Chapter XIV: A Visit to the Forest

When Dubourg and Ménard woke on the morning after their dinner at Allevard, Frédéric had been gone a long while.

"We will wait till to-night," said Dubourg, "and then we will speak to him."

"Yes, monsieur le baron," said Ménard; "you will speak to him."

But we have seen that Frédéric remained with Sister Anne very late every day, until he had decided to remain with her altogether. It was four leagues from Grenoble to Vizille; the horse Frédéric took in the morning, at random, went but little better in the evening, although he had rested all day; for inn horses are rarely good saddle horses. So that the beast sometimes took three hours to return from Vizille; and Frédéric did not urge him, for he was not then on his way to Sister Anne.

So that he returned very late, and Dubourg, after playing piquet with Ménard,--it was the only game the ex-tutor knew,--had ended by falling asleep over the cards; for, as neither of them had any money, they could only play on credit, so that the game never became exciting, although Ménard had at his service the King of Prussia's snuff-box, and took a pinch every two or three minutes, to give himself some resemblance to the great Frederick.

Seeing Dubourg yawn, Ménard suggested that they go to bed; and they postponed their conversation with Frédéric until the next day. But the next day also passed without affording them a sight of him.

Several other days passed in the same way. Dubourg's impatience increased; he was very desirous to return to Allevard, to follow up his conquest, and to play backgammon with the ironmaster. Monsieur Ménard, on his side, was no less desirous to drink some more of Monsieur Chambertin's pomard, and to sit beside Monsieur Fondant, who filled his glass so handily.

But they could not afford to walk to Allevard; it was essential that they should make their appearance there in a style befitting the rank they had assumed; above all things, they must have money in their pockets, if they wished to cut a figure at the card-table. Ménard was not convinced of the necessity of that; but as monsieur le baron thought that it was indispensable, of course he agreed with him.

"So that we absolutely must see Frédéric."

"Parbleu!" said Dubourg; "we'll wait till to-night; and to keep from going to sleep, we'll drink punch all night, if need be; what do you say, Monsieur Ménard?"

"I agree with you entirely, monsieur le baron, provided that we have some cake to go with the punch."

"We will have four cakes; we will play piquet for them, and Frédéric shall pay the bill."

In the evening, a huge bowl of punch was brought, and a plate laden with cakes. They began their game, and drank often to avoid falling asleep, thereby putting themselves to sleep rather earlier than usual. After they had drunk half a bowl each and eaten six or eight tarts and cakes, their heads fell forward.

"I am _capot_," said Dubourg.

"Show your hand," added Ménard.

They woke at daybreak, intensely disgusted to have fallen asleep; but, at all events, Frédéric could not have gone away so early, and they would find him at last. Dubourg called and shouted, but no one answered. He went down into the innyard and asked about his friend.

"He didn't come in last night," said the hostler.

"Didn't come in!" cried Dubourg; "are you sure?"

"Yes, monsieur; neither him nor the horse."

"The devil!" ejaculated Dubourg; "this begins to be alarming. To stay out all night--it's very strange."

He went up to tell Ménard, and that gentleman, after reflecting for fifteen minutes, inquired:

"What do you think about it, monsieur le baron?"

"Morbleu! that's what I ask you, Monsieur Ménard?"

"I don't dare to form any opinion, monsieur le baron--that's my opinion."

"It's very much like Brid'oison's."

They passed the day waiting for Frédéric, who did not appear. Dubourg was anxious about his friend, Ménard trembled for his pupil, and the innkeeper would have been disturbed about his horse if he had not had the carriage for security.

The next morning, at daybreak, Dubourg appeared at Ménard's bedside, with his hat on his head, and said:

"Come, we must find Frédéric."

"Let us find him, monsieur le baron."

"To find him, we must look for him."

"That is what I was thinking, monsieur le baron."

"That doesn't seem to prevent your lying quietly in bed."

"I am awaiting your final opinion."

