treasure which I possessed, I was able to gratify all my tastes and
procure myself all sorts of pleasure. I lived thus for five years,
abandoning myself to all the passions which age had developed within me;
I loved wine, cards and women, and so long as I had money, I denied
myself nothing; but my treasure could not last long with the life I was
leading. At the age of eighteen, I saw the bottom of my treasure chest;
but, far from mourning over that event, I rejoiced at the thought that
the time had come to keep the oath I had taken over my father’s grave.
So I devoted my whole time to making dupes, and that was not difficult
for me; in the best society, to which, thanks to my wealth, I had
succeeded in introducing myself, I had learned good manners; I had,
furthermore, the talent of disguising my features and of changing my
voice when that was necessary; add to that, wit, audacity, resolution,
and eloquence, and you may judge what triumphs were in store for me.
Under the name of Bréville, I knew at Brussels a certain Jacques
Murville, who had run away from home. He was your brother, my poor
Edouard, and I was clever enough to strip him of all that he possessed.
In Paris, assuming a different name, I was present at your marriage; the
name of Murville caught my attention; I made inquiries, I learned that
you had a brother, and it seemed to me a good joke to appropriate the
fortune of the older brother after spending the money of the younger.
But another thought took my heart by storm when I saw your wife.
Adeline’s beauty and charms fascinated me; I fell madly in love with
her, and I swore to resort to every means to possess her.
First of all, it was necessary to obtain access to your house; I
succeeded; then I found a way to sow discord in your family, by leading
you on gently to your ruin, which was the goal of all my plans. I
discovered your inclination for gambling; after that it was not hard for
me to lead you into all imaginable sorts of folly. I desired to enrich
myself at your expense, but the infernal cards were never favorable to
me. I forced you on toward crime, because your wife had spurned me, and
I was determined to revenge myself upon you for all her contempt. In
short, you were simply a machine, which I handled at my pleasure.
After having tried all methods to overcome Adeline’s resistance, I had
recourse to stratagem, and I succeeded one night in making my way to her
apartment and in sharing her bed.--You shudder! Oh! my poor Edouard,
your wife deceived no one but herself! you had a very dragon of virtue!
When she saw who I was, she manifested more detestation of me than ever,
but I had the certainty of having ruined her happiness for all time.
Now you know me; learn to judge men, at your own expense. As for me, who
have seen everywhere nothing but falseness, cupidity, ingratitude,
injustice, selfishness, ambition, jealousy; and who have always
sacrificed worldly prejudices to my passions,--I should view with
indifference my position as a leader of robbers, if I were able to
gratify all my tastes in this sort of life. But whatever the position
that I occupy, whatever the profession that I embrace, I shall keep the
oath sworn over my father’s grave; I shall continue to abhor men; and I
would destroy even you, if you were not, like myself, born for the
misfortune of mankind, according to the vulgar expression.
* * * * *
Dufresne concluded his narrative, and the robbers seemed proud of having
such a miscreant to command them. Edouard, appalled by what he had
heard, shuddered at the memory of all that he had done through the
advice of a monster who had sworn his destruction, and who coolly told
him of his own dishonor. But it was too late to look back, especially
with Edouard’s weak and reckless nature. He felt that he hated Dufresne,
but he had not the strength to leave him.
Vice debases and degrades men. Edouard, while he realized the horror of
his situation, had not sufficient energy to try to escape from it.
The dawn was beginning to whiten the mountain peaks, and to make its way
into the clearings of the forest. The robbers extinguished the fire and
placed the remains of their provisions in their wallet.
“Comrades,” said Dufresne, “we must leave this neighborhood, we are
making nothing here. So let us start; but in the first town of any size
near which we pass, the boldest of us must go and buy some clothes which
will give us the appearance of respectable people, for believe me, it is
the same with our trade as with all others: to be successful, we must
throw dust in people’s eyes; and with our torn jackets and trousers we
shall never be able to leave these woods, but shall remain miserable
vagabonds all our lives.”
Dufresne’s words were like an oracle to his companions, so they prepared
to follow his advice, and resumed their journey, carefully avoiding
frequented roads by day. Dufresne guided the little troop; Lampin sang
and drank as he walked, while the other two bandits dreamed of crimes
they might commit, and Edouard tried to decide whether he should fly
from his companions or remain with them.
