by Eugène Sue
Henri was the first to speak.
“You were right, Pierre, I shall take away with me a delightful recollection of this charming Madame Bastien. What you have just told me will often be a subject of pleasant thought to me, and—”
“I understand you, Henri, and you must forgive me for not having thought of it sooner,” exclaimed the doctor, noting his friend’s emotion, “the sight of this youth must remind you—”
“Yes, the sight of this youth does remind me of one I can never forget, my poor Fernand,” said Henri, seeing the doctor hesitate. “He was about Frederick’s age, so it is only natural that this handsome boy should excite my interest, an interest which is naturally increased by the admiration I feel for his brave and devoted mother. Heaven grant that, after all her love and devotion, her son is not going to be a disappointment to her. But how is it that, after he has been reared with such care and solicitude, he should now give his mother such grave cause for anxiety?”
“The fact is that this lad, whom you have just seen so pale and thin and sullen and irascible, was full of health and gaiety and good humour only a few months ago. Then the relations that existed between his mother and himself were of the most charming as well as affectionate character imaginable, while his generosity of heart could not have failed to excite your liveliest admiration.”
“Poor boy,” said Henri David, compassionately. “I believe you, Pierre, for there is such an expression of sadness and bitterness on his handsome face. It is evident that he is not bad at heart. It seems to me more as if he were suffering from some secret malady,” added Henri, thoughtfully. “How strange it is that there should be such a remarkable change in him in so short a time!”
“I cannot understand it myself,” replied the doctor, “for heart and mind and body all seem to have been attacked at the same time. A short time ago study was a pleasure to Frederick, his imagination was brilliant, his mental faculties almost precocious in their development. All this is changed now, and about a month ago his mother, distressed at the state of apathy into which her son had so suddenly relapsed, decided to employ a tutor for him, hoping that a change of instructors and new branches of study, more especially those of natural science, would act as a sort of stimulant.”
“Well?”
“At the end of a week the tutor, disgusted with Frederick’s dullness, rudeness, and violence, left the house.”
“But to what do you attribute this remarkable change?”
“I thought and still think that it is due to natural or rather physical causes. There are many instances of similar crises in youths on attaining the age of puberty. It is a time of life when the salient traits of character begin to manifest themselves, when the man succeeding the youth begins to show what he is going to be some day. This metamorphosis nearly always causes serious disturbance throughout the entire system, and it is quite probable that Frederick is now under the influence of this phenomenon.”
“Doesn’t this very plausible explanation reassure Madame Bastien?”
“One can never entirely reassure a mother, at least a mother like that. The reasons I gave her calmed her fears for awhile, but the trouble increased and she took fright again. In her interview with me just now she made no attempt to disguise her fears, and even accused herself of being to blame for the recent state of things. ‘I am his mother and yet I cannot divine what is the matter with him, so I certainly must be lacking in penetration and in maternal instinct. I am his mother, and yet he will not tell me the cause of the trouble that is killing him. It is my fault. It must be. I cannot have been a good mother. A mother has always done something wrong if she cannot succeed in gaining her child’s confidence.’”
“Poor woman!” exclaimed Henri. “She wrongs herself, though, in considering her maternal instinct in fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, doesn’t her instinct warn her that you are wrong, plausible as your explanation of her son’s condition is, for, in spite of her confidence in you, and in spite of the desire she feels to be reassured, your assurances have not calmed her fears.”
Then, after sitting silent and thoughtful for a moment, Henri asked:
“Is that large building we see there in the distance the Château de Pont Brillant?”
“Yes. Its owner, the young marquis, was in the party that passed just now. But why do you ask?”
“Does Madame Bastien’s son visit there?”
“Oh, no. The Pont Brillants are a very proud and aristocratic family, and associate only with the nobility.”
“So Frederick does not even know the young marquis?”
“If he does, it is only by sight, for I repeat the young marquis is much too proud to have anything to do with a youth of Frederick’s humble station.”
“Is this family popular?” inquired Henri David, more and more thoughtfully.
“The Pont Brillants are immensely rich, nearly all the land for six or seven leagues around belongs to them. They own, too, most of the houses in this little town. The tradespeople, too, are of course largely dependent upon their patronage, so this powerful family command at least a strong show of respect and attachment. There is also a certain amount of money given to the poor every year by the family. The mayor and the curé distribute it, however. The young marquis has nothing more to do with that than his grandmother, whose skepticism and cynicism make Baron Holbach’s atheism seem pale by comparison. But why do you ask all these questions in relation to the château and its occupants?”
“Because just now when I was alone with Frederick I thought I discovered that he hated this young marquis with a deadly hatred.”
“Frederick?” exclaimed the doctor, with quite as much surprise as incredulity. “That is impossible. I am sure he never spoke to M. de Pont Brillant in his life. So how could he possibly feel any such animosity against the young marquis?”
“I do not know, but I am sure, from what I have seen, that he does.”
“What you have seen?”
“The horse that brought Frederick and his mother here, not being hitched, evinced an intention of joining the brillant cortège as it passed. The young marquis struck it a heavy blow with his whip and drove it back, and if I had not restrained Frederick, he would have jumped out of the window and flown at M. de Pont Brillant.”
“So it was in order not to frighten Madame Bastien you told us—”
“That Frederick had imprudently leaned too far out of the window. Yes, Pierre, I repeat it, I did not lose a gesture or the slightest change of expression in the poor boy’s face. It is hatred, a deadly hatred, that he feels for the other youth.”
“But I tell you that Madame Bastien’s son has never even spoken to Raoul de Pont Brillant. They live in two entirely different worlds. They can never have come in the slightest contact with each other.”
“True. Your reasoning seems perfectly just, and I suppose I ought to acquiesce,” replied Henri David, thoughtfully. “Nevertheless, something tells me that I am right, and now I almost begin to regret having met this charming woman, for the very reason that she and her son have inspired me with such a deep interest.”
“What do you mean?”
“Frankly, my friend, what can be more sad than to feel a commiseration as profound as it is futile? Who could be more worthy of sympathy and respect than this most unhappily married woman, who has lived even cheerfully for years in almost complete solitude, uncomplainingly, with a son as handsome, sensible, and intelligent as herself? And suddenly at one fell swoop this life is blighted; the mother watches with growing despair the progress of the mysterious malady the cause of which she has striven in vain to discover. Ah, I can understand only too well the agony of an experience like hers, for I too loved my poor Fernand almost to idolatry,” continued Henri, scarcely able to restrain his tears, “and to me this utter powerlessness in the presence of an evil one deeply deplores has always been a source of torture, almost of remorse, to me.”
“Yes, that is true,
” replied the doctor. “How often you said almost the very same thing in the letters you wrote me during your long and dangerous journeys, undertaken with such a noble object, but at the same time with the necessity of authenticating the most frightful facts, the most barbarous customs, the most atrocious laws, though realising all the while that this state of things must go on for years, and perhaps even for centuries, unhindered. Yes, yes, I can understand how it must try a soul like yours to see evils which it is impossible to assuage.”
The clock in a neighbouring church struck three quarters past five.
“My dear friend, we have but a few minutes left,” remarked Henri, holding out his hand to the doctor, who was unable to speak for awhile, so great was his emotion.
“Alas! my dear Henri,” he said at last, “I ought to have accustomed myself to the idea of your departure, but you see my courage fails me after all.”
“Nonsense, Pierre, I shall see you again in less than two years. This voyage will probably be the last I shall undertake, and then I am coming to take up my abode near you.”
“Monsieur, monsieur, the Nantes diligence is coming in,” cried the old servant, rushing into the room. “You haven’t a minute to lose.”
“Farewell, Pierre,” said Henri, clasping his friend in a last embrace.
“Farewell. God grant we may meet again, my dear Henri.”
A few minutes afterward, Henri David was on his way to Nantes, from which port he was to start on an expedition to Central Africa.
CHAPTER XI.
ONE MORE DROP makes the cup run over, says the proverb. In like manner, the scene that had occurred on the mall at Pont Brillant on St. Hubert’s Day had caused the rancour that filled Frederick Bastien’s heart to overflow.
In the chastisement which the young marquis had inflicted upon his horse, Frederick saw an insult, or rather a pretext, that would enable him to manifest his hatred toward Raoul de Pont Brillant.
After a night spent in gloomy reflections, Madame Bastien’s son wrote the following note:
“If you are not a coward, you will come to Grand Sire’s Rock to-morrow morning with your gun loaded. I shall have mine. Come alone, I shall be alone.
“I hate you. You shall know my name when I have told you to your face the reason of my hatred.
“Grand Sire’s Rock stands in a lonely part of your forest. I shall be there all the morning, and all day if necessary, waiting for you: so you will have no excuse for failing to come.”
This absurd effusion can be explained only by Frederick’s youth and intense animosity, as well as his utter lack of experience and the isolation in which he had lived.
This effusion written and posted, the youth feigned unusual calmness all day, so no one would suspect his designs.
When night came, he told Madame Bastien that he felt very tired and intended to stay in bed all the next forenoon, and that he did not want any one to come to his room until after he got up; so the mother, hoping rest would prove beneficial to her son, promised his request should be complied with.
At daybreak Frederick cautiously made his escape through his bedroom window and hastened to the place of rendezvous. As he approached it his heart throbbed with ferocious ardour, feeling confident that Raoul de Pont Brillant would hasten to avenge the insult contained in this insulting note he had received.
“He shall kill me, or I will kill him,” Frederick said to himself. “If he kills me, so much the better. What is the use of dragging out a life poisoned with envy? If I kill him—”
He shuddered at the thought, then, ashamed of his weakness, he continued:
“If I kill him, it will be better yet. He will cease to enjoy the pleasures and luxuries that arouse my envy. If I kill him,” added the unfortunate youth, trying to justify this bloodthirsty resolve on his part, “his luxury will no longer flaunt itself before my poverty and the poverty of many others who are even more to be pitied than I am.”
The name of Grand Sire’s Rock had been bestowed centuries before on a pile of big granite boulders only a short distance from one of the least frequented paths in the forest, and, as a number of large chestnut and pine trees had sprung up between the moss-covered rocks, it was a wild and lonely spot, well suited for a hostile meeting.
Frederick deposited his gun in a sort of natural grotto formed by a deep opening half concealed by a thick curtain of ivy. This spot was only about forty yards from the road by which the marquis must come if he came at all, so Frederick stationed himself in a place where he could see quite a distance down the road without being seen.
One hour, two hours, three hours passed and Raoul de Pont Brillant did not come.
Unable to believe that the young marquis could have scorned his challenge, Frederick, in his feverish impatience, devised all sorts of excuses for his adversary’s delay. He had not received the letter until that morning; he had doubtless been obliged to do some manœuvring to be able to go out alone; possibly he had preferred to wait until nearer evening.
Once Frederick, thinking of his mother and of her despair, said to himself that perhaps in less than an hour he would have ceased to live.
This gloomy reflection rather weakened his resolution for a moment, but he soon said to himself:
“It will be better for me to die. My death will cost my mother fewer tears than my life, judging from those I have already compelled her to shed.”
While he was thus awaiting the arrival of the marquis, a carriage that had left the château about three o’clock in the afternoon paused at the intersection of the footpath not far from the so-called Grand Sire’s Rock.
When this low, roomy equipage drawn by two magnificent horses stopped at the cross-roads, two tall, powdered footmen descended from their perch, and one of them opened the carriage door, through which the Dowager-Marquise de Pont Brillant alighted quite nimbly in spite of her eighty-eight years; after which another woman, quite as old as the dowager, also stepped out.
The other footman, taking one of the folding-chairs which invalids or very old people often use during their walks, was preparing to follow the two octogenarians when the marquise said, in a clear though rather quavering voice:
“Remain with the carriage, which will wait for me here. Give the folding-chair to Zerbinette.”
To answer to the coquettish, pert name of Zerbinette at the age of eighty-seven seems odd indeed, but when she entered the service of her foster-sister, the charming Marquise de Pont Brillant, seventy years before, as assistant hair-dresser, her retroussé nose, pert manner, big, roguish eyes, provoking smile, trim waist, small foot, and dimpled hand richly entitled her to the sobriquet bestowed upon her at that time by the marquise, who, married direct from the convent at the age of sixteen, was already considerably more than flirtatious, and who, struck by her assistant hair-dresser’s boldness of spirit and unusual adaptability for intrigue, soon made Zerbinette her chief maid and confidante.
Heaven only knows the good times and larks of every sort this pair had enjoyed in their palmy days, and the devotion, presence of mind, and fertility of resource Zerbinette had displayed in assisting her mistress to deceive the three or four lovers she had had at one time.
The deceased husband of the marquise need be mentioned only incidentally in this connection; in the first place because one did not take the trouble to deceive a husband in those days, and in the second place because the high and mighty seigneur Hector-Magnifique-Raoul-Urbain-Anne-Cloud-Frumence, Lord Marquis of Pont Brillant and half a dozen other places, was too much of a man of his time to interfere with madame, his wife, in the least.
From this constant exchange of confidences on the part of the marquise and of services of every sort and kind on the part of Zerbinette there had resulted a decided intimacy between mistress and maid. They never left each other, they had grown old together, and their chief pleasure now consisted in talking over the escapades and love affairs of former years, and it must be admitted that each day had its saint in their calendar.
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br /> The dowager-marquise was small, thin, wrinkled, but very straight. She dressed in the most elaborate fashion and was always redolent with perfumes. She wore her hair crimped and powdered, and there was a bright red spot on each cheek that increased the brilliancy of her large black eyes, which were still bold and lustrous in spite of her advanced age. She carried a small gold-headed ivory cane, and a richly jewelled snuff-box from which she regaled herself from time to time.
Zerbinette, who was a little taller than her mistress, but equally thin, wore her white hair in curls, and was attired with simple elegance.
“Zerbinette,” said the dowager, after turning to take another look at the footman who had opened the carriage door, “who is that tall, handsome fellow? I don’t remember to have seen him before.”
“I doubt if you have, madame. He was just sent down from Paris.”
“He’s a fine-shaped fellow. Did you notice what broad shoulders he has, Zerbinette? Handsome lackeys always remind me” — the marquise paused to take a pinch of snuff— “handsome lackeys always remind me of that little devil the Baroness de Montbrison.”
“Madame la marquise has forgotten. It was the French Guards the baroness—”
“You are right, and the Duc de Biron, their colonel — You remember M. de Biron, don’t you?”
“I should think I did. You had a pass-key to his little house on the Boulevard des Poissonniers, and for your first rendezvous you dressed in the costume of Diana, the huntress, exactly as in that handsome pastel portrait of yourself. And how beautiful, ravishingly beautiful, you looked in the costume, with your slim waist and white shoulders and gleaming eyes!”
“Yes, my girl, yes. I had all those, and I made a good use of what the Lord gave me. But to return to my story; you are right, Zerbinette, in regard to the little baroness, it was the French Guards she went so crazy about, so much so, in fact, that M. de Biron, their colonel, went to the king and complained that his regiment was being ruined. ‘I can’t have that,’ replied the king, ‘I want my French Guards for myself. Montbrison got money enough by his wife to buy a regiment for her if she wants it.’”