On the 15th of September,
1840, about six o'clock in the morning, the Ville de Montereau,
just on the point of starting, was sending forth great whirlwinds
of smoke, in front of the Quai St. Bernard.
People came rushing on board in
breathless haste. The traffic was obstructed by casks, cables, and
baskets of linen. The sailors answered nobody. People jostled one
another. Between the two paddle-boxes was piled up a heap of
parcels; and the uproar was drowned in the loud hissing of the
steam, which, making its way through the plates of sheet-iron,
enveloped everything in a white cloud, while the bell at the prow
kept ringing continuously.
At last, the vessel set out; and
the two banks of the river, stocked with warehouses, timber-yards,
and manufactories, opened out like two huge ribbons being
unrolled.
A young man of eighteen, with
long hair, holding an album under his arm, remained near the helm
without moving. Through the haze he surveyed steeples, buildings of
which he did not know the names; then, with a parting glance, he
took in the Île St. Louis, the Cité, Nôtre Dame; and presently, as
Paris disappeared from his view, he heaved a deep sigh.
Frederick Moreau, having just
taken his Bachelor's degree, was returning home to
Nogent-sur-Seine, where he would have to lead a languishing
existence for two months, before going back to begin his legal
studies. His mother had sent him, with enough to cover his
expenses, to Havre to see an uncle, from whom she had expectations
of his receiving an inheritance. He had returned from that place
only yesterday; and he indemnified himself for not having the
opportunity of spending a little time in the capital by taking the
longest possible route to reach his own part of the country.
The hubbub had subsided. The
passengers had all taken their places. Some of them stood warming
themselves around the machinery, and the chimney spat forth with a
slow, rhythmic rattle its plume of black smoke. Little drops of dew
trickled over the copper plates; the deck quivered with the
vibration from within; and the two paddle-wheels, rapidly turning
round, lashed the water. The edges of the river were covered with
sand. The vessel swept past rafts of wood which began to oscillate
under the rippling of the waves, or a boat without sails in which a
man sat fishing. Then the wandering haze cleared off; the sun
appeared; the hill which ran along the course of the Seine to the
right subsided by degrees, and another rose nearer on the opposite
bank.
It was crowned with trees, which
surrounded low-built houses, covered with roofs in the Italian
style. They had sloping gardens divided by fresh walls, iron
railings, grass-plots, hot-houses, and vases of geraniums, laid out
regularly on the terraces where one could lean forward on one's
elbow. More than one spectator longed, on beholding those
attractive residences which looked so peaceful, to be the owner of
one of them, and to dwell there till the end of his days with a
good billiard-table, a sailing-boat, and a woman or some other
object to dream about. The agreeable novelty of a journey by water
made such outbursts natural. Already the wags on board were
beginning their jokes. Many began to sing. Gaiety prevailed, and
glasses of brandy were poured out.
Frederick was thinking about the
apartment which he would occupy over there, on the plan of a drama,
on subjects for pictures, on future passions. He found that the
happiness merited by the excellence of his soul was slow in
arriving. He declaimed some melancholy verses. He walked with rapid
step along the deck. He went on till he reached the end at which
the bell was; and, in the centre of a group of passengers and
sailors, he saw a gentleman talking soft nothings to a
country-woman, while fingering the gold cross which she wore over
her breast. He was a jovial blade of forty with frizzled hair. His
robust form was encased in a jacket of black velvet, two emeralds
sparkled in his cambric shirt, and his wide, white trousers fell
over odd-looking red boots of Russian leather set off with blue
designs.
The presence of Frederick did not
discompose him. He turned round and glanced several times at the
young man with winks of enquiry. He next offered cigars to all who
were standing around him. But getting tired, no doubt, of their
society, he moved away from them and took a seat further up.
Frederick followed him.
The conversation, at first,
turned on the various kinds of tobacco, then quite naturally it
glided into a discussion about women. The gentleman in the red
boots gave the young man advice; he put forward theories, related
anecdotes, referred to himself by way of illustration, and he gave
utterance to all these things in a paternal tone, with the
ingenuousness of entertaining depravity.
He was republican in his
opinions. He had travelled; he was familiar with the inner life of
theatres, restaurants, and newspapers, and knew all the theatrical
celebrities, whom he called by their Christian names. Frederick
told him confidentially about his projects; and the elder man took
an encouraging view of them.
