Part 6

After all, it matters little to me. I see plainly that I am to play in the imagination of Mlle. Marguerite a part something like that of a negro, which, as we know, is not an object particularly attractive to Creoles. For my part, I flatter myself that I am quite as proud as Mlle. Marguerite. The most impossible kind of love for me is one which might lay me open to the charge of scheming or self-seeking. But I fancy that I shall not require much moral courage to meet so remote a danger, for Mlle. Marguerite's beauty is of the kind which attracts the contemplation of the artist, rather than any warmer and more human sentiment.

However, at the name of Mervyn, which Mlle. Marguerite had given to her body-guard, Mlle. Helouin, my left-hand neighbour, plunged boldly into the Arthurian cycle, and was so good as to inform me that Mervyn was the correct name of the celebrated enchanter, whom the vulgar call Merlin. From the Knights of the Round Table she worked back to the days of Caesar and all the hierarchy of druids, bards, and ovates defiled in tedious procession before me. After them we fell, as a matter of course, from _dolmen_ to _menhir_ and from _galgal_ to _cromlech_.

While I wandered in Celtic forests with Mlle. Helouin, who wanted only a little more flesh to make quite a respectable druidess, the widow of the stock-broker made the echoes resound with complaints as ceaseless and monotonous as those of a blind beggar: They had forgotten to give her a foot-warmer! They gave her cold soup! They gave her bones without meat! That was how she was treated! Still, she was used to it. Ah, it is sad to be poor, very sad! She wished she were dead.

"Yes, doctor"--she was speaking to her neighbour, who listened to her wailings with slightly ironical interest--"yes, doctor, I am not joking; I do wish I were dead. I am sure it would be a great relief to everybody. Think what it must be--to have been in the position I've been in, to have eaten off silver plate with one's own coat of arms, and now to be reduced to charity, to be the sport of servants! No one knows what I suffer in this house; no one ever will know. The proud suffer without complaining, so I say nothing, doctor, but I think all the more."

"Of course, dear lady," said the doctor, whose name was Desmarets. "Don't say any more. Take a good drink. That will calm you."

"Nothing but death will calm me, doctor."

"Very well, madame, I am ready when you are," said the doctor resolutely.

Towards the centre of the table the attention of the company was monopolized by the careless, caustic, and animated braggadocio of a M. de Bevallan, who seemed to be allowed the latitude of a very intimate friend. He is a very tall man, no longer young, of a type closely akin to that of Francis I.

They listened to him as if he were an oracle, and Mlle. Laroque herself showed as much interest and admiration as she seemed capable of feeling for anything in this world. But, as most of his popular witticisms referred to local anecdotes and parish gossip, I could not adequately appreciate the merits of this Armorican lion.

I had reason, however, to appreciate his courtesy; after dinner he offered me a cigar, and showed me the way to the smoking-room, where he did the honours to three or four extremely young men, who evidently thought him a model of good manners and refined wickedness.

"Well, Bevallan," said one of these young fellows, "you've not given up hopes of the priestess of the sun-god?"

"Never!" replied M. de Bevallan. "I would wait ten months--ten years, if necessary--but I will marry her or no one shall!"

"You're a lucky chap! The governess will help you to be patient."

"Must I cut out your tongue, or cut off your ears, young Arthur?" said M. de Bevallan, going towards him and indicating my presence with a hasty gesture.

A delightful conversational pell-mell then followed, which introduced me to all the horses, all the dogs, and all the ladies of the neighbourhood. It would not be a bad thing for ladies if, for once in their lives, they could hear the kind of conversation which goes on between men in the effusive mood that follows a copious repast. It would show them exactly the delicacy of our manners, and the amount of confidence they are calculated to inspire. I am not in the least prudish, but in my opinion this conversation outran the limits of the freest jesting; it touched on everything, gaily outraged everything, took on a gratuitous tone of universal profanation. My education is, perhaps, incomplete, for it has left me with a certain reserve of reverence, that I think should be maintained even in the wildest extravagances of high spirits.

