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by Corry Shores
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[Alexandre Dumas, entry directory]
[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
8
“Les souhaits de Thibault”
“Thibault’s Wishes”
Brief summary:
__(8.1)__ (Recall from section 7 that Thibault the sabot-maker is with his cousin Landry at the home of Madame Polet the miller. Thibault is trying to woo Madame Polet, but she and his cousin are already affectionate for each other. Thibault then uses his pact with the Wolf-Devil, and asks that Thibault be taken out of the picture without any harm done to him. Then some soldiers approach the mill, which alarms Landry.) Landry explains his alarm at the soldiers. He says that he enlisted in a moment of despair over his love for Madame Polet. Madame Polet tries to hide Landry somewhere in the house. Thibault then accidentally makes another wish to the Wolf-Devil. He suggests that the soldier will smell Landry out. The soldiers come and say they are looking for Landry. Madame Polet says she never heard of him. The Sergeant says he needs to search the mill. They find him in Madame Polet’s room after Polet reluctantly gives up the key to it. Thibault is concerned, because he knows that the only way they would have looked in that room was if the Wolf-Devil interfered. Despite all of Madame Polet’s efforts to keep him, Landry is taken away. As he is taken away, he says to Madame Polet “that far or near, he would always love her, and that, if he died, her name would be the last upon his lips,” and Madame Polet makes one last desperate, loving embrace. __(8.2)__ Madame Polet is very upset at losing Landry. Thibault tries to comfort her, and he is glad to have gotten rid of Landry, now seeing how much she loved him. She then discusses her love for Landry to Thibault and how good of a husband he would be. Then Thibault tries to console her and suggests she find someone equal to Landry. She says there could be no equal. Thibault remarks that Landry is young, and he may lose his good traits with time, so instead she should marry a grown man who will not change on her. “In short, what you need, is a man who while earning your respect, will, at the same time make the Mill work profitably. You have but to say the word, and you would not have to wait long before you found yourself well provided for, my fair Madame, a good bit better than you were just now.” She asks where can she find such a man. Thibault proposes himself. This enrages Madame Polet, who orders Thibault to leave immediately, and she throws objects at him to make him go. As her servants arrive, Thibault tries to leave. But he trips over the pig and falls into the mud, which leads to him evoking the Wolf-Devil’s aid again: “ ‘Devil take you, you beast [Que le diable t’emporte, animal maudit !]!’ cried the shoe-maker, bruised by his fall, but even more furious at seeing his new clothes covered with mud. The wish [souhait] was hardly out of his mouth, when the pig was suddenly taken with a fit of frenzy, and began rushing about the farm-yard like a mad animal, breaking, shattering, and turning over everything that came in its way.” The servants cannot catch the crazed pig and it eventually “threw itself under the mill wheel ... and disappeared as if sucked down by a whirlpool.” Madame Polet realizes that Thibault worked black magic. “ ‘Lay hold of Thibault!’ she cried, for she had heard Thibault’s curse [malédiction], and had been amazed and horrified at the instantaneous way in which it [ce souhait] had worked. ‘Lay hold of him! knock him down! he is a wizard [un magicien], a sorcerer [un sorcier]! a were-wolf [un loup-garou]!’—applying to Thibault with this last word, one of the most terrible epithets that can be given to a man in our forest lands.” Thibault flees with supernatural abilities: “he darted through the farm-yard gate, and began running up an almost perpendicular hill-side at full speed, with an ease which only confirmed Madame Polet’s suspicions, for the hill had always hitherto been looked upon as absolutely inaccessible, at any rate by the way Thibault had chosen to climb it.” The servants do not chase after Thibault, which angers Madame Polet, but they explain: “what is the use, what can we do against a were—wolf?”]
[Cousin Landry is Taken Away to Service]
[Madame Polet’s Discovery of Thibault’s Devilry]
Summary
[Cousin Landry is Taken Away to Service]
[(Recall from section 7 that Thibault the sabot-maker is with his cousin Landry at the home of Madame Polet the miller. Thibault is trying to woo Madame Polet, but she and his cousin are already affectionate for each other. Thibault then uses his pact with the Wolf-Devil, and asks that Thibault be taken out of the picture without any harm done to him. Then some soldiers approach the mill, which alarms Landry.) Landry explains his alarm at the soldiers. He says that he enlisted in a moment of despair over his love for Madame Polet. Madame Polet tries to hide Landry somewhere in the house. Thibault then accidentally makes another wish to the Wolf-Devil. He suggests that the soldier will smell Landry out. The soldiers come and say they are looking for Landry. Madame Polet says she never heard of him. The Sergeant says he needs to search the mill. They find him in Madame Polet’s room after Polet reluctantly gives up the key to it. Thibault is concerned, because he knows that the only way they would have looked in that room was if the Wolf-Devil interfered. Despite all of Madame Polet’s efforts to keep him, Landry is taken away. As he is taken away, he says to Madame Polet “that far or near, he would always love her, and that, if he died, her name would be the last upon his lips,” and Madame Polet makes one last desperate, loving embrace. ]
[ditto]
En remarquant l’effet que faisait sur Landry la vue des militaires qui s’avançaient vers le moulin, la veuve Polet fut presque aussi effrayée que son premier garçon.