"My opinion is that we should start at once. That young man has a face and figure so far from commonplace that we must be able to learn which way he went; he can't be lost!"

"We must hope not, for what would monsieur le comte his father say to me?"

"Get up, then, and come with me."

Ménard dressed and breakfasted, and accompanied Dubourg, who ordered saddles placed on two venerable farm horses, which the innkeeper intrusted to them with a bad grace, because their account was beginning to exceed the value of their carriage. At last they were mounted; Ménard warned his companion that he could not ride faster than a walk, and Dubourg replied that when one is making a search he does not travel rapidly.

When they left the inn, they inquired and were told which direction Frédéric had taken. All along the road, people had noticed the young horseman who passed every morning, urging his horse to his utmost speed, and returned very slowly in the evening. Dubourg soon learned beyond question that Frédéric rode to Vizille every day.

"What does he go there for?" queried Dubourg.

"He has probably found some charming view."

"I think it's more likely to be some charming face."

"What! monsieur le baron, you think----"

"Why, yes; Frédéric isn't fool enough to stare at nothing but trees and mountains all day. He was in search of a heart that would sympathize with his, a nature as loving as his own--in a word, a woman who would take his fancy; and who knows that he hasn't found some artless, simple-minded peasant girl who has turned his head?"

"For my part, I'll wager that he spends his time looking at the Grande Chartreuse."

"Consider, Monsieur Ménard, that Frédéric is only twenty-one."

"Remember, monsieur le baron, that women have deceived him many times, and that he left Paris to avoid them."

"Is that any reason why he should never love another woman? Indeed, Monsieur Ménard, when a man runs away from a thing, it's because he feels that he couldn't resist it long."

"Joseph fled from Potiphar's wife, monsieur le baron; but it was not for fear of giving way to her."

"Joseph allowed himself to be seduced at last, Monsieur Ménard, for his posterity peopled Canaan."

Arguing thus, they arrived at Vizille. They inquired about Frédéric in the village; but the villagers, being busily employed, had paid little attention to the young man, who had dined at the inn only twice; for we have seen that he dined in the woods on what Sister Anne brought him. They had seen him several times, to be sure, but they had not noticed in which direction he went, or what he did in the village. So Dubourg and his companion left Vizille, knowing little more than when they arrived.

"All is lost!" cried Ménard, from time to time; "my pupil must have been eaten by wolves or killed by highwaymen, or else he has fallen over a precipice while watching a sunset! Poor Frédéric! so gentle, amiable, and well-informed! there is nothing left for me but to weep for you!

"'Qualis populea moerens Philomela sub umbra
Amissos queritur foetus!'"

"Oh! no, Monsieur Ménard; Frédéric hasn't been killed or eaten. There's no question here of a resemblance to Philomela weeping for her children; what we have to do is to find out where the young man has gone. Ah! look yonder--there's an animal who could give us some information about him, I fancy."

On leaving the village, they had gone down into the valley, and were now on the outskirts of the forest, where Frédéric's horse was wandering at will along the paths leading into the valley.

"That's his horse," said Ménard. "I know him by that white spot; I've seen him in the innyard; it's Frédéric's horse. And he's alone, without a rider. An additional proof, monsieur le baron, that the young man has fallen a victim to his imprudence. The horse undoubtedly threw him; my pupil is dead; he probably tried to climb one of these mountains; it was dark and he couldn't see the road at his feet. All is lost!"

"I believe, on the contrary, that Frédéric is in these woods, and that he left his horse here so that he could go where he chose. Let us adopt the same method in looking for him; but let's be more prudent than he, and tie our horses to one of these firs."

They dismounted, and entered the woods, Ménard still holding his handkerchief to his eyes, because he believed that Frédéric was dead or wounded, and Dubourg marching ahead and peering intently in every direction. Ere long he came quickly back to the tutor, with a triumphant air, and said, pointing to a grassy mound:

"Look! see if my presentiments misled me? there's the marvel of nature that Frédéric comes here to admire."