But we have in the France of to-day our young America, which is not happy unless it can blaspheme a little after drinking; we have the future hopes of the nation, those amiable little ruffians, without father or mother, without God or country, who seem to be the raw products of some heartless and soulless machine, which has accidentally deposited them on this planet not at all to its beautification.

In short, M. de Bevallan, who had appointed himself professor of cynicism to these beardless _roues_, did not please me, nor do I think that I pleased him. I retired very early on the ground of fatigue.

At my request old Alain procured a lantern and guided me across the park to my future quarters. After a few minutes' walk, we crossed a wooden bridge over a stream and found ourselves in front of a massive arched doorway, flanked by two small towers. It was the entrance to the ancient chateau. A ring of aged oak and pine shut in this feudal fragment, and gave it an air of profound seclusion. It is in this ruin that I am to live. My apartments run above the door from one of the towers to the other, and consist of three rooms very neatly hung with chintz. I am not displeased with this gloomy abode; it suits my fortunes. As soon as I had got rid of Alain I began to write the account of this eventful day, breaking off occasionally to listen to the gentle murmur of the stream under my window, and to the call of the legendary owl celebrating his doleful loves in the neighbouring woods.

_July 1st_.

I must now try to pick up the thread of my personal and private life, which for the past two months has been somewhat lost among the daily duties of my post.

The day after my arrival I stayed at home for some hours, studying the ledgers and papers of my predecessor, _le pere Hivart_, as they call him here. I lunched at the chateau, where only a few of last night's guests remained. Mme. Laroque had lived a great deal in Paris before her father-in-law's health condemned her to perpetual rusticity. In her retirement she had kept her taste for the culture, elegance, or frivolity which had centred in the Rue du Bac when Mme. de Stael and her turban held sway. She had also visited most of the large cities of Europe, and had brought away from them an interest in literature far exceeding the ordinary Parisian curiosity and erudition. She read a great many newspapers and reviews, and endeavoured to follow, as far as it was possible at such a distance, the movement of that refined civilization of which museums and new books are the more or less ephemeral fruit and flowers. We were talking at lunch about a new opera, and Mme. Laroque asked M. de Bevallan a question about it which he could not answer, although he professes to be well informed of all that takes place on the Boulevard des Italiens. Mme. Laroque then turned to me with an air that showed how little she expected her man of business to be acquainted with such matters; but it happened, unfortunately, that these were the only "affairs" with which I was familiar. I had heard in Italy this very opera which had just been played in France for the first time. The very reserve of my answers excited Mme. Laroque's curiosity; she questioned me closely, and before long put me in possession of all the enthusiasms, souvenirs, and impressions she had got in her travels. Soon we were discussing the most celebrated theatres and galleries of the Continent like old friends, and when we left the table our conversation was so animated that, to avoid breaking the thread of it, Mme. Laroque almost unconsciously took my arm. We continued our exchange of sympathies in the drawing-room, Mme. Laroque gradually dropping the kindly, patronizing tone which had rather grated on me hitherto.

She confessed that she was possessed by a mania for the theatre, and that she thought of having some theatricals at the chateau. She asked my advice on the management of this amusement, and I gave her some details of particular plays that I had seen in Paris and St. Petersburg. Then, as I had no intention of abusing her good-nature, I rose quickly, saying that I meant to inaugurate my work at once by examining a large farm about two leagues from the chateau. This announcement seemed to fill Mme. Laroque with consternation; she looked at me, fidgeted among her cushions, held her hands to the brazier, and at last said in a low voice:

"Oh, what does it matter? You can put it off."

And as I insisted, she replied with comical embarrassment:

"But you cannot; the roads are horrible.... You must wait for the fine weather."

"No, madame," I said, smiling, "I will not wait a minute; if I am to be your bailiff I must look after your affairs."

