kissed him but for his fear of compromising his newly acquired dignity.
He tried to calm himself and continued: "Now, my good man, let us come
to the essential point: in which direction is my château?"
"La Roche-Noire? Bless me! monsieur, it’s about a league from
Saint-Amand."
"In that case, as Saint-Amand is only two leagues from here, we are
within a league of my estate."
"Oh! excuse me, monsieur! you’re much more than that, because La
Roche-Noire ain’t in this direction at all. If you came from Clermont,
you didn’t take the best way to get there."
"There! I knew it! We have gone astray! Do you hear, messieurs?"
Robineau turned and looked about for his friends; but they had left the
cottage while he was talking with the peasant.
"Well done! I’ll bet they have gone off to walk now! They have sworn to
kill me with vexation!--But at all events my mind is more at rest about
my estate.--Tell me, my good man, how far are we from La Roche-Noire?"
"Why, three short leagues, monsieur, at most."
"Three leagues more! What road must we take?"
"Why! you must go by crossroads now. First to Chadrat; then you will see
Saint-Amand, and you can inquire there."
"If we get there before dark, we shall be very lucky!--Well! I’ll run
after those gentlemen and then we’ll be off."
Robineau left the cottage and asked some peasants in which direction his
companions had gone; they pointed to the lake and he hastened thither
and soon discovered Edouard sitting on the shore, writing on his
tablets, while Alfred, a little farther on, was dancing with a girl to
the strains of a fife played by a small boy.
"Let’s be off, messieurs, it will soon be dark!" cried Robineau.
But Alfred continued to dance and Edouard to write.
"They have the very devil in them!" muttered Robineau; and he walked up
to Edouard and tapped him on the shoulder as he was reading over the
lines he had written.
"We must start, Monsieur Edouard!"
Edouard looked up at Robineau, and declaimed:
"Que j’aime ce séjour! près de cette onde pure,
Qu’il est doux, sur le soir, d’admirer la nature!"
"I tell you that it will soon be dark."
"Né sous cet humble toit, l’habitant de ces lieux,
D’un œil indifférent, voit ces monts sourcilleux!"
"We have three good leagues to travel through these frowning mountains,
monsieur."
"Mais, pour un cœur sensible à la mélancolie,
Ce site romantique est plein de poésie!
Ces rochers escarpés, ces limpides ruisseaux,
Ces sentiers tortueux, ces flexibles roseaux."
"It is almost eight o’clock, and we shall break our necks on these
winding paths."
"Tout m’agite, m’émeut, et cet endroit sauvage
À mes sens étonnés parle un nouveau langage."[3]
"Oh! if the streams speak to you, they must make some poor joke,
Monsieur Edouard!"
"Well, my dear Jules, what say you to those lines?" said Edouard, as he
rose and put his tablets in his pocket.
"I say that they are charming, admirable; but I say also that, with your
poetry, you will make us pass the night in these mountains, which will
not amuse me in the least."
"Would you like me to repeat them to you?"
"No, I want to push on.--And there is Alfred dancing like one
possessed!--A young man of his rank, a baron, dancing _flicflacs_ with
a buxom Auvergnate!--Alfred! Alfred!"
"One minute! she’s teaching me a _bourrée_," said Alfred, continuing his
dance, and whirling his partner about in his arms.
The dance came to an end at last; Alfred kissed the peasant girl and
joined his companions, saying:
"Messieurs, the Auvergnat dance is not light and ethereal, but I assure
you that it has its merits. So, my dear Robineau, I promise to dance
with all your female vassals."
"Have you finished, messieurs?"
"Yes, we are ready to go with you."
"I am not sorry for that! Let us walk faster, I beg you. This road
should take us to Chadrat, and thence, if God please, we will go to La
Roche-Noire."
The three travellers waved their hands to the people of the village and
resumed their journey, Alfred practising the step of the _bourrée_,
Edouard reading over his verses, and Robineau looking at his watch every
instant.
VIII
THE WHITE HOUSE
They had been walking for a considerable time through the mountains when
they descried a small village in the distance. It was growing dark;
Alfred was obliged to cease dancing, because he was in danger of
stepping into some hole; Edouard could read no longer, and Robineau
could not see the time by his watch. It soon became impossible to see
even the village toward which they were walking, whereupon Robineau
wrung his hands in despair. Alfred laughed and Edouard uttered poetry.
"I foresaw what has happened!" said Robineau with a dismal groan. "Here
it is dark, and we are in the midst of the mountains, in a region of
which we know nothing! At every step we are in danger of falling over
some precipice, or at least of plunging down some horribly steep slope!
