How shall I describe to you what I felt at the unexpected sight of
Gazeau Tower? I had seen it but twice in my life; each time I had taken
part in a painfully stirring scene there. Yet these scenes were as
naught beside the one awaiting me on this third encounter; there must be
a curse on certain places.
I fancied I could still see the blood of the two Mauprats sprinkled on
the shattered door. Their life of crime and their tragic end made me
shudder at the violent instincts which I felt in myself. I was filled
with a horror of my own feelings, and I understood why Edmee did not
love me. But, as if yonder deplorable blood had power to stir a
fatal sympathy, I felt the wild strength of my passion increasing in
proportion as my will made greater efforts to subdue it. I had trampled
down all other passions; scarcely a trace of them remained in me. I was
sober; if not gentle and patient, I was at least capable of affection
and sympathy; I had a profound sense of the laws of honour, and the
highest respect for the dignity of others. Love, however, was still the
most formidable of my enemies; for it was inseparably connected with all
that I had acquired of morality and delicacy; it was the tie that
bound the old man to the new, an indissoluble tie, which made it almost
impossible for me to find the golden mean between reason and passion.
Standing before Edmee, who was about to leave me behind and on foot;
furious at seeing her escape me for the last time (since after the
insult I had just offered her she would doubtless never run the risk of
being alone with me again), I gazed on her with a terrible expression.
I was livid; my fists were clinched. I had but to resolve, and the
slightest exertion of my strength would have snatched her from her
horse, thrown her to the ground and left her at the mercy of my desires.
I had but to let my old savage instincts reign for a second and I could
have slaked, extinguished the fires which had been consuming me for
seven years. Never did Edmee know the danger her honour ran in that
minute of agony, and never have I ceased to feel remorse for it; but
God alone shall be my Judge, for I triumphed, and this was the last
evil thought of my life. In this thought, moreover, lay the whole of my
crime; the rest was the work of fate.
Filled with fear, I suddenly turned my back on her and, wringing
my hands in despair, hastened away by the path which had brought me
thither. I cared little where I went; I only knew that I had to tear
myself away from perilous temptations. It was a broiling day; the odour
of the woods seemed intoxicating; the mere sight of them was stirring
up the instincts of my old savage life; I had to flee or fall. With an
imperious gesture, Edmee ordered me to depart from her presence. The
idea that any danger could possibly threaten her except from myself
naturally did not come into my head or her own. I plunged into the
forest. I had not gone more than thirty paces when I heard the report
of a gun from the spot where I had left Edmee. I stopped, petrified with
horror; why, I know not; for in the middle of a battue the report of a
gun was by no means extraordinary; but my soul was so sorrowful that it
seemed ready to find fresh woe in everything. I was about to retrace my
steps and rejoin Edmee at the risk of offending her still more when I
thought I heard the moaning of a human being in the direction of Gazeau
Tower. I rushed forward, and then fell upon my knees, as if stunned by
emotion. It took me some minutes to recover; my brain seemed full
of doleful sights and sounds; I could no longer distinguish between
illusion and reality; though the sun was shining brightly I began to
grope my way among the trees. All of a sudden I found myself face to
face with the abbe; he was anxiously looking for Edmee. The chevalier
had driven to a certain spot to watch the field pass, and not seeing his
daughter, had been filled with apprehension. The abbe had plunged into
the forest at once, and, soon finding the tracks of our horses, had come
to see what had happened to us. He had heard the gun, but had thought
nothing of it. Seeing me pale and apparently dazed, with my hair
disarranged, and without either horse or gun (I had let mine fall on the
spot where I had half fainted, and had not thought of picking it up),
he was as terrified as myself; nor did he know any more than I for what
reason.
“Edmee!” he said to me, “where is Edmee?”
I made a rambling reply. He was so alarmed at seeing me in such a
state that he felt secretly convinced I had committed some crime, as he
subsequently confessed to me.
“Wretched boy!” he said, shaking me vigorously by the arm to bring me to
my senses. “Be calm; collect your thoughts, I implore you! . . .”
I did not understand a word, but I led him towards the fatal spot; and
there--a sight never to be forgotten--Edmee was lying on the ground
rigid and bathed in blood. Her mare was quietly grazing a few yards
away. Patience was standing by her side with his arms crossed on his
breast, his face livid, and his heart so full that he was unable to
answer a word to the abbe’s cries and sobs. For myself, I could not
understand what was taking place. I fancy that my brain, already
bewildered by my previous emotions, must have been completely paralyzed.
I sat down on the ground by Edmee’s side. She had been shot in the
breast in two places. I gazed on her lifeless eyes in a state of
absolute stupor.
“Take away that creature,” said Patience to the abbe, casting a look of
contempt on me. “His perverse nature is what it always was.”
