XXI.

RAYMOND DE VILLIERS _to_ MME. LA VICOMTESSE DE BRAIMES,

Hotel of the Prefecture, Grenoble (Isère).

RICHEPORT, July 6th, 18--.

MADAME: Need I tell you that I left your house profoundly touched by

your goodness, and bearing away in my heart one of the most precious

memories that shall survive my youth? What can I tell you that you have

not already learnt from my distress and emotion at the hour of parting?

Tears came to my eyes as I pressed M. de Braimes's hand, that loyal hand

which had so often pressed my father's, and when I turned back to get

one last look at you, surrounded by your beautiful children, who waved

me a final adieu, I felt as if I had left behind me the better part of

myself; for a moment I reproached you for having cured me so quickly. My

friends have nicknamed me Don Quixote, I do not exactly know why; but

this I do know, that with the prospect of a reward like unto that which

you have offered me, any one would accept the office of redresser of

wrongs and slayer of giants, even at the risk of having to jump into the

fire occasionally to save a Lady Penock.

More generous than the angels, you have awarded me, on earth, the palm

which is reserved for martyrs in heaven. You appeared before me like one

of those benevolent fairies which exorcise evil genii. 'Tis true that

you do not wear the magic ring, but your wit alleviates suffering and

proclaims a truce to pain. Till now I have laughed at the stoics who

declare that suffering is not an evil; seated at my pillow, one smile

from you converted me to their belief. Hitherto I have believed that

patience and resignation were virtues beyond my strength and courage;

without an effort, you have taught me that patience is sweet and

resignation easy to attain. I have been persuaded that health is the

greatest boon given to man: you have proved its fallacy. And M. de

Braimes has shown himself your faithful accomplice, not to speak of your

dear little ones, who, for a month past, have converted my room into a

flower-garden and a bird-cage, where they were the sweetest flowers and

the gayest birds. Finally, as if my life, restored by your tender care,

was not enough, you have added to it the priceless jewel of your

friendship. A thousand thanks and blessings! With you happiness entered

into my destiny. You were the dawn announcing a glorious sunrise, the

prelude to the melodies which, since yesterday, swell in my bosom. If I

take pleasure in recognising your gentle influence in the secret delight

that pervades my being, do not deprive me of the illusion. I believe,

with my mother, in mysterious influences. I believe that, as there are

miserable beings who, unwittingly, drag misfortune after them and sow it

over their pathway, there are others, on the other hand, who, marked by

the finger of God, bear happiness to all whom they meet. Happy the

wanderer who, like me, sees one of those privileged beings cross his

path! Their presence, alone, brings down blessings from heaven and the

earth blossoms under their footsteps.

And really, madame, you do possess the faculty of dissipating fatal

enchantments. Like the morning star, which disperses the mighty

gatherings of goblins and gnomes, you have shone upon my horizon and

Lady Penock has vanished like a shadow. Thanks to you, I crossed France

with impunity from the borders of Isère to the borders of the Creuse,

and then to the banks of the Seine, without encountering the implacable

islander who pursued me from the fields of Latium to the foot of the

Grande Chartreuse. I must not forget to state that at Voreppe, where I

stopped to change horses, the keeper of the ruined inn, recognising my

carriage, politely presented me with a bill for damages; so much for a

broken glass, so much for a door beaten in, so much for a shattered

ladder. I commend to M. de Braimes this brilliant stroke of one of his

constituents; it is an incident forgotten by Cervantes in the history of

his hero.

