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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
14
“Une noce de village”
“A Village Wedding”
Brief summary (collecting those below):
__(14.1)__ (Recall from section 13 that Thibault the sorcerer was kicked out of Monsieur Magloire’s house after being discovered hiding in his wife’s bedroom as part of Thibault’s scheme to win her. He next enters the forest.) Upon entering the forest, “he found himself surrounded by his wolves. He was pleased to see them again; he slackened his pace; he called to them; and the wolves came crowding round him. Thibault caressed them as a shepherd might his sheep, as a keeper of the hounds his dogs. They were his flock, his hunting pack [sa meute]; a flock with flaming eyes, a pack [meute] with looks of fire.” Owls perch above. Thibault is “in the middle of it all, the centre of the devilish circle [un cercle infernal].” Like the wolves, the owls seem to be attracted to Thibault. He notes that “I am not then the enemy of all created things; if men hate me, the animals love me.” Thibault “had become among men, what they were among animals; a creature of the night! a man of prey! With all these animals together, he could not do an atom of good; but, on the other hand, he could do a great deal of harm. Thibault smiled at the thought of the harm he could do.” He realizes he is too tired to finish his trip home, so he decides to rest in a great and ancient oak tree’s hollow, which “was as large as an ordinarily sized room; but the entrance to it barely allowed a man to pass through.” He takes his place on a soft seat inside, “and bidding good night to his wolves and his screech owls, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, or at least appeared to do so. The wolves lay down in a circle round the tree; the owls perched in the branches. With these lights spread around its trunk, with these lights scattered about its branches, the oak had the appearance of a tree lit up for some infernal revel [fête infernale].” __(14.2)__ Thibault awakes the next day to the sound of a band playing merry music and approaching his tree. But “all this up-springing of happiness, brought no calmer thoughts back to Thibault, but rather increased the anger and bitterness of his feelings. He would have liked the whole world to be as dark and gloomy as was his own soul. On first detecting the sounds of the approaching rural band, he thought of running away from it; but a power, stronger than his will, as it seemed to him, held him rooted to the spot; so he hid himself in the hollow of the oak and waited.” After hearing other sounds like a gun firing, he realizes there is a village wedding, and he then sees this is the procession. Among them he notices some “keepers in the service of the lord of Vez. Then came Engoulevent, the second huntsman, giving his arm to an old blind woman, who was decked out with ribands like the others; then the major-domo of the Castle of Vez, as representative probably of the father of the little huntsman, giving his arm to the bride.” Thibault stares at he bride “with wild fixed eyes,” surprised to learn that she is Agnelette! He is humiliated to see that she is so joyful, despite marrying someone other than himself. “But the chief cause of Agnelette’s happiness and smiles was not the great love she felt towards the man who was to become her husband, but her contentment at having found what she so ardently desired, that which Thibault had wickedly promised to her without really wishing to give her,—someone who would help her to support her blind old grandmother.” The procession “passed along the road within twenty paces of Thibault, without observing the head with its flaming hair and the eyes with their fiery gleam, looking out from the hollow of the tree.” After they pass by, Thibault becomes enflamed with jealousy, even though he had no real intention of keeping his promises to her: “a new fire of hell had been lighted in his heart the worst of the fires of hell; that which gnaws at the vitals like the sharpest serpent’s tooth, and corrodes the blood like the most destructive poison—the fire of jealousy. [un enfer nouveau venait de s’allumer dans son cœur ; le plus terrible de tous, celui dont les serpents mordent le cœur avec les dents les plus aiguës et infiltrent le poison le plus corrosif : L’enfer de la jalousie !]” Thibault “persuaded himself that Agnelette was engaged to him by oath, that Engoulevent was carrying off what belonged to him.” Thibault then falls into a rueful despair: “He