XXXV
THE HOUSE IN THE VOSGES
A long chain of mountains, covered with forests, separates Alsace and
Franche-Comté from Lorraine, and extends as far as the Ardennes. It was
among these mountains, called the Vosges, that the excellent Monsieur
Gerval’s estate was situated, and it was there that he took the
ill-fated creatures whom he had resolved to protect.
Monsieur Gerval’s house was simple, but convenient: a pretty courtyard,
surrounded by a strong fence, led to the ground floor, where there were
only two windows looking out of doors; but these windows were barred,
and supplied in addition with very thick shutters, a necessary
precaution in an isolated house in the woods. The first floor looked
upon the courtyard and also upon a large garden behind the house,
enclosed by a very high wall. The house was on a slope of a hill, not
far from a narrow road leading to the commune of Montigny. And its
picturesque situation, its isolation from other houses, and the unbroken
calm that reigned all about, seemed to stamp that simple retreat as the
abode of repose and peace.
Monsieur Gerval’s household consisted of Dupré, whom we already know; of
Catherine, who performed the duties of cook,--an old woman somewhat
talkative, but faithful, obliging, kindhearted, and deeply attached to
her master; and lastly, of a young peasant named Lucas, who was
gardener, indoor man, and messenger.
Throughout the neighborhood, within a radius of many leagues, the name
of Gerval was revered and pronounced with emotion by the unfortunate
ones upon whom the good man constantly lavished benefactions. He had not
always occupied his house in the woods; often the exigencies of his
business had kept him away for a long time; but at such times Dupré and
Catherine, who knew their master’s heart, continued his beneficent work,
so that the poor could hardly notice the absence of their protector.
The peasants, when they learned that Monsieur Gerval had gone to Paris,
were afraid that he would not return to them; Catherine herself shared
that feeling, for she knew that her master wished to see some old
friends whom he had been obliged to neglect for a long time, and to whom
he was very much attached. But a letter from Monsieur Gerval brought joy
to the people of the Vosges; they learned that they were to see their
friend, their staff, their father, once more; that he was to return
among them, never to leave them again. This news soon became known
throughout the neighborhood; the people hurried to Catherine to
ascertain if it were true, and she read to each one her master’s letter,
announcing his arrival on a certain day.
That day arrived and everything was in confusion in the house, to
celebrate the goodman’s return. Lucas robbed his garden, to decorate the
dining-room; Catherine surpassed herself in the repast which she
prepared; the peasants from round about, and all the unfortunates whom
the kindhearted Gerval had assisted, gathered at the cottage.
“He hasn’t arrived yet,” said the old servant, “but he cannot be long
now.”
They strung themselves out along the road, they went up to the hilltops,
in order to descry the carriage sooner. They saw it at last; it was
instantly surrounded, the old man’s name passed from mouth to mouth, and
the blessings of the poor celebrated the return of their wealthy
benefactor.
Gerval shed tears of emotion when he saw the joy of the worthy folk who
regarded him as their father.
“Ah! my friend,” he said to Dupré, “how pleasant it is to be able to do
good!”
The carriage entered the courtyard; the peasants uttered cries of joy.
“Hush! hush! my friends,” said the old man as he alighted from his
carriage; “do not give such loud expression to your joy; it pleases me,
but it distresses an unhappy woman to whom the slightest noise is a
danger.”
As he spoke, Gerval helped Adeline out of the carriage, while Dupré
lifted little Ermance in his arms.
Adeline glanced uneasily about; much noise always caused her to shrink
in alarm; the sight of a number of people increased her excitement; she
shuddered and tried to fly. Gerval was obliged to motion to the
villagers to stand a little aside, before he could induce the
unfortunate young woman to enter the house.
They gazed at Adeline with interest, and joy gave way to sadness when
they realized her condition.
“Poor woman!” was heard on all sides; “what can have deprived her of her
reason? And that little girl! how beautiful she will be some day! They
are two more unfortunates, whom Monsieur Gerval has taken under his
protection.”
“My children,” said Catherine, “as soon as I learn this young stranger’s
story, I will tell it to you, I promise you; and I shall know it soon,
for my master keeps nothing from me.”
