"Yes, yes, go!" cried Gilberte, her father and Janille with one breath.
Emile saw that Gilberte was pleased with him, and he ran to get his
horse.
But as he was descending the path on foot with the carpenter, Monsieur
Châteaubrun ran after him and said with some embarrassment:
"My dear boy, you have a generous heart and great delicacy of feeling,
and I can safely confide in you; I must warn you of one thing--of small
importance perhaps, but which it is essential for you to know. It is
this, that for some reason or other--in short, that I am on bad terms
with Monsieur de Boisguilbault, so that there is no use of your
mentioning me to him. Avoid mentioning my name before him or telling him
that you come from my house; if you do, it may irritate him and cool his
kindly disposition toward our poor Jean."
Emile promised to say nothing and followed his guide in the direction of
Boisguilbault, absorbed by his thoughts, and thinking more of the fair
Gilberte than of his companion and his mission.
XI
A GHOST
However, as they approached the manor of Boisguilbault, Emile began to
wonder what sort of man, whether of superior parts or simply eccentric,
he was to deal with, and he was compelled to attend to the information
which the carpenter, with his rustic good sense, tried to give him
concerning that enigmatical personage. From all that Emile could gather
from this somewhat contradictory information, strewn as it was with
conjectures, he concluded that the Marquis de Boisguilbault was
immensely rich, not at all avaricious, although far from extravagant;
generous so far as his shyness and indifference permitted him to
practise benevolence, that is to say assisting all the poor people who
applied to him, but never taking the trouble to investigate their
sufferings or their needs, and giving every one such a cold and
depressing welcome, that only the most imperative necessity could induce
any one to go near him. And yet he was not a hard and unfeeling man; he
never refused to listen to a complaint or questioned the propriety of
alms-giving. But he was so absent-minded and seemed so indifferent to
everything, that one's heart contracted and congealed in his presence.
He rarely scolded and never punished. Jappeloup was almost the only man
he had ever treated harshly, and the way in which he had now made it up
to him led the carpenter to think that if he had been less proud himself
and had shown himself to the marquis sooner, the latter would not have
remembered the whim that had led him to banish him.
"However," continued Jean, "there's another person whom Monsieur de
Boisguilbault dislikes even more than he does me, although he has never
tried to injure him. But they will never be on good terms again; and as
Monsieur Antoine mentioned the subject to you, I may venture to tell
you, monsieur, that in that matter Monsieur de Boisguilbault made many
people think that there was a screw loose in his brain. Just fancy that
after he had been for twenty years the friend and adviser, almost a
father to his neighbor Monsieur Antoine de Châteaubrun, he suddenly
turned his back on him and shut his door in his face, without anybody,
not even Monsieur Antoine himself, knowing what it was all about. At
least the pretext was so absurd that you can't explain it except by
thinking that he was cracked. It was for some offence that Monsieur
Antoine committed while hunting over the marquis's land. And observe
that, ever since he came into the world, Monsieur Antoine had always
hunted over Monsieur de Boisguilbault's estates as if they were his own,
as they were comrades and good friends; that Monsieur de Boisguilbault,
had never in his life touched a gun or shot a piece of game, had never
made any objection to his neighbors shooting his game; and lastly that
he had never notified Monsieur Antoine that he didn't want him to hunt
over his land. The result has been that since that time, that is to say,
about twenty years, the two neighbors have never met, never exchanged a
word, and Monsieur de Boisguilbault can't bear to hear the name of
Châteaubrun. For his part Monsieur Antoine, although it touches him
more than he is willing to admit, has persisted in making no advances,
and seems to avoid Monsieur de Boisguilbault as carefully as he is
avoided by him. As my dismissal from Boisguilbault took place about the
same time, I believe that the marquis's anger overflowed on me, or else
that, knowing that I was much attached to Monsieur Antoine, he was
afraid that I would be bold enough to broach the subject to him and
reprove him for his whim. In that respect he made no mistake, for my
tongue isn't sluggish and it is certain that I should have made monsieur
le marquis hear what I had to say. He preferred to take the initiative;
I can't explain his harshness to me in any other way."
