Chapter XX: Studies Interrupted

A few days after this conversation a considerable number of troops traversed the country. The Germans were manœuvring on both sides of the Loire, and were threatening Tours. A general officer was quartered at M. de Gandelau’s who was acquainted with Eugène. The latter was impatient at the inactivity to which he had been condemned since the war had begun to take so fatal a turn.

In the evening he had a long conversation with this officer, and next morning announced to M. de Gandelau that he was intending to set out with the corps which was traversing the country; observing that officers of the Engineers were wanting, and that he could at need fulfil their functions; that his friend, the general, very much approved his determination; and that in circumstances of such gravity he thought it his duty not to hesitate to go, as he might possibly be of some service. M. de Gandelau did not attempt to keep him; he understood too well the sentiments by which his guest was influenced.

“What shall we do with Paul?” said he to Eugène.

“I believe you have Vitruvius in the original in your library?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you will let me have it for an hour before I go, I shall be able to explain to Paul how he should set to work with this treatise: that will prevent him from forgetting his Latin, and further him in the studies we have commenced.”

“An excellent idea.”

“You will require Paul to give you, twice a week, the translation of a chapter, with explanatory drawings: that will keep his hand in and occupy his mind. I do not suppose his translation will supersede even Perrault’s; but that does not matter, he will not be losing his time absolutely. As soon as I can return you shall see me again.”

Paul was disconsolate at his cousin’s departure, and at not being able to accompany him; he would have greatly liked to follow up his studies in the art of building by a course of military engineering in the field, but this would have embarrassed his cousin, and Madame de Gandelau would scarcely have survived her anxiety. Paul was furnished with the edition of Vitruvius, and the work to which he was to devote himself was explained to him.

Two hours after, Eugène, provided with a small portmanteau, was on his way with his friend, the general; whose corps was _en route_ for Chateauroux. Promises to write as often as possible had been given on both sides.

We can easily imagine the gloomy aspect which M. de Gandelau’s house assumed after this hasty departure. At the very beginning of the war he had equipped and despatched all his able-bodied dependants. There remained only two or three old men-servants, and some female domestics whose husbands or children were for the most part in the army. Monsieur and Madame de Gandelau ceased to use the drawing-room, in which beds had been placed for the wounded in case any should come. The family used to assemble in Madame de Gandelau’s room, and took their meals in a small apartment that usually served for a pantry.

Paul, when his cousin was gone, went to pay a visit to the works. They were deserted; snow covered the heap of walling stones, the cut stones, and the scattered timbers. The walls, which had reached a certain height, protected by straw and surmounted by a crest of snow—their surfaces showing brown in contrast with the white veil that mantled them—and some pieces of wood black with damp, gave to these incipient constructions the aspect of the _débris_ of a conflagration.

Although at Paul’s age young people are not very accessible to sombre thoughts, the poor boy could not restrain his tears in presence of this scene of desolation. He recalled in thought this spot so animated a month before with its bands of active workmen. All were gone, and the soul of this habitation, which he had begun to associate with all the joys of family life, had just quitted him.

In spite of the cold he seated himself on a stone, his head in his hands, overwhelmed with gloomy thoughts. This was the first deep grief, the first severe disappointment, he had experienced: it seemed to him that all was over, and that there was no more hope nor happiness possible for him in this world.

A hand laid upon his shoulder made him start; he raised his head—his father was behind him. Paul threw himself into his arms at once, sobbing.

“Come, Paul, my boy, calm yourself,” said M. de Gandelau to him. “We are living in a time of trials; who knows what are reserved for us? For us, indeed, they have scarcely begun. Think how much suffering there is in France now! What are our anxieties and griefs compared with the anguish suffered by others! Reserve your tears; perhaps you will have only too frequent occasion for them. We need not be in a hurry to despond. I observed you going in this direction, and followed you, anticipating your melancholy feelings. But, after all, what is there to grieve over? Nothing, or only a trifle. Set to work again courageously, alone, since our friend has been obliged to quit us to fulfil a sacred duty. He will return; you have learned to love and esteem him more: prove to him that you are worthy of the affection he has exhibited to you by showing him some thoroughly good work when he comes back.

