THE WOLF-LEADER
Thibault, fleeing from before Madame Polet’s threats and her farm
servants’ weapons, turned instinctively towards the forest, thinking to
take shelter within it, should he chance to come across one of the
enemy, for he knew that no one would venture to follow him there, for
fear of any lurking dangers. Not that Thibault had much to fear,
whatever kind of enemy he met, now that he was armed with the diabolical
power which he had received from the wolf. He had only to send them
where he had sent the widow’s pig, and he was sure of being rid of them.
Nevertheless, conscious of a certain tightening of the heart when from
time to time the thought of Marcotte came back to him, he acknowledged
to himself that, however anxious to be rid of them, one could not send
men to the devil quite as readily as one sent pigs.
While thus reflecting on the terrible power he possessed, and looking
back at intervals to see if there were any immediate need to put it into
use, Thibault, by the time night fell, had reached the rear of Pisseleu.
It was an autumn night, dark and stormy, with a wind that tore the
yellowing leaves from the trees, and wandered through the forest ways
with melancholy sighs and moanings. These funereal voices of the wind
were interrupted from time to time by the hooting of the owls, which
sounded like the cries of lost travellers, hailing one another. But all
these sounds were familiar to Thibault and made very little impression
upon him. Moreover he had taken the precaution, on first entering the
forest, of cutting a stick, four feet long, from a chestnut tree, and
adept as he was with the quarterstaff, he was ready, armed thus, to
withstand the attack of any four men. So he entered the forest with all
boldness of heart, at the spot which is known to this day as the Wolf’s
Heath. He had been walking for some minutes along a dark and narrow
glade, cursing as he went the foolish whims of women, who, for no reason
whatever, preferred a weak and timid child to a brave, strong, full
grown man, when all of a sudden, at some few paces behind him, he heard
a crackling among the leaves. He turned and the first thing he could
distinguish in the darkness was the glowing light in a pair of eyes
which shone like live coals. Then, looking more closely, and forcing his
eyes, so to speak, to penetrate the gloom, he saw that a great wolf was
following him, step by step. But it was not the wolf that he had
entertained in his hut; that was black, while this was a reddish-brown.
There was no mistaking one for the other, either as to colour or size.
As Thibault had no reason to suppose that all the wolves he came across
would be animated with such benevolent feelings towards him as the first
with which he had had dealings, he grasped his quarterstaff in both
hands, and began twirling it about to make sure he had not forgotten the
knack of using it. But to his great surprise the wolf went on trotting
quietly behind him, without evincing any hostile intention, pausing when
he paused, and going on again when he did, only now and then giving a
howl as if to summon re-inforcements. Thibault was not altogether
without uneasiness as regards these occasional howls, and presently he
became aware of two other bright spots of light in front of him, shining
at intervals through the darkness which was growing thicker and thicker.
Holding his stick up in readiness to hit, he went forward towards these
two lights, which remained stationary, and as he did so, his foot seemed
to stumble against something lying across the path ... it was another
wolf. Not pausing to reflect whether it might not be unwise now to
attack the first wolf, Thibault brought down his staff, giving the
fellow a violent blow on the head. The animal uttered a howl of pain,
then shaking his ears like a dog that has been beaten by its master,
began walking on in front of the shoe-maker. Thibault then turned to see
what had become of the first wolf: it was still following him, still
keeping step with him. Bringing his eyes back again to the front, he now
perceived that a third wolf was walking alongside to the right, and
turning instinctively to the left, saw a fourth flanking him on that
side too. Before he had gone a mile, a dozen of the animals had formed a
circle round him. The situation was critical, and Thibault was fully
conscious of its gravity. At first he tried to sing, hoping that the
sound of the human voice might frighten away the animals; but the
expedient was vain. Not a single animal swerved from its place in the
circle, which was as exactly formed as if drawn with compasses. Then he
thought he would climb up into the first thick-leaved tree he came to,
and there wait for daylight; but on further deliberation, he decided
that the wisest course was to try to get home, as the wolves, in spite
of their number, still appeared as well intentioned as when there was
only one. It would be time enough to climb up into a tree when they
began to show signs of any change of behaviour towards him.
At the same time we are bound to add that Thibault was so disquieted in
mind and that he had reached his own door before he knew where he was,
he did not at first recognise his own house. But a still greater
surprise awaited him, for the wolves who were in front now respectfully
drew back into two lines, sitting up on their hind legs and making a
lane for him to pass along. Thibault did not waste time in stopping to
thank them for this act of courtesy, but dashed into the house, banging
the door to after him. Having firmly shut and bolted the door, he pushed
the great chest against it, that it might be better able to resist any
assault that might be made upon it. Then he flung himself into a chair,
and began at length to find himself able to breathe more freely.
As soon as he was somewhat recovered, he went and peeped through the
little window that looked out on the forest. A row of gleaming eyes
assured him that far from having retired, the wolves had arranged
themselves symmetrically in file in front of his dwelling.
To anyone else the mere proximity of the animals would have been most
alarming, but, Thibault who shortly before, had been obliged to walk
escorted by this terrible troop, found comfort in the thought that a
wall, however thin, now separated him from his formidable companions.
Thibault lit his little iron lamp and put it on the table; drew the
scattered wood-ashes of his hearth together and threw on them a bundle
of chips, and then made a good fire, hoping that the reflection of the
blaze would frighten away the wolves. But Thibault’s wolves were
evidently wolves of a special sort, accustomed to fire, for they did not
budge an inch from the post they had taken up. The state of uneasiness
he was in prevented Thibault from sleeping, and directly dawn broke, he
was able to look out and count them. They seemed, just as on the night
before, to be waiting, some seated, some lying down, others sleeping or
walking up and down like sentinels. But at length, as the last star
melted away, drowned in the waves of purple light ebbing up from the
east, all the wolves with one accord rose, and uttering the mournful
howl with which animals of darkness are wont to salute the day, they
dispersed in various directions and disappeared. Thibault was now able
to sit down and think over the misadventure of the previous day, and he
began by asking himself how it was that the mistress of the Mill had not
preferred him to his cousin Landry. Was he no longer the handsome
Thibault, or had some disadvantageous change come over his personal
appearance? There was only one way of ascertaining whether this was so
or not, namely, by consulting his mirror. So he took down the fragment
of looking-glass hanging over the chimney-piece, and carried it towards
the light, smiling to himself the while like a vain woman. But he had
hardly given the first glance at himself in the mirror, before he
uttered a cry, half of astonishment, half of horror. True, he was still
the handsome Thibault, but the one red hair, thanks to the hasty wishes
which had so imprudently escaped him, had now grown to a regular lock of
hair, of a colour and brilliancy that vied with the brightest flames
upon his hearth.
His forehead grew cold with sweat. Knowing, however, that all attempts
to pluck it out or cut it off would be futile, he made up his mind to
make the best of the matter as it stood, and in future to forbear as far
as possible from framing any wishes. The best thing was to put out of
his mind all the ambitious desires that had worked so fatally for him,
and go back to his humble trade. So Thibault sat down and tried to work,
but he had no heart for the job. In vain he tried to remember the carols
he had been in the habit of singing in the happier days when the beech
and the birch shaped themselves so quickly beneath his fingers; his
tools lay untouched for hours together. He pondered over matters, asking
himself whether it was not a miserable thing to be sweating one’s heart
out merely for the privilege of leading a painful and wretched
existence, when, by judiciously directing one’s wishes one might so
easily attain to happiness. Formerly, even the preparation of his frugal
meal had been an agreeable distraction, but it was so no longer; when
hunger seized him and he was forced to eat his piece of black bread, he
did it with a feeling of repugnance, and the envy, which had hitherto
been nothing more than a vague aspiration after ease and comfort, was
now developed into a blind and violent hatred towards his fellow
creatures.
Still the day, long as it seemed to Thibault, passed away like all its
fellows. When twilight fell, he went outside and sat down on the bench
which he had made himself and placed in front of the door, and there he
remained, lost in gloomy reflections. Scarcely had the shadows begun to
darken, before a wolf emerged from the underwood, and, as on the
previous evening, went and lay down at a short distance from the house.
As on the evening before, this wolf was followed by a second, by a
third, in short by the whole pack, and once more they all took up their
respective posts preparatory to the night’s watch. As soon as Thibault
saw the third wolf appear, he went indoors and barricaded himself in as
carefully as the evening before; but this evening he was even more
unhappy and low spirited, and felt that he had not the strength to keep
awake all night. So he lighted his fire, and piled it up in such a way
that it would last till the morning, and throwing himself on his bed,
fell fast asleep. When he awoke, it was broad daylight, the sun having
risen some hours before. Its rays fell in many colours on the quivering
autumn leaves, dyeing them with a thousand shades of gold and purple.
Thibault ran to the window, the wolves had disappeared, leaving behind
only the mark of where their bodies had lain on the dew-covered grass.
Next evening they again congregated before his dwelling; but he was now
growing gradually accustomed to their presence, and had come to the
conclusion that his relations with the large black wolf had somehow
awakened sympathetic feelings towards him in all other individuals of
the same species, and he determined to find out, once for all, what
their designs towards him really were. Accordingly, thrusting a freshly
sharpened bill-hook into his belt, and taking his boar-spear in his
hand, the shoe-maker opened his door and walked resolutely out to face
them. Having half expected that they would spring upon him, he was
greatly surprised to see them begin to wag their tails like so many dogs
on seeing their master approach. Their greetings were so expressive of
friendliness, that Thibault even ventured to stroke one or two of them
on the back, which they not only allowed him to do, but actually gave
signs of the greatest pleasure at being thus noticed.
