Authors: Guy de Maupassant
They had to pass over an ancient drawbridge and through a huge Louis XIII gateway before reaching the main courtyard, in front of an elegant manor-house of the same period with brick architraves and flanked by small round towers roofed in slate.
Julien gave Jeanne a detailed account of the different parts of the building, as though he were a regular visitor and had an intimate knowledge of the place. He did the honours of the house, enthusing over its beauty:
'But just look at that gateway! Isn't it all so grand, eh? The whole of the other elevation rises out of the lake, with a magnificent flight of steps leading down to the water's edge; and four boats are kept moored at the bottom, two for the Comte and two for the Comtesse. Over there to the right, where you can see the screen of poplars, that's where the lake ends and where the river begins and flows all the way down to Fécamp. The place is full of wildfowl. The Comte loves going shooting here. Ah, this is what you call a noble residence.'
The front door had opened, and the pale Comtesse emerged to extend a smiling welcome to her guests; she wore a dress with a train, which made her seem like a chatelaine from a bygone age. She looked exactly like the Lady of the Lake,
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born to live in this fairy-tale castle.
The drawing-room had eight windows, four of which gave onto the lake and the dark fir-wood covering the hillside directly opposite.
The greenery with its dark tones made the lake appear deep, forbidding, and lugubrious; and when the wind blew, the moaning in the trees sounded like the voice of the marsh.
The Comtesse took Jeanne's hands in hers, as though they had been friends since childhood, and bid her sit down, before seating herself next to her on a low chair, while Julien, in whom the neglected refinements of gracious living had been reviving over the previous five months, chatted and smiled with a gentle, intimate air.
The Comtesse and he talked about their riding. She was poking mild fun at his style of horsemanship, calling him 'Sir Gallopbad', and he joined in her laughter, christening her the 'Queen of the Amazons'. The sound of a gun going off just beneath the windows made Jeanne give a little cry. The Comte had just shot a teal.
His wife called to him at once. They heard the sound of oars, the thud of boat against stone, and then he appeared, a towering figure in boots followed by two very wet dogs, red-haired like him, who lay down on the rug by the door.
He seemed more at ease in his own home, and delighted to see the visitors. He gave orders for more wood to be put on the fire, and for Madeira and biscuits to be brought. Suddenly he exclaimed:
'But stay and dine with us! You must!'
Jeanne, whose thoughts were never far from her child, declined the invitation; he insisted, and as she continued firmly to refuse, Julien gestured in sudden impatience. So, anxious that he should not revert to his ill-natured and quarrelsome self, and although she hated the idea of not seeing Paul again until the following day, she accepted.
The afternoon was delightful. They went to visit the springs first. These rose at the foot of a mossy rock in the middle of a clear pool, where the water was in constant motion, as though it were on the boil. After that they went out in a boat, along what seemed like channels purposely cut through the forest of dry reeds. The Comte rowed, seated between his two dogs who kept sniffing the wind; and with each pull of his oars he raised the large boat and drove it forward. From time to time Jeanne would trail her hand in the cold water and savour the icy chill as it coursed up her fingers and through her veins. Away in the stern of the boat sat the Comtesse wrapped in shawls, and Julien, both of them wearing the permanent smile of happy people whom happiness has left with nothing to say.
Evening came on in long, icy ripples of breeze, gusts of northerly air blowing through the withered rushes. The sun had sunk behind the fir-trees; and even the sight of the red sky, dotted with strange little scarlet clouds, was enough to make them feel cold.
They returned to the vast drawing-room, where a huge fire was blazing. A feeling of warmth and good cheer gladdened their hearts from the moment they walked in. Then the Comte, prompted to merriment, took hold of his wife in his muscular arms, lifted her up to his face like a child, and planted two smacking kisses on her cheeks, the very picture of a fine, contented man.
Smiling, Jeanne observed this friendly giant whom everyone referred to as the ogre simply on account of his moustache, and she thought to herself:
'How mistaken we are about people, every day of our lives.'
