THE DAWN OF LOVE
Winter had come, and with it all the inclement accompaniments usual in
this bleak and bitter mountainous country: icy rains, which, mingled with
sleet, washed away whirlpools of withered leaves that the swollen streams
tossed noisily into the ravines; sharp, cutting winds from the north,
bleak frosts hardening the earth and vitrifying the cascades; abundant
falls of snow, lasting sometimes an entire week. The roads had become
impassable. A thick, white crust covered alike the pasture-lands, the
stony levels, and the wooded slopes, where the branches creaked under the
weight of their snowy burdens. A profound silence encircled the village,
which seemed buried under the successive layers of snowdrifts. Only here
and there, occasionally, did a thin line of blue smoke, rising from one
of the white roofs, give evidence of any latent life among the
inhabitants. The Chateau de Buxieres stood in the midst of a vast carpet
of snow on which the sabots of the villagers had outlined a narrow path,
leading from the outer steps to the iron gate. Inside, fires blazed on
all the hearths, which, however, did not modify the frigid atmosphere of
the rudely-built upper rooms.
Julien de Buxieres was freezing, both physically and morally, in his
abode. His generous conduct toward Claudet had, in truth, gained him the
affection of the 'grand chasserot', made Manette as gentle as a lamb,
and caused a revulsion of feeling in his favor throughout the village;
but, although his material surroundings had become more congenial, he
still felt around him the chill of intellectual solitude. The days also
seemed longer since Claudet had taken upon himself the management of all
details. Julien found that re-reading his favorite books was not
sufficient occupation for the weary hours that dragged slowly along
between the rising and the setting of the sun. The gossipings of
Manette, the hunting stories of Claudet had no interest for young
de Buxieres, and the acquaintances he endeavored to make outside left
only a depressing feeling of ennui and disenchantment.
His first visit had been made to the cure of Vivey, where he hoped to
meet with some intellectual resources, and a tone of conversation more in
harmony with his tastes. In this expectation, also, he had been
disappointed. The Abbe Pernot was an amiable quinquagenarian, and a
'bon vivant', whose mind inclined more naturally toward the duties of
daily life than toward meditation or contemplative studies. The ideal
did not worry him in the least; and when he had said his mass, read his
breviary, confessed the devout sinners and visited the sick, he gave the
rest of his time to profane but respectable amusements. He was of robust
temperament, with a tendency to corpulency, which he fought against by
taking considerable exercise; his face was round and good-natured, his
calm gray eyes reflected the tranquillity and uprightness of his soul,
and his genial nature was shown in his full smiling mouth, his thick,
wavy, gray hair, and his quick and cordial gestures.
When Julien was ushered into the presbytery, he found the cure installed
in a small room, which he used for working in, and which was littered up
with articles bearing a very distant connection to his pious calling:
nets for catching larks, hoops and other nets for fishing, stuffed birds,
and a collection of coleopterx. At the other end of the room stood a
dusty bookcase, containing about a hundred volumes, which seemed to have
been seldom consulted. The Abbe, sitting on a low chair in the chimney-
corner, his cassock raised to his knees, was busy melting glue in an old
earthen pot.
"Aha, good-day! Monsieur de Buxieres," said he in his rich, jovial
voice, "you have caught me in an occupation not very canonical; but what
of it? As Saint James says: 'The bow can not be always bent.' I am
preparing some lime-twigs, which I shall place in the Bois des Ronces as
soon as the snow is melted. I am not only a fisher of souls, but I
endeavor also to catch birds in my net, not so much for the purpose of
varying my diet, as of enriching my collection!"
"You have a great deal of spare time on your hands, then?" inquired
Julien, with some surprise.
"Well, yes--yes--quite a good deal. The parish is not very extensive, as
you have doubtless noticed; my parishioners are in the best possible
health, thank God! and they live to be very old. I have barely two or
three marriages in a year, and as many burials, so that, you see, one
must fill up one's time somehow to escape the sin of idleness. Every man
must have a hobby. Mine is ornithology; and yours, Monsieur
de Buxieres?"
