The greatest blessing that could befal me, under such circumstances as
I have described, was sleep procured by great corporeal exhaustion. I
had not closed an eye the night before, I had slept but little on
those that preceded it, and now a ride of forty miles, without having
taken any sort of refreshment, had greatly wearied me. When I lay
down to seek repose, then, I found it; and, though it was far from
that sweet, calm slumber which I had known in former years, yet still
it was a relief. The first part of the night I was tormented with
dreams, and more than once I started up and found myself, ere I was
well awake, laying my hand upon my sword, which I had cast down by
my bedside on going to rest. Less disturbed repose, however, came
with the morning; and, when I awoke, I found that the sun had risen
more than an hour. I was glad that it was so, for my days were
without object, and my waking hours were sure to be hours of pain.
Nevertheless, it must not be supposed that I abandoned myself weakly
to thoughts which were only calculated to unnerve my mind, or that I
determined purposely to cultivate the feelings which made life so
bitter; far from it; I knew, indeed, that those thoughts and those
feelings would engross my heart and mind, by whatever means or devices
I might attempt to banish them; but, at the same time, I resolved to
do all that lay within my power, to turn my attention to other things,
and to occupy myself with studies and pursuits that might give me
relief. I laid out many a plan for the day, so as, if possible, to
leave not a moment vacant for regret and sorrow to intrude themselves
upon me. In the first place, I thought I would read for a couple of
hours; and then I would trace down the bank of the stream, to the spot
where the unhappy Duchess de Villardin had perished; I would then ride
out to Juvigny, and, seeing Jacques Marlot, would examine all that was
passing on the estate, and by planning with him every improvement I
could think of, would endeavour to furnish occupation for many
succeeding days.
In my very first attempt, however, I found how foolish it was to make
such calculations. There stood the little library which had been given
to me by Father Ferdinand, and certainly it contained many a book
which might have afforded matter for instruction, consolation, and
amusement; but I took down one after another and attempted to read in
vain. My eyes wandered over the lines, my hands turned the pages, I
caught now and then the sense of a sentence or a paragraph; but, upon
the whole, I was reading without understanding, and nine times out of
ten I could not have told whether the words were French, or Latin, or
Arabic. Fancying that it was something dry and dull in the nature of
the good priest's selection which prevented me from attending, I went
down to the great library, caused the windows to be thrown open, and
chose whatever I thought was most likely to attract and please me: but
it was still the same. Replacing the books, I determined not to
attempt to read till my mind was more calm; and, in the meantime, by
combining corporeal with mental occupation, to force my thoughts from
the channel in which they were so strongly disposed to flow.
I now remembered that I had not seen my little page during the
morning, and, on inquiry, found that he had gone out by daybreak, and
had not yet returned.
He was probably gone to Juvigny, old Marguerite, who had been helping
me in the library, observed; for when last he had been there with
Father Ferdinand, she said, the boy had never been absent from that
place. Indeed, he seemed as fond of that fellow Jacques Marlot, as if
he were his own father--he might be so too, she added, for aught that
ever she could discover. But the boy was a pretty boy, too, and not
like that ugly cock-nosed scapegrace.
In despite of all my gloom, the spite of the old woman towards my poor
acquaintance, Jacques Marlot, made me smile for a moment; and taking
my hat, I ordered my horses to be ready in an hour, and walked out to
the banks of the stream, in order to see whether the second occupation
which I had laid out for myself would be attended with more success
than the first. But my walk was in every respect a melancholy one, as,
indeed, I might well have anticipated, had I allowed myself to judge
as rationally of my own feelings and their associations as I should
have done had the case been that of another. My first halt was at the
spot where I had rescued poor Laura from the fatal stream that
afterwards swept away her unhappy mother; and as I stood and gazed
upon the river, I could not but think how much misery would have been
saved us, had the dull and sullen water that rolled deep and dark
before me taken us both for ever to its silent bosom. Memory, too,
exerted all her power, and I could see before the mind's eye the dear
girl I loved, in all the smiling happiness of infant joy, ran bounding
on to meet me, as she had appeared the moment before she fell into the
stream. I recalled, too, as vividly as if it had just passed, the
heartfelt gladness with which I had grasped her fairy form in the
midst of the waters, and the sort of triumphant joy with which I had
held her up rescued towards those who watched us from the brink. I
remembered it all as if it had been a thing of yesterday; but I
remembered, at the same moment, my existing situation; and the bitter
comment of the present on the past poured like a torrent upon my
heart, and almost drowned out hope for ever.
