Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Frederick is a noble boy!” exclaimed M. Dufour.

  “Saturday evening just at dusk the task was completed,” Madame Bastien continued. “Frederick performed the work with an ardour and cheerfulness which showed that it was a real pleasure to him. I stayed with him all during the two days. There was a big juniper-tree only a little way off, and I sat in the shade of that and read or embroidered while my son worked; and how he worked! such vigorous blows of the spade as he struck, the very earth trembled under my feet.”

  “I can well believe it; though he is rather slim, he is remarkably strong for one of his years.”

  “I took him water now and then, and to save time when lunch-time came, our old Marguerite brought us out something to eat. How happy we were eating out there on the heath under the shade of the juniper. Frederick enjoyed it immensely. Of course there was nothing so very wonderful about what he did, but what touched and pleased me was the promptness with which he made the resolution, and the perseverance and tenacity of will with which he carried it out.”

  “You are, indeed, the happiest of mothers,” said the doctor with genuine emotion, pressing Marie’s hands warmly, “and you have reason to be doubly happy, as this happiness is your own work.”

  “What else could you expect, doctor?” replied Madame Bastien, artlessly. “One lives for one’s son you know.”

  “You most assuredly do,” said the doctor, warmly, “and it is well for you that you do, as but for him—” but M. Dufour checked himself suddenly as if he had been about to say something that would be better left unsaid.

  “You are right, my dear doctor, but now I think of it, didn’t you say something about a proposition you were going to make to Frederick and me?”

  “True, it is this: you know, or rather you do not know — for you hear very little of the neighbourhood gossip — that the Château de Pont Brillant has recently undergone a thorough renovation.”

  “I am so little au courant with the gossip of the neighbourhood, as you say, that this is the first intimation I have had of the fact. I even thought that the château was closed.”

  “It will not be much longer, for the young marquis is coming down to occupy it with his grandmother.”

  “This is the son of the M. de Pont Brillant who died about three years ago, I suppose. He must be very young.”

  “About Frederick’s age. His father and mother are both dead, but his grandmother idolises him and she has gone to fabulous expense to refurnish the château, where she will hereafter spend eight or nine months of the year with her grandson. I was called to the castle a few days ago to attend M. le chef of the conservatories — for these great people do not say gardener; that would be entirely too common — and I was dazzled by the luxury and splendour that pervaded the immense establishment. There is a magnificent picture gallery, a palm house through which one could drive in a carriage, and superb statues in the gardens. Above all — but I want to have the pleasure of surprising you, so I will only say that the place rivals any of the magnificent palaces described in the Arabian Nights. I feel sure that you and Frederick would enjoy seeing all the wonders of this fairy-land, and thanks to the consideration which M. le chef of the gardens and conservatories accords me, I can take you through the chateau to-morrow or the day after, but no later, as the young marquis is expected the day following that. What do you say to the proposition?”

  “I accept it with pleasure, doctor. It will be a great treat to Frederick, whose wonder will be the greater as he has no idea that any such splendour exists in the world. So I thank you most heartily. We shall have a delightful day.”

  “Very well. When shall we go?”

  “To-morrow, if it suits you.”

  “Perfectly; I will make my round very early in the morning, so I can get here by nine o’clock. It will take us only about half an hour to reach the château, as there is a short cut through the forest.”

  “And after we leave the château we can breakfast in the woods upon some fruit we will take with us,” said Madame Bastien, gaily. “I will tell Marguerite to make one of those cakes you like so much, my dear doctor.”

  “I consent on condition that the cake is a big one,” replied the doctor, laughing, “for however large it may be, Frederick and I are sure to make a big hole in it.”

  “You need have no fears on that score. You shall both have plenty of cake. But here comes Frederick; the lesson must be over. I will leave you the pleasure of surprising him.”

  “Oh, mother, how delightful!” exclaimed the lad, when M. Dufour had informed him of his project. “Thank you, thank you, my dear doctor, for having planned this charming journey into fairy-land.”

  The doctor was punctual the next day, and he and Madame Bastien and her son started through the forest for the Château de Pont Brillant in all the fresh glory of a superb summer morning.

  CHAPTER III.

  THE APPROACH TO the castle was through a broad avenue nearly half a mile long, bordered by a double row of gigantic elms probably four centuries old. A broad esplanade, ornamented with enormous orange-trees in boxes, and bordered with a massive stone balustrade extended across the entire front of the château, afforded a superb view of the surrounding country, and served as a court of honour for the castle, which was a chef d’œuvre of the renaissance type of architecture, with big cylindrical cone-roofed towers with highly decorated dormer windows, and tall chimneys that strongly reminded the beholder of the grand yet fairy-like ensemble of the famous Château de Chambord.

  Frederick and his mother had never seen this imposing structure before except at a distance, and on reaching the middle of the broad esplanade they both paused, struck with admiration as they viewed all these marvellous details and the rich carvings and traceries of stone, the existence of which they had never even suspected before, while the good doctor, as pleased as if the château had belonged to him, rubbed his hands joyfully, as he complacently exclaimed:

  “Oh, the outside is nothing; just wait until you have entered this enchanted palace.”

  “Oh, mother,” cried Frederick, “look at that colonnade at the base of the main tower; how light and airy it is!”

  “And those balconies,” responded his mother, “one would almost think they were made of lace! And the ornamentations on those window-caps, how elaborate yet how delicate they are.”

  “I declare we sha’n’t get away from the château before to-morrow if we waste so much time admiring the walls,” protested the doctor.

  “M. Dufour is right. Come, Frederick,” said Marie, taking her son’s arm.

  “And those buildings which look like another château connected with the main buildings by circular wings, what are they?” asked the youth, turning to the doctor.

  “The stables and servants’ quarters, my boy.”

  “Stables!” exclaimed Madame Bastien. “Impossible! You must be mistaken, my dear doctor.”

  “What! you have no more confidence than that in your cicerone!” exclaimed the doctor. “You will find that I am right, madame. There are so many stalls in the stable that when the great-grandfather, or great-great-grandfather of the present marquis lived here, he kept a regiment of cavalry here, horses and men at his own expense, just for the pleasure of seeing them go through their manœuvres every morning before breakfast on the esplanade. It seemed to give the worthy man an appetite.”

  “It was a whim worthy of a great soldier like him,” said Marie. “You recollect with what interest we read the history of his Italian campaign last winter, do you not, Frederick?”

  “I should think I did remember,” exclaimed Frederick, enthusiastically. “Next to Charles XII., the Maréchal de Pont Brillant is my favourite hero.”

  Meanwhile the three visitors had crossed the esplanade, and Madame Bastien, seeing M. Dufour turn to the right instead of keeping straight on toward the front of the building, remarked:

  “But, doctor, it seems to me that the heavily carved door in front of us must lead into the inn
er courtyard.”

  “So it does; the grand personages enter by that door, but plebeians, like ourselves, are lucky to get in the back way,” replied the doctor, laughing. “I should like to see M. le Suisse take the trouble to open that armorial door for us.”

  “I ask your pardon for my absurd pretensions,” said Madame Bastien, gaily, while Frederick, making a sort of comical salute to the superb entrance, said, laughingly:

  “Ah, manorial doorway, we are only too well aware that you were not made for us!”

  M. Dufour, having rung at the servants’ entrance and asked to see M. Dutilleul, head superintendent of the gardens and conservatories, the party was admitted into the courtyard. To reach M. Dutilleul’s house, it was necessary to cross one of the stable-yards. About thirty riding, hunting, and carriage horses belonging to the young marquis had arrived the evening before, and a number of English grooms and hostlers were bustling in and out of the stables, some washing carriages, others polishing bits and stirrups until they shone like burnished silver, all under the vigilant eye of the chef of the stables, an elderly Englishman, who, with a cigar between his lips, was presiding over this work with truly British phlegm, cane in hand.

  Suddenly, pointing to a massive gate that had just turned slowly upon its hinges, the doctor exclaimed:

  “See, there come some more horses! A whole regiment of them. One would think we were living in the old marshal’s time, Madame Bastien.”

  About twenty-five more horses, of different ages and sizes, all concealed in blankets bearing the marquis’s coat-of-arms, some ridden, some led, began to file through the archway. Their dusty legs and housings indicated that they had just made a long journey. A handsome calèche, drawn by two spirited horses, ended the procession. A handsomely dressed young man alighted from it, and gave some order in English to one of the grooms, who listened, cap in hand.

  “Do the horses that just came also belong to M. le marquis, my friend?” the doctor inquired of a passing servant.

  “Yes, they are M. le marquis’s racers and brood mares.”

  “And the gentleman that just got out of the carriage?”

  “Is M. Newman, M. le marquis’s trainer.”

  As the three visitors walked on toward the conservatories, they passed a long passage in the basement. This passage evidently led to the kitchens, for eight or ten cooks and scullions were engaged in unpacking several hogsheads filled with copper cooking utensils so prodigious in size that they seemed to have been made for Gargantua himself. The visitors also viewed, with ever increasing astonishment, the incredible number of servants of every kind.

  “Well, Madame Bastien, if any one should tell this young marquis that you and I and a host of other people had only one or two servants to wait on us, and yet were tolerably well served, he would probably laugh in his face,” remarked M. Dufour.

  “So much pomp and luxury bewilders me,” replied Marie. “Why, there is a little town right here in the château, and think of all those horses! You will not want for models after this, Frederick. You are so fond of drawing horses, but up to this time you have had only our venerable cart-horse for a model.”

  “Really, mother, I had no idea that any one save the king, perhaps, was rich enough to have such an immense number of servants and horses,” replied Frederick. “Great Heavens! what a host of people and animals to be devoted to the service or pleasure of a single person!”

  The words were uttered in an ironical tone, but Madame Bastien did not notice the fact, being so deeply interested as well as amused by what she saw going on around her; nor had she noticed that her son’s features had contracted slightly several times, as if under the influence of some disagreeable impression.

  The fact is, though Frederick was not a particularly close observer, he had been struck with the lack of respect shown to his mother and the doctor by this crowd of noisy and busy domestics; some had jostled the visitors as they passed, others had rudely obstructed the way, others, surprised at Marie Bastien’s rare beauty, had stared at her with bold, almost insulting curiosity, facts which the young mother in her unconsciousness had entirely failed to notice.

  Not so with her son, however, and seeing that his mother, the doctor, and himself were thus treated simply because they had owed their admission to a servant, and sought admission at the servants’ entrance, Frederick’s admiration became tinged with a slight bitterness, the bitterness that had caused his ironical comment on the number of persons and horses devoted to the pleasure and service of a single individual.

  The sight of the magnificent gardens through which they were obliged to pass to reach the greenhouses soon made the lad forget his bitterness. The gardeners were no less numerous than the subordinates in the various other departments, and by inquiring for M. le chef of the gardens and conservatories, the visitors finally ascertained that this important personage was in the main conservatory.

  This building, which was circular in form, was two hundred feet in diameter, with a conical roof, the apex of which rose to a height of forty feet. This gigantic conservatory, constructed of iron, with remarkable boldness yet lightness of design, was filled with the most superb exotics. Banana-trees of all sizes and kinds, from the dwarf musa to the paradisiaca, rose to a height of thirty feet, with leaves many of them two yards in length. Here the green fans of the date-palm mingled with the tall stems of the sugar-cane and bamboos, while the clear water in a huge marble basin in the centre of the conservatory reflected all sorts of aquatic plants, among them great arums from India, with enormous round leaves, tall cyperus with their waving plumes, and the lotus of the Nile, with its immense azure flowers so intoxicating in their fragrance. A marvellous variety of vegetation of every shape and kind and colour had been collected here, from the pale mottled green of the begonia, to the richest hues of the maranta, with its wonderful leaves of green velvet underneath and purple satin on top; tall ficus side by side with ferns so delicate that the lace-like foliage seemed to be supported with thin strands of violet silk; here a strelitzia, with a flower that looked like a bird with orange wings and a lapis lazuli crest, vied in splendour with the astrapea, with its enormous cerise pompon, flecked with gold, while in many places the immense leaves of the banana-trees formed a natural arch which so effectually concealed the glass roof of the rotunda from view that one might have supposed oneself in a tropical forest.

  Marie Bastien and Frederick interchanged exclamations of surprise and admiration at every step.

  “Ah, Frederick, how delightful it is to see and touch these banana-trees and date-palms, we have read of so often in books of travel,” cried Marie.

  “Mother, mother, here is the coffee-tree,” exclaimed Frederick, in his turn, “and there, that plant with such thick leaves, climbing up that column, is the vanilla.”

  “Frederick, look at those immense latania leaves. It is easy to understand now that in India five or six leaves are enough to cover a cabin.”

  “And mother, look, there is the beautiful passion-vine Captain Cook speaks of. I recognised it at once by the flowers; they look like little openwork china baskets, and yet you and I used to accuse the poor captain of inventing impossible flowers.”

  “M. de Pont Brillant must spend most of his time in this enchanted garden when he is at home,” Marie Bastien remarked to the superintendent.

  “M. le marquis is like the late marquis, his father,” replied the gardener. “He doesn’t care much for flowers. He prefers the stable and kennels.”

  Madame Bastien and her son gazed at each other in amazement.

  “Then, why does he have these magnificent conservatories, monsieur?” inquired the young woman, ingenuously.

  “Because every castle must have its conservatories, madame,” replied the functionary, proudly. “It is a luxury every self-respecting nobleman owes to himself.”

  “So it is purely a matter of self-respect,” Marie remarked to her son in a whispered aside. “But all jesting aside, in winter, when the days are s
o short, and the snow is flying, what delightful hours one could spend here, safe from the frost.”

  At last the doctor was obliged to interfere.

  “My dear madame, we shall have to spend at least a couple of days in the conservatory, at this rate,” he exclaimed, laughing.

  “That is true, doctor,” replied Madame Bastien, smiling; then, with a sigh of regret, she added: “Come, let us leave the tropics, — for some other part of the world, I suppose, as you told me this was a land of wonders, M. Dufour.”

  “You thought I was jesting. Well, you shall see. If you are very good, I will now take you to China.”

  “To China?”

  “Certainly, and after remaining there a quarter of an hour we will make a little excursion to Switzerland.”

  “And what then, doctor?”

  “Well, when there are no more foreign lands to visit, we will inspect all the different eras from the Gothic age down to the days of Louis the Fifteenth, and all in an hour’s time.”

  “Nothing can surprise me now, doctor,” replied Madame Bastien, “for I know for a certainty, now, that we are in fairy-land. Come, Frederick.”

  And the visitors followed M. le chef of the gardens and conservatories, who smiled rather superciliously at the plebeian amazement of M. Dufour’s friends. Though the wonders of the conservatory had made Frederick forget his bitter feelings for a time, the lad followed his mother with a less buoyant step than usual, for the bitterness returned as he thought of the young Marquis de Pont Brillant’s indifference to the beauties that would have given such joy and delight and congenial occupation to the many persons capable of appreciating the treasures collected here at such prodigious expense.