The Dream: Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The marriage was fixed for the early part of March. But Angelique
remained very feeble, notwithstanding the joy which radiated from her
whole person. She had wished after the first week of her convalescence
to go down to the workroom, persisting in her determination to finish
the panel of embroidery in bas-relief which was to be used for the
Bishop's chair.

"It would be," she said cheerfully, "her last, best piece of work; and
besides, no one ever leaves," she added, "an order only half-completed."

Then exhausted by the effort, she was again forced to keep her chamber.
She lived there, happy and smiling, without regaining the full health
of former times, always white and immaterial as the sacred sacramental
oils; going and coming with a gentle step like that of a vision, and
after having occasionally made the exertion of walking as far as from
her table to the window, finding herself obliged to rest quietly for
hours and give herself up to her sweet thoughts. At length they deferred
the wedding-day, thinking it better to wait for her complete recovery,
which must certainly come if she were well nursed and cared for.

Every afternoon Felicien went up to see her. Hubert and Hubertine were
there, and they passed together most delightful hours, during which they
continually made and re-made the same bright projects. Seated in her
great chair she laughed gaily, seemed trembling with life and vivacity,
as she was the first to talk of the days which would be so well filled
when together they could take long journeys; and of all the unknown
joys that would come to them after they had restored the old Chateau
d'Hautecoeur. Anyone, to have seen her then, would have considered her
saved and regaining her strength in the backward spring, the air of
which, growing warmer and warmer daily, entered by the open window. In
fact, she never fell back into the deep gravities of her dreams, except
when she was entirely alone and was not afraid of being seen. In the
night, voices still appeared to be near her: then it seemed as if the
earth were calling to her; and at last the truth was clearly revealed to
her, so that she fully understood that the miracle was being continued
only for the realisation of her dream. Was she not already dead, having
simply the appearance of living, thanks to the respite which had
been granted her from Divine Grace? This idea soothed her with deep
gentleness in her hours of solitude, and she did not feel a moment's
regret at the thought of being called away from life in the midst of her
happiness, so certain was she of always realising to its fullest extent
her anticipated joy. The cheerfulness she had hitherto shown became
simply a little more serious; she abandoned herself to it quietly,
forgetting her physical weakness as she indulged in the pure delights
of fancy. It was only when she heard the Huberts open the door, or when
Felicien came to see her, that she was able to sit upright, to bring
her thoughts back to her surroundings, and to appear as if she were
regaining her health, laughing pleasantly while she talked of their
years of happy housekeeping far away, in the days to come.

Towards the end of March Angelique grew very restless and much weaker.
Twice, when by herself, she had long fainting fits. One morning she
fell at the foot of her bed, just as Hubert was bringing her up a cup
of milk; by a great effort of will she conquered herself, and, that
she might deceive him, she remained on the floor and smiled, as
she pretended to be looking for a needle that had been dropped. The
following day she was gayer than usual, and proposed hastening the
marriage, suggesting that at all events it should not be put off any
later than the middle of April. All the others exclaimed at this idea,
asking if it would not be advisable to wait awhile, since she was still
so delicate. There was no need of being in such a hurry. She, however,
seemed feverishly nervous, and insisted that the ceremony should take
place immediately--yes, as soon as possible. Hubertine, surprised at
the request, having a suspicion as to the true motive of this eagerness,
looked at her earnestly for a moment, and turned very pale as she
realised how slight was the cold breath which still attached her
daughter to life. The dear invalid had already grown calm, in her tender
need of consoling others and keeping them under an illusion, although
she knew personally that her case was hopeless. Hubert and Felicien,
in continual adoration before their idol, had neither seen nor
felt anything unusual. Then Angelique, exerting herself almost
supernaturally, rose up, and was more charming than ever, as she slowly
moved back and forth with the light step of former days. She continued
to speak of her wish, saying if it were granted she would be so happy,
and that after the wedding she would certainly be cured. Moreover, the
question should be left to Monseigneur; he alone should decide it. That
same evening, when the Bishop was there, she explained her desire to
him, fixing her eyes on his, regarding him steadily and beseechingly,
and speaking in her sweet, earnest voice, under which there was hidden
an ardent supplication, unexpressed in words. Monseigneur realised it,
and understood the truth, and he appointed a day in the middle of April
for the ceremony.

