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by Corry Shores
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[Dumas. The Wolf-Leader (Le meneur de loups), entry directory]
[The following is summary. Boldface, underlining, bracketed commentary, and section subdivisions are my own. Proofreading is incomplete, so please forgive my mistakes. Text is copied from online sources (see bibliography below).]
Summary of
Alexandre Dumas
Le meneur de loups
The Wolf-Leader
2
“Le seigneur et le sabotier”
“The Seigneur Jean and the Sabot-Maker”
Brief summary:
(2.1) (Recall from section 1 that Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez and chief wolf-hunter to Louis Philippe of Orleans, is leading a hunting party that is chasing a buck, and they have just arrived upon “the hut of Thibault, the sabot-maker,” that is, the “shoe-maker, the real hero of the tale” (p. 14, section 1.3)). As the weather is fine that autumn day, Thibault is working in his open lean-to. “Looking up, he suddenly espied the trembling animal, quivering in every limb, standing a few paces in front of him, gazing at him with intelligent and terrified eyes.” Thibault was aware of the ongoing hunt, and he complains of how the lords dine on fresh meats and aged wines every meal all while he can normally afford just potatoes and water. Soon after, Vez arrives and rudely addresses Thibault as “you scoundrel!” and asks him if he has seen the beast they are hunting. Thibault, offended, pretends not to know, saying, “what beast?” After Vez describes the buck, Thibault continues to pretend to be stupid and seems confused about whether they are taking about the buck’s horns or hooves. Impatiently, Vez begins asking Thibault relevant questions about the buck. Thibault says he does not know where the buck went. Vez asks, “Is it some while ago the buck passed this way, Master Simpleton?” Thibault answers, the day before yesterday, but he cannot stop from smiling. Vez comes at Thibault with a whip but Thibault takes shelter in his lean to. Thibault still lies and claims he did not see the buck, even though Vez points to its tracks on the ground. Angrily, Vez says, “Silence, and come here, blackguard!” When Thibault emerges from the lean to, Vez strikes him with the butt end of his whip. While Thibault begins falling face forward to the ground, Vez kicks him in the chest, sending him flying backward against his hut door. Vez says, “take that for your lie, and that for your banter!” Just then the hounds catch the buck’s scent again, and Vez rides off. (2.2) Thibault rises and checks for any broken bones. He vengefully vows to be the one who eats that buck tonight. He then gets his bill-hook and boar-spear and runs hell-bent as directly as possible to where he senses the buck is going to be. He considers his two possibilities for getting the buck: {1} he hides beside the path the buck will have to take and kill it with his boar-spear, or {2} he can “surprise the animal just as he was being hunted down by the dogs, and collar him there and then.” While he runs, he dreams both gluttonously of the great food he would be eating after capturing the animal and he also dreams vengefully of Vez’s disappointment as he returns home without a catch. Thibault calculates that the deer would take a particular bridge, so he hides nearby behind a rock and waits for it. When it comes, Thibault throws his spear and misses, and the buck runs away across the bridge. But this comes as a surprise, because Thibault is highly skilled with the spear. He grabs the spear from the ground and runs off toward the buck. He gets ahead of the deer and hides behind a tree, waiting for it. This time, even though the buck comes very close to him, he still misses it (so it seems) with his spear-throw. Now the hunting party approaches, yet Thibault is resolved: “ ‘I must have it, come what will,’ he cried, ‘ must! and if there is a God who cares for the poor, I shall have satisfaction of this confounded Baron, who beat me as if I were a dog, but I am a man notwithstanding, and I am quite ready to prove the same to him’.” Thibault runs off with the spear but is again unsuccessful with his next attempt: “it would appear that the good God whom he had just invoked, either had not heard him, or wished to drive him to extremities, for his third attempt had no greater success than the previous ones.” Thibault then becomes so determined that he now calls upon the devil for help: “ ‘By Heaven!’ exclaimed Thibault, ‘God Almighty is assuredly deaf, it seems Let the Devil [le diable] then open his ears and hear me! In the name of God or of the Devil, I want you and I will have you, cursed animal [animal maudit] !’ ” The deer passes him for the fourth time and disappears into the bushes. It happens so fast Thibault misses his chance to hit it. He then hears the hunting dogs approaching and decides it is too risky to continue hunting. “He looked round him, saw a thickly-leaved oak tree, threw his boar-spear into a bush, swarmed up the trunk, and hid himself among the foliage.” (2.3) Five minutes after Thibault climbed into the tree to hide, the hunting party comes by, and Vez is enraged that after four hours on the trail they had not caught the buck. “To lose four hours over a wretched deer and still to be running behind it! Such a thing had never happened to him before.” As they arrive below the tree where Thibault hides, the dogs stop: “All of a sudden, just as the hounds, that were crying in concert in a way which more and more delighted the Baron’s ears, were passing under the tree where Thibault was perched, the whole pack came to a standstill, and every tongue was silenced as by enchantment [par enchantement].” In anger, Vez yells “Ten thousand devils [Mille noms d’un diable] !” Vez then insults the dogs, calling them trash. The chief pricker (whipper-in) Marcotte takes offense and defends the dog’s dignity. But neither can explain why the dogs have gone silent. Marcotte says: “ ‘I cannot explain it any more than you can, my Lord; the damned animal [daim maudit] must have flown into the clouds or disappeared in the bowels of the earth [dans les entrailles de la terre]’.” Marcotte then notes the supernatural aspect of the event: “What is a truth, what is the fact, is that there is some witchcraft [la sorcellerie] behind all this. As sure as it is now daylight, my dogs, every one of them, lay down at the same moment, suddenly, without an instant hesitation. Ask anybody who was near them at the time. And now they are not even trying to recover the scent, but there they lie flat on the ground like so many stags in their lair. I ask you, is it natural [Est-ce naturel] ?” To offer explanation, the keepers of the hounds Engoulevent tells Vez to look up into the tree to see the “cuckoo” (Thibault) hiding there. Thibault had climbed to the top, and Vez could not see that it was he. Vez calls for him to climb down to talk, but Thibault remains silent. Vez then shoots the branch Thibault stood upon, and Thibault falls to the ground with the other branches breaking his fall. Upon seeing it is Thibault, Vez says: “ ‘By Beelzebub’s horns [Par les cornes de monseigneur Belzébuth] !’ exclaimed the Baron, delighted with his own skill, ‘if it is not my joker of the morning! Ah! so, you scamp! did the discourse you had with my whip seem too short to you, that you are so anxious to take it up again where we left off?’ ” Thibault explains that he was cutting dry branches for fuel. Vez asks, what happened to the deer? Marcotte notes: “By the devil [par le diable], he ought to know, seeing that he has been perched up there so as not to lose any of its movements.” Thibault swears however that he has no idea about this buck they are hunting. Marcotte then notes that it is here where the buck’s tracks end. So Vez says to Thibault that surely he must have heard the buck go by. Then Marcotte declares that Thibault killed the buck and hid it in a bush. Thibault swears “by all the saints in paradise” that he did not kill the buck. He says had he done so, there would be blood and his weapon. “But unfortunately for Thibault, he had hardly uttered these words, before Maître Engoulevent, who had been prowling about for some minutes past, re-appeared, carrying the boar-spear which Thibault had thrown into one of the bushes before climbing up the tree. He handed the weapon to the Baron. There was no doubt about it—Engoulevent was Thibault’s evil genius [mauvais génie].”
