that--that I should not marry Mademoiselle de la Pincerie. I admit that
I thought that you were going, on the contrary, to compliment me upon my
taste. And why should I not marry her?"
"Because that woman is not at all suited to you."
"The fact that I adore her proves, on the contrary, that she is suited
to me."
"Pshaw! you imagine that! You adored Fifine, too, and you left her
without regret!"
"Fifine! Why in the deuce do you mention her! My friend, I entreat you,
do not utter that name again. If the La Pincerie family should find
out--I know of course that a young man is at liberty to amuse himself,
but no matter! The family is so rigid in the matter of morals that it
might prejudice me."
"You love Mademoiselle Cornélie, I doubt not; but she does not love you;
she will marry you in order to have a husband, that’s all."
"She does not love me!" cried Robineau. "Ah! upon my word, my dear
Alfred, I thought that you had more tact and discernment than that.
Mademoiselle de la Pincerie does not love me! No, she adores me, that’s
all; and thank heaven! yesterday I had proofs of that, the most amiable
_abandon_, hand-clasps, sighs, nervous thrills! The fact is, she is mad
over me."
Alfred turned away with a shrug, then rejoined:
"All right, she adores you, I don’t deny it; I may have been mistaken.
But that woman is as old as you are; she is fully twenty-eight."
"No, no! she is not twenty-eight, she was twenty-seven and a half last
month."
"And her fortune; that is important. How much of a dowry has she?"
"Dowry--why she has a thousand things. First, magnificent hopes; then,
what her father may obtain from the government for his plans for rural
economy, which he is to send immediately to the minister; also, all that
her Uncle Mignon will leave her, and he is certain to be appointed
sub-prefect this year or next year--he cannot miss it; and lastly, a
superb and very lucrative office which the marquis has the promise of
for his son-in-law!"
"And for fifty years he has been trying unsuccessfully to obtain a place
for his brother."
"That doesn’t prove anything. Besides, my friend, I don’t haggle over a
dowry like a tradesman on Rue Saint Denis. Bargain for a wife! Fie, fie!
And a wife like Mademoiselle de la Pincerie! It seems to me that the
honor of entering such a family should count for something."
Alfred took Robineau’s hand and said to him with the utmost coolness:
"My friend, I tell you again, if you make this marriage, you will make a
fool of yourself."
Robineau glared at his friend with eyes like an angry turkey-cock’s, and
dropped his hand, saying:
"My friend, as to making a fool of myself, I don’t need your advice. I
don’t make love to goatherds, but I will marry whomever I please."
"Marry the devil, if you choose!" said Alfred, abruptly leaving the
gallery.
"I will not marry the devil, but I will marry Mademoiselle Cornélie,"
said Robineau, striding with a determined air toward the garden.--"Ah!
so she doesn’t love me! I shall make a fool of myself!" he said to
himself as he hurried toward the stable. "I see how it is.--Parbleu! it
is easy to guess: Monsieur Alfred would like to steal Mademoiselle de la
Pincerie away from me, and that is why he tries to dissuade me from this
marriage. But the trick is too clumsy; to deprive him of all hope, I
will hasten to the marquis’s house, and I will not leave him until he
has promised me his daughter’s hand."
Robineau called the coachman and the groom, and ordered the horse to be
harnessed to the char-à-bancs. Monsieur Férulus came at that moment to
inquire for Monsieur de la Roche-Noire’s health, and to inform him that
breakfast was served. Robineau reflected that he had time for breakfast
before going to ask for Mademoiselle Cornélie’s hand. So he accompanied
his librarian to the dining-room, and while breakfasting, said to him:
"Monsieur Férulus, I am going to be married very soon."
Monsieur Férulus made a wry face, because the life he was leading at the
château was very agreeable to him, and he instantly foresaw that the
arrival of a mistress would lessen the importance of his duties, that he
would no longer be allowed to order the dinner and to decide how long
they should remain at table. However, as Robineau had said it with a
very determined air and as it was easy to see in his eyes that he
expected congratulations, Monsieur Férulus tried to turn his grimace
into a smile, and replied in a honeyed tone:
"Monseigneur, marriage is an institution which dates back to the
earliest period of antiquity. People have always married, even before
the days of notaries and municipal officers; to marry is to follow the
decrees of Providence, and it was because they refused to marry that the
people of Sodom were burned. Marry, therefore, monseigneur; great men
have always had much inclination for marriage; Hercules, in a single
night, married forty-nine daughters of Thespius, King of Bœotia; and
if we are to believe Dion Cassius, Cæsar put forth a decree which
declared him the husband of all the women in Rome, when he chose to
avail himself of it. Ah! what fellows Cæsar and Hercules were! But now a
man can marry but one wife at once; and indeed, I think that’s
enough.--May I know, monsieur, who the party is upon whom your eyes have
fallen?"