Then they lived in great commotion from the necessary bustle attendant
upon the preparations for the marriage. Notwithstanding his official
position as guardian, Hubert was obliged to ask permission, or rather
the consent of the Director of Public Assistance, who always represented
the family council, Angelique not yet being of age; and Monsieur
Grandsire, the Justice of the Peace, was charged with all legal details,
in order to avoid as much as possible the painful side of the position
to the young girl and to Felicien. But the dear child, realising that
something was being kept back, asked one day to have her little book
brought up to her, wishing to put it herself into the hands of her
betrothed. She was now, and would henceforth remain, in a state of such
sincere humility that she wished him to know thoroughly from what a
low position he had drawn her, to elevate her to the glory of his
well-honoured name and his great fortune. These were her parchments,
her titles to nobility; her position was explained by this official
document, this entry on the calendar where there was only a date
followed by a number. She turned over all the leaves once more, then
gave it to him without being confused, happy in thinking that in herself
she was nothing, but that she owed everything to him. So deeply touched
was he by this act, that he knelt down, kissed her hands while tears
came to his eyes, as if it were she who had made him the one gift, the
royal gift of her heart.

For two weeks the preparations occupied all Beaumont, both the upper and
the lower town being in a state of great excitement therefrom. It was
said that twenty working-girls were engaged day and night upon the
trousseau. The wedding-dress alone required three persons to make it,
and there was to be a _corbeille_, or present from the bridegroom, to
the value of a million of francs: a fluttering of laces, of velvets, of
silks and satins, a flood of precious stones--diamonds worthy a Queen.
But that which excited the people more than all else was the great
amount given in charity, the bride having wished to distribute to
the poor as much as she had received herself. So another million was
showered down upon the country in a rain of gold. At length she was able
to gratify all her old longings of benevolence, all the prodigalities
of her most exaggerated dreams, as with open hands she let fall upon the
wretched and needy a stream of riches, an overflow of comforts. In her
little, white, bare chamber, confined to her old armchair, she laughed
with delight when the Abbe Cornille brought to her the list of the
distributions he had made. "Give more! Give more!" she cried, as it
seemed to her as if not enough were done. She would, in reality, have
liked to have seen the Pere Mascart seated for ever at a table before
a princely banquet; the Chouteaux living in palatial luxury; the _mere_
Gabet cured of her rheumatism, and by the aid of money to have renewed
her youth. As for the Lemballeuse, the mother and daughters, she
absolutely wished to load them with silk dresses and jewellery. The hail
of golden pieces redoubled over the town as in fairy-tales, far beyond
the daily necessities, as if merely for the beauty and joy of seeing the
triumphal golden glory, thrown from full hands, falling into the street
and glittering in the great sunlight of charity.

At last, on the eve of the happy day, everything was in readiness.
Felicien had bought a large house on the Rue Magloire, at the back
of the Bishop's palace, which had been fitted up and furnished most
luxuriously. There were great rooms hung with admirable tapestries,
filled with the most beautiful articles imaginable; a salon in old, rare
pieces of hand embroidery; a boudoir in blue, soft as the early morning
sky; and a sleeping-room, which was particularly attractive: a perfect
little corner of white silk and lace--nothing, in short, but white,
airy, and light--an exquisite shimmering of purity. But Angelique had
constantly refused to go to see all these wonderful things, although
a carriage was always ready to convey her there. She listened to the
recital of that which had been done with an enchanted smile, but she
gave no orders, and did not appear to wish to occupy herself with any of
the arrangements. "No, no," she said, for all these things seemed so far
away in the unknown of that vast world of which she was as yet totally
ignorant. Since those who loved her had prepared for her so tenderly
this happiness, she desired to partake thereof, and to enter therein
like a princess coming from some chimerical country, who approaches
the real kingdom where she is to reign for ever. In the same way she
preferred to know nothing, except by hearsay, of the _corbeille_, which
also was waiting for her--a superb gift from her betrothed, the wedding
outfit of fine linen, embroidered with her cipher as marchioness, the
full-dress costumes tastefully trimmed, the old family jewels valuable
as the richest treasures of a cathedral, and the modern jewels in their
marvellous yet delicate mountings, precious stones of every kind, and
diamonds of the purest water. It was sufficient to her that her dream
had come to pass, and that this good future awaited her in her new home,
radiant in the reality of the new life that was opening before her. The
only thing she saw was her wedding-dress, which was brought to her on
the marriage morning.