In spite of my character of knight-errant, I reached my dear mountains

without any other adventure. I had not visited them for three years, and

the sight of their rugged tops rejoiced my heart. You would like the

country; it is poor, but poetic. You would enjoy its green solitudes,

its uncultivated fields, its silent valleys and little lakes enshrined

like sheets of crystal in borders of sage and heather. Its chief charm

to me is its obscurity; no curiosity-hunter or ordinary tourist has ever

frightened away the dryads from its chestnut groves or the naiads from

its fresh streams. Even a flitting poet has scarcely ever betrayed its

rural mysteries. My château has none of the grandeur that you have,

perhaps, ascribed to it. Picture to yourself a pretty country-house,

lightly set on a hill-top, and pensively overlooking the Creuse flowing

at its feet under an arbor of alder-bushes and flowering ash. Such as it

is, imbedded in woods which shelter it from the northern blasts and

protect it from the heats of the summer solstice; there--if the hope

that inspires me is not an illusion of my bewildered brain; if the light

that dazzles me is not a chance spark from chimerical fires, there,

among the scenes where I first saw the light, I would hide my happiness.

You see, madame, that my hand trembles as I write. One evening you and I

were walking together, under the trees in your garden; your children

played about us like young kids upon the green sward. As we walked we

talked, and insensibly began to speak of that vague need of loving which

torments our youth. You said that love was a grave undertaking, and that

often our whole life depended upon our first choice. I spoke of my

aspirations towards those unknown delights, which haunted me with their

seductive visions as Columbus was haunted by visions of a new world.

Gravely and pensively you listened to me, and when I began to trace the

image of the oft-dreamed-of woman, so vainly sought for in the

ungrateful domain of reality, I remember that you smiled as you said:

"Do not despair, she exists; you will meet her some day." Were you

speaking earnestly then? Is it she? Keep still, do not even breathe, she

might fly away.

After a few days spent in revisiting the scenes of my childhood, and

breathing afresh the sweet perfumes still hovering around infancy's

cradle, I left for Paris, where I scarcely rested The manner in which I

employed the few hours passed in that hot city would doubtless surprise

you, madame. My carriage rolled rapidly through the wealthy portion of

the city, and following my directions was soon lost in the gloomy

solitude of the Marais.

I alighted in the wilderness of a deserted street before a melancholy

and dejected-looking house, and as I raised the heavy latch of the

massive door, my heart beat as if I were about to meet, after a long

absence, an aged mother who wept for my return, or a much-loved sister.

I took a key from its nail in the porter's lodge and began to climb the

stair, which, viewed from below, looked more picturesque than inviting,

particularly when one proposed to ascend to the very top. Fortunately, I

am a mountaineer; I bounded up that wide ladder with as light a step as

if it had been a marble stairway, with richly wrought balustrade. At the

end of the ascent I hurriedly opened a door, and, perfectly at home,

entered a small room. I paused motionless upon the threshold, and

glanced feelingly around. The room contained nothing but a table covered

with books and dust, a stiff oak arm-chair, a hard and

uninviting-looking lounge, and on the mantel-piece, in two earthen

vases, designed by Ziegler, the only ornaments of this poor retreat, a

few dry, withered asters. No one expected me, I expected no one. There I

remained until evening, waiting for nightfall, thinking the sun would

never set and the day never end. Finally, as the night deepened, I

leaned on the sill of the only window, and with an emotion I cannot

describe, watched the stars peep forth one by one. I would have given

them all for a sight of the one star which will never shine again. Shall

I tell you about it, madame, and would you comprehend me? You know

nothing of my life; you do not know that, during two years, I lived in

that garret, poor, unknown, with no other friend than labor, no other

companion than the little light which appeared and disappeared regularly

every evening through the branches of a Canada pine. I did not know

then, neither do I know now, who watched by that pale gleam, but I felt

for it a nameless affection, a mysterious tenderness. On leaving my

retreat, I sent it, through the trees, a long farewell, and the not

seeing it on my return distressed me as the loss of a brother. What has

become of you, little shining beacon, who illumined the gloom of my

studious nights? Did a storm extinguish you? or has God, whom I invoked

for you, granted my prayer, and do you shine with a less troubled ray in

happier climes? It is a long story; and I know a fresher and a more

charming one, which I will speedily tell you.