– Eh ! mon Dieu ! demanda-t-elle, qu’il y a-t-il donc, mon pauvre Landry ?
– Oui, qu’y a-t-il ? demanda à son tour Thibault.
Seulement, la voix lui tremblait tant soit peu en faisant la demande.
– Il y a, reprit Landry, que, dans un moment de désespoir, jeudi dernier, j’ai rencontré le racoleur à l’hôtel du Dauphin, et que je me suis engagé.
– Dans un moment de désespoir ! s’écria la meunière ; et pourquoi désespériez-vous ?
– Je désespérais, dit Landry en faisant un effort, je désespérais parce que je vous aimais.
– Et c’est parce que vous m’aimiez, malheureux ! que vous vous êtes fait soldat ?
– Ne m’aviez-vous pas dit que vous me chasseriez du moulin ?
– Vous en avais-je chassé ? demanda la meunière avec une expression à laquelle il n’y avait point à se tromper.
– Oh ! mon Dieu ! demanda Landry, vous ne m’auriez donc pas renvoyé ?
– Pauvre garçon ! dit la meunière avec un sourire et un haussement d’épaules qui, dans un autre moment, eussent fait pâmer Landry de joie, et qui, dans celui où l’on se trouvait, redoublèrent sa douleur.
– Eh bien, mais alors, dit Landry, peut-être bien que j’aurai le temps de me cacher.
– Te cacher ! dit Thibault, c’est bien chose inutile, je t’en réponds.
– Pourquoi pas ? dit la meunière. J’y vais essayer, moi. Viens, mon pauvre Landry.
Et elle emmena le jeune homme avec les signes de la plus vive sympathie.
Thibault les suivit des yeux.
– Ça va mal pour toi, Thibault, mon ami, dit-il ; heureusement que, si bien qu’elle le cache, ils ont le nez fin, et ils le trouveront.
Thibault disait cela sans se douter qu’il faisait un nouveau souhait.
Il paraît que la veuve n’avait pas caché Landry bien loin.
Elle rentra après quelques secondes d’absence.
Pour être proche, la cachette n’en était probablement que meilleure.
Une minute après que la veuve Polet était rentrée toute haletante, le sergent des racoleurs parut sur la porte avec un de ses compagnons.
Deux étaient restés en dehors, probablement pour surveiller Landry, dans le cas où il tenterait de s’échapper. Le sergent et son compagnon entrèrent en gens qui se sentent dans leur droit.
Le sergent jeta dans la salle, un regard investigateur, ramena son pied droit à la troisième position et porta la main à la corne de son chapeau.
La meunière n’attendit point que le sergent lui adressât la parole.
Avec son plus charmant sourire, elle lui offrit de se rafraîchir.
C’est une offre que les racoleurs ne refusent jamais.
Puis, tandis qu’ils dégustaient le vin, jugeant le moment favorable, elle demanda aux deux militaires ce qui les amenait au moulin de Coyolles.
Le sergent répondit qu’il était à la recherche d’un jeune garçon meunier qui, après avoir bu avec lui à la santé de Sa Majesté et avoir signé son engagement n’avait point reparu.
Ce jeune garçon meunier, interrogé sur son nom et son domicile, avait déclaré se nommer Landry et habiter chez madame veuve Polet, meunière à Coyolles.
En vertu de quoi, il venait chez madame veuve Polet, meunière à Coyolles, réclamer son réfractaire.
La meunière, persuadée qu’il était permis de mentir quand l’intention sanctifiait le mensonge, assura qu’elle ne connaissait pas Landry et que personne de ce nom n’avait jamais habité le moulin de Coyolles.
Le sergent répondit à la meunière qu’elle avait les plus beaux yeux du monde et une bouche charmante, mais que ce n’était pas une raison pour qu’il en crût ses yeux sur regard et sa bouche sur parole.
En conséquence, il signifia à la belle veuve qu’il allait faire perquisition dans son moulin.
