"Yes, this is very large.--But aren’t we going to inspect the house?"
"In a moment. I am waiting for my people, I have some orders to give
them; then we will inspect the château from cellar to eaves."
The concierge and the gardener made their appearance; they were both
drunk, but the concierge especially found it difficult to stand erect,
because he was already tipsy when his master ordered him to treat the
peasants, and he had felt bound to keep them company.
"Our master sent for us," said the gardener, speaking slowly in order
not to confuse his words; while the concierge leaned against a venerable
easy-chair, in order not to fall.
"Ah! here is my household!" said Robineau.
"It doesn’t seem very firm on its legs," said Alfred.
"What position do you fill here?" Robineau asked the gardener.
"What position, bourgeois? do you mean what do I do?"
"Exactly."
"I am Vincent, the gardener of the château--by your leave. And there’s
work enough, God knows! You wait till you see the garden! You wouldn’t
know where you were!"
"Is the garden large?"
"I should say so! It’s so big that I’ve only been taking care of half of
it for a long while, because, you see, I can’t do everything."
"Why do you allow the courtyard to get all choked up with weeds, master
gardener?" inquired Alfred.
"Oh! I can’t do everything, monsieur; besides, the courtyard ain’t the
garden."
"He is right," said Robineau; "he should confine himself to his
duties.--And you, behind him--what do you do on my property? Stand
forward."
The concierge, forced to abandon the chair that supported him, staggered
forward, and pulling out a red handkerchief filled with snuff to wipe
his inflamed face, began by hiccoughing, then he commenced to laugh, and
said:
"I’m the man--I’m the man as keeps you, master.--You see before you a
buck who eats and drinks enough for six."
"You must not have ten servants like him, Robineau,--they’d ruin you,"
said Alfred.
"Ah! you are my concierge, are you, my man?"
"Yes, master--monseigneur, I mean; for your valet told us it amused you
to be called monseigneur--and it don’t make any difference to me, you
know; I’ll call you whatever you say--that’s me!"
"I believe this knave is drunk!" said Robineau. "What is your name,
concierge?"
"My name’s Cunette, master, saving your presence."
"You have been drinking a good deal, Monsieur Cunette, it seems to me!"
"Always to your health, my venerable lord and master--and all ready to
begin again when you say the word."
"By the way, who prepares dinner here? I don’t see any cook anywhere."
"I can’t do everything," muttered the gardener; "the kitchen ain’t in
the garden."
"Oh! it’s all the same to me," stammered the concierge, clutching the
easy-chair once more; "if you’d like to have me, master, I’ll go into
the kitchen and I’ll fix you up something as if it was for myself!"
"My dear fellow," said Alfred to Robineau, "I trust that you will send
Messieurs Vincent and Cunette to bed, and that they are not to do your
cooking. If they are, I shall not eat a mouthful."
"This is very embarrassing!" said Robineau, running to the bell-cord and
pulling it violently. François answered the summons, carrying a broom
and a feather duster.
"What are you doing, François?"
"I am sweeping and cleaning the dining-room, monsieur. You should have
seen the dust and cobwebs there! Bless my soul! the spiders I have
killed!"
"And who is attending to the dinner?"
François looked at Vincent, who looked at Cunette, who looked at
nothing, because he could no longer see.
"Well, knaves! do you mean to answer?" cried Robineau angrily. "Do you
intend to give me spiders for dinner?"
"My dear fellow," said Alfred, "you chose to come here to occupy your
château without warning, without securing a staff of servants and having
whatever was necessary done in this old house; so you must expect not to
find the service well regulated at the outset.--However, as we must
dine, and as you have invited Monsieur Férulus, who certainly will not
fail to come, we must try to find a cook in the vicinity, which can
hardly be impossible.--Come, Monsieur Vincent, tell us--at what house
hereabout do they live best?"
"Oh! bless me, monsieur, they live pretty well, everywhere; but best of
all at Monsieur Cheval, the veterinary’s. He has a daughter, you see,
who’s been in service at Clermont, at a rich merchant’s house."
"Well! that’s what we want to know.--François, go at once to Monsieur
Cheval’s, and ask his daughter to be good enough to come to the château
to do the cooking; she won’t refuse. Pick up provisions wherever you go;
send to Talende for them, as it’s only a league and a half; lastly,
arrange matters so that we shall not be obliged to go to bed without
candles and without sheets."
