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
1
“Le grand louvetier de monseigneur”
“The Grand Master of His Highness’ Wolf Hounds”
Brief summary:
(1.1) We now learn of “Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez” (recall from section 0.2), who “was a hardy and indefatigable sportsman.” He lived in a formidable medieval castle, and the narrator Alexandre is taking us to a time around 1780. While Vez was not as menacing to other humans as he may have seemed, “With the animals of the forest it was different, for he was avowedly their mortal and implacable enemy. He was chief wolf-hunter to his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of Orleans ... — a post which allowed him to gratify the inordinate passion he had for the chase. Although it was not easy, it was yet possible to bring the Baron to listen to reason in other matters; but as regards the chase, if once he had got a fixed idea in his head, nothing would satisfy him until he had carried it out and had achieved his purpose. ” On account of his position and marriage, he had “almost absolute power throughout the domains of his illustrious father-in-law, a power which no one dared to contest with him”. Regardless of the conditions outside, normally Vez conducts a hunt each day involving all the many people with their roles in the activity. This includes his chief pricker (whipper-in) Marcotte, the head of the keepers of the hounds Engoulevent, and the German executioner. (1.2) Vez hunted every sort of prey, but he especially hunted wolves, in accordance with his title “Chief Wolf Hunter”. One day his chief pricker Marcotte was despondent and explained to Vez that “the black wolf is about.” Vez had about five times before had the chance to hunt the black wolf, but “never once had he been able to get within gun-shot of him or to run him down.” Marcotte explains that the “the damned beast [la damnée bête] has employed himself so well all night crossing his track and doubling, that after having traced him over half the forest, I found myself at the place from which I started.” Then when Marcotte says there is no chance to get near the wolf, Vez exclaims “By all the devils in hell! [Par tous les diables !]” and he asks what beasts can they hunt “in place of this damned black wolf? [à la place de ce damné loup noir?]” Marcotte asks if they should just hunt the first animal they come across. Before Vez can answer, the head keeper of the hounds Engoulevent comes and says “there is a splendid buck in the neighbourhood.” He then demonstrates the buck’s presence in the vicinity by having their best hounds Matador and Jupiter find its scent. Shortly after they do, “a magnificent ten-tined stag came into view”. The hunt begins. They chase it for two hours. To escape the hunters, the buck first crosses over and back and also upstream through a brook (to slow the hounds down or maybe throw them off from their chase). But the dogs were skillful and employed cooperative and equally clever tactics to get right back on the trail and near the buck again. (1.3) The hunters eventually arrive near “the hut of Thibault, the sabot-maker,” that is, the “shoe-maker, the real hero of the tale.” He is around 25-27 years old. He is melancholic on account of his envy toward his more fortunate neighbors. Thibault “had been educated above his position,” having “learnt to read, write, and cypher; moreover he knew a little Latin, which made him inordinately proud of himself.” He is well read, but he tends toward what was bad. He had dreamt of becoming something other than a sabot-maker. At 20 he entered the army, but after five years later he left after failing to receive the least promotion. He considered joining the navy, but realized that would not work out in the end anyway. He considered becoming a notary, but he knew he would never eventually be able to afford a practice. When Thibault’s father died, he entrusted his father’s tools with a friend, sold all the furniture, and went travelling for three years around France. “he learnt a great many things in the course of his journey of which he was previously ignorant, and acquired certain accomplishments which he had previously been without.” For instance, he learned that while one should keep their word in business matters with other men, “it was no use whatever keeping love vows made to a woman.” Thibault had other impressive traits that made him proud, and with the self-esteem that brought him, he did not understand why he could not have been nobly born. He nonetheless resigned to get good at sabot-making, which served his father well. After retrieving his father’s tools, “he went to ask permission of the Steward of his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of Orleans, to build a hut in the forest, in which to carry on his trade. He had no difficulty in obtaining this”. He was allowed to pick his location in the forest. “Thibault chose the spot near the osier-beds, where the roads crossed, one of the most beautiful parts of the woods, less than a mile from Oigny and about three times that distance from Villers-Cotterets.” He then builds his wooden hut there, and in it he builds a bed and buys a mattress for it. Little by little he furnishes his hut. His business was successful, because he was good at making wooden shoes and at using the resulting scrap wood to craft other wooden things for sale. During this time, his only fault was being envious of his neighbors’ better fortune in life. “But this feeling was as yet so inoffensive, that his confessor had no need to do more than awaken in him a sense of shame for harbouring thoughts which had, so far, not resulted in any active crime.”
[Introducing Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez, Chief Wolf-Hunter]
[The Buck-Hunt Begins]
[Introducing Thibault, the Sabot-Maker]
Summary
[Introducing Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez, Chief Wolf-Hunter]
[We now learn of “Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez” (recall from section 0.2), who “was a hardy and indefatigable sportsman.” He lived in a formidable medieval castle, and the narrator Alexandre is taking us to a time around 1780. While Vez was not as menacing to other humans as he may have seemed, “With the animals of the forest it was different, for he was avowedly their mortal and implacable enemy. He was chief wolf-hunter to his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of Orleans ... — a post which allowed him to gratify the inordinate passion he had for the chase. Although it was not easy, it was yet possible to bring the Baron to listen to reason in other matters; but as regards the chase, if once he had got a fixed idea in his head, nothing would satisfy him until he had carried it out and had achieved his purpose. ” On account of his position and marriage, he had “almost absolute power throughout the domains of his illustrious father-in-law, a power which no one dared to contest with him”. Regardless of the conditions outside, normally Vez conducts a hunt each day involving all the many people with their roles in the activity. This includes his chief pricker (whipper-in) Marcotte, the head of the keepers of the hounds Engoulevent, and the German executioner.]