“Oh! ho!” muttered Thibault, whose wandering imagination always went
ahead at a gallop, “if these queer friends of mine are as obedient as
they are gentle, why, here I am, the owner of a pack unequalled by any
my Lord Baron has ever possessed, and I shall have no difficulty
whatever now in dining on venison whenever the fancy so takes me.”
He had hardly said the words, when four of the strongest and most alert
of the four-footed beasts separated themselves from the others and
galloped off into the forest. A few minutes later a howl was heard,
sounding from the depths of the underwood, and half an hour afterwards
one of the wolves reappeared dragging with it a fine kid which left
behind it a long trail of blood on the grass. The wolf laid the animal
at Thibault’s feet, who delighted beyond measure at seeing his wishes,
not only accomplished, but forestalled, broke up the kid, giving each of
the wolves an equal share, and keeping the back and haunches for
himself. Then with the gesture of an Emperor, which showed that he now
at last understood the position he held, he ordered the wolves away
until the morrow.
Early next morning, before the day broke, he went off to
Villers-Cotterets, and at the price of a couple of crowns, the Innkeeper
of the _Boule-d’Or_, took the two haunches off his hands.
The following day, it was half of a boar that Thibault conveyed to the
Innkeeper, and it was not long before he became the latter’s chief
purveyor.
Thibault, taking a taste for this sort of business, now passed his whole
day hanging about the taverns, and gave no more thought to the making of
shoes. One or two of his acquaintances began to make fun of his red
lock, for however assiduously he covered it with the rest of his hair,
it always found a way of getting through the curls that hid it, and
making itself visible. But Thibault soon gave it plainly to be
understood that he would take no joking about the unfortunate
disfigurement.
Meanwhile, as ill luck would have it, the Duke of Orleans and Madame de
Montesson came to spend a few days at Villers-Cotterets. This was a
fresh incentive to Thibault’s madly ambitious spirit. All the fine and
beautiful ladies and all the gay young lords from the neighbouring
estates, the Montbretons, the Montesquious, the Courvals, hastened to
Villers-Cotterets. The ladies brought their richest attire, the young
lords their most elegant costumes. The Baron’s hunting-horn resounded
through the forest louder and gayer than ever. Graceful amazons and
dashing cavaliers, in red coats laced with gold, passed like radiant
visions, as they were borne along on their magnificent English horses,
illuminating the sombre depths of the wood like brilliant flashes of
light.
In the evening it was different; then all this aristocratic company
assembled for feasting and dancing, or at other times drove out in
beautiful gilt carriages bedizened with coats of arms of every colour.
Thibault always took his stand in the front rank of the lookers-on,
gazing with avidity on these clouds of satin and lace, which lifted now
and then to disclose the delicate ankles encased in their fine silk
stockings, and the little shoes with their red heels. Thus the whole
cavalcade swept past in front of the astonished peasantry, leaving a
faint exhalation of scent and powder and delicate perfumes. And then
Thibault would ask himself why he was not one of those young lords in
their embroidered coats; why he had not one of these beautiful women in
their rustling satins for his mistress. Then his thoughts would turn to
Agnelette and Madame Polet, and he saw them just as they were, the one a
poor little peasant girl, the other nothing more than the owner of a
rustic mill.
But it was when he was walking home at night through the forest,
accompanied by his pack of wolves, which, from the moment the night fell
and he set foot inside the forest, no more thought of leaving him than
the King’s bodyguard would dream of leaving their Royal master, that his
broodings took their most disastrous turn. Surrounded by the temptations
which now assailed him, it was only what was to be expected that
Thibault who had already gone so far in the direction of evil, should
break away from what little good was still left in him, losing even the
very remembrance of having once led an honest life. What were the few
paltry crowns that the Landlord of the _Boule-d’Or_ gave him in payment
for the game which his good friends the wolves procured for him? Saved
up for months, even for years, they would still be insufficient to
satisfy a single one of the humblest of the desires which kept
tormenting his brain. It would be scarcely safe to say that Thibault,
who had first wished for a haunch of the Baron’s buck, then for
Agnelette’s heart, and then for the widow Polet’s mill, would now be
satisfied even with the Castle at Oigny or Longpont, to such extravagant
issues had his ambition been excited by those dainty feet, those trim
ankles, those exquisite scents exhaled from all those velvet and satin
gowns.
At last one day he said to himself definitely that it would be the
veriest folly to go on living his poor life when a power so tremendous
as he now possessed, was at his disposal. From that moment he made up
his mind that, no matter if his hair should grow as red as the crown of
fire which is seen at night hanging over the great chimney at the glass
works of Saint Gobain, he would exercise this power of his to the
accomplishing of the most high-flown of his ambitions.