I took the train the next day (that was yesterday) for Richeport, where

M. de Meilhan had invited me to meet him. You know M. de Meilhan without

ever having seen him. You are familiar with his verses and you like

them. I profess to love the man as much as his talents. Our friendship

is of long standing; I assisted at the first lispings of his muse; I saw

his young glory grow and expand; I predicted from the first the place

that he now holds in the poetic pleiad, the honor of a great nation. To

hear him you would say that he was a pitiless scoffer; to study him you

would soon find, under this surface of rancorless irony, more candor and

simplicity than he is himself aware of, and which few people possess who

boast of their faith and belief. He has the mind of a sceptic and the

believing soul of a neophyte.

In less than three hours I reached Pont de l'Arche. Railroads have been

much abused; it is charitable to presume that those honest people who do

so have no relatives, friends nor sweethearts away from them. M. de

Meilhan and his mother were waiting for me at the depot; the first

delights of meeting over--for you must remember that I have not seen my

poet for three years--I leave you to imagine the peals of laughter that

greeted the mention of Lady Penock's formidable name. Edgar, who knew of

my adventure and was excited by the joy of seeing me again, amused

himself by startling the echoes with loud and repeated "Shockings!" We

drove along in an open carriage, laughing, talking, pressing each

other's hands, asking question upon question, while Madame de Meilhan,

after having shared our gayety, seemed to watch with interest the

exhibition of our mutual delight. This scene had the most beautiful

surroundings in the world; an exquisite country, which in order to be

fully appreciated, visited, described, sung of in prose and verse,

should be fifteen hundred miles from France.

My mind is naturally gay, my heart sad. When I laugh, something within

me suffers and repines; it is by no means rare for me to pass suddenly

and without transition from the wildest gayety to the profoundest

sadness and melancholy. On our arrival at Richeport we found several

visitors at the châteaux, among the number a general, solemnly resigned

to the pleasures of a day in the country. To escape this illustrious

warrior, who was engaged upon the battle of Friedland, Edgar made off

between two cavalry charges and carried me into the park, where we were

soon joined by Madame de Meilhan and her guest, the terrible general at

the head.

Interrupted for a moment by the skilful retreat of the young poet, the

battle of Friedland began again with redoubled fury. The paths of the

park are narrow; the warrior marched in front with Edgar, who wiped the

drops from his brow and exhausted himself in vain efforts to release his

arm from an iron grasp; Madame de Meilhan and those who accompanied her

represented the corps d'armeé; I formed the rear guard; balls whistled

by, battalions struggled, we heard the cries of the wounded and were

stifled by the smell of powder; wishing to avoid the harrowing sight of

such dreadful carnage, I slackened my pace and was agreeably surprised

to find, at a turn in the path, that I had deserted my colors; I

listened and heard only the song of the bulfinch; I took a long breath

and breathed only the odor of the woods; I looked above the birches and

aspens for a cloud of smoke which would put me upon the track of the

combatants; I saw only the blue sky smiling through the trees; I was

alone; by one of those reactions of which I spoke, I sank insensibly

into a deep revery.

It was intensely hot; I threw myself upon the grass, under the shadow of

a thick hedge, and there lay listening to nature's faint whispers, and

the beating of my own heart. The joy that I had just felt in meeting

Edgar again, made the void in my heart, which friendship can never fill,

all the more painful; my senses, subdued by the heat, chanted in endless

elegies the serious and soothing conversation that we had had one

evening under your lindens. Whether I had a presentiment of some

approaching change in my destiny, or whether I was simply overcome by

the heat, I know not, but I was restless; my restlessness seemed to

anticipate some indefinite happiness, and from afar the wind bore to me

in warm puffs the cheering refrain: "She exists, she exists, you will

find her!"