Instead of finding my château, we may be going farther and farther away
from it--and that makes you laugh, messieurs! I can’t understand that!"
"Do you want us to weep, Robineau? would that please you? Come, come, O
châtelain of La Roche-Noire, recall your high-born courage. When one is
about to take up one’s abode in an ancient château, one should possess
the heart of a paladin, eh, Edouard?"
Edouard’s only reply was to declaim:
"Tout repose dans l’ombre, et le seul Idamore
Des mues de Bénarès s’échappe avant l’aurore.
Quel est ce bois antique où vos pas m’ont conduit?
Mais j’entrevois un temple, et l’astre de la nuit!"[4]
"You see a temple?" cried Robineau. "Where, in heaven’s name? I can’t
see anything at all."
"Ha! ha! ha! Do you mean to say, Robineau, that you don’t recognize
Casimir Delavigne’s beautiful verses? Don’t you realize that Edouard is
declaiming _Le Paria_?"
"Faith, messieurs, I didn’t suspect that you were going to begin on
tragedy!--Oh! that’s all right! laugh away! you don’t know what you lose
by not reaching my estate before dark. You fancy that we should have
been received by the concierge alone. But you would have seen something
very different!--The bouquets and the dancing and the congratulations
that awaited us--we are missing all those!"
"Why, how do you know they would have celebrated our arrival?" asked
Edouard.
"Ah! I can guess!" cried Alfred; "François didn’t go on before for
nothing.--Oh! I understand: Robineau had ordered an extemporaneous
reception--that his people should surprise him with cries of _Vive
monseigneur!_ and bombs, after the style of popular celebrations."
"No, messieurs, no; I ordered nothing; but I know François’s zeal, he is
certain not to have concealed the fact that I should soon arrive, and it
seems to me quite natural to think that the news would make some
sensation in the neighborhood."
"Well! don’t be disheartened; if we don’t arrive until to-morrow
morning, the fête will be all the better for the delay; they will have
had time to prepare, to commit complimentary speeches to memory, and to
wash their faces, which is never a disadvantage. To be sure, if they
have a display of fireworks for you, it will be in the daylight; but
that’s the fashion in China, and the Seigneur de la Roche-Noire cannot
object to bear some resemblance to a great Mandarin."
"And poor François! how anxious he will be when we don’t appear! You
forget that, messieurs."
"Oh! my dear Robineau, it isn’t on François’s account that you are so
annoyed!--But, after all, there is some hope left, we are sure to arrive
somewhere!"
"Yes! somewhere! in some excavation into which we shall tumble without a
branch to hold on to! You can’t see your hand before your face."
"It’s becoming more romantic; you don’t feel the beauty of our
situation--travelling at night among the mountains."
"It is certain that I don’t see the beautiful side of it; if we only had
weapons--but you left your pistols in my post-chaise!"
"We need only lances, to have the aspect of genuine knights-errant."
"We haven’t even a stick, which would be much better!--Monsieur Edouard!
where on earth are you? Don’t go so fast, or you’ll lose us! that would
be the last straw--to be separated! I can’t walk fast when I don’t see
where I am going.--Hello! Monsieur Edouard!"
Edouard halted and exclaimed in a sepulchral tone:
"Où suis-je? Quelle nuit
Couvre d’un voile affreux la clarte qui nous luit?
Ces murs sont teints de sang! je vois les Euménides
Secouer leurs flambeaux vengeurs des parricides!
Le tonnerre en éclats semble fondre sur moi,
L’enfer s’ouvre!"[5]
"Monsieur Edouard! don’t joke like that, I beg! What do you see?"
As he spoke, Robineau overtook Edouard and passed his arm through his.
"I don’t see anything at all, I am waiting for you," replied Edouard
calmly.
"Fear must have deprived you of memory, Robineau, since you don’t
remember what you have heard so often at the Français."
"Fear?--You are unique, messieurs, to accuse a man of fear because he
doesn’t care to pass the night out of doors! My constitution is not of
iron, and I am sure that it would do me much harm!"
"I advise you to complain; you’re as plump as a partridge!"
"That proves nothing; one may be stout and still be delicate.--Come, let
us all three go arm-in-arm; I will walk in the middle and guide you."
"You are trembling, Robineau."
"Because I am cold."
"Cold, in the beginning of August?"
"In the mountains there is frost all the year."
"Ha! ha! that is too absurd!"
"Yes, it is absurd, in very truth! Why did I trust to you to take me to
my château?"
