Golden Lion of Granpere

Anthony Trollope

Description

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. Up among the Vosges mountains in Lorraine, but just outside the old half-German province of Alsace, about thirty miles distant from the new and thoroughly French baths of Plombieres, there lies the village of Granpere. Whatever may be said or thought here in England of the late imperial rule in France, it must at any rate be admitted that good roads were made under the Empire. Alsace, which twenty years ago seems to have been somewhat behindhand in this respect, received her full share of Napoleon's attention, and Granpere is now placed on an excellent road which runs from the town of Remiremont on one line of railway, to Colmar on another. The inhabitants of the Alsatian Ballon hills and the open valleys among them seem to think that the civilisation of great cities has been brought near enough to them, as there is already a diligence running daily from Granpere to Remiremont; - and at Remiremont you are on the railway, and, of course, in the middle of everything.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819918318
• Langue: English

Extrait

CHAPTER I.
Up among the Vosges mountains in Lorraine, but justoutside the old half-German province of Alsace, about thirty milesdistant from the new and thoroughly French baths of Plombieres,there lies the village of Granpere. Whatever may be said or thoughthere in England of the late imperial rule in France, it must at anyrate be admitted that good roads were made under the Empire.Alsace, which twenty years ago seems to have been somewhatbehindhand in this respect, received her full share of Napoleon'sattention, and Granpere is now placed on an excellent road whichruns from the town of Remiremont on one line of railway, to Colmaron another. The inhabitants of the Alsatian Ballon hills and theopen valleys among them seem to think that the civilisation ofgreat cities has been brought near enough to them, as there isalready a diligence running daily from Granpere to Remiremont; -and at Remiremont you are on the railway, and, of course, in themiddle of everything.
And indeed an observant traveller will be led tothink that a great deal of what may most truly be calledcivilisation has found its way in among the Ballons, whether ittravelled thither by the new- fangled railways and imperial routes,or found its passage along the valley streams before imperialfavours had been showered upon the district. We are told that whenPastor Oberlin was appointed to his cure as Protestant clergyman inthe Ban de la Roche a little more than one hundred years ago, -that was, in 1767, - this region was densely dark and far behind inthe world's running as regards all progress. The people wereignorant, poor, half-starved, almost savage, destitute ofcommunication, and unable to produce from their own soil enoughfood for their own sustenance. Of manufacturing enterprise theyunderstood nothing, and were only just far enough advanced inknowledge for the Protestants to hate the Catholics, and theCatholics to hate the Protestants. Then came that wonderfulclergyman, Pastor Oberlin, - he was indeed a wonderful clergyman, -and made a great change. Since that there have been the twoempires, 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 therural Alsatians are a happy, prosperous people, with the burden ontheir shoulders of but few paupers, and fewer gentlemen, -apparently a contented people, not ambitious, given but little topolitics. Protestants and Catholics mingled without hatred orfanaticism, educated though not learned, industrious though notenergetic, quiet and peaceful, making linen and cheese, growingpotatoes, importing corn, coming into the world, marrying,begetting children, and dying in the wholesome homespun fashionwhich is so sweet to us in that mood of philosophy which teaches usto love the country and to despise the town. Whether it be betterfor a people to achieve an even level of prosperity, which isshared by all, but which makes none eminent, or to encounter thoserough, ambitious, competitive strengths which produce both palacesand poor-houses, shall not be matter of argument here; but theteller of this story is disposed to think that the chancetraveller, as long as he tarries at Granpere, will insensibly andperhaps unconsciously become an advocate of the former doctrine; hewill be struck by the comfort which he sees around him, and for awhile will dispense with wealth, luxury, scholarships, and fashion.Whether the inhabitants of these hills and valleys will advance tofarther progress now that they are again to become German, isanother question, which the writer will not attempt to answerhere.