La perquisition commença.
Au bout de cinq minutes, le sergent rentra.
Il demanda à la belle meunière la clef de sa chambre.
La meunière parut très choquée d’une pareille demande.
Mais le sergent insista tant et si bien, que force fut à la meunière de donner la clef.
Cinq minutes après, le sergent rentrait, ramenant Landry, qu’il tenait par le collet de sa veste.
À cette vue, la veuve pâlit horriblement.
Quant à Thibault, le cœur lui battait à lui briser la poitrine ; car il voyait bien qu’il avait fallu l’assistance du loup noir pour que le sergent allât chercher Landry où il était.
– Ah ! ah ! mon garçon, s’écria le sergent en raillant, nous préférons donc le service de la beauté à celui du roi ? Cela se conçoit ; mais, quand on a le bonheur d’être né sur les terres de Sa Majesté et d’avoir bu à sa santé, il faut un peu le servir à son tour. Vous allez donc nous suivre, mon beau garçon, et, après quelques années passées dans les gardes-françaises, vous pourrez revenir prendre rang sous votre premier drapeau. Allons, en route !
– Mais, dit la meunière au sergent, Landry n’a pas encore vingt ans ; on n’a pas le droit de le prendre avant vingt ans.
– C’est vrai, dit Landry, je n’ai pas vingt ans.
– Et quand les avez-vous ?
– Demain seulement.
– Bon ! dit le sergent. Eh bien, nous allons vous mettre cette nuit sur une botte de paille, comme une nèfle, et demain, au jour, nous vous réveillerons mûr.
Landry pleura.
La veuve pria, conjura, supplia, se laissa embrasser par les racoleurs, supporta patiemment les plaisanteries grossières que leur inspira son chagrin, et enfin elle alla jusqu’à offrir cent écus pour le racheter.
Tout fut inutile.
On lia le pauvre Landry par les poignets ; un des soldats prit le bout de la corde et les quatre hommes se mirent en chemin, mais non sans que le garçon de moulin eût trouvé le temps d’assurer à la belle meunière que, de près ou de loin, il l’aimerait toujours, et que, s’il mourait, son nom serait la dernière parole qu’il prononcerait.
La belle veuve, de son côté, avait, en face d’une si grande catastrophe, perdu tout respect humain, et, avant de laisser Landry s’éloigner, elle l’avait tendrement pressé sur son cœur.
(115-118)
THE widow, on perceiving the effect which the sight of the soldiers advancing towards the mill had upon Landry, was almost as frightened as the lad himself.
“Ah! dear God!” she cried, “what is the matter, my poor Landry?”
“Say, what is the matter?” asked Thibault in his turn.
“Alas I,” replied Landry, “last Thursday, in a moment of despair, meeting the recruiting-sergeant at the Dauphin Inn, I enlisted.”
“In a moment of despair!” exclaimed the mistress of the mill, “and why were you in despair?”
“I was in despair,” said Landry, with a mighty effort, “I was in despair because I love you.”
“And it is because you loved me, unhappy boy! that you enlisted?”
“Did you not say that you would turn me away from the mill?”
“And have I turned you away?” asked Madame Polet, with an expression which it was impossible to misinterpret.
“Ah! God! then you would not really have sent me away?” asked Landry.
“Poor boy!” said the mistress of the mill, with a smile and a pitying movement of the shoulders, which, at any other time, would have made Landry almost die of joy, but, as it was, only doubled his distress.
“Perhaps even now I might have time to hide,” he said.
“Hide!” said Thibault, “that will be of no use, I can tell you.”
“And why not?” said Madame Polet, “I am going to try, anyhow. Come, dear Landry.”
And she led the young man away, with every mark of the most loving sympathy.
Thibault followed them with his eyes: “It’s going badly for you, Thibault, my friend,” he said; “fortunately, let her hide him as cleverly as she may, they have a good scent, and will find him out.”
In saying this, Thibault was unconscious that he was giving utterance to a fresh wish.
The widow had evidently not hidden Landry very far away, for she returned after a few seconds of absence; the hiding-place was probably all the safer for being near. She had scarcely had time to take breath when the recruiting-sergeant and his companions appeared at the door. Two remained outside, no doubt to catch Landry if he should attempt to escape, the sergeant and the other soldier walked in with the confidence of men who are conscious of acting under authority. The Sergeant cast a searching glance round the room, brought back his right foot into the third position and lifted his hand to the peak of his cap. The mistress of the Mill did not wait for the Sergeant to address her, but with one of her most fascinating smiles, asked him if he would like some refreshment, an offer which no recruiting-sergeant is ever known to refuse. Then, thinking it a favourable moment to put the question, she asked them while they were drinking their wine, what had brought them to Croyolles Mill. The Sergeant replied that he had come in search of a lad, belonging to the Mill, who, after drinking with him to his Majesty’s health and signed his engagement, had not re-appeared. The lad in question, interrogated as to his name and dwelling-place, had declared himself to be one Landry, living with Madame Polet, a widow, owner of the Mill at Croyolles. On the strength of this declaration, he had now come to Madame Polet, widow, of Croyolles Mill, to reclaim the defaulter.