"Monsieur Jules, Saint-Grégoire said: ‘When any great calamity happens
to you, search carefully and you will always find that it is in some
measure your own fault.’"
"Saint-Grégoire was quite right!--Oh! mon Dieu! I thought I heard a roar
quite close to us!"
"Bah! a bleat, you mean! We must be approaching a farm."
"Or a cavern!"
"Ah! victory, messieurs! I see a light--a very small one, to be sure,
but still it’s a light."
"Really? I can’t see anything myself."
"Look where I am pointing."
"I can’t even see your finger. Ah, yes! I see it; let us go toward it."
"Suppose we should find ourselves at the ogre’s house?"
"As you are the smallest, Robineau, you shall be Hop-o’-my-Thumb, and
steal the seven-leagued boots."
Robineau, who kept his eyes fixed on the light, soon exclaimed:
"Two, three, four, ten lights! we are saved! It’s a village; it’s
Cha--Cha--Mon Dieu! what do they call it?"
"Chadrat."
"That’s it. Forward."
Five minutes later the three travellers found themselves among buildings
in which lights were shining; but they were simply wretched hovels built
of earth and straw, compared with which the humble cottages of Ayda
might have passed for châteaux. Robineau stopped and gazed at his
companions in dismay, saying in an undertone:
"Mon Dieu! where are we?"
"In a village, as you see."
"A pretty village, on my word! One would say that we had fallen among
savages."
"The place certainly does not seem prosperous; but the inhabitants may
be very worthy folk."
"They may be something else too--people who live in mole-hills like
these!"
"Let us knock and call; they can’t be asleep yet as their lights aren’t
out."
"One moment, messieurs," said Robineau, running after Alfred, who was
walking toward the largest of the huts. "One moment--let us consult
first; is it quite prudent to place ourselves in the power of these
people in this way?"
"Nonsense, Robineau; let us alone!"
"At least, messieurs, conceal your watch chains, I entreat you, and
don’t say that you have money about you; opportunity makes the thief."
Alfred knocked at a low, ill-jointed door, above which was a round hole
that answered the purpose of a window. It was some time before there was
any reply; at last a hoarse, but loud voice was heard, asking with a
sort of drawl:
"Well! who’s there?"
"Say nobody," cried Robineau, whom the tone of the voice did not
reassure.
"Three travellers who have gone astray in the mountains," said Alfred.
"Three beggars who have had no supper," added Robineau.
"If you don’t keep quiet I’ll push you to the bottom of this hill," said
Alfred testily.
As there was no reply from the hovel, Edouard stepped forward and said:
"Admit us, good people; we will pay you handsomely for your trouble and
for the guide you give us."
"That is to say, we will pray for you," added Robineau, "for we have
forgotten to bring our purses."
The door opened at last, and a man clad in a goatskin jacket, like the
Swiss shepherds, came out and gazed stupidly at the three young men.
"Oh! mon Dieu! what in heaven’s name is that?" exclaimed Robineau,
stepping behind his companions; "it’s either an orang-outang or a
counterfeiter!"
The peasant, after contemplating the young men in silence, pointed to
the doorway of his hovel, saying:
"Will you come into our house, messieurs?"
"With pleasure," said Alfred; and he walked in, followed by Edouard;
whereupon Robineau, who had no desire to be left alone, was obliged
also to enter the shepherd’s abode.
The interior was larger than one would have supposed from the outside.
The roughly built structure was cone-shaped, and received light from
above. The ground floor was divided into two parts; but the partition,
made of rough planks not fastened together, seemed intended rather to
support the walls and prevent their falling in upon the inmates, than to
keep them apart.
There was a fire in one corner of the first room; a huge earthenware
kettle was set upon some crackling twigs; a woman of some forty years,
seated, or rather crouching, in front of the fire, was stirring the
contents of the kettle with a wooden spoon, and by her side knelt three
tall, sturdy boys, gazing at what was on the fire. Farther on, an old
man, still hale and hearty, sat upon a bunch of straw, patting an old
he-goat that lay on the floor beside him. This picture was lighted but
dimly by a lamp standing on a small wooden table, because the smoke from
the fire formed dense clouds which emerged very slowly through the vent
in the roof.
The three travellers, having entered the hovel, stopped to examine the
curious scene before their eyes. The occupants scrutinized them in their
turn, but with a sort of stupid amazement, and without moving.
"This is very original!" said Alfred to his friends.
"It is very ugly!" said Robineau.
"It is a most picturesque interior, strongly tinged with local color,"
said Edouard.