Unfortunately for Catherine, her master knew no more than she upon that
subject. To satisfy his old servant’s curiosity, Monsieur Gerval told
her how he had made Adeline’s acquaintance, and the deplorable state in
which he had found her afterward. The servant uttered exclamations of
surprise during her master’s narrative, but she declared that she would
be able to learn all the young woman’s misfortunes little by little.
Meanwhile, as she already felt drawn to love and cherish her child, she
hastened to prepare one of the pleasantest rooms in the house for them.
Adeline was given a room on the ground floor, looking on the woods; the
window was supplied with stout iron bars, and there was no danger that
she would run away from the house in one of her fits of delirium. They
left the child with her, for she seemed always to know her daughter, and
often pressed her affectionately to her heart.
“Those are the only moments of happiness which she seems still to
enjoy,” said Monsieur Gerval; “let us not deprive her of them! and let
us not rob the child of her mother’s caresses!”
Catherine undertook with pleasure to take care of the invalid and her
daughter. It was she who accompanied the young woman in her walks about
the neighborhood, when the weather was fine; and Lucas was ordered to
decorate Adeline’s room with fresh flowers every morning. It was by dint
of unremitting care and attention that Monsieur Gerval hoped to restore
peace to the hapless woman’s soul.
They knew little Ermance’s name, because her mother had called her by it
several times in her delirium; but they did not know the mother’s name,
and Monsieur Gerval had decided that she should be called Constance.
That melodious name was approved by Catherine, who declared that the
stranger’s misfortunes must be due to love. So that was the name by
which Adeline was called by the people at the house in the woods; but
sometimes Lucas, and the peasants of the neighborhood, called her simply
“the mad woman.”
The peace that reigned in the house in the Vosges, the tranquil life
that they led there, and the affectionate attentions lavished upon
Adeline, seemed to bring a little repose to her mind; she caressed her
daughter and often embraced her; she smiled at her benefactor and at all
those about her; but only incoherent words came from her lips; and she
would relapse almost immediately into a state of sombre melancholy from
which nothing could arouse her. She passed part of the day in the
garden, which was large and well cared for. Sometimes she plucked
flowers and seemed to feel a moment’s cheerfulness; but soon the smile
disappeared from her pale features, and she would seat herself upon a
bench of turf and remain whole hours there without a sign of life.
“What a misfortune!” said honest Gerval, as he contemplated her, while
playing with little Ermance, who already returned his caresses; “I am
inclined to think that there is no hope of her recovery.”
“Why do you say that?” said Catherine; “we must never despair of
anything. Patience, patience; perhaps a salutary crisis may come. Oh! if
we only knew the cause of her trouble!”
“Parbleu! to be sure, that is what the doctor from Paris says; but that
is just what we shall never know.”
“Pshaw! how can we tell? She talks sometimes. Look, she seems to be
smiling now; she is watching her daughter play; she is much better
to-day than usual, and I am going to question her.”
“Take care, Catherine, and don’t distress her.”
“Don’t be afraid, monsieur.”
Catherine walked toward the clump of shrubbery under which Adeline was
sitting, and Gerval, Dupré and Lucas stood near by in order to hear the
stranger’s replies.
“Madame,” said Catherine in her softest tone, “why do you grieve all the
time? You are surrounded by people who love you; tell us your trouble,
and we will try to comfort you.”
“Comfort me!” said Adeline, gazing at Catherine in amazement. “Oh! I am
happy, very happy! I have no need of comfort. Edouard adores me; he has
just sworn that he does; we are united again, and he will make me happy
now, for he is not wicked!”
“But why did he leave you?”
“Leave me! No, he did not leave me; he is with me in the house where he
lived in his youth; my mother, my daughter and his brother are with us.
Oh! I don’t want him to go to Paris; he might meet--No! no! don’t let
him go!”
“Take care, Catherine,” said Monsieur Gerval in an undertone; “her eyes
are beginning to flash, her excitement is increasing; for heaven’s sake,
don’t worry her any more.”
Catherine dared not disobey her master, but she burned to know more.
Adeline did in fact seem intensely excited; she rose, walked about at
random, and seemed inclined to fly. The old servant tried to quiet her.
