fine September afternoon, andwithin an hour George was with the men who were stripping bark fromthe great pine logs up on the side of the mountain. With them, andwith two or three others who were engaged at the saw-mills, heremained till the night was dark. Then he came down and toldsomething of his intentions to his stepmother. He was going toColmar on the morrow with a horse and small cart, and would takewith him what clothes he had ready. He did not speak to Marie thatnight, but he said something to his father about the timber and themill. Gaspar Muntz, the head woodsman, knew, he said, all about thebusiness. Gaspar could carry on the work till it would suit MichelVoss himself to see how things were going on. Michel Voss was soreand angry, but he said nothing. He sent to his son a couple ofhundred francs by his wife, but said no word of explanation even toher. On the following morning George was off without seeing hisfather.

  But Marie was up to give him his breakfast. 'What is the meaning ofthis, George?' she said.

  'Father says that I shall be better away from this,--so I'm goingaway.'

  'And why will you be better away?' To this George made no answer.'It will be terrible if you quarrel with your father. Nothing canbe so bad as that.'

  'We have not quarrelled. That is to say, I have not quarrelled withhim. If he quarrels with me, I cannot help it.'

  'It must be helped,' said Marie, as she placed before him a mess ofeggs which she had cooked for him with her own hands. 'I wouldsooner die than see anything wrong between you two.' Then there wasa pause. 'Is it about me, George?' she asked boldly.

  'Father thinks that I love you:--so I do.'

  Marie paused for a few minutes before she said anything farther.She was standing very near to George, who was eating his breakfastheartily in spite of the interesting nature of the conversation. Asshe filled his cup a second time, she spoke again. '
I will never doanything, George, if I can help it, to displease my uncle.'

  'But why should it displease him? He wants to have his own way ineverything.'

  'Of course he does.'

  'He has told me to go;--and I'll go. I've worked for him as noother man would work, and have never said a word about a share inthe business;--and never would.'

  'Is it not all for yourself, George?'

  'And why shouldn't you and I be married if we like it?'

  'I will never like it,' said she solemnly, 'if uncle dislikes it.'

  'Very well,' said George. 'There is the horse ready, and now I'moff.'

  So he went, starting just as the day was dawning, and no one saw himon that morning except Marie Bromar. As soon as he was gone shewent up to her little room, and sat herself down on her bedside.She knew that she loved him, and had been told that she was beloved.She knew that she could not lose him without suffering terribly; butnow she almost feared that it would be necessary that she shouldlose him. His manner had not been tender to her. He had indeedsaid that he loved her, but there had been nothing of the tendernessof love in his mode of saying so;--and then he had said no word ofpersistency in the teeth of his father's objection. She haddeclared--thoroughly purposing that her declaration should betrue--that she would never become his wife in opposition to heruncle's wishes; but he, had he been in earnest, might have saidsomething of his readiness to attempt at least to overcome hisfather's objection. But he had said not a word, and Marie, as she satupon her bed, made up her mind that it must be all over. But she madeup her mind also that she would entertain no feeling of anger againsther uncle. She owed him everything, so she thought--making noaccount, as George had done, of labour given in return. She wasonly a girl, and what was her labour? For a while she resolved thatshe would give a spoken assurance to her uncle that he need fearnothing from her. It was natural enough to her that her uncleshould desire a better marriage for his son. But after a while shereflected that any speech from her on such a subject would bedifficult, and that it would be better that she should hold hertongue. So she held her tongue, and thought of George, andsuffered;--but still was merry, at least in manner, when her unclespoke to her, and priced the poultry, and counted the linen, andmade out the visitors' bills, as though nothing evil had come uponher. She was a gallant girl, and Michel Voss, though he could notspeak of it, understood her gallantry and made notes of it on thenote-book of his heart.

  In the mean time George Voss was thriving at Colmar,--as the Vossesdid thrive wherever they settled themselves. But he sent no word tohis father,--nor did his father send word to him,--though they werenot more than ten leagues apart. Once Madame Voss went over to seehim, and brought back word of his well-doing.