“Edmee, Edmee!” cried the abbe, throwing himself upon the grass and
endeavouring to stanch the blood with his handkerchief.
“Dead, dead!” said Patience. “And there is the murderer! She said so as
she gave up her pure soul to God; and Patience will avenge her! It is
very hard; but it must be so! It is God’s will, since I alone was here
to learn the truth.”
“Horrible, horrible!” exclaimed the abbe.
I heard the sound of this last word, and with a smile I repeated it like
an echo.
Some huntsmen now appeared. Edmee was carried away. I believe that I
caught sight of her father walking without help. However, I should not
dare to affirm that this was not a mere extravagant vision (for I had no
definite consciousness of anything, and these awful moments have left
in my mind nothing but vague memories, as of a dream), had I not been
assured that the chevalier got out of the carriage without any help,
walked about, and acted with as much presence of mind as a young man.
On the following day he fell into a state of absolute dotage and
insensibility, and never rose from his arm-chair again.
But what happened to myself? I do not know. When I recovered my
reason, I found that I was in another part of the forest near a little
waterfall, to the murmur of which I was listening mechanically with a
sort of vague delight. Blaireau was asleep at my feet, while his master,
leaning against a tree, was watching me attentively. The setting sun
was sending shafts of ruddy gold between the slender stems of the young
ash-trees; the wild flowers seemed to be smiling at me; and birds were
warbling sweet melodies. It was one of the most beautiful days of the
year.
“What a gorgeous evening!” I said to Marcasse. “This spot is as
beautiful as an American forest. Well, old friend, what are you doing
there? You ought to have awakened me sooner. I have had such hideous
dreams.”
Marcasse came and knelt down beside me; two streams of tears were
running down his withered, sallow cheeks. On his face, usually so
impassive, there was an ineffable expression of pity and sorrow and
affection.
“Poor master!” he said, “delirium, head bad, that’s all. Great
misfortune! But fidelity not changed. Always with you; if need be, ready
to die with you.”
His tears and words filled me with sadness; but this was owing to an
instinctive sympathy enhanced by the weak state of my nerves, for I
did not remember a thing. I threw myself into his arms and wept like
himself; he pressed me to his bosom, as a father might his son. I was
fully conscious that some frightful misfortune had overtaken me, but
I was afraid to learn what it was, and nothing in the world would have
induced me to ask him.
He took me by the arm and led me through the forest. I let myself be
taken like a child. Then a fresh sense of weariness came over me, and he
was obliged to let me sit down again for half an hour. At last he lifted
me up and succeeded in leading me to Roche-Mauprat, where we arrived
very late. I do not know what happened to me during the night. Marcasse
told me subsequently that I had been very delirious. He took upon
himself to send to the nearest village for a barber, who bled me early
in the morning, and a few minutes later I recovered my reason.
But what a frightful service they seemed to have done me. Dead! Dead!
Dead! This was the only word I could utter. I did nothing but groan and
toss about on my bed. I wanted to get up and run to Sainte-Severe. My
poor sergeant would throw himself at my feet, or plant himself in front
of the door to prevent me. To keep me back, he would tell me various
things which I did not in the least understand. However, his manifest
solicitude for me and my own feeling of exhaustion made me yield, though
I could not explain his conduct. In one of these struggles my vein
opened again, and I returned to bed before Marcasse noticed it.
Gradually I sank into a deep swoon, and I was almost dead when, seeing
my blue lips and purple cheeks, he took it into his head to lift up the
bed-clothes, and found me lying in a pool of blood.
However, this was the most fortunate thing that could have happened to
me. For several days I remained in a state of prostration in which there
was but little difference between my waking and sleeping hours. Thanks
to this, I understood nothing, and therefore did not suffer.
One morning, having managed to make me take a little nourishment, and
noticing that with my strength my melancholy and anxiety were returning,
Marcasse announced, with a simple, genuine delight, that Edmee was not
dead, and that they did not despair of saving her. These words fell upon
me like a thunderbolt; for I was still under the impression that this
frightful adventure was a delusion of my delirium. I began to shout and
to brandish my arms in a terrible manner. Marcasse fell on his knees by
my bed and implored me to be calm, and a score of times he repeated the
following words, which to me were like the meaningless words one hears
in dreams:
“You did not do it on purpose; I know well enough. No, you did not do it
on purpose. It was an accident; a gun going off in your hand by chance.”
“Come, now, what do you mean?” I exclaimed impatiently. “What gun? What
accident? What have I to do with it?”
“Don’t you know, then, sir, how she was hit?”
