L'ATELIER DE MARIE•CLAIRE.*
TEN years have passed since the literary world was startled and in some measure puzzled by the appearance of Madame Marguerite Audoux's pastoral novel, Marie-Claire, the picture of a young girl brought up in an orphanage and sent out into the world as a shepherdess on a farm. The book had an immense emcees, partly because of its real literary distinction, simplicity, fresh. ness, and charm ; partly became of the outward circumstances of its author, the humble dressmaker, threatened with failure of sight, who turned to writing as a refuge and proved herself an artist of genius.
Some time ago, a critic and admirer of Marie-Claire expressed
the hope that Madame Audoux would not remain "the woman of one book," and suggested that the story of a poor dress- maker's life in Paris would be just as moving as that of a little farm servant in country fields. Possibly the suggestion may have been made before the war, which for four years, even more in France than in England, kept such quiet work, whatever its beauty, in silence and darkness. But now we welcome the new novel, L'Atelier de Marie-Claire, which might have been written in response to that very suggestion, and which possesses all the qualities of its forerunner, truth, serenity, freshness, keen observation, united with a deeper understanding of human nature and an even wider sympathy.
Here is the same little Marie-Claire, with all her innocent wisdom and natural dignity. We find her among other young girls and women employed by a dressmaking firm in the Avenue du Maine ; a merry crew they are, each with her own history, ordinary, happy, pathetic, tragic, as the case may be, very human and plaimspokon a la Rousseau each a character absolutely known and made to live with touches so delicate as to seem unconscious ; all, or nearly all, influenced by the unworldly charm and generosity of the patron and patronw, AL and Mine. Dalignao. These two, the fragile, industrious man with his southern accent and his clever, capable, hopelessly soft. hearted wife, are all the more convincing bemuse in so many ways they contrast so strongly with the type of French trades- people commonly familiar to the world. Mine. Doublis the patron's slater, with her keen eye for every chance of making money, is a much more ordinary figure. Very striking, too, is the loyalty inspired by Mine. Davao in the members of her atelier. The darker the days that come on her and her husband, the more bravely these rally round them. Very dark are the days, for with all her brilliant talent as a dressmaker and designer of new fashions, she is not a woman of business. Her customers' bills are seldom paid. They are greedy and inconsiderate. She and her girls sit up through long nights to finish work that is not really needed ; and so the touching story advances towards its inevitable end.
With the life of the atelier as a background we have Marie. Clairein her lodging, solitary but for one little neighbour, Milo. Herminle, seventy years old and earning her scanty living by needlework. Tiny, toothless, courageous and gay, sharp of tongue, full of romantic recollections of her province, Burgundy, Hermlnie is a wonderful study. A few delightful pogo take her and Marie-Claire on an exoursion into that old countoY, and one moonlit scene especially carries us back to the landscape' painting of the former book. Mme. Audoux owes us a third volume, for she leaves Marie- Claire on the eve of marrying the selfish nephew of her beloved patronne. No admirer of the gentle and spirited girl can tarcelY accept this climax.
Previous page
