"Yes, monsieur; neither him nor the horse."
"The devil!" ejaculated Dubourg; "this begins to be alarming. To stay
out all night--it's very strange."
He went up to tell Ménard, and that gentleman, after reflecting for
fifteen minutes, inquired:
"What do you think about it, monsieur le baron?"
"Morbleu! that's what I ask you, Monsieur Ménard?"
"I don't dare to form any opinion, monsieur le baron--that's my
opinion."
"It's very much like Brid'oison's."
They passed the day waiting for Frédéric, who did not appear. Dubourg
was anxious about his friend, Ménard trembled for his pupil, and the
innkeeper would have been disturbed about his horse if he had not had
the carriage for security.
The next morning, at daybreak, Dubourg appeared at Ménard's bedside,
with his hat on his head, and said:
"Come, we must find Frédéric."
"Let us find him, monsieur le baron."
"To find him, we must look for him."
"That is what I was thinking, monsieur le baron."
"That doesn't seem to prevent your lying quietly in bed."
"I am awaiting your final opinion."
"My opinion is that we should start at once. That young man has a face
and figure so far from commonplace that we must be able to learn which
way he went; he can't be lost!"
"We must hope not, for what would monsieur le comte his father say to
me?"
"Get up, then, and come with me."
Ménard dressed and breakfasted, and accompanied Dubourg, who ordered
saddles placed on two venerable farm horses, which the innkeeper
intrusted to them with a bad grace, because their account was beginning
to exceed the value of their carriage. At last they were mounted; Ménard
warned his companion that he could not ride faster than a walk, and
Dubourg replied that when one is making a search he does not travel
rapidly.
When they left the inn, they inquired and were told which direction
Frédéric had taken. All along the road, people had noticed the young
horseman who passed every morning, urging his horse to his utmost speed,
and returned very slowly in the evening. Dubourg soon learned beyond
question that Frédéric rode to Vizille every day.
"What does he go there for?" queried Dubourg.
"He has probably found some charming view."
"I think it's more likely to be some charming face."
"What! monsieur le baron, you think----"
"Why, yes; Frédéric isn't fool enough to stare at nothing but trees and
mountains all day. He was in search of a heart that would sympathize
with his, a nature as loving as his own--in a word, a woman who would
take his fancy; and who knows that he hasn't found some artless,
simple-minded peasant girl who has turned his head?"
"For my part, I'll wager that he spends his time looking at the Grande
Chartreuse."
"Consider, Monsieur Ménard, that Frédéric is only twenty-one."
"Remember, monsieur le baron, that women have deceived him many times,
and that he left Paris to avoid them."
"Is that any reason why he should never love another woman? Indeed,
Monsieur Ménard, when a man runs away from a thing, it's because he
feels that he couldn't resist it long."
"Joseph fled from Potiphar's wife, monsieur le baron; but it was not for
fear of giving way to her."
"Joseph allowed himself to be seduced at last, Monsieur Ménard, for his
posterity peopled Canaan."
Arguing thus, they arrived at Vizille. They inquired about Frédéric in
the village; but the villagers, being busily employed, had paid little
attention to the young man, who had dined at the inn only twice; for we
have seen that he dined in the woods on what Sister Anne brought him.
They had seen him several times, to be sure, but they had not noticed in
which direction he went, or what he did in the village. So Dubourg and
his companion left Vizille, knowing little more than when they arrived.
"All is lost!" cried Ménard, from time to time; "my pupil must have been
eaten by wolves or killed by highwaymen, or else he has fallen over a
precipice while watching a sunset! Poor Frédéric! so gentle, amiable,
and well-informed! there is nothing left for me but to weep for you!
"'Qualis populea moerens Philomela sub umbra
Amissos queritur foetus!'"
"Oh! no, Monsieur Ménard; Frédéric hasn't been killed or eaten. There's
no question here of a resemblance to Philomela weeping for her children;
what we have to do is to find out where the young man has gone. Ah! look
yonder--there's an animal who could give us some information about him,
I fancy."
On leaving the village, they had gone down into the valley, and were now
on the outskirts of the forest, where Frédéric's horse was wandering at
will along the paths leading into the valley.
"That's his horse," said Ménard. "I know him by that white spot; I've
seen him in the innyard; it's Frédéric's horse. And he's alone, without
a rider. An additional proof, monsieur le baron, that the young man has
fallen a victim to his imprudence. The horse undoubtedly threw him; my
pupil is dead; he probably tried to climb one of these mountains; it was
dark and he couldn't see the road at his feet. All is lost!"
