by George Sand
“Ah ! so you spurn it, do you ? In that case——”
Bénédict walked a few steps away. Athénaïs, pale as death and hardly able to breathe, dropped on an old willow at the side of the road.
Bénédict at once returned to her. He did not love her enough to care to enter into a discussion with her; he preferred to take advantage of her emotion rather than waste time justifying himself.
“Come, come, cousin,” he said in a stern tone which cowed poor Athénaïs completely, “will you stop being sulky with me ?”
“Am I the one who is sulky, pray ?” she retorted, bursting into tears.
Bénédict stooped and imprinted a kiss on a cool, white neck which the sunshine of the fields had not reddened. The young woman quivered with pleasure and threw herself into her cousin’s arms. Bénédict had a painful feeling of discomfort. Athénaïs was unquestionably a very beautiful girl. Moreover, she loved him ; and, believing that she was to be his wife, she artlessly manifested her love. It was very hard for Bénédict to avoid a feeling of gratified self-esteem and a sensation of physical pleasure when she caressed him. But his conscience bade him put aside all thought of a union with that young woman, for he felt that his heart was enchained forever elsewhere.
So he rose hastily and led Athénaïs back toward their two companions, after kissing her. That was the way that all their quarrels ended. Bénédict, who could not, who did not choose to tell her his thoughts, avoided anything like an explanation, and always succeeded in soothing the credulous Athénaïs by some slight manifestation of affection.
When they joined Louise and Valentine, Bénédict’s fiancée threw herself effusively on the neck of the latter. Her easily moved and kindly heart sincerely abjured all hard feeling, and Valentine, as she returned her caresses, was conscious of something like remorse.
Nevertheless, the good humor depicted on Athénaïs’s face infected them all three. They soon arrived at the house, laughing and frolicking. Dinner not being ready, Valentine wished to walk about the farm, to visit the sheepfoids, cowsheds and dovecote. Bénédict paid little heed to such matters, yet he would have been glad to have his fiancée display more interest in them. When he saw Mademoiselle de Raimbault go into the stables, run after the young lambs and take them in her arms, fondle all of Madame Lhéry’s pets, and even feed with her white hand the great oxen, who gazed at her with a dazed expression, he smiled at a flattering and cruel thought that came into his mind—that Valentine seemed much better fitted than Athénaïs to be his wife ; that there had been a mistake in the distribution of parts, and that Valentine as a cheerful and contented farmer’s wife would have made domestic life attractive to him.
“If only she were Madame Lhéry’s daughter !” he said to himself, “then I should never have had the ambition to study ; even now I would abandon the empty dream of playing a part in the world. I would joyfully turn peasant. I would lead a useful, practical life ; with Valentine, in the heart of this lovely valley, I would be poet and ploughman at once : poet to admire her, ploughman to serve her. Ah ! how readily would I forget the buzzing crowds in the cities !”
He indulged in these reflections as he followed Valentine through the barns, where she delighted to inhale the healthy country odor. Suddenly she turned to him and said :
“I really believe that I was born to be a farmer! Oh ! how dearly I should have loved this simple life and these placid everyday occupations ! I would have done everything myself like Madame Lhéry. I would have raised the finest flocks in the province; I would have had beautiful tufted fowls, and goats which I would have taken out to graze in the bushes. If you knew how often in salons, in the midst of brilliant festivities, wearied by the noise of the crowd, I have dreamed that I was a shepherdess sitting under the trees in a field ! But the orchestra would summon me to join the whirl; my dream was a vain hope !”
Bénédict, leaning against a manger, listened with profound emotion, for she had just answered aloud, as if by a sympathetic interchange of ideas, the wishes he had formed under his breath.
They were alone. Bénédict determined to take the risk of pursuing the dream.
“But suppose that it would have been necessary for you to marry a peasant ?” he said.
“In these days of ours,” she replied, “there are no longer any peasants. Do not almost all classes receive the same education ? Is not Athénaïs more talented than I am ? Is not such a man as you, by reason of his attainments, far superior to a woman like me ?”