"Madame," said old Alain, who had come in, "M. Odiot could have _le pere Hivart's_ old gig; it is not on springs, but it's all the more solid for that."

Mme. Laroque darted a withering glance at the miserable Alain for daring to suggest _le pere Hivart's_ gig to an agent who had been to the Grand Duchess Helene's theatricals.

"Wouldn't the buggy be able to do it, Alain?" she asked.

"The buggy, madame? Oh, no! I don't believe it could get into the lane, and if it did, it would certainly not come out whole."

I declared that I could walk easily.

"No, no," declared Mme. Laroque; "that's impossible. I couldn't allow it. Let me see ... We have half a dozen horses here doing nothing; but perhaps you don't ride?"

"Oh, I ride, but--you really need not--I am going to----"

"Alain, get a horse saddled for M. Odiot.... Which do you suggest, Marguerite?"

"Give him Proserpine," whispered M. de Bevallan maliciously.

"Oh, no! not Proserpine," declared Marguerite.

"And why not Proserpine?" I asked.

"Because she'd throw you," said the girl frankly.

"Oh, would she? Really? May I ask, mademoiselle, if you ride her?"

"Yes, I do, but she gives me some trouble."

"Oh, well, perhaps she'll give you less when I've ridden her once or twice! That decides me. Have Proserpine saddled, Alain."

Mlle. Marguerite's dark eyebrows contracted as she sat down with a gesture that disclaimed all responsibility for the catastrophe she foresaw.

"If you want spurs," said M. de Bevallan, who evidently did not mean me to return alive, "I have a pair at your service."

Without appearing to notice Mlle. Marguerite's reproachful look at the obliging gentleman, I accepted his offer. Five minutes later a frantic scuffling announced the approach of Proserpine, who was brought with some difficulty to one of the flights of steps under the private garden. She was a fine half-bred, as black as jet. I at once went down the perron. Some kind people, with M. de Bevallan at their head, followed me to the terrace--from motives of humanity, no doubt--and at the same time the three windows of the _salon_ were opened for the use of the women and old men. I would willingly have dispensed with all this publicity, but it could not be helped, and besides, I had very little anxiety about the result of this adventure. I might be a very young land agent, but I was an old horseman. I could scarcely walk when my father put me upon a horse--to my mother's great alarm--and afterward he took the greatest pains to render me his equal in an art in which he excelled. Indeed, he had carried my training to the verge of extravagance, sometimes making me put on the heavy ancestral armour to perform my feats of equitation.

Proserpine allowed me to disentangle the reins, and even to touch her neck without giving the slightest sign of irritation; but as soon as she felt my foot in the stirrup she shied at once, and sent a volley of kicks above the marble vases on the staircase; then sat comfortably down on her hindquarters and beat the air with her forefeet. After this she rested, quivering all over. "A bit fidgety to mount," said the groom, with a wink.

"So I see, my good fellow, but I shall astonish her. See," and at the same time I sprang into the saddle without touching the stirrup and got my seat before Proserpine had quite realized what had happened. The instant after we shot at a hard gallop into the chestnut avenue, followed by some clapping of hands, which M. de Bevallan had the grace to start.

That evening I could see, from the way people treated me, that this incident, trifling as it was, had raised me in the public opinion. Some other talents of the same sort, which I owed to my education, helped me to secure the only kind of consideration I wished for--one which respected my personal dignity. Besides, I made it quite evident that I should not abuse the kindness and consideration shown me, by usurping a position incompatible with my humble duties at the chateau. I shut myself up in my tower as much as I could without being boorish; in a word, I kept strictly in my place, so that none should be tempted to remind me of it.

A few days after my arrival, during one of the large dinners which at that season were of nearly daily occurrence, I heard the _sous-prefet_ of the neighbouring little town, who was sitting next to the lady of the house, ask her who I was. Mme. Laroque, who is rather forgetful, did not remember that I was quite close, and, _nolens volens_, I heard every word of her reply.