bit his fists, he knocked his head against the sides of the tree, and finally began to cry and sob. But they were not those tears and sobs which gradually soften the heart and are often kindly agents in dispersing a bad humour and reviving a better one; no, they were tears and sobs arising rather from anger than from regret, and these tears and sobs had no power to drive the hatred out of Thibault’s heart. As some of his tears fell visibly adown his face, so it seemed that others fell on his heart within like drops of gall.” Although Thibault in that state could have wished the bride and groom die at the alter, “God, who was reserving the two children for other trials, did not allow this fatal wish to formulate itself in Thibault’s mind.” __(14.3)__ Thibault rushes home. Then “he went into his hut as a tiger might enter its den, closed the door behind him, and went and crouched down in the darkest corner he could find in his miserable lodging. There, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands, he sat and thought. And what thoughts were they which occupied this unhappy, desperate man? Ask of Milton what were Satan’s thoughts after his fall [Demandez à Milton quelles furent les pensées de Satan après sa chute]. He went over again all the old questions which had upset his mind from the beginning, which had brought despair upon so many before him, and would bring despair to so many that came after him. Why should some be born in bondage and others be born to power? Why should there be so much inequality with regard to a thing which takes place in exactly the same way in all classes—namely birth? By what means can this game of nature’s, in which chance for ever holds the cards against mankind, be made a fairer one? And is not the only way to accomplish this, to do what the clever gamester —get the devil to back him up [en mettant le diable de leur côté ]?” He notes that cheating as he had with the devil’s help never worked: “Each time he had held a good hand, each time he had felt sure of the game, it was the devil [le diable] after all who had won.” For, with the devil’s supernatural aid, he lost Agnelette, Madame Poulet the Miller, and Madame Magloire. He also caused the death of Marcotte without even getting the buck he hunted, which was his original ambition. “And then this rapid multiplication of devil’s hairs [cheveux diaboliques] was appalling! He recalled the tale of the philosopher who asked for a grain of wheat, multiplied by each of the sixty-four squares of the chess board—the abundant harvests of a thousand years were required to fill the last square. And he—how many wishes yet remained to him?—seven or eight at the outside. The unhappy man dared not look at himself either in the spring which lurked at the foot of one of the trees in the forest, or in the mirror that hung against the wall. He feared to render an exact account to himself of the time still left to him in which to exercise his power; he preferred to remain in the night of uncertainty than to face that terrible dawn which must rise when the night was over.” Yet Thibault holds onto the belief that were he educated enough, he would be able to figure out a way to cause misfortune to others in a way that brought himself wealth and happiness. But the example of Faust suggests otherwise: “Poor fool! If he had been a man of learning, he would have known the legend of Doctor Faust. To what did the omnipotence conferred on him by Mephistopheles [Méphistophélès] lead Faust, the dreamer, the thinker, the pre-eminent scholar? To the murder of Valentine! to Margaret’s suicide! to the pursuit of Helen of Troy, the pursuit of an empty shadow!” Thibault is especially angered that Agnelette’s groom is “That wretched little Engoulevent, the man who had spied him out when he was perched in the tree, who had found his boar-spear in the bush, which had been the cause of the stripes he had received from Marcotte. Ah! if he had but known! to him and not to Marcotte would he have willed that evil should befall! What was the physical torture he had undergone from the blows of the strap compared to the moral torture he was enduring now.” The narrator notes that had Thibault not become overcome with ambition and pride, he could have lived a happy life as a workman married to Agnelette; for he was Agnelette’s first love. While the wedding party feasts, Thibault resentfully is left with bread, water, and solitude in his hut. He then realizes that his money can buy a nice meal at the fine restaurant Dauphin d’Or, which he heads off to.