[ditto]
C’était un rude veneur que le seigneur Jean, baron de Vez.
Quand vous suivrez la belle vallée qui va du Berval à Longpré, vous verrez à votre gauche une vieille tour qui vous paraîtra d’autant plus haute et d’autant plus formidable qu’elle est isolée.
C’est aujourd’hui la propriété d’un vieil ami de celui qui raconte cette histoire, et tout le monde est tellement habitué à son aspect, si terrible qu’il soit, que le premier paysan venu va chercher, l’été, l’ombre de ses hautes murailles sans plus de crainte que les martinets aux grandes ailes noires et aux cris aigus, et les hirondelles aux doux gazouillements, qui, chaque année, viennent y suspendre leurs nids.
Mais, à l’époque dont nous parlons, c’est-à-dire vers l’an 1780, la demeure seigneuriale de Vez ne présentait pas le même aspect et n’offrait pas, il faut le dire, la même sécurité. C’était une bâtisse du douzième ou du treizième siècle, sombre et sévère, à laquelle, extérieurement du moins, la succession des années n’avait rien ôté de sa formidable physionomie. Il est vrai que la sentinelle, au pas mesuré et au casque resplendissant, ne se promenait plus sur ses remparts ; il est vrai que l’archer au cor aigu ne veillait plus dans sa tour ; il est vrai que deux hommes d’armes ne se tenaient plus à la poterne, prêts, au moindre signal d’alarme, à baisser la herse et à lever le pont. Mais la solitude même de l’édifice, au centre duquel la vie semblait s’être retirée, donnait au sombre géant de granit, la nuit surtout, la terrifiante majesté des choses muettes et immobiles.
Ce n’était cependant pas un méchant homme que le châtelain de cette vieille forteresse, et, comme disaient les gens qui, le connaissant plus à fond que le vulgaire, lui rendaient mieux justice, il faisait plus de bruit que de besogne et plus peur que de mal, aux chrétiens, bien entendu.
Car, pour les animaux des forêts, c’était un ennemi déclaré, implacable, mortel.
Il était grand louvetier de monseigneur Louis-Philippe d’Orléans, quatrième du nom ; charge qui lui permettait de satisfaire la passion désordonnée qu’il avait pour la chasse.
Sur toutes choses, quoique ce ne fût point facile, il était encore possible de faire entendre raison au baron Jean ; mais, sur la chasse, quand le digne seigneur s’était chaussé une idée dans la tête, il fallait qu’il en eût le cœur net et qu’il arrivât à son but.
Il avait épousé, disait-on, une fille naturelle du prince ; ce qui lui donnait, avec son titre de grand louvetier, un pouvoir presque absolu dans les domaines de son illustre beau-père, pouvoir que personne n’osait lui contester, surtout depuis que monseigneur le duc d’Orléans s’étant, en 1773, remarié avec madame de Montesson, avait à peu près abandonné son château de Villers-Cotterêts pour sa délicieuse maison de Bagnolet, où il recevait les beaux esprits du temps et jouait la comédie.
Aussi était-il bien rare que, chaque jour que le Bon Dieu faisait, soit que le soleil réjouît la terre, soit que la pluie l’attristât, soit que l’hiver couvrît les champs de son blanc linceul, soit que le printemps déroulât sur les prés son vert tapis, aussi était-il bien rare de ne pas voir, entre huit et neuf heures du matin, s’ouvrir à deux battants la grande porte du château et sortir, par cette porte, d’abord le baron Jean, puis son premier piqueur Marcotte, puis les autres piqueurs, puis les chiens couplés et menés en laisse par les valets de chiens, et surveillés par maître Engoulevent, aspirant piqueur, lequel, pareil au bourreau allemand, qui marche seul après la noblesse et avant la bourgeoisie, comme étant le dernier des nobles et le premier des bourgeois, marchait immédiatement après les piqueurs et avant les valets de chiens, comme étant le premier des valets de chiens et le dernier des piqueurs.
Tout cela défilait en grand équipage, chevaux anglais, chiens français : douze chevaux, quarante chiens.
(31-33)
THE Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez, was a hardy and indefatigable sportsman.
If you follow the beautiful valley which runs between Berval and Longpré, you will see, on your left hand, an old tower, which by reason of its isolated position will appear doubly high and formidable to you.
At the present moment it belongs to an old friend of the writer of this tale, and everyone is now so accustomed to its forbidding aspect, that the peasant passing that way in summer has no more fear of seeking shelter from the heat beneath its walls than the martins with their long black wings and shrill cries, and the swallows with their soft chirrupings, have of building their nests under its eaves.
But at the time we are now speaking of, somewhere about 1780, this lordly dwelling of Vez was looked upon with different eyes, and, it must be confessed, it did not then offer so safe a place of retreat. It was a building of the twelfth or thirteenth century, rugged and gloomy, its terrifying exterior having assumed no kindlier aspect as the years rolled by. True, the sentinel with his measured tread and flashing steel-cap no longer paced its ramparts, the archer with his shrill-sounding horn no longer kept watch and ward on the battlements; true the postern was no longer guarded by true men at arms, ready at the least signal of danger to lower the portcullis and draw up the bridge; but the solitude alone which surrounded this grim giant of granite was sufficient to inspire the feeling of awe-inspiring majesty awakened by all mute and motionless things.