The widow, quite convinced that it was permissible to lie for a good cause, assured the Sergeant that she knew nothing of Landry, nor had any one of that name ever been at the Mill.
The Sergeant in reply said that Madame had the finest eyes and the most charming mouth in the world, but that was no reason why he should implicitly believe the glances of the one or the words of the other. He was bound, therefore, he continued, “to ask the fair widow to allow him to search the Mill.”
The search was begun, in about five minutes the Sergeant came back into the room and asked Madam Polet for the key of her room. The widow appeared very much surprised and shocked at such a request, but the Sergeant was so persistent and determined that at last she was forced to give up the key. A minute or two later, and the Sergeant walked in again, dragging Landry in after him by the collar of his coat. When the widow saw them both enter, she turned deadly pale. As for Thibault, his heart beat so violently, that he thought it would burst, for without the black wolf’s assistance, he was sure the Sergeant would never have gone to look for Landry where he had found him.
“Ah! ah! my good fellow!” cried the Sergeant in a mocking voice, “so we prefer the service of beauty to the King’s service? That is easy to understand; but when one has the good fortune to be born in his Majesty’s domains and to have drunk his health, one has to give him a share of service, when his turn comes. So you must come along with us, my fine fellow, and after a few years in the King’s uniform, you can come back and serve under your old flag. So, now then, march!”
“But,” cried the widow, “Landry is not yet twenty, and you have not the right to take him under twenty.”
“She is right,” added Landry, “I am not twenty yet.”
“And when will you be twenty?”
“Not until to-morrow.”
“Good,” said the Sergeant, “we will put you to-night on a bed of straw, like a medlar, and by to-morrow, at day-break, when we wake you up, you will be ripe.”
Landry wept. The widow prayed, pleaded, implored, allowed herself to be kissed by the soldiers, patiently endured the coarse pleasantry excited by her sorrow, and at last offered a hundred crowns to buy him off. But all was of no avail. Landry’s wrists were bound, and then one of the soldiers taking hold of the end of the cord, the party started off, but not before the lad of the mill had found time to assure his dear mistress, that far or near, he would always love her, and that, if he died, her name would be the last upon his lips. The beautiful widow, on her side, had lost all thought of the world’s opinion in face of this great catastrophe, and before he was led away, she clasped Landry to her heart in a tender embrace.
(43-45)
[Madame Polet’s Discovery of Thibault’s Devilry]
[Madame Polet is very upset at losing Landry. Thibault tries to comfort her, and he is glad to have gotten rid of Landry, now seeing how much she loved him. She then discusses her love for Landry to Thibault and how good of a husband he would be. Then Thibault tries to console her and suggests she find someone equal to Landry. She says there could be no equal. Thibault remarks that Landry is young, and he may lose his good traits with time, so instead she should marry a grown man who will not change on her. “In short, what you need, is a man who while earning your respect, will, at the same time make the Mill work profitably. You have but to say the word, and you would not have to wait long before you found yourself well provided for, my fair Madame, a good bit better than you were just now.” She asks where can she find such a man. Thibault proposes himself. This enrages Madame Polet, who orders Thibault to leave immediately, and she throws objects at him to make him go. As her servants arrive, Thibault tries to leave. But he trips over the pig and falls into the mud, which leads to him evoking the Wolf-Devil’s aid again: “ ‘Devil take you, you beast [Que le diable t’emporte, animal maudit !]!’ cried the shoe-maker, bruised by his fall, but even more furious at seeing his new clothes covered with mud. The wish [souhait] was hardly out of his mouth, when the pig was suddenly taken with a fit of frenzy, and began rushing about the farm-yard like a mad animal, breaking, shattering, and turning over everything that came in its way.” The servants cannot catch the crazed pig and it eventually “threw itself under the mill wheel ... and disappeared as if sucked down by a whirlpool.” Madame Polet realizes that Thibault worked black magic. “ ‘Lay hold of Thibault!’ she cried, for she had heard Thibault’s curse [malédiction ], and had been amazed and horrified at the instantaneous way in which it [ce souhait] had worked. ‘Lay hold of him! knock him down! he is a wizard [un magicien], a sorcerer [un sorcier]! a were-wolf [un loup-garou]!’—applying to Thibault with this last word, one of the most terrible epithets that can be given to a man in our forest lands.” Thibault flees with supernatural abilities: “he darted through the farm-yard gate, and began running up an almost perpendicular hill-side at full speed, with an ease which only confirmed Madame Polet’s suspicions, for the hill had always hitherto been looked upon as absolutely inaccessible, at any rate by the way Thibault had chosen to climb it.” The servants do not chase after Thibault, which angers Madame Polet, but they explain: “what is the use, what can we do against a were—wolf?”]