[Vez and Thibault’s Brutal Encounter]
[Thibault’s Buck-Hunt]
[Thibault’s Catch and Thibault Caught]
Summary
[Vez and Thibault’s Brutal Encounter]
[(Recall from section 1 that Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez and chief wolf-hunter to Louis Philippe of Orleans, is leading a hunting party that is chasing a buck, and they have just arrived upon “the hut of Thibault, the sabot-maker,” that is, the “shoe-maker, the real hero of the tale” (p. 14, section 1.3)). As the weather is fine that autumn day, Thibault is working in his open lean-to. “Looking up, he suddenly espied the trembling animal, quivering in every limb, standing a few paces in front of him, gazing at him with intelligent and terrified eyes.” Thibault was aware of the ongoing hunt, and he complains of how the lords dine on fresh meats and aged wines every meal all while he can normally afford just potatoes and water. Soon after, Vez arrives and rudely addresses Thibault as “you scoundrel!” and asks him if he has seen the beast they are hunting. Thibault, offended, pretends not to know, saying, “what beast?” After Vez describes the buck, Thibault continues to pretend to be stupid and seems confused about whether they are taking about the buck’s horns or hooves. Impatiently, Vez begins asking Thibault relevant questions about the buck. Thibault says he does not know where the buck went. Vez asks, “Is it some while ago the buck passed this way, Master Simpleton?” Thibault answers, the day before yesterday, but he cannot stop from smiling. Vez comes at Thibault with a whip but Thibault takes shelter in his lean to. Thibault still lies and claims he did not see the buck, even though Vez points to its tracks on the ground. Angrily, Vez says, “Silence, and come here, blackguard!” When Thibault emerges from the lean to, Vez strikes him with the butt end of his whip. While Thibault begins falling face forward to the ground, Vez kicks him in the chest, sending him flying backward against his hut door. Vez says, “take that for your lie, and that for your banter!” Just then the hounds catch the buck’s scent again, and Vez rides off.]
[ditto]
Donc, comme nous avons dit, le daim vint se faire battre dans les bordures d’Oigny, tournant et virant autour de la hutte de Thibault.
Or, comme il faisait beau, quoique ce fût déjà vers l’automne, et que même l’automne fût avancé, Thibault creusait un sabot sous son appentis.
Tout à coup, Thibault aperçut à trente pas de lui le daim tout frissonnant, tremblant sur ses quatre jambes et le regardant de son œil intelligent et effaré.
Depuis longtemps, Thibault entendait la chasse qui tournoyait à l’entour d’Oigny, se rapprochant, s’éloignant, se rapprochant encore du village.
La vue du daim n’eut donc rien qui l’étonnât.
Il suspendit le mouvement de son paroir, dont il faisait cependant grande besogne, et se mit à contempler l’animal.
– Par la Saint-Sabot ! dit-il, – la Saint-Sabot, avons-nous besoin de le dire, est la fête des sabotiers –, par la Saint-Sabot ! dit-il, voilà un joli morceau, et qui ferait bien le pendant du chamois que j’ai mangé à Vienne, au grand repas des compagnons du Dauphiné ! Bienheureux ceux qui peuvent se mettre tous les jours un morceau d’une pareille bête sous la dent ! J’en ai mangé une fois dans ma vie, voici tantôt quatre ans, et, au bout de ces quatre ans, quand j’y pense, l’eau m’en vient à la bouche. Oh ! les seigneurs ! les seigneurs ! à chaque repas, c’est de la viande nouvelle et des vins vieux, tandis que moi, je mange des pommes de terre et bois de l’eau toute la semaine ; et à grand-peine, le dimanche, m’est-il permis de faire lie d’un mauvais lopin de lard rance, d’un chou monté pour les trois quarts du temps, et d’un verre de pignolet à faire danser ma chèvre !
Vous comprenez bien que, dès les premiers mots de ce monologue, le daim était parti.
Thibault en avait détaillé toutes les périodes et en était arrivé à la fin par l’heureuse péroraison que nous venons de dire, quand il s’était entendu rudement apostropher d’un vigoureux :
– Holà ! maroufle ! réponds-moi.
C’était le seigneur Jean, dont les chiens balançaient, et qui tenait à s’assurer qu’ils n’avaient pas pris le change.
– Holà ! maroufle ! disait le louvetier, as-tu vu l’animal ? Sans doute, la façon dont le baron le questionnait déplut au sabotier philosophe, car, quoiqu’il sût parfaitement de quoi il était question :
– Quel animal ? dit-il.
– Eh ! ventredieu ! le daim que nous chassons ! Il a dû passer à cinquante pas d’ici peut-être, et en bayant aux corneilles comme tu fais, tu as dû le voir. C’est un dix-cors, n’est-ce pas ? Par où a-t-il pris ses refuites ?… Parle donc, drôle, ou je te fais donner les étrivières !…
– Que la peste t’étouffe, enfant de louve ! dit tout bas le sabotier.
Puis, tout haut, et feignant un air naïf :
– Ah ! oui bien, dit-il, je l’ai vu.
– Un mâle, n’est-ce pas, avec des bois superbes ? Un dix-cors ?
– Ah ! oui bien, mâle, avec des bois superbes ; je l’ai vu comme je vous vois, monseigneur ; mais je ne puis pas vous dire s’il a des cors, je ne lui ai point regardé aux pieds. En tout cas, ajouta-t-il d’un air niais, s’il en avait, ils ne l’empêchaient point de courir.
Dans un autre moment, le baron Jean eût ri de cette naïveté, qu’il eût pu croire réelle ; mais les ruses de l’animal commençaient à donner au baron Jean la fièvre de Saint-Hubert.
– Allons, maroufle, trêve de plaisanteries ! Si tu es de joyeuse humeur, je ne le suis pas.
– Je serai de l’humeur qu’il plaira à monseigneur que je sois.
– Voyons, réponds-moi.
– Monseigneur n’a rien demandé encore.
– Le daim paraissait-il fatigué ?
– Mais pas trop.
– D’où venait-il ?
– Il ne venait pas, il était arrêté.
– Mais, enfin, il venait de quelque part ?
– Ah ! ça, c’est probable, mais je ne l’ai pas vu venir.
– Et par où est-il parti ?
– Je vous le dirais bien, mais je ne l’ai pas vu s’en aller.
Le seigneur de Vez regarda Thibault de travers.
– Y a-t-il longtemps que le daim est passé, monsieur le drôle ? demanda-t-il.
– Pas si longtemps, monseigneur.
– Combien de temps, à peu près ?
Thibault fit semblant de chercher dans ses souvenirs.
– C’était, je crois, avant-hier, finit-il par répondre.
Seulement, en disant ces derniers mots, le sabotier ne put dissimuler un sourire. Ce sourire n’échappa point au baron Jean, qui, donnant de l’éperon à son cheval, arriva sur Thibault le fouet levé. Thibault était leste. D’un saut, il se trouva sous son appentis, où, tant qu’il resterait sur son cheval, le louvetier ne pouvait pénétrer. Thibault était donc momentanément en sûreté.
– Tu gouailles et tu mens ! s’écria le veneur ; car voici Marcassino, mon meilleur chien, qui se rabat et se récrie à vingt pas d’ici, et, si le daim a passé où est Marcassino, il a traversé la haie ; il est donc impossible que tu ne l’aies pas aperçu.
– Pardon, monseigneur ; mais il n’y a, dit notre curé, que le pape qui soit infaillible, et M. Marcassino peut se tromper.
– Marcassino ne se trompe jamais, entends-tu, belître ! et la preuve, c’est que, d’ici, je vois le régalis où l’animal a gratté.
– Cependant, monseigneur, je vous proteste, je vous jure…, dit Thibault, qui voyait avec inquiétude les noirs sourcils du baron se rapprocher.
– Paix, et avance ici, maroufle ! s’écria le seigneur Jean.
Thibault hésita un moment ; mais la physionomie du chasseur devenait de plus en plus menaçante : il comprit qu’une désobéissance ne ferait que l’exaspérer davantage, et, espérant que le louvetier avait quelque service à réclamer de lui, il se décida à quitter son refuge.