Julien was tempted to reply: "Mine, for the moment, is ennui." He was
just in the mood to unburden himself to the cure as to the mental thirst
that was drying up his faculties, but a certain instinct warned him that
the Abbe was not a man to comprehend the subtle complexities of his
psychological condition, so he contented himself with replying, briefly:
"I read a great deal. I have, over there in the chateau, a pretty fair
collection of historical and religious works, and they are at your
service, Monsieur le Cure!"
"A thousand thanks," replied the Abbe Pernot, making a slight grimace;
"I am not much of a reader, and my little stock is sufficient for my
needs. You remember what is said in the Imitation: 'Si scires totam
Bibliam exterius et omnium philosophorum dicta, quid totum prodesset sine
caritate Dei et gratia?' Besides, it gives me a headache to read too
steadily. I require exercise in the open air. Do you hunt or fish,
Monsieur de Buxieres?"
"Neither the one nor the other."
"So much the worse for you. You will find the time hang very heavily on
your hands in this country, where there are so few sources of amusement.
But never fear! You can not be always reading, and when the fine weather
comes you will yield to the temptation; all the more likely because you
have Claudet Sejournant with you. A jolly fellow he is; there is not one
like him for killing a snipe or sticking a trout! Our trout here on the
Aubette, Monsieur de Buxieres, are excellent--of the salmon kind, and
very meaty."
Then came an interval of silence. The Abbe began to suspect that this
conversation was not one of profound interest to his visitor, and he
resumed:
"Speaking of Claudet, Monsieur, allow me to offer you my congratulations.
You have acted in a most Christian-like and equitable manner, in making
amends for the inconceivable negligence of the deceased Claude de
Buxieres. Then, on the other hand, Claudet deserves what you have done
for him. He is a good fellow, a little too quick-tempered and violent
perhaps, but he has a heart of gold. Ah! it would have been no use for
the deceased to deny it--the blood of de Buxieres runs in his veins!"
"If public rumor is to be believed," said Julien timidly, rising to go,
"my deceased cousin Claude was very much addicted to profane pleasures."
"Yes, yes, indeed!" sighed the Abbe, "he was a devil incarnate--but what
a magnificent man! What a wonderful huntsman! Notwithstanding his
backslidings, there was a great deal of good in him, and I am fain to
believe that God has taken him under His protecting mercy."
Julien took his leave, and returned to the chateau, very much
discouraged. "This priest," thought he to himself, "is a man of
expediency. He allows himself certain indulgences which are to be
regretted, and his mind is becoming clogged by continual association with
carnal-minded men. His thoughts are too much given to earthly things,
and I have no more faith in him than in the rest of them."
So he shut himself up again in his solitude, with one more illusion
destroyed. He asked himself, and his heart became heavy at the thought,
whether, in course of time, he also would undergo this stultification,
this moral depression, which ends by lowering us to the level of the low-
minded people among whom we live.
Among all the persons he had met since his arrival at Vivey, only one had
impressed him as being sympathetic and attractive: Reine Vincart--and
even her energy was directed toward matters that Julien looked upon as
secondary. And besides, Reine was a woman, and he was afraid of women.
He believed with Ecclesiastes the preacher, that "they are more bitter
than death . . . and whoso pleaseth God shall escape from them."
He had therefore no other refuge but in his books or his own sullen
reflections, and, consequently, his old enemy, hypochondria, again made
him its prey.
Toward the beginning of January, the snow in the valley had somewhat
melted, and a light frost made access to the woods possible. As the
hunting season seldom extended beyond the first days of February, the
huntsmen were all eager to take advantage of the few remaining weeks to
enjoy their favorite pastime. Every day the forest resounded with the
shouts of beaters-up and the barking of the hounds. From Auberive,
Praslay and Grancey, rendezvous were made in the woods of Charbonniere or
Maigrefontaine; nothing was thought of but the exploits of certain
marksmen, the number of pieces bagged, and the joyous outdoor breakfasts
which preceded each occasion. One evening, as Julien, more moody than
usual, stood yawning wearily and leaning on the corner of the stove,
Claudet noticed him, and was touched with pity for this young fellow,
who had so little idea how to employ his time, his youth, or his money.