Ménard looked in the direction indicated, and saw, beneath a spreading tree, his pupil lying carelessly on the grass, holding in his arms a lovely girl, whose head rested against her lover's breast, and whose arms were about his neck.

"You were right, monsieur le baron," said Ménard, after a moment of speechless surprise; "that isn't the Chartreuse! it is more modern."

"That looks to me to be a lovely girl."

"And to me also, monsieur le baron."

"That sly dog of a Frédéric! It was decidedly clever of him to find such a pretty face in this desert. Do you still think that he shuns the ladies, Monsieur Ménard?"

"It doesn't look like it at this moment."

"Pshaw! Monsieur Ménard, Frédéric, although rather sentimental, is made like other men; but we must go and offer him our respects."

"That will disturb him, monsieur le baron."

"Parbleu! as he passes all his days here, he has time enough to make love."

Dubourg and Ménard walked toward the lovers; at the sound of their footsteps, Frédéric turned and saw them. The girl raised her eyes, and, at sight of the two strangers, pressed closer to Frédéric; and hiding her face against her lover's breast, seemed from that vantage-ground to defy all dangers.

"Bravo! my dear Frédéric, bravo!" laughed Dubourg. "I understand now why you get up so early. Upon my word, your conquest is a charming creature, and that little shy manner adds to the piquancy of her features."

The dumb girl, after a swift glance at Dubourg, turned her eyes again toward Frédéric, as if to ask him what it all meant.

Frédéric rose and the girl did the same, clinging to her lover and gazing uneasily at the two strangers; she seemed to fear that they had come to take him from her; but Frédéric reassured her, then kissed her affectionately, and bade her go and wait for him in Marguerite's garden. It was hard for Sister Anne to obey, for she dreaded to leave him; but again Frédéric promised to join her in a moment. The girl pointed to the strangers, and her eyes said:

"You won't go away with them?"

He embraced her again, whereupon she became calmer, and at last went away, not without turning her head many times to look fondly at Frédéric and sadly at the strangers.

"Very pretty, very pretty, on my word!" said Dubourg, looking after her.

"If her speech resembles her plumage," murmured Ménard, between his teeth, "she is the phoenix of the denizens of this forest."

"Why have you come here, messieurs?" demanded Frédéric, angrily.

"Why have we come? parbleu! to look for you, who desert us and leave us penniless at an inn, to come to make love here in the woods with a peasant girl, who is very pretty, I agree, but who ought not to make you forget your friend and your venerable tutor."

Frédéric made no reply, but seemed to be absorbed in thought.

"Monsieur le comte," said Ménard, coming forward with an air of profound respect, "certainly it is lawful for every man to be susceptible to female charms; Adam was with Eve,--to be sure, he had no chance to be with any other woman,--Abraham with Hagar, David with Bathsheba, Samson with Delilah; and when such a man as Samson succumbed, how can we, who are not Samsons, be expected to resist? But still, monsieur le comte, _est modus in rebus_; you should not, for the sake of a new attachment, forget all that you owe to yourself, and descend from the rank in which destiny has placed you. Now, monsieur le comte your father did not allow you to take this journey for the purpose of living in the woods like a savage; whence I conclude----"

"My dear Monsieur Ménard," said Frédéric, emerging at last from his reverie, but making no reply to his tutor's harangue, "I have something of great importance to say to monsieur le baron; I cannot say it before anyone else, so oblige me by taking a turn up the valley; we will join you very soon."

"I cannot refuse you anything, monsieur le comte; I await your coming, with confidence."--And Ménard left the woods, saying to himself: "My sermon has had a good effect; the young man realizes his wrong-doing; he will mend his ways and return to us like the prodigal son, with a white staff in one hand and his horse's rein in the other."

Ménard was no sooner out of sight, than Frédéric walked quickly to Dubourg's side.

"Why did you bring our mentor here? why have you tracked me to this forest? am I no longer the master of my actions?"

