circumstances. In the first place, my landlord, who is a genuine
_Vulture_; secondly, an evening party at little Delphine's--you know, I
took you there once; but as you must always have a touch of sentiment in
everything, you never went again; and yet, she would have given you
some, for your money, that would have been worth quite as much as Madame
Dernange's. Lastly, I played, and I lost all that I possessed! Really,
I didn't know which way to turn. But I thought of you; I know how loyal
your friendship is. At first, I didn't expect to see you until
to-morrow; but, finding everything in commotion in this house, it
occurred to me that I might wait for you here; and I have had a nap
while your charmer was being spirited away from you."
"Poor Dubourg!"
"Yes, very poor, in truth!"
"Listen; I have an idea."
"Let's hear it."
"I am sick of life in Paris."
"I shall soon be much sicker of it, as I haven't a sou."
"The sight of all these coquettes makes me ill."
"Oh! it's sure to do that."
"I propose to run away from the disloyal hussies."
"I don't know just where you can go to avoid them."
"These parties where you talk without saying anything; where you make
acquaintances, but not friends; where you go because you have nothing
else to do, rather than for pleasure,--I am tired of the whole business.
I have been going into society only two years and a half, and I am sick
of it already. This is my plan----"
"Do you mean to become a hermit?"
"No; but I mean to leave Paris for some time; I mean to travel, to visit
different countries; in that way, by comparing the manners and customs
of the different peoples, by admiring the wonders and beauties of
nature, a man can best form his mind and his judgment and increase his
store of knowledge; and in that way the heart is made acquainted with
pleasures which it could never know in these worldly gatherings,
inspired by idleness and governed by etiquette."
"Powerfully argued!" cried Dubourg, rising from his reclining-chair;
"you must travel, my dear fellow, there is nothing better for the young.
But when a man travels alone, he is always bored to death; one can't be
more than half happy when he has no one to whom he can impart the
sentiments inspired by a beautiful landscape, an ancient monument, or an
imposing ruin! Besides, you are too young to run about the world alone;
you need a companion who is wise, well informed, and, above all,
experienced; well, my friend, I offer myself as your mentor."
"I was about to make the same suggestion, my dear Dubourg."
"Parbleu! I accept with great pleasure."
"But is there nothing to keep you in Paris?"
"Oh! nothing at all, not even a cot-bed."
"No affair of the heart?"
"Oh! with respect to affairs of the heart, I am not like you! I will
form attachments as we go along, or, better still, I'll give them up
altogether. My mind is made up; I propose to be virtuous and orderly;
you will be edified by my behavior."
"Well, then, my dear Dubourg, it is settled that we travel together."
"There is just one little difficulty left: suppose your father doesn't
want you to travel?"
"Oh! I don't think that he'll object; I have already mentioned the
subject to him, and he seemed to approve of it."
"Then everything will go as nicely as possible; but will you tell him
that you are going to take me?"
"Why not? I shall say that a friend of mine, who is also about to
travel, will be able to accompany me for some time."
"All right; arrange it as best you can; if necessary, you can present me
to your father, who hardly knows me, and you will see what a dignified
and imposing manner I can assume. Above all things, don't mention little
Delphine, or my aunt, or my supposed marriage, or my triplets."
"Never fear."
"As for my family, if it isn't noble, that doesn't prevent its being as
good as the Comte de Montreville's, and very highly esteemed in
Bretagne."
"Oh! mon Dieu! I know all that."
"It isn't on your account that I say it, but your father's. So, then,
it's agreed. It is broad daylight now; I have slept enough, but you need
rest. Go to bed; during the day, you can speak to your father, and come
and tell me what he says. I'll expect you at six o'clock, at the Café de
la Rotonde."
"Agreed."
"By the way, I forgot! Lend me a dozen louis; I owe you thirty already,
but we will settle up when I get my next remittance from my aunt."
"That's all right; ought there to be any settling among friends?"
"Ah! my dear Frédéric, there aren't many friends like you!"
Dubourg pocketed the twelve louis which Frédéric handed him; then,
leaving his friend to go to bed, he went away from the house, humming a
new couplet, and strolled along the boulevards, as well pleased as if he
had just been appointed to a twelve-thousand-franc office where he would
have nothing to do.