"Has this man a family?" Emile inquired.
"Not any, monsieur. He married a very pretty young lady, a poor
relation, much too young for him. It resembled a love marriage on his
part, but his conduct didn't show it; for he was neither more cheerful,
nor more approachable, nor more amiable after it. He made no change in
his way of living like a bear, saving the respect I owe him. Monsieur
Antoine continued to be almost the only intimate friend of the house,
and madame was so bored there that one day she went to Paris to live,
and her husband never thought of joining her there or of bringing her
back. She died when she was still very young, without bearing him any
children, and since then, whether because a secret grief has turned his
brain, or because the pleasure of being alone consoles him for
everything, he has lived absolutely secluded in his château, with no
companion, not even a poor dog. His family is almost extinct, he is not
known to have any heirs or any friends; so no one can imagine who will
be enriched by his death."
"Evidently, he's a monomaniac," said Emile.
"What's that?" queried the carpenter.
"I mean that his mind is absorbed by a fixed idea."
"Yes, I believe that you are right; but what is that idea? that is what
no one can say. He is known to have only one attachment. That is for the
park you see yonder, which he laid out and planted himself, and which he
almost never leaves. Indeed I think he sleeps there, on his feet,
walking about; for he has been seen walking in the paths like a ghost at
two o'clock in the morning, and he frightened some people who had crept
in there to purloin a little fruit or firewood."
As they had reached a point opposite the park, and from the high path
they were following could look over into it and see a part of it, Emile
was charmed by the beauty of that pleasure-ground, the magnificence of
the trees, the happy arrangement of the shrubbery, the freshness of the
turf and the graceful shape of the different levels, which descended
gradually to the bank of a small stream, one of the bubbling affluents
of the Gargilesse. He thought that no idiot could have created that
species of earthly paradise and turned the charms of nature to account
so successfully. It seemed to him, on the contrary, that a poetic mind
must have guided that arrangement; but the aspect of the château soon
gave the lie to these conjectures. One can imagine nothing uglier,
colder, more unpleasant to the eye than the manor-house of
Boisguilbault. Additions to the original structure had deprived it of
something of its antique character, and the excellent state of repair in
which it was kept made its surroundings all the more repellent.
Jean stopped at the end of the path where it entered the park, and his
young friend, having given him some of his best cigars to encourage him
to be patient, rode toward the house along a path of discouraging
neatness. Not a blade of grass, not a twig of ivy covered the nakedness
of those high walls, painted an iron-gray, and the only architectural
bit that caught his eye was an escutcheon over the iron gate, bearing
the arms of Boisguilbault, which had been scraped and retouched more
recently than the rest, perhaps at the time of the return of the
Bourbons; at all events there was a marked difference between this crest
and its ponderous framework. Emile drew the inference that the marquis
set much store by his titles and ancient privileges.
He rang a long while at an enormous gate before it opened; at last a
spring was pressed somewhere in the distance that made it turn on its
hinges, although nobody appeared; and, the young man having passed
through after tying his horse, the gate closed behind him with little
noise, as if an invisible hand had caught him in a trap. A feeling of
depression, almost of terror, took possession of him when he found
himself imprisoned as it were in a large, bare, gravelled courtyard,
surrounded by buildings of uniform size, and as silent as the graveyard
of a convent. A number of yews, trimmed to a point and planted in front
of the main doorways, added to the resemblance. For the rest, not a
flower, not a breath of fragrance from a plant, not a sprig of vine
about the windows, not a spider's-web on the panes, not a broken pane,
not a human sound, not even the crowing of a cock or the bark of a dog;
not a pigeon, not a patch of moss on the roofs; I verily believe that
not even an insect ventured to fly or buzz in the courtyard of
Boisguilbault.
Emile was looking about for some one to speak to, seeing not even a
footprint on the freshly raked gravel, when he heard a shrill, cracked
voice call to him in a far from pleasing tone:
"What does monsieur want?"
After turning about several times to see where the voice came from,
Emile finally discovered at an air-hole of a basement kitchen, an old,
well-powdered white head, with light, expressionless eyes; and, drawing
nearer, he tried to make himself heard. But the old butler's hearing was
as weak as his sight, and he answered the visitor's questions at random.