François went to carry out Alfred’s orders, and Robineau said to the
gardener and the concierge:
"Return to your work, and never come before me again in such a
condition."
"We’ll go and drink your health again, monseigneur," said Cunette.
"No, you have drunk quite enough."
"Never mind, bourgeois; when we’re celebrating your arrival, we won’t
hold back and look at the others; and everybody coming here to-night to
dance, too!"
"I don’t want them to come to dance to-night; let them come some other
time."
"But you invited all the good people who gave you such a fine concert,"
said Alfred, "and you must receive them. You have chosen to play the
seigneur, so you must submit to the consequences.--Now let us inspect
the château."
"I am going to guide my master," said Cunette.
"You’d do better by going to bed, drunkard!"
"I know my duties, monseigneur."
Robineau and his friends left the bedroom. Monsieur Cunette, who was
exceedingly pig-headed in his cups, and who considered that the
concierge should be present at the inspection of the château, followed
his master, supporting himself against the walls.
They walked through long, venerable galleries, lighted by great ogive
windows, through which the light found its way with difficulty, however,
because the glass was coated with dust. They entered enormous rooms, all
decorated in the same general style as Robineau’s bedroom, where the eye
could hardly reach the ceiling.
"This château must have been in existence in the time of King Pepin,"
said Edouard.
"It is all superb," said Robineau, who gazed in admiration at every
landscape painted over the doors and mirrors.
"Say rather that it must have been very beautiful two centuries
ago!--But now!"
"Mirrors are still mirrors, my dear Alfred."
"Very good! but the gilding is no longer gilding, and the paintings look
like old fans!"
"For a baron, you seem rather indifferent to the value of what is
venerable. I am certain that Monsieur Edouard appreciates the beauties
of this château better than you do."
"To my mind," said Edouard, "there is a touch of romance, of vagueness
about it."
"Isn’t there? It’s magnificent! There’s room enough to lodge a
regiment!"
"There’s just as many rooms on the second floor, master," mumbled
Monsieur Cunette, standing at the door of the room in which the young
men were. "It’s the same thing over again, except perhaps the ceilings
are a little lower and there ain’t such pretty pictures as there is
here."
"In that case it is unnecessary for us to inspect the second floor."
"Ah! messieurs, this gallery opens on a terrace from which we can see
the whole neighborhood."
"The terrace is in rather bad condition."
"What are those slits in the wall?"
"They are loop-holes," said Edouard; "and there are machicoulis, I
believe, in those sally-ports."
"Gachicoulis--that’s right," stammered the concierge.
"The devil!" said Robineau, "this was a stronghold! I am sure that it
has sustained sieges. It’s strange that there’s no drawbridge."
"Oh! there was one, monsieur, a few years ago; but as the last owner had
planted sugar-beets, for an experiment, in the garden yonder, it
sickened me to do nothing but raise and lower the drawbridge for a few
beets; so it occurred to me to fill up the ditch, and the bourgeois
thought it was a good idea, and he just had a simple gate put up."
"That bourgeois could not have descended from the ancient owners of this
château, if he had such commonplace ideas."
"I don’t know where he descended from, monsieur; but he bought this
château for a factory, to carry on business in; but I suppose it didn’t
suit, as he offered the estate for sale again."
"But to whom did this château formerly belong?"
"Who? Wait a bit--I don’t know the name, but it was an old dowager of a
very old family. The old lady, who lived in the château, wouldn’t have
any repairs made, they say, for fear of spoiling it.--So you see it’s
just as it used to be."
"Some old dowager, I suppose," said Alfred, "who preferred to let the
building fall to pieces, rather than let a profane hand touch these
crumbling walls!"
"Well, I didn’t know her," said Cunette; "I was put here by the
beet-sugar man, who left me here with my friend Vincent."
"Now, let us look at the tower.--Take care, messieurs, as you go down
this staircase; almost all the steps are broken. My dear Robineau--I beg
pardon, I mean Monsieur de la Roche-Noire--if you follow the old
dowager’s system, it will be difficult soon to take a step in your
château without running the risk of breaking your neck."
"Oh! I shall have everything repaired, made over new, messieurs. I’ve no
desire to have my château crumble and fall on me.--Concierge, where does
this long corridor lead?"
"To the North Tower, master. Oh! wait till you see--it’s splendid!
There’s trapdoors, and--what do you call ’em--places you fall into?
