Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (7 page)

A negress, wearing a silk kerchief 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 will soon be seven; her mother will not love her any more. She has been pardonned too often for being naughty.” And Frédéric 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, out at sea wrapped it around her body; drawn it over her feet, gone to sleep in it! Frédéric suddenly noticed that being dragged down by its fringe it was slipping off, and it was on the point of falling into the water when, with a bound, he caught it. She said to him:

“Thank you, Monsieur.”

Their eyes met.

“Are you ready, my dear?” cried Arnoux, appearing at the hood of the companion-way.

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 soon the musician, led forward by the negress, entered the section reserved for saloon passengers. Arnoux recognized him as a man who had formerly been an artists’ model, and spoke to him in a familiar tone to the astonishment of the bystanders. Finally the harpist, flinging back his long hair over his shoulders, stretched out his arms and began playing.

It was an Oriental ballad all about daggers, flowers, and stars. The man in rags sang it in a piercing voice; the thumping of the engine broke the rhythm of the song unevenly. 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 fluttered her eyelids several times as if she were starting out of a dream.

 

The harpist approached them humbly. While Arnoux was searching his pockets for money, Frédéric stretched out towards the cap his closed hand, and then, opening it discreetly he deposited in it a louis d
or. It was not vanity that had prompted him to offer such charity 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. Frédéric declared that he had just had lunch; on the contrary, he was nearly dying of hunger; and he had not a single centime in his purse.

After that, it seemed to him that he had a perfect right, as much as anyone else, to remain in the cabin.

Ladies and gentlemen were seated at round tables, lunching, while an attendant went about serving 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 stagecoach 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 endearing, no doubt, for she smiled. Then, he got up to close the window curtain at her back.

Under the low, white ceiling, a harsh light filled the cabin. Frédéric, sitting opposite her, could distinguish the shadow of her eyelashes. She sipped from her glass and broke a crust of bread 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.

From time to time one could see, through the small port-holes, a boat pulling up to take passengers on or off. Those at the tables stooped to see through the openings, and called out the names of the various places they passed along the river.

Arnoux complained about the cooking. He grumbled particularly at the amount of the bill, and got it reduced. Then, he led the young man towards the front of the boat to drink a glass of grog with him. But Frédéric speedily came back again under the awning where Madame Arnoux had 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 lit up her face. 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 part from her forever, 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 nestled in the grassy slopes, and, beyond that, little paths zigzagged across the white rocks that seemed to reach up towards the sky. 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 into her 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 no less difficult than it would have been to move the sun.

A little further on, a chateau 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 passing along by this group of trees. At that moment a young lady and a young man appeared 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. Frédéric 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 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 rope-works, then a range of low-built houses, inside which there were pots of tar and wood chips; and children ran along the sand turning cartwheels. Frédéric recognised a man with a sleeved waistcoat, and called out to him:

“Hurry!”

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, Frédéric 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 his man-servant’s greeting:

“Why didn’t you bring the trap down here?”

The man apologized.

“What a fool 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 endlessly and gradually Villeneuve, St. Georges, Ablon, Chatillon, Corbeil, and the other places—his entire journey—came back to him with such vividness that he could now call to mind fresh details, more intimate particulars.... Under the lowest flounce of her gown, her foot peeked out encased in a dainty brown silk boot. The awning made of ticking formed a wide canopy over her head, and the little red tassels of the edging perpetually trembled in the breeze.

She resembled the women of whom he had read in romances. He would have wanted to add nothing to the charms of her appearance, nor take anything away. His universe had suddenly expanded. She was the luminous point towards which all things converged; and, rocked by the movement of the vehicle, with half-closed 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 gotten their oats; he walked on along the road 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 on a farm in the distance. He shivered, with a sense of uneasiness for which he could find no cause.

When Isidore returned, he jumped up into the front seat to drive. His moment of weakness had passed. He had firmly made up his mind to gain an introduction into the Arnoux’s home, however he could, and to befriend them. Their house should be amusing; besides, he liked Arnoux; then, who could tell? At that moment 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 winded!”

Gradually Frédéric calmed down, and he listened to what the man was saying. Monsieur’s return was impatiently awaited. Mademoiselle Louise had cried in her insistence to go in the trap to meet him.

“Who, pray, is Mademoiselle Louise?”

“Monsieur Roque’s little girl, you know.”

“Ah! I had forgotten,” replied Frédéric, casually.

Meanwhile, the two horses could keep up the pace no longer. They were both limping; and nine o‘clock struck on the bell of St. Laurent when he arrived on the Place d’Armes in front of his mother’s house. This house, large and spacious, with a garden looking out on the open countryside, added to the social importance of Madame Moreau, who was the most respected lady in the district.

She came from an old noble family, of which the male line was now extinguished. Her husband, of plebeian origin whom her parents forced her to marry, was killed by the thrust of a sword, during her pregnancy, leaving her an estate much in debt. She received visitors three times a week, and from time to time, gave fashionable dinners. But the number of wax candles was calculated beforehand, and she looked forward with some impatience to the payment of her rents. Such embarrassments, concealed as if there were some guilt attached to them, imparted a certain seriousness to her character. Nevertheless, without prudery, or sourness, she practiced her virtue. Her most trifling acts of charity seemed like generous alms-giving. 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 lofty ambitions for her son. Through a sort of anticipatory prudence, she did not care to hear the Government criticized. 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 rose noisily to their feet; 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 his opinion about Madame Lafarge.
⁴
This case, the sensation of the day, did not fail to lead to a heated discussion. Madame Moreau stopped it, much to the regret, however, of M. Gamblin. He deemed it useful to the young man as a future lawyer, and, annoyed at what had occurred, he left the drawing-room.

Coming from a friend of Père Roque, nothing would have surprised them. The reference to Père Roque led them to talk of M. Dambreuse, who had just become the owner of the La Fortelle estate. But the tax-collector had drawn Frédéric aside to know what he thought of M. Guizot’s latest work.
^a
They were all anxious to get some information about his private affairs, and Madame Benoit cleverly inquired about his uncle with that objective in mind. How was that worthy relative? They no longer heard from him. Had he not a distant cousin in America?