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THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY 845F84 vie. Em - NOTICE: Return or renew all Library Materials! The Minimum Fee (or each Lost Book is $50.00. The person charging this material is responsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for discipli- nary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN MAR 29 1989 JAM L161 O-1096 Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. A charge is made on all overdue books. U. of I. Library rf." THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE IN AN ENGLISH TRANSLATION EDITED BY JAMES LEWIS MAY AND BERNARD MIALL ~ * * THE BLOOM OF LIFE THE BLOOM OF LIFE BY ANATOLE FRANCE TRANSLATED BY J. LEWIS MAY LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD LTD. NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY MCMXXIII COPYRIGHT, 1923 BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. rUHTED M O. S. A. 1 Q \ PREFACE 1 HIS book is a sequel to Little Pierre, which appeared two years ago, and it brings my friend to the eve of his entry into the big world. These two volumes, whereto may be added My Friend's Book and Pierre Noziere, recount although some names are altered and some circumstances feigned the memories of my early years. How and why I came to employ disguise in pre- senting these faithful reminiscences to the world 1 shall unfold at the end of my narrative, when the child that I once had been had grown so complete a stranger to me that I could find, in his company, distraction from my own. My recollections follow one another haphazard, without order or connec- tion. My memory is capricious. Madame de Cay- lus, when old and weighed down with care, lamented that her mind was not sufficiently free to allow her i to dictate her autobiography. "Well," said her son, =3 ready and willing to take up the pen for her, "we will call the book just 'Memories,' and you need not be bound down to any order of dates or any 1 See Epilogue. f vi PREFACE logical sequence of events." Alas, those who peruse the Memories of Little Pierre will not encounter Racine therein, nor Saint-Cyr, nor the Court of Louis XIV; nor will they discover the good style of Madame de Maintenon's niece; for the French language, so pure in her day, has greatly deterio- rated since. Nevertheless, it is best to speak the speech of our fellows. The following pages are filled with little things portayed with great exacti- tude, and I am assured that, for all their slightness, these trifles, emanating from a true heart, may yet have power to please. ANATOLE FRANCE CONTENTS CHArru AG I PEOPLE Do NOT GIVE AWAY ENOUGH ... i II THE DAUGHTER OF THE TROGLODYTES AND HER MIS- FORTUNES 24 III THE TRUANT 31 IV MADAME LAROQUE 4.9 V MONSIEUR DUBOIS 54 VI BIFURCATION . 63 VII MOURON POUR LES PETTTS OlSEAUX .... 77 VIII ROMANTICISM 96 IX DAYS OF ENCHANTMENT 107 ~ X A BARREN FRIENDSHIP 118 XI JEGLE .... 129 XII MATRICULATION 134 XIII How I BECAME AN ACADEMICIAN 140 XIV THE LAST DAY AT SCHOOL 151 XV CHOOSING A CAREER i$4 XVI MONSIEUR INGRES 170 XVII MONSIEUR DUBOIS AT HOME 173 XVIII IL N'EST si BELLE ROSE iSS XIX MONSIEUR DUBOIS, THE Quiz 193 ' XX THE ETHICS OF WAR. 197 XXI CONCERNING HAPPINESS zoa MY GODFATHER 209 vii viii CONTENTS CHAPTER FAG! . XXIII DIVAGATIONS 219 XXIV PHILIPPINE GOBELIN 226 XXV THE LINE TO BAGHDAD 234 XXVI THE SORROW OP PHILIPPINE GOBELIN .... 243 XXVII MARIE BAGRATION 252 I>OH XXVIII NEVER BE AN AUTHOR ........ 265 XXIX THE THEATRE OF THE MUSES 277 XXX Tis WELL TO BE BORN Poo* . .289 EPILOGUE 291 THE BLOOM OF LIFE THE BLOOM OF LIFE CHAPTER I PEOPLE DO NOT GIVE AWAY ENOUGH HAT day, Fontanet and I, who were both in the Second Form under M. Brard, had, in accordance with custom, left the college on the stroke of half-past four. We were going down the Rue Cherche-Midi fol- lowed by Madame Tourtour, a retainer of Fon- tanet's family, and by Justine, whom my father had nicknamed The Catastrophe, because, wherever she happened to be, she was constantly letting loose the demons of Fire, Earth, and Water, and because whatever she might be holding in her hands would suddenly escape her and fly off in the most unex- pected directions. We were proceeding towards our respective parental domiciles, and our ways lay to- gether for a considerable distance. Fontanet lived at the bottom of the Rue des Saints-Peres. It