Sentimental Education; Or, The History of a Young Man. Volume 1, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  Damon and Pythias.

  Charles Deslauriers' father, an ex-captain in the line, who had left theservice in 1818, had come back to Nogent, where he had married, and withthe amount of the dowry bought up the business of a process-server,[1]which brought him barely enough to maintain him. Embittered by a longcourse of unjust treatment, suffering still from the effects of oldwounds, and always regretting the Emperor, he vented on those around himthe fits of rage that seemed to choke him. Few children received so manywhackings as his son. In spite of blows, however, the brat did notyield. His mother, when she tried to interpose, was also ill-treated.Finally, the captain planted the boy in his office, and all the day longkept him bent over his desk copying documents, with the result that hisright shoulder was noticeably higher than his left.

  [Footnote 1: The French word _huissier_ means a sheriff's officer, or aperson whose business it is to serve writs, processes, and legaldocuments generally. The word "process-server" must not be understood inits colloquial English sense, for in France this business is sometimes alucrative one.--Translator.]

  In 1833, on the invitation of the president, the captain sold hisoffice. His wife died of cancer. He then went to live at Dijon. Afterthat he started in business at Troyes, where he was connected with theslave trade; and, having obtained a small scholarship for Charles,placed him at the college of Sens, where Frederick came across him. Butone of the pair was twelve years old, while the other was fifteen;besides, a thousand differences of character and origin tended to keepthem apart.

  Frederick had in his chest of drawers all sorts of useful things--choicearticles, such as a dressing-case. He liked to lie late in bed in themorning, to look at the swallows, and to read plays; and, regretting thecomforts of home, he thought college life rough. To the process-server'sson it seemed a pleasant life. He worked so hard that, at the end of thesecond year, he had got into the third form. However, owing to hispoverty or to his quarrelsome disposition, he was regarded with intensedislike. But when on one occasion, in the courtyard where pupils of themiddle grade took exercise, an attendant openly called him a beggar'schild, he sprang at the fellow's throat, and would have killed him ifthree of the ushers had not intervened. Frederick, carried away byadmiration, pressed him in his arms. From that day forward they becamefast friends. The affection of a _grandee_ no doubt flattered the vanityof the youth of meaner rank, and the other accepted as a piece of goodfortune this devotion freely offered to him. During the holidaysCharles's father allowed him to remain in the college. A translation ofPlato which he opened by chance excited his enthusiasm. Then he becamesmitten with a love of metaphysical studies; and he made rapid progress,for he approached the subject with all the energy of youth and theself-confidence of an emancipated intellect. Jouffroy, Cousin,Laromiguiere, Malebranche, and the Scotch metaphysicians--everythingthat could be found in the library dealing with this branch of knowledgepassed through his hands. He found it necessary to steal the key inorder to get the books.

  Frederick's intellectual distractions were of a less seriousdescription. He made sketches of the genealogy of Christ carved on apost in the Rue des Trois Rois, then of the gateway of a cathedral.After a course of mediaeval dramas, he took up memoirs--Froissart,Comines, Pierre de l'Estoile, and Brantome.

  The impressions made on his mind by this kind of reading took such ahold of it that he felt a need within him of reproducing those picturesof bygone days. His ambition was to be, one day, the Walter Scott ofFrance. Deslauriers dreamed of formulating a vast system of philosophy,which might have the most far-reaching applications.

  They chatted over all these matters at recreation hours, in theplayground, in front of the moral inscription painted under the clock.They kept whispering to each other about them in the chapel, even withSt. Louis staring down at them. They dreamed about them in thedormitory, which looked out on a burial-ground. On walking-days theytook up a position behind the others, and talked without stopping.

  They spoke of what they would do later, when they had left college.First of all, they would set out on a long voyage with the money whichFrederick would take out of his own fortune on reaching his majority.Then they would come back to Paris; they would work together, and wouldnever part; and, as a relaxation from their labours, they would havelove-affairs with princesses in boudoirs lined with satin, or dazzlingorgies with famous courtesans. Their rapturous expectations werefollowed by doubts. After a crisis of verbose gaiety, they would oftenlapse into profound silence.