Mal lui en prit, car il n’avait pas dépassé de quatre pas le toit qui le protégeait, que le cheval du seigneur de Vez, enlevé du mors et de l’éperon, bondissait et venait s’abattre près de lui, et cela en même temps qu’il recevait sur la tête un furieux coup de manche du fouet.
Le sabotier, étourdi du coup, chancela, perdit l’équilibre et s’en allait tomber le visage contre terre, lorsque le baron Jean, déchaussant son étrier et lui envoyant un vigoureux coup de pied dans la poitrine, non seulement le redressa, mais encore, faisant prendre au pauvre diable une direction opposée, l’envoya tomber à la renverse contre la porte de sa cabane.
– Tiens, dit le baron en lui administrant le coup de fouet d’abord et le coup de pied ensuite, tiens, voici pour le mensonge et voici pour la gouaillerie !
Sur quoi, et sans s’inquiéter autrement de Thibault, qui était étendu les quatre fers en l’air, le seigneur Jean, s’apercevant que sa meute avait rallié au cri de Marcassino, sonna un joyeux son pour les chiens et s’éloigna au petit galop de son cheval.
(42-46)
AS already said, the buck began to dodge and double on reaching Oigny, turning and twisting round Thibault’s hut, and the weather being fine although the autumn was well advanced, the shoe-maker was sitting at his work in his open lean-to. Looking up, he suddenly espied the trembling animal, quivering in every limb, standing a few paces in front of him, gazing at him with intelligent and terrified eyes.
Thibault had been for a long time aware that the hunt was circling around Oigny, at one time drawing near to the village, and then receding, only to draw near again.
There was nothing therefore very surprising to him in the sight of the buck, yet he stayed his hand, although he was busy at work, and contemplated the animal.
“Saint Sabot!” he exclaimed—I should explain, that the festival of Saint Sabot is the wooden-shoe fête—“Saint Sabot! but that is a dainty morsel and would taste as fine, I warrant, as the chamois I ate at Vienne once at the grand banquet of the Jolly Shoe-makers of Dauphiné. Lucky folk who can dine on the like every day. I tasted such once, it is now nearly four years ago, and my mouth waters now when I think of it. Oh! these lords! these lords! with their fresh meats and their old wines at every meal, while I have to be satisfied with potatoes to eat and water to drink from one week’s end to the other; and it is a chance if even on Sunday, I can feast myself with a lump of rusty bacon and an old cabbage, and a glass of pignolet fit to make my old goat stand on her head.”
It need scarcely be said, that as soon as Thibault began this monologue, the buck had turned and disappeared. Thibault had finished rounding his periods, and had just declaimed his peroration, when he heard himself roughly accosted in forcible terms:
“Ho, there, you scoundrel! answer me.”
It was the Baron, who seeing his dogs wavering, was anxious to make sure that they were not on the wrong scent.
“Ho, there, you scoundrel!” repeated the wolf-hunter, “have you seen the beast?”
There was evidently something in the manner of the Baron’s questioning which did not please our philosophical shoe-maker, for although he was perfectly aware what was the matter, he answered: “what beast?”
“Curse you! why, the buck we are hunting! He must have passed close by here, and standing gaping as you do, you must have seen him. It was a fine stag of ten, was it not? Which way did he go? Speak up, you blackguard, or you shall have a taste of my stirrup-leather!”
“The black plague take him, cub of a wolf!” muttered the shoe-maker to himself.
Then, aloud, with a fine air of pretended simplicity, “Ah, yes!” he said, “I did see him.”
“A buck, was it not? a ten-tiner, eh? with great horns.”
“Ah, yes to be sure, a buck, with great horns,—or great corns, was it? yes, I saw him as plain as I see you, my Lord. But there, I can’t say if he had any corns, for I did not look at his feet, anyhow,” he added, with the air of a perfect simpleton, “if he had corns, they did not prevent him running.”
At any other time the Baron would have laughed at what he might have taken for genuine stupidity; but the doublings of the animal were beginning to put him into a regular huntsman’s fever.
“Now, then, you scoundrel, a truce to this jesting! If you are in a humour for jokes, it is more than I am!”
“I will be in whatever humour it may please your Lordship I should be.”
“Well, then, answer me.”
“Your Lordship has asked me nothing as yet.”
“Did the deer seem tired?”
“Not very.”
“Which way did he come?”
“He did not come, he was standing still.”
“Well, but he must have come from one side or the other.”
“Ah! very likely, but I did not see him come.”
“Which way did he go?”
“I would tell you directly; only I did not see him go.”
The Lord of Vez cast an angry look at Thibault.
“Is it some while ago the buck passed this way, Master Simpleton?”
“Not so very long, my Lord.”
“About how long ago?”
Thibault made as if trying to remember; at last he replied:
“It was, I think, the day before yesterday,” but in saying this, the shoe-maker, unfortunately, could not suppress a grin. This grin did not escape the Baron, who, spurring his horse, rode down on Thibault with lifted whip.
Thibault was agile, and with a single bound he reached the shelter of his lean-to, whither the wolf-hunter could not follow, as long as he remained mounted; Thibault was therefore in momentary safety.
“You are only bantering and lying!” cried the huntsman, “for there is Marcassino, my best hound, giving cry not twenty yards off, and if the deer passed by where Marcassino is, he must have come over the hedge, and it is impossible, therefore, that you did not see him.”
“Pardon, my Lord, but according to our good priest, no one but the Pope is infallible, and Monsieur Marcassino may be mistaken.”
“Marcassino is never mistaken, do you hear, you rascal! and in proof of it I can see from here the marks where the animal scratched up the ground.”
“Nevertheless, my Lord, I assure you, I swear....” said Thibault, who saw the Baron’s eyebrows contracting in a way that made him feel uneasy.
“Silence, and come here, blackguard!” cried my lord.
Thibault hesitated a moment, but the black look on the sportsman’s face became more and more threatening, and fearing to increase his exasperation by disobeying his command, he thought he had better go forward, hoping that the Baron merely wished to ask a service of him.
But it was an unlucky move on his part, for scarcely had he emerged from the protection of the shed, before the horse of the Lord of Vez, urged by bit and spur, gave a leap, which brought his rider swooping down upon Thibault, while at the same moment a furious blow from the butt end of the Baron’s whip fell upon his head.
The shoe-maker, stunned by the blow, tottered a moment, lost his balance and was about to fall face downwards, when the Baron, drawing his foot out of the stirrup, with a violent kick in the chest, not only straightened him again, but sent the poor wretch flying in an opposite direction, where he fell with his back against the door of his hut.
“Take that!” said the Baron, as he first felled Thibault with his whip, and then kicked him, “take that for your lie, and that for your banter!”
And then, without troubling himself any further about the man, whom he left lying on his back, the Lord of Vez, seeing that the hounds had rallied on hearing Marcassino’s cry, gave them a cheery note on his horn, and cantered away.