"I believe, on the contrary, that Frédéric is in these woods, and that
he left his horse here so that he could go where he chose. Let us adopt
the same method in looking for him; but let's be more prudent than he,
and tie our horses to one of these firs."
They dismounted, and entered the woods, Ménard still holding his
handkerchief to his eyes, because he believed that Frédéric was dead or
wounded, and Dubourg marching ahead and peering intently in every
direction. Ere long he came quickly back to the tutor, with a triumphant
air, and said, pointing to a grassy mound:
"Look! see if my presentiments misled me? there's the marvel of nature
that Frédéric comes here to admire."
Ménard looked in the direction indicated, and saw, beneath a spreading
tree, his pupil lying carelessly on the grass, holding in his arms a
lovely girl, whose head rested against her lover's breast, and whose
arms were about his neck.
"You were right, monsieur le baron," said Ménard, after a moment of
speechless surprise; "that isn't the Chartreuse! it is more modern."
"That looks to me to be a lovely girl."
"And to me also, monsieur le baron."
"That sly dog of a Frédéric! It was decidedly clever of him to find such
a pretty face in this desert. Do you still think that he shuns the
ladies, Monsieur Ménard?"
"It doesn't look like it at this moment."
"Pshaw! Monsieur Ménard, Frédéric, although rather sentimental, is made
like other men; but we must go and offer him our respects."
"That will disturb him, monsieur le baron."
"Parbleu! as he passes all his days here, he has time enough to make
love."
Dubourg and Ménard walked toward the lovers; at the sound of their
footsteps, Frédéric turned and saw them. The girl raised her eyes, and,
at sight of the two strangers, pressed closer to Frédéric; and hiding
her face against her lover's breast, seemed from that vantage-ground to
defy all dangers.
"Bravo! my dear Frédéric, bravo!" laughed Dubourg. "I understand now why
you get up so early. Upon my word, your conquest is a charming creature,
and that little shy manner adds to the piquancy of her features."
The dumb girl, after a swift glance at Dubourg, turned her eyes again
toward Frédéric, as if to ask him what it all meant.
Frédéric rose and the girl did the same, clinging to her lover and
gazing uneasily at the two strangers; she seemed to fear that they had
come to take him from her; but Frédéric reassured her, then kissed her
affectionately, and bade her go and wait for him in Marguerite's garden.
It was hard for Sister Anne to obey, for she dreaded to leave him; but
again Frédéric promised to join her in a moment. The girl pointed to the
strangers, and her eyes said:
"You won't go away with them?"
He embraced her again, whereupon she became calmer, and at last went
away, not without turning her head many times to look fondly at Frédéric
and sadly at the strangers.
"Very pretty, very pretty, on my word!" said Dubourg, looking after her.
"If her speech resembles her plumage," murmured Ménard, between his
teeth, "she is the phoenix of the denizens of this forest."
"Why have you come here, messieurs?" demanded Frédéric, angrily.
"Why have we come? parbleu! to look for you, who desert us and leave us
penniless at an inn, to come to make love here in the woods with a
peasant girl, who is very pretty, I agree, but who ought not to make you
forget your friend and your venerable tutor."
Frédéric made no reply, but seemed to be absorbed in thought.
"Monsieur le comte," said Ménard, coming forward with an air of profound
respect, "certainly it is lawful for every man to be susceptible to
female charms; Adam was with Eve,--to be sure, he had no chance to be
with any other woman,--Abraham with Hagar, David with Bathsheba, Samson
with Delilah; and when such a man as Samson succumbed, how can we, who
are not Samsons, be expected to resist? But still, monsieur le comte,
_est modus in rebus_; you should not, for the sake of a new attachment,
forget all that you owe to yourself, and descend from the rank in which
destiny has placed you. Now, monsieur le comte your father did not allow
you to take this journey for the purpose of living in the woods like a
savage; whence I conclude----"
"My dear Monsieur Ménard," said Frédéric, emerging at last from his
reverie, but making no reply to his tutor's harangue, "I have something
of great importance to say to monsieur le baron; I cannot say it before
anyone else, so oblige me by taking a turn up the valley; we will join
you very soon."