That day, when she awoke, Angelique, still alone, had in her great bed
a moment of intense exhaustion, and feared that she would not be able to
get up at all. She attempted to do so, but her knees bent under her;
and in contrast to the brave serenity she had shown for weeks past, a
fearful anguish, the last, perhaps, took utter possession of her. Then,
as in a few minutes Hubertine came into the room, looking unusually
happy, she was surprised to find that she could really walk, for she
certainly did not do so from her own strength, but aid came to her
from the Invisible, and friendly hands sustained and carried her. They
dressed her; she no longer seemed to weigh anything, but was so slight
and frail that her mother was astonished, and laughingly begged her not
to move any more if she did not wish to fly quite away. During all the
time of preparing her toilette, the little fresh house of the Huberts,
so close to the side of the Cathedral, trembled under the great
breath of the Giant, of that which already was humming therein, of the
preparations for the ceremony, the nervous activity of the clergy, and
especially the ringing of the bells, a continuous peal of joy, with
which the old stones were vibrating.

In the upper town, for over an hour there had been a glorious chiming
of bells, as on the greatest holy days. The sun had risen in all its
beauty, and on this limpid April morning a flood of spring rays seemed
living with the sonorous peals which had called together all the
inhabitants of the place. The whole of Beaumont was in a state of
rejoicing on account of the marriage of this little embroiderer, to whom
their hearts were so deeply attached, and they were touched by the fact
of her royal good fortune. This bright sunlight, which penetrated all
the streets, was like the golden rain, the gifts of fairy-tales, rolling
out from her delicate hands. Under this joyful light, the multitude
crowded in masses towards the Cathedral, filling the side-aisles of the
church, and coming out on to the Place du Cloitre. There the great front
of the building rose up, like a huge bouquet of stone, in full blossom,
of the most ornamental Gothic, above the severe Romanesque of the
foundation. In the tower the bells still rung, and the whole facade
seemed to be like a glorification of these nuptials, expressive of the
flight of this poor girl through all the wonders of the miracle, as
it darted up and flamed, with its open lace-work ornamentations, the
lily-like efflorescence of its little columns, its balustrades, and its
arches, the niches of saints surmounted with canopies, the gable ends
hollowed out in trefoil points, adorned with crossettes and flowers,
immense rose-windows opening out in the mystic radiation of their
mullions.

At ten o'clock the organs pealed. Angelique and Felicien were
there, walking with slow steps towards the high altar, between the
closely-pressed ranks of the crowd. A breath of sincere, touching
admiration came from every side. He, deeply moved, passed along proud
and serious, with his blonde beauty of a young god appearing slighter
than ever from his closely-fitting black dress-coat. But she, above all,
struck the hearts of the spectators, so exquisite was she, so divinely
beautiful with a mystic, spiritual charm. Her dress was of white watered
silk, simply covered with rare old Mechlin lace, which was held by
pearls, a whole setting of them designing the ruches of the waist and
the ruffles of the skirt. A veil of old English point was fastened to
her head by a triple crown of pearls, and falling to her feet, quite
covered her. That was all--not a flower, not a jewel, nothing but this
slight vision, this delicate, trembling cloud, which seemed to have
placed her sweet little face between two white wings, like that of the
Virgin of the painted glass window, with her violet eyes and her golden
hair.