(16-18)
[Thibault’s Buck-Hunt]
[Thibault rises and checks for any broken bones. He vengefully vows to be the one who eats that buck tonight. He then gets his bill-hook and boar-spear and runs hell-bent as directly as possible to where he senses the buck is going to be. He considers his two possibilities for getting the buck: {1} he hides beside the path the buck will have to take and kill it with his boar-spear, or {2} he can “surprise the animal just as he was being hunted down by the dogs, and collar him there and then.” While he runs, he dreams both gluttonously of the great food he would be eating after capturing the animal and he also dreams vengefully of Vez’s disappointment as he returns home without a catch. Thibault calculates that the deer would take a particular bridge, so he hides nearby behind a rock and waits for it. When it comes, Thibault throws his spear and misses, and the buck runs away across the bridge. But this comes as a surprise, because Thibault is highly skilled with the spear. He grabs the spear from the ground and runs off toward the buck. He gets ahead of the deer and hides behind a tree, waiting for it. This time, even though the buck comes very close to him, he still misses it (so it seems) with his spear-throw. Now the hunting party approaches, yet Thibault is resolved: “ ‘I must have it, come what will,’ he cried, ‘ must! and if there is a God who cares for the poor, I shall have satisfaction of this confounded Baron, who beat me as if I were a dog, but I am a man notwithstanding, and I am quite ready to prove the same to him’.” Thibault runs off with the spear but is again unsuccessful with his next attempt: “it would appear that the good God whom he had just invoked, either had not heard him, or wished to drive him to extremities, for his third attempt had no greater success than the previous ones.” Thibault then becomes so determined that he now calls upon the devil for help: “ ‘By Heaven!’ exclaimed Thibault, ‘God Almighty is assuredly deaf, it seems Let the Devil [le diable] then open his ears and hear me! In the name of God or of the Devil, I want you and I will have you, cursed animal [animal maudit] !’ ” The deer passes him for the fourth time and disappears into the bushes. It happens so fast Thibault misses his chance to hit it. He then hears the hunting dogs approaching and decides it is too risky to continue hunting. “He looked round him, saw a thickly-leaved oak tree, threw his boar-spear into a bush, swarmed up the trunk, and hid himself among the foliage.”]
[ditto]
Thibault se releva tout endolori, se tâtant de la tête aux pieds pour s’assurer s’il n’avait rien de cassé.
– Allons, allons, dit-il, après s’être caressé chaque membre l’un après l’autre, je vois avec satisfaction qu’il n’y a rien de cassé ni en haut ni en bas. Ah ! seigneur baron, voilà comment vous traitez les gens parce que vous avez épousé la bâtarde d’un prince ! Eh bien, tout grand louvetier, tout grand veneur que vous êtes, ce n’est pas vous qui mangerez le daim que vous chassez ; ce sera ce belître, ce maroufle, ce drôle de Thibault qui le mangera. Ah ! oui, que je le mangerai, j’en fais serment ! s’écria le sabotier s’affermissant de plus en plus dans sa hasardeuse résolution ; et il ne faudrait pas être un homme pour, ayant fait un serment, ne le pas tenir.
Et aussitôt, passant sa serpe à sa ceinture et prenant son épieu, Thibault écouta l’aboi des chiens, s’orienta, et, devenant la corde de l’arc dont le daim et la meute faisaient le cercle, il prit les grands devants avec toute la vitesse dont les jambes d’un homme sont capables.
Thibault avait deux chances : s’embusquer sur la route du daim et le tuer avec son épieu, ou le surprendre au moment où il serait forcé par les chiens, et s’emparer de lui.
Le désir de se venger de la brutalité du baron Jean ne dominait point tellement Thibault, qu’il ne songeât, tout en courant, à l’excellente chère qu’il allait faire, pendant près d’un mois, des épaules, du râble et des cuissots du daim, marinés à point, rôtis à la broche, ou coupés par tranches et frits dans la poêle.
Au reste, ces deux idées, vengeance et gourmandise, se combinaient de telle sorte dans son cerveau, que, tout en courant mieux que de plus belle, il riait dans sa barbe en voyant à la fois en perspective la mine piteuse du baron et de ses gens regagnant le château de Vez après ce honteux buisson creux, et sa propre physionomie, lorsque, la porte bien fermée, une bonne chopine de vin près de lui, il serait attablé tête à tête avec un cuissot de l’animal, et qu’un jus parfumé et sanguinolent s’échapperait dudit cuissot sous le fil du couteau y revenant pour la troisième ou quatrième fois.
Le daim, autant qu’en pouvait juger Thibault, prenait la direction du pont placé sur la rivière d’Ourcq, entre Noroy et Troesne.
À l’époque où ces événements se passent, il y avait un pont jeté d’une rive à l’autre, et formé de deux madriers et de quelques planches.
Comme la rivière était très haute et très rapide, Thibault pensa que le daim ne se hasarderait point à la passer à gué.
En conséquence, il se cacha derrière un rocher, à portée du pont, et attendit.
Bientôt, à dix pas du rocher, il vit tout à coup se dresser la tête gracieuse du daim qui, tournant ses oreilles du côté du vent, cherchait à saisir dans la brise le bruit que faisaient ses ennemis.
Thibault, très ému par cette soudaine apparition, se leva derrière sa pierre, assura son épieu dans sa main et le lança précipitamment sur l’animal.
Le daim fit d’abord un bond qui le porta au milieu du pont, puis un second qui le porta sur la rive opposée ; enfin, d’un troisième, il disparut aux yeux de Thibault.
L’épieu avait passé au moins à un pied de l’animal, et s’était enfoncé dans le gazon à quinze pas de celui qui l’avait lancé.
Jamais Thibault n’avait commis une telle maladresse ; Thibault, le compagnon du tour de France le plus sûr de son coup !
Aussi, tout enragé de colère contre lui-même, ramassa-t-il son arme, et, bondissant aussi lestement que le daim, passa-t-il le pont où l’animal l’avait passé.
Thibault connaissait le pays aussi bien que le daim lui-même. Aussi prit-il les grands devants et s’embusqua-t-il derrière un hêtre, à mi-côte, pas trop loin d’un petit sentier.
Cette fois, le daim passa si près de lui, que Thibault se demanda s’il ne valait pas mieux l’assommer avec son épieu que de le lui lancer.
Ce moment d’hésitation n’eut que la durée de l’éclair ; mais l’éclair lui-même n’est pas plus rapide que ne l’était l’animal ; de sorte qu’il était déjà à vingt pas de Thibault lorsque Thibault lui lança son épieu, et cela, sans être plus heureux cette seconde fois que la première.
Cependant il entendait l’aboi des chiens qui allait toujours se rapprochant ; il sentait que quelques minutes écoulées encore, il lui deviendrait impossible d’exécuter son projet.
Mais, il faut le dire en l’honneur de la persistance de Thibault, son désir de s’emparer du daim devenait plus grand au fur et à mesure que la difficulté augmentait.
– Il me le faut cependant, s’écria-t-il, oui ! et, s’il y a un Bon Dieu pour les pauvres gens, j’aurai raison de ce misérable baron, qui m’a battu comme un chien, moi qui suis un homme cependant, et tout prêt à le lui prouver.
Thibault ramassa son épieu et reprit sa course.
Mais on eût dit que ce Bon Dieu qu’il venait d’invoquer, ou ne l’avait pas entendu, ou voulait le pousser à bout, car la troisième tentative n’eut pas plus de succès que les deux autres.
– Mille tonnerres ! cria Thibault, le Bon Dieu est décidément sourd, à ce qu’il paraît. Eh bien, alors, que le diable ouvre les oreilles et m’entende donc ! Au nom de Dieu ou du diable, je te veux et je t’aurai, animal maudit !
Thibault n’avait point achevé ce double blasphème, que le daim, faisant un retour, passait pour la quatrième fois près de lui et disparaissait dans les buissons.
Ce dernier passage fut si rapide et si inattendu, que Thibault n’eut pas même le temps de lever son épieu.
En ce moment, les abois des chiens se firent entendre si près de Thibault, qu’il jugea qu’il serait imprudent de continuer sa poursuite.
Il regarda autour de lui, vit un chêne touffu, jeta son épieu dans un buisson, prit le chêne à bras-le-corps et se dissimula dans le feuillage.
(46-49)
Thibault lifted himself up, feeling bruised all over, and began feeling himself from head to foot to make sure that no bones were broken.