_gimblettes!_"
"_Oubliettes_, you mean, do you not?"
"Yes, monsieur, oubliettes."
"I don’t want to go where we’re likely to fall," cried Robineau; "go
ahead, concierge, and guide us."
Cunette went forward, hugging the wall. They reached the door of the
tower, whence a dark, narrow, winding staircase led to the rooms above.
"I should think that I was in the Castle of Udolpho," said Edouard as he
ascended the stairs.
"I expect every moment to see a cavalier armed at all points," said
Alfred.
Robineau said nothing; he was examining the old walls, blackened by
time, which had seen the coming and going of so many generations. When
the concierge attempted to open the door of the first floor, it shrieked
on its hinges and the sound echoed through the empty apartments of the
old tower.
"You must put oil on all these doors, concierge," said Robineau; "I
don’t like that noise. Where are we? Are there trapdoors under our feet?
Be careful to warn us."
"No, monsieur, this was the chevalier’s room, so they say."
"What chevalier?"
"Why! the chevalier who was the old dowager’s nephew, so far as I can
understand."
"I won’t take it for my room, it’s too dark."
On the second floor Cunette showed them the room where the
_oubliettes_--dungeons--were. But the sugar manufacturer had had all the
trapdoors removed, and Robineau considered that he had done very well.
Above was the arsenal of the château; but all that they found there were
a few rusty cuirasses, a few hiltless swords, a few hammerless muskets,
and a few headless lances. At last they arrived at the platform of the
tower, whence there was a very beautiful prospect. The young men admired
the view of the neighboring mountains, and of the pretty town of
Saint-Amand, surrounded by water. While they were looking at the
landscape, Monsieur Cunette prudently seated himself in the centre of
the platform, saying:
"I can’t look from such a height myself; it always makes me dizzy."
They were about to leave the tower when Edouard cried:
"Look, Alfred, on that little mound just by the edge of the moat; do you
see that man who is looking at the château so closely? do you recognize
him?"
"Why, yes! It’s the man who was at the inn at Clermont-Ferrand, and who
offered to be our guide. He has a face and a costume which render him
easily recognizable."
"What!" said Robineau, walking toward them, "that evil-looking fellow
here!--Yes, on my word! it’s he; I recognize that thick stick he is
leaning on. How he stares at my château! He doesn’t move; one would say
that he was a statue!--I would like right well to know why he stares at
my property so!"
"There is really something very strange in that man’s expression and in
his whole aspect," said Edouard.
"Strange! you are very moderate; say rather, suspicious, threatening,
wicked. Why, he doesn’t take his eyes off my château!--I say,
concierge!"
The concierge was nearly asleep; he raised his head, and said in an
uncertain voice:
"What do you want?"
"What do you say, villain? To whom are you speaking?" cried Robineau
angrily.
"Oh! I beg your pardon, monseigneur and master," said Cunette,
struggling to his feet; "I thought I was talking with my friend Vincent,
and that is why----"
"Try not to have any more such fits of abstraction, and tell me if you
know that vagabond who has planted himself like a post in front of the
tower, and is looking so earnestly in this direction?"
Cunette staggered forward; Alfred and Edouard each held an arm to keep
him from falling over the rail, and the concierge put out his head to
look for the man in question.
"Well?" said Robineau after a moment.
"Well, what?" rejoined Cunette, gazing about with a drunken stare.
"Do you know that man?"
"I don’t see a man any more than I do a bottle!"
"What do you say, you blockhead? Don’t you see him at the foot of the
tower?"
"Oh! what a fool I am! saving your presence, monseigneur, I took him for
a vine."
"Well! now that you do see him, do you recognize him?"
"That fellow? Wait a bit--ain’t it Vincent?"
"Why, no, idiot!"
"Then perhaps it’s Monsieur Flutanus, the schoolmaster."
"Evidently the rascal can’t see," said Robineau. "Come, messieurs, let
us leave this tower; we have still another one to visit."
They left the North Tower, which did not seem destined to be the new
owner’s favorite resort. Monsieur Cunette proposed that they should
visit the dungeons underneath; but Robineau did not care to do so. They
went to the other tower, where the apartments, being in a better state
of preservation, had a less gloomy appearance. They found there a
library, a bath-room, a music-room and a number of beds in reasonably
good condition. At last they went out into the gardens.
