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SIMONE SIMON A Novel Tyy LION FEUCHTWANGER Translated by G. A. Hermann New York THE VIKING PRESS 1944 Contents Part One READINESS i. The Refugees 3 ii. The Loading Yard 19 in. Villa Monrepos 30 iv. The Books, 46 v. The Commission 55 Part Two ACTION i. The Incident at the Bridge 77 n. Monsieur le Marquis 88 in. Nutmeg in the Cream Gravy 96 iv. The Aviator 103 v. The Action no vi. A Night of Expectation 126 vii. The First Consequences 133 Part Three REALIZATION i. Uncle Prospers Face 145 n. The Bitter Waiting 152 m. The Call of Liberty 161 vi Contents iv. The Great Betrayal 172 v. The Vile Reward 186 vi. The Trapper 199 vii. The Recantation 210 viii. The Imperishable 215 ix. The Grey House 221 I have come to comfort the poor and humble Qe suis venue four la consolation des petites gens. JEANNE DARC PART ONE READINESS I TKe Refugees IMONE had only a few more steps then the narrow path would make a sudden turn and reveal the highway. With heart beating in her throat, she expectantly took these few steps. Yesterday she had first caught sight of the procession of refugees on the arterial highway. By today it would perhaps have reached the narrow side road. For three weeks there had been talk of the refugees. In the be ginning there were only the Dutch and Belgians, but now the people from the north of France also fled southward before the advancing enemy more and more came, and for the past week the whole of Burgundy had been flooded. Yesterday, when Si mone had gone to town to do her daily household shopping, she had hardly been able to pass through the crowds, and today she had even left her bicycle at home. When Simone Planchard, with her lively imagination, had first heard about refugees, she pictured them as hurrying and fright ened people, always hurrying and always frightened. What she had seen in these, last few days was less complicated but more dreadful it held her fast and kept stirring her up there was no sleep for her at night. As often as she went to the city she had a fear of this pitiful display, but with every day she longed to see it with a sorrowful and turbulent eagerness. Now she reached the bend and could see a stretch of the road. It was a narrow, neglected road, almost always white and lonely, leading nowhere, leading only to the mountain village, Noiret, with its six houses. But today it was as she had feared there were people. The huge stream had spattered drops even to this point. Simone stood still and looked round. A tall, lanky fifteen year-old, she had on her modest light green striped dress which 3 4 Simone she always wore for her shopping a large, closed wicker basket was pressed against her body her slender arms and naked legs protruded from the dress. Her bony, tanned face framed with dark blond hair was tense her dark, deep-set eyes under a low but broad and well-shaped forehead eagerly absorbed all that moved before her in the dust. It was the familiar sight people and vehicles dragging along hopelessly, carriages foolishly piled high with household goods, mattresses on top of automobiles to protect against machine-gunning from low-flying enemy planes, exhausted human beings and animals crawling along without a goal. There stood Simone Planchard at the bend of the road, her narrow, well-formed lips tightly pressed, gazing. She could scarcely be called beautiful, but her intelligent, thoughtful, some what stubborn face with its strong chin and its prominent Bur gundian nose was good to look at. For a full minute, and for another, she stood in the dust and heat of the early afternoon, peering at the fugitives. But then she tore herself away. She had much to do Madame had given her many errands. To be sure, the Villa Monrepos, the home of the Planchard family, was well stocked, but it seemed certain that in another or two or three days it would be impossible to make further purchases...
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