But he stopped talking to take a
look at the funnel, then he went mumbling rapidly through a long
calculation in order to ascertain "how much each stroke of the
piston at so many times per minute would come to," etc., and having
found the number, he spoke about the scenery, which he admired
immensely. Then he gave expression to his delight at having got
away from business.
Frederick regarded him with a
certain amount of respect, and politely manifested a strong desire
to know his name. The stranger, without a moment's hesitation,
replied:
"Jacques Arnoux, proprietor of
L'Art Industriel, Boulevard Montmartre."
A man-servant in a gold-laced cap
came up and said:
"Would Monsieur have the kindness
to go below? Mademoiselle is crying."
L'Art Industriel was a hybrid
establishment, wherein the functions of an art-journal and a
picture-shop were combined. Frederick had seen this title several
times in the bookseller's window in his native place on big
prospectuses, on which the name of Jacques Arnoux displayed itself
magisterially.
The sun's rays fell
perpendicularly, shedding a glittering light on the iron hoops
around the masts, the plates of the barricades, and the surface of
the water, which, at the prow, was cut into two furrows that spread
out as far as the borders of the meadows. At each winding of the
river, a screen of pale poplars presented itself with the utmost
uniformity. The surrounding country at this point had an empty
look. In the sky there were little white clouds which remained
motionless, and the sense of weariness, which vaguely diffused
itself over everything, seemed to retard the progress of the
steamboat and to add to the insignificant appearance of the
passengers. Putting aside a few persons of good position who were
travelling first class, they were artisans or shopmen with their
wives and children. As it was customary at that time to wear old
clothes when travelling, they nearly all had their heads covered
with shabby Greek caps or discoloured hats, thin black coats that
had become quite threadbare from constant rubbing against
writing-desks, or frock-coats with the casings of their buttons
loose from continual service in the shop. Here and there some
roll-collar waistcoat afforded a glimpse of a calico shirt stained
with coffee. Pinchbeck pins were stuck into cravats that were all
torn. List shoes were kept up by stitched straps. Two or three
roughs who held in their hands bamboo canes with leathern loops,
kept looking askance at their fellow-passengers; and fathers of
families opened their eyes wide while making enquiries. People
chatted either standing up or squatting over their luggage; some
went to sleep in various corners of the vessel; several occupied
themselves with eating. The deck was soiled with walnut shells,
butt-ends of cigars, peelings of pears, and the droppings of
pork-butchers' meat, which had been carried wrapped up in paper.
Three cabinet-makers in blouses took their stand in front of the
bottle case; a harp-player in rags was resting with his elbows on
his instrument. At intervals could be heard the sound of falling
coals in the furnace, a shout, or a laugh; and the captain kept
walking on the bridge from one paddle-box to the other without
stopping for a moment.
Frederick, to get back to his
place, pushed forward the grating leading into the part of the
vessel reserved for first-class passengers, and in so doing
disturbed two sportsmen with their dogs.
What he then saw was like an
apparition. She was seated in the middle of a bench all alone, or,
at any rate, he could see no one, dazzled as he was by her eyes. At
the moment when he was passing, she raised her head; his shoulders
bent involuntarily; and, when he had seated himself, some distance
away, on the same side, he glanced towards her.
She wore a wide straw hat with
red ribbons which fluttered in the wind behind her. Her black
tresses, twining around the edges of her large brows, descended
very low, and seemed amorously to press the oval of her face. Her
robe of light muslin spotted with green spread out in numerous
folds. She was in the act of embroidering something; and her
straight nose, her chin, her entire person was cut out on the
background of the luminous air and the blue sky.
As she remained in the same
attitude, he took several turns to the right and to the left to
hide from her his change of position; then he placed himself close
to her parasol which lay against the bench, and pretended to be
looking at a sloop on the river.
Never before had he seen more
lustrous dark skin, a more seductive figure, or more delicately
shaped fingers than those through which the sunlight gleamed. He
stared with amazement at her work-basket, as if it were something
extraordinary. What was her name, her place of residence, her life,
her past? He longed to become familiar with the furniture of her
apartment, all the dresses that she had worn, the people whom she
visited; and the desire of physical possession yielded to a deeper
yearning, a painful curiosity that knew no bounds.