The lord of this old fortress, however, was by no means so much to be dreaded; those who were more intimately acquainted with him than were the peasants, and could do him more justice, asserted that his bark was worse than his bite, and that he caused more fear than harm—that is, among his fellow Christians. With the animals of the forest it was different, for he was avowedly their mortal and implacable enemy.
He was chief wolf-hunter to his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of Orleans, the fourth of that name,—a post which allowed him to gratify the inordinate passion he had for the chase. Although it was not easy, it was yet possible to bring the Baron to listen to reason in other matters; but as regards the chase, if once he had got a fixed idea in his head, nothing would satisfy him until he had carried it out and had achieved his purpose.
His wife, according to report, was the natural daughter of the Prince, which, in conjunction with his title of chief wolf-hunter, gave him almost absolute power throughout the domains of his illustrious father-in-law, a power which no one dared to contest with him, especially after the re-marriage of his Royal Highness with Madame de Montesson. This had taken place in 1773, since which date he had almost abandoned his castle at Villers-Cotterets for his delightful residence at Bagnolet, where he entertained all the first wits of the day and amused himself with play-acting.
And so, whether the sun was shining to rejoice the earth, or the rain was saddening it, whether the winter fields lay hidden beneath a shroud of snow, or the spring had spread her fresh green carpet over the meadows, it was rare, on any day of the year, not to see the great gates of the Castle thrown wide open between eight and nine o’clock in the morning, and first the Baron come forth, and immediately after him his chief pricker, Marcotte, followed by the other prickers. Then appeared the dogs, coupled and held in leash by the keepers of the hounds, under the superintendence of Engoulevent, who aspired to become a pricker. Even as the German executioner walks alone, behind the nobles and in front of the citizens, to show that he is the least of the former and the first of the latter, so he walked immediately after the prickers and ahead of the keepers of the hounds, as being the chief of the whippers-in and least of the prickers.
The whole procession filed out of the castle court in full hunting array, with the English horses and the French hounds; twelve horses, and forty dogs.
(12-13)
[The Buck-Hunt Begins]
[Vez hunted every sort of prey, but he especially hunted wolves, in accordance with his title “Chief Wolf Hunter”. One day his chief pricker Marcotte was despondent and explained to Vez that “the black wolf is about.” Vez had about five times before had the chance to hunt the black wolf, but “never once had he been able to get within gun-shot of him or to run him down.” Marcotte explains that the “the damned beast [la damnée bête] has employed himself so well all night crossing his track and doubling, that after having traced him over half the forest, I found myself at the place from which I started.” Then when Marcotte says there is no chance to get near the wolf, Vez exclaims “By all the devils in hell! [Par tous les diables !]” and he asks what beasts can they hunt “in place of this damned black wolf? [à la place de ce damné loup noir?]” Marcotte asks if they should just hunt the first animal they come across. Before Vez can answer, the head keeper of the hounds Engoulevent comes and says “there is a splendid buck in the neighbourhood.” He then demonstrates the buck’s presence in the vicinity by having their best hounds Matador and Jupiter find its scent. Shortly after they do, “a magnificent ten-tined stag came into view”. The hunt begins. They chase it for two hours. To escape the hunters, the buck first crosses over and back and also upstream through a brook (to slow the hounds down or maybe throw them off from their chase). But the dogs were skillful and employed cooperative and equally clever tactics to get right back on the trail and near the buck again.]
[ditto]
Commençons par dire qu’avec ces douze chevaux et ces quarante chiens, le baron Jean chassait toutes bêtes.
Mais, sans doute pour faire honneur à son titre, c’était principalement le loup qu’il chassait. Ce qui prouvera aux vrais veneurs combien il était sûr du nez et du fond de ses chiens, c’est qu’après le loup il donnait rang au sanglier ; après le sanglier venait le cerf, puis le daim, puis le chevreuil. Enfin, lorsque les valets de limiers avaient fait buisson creux, il découplait à la billebaude et attaquait le premier lièvre venu ; car, ainsi que nous l’avons dit, il chassait tous les jours, le digne seigneur, et il se fût plutôt passé de manger et même de boire toute une journée, quoiqu’il eût souvent soif, que de rester vingt-quatre heures sans voir courir ses chiens.
Mais, comme on sait, si vites que soient les chevaux, si fins que soient les chiens, la chasse a ses bons et ses mauvais quarts d’heure.
Un jour, Marcotte se présenta tout penaud au rendez-vous où l’attendait le baron Jean.
– Eh bien, Marcotte, demanda le baron Jean en fronçant le sourcil, qu’y a-t-il encore ? Je vois à ton air que la chasse ira mal aujourd’hui.
Marcotte secoua la tête.
– Voyons, parle, fit le baron Jean avec un geste plein d’impatience.
– Eh bien, il y a, monseigneur, que j’ai eu connaissance du loup noir.
– Ah ! ah ! fit le baron Jean, dont les yeux étincelèrent.
Et, en effet, c’était la cinquième ou sixième fois que le digne seigneur lançait l’animal en question, et que son pelage inaccoutumé rendait si facile à reconnaître, sans jamais être arrivé à le joindre à portée de la carabine ou à le forcer.
– Oui, reprit Marcotte ; mais la damnée bête a si bien employé sa nuit, tellement croisé et rabattu ses voies, qu’après avoir tenu la moitié de la forêt, je me suis retrouvé à ma première brisée.