"Please, don't ask me," she said. "There's some extraordinary mystery about him. We think he must be a prince in disguise.... There are so many who like to see the world in this fashion. This one has every conceivable talent: he rides, plays the piano, draws, and does each to perfection! ... Between ourselves, my dear _sous-prefet_, I believe he is a very bad steward, but there's no doubt he is a very agreeable man."

The _sous-prefet_--who also is a very agreeable man, or thinks he is, which is just as satisfactory to himself--stroked his fine whiskers with his plump hand and said sweetly that there were enough beautiful eyes in the chateau to explain many mysteries; that he quite understood the steward's object, and that Love was the legitimate father of Folly, and the proper steward of the Graces.... Then, changing his tone abruptly, he added:

"However, madame, if you have the slightest anxiety about this person, I will have him interrogated to-morrow by the head constable."

Mme. Laroque protested against this excess of gallantry. The conversation so far as it concerned me went no further. But I was very much annoyed, not with the _sous-prefet_, who had greatly amused me; but with Mme. Laroque, who seemed to have been more than just to my personal qualities, and not sufficiently convinced of my official abilities.

As it happened, I had to renew the lease of one of the larger farms on the day following. The business had to be transacted with a very astute old peasant, but, nevertheless, I held my own with him, thanks to a judicious combination of legal phraseology and diplomatic reserve. When we had agreed on the details, the farmer quietly placed three _rouleaux_ of gold on my desk. Though I did not understand this payment, as there was nothing due, I refrained from showing any surprise. By some indirect questions, which I asked as I unfolded the packets, I ascertained that this sum was the earnest-money of the bargain; or, in other words, a sort of bonus which the farmers present to the landlord when their leases are renewed.

I had not thought of claiming this, as I had not found it mentioned in the leases drawn up by my able predecessor, which had been my models. For the moment I drew no conclusions from his silence on this point, but when I handed over the windfall to Mme. Laroque her surprise astonished me.

"And what is this?" she said.

I explained the nature of the payment, and had to repeat my explanation.

"And is it a usual custom?" she continued.

"Yes, madame, whenever a lease is renewed."

"But, to my knowledge, there have been ten leases renewed in the last thirty years.... How is it we never heard of such a custom?"

"I cannot say, madame."

Mme. Laroque fell into an abyss of reflections, in which, perhaps, she encountered the venerable shade of le pere Hivart. At length she slightly shrugged her shoulders, looked at me, then at the gold, then again at me, and seemed to hesitate. At last, leaning back in her chair, sighing deeply, and speaking with a simplicity which I greatly appreciated, she said:

"Very well, monsieur. Thank you."

Mme. Laroque had the good taste not to compliment me on this instance of ordinary honesty; but, none the less, she conceived a great idea of her steward's ability and virtues. A few days later I had a proof of this. Her daughter was reading an account of a voyage to the pole to her, in which an extraordinary bird is mentioned---"_qui ne vole pas_."[#]

[#] "Which does not _fly_." But the French verb _voler_ is also to steal; hence the application.

"Like my steward," she said.

I sincerely believe that from this time my devotion to the work I had undertaken gave me a claim to a more positive commendation. Soon afterward, when I went to see my sister in Paris, M. Laubepin thanked me warmly for having so creditably redeemed the pledges he had given on my behalf.

"Courage, Maxime," he said. "We shall give Helene her dowry. The poor child will not have noticed anything unusual, and you, my friend, will have nothing to regret. Believe me, you possess what in this world comes nearest to happiness, and I am sure you will always possess it, thank Heaven! It is a peaceful conscience and the manly serenity of a soul devoted to duty."

The old man is right, of course. I am at peace, but I cannot say that I am happy. My soul is not yet ripe for the austere delights of sacrifice; it has its outbursts of youthfulness and of despair. My life is no longer my own: it is devoted and consecrated to a weaker, dearer life; it has no future: it is imprisoned in a cloister that will never be opened. My heart must not beat, my brain must not think, save for another. So be it! May Helene be happy! Years are stealing upon me. May they come quickly! I pray that they will; the coldness that comes with them will strengthen my courage.