Robineau was distressed to find that the sugar manufacturer had planted
beets in three-fourths of the gardens; and Monsieur Vincent, who had
admitted that he took care of only half of them, had allowed nettles and
thistles to grow in the paths and under the shrubbery. Fruits, flowers
and vegetables were planted pell-mell in the beds which had escaped the
beets. The statues scattered here and there were in no better condition
than the gardens. Hercules had lost his club, Venus had but one arm,
Mercury was lame, the Graces were sadly maimed, Apollo had no nose, Hebe
but one ear; Cupid alone was intact; that god sometimes resists the
attacks of time.
Robineau heaved a sigh as he passed in front of each statue, saying:
"What a pity! such a lovely piece of work! That infernal manufacturer
didn’t care for beautiful things!"
At the end of the gardens they entered the park, which was very large,
but in which the brambles caught one’s feet at every step. At last,
weary of walking, the young men returned to the château, inspected the
stables, greenhouse and dairy, then adjourned to a salon on the ground
floor for a little rest.
"Well, messieurs," said Robineau, "what do you think of my property?"
"It is very extensive," said Alfred, "but, if you follow my advice, you
will pull down this old château, which it will ruin you to keep, and
with the materials, build a pretty modern house, which it won’t take you
three hours to walk over; then you will be able to make some profitable
use of all the land that belongs to the estate."
"My dear Alfred," said Robineau, "I didn’t buy a château to have a mere
bourgeois house; I should be a vandal if I followed your advice."
"You will ruin yourself if you don’t follow it."
"I will ruin myself if I choose, but I shall keep my château."
"Keep what you please, but don’t ask me again for my advice."
"And you, Monsieur Edouard," said Robineau, approaching the young poet,
who seemed absorbed in thought, "what do you think of my château?"
"I like this country very much," said Edouard absent-mindedly.
"Look you, La Roche-Noire, I believe that we have done nothing but talk
about your château since this morning, and it’s almost five o’clock.
It’s beginning to be a little tiresome. Don’t you intend ever to dine in
your house?"
"Pardon me, my friends, pardon me!--Holà! François!"
François obeyed the summons, dressed this time as a scullion, because he
was obliged to fill many positions.
"Is somebody getting dinner for us, François?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Who?"
"Mademoiselle Cheval, who asked nothing better than to be useful to
monsieur. Her father insisted on coming with her to help her."
"What! does the horse doctor do cooking also?" said Alfred.
"Oh! Monsieur Cheval says that he knows how to do everything, and that
he could prepare a prescription and a _ragoût_ at the same time; but he
couldn’t come, because somebody sent for him to go to see a mare with
the colic."
"That’s very lucky for us," said Alfred; "I am not at all anxious to
partake of a dish prepared by the veterinary."
At that moment Monsieur Férulus, dressed from head to foot in serge dyed
black, and carrying under his arm a hat that was entirely without shape,
entered the room where the young men were and executed a low reverence,
accompanied by a _salutem omnibus_.
Robineau stepped forward cordially to greet his guest, and shook his
hand heartily; he had not forgotten the speech of the morning.
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, I have come in response to your honorable
invitation," said Férulus, clinging to Robineau’s hand.
"Monsieur Férulus, you give me great pleasure. To-day we shall have a
simple little dinner; I have not yet had time to arrange my household."
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, the honor of dining with you will be the
most delicious seasoning of the repast."
"Monsieur Férulus, I hope that you will come often to take----"
"Every day if such is your wish, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire. Is it
possible, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, for me to refuse such society as
yours; to deprive myself of the advantage of your conversation, and to
fall behind you in making advances?--No, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire,
_lapides clamabunt_ before I refuse to dine with you."
Robineau had never been so plied with _La Roche-Noire_, and when he
uttered that name Monsieur Férulus opened his mouth as if he would
swallow the château. So Robineau continued to shake his hand; Férulus
did the same by him, and each seemed determined not to relax his hold
first. Luckily for them, François announced dinner, and this enabled
them to separate.
They went to the dining room, where the table was laid. François had
placed at one end of the table an old armchair on castors, which was a
foot higher than the other chairs. It had been used by the old dowager,
who was evidently very short. Robineau thought that his dignity called
upon him to occupy it; so he perched himself on it and towered above his
guests; whereupon Monsieur Férulus exclaimed: _"Sic itur ad
astra!"_--But it was impossible for him to serve from that elevated
seat, because he was too far from the dishes. After the soup, he decided
to take a chair like the others, and he said to François:
"Move the armchair away; I will use it on state occasions."