"It is the younger daughter of Monsieur le Marquis de la Pincerie,--a
tall, well-made young lady, named Cornélie, who sat beside me at table."
"Ah, yes! I know, monseigneur, I know. An antique face, a Greek profile,
the figure of an Antigone, academic attitudes, and a way of expressing
herself at once refined and grammatical! I congratulate you,
monseigneur; she was the loveliest person at the fête!"
"Dear Monsieur Férulus!" said Robineau, pressing his librarian’s hand
affectionately. "Good! he knows what he is talking about, and he
approves my choice because passion does not blind him, and he says what
he thinks."
"Approve your choice, monseigneur! I will do more, I will sing of it in
iambics, hexameters and pentameters."
"Very well, my dear Férulus; I am going at once to Monsieur le Marquis
de la Pincerie; you can understand that I do not propose to neglect such
a matter. Some other man might take Mademoiselle Cornélie away from me,
and I should never console myself. The horse is in the carriage, and I
am going to Saint-Amand; I hope to induce the family to come to the
château for several days before the wedding."
"Go, monseigneur," said Monsieur Férulus, escorting Robineau to the
char-à-bancs; and, as he watched him drive away, he added: "Go in search
of a wife, since you are in such a hurry to be married. It seems to me,
however, that the château was kept up on a very good footing, and that
we had under our hands all that we needed. But no matter, I must seem to
be enchanted over this union, and I must write poetry for the whole La
Pincerie family."
Alfred had, on leaving Robineau, gone out upon the lawn, where he paced
back and forth excitedly, waiting for Edouard. At last he appeared, and
Alfred walked away from the château to meet him. Edouard had dropped the
reins upon his horse’s neck. Engrossed by thoughts of Isaure, of his
love, and of that White House, which already offered an obstacle to his
plans of happiness, he did not look about him, and did not think that he
was so near the château. Suddenly a voice called to him:
"Stop; dismount; I want to speak to you."
Edouard started at the sound of that voice, which was familiar to him,
but which seemed at that moment changed by anger. He raised his eyes,
and saw Alfred standing before him pale and motionless, although his
agitation was manifest in his features. Edouard dismounted and left his
horse free, and the animal returned of its own accord to the château.
The young men were at the entrance to a road lined with trees; Alfred
left it, and motioned to Edouard to follow him; he halted in a more
isolated spot. Edouard said nothing, but waited for his companion to
begin an interview, the probable subject of which he divined.
"You have seen Isaure?" said Alfred at last.
"Yes, I have just left her."
"And is this the way you keep your promise? Have you forgotten our
agreement? I, too, have longed a hundred times to go into the mountains
without you,--to be alone with that girl. But I have restrained that
longing, for I was afraid of breaking my promise. And you----"
"Alfred, I was wrong, I admit it. But my love for Isaure is so violent
that I absolutely could not resist."
"Say rather that, being less honorable than I, you laughed at my good
faith!"
"Alfred, listen to me, I beg; and do not think that it is a simple
caprice which I feel for Isaure."
"But how do you know that I do not love her as much as you do? To win
her love, you employ sighs and melancholy; I go about it more frankly; I
declare myself, I do not conceal my love."
"But after all, Alfred, that girl cannot love us both; and
suppose--suppose it were not you whom she preferred?"
"I understand you," retorted Alfred angrily; "I see that this morning,
being alone with her, you made the best of your time; that you neglected
nothing to carry the day over me. And do you think that, upon the
strength of this statement, I propose to withdraw and to abandon your
conquest to you? But you will permit me to entertain some slight doubt
of your triumph and to try to be as fortunate as you. I, too, will see
Isaure alone; perhaps then that haughty beauty will deign to be less
stern to me."
"I do not know what your plans are, monsieur; but since you force me to
tell you, why, yes, Isaure does love me, I am the one whom she prefers.
She told me so only a moment ago."