– Alors, Marcotte, tu crois qu’il n’y a aucune chance de rapprocher l’animal ?
– Je ne crois pas.
– Par tous les diables ! s’écria le seigneur Jean, – qui était le plus grand jureur qui eût paru sur la terre depuis Nemrod –, je me sens cependant malade aujourd’hui, et j’ai besoin d’un hallali, quel qu’il soit, pour rafraîchir mes humeurs noires. Voyons, Marcotte, que chasserons-nous à la place de ce damné loup noir ?
– Dame ! tout occupé de lui, répondit Marcotte, je n’ai point détourné d’autre bête. Monseigneur veut-il découpler à la billebaude et chasser le premier animal venu ?
Le baron Jean allait répondre à Marcotte de faire comme il l’entendrait, lorsqu’il vit le petit Engoulevent qui s’approchait le chapeau à la main.
– Attends, dit-il, voici maître Engoulevent qui a, ce me semble, un conseil à nous donner.
– Je n’ai aucun conseil à donner à un noble seigneur comme vous, répondit Engoulevent en abritant sous une humble contenance sa physionomie narquoise et rusée ; mais mon devoir est de dire que j’ai connaissance d’un beau daim dans les environs.
– Voyons ton daim, Engoulevent, répondit le grand louvetier, et, si tu ne t’es pas trompé, il y aura un écu neuf pour toi.
– Où est ton daim ? demanda Marcotte. Mais prends garde à ta peau si tu nous fais découpler inutilement !
– Donnez-moi Matador et Jupiter, et puis nous verrons.
Matador et Jupiter étaient les deux meilleurs chiens d’attaque du seigneur de Vez. Aussi Engoulevent n’avait-il pas fait cent pas avec eux dans le fourré, qu’au frétillement de leurs queues, à leurs abois répétés, il jugea qu’ils empaumaient la voie. Et, en effet, presque immédiatement le daim, qui était un magnifique dix-cors, se donna aux chiens. Toute la meute découplée rallia les deux vétérans. Marcotte cria gare, sonna le lancer, et la chasse commença à la grande satisfaction du seigneur de Vez, qui, tout en regrettant son loup noir, acceptait cependant un daim dix cors comme pis-aller.
Depuis deux heures, la chasse durait et le daim tenait bon. Il avait d’abord emmené la chasse du petit bois d’Haramont à la route du Pendu, puis de la route du Pendu à la queue d’Oigny, et tout cela haut la main ; car ce n’était pas une de ces bêtes du plat pays qui se font tirer la queue par de méchants bassets.
Cependant, vers les fonds de Bourgfontaine, l’animal se sentit malmené, car il renonça aux grands partis qu’il avait pris jusque-là pour se forlonger, et il commença de ruser.
D’abord, il descendit dans le ruisseau qui va de l’étang de Baisemont à l’étang de Bourg, le remonta pendant un demi-quart de lieue environ, ayant de l’eau jusqu’au jarret, fit un saut à droite, rentra dans le lit du ruisseau, fit un saut à gauche, et dès lors s’éloigna par des bonds aussi vigoureux que ce qui lui restait de forces lui permettait de faire.
Mais les chiens du seigneur Jean n’étaient pas chiens à s’embarrasser de si peu.
D’eux-mêmes, en chiens intelligents et de bonne race qu’ils étaient, ils se divisèrent la tâche. Les uns remontèrent le ruisseau, les autres le descendirent ; ceux-ci quêtèrent à droite, ceux-là quêtèrent à gauche, si bien qu’ils finirent par démêler la ruse de l’animal, retrouvèrent la voie, et, au premier cri que poussa l’un d’eux, se rassemblèrent autour de celui-là et reprirent leur poursuite, aussi chauds et aussi ardents que si le daim eût été à vingt pas devant eux.
(34-36)
Before we go any farther, let me say that with these twelve horses and forty dogs the Baron hunted every sort of quarry, but more especially the wolf, in order no doubt to do honour to his title.
No further proof will be needed by the genuine sportsman of the fine faith he had in the general quality of his hounds, and in their keenness of scent, than the fact that next to the wolf he gave preference to the boar, then to the red deer, then to the fallow-deer, and lastly to the roebuck; finally, if the keepers of the pack failed to sight the animal they had tracked, he uncoupled at random, and went after the first hare that crossed his path. For, as we have already stated, the worthy Baron went out hunting every day, and he would sooner have gone for four-and-twenty hours without food or drink, although he was often thirsty, than have spent that time without seeing his hounds run.
But, as everybody knows, however swift the horses, and however keen the dogs, hunting has its bad times as well as its good.
One day, Marcotte came up to where the Baron was awaiting him, with a crestfallen expression of countenance.
“How now, Marcotte,” asked the Baron frowning, “what is the matter this time? I see by your face we are to expect bad sport to-day.”
Marcotte shook his head.
“Speak up, man,” continued the Baron with a gesture of impatience.
“The matter is, my Lord, that the black wolf is about.”
“Ah! ah!” exclaimed the Baron, his eyes sparkling; for you must know that this made the fifth or sixth time that the worthy Baron had started the animal in question, but never once had he been able to get within gun-shot of him or to run him down.
“Yes,” Marcotte went on, “but the damned beast has employed himself so well all night crossing his track and doubling, that after having traced him over half the forest, I found myself at the place from which I started.”
“You think then, Marcotte, that there is no chance of getting near him.”