"I cannot refuse you anything, monsieur le comte; I await your coming,
with confidence."--And Ménard left the woods, saying to himself: "My
sermon has had a good effect; the young man realizes his wrong-doing; he
will mend his ways and return to us like the prodigal son, with a white
staff in one hand and his horse's rein in the other."
Ménard was no sooner out of sight, than Frédéric walked quickly to
Dubourg's side.
"Why did you bring our mentor here? why have you tracked me to this
forest? am I no longer the master of my actions?"
"In the first place, the mentor is not a very alarming person; secondly,
we were bound to find out what had become of you, as we heard nothing
from you; and, lastly, could I believe that, for an amourette, you would
become an Orlando Furioso?"
"An amourette! No, Dubourg; this is a genuine passion, and one that will
last forever. I have never loved so passionately! I have never met a
woman more worthy of my love. Ah! Dubourg, if you knew that sweet
child's heart! she is an utter stranger to all the deceits and
hypocrisies of the world; her heart is as pure and beautiful as her
features. Ah! my friend, not in Paris, not in the brilliant salons of
the capital, could I find a woman who would love me so dearly."
"Nonsense! but you are excited, and I see that it will be hard for me to
make you listen to reason. This girl seemed to me to be very pretty,
indeed, and I agree that she's a phoenix; but, after all, what do you
propose to do? surely you don't intend to pass your life in these
woods?"
"I don't intend to leave Sister Anne."
"Very good; then bring your Sister Anne along; let her come with us;
make a baroness of her, if you choose, for the benefit of poor Ménard;
I'll undertake to arrange it all; but leave these old fir-trees, under
which you'll turn into an orang-outang in time."
"That isn't possible. In yonder cabin there is an excellent old woman,
who has taken care of her ever since she was a child; she can't desert
her."
"The deuce! so you have a whole family on your hands!"
"Go, Dubourg; return to Grenoble with Ménard; I will join you there in a
few days, but I cannot leave her now."
"Return to Grenoble, eh? Do you imagine that I enjoy myself there, with
your tutor, when I can't show my face anywhere?"
"Oh! I forgot. Take this wallet; it contains our fortune; take it, and
do what you please with it. I have a few louis, that's all I need."
"Really, my dear Frédéric, you are mad! to think of living in the woods
and making love all day with your little villager!"
"Ah! she's no ordinary woman. If you knew--poor child! But, no, I won't
tell you anything; you can't understand my heart. Adieu, Dubourg!"
"You insist upon it? All right, I'll take the cash-box, and leave you. I
know what men are, I have had more experience than you have: within a
fortnight, you'll have had enough of this kind of life, and you'll come
back to us."
"Yes, if Sister Anne will come with me."
"You will come without her, I am perfectly sure. Au revoir! make love at
your ease; make it all day and all night; in short, make so much of it,
that a fortnight hence you'll have had more than enough."
And Dubourg, having put the wallet in his pocket, hastened down into the
valley, where he found Ménard sitting quietly by their horses.
"To horse!" he exclaimed joyfully; "make haste!"
"What's that? to horse? But I don't see monsieur le comte."
"Because he has stayed with his Dulcinea."
"He stays, and we go?"
"To be sure; for, having no passions in the forest, we might be bored
here."
"But, monsieur le baron, I don't understand this at all."
"Monsieur Ménard, I am acting like a man who knows the human heart,
especially that of a young man. If we had undertaken to thwart his
wishes, Frédéric would have been quite capable of doing some insane
thing. Instead of that, let us allow him to follow his inclination. I
will answer for it that, in a fortnight at the latest, his love, being
satisfied, will have calmed down, and he will have recovered his senses.
There is no passion deep enough to stand a tête-à-tête of three
consecutive weeks. Love is a fire which goes out of itself, because it
never has sense enough to be sparing of its fuel."
"Faith! monsieur le baron, I begin to think that you are right."
"To horse, then, Monsieur Ménard, and _vive la gaieté_! To-morrow, I
will take you to dine with our friend Chambertin."
"Really, monsieur le baron?"
"And I promise you that we'll make an entry into the village that will
cause a sensation."
"I don't understand you, monsieur le baron; but you arrange things so
well, that I rely on you."
And Ménard, overjoyed at the prospect of going to Monsieur Chambertin's
the next day, dug his heels into his horse's sides for the first time in
his life,--to be sure, he had no spurs,--and trotted along at Dubourg's
side.