"The park can't be seen except on Sunday," he said; "take the trouble to
come again Sunday."
Emile handed him his card, and the old man, slowly taking his spectacles
from his pocket, without leaving his subterranean air-hole, slowly
examined it; after which he disappeared to reappear at a door just above
his hole.
"Very good, monsieur," he said; "monsieur le marquis ordered me to admit
the person who came from Monsieur Cardonnet; Monsieur Cardonnet of
Gargilesse, isn't it?"
Emile bowed in assent.
"Very good, monsieur," continued the old servant, bowing courteously,
evidently very glad of an opportunity to be polite and hospitable
without violating his orders. "Monsieur le marquis did not think that
you would come so soon; he did not expect you before to-morrow at the
earliest. He is in his park, _I will run_ and tell him. But first I
shall have the honor to escort you to the salon."
When he talked of running, the old man uttered a strange boast; he had
the gait and the agility of a centenarian. He led Emile to the low,
narrow doorway of a stairway turret, and slowly selecting a key from his
bunch preceded him upstairs to another door studded with great nails and
locked like the first. Another key; and, after passing through a long
corridor, a third key to open the apartments. Emile was taken through
several rooms, where the contrast to the bright sunlight was so great
that he seemed to be in utter darkness. At last he entered a vast salon
and the valet waved him to a chair, saying:
"Does monsieur wish me to open the blinds?"
Emile made him understand by signs that it was useless, and the old man
left him alone.
When his eyes became accustomed to the dim grayish light that crept into
that room, he was struck by the sumptuous character of the furniture.
Everything dated from the time of Louis XIII. and one would have said
that a connoisseur had guided the selection of even the least important
articles. Nothing was lacking; from the frames of the mirrors to the
tiniest nail in the hangings, there was not the slightest departure from
the prevailing style. And it was all authentic, partly worn, still in
good condition, although somewhat tarnished, at once rich and simple.
Emile admired Monsieur de Boisguilbault's good taste and knowledge. He
learned later that the disinclination to move and the horror of change,
which seemed hereditary in that family, were alone responsible for the
marvellous preservation and transmission from father to son of these
treasures, which it is the present fashion to collect at great expense
in _bric-à-brac_ shops, which are to-day the most sumptuous and
interesting places imaginable.
But the pleasure which the young man experienced in examining these
curiosities was succeeded by a feeling of extraordinary frigidity and
depression. In addition to the icy atmosphere of a house closed at all
seasons to the generous rays of the sun, in addition to the silence
without, there was something funereal in the regularity of that interior
arrangement, which no one ever disturbed, and in that artistic and noble
luxury which no one was invited to enjoy. It was evident from those
tight-locked doors of which the servant kept the keys, from the
cleanliness unmarred by the slightest speck of dust, from the heavy
closed curtains, that the master never entered the salon, and that the
only constant visitors were a broom and a duster. Emile thought with
horror of the life that the dead and gone Marquise de Boisguilbault,
young and lovely as she was, must have led in that house, dumb and dead
for centuries, and he forgave her with all his heart for having gone
elsewhere for a breath of fresh air before she died. "Who knows," he
thought, "that she did not contract in this tomb one of those slow,
deep-seated maladies which cannot be cured when the remedy is sought too
late?"
He was confirmed in that idea when the door slowly opened and the
châtelain in person appeared before him. Save for the coat it was the
statue of the _Commander_ come down from his pedestal; the same measured
gait, the same pallor, the same absence of expression, the same solemn
and petrified face.
Monsieur de Boisguilbault was barely seventy years of age, but his was
one of those organizations which have not, which have never had any age.
He had not originally a bad figure nor an ugly face. His features were
quite regular; his figure was still erect and his step firm, so long as
he did not hurry. But excessive thinness had done away with all pretence
of shape, and his clothes seemed to be hung upon a man of wood. His face
neither repelled by disdain, nor inspired aversion; but as it expressed
absolutely nothing, as one would have sought in vain at the first glance
to detect upon it any trace of a thought or emotion referable to any
known type of humanity, it inspired fear; and Emile involuntarily
thought of the German legend, in which a very well-dressed individual
appears at the door of the château and apologizes for being unable to
enter in the state in which he is, for fear of disturbing the company.
