Chapter XVII: Thaw

Emile had as yet admired the park of Boisguilbault only over the hedges and through the gate. He was more than ever impressed by the beauty of that pleasure-ground, by the luxuriance of the plants and their happy arrangement.

Nature had done much, but art had seconded her with great taste and judgment. The sloping ground was diversified by innumerable picturesque irregularities, and an abundant spring, bubbling up among the rocks, sent forth streams in all directions, keeping all things green under the superb trees.

The valley and the slope on the other side, which also belonged to the marquis, were covered with a dense vegetation which partly concealed the division walls and hedges, so that from all the elevated points, which afforded views of a beautiful and extensive landscape, the park seemed to extend to the horizon.

"This is an enchanted spot," said Emile, "and one needs only to see it to be sure that you are a great poet."

"There are many great poets of my sort," replied the marquis, "that is to say, people who feel poetry but cannot express it."

"Is the spoken or written word alone interesting, I pray to know?" exclaimed Emile. "Is not the painter who nobly interprets nature a poet too? And if that is incontestable, does not the artist who actually improves upon nature, and modifies it in order to develop all its beauty,--does not he produce a grand poetic result?"

"You express that very well," rejoined Monsieur de Boisguilbault, in a tone of indolent indifference, which was not, however, wholly devoid of kindliness.

But Emile would have preferred discussion to this careless assent to everything he said, and he was afraid that his main attack had failed. "What can I invent to vex him and make him come out of his shell?" he said to himself. "There is no one of the famous sieges in history that can be compared to this."

The coffee was served in a pretty Swiss chalet; the exactness of the copy and the scrupulous neatness aroused Emile's admiration for a moment; but the absence of human beings and domestic animals in that rustic retreat was so noticeable that it was impossible to maintain the illusion. And yet nothing was missing: the moss-covered hillside studded with firs, nor the thread of sparkling water falling into a stone basin at the door, and flowing from it with a gentle murmur; the chalet, constructed entirely of resinous wood with a pretty arrangement of balustrades and built against huge granite rocks, the pretty overhanging roof, the interior furnished in the German fashion, even to the service of blue earthenware--all new and clean and glistening and deserted--resembled a dainty Fribourg toy rather than a rustic dwelling.

Even the stiff, lifeless figures of the old marquis and his old majordomo gave one the impression of painted wooden images, placed there to complete the resemblance.

"You have been in Switzerland, I presume, monsieur le marquis," said Emile, "and this is a reminiscence of some favorite spot?"

"I have traveled very little," Monsieur de Boisguilbault replied, "although I set out one day with the intention of making the tour of the world. Switzerland happened to be in my way; the country pleased me and I went no farther, saying to myself that I should probably find nothing better after taking a deal of trouble."

"I see that you prefer this country to all others, and that you have come back here forever?"

"Forever, most assuredly."

"This is Switzerland in miniature, and if the imagination is less keenly aroused by grand spectacles, the fatigues and dangers of travel are much less great."

"I had other reasons for settling down on my own estate."

"Is it indiscreet to ask you what they are?"

"Are you really curious to know, then?" said the marquis with an equivocal smile.

"Curious! no; I am not curious in the impertinent and ridiculous meaning of the word; but to one of my age, one's own destiny and other people's is an enigma, and one always imagines that he may derive valuable information from the experience and wisdom of certain men."

"Why do you say _certain men_? Am I not like the rest of the world?"

"Oh! not at all, monsieur le marquis!"

"You surprise me greatly," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault in exactly the same tone in which he had said, a few moments earlier: _I am entirely of your opinion_. And he added: "Won't you put some sugar in your coffee?"

"I am more surprised," said Emile, mechanically helping himself to sugar, "that you do not realize how solemn and impressive your solitude, your gravity, and I will venture to add, your melancholy, must be to a child like myself."

"Do I frighten you?" said Monsieur de Boisguilbault with a deep sigh.

"You frighten me terribly, monsieur le marquis, I frankly admit; but do not take my ingenuousness in bad part, for it is no less certain that I am impelled by an entirely contrary sentiment of irresistible attraction, to overcome that sentiment of fear."

"That is strange," said the marquis, "very strange: pray explain it to me."