Looking over, almost involuntarily, towards Julien, she saw him standing in the doorway, desperately pale, staring at the Comte.
Concerned, she walked over to her husband and whispered:
'Are you unwell? What's wrong?'
'Nothing, leave me alone,' he replied crossly. 'I was cold, that's all.'
When they passed into the dining-room, the Comte asked if he might allow his dogs to join them; and they came at once and sat on their haunches to left and right of their master. He kept giving them scraps to eat and stroked their long, silky ears. The animals stretched out their heads and wagged their tails, quivering with contentment.
After dinner, as Jeanne and Julien were preparing to leave, Monsieur de Fourville detained them further so that he could show them torchlight fishing.
He positioned them, and the Comtesse, on the steps which led down to the lake; and then he climbed into his boat with a servant who was carrying a cast-net and a lighted torch. It was a clear, sharp night, and the sky was sprinkled with gold.
The torch sent strange, flickering streaks of fire wriggling across the water: gleams of light danced over the reeds, and lit up the great screen of fir. Then suddenly, as the boat turned, the huge, fantastical shadow of a man stood out against the illuminated edge of the wood. The head rose higher than the trees, disappearing into the sky, while the feet sank into the waters of the lake. Presently this monstrous creature raised its arms as though to grab the stars. All at once the immense limbs straightened, then fell; and there was a faint sound of thrashing water.
The boat having now gently swung round once more, the prodigious phantom seemed to be running along the edge of the wood, as this was illuminated by the turning light. Then it vanished into the invisible distance; suddenly it reappeared again, not as tall but more distinct, its strange movements outlined on the wall of the chateau.
And the Comte's voice boomed out:
'Gilberte, I've caught eight.'
The oars beat the water. The enormous shadow was now motionless on the wall, but gradually shrinking in height and girth; its head seemed to be coming down, its body to grow thinner; and when Monsieur de Fourville came back up the steps, still followed by his servant carrying the torch, the shadow had been reduced to the proportions of his own person, and repeated his every gesture.
In his net eight large fish lay writhing.
When Jeanne and Julien were on their way home, all wrapped up in the cloaks and rugs which they had been lent, Jeanne said almost involuntarily:
'He's a fine man, the giant!'
And Julien, who was driving, answered:
'Yes, he is. But he should restrain himself more when he's in company.'
One week later they called on the Couteliers, who were thought to represent the highest nobility in the province. Their estate at Reminil adjoined the large town of Cany. The new chateau, built in the reign of Louis XIV, was hidden away in a magnificent park entirely surrounded by walls: the ruins of the old castle could still be seen in the grounds, perched on a rise. Liveried footmen ushered the visitors into a large, imposing room. Right in the centre stood a kind of column supporting a huge Sèvres bowl, and on the plinth, under a glass plaque, was a letter in the King's hand inviting the Marquis Léopold-Hervé-Joseph-Germer de Varneville, de Rollebosc de Coutelier, to accept this gift from the Sovereign.
Jeanne and Julien were admiring this royal offering when the Marquis and the Marquise entered. The lady wore powdered hair, displayed perfunctory charm, and seemed affected in her endeavour to appear gracious. The man, a stout personage with white hair swept up high on his head, invested his gestures, his voice, and his whole bearing with a haughtiness that proclaimed the importance of his position.
They belonged to that class of person for whom etiquette is all and whose every thought, or feeling, or word seems stilted.
They spoke for themselves alone, never waiting for a reply, smiling with an air of unconcern; and they gave the constant impression of being engaged in carrying out the duty, imposed by their birth, of receiving the minor nobles of the region with politeness.
Julien and Jeanne felt numbingly awkward and tried desperately to be agreeable, too embarrassed to stay longer and yet inexpert at finding a pretext to leave; but the Marquise herself brought the visit to a close, naturally, simply, stopping the conversation stone dead like a queen politely dismissing someone from her presence.
On their way home Julien said:
'If you have no objection, I think we might pay rather fewer visits. The Fourvilles are enough for me.'
And Jeanne agreed.