Two armchairs, covered with crimson velvet, had been placed for Felicien
and Angelique before the altar; and directly behind them, while the
organs increased their phrases of welcome, Hubert and Hubertine knelt
on the low benches which were destined for the family. The day before an
intense joy had come to them, from the effects of which they had not yet
recovered, and they were incapable of expressing their deep, heartfelt
thanks for their own happiness, which was so closely connected with that
of their daughter. Hubertine, having gone once more to the cemetery,
saddened by the thought of their loneliness, and the little house, which
would seem so empty after the departure of the dearly-beloved child, had
prayed to her mother for a long time; when suddenly she felt within her
an inexplicable relief and gladness, which convinced her that at last
her petition had been granted. From the depths of the earth, after more
than twenty years, the obstinate mother had forgiven them, and sent them
the child of pardon so ardently desired and longed for. Was this the
recompense of their charity towards the poor forlorn little creature
whom they had found one snowy day at the Cathedral entrance, and who
to-day was to wed a prince with all the show and pomp of the greatest
ceremony? They remained on their knees, without praying in formulated
words, enraptured with gratitude, their whole souls overflowing with
an excess of infinite thanksgiving. And on the other side of the nave,
seated on his high, official throne, Monseigneur was also one of the
family group. He seemed filled with the majesty of the God whom he
represented; he was resplendent in the glory of his sacred vestments,
and the expression of his countenance was that of a proud serenity, as
if he were entirely freed from all worldly passions. Above his head,
on the panel of wonderful embroidery, were two angels supporting the
brilliant coat of arms of Hautecoeur.

Then the solemn service began. All the clergy connected with the
cathedral were present to do honour to their Bishop, and priests had
come from the different parishes to assist them. Among the crowd of
white surplices which seemed to overflow the grating, shone the golden
capes of the choristers, and the red robes of the singing-boys. The
almost eternal night of the side-aisles, crushed down by the weight of
the heavy Romanesque chapels, was this morning slightly brightened by
the limpid April sunlight, which struck the painted glass of the windows
so that they seemed to be a burning of gems, a sacred bursting into
blossom of luminous flowers. But the background of the nave particularly
blazed with a swarming of wax-tapers, tapers as innumerable as the stars
of evening in a summer sky. In the centre, the high altar seemed on fire
from them, a true "burning bush," symbolic of the flame that consumes
souls; and there were also candles in large candelabra and in
chandeliers, while before the plighted couple, two enormous lustres with
round branches looked like two suns. About them was a garden of masses
of green plants and of living blossoms, where were in flower great tufts
of white azaleas, of white camellias, and of lilacs. Away to the back
of the apse sparkled bits of gold and silver, half-seen skirts of velvet
and of silk, a distant dazzling of the tabernacle among the sombre
surroundings of green verdure. Above all this burning the nave sprang
out, and the four enormous pillars of the transept mounted upward to
support the arched vaulting, in the trembling movement of these myriads
of little flames, which almost seemed to pale at times in the full
daylight which entered by the high Gothic windows.

Angelique had wished to be married by the good Abbe Cornille, and when
she saw him come forward in his surplice, and with the white stole,
followed by two clerks, she smiled. This was at last the triumphant
realisation of her dream--she was wedding fortune, beauty, and power far
beyond her wildest hopes. The church itself was singing by the organs,
radiant with its wax-tapers, and alive with the crowd of believers and
priests, whom she knew to be around her on every side. Never had the old
building been more brilliant or filled with a more regal pomp, enlarged
as it were in its holy, sacred luxury, by an expansion of happiness.
Angelique smiled again in the full knowledge that death was at her
heart, celebrating its victory over her, in the midst of this
glorious joy. In entering the Cathedral she had glanced at the Chapel
d'Hautecoeur, where slept Laurette and Balbine, the "Happy Dead," who
passed away when very young, in the full happiness of their love.
At this last hour she was indeed perfect. Victorious over herself,
reclaimed, renewed, having no longer any feeling of passion or of pride
at her triumph, resigned at the knowledge that her life was fast leaving
her, in this beautiful Hosanna of her great friend, the blessed old
church. When she fell upon her knees, it was as a most humble, most
submissive servant, entirely free from the stain of original sin; and in
her renunciation she was thoroughly content.