During the day, Frédéric went to see his father. He trembled slightly
when he appeared before him, and the count, instead of assisting his
son to confide in him, waited silently for him to say what he wanted.
Having bowed respectfully, Frédéric began his speech, in which he
floundered a little at times, because the count's eyes, fastened on his
face, seemed determined to read his inmost thoughts. He set forth his
project, however, and awaited in fear and trembling his father's reply.
The count seemed to reflect, and did not speak for some minutes.
Frédéric dared not break the silence, and at last the count spoke.
"You wish to leave Paris, Frédéric?"
"Yes, monsieur le comte."
"Are you tired already of its pleasures--balls and parties? It is rather
early for that."
Frédéric sighed, but made no reply.
"You haven't told me everything," continued the count, with a sarcastic
smile. "Confess that some disappointment in love----"
Frédéric blushed, and lowered his eyes; whereupon the count went on, in
a gentler tone:
"Well, all that sort of thing belongs to your age. Travel; I am willing;
it cannot fail to be useful to you. But if your presence should become
necessary, I trust that nothing would delay your return?"
"Oh! father, a single word from you, and I will be with you."
"Very good; I rely upon your word."
"A friend of mine, a young man named Dubourg, of an old Breton family,
is also making arrangements to travel for some time. If you are willing,
I will join forces with him."
"No, monsieur; I am not willing. I have heard of this Monsieur Dubourg,
whom you call your friend, and, although I have seen him with you only
two or three times, I know enough of him to be unwilling that he should
be my son's travelling companion. His family is respectable, I know, but
Monsieur Dubourg is a great reprobate, they say."
"I promise you, father----"
"Don't interrupt me, monsieur. I cannot prevent your associating in
Paris with such light-headed characters; but when you are to travel for
your instruction, and to mature your judgment, I tell you again that a
Monsieur Dubourg is not a proper person for you to travel with. I don't
propose that you shall take Germain either; that fellow has been
behaving badly for some time. Besides, when you are travelling you
should be able to do without a valet. With your money, you will find
servants enough wherever you stop."
"Am I to go alone, then, father?"
"No; you are not twenty-one yet; you are too young to be left to your
own devices. Stay--yes--he's the very man you need: Monsieur Ménard will
go with you."
"What, monsieur le comte, my tutor?"
"He hasn't been that for a long time, and he will not go with you in
that capacity, my son, but as a friend, a judicious adviser. Monsieur
Ménard is an educated man, and, in addition to that, is the mildest and
most patient of men. You know him well enough, I think, not to regret
having him for your travelling companion. Monsieur Ménard is not a mere
pedant who will constantly reprove you for enjoying yourself; he is
attached to you, and he will be able, I trust, to prevent the son of the
Comte de Montreville from forgetting what he owes to himself."
"But, father----"
"Enough. I will write to Monsieur Ménard; if he accepts, as I think he
will, you can set out to-morrow."
Frédéric left his father, not overpleased with his choice, although he
knew that Monsieur Ménard was an excellent man. He would have preferred
to travel with Dubourg, whose inexhaustible gayety harmonized perfectly
with his own sentimental disposition; a fact which seems strange, at
first blush, but which is very common: small men love tall women, and
small women large men; loquacious folk like those who say little;
gourmands never dine satisfactorily except with those who are
abstemious; the strong form alliances with the weak; men of genius
select wives who attend strictly to their household duties; female
authors rarely have men of intellect for their husbands; ostentatious
people cannot live comfortably except with those who make no
pretensions; knaves consort with men of probity; the most sentimental
women often love the most frivolous men, and the most loyal of the one
sex will give her heart to the most fickle of the other; lastly,
libertines pursue innocence, and innocence often yields to the
seductions of a ne'er-do-well. Extremes meet, contrasts are drawn
together, and a painter finds his most beautiful effects in the
opposition of light and shadow.
"Well," said Dubourg, when Frédéric joined him at the appointed place;
"what news?"
"Why, not very good."
"Doesn't your father want you to travel?"
"Oh! yes, he has consented."
"In that case, I don't see why everything isn't all right."
"But--he--he isn't willing----"
"Go on."
"He isn't willing that I should travel with you."
"Why not?"
"Because--he says----"
"He says---- Well, go on."
"He says that you are a--reprobate."
"Why, he has never seen me more than three times!"
"It seems that somebody has talked to him about you."