[ditto]
Lorsque la petite troupe eut disparu derrière les saules, la douleur de la meunière devint si vive, qu’elle tomba en syncope et qu’il fallut la transporter sur son lit.
Thibault lui prodigua les soins les plus touchants.
La violence de l’affection que la veuve avait témoignée à son cousin l’épouvantait un peu.
Cependant, comme il ne s’applaudissait que davantage d’avoir coupé le mal dans sa racine, il conservait de très vives espérances.
Lorsque la veuve revint à elle, le premier nom qu’elle prononça fut celui de Landry.
Thibault fit un geste de commisération hypocrite.
La meunière se mit à sangloter.
– Pauvre enfant ! s’écria-t-elle en pleurant à chaudes larmes, que va-t-il devenir, lui si faible et si délicat ? Le poids seul de son fusil et de son sac le tuera.
Puis, se retournant vers son hôte :
– Ah ! monsieur Thibault, dit-elle, c’est un bien grand chagrin pour moi, mais vous vous êtes peut-être aperçu que je l’aimais ? Il était doux, il était bon, il n’avait aucun défaut ; pas joueur, pas buveur ; jamais il n’eût contrarié mes volontés, jamais il n’eût tyrannisé sa femme, ce qui m’eût semblé bien doux après les deux cruelles années que j’ai passées avec feu M. Polet ! Ah ! monsieur Thibault ! monsieur Thibault ! il est bien douloureux pour une pauvre malheureuse femme de voir ainsi tomber dans le gouffre tous ses projets d’avenir et de tranquillité !
Thibault pensa que l’occasion était bonne pour se déclarer.
Du moment où il voyait pleurer une femme, il avait cette fausse opinion de croire qu’elle ne pleurait que pour être consolée.
Cependant il crut ne pouvoir arriver à son but que par un détour.
– Certes, je comprends votre douleur, répondit-il ; je fais mieux, je la partage, car vous ne pouvez douter de l’affection que je porte à mon cousin ; mais il faut se résigner, et, sans nier les qualités de Landry, je vous dirai : Eh bien, belle meunière, cherchez qui le puisse valoir.
– Qui le puisse valoir ! s’écria la veuve ; mais il n’en est pas. Où trouverai-je un garçon gentil et sage comme celui-là ? Il avait une figure poupine qui me charmait, et en même temps il était si tranquille, si rangé dans ses mœurs ! Il travaillait jour et nuit, et, avec tout cela, d’un coup d’œil je le faisais rentrer sous terre. Non, non, monsieur Thibault, je vous le dis dans toute la sincérité de mon cœur, le souvenir de celui-là m’ôtera l’envie d’en chercher d’autres, et je vois bien qu’il faut me résigner à rester veuve toute ma vie.
– Peuh ! fit Thibault, Landry était bien jeune !
– Oh ! dit la veuve, ce n’est pas là un défaut.
– Qui sait s’il eût conservé plus tard ses aimables qualités ! Croyez-moi, meunière, ne vous désolez plus et cherchez, comme je vous ai dit, quelqu’un qui vous le fasse oublier. Ce qu’il vous faut, à vous, ce n’est point un bambin comme celui-là, c’est un homme fait, qui ait tout ce que vous regrettez dans Landry, mais qui soit assez rassis pour que vous n’ayez point à craindre qu’un beau jour toutes vos illusions ne s’envolent et que vous ne vous trouviez en présence d’un libertin et d’un brutal.
La meunière secouait la tête.
Mais Thibault continuait :
– Ce qu’il vous faut enfin, c’est un gaillard qui, tout en étant pour vous un porte-respect, fasse fructifier le moulin. Que diable ! dites un mot, et vous ne serez pas longtemps sans vous trouver lotie, belle meunière, un peu mieux que vous ne l’étiez tout à l’heure.