"Really! You remind me at this moment of Robineau, when he came just now
to tell me that he was adored by Mademoiselle de la Pincerie. All you
fellows persuade yourselves that you are adored! You will allow me,
although I have less self-conceit, to think that I too may possibly make
an impression.--But I will see this little Isaure, who is more of a
flirt than I had supposed; and I warn you that I too will do my utmost
to make her adore me."
"Whatever you may say, I do not confound Isaure with all the coquettes
we have known, and I have not the least fear that she will forget the
vows she has exchanged with me."
"Aha! So you have already exchanged vows! Didn’t I say that you had made
the most of your time?--This, then, is the rare virtue that yields at a
first tête-à-tête!"
"That yields!--What, Alfred, you could believe--Oh! trifle with me no
longer--Alfred, I swear to you----"
"I do not place any faith in the oaths of a man who has just shown such
a lack of honor."
"Alfred!"
"Yes, yes, I say it again; and if it offends you, say the word; I am at
your service."
Edouard and Alfred were silent for several moments. But the former
reflected that he was more fortunate than Alfred, since Isaure loved
him; he thought of the disappointment, of the regrets, which he must
feel who had been unable to touch the young mountaineer’s heart;
thereupon his wrath faded away, he pitied his rival, he said to himself
that it was the duty of the more fortunate lover to pardon the other;
and approaching Alfred, he took his hand, pressed it affectionately, and
said:
"Could you really fight with me?"
Alfred was moved, but he strove to control himself as he replied:
"When one has insulted a person, should one not be ready to give him
satisfaction?"
"But can I take offense at a word inspired by anger, and which your
heart disavows? Should one never forgive his friend for anything? What
would be the use of friendship if it does not make us more indulgent to
those whom we love?"
"Friendship! I no longer believe in yours!"
"Alfred, I have but one thing more to say to you; I propose that Isaure
shall be my wife."
"Your wife?" cried Alfred in amazement, "your wife,--that young
peasant!"
"Yes, I am fully determined upon it. Will you forgive me now for the
preference which she accords to me?"
"If you really propose to make her your wife," said Alfred, after a
moment’s silence, "you deserve to win her; for, I admit, I never had
that intention. But it is very hard for me to believe it. However, I
shall find a way to ascertain the truth."
Alfred walked back to the château and Edouard did the same; but they
said nothing more to each other.
XXI
SERVANTS’ GOSSIP.--ALFRED AND THE VAGABOND
The next day, at daybreak, a certain excitement was apparent among the
servants of the château; they were assembled in the courtyard, talking
earnestly among themselves. Among those who declaimed the most loudly
was the concierge, who seemed to be haranguing the others.
"I tell you that it can’t be anything," cried Cunette, gesticulating in
a most dramatic way. "For more than fifteen years I’ve been concierge in
this château, and nothing strange ever happened here."
"I don’t know whether it is strange or not," said the groom, "but I tell
you that I saw a light. You know we came back late with monsieur; and
then I had to groom the horse, put away the carriage, and then eat my
supper; so that it was very late when I went to bed. As the weather was
fine and I didn’t feel much like sleeping, I went to the window and
happened to look at the tower opposite, which you call the North Tower."
"Where no one lives," said Cunette, "because monseigneur thought that it
was in too bad condition, and that it wasn’t worth while to have it done
over new, as there’s plenty of room in the château."
"Well, whether anyone lives there or not, I tell you that last night
about eleven o’clock--or rather, it was pretty near midnight--I saw a
light in one of the little windows up at the top."
"Mon Dieu!" said Jeannette; "midnight! That’s the time for ghosts, ain’t
it, Mamzelle Cheval?"
"Nonsense!" said the cook; "do you suppose I believe in ghosts? All
those stories are made up to frighten folks. It’s more likely to be
thieves who want to steal my chickens,--that is, if it was anything at
all."
"What!" said François, approaching the other servants, "are there ghosts
in this château, too?"
"Oh, no! Monsieur François; there’s no question of ghosts," replied the
groom, "it’s just a light that I saw last night in the tower where no
one sleeps."
"It was a reflection of the moon, that he took for a light," said
Cunette; "I am the concierge, and I’ll answer for it that no suspicious
person came into the château."
"Pardi!" said Jeannette, "if it was a ghost, do they come in through the
doors?"
"Observe," continued the concierge, "that Benoît says that the light was
up high at that window; that’s in the arsenal; what would any thieves go
to the arsenal for, where there’s nothing but old rusty swords?"