"Why, you seem to me to be very decently dressed," says the hospitable
châtelain. "Come in, I beg you." "No, no," the other replies, "it is
impossible, and you would blame me if I did. Be good enough to listen to
me in the doorway; I bring you news from the other world." "What do you
mean by that? Come in; it rains, and the storm will soon burst." "Look
at me carefully," says the mysterious visitor, "and you will see that I
cannot sit at your table without violating all the laws of hospitality.
Can it be that you don't see that I am dead?" The châtelain looks at
him closely and sees that he is, in very truth, dead. He closes the door
between him and the dead man and returns to the banquet hall, where he
swoons.
Emile did not swoon when Monsieur de Boisguilbault greeted him; but if,
instead of saying, "Excuse me for keeping you waiting, I was in my
park," he had said, "I was just being buried," the young man would not
have been greatly surprised.
The marquis's superannuated costume heightened the ghost-like aspect of
his face. He had been fashionably dressed once in his life, on his
wedding-day. Since then it had never occurred to him to make any change
in his dress, and he had invariably given his tailor for a model the
coat he had just worn out, on the pretext that he was accustomed to it
and that he was afraid he should be uncomfortable in one of a different
cut. He was dressed therefore in the costume of a dandy of the Empire,
which formed a most extraordinary contrast to his withered, melancholy
face. A very short green coat, nankeen breeches, a very stiff
shirt-frill, heart-shaped boots, and, to remain true to his habits, a
little flaxen wig of the color that his hair used to be, gathered up in
a bunch over the middle of his forehead. A very high starched collar,
which raised his long snow-white whiskers to the level of his eyes, gave
to his long face the shape of a triangle. He was scrupulously clean, and
yet a few bits of dry moss on his clothes showed that he had not made
his toilet expressly to receive his guest, but that he was accustomed to
walk alone in his park in that invariable dress.
He sat down without speaking, bowed without speaking, and looked at
Emile without speaking. At first the young man was embarrassed by this
silence, and wondered if he should not attribute it to disdain. But when
he saw that the marquis was awkwardly twisting a twig of honeysuckle in
his hands as if to keep himself in countenance, he realized that the old
man was as timid as a child, whether by nature or because of his
long-continued and persistent abandonment of all social relations.
He determined therefore to begin the conversation, and, wishing to make
himself agreeable to his host, in order to encourage him in his kindly
impulse toward the carpenter, he did not hesitate to be-marquis him at
every word, indulging in secret, it may be, in a feeling of contempt for
his pride of birth.
But this ironical deference seemed as indifferent to the marquis as the
object of Emile's visit. He answered in monosyllables to thank him for
his promptness and to reiterate his undertaking to pay the delinquent's
fines.
"This is a noble and praiseworthy act of yours, monsieur le marquis,"
said Emile, "and your protégé, in whom I am very deeply interested, is
as grateful as he is worthy. You probably do not know that at the time
of the recent inundation he jumped into the river to save a child, and
succeeded in doing it by incurring great risk."
"He saved a child--his own?" asked Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who had
not seemed to hear Emile's words, his manner was so indifferent and
preoccupied.
"No, somebody's else; he didn't know whose. I asked the same question,
and was told that the child's parents were almost strangers to him."
"And he saved him?" the marquis repeated, after a moment's silence,
during which another imaginary world seemed to have passed before his
brain. "He is very lucky."
The marquis's voice and accent were even more repellent than his bearing
and features. He spoke slowly; the words seemed to come from his mouth
with an extreme effort, a dull monotone, without the slightest
inflection. "Evidently he never goes out and sees no one because he
knows that he is dead," said Emile to himself, still thinking of his
German legend.
"Now, monsieur le marquis, will you kindly tell me why you wished my
father to send you an envoy? I am here to receive your instructions."