– Et où rencontrerai-je un pareil miracle d’homme ? demanda la meunière en se dressant sur ses pieds et en regardant le sabotier comme pour lui porter un défi.
Celui-ci, se méprenant au ton qu’avait mis la veuve à prononcer ces paroles, crut l’occasion excellente.
Il résolut d’en profiter pour lui faire connaître ses intentions.
– Eh bien, fit-il, en vous disant que vous n’iriez pas loin, belle Polet, pour rencontrer l’homme qu’il vous faut, je vous l’avoue, je songeais à moi qui serais bien heureux et bien fier de devenir votre époux. Ah ! continua-t-il, pendant que la meunière le regardait avec des yeux qui devenaient de plus en plus menaçants, ah ! avec moi, vous n’auriez pas à redouter d’être contrariée dans vos volontés ; je suis un agneau pour la douceur, et je n’aurai qu’une loi et qu’un désir : la loi de vous obéir ; le désir de vous plaire ; quant à votre fortune, j’ai certains moyens de l’accroître que je vous divulguerai plus tard…
Thibault n’acheva point sa phrase.
– Eh quoi ! s’écria la meunière, d’autant plus furieuse qu’elle s’était contenue plus longtemps ; eh quoi ! vous que je croyais son ami, vous osez me parler de prendre sa place dans mon cœur ! vous cherchez à en arracher la foi que je veux conserver à votre cousin ! Hors d’ici, misérable ! hors d’ici ! car, si je n’en croyais que ma colère et mon indignation, j’appellerais quatre hommes et je te ferais jeter sous la roue du moulin !
Thibault voulut répondre.
Mais lui, qui ne manquait point d’arguments à l’ordinaire, ne trouva pas une parole pour sa justification.
Il est vrai que la meunière ne lui en laissa point le temps.
Elle avait à la portée de sa main une belle cruche neuve qu’elle saisit par l’anse et qu’elle envoya à la tête de Thibault.
Par bonheur pour lui, Thibault inclina la tête à gauche, et la cruche, sans l’atteindre, alla se briser contre la cheminée.
La meunière prit un escabeau, et, avec la même violence, l’envoya au même but.
Cette fois, Thibault inclina la tête à droite, et l’escabeau alla briser trois ou quatre vitres à une fenêtre.
Au bruit que firent les carreaux en tombant, les garçons et les filles du moulin accoururent.
Ils trouvèrent leur maîtresse envoyant à tour de bras à Thibault, bouteilles, pot à l’eau, salières, assiettes, tout ce qu’enfin elle trouvait sous sa main.
Par chance pour Thibault, la belle Polet était si furieuse qu’elle ne pouvait parler.
Si elle eût pu parler, elle eût crié :
– Tuez-le ! Égorgez-le ! c’est un coquin ! c’est un misérable !
En voyant le renfort qui arrivait à la meunière, Thibault voulut fuir et s’élança vers la porte, que les racoleurs, en emmenant Landry, avaient laissée ouverte.
Mais, au moment où il la franchissait, l’honnête pourceau que nous avons vu faire sa sieste au soleil, surpris dans son premier somme par tout cet affreux tintamarre, crut que c’était à lui qu’on en voulait, et, tentant de regagner son étable, il vint en courant donner dans les jambes de Thibault.
Thibault perdit son centre de gravité.
Il alla, à dix pas de là, rouler dans la boue et le fumier.
– Que le diable t’emporte, animal maudit ! s’écria le sabotier tout meurtri de sa chute, mais plus furieux encore de voir ses habits neufs souillés de fange.
Thibault n’avait pas achevé ce souhait, que le pourceau fut pris d’une frénésie soudaine et se mit à parcourir comme un furieux la cour du moulin, cassant, brisant, renversant tout ce qui pouvait faire obstacle à son passage.
Les garçons de moulin et les filles de ferme, accourus aux cris de leur maîtresse, crurent que ce qui motivait ces cris, c’était la frénésie du pourceau, – et ils se mirent à sa poursuite.
Mais inutilement ils tentèrent de se rendre maîtres de l’animal.
Celui-ci renversa garçons et filles les uns après les autres, comme il avait renversé Thibault, jusqu’à ce qu’enfin, passant à travers une cloison qui séparait le moulin de l’écluse aussi facilement que si ç’eût été une tenture de papier, il se précipitât sous la roue…
Il y disparut comme dans un gouffre.
La meunière, pendant ce temps, avait retrouvé la parole.
– Tombez sur Thibault ! criait-elle, car elle avait entendu la malédiction que le sabotier avait envoyée à son pourceau, et elle était restée confondue de la promptitude avec laquelle ce souhait s’était accompli.