He felt impelled, as a conscientious duty, to draw him out of his
unwholesome state of mind, and initiate him into the pleasures of country
life.
"You do not enjoy yourself with us, Monsieur Julien," said he, kindly;
"I can't bear to see you so downhearted. You are ruining yourself with
poring all day long over your books, and the worst of it is, they do not
take the frowns out of your face. Take my word for it, you must change
your way of living, or you will be ill. Come, now, if you will trust in
me, I will undertake to cure your ennui before a week is over."
"And what is your remedy, Claudet?" demanded Julien, with a forced
smile.
"A very simple one: just let your books go, since they do not succeed in
interesting you, and live the life that every one else leads. The
de Buxieres, your ancestors, followed the same plan, and had no fault
to find with it. You are in a wolf country--well, you must howl with
the wolves!"
"My dear fellow," replied Julien, shaking his head, "one can not remake
one's self. The wolves themselves would discover that I howled out of
tune, and would send me back to my books."
"Nonsense! try, at any rate. You can not imagine what pleasure there is
in coursing through the woods, and suddenly, at a sharp turn, catching
sight of a deer in the distance, then galloping to the spot where he must
pass, and holding him with the end of your gun! You have no idea what an
appetite one gets with such exercise, nor how jolly it is to breakfast
afterward, all together, seated round some favorite old beech-tree.
Enjoy your youth while you have it. Time enough to stay in your chimney-
corner and spit in the ashes when rheumatism has got hold of you.
Perhaps you will say you never have followed the hounds, and do not know
how to handle a gun?"
"That is the exact truth."
"Possibly, but appetite comes with eating, and when once you have tasted
of the pleasures of the chase, you will want to imitate your companions.
Now, see here: we have organized a party at Charbonniere to-morrow,
for the gentlemen of Auberive; there will be some people you know--
Destourbet, justice of the Peace, the clerk Seurrot, Maitre Arbillot and
the tax-collector, Boucheseiche. Hutinet went over the ground yesterday,
and has appointed the meeting for ten o'clock at the Belle-Etoile. Come
with us; there will be good eating and merriment, and also some fine
shooting, I pledge you my word!"
Julien refused at first, but Claudet insisted, and showed him the
necessity of getting more intimately acquainted with the notables of
Auberive--people with whom he would be continually coming in contact as
representing the administration of justice and various affairs in the
canton. He urged so well that young de Buxieres ended by giving his
consent. Manette received immediate instructions to prepare eatables for
Hutinet, the keeper, to take at early dawn to the Belle-Etoile, and it
was decided that the company should start at precisely eight o'clock.
The next morning, at the hour indicated, the 'grand chasserot' was
already in the courtyard with his two hounds, Charbonneau and Montagnard,
who were leaping and barking sonorously around him. Julien, reminded of
his promise by the unusual early uproar, dressed himself with a bad
grace, and went down to join Claudet, who was bristling with impatience.
They started. There had been a sharp frost during the night; some hail
had fallen, and the roads were thinly coated with a white dust, called by
the country people, in their picturesque language, "a sugarfrost" of
snow. A thick fog hung over the forest, so that they had to guess their
way; but Claudet knew every turn and every sidepath, and thus he and his
companion arrived by the most direct line at the rendezvous. They soon
began to hear the barking of the dogs, to which Montagnard and
Charbonneau replied with emulative alacrity, and finally, through the
mist, they distinguished the group of huntsmen from Auberive.
The Belle-Etoile was a circular spot, surrounded by ancient ash-trees,
and formed the central point for six diverging alleys which stretched out
indefinitely into the forest. The monks of Auberive, at the epoch when
they were the lords and owners of the land, had made this place a
rendezvous for huntsmen, and had provided a table and some stone benches,
which, thirty years ago, were still in existence. The enclosure,
which had been chosen for the breakfast on the present occasion, was
irradiated by a huge log-fire; a very respectable display of bottles,
bread, and various eatables covered the stone table, and the dogs,
attached by couples to posts, pulled at their leashes and barked in
chorus, while their masters, grouped around the fire, warmed their
benumbed fingers over the flames, and tapped their heels while waiting
for the last-comers.
At sight of Julien and Claudet, there was a joyous hurrah of welcome.
Justice Destourbet exchanged a ceremonious hand-shake with the new
proprietor of the chateau. The scant costume and tight gaiters of the
huntsman's attire, displayed more than ever the height and slimness of
the country magistrate. By his side, the registrar Seurrot, his legs
encased in blue linen spatterdashes, his back bent, his hands crossed
comfortably over his "corporation," sat roasting himself at the flame,
while grumbling when the wind blew the smoke in his eyes. Arbillot, the
notary, as agile and restless as a lizard, kept going from one to the
other with an air of mysterious importance. He came up to Claudet, drew
him aside, and showed him a little figure in a case.
"Look here!" whispered he, "we shall have some fun; as I passed by the
Abbe Pernot's this morning, I stole one of his stuffed squirrels."
He stooped down, and with an air of great mystery poured into his ear the
rest of the communication, at the close of which his small black eyes
twinkled maliciously, and he passed the end of his tongue over his frozen
moustache.
"Come with me," continued he; "it will be a good joke on the collector."
He drew Claudet and Hutinet toward one of the trenches, where the fog hid
them from sight.
During this colloquy, Boucheseiche the collector, against whom they were
thus plotting, had seized upon Julien de Buxieres, and was putting him
through a course of hunting lore. Justin Boucheseiche was a man of
remarkable ugliness; big, bony, freckled, with red hair, hairy hands, and
a loud, rough voice.
He wore a perfectly new hunting costume, cap and gaiters of leather, a
havana-colored waistcoat, and had a complete assortment of pockets of all
sizes for the cartridges. He pretended to be a great authority on all
matters relating to the chase, although he was, in fact, the worst shot
in the whole canton; and when he had the good luck to meet with a
newcomer, he launched forth on the recital of his imaginary prowess,
without any pity for the hearer. So that, having once got hold of
Julien, he kept by his side when they sat down to breakfast.
All these country huntsmen were blessed with healthy appetites. They ate
heartily, and drank in the same fashion, especially the collector
Boucheseiche, who justified his name by pouring out numerous bumpers of
white wine. During the first quarter of an hour nothing could be heard
but the noise of jaws masticating, glasses and forks clinking; but when
the savory pastries, the cold game and the hams had disappeared, and had
been replaced by goblets of hot Burgundy and boiling coffee, then tongues
became loosened. Julien, to his infinite disgust, was forced again to be
present at a conversation similar to the one at the time of the raising
of the seals, the coarseness of which had so astonished and shocked him.
After the anecdotes of the chase were exhausted, the guests began to
relate their experiences among the fair sex, losing nothing of the point
from the effect of the numerous empty bottles around. All the scandalous
cases in the courts of justice, all the coarse jokes and adventures of
the district, were related over again. Each tried to surpass his
neighbor. To hear these men of position boast of their gallantries with
all classes, one would have thought that the entire canton underwent
periodical changes and became one vast Saturnalia, where rustic satyrs
courted their favorite nymphs. But nothing came of it, after all; once
the feast was digested, and they had returned to the conjugal abode, all
these terrible gay Lotharios became once more chaste and worthy fathers
of families. Nevertheless, Julien, who was unaccustomed to such bibulous
festivals and such unbridled license of language, took it all literally,
and reproached himself more than ever with having yielded to Claudet's
entreaties.
At last the table was deserted, and the marking of the limits of the hunt
began.
As they were following the course of the trenches, the notary stopped
suddenly at the foot of an ash-tree, and took the arm of the collector,
who was gently humming out of tune.
"Hush! Collector," he whispered, "do you see that fellow up there, on
the fork of the tree? He seems to be jeering at us."
At the same time he pointed out a squirrel, sitting perched upon a
branch, about halfway up the tree. The animal's tail stood up behind
like a plume, his ears were upright, and he had his front paws in his
mouth, as if cracking a nut.
"A squirrel!" cried the impetuous Boucheseiche, immediately falling into
the snare; "let no one touch him, gentlemen--I will settle his account
for him."
The rest of the hunters had drawn back in a circle, and were exchanging
sly glances. The collector loaded his gun, shouldered it, covered the
squirrel, and then let go.
"Hit!" exclaimed he, triumphantly, as soon as the smoke had dispersed.
In fact, the animal had slid down the branch, head first, but, somehow,
he did not fall to the ground.
"He has caught hold of something," said the notary, facetiously.
"Ah! you will hold on, you rascal, will you?" shouted Boucheseiche,
beside himself with excitement, and the next moment he sent a second
shot, which sent the hair flying in all directions.
The creature remained in the same position. Then there was a general
roar.
"He is quite obstinate!" remarked the clerk, slyly.
Boucheseiche, astonished, looked attentively at the tree, then at the
laughing crowd, and could not understand the situation.
"If I were in your place, Collector," said Claudet, in an insinuating
manner, "I should climb up there, to see--"
But Justin Boucheseiche was not a climber. He called a youngster, who
followed the hunt as beater-up.
"I will give you ten sous," said he; "to mount that tree and bring me my
squirrel!"
The young imp did not need to be told twice. In the twinkling of an eye
he threw his arms around the tree, and reached the fork. When there, he
uttered an exclamation.
"Well?" cried the collector; impatiently, "throw him down!"
"I can't, Monsieur," replied the boy, "the squirrel is fastened by a
wire." Then the laughter burst forth more boisterously than before.
"A wire, you young rascal! Are you making fun of me?" shouted
Boucheseiche, "come down this moment!"
"Here he is, Monsieur," replied the lad, throwing himself down with the
squirrel which he tossed at the collector's feet.
When Boucheseiche verified the fact that the squirrel was a stuffed
specimen, he gave a resounding oath.
"In the name of ---! who is the miscreant that has perpetrated this
joke?"
No one could reply for laughing. Then ironical cheers burst forth from
all sides.
"Brave Boucheseiche! That's a kind of game one doesn't often get
hold of !"
"We never shall see any more of that kind!"
"Let us carry Boucheseiche in triumph!"
And so they went on, marching around the tree. Arbillot seized a slip of
ivy and crowned Boucheseiche, while all the others clapped their hands
and capered in front of the collector, who, at last, being a good fellow
at heart, joined in the laugh at his own expense.
Julien de Buxieres alone could not share the general hilarity. The
uproar caused by this simple joke did not even chase the frown from his
brow. He was provoked at not being able to bring himself within the
diapason of this somewhat vulgar gayety: he was aware that his melancholy
countenance, his black clothes, his want of sympathy jarred unpleasantly
on the other jovial guests. He did not intend any longer to play the
part of a killjoy. Without saying anything to Claudet, therefore, he
waited until the huntsmen had scattered in the brushwood, and then,
diving into a trench, in an opposite direction, he gave them all the
slip, and turned in the direction of Planche-au-Vacher.
As he walked slowly, treading under foot the dry frosty leaves, he
reflected how the monotonous crackling of this foliage, once so full of
life, now withered and rendered brittle by the frost, seemed to represent
his own deterioration of feeling. It was a sad and suitable
accompaniment of his own gloomy thoughts.
He was deeply mortified at the sorry figure he had presented at the
breakfast-table. He acknowledged sorrowfully to himself that, at twenty-
eight years of age, he was less young and less really alive than all
these country squires, although all, except Claudet, had passed their
fortieth year. Having missed his season of childhood, was he also doomed
to have no youth? Others found delight in the most ordinary amusements,
why, to him, did life seem so insipid and colorless?
Why was he so unfortunately constituted that all human joys lost their
sweetness as soon as he opened his heart to them? Nothing made any
powerful impression on him; everything that happened seemed to be a
perpetual reiteration, a song sung for the hundredth time, a story a
hundred times related.
He was like a new vase, cracked before it had served its use, and he felt
thoroughly ashamed of the weakness and infirmity of his inner self. Thus
pondering, he traversed much ground, hardly knowing where he was going.
The fog, which now filled the air and which almost hid the trenches with
its thin bluish veil, made it impossible to discover his bearings. At
last he reached the border of some pastureland, which he crossed, and
then he perceived, not many steps away, some buildings with tiled roofs,
which had something familiar to him in their aspect. After he had gone a
few feet farther he recognized the court and facade of La Thuiliere; and,
as he looked over the outer wall, a sight altogether novel and unexpected
presented itself.
Standing in the centre of the courtyard, her outline showing in dark
relief against the light "sugar-frosting," stood Reine Vincart, her back
turned to Julien. She held up a corner of her apron with one hand, and
with the other took out handfuls of grain, which she scattered among the
birds fluttering around her. At each moment the little band was
augmented by a new arrival. All these little creatures were of species
which do not emigrate, but pass the winter in the shelter of the wooded
dells. There were blackbirds with yellow bills, who advanced boldly over
the snow up to the very feet of the distributing fairy; robin redbreasts,
nearly as tame, hopping gayly over the stones, bobbing their heads and
puffing out their red breasts; and tomtits, prudently watching awhile
from the tops of neighboring trees, then suddenly taking flight, and with
quick, sharp cries, seizing the grain on the wing. It was charming to
see all these little hungry creatures career around Reine's head, with a
joyous fluttering of wings. When the supply was exhausted, the young
girl shook her apron, turned around, and recognized Julien.
"Were you there, Monsieur de Buxieres?" she exclaimed; "come inside the
courtyard! Don't be afraid; they have finished their meal. Those are my
boarders," she added, pointing to the birds, which, one by one, were
taking their flight across the fields. "Ever since the first fall of
snow, I have been distributing grain to them once a day. I think they
must tell one another under the trees there, for every day their number
increases. But I don't complain of that. Just think, these are not
birds of passage; they do not leave us at the first cold blast, to find a
warmer climate; the least we can do is to recompense them by feeding them
when the weather is too severe! Several know me already, and are very
tame. There is a blackbird in particular, and a blue tomtit, that are
both extremely saucy!"
These remarks were of a nature to please Julien. They went straight to
the heart of the young mystic; they recalled to his mind St. Francis of
Assisi, preaching to the fish and conversing with the birds, and he felt
an increase of sympathy for this singular young girl. He would have
liked to find a pretext for remaining longer with her, but his natural
timidity in the presence of women paralyzed his tongue, and, already,
fearing he should be thought intruding, he had raised his hat to take
leave, when Reine addressed him:
"I do not ask you to come into the house, because I am obliged to go to
the sale of the Ronces woods, in order to speak to the men who are
cultivating the little lot that we have bought. I wager, Monsieur de
Buxieres, that you are not yet acquainted with our woods?"
"That is true," he replied, smiling.
"Very well, if you will accompany me, I will show you the canton they are
about to develop. It will not be time lost, for it will be a good thing
for the people who are working for you to know that you are interested in
their labors."
Julien replied that he should be happy to be under her guidance.
"In that case," said Reine, "wait for me here. I shall be back in a
moment."
She reappeared a few minutes later, wearing a white hood with a cape, and
a knitted woolen shawl over her shoulders.
"This way!" said she, showing a path that led across the pasture-lands.
They walked along silently at first. The sky was clear, the wind had
freshened. Suddenly, as if by enchantment, the fog, which had hung over
the forest, became converted into needles of ice. Each tree was powdered
over with frozen snow, and on the hillsides overshadowing the valley the
massive tufts of forest were veiled in a bluish-white vapor.
Never had Julien de Buxieres been so long in tete-a-tete with a young
woman. The extreme solitude, the surrounding silence, rendered this dual
promenade more intimate and also more embarrassing to a young man who was
alarmed at the very thought of a female countenance. His ecclesiastical
education had imbued Julien with very rigorous ideas as to the careful
and reserved behavior which should be maintained between the sexes, and
his intercourse with the world had been too infrequent for the idea to
have been modified in any appreciable degree. It was natural, therefore,
that this walk across the fields in the company of Reine should assume an
exaggerated importance in his eyes. He felt himself troubled and yet
happy in the chance afforded him to become more closely acquainted with
this young girl, toward whom a secret sympathy drew him more and more.