I turned away, for in the state of my feelings I would rather have
rested in spots, the associations of which were painful in themselves,
than in those where happy memories formed a dreadful contrast with
present misery. I turned away, then, and walked slowly on to the
broken bridge, which remained still unrepaired, and was exactly in the
state in which it had been left on the night of Madame de Villardin's
death, except that a quantity of green mould, and many coloured
lichens, had grown over the broken woodwork, telling how many years
had past since the fall of the rest had taken place. Grief, however,
finds matter to increase its own stores in everything; and when I
thought of Madame de Villardin's unhappy fate, of her affection for
her husband so terribly repaid, of his love for her proving a source
of the bitterest anguish to himself, and of all the fearful scenes
which I had witnessed and in which I had taken a part, I began to
think--without feeling my own unhappiness relieved in the least by the
belief--I began to think that the whole world, and every state and
station in it, were full of misery to the overflowing--that each
feeling, virtuous or vicious, was alike prolific of sorrow--and that
the only happy being on the earth was the stoic or the anchorite, the
pure egotist or the mindless fool.
If I went out gloomy, I returned home more gloomy still, and, mounting
my horse, which was by this time prepared, I rode back to Juvigny, and
entered the house which I had lent to Jacques Marlot. The good farmer
was out, but Madame Marlot, who now presented the very best possible
image of a _bonne fermière_, adorned with fine white muslin, a profusion
of lace, and manifold gold ornaments, received me at the gate, and
gave me ocular proof of her husband's increasing prosperity. My visit
had evidently been expected, and on inquiring for my little page, I
was informed that he had been there since an early hour in the
morning, but had gone out upon his rounds with Jacques Marlot, who
would return with him directly.
The ci-devant printer was not long in making his appearance, and T
soon found from his manner that little Clement had informed him that
some events had lately occurred to render my mind not attuned to the
pleasantries with which he was wont to treat me. He was consequently
grave and calm, and though an occasional little drop of acid humour
would mix with what he said, yet our conversation passed much as a
matter of business; and highly approving of my intention of making
improvements, he went over my two farms with me, pointing out all that
he thought might be done. We thus planned a new road, and a number of
plantations, and having provided employment for myself for several
days in inspecting the progress of the workmen, I returned to Dumont,
feeling that at all events I had found an occupation which would
distract some of my thoughts from the more painful theme.
Day after day I returned to Juvigny, and carrying on several
operations at one time, I had an opportunity of diversifying my
amusement; thus waging a sort of incessant war against thought. As
soon as I found that painful ideas were obtruding upon me, I changed
my place at once, and went to the workmen engaged in some other
undertaking; and, thanks to their blessed stupidity, I always
discovered some matter to set right or some mistake to rectify. Thus
passed my days for more than a fortnight, and though the long dull
evenings were still terrible, yet the occupation of my thoughts during
the hours of light was in itself a great relief. My little page, wild
as the winds, left me almost entirely to myself, and although it had
been a part of my plan to fill up my vacant time by pursuing the task
of his education, yet my mind was not equal to it; and I soon found
that I could not bend my thoughts to the subject with sufficient
application, to do him any good or myself either. Thus from nightfall
to midnight my hours were generally spent in walking up and down the
great library, sometimes forcing myself to read for a few minutes, but
generally giving full course to the thoughts which I contrived to
avoid, more or less, during the day.
At length, however, a messenger arrived from the Prés Vallée, bringing
me letters, which again rendered every effort to occupy my mind
perfectly vain. The first was from Monsieur de Villardin, and was full
of the kindest and most affectionate language; but it went on to
inform me that the Count de Laval had arrived at the château, and that
his marriage was fixed for that day week. Feeling it necessary to
inform me of the fact, and yet knowing that every word upon the
subject was a dagger in my heart, Monsieur de Villardin wrote as
briefly upon it as possible, simply telling me the bare facts, and
then adding, "Laura is calm."