– Tombez sur Thibault ! assommez-le ! c’est un magicien ! c’est un sorcier ! c’est un loup-garou !
Et, avec cette dernière qualification, elle donnait à Thibault la plus terrible épithète que, dans nos forêts, on puisse donner à un homme.
Thibault, qui ne se sentait pas la conscience bien nette, profita du premier moment de stupeur que cette invective de la meunière fit naître dans l’esprit de ses gens.
Il passa au milieu des filles et des garçons, et, tandis que celui-ci cherchait une fourche, celui-là une pelle, il franchit la porte du moulin, et se mit, avec une facilité qui ne fit que confirmer les soupçons de la belle meunière, à monter à grande course une montagne à pic que l’on avait toujours crue inaccessible, du moins par le chemin qu’avait pris Thibault pour la gravir.
– Eh bien, cria la meunière, eh bien, vous vous lassez ainsi ! vous ne le poursuivez pas ! vous ne le rejoignez pas ! vous ne l’assommez pas !
Mais eux, secouant la tête :
– Eh ! madame, dirent-ils, que voulez-vous que nous fassions contre un loup-garou ?
(118-124)
When the little party had disappeared behind the willows, and she lost sight of them, the widow’s distress became so overpowering that she became insensible, and had to be carried and laid on her bed. Thibault lavished upon her the most devoted attention. He was somewhat taken aback at the strong feeling of affection which the widow evinced for his cousin; however, as this only made him applaud himself the more for having cut at the root of the evil, he still cherished the most sanguine hopes.
On coming to herself, the first name the widow uttered was that of Landry, to which Thibault replied with a hypocritical gesture of commiseration. Then the mistress of the mill began to sob. “Poor lad!” she cried, while the hot tears flowed down her cheeks, “what will become of him, so weak and delicate as he is? The mere weight of his gun and knapsack will kill him!”
Then turning to her guest, she continued:
“Ah! Monsieur Thibault, this is a terrible trouble to me, for you no doubt have perceived that I love him? He was gentle, he was kind, he had no faults; he was not a gambler, nor a drinker; he would never have opposed my wishes, would never have tyrannised over his wife, and that would have seemed very sweet to me after the two cruel years that I lived with the late M. Polet. Ah! Monsieur Thibault, Monsieur Thibault! It is a sad grief indeed for a poor miserable woman to see all her anticipations of future happiness and peace thus suddenly swallowed up!”
Thibault thought this would be a good moment to declare himself; whenever he saw a woman crying, he immediately thought, most erroneously, that she only cried because she wished to be consoled.
He decided, however, that he would not be able to attain his object without a certain circumlocution.
“Indeed,” he answered, “I quite understand your sorrow, nay, more than that, I share it with you, for you cannot doubt the affection I bear my cousin. But we must resign ourselves, and without wishing to deny Landry’s good qualities, I would still ask you, Madame, to find someone else who is his equal.”
“His equal!” exclaimed the widow, “there is no such person. Where shall I find so nice and so good a youth? It was a pleasure to me to look at his smooth young face, and with it all, he was so self-composed, so steady in his habits! He was working night and day, and yet I could with a glance make him shrink away and hide. No, no, Monsieur Thibault, I tell you frankly, the remembrance of him will prevent me ever wishing to look at another man, and I know that I must resign myself to remaining a widow for the rest of my life.”
“Phew!” said Thibault; “but Landry was very young!”
“There is no disadvantage in that,” replied the widow.
“But who knows if he would always have retained his good qualities. Take my advice, Madame, do not grieve any more, but, as I say, look out for some one who will make you forget him. What you really need is not a baby-face like that, but a grown man, possessing all the qualities that you admire and regret in Landry, but, at the same time sufficiently mature to prevent the chance of finding one fine day that all your illusions are dispersed, and that you are left face to face with a libertine and a bully.”
The mistress of the Mill shook her head; but Thibault went on:
“In short, what you need, is a man who while earning your respect, will, at the same time make the Mill work profitably. You have but to say the word, and you would not have to wait long before you found yourself well provided for, my fair Madame, a good bit better than you were just now.”
“And where am I to find this miracle of a man?” asked the widow, as she rose to her feet, looking defiantly at the shoe-maker, as if throwing down a challenge. The latter, mistaking the tone in which these last words were said, thought it an excellent occasion to make known his own proposals, and accordingly hastened to profit by it.