"It is very simple. As a young man of my age goes about seeking the solution of his own future in the present or in the past of men of maturer years, it terrifies him to see an invincible sadness and a dumb but profound distaste for life, written upon austere brows."

"Yes, that is why my external appearance repels you. Do not be afraid to say it. You are not the first and I expected it."

"Repel is not the word, since, notwithstanding the sort of magnetic stupor into which you cast me, I am drawn toward you by a peculiar attraction."

"Peculiar!--aye, very peculiar, and you are the more eccentric of us two. I was struck, the first moment I saw you, by the manifest dissimilarity of your character to that of the men whom I knew in my younger days."

"And was that impression unfavorable to me, monsieur le marquis?"

"Quite the contrary," replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault in that voice, utterly without inflection, which made it impossible to estimate the bearing of his replies. "Martin," he added, leaning toward his old servant who bent himself double to hear him, "you can take all this away. Are there any workmen left in the park?"

"No, monsieur le marquis, nobody."

"In that case, close the gate when you go away."

Emile remained alone with his host in the solitude of the vast park. The marquis took his arm and led him to a seat on the cliffs above the chalet, where there was a lovely view.

The sun, as it sank toward the horizon, projected the shadows of the tall poplars from one side to the other of the ravine, like a dark curtain intersected by brilliant streaks. The violet rays shot up into an opal-hued sky, above an ocean of dark verdure; and as the sounds of toil in the fields died gradually away, the voice of the mountain streams and the plaintive note of the turtle doves could be heard more distinctly.

It was a magnificent evening, and young Cardonnet, turning his eyes and thoughts upon the distant hills of Châteaubrun, fell into a pleasant reverie. He was reflecting that he might venture to indulge in that mental recreation before making another assault, when his adversary suddenly made an unexpected sortie and broke the silence.

"Monsieur Cardonnet," said he, "if, when you told me that you felt a sort of sympathy for me despite the ennui that I cause you, you did not say it simply to be polite, or by way of jest, this is the reason: we profess the same principles, we are both communists."

"Can it be true?" cried Emile, astounded by this declaration and thinking that he must be dreaming. "I thought just now that you answered me as you did simply to be courteous or by way of jest; but am I really so fortunate as to find in you a justification of my desires and my dreams?"

"What is there surprising in that?" rejoined the marquis calmly. "May not the truth make itself known in solitude as well as in a crowd, and have I not lived long enough to be able to distinguish good from evil, the true from the false? You take me for a very matter-of-fact, very cold man. It is possible that I am; at my age a man is too tired of himself to care to examine himself; but, outside of our individuality, there are general realities sufficiently worthy of interest to divert our thoughts from our ennui.

"For a long time I retained the opinions and prejudices in which I was reared; my natural indolence was content not to scrutinize them too closely, and then I had internal anxieties which kept me from thinking about them. But since old age has set me free from all pretension to happiness and from every sort of regret or special interest in anything, I have felt the need of obtaining an insight into the general life of my fellow-men, and, consequently, into the meaning of the divine laws as applied to mankind.

"Certain Saint-Simonian pamphlets fell into my hands by chance, I read them to pass the time, having as yet no idea that they could go beyond the bold theories of Jean-Jacques and Voltaire, with whom careful study had reconciled me.

"I determined to know more of the principles of this new school, and I passed from that to the study of Fourier. I admitted everything, although I did not very clearly distinguish their contradictions, and it still saddened me to see the ancient world crumble under the weight of theories invincible in their system of criticism, confused and incomplete in their principles of organization. It was not until five or six years ago that I accepted with perfect disinterestedness and great mental satisfaction the principle of a social revolution.

"The attempts at communism had seemed to me monstrous at first, on the faith of those who combated them. I read the newspapers and publications of all the schools, and I gradually lost myself in that labyrinth, without being repelled by fatigue. Little by little the communist hypothesis came forth from its clouds; able expositions shed light into my mind. I felt that I must go back to the teaching of history and to the tradition of the human race.

"I had a well-selected library of the best documents and the most serious works of the past. My father had been fond of reading, and I had hated it for so many years that I did not even know what precious resources he had left me for my old age. I set to work all alone. I learned again the dead languages, which I had forgotten; I read for the first time, in the original sources, the history of religions and philosophies, and the day came at last when the great men, the saints, the prophets, the poets, the martyrs, the heretics, the scholars, the enlightened orthodox believers, the innovators, the artists, the reformers of all times, all countries, of all the revolutions and of all the forms of worship seemed to me to be in accord, proclaiming in every form, and even in their apparent contradictions, one eternal truth, as logical and as clear as the light of day, namely the equality of rights, and the inevitable necessity of equality of enjoyment thereof as a rigorous consequence of the first.