The next was a letter from Father Ferdinand, but it was more full,
more interesting, and yet more painful. I give it, therefore, as it
was, so far at least as translation can render it.
"My dear Son,
"Although Monsieur de Villardin has written to you himself, I feel
it necessary to address you also as one who loves you sincerely,
and whose wishes are all for your future welfare and happiness. In
the first place, however, let me say, that although I doubt not youll
may think I outstepped my duty, and interfered, perhaps cruelly, in
informing the Duke of the mutual affection which existed between Laura
and yourself, yet I had an undoubted right to do so, founded on
circumstances which you do not know, but which shall one day be
explained to you. In other respects, some words that I once let drop,
which might tend to encourage your passion, still rest upon my
conscience; but my error in having spoken them is attributable in some
degree to Monsieur de Villardin himself, who did not inform me, as he
ought to have done at an earlier period, that he had promised the hand
of his daughter to another.
"_The future husband of Laura de Villardin_ is now here, and while I
acknowledge my regret that in every respect he does not resemble
yourself, yet he seems a noble and dignified man, with whom, I trust,
she will find peace, if not happiness. The day of marriage is fixed
for this day week, and beyond all doubt it will then take place. Laura
is calm and composed, and her mind appears made up to her fate; but at
the same time it is useless to dissemble that she suffers much. In
speaking thus, my son, I have the utmost reliance on those good
principles which I have marked with pleasure daily taking firmer root
in your bosom; and on those generous feelings which I have often seen
make you prefer the happiness of others to your own. I know that man
can hardly love woman better than you love her who is now about to
become the wife of another; and I believe that your love for her will
not decay; but I believe at the same time that her tranquillity and
peace of mind will ever be your first desire; and on this ground I
entreat, I beseech, I command you never to see her after her marriage,
till long years have calmed and softened feelings that are now too
vehement for control. If, indeed, you do love her sincerely, such will
be your course; and the blessing of a quiet conscience, and the
knowledge of having acted nobly under the most trying circumstances,
will follow such conduct, and cannot fail to assuage your grief.
"Ere long I shall again see you, at least, if you remain at Dumont;
for as soon as the marriage is over, Monsieur de Villardin and all his
family set out for Paris. On the same day I leave the Prés Vallée for
Rennes, where I shall spend but three days in necessary business, and
will then join you. I hope to give you consolation, and at all events
to be enabled to afford you some support under the bitter
disappointment which you suffer. From these circumstances, and knowing
how painful all the details must be to you, I shall not write again
till we meet; and in the meantime may God bless and comfort you, and
give you strength, and wisdom, and faith, to bear the dispensation of
his will without murmurs or repining."
The effect of these letters upon my mind may be conceived. No
occupation now took any hold upon my thoughts; and the whole of the
next week was spent in wandering about in a state of despairing
wretchedness, that made me almost think the use of my reason would
abandon me. I read over and over again the letters which conveyed to
me the intelligence of the near approach of my beloved Laura's
marriage to another; and, instead of feeling soothed by the terms of
affection and consolation which they contained, every word served but
to irritate me, and to aggravate my grief. Cruel, cruel did it seem to
me, to force the poor unhappy girl into an union from which her heart
revolted, without giving her time even to prepare her mind by thought;
or, by contemplation, to habituate her ideas to a change of situation
and of duties which implied the sacrifice of her heart's first and
strongest affection. Bitterly, in my own breast, did I upbraid
Monsieur de Villardin for the haste with which he proceeded--bitterly
also did I upbraid Father Ferdinand for not using all his influence to
obtain, at least, a delay of some weeks or months.
From what had fallen from Monsieur de Villardin, when last I saw him,
I had certainly anticipated that the marriage would take place much
sooner than he had at first determined; but never did I think that
only three short weeks would be allowed for Laura to cast me from her
heart, and to summon resolution to plight her faith to another: and
the agony of mind that I knew she would suffer, as may well be
supposed, added not a little to my own. Often, often was I tempted to
act now, as I most certainly should have acted in former years--to
hasten to the Prés Vallée, and, exerting all the influence that I
possessed over her mind, to persuade her to escape from the trammels
which they sought to impose upon her, and, uniting her fate to mine
for ever, fly to some distant land, where we might spend the rest of
our days in peace. But still a sense of honour and gratitude made me
pause and doubt, till the fatal day at length arrived, and I saw the
sun rise and set that was to seal my fate and hers for ever. As it
sunk below the verge of the horizon, and the grey, deep night came on,
the struggle between duty and passion was over, and nothing remained
but despair. My heart was like a field of battle, from which a fierce
and fearful strife had passed away, and had left behind nothing but
mourning and death.