The dinner, composed in large part of chickens, seemed not ill prepared;
the new occupants of the château had acquired sharp appetites by their
tour of inspection, and Monsieur Férulus ate as if he had walked twenty
leagues.
"Monsieur Férulus," said Robineau, "have you lived long in this
neighborhood?"
"Ten years or more, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire!"
"Did you know the late owner of the château--the sugar manufacturer?"
"Very little; he was a fool, an ignoramus; he never received his
friends, never entertained! He was wrapped up in his beets!"
"Well! I mean to entertain, to receive my friends.--Are there any
distinguished people in the neighborhood?"
"Not many; a few countrymen, a few obtuse creatures, who do not even
send their children to my school."
"Ah! do you keep a school?"
"Yes, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, a school for males. I take children
from the age of two to the age of twenty-five; I teach them everything,
no matter what! When they leave my hands, they strike everybody dumb
with amazement; they floor all their adversaries by the force of their
logic! Belles-lettres, philosophy, physics, philology, chemistry,
mathematics, dead languages, living languages, English handwriting,
round-hand and copying-hand. I teach all these to my day scholars for
six francs a month!"
"That’s nothing at all," said Edouard.
"Is it not, monsieur?--Well! these Auvergnats prefer to let their
children play tip-cat rather than send them to me!--_O tempora, O
mores!_"
"Is the society of Saint-Amand select?" inquired Robineau.
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, at Saint-Amand, as at all small towns,
there are some agreeable and some original people. There is a market
there every Saturday, for wine, hemp, paper and cheese.--I have only two
children from the town in my school, but they belong to the best
families."
"I have a letter for the local notary," said Robineau. "I shall go to
see him to-morrow, and ask him to invite all the best people in the town
to a fête, in my name."
Alfred and Edouard, who, albeit they did not admit it to each other,
were engrossed by the same subject, tried to lead the conversation in
another direction.
"Do you know the village of Chadrat?" Alfred asked.
"Chadrat! yes, it’s a vile hole--a wretched hamlet! I haven’t a child
from Chadrat in my school! The natives, like the Tartars, are brought
up in ignorance and in contempt of shirts. They don’t even know how to
spell!"
"Have you ever heard of the White House?" asked Edouard.
"The White House?--That’s a female boarding-school, isn’t it?"
"No, it’s an unoccupied house that is the terror of the neighborhood."
"Oh, yes! I think I remember. I had some talk about it with my
pupils, and we took a walk to the valley, where we saw nothing
extraordinary.--Indeed, messieurs, I ask you whether people brought up
in an atmosphere of knowledge can possibly believe in ghosts?--_Non est
hic locus!_--I believe in fools, in idiots, in numskulls;--I have the
honor to drink to the health of Monsieur de la Roche-Noire;--but
ghosts!--_Retro Satanas!_--They don’t enter into my system of
education."
"So I say," assented Robineau; "I call it nonsense--old women’s tales."
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, you think like Tacitus, and you express
your thoughts like Livy. I have the honor to drink to your health."
There were still several bottles of good wine in the cellars of the old
castle. Monsieur Cunette had not dared to drink them, because an account
had been taken before he was left in charge. Robineau caused a number of
them to be produced; the young men did full justice to them, and
Monsieur Férulus did nothing but hold out his glass and drain it. As
they voted the dinner very good, it occurred to them, at dessert, to
express their acknowledgments to Mademoiselle Cheval, whom Robineau
wished to retain as cook at the château. François was told to send her
in, and soon a tall, stoutly built damsel, with plump red cheeks,
appeared and curtsied to the company.
"Mademoiselle Cheval," said Robineau, "I am very well pleased with the
culinary talent you possess. I take you into my service as _cordon bleu_
if that is agreeable to you."
Mademoiselle Cheval coughed, bowed, wiped her forehead, and replied in a
hoarse voice:
"Pardi! if I didn’t know how to cook, it would be funny--when I used to
work for a master who had twenty thousand francs a year to spend and
drank nothing but the best wines!--Dieu! wasn’t I well-fixed there!
Always dressed in _Ségrovie_ wool! I’d be there still if I hadn’t fallen
in love with one of the Swiss bodyguards!"