[Thibault’s Sleeping in an Oak Tree]
[Thibault’s Learning of Agnelette's Wedding with Engoulevent]
[Thibault’s Brooding, Jealous Regret and His Decision to Dine Out at a Fine Restaurant]
Summary
[Thibault’s Sleeping in an Oak Tree]
[(Recall from section 13 that Thibault the sorcerer was kicked out of Monsieur Magloire’s house after being discovered hiding in his wife’s bedroom as part of Thibault’s scheme to win her. He next enters the forest.) Upon entering the forest, “he found himself surrounded by his wolves. He was pleased to see them again; he slackened his pace; he called to them; and the wolves came crowding round him. Thibault caressed them as a shepherd might his sheep, as a keeper of the hounds his dogs. They were his flock, his hunting pack [sa meute]; a flock with flaming eyes, a pack [meute] with looks of fire.” Owls perch above. Thibault is “in the middle of it all, the centre of the devilish circle [un cercle infernal].” Like the wolves, the owls seem to be attracted to Thibault. He notes that “I am not then the enemy of all created things; if men hate me, the animals love me.” Thibault “had become among men, what they were among animals; a creature of the night! a man of prey! With all these animals together, he could not do an atom of good; but, on the other hand, he could do a great deal of harm. Thibault smiled at the thought of the harm he could do.” He realizes he is too tired to finish his trip home, so he decides to rest in a great and ancient oak tree’s hollow, which “was as large as an ordinarily sized room; but the entrance to it barely allowed a man to pass through.” He takes his place on a soft seat inside, “and bidding good night to his wolves and his screech owls, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, or at least appeared to do so. The wolves lay down in a circle round the tree; the owls perched in the branches. With these lights spread around its trunk, with these lights scattered about its branches, the oak had the appearance of a tree lit up for some infernal revel [fête infernale].” ]
[ditto]
À peine Thibault eut-il fait cinq cents pas dans la forêt, qu’il se trouva au milieu de ses loups.
Il eut plaisir à les revoir.
Il ralentit sa course.
Il les appela.
Les loups se pressèrent autour de lui.
Thibault les caressa comme un pasteur fait de ses brebis, comme un piqueur fait de ses chiens.
C’était son troupeau, c’était sa meute.
Troupeau aux yeux flamboyants, meute aux regards de flamme.
Au-dessus de sa tête, dans les branches sèches, sautillaient sans bruit ou voletaient en silence les chats-huants aux houhoulements plaintifs, et les chouettes aux cris funèbres.
Et dans les branches, comme des charbons ailés, on voyait scintiller les yeux des oiseaux de nuit.
Thibault semblait être le centre d’un cercle infernal.
De même que les loups venaient, en le caressant, se coucher à ses pieds, de même les hiboux et les chouettes semblaient attirés vers lui.
Les hiboux effleuraient ses cheveux du bout de leurs ailes silencieuses.
Les chouettes venaient se percher sur son épaule.
– Ah ! ah ! murmura Thibault, je ne suis donc pas l’ennemi de toute la création : si les hommes me détestent, les animaux m’aiment.
Thibault oubliait quel rang tenaient, dans la chaîne des êtres créés, les animaux qui l’aimaient.
Il ne songeait plus que ces animaux qui l’aimaient étaient les animaux qui haïssent l’homme et que l’homme maudit.
Il ne réfléchissait pas que ces animaux l’aimaient parce qu’il était devenu, parmi les hommes, ce qu’ils étaient, eux, parmi les animaux :
Une créature de nuit !
Un homme de proie !
Avec la réunion de tous ces animaux, Thibault ne pouvait pas faire un atome de bien.
Mais, en échange, il pouvait faire beaucoup de mal.
Thibault sourit au mal qu’il pouvait faire.
Il était à une lieue encore de sa cabane : il se sentait fatigué. Il connaissait aux environs un grand chêne creux, il s’orienta et chemina vers ce chêne.
Il n’en aurait pas su le chemin que les loups le lui eussent montré, comme s’ils eussent pénétré sa pensée et deviné ce qu’il cherchait. Tandis que chouettes et hiboux sautillaient de branche en branche comme pour éclairer son chemin, les loups trottaient devant lui pour le lui montrer.
L’arbre était à vingt pas de la route. C’était, nous l’avons dit, un vieux chêne qui ne comptait point par années, mais par siècles.