Shutting myself up in my own chamber, I cast myself down on my bed
without undressing, and many an hour passed over my head, uncounted
and unmarked, in a sort of dreary stupor, which was in everything the
reverse of sleep; far from being a suspension of thought, it was the
rushing of painful ideas through my brain, in such crowded multitudes,
that all individual form and distinctness was lost. At length the
faint grey light told me that it was dawn, and, springing from my bed,
with an impulse that I could not resist, I woke the groom, and told
him to saddle me my stoutest horse, determined to seek the Prés
Vallée. "They are all gone by this time," I thought; "the house is
lonely and desolate like my own heart, and I may at least be permitted
to see the spot where last she trode."
In a few minutes the horse was at the door, and the servants, gazing
anxiously upon me, asked whether they might not accompany me? I
replied, somewhat harshly, "No." And springing into the saddle, shook
my bridle-rein, and galloped off towards Rennes. My gallant horse,
which had borne me through many a battle-field, now carried me
stoutly on, and, as if he felt the same eagerness which swelled in my
own heart, slackened not his pace for many a mile. As I rode through
the forest, I heard some distant voices, but my heart and my brain
were both too full for me to give any attention to external objects,
and the sounds fell upon my ear heard, but not noticed. About six
miles more brought me to the first woods of the Prés Vallée, and in a
few moments, I was standing amongst the tall trees, and beside the
lonely grave of turf, where Laura and myself had been accustomed to
meet. I gazed sternly on the spot for a few moments, calling up all
the memories which thronged around it, and torturing my own heart with
every thought which could render my feelings more bitter. Tying my
horse to a branch of a tree, I walked slowly on towards the house,
expecting to find it nearly deserted; but I was surprised, when I
approached the terrace, to see a number of grooms and servants,
apparently busy in their usual occupations. The sight startled me,
and, drawing rapidly back, I escaped through the garden, in order to
regain my horse without being seen; for, unless the whole household
had departed, to enter the Prés Vallée at such a moment of course
never crossed my thoughts.
I now passed quickly through the garden, and was turning towards the
door at the other side, when I suddenly heard a low voice calling
after me, "Hist--hist! Monsieur le Baron," and looking round, I beheld
old Jerome, the major-domo, pursuing me as fast as his somewhat feeble
limbs would permit. I turned towards him, and bade him follow to some
place where we should not be observed; but he replied, "O, there is no
fear here. They are all gone out, and will be too tired before their
return to come walking in the garden."
There were a thousand questions that I could have wished to ask, but
they died away upon my lips; and had not the old man been as eager
to tell as I was to hear, I should have gained no tidings.
"You have heard the news, sir," he said, "you have heard the news?"
"I have heard nothing, Jerome," I replied, "excepting that the family
was to quit the Prés Vallée yesterday, which is the sole cause of my
being here to-day."
"Well, then, you have not heard," continued the old man, with a smile
of evident satisfaction brightening up his features, "you have not
heard that the marriage is delayed, and Lise declares she is sure it
will not take place at all."
I thought I should have fallen down dead at his feet, so sudden was
the change from despair to hope; and now, being more anxious than ever
to hear him to an end uninterrupted, I beckoned him out of the
gardens, and leading the way towards the grave of the Count de Mesnil,
in which direction I knew Monsieur de Villardin would not venture, I
besought him to tell me all that had occurred. He began his story with
a long tirade against my rival, whose person and deportment seemed
equally to have fallen under the old man's disapprobation. I cut short
his details, however, concerning the Count de Laval, telling him that
I knew him, and that he need not describe him; and he then went on to
relate the events which had occurred within the last week.
"Just five days ago," he said, "when we all thought the marriage was
to take place as yesterday, Mademoiselle--as many of us had fancied
she would--fell ill; and several physicians were sent for from Rennes.
The two who came, I hear from Lise, declared that she was ill in body
because she was ill in mind; and that Monsieur de Villardin or Father
Ferdinand must be her physicians, as they could do nothing for her.
Both the Duke and the Priest went to her immediately, and Lise was
sent away, so that she heard nothing more. At length, however, it
seems that she obtained permission to see the Count himself, and to
tell him all she felt, for he was admitted to her chamber, and, while
Lise stood at one end of the room, held a long conversation with our
young lady at the other. What it was all about Lise did not hear,
though she very well guessed: but, as the Count was going away, he
said aloud, 'As you desire it, madam, I will certainly speak with the
good Father, though I do not think he can tell me anything which I do
not know before. But, at all events, rest satisfied that, after the
confidence you have placed in me, I will do nothing ungenerous.'"
"From all this Lise augured well; but, what between agitation, and
terror, and fatigue, my young lady fainted seven or eight times within
the hour, after the Count had left her; and at length Lise was obliged
to call the Duke and other people to her assistance, as she could not
bring Mademoiselle to herself again; and for some time every one
thought she was dead. As soon as she had recovered, she was told that,
at the desire of the Count himself, the marriage would be put off for
a month; and from that moment she began to get better rapidly. The
same evening, I saw the Count walking with Father Ferdinand for nearly
three hours; and I always thought that news had been sent to you, for
I know that a messenger was despatched that night to Dumont, without
the knowledge of Monsieur de Villardin."
"He never came!" I exclaimed. "I never saw him! I never heard of his
arrival!"
"That is very strange," said the old man, "for he certainly went, and
as certainly returned early yesterday morning. However, yesterday,
Mademoiselle was quite well again; but all the preparations for the
marriage have been done away. The Count seems very respectful and kind
to my young lady. Lise, who knows better about it than any one,
appears more happy, and every one thinks that the marriage will not
take place at all. To-day, all went out early, with the carriage and
a few horsemen, but they have not returned yet, though Monseigneur
said that he would be back before noon, and it is now nearly three
o'clock."
The relief that all these tidings gave me was almost too great to bear
with any degree of firmness. I could have wept for very joy; and yet
so strange, so unexpected, was the whole, that I scarcely dared suffer
myself to entertain the hopes which good old Jerome was so anxious to
supply. "The marriage," I thought, "might indeed be delayed; Laura's
entreaties and illness might have obtained for her some compassion;
but if the character which I had heard of the Count de Laval were
correct, he was not a man to yield easily the hand of the richest
heiress in France, or to suffer what he would consider her childish
passion for another ultimately to break through the positive
engagements which her father had entered into with himself." Such
thoughts, of course, tended to calm my joy, and to moderate my
expectations; but still the flame of hope was again lighted in my
bosom, and infinite, indeed, was the change which had taken place in
all my feelings since I had left Dumont at break of day.
Numberless, however, were still the questions which I had to ask of
the old man; for the slightest particular, the most accidental trait,
in the events which had occurred, was of course calculated to raise up
or cast down my new-found hopes, and was in itself interesting from
its connexion with the fate and happiness of Laura de Villardin. Thus,
with slow and interrupted steps, we were proceeding in the direction
which I have mentioned, sometimes pausing to ask a question or to
receive a reply, sometimes stopping short to think over all I had
heard, and to try to discover what was really the state of the case
from the broken information which Jerome could alone afford me, when
suddenly, a little way ere we reached the spot where I had left my
charger, the sound of a horse's feet, coming rapidly down the
neighbouring avenue, made me hasten behind some thick hawthorn bushes,
to avoid observation. Jerome, however, remained where he was, and I
could hear, from my place of concealment, the horse stop when it
reached him, some hasty conversation take place, and then the voice of
the old man calling me, for God's sake, to come up. I did so at once;
and as I emerged from the trees, was not a little surprised to
perceive that the person conversing with the old major-domo was a
woman dressed in the habit of a Bretonne paysanne, and mounted on a
good horse, which she had not quitted, but was speaking as she sat,
with all the eager gesticulation of passion and energy. The next
moment she turned towards myself, and what was my astonishment as she
did so, to behold Suzette, the former maid of Madame de Villardin, and
the wife of Gaspard de Belleville.