The Abbe Cornille, having mounted to the altar, had just come down
again. In a loud voice he made the exhortation; he cited as an example
the marriage which Jesus had contracted with the Church; he spoke of the
future, of days to come when they would live and govern themselves in
the true faith; of children whom they must bring up as Christians; and
then, once more, in face of this hope, Angelique again smiled sweetly,
while Felicien trembled at the idea of all this happiness, which he
believed to be assured. Then came the consecrated demands of the ritual,
the replies which united them together for their entire existence, the
decisive "Yes"--which she pronounced in a voice filled with emotion from
the depths of her heart, and which he said in a much louder tone, and
with a tender earnestness. The irrevocable step was taken, the clergyman
had placed their right hands together, one clasping the other, as he
repeated the prescribed formula: "I unite you in matrimony, in the name
of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Ghost." But there were
still rings to be blessed, the symbols of inviolable fidelity, and of
the eternity of the union, which is lasting. In the silver basin, above
the rings of gold, the priest shook back and forth the asperges brush,
and making the sign of the Cross over each one, said, "Bless, O Lord,
this ring."

Then he presented them to the young couple, to testify to them that the
Church sanctified their union; that for the husband henceforth his heart
was sealed, and no other woman could ever enter therein; and the husband
was to place the ring upon his wife's finger in order to show her, in
his turn, that henceforth he alone among all men existed for her. This
was the strict union, without end, the sign of her dependence upon him,
which would recall to her constantly the vows she had made; it was also
the promise of a long series of years, to be passed together, as if by
this little circle of gold they were attached to each other even to the
grave.

And while the priest, after the final prayers, exhorted them once more,
Angelique wore always the sweet expression of renunciation; she, the
pure soul, who knew the truth.

Then, as the Abbe Cornille withdrew, accompanied by his clerks, the
organs again burst forth with peals of joy. Monseigneur, motionless
until now, bent towards the young couple with an expression of great
mildness in his eagle-like eyes. Still on their knees, the Huberts
lifted their heads, blinded by their tears of joy. And the enormous
depths of the organs' peals rolled and lost themselves by degrees in a
hail of little sharp notes, which were swept away under the high arches,
like the morning song of the lark. There was a long waving movement,
a half-hushed sound amongst the reverential crowd, who filled to
overflowing even the side-aisles and the nave. The church, decorated
with flowers, glittering with the taper lights, seemed beaming with joy
from the Sacrament.

Then there were nearly two hours more of solemn pomp; the Mass being
sung and the incense being burnt.

The officiating clergyman had appeared, dressed in his white chasuble,
accompanied by the director of the ceremonies, two censer-bearers
carrying the censer and the vase of incense, and two acolytes bearing
the great golden candlesticks, in which were lighted tapers.

The presence of Monseigneur complicated the rites, the salutations, and
the kisses. Every moment there were bowings, or bendings of the knee,
which kept the wings of the surplices in constant motion. In the old
stalls, with their backs of carved wood, the whole chapter of canons
rose; and then again, at other times it was as if a breath from heaven
prostrated at once the clergy, by whom the whole apse was filled. The
officiating priest chanted at the altar. When he had finished, he went
to one side, and took his seat while the choir in its turn for a long
time continued the solemn phrases of the services in the fine, clear
notes of the young choristers, light and delicate as the flutes of
archangels. Among these voices was a very beautiful one, unusually pure
and crystalline, that of a young girl, and most delicious to hear. It
was said to be that of Mademoiselle Claire de Voincourt, who had wished
and obtained permission to sing at this marriage, which had been so
wonderfully secured by a miracle. The organ which accompanied her
appeared to sigh in a softened manner, with the peaceful calm of a soul
at ease and perfectly happy.

There were occasionally short spells of silence. Then the music burst
out again with formidable rollings, while the master of the ceremonies
summoned the acolytes with their chandeliers, and conducted the
censer-bearers to the officiating clergyman, who blessed the incenses in
the vases. Now there was constantly heard the movements of the censer,
with the silvery sound of the little chains as they swung back and forth
in the clear light. There was in the air a bluish, sweet-scented cloud,
as they incensed the Bishop, the clergy, the altar, the Gospel, each
person and each thing in its turn, even the close crowd of people,
making the three movements, to the right, to the left, and in front, to
mark the Cross.

In the meantime Angelique and Felicien, on their knees, listened
devoutly to the Mass, which is significant of the mysterious
consummation of the marriage of Jesus and the Church. There had been
given into the hands of each a lighted candle, symbol of the purity
preserved since their baptism. After the Lord's Prayer they had remained
under the veil, which is a sign of submission, of bashfulness, and of
modesty; and during this time the priest, standing at the right-hand
side of the altar, read the prescribed prayers. They still held the
lighted tapers, which serve also as a sign of remembrance of death, even
in the joy of a happy marriage. And now it was finished, the offering
was made, the officiating clergyman went away, accompanied by the
director of the ceremonies, the incense-bearers, and the acolytes, after
having prayed God to bless the newly-wedded couple, in order that they
might live to see and multiply their children, even to the third and
fourth generation.