“I am afraid not.”
“By all the devils in hell!” exclaimed the Lord of Vez, who had not had his equal in swearing since the mighty Nimrod, “however, I am not feeling well to-day, and I must have a burst of some kind, to get rid of these bad humours. What do you think we can hunt, Marcotte, in place of this damned black wolf?”
“Well, having been so taken up with the wolf,” answered Marcotte, “I have not traced any other animal. Will my Lord uncouple at random and hunt the first animal that we come across?”
The Baron was about to express his willingness to agree to this proposal when he caught sight of little Engoulevent coming towards them cap in hand.
“Wait a moment,” he said, “here comes Engoulevent, who, I fancy, has some advice to give us.”
“I have no advice to give to a noble Lord like yourself,” replied Engoulevent, assuming an expression of humility on his sly and crafty face; “it is, however, my duty to inform you that there is a splendid buck in the neighbourhood.”
“Let us see your buck, Engoulevent,” replied the chief wolf-hunter, “and if you are not mistaken about it, there will be a new crown for you.”
“Where is this buck of yours?” asked Marcotte, “but look to your skin, if you make us uncouple to no purpose.”
“Let me have Matador and Jupiter, and then we shall see.” Matador and Jupiter were the finest among the hounds belonging to the Lord of Vez. And indeed, Engoulevent had not gone a hundred paces with them through the thicket, before, by the lashing of their tails, and their repeated yelping, he knew that they were on the right scent. In another minute or two a magnificent ten-tined stag came into view. Marcotte cried Tally-ho, sounded his horn, and the hunt began, to the great satisfaction of the Lord of Vez, who, although regretting the black wolf, was willing to make the best of a fine buck in its stead. The hunt had lasted two hours, and the quarry still held on. It had first led its pursuers from the little wood of Haramont to the Chemin du Pendu, and thence straight to the back of Oigny, and it still showed no sign of fatigue; for it was not one of those poor animals of the flat country who get their tails pulled by every wretched terrier.
As it neared the low grounds of Bourg-fontaine, however, it evidently decided that it was being run rather hard, for it gave up the bolder measures which had hitherto enabled it to keep ahead, and began to double.
Its first manœuvre was to go down to the brook which joins the ponds of Baisemont and Bourg, then to walk against stream with the water up to its haunches, for nearly half a mile; it then sprang on to the right bank, back again into the bed of the stream, made another leap to the left, and with a succession of bounds, as vigorous as its failing strength allowed, continued to out-distance its pursuers. But the dogs of my lord Baron were not animals to be put out by such trifles as these. Being both sagacious and well-bred, they, of their own accord, divided the task between themselves, half going up stream, and half down, these hunting on the right those on the left, and so effectually that they ere long put the animal off its changes, for they soon recovered the scent, rallying at the first cry given by one of the pack, and starting afresh on the chase, as ready and eager as if the deer had been only twenty paces in front of them.
(13-14)
[Introducing Thibault, the Sabot-Maker]
[The hunters eventually arrive near “the hut of Thibault, the sabot-maker,” that is, the “shoe-maker, the real hero of the tale.” He is around 25-27 years old. He is melancholic on account of his envy toward his more fortunate neighbors. Thibault “had been educated above his position,” having “learnt to read, write, and cypher; moreover he knew a little Latin, which made him inordinately proud of himself.” He is well read, but he tends toward what was bad. He had dreamt of becoming something other than a sabot-maker. At 20 he entered the army, but after five years later he left after failing to receive the least promotion. He considered joining the navy, but realized that would not work out in the end anyway. He considered becoming a notary, but he knew he would never eventually be able to afford a practice. When Thibault’s father died, he entrusted his father’s tools with a friend, sold all the furniture, and went travelling for three years around France. “he learnt a great many things in the course of his journey of which he was previously ignorant, and acquired certain accomplishments which he had previously been without.” For instance, he learned that while one should keep their word in business matters with other men, “it was no use whatever keeping love vows made to a woman.” Thibault had other impressive traits that made him proud, and with the self-esteem that brought him, he did not understand why he could not have been nobly born. He nonetheless resigned to get good at sabot-making, which served his father well. After retrieving his father’s tools, “he went to ask permission of the Steward of his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of Orleans, to build a hut in the forest, in which to carry on his trade. He had no difficulty in obtaining this”. He was allowed to pick his location in the forest. “Thibault chose the spot near the osier-beds, where the roads crossed, one of the most beautiful parts of the woods, less than a mile from Oigny and about three times that distance from Villers-Cotterets.” He then builds his wooden hut there, and in it he builds a bed and buys a mattress for it. Little by little he furnishes his hut. His business was successful, because he was good at making wooden shoes and at using the resulting scrap wood to craft other wooden things for sale. During this time, his only fault was being envious of his neighbors’ better fortune in life. “But this feeling was as yet so inoffensive, that his confessor had no need to do more than awaken in him a sense of shame for harbouring thoughts which had, so far, not resulted in any active crime.”]
[ditto]
Toujours galopant, toujours sonnant, toujours aboyant, le baron Jean, les piqueurs, et la meute arrivèrent aux étangs de Saint-Antoine, à quelques centaines de pas des bordures d’Oigny.
Là, entre les bordures d’Oigny et la haie des Oseraies, s’élevait la hutte de Thibault le sabotier.
Disons un peu ce que c’était que Thibault le sabotier, c’est-à-dire le véritable héros de notre histoire.