Having carefully passed his hand over each limb in succession, “that’s all right,” he said, “there is nothing broken either above or below, I am glad to find. So, my Lord Baron, that is how you treat people, because you happen to have married a Prince’s bastard daughter! But let me tell you, my fine fellow, it is not you who will eat the buck you are hunting to-day; it will be this blackguard, this scoundrel, this simpleton of a Thibault who will eat it. Yes, it shall be I who eat it, that I vow!” cried Thibault, confirming himself more and more in his bold resolution, and it is no use being a man if having once made a vow, one fails to keep it.
So without further delay, Thibault thrust his bill-hook into his belt, seized his boar-spear, and after listening for a moment to the cry of the hounds to ascertain in which direction the hunt had gone, he ran off with all the speed of which a man’s legs are capable to get the start of them, guessing by the curve which the stag and its pursuers were following what would be the straight line to take so as to intercept them.
There were two ways of doing his deed open to Thibault; either to hide himself beside the path which the buck must take and kill him with his boar-spear, or else to surprise the animal just as he was being hunted down by the dogs, and collar him there and then.
And as he ran, the desire to revenge himself on the Baron for the latter’s brutality, was not so uppermost in Thibault’s mind as the thoughts of the sumptuous manner in which he would fare for the next month, on the shoulders, the back, and the haunches of the deer, either salted to a turn, roasted on the spit, or cut in slices and done in the pan. And these two ideas, moreover, of vengeance and gluttony, were so jumbled up in his brain, that while still running at the top of his speed he laughed in his sleeve, as he pictured the dejected mien of the Baron and his men returning to the castle after their fruitless day’s hunt, and at the same time saw himself seated at table, the door securely fastened, and a pint of wine beside him, tête-à-tête with a haunch of the deer, the rich and delicious gravy escaping as the knife returned for a third or fourth cut.
The deer, as far as Thibault could calculate, was making for the bridge which crosses the Ourcq, between Noroy and Troesne. At the time of which we are now speaking there was a bridge spanning the river, formed of two joists and a few planks. As the river was very high and very rapid, Thibault decided that the deer would not attempt to ford it; so he hid himself behind a rock, within reach of the bridge, and waited.
It was not long before he saw the graceful head of the deer appear above the rock at some ten paces’ distance; the animal was bending its ears to the wind, in the endeavour to catch the sound of the enemy’s approach as it was borne along the breeze. Thibault, excited by this sudden appearance, rose from behind the rock, poised his boar-spear and sent it flying towards the animal.
The buck, with a single bound, reached the middle of the bridge, a second carried him on to the opposite bank, and a third bore him out of sight.
The boar-spear had passed within a foot of the animal, and had buried itself in the grass fifteen paces from where Thibault was standing. Never before had he been known to make such an unskilful throw; he, Thibault, of all the company who made the tour of France, the one known to be surest of his aim! Enraged with himself, therefore, he picked up his weapon, and bounded across the bridge with an agility equal to that of the deer.
Thibault knew the country quite as well as the animal he was pursuing, and so got ahead of the deer and once more concealed himself, this time behind a beech-tree, half-way up, and not too far from a little footpath.
The deer now passed so close to him, that Thibault hesitated as to whether it would not be better to knock the animal down with his boar-spear than to throw the weapon at it; but his hesitation did not last longer than a flash of lightning, for no lightning could be quicker than the animal itself, which was already twenty paces off when Thibault threw his boar-spear, but without better luck than the time before.
And now the baying of the hounds was drawing nearer and nearer; another few minutes, and it would, he felt, be impossible for him to carry out his design. But in honour to his spirit of persistence, be it said, that in proportion as the difficulty increased, the greater became Thibault’s desire to get possession of the deer.
“I must have it, come what will,” he cried, “I must! and if there is a God who cares for the poor, I shall have satisfaction of this confounded Baron, who beat me as if I were a dog, but I am a man notwithstanding, and I am quite ready to prove the same to him.” And Thibault picked up his boar-spear and once more set off running. But it would appear that the good God whom he had just invoked, either had not heard him, or wished to drive him to extremities, for his third attempt had no greater success than the previous ones.
“By Heaven!” exclaimed Thibault, “God Almighty is assuredly deaf, it seems Let the Devil [le diable] then open his ears and hear me! In the name of God or of the Devil, I want you and I will have you, cursed animal [animal maudit] !”
Thibault had hardly finished this double blasphemy when the buck, doubling back, passed close to him for the fourth time, and disappeared among the bushes, but so quickly and unexpectedly, that Thibault had not even time to lift his boar-spear.
At that moment he heard the dogs so near him, that he deemed it would be imprudent to continue his pursuit. He looked round him, saw a thickly-leaved oak tree, threw his boar-spear into a bush, swarmed up the trunk, and hid himself among the foliage.
(18-19)
[Thibault’s Catch and Thibault Caught]
[Five minutes after Thibault climbed into the tree to hide, the hunting party comes by, and Vez is enraged that after four hours on the trail they had not caught the buck. “To lose four hours over a wretched deer and still to be running behind it! Such a thing had never happened to him before.” As they arrive below the tree where Thibault hides, the dogs stop: “All of a sudden, just as the hounds, that were crying in concert in a way which more and more delighted the Baron’s ears, were passing under the tree where Thibault was perched, the whole pack came to a standstill, and every tongue was silenced as by enchantment [par enchantement].” In anger, Vez yells “Ten thousand devils [Mille noms d’un diable] !” Vez then insults the dogs, calling them trash. The chief pricker (whipper-in) Marcotte takes offense and defends the dog’s dignity. But neither can explain why the dogs have gone silent. Marcotte says: “ ‘I cannot explain it any more than you can, my Lord; the damned animal [daim maudit] must have flown into the clouds or disappeared in the bowels of the earth [dans les entrailles de la terre]’.” Marcotte then notes the supernatural aspect of the event: “What is a truth, what is the fact, is that there is some witchcraft [la sorcellerie] behind all this. As sure as it is now daylight, my dogs, every one of them, lay down at the same moment, suddenly, without an instant hesitation. Ask anybody who was near them at the time. And now they are not even trying to recover the scent, but there they lie flat on the ground like so many stags in their lair. I ask you, is it natural [Est-ce naturel] ?” To offer explanation, the keepers of the hounds Engoulevent tells Vez to look up into the tree to see the “cuckoo” (Thibault) hiding there. Thibault had climbed to the top, and Vez could not see that it was he. Vez calls for him to climb down to talk, but Thibault remains silent. Vez then shoots the branch Thibault stood upon, and Thibault falls to the ground with the other branches breaking his fall. Upon seeing it is Thibault, Vez says: “ ‘By Beelzebub’s horns [Par les cornes de monseigneur Belzébuth] !’ exclaimed the Baron, delighted with his own skill, ‘if it is not my joker of the morning! Ah! so, you scamp! did the discourse you had with my whip seem too short to you, that you are so anxious to take it up again where we left off?’ ” Thibault explains that he was cutting dry branches for fuel. Vez asks, what happened to the deer? Marcotte notes: “By the devil [par le diable], he ought to know, seeing that he has been perched up there so as not to lose any of its movements.” Thibault swears however that he has no idea about this buck they are hunting. Marcotte then notes that it is here where the buck’s tracks end. So Vez says to Thibault that surely he must have heard the buck go by. Then Marcotte declares that Thibault killed the buck and hid it in a bush. Thibault swears “by all the saints in paradise” that he did not kill the buck. He says had he done so, there would be blood and his weapon. “But unfortunately for Thibault, he had hardly uttered these words, before Maître Engoulevent, who had been prowling about for some minutes past, re-appeared, carrying the boar-spear which Thibault had thrown into one of the bushes before climbing up the tree. He handed the weapon to the Baron. There was no doubt about it—Engoulevent was Thibault’s evil genius [mauvais génie].”]