“Let me alone,” said Adeline, shaking herself free, “let me fly! He is
there, he is chasing me! see, look,--do you see him? He follows me
everywhere; he has sworn to ruin me; he dares still to talk to me of his
love! The monster! Oh! in pity’s name, do not let him come near me!”
She hurried away, ran to every corner of the garden, and did not stop
until, exhausted and unable to endure her terror, she fell to the
ground, unconscious and helpless.
They took her at once to her apartment, and their zealous attentions
recalled her to life. Monsieur Gerval strictly forbade any questioning
of her because it always intensified her disease.
“All right, monsieur,” said Catherine; “but you see that we are certain
now that she is married, that her husband has a brother, and that with
all the rest there is some miserable fellow who makes love to her, and
whom she is afraid of! Oh! I can guess the trouble easily enough! I’ll
bet that it’s that same fellow who enticed the husband to Paris, where
he forgot his wife and child! Pardi! that’s sure to be the result. Oh!
what a pity that I can’t make her talk more! We should soon know
everything.”
But as the excellent woman did not wish to arouse the stranger’s
excitement, she dared not ask her questions. She often walked with
Adeline in the woods about the house; one or the other of them carried
Ermance; the old servant watched every movement of the young woman, she
listened carefully to the words that fell from her mouth, put them
together, and based conjectures upon them; but after three months, she
knew no more than on the second day.
Once, however, an unforeseen event disturbed Adeline’s monotonous life.
She was walking with her daughter on a hillside a short distance from
the village. Catherine followed her, admiring the graceful figure, the
charming features and bearing of the unfortunate young woman, and saying
to herself:
“That woman wasn’t born in a cabin; her manners and her language show
that she belongs in good society! And to think that we shall never know
who she is! It’s enough to drive one mad.”
A young peasant had climbed a tree to steal a nest; his foot slipped,
and a branch at which he grasped broke at the same time; he fell to the
ground, wounded himself badly in the head, and uttered a lamentable cry.
That cry was heard by Adeline, who was then near the wounded man; she
instantly stopped and began to tremble; terror was depicted upon her
features, and her eyes sought the ground as if they feared to rest upon
an object which horrified her; suddenly she took her child and fled
through the woods. In vain did Catherine run after her, calling to her;
Adeline’s strength was redoubled, and Catherine’s shouts augmented her
frenzy; she climbed the steepest paths without taking breath; she
scarcely touched the ground; she rushed into the mountains and the old
servant soon lost sight of her.
Catherine returned to her master in despair, and told him what had
happened. Monsieur Gerval knew that all the peasants were devoted to
him, and he sent Dupré and Lucas to beg them to search the whole
district. The good people made haste to beat up the forest. Success
crowned their zealous efforts; they found Adeline lying at the foot of a
tree; fever had given place to exhaustion, and the fugitive had been
unable to go farther.
They placed her on a litter hastily constructed of the branches of
trees, and carried her and her daughter back to their benefactor’s
house. The old man dismissed the villagers, after lauding their zeal,
and devoted his whole attention to pacifying the poor invalid, whom the
young peasant’s plaintive cry had cast into a more violent attack of
delirium than any that she had had since her arrival in the Vosges.
In the throes of constantly returning terror, Adeline talked more than
usual, and Catherine did not leave her side. But she shuddered at the
broken phrases that the stranger uttered:
“Take him from that scaffold!” Adeline exclaimed again and again,
putting her hands before her eyes. “In pity’s name, do not give him to
the executioners! They are going to kill him! I hear his voice! But no,
that plaintive cry did not come from his mouth; that was another
victim.--Oh! I cannot be mistaken, I recognize his tones; they always go
to my heart!”
Catherine shed tears; Monsieur Gerval caught a glimpse of a ghastly
mystery, and the old servant repeated to her master:
“A scaffold! executioners! Ah! that makes one shudder, monsieur!”
“No matter,” said the kindhearted Gerval; “if the young woman’s husband
or relatives are criminals I will keep her none the less. She is not
guilty, I am sure; she is only unfortunate!”
“Yes, monsieur; but the monsters who have brought her to this condition!
they are very guilty; they deserve to be severely punished!”