Peut-être me demandera-t-on comment, moi qui ai assigné des rois à comparaître sur la scène ; comment, moi qui ai forcé princes, ducs et barons à jouer des rôles secondaires dans mes romans, je prends un simple sabotier pour héros de cette histoire.
D’abord, je répondrai qu’il y a, dans mon cher pays de Villers-Cotterêts, plus de sabotiers que de barons, de ducs et de princes, et que, du moment où mon intention était de prendre pour théâtre des événements que je vais raconter la forêt qui l’entoure, il fallait, sous peine de faire des personnages de fantaisie, comme les Incas de M. Marmontel ou les Abencerrages de M. de Florian, que je prisse un des habitants réels de cette forêt.
D’ailleurs, on ne prend pas un sujet, c’est le sujet qui vous prend ; et, qu’il soit bon ou mauvais, je suis pris par ce sujet-là.
Je vais donc essayer de faire le portrait de Thibault le sabotier, tout simple sabotier qu’il est, aussi exactement qu’un peintre fait le portrait qu’un prince régnant veut envoyer à sa fiancée.
Thibault était un homme de vingt-cinq à vingt-sept ans, grand, bien fait, solide de corps, mais naturellement triste de cœur et d’esprit. Cette tristesse lui venait d’un petit grain d’envie qu’il éprouvait malgré lui, à son insu peut-être, contre le prochain mieux favorisé que lui du côté de la fortune.
Son père avait fait une faute, grave en tout temps, mais plus grave à cette époque d’absolutisme où personne ne pouvait s’élever au-dessus de son état, que dans notre temps, où, avec de la capacité, on peut parvenir à tout.
Son père lui avait fait donner une éducation au-dessus de sa position. Thibault avait été à l’école de l’abbé Fortier, magister de Villers-Cotterêts ; il savait lire, écrire, compter ; il avait appris même un peu de latin, ce qui le rendait très fier.
Thibault avait employé beaucoup de temps à lire. Il avait lu surtout les livres à la mode à la fin du dernier siècle. Chimiste malhabile, il n’avait pas su séparer le bon du mauvais, ou plutôt il en avait séparé le mauvais, et c’était particulièrement le mauvais qu’il avait avalé à large dose, laissant le bon se précipiter au fond du verre.
Sans doute, à l’âge de vingt ans, Thibault avait rêvé autre chose que d’être sabotier.
Un instant, par exemple, il jeta les yeux sur l’état militaire.
Mais les camarades qui avaient porté la double livrée du roi et de la France, entrés au service comme soldats, étaient sortis du service comme soldats, n’ayant point gagné, pendant cinq ou six années d’esclavage, le plus petit grade, pas même celui de caporal.
Thibault avait songé aussi à se faire marin.
Mais la carrière de la marine était bien autrement fermée encore aux plébéiens que celle de l’armée.
Au bout de quinze ou vingt ans de dangers, de tempêtes, de combats, il pouvait arriver à être contre-maître, voilà tout, et encore !
Or, ce n’était pas la veste courte et le pantalon de toile à voile que Thibault ambitionnait de porter : c’était l’habit bleu de roi, avec le gilet rouge et l’épaulette d’or en patte de chat.
Mais il n’y avait pas d’exemple que le fils d’un sabotier fût jamais devenu capitaine de frégate, même lieutenant, même enseigne.
Il fallait donc renoncer à être marin.
Thibault aurait assez aimé l’état de notaire. Il songea un instant à entrer chez maître Niquet, tabellion royal, comme saute-ruisseau, et à gagner ses grades à la force de ses jarrets et à la pointe de sa plume.
Mais, arrivé au grade de maître clerc, à cent écus par an, où prendrait-il les trente mille francs nécessaires pour l’achat de la plus petite étude de village ?
Il n’y avait donc pas plus moyen de devenir tabellion que de se faire officier de terre ou de mer.
Sur ces entrefaites, le père de Thibault mourut.
Le père de Thibault avait peu d’argent comptant, à peu près ce qu’il en fallait pour l’enterrer.
On l’enterra donc, et, une fois enterré, il resta à Thibault trois ou quatre pistoles.
Thibault savait très bien son état ; c’était même un fin sabotier. Mais il n’avait pas de goût pour manier la tarière et le paroir.
Il en résulta que, par un dernier sentiment de prudence, il déposa chez un ami les outils de son père, vendit les meubles depuis le premier jusqu’au dernier, réalisa une somme de cinq cent quarante livres, et résolut de faire ce que l’on appelait alors le tour de France.
Thibault fut trois ans en voyage. Il n’avait point fait fortune dans sa tournée ; mais il avait appris des choses qu’il ignorait et acquis des talents qu’il n’avait point.
Il avait appris que, s’il est convenable de tenir une parole commerciale engagée vis-à-vis d’un homme, il est complètement inutile de tenir un serment d’amour fait à une femme.
Voilà ce qu’il avait gagné au moral.
Quant au physique, il dansait la gigue à ravir, jouait du bâton à deux bouts de façon à se défendre contre quatre hommes, et maniait l’épieu comme le meilleur valet de vénerie.
Tout cela n’avait pas peu contribué à augmenter l’orgueil naturel de Thibault, et, en se voyant plus beau, plus fort, plus adroit que beaucoup de nobles, il demandait à la Providence : « Pourquoi ne suis-je pas né noble, et pourquoi tel noble n’est-il pas né vilain ? »
Mais, comme aux apostrophes de Thibault la Providence se gardait bien de répondre ; comme Thibault, en dansant, en jouant du bâton à deux bouts et en lançant l’épieu, fatiguait son corps et ne le restaurait pas, Thibault songea à reprendre son ancien état, si humble qu’il fût, se disant à part lui que, s’il avait nourri le père, il nourrirait bien aussi le fils.