"Since then I have been surprised by only one thing, and that is that in the time in which we live, with so many resources and discoveries, so much activity, intelligence and freedom of opinion, the world is still plunged in such utter ignorance of the logical results of the facts and ideas which are forcing it to transform itself; that there are so many self-styled theologians encouraged and supported by the State and by the Church, and that no one of them has ever thought of devoting his life to the very simple labor which led me to certainty; and lastly, that while rushing onward to the catastrophe of its dissolution, the world of the past thinks to preserve itself by the strength and wrath of the destiny which hurries it on and swallows it, whereas those who know the secret of the law of the future have not as yet sufficient tranquillity and good sense to laugh at insults and to proclaim, with head erect, that they are communists and nothing else.

"You talk of dreams and Utopias with eloquence and enthusiasm, Monsieur Cardonnet; I forgive you for making use of those expressions because at your age truth arouses enthusiasm, and one makes of it an ideal which he purposely places rather high and rather far away, in order to have the pleasure of reaching it by earnest effort. But I can not work myself up as you do over this truth, which seems to me as simple, as manifest and as incontestable as it seems to you novel, bold and romantic. In my case it is the result of a deeper study and of a more firmly seated certainty. I do not dislike your vivacity, but I should not blame myself if I were to combat it a little in order to prevent you from endangering the doctrine by over-eagerness.

"Beware of that: you are too happily endowed ever to become ridiculous, and you will please even those people who fight against you; but be careful lest, by talking too fast and to too many disaffected persons of matters so serious and so worthy of respect, you tempt them to resort to systematic contradictions and to defend themselves in bad faith.

"What would you say of a young priest who should deliver sermons at the dinner-table? You would say that he belittled the majesty of his texts. Communistic truth is as deserving of respect as gospel truth, since it is in reality the same truth. Let us not speak of it lightly, therefore, and after the manner of political discussion. If you are excited, you must make sure that you are entirely master of yourself before proclaiming it; if you are phlegmatic, like me, you must wait until you acquire a little self-confidence and mental activity before opening your heart to other men on such a subject.

"You see, Monsieur Cardonnet, people must not have a chance to say that this is all folly, idle dreaming, feverish declamation, or a vision of mysticism. That has been said quite enough, and enough weak minds have given people the right to say it.

"We have seen Saint-Simonism pass through its phase of trances and feverish and disordered visions; that did not prevent the survival of whatever was viable in Saint-Simonism.

"Despite the aberrations of Fourier, the lucid portions of his system survive and will bear a critical examination. Truth triumphs and pursues its way through whatever disguise one views it and in whatever disguise one clothes it. But it would be much better that, in the age of reason which we have reached, the ridiculous manifestations of a blind enthusiasm should disappear entirely. Is not that your opinion? Has not the hour struck when serious-minded people should take possession of their true domain, and when those things that are logically proved should be professed by logicians?

"What does it matter if they are said to be inapplicable? Does it follow, because the majority of men still know and practise only what is wrong and false, that the clear-sighted man must follow the blind over the precipice?

"It's of no use to urge upon me the necessity of obeying bad laws and wrongful prejudices. Although my acts may be forced to conform to them, my mind will be only the more firmly convinced of the necessity of protesting against them.

"Was Jesus Christ in error because, during eighteen centuries, the truths demonstrated by him have germinated slowly, and have not yet bloomed in legislation?

"And now that the problems suggested by his ideal are beginning to approach a solution in the minds of some of us, how is it that we are taxed with madness because we see and believe what will be seen and believed by all men a hundred years hence? Be assured therefore that it is not necessary to be a poet or a seer to be perfectly convinced of the reality of what you are pleased to call sublime dreams. To be sure, truth is sublime, and the men who discover it are sublime as well. But they who, having received it and touched it, conform their lives to it as an excellent thing, have not really the right to be proud; for if, when they have once understood it, they reject it, they would be nothing less than idiots or madmen."