“Yes, my poor Catherine; but we do not know them; let us leave to
Providence the duty of avenging this unhappy creature, and let us not
doubt its justice. It would be too horrible to think that the wicked may
enjoy in peace the fruit of an evil deed, while the victim wastes her
life away in tears and despair.”
Monsieur Gerval summoned his servants again, and urged them to redouble
their attention, in order to spare the young mother such dangerous
emotion.
“No noise, no shouts in the neighborhood of her room! If you come
together to talk and laugh, which I do not wish to forbid you to do, let
it be in some room at a distance from Constance’s so that she cannot
hear you. Above all, no more questions; for they lead to no good
result.”
“Oh! I am done, monsieur,” said the old servant; “I have no desire to
learn anything more now; it strikes me as altogether too painful a
subject; and I should be terribly distressed to pain a woman whom I
should like to see happy once more.”
Thanks to these precautions, Adeline became calm once more, and
everything went on in its accustomed order. Some time passed before they
dared to let the invalid leave the house; and she no longer walked in
the woods except under the escort of both Lucas and Catherine; and as
soon as the peasants caught sight of her, knowing her condition and the
orders that Monsieur Gerval had given, they quietly moved away from her
path. If she approached, unperceived, a group of peasant girls, who were
engaged in diverting themselves, their games, their dancing or singing
were instantly suspended.
“It is the mad woman,” they would whisper to one another; “let’s not
make any noise, for that makes her worse.”
Time flew by without bringing any change in Adeline’s condition; but her
little Ermance grew rapidly and her features began to develop. Already
her smile had the sweet expression of her mother’s, and her affectionate
heart seemed to have inherited Adeline’s sensibility.
A year had passed since Monsieur Gerval had taken Adeline and her
daughter under his roof. Pretty Ermance loved the old man as she would
have loved her father. Her little white hands patted her protector’s
white hair, and he became more and more attached every day to the sweet
child.
“You have no parents,” he said to her one night, taking her on his
knees. “Your mother is dead to you, poor child! Your father is dead too,
no doubt, or else he has abandoned you, and does not deserve your love.
I propose to assure your future; you shall be rich; and may you be happy
and think sometimes of the old man who adopted you, but who will not
live long enough to see you enjoy his gifts!”
The winter came and stripped the trees of their foliage and the earth of
the verdure which embellished it. The woods were deserted, the birds had
gone to seek shade and water beneath another sky. The snow, falling in
great flakes on the mountains, lay in huge drifts among the Vosges, and
made the roads difficult for pedestrians and impracticable for
carriages. The evenings grew long, and the whistling of the wind made
them melancholy and gloomy. The peasant, who was forced to pass through
the woods, made haste to reach his home, for fear of being overtaken by
the darkness; he hurried along, blowing on his fingers, and his
footprints in the snow often served to guide the traveller who had lost
his way.
However, ennui did not find its way into honest Gerval’s abode; all the
inmates were able to employ their time profitably. The old man read, or
attended to his business and wrote to his farmers. Dupré made up his
accounts, and looked after the wants of the household; Catherine did the
housework and the cooking, and Lucas looked after his garden and tried
to protect his trees and his flowers from the rigors of the season.
Adeline did not leave her room except in the morning, when she made the
circuit of the garden a few times; she was rarely seen in the other
parts of the house. As soon as night came, she withdrew to her room,
sometimes taking her daughter with her; when, by any chance, she
remained with her host in the evening, she sat beside Catherine, who
told the child stories, while Gerval played a game of piquet or
backgammon with Dupré, and Lucas spelled out in a great book a story of
thieves or ghosts.
When a violent gust of wind made the windows creak, and blew against
them the branches of the trees which stood near the house, Lucas, who
was not courageous, but who loved to frighten himself by reading
terrifying stories, would drop his book and look about him in dismay;
the monotonous noise of the weathercock on the roof, the uniform beating
of an iron hook against the wall, were so many subjects of alarm to the
gardener.
Sometimes Adeline would break the silence, crying:
“There he is! I hear him!” and Lucas would jump from his chair, thinking
that someone was really about to appear. Then Catherine would make fun
of the gardener, his master would scold him for his cowardice, and
Lucas, to restore his courage, would take his book and continue his
ghost story.
XXXVI
THE TRUTH SOMETIMES SEEMS IMPROBABLE