Besides, I cannot complain of a situation which has, in fact, fallen agreeably short of my worst forebodings, and has even surpassed my brightest expectations. My work, my frequent journeys into the neighbouring departments, and my love of solitude, often keep me away from the chateau, where I particularly avoid all the more festive gatherings. And perhaps it is because I go to them so seldom that I am welcomed so kindly. Mme. Laroque, in particular, shows a real affection for me; she makes me the confidant of her curious and perfectly sincere fancies about poverty, sacrifice, and poetic abnegation, which form such an amusing contrast to the chilly Creole's multitudinous contrivances for comfort.

Sometimes she envies the gipsies carrying their children on a wretched cart along the roads, and cooking their food under hedges; sometimes it is the Sisters of Chanty; sometimes the _cantinieres_, whose heroic work she longs to share.

And she never ceases to lament the late M. Laroque's admirable health, which prevented his wife from showing that nature had meant her for a sick-nurse. Nevertheless, she has lately had fixed to her chair a kind of niche like a sentry-box, as a protection from draughts. The other morning I found her triumphantly installed in this kiosk, where she really awaits her martyrdom in considerable comfort.

I have scarcely less reason to be satisfied with the other inhabitants of the chateau. Mlle. Marguerite, who is always plunged like a Nubian sphinx in some mysterious vision, nevertheless condescends to treat me to my favourite airs with the utmost good-nature. She has a fine contralto voice, which she uses with perfect art, but at the same time with an indifference and coldness which I think must be deliberate. Sometimes, in an unguarded moment, I have heard her tones become impassioned, but almost immediately she has returned to an icy correctness, as if ashamed of the lapse from her character or from her role.

A few games of piquet with M. Laroque, which I had the tact to lose, won me the favour of the poor old man. Sometimes I find his dim and feeble gaze fixed on me with strange intentness, as if some dream of the past, some fanciful resemblance, had half revived among the mists of an exhausted memory, in which the images of a century hover confusedly.

They actually wanted to return me the money I lost to him. Mme. Aubry, who usually plays with the old captain, accepts these restitutions without scruple; but this does not prevent her from winning pretty frequently, on which occasions she has furious encounters with the old corsair. M. Laubepin was lenient when he described this lady merely as embittered. I have no liking for her, but, out of consideration for the others, I have made an effort to gain her good-will, and have succeeded in doing so by listening patiently first to her lamentations over her present position, and then to her impressive description of her former grandeur, her silver, her furniture, her lace, and her gloves.

It must be confessed that I have come to the right school to learn to despise the advantages I have lost. Every one here by their attitude and language eloquently exhorts me to the contempt of riches. Firstly, Mme. Aubry, who might be aptly compared to those shameless gluttons whose greediness takes away one's appetite, and who disgust one with the dishes they praise; the old man, perishing as sadly among his millions as Job on his dunghill; the good woman, romantic and _blase_, who in the midst of her inopportune prosperity dreams of the forbidden fruit of suffering; and lastly, the haughty Marguerite, who wears like a crown of thorns the diadem of beauty and opulence which Heaven has forced on her brow. A strange girl!

Nearly every fine morning I see her ride past the windows of my belfry; she bows gravely to me, the black plume of her felt riding hat dipping and waving in the wind; and then she slowly disappears along the shaded path that runs through the ruins of the ancient chateau. Sometimes old Alain follows her, and sometimes her only companion is the huge and faithful Mervyn, who strides at the side of his beautiful mistress like a pensive bear. So attended, she covers all the country round on her errands of charity. She does not need a protector, for there is not a cottage within six leagues where she is not known and worshipped as the goddess of good works. The poor people call her "Mademoiselle," as if they were speaking of one of those daughters of kings who give poetry to their legends, and whose beauty and power and mystery they recognise in her.