"There are always people who make it their business to slander
innocence. Do you know that, if monsieur le comte were not your father,
I---- Although, after all, he is not far from right. But if he knew how
thoroughly I have reformed! and how I have preached at myself since last
night!--Well, what else?"
"He suggests as my travelling companion my former tutor, Monsieur
Ménard."
"The idea of giving a tutor to a young man who is almost twenty-one!
That sort of thing positively makes me ill! No matter; let us allow
monsieur le comte to have his way; we will carry out our plans, all the
same."
"How?"
"You won't be sorry to have me travel with you, will you?"
"Surely not."
"And I shall not be sorry to leave Paris for a time; that will give my
creditors, who are always at my heels, a chance to rest a bit."
"But my father?"
"Don't you worry. Just don't say a word, and I will arrange matters so
that---- By the way, what sort of a man is this tutor?"
"Oh! he's the best fellow in the world; but he's not a genius."
"So much the better."
"He thinks a great deal of a learned man."
"I'll talk Latin, Greek, English, to him; yes, and Chinese, if he
doesn't understand it."
"I fancy that he has never travelled, except on the map."
"I'll tell him that I have been round the world."
"But it flatters him to be in the company of persons of high rank."
"I'll assume a rank that will be high enough for him."
"In heaven's name, what is your scheme?"
"I'll arrange it all, I tell you; go back to your father, and start off
with your tutor. By the way, get all the money you can, for money is
never a disadvantage when you're travelling; and be sure to let me know
what time you are to start, and in what direction you are going."
The young men separated, Dubourg having told Frédéric where to send him
word of the time at which he was to start, and having refused to divulge
any of the details of his plan.
Let us leave them for a moment, while we make the acquaintance of
Monsieur Ménard, of whom the young count has given us only a faint
sketch, and whom it is essential to know before we travel in his
company.
Monsieur Ménard was a man of about fifty years of age, very short and
stout, and with a very fat face. He had a double chin, which was quite
in harmony with a nose like a huge chestnut. Like Monsieur Tartufe, he
had red ears and a florid complexion. His stomach was beginning to
embarrass him a little, but his short legs, with their enormous calves,
seemed strong enough to support an even heavier bulk.
Monsieur Ménard had passed almost the whole of his life in teaching
young people; he had retained the mild and benign manners which a tutor
employed in good society always adopts with his pupils. He was not a
great scholar, but he was proud of what he did know, and was by no means
insensible to praise. His narrow intellect had become even more confined
by having no exercise except with children; but Monsieur Ménard was
upright, kindly, and peaceably disposed; his only weakness was a
tendency to feel that his stature was increased when he conversed with a
lord, and his only fault a very pronounced fondness for the pleasures of
the table, which was sometimes the occasion of a slight indisposition;
not that he drank immoderately, but because he returned too often to a
truffled turkey or a salmi of partridges.
The Comte de Montreville summoned Monsieur Ménard, who hastened to obey
the summons and joyfully accepted the proposition that was made to him.
To travel in a comfortable post chaise with the Comte de Montreville's
son, with that one of his pupils who reflected the greatest credit on
him! that was unexampled good fortune for the excellent tutor, who
happened to be unemployed at the moment.
The count urged him to have an eye upon Frédéric, but not to thwart his
caprices when it was simply a question of indulging in the follies
characteristic of his years. As he was well pleased with his son's ready
submission in the matter of a travelling companion, he determined to
reward him by allowing him to go wherever he chose.
Everything being settled between the count and the two travellers,
Monsieur de Montreville handed Monsieur Ménard a considerable sum of
money, which was to be at Frédéric's disposal.
"Travel in a manner befitting your rank, my son," said the count; "but
do not squander this money foolishly. I have succeeded, by leading
always an orderly, regular life, in saving a considerable fortune in
anticipation of your marriage; but you must not encroach upon your
patrimony. If you need more money, however, Monsieur Ménard will let me
know."
Frédéric promised to behave himself; but he had just written to Dubourg
that he was to start the next morning, and that he should take the Lyon
road.
A young man's preparations are soon made. Monsieur Ménard's took a
little longer; like the prudent man he was, he did not take his place in
the carriage until he had bestowed one of Lesage's pâtés in the box, and
a bottle of madeira in his pocket.