"I don’t know whether it has any color," muttered Robineau, "but this
same picturesque interior smells horribly!"
"Where are we, please, good people?" inquired Alfred.
"At Chadrat," the old man replied.
"At Chadrat!" cried Robineau; "what! this is Chadrat! and they dare to
call this a village! I wouldn’t take it to stable my horses in."
Apparently paying no attention to Robineau, the shepherd, who had
entered with the travellers, made an imperative sign to the boys
kneeling by the fire; whereupon they decided, although with regret, to
rise, and brought forward some small wooden benches for the travellers.
"Sit down, messieurs, and rest yourselves," said the Auvergnat.
Alfred and Edouard seated themselves, while Robineau gazed in alarm at
the three tall youths who had risen, and glanced out of the corner of
his eye toward the doorway of the hovel. But his companions paid no heed
to the signs he made them, so he decided at last to take a seat.
"We were anxious to arrive to-night at a château called La Roche-Noire,"
said Alfred; "do you know it?"
The peasants looked at one another and shook their heads.
"Parbleu! how does he suppose that these clowns, these idiots should
know my château?" said Robineau to himself.
"But you know the town of Saint-Amand?" said Edouard.
"Saint-Amand-Talende--oh, yes, monsieur!"
"Are we far from it?"
"Not very--still, it’s some distance."
"Look you, my good man--these three tall fellows are your sons, I’ll
wager."
The peasant made an affirmative movement with his head.
"Well! as they must know these mountains by heart, do us the favor to
give us one of them for a guide--all three, if they prefer; we will pay
them well."
"Yes," said Robineau, "we’ll pay them at the town; our money is there."
The peasants looked at one another for some time without speaking; then
the father asked his sons:
"Do you want to go, young ’uns?"
The boys seemed to hesitate; at last the oldest one said in an
undertone:
"We should have to pass the White House!"
"The White House!" said Alfred, "what’s that? Is it an inn?"
The peasants shook their heads.
"Is it a farm-house, or a wine-shop?" asked Edouard.
The peasants still said nothing, and Robineau muttered between his
teeth:
"These clowns are terribly stupid!"
At last the old man drew nearer to the travellers and said in a low
voice:
"The White House is a place that I don’t much like in the daytime, and
still less at night! It’s a dangerous place! All the accidents happen
near there! in fact, it’s a bewitched place!"
"Ha! ha! Do you mean to say, good people, that you believe in witches?"
exclaimed Alfred; while the peasants, amazed that anyone should dare to
laugh while speaking of the White House, recoiled from the travellers
and gazed at them with mingled surprise and terror.
Robineau, having discovered that the people of whom he had been afraid
were themselves very timid, sprang suddenly to his feet, and exclaimed,
pacing the floor with a firm tread:
"What! are you so stupid as all that, you unfortunate peasants? You
believe in stories of magic and devils? such stout fellows as you, of
five feet six! It makes me feel sorry for you; it--oh!"
In the heat of his harangue Robineau had barely escaped overturning the
kettle, and he had just discovered that he was walking on burning
brands.
"Messieurs," said Edouard, "it does not seem very surprising to me that
the people of a small village among the mountains, far from frequented
roads, who seem to retain the manners and customs of primitive times,
should place faith in errors of which we ourselves have not been cured
so very long--indeed, are we fully cured even now? In Paris, the centre
of the enlightenment and civilization of our era, Mademoiselle Le
Normand made a fortune, and fortune-tellers and necromancers are
patronized by the very highest classes of society. Men have a decided
penchant for error; the Romans had _haruspices_ and sibyls; the Greeks,
oracles and pythonesses; the Gauls, Druids; the Egyptians, their
mysteries of Isis, Eleusis, Apis and Anubis; and the Jewish prophets
were far superior to all the magicians of the Middle Ages!--And lastly,
messieurs, I find that some great men, men of vast intellect, have been
superstitious; and, without believing as Plato did in the existence of
sorcerers, I see nothing extraordinary in the fact that the people of a
poor hamlet have a weakness toward which men of culture show so much
inclination."
"My dear Edouard, I don’t attribute their ignorance as a crime to these
poor people; I shall not undertake to cure them of their superstition,
because I think that that might be too long a task; but I will call your
attention to the fact that we are not now interested in knowing whether
all nations have entertained a belief in magic, but simply whether these
young men, who seem to be from fourteen to sixteen years of age, will
consent to act as our guides, so that we may reach the town nearby,
to-night."