December passed slowly, that black month like a dark hole at year's end.
The period spent shut up indoors began again as it had the previous year. But Jeanne was not bored, for she was constantly busy with Paul, upon whom Julien looked askance with a nervous and unhappy eye.
Often, when his mother held him in her arms, caressing him with the frantic tenderness that mothers feel for their children, she would hold him out to his father and say:
'Come, do give him a kiss. Anyone would think you didn't love him.'
With an air of disgust he would brush his lips across the baby's smooth forehead, his whole body arched forward so that it should remain out of reach of the tiny, clenched hands that were never still. Then he would depart abruptly, as though driven away by some feeling of revulsion.
The mayor, the doctor, and the priest came to dinner from time to time; on other occasions it was the Fourvilles, with whom they were becoming more and more friendly.
The Comte appeared to adore Paul. He would hold him on his knees throughout their entire visit, for whole afternoons on end. He handled him gently, despite his great, giant's hands; he would tickle the end of his nose with the points of his long moustache, and then kiss him in affectionate bursts, like a mother. It pained him constantly that his own marriage had remained childless.
March was bright, dry, and almost mild. Comtesse Gilberte once more mentioned the possibility of the four of them going riding together. Jeanne, rather weary of the long evenings, the long nights, and the long, monotonous days, each one just like the last, accepted, thoroughly delighted by these plans; and for a week she enjoyed herself making a riding-habit.
So they began their excursions. They always rode in pairs, the Comtesse and Julien in front, the Comte and Jeanne a hundred paces behind. The latter chatted away quietly, like old friends, for friends they had become, brought together by integrity and simplicity of heart. The former were often whispering together, occasionally bursting into storms of laughter, or suddenly looking at each other as if their eyes had things to tell of which their mouths could never breathe a word; and all of a sudden they would go galloping off, prompted by an urge to flee, to ride further and further away.
Then Gilberte appeared to become irritable. Her shrill voice, borne on the breeze, would sometimes reach the ears of the two riders dawdling along behind. Then the Comte would smile and say to Jeanne:
'Some days my wife gets out of bed on the wrong side.'
One evening, on their way home, as the Comtesse was busy urging her mare on, spurring it and then repeatedly pulling on the reins, they could hear Julien saying to her several times:
'Take care, take care, for goodness' sake. She'll run away with you.'
'Too bad. It's none of your business,' she replied in such a harsh, clear tone that every word rang out across the countryside as if they were suspended in mid-air.
The horse reared and bucked, lashing out with its hooves, foaming at the mouth. Suddenly the Comte, now concerned himself, cried out at the top of his powerful lungs:
'Do be careful, Gilberte!'
Then, as though out of defiance, in one of those moments of impatience when a woman decides that nothing shall stop her, she struck the animal a cruel blow between the ears with her riding-crop, and it reared up, enraged, beating the air with its front legs. Whereupon, having lowered its feet to the ground, it took a formidable leap forward and tore off across the plain as fast as its legs would carry it.
It crossed a meadow first and then raced across some ploughed fields, kicking up the damp, heavy soil behind it and going so fast that it was difficult to distinguish horse and rider.
Astonished, Julien remained where he was, calling out in desperation:
'Madame! Madame!'
But the Comte let out a sort of grunt, bent over the neck of his heavy mount to urge it forward with the whole weight of his own body, and sent it galloping off at such a speed, goading it, dragging it forward, rousing it by voice, gesture, and spur, that the huge horseman seemed to be carrying the stout creature between his legs and lifting it into the air as though he were trying to take off. They raced along at unimaginable speed, without the slightest deviation to right or left; and in the distance Jeanne could see the two silhouettes of the man and woman receding further and further into the distance, getting smaller and smaller, fading away until they disappeared from sight, like two birds chasing each other that gradually pass from view and vanish beyond the horizon.
Then Julien came over, still at the walk, and muttering furiously beneath his breath:
'I think she's gone quite mad today.'
And they both set off in pursuit of their friends, who had now disappeared down into a dip in the plain.