"But suppose it wasn’t a thief?"
Vincent, who had not yet spoken, drew near at that moment with a
mysterious air, and said:
"My children, all this reminds me of something I’d forgotten, which
might have some connection with what Benoît saw."
All the servants crowded around Vincent and looked at him with interest.
"About five or six days ago," continued the gardener, "I don’t know just
when it was, but it was night, and I was going to bed; I remembered that
I needed my big pickaxe the next morning to work in this part of the
garden. You know that I keep most of my tools in a little shed at the
end of the broad path on the left."
"Yes, yes."
"Well then, I says to myself: ‘I guess I’ll go and get my pickaxe.’ So I
went out, and went into the garden; I was about in the middle of the
broad path when I heard steps in front of me."
"Mon Dieu! how that frightens me!" said Jeannette, pressing against one
of the scullions.
"I thought it was one of the gentlemen from the château," continued
Vincent, "and I stopped politely to let him pass, and took off my hat;
but no, he stopped too, and instead of coming toward me, he turned back.
That appeared to me suspicious, so I called out: ‘Who’s that?’ but he
didn’t answer; he walked faster than ever and I tried to follow him, but
I ran into a tree, and then good-night! I didn’t hear anything more."
"Ah! what a strange thing!"
"Pshaw! perhaps it was our master as was taking a ramble."
"Oh, no indeed! he never goes alone into the garden at night."
"You ought to have asked the gentlemen the next morning."
"Faith, I slept on it, and I forgot all about it."
"We must ask Monsieur Férulus what it was," said the other servants.
"He’s a man who knows everything, a scholar; he’ll tell us whether we
ought to be afraid."
As it happened, Monsieur Férulus was just crossing the courtyard,
holding in his hand some verses which he had already written for
Robineau’s future bride, and which he intended to present to Robineau at
breakfast. He approached to ascertain the cause of the gathering which
he noticed in the courtyard. Thereupon he was told of what Benoît and
Vincent had just related. Monsieur Férulus listened with much attention,
shaking his head now and then; every time that the librarian moved his
eyebrows, Jeannette and the groom exclaimed:
"See, that frightens him, too!"
After reflecting long, Monsieur Férulus asked Benoît:
"Are you perfectly sure that it was a light that you saw in the tower?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur! In the first place, it moved around; if it had been
the moon, I should have saw----"
"I should have seen----"
"I should--what?"
"I should have seen; you must pay attention to the pluperfect
subjunctive."
"Oh! monsieur, I didn’t say that I saw a pluperfect! I said I saw a
light."
"How unfortunate it is to have to deal with ignoramuses!" said Monsieur
Férulus to himself.--"And you, Vincent, are you perfectly certain that
there was a man in the garden?"
"Certain; that is to say, a man or a woman, I can’t be sure about the
sex. But it was someone, for it walked and ran in front of me."
"Perhaps it was a rabbit?"
"Nonsense! A rabbit with nails in its shoes!"
"All this seems to me decidedly peculiar," said Férulus.
"There you see that it is peculiar," cried Jeannette, "and that we ought
to be afraid."
"I don’t say that. Things which seem to us marvelous at a distance are
often perfectly natural when examined at close quarters. Indeed, there
are some which lose a good deal by being looked at too closely. But
before pronouncing definitely upon this, I would like to assure myself
with my own eyes of the truth, for _pluris est oculatus unus quam auriti
decem_!"
"You see!" said Cunette, "that means that it’s all nonsense, and that
you dreamed it all."
"No, it doesn’t mean that, at all!" continued Férulus. "My dear Cunette,
you do not translate literally. I think, _primo_, that there is
something or nothing. That is my principle, and I start from that,
because one should start from a principle."
"Well! I say that there ain’t anything," said Mademoiselle Cheval, "and
that they was frightened by their own _shades_!"
"Why!" said Jeannette, "monsieur is a scholar, you must know--for he has
shown me a whole heap of things already, me----"
"That’s all right, Jeannette! that is between ourselves," said Férulus,
nudging the stout girl’s arm; "but don’t branch off from the question."
"Well, monsieur," replied Jeannette, "tell us once for all whether there
is any ghosts or isn’t."
"Yes, that’s it," said the other servants; "then at least we shall know
what to think."
"My children," said Férulus, after blowing his nose at great length,
"the question that you put to me is a thorny one. Hippocrates says yes
and Galen says no!"
"But we don’t ask you for Monsieur Pocrates’s opinion," said
Mademoiselle Cheval, "for it’s yours that we want."
"My dear _coqua_, otherwise called cook, do not interrupt me, if you
please. You wish to know whether there are or have been ghosts, or if we
ought still to believe in them; that is the problem propounded; I start
from that. I embark my reply upon the vessel of my lips, to cross the
stormy sea of your attention, and to reach at last the blessed haven of
your ears!"
"Look here, monsieur, if you are going to talk a foreign language, we
shall never understand you!" said Jeannette.
"That is true, Jeannette; I yielded to the torrent of my eloquence, and
forgot that I should come down to your level. I am there now. Ought we
to believe in ghosts? Saint Augustine declares that it is rash to deny
the intimate connection between devils and women; but Montaigne says
that we should give magicians hellebore and not hemlock. For my part, I
do not believe in supernatural things; in fact, I never have. However, I
am not a Pyrrhonist; I am not one of those people who doubt everything!
According to them, Xerxes did not enter Greece with five million men,
and did not chastise the sea; a wolf was not the nurse of Romulus and
Remus; Mutius Scævola did not proudly extend his arm over a red-hot
fire; they do not believe in the phantom which twice appeared to the
second Brutus, or in the labarum seen in the air by Constantine the
Great. I know very well that all those things were very much out of the
common course; but since they are in history, why, then, as Virgil says,
_felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas_!--That, my children, is my
opinion concerning ghosts; I advise you to govern yourselves by it.
However, I do not see that it is worth while as yet to worry monseigneur
about it."
With that, Monsieur Férulus walked away to present his poetry to
Robineau; and the servants, who had not understood a word of his
harangue, separated, each retaining his own opinion.
Edouard soon left his room. He would long before have left the château
had he not deemed it his duty to wait for Alfred, in order to go to
Isaure with him. He hoped in that way to prove to him that he did not
seek to influence the girl’s feelings, and that it was her heart alone
which guided her. In short, although overjoyed by the preference
accorded to him, Edouard, who was warmly attached to Alfred, earnestly
desired that his success in love should not cause him to lose his
friend.
The time passed; Edouard, who was burning with impatience to see Isaure
again, was surprised at Alfred’s tardiness. He appeared at last; but
when he saw Edouard, his brow darkened and an expression of vexation
appeared upon his face.
"I was waiting for you!" said Edouard, going to meet Alfred, whose hand
he tried to take; but Alfred at once drew his hand away, replying
coldly:
"Why are you waiting for me?"
"In order to go with you--to go with you to see Isaure."
"With me!" exclaimed Alfred satirically; "it seems to me that hereafter
that is not worth while, and that each of us is at liberty to do what he
pleases. Go, let nothing detain you. I, too, shall go alone to the
valley."
"You are still angry with me, Alfred!" said Edouard in a sorrowful
tone.
"Oh, no! I should be very wrong to be angry, no doubt; you are so frank
in your conduct! And when do you propose to marry Isaure?"
Edouard made no reply; he seemed embarrassed.
"Well! you do not answer," continued Alfred ironically; "when a man is
so much in love, and is certain that he is loved in return, I do not see
why he should postpone his happiness; you are both free; there is
nothing to interfere with your contracting this bond. Is it your purpose
to conceal your marriage? to make a mystery of it? you who have so much
contempt for the prejudices of society!"
"No, monsieur; if I marry Isaure, I shall not make it a mystery; I shall
not fear to call her my wife openly."
"If you marry her! Ah! it seems that you are not so decided to-day as
you were yesterday. Really, Edouard, you must think me very credulous,
or a great fool, to believe that I will place any faith in this
stratagem of yours, which you resorted to only to separate me entirely
from the girl! Yes, yes, she is very pretty, I agree; but you know as
well as I that one is not bound to marry all the pretty women; and when
it is a question of a simple peasant, whose head it is so easy to turn,
I shall never believe----"
"So much the worse for you, monsieur, if you think that a man cannot
settle down for life with her who combines everything which is likely to
make one happy. I have told you frankly what my intentions are. I cannot
compel you to believe me, but ere long I trust that you will be
convinced that I have not deceived you."
With that Edouard walked away from Alfred, mounted his horse and rode
away from the château alone.