  On summer evenings, when they had been walking for a long time overstony paths which bordered on vineyards, or on the high-road in the opencountry, and when they saw the wheat waving in the sunlight, while theair was filled with the fragrance of angelica, a sort of suffocatingsensation took possession of them, and they stretched themselves ontheir backs, dizzy, intoxicated. Meanwhile the other lads, in theirshirt-sleeves, were playing at base or flying kites. Then, as the ushercalled in the two companions from the playground, they would return,taking the path which led along by the gardens watered by brooklets;then they would pass through the boulevards overshadowed by the old citywalls. The deserted streets rang under their tread. The grating flewback; they ascended the stairs; and they felt as sad as if they had hada great debauch.

  The proctor maintained that they mutually cried up each other.Nevertheless, if Frederick worked his way up to the higher forms, it wasthrough the exhortations of his friend; and, during the vacation in1837, he brought Deslauriers to his mother's house.

  Madame Moreau disliked the young man. He had a terrible appetite. He wasfond of making republican speeches. To crown all, she got it into herhead that he had been the means of leading her son into improperplaces. Their relations towards each other were watched. This only madetheir friendship grow stronger, and they bade one another adieu withheartfelt pangs when, in the following year, Deslauriers left thecollege in order to study law in Paris.

  Frederick anxiously looked forward to the time when they would meetagain. For two years they had not laid eyes on each other; and, whentheir embraces were over, they walked over the bridges to talk more attheir ease.

  The captain, who had now set up a billiard-room at Villenauxe, reddenedwith anger when his son called for an account of the expense oftutelage, and even cut down the cost of victuals to the lowest figure.But, as he intended to become a candidate at a later period for aprofessor's chair at the school, and as he had no money, Deslauriersaccepted the post of principal clerk in an attorney's office at Troyes.By dint of sheer privation he spared four thousand francs; and, by notdrawing upon the sum which came to him through his mother, he wouldalways have enough to enable him to work freely for three years while hewas waiting for a better position. It was necessary, therefore, toabandon their former project of living together in the capital, at leastfor the present.

  Frederick hung down his head. This was the first of his dreams which hadcrumbled into dust.

  "Be consoled," said the captain's son. "Life is long. We are young.We'll meet again. Think no more about it!"

  He shook the other's hand warmly, and, to distract his attention,questioned him about his journey.

  Frederick had nothing to tell. But, at the recollection of MadameArnoux, his vexation disappeared. He did not refer to her, restrained bya feeling of bashfulness. He made up for it by expatiating on Arnoux,recalling his talk, his agreeable manner, his stories; and Deslauriersurged him strongly to cultivate this new acquaintance.

  Frederick had of late written nothing. His literary opinions werechanged. Passion was now above everything else in his estimation. He wasequally enthusiastic about Werther, Rene, Franck, Lara, Lelia, and otherideal creations of less merit. Sometimes it seemed to him that musicalone was capable of giving expression to his internal agitation. Then,he dreamed of symphonies; or else the surface of things seized hold ofhim, and he longed to paint. He had, however, composed verses.Deslauriers considered them beautiful, but did not ask him to writeanother poem.
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br />   As for himself, he had given up metaphysics. Social economy and theFrench Revolution absorbed all his attention. Just now he was a tallfellow of twenty-two, thin, with a wide mouth, and a resolute look. Onthis particular evening, he wore a poor-looking paletot of lasting; andhis shoes were white with dust, for he had come all the way fromVillenauxe on foot for the express purpose of seeing Frederick.

  Isidore arrived while they were talking. Madame begged of Monsieur toreturn home, and, for fear of his catching cold, she had sent him hiscloak.

  "Wait a bit!" said Deslauriers. And they continued walking from one endto the other of the two bridges which rest on the narrow islet formed bythe canal and the river.

  When they were walking on the side towards Nogent, they had, exactly infront of them, a block of houses which projected a little. At the rightmight be seen the church, behind the mills in the wood, whose sluiceshad been closed up; and, at the left, the hedges covered with shrubs,along the skirts of the wood, formed a boundary for the gardens, whichcould scarcely be distinguished. But on the side towards Paris the highroad formed a sheer descending line, and the meadows lost themselves inthe distance under the vapours of the night. Silence reigned along thisroad, whose white track clearly showed itself through the surroundinggloom. Odours of damp leaves ascended towards them. The waterfall, wherethe stream had been diverted from its course a hundred paces furtheraway, kept rumbling with that deep harmonious sound which waves make inthe night time.

  Deslauriers stopped, and said:

  "'Tis funny to have these worthy folks sleeping so quietly! Patience! Anew '89 is in preparation. People are tired of constitutions, charters,subtleties, lies! Ah, if I had a newspaper, or a platform, how I wouldshake off all these things! But, in order to undertake anythingwhatever, money is required. What a curse it is to be a tavern-keeper'sson, and to waste one's youth in quest of bread!"

  He hung down his head, bit his lips, and shivered under his threadbareovercoat.

  Frederick flung half his cloak over his friend's shoulder. They bothwrapped themselves up in it; and, with their arms around each other'swaists, they walked down the road side by side.

  "How do you think I can live over there without you?" said Frederick.

  The bitter tone of his friend had brought back his own sadness.

  "I would have done something with a woman who loved me. What are youlaughing at? Love is the feeding-ground, and, as it were, the atmosphereof genius. Extraordinary emotions produce sublime works. As for seekingafter her whom I want, I give that up! Besides, if I should ever findher, she will repel me. I belong to the race of the disinherited, and Ishall be extinguished with a treasure that will be of paste or ofdiamond--I know not which."

  Somebody's shadow fell across the road, and at the same time they heardthese words:

  "Excuse me, gentlemen!"

  The person who had uttered them was a little man attired in an amplebrown frock-coat, and with a cap on his head which under its peakafforded a glimpse of a sharp nose.

  "Monsieur Roque?" said Frederick.

  "The very man!" returned the voice.

  This resident in the locality explained his presence by stating that hehad come back to inspect the wolf-traps in his garden near thewater-side.

  "And so you are back again in the old spot? Very good! I ascertained thefact through my little girl. Your health is good, I hope? You are notgoing away again?"

  Then he left them, repelled, probably, by Frederick's chillingreception.

  Madame Moreau, indeed, was not on visiting terms with him. Pere Roquelived in peculiar relations with his servant-girl, and was held in veryslight esteem, although he was the vice-president at elections, and M.Dambreuse's manager.

  "The banker who resides in the Rue d'Anjou," observed Deslauriers. "Doyou know what you ought to do, my fine fellow?"

  Isidore once more interrupted. His orders were positive not to go backwithout Frederick. Madame would be getting uneasy at his absence.

  "Well, well, he will go back," said Deslauriers. "He's not going to stayout all night."

  And, as soon as the man-servant had disappeared:

  "You ought to ask that old chap to introduce you to the Dambreuses.There's nothing so useful as to be a visitor at a rich man's house.Since you have a black coat and white gloves, make use of them. You mustmix in that set. You can introduce me into it later. Just think!--a manworth millions! Do all you can to make him like you, and his wife, too.Become her lover!"

  Frederick uttered an exclamation by way of protest.

  "Why, I can quote classical examples for you on that point, I ratherthink! Remember Rastignac in the _Comedie Humaine_. You will succeed, Ihave no doubt."

  Frederick had so much confidence in Deslauriers that he felt hisfirmness giving way, and forgetting Madame Arnoux, or including her inthe prediction made with regard to the other, he could not keep fromsmiling.

  The clerk added:

  "A last piece of advice: pass your examinations. It is always a goodthing to have a handle to your name: and, without more ado, give up yourCatholic and Satanic poets, whose philosophy is as old as the twelfthcentury! Your despair is silly. The very greatest men have had moredifficult beginnings, as in the case of Mirabeau. Besides, ourseparation will not be so long. I will make that pickpocket of a fatherof mine disgorge. It is time for me to be going back. Farewell! Have yougot a hundred sous to pay for my dinner?"

  Frederick gave him ten francs, what was left of those he had got thatmorning from Isidore.

  Meanwhile, some forty yards away from the bridges, a light shone fromthe garret-window of a low-built house.

  Deslauriers noticed it. Then he said emphatically, as he took off hishat:

  "Your pardon, Venus, Queen of Heaven, but Penury is the mother ofwisdom. We have been slandered enough for that--so have mercy."

  This allusion to an adventure in which they had both taken part, putthem into a jovial mood. They laughed loudly as they passed through thestreets.

  Then, having settled his bill at the inn, Deslauriers walked back withFrederick as far as the crossway near the Hotel-Dieu, and after a longembrace, the two friends parted.