A negress, wearing a silk
handkerchief tied round her head, made her appearance, holding by
the hand a little girl already tall for her age. The child, whose
eyes were swimming with tears, had just awakened. The lady took the
little one on her knees. "Mademoiselle was not good, though she
would soon be seven; her mother would not love her any more. She
was too often pardoned for being naughty." And Frederick heard
those things with delight, as if he had made a discovery, an
acquisition.
He assumed that she must be of
Andalusian descent, perhaps a Creole: had she brought this negress
across with her from the West Indian Islands?
Meanwhile his attention was
directed to a long shawl with violet stripes thrown behind her back
over the copper support of the bench. She must have, many a time,
wrapped it around her waist, as the vessel sped through the midst
of the waves; drawn it over her feet, gone to sleep in it!
Frederick suddenly noticed that
with the sweep of its fringes it was slipping off, and it was on
the point of falling into the water when, with a bound, he secured
it. She said to him:
"Thanks, Monsieur."
Their eyes met.
"Are you ready, my dear?" cried
my lord Arnoux, presenting himself at the hood of the
companion-ladder.
Mademoiselle Marthe ran over to
him, and, clinging to his neck, she began pulling at his moustache.
The strains of a harp were heard—she wanted to see the music
played; and presently the performer on the instrument, led forward
by the negress, entered the place reserved for saloon passengers.
Arnoux recognized in him a man who had formerly been a model, and
"thou'd" him, to the astonishment of the bystanders. At length the
harpist, flinging back his long hair over his shoulders, stretched
out his hands and began playing.
It was an Oriental ballad all
about poniards, flowers, and stars. The man in rags sang it in a
sharp voice; the twanging of the harp strings broke the harmony of
the tune with false notes. He played more vigorously: the chords
vibrated, and their metallic sounds seemed to send forth sobs, and,
as it were, the plaint of a proud and vanquished love. On both
sides of the river, woods extended as far as the edge of the water.
A current of fresh air swept past them, and Madame Arnoux gazed
vaguely into the distance. When the music stopped, she moved her
eyes several times as if she were starting out of a dream.
The harpist approached them with
an air of humility. While Arnoux was searching his pockets for
money, Frederick stretched out towards the cap his closed hand, and
then, opening it in a shamefaced manner, he deposited in it a louis
d'or. It was not vanity that had prompted him to bestow this alms
in her presence, but the idea of a blessing in which he thought she
might share—an almost religious impulse of the heart.
Arnoux, pointing out the way,
cordially invited him to go below. Frederick declared that he had
just lunched; on the contrary, he was nearly dying of hunger; and
he had not a single centime in his purse.
After that, it occurred to him
that he had a perfect right, as well as anyone else, to remain in
the cabin.
Ladies and gentlemen were seated
before round tables, lunching, while an attendant went about
serving out coffee. Monsieur and Madame Arnoux were in the far
corner to the right. He took a seat on the long bench covered with
velvet, having picked up a newspaper which he found there.
They would have to take the
diligence at Montereau for Châlons. Their tour in Switzerland would
last a month. Madame Arnoux blamed her husband for his weakness in
dealing with his child. He whispered in her ear something
agreeable, no doubt, for she smiled. Then, he got up to draw down
the window curtain at her back. Under the low, white ceiling, a
crude light filled the cabin. Frederick, sitting opposite to the
place where she sat, could distinguish the shade of her eyelashes.
She just moistened her lips with her glass and broke a little piece
of crust between her fingers. The lapis-lazuli locket fastened by a
little gold chain to her wrist made a ringing sound, every now and
then, as it touched her plate. Those present, however, did not
appear to notice it.
At intervals one could see,
through the small portholes, the side of a boat taking away
passengers or putting them on board. Those who sat round the tables
stooped towards the openings, and called out the names of the
various places they passed along the river.
Arnoux complained of the cooking.
He grumbled particularly at the amount of the bill, and got it
reduced. Then, he carried off the young man towards the forecastle
to drink a glass of grog with him. But Frederick speedily came back
again to gaze at Madame Arnoux, who had returned to the awning,
beneath which she seated herself. She was reading a thin,
grey-covered volume. From time to time, the corners of her mouth
curled and a gleam of pleasure lighted up her forehead. He felt
jealous of the inventor of those things which appeared to interest
her so much. The more he contemplated her, the more he felt that
there were yawning abysses between them. He was reflecting that he
should very soon lose sight of her irrevocably, without having
extracted a few words from her, without leaving her even a
souvenir!
On the right, a plain stretched
out. On the left, a strip of pasture-land rose gently to meet a
hillock where one could see vineyards, groups of walnut-trees, a
mill embedded in the grassy slopes, and, beyond that, little zigzag
paths over the white mass of rocks that reached up towards the
clouds. What bliss it would have been to ascend side by side with
her, his arm around her waist, while her gown would sweep the
yellow leaves, listening to her voice and gazing up into her
glowing eyes! The steamboat might stop, and all they would have to
do was to step out of it; and yet this thing, simple as it might
be, was not less difficult than it would have been to move the
sun.
A little further on, a château
appeared with pointed roof and square turrets. A flower garden
spread out in the foreground; and avenues ran, like dark archways,
under the tall linden trees. He pictured her to himself passing
along by this group of trees. At that moment a young lady and a
young man showed themselves on the steps in front of the house,
between the trunks of the orange trees. Then the entire scene
vanished.
The little girl kept skipping
playfully around the place where he had stationed himself on the
deck. Frederick wished to kiss her. She hid herself behind her
nurse. Her mother scolded her for not being nice to the gentleman
who had rescued her own shawl. Was this an indirect overture?
"Is she going to speak to me?" he
asked himself.
Time was flying. How was he to
get an invitation to the Arnoux's house? And he could think of
nothing better than to draw her attention to the autumnal hues,
adding:
"We are close to winter—the
season of balls and dinner-parties."
But Arnoux was entirely occupied
with his luggage. They had arrived at the point of the river's bank
facing Surville. The two bridges drew nearer. They passed a
ropewalk, then a range of low-built houses, inside which there were
pots of tar and splinters of wood; and brats went along the sand
turning head over heels. Frederick recognised a man with a sleeved
waistcoat, and called out to him:
"Make haste!"
They were at the landing-place.
He looked around anxiously for Arnoux amongst the crowd of
passengers, and the other came and shook hands with him,
saying:
"A pleasant time, dear
Monsieur!"
When he was on the quay,
Frederick turned around. She was standing beside the helm. He cast
a look towards her into which he tried to put his whole soul. She
remained motionless, as if he had done nothing. Then, without
paying the slightest attentions to the obeisances of his
man-servant:
"Why didn't you bring the trap
down here?"
The man made excuses.
"What a clumsy fellow you are!
Give me some money."
And after that he went off to get
something to eat at an inn.
A quarter of an hour later, he
felt an inclination to turn into the coachyard, as if by chance.
Perhaps he would see her again.
"What's the use of it?" said he
to himself.
The vehicle carried him off. The
two horses did not belong to his mother. She had borrowed one of M.
Chambrion, the tax-collector, in order to have it yoked alongside
of her own. Isidore, having set forth the day before, had taken a
rest at Bray until evening, and had slept at Montereau, so that the
animals, with restored vigour, were trotting briskly.
Fields on which the crops had
been cut stretched out in apparently endless succession; and by
degrees Villeneuve, St. Georges, Ablon, Châtillon, Corbeil, and the
other places—his entire journey—came back to his recollection with
such vividness that he could now recall to mind fresh details, more
intimate particulars.... Under the lowest flounce of her gown, her
foot showed itself encased in a dainty silk boot of maroon shade.
The awning made of ticking formed a wide canopy over her head, and
the little red tassels of the edging kept perpetually trembling in
the breeze.
She resembled the women of whom
he had read in romances. He would have added nothing to the charms
of her person, and would have taken nothing from them. The universe
had suddenly become enlarged. She was the luminous point towards
which all things converged; and, rocked by the movement of the
vehicle, with half-dosed eyelids, and his face turned towards the
clouds, he abandoned himself to a dreamy, infinite joy.
At Bray, he did not wait till the
horses had got their oats; he walked on along the road ahead by
himself. Arnoux had, when he spoke to her, addressed her as
"Marie." He now loudly repeated the name "Marie!" His voice pierced
the air and was lost in the distance.
The western sky was one great
mass of flaming purple. Huge stacks of wheat, rising up in the
midst of the stubble fields, projected giant shadows. A dog began
to bark in a farm-house in the distance. He shivered, seized with
disquietude for which he could assign no cause.
When Isidore had come up with
him, he jumped up into the front seat to drive. His fit of weakness
was past. He had thoroughly made up his mind to effect an
introduction into the house of the Arnoux, and to become intimate
with them. Their house should be amusing; besides, he liked Arnoux;
then, who could tell? Thereupon a wave of blood rushed up to his
face; his temples throbbed; he cracked his whip, shook the reins,
and set the horses going at such a pace that the old coachman
repeatedly exclaimed:
"Easy! easy now, or they'll get
broken-winded!"
Gradually Frederick calmed down,
and he listened to what the man was saying. Monsieur's return was
impatiently awaited. Mademoiselle Louise had cried in her anxiety
to go in the trap to meet him.
"Who, pray, is Mademoiselle
Louise?"
"Monsieur Roque's little girl,
you know."
"Ah! I had forgotten," rejoined
Frederick, carelessly.
Meanwhile, the two horses could
keep up the pace no longer. They were both getting lame; and nine
o'clock struck at St. Laurent's when he arrived at the parade in
front of his mother's house.
This house of large dimensions,
with a garden looking out on the open country, added to the social
importance of Madame Moreau, who was the most respected lady in the
district.
She came of an old family of
nobles, of which the male line was now extinct. Her husband, a
plebeian whom her parents forced her to marry, met his death by a
sword-thrust, during her pregnancy, leaving her an estate much
encumbered. She received visitors three times a week, and from time
to time, gave a fashionable dinner. But the number of wax candles
was calculated beforehand, and she looked forward with some
impatience to the payment of her rents. These pecuniary
embarrassments, concealed as if there were some guilt attached to
them, imparted a certain gravity to her character. Nevertheless,
she displayed no prudery, no sourness, in the practice of her
peculiar virtue. Her most trifling charities seemed munificent
alms. She was consulted about the selection of servants, the
education of young girls, and the art of making preserves, and
Monseigneur used to stay at her house on the occasion of his
episcopal visitations.
Madame Moreau cherished a lofty
ambition for her son. Through a sort of prudence grounded on the
expectation of favours, she did not care to hear blame cast on the
Government. He would need patronage at the start; then, with its
aid, he might become a councillor of State, an ambassador, a
minister. His triumphs at the college of Sens warranted this proud
anticipation; he had carried off there the prize of honour.
When he entered the drawing-room,
all present arose with a great racket; he was embraced; and the
chairs, large and small, were drawn up in a big semi-circle around
the fireplace. M. Gamblin immediately asked him what was his
opinion about Madame Lafarge. This case, the rage of the period,
did not fail to lead to a violent discussion. Madame Moreau stopped
it, to the regret, however, of M. Gamblin. He deemed it serviceable
to the young man in his character of a future lawyer, and, nettled
at what had occurred, he left the drawing-room.
Nothing should have caused
surprise on the part of a friend of Père Roque! The reference to
Père Roque led them to talk of M. Dambreuse, who had just become
the owner of the demesne of La Fortelle. But the tax-collector had
drawn Frederick aside to know what he thought of M. Guizot's latest
work. They were all anxious to get some information about his
private affairs, and Madame Benoît went cleverly to work with that
end in view by inquiring about his uncle. How was that worthy
relative? They no longer heard from him. Had he not a distant
cousin in America?
The cook announced that
Monsieur's soup was served. The guests discreetly retired. Then, as
soon as they were alone in the dining-room, his mother said to him
in a low tone:
"Well?"
The old man had received him in a
very cordial manner, but without disclosing his intentions.
Madame Moreau sighed.
"Where is she now?" was his
thought.
The diligence was rolling along
the road, and, wrapped up in the shawl, no doubt, she was leaning
against the cloth of the coupé, her beautiful head nodding
asleep.
He and his mother were just going
up to their apartments when a waiter from the Swan of the Cross
brought him a note.
"What is that, pray?"
"It is Deslauriers, who wants
me," said he.
"Ha! your chum!" said Madame
Moreau, with a contemptuous sneer. "Certainly it is a nice hour to
select!"
Frederick hesitated. But
friendship was stronger. He got his hat.
"At any rate, don't be long!"
said his mother to him.