"Still, it's a great pity that my pupil has made this new acquaintance,"
he said; "a woman sometimes makes a man commit many follies! Cato said
that wisdom and common sense were incompatible with a woman's mind."
"Oh! probably Cato was unlucky in love, Monsieur Ménard."
"Saint Bernard calls woman the _organum diaboli_."
"But Confucius declares that a woman's mind is the masterpiece of the
Creator."
"Juvenal says that the thought of vengeance has more attraction for a
woman than for a man."
"Which proves, Monsieur Ménard, that she bears some resemblance to the
gods."
"And Origen says: 'Woman is the key to sin.'"
"I had always supposed that she was only the lock."
"Agnès Sorel enfeebled the courage of Charles VII."
"And another woman restored it."
"Joanna of Naples caused her husband to be strangled."
"Jeanne Hachette saved Beauvais."
"On the whole, monsieur le baron, it seems to be about an even thing."
Let us leave our two friends to return to Grenoble, discussing the
nature of womankind,--a discussion which might lead them very far, and
leave them without any additional knowledge of the subject; for a
learned man has said that a woman's heart has as many varying moods as
there are grains of sand on the seashore (and he must have been learned,
indeed, to know the number of the latter),--and let us return to
Frédéric.
He breathed more freely when Dubourg had left him, and ere long he heard
the steps of the horses which bore his companions away. Thereupon, as
well pleased as Crates, who cried, after throwing all his money into the
sea: "Now I am free!" he felt more at liberty to abandon himself to his
passion for the dumb girl, since he was rid of Dubourg and Ménard; and
he hurried away to the cabin. Frédéric did not look beyond the present;
he did not reflect; for he was twenty-one years old, and he was
passionately in love!
Sister Anne was in the garden, trembling from head to foot; old
Marguerite was asleep, and the girl could abandon herself without
restraint to the sentiments which agitated her. The presence of those
two men who knew Frédéric caused her a disquietude which became more
painful with every minute that passed. To live without her friend seemed
impossible to her now. Love was life itself to that heart of flame which
had not learned, in that forest solitude, to control its passions. Her
loving heart had flown to meet him who had said to her: "I love you."
But when she gave herself to him, Sister Anne bound herself forever.
Frédéric had taught her to know happiness; he had revivified her heart,
withered by misfortune. When she finds that she has the power to please,
a woman is born again. What would become of her, if she must renounce
that hope at sixteen? Frédéric was all in all to her; and until that
moment love had seemed to her the summit of earthly happiness. But there
is no lasting happiness, especially in love. Only a few short days of
bliss had passed, and already the poor child was beginning to know the
suffering which that sentiment brings in its train.
At last, Frédéric appeared. She did not run--she flew into his arms; she
cast her eyes about; he was alone, and her heart was more at ease.
"No," said her lover, kissing her; "I will not leave you. Where could I
find a lovelier woman--one more faithful or more worthy to be loved?
What do I care what they say? what do I care for a world to which no tie
binds me? I am perfectly happy here. My father himself could not induce
me to give you up!"
Another kiss on the girl's sweet lips sealed the promise he had made.
The night with its darkness brought even sweeter moments, for the lovers
shared the same couch; and in the arms of her who lavished the most
loving caresses upon him, Frédéric repeated his vow:
"No, I will never leave you!"
But after a week, the days passed less swiftly for our lover; the poor
girl's fond caresses no longer sufficed to occupy the time; he felt that
he must have some occupation, that one cannot dream one's whole life
away beside a mountain stream.
After another week, he went down into the valley, mounted the horse,
which he had kept, and took several short rides in the neighborhood, to
procure some provisions that they required, as he told Sister Anne;
although he had done well enough without them at the beginning of his
sojourn in the woods.
After another week, he began to gaze longingly in the direction of
Grenoble. He was surprised that Dubourg did not return to inquire as to
his welfare, and that Ménard too had forgotten him. Indeed, I believe
that in his heart he was offended. Did he no longer love Sister Anne?
Oh! yes, he loved her still. But time!--And, as Dubourg had well said,
there is no love strong enough to stand a tête-à-tête of three weeks.
But let us not anticipate; let us leave him with the dumb girl, who
loves him as dearly as on the first day, because--oh! ask some woman
why!--and let us return to Dubourg, who once more has the funds for the
journey at his disposal.
XV
FÊTE, DINNER PARTY, FIREWORKS, SURPRISE
On arriving at Grenoble, Dubourg ordered dinner, and the usual repast,
common to all the guests, was served to them.
"What kind of a dinner is this? we must have something different to eat,
and, above all, some different wines," said Dubourg, beginning to make
an uproar because he had money in his pocket.
The host appeared, and informed the gentlemen that their account was
already quite large, because, in addition to their board and lodging,
their young companion had foundered all the horses belonging to the inn
by overriding them. Dubourg's only reply was to take a five-hundred-franc
note from his pocket and give it to the innkeeper, saying, with all the
sang-froid of true grandeur:
"Take your pay out of this."
The host opened his eyes; his pinched nostrils expanded; his mouth, in
his efforts to give it an amiable expression, split from ear to ear; he
tied himself up in apologetic phrases, and ended by saying that he would
at once make up his account, but that he hoped that the gentlemen would
not leave him, and, if agreeable to them, he would give them muscatel
with their dinner.
When he had gone, Monsieur Ménard, whose expression was almost as
comical as the innkeeper's, said to Dubourg:
"Have you received funds from Poland, monsieur le baron?"
"Why, yes, to be sure, Monsieur Ménard. Parbleu! Money isn't apt to be
scarce long, with me."
"But I didn't see the courier who----"
"You must have been asleep when he arrived. The main point is that we
can go anywhere now, and not have to stand by, like misers, and watch
other people play, which is not noble at all. To begin with, we will go
to see our friend Chambertin to-morrow; but, in my judgment, we had
better send a messenger to give him notice of our proposed visit, so
that he may entertain us as we deserve. What do you think about it,
Monsieur Ménard?"
"I think that cannot fail to have a good effect, monsieur le baron."
"Then find me a scullery boy, and dress him in your flannel waistcoat
and my morning cap, to give him an English look. Meanwhile, I will go
and write my letter."
Ménard went out to look for a boy to be transformed into an English
jockey, while Dubourg composed the following epistle:
"Baron Ladislas Potoski, Palatine of Rava, etc., etc., has the
honor to inform his honorable friend De Chambertin d 'Allevard that
he will visit his château to-morrow, accompanied by Professor
Ménard. Baron Potoski kisses the hand of Madame de Chambertin
d'Allevard."
They handed the letter to the scullery boy disguised as a courier, who,
in consideration of a five-franc piece, went off at once to deliver it
at its address.
Monsieur and Madame Chambertin were about to retire when the messenger
arrived. It was half-past nine o'clock; and in the country, when one
does not cultivate letters, or music, or painting, or one's garden, the
evenings seem interminable. Monsieur Chambertin had played the violin,
and madame had sung a new romanza; then they had talked of the noble
Pole, whom they despaired of seeing again; and monsieur had said: "I am
amazed; he gave me his word that he would come." And madame had added,
with a sigh: "It surprises me much more than you."
The noise made by the messenger caused Monsieur Chambertin to pause as
he was about putting his legs under the bedclothes. He did not continue,
although his wife said to him: "Do get into bed; the servants are there
to answer the bell." But who could have come so late?
Someone knocked at the bedroom door; it proved to be Lunel, who
announced through the keyhole a message from Monsieur le Baron de
Potoski.
At that name, Monsieur Chambertin, who still held his leg in the air,
ready to thrust it into bed, abruptly withdrew it and, losing his
balance, rolled on the floor; while Madame Chambertin sat up in bed, and
called loudly for a mirror to arrange her hair. Her husband rose
meanwhile, and ran to get his dressing-gown, calling to Lunel:
"I am coming, Lunel; I am coming right away!"
"Give it to me instantly, monsieur," cried Madame Chambertin; "I am in a
hurry, I shall never have time."
Monsieur Chambertin handed his wife something that she had not asked
for, and ran to open the door. Lunel entered, followed by the jockey,
while Madame Chambertin, furious at her husband's mistake, drew her
bed-curtains together with a jerk, that she might not be seen in an
equivocal position.
Monsieur Chambertin took the letter and read it; at each word, his face
became more radiant; he could not contain himself, but called out to his
wife:
"The baron is coming! He calls me De Chambertin d'Allevard! He kisses
your hand, wife!"
And Chambertin ran to open the curtains, and came in collision with the
object he had handed madame by mistake.
"Take care, monsieur!" said she; "what on earth are you doing?"