"In the first place, the mentor is not a very alarming person; secondly, we were bound to find out what had become of you, as we heard nothing from you; and, lastly, could I believe that, for an amourette, you would become an Orlando Furioso?"

"An amourette! No, Dubourg; this is a genuine passion, and one that will last forever. I have never loved so passionately! I have never met a woman more worthy of my love. Ah! Dubourg, if you knew that sweet child's heart! she is an utter stranger to all the deceits and hypocrisies of the world; her heart is as pure and beautiful as her features. Ah! my friend, not in Paris, not in the brilliant salons of the capital, could I find a woman who would love me so dearly."

"Nonsense! but you are excited, and I see that it will be hard for me to make you listen to reason. This girl seemed to me to be very pretty, indeed, and I agree that she's a phoenix; but, after all, what do you propose to do? surely you don't intend to pass your life in these woods?"

"I don't intend to leave Sister Anne."

"Very good; then bring your Sister Anne along; let her come with us; make a baroness of her, if you choose, for the benefit of poor Ménard; I'll undertake to arrange it all; but leave these old fir-trees, under which you'll turn into an orang-outang in time."

"That isn't possible. In yonder cabin there is an excellent old woman, who has taken care of her ever since she was a child; she can't desert her."

"The deuce! so you have a whole family on your hands!"

"Go, Dubourg; return to Grenoble with Ménard; I will join you there in a few days, but I cannot leave her now."

"Return to Grenoble, eh? Do you imagine that I enjoy myself there, with your tutor, when I can't show my face anywhere?"

"Oh! I forgot. Take this wallet; it contains our fortune; take it, and do what you please with it. I have a few louis, that's all I need."

"Really, my dear Frédéric, you are mad! to think of living in the woods and making love all day with your little villager!"

"Ah! she's no ordinary woman. If you knew--poor child! But, no, I won't tell you anything; you can't understand my heart. Adieu, Dubourg!"

"You insist upon it? All right, I'll take the cash-box, and leave you. I know what men are, I have had more experience than you have: within a fortnight, you'll have had enough of this kind of life, and you'll come back to us."

"Yes, if Sister Anne will come with me."

"You will come without her, I am perfectly sure. Au revoir! make love at your ease; make it all day and all night; in short, make so much of it, that a fortnight hence you'll have had more than enough."

And Dubourg, having put the wallet in his pocket, hastened down into the valley, where he found Ménard sitting quietly by their horses.

"To horse!" he exclaimed joyfully; "make haste!"

"What's that? to horse? But I don't see monsieur le comte."

"Because he has stayed with his Dulcinea."

"He stays, and we go?"

"To be sure; for, having no passions in the forest, we might be bored here."

"But, monsieur le baron, I don't understand this at all."

"Monsieur Ménard, I am acting like a man who knows the human heart, especially that of a young man. If we had undertaken to thwart his wishes, Frédéric would have been quite capable of doing some insane thing. Instead of that, let us allow him to follow his inclination. I will answer for it that, in a fortnight at the latest, his love, being satisfied, will have calmed down, and he will have recovered his senses. There is no passion deep enough to stand a tête-à-tête of three consecutive weeks. Love is a fire which goes out of itself, because it never has sense enough to be sparing of its fuel."

"Faith! monsieur le baron, I begin to think that you are right."

"To horse, then, Monsieur Ménard, and _vive la gaieté_! To-morrow, I will take you to dine with our friend Chambertin."

"Really, monsieur le baron?"

"And I promise you that we'll make an entry into the village that will cause a sensation."

"I don't understand you, monsieur le baron; but you arrange things so well, that I rely on you."

And Ménard, overjoyed at the prospect of going to Monsieur Chambertin's the next day, dug his heels into his horse's sides for the first time in his life,--to be sure, he had no spurs,--and trotted along at Dubourg's side.

"Still, it's a great pity that my pupil has made this new acquaintance," he said; "a woman sometimes makes a man commit many follies! Cato said that wisdom and common sense were incompatible with a woman's mind."