[ditto]
Il présumait, avec raison, que, puisque le daim avait repris sa course, la chasse et les chasseurs ne feraient que passer tout en suivant le crochet de l’animal.
Les chiens n’avaient point perdu sa voie. Malgré ses ruses, ils ne la perdraient pas pour un simple crochet.
Thibault n’était pas branché depuis cinq minutes, qu’il vit arriver les chiens, puis le baron Jean, qui, malgré ses cinquante-cinq ans, tenait la tête de la chasse comme s’il n’en eût eu que vingt.
Seulement, le seigneur Jean était dans une rage que nous n’essayerons pas de dépeindre.
Perdre quatre heures sur un misérable daim et chasser ses arrières encore !
Jamais pareille chose ne lui était arrivée.
Il gourmandait ses gens, il fouettait ses chiens, et il avait si bien labouré le ventre de son cheval avec ses éperons, que le sang qui s’en échappait avait donné une teinte rougeâtre à l’épaisse couche de boue qui recouvrait ses houseaux.
Cependant, lorsque la chasse était arrivée au pont de la rivière d’Ourcq, le baron avait eu un moment d’allègement ; la meute avait pris la piste avec tant d’ensemble, que, lorsqu’elle traversa le pont, le manteau que le louvetier portait en croupe eût suffi à les couvrir tous.
En ce moment-là, le seigneur Jean fut si satisfait, qu’il ne se contenta pas de fredonner un bien-aller, mais encore qu’il détacha sa trompe et le sonna à pleins poumons, ce qu’il ne faisait que dans les grandes occasions.
Mais, par malheur, la joie du seigneur Jean ne devait pas être de longue durée.
Tout à coup, juste au-dessous de l’arbre où était juché Thibault, au moment où les chiens, se récriant tous ensemble, faisaient un concert qui charmait de plus en plus les oreilles du baron, la meute entière tomba à bout de voie, et tout se tut comme par enchantement.
Marcotte alors, sur l’ordre de son maître, descendit de cheval et essaya d’en revoir.
Les valets de chiens s’en mêlèrent et secondèrent les recherches de Marcotte.
On ne revit rien.
Mais Engoulevent, qui tenait énormément à ce que l’on sonnât l’hallali de l’animal qu’il avait détourné, Engoulevent s’en mêla et chercha de son côté.
Chacun cherchait, criant et animant les chiens, lorsque au-dessus de toutes les voix on entendit, bruyante comme la tempête, la voix du baron.
– Mille noms d’un diable ! hurlait-il, les chiens sont donc tombés dans un trou, Marcotte ?
– Non, monseigneur, les voici ; mais ils sont à bout de voie.
– Comment, à bout de voie ? s’écria le baron.
– Que voulez-vous, monseigneur ! Je n’y comprends rien, mais c’est comme cela.
– À bout de voie ? reprit le baron ; à bout de voie ici, en pleine forêt, là où il n’y a ni ruisseau où la bête ait rusé, ni rocher qu’elle ait escaladé ? Mais tu es fou, Marcotte !
– Moi, fou, monseigneur ?
– Oui, toi, fou, aussi vrai que les chiens sont des rosses !
Marcotte supportait d’ordinaire avec une patience admirable les injures dont le baron était fort prodigue envers tout le monde dans les moments critiques de la chasse. Mais cette épithète de rosses, appliquée à ses chiens, le fit sortir de sa longanimité habituelle, et, se redressant de toute sa hauteur :
– Comment ! monseigneur, des rosses ? reprit-il avec véhémence. — Mes chiens, des rosses ! eux qui ont porté bas un vieux loup après un laissez-courre si furieux, que votre meilleur cheval en a crevé ! Mes chiens, des rosses !
– Oui, des rosses, je le répète, Marcotte. Il n’y a que des rosses qui puissent mettre bas de la sorte sur un daim après une misérable chasse de quelques heures.
– Monseigneur, répliqua Marcotte avec une émotion à la fois digne et douloureuse, monseigneur, dites que c’est ma faute, dites que je suis un imbécile, un animal, un maroufle, un bélître, une buse ; injuriez-moi dans ma personne, dans celle de ma femme, dans celle de mes enfants, cela m’est égal ; mais ne m’attaquez pas dans mes fonctions de premier piqueur, n’insultez pas vos chiens, je vous le demande au nom de tous mes services passés.
– Mais comment expliques-tu leur silence ? Dis-moi cela ! Comment l’expliques-tu ? Voyons, je ne demande pas mieux que de t’écouter, et j’écoute.
– Je ne m’explique pas plus que vous leur défaut, monseigneur ; il faut que ce daim maudit se soit envolé dans les nuages ou ait disparu dans les entrailles de la terre.
– Allons, bon ! dit le baron Jean, — voilà que notre daim se sera terré comme un lapin ou se sera levé comme un coq de bruyère.
– Monseigneur, tout cela est une manière de parler. Mais, ce qui est vrai, ce qui est un fait, c’est qu’il y a de la sorcellerie là-dessous. Aussi sûr qu’il fait jour en ce moment, mes chiens ont mis bas tout à coup sans défaut et sans balancer. Demandez à tous nos gens qui étaient près d’eux avec moi. Maintenant ils ne requièrent même pas. Voyez, les voilà tout flâtrés sur le ventre comme autant de cerfs à la reposée. Est-ce naturel ?
– Fouaille-les, fils ! Fouaille-les, alors ! s’écria le baron ; fouaille à leur roussir le poil ; il n’y a rien de pareil pour chasser le mauvais esprit !
Le baron Jean s’approchait pour appointer de quelques coups de fouet les exorcismes que Marcotte distribuait par son ordre aux pauvres bêtes, lorsque Engoulevent, s’approchant le chapeau à la main, retint timidement le cheval du baron.
– Monseigneur, dit le valet du chenil, m’est avis que je viens de découvrir dans cet arbre un coucou qui pourrait peut-être nous donner l’explication de ce qui nous arrive.
– Que diable chantes-tu avec ton coucou, fils de guenon ? dit le baron Jean. Attends, attends, drôle, et tu vas apprendre ce qu’il en coûte pour se gausser de ton seigneur !
Et le baron leva son fouet. Mais, avec le stoïcisme du Spartiate, Engoulevent leva le bras en bouclier au-dessus de sa tête et continua :
– Frappez si vous voulez, monseigneur, mais ensuite regardez dans cet arbre, et, quand Votre Seigneurie aura vu l’oiseau qui y est branché, m’est avis que vous me donnerez plutôt une pistole qu’un coup de fouet.
Et le bonhomme montrait du doigt le chêne où Thibault avait cherché un refuge en entendant venir les chasseurs. Il avait grimpé de branche en branche et s’était hissé jusqu’au faîte. Le seigneur Jean se fit une visière de sa main et aperçut Thibault.
– Voilà qui est particulier ! dit-il. Dans la forêt de Villers-Cotterêts, les daims terrent comme des renards et les hommes branchent comme des corbeaux. Mais, au reste, continua le digne seigneur, nous allons savoir à quoi nous en tenir.
Alors, abaissant la main de ses yeux à sa bouche :
– Hé ! l’ami ! cria le baron, est-ce que dix minutes de conversation avec moi te seraient particulièrement désagréables ?
Mais Thibault garda le plus profond silence.
– Monseigneur, dit Engoulevent, si vous le désirez…
Et il fit signe qu’il était prêt à monter à l’arbre.
– Non pas, non pas, dit le baron.
Et en même temps qu’il lui faisait défense de la voix, il lui faisait aussi défense de la main.
– Hé ! l’ami ! reprit le baron toujours sans reconnaître Thibault, te plairait-il de me répondre, oui ou non ?