But he did not know how to begin conversation, and the more he cudgelled
his brains to find a way of opening the attack, the more he found himself
at sea. Once more Reine came to his assistance.
"Well, Monsieur de Buxieres," said she, "do matters go more to your
liking now? You have acted most generously toward Claudet, and he ought
to be pleased."
"Has he spoken to you, then?"
"No; not himself, but good news, like bad, flies fast, and all the
villagers are singing your praises."
"I only did a very simple and just thing," replied Julien.
"Precisely, but those are the very things that are the hardest to do.
And according as they are done well or ill, so is the person that does
them judged by others."
"You have thought favorably of me then, Mademoiselle Vincart," he
ventured, with a timid smile.
"Yes; but my opinion is of little importance. You must be pleased with
yourself--that is more essential. I am sure that it must be pleasanter
now for you to live at Vivey?"
"Hm!--more bearable, certainly."
The conversation languished again. As they approached the confines of
the farm they heard distant barking, and then the voices of human beings.
Finally two gunshots broke on the air.
"Ha, ha!" exclaimed Reine, listening, "the Auberive Society is following
the hounds, and Claudet must be one of the party. How is it you were not
with them?"
"Claudet took me there, and I was at the breakfast--but, Mademoiselle,
I confess that that kind of amusement is not very tempting to me. At the
first opportunity I made my escape, and left the party to themselves."
"Well, now, to be frank with you, you were wrong. Those gentlemen will
feel aggrieved, for they are very sensitive. You see, when one has to
live with people, one must yield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh
their amusements."
"You are saying exactly what Claudet said last night."
"Claudet was right."
"What am I to do? The chase has no meaning for me. I can not feel any
interest in the butchery of miserable animals that are afterward sent
back to their quarters."
"I can understand that you do not care for the chase for its own sake;
but the ride in the open air, in the open forest? Our forests are so
beautiful--look there, now! does not that sight appeal to you?"
From the height they had now gained, they could see all over the valley,
illuminated at intervals by the pale rays of the winter sun. Wherever
its light touched the brushwood, the frosty leaves quivered like
diamonds, while a milky cloud enveloped the parts left in shadow. Now
and then, a slight breeze stirred the branches, causing a shower of
sparkling atoms to rise in the air, like miniature rainbows. The entire
forest seemed clothed in the pure, fairy-like robes of a virgin bride.
"Yes, that is beautiful," admitted Julien, hesitatingly; "I do not think
I ever saw anything similar: at any rate, it is you who have caused me to
notice it for the first time. But," continued he, "as the sun rises
higher, all this phantasmagoria will melt and vanish. The beauty of
created things lasts only a moment, and serves as a warning for us not to
set our hearts on things that perish."
Reine gazed at him with astonishment.
"Do you really think so?" exclaimed she: "that is very sad, and I do not
know enough to give an opinion. All I know is, that if God has created
such beautiful things it is in order that we may enjoy them. And that is
the reason why I worship these woods with all my heart. Ah! if you could
only see them in the month of June, when the foliage is at its fulness.
Flowers everywhere--yellow, blue, crimson! Music also everywhere--the
song of birds, the murmuring of waters, and the balmy scents in the air.
Then there are the lime-trees, the wild cherry, and the hedges red with
strawberries--it is intoxicating. And, whatever you may say, Monsieur de
Buxieres, I assure you that the beauty of the forest is not a thing to be
despised. Every season it is renewed: in autumn, when the wild fruits
and tinted leaves contribute their wealth of color; in winter, with its
vast carpets of snow, from which the tall ash springs to such a stately
height-look, now! up there!"
They were in the depths of the forest. Before them were colonnades of
slim, graceful trees, rising in one unbroken line toward the skies, their
slender branches forming a dark network overhead, and their lofty
proportions lessening in the distance, until lost in the solemn gloom
beyond. A religious silence prevailed, broken only by the occasional
chirp of the wren, or the soft pattering of some smaller fourfooted race.