"Oh! probably Cato was unlucky in love, Monsieur Ménard."

"Saint Bernard calls woman the _organum diaboli_."

"But Confucius declares that a woman's mind is the masterpiece of the Creator."

"Juvenal says that the thought of vengeance has more attraction for a woman than for a man."

"Which proves, Monsieur Ménard, that she bears some resemblance to the gods."

"And Origen says: 'Woman is the key to sin.'"

"I had always supposed that she was only the lock."

"Agnès Sorel enfeebled the courage of Charles VII."

"And another woman restored it."

"Joanna of Naples caused her husband to be strangled."

"Jeanne Hachette saved Beauvais."

"On the whole, monsieur le baron, it seems to be about an even thing."

Let us leave our two friends to return to Grenoble, discussing the nature of womankind,--a discussion which might lead them very far, and leave them without any additional knowledge of the subject; for a learned man has said that a woman's heart has as many varying moods as there are grains of sand on the seashore (and he must have been learned, indeed, to know the number of the latter),--and let us return to Frédéric.

He breathed more freely when Dubourg had left him, and ere long he heard the steps of the horses which bore his companions away. Thereupon, as well pleased as Crates, who cried, after throwing all his money into the sea: "Now I am free!" he felt more at liberty to abandon himself to his passion for the dumb girl, since he was rid of Dubourg and Ménard; and he hurried away to the cabin. Frédéric did not look beyond the present; he did not reflect; for he was twenty-one years old, and he was passionately in love!

Sister Anne was in the garden, trembling from head to foot; old Marguerite was asleep, and the girl could abandon herself without restraint to the sentiments which agitated her. The presence of those two men who knew Frédéric caused her a disquietude which became more painful with every minute that passed. To live without her friend seemed impossible to her now. Love was life itself to that heart of flame which had not learned, in that forest solitude, to control its passions. Her loving heart had flown to meet him who had said to her: "I love you." But when she gave herself to him, Sister Anne bound herself forever. Frédéric had taught her to know happiness; he had revivified her heart, withered by misfortune. When she finds that she has the power to please, a woman is born again. What would become of her, if she must renounce that hope at sixteen? Frédéric was all in all to her; and until that moment love had seemed to her the summit of earthly happiness. But there is no lasting happiness, especially in love. Only a few short days of bliss had passed, and already the poor child was beginning to know the suffering which that sentiment brings in its train.

At last, Frédéric appeared. She did not run--she flew into his arms; she cast her eyes about; he was alone, and her heart was more at ease.

"No," said her lover, kissing her; "I will not leave you. Where could I find a lovelier woman--one more faithful or more worthy to be loved? What do I care what they say? what do I care for a world to which no tie binds me? I am perfectly happy here. My father himself could not induce me to give you up!"

Another kiss on the girl's sweet lips sealed the promise he had made. The night with its darkness brought even sweeter moments, for the lovers shared the same couch; and in the arms of her who lavished the most loving caresses upon him, Frédéric repeated his vow:

"No, I will never leave you!"

But after a week, the days passed less swiftly for our lover; the poor girl's fond caresses no longer sufficed to occupy the time; he felt that he must have some occupation, that one cannot dream one's whole life away beside a mountain stream.

After another week, he went down into the valley, mounted the horse, which he had kept, and took several short rides in the neighborhood, to procure some provisions that they required, as he told Sister Anne; although he had done well enough without them at the beginning of his sojourn in the woods.

After another week, he began to gaze longingly in the direction of Grenoble. He was surprised that Dubourg did not return to inquire as to his welfare, and that Ménard too had forgotten him. Indeed, I believe that in his heart he was offended. Did he no longer love Sister Anne? Oh! yes, he loved her still. But time!--And, as Dubourg had well said, there is no love strong enough to stand a tête-à-tête of three weeks.

But let us not anticipate; let us leave him with the dumb girl, who loves him as dearly as on the first day, because--oh! ask some woman why!--and let us return to Dubourg, who once more has the funds for the journey at his disposal.