Thibault alla donc chercher ses outils où il les avait déposés ; puis, ses outils à la main, il alla demander à l’intendant des biens de monseigneur Louis-Philippe d’Orléans la permission de se bâtir une cabane dans la forêt pour y exercer son état ; ce que l’intendant lui accorda volontiers, car il savait par expérience que M. le duc d’Orléans était un cœur très miséricordieux, donnant jusqu’à deux cent quarante mille francs par an aux malheureux, et il pensa que, donnant une pareille somme, il prêterait bien trente ou quarante pieds de terrain à un brave ouvrier qui avait envie de travailler.
Thibault, libre d’établir son domicile à l’endroit de la forêt qui lui serait le plus agréable, choisit le carrefour des Osières, situé au plus bel endroit de la forêt, à un quart de lieue d’Oigny et à trois quarts de lieue de Villers-Cotterêts.
Le sabotier bâtit donc sa saboterie, moitié avec les vieilles planches que lui donna M. Parisis, lequel avait une vente dans le voisinage, moitié avec les branches que l’intendant lui laissa couper dans la forêt.
Puis, quand la cabane fut bâtie, se composant d’une chambre à coucher bien close où il pouvait travailler l’hiver, et d’un appentis tout grand ouvert où il pouvait travailler l’été, il s’occupa à se faire un lit.
Ce lit, ce fut une jonchée de fougères qui d’abord en tint lieu.
Puis, quand il eut fait une centaine de paires de sabots et qu’il les eut vendues au père Bedeau, marchand de toutes choses à Villers-Cotterêts, de ce premier argent il donna des arrhes sur un matelas qu’on lui permit de payer en trois mois.
Le bois de lit ne fut pas difficile à faire.
Thibault n’était pas beaucoup sabotier sans être un peu menuisier.
Il se fit un bois de lit dont il tressa le fond sanglé avec des oseraies, posa son matelas dessus et se trouva avoir un coucher.
Puis, peu à peu et à leur tour, vinrent les draps et les couvertures.
Puis le réchaud pour faire le feu, les casseroles de terre pour faire la cuisine sur le réchaud, puis la vaisselle de faïence où la manger.
Au bout de l’année, le mobilier de Thibault s’augmenta d’une belle huche en chêne et d’une belle armoire en noyer, que, comme son bois de lit, il fit lui-même.
Et, au milieu de tout cela, la besogne du métier allait ; car Thibault n’avait pas son pareil pour trouver une paire de souliers de bois dans un morceau de fayard, et pour tailler des cuillers, des salières, de petites sébiles de bois dans les rognures du premier travail.
Thibault était donc installé dans sa saboterie depuis trois ans, c’est-à-dire depuis sa revenue du tour de France, et, depuis cette revenue, on n’avait pu lui reprocher qu’une chose que nous lui avons déjà reprochée : c’était d’être un peu plus envieux du bien de son prochain qu’il ne convenait pour le salut de son âme.
Mais c’était encore chez lui un sentiment si inoffensif, qu’il n’appartenait qu’à son confesseur de lui faire honte d’un crime qui n’existait encore dans son âme qu’à l’état de péché.
(36-42)
And so with galloping of horses, with cry of hounds and blare of horn, the Baron and his huntsmen reached the ponds of Saint Antoine, a hundred paces or so from the Confines of Oigny. Between these and the Osier-beds stood the hut of Thibault, the sabot-maker.
We must pause to give some description of this Thibault, the shoe-maker, the real hero of the tale.
You will ask why I, who have summoned kings to appear upon the stage, who have obliged princes, dukes, and barons to play secondary parts in my romances, should take a simple shoe-maker for the hero of this tale.
First, I will reply by saying that, in my dear home country of Villers-Cotterets, there are more sabot-makers than barons, dukes and princes, and that, as soon as I decided to make the forest the scene of the events I am about to record, I was obliged to choose one of the actual inhabitants of this forest as hero, unless I had wished to represent such fantastic persons as the Incas of Marmontel or the Abencerrages of M. de Florian.
More than that, it is not the author who decides on the subject, but the subject which takes possession of the author, and, good or bad, this particular subject has taken possession of me. I will therefore endeavour to draw Thibault’s portrait for you, plain shoe-maker as he was, as exactly as the artist paints the portrait which a prince desires to send to his lady-love.
Thibault was a man between twenty-five and twenty-seven years of age, tall, well made, physically robust, but by nature melancholy and sad of heart. This depression of spirits arose from a little grain of envy, which, in spite of himself, perhaps unconsciously to himself, he harboured towards all such of his neighbours as had been more favoured by fortune than himself.
His father had committed a fault, a serious one at all times, but more especially in those days of absolutism, when a man was not able to rise above his station as now-a-days, when with sufficient capacity he may attain to any rank. Thibault had been educated above his position; he had been at school under the Abbé Fortier, at Villers-Cotterets, and had learnt to read, write, and cypher; moreover he knew a little Latin, which made him inordinately proud of himself. Thibault had spent a great part of his time in reading, and his books had been chiefly those which were in vogue at the close of the preceding century. But he had not been a sufficiently clever analyst to know how to separate the good from the bad, or rather he had separated what was bad, and swallowed it in large doses, leaving the good to precipitate itself at the bottom of the glass.