"How beautiful!" exclaimed Reine, with animation; "one might imagine
one's self in a cathedral! Oh! how I love the forest; a feeling of awe
and devotion comes over me, and makes me want to kneel down and pray!"
Julien looked at her with an uneasy kind of admiration. She was walking
slowly now, grave and thoughtful, as if in church. Her white hood had
fallen on her shoulders, and her hair, slightly stirred by the wind,
floated like a dark aureole around her pale face. Her luminous eyes
gleamed between the double fringes of her eyelids, and her mobile
nostrils quivered with suppressed emotion. As she passed along, the
brambles from the wayside, intermixed with ivy, and other hardy plants,
caught on the hem of her dress and formed a verdant train, giving her the
appearance of the high-priestess of some mysterious temple of Nature.
At this moment, she identified herself so perfectly with her nickname,
"queen of the woods," that Julien, already powerfully affected by her
peculiar and striking style of beauty, began to experience a
superstitious dread of her influence. His Catholic scruples, or the
remembrance of certain pious lectures administered in his childhood,
rendered him distrustful, and he reproached himself for the interest he
took in the conversation of this seductive creature. He recalled the
legends of temptations to which the Evil One used to subject the
anchorites of old, by causing to appear before them the attractive but
illusive forms of the heathen deities. He wondered whether he were not
becoming the sport of the same baleful influence; if, like the Lamias and
Dryads of antiquity, this queen of the woods were not some spirit of the
elements, incarnated in human form and sent to him for the purpose of
dragging his soul down to perdition.
In this frame of mind he followed in her footsteps, cautiously, and at a
distance, when she suddenly turned, as if waiting for him to rejoin her.
He then perceived that they had reached the end of the copse, and before
them lay an open space, on which the cut lumber lay in cords, forming
dark heaps on the frosty ground. Here and there were allotments of
chosen trees and poles, among which a thin spiral of smoke indicated the
encampment of the cutters. Reine made straight for them, and immediately
presented the new owner of the chateau to the workmen. They made their
awkward obeisances, scrutinizing him in the mistrustful manner customary
with the peasants of mountainous regions when they meet strangers. The
master workman then turned to Reine, replying to her remarks in a
respectful but familiar tone:
"Make yourself easy, mamselle, we shall do our best and rush things in
order to get through with the work. Besides, if you will come this way
with me, you will see that there is no idling; we are just now going to
fell an oak, and before a quarter of an hour is over it will be lying on
the ground, cut off as neatly as if with a razor."
They drew near the spot where the first strokes of the axe were already
resounding. The giant tree did not seem affected by them, but remained
haughty and immovable. Then the blows redoubled until the trunk began to
tremble from the base to the summit, like a living thing. The steel had
made the bark, the sapwood, and even the core of the tree, fly in
shivers; but the oak had resumed its impassive attitude, and bore
stoically the assaults of the workmen. Looking upward, as it reared its
proud and stately head, one would have affirmed that it never could fall.
Suddenly the woodsmen fell back; there was a moment of solemn and
terrible suspense; then the enormous trunk heaved and plunged down among
the brushwood with an alarming crash of breaking branches. A sound as of
lamentation rumbled through the icy forest, and then all was still.
The men, with unconscious emotion, stood contemplating the monarch oak
lying prostrate on the ground. Reine had turned pale; her dark eyes
glistened with tears.
"Let us go," murmured she to Julien; "this death of a tree affects me as
if it were that of a Christian."
They took leave of the woodsmen, and reentered the forest. Reine kept
silence and her companion was at a loss to resume the conversation; so
they journeyed along together quietly until they reached a border line,
whence they could perceive the smoke from the roofs of Vivey.
"You have only to go straight down the hill to reach your home," said
she, briefly; "au revoir, Monsieur de Buxieres."
Thus they quitted each other, and, looking back, he saw that she
slackened her speed and went dreamily on in the direction of Planche-au-
Vacher.