Il fit une petite pause.
– Ah ! c’est non, à ce qu’il paraît ; tu fais le sourd ; attends, attends, je vais prendre mon porte-voix.
Et il tendit la main vers Marcotte, qui, devinant ce que voulait le baron, lui tendit sa carabine.
Thibault, qui cherchait à donner le change aux chasseurs, feignait de couper des branches mortes, et il mettait tant d’ardeur à cette feinte occupation, qu’il ne vit pas le geste du seigneur Jean, ou, s’il le vit, crut que c’était un simple geste de menace et n’y attacha pas l’importance qu’il méritait. Le louvetier attendit quelque temps la réponse demandée ; mais, voyant qu’elle ne venait pas, il pressa la gâchette ; le coup partit et l’on entendit le craquement d’une branche.
La branche qui craquait était celle où était perché Thibault.
Le fin tireur l’avait brisée entre le tronc de l’arbre et le pied du sabotier.
Privé du point d’appui qui le soutenait, Thibault roula de branche en branche. Par bonheur, l’arbre était touffu, les branches étaient fortes ; ces obstacles ralentirent la rapidité de sa chute, et, de ricochet en en ricochet, Thibault finit par se trouver sur le sol sans autre dommage qu’une grande peur et quelques menues contusions sur la partie de son corps qui avait touché terre la première.
– Par les cornes de monseigneur Belzébuth ! s’écria le baron Jean enchanté de son coup d’adresse, c’est mon gouailleur de ce matin ! Or çà, drôle ! la conversation que tu as eue avec mon fouet t’a donc semblé trop courte, que te voilà décidé à la reprendre où tu l’avais quittée ?
– Oh ! pour cela, je vous jure que non, monseigneur, reprit Thibault avec l’accent de la plus parfaite sincérité.
– Tant mieux pour ta peau, garçon. Et maintenant, voyons, dis-moi, que faisais-tu là-haut, perché sur ce chêne ?
– Monseigneur le voit bien, répondit Thibault montrant quelques brindilles éparses çà et là, je coupais du bois mort pour mon chauffage.
– Ah ! très bien. Maintenant, garçon, tu vas nous dire sans barguigner ce qu’est devenu notre daim, n’est-ce pas ?
– Eh ! par le diable ! il doit le savoir, attendu qu’il était bien placé là-haut pour ne rien perdre de ses mouvements, dit Marcotte.
– Mais, dit Thibault, je vous jure, monseigneur, que je ne sais pas ce que vous voulez dire avec ce malheureux daim.
– Ah ! par exemple, s’écria Marcotte, enchanté de faire retomber sur un autre la mauvaise humeur de son maître ; il ne l’a pas vu, il n’a pas vu l’animal, il ne sait pas ce que nous voulons dire avec notre malheureux daim ! Tenez, monseigneur, voyez : voici bien ici, sur ces feuilles, la pince de la bête ; c’est l’endroit où les chiens se sont arrêtés, et maintenant, quoique le sol soit d’un beau revoir, ni à dix, ni à vingt, ni à cent pas, nous ne retrouvons trace de l’animal.
– Tu entends ? reprit le seigneur Jean emboîtant la parole à son premier piqueur ; tu étais là-haut, le daim était à tes pieds. Que diable ! il a fait en passant plus de bruit qu’une souris, et il est impossible que tu ne l’aies pas aperçu !
– Il a tué la bique, dit Marcotte, puis il l’a cachée dans quelque buisson, voilà qui est clair comme le jour du Bon Dieu.
– Ah ! monseigneur, s’écria Thibault, qui savait mieux que personne l’erreur faite par le premier piqueur dans une pareille accusation, monseigneur, par tous les saints du paradis, je vous jure que je n’ai pas tué votre daim, je vous le jure sur le salut de mon âme, et, si je lui ai fait une seule égratignure, que je périsse à l’instant même ! D’ailleurs, si j’avais tué le daim, je ne l’aurais pas tué sans lui faire une blessure quelconque ; par cette blessure, le sang aurait coulé : cherchez, monsieur le piqueur, et, Dieu merci ! vous ne trouverez pas trace de sang. Moi, avoir tué le pauvre animal ! Et avec quoi, mon Dieu ? Où est mon arme ? Dieu merci ! je n’ai d’autre que ma serpe. Voyez plutôt, monseigneur.
Par malheur pour Thibault, il n’avait pas plutôt achevé ces paroles que maître Engoulevent qui, depuis quelques instants, rôdait dans les environs, reparut tenant en main l’épieu que Thibault avait jeté dans un buisson avant d’escalader son chêne.
Il présenta l’arme au seigneur Jean.
Engoulevent était bien décidément le mauvais génie de Thibault.
(49-56)
He imagined, and with good reason, that since the deer had gone ahead again, the hunt would only pass by following on its track. The dogs had not lost the scent, in spite of the quarry’s doublings, and they were not likely to lose it now. Thibault had not been seated among the branches for above five minutes, when first the hounds came into sight, then the Baron, who in spite of his fifty-five years, headed the chase as if he had been a man of twenty. It must be added that the Lord of Vez was in a state of rage that we will not even endeavour to describe.
To lose four hours over a wretched deer and still to be running behind it! Such a thing had never happened to him before.
He stormed at his men, he whipped his dogs, and had so ploughed his horse’s sides with his spurs, that the thick coating of mud which covered his gaiters was reddened with blood.
On reaching the bridge over the Ourcq, however, there had been an interval of alleviation for the Baron, for the hounds had so unanimously taken up the scent, that the cloak which the wolf-hunter carried behind him would have sufficed to cover the whole pack as they crossed the bridge.
Indeed the Baron was so pleased, that he was not satisfied with humming a tirra-la, but, unslinging his hunting-horn he sounded it with his full lung-power, a thing which he only did on great occasions.
But, unfortunately, the joy of my Lord of Vez was destined to be short lived.
All of a sudden, just as the hounds, that were crying in concert in a way which more and more delighted the Baron’s ears, were passing under the tree where Thibault was perched, the whole pack came to a standstill, and every tongue was silenced as by enchantment [par enchantement]. Marcotte, at his master’s command, dismounted to see if he could find any traces of the deer, the whippers-in ran up, and they and Marcotte looked about, but they could find nothing.
Then Engoulevent, who had set his heart on a view-halloo being sounded for the animal he had tracked down, joined the others, and he too began to search. Everyone was searching, calling out and trying to rouse the dogs, when above all the other voices, was heard, like the blast of a tempest, the voice of the Baron.
“Ten thousand devils [Mille noms d’un diable] !” he thundered.
“Have the dogs fallen into a pit-hole, Marcotte?”
“No, my Lord, they are here, but they are come to a check.”
“How! come to a standstill!” exclaimed the Baron.
“What is to be done, my Lord? I cannot understand what has happened, but such is the fact.”
“Come to a check!” again exclaimed the Baron, “come to a standstill, here, in the middle of the forest, here where there is no stream where the animal could have doubled, or rock for it to climb. You must be out of your mind, Marcotte!”
“I, out of my mind, my Lord?”
“Yes, you, you fool, as truly as your dogs are all worthless trash!”
As a rule, Marcotte bore with admirable patience the insults which the Baron was in the habit of lavishing upon everybody about him at critical moments of the chase, but this word trash, applied to his dogs, was more than his habitual long-suffering could bear, and drawing himself up to his full height, he answered vehemently, “Trash, my Lord? my dogs worthless trash! dogs that have brought down an old wolf after such a furious run that the best horse in your stable was foundered! my dogs trash!”
“Yes, trash, worthless trash, I say it again, Marcotte. Only trash would stop at a check like that, after hunting one wretched buck so many hours on end.”