At twenty years of age Thibault had certainly had dreams of being something other than a sabot-maker. He had, for instance, for a very little while, cast his eyes towards the army. But his comrades who had worn the double livery of king and country, had left the service as they entered it, mere soldiers of the ranks, having failed during five or six years of slavery to obtain promotion, even to the not very exalted grade of corporal.
Thibault had also thought of becoming a sailor. But a career in the navy was as much forbidden to the plebeian as one in the army. Possibly after enduring danger, and storm and battle for fifteen or twenty years, he might be made a boatswain’s mate, that was all, and then! besides, it was by no means Thibault’s ambition to wear a short vest and sail-cloth trousers, but the blue uniform of the king with red vest and gold epaulettes. He had moreover known of no single case in which the son of a mere shoe-maker had become Master of a Frigate, or even Lieutenant. So he was forced to give up all idea of joining the King’s Navy.
Thibault would not have minded being a Notary, and at one time thought of apprenticing himself to the Royal Scrivener, Maître Niquet, as a stepping-stone, and of making his way up on the strength of his own legs and with the help of his pen. But supposing him to have risen to the position of head clerk with a salary of a hundred crowns, where was he to find the thirty thousand francs which would be required for the purchase of the smallest village practice.
There was, therefore, no better chance of his becoming a scrivener than of becoming an officer on sea or land. Meanwhile, Thibault’s father died, leaving very little ready money. There was about enough to bury him, so he was buried, and this done, there remained some thirty or forty francs over for Thibault.
Thibault knew his trade well; indeed, he was a first-rate workman; but he had no inclination to handle either auger or parer. It ended, therefore, by his leaving all his father’s tools in the care of a friend, a remnant of prudence still remaining to him, and selling every vestige of furniture; having thus realised a sum of five hundred and forty livres, he determined to make what was then called the tour of France.
Thibault spent three years in travelling; he did not make his fortune during that time, but he learnt a great many things in the course of his journey of which he was previously ignorant, and acquired certain accomplishments which he had previously been without.
He learned amongst other things that, although it was as well to keep one’s word on matters of business with a man, it was no use whatever keeping love vows made to a woman.
So much for his character and habits of mind. As to his external accomplishments, he could dance a jig beautifully, could hold his own at quarter-staff against four men, and could handle the boar-spear as cleverly as the best huntsman going. All these things had not a little served to increase Thibault’s natural self-esteem, and, seeing himself handsomer, stronger, and cleverer than many of the nobles, he would exclaim against Providence, crying, “Why was I not nobly born? why was not that nobleman yonder born a peasant?”
But as Providence took care not to make any answer to these apostrophés, and as Thibault found that dancing, playing at quarter-staff, and throwing the boar-spear only fatigued the body, without procuring him any material advantage, he began to turn his thoughts towards his ancient trade, humble though it was, saying to himself, if it enabled the father to live, it would also enable the son. So Thibault went and fetched away his tools; and then, tools in hand, he went to ask permission of the Steward of his Royal Highness Louis Philippe of Orleans, to build a hut in the forest, in which to carry on his trade. He had no difficulty in obtaining this, for the steward knew by experience that his master was a very kind-hearted man, expending as much as two hundred and forty thousand francs a year on the poor; he felt sure, therefore, that one who gave away a sum like this, would be willing to let an honest workman who wished to ply his trade, have thirty or forty feet of ground.
As he had leave to establish himself in whatever part of the forest he liked best, Thibault chose the spot near the osier-beds, where the roads crossed, one of the most beautiful parts of the woods, less than a mile from Oigny and about three times that distance from Villers-Cotterets. The shoe-maker put up his work-shop, built partly of old planks given him by M. Panisis, who had been having a sale in the neighbourhood, and partly of the branches which the steward gave him leave to cut in the forest.
When the building of the hut, which consisted of a bedroom, cosily shut in, where he could work during the winter, and of a lean-to, open to the air, where he could work in the summer, was completed, Thibault began to think of making himself a bed. At first, a layer of fern had to serve for this purpose; but after he had made a hundred pairs of wooden shoes and had sold these to Bedeau, who kept a general shop at Villers-Cotterets, he was able to pay a sufficient deposit to get a mattress, to be paid for in full by the end of three months. The framework of the bed was not difficult to make; Thibault was not the shoe-maker he was without being a bit of a carpenter into the bargain, and when this was finished he plaited osiers to take the place of sacking, laid the mattress upon them, and found himself at last with a bed to lie upon.
Little by little came the sheets, and then in their turn the coverlids; the next purchase was a chafing-dish, and earthenware pots to cook in, and finally some plates and dishes. Before the year was out Thibault had also made additions to his furniture of a fine oak chest and a fine walnut-wood cupboard, both, like the bed, his own handiwork. All the while he was driving a brisk trade, for none could beat Thibault in turning a block of beech into a pair of shoes, and in converting the odd chips into spoons, salt-cellars and natty little bowls.
He had now been settled in his work-shop for three years, that is, ever since his return after the completion of his tour round France, and there was nothing for which anyone could have reproached him during this interval except the failing we have already mentioned—that he was rather more envious of the good fortune of his neighbour than was altogether conducive to the welfare of his soul. But this feeling was as yet so inoffensive, that his confessor had no need to do more than awaken in him a sense of shame for harbouring thoughts which had, so far, not resulted in any active crime.
(14-16)
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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