I at last remembered that I had only been Madame de Meilhan's guest a

few hours, and that my abrupt disappearance must appear, to say the

least, strange to her. On the other hand, Edgar, whom I had

treacherously abandoned in the greatest danger, would have serious

grounds of complaint against me. I arose, and driving away the winged

dreams that hovered around me, like a swarm of bees round a hive,

prepared to join my corps, with the cowardly hope that when I arrived,

the engagement might be over and the victory won. Unfortunately, or

rather fortunately, I was unacquainted with the windings of the park,

and wandered at random through its verdant labyrinths, the sun pouring

down upon my devoted head until I heard the silvery murmur of a

neighboring stream, babbling over its pebbly bed. Attracted by the

freshness of the spot, I approached and in the midst of a confusion of

iris, mint and bindweed, I saw a blonde head quenching its thirst at the

stream. I could only see a mass of yellow hair wound in heavy golden

coils around this head, and a little hand catching the water like an

opal cup, which it afterwards raised to two lips as fresh as the crystal

stream which they quaffed. Her face and figure being entirely concealed

by the aquatic plants which grew around the spring, I took her for a

child, a girl of twelve or more, the daughter perhaps of one of the

persons whom I had left upon the battle-field of Friedland. I advanced a

few steps nearer, and in my softest voice, for I was afraid of

frightening her, said: "Mademoiselle, can you tell me if Madame de

Meilhan is near here?" At these words I saw a young and beautiful

creature, tall, slender, erect, lift herself like a lily from among the

reeds, and trembling and pale, examine me with the air of a startled

gazelle. I stood mute and motionless, gazing at her. Surely she

possessed the royal beauty of the lily. An imagination enamored of the

melodies of the antique muse would have immediately taken her for the

nymph of that brook. Like two blue-bells in a field of ripe grain, her

large blue eyes were as limpid as the stream which reflected the azure

of the sky. On her brow sat the pride of the huntress Diana. Her

attitude and the expression of her face betrayed a royalty which desired

to conceal its greatness, a strange mixture of timorous boldness and

superb timidity--and over it all, the brilliancy of youth--a nameless

charm of innocence and childishness tempered in a charming manner the

dignity of her noble presence.

I turned away, charmed and agitated, not having spoken a word. After

wandering about sometime longer I finally discovered the little army

corps, marching towards the château, the general always ahead. As I had

anticipated, the battle was about over, a few shots fired at the

fugitives were alone heard. Edgar saw me in the distance, and looked

furious. "Ah traitor!" said he, "you have lagged behind! I am riddled

with balls; I have six bullets in my breast," "Monsieur," cried the

general, "at what juncture did you leave the combat?" "You see," said

Edgar to me, "that the torture is about to commence again." "General,"

observed Madame de Meilhan, "I think that the munitions are exhausted

and dinner is ready." "Very well," gravely replied the hero, "we will

take Lubeck at dessert." "Alas! we are taken;" said Edgar, heaving a

sigh that would have lifted off a piece of the Cordilleras.

M. de Meilhan left the group of promenaders and joined me; we walked

side by side. You can imagine, madame, how anxious I was to question

Edgar; you can also comprehend the feeling of delicacy which restrained

me. My poet worships beauty; but it is a pagan worship of color and

form. The result is, a certain boldness of detail not always excusable

by grace of expression, in his description of a beautiful woman; too

lively an enthusiasm for the flesh; too great a satisfaction in drawing

lines and contours not to shock the refined. A woman poses before him

like a statue or rather like a Georgian in a slave-market, and from the

manner in which he analyzes and dissects her, you would say that he

wanted either to sell or buy her. I allude now to his speech only, which

is lively, animated but rather French its picturesque crudity. As a poet

he sculptures like Phidias, and his verse has all the dazzling purity of

marble.

I preferred to apply to Madame de Meilhan. On our return to the château

I questioned her, and learned that my beautiful unknown was named Madame

Louise Guérin. At that word "Madame" my heart contracted. Wherefore? I

could not tell. Afterwards I learned that she was a widow and poor, that

she lived by the labor of those pretty fingers which I had seen dabbling

in the water. Further than that, Madame de Meilhan knew nothing, her

remarks were confined to indulgent suppositions and benevolent comments.