“My Lord,” answered Marcotte, in a tone of mingled dignity and sorrow, “My Lord, say that it is my fault, call me a fool, a blockhead, a scoundrel, a blackguard, an idiot; insult me in my own person, or in that of my wife, of my children, and it is nothing to me; but for the sake of all my past services to you, do not attack me in my office of chief pricker, do not insult your dogs.”
“How do you account for their silence, then? tell me that! How do you account for it? I am quite willing to hear what you have to say, and I am listening.”
“I cannot explain it any more than you can, my Lord; the damned animal [daim maudit] must have flown into the clouds or disappeared in the bowels of the earth [dans les entrailles de la terre].”
“What nonsense are you talking!” exclaimed the Baron—“do you want to make out that the deer has burrowed like a rabbit, or risen from the ground like a grouse?”
“My Lord, I meant it only as a manner of speech. What is a truth, what is the fact, is that there is some witchcraft [la sorcellerie] behind all this. As sure as it is now daylight, my dogs, every one of them, lay down at the same moment, suddenly, without an instant hesitation. Ask anybody who was near them at the time. And now they are not even trying to recover the scent, but there they lie flat on the ground like so many stags in their lair. I ask you, is it natural [Est-ce naturel] ?”
“Thrash them, man! thrash them, then,” cried the Baron, “flay the skin off their backs; there is nothing like it for driving out the evil spirit.”
And the Baron was going forward to emphasise with a few blows from his own whip the exorcisms which Marcotte, according to his orders, was distributing among the poor beasts, when Engoulevent, hat in hand, drew near to the Baron and timidly laid his hand on the horse’s bridle.
“My Lord,” said the keeper of the kennel, “I think I have just discovered a cuckoo in that tree who may perhaps be able to give us some explanation of what has happened.”
“What the devil are you talking about, with your cuckoo, you ape?” said the Baron.
“If you wait a moment, you scamp, I will teach you how to come chaffing your master like that!”
And the Baron lifted his whip. But with all the heroism of a Spartan, Engoulevent lifted his arm above his head as a shield and continued:
“Strike, if you will, my Lord, but after that look up into this tree, and when your Lordship has seen the bird that is perched among the branches, I think you will be more ready to give me a crown than a blow.”
And the good man pointed to the oak tree in which Thibault had taken refuge on hearing the huntsmen approach. He had climbed up from branch to branch and had finally hoisted himself on to the topmost one.
The Baron shaded his eyes with his hand, and, looking up, caught sight of Thibault.
“Well, here’s something mighty queer!” he cried, “It seems that in the forest of Villers-Cotterets the deer burrow like foxes, and men perch on trees like crows. However,” continued the worthy Baron, “we will see what sort of creature we have to deal with.” And putting his hand to his mouth, he halloed:
“Ho, there, my friend! would it be particularly disagreeable for you to give me ten minutes’ conversation?”
But Thibault maintained the most profound silence.
“My Lord” said Engoulevent “if you like ...,” and he made a sign to show that he was ready to climb the tree.
“No, no,” said the Baron, at the same time putting out his hand to hold him back.
“Ho, there, my friend!” repeated the Baron still without recognising Thibault, “will it please you to answer me, yes or no.”
He paused a second.
“I see, it is evidently, no; you pretend to be deaf, my friend; wait a moment, and I will get my speaking-trumpet,” and he held out his hand to Marcotte, who, guessing his intention, handed him his gun.
Thibault, who wished to put the huntsmen on the wrong scent, was meanwhile pretending to cut away the dead branches, and he put so much energy into this feigned occupation that he did not perceive the movement on the part of the Baron, or, if he saw, only took it as a menace, without attaching the importance to it which it merited.
The wolf-hunter waited for a little while to see if the answer would come, but as it did not, he pulled the trigger; the gun went off, and a branch was heard to crack.
The branch which cracked was the one on which Thibault was poised; the Baron was a fine shot and had broken it just between the trunk and the shoe-maker’s foot.
Deprived of his support, Thibault fell, rolling from branch to banch. Fortunately the tree was thick, and the branches strong, so that his fall was broken and less rapid than it might have been, and he finally reached the ground, after many rebounds, without further ill consequences than a feeling of great fear and a few slight bruises on that part of his body which had first come in contact with the earth.
“By Beelzebub’s horns [Par les cornes de monseigneur Belzébuth] !” exclaimed the Baron, delighted with his own skill, “if it is not my joker of the morning! Ah! so, you scamp! did the discourse you had with my whip seem too short to you, that you are so anxious to take it up again where we left off?”
“Oh, as to that, I assure you it is not so, my Lord,” answered Thibault in a tone of the most perfect sincerity.
“So much the better for your skin, my good fellow. Well, and now tell me what you were doing up there, perched on the top of that oak-tree?”
“My Lord can see himself,” answered Thibault, pointing to a few dry twigs lying here and there on the ground, “I was cutting a little dry wood for fuel.”
“Ah! I see. Now then, my good fellow, you will please tell us, without any beating about the bush, what has become of our deer.”
“By the devil [par le diable], he ought to know, seeing that he has been perched up there so as not to lose any of its movements,” put in Marcotte.
“But I swear, my Lord,” said Thibault, “that I don’t know what it is you mean about this wretched buck.”
“Ah, I thought so,” cried Marcotte, delighted to divert his master’s ill-humour from himself, “he has not seen it, he has not seen the animal at all, he does not know what we mean by this wretched buck! But look here, my Lord, see, the marks on these leaves where the animal has bitten; it was just here that the dogs came to a full stop, and now, although the ground is good to shew every mark, we can find no trace of the animal, for ten, twenty, or a hundred paces even?”
“You hear?” said the Baron, joining his words on to those of the pricker, “you were up there, and the deer here at your feet. It did not go by like a mouse without making any sound, and you did not see or hear. You must needs have seen or heard it!”
“He has killed the deer,” said Marcotte “and hidden it away in a bush, that’s as clear as the day.”
“Oh, my Lord,” cried Thibault, who knew better than anybody else how mistaken the pricker was in making this accusation, “My Lord, by all the saints in paradise, I swear to you that I have not killed your deer; I swear it to you on the salvation of my soul, and, may I perish on the spot if I have given him even the slightest scratch. And besides, I could not have killed him without wounding him, and if I had wounded him, blood would have flowed; look, I pray you, sir,” continued Thibault turning to the pricker “and God be thanked, you will find no trace of blood. I, kill a poor beast! and, my God, with what? Where is my weapon? God knows I have no other weapon than this bill-hook. Look yourself, my Lord.”
But unfortunately for Thibault, he had hardly uttered these words, before Maître Engoulevent, who had been prowling about for some minutes past, re-appeared, carrying the boar-spear which Thibault had thrown into one of the bushes before climbing up the tree.
He handed the weapon to the Baron.
There was no doubt about it—Engoulevent was Thibault’s evil genius [mauvais génie].
(19-22)
Dumas, Alexandre. 1868. Le meneur de loups. (Nouvelle édition). Paris: Lévy.
Dumas, Alexandre. 1868. Le meneur de loups. (Nouvelle édition). Paris: Lévy.
PDF at:
https://archive.org/details/bub_gb_BhlMAAAAMAAJ/page/n5
and:
https://beq.ebooksgratuits.com/vents/Dumas-meneur.pdf
Online text at:
https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Le_Meneur_de_loups
and
https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Livre:Dumas_-_Le_Meneur_de_loups_(1868).djvu
Dumas, Alexandre. 1921. The Wolf-Leader. Translated by Alfred Allinson. London: Methuen.
PDF at:
https://archive.org/details/wolfleader00duma
or:
https://archive.org/details/wolfleader00dumauoft
Online text at:
.
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