At this moment the entire Cathedral seemed living and exulting with
joy. The March Triumphal was being played upon the organs with such
thunder-like peals that they made the old edifice fairly tremble. The
entire crowd of people now rose, quite excited, and straining themselves
to see everything; women even mounted on the chairs, and there were
closely-pressed rows of heads as far back as the dark chapels of the
outer side-aisles. In this vast multitude every face was smiling, every
heart beat with sympathetic joy. In this final adieu the thousands of
tapers appeared to burn still higher, stretching out their flames like
tongues of fire, vacillating under the vaulted arches. A last Hosanna
from the clergy rose up through the flowers and the verdure in the midst
of the luxury of the ornaments and the sacred vessels. But suddenly the
great portal under the organs was opened wide, and the sombre walls of
the church were marked as if by great sheets of daylight. It was the
clear April morning, the living sun of the spring-tide, the Place du
Cloitre, which was now seen with its tidy-looking, white houses; and
there another crowd, still more numerous, awaited the coming of the
bride and bridegroom, with a more impatient eagerness, which already
showed itself by gestures and acclamations. The candles had grown paler,
and the noises of the street were drowned in the music of the organs.

With a slow step, between the double hedge of the worshippers, Angelique
and Felicien turned towards the entrance-door. After the triumphant
carrying out of her dream, she was now about to enter into the reality
of life. This porch of broad sunlight opened into the world of which
as yet she was entirely ignorant. She retarded her steps as she looked
earnestly at the rows of houses, at the tumultuous crowd, at all which
greeted and acclaimed her. Her weakness was so intense that her husband
was obliged to almost carry her. However, she was still able to look
pleased, as she thought of the princely house, filled with jewels and
with queenly toilettes, where the nuptial chamber awaited her, all
decorated with white silk and lace. Almost suffocated, she was obliged
to stop when halfway down the aisle; then she had sufficient strength
to take a few steps more. She glanced at her wedding ring, so recently
placed upon her finger, and smiled at this sign of eternal union. Then,
on the threshold of the great door, at the top of the steps which went
down into the Place du Cloitre, she tottered. Had she not really arrived
at the summit of her happiness? Was not it there that the joy of her
life, being perfected, was to end? With a last effort she raised herself
as much as possible, that she might put her lips upon the lips of
Felicien. And in that kiss of love she passed away for ever.

But her death was without sadness. Monseigneur, with his habitual
movement of pastoral benediction, aided this pure soul to free itself
from the frail body. He had regained his calmness, and had once more
found in the fulfillment of his sacred calling the desired-for peace.

The Huberts, unconscious of what had taken place, were still kneeling,
grateful for the pardon at last granted them, and feeling as if
re-entering into existence. For them, as well as for their beloved
daughter, the dream was accomplished. All the Cathedral and the whole
town were _en fete_. The organs sounded louder than ever; the bells
pealed joyously; the multitude waited to greet the loving couple on the
threshold of the mystic church under the glorious spring sunlight.

It was indeed a beautiful death. Angelique, happy and pure, carried away
suddenly at the moment of the realisation of her fondest dream, taken
into the heavenly life from the dark Romanesque chapels with the
flamboyant, Gothic-vaulted ceiling, from among the gilded decorations
and paintings of ancient times, in the full Paradise of Golden Legends.
What more could she have asked for?

Felicien held in his arms simply a soft and tender form, from which life
had departed; this bridal robe of lace and pearls seemed like the light
wings of a bird, still warm to the touch. For a long time he had well
known that he could claim but a shadow. The exquisite vision that came
from the Invisible had returned to the Invisible.

It was merely a semblance, which effaced itself; the vanishing of an
illusion.

Everything is only a dream.

And so, at the moment of supreme earthly happiness, Angelique had
disappeared in the slight breath of a loving kiss.

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