I passed my hands over my brow as if to bring back to my mind the energy
of life, and as I had no clear recollection of the mysterious event
which had unhinged it, I thought that I was mad, and remained silent and
dismayed, fearful lest any word should escape to betray the loss of my
faculties.
At last, little by little, I collected my thoughts. I asked for some
wine, as I felt weak; and no sooner had I drunk a few drops than all the
scenes of the fatal day unrolled themselves before me as if by magic.
I even remembered the words that I had heard Patience utter immediately
after the event. It was as if they had been graven in that part of the
memory which preserves the sound of words, even when the other part
which treasures up their sense is asleep. For one more moment I was
uncertain; I wondered if my gun could have gone off in my hands just
as I was leaving Edmee. I distinctly remembered firing it at a pewit
an hour before, for Edmee had wanted to examine the bird’s plumage.
Further, when I heard the shot which had hit her, my gun was in my
hands, and I had not thrown it down until a few seconds later, so it
could not have been this weapon which had gone off on falling. Besides,
even granting a fatality which was incredible, I was much too far from
Edmee at that moment to have shot her. Finally, I had not a single
bullet on me throughout the day; and it was impossible for my gun to
have been loaded, unknown to myself, since I had not unslung it after
killing the pewit.
Quite convinced, therefore, that I was not the cause of the hideous
accident, it remained to me to find an explanation of this crushing
catastrophe. To me it was perfectly simple; some booby with a gun, I
thought, must have caught sight of Edmee’s horse through the branches
and mistaken it for a wild beast; and I did not dream of accusing any
one of a deliberate attempt at murder. I discovered, however, that I was
accused myself. I drew the truth from Marcasse. He informed me that the
chevalier and all the people who took part in the hunt had attributed
the misfortune to a pure accident, their opinion being that, to my great
sorrow, my gun had gone off when my horse threw me, for it was believed
that I had been thrown. This was practically the view they all took. In
the few words that Edmee had been able to utter she seemed to confirm
the supposition. Only one person accused me, and that was Patience; but
he had accused me before none but his two friends, Marcasse and the Abbe
Aubert, and then only after pledging them to secrecy.
“There is no need,” added Marcasse, “for me to tell you that the abbe
maintains an absolute silence, and refuses to believe that you are
guilty. As for myself, I swear to you that I shall never--”
“Stop! stop!” I said. “Do not tell me even that; it would imply
that some one in the world might actually believe it. But Edmee said
something extraordinary to Patience just as she was dying; for she is
dead; it is useless for you to try to deceive me. She is dead, and I
shall never see her again.”
“She is not dead!” cried Marcasse.
And his solemn oaths convinced me, for I knew that he would have tried
in vain to lie; his simple soul would have risen in revolt against
his charitable intentions. As for Edmee’s words, he frankly refused
to repeat them; from which I gathered that their testimony seemed
overwhelming. Thereupon I dragged myself out of bed, and stubbornly
resisted all Marcasse’s efforts to keep me back; I had the farmer’s
horse saddled and started off at a gallop. I staggered into the
drawing-room without meeting any one except Saint-Jean, who uttered
a cry of terror on seeing me, and rushed off without answering my
questions.
The drawing-room was empty. Edmee’s embroidery frame, buried under the
green cloth, which her hand, perchance, would never lift again, seemed
to me like a bier under its pall. My uncle’s big arm-chair was no
longer in the chimney-corner. My portrait, which I had had painted in
Philadelphia and had sent over during the American war, had been taken
down from the wall. These were signs of death and malediction.
I left this room with all haste and went upstairs with the courage of
innocence, but with despair in my soul. I waled straight to Edmee’s
room, knocked, and entered at once. Mademoiselle Leblanc was coming
towards the door; she gave a loud scream and ran away, hiding her face
in her hands as if she had seen a wild beast. Who, then, could have been
spreading hideous reports about me? Had the abbe been disloyal enough
to do so? I learnt later that Edmee, though generous and unshaken in her
lucid moments, had openly accused me in her delirium.
I approached her bed and, half delirious myself, forgetting that my
sudden appearance might be a deathblow to her, I pulled the curtains
aside with an eager hand and gazed on her. Never have I seen more
marvellous beauty. Her big dark eyes had grown half as large again;
they were shining with an extraordinary brilliancy, though without any
expression, like diamonds. Her drawn, colourless cheeks, and her lips,
as white as her cheeks, gave her the appearance of a beautiful marble
head. She looked at me fixedly, with as little emotion as if she had
been looking at a picture or a piece of furniture; then, turning her
face slightly towards the wall, she said, with a mysterious smile:
“This is the flower they call _Edmea sylvestris_.”
I fell upon my knees; I took her hand; I covered it with kisses; I
broke into sobs. But she gave no heed; her hand remained in mine icy and
still, like a piece of alabaster.