“How sweet it is in the grave! Are we not fortunate to be dead?”
During my convalescence Edmee was much more reserved, but no less
attentive. I told her my dreams and learnt from her how far my
recollections were of real events. Without her testimony I should always
have believed that I had dreamt everything. I implored her to let me
keep the ring, and she consented. I ought to have added, to show my
gratitude for all her goodness, that I should keep it as a pledge of
friendship, and not as a sign of our engagement; but such a renunciation
was beyond me.
One day I asked for news of M. de la Marche. It was only to Patience
that I dared to put this question.
“Gone,” he answered.
“What! Gone?” I replied. “For long?”
“Forever, please God! I don’t know anything about it, for I ask no
questions; but I happened to be in the garden when he took leave of her,
and it was all as cold as a December night. Still, _au revoir_ was
said on both sides, but though Edmee’s manner was kind and honest as
it always is, the other had the face of a farmer when he sees frosts
in April. Mauprat, Mauprat, they tell me that you have become a great
student and a genuine good fellow. Remember what I told you; when you
are old there will probably no longer be any titles or estate. Perhaps
you will be called ‘Father’ Mauprat, as I am called ‘Father’ Patience,
though I have never been either a priest or a father of a family.”
“Well, what are you driving at?”
“Remember what I once told you,” he repeated. “There are many ways of
being a sorcerer, and one may read the future without being a servant
of the devil. For my part, I give my consent to your marriage with your
cousin. Continue to behave decently. You are a wise man now, and can
read fluently from any book set before you. What more do you want? There
are so many books here that the sweat runs from my brow at the very
sight of them; it seems as if I were again starting the old torment of
not being able to learn to read. But you have soon cured yourself. If M.
Hubert were willing to take my advice, he would fix the wedding for the
next Martinmas.”
“That is enough, Patience!” I said. “This is a painful subject with me;
my cousin does not love me.”
“I tell you she does. You lie in your throat, as the nobles say. I know
well enough how she nursed you; and Marcasse from the housetop happened
to look through her window and saw her on her knees in the middle of the
room at five o’clock in the morning the day that you were so ill.”
These imprudent assertions of Patience, Edmee’s tender cares, the
departure of M. de la Marche, and, more than anything else, the weakness
of my brain, enabled me to believe what I wished; but in proportion as
I regained my strength Edmee withdrew further and further within the
bounds of calm and discreet friendship. Never did man recover his
health with less pleasure than I mine; for each day made Edmee’s visits
shorter; and when I was able to leave my room I had merely a few hours a
day near her, as before my illness. With marvellous skill she had given
me proof of the tenderest affection without ever allowing herself to be
drawn into a fresh explanation concerning our mysterious betrothal. If I
had not yet sufficient greatness of soul to renounce my rights, I had at
least developed enough honour not to refer to them; and I found myself
on exactly the same terms with her as at the time when I had fallen ill.
M. de la Marche was in Paris; but according to her he had been summoned
thither by his military duties and ought to return at the end of the
winter on which we were entering. Nothing that the chevalier or the abbe
said tended to show that there had been a quarrel between Edmee and him.
They rarely spoke of the lieutenant-general, but when they had to speak
of him they did so naturally and without any signs of repugnance. I
was again filled with my old doubts, and could find no remedy for them
except in the kingdom of my own will. “I will force her to prefer me,” I
would say to myself as I raised my eyes from my book and watched Edmee’s
great, inscrutable eyes calmly fixed on the letters which her father
occasionally received from M. de la Marche, and which he would hand to
her as soon as he had read them. I buried myself in my work again. For
a long time I suffered from frightful pains in the head, but I overcame
them stoically. Edmee again began the course of studies which she had
indirectly laid down for my winter evenings. Once more I astonished the
abbe by my aptitude and the rapidity of my conquests. The kindness he
had shown me during my illness had disarmed me; and although I was still
unable to feel any genuine affection for him, knowing well that he was
of little service to me with my cousin, I gave him proof of much more
confidence and respect than in the past. His talks were as useful to me
as my reading. I was allowed to accompany him in his walks in the park
and in his philosophical visits to Patience’s snow-covered hut. This
gave me an opportunity of seeing Edmee more frequently and for longer
periods. My behaviour was such that all her mistrust vanished, and she
no longer feared to be alone with me. On such occasions, however, I
had but little scope for displaying my heroism; for the abbe, whose
vigilance nothing could lull to sleep, was always at our heels. This
supervision no longer annoyed me; on the contrary, I was pleased at it;
for, in spite of all my resolutions, the storms of passion would still
sweep my senses into a mysterious disorder; and once or twice when I
found myself alone with Edmee I left her abruptly and went away, so that
she might not perceive my agitation.
Our life, then, was apparently calm and peaceful, and for some time
it was so in reality; but soon I disturbed it more than ever by a vice
which education developed in me, and which had hitherto been hidden
under coarser but less fatal vices. This vice, the bane of my new period
of life, was vanity.
In spite of their theories, the abbe and my cousin made the mistake
of showing too much pleasure at my rapid progress. They had so little
expected perseverance from me that they gave all the credit to my
exceptional abilities. Perhaps, too, in the marked success of the
philosophical ideas they had applied to my education they saw something
of a triumph for themselves. Certain it is, I was not loath to let
myself be persuaded that I had great intellectual powers, and that I
was a man very much above the average. My dear instructors were soon to
gather the sad fruit of their imprudence, and it was already too late to
check the flight of my immoderate conceit.
Perhaps, too, this abominable trait in my character, kept under by the
bad treatment I had endured in childhood, was now merely revealing its
existence. There is reason to believe that we carry within us from our
earliest years the seeds of those virtues and vices which are in time
made to bear fruit by the action of our environment. As for myself, I
had not yet found anything whereon my vanity could feed; for on what
could I have prided myself at the beginning of my acquaintance with
Edmee? But no sooner was food forthcoming than suffering vanity rose up
in triumph, and filled me with as much presumption as previously it had
inspired me with bashfulness and boorish reserve. I was, moreover, as
delighted at being able at last to express my thoughts with ease as a
young falcon fresh from the nest trying its wings for the first time.
Consequently, I became as talkative as I had been silent. The others
were too indulgent to my prattle. I had not sense enough to see that
they were merely listening to me as they would to a spoilt child.
I thought myself a man, and what is more, a remarkable man. I grew
arrogant and superlatively ridiculous.
My uncle, the chevalier, who had not taken any part in my education, and
who only smiled with fatherly good-nature at the first steps I took in
my new career, was the first to notice the false direction in which I
was advancing. He found it unbecoming that I should raise my voice
as loudly as his own, and mentioned the matter to Edmee. With great
sweetness she warned me of this, and, lest I should feel annoyed at her
speaking of it, told me that I was quite right in my argument, but that
her father was now too old to be converted to new ideas, and that I
ought to sacrifice my enthusiastic affirmations to his patriarchal
dignity. I promised not to repeat the offence; and I did not keep my
word.
The fact is, the chevalier was imbued with many prejudices. Considering
the days in which he lived, he had received a very good education for a
country nobleman; but the century had moved more rapidly than he. Edmee,
ardent and romantic; the abbe, full of sentiment and systems, had moved
even more rapidly than the century; and if the vast gulf which lay
between them and the patriarch was scarcely perceptible, this was owing
to the respect which they rightly felt for him, and to the love he had
for his daughter. I rushed forward at full speed, as you may imagine,
into Edmee’s ideas, but I had not, like herself, sufficient delicacy of
feeling to maintain a becoming reticence. The violence of my character
found an outlet in politics and philosophy, and I tasted unspeakable
pleasure in those heated disputes which at that time in France, not
only at all public meetings but also in the bosoms of families, were
preluding the tempests of the Revolution. I doubt if there was a single
house, from palace to hovel, which had not its orator--rugged, fiery,
absolute, and ready to descend into the parliamentary arena. I was the
orator of the chateau of Sainte-Severe, and my worthy uncle, accustomed
to a resemblance of authority over those about him, which prevented him
from seeing the real revolt of their minds, could ill endure such candid
opposition as mine. He was proud and hot-tempered, and, moreover, had a
difficulty in expressing himself which increased his natural impatience,
and made him feel annoyed with himself. He would give a furious kick to
the burning logs on the hearth; he would smash his eye-glasses into a
thousand pieces; scatter clouds of snuff about the floor, and shout so
violently as to make the lofty ceilings of his mansion ring with his
resonant voice. All this, I regret to say, amused me immensely; and with
some sentence but newly spelt out from my books I loved to destroy the
frail scaffolding of ideas which had served him all his life. This was
great folly and very foolish pride on my part; but my love of opposition
and my desire to display intellectually the energy which was wanting in
my physical life were continually carrying me away. In vain would Edmee
cough, as a hint that I should say no more, and make an effort to save
her father’s _amour propre_ by bringing forward some argument in his
favour, though against her own judgement; the lukewarmness of her help,
and my apparent submission to her only irritated my adversary more and
more.
“Let him have his say,” he would cry; “Edmee, you must not interfere; I
want to beat him on all points. If you continually interrupt us, I shall
never be able to make him see his absurdity.”
And then the squall would blow stronger from both sides, until at last
the chevalier, seriously offended, would walk out of the room, and go
and vent his ill-humour on his huntsman or his hounds.
What most contributed to the recurrence of these unseemly wrangles and
to the growth of my ridiculous obstinacy was my uncle’s extreme goodness
and the rapidity of his recovery. At the end of an hour he had entirely
forgotten my rudeness and his own irritation. He would speak to me as
usual and inquire into all my wishes and all my wants with that fatherly
solicitude which always kept him in a benevolent mood. This incomparable
man could never had slept had he not, before going to bed, embraced all
his family, and atoned, either by a word or a kindly glance, for any
ebullitions of temper which the meanest of his servants might have had
to bear during the day. Such goodness ought to have disarmed me and
closed my mouth forever. Each evening I vowed that it should; but each
morning I returned, as the Scriptures say, to my vomit again.
Edmee suffered more and more every day from this development of my
character. She cast about for means to cure it. If there was never
_fiancee_ stronger-minded and more reserved than she, never was there
mother more tender. After many discussions with the abbe she resolved to
persuade her father to change the routine of our life somewhat, and to
remove our establishment to Paris for the last weeks of the carnival.
Our long stay in the country; the isolation which the position of
Sainte-Severe and the bad state of the roads had left us since the
beginning of winter; the monotony of our daily life--all tended to
foster our wearisome quibbling. My character was being more and more
spoilt by it; and though it afforded my uncle even greater pleasure than
myself, his health suffered as a result, and the childish passions daily
aroused were no doubt hastening his decay. The abbe was suffering from
_ennui_; Edmee was depressed. Whether in consequence of our mode of life
or owing to causes unknown to the rest, it was her wish to go, and we
went; for her father was uneasy about her melancholy, and sought only to
do as she desired. I jumped for joy at the thought of seeing Paris; and
while Edmee was flattering herself that intercourse with the world
would refine the grossness of my pedantry, I was dreaming of a triumphal
progress through the world which had been held up to such scorn by our
philosophers. We started on our journey one fine morning in March; the
chevalier with his daughter and Mademoiselle Leblanc in one post-chaise;
myself in another with the abbe, who could ill conceal his delight at
the thought of seeing the capital for the first time in him life; and my
valet Saint-Jean, who, lest he should forget his customary politeness,
made profound bows to every individual we passed.