“Well, I confess,” he answered, “that when I said that a handsome widow like you would not have to go far before finding the man who would be just the very husband for her, I was thinking of myself, for I should reckon myself fortunate, and should feel proud, to call myself your husband. Ah! I assure you,” he went on, while the mistress of the Mill stood looking at him with ever-increasing displeasure in her eyes, “I assure you that with me you would have no occasion to fear any opposition to your wishes: I am a perfect lamb in the way of gentleness, and I should have but one law and one desire, my law would be to obey you, my desire to please you! and as to your fortune, I have means of adding to it which I will make known to you later on....”
But the end of Thibault’s sentence remained unspoken.
“What!” cried the widow, whose fury was the greater for having been kept in check until then, “What! you, whom I thought my friend, you dare to speak of replacing him in my heart! you try to dissuade me from keeping my faith to your cousin. Get out of the place, you worthless scoundrel! out of the place, I say! or I will not answer for the consequences; I have a good mind to get four of my men to collar you and throw you under the Mill-wheel.”
Thibault was anxious to make some sort of response, but, although ready with an answer on ordinary occasions, he could not for the moment think of a single word whereby to justify himself. True, Madame Polet, gave him no time to think, but seizing hold of a beautiful new jug that stood near her, she flung it at Thibault’s head. Luckily for him, Thibault dodged to the left and escaped the missile, which flew past him, crashing to pieces against the chimney-piece. Then the mistress of the house took up a stool, and aimed it at him with equal violence; this time Thibault dodged to the right, and the stool went against the window, smashing two or three panes of glass. At the sound of the falling glass, all the youths and maids of the Mill came running up. They found their mistress flinging bottles, water-jugs, salt-cellars, plates, everything in short that came to hand, with all her might at Thibault’s head. Fortunately for him widow Polet was too much incensed to be able to speak; if she had been able to do so, she would have called out; “Kill him! Strangle him! Kill the rascal! the scoundrel! the villain!”
On seeing the reinforcements arriving to help the widow, Thibault endeavoured to escape by the door that had been left open by the recruiting party, but just as he was running out, the good pig, that we saw taking its siesta in the sun, being roused out of its first sleep by all this hullabaloo, and thinking the farm people were after it, made a dash for its stye, and in so doing charged right against Thibault’s legs. The latter lost his balance, and went rolling over and over for a good ten paces in the dirt and slush. “Devil take you, you beast [Que le diable t’emporte, animal maudit !]!” cried the shoe-maker, bruised by his fall, but even more furious at seeing his new clothes covered with mud. The wish [souhait] was hardly out of his mouth, when the pig was suddenly taken with a fit of frenzy, and began rushing about the farm-yard like a mad animal, breaking, shattering, and turning over everything that came in its way. The farm hands, who had run to their mistress on hearing her cries, thought the pig’s behaviour was the cause of them—and started off in pursuit of the animal. But it eluded all their attempts to seize hold of it, knocking over boys and girls, as it had knocked Thibault over, until, at last, coming to where the mill was separated from the sluice by a wooden partition, it crashed through the latter as easily as if it were made of paper, threw itself under the mill wheel ... and disappeared as if sucked down by a whirlpool. The mistress of the mill had by this time recovered her speech. “Lay hold of Thibault!” she cried, for she had heard Thibault’s curse [malédiction ], and had been amazed and horrified at the instantaneous way in which it [ce souhait] had worked. “Lay hold of him! knock him down! he is a wizard [un magicien], a sorcerer [un sorcier]! a were-wolf [un loup-garou]!”—applying to Thibault with this last word, one of the most terrible epithets that can be given to a man in our forest lands. Thibault, who scarcely knew where he was, seeing the momentary stupefaction which took possession of the farm people on hearing their mistress’s final invective, made use of the opportunity to dash past them, and while one went to get a pitch-fork and another a spade, he darted through the farm-yard gate, and began running up an almost perpendicular hill-side at full speed, with an ease which only confirmed Madame Polet’s suspicions, for the hill had always hitherto been looked upon as absolutely inaccessible, at any rate by the way Thibault had chosen to climb it.
“What!” she cried, “what! you give in like that! you should make after him, and seize hold of him, and knock him down!” But the farm servants shook their heads.
“Ah! Madame!” they said, “what is the use, what can we do against a were—wolf?”
(45-47)
Dumas, Alexandre. 1868. Le meneur de loups. (Nouvelle édition). Paris: Lévy.
PDF at:
https://archive.org/det ails/bub_gb_BhlMAAAAMAAJ/page/n5
and:
https://beq.ebooksgratuits.com/vents/Dumas-meneur.pdf
Online text at:
https://fr.wikisource.org/wik i/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/wolfle ader00duma
or:
https://archive.org/details/wo lfleader00dumauoft
Online text at:
.
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