Granpere in itself is a very pleasing village.Though the amount of population and number of houses do not sufficeto make it more than a village, it covers so large a space ofground as almost to give it a claim to town honours. It is perhapsa full mile in length; and though it has but one street, there arebuildings standing here and there, back from the line, which makeit seem to stretch beyond the narrow confines of a singlethoroughfare. In most French villages some of the houses are highand spacious, but here they seem almost all to be so. And many ofthem have been constructed after that independent fashion whichalways gives to a house in a street a character and importance ofits own. They do not stand in a simple line, each supported by thestrength of its neighbour, but occupy their own ground, facing thisway or that as each may please, presenting here a corner to themain street, and there an end. There are little gardens, and bigstables, and commodious barns; and periodical paint with annualwhitewash is not wanting. The unstinted slates shine copiouslyunder the sun, and over almost every other door there is a largelettered board which indicates that the resident within is a dealerin the linen which is produced throughout the country. All thesethings together give to Granpere an air of prosperity and comfortwhich is not at all checked by the fact that there is in the placeno mansion which we Englishmen would call the gentleman's house,nothing approaching to the ascendancy of a parish squire, nobaron's castle, no manorial hall, - not even a chateau toovershadow the modest roofs of the dealers in the linen of theVosges.
And the scenery round Granpere is very pleasant,though the neighbouring hills never rise to the magnificence ofmountains or produce that grandeur which tourists desire when theytravel in search of the beauties of Nature. It is a spot to love ifyou know it well, rather than to visit with hopes raised high, andto leave with vivid impressions. There is water in abundance; apretty lake lying at the feet of sloping hills, rivulets runningdown from the high upper lands and turning many a modest wheel intheir course, a waterfall or two here and there, and a so-calledmountain summit within an easy distance, from whence the sun may beseen to rise among the Swiss mountains; - and distant perhaps threemiles from the village the main river which runs down the valleymakes for itself a wild ravine, just where the bridge on the newroad to Munster crosses the water, and helps to excuse the peopleof Granpere for claiming for themselves a great object of naturalattraction. The bridge and the river and the ravine are verypretty, and perhaps justify all that the villagers say of them whenthey sing to travellers the praises of their country.
Whether it be the sale of linen that has producedthe large inn at Granpere, or the delicious air of the place, orthe ravine and the bridge, matters little to our story; but thefact of the inn matters very much. There it is, - a roomy,commodious building, not easily intelligible to a stranger, withits widely distributed parts, standing like an inverted V, with itsopen side towards the main road. On the ground-floor on one sideare the large stables and coach-house, with a billiard-room andcafe over them, and a long balcony which runs round the building;and on the other side there are kitchens and drinking-rooms, andover these the chamber for meals and the bedrooms. All large, airy,and clean, though, perhaps, not excellently well finished in theirconstruction, and furnished with but little pretence to Frenchluxury. And behind the inn there are gardens, by no means trim, anda dusty summer-house, which serves, however, for the smoking of acigar; and there is generally space and plenty and goodwill. Eitherthe linen, or the air, or the ravine, or, as is more probable, thethree combined, have produced a business, so that the landlord ofthe Lion d'Or at Granpere is a thriving man.
The reader shall at once be introduced to thelandlord, and informed at the same time that, in so far as he maybe interested in this story, he will have to take up his abode atthe Lion d'Or till it be concluded; not as a guest staying looselyat his inn, but as one who is concerned with all the innermostaffairs of the household. He will not simply eat his plate of soup,and drink his glass of wine, and pass on, knowing and caring morefor the servant than for the servant's master, but he must contenthimself to sit at the landlord's table, to converse very frequentlywith the landlord's wife, to become very intimate with thelandlord's son - whether on loving or on unloving terms shall beleft entirely to himself - and to throw himself, with the sympathyof old friendship, into all the troubles and all the joys of thelandlord's niece. If the reader be one who cannot take such ajourney, and pass a month or two without the society of personswhom he would define as ladies and gentlemen, he had better bewarned at once, and move on, not setting foot within the Lion d'Orat Granpere.
Michel Voss, the landlord, in person was at thistime a tall, stout, active, and very handsome man, about fiftyyears of age. As his son was already twenty-five - and was known tobe so throughout the commune - people were sure that Michel Vosswas fifty or thereabouts; but there was very little in hisappearance to indicate so many years. He was fat and burly to besure; but then he was not fat to lethargy, or burly with any signof slowness. There was still the spring of youth in his footstep,and when there was some weight to be lifted, some heavy timber tobe thrust here or there, some huge lumbering vehicle to be hoistedin or out, there was no arm about the place so strong as that ofthe master. His short, dark, curly hair - that was always keptclipped round his head - was beginning to show a tinge of gray, butthe huge moustache on his upper lip was still of a thorough brown,as was also the small morsel of beard which he wore upon his chin.He had bright sharp brown eyes, a nose slightly beaked, and a largemouth. He was on the whole a man of good temper, just withal, andone who loved those who belonged to him; but he chose to be masterin his own house, and was apt to think t