“Have you none of the prejudices of birth ?” queried Bénédict.
“But I am supposing that I am a farmer’s daughter ; in that case I could not have had them.”
“That doesn’t follow. Athénaïs was born a farmer’s daughter, and she is sorry that she wasn’t born a countess.”
“Oh ! how happy I should be if I were in her place !” she said earnestly.
And she leaned pensively against the crib, facing Bénédict, with her eyes fixed on the ground, not dreaming that she had just said things to Bénédict which he would gladly have bought with his blood.
Bénédict was intoxicated for a long time by the wild but flattering dreams to which this conversation gave rise. His reason fell asleep in that delicious silence, and all sorts of joyous and deceitful ideas came to the surface. He fancied himself a master farmer and happy spouse in the Black Valley. He fancied that Valentine was his helpmeet, his housekeeper, his fairest possession. He dreamed wide awake, and two or three times the delusion was so complete that he almost took her in his arms. When the sound of voices warned them of the approach of Louise and Athénaïs, he fled in the opposite direction and hid in a dark corner of the barn behind the bundles of grain. There he wept like a child, like a woman, as he never remembered having wept before. He wept for the dream which had taken him away for an instant from the world, and had given him more joy in a few moments of illusion than he had known in a whole lifetime of reality. When he had wiped away his tears, when he saw Valentine, as lovely and serene as ever, questioning his face with mute anxiety, he was happy again. He said to himself that there was more happiness and glory in being loved, in despite of men and of destiny, than in winning a lawful affection without trouble or danger. He plunged up to the neck in that deceitful sea of desires and chimerical fancies ; his dream began anew. At table he took his seat beside Valentine; he imagined that she was mistress of his house. As she was delighted to assume the whole burden of the service, she carved, distributed the portions, and took pleasure in making herself useful to all. Bénédict looked at her with a dazed, ecstatic expression. He did not pay her a single one of the customary courteous attentions which constantly recall social conventions and distinctions ; and when he wished to be served with anything, he said, as he passed his plate:
“Give me some, Madame la fermière!”
Although they drank native wine at the farm, Monsieur Lhéry had some excellent champagne in reserve for great occasions ; but no one indulged in it. The mental intoxication was strong enough. Those healthy young people had no need to excite their nerves and lash their blood. After dinner they played hide-and-seek in the fields. Even Monsieur and Madame Lhéry, relieved at last from the cares of the day, took part in the game. A pretty maid-servant at the farm and the tenant-farmer’s children were also admitted. Soon the fields rang with joyous shouts and laughter. It was the last blow to Bénédict’s reason. To pursue Valentine, slacken his pace to let her gain on him and force her to go astray in the bushes, then to pounce upon her unexpectedly, laugh at her shrieks and her ruses, to overtake her at last and not dare to touch her, but to see her heaving bosom, her rosy cheeks and her moist eyes, was too much for one day.
Athénaïs, noticing these frequent absences of Bénédict and Valentine, and wishing to make him run after her, proposed that the pursuer should be blindfolded. She cunningly tied the handkerchief over Bénédict’s eyes, thinking that he could no longer select his victim ; but little did Bénédict care for the bandage ! The
instinct of love, that powerful, magic spell which enables the lover to recognize the air through which his mistress has passed, guided him as unerringly as his eyes. He always caught Valentine, and was even happier than in the other game, for he could take her in his arms, and, pretending not to recognize her, keep her there a long time. Games of that sort are the most dangerous things in the world.
At last night came, and Valentine spoke of returning home. Bénédict was beside her, and could not conceal his disappointment.
“Already !” he cried in a loud, rough tone, which carried conviction of the true state of affairs to Valentine’s heart.
“Already!” she replied, “the day has seemed very short to me.”
She kissed her sister, but she was not thinking of Louise when she made that remark.
The carriage was made ready. Bénédict promised himself a few more moments of happiness, but the young women seated themselves in a way to disappoint expectations. Louise sat on the back seat in order not to be seen in the neighborhood of the château. Her sister sat beside her. Athénaïs took her place on the front seat beside her cousin ; he was so angry that he did not speak to her during the whole drive.
At the park gate, Valentine asked him to stop because of Louise, who was afraid of being seen in spite of the darkness. Bénédict leaped to the ground in order to help her to alight. All was dark and silent about that sumptuous abode, which Bénédict would have been glad to see sink into the earth. Valentine kissed her sister and Athénaïs, gave her hand to Bénédict, who ventured to kiss it this time, and hurried away across the park. Through the gate, Bénédict watched the fluttering of her white dress for a few moments as it receded through the trees: he would have forgotten the whole earth had not Athénaïs called him from the carriage and said sharply:
“Well, are you going to leave us to pass the night here ?”
XV
At the farm, no one slept during the night which followed that day. Athénaïs complained of feeling ill when they returned; her mother was very anxious, and consented to go to bed only at Louise’s earnest entreaty. The latter agreed to pass the night with her young friend, and Bénédict retired to his own room where, torn as he was between joy and remorse, he was unable to obtain an instant’s sleep.
As a result of the fatigue caused by a hysterical attack, Athénaïs slept soundly; but soon the troubles which had tormented her during the day entered into her dreams, and she began to weep bitterly. Louise, who was dozing in a chair, woke with a start when she heard her sobbing, and, leaning over affectionately, asked her the cause of her tears. Obtaining no reply, she saw that she was asleep, and hastened to rouse her from that painful state. Louise was the most compassionate creature on earth ; she had suffered so much on her own account, that she could sympathize with all the troubles of another. She put forth all the gentleness and kindliness at her command to comfort the girl, but she only threw her arms about her neck, crying :
“Why do you also try to deceive me ? Why do you try to prolong an error which must come to an end sooner or later ? My cousin doesn’t love me ; he never will love me, and you know it very well ! Come, confess that he has told you so.”
Louise was sorely embarrassed to reply. After Bénédict’s never—a word of which she had no means of estimating the real meaning—she dared not guarantee the future to her young friend, for fear of becoming a party to a deception. On the other hand, she would have been glad to find some excuse for consoling her, for her grief caused her sincere pain. So she strove to prove to her that, even if her cousin had no love for her, it certainly was not probable that he loved any other woman, and she did her utmost to encourage the hope that she would eventually triumph over his coldness ; but Athénaïs would listen to nothing.
“No, no, my dear young lady,” she replied, abruptly wiping away her tears, “I must make the best of it. I shall die of grief, perhaps, but I will do my best to cure myself. It is too humiliating to see one’s self despised thus. I have plenty of other suitors ! If Bénédict thinks he is the only man in the world who’s courting me, he’s mistaken. I know some others who won’t think me so unworthy to be sought after. He will see ! he will see that I’ll have my revenge, that I won’t be long unprovided, that I’ll marry Georges Simonneau or Pierre Blutty, or else Blaise Moret. To be sure I can’t endure ’em. Oh ! yes, I know well enough that I shall hate the man who marries me instead of Bénédict I But it will be his fault; and if I go to the bad, he will be responsible for it before God !”
“All this won’t happen, my dear child,” replied Louise ; “ you won’t find among your numerous adorers a man who can be compared to Bénédict for intellect and refinement and talent, just as he, for his part, will never find a woman who excels you in beauty and attachment to him.”
“Oh ! stop there, my dear Mademoiselle Louise, stop. I am not blind, nor you either. It’s easy enough to see when one has eyes, and Monsieur Bénédict doesn’t take much pains to avoid ours. Nothing could be clearer to me than his actions to-day. Ah ! if she wasn’t your sister, how I’d hate her !”
“Hate Valentine ! your playmate from childhood, who loves you so dearly and is so far from imagining such a thing as you suspect! Valentine, who is so affectionate and kind-hearted, but so reserved because of her modesty ! Ah ! how she would suffer, Athénaïs, if she could guess what is going on in your heart!”
“Ah ! you are right!” said the girl, weeping afresh ; “ I am very unjust, very impertinent to accuse her of such a thing ! I know very well that if such a thought should occur to her, she would shudder with anger. But that is what drives me to despair on Bénédict’s account; that is what makes me frantic with his madness: to see him make himself miserable to no purpose. What does he hope for, pray ? What insane freak draws him on to his destruction ? Why must he fall in love with the woman who can never be anything to him, while there is one right at his hand who would bring him youth, love and wealth ? O Bénédict! Bénédict! what sort of man are you ? Yes, and what sort of woman am I, that I cannot make him love me ? You have all deceived me ; you told me that I was pretty, that I had talent, that I was lovable and attractive. You deceived me ; you see well enough that I am not attractive !”
Athénaïs ran her hands through her black hair as if she would tear it out ; but her glance fell upon the lemonwood dressing table beside her bed, and the mirror contradicted her so flatly that she became somewhat reconciled to herself.
“You are very childish!” said Louise. “How can you believe that Bénédict is already in love with my sister, whom he has seen only three times ?”
“Only three times ! Oh ! only three times !”
“Call it four or five, what does it matter ? Surely, if he loves her, it must be very recent, for only yesterday he told me that Valentine was the loveliest, the most estimable of women——”
“You see, the loveliest, the most estimable——”
“Wait a moment. He said that she was worthy of the homage of the whole world, and that her husband would be the most fortunate of men. ‘And yet,‘ he added, ‘I think that I could live near her for ten years without falling in love with her, her frank trustfulness inspires so much respect, her pure and serene expression diffuses such tranquillity all about her !’”
“He said that yesterday ?”
“I swear it by my affection for you.”
“Oh, yes! but that was yesterday! to-day it is all changed !”
“Do you think, pray, that Valentine has lost the charm that made her so imposing ?”
“Perhaps she has acquired other charms ; who knows ? love comes so swiftly ! Why, it is hardly a month since I began to love my cousin. I didn’t love him before that. I hadn’t seen him since he left school, and I was so young then ! And I remember him as being so tall and awkward and embarrassed by his arms, which were too long for his sleeves ! But when I found him so elegant and attractive, carrying himself so well and knowing so many things, and with that glance of his, just a little stern, wh
ich is so becoming to him, and makes one always a little afraid of him—why, I loved him from that minute, and all at once; between night and morning my heart was taken by surprise. What was to prevent Valentine from taking his to-day in the same way ? She is very beautiful, Valentine is; she always has the knack of saying just what’s in Bénédict’s mind. It seems to me that she divines what he wants to hear her say, and I do just the opposite. Where does she get that knack ? Oh ! it’s not because he’s disposed to admire what she says. And, then, even if it were just a fancy, begun this morning and ended to-night, suppose he should come to me to-morrow and hold out his hand and say: ‘ Let’s make up ;’ I see well enough that I haven’t really won him and that I never shall win him. Just think what a happy life I should lead, married to him, if I should have to be always weeping with rage or burning up with jealousy ! No, no, it will be much better to invent some excuse and give it up.”
“Well, my dear girl,” said Louise, “as you can’t put this suspicion out of your mind, we must find out the truth. To-morrow I will speak to Bénédict; I will question him frankly concerning his intentions, and, whatever the truth may be, you shall be informed. Do you feel that you have the courage to bear it ?”
“Yes,” Athénaïs replied, kissing her; “I prefer to know my fate rather than live in such torments.”
“Make up your mind then to try to rest,” said Louise, “and don’t let your emotion be perceptible tomorrow. As you do not think that you can count on your cousin’s attachment, your womanly dignity demands that you put a good face on the matter.”
“Yes, you are right,” said the girl, burying her face in the bedclothes. “I will follow your advice. I feel stronger already since you take my side.”
This resolution having tranquillized her to some extent, she fell asleep, and Louise, whose heart was much more violently disturbed, waited open-eyed until the first rays of dawn appeared on the horizon. Then she heard Bénédict, who also had been unable to sleep, softly open his door and go downstairs. She followed him without waking anybody, and together, having greeted each other with more than customary gravity, they turned into one of the garden paths, where the dew lay heavily.