“Certainly he would be touched by your grief, of which his absence is to a great extent the cause; be assured that he would be still more touched to see that you had scrupulously followed his last instructions, and that his presence is not the only inducement to make you like work.”

Father and son regained the house. The counsels of M. de Gandelau, and the pains he took to give Paul a glimpse of brighter days, had by degrees restored to him, if not gaiety, at least tranquillity of mind and the desire to do his best. M. de Gandelau most dreaded for his son a feeling of despondency—that vague and sterile sadness on which youth sometimes loves to feed, and which enervates the most gifted minds.

He therefore entered Paul’s room, and taking up Vitruvius, which had been left on the table, began to look through it. M. de Gandelau was a good scholar, though he never made a parade of his acquirements. They were a possession he reserved for himself. Familiar with the classics, he could read the text of Vitruvius, if not explain it architecturally in all its parts. “Stay,” said he to Paul, “here is a chapter which must be interesting, and which may teach you many things; it is Chapter VIII.: _De generibus structuræ et earum qualitatibus, modis ac locis_. How would you translate this title?”

“_Of the kinds of constructions, and their qualities, according to customs and localities_,” replied Paul.

“Yes, that is the translation. But on looking through this chapter, I see that masonry only is considered; the author, in making use of the word _structura_, seems to me to have wished only to treat of constructions of brick or stone. It would be better, doubtless, to render the passage thus: _Of the different kinds of masonry, and the properties of this structure according to local usages and circumstances_.

“Well, set to work to translate this eighth chapter. I see that the author has described the kinds of masonry whose use he recommends on such or such occasions. You will therefore have to illustrate your translation by sketches. Come! take courage, and imagine your cousin at hand ready to rectify your mistakes.”

Paul therefore set himself to work, endeavouring to embody in sketches each of Vitruvius’s descriptions. This gave him no little trouble, of course; many words were new to him, and the dictionary helped him only very imperfectly when it was necessary to know their exact sense. Nevertheless, by degrees the work acquired a charm for him. To further his comprehension of the author he tried to recall to mind buildings he had seen; he remembered some instructions given by Eugène; and put on paper, to the best of his ability, opposite the translation, sketches tolerably drawn, if they were not the true expression of the descriptions in the original.

Thus, during the end of the month of December and the commencement of January, he succeeded in translating a dozen chapters which his father selected for him, giving illustrations of the text. This gave him a great desire to become acquainted with the buildings existing in his author’s times, and he examined attentively a set of engravings by Piranesi descriptive of ancient Rome, and which his father possessed. M. de Gandelau had advised Paul to write down the questions which his reading suggested to him, so as to submit them to Eugène on his return. Thus the days passed rapidly away: and although sadness and anxiety darkened every hour, yet, as M. de Gandelau was incessantly occupied in relieving the misery around him and organizing the struggle against the invaders, while Paul was working with energy and seeing his results accumulating, and Madame de Gandelau had organized a workroom in which the women of the village were engaged in providing linen for our unfortunate and destitute soldiers, when the evening arrived, the members of the family could still assemble with that feeling of secret joy which duty accomplished procures. Towards the close of January the inmates of the _château_ learned from the newspapers that an armistice had been signed. Though this news announced the end of the struggle, it presaged the commencement of the severest humiliations. It produced, therefore, a sad, rather than consolatory impression.

A few days afterwards Eugène returned to the _château_. It need not be said that he was welcomed with open arms, and that Paul especially manifested his joy. They talked of resuming the works. The last letters of Madame Marie announced that she would be home again towards the end of the following winter. These letters, filled as they were with expressions of the anxiety—the anguish—felt by the writer in her absence from France, said nothing of the future house. If then it could be finished, the surprise would be complete. While Eugène was enjoying the rest he so much needed, he looked through and revised Paul’s translation, and corrected his sketches. A fair copy was made of the whole; and the first days of March drew on, when it was decided to recommence the works.