was a December evening and already dark. The pave- ments were wet and the street lamps glimmered in a brownish haze. The route was enlivened with the 2 THE BLOOM OF LIFE countless, varied noises of the city, which were con- tinually punctuated by shrill shrieks or peals of laughter from Justine, whose flowing woollen scarf, and voluminous apron pockets were always getting entangled with the passers-by. "People do not give away enough," I suddenly remarked to Fontanet. I expressed this thought in a tone of sincere conviction and as the outcome of mature reflection. I deemed that I was drawing forth this jewel of a truth from the depths of my consciousness and, as such, I imparted it to Fontanet. It is, however, more probable that I was repeating a phrase that I had heard or read somewhere or other. I was prone, in those days, to adopt as my own the ideas of other people. I have since corrected that procliv- ity, and I am now aware how much I am beholden to my fellows, to the ancients as well as the moderns, to my own countrymen and to men of other lands and particularly to the Greeks, to whom I owe so much and to whom I would fain owe more, for whatsoever of sound knowledge we possess concerning man and the universe is from them. But this is a digression. Hearing me enunciate this proposition, namely, that people do not give away enough, Fontanet, who was very little for his age, glanced up at me furtively with his sharp fox-like face and darted an inquiring look at me. Fontanet was always ready to examine any idea, that presented itself, in case there was any- PEOPLE DO NOT GIVE ENOUGH 3 thing to be got out of it. In the present instance the advantage was no^ apparent. He therefore awaited further enlightenment. I observed again with increased gravity, "People do not give away enough," and I proceeded to ex- plain : "They are not sufficiently liberal in almsgiving. They are wrong: for every one should give to the poor what he does not want for himself." "It's possible," replied Fontanet, after reflecting a moment or two. This utterance, brief as it was, encouraged me, and I proposed to my beloved condisciple that we two together should form a charitable association. I knew his enterprising character, his quick, inven- tive brain, and I was confident that, between us, we should do big things. After a short discussion we arrived at a working agreement. "How much money have you, to give to the poor?" asked Fontanet. I replied that I had two shillings and a halfpenny to give to the fund, and that if Fontanet would contribute a like sum we could put our charitable work into operation at once. Now it befell thaf Fontanet, who was the only child of a very rich widow, and had a pony all ready saddled given him for a New Year's present, could, for the moment, produce no more than fourpence. But, as he justly pointed out, it was not necessary 4 THE BLOOM OF LIFE that we should both pay in the same amount at the outset. He would give more later on. On thinking it over, I perceived that the great drawback about our undertaking was its very facility. It was only too easy to hand over two and four- pence halfpenny to the first blind beggar we might come across. And, for my part, I was not disposed to consider myself adequately repaid for my gener- osity by a mere look from the blind man's dog sit- ing patiently on its posterior with its bowl round its neck. I wanted a different sort of return for my largesse. When I was twelve I was something of a Pharisee. I crave to be forgiven. I have made amends since only too thoroughly. Having left Fontanet at his door, I hung on to Justine's arm, for I loved her, and, full of philan- thropic projects, I said: "Do you think people give enough you? Tell me." From her silence I perceived that she had not taken in what I said, and I was not surprised. She never really listened to my observations and seldom understood them. With that exception we used to hit it off famously. I proceeded to explain : "Justine," I cried, shaking her fat red arms as hard as I could, to hold her fleeting attention, "do you think that people give enough to the poor? Be- cause I don't." "Beggars always get too much given them," she answered. "They're a lazy lot; but there are the de- PEOPLE DO NOT GIVE ENOUGH 5 serving poor, and we ought to be sorry for them.

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