"Yes, that’s it," said Robineau; "it’s no time for exhibiting
knowledge--we must come to the point.--Tell us, young Auvergnats, will
you take us to Saint-Amand? I am the Seigneur de la Roche-Noire, and I
will reward you handsomely."
But neither the entreaties nor the promises of Robineau availed to
induce anyone of the inhabitants of the hovel to undertake the task of
guiding the travellers; the dread aroused by the White House, which it
was necessary to pass, was stronger than their desire to oblige.
"Faith, messieurs," said Alfred, "as these mountaineers have decided not
to guide us before morning, we have but one course to pursue, and that
is to pass the night here."
"Let us pass the night here," said Edouard.
"J’en ai l’heureuse promesse,
Vers le milieu de la nuit,
L’amour m’ouvrira sans bruit
L’alcôve de ma maîtresse!"[6]
"Oh, yes!" said Robineau; "if you find an alcove here, you’ll be very
clever! For my part, messieurs, it seems to me that before making up our
minds to sleep in this stifling mouse-trap--to say nothing of the fact
that it doesn’t smell like the rose--we should apply to some others of
the villagers; perhaps they are not all such cowards as these people!"
"Oh! they are all quite as superstitious, my dear fellow!--As you see,
this White House is to them what the White Lady is to the people of
Glendearg in Sir Walter Scott’s _Monastery_."
"This is no question of novels--we are not in Scotland; I tell you that
I don’t propose to sleep here myself, and I’ll show you that I know how
to get out of the fix we are in."
As he spoke, Robineau strode to the door of the hovel, opened it, and
thrust his head out; but, terrified by the dense darkness which reigned
in the mountains, there being no moon, and unable to discover a single
light in the neighboring houses, he quickly drew in his head, closed the
door, and returned crestfallen to his friends, saying:
"Well, if that suits you, let us sleep here; I am willing."
Alfred asked the head of the family if it would disturb him to allow
them to pass the night under his roof. Far from that, the Auvergnat, his
wife, his father and his children united in assuring the young men that
the house was at their service. Our travellers concluded that, although
the people of Chadrat might be dull-witted and stupid, they were humane,
kindly and hospitable; virtues which we do not always find among
refined, clever and well-educated people.
As soon as it was decided that our travellers were to pass the night in
the abode of the Auvergnats, they thought of nothing but making
themselves comfortable and acting as if they belonged to the family.
Alfred and Edouard gayly made the best of it; they laughed and sang and
chatted with the peasants; Robineau alone continued to scowl, and viewed
everything with a pessimistic eye.
"What is your name, my good man?" Alfred asked the shepherd.
"My name is Claude, monsieur, and my wife’s name is Claudine."
"And I’ll bet that the children are called Claudinet," muttered Robineau
with a shrug.
"What do you do?"
"I am a shepherd."
"And your children?"
"They work in the fields; we have a small field close by."
"And your father?"
"Oh! he don’t do anything now, he’s taking his rest.--As to our wife,
she makes the soup and brings it to us in the fields."
"Are you satisfied with your lot?"
"What do you mean, monsieur?"
"I mean to ask if you are happy."
"Pardi! what more would we want? We have enough to eat and clothes to
wear, and a good house to live in; ain’t that enough?"
"My friend," said Edouard to Alfred, "this is man in his primitive
state, without ambition, without desires; nature has given him none but
pure and simple tastes, he has no vision of happiness outside of the
place where he was born, and his desires never pass the summits of the
mountains that surround his dwelling place. I maintain that this is such
a man as Diogenes wished to find, but sought in vain among a people
addicted to all sorts of pleasures, over-refined in its tastes and
enslaved by its passions."
"If this is Diogenes’s man," said Robineau, tilting his bench, "he’s a
clean, gentlemanlike person!"
"What is there in that kettle? Your supper, I presume?" said Alfred.
"Yes, monsieur, the soup."
"Well, my friends, we will eat it with you. We had our supper at Ayda;
but no matter, we will sup again, eh, Edouard?"
"Yes, to be sure; we will keep our hosts company. And then there is an
indefinable attraction about such a meal in my eyes."
"They’re not easily disgusted!" thought Robineau.
The soup being ready, the huge kettle was placed in the centre of the
company; as the table was too small for the whole party to sit around
it, the mountaineers considered it the simplest way to sit on the
ground. Alfred and Edouard did the same, and Robineau alone remained on
his bench.
"What, messieurs," he said to his friends, "you mean to sit on the
floor?"
"Why not?" said Alfred; "we must do as these good people do."
"It’s the most natural seat," said Edouard.
"You look like savages!"