"Because"--replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, a little disturbed at
having to make a direct answer and trying to collect his ideas,
"because--I'll tell you. This man you speak of would not like to go to
jail, and we must prevent it. Tell your father to prevent it."
"That doesn't concern my father at all, monsieur le marquis; he
certainly will not invoke the rigor of the law against poor Jean, but he
cannot prevent the law's taking its course."
"I beg your pardon," replied the marquis, "he can speak or send someone
to speak to the local authorities. He has influence or should have."
"But why shouldn't you do this yourself, monsieur le marquis? You have
been in the province longer than my father, and if you believe in
influence, you must rate your privileges in that regard higher than
ours."
"The privileges of birth are no longer fashionable," replied Monsieur de
Boisguilbault, with no indication of vexation or regret. "Your father,
being a manufacturer, is sure to be more highly considered than I am.
And then nobody knows me now, I am too old; I don't even know whom to
apply to; I have forgotten all about it. If Monsieur Cardonnet will take
the trouble to speak, that man will not be prosecuted for vagabondage."
After this long speech, Monsieur de Boisguilbault heaved a great sigh as
if he were thoroughly exhausted. But Emile had already noticed his
strange habit of sighing, which was not precisely the choking of a
victim of asthma nor an expression of mental pain. It was more like a
nervous trick, which did not change the impassibility of his face but
which was so frequent that it acted upon the nerves of his auditor and
eventually produced a most painful impression upon Emile.
"I think, monsieur le marquis," he said, wishing to sound him a little,
"that you would have a poor opinion of a social system wherein any
privilege, either of birth or fortune, was the only protection of the
poor or the weak against too vigorous laws. I prefer to think that moral
force and influence are on the side of the man who can most successfully
invoke the laws of clemency and humanity."
"In that case, monsieur, do you act in my place," the marquis replied.
There was something of humility and something of flattery in that
laconic reply, and yet there was perhaps a touch of irony in it as well.
"Who knows," said Emile to himself, "that this old misanthrope isn't a
pitiless satirist? Very well; I will defend myself."
"I am ready to do all that is in my power to do for your protégé," he
replied; "and if I fail, it will be for lack of ability, not for lack of
energy and good-will."
Perhaps the marquis did not understand this rebuke. He seemed impressed
only by one word which Emile then used for the second time, and he
repeated it in a sort of dazed reverie.
"Protégé," said he, sighing after his wont.
"I should have said your debtor," rejoined Emile, who already regretted
his precipitation and feared that he might have injured the carpenter.
"By whatever name you would have me call him, monsieur le marquis, the
man is overflowing with gratitude for your kindness to him, and, if he
had dared, he would have come with me to thank you again."
A slight flush tinged Monsieur de Boisguilbault's cheeks for an instant,
and he replied in a less hesitating tone:
"I hope he will leave me in peace hereafter."
Emile was wounded by this rebuff and he could not resist the impulse to
manifest his feeling.
"If I were in his place," he said with some warmth, "I should be greatly
distressed to be burdened by an obligation which my devotion, my
gratitude and my services could never remove. You would be even more
generous than you are, monsieur le marquis, if you would allow honest
Jean Jappeloup to offer you his thanks and his services."
"Monsieur," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, picking up a pin and
sticking it into his sleeve, whether to avoid manifesting a sort of
confusion which overcame him, or from an inveterate habit of
orderliness, "I warn you that I am irascible--very irascible."
His voice was so calm and his utterance so slow as he gave Emile this
advice, that he nearly laughed in his face.
"Upon my word," he thought, "we are a little _cracked_, as Jean says. If
I have been so unfortunate as to offend you, monsieur le marquis," he
said, rising, "I will take my leave in order not to aggravate my
offence, for I might perhaps make the mistake of asking you to be
perfect, and it would be your own fault."
"How so?" said the marquis, twisting his sprig of honeysuckle with an
agitation which seemed not to extend beyond the ends of his fingers.
"We are apt to be exacting with those whom we esteem, I would venture to
say with those whom we admire, if I did not fear to offend your
modesty."
"Are you really going?" said the marquis after a moment of problematical
silence and in a still more problematical tone.
"Yes, monsieur le marquis, I offer you my compliments."