A woman so young, so beautiful, so poor, working for her livelihood,

must be a noble and pure creature. I felt for her a respectful pity,

which her appearance in the drawing-room in all the magnificence of her

beauty, grace and youth, changed into extravagant admiration. Our eyes

met as if we had a secret between us; she appeared, and I yielded to the

charm of her presence. Edgar observed that she was his mother's

companion, who would remain with her until he married. The wretch! if he

had not written such fine verses, I would have strangled him on the

spot. I sat opposite her at dinner, and could observe her at my ease.

She appeared like a young queen at the board of one of her great

vassals. Grave and smiling, she spoke little, but so to the point, and

in so sweet a voice, that I cherished in my heart every word that fell

from her lips, like pearls from a casket. I also was silent and was

astonished, that when she did not speak, any one should dare to open his

lips before her. Edgar's witty sallies seemed to be in the worst

possible taste, and twenty times I was on the point of saying to him:

"Edgar, do you not see that the queen is listening to you?"

At dessert, as the general was preparing to manoeuvre the artillery of

the siege, every one rose precipitately, to escape the capture and

pillage of Lubeck. Edgar rushed into the park, the guests dispersed; and

while Madame de Meilhan, bearing with heroic resignation the

inconveniences attached to her dignity as mistress of the house, fought

by the general's side like Clorinde by the side of Argant, I found

myself alone, with the young widow, upon the terrace of the château. We

talked, and a powerful enchantment compelled me to surrender my soul

into her keeping. I amazed myself by confiding to her what I had never

told myself.

My most cherished and hidden feelings were drawn irresistibly forth from

the inmost recesses of my bosom. When I spoke, I seemed to translate her

thoughts; when she in turn replied, she paraphrased mine. In less than

an hour I learned to know her. She possessed, at the same time, an

experimental mind, which could descend to the root of things, and a

tender and inexperienced heart which life had never troubled.

Theoretically she was governed by a lofty and precocious reason ripened

by misfortune; practically, she was swayed by the dictates of an

innocent and untried soul. Until now, she has lived only in the activity

of her thoughts; the rest of her being sleeps, seeks or awaits. Who is

she? She is not a widow. Albert Guérin is not her name; she has never

been married. Where Madame de Meilhan hesitates, I doubt, I decide. How

does it happen that the mystery with which she is surrounded has to me

all the prestige and lustre of a glowing virtue? How is it that my heart

rejoices at it when my prudence should take alarm? Another mystery,

which I do not undertake to explain. All that I know is, that she is

poor, and that if I had a crown I should wish to ennoble it by placing

it upon that lovely brow.

Do not tell me that this is madness; that love is not born of a look or

a word, that it must germinate in the heart for a season before it can

bear fruit. Enthusiasts live fast. They reach the same end as reason,

and by like paths; only reason drags its weary length along, while

enthusiasm flies on eagle's wing. Besides, this love has long since

budded; it only sought a heart to twine itself around. Is it love? I

deceive myself perhaps. Whence this feeling that agitates me? this

intoxication that has taken possession of me? this radiance that dazzles

me? I saw her again, and the charm increased. How you would love her!

how my mother would have loved her!

In the midst of these preoccupations I have not forgotten, madame, the

instructions that you gave me. That you are interested in Mademoiselle

de Chateaudun's destiny suffices to interest me likewise. The Prince de

Monbert is expected here; I can therefore send you, in a few days, the

information you desire taken on the spot. It has been ten years since I

have seen the Prince; he has a brilliant mind and a loyal heart, and he

has, in his life, seen more tigers and postilions than any other man in

France. I will scrupulously note any change that ten years' travel may

have brought about in his manner of thinking and seeing; but I believe

that I can safely declare beforehand, that nothing can be found in his

frank nature to justify the flight of the strange and beautiful heiress.

Accept, madame, my respectful homage.