At last, everything was ready. Frédéric was overjoyed to leave Paris and
Madame Dernange. The poor boy fancied that she would regret him, and
that his departure would make her miserable! He was certain to lose all
such illusions after he had travelled a short time.
The carriage was waiting; the postilion was in the saddle. Frédéric
pressed his father's hand to his heart, Monsieur Ménard bowed six times
to the count and entered the chaise backward in order to have the honor
of continuing to bow. Frédéric jumped into his seat, the postilion
cracked his whip, and they were off for Italy.
IV
A NOVEL WAY OF MAKING ACQUAINTANCES.--BARON POTOSKI
The two travellers were not far from Paris, when the conversation
between them began to flag; at the outset, Monsieur Ménard expressed to
Frédéric his very great pleasure in being in his company, and Frédéric
thanked him; then they admired the view at several points. But soon the
younger man's thoughts reverted to Madame Dernange and other disloyal
fair ones, and he became pensive and silent; whereupon Monsieur Ménard
turned his attention to the pâté with which he had taken care to supply
himself, and entered upon a conversation with it, which he interrupted
only to say a word or two to the bottle of madeira.
"I imagine that we shall have a delightful trip," said Frédéric,
emerging from his reverie.
"I agree with you, monsieur le comte; we have everything requisite for
it," replied Monsieur Ménard, with a smile, making haste to swallow what
he had in his mouth. "If monsieur le comte would like to taste this
pâté--it is delicious."
"No, thanks, my dear Ménard; I am not hungry yet."
"As monsieur le comte pleases."
"Oh! I beg you, no _monsieur le comte_ between ourselves; call me
Frédéric, that is much better."
"But, monsieur le comte--when we are travelling--at public-houses--it is
well that people should know that they have the honor----"
"Yes, of course; so that they can make us pay four times the usual
prices. I tell you again that I want to avoid all those ceremonies which
add nothing to the pleasure of a journey."
"You will at least allow me to call you Monsieur de Montreville; for
monsieur le comte your father might be angry if he knew that you
travelled incognito."
"By the way, how much money did he give you?"
"Eight thousand francs, monsieur."
"Eight thousand francs! that's none too much!"
"Oh! Monsieur de Montreville, surely it is enough, when we have in
addition a comfortable carriage and good horses. We are not going to the
world's end. And then, you know, your father said that we could ask him
for more, in an emergency."
"True; besides, we're not going to do anything foolish."
"And it would be imprudent to carry a larger sum on a journey. We are
going to Italy, and that country is infested with brigands; between Rome
and Naples, especially, they say the highroads are very dangerous. When
we get there, we must take every precaution."
Frédéric made no reply; he was thinking of Dubourg, and was surprised
that he had heard nothing from him. They were already nine leagues from
Paris, on a very fine road, where it was difficult to imagine any
possible mishap.
Suddenly the loud cracking of a postilion's whip announced that there
were other travellers behind them. Frédéric looked back, and saw a small
berlin coming up at a gallop. The clatter drew rapidly nearer,
indicating that the berlin was overtaking them and would soon pass them
by. A cloud of dust enveloped them, but the road was so wide that there
was no need for them to turn out. But just as they expected to see the
berlin whirl by, it collided with their carriage; and the shock was so
violent that the post chaise was overturned beside the ditch, into which
Monsieur Ménard was thrown headlong, shrieking at the top of his voice.
The berlin stopped. The postilion of the chaise reviled the other
postilion, calling him fool and blockhead and drunkard, for running into
him on a road where three carriages could easily pass. The other
postilion limited his reply to a sneering laugh, which inflamed his
confrère's wrath. Frédéric, who was not injured, went to Monsieur
Ménard, to ascertain what his condition was. He proved to be more
frightened than hurt; he felt himself all over, straightened his wig,
and kept repeating that the fall would certainly upset his digestion.
Meanwhile, the postilion of the berlin had dismounted; after exchanging
a few words with his passenger, he, hat in hand, approached our
travellers, who were still in the ditch, and, after apologizing for his
awkwardness, said to them that Baron Ladislas Potoski, Palatine of Rava
and Sandomir, requested permission to come in person to inquire for
their welfare, and to offer them such assistance as was in his power.
When he heard the postilion declaim the name and titles of his
passenger, Monsieur Ménard scrambled out of the ditch, and removed from
under his waistcoat one end of his ruff, which his fall had rumpled.
"Tell your master that we appreciate his courtesy," said Frédéric; "but
that it is unnecessary for him to put himself out; I think that the
accident will have no serious results."
"But there's something broken in our chaise," said Monsieur Ménard; "and
we might avail ourselves of Monsieur le Palatine Pota--Poto--Potiouski's
offer, to reach the next village."
The tutor had not finished speaking, when the soi-disant Polish nobleman
alighted from his berlin and walked toward them, with his hand on his
hip, affecting a most dignified air and carriage. Frédéric looked up and
recognized Dubourg; he was on the point of laughing outright, when his
friend forestalled him by running toward him, exclaiming:
"I cannot be mistaken! What a fortunate meeting! It surely is Monsieur
Frédéric de Montreville!"
And he threw his arms about Frédéric, who also feigned surprise and
cried:
"What! why! it is Monsieur de--Monsieur du----"
"Baron Potoski!" whispered Dubourg.
"Monsieur le Baron Potoski!"
During this recognition, which took place on the edge of the ditch,
Monsieur Ménard outdid himself in salutations, pulling Frédéric gently
by his coat-tails the while, in order to lead him back to the highroad,
which seemed to him a more suitable place for his introduction to the
noble Pole.
At last, Dubourg turned to Ménard, and said, addressing Frédéric:
"Have I the honor of seeing monsieur le comte your father?" And he
bestowed upon the tutor the most gracious and most dignified smile
imaginable.
"No," said Frédéric; "but he has been a second father to me. Allow me to
present Monsieur Ménard, my former tutor."
"Monsieur Ménard!" said Dubourg, assuming an expression of unfeigned
admiration, and gazing at the tutor as one might gaze at Voltaire.
"What! can it be that this is Monsieur Ménard? Peste! I have often
heard of him; the _primus inter pares_ of tutors! How delighted I am to
make his acquaintance! _Tandem felix_, Monsieur Ménard, since I know
you."
Monsieur Ménard did not know where he was; this deluge of courtesies and
flattery from the Palatine of Rava and Sandomir so confused and
delighted him, that his profuse salutations would have landed him in the
ditch a second time, had not Frédéric caught him opportunely.
Dubourg finally put an end to the poor man's embarrassment by taking his
hand and pressing it hard.
"What a great honor you do me, monsieur le baron," he stammered.--"So
you are acquainted with Baron Potoski?" he added, turning to Frédéric.
"Acquainted with him!" was the reply, accompanied by a smile; "why, we
are close friends. Dear Dubourg!"
"What do you say? Dubourg?" cried Ménard.
"Yes," hastily interposed the pretended baron; "that is the name I went
by at Paris, where I was compelled to maintain the strictest incognito,
being intrusted by my government with a secret and very delicate
mission."
"I understand, I understand," said Ménard.
"Continue to call me Dubourg, my dear Frédéric; that was my name when I
first knew you, and it will always be dear to me."
While Ménard went to inspect the overturned vehicle, Frédéric said to
Dubourg, in an undertone:
"The method you employed to join me was a little violent, do you know?
You nearly killed poor Ménard and me."
"It's that blockhead of a postilion's fault: I told him to upset me as
we passed you; but the rascal preferred to upset you. That annoys me
the more, because I expected to get a seat in your carriage, whereas I
must offer to take you in mine, which is a very different matter. Never
mind: let me talk and act. I see already that it will be easy enough to
pull the wool over this poor Ménard's eyes. But be ready to second me,
and back up what I say, when it's necessary. Above all things, don't
forget that I am Baron Potoski, Palatine of Rava and Sandomir. You
nearly spoiled everything by calling me Dubourg; luckily, I found a way
to straighten that out; but don't make any more such blunders, or I
shall be obliged to travel without you, and I assure you I shall not go
very far."
Ménard returned and announced that one of the axles of the chaise was
broken, and that it could not be repaired before the next morning.
"Well, messieurs," said Dubourg, "you must do me the honor to ride in my
carriage; we will stop at the first village and pass the night there,
while the local blacksmith repairs your chaise."
This plan being adopted, they left the postilion to bring the vehicle to
the village, and our three travellers entered the Polish baron's berlin.
It was a wretched old affair, the lining patched and soiled, and so
badly hung that the passengers were jolted terribly.