Monsieur de Boisguilbault spoke with a facility most extraordinary for him, and he might have talked on for a long while before the stupefied Emile would have thought of interrupting him.

Emile would never have believed that what he called his faith and his ideal could bloom in so cold and apathetic a mind, and he asked himself at first if it were not enough to sicken himself with it to find himself in the company of such an adept. But, little by little, notwithstanding his moderate way of speaking, the monotony of his accent and the immobility of his features, Monsieur de Boisguilbault acquired an extraordinary influence over him. That impassive man seemed to him an embodiment of the living law, the voice of destiny pronouncing its decrees over the abyss of eternity.

The solitude of that beautiful spot, the cloudless sky which, as the afterglow faded, seemed to raise its blue vault higher and higher toward the empyrean, the darkness gathering under the great trees, and the murmur of the rippling stream, which seemed in its placid continuity, the natural accompaniment of that calm, even voice--all combined to plunge Emile into a profound emotion akin to the mysterious awe which the response of the oracle in the sacred oaks must have produced in the youthful neophytes.

"Monsieur de Boisguilbault," said the young man, deeply impressed by what he had heard, "I cannot better express my submission to your enlightened views than by asking your pardon, from the bottom of my heart, for the way in which I extorted them from you. I was far from believing that you entertained such ideas, and I was drawn toward you by curiosity rather than by respect. But be sure that you will find in me henceforth the devotion of a son if you deem me worthy to manifest it."

"I never had any children," replied the marquis, taking Emile's hand in his and retaining it several moments; for he seemed to be revivified, and a sort of vital warmth enlivened his soft, dry skin. "Perhaps I was not worthy of having them; perhaps I should have brought them up badly! Nevertheless, I have deeply regretted that I have never had that joy. Now, I am entirely resigned to death; but if a little affection should come to me from without, I should accept it gratefully. I am not very trustful. Solitude breeds distrust. But I will make for your sake some effort to overcome my natural disposition, so that you may not be offended by my defects, especially by my surly humor, which horrifies everybody."

"That is because nobody knows you," rejoined Emile. "People look upon you as very different from what you are. You are thought to be proud and obstinately attached to the chimera of ancient privileges. You have evidently taken care, with great cruelty toward yourself, not to allow your real character to be divined by any one."

"Why should I have explained myself? What does it matter what people think of me? for, in the society in which I vegetate, my real opinions would seem even more ridiculous than those commonly attributed to me. If the cause which my mind has embraced would derive any benefit from a public declaration of my homage or my adhesion, no ridicule would turn me from it; but such adhesion on the part of a man so little loved as I am would be more harmful than useful to the progress of the truth. I cannot lie, and if any one had ever taken the trouble to come and question me, during these latter years since my opinions became fixed, it is probable that I should have said to him what I have said to you; but the circle of solitude grows wider about me every day and I have no right to complain. One must be amiable, in order to please, and I do not know how to make myself amiable, God having denied me certain gifts, which it is impossible for me to feign."

Emile strove earnestly and affectionately to allay, so far as he could, the secret bitterness concealed beneath Monsieur de Boisguilbault's resignation.

"It is very easy for me to be content with the present," said the old man with a sad smile. "I have very few years to live; although I am neither very old nor very ill, I feel that my vital thread is worn out, and my blood congeals and thickens every day. I might perhaps complain of having had no joys in the past; but when the past has fled, what does it matter what it was?--bliss or despair, strength or weakness, it has all vanished like a dream."

"But not without leaving traces behind," said Emile. "Even if memory itself should disappear, our emotions, according as they were pleasant or painful, will have deposited their balm or their poison, and our hearts will be tranquil or broken according to the experience they have had. I think that you must have suffered terribly in the past, although your brave heart refuses to descend to lamentation, and that suffering, which you conceal with too much pride, perhaps, increases my respect and my sympathy for you."

"I have suffered more from the absence of happiness than from what is commonly called unhappiness. I agree that a sort of pride has already prevented me from seeking a remedy in the sympathy of others. Friendship must needs come to seek me out, for I could not run after it."

"But in that case, would you have accepted it?"

"Oh! certainly," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, still in a cold tone, but with a sigh that went to Emile's heart.

"And is it too late now?" asked the young man, with profound and respectful pity.

"Now--why, I should have to believe in it," replied the marquis, "or dare to ask for it--and from whom, pray?"

"Why not from him who listens to you and understands you to-day? Perhaps he is the first who has done so for a long time."

"That is true!"

"Very well, do you despise my youth? Do you deem me incapable of a serious sentiment, and do you fear that you will grow younger by bestowing a little affection on a boy?"

"But suppose I should make you grow older, Emile?"

"Very good; as I shall strive, for my part, to make you retrace your steps, the struggle will be advantageous to both of us. I shall gain in wisdom unquestionably, and perhaps you will find some alleviation of the wearisome monotony of your life. Believe in me, Monsieur de Boisguilbault: at my age one cannot pretend; if I dare to offer you my respectful attention, it is because I am capable of performing the duties that accompany it, and of appreciating the advantages of your affection!"

Monsieur de Boisguilbault took Emile's hand once more, and pressed it very warmly, but made no reply.

By the light of the moon, which was just rising, the young man saw a tear glisten an instant on the old man's withered cheek and disappear in his silvery whiskers.

Emile had conquered; he was happy and proud.

The youth of to-day profess a malignant contempt for old age, but our hero, on the contrary, felt a legitimate pride in triumphing over the reserve and distrust of that venerable and unhappy man. He was flattered by the thought that he had brought some consolation to that desolate patriarch and had made up to him for the neglect or injustice of other men.

He walked with him a long time in his beautiful park, and asked him many questions, the confiding artlessness of which did not offend the marquis. He expressed his surprise, for instance, that Monsieur de Boisguilbault, being wealthy and unhampered by family ties, had not tried to put his opinions in practice and to found some communistic association.

"That would be impossible for me," the old man replied. "I have not a trace of the initiative spirit; my indolence is invincible, and I have never, in my whole life, been able to exert any influence upon others. I should be less fitted for it now than ever, especially as it would not be merely a matter of devising a simple plan of organization applicable to the present time, but we must have moral and religious formulas, an exposition of principles and sentiment. I recognize the necessity of sentiment to convince men's minds; but it is not in my line. I have not the faculty of laying my heart bare, and my heart has not enough vitality to impart eloquence to my words. Nor do I think the time has come--you do not think that it has, do you? Very well, I do not propose to disturb your conviction; you are built for difficult enterprises, may you find the opportunity to act! As for myself, I have projects for the future--after my death. Some day, perhaps I will tell you what they are. Look at this beautiful garden that I have created--I have not done it without a purpose--but I want to know you better before explaining my plans; will you forgive me?"

"I bow to your wish, and I am certain beforehand that your predilection for this earthly paradise is not simply the mania of an idle landowner."

"I began in that way, however. My house had become distasteful to me; nothing gratifies indolence and disgust like immutable order, and that is why the house is so carefully kept and orderly. But I care for nothing that it contains, and I may tell you in confidence that I have not slept in it for fifteen years. The chalet where we took our coffee is my real home. There is a bedroom there and a study, which I did not show you and which no one has entered since they were built, not even Martin. Please not mention this to anybody, for perhaps public inquisitiveness would follow me there. It already besieges the park persistently enough on Sundays. All the idlers of the neighborhood stay here until eleven o'clock at night, and I stay away until the closing of the gates compels them to leave. On Monday I rise very late so that the workmen may have time to remove all traces of the invasion before I have seen them. Martin looks out for that. Don't accuse me of misanthropy, although perhaps I deserve the charge to some extent. Try rather to explain the anomaly of a man thoroughly imbued with the necessity of life in common, and yet compelled by his instincts to shun the presence of his fellow-men. I belong to this generation of individual egotists, and that which is a vice in others is a disease in me. There are reasons for this. But I prefer not to discuss them in order that I may not have to recall them."

Emile dared not ask any direct questions, although he resolved that he would discover one by one all Monsieur de Boisguilbault's secrets, or at least all those in which the Châteaubrun family was interested. But he considered that he had won enough victories for one day, and that he must win the marquis's esteem and affection, if possible, before obtaining his full confidence.

He desired simply to obtain access to the library, and the marquis promised to throw it open to him at their next interview, for which, however, they appointed no time. Monsieur de Boisguilbault, perhaps because of a return of his former distrust, wished to see if Emile would come again soon of his own motion.