Les arbres qui vivent dix, vingt, trente existences d’homme, ne comptent pas, comme les hommes, par jours et par nuits, ils comptent par saisons.
L’automne est leur crépuscule, l’hiver est leur nuit. Le printemps est leur aube, l’été leur jour.
L’homme envie l’arbre, l’éphémère envie l’homme.
Le tronc du vieux chêne n’eût pas été encerclé par les bras de quarante hommes réunis.
Le creux que le temps y avait formé, en faisant tomber tous les jours une parcelle de bois avec la pointe de sa faux, était grand comme une chambre ordinaire.
Cependant l’entrée en était suffisante à peine au passage d’un homme.
Thibault s’y glissa.
Il y trouva une espèce de siège taillé dans l’épaisseur du tronc, s’y assit aussi doucement et confortablement que dans un fauteuil à la Voltaire, souhaita la bonne nuit à ses loups et à ses chats-huants, ferma les yeux et s’endormit ou parut s’endormir.
Les loups se couchèrent en cercle autour de l’arbre.
Les hiboux et les chouettes perchèrent dans les branches.
Avec ces lumières répandues à ses pieds, avec ces lumières éparses dans les branches, le chêne ressemblait à un grand if illuminé pour quelque fête infernale.
(193-195)
HE had made but a few steps within the forest, when he found himself surrounded by his wolves. He was pleased to see them again; he slackened his pace; he called to them; and the wolves came crowding round him. Thibault caressed them as a shepherd might his sheep, as a keeper of the hounds his dogs. They were his flock, his hunting pack [sa meute]; a flock with flaming eyes, a pack [meute] with looks of fire. Overhead, among the bare branches, the screech-owls were hopping and fluttering, making their plaintive calls, while the other owls uttered their melancholy cries in concert. The eyes of these night-birds shone like winged coals flying about among the trees, and there was Thibault in the middle of it all, the centre of the devilish circle [un cercle infernal].
Even as the wolves came up to fawn upon him and crouch at his feet, so the owls appeared to be attracted towards him. The tips of their silent wings brushed against his hair; some of them alighted to perch upon his shoulder.
“Ah!” murmured Thibault, “I am not then the enemy of all created things; if men hate me, the animals love me.”
He forgot what place the animals, who loved him, held in the chain of created beings. He did not remember that these animals which loved him, were those which hated mankind, and which mankind cursed.
He did not pause to reflect that these animals loved him, because he had become among men, what they were among animals; a creature of the night! a man of prey! With all these animals together, he could not do an atom of good; but, on the other hand, he could do a great deal of harm. Thibault smiled at the thought of the harm he could do.
He was still some distance from home, and he began to feel tired. He knew there was a large hollow oak somewhere near, and he took his bearings and made for it; but he would have missed his way if the wolves, who seemed to guess his thoughts, had not guided him to it. While flocks of owls hopped along from branch to branch, as if to illuminate the way, the wolves trotted along in front to show it him. The tree stood about twenty paces back from the road; it was, as I have said, an old oak, numbering not years, but centuries. Trees which live ten, twenty, thirty times the length of a man’s life, do not count their age by days and nights, but by seasons. The autumn is their twilight, the winter, their night; the spring is their dawn, the summer their day. Man envies the tree, the butterfly envies man. Forty men could not have encircled the trunk of the old oak with their arms.
The hollow made by time, that daily dislodged one more little piece of wood with the point of its scythe, was as large as an ordinarily sized room; but the entrance to it barely allowed a man to pass through. Thibault crept inside; there he found a sort of seat cut out of the thickness of the trunk, as soft and comfortable to sit in as an arm chair. Taking his place in it, and bidding good night to his wolves and his screech owls, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, or at least appeared to do so.
The wolves lay down in a circle round the tree; the owls perched in the branches. With these lights spread around its trunk, with these lights scattered about its branches, the oak had the appearance of a tree lit up for some infernal revel [fête infernale].
(72-73)
[Thibault’s Learning of Agnelette's Wedding with Engoulevent]
[Thibault awakes the next day to the sound of a band playing merry music and approaching his tree. But “all this up-springing of happiness, brought no calmer thoughts back to Thibault, but rather increased the anger and bitterness of his feelings. He would have liked the whole world to be as dark and gloomy as was his own soul. On first detecting the sounds of the approaching rural band, he thought of running away from it; but a power, stronger than his will, as it seemed to him, held him rooted to the spot; so he hid himself in the hollow of the oak and waited.” After hearing other sounds like a gun firing, he realizes there is a village wedding, and he then sees this is the procession. Among them he notices some “keepers in the service of the lord of Vez. Then came Engoulevent, the second huntsman, giving his arm to an old blind woman, who was decked out with ribands like the others; then the major-domo of the Castle of Vez, as representative probably of the father of the little huntsman, giving his arm to the bride.” Thibault stares at he bride “with wild fixed eyes,” surprised to learn that she is Agnelette! He is humiliated to see that she is so joyful, despite marrying someone other than himself. “But the chief cause of Agnelette’s happiness and smiles was not the great love she felt towards the man who was to become her husband, but her contentment at having found what she so ardently desired, that which Thibault had wickedly promised to her without really wishing to give her,—someone who would help her to support her blind old grandmother.” The procession “passed along the road within twenty paces of Thibault, without observing the head with its flaming hair and the eyes with their fiery gleam, looking out from the hollow of the tree.” After they pass by, Thibault becomes enflamed with jealousy, even though he had no real intention of keeping his promises to her: “a new fire of hell had been lighted in his heart the worst of the fires of hell; that which gnaws at the vitals like the sharpest serpent’s tooth, and corrodes the blood like the most destructive poison—the fire of jealousy. [un enfer nouveau venait de s’allumer dans son cœur ; le plus terrible de tous, celui dont les serpents mordent le cœur avec les dents les plus aiguës et infiltrent le poison le plus corrosif : L’enfer de la jalousie !]” Thibault “persuaded himself that Agnelette was engaged to him by oath, that Engoulevent was carrying off what belonged to him.” Thibault then falls into a rueful despair: “He bit his fists, he knocked his head against the sides of the tree, and finally began to cry and sob. But they were not those tears and sobs which gradually soften the heart and are often kindly agents in dispersing a bad humour and reviving a better one; no, they were tears and sobs arising rather from anger than from regret, and these tears and sobs had no power to drive the hatred out of Thibault’s heart. As some of his tears fell visibly adown his face, so it seemed that others fell on his heart within like drops of gall.” Although Thibault in that state could have wished the bride and groom die at the alter, “God, who was reserving the two children for other trials, did not allow this fatal wish to formulate itself in Thibault’s mind.”]
[ditto]
Il était grand jour quand Thibault se réveilla.
Depuis longtemps les loups étaient rentrés dans leurs cavernes, et chouettes et hiboux avaient regagné leurs ruines.
Il n’était plus question de la pluie de la veille.
Un rayon de soleil, un de ces rayons encore pâles, mais qu’on reconnaît cependant pour des messagers du printemps, glissait à travers les branches dépouillées des arbres, et, à défaut de la verdure annuelle encore absente, faisait reluire l’éternelle et sombre verdure du gui.
Un bruit de musique se faisait vaguement entendre dans le lointain.
Mais peu à peu ce bruit approchait, et l’on pouvait commencer à distinguer que le concert se composait de deux violons et d’un hautbois.
D’abord Thibault crut rêver.
Mais, comme il était grand jour, comme il paraissait avoir la pleine jouissance de son esprit, force fut bien à Thibault de comprendre qu’il était parfaitement éveillé ; d’autant plus que, quand il se fut bien frotté les yeux pour s’assurer de la vérité, les sons rustiques qu’il avait entendus parvinrent à son oreille parfaitement distincts.
Ils se rapprochaient rapidement de lui.
Un oiseau répondait au concert des hommes par le concert de Dieu. Une fleur, un perce-neige, il est vrai, brillait comme une étoile au pied du buisson où chantait l’oiseau.
Le ciel était bleu comme en un beau jour d’avril.
Que voulait donc dire cette fête du printemps au milieu de l’hiver ?
Le chant de l’oiseau qui saluait ce jour inespéré, l’éclat de cette fleur qui faisait miroiter sa corolle pour remercier le soleil d’être venu la visiter, ces bruits de fête qui prouvaient au malheureux damné que les hommes s’associaient au reste de la nature pour être heureux sous ce dais d’azur, tout ce bouquet de joie, toute cette gerbe de bonheur, au lieu de faire revenir Thibault à des idées plus calmes, augmentèrent sa méchante humeur.
Il eût voulu que le monde entier fût sombre et noir comme était alors son âme.
Il pensa d’abord à fuir le concert champêtre qui s’approchait de plus en plus.
Mais il lui semblait qu’une puissance plus forte que sa volonté clouât ses pieds à la terre.
Il s’enfonça donc dans le creux de son chêne et attendit.
On entendait distinctement des cris joyeux et des chansons grivoises se mêler aux accents des violons et au son du hautbois.
De temps en temps, un coup de fusil retentissait, un pétard éclatait.
Thibault comprit que tout ce bruit joyeux devait être causé par une noce de village.
Effectivement, à une centaine de pas de lui, à l’extrémité de cette longue route de la queue de Ham, il vit déboucher un cortège de gens endimanchés et ayant de longs rubans de toutes couleurs, flottant, chez les femmes à leur ceinture, chez les hommes, à leur chapeau et à leurs boutonnières.
En tête marchaient les ménétriers ;
Puis quelques paysans, mêlés à des valets qu’à leur livrée Thibault reconnut pour appartenir au seigneur Jean ;
Puis Engoulevent, l’apprenti piqueur, donnant le bras à une vieille femme aveugle, enrubannée comme les autres ;
Puis le majordome du château de Vez, représentant probablement le père du petit valet du chenil, et donnant le bras à la mariée.
Cette mariée, Thibault fixait vainement sur elle des yeux effarés. Il s’obstinait à ne pas la reconnaître.
Il fallut bien qu’il la reconnût enfin lorsqu’elle ne fut plus qu’à trente ou quarante pas de lui.
Cette mariée, c’était l’Agnelette.
L’Agnelette !
Et, pour comble d’humiliation, comme dernier coup porté à l’orgueil de Thibault, l’Agnelette non point pâle, tremblante, traînée violemment à l’autel, regardant derrière elle comme pour suivre un regret ou un souvenir, mais l’Agnelette joyeuse comme cet oiseau qui chantait, comme ce perce-neige qui fleurissait, comme ce rayon de soleil qui brillait : l’Agnelette, toute fière de sa couronne de fleurs d’oranger, de son voile de tulle, de sa robe de mousseline ; l’Agnelette enfin blanche et souriante comme la Vierge de l’église de Villers-Cotterêts lorsqu’on lui met sa belle robe blanche du jour de la Pentecôte.
Sans doute devait-elle tout ce luxe à la châtelaine de Vez, à la femme du seigneur Jean, qui était une sainte pour les aumônes et pour les bienfaits.
Ce qui rendait Agnelette si joyeuse et pourtant si souriante, ce n’était pas le grand amour qu’elle ressentait pour celui qui allait devenir son mari ; non, c’était d’avoir trouvé ce qu’elle souhaitait si ardemment, ce que Thibault lui avait méchamment promis sans le lui vouloir donner, un appui pour sa vieille grand-mère aveugle.
Les musiciens, les mariés, les garçons et les filles de noce parurent sur la route, à vingt pas de Thibault, sans voir sortir du creux de son arbre cette tête aux cