_STUDIES INTERRUPTED._
A few days after this conversation a considerable number of troops
traversed the country. The Germans were manœuvring on both sides of
the Loire, and were threatening Tours. A general officer was quartered
at M. de Gandelau’s who was acquainted with Eugène. The latter was
impatient at the inactivity to which he had been condemned since the
war had begun to take so fatal a turn.
In the evening he had a long conversation with this officer, and
next morning announced to M. de Gandelau that he was intending to
set out with the corps which was traversing the country; observing
that officers of the Engineers were wanting, and that he could at
need fulfil their functions; that his friend, the general, very much
approved his determination; and that in circumstances of such gravity
he thought it his duty not to hesitate to go, as he might possibly
be of some service. M. de Gandelau did not attempt to keep him; he
understood too well the sentiments by which his guest was influenced.
“What shall we do with Paul?” said he to Eugène.
“I believe you have Vitruvius in the original in your library?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you will let me have it for an hour before I go, I shall be
able to explain to Paul how he should set to work with this treatise:
that will prevent him from forgetting his Latin, and further him in the
studies we have commenced.”
“An excellent idea.”
“You will require Paul to give you, twice a week, the translation of
a chapter, with explanatory drawings: that will keep his hand in and
occupy his mind. I do not suppose his translation will supersede even
Perrault’s; but that does not matter, he will not be losing his time
absolutely. As soon as I can return you shall see me again.”
Paul was disconsolate at his cousin’s departure, and at not being
able to accompany him; he would have greatly liked to follow up his
studies in the art of building by a course of military engineering in
the field, but this would have embarrassed his cousin, and Madame de
Gandelau would scarcely have survived her anxiety. Paul was furnished
with the edition of Vitruvius, and the work to which he was to devote
himself was explained to him.
Two hours after, Eugène, provided with a small portmanteau, was on
his way with his friend, the general; whose corps was _en route_ for
Chateauroux. Promises to write as often as possible had been given on
both sides.
We can easily imagine the gloomy aspect which M. de Gandelau’s house
assumed after this hasty departure. At the very beginning of the war
he had equipped and despatched all his able-bodied dependants. There
remained only two or three old men-servants, and some female domestics
whose husbands or children were for the most part in the army. Monsieur
and Madame de Gandelau ceased to use the drawing-room, in which beds
had been placed for the wounded in case any should come. The family
used to assemble in Madame de Gandelau’s room, and took their meals in
a small apartment that usually served for a pantry.
Paul, when his cousin was gone, went to pay a visit to the works. They
were deserted; snow covered the heap of walling stones, the cut stones,
and the scattered timbers. The walls, which had reached a certain
height, protected by straw and surmounted by a crest of snow—their
surfaces showing brown in contrast with the white veil that mantled
them—and some pieces of wood black with damp, gave to these incipient
constructions the aspect of the _débris_ of a conflagration.
Although at Paul’s age young people are not very accessible to sombre
thoughts, the poor boy could not restrain his tears in presence of this
scene of desolation. He recalled in thought this spot so animated a
month before with its bands of active workmen. All were gone, and the
soul of this habitation, which he had begun to associate with all the
joys of family life, had just quitted him.
In spite of the cold he seated himself on a stone, his head in his
hands, overwhelmed with gloomy thoughts. This was the first deep grief,
the first severe disappointment, he had experienced: it seemed to
him that all was over, and that there was no more hope nor happiness
possible for him in this world.
A hand laid upon his shoulder made him start; he raised his head—his
father was behind him. Paul threw himself into his arms at once,
sobbing.
“Come, Paul, my boy, calm yourself,” said M. de Gandelau to him. “We
are living in a time of trials; who knows what are reserved for us?
For us, indeed, they have scarcely begun. Think how much suffering
there is in France now! What are our anxieties and griefs compared with
the anguish suffered by others! Reserve your tears; perhaps you will
have only too frequent occasion for them. We need not be in a hurry to
despond. I observed you going in this direction, and followed you,
anticipating your melancholy feelings. But, after all, what is there to
grieve over? Nothing, or only a trifle. Set to work again courageously,
alone, since our friend has been obliged to quit us to fulfil a sacred
duty. He will return; you have learned to love and esteem him more:
prove to him that you are worthy of the affection he has exhibited to
you by showing him some thoroughly good work when he comes back.
“Certainly he would be touched by your grief, of which his absence
is to a great extent the cause; be assured that he would be still
more touched to see that you had scrupulously followed his last
instructions, and that his presence is not the only inducement to make
you like work.”
Father and son regained the house. The counsels of M. de Gandelau,
and the pains he took to give Paul a glimpse of brighter days, had by
degrees restored to him, if not gaiety, at least tranquillity of mind
and the desire to do his best. M. de Gandelau most dreaded for his son
a feeling of despondency—that vague and sterile sadness on which youth
sometimes loves to feed, and which enervates the most gifted minds.
He therefore entered Paul’s room, and taking up Vitruvius, which had
been left on the table, began to look through it. M. de Gandelau was a
good scholar, though he never made a parade of his acquirements. They
were a possession he reserved for himself. Familiar with the classics,
he could read the text of Vitruvius, if not explain it architecturally
in all its parts. “Stay,” said he to Paul, “here is a chapter which
must be interesting, and which may teach you many things; it is Chapter
VIII.: _De generibus structuræ et earum qualitatibus, modis ac locis_.
How would you translate this title?”
“_Of the kinds of constructions, and their qualities, according to
customs and localities_,” replied Paul.
“Yes, that is the translation. But on looking through this chapter,
I see that masonry only is considered; the author, in making use
of the word _structura_, seems to me to have wished only to treat
of constructions of brick or stone. It would be better, doubtless,
to render the passage thus: _Of the different kinds of masonry,
and the properties of this structure according to local usages and
circumstances_.
“Well, set to work to translate this eighth chapter. I see that the
author has described the kinds of masonry whose use he recommends on
such or such occasions. You will therefore have to illustrate your
translation by sketches. Come! take courage, and imagine your cousin at
hand ready to rectify your mistakes.”
Paul therefore set himself to work, endeavouring to embody in sketches
each of Vitruvius’s descriptions. This gave him no little trouble,
of course; many words were new to him, and the dictionary helped him
only very imperfectly when it was necessary to know their exact sense.
Nevertheless, by degrees the work acquired a charm for him. To further
his comprehension of the author he tried to recall to mind buildings
he had seen; he remembered some instructions given by Eugène; and
put on paper, to the best of his ability, opposite the translation,
sketches tolerably drawn, if they were not the true expression of the
descriptions in the original.
Thus, during the end of the month of December and the commencement of
January, he succeeded in translating a dozen chapters which his father
selected for him, giving illustrations of the text. This gave him a
great desire to become acquainted with the buildings existing in his
author’s times, and he examined attentively a set of engravings by
Piranesi descriptive of ancient Rome, and which his father possessed.
M. de Gandelau had advised Paul to write down the questions which
his reading suggested to him, so as to submit them to Eugène on his
return. Thus the days passed rapidly away: and although sadness and
anxiety darkened every hour, yet, as M. de Gandelau was incessantly
occupied in relieving the misery around him and organizing the struggle
against the invaders, while Paul was working with energy and seeing his
results accumulating, and Madame de Gandelau had organized a workroom
in which the women of the village were engaged in providing linen for
our unfortunate and destitute soldiers, when the evening arrived, the
members of the family could still assemble with that feeling of secret
joy which duty accomplished procures. Towards the close of January the
inmates of the _château_ learned from the newspapers that an armistice
had been signed. Though this news announced the end of the struggle, it
presaged the commencement of the severest humiliations. It produced,
therefore, a sad, rather than consolatory impression.
A few days afterwards Eugène returned to the _château_. It need not
be said that he was welcomed with open arms, and that Paul especially
manifested his joy. They talked of resuming the works. The last letters
of Madame Marie announced that she would be home again towards the
end of the following winter. These letters, filled as they were with
expressions of the anxiety—the anguish—felt by the writer in her
absence from France, said nothing of the future house. If then it
could be finished, the surprise would be complete. While Eugène was
enjoying the rest he so much needed, he looked through and revised
Paul’s translation, and corrected his sketches. A fair copy was made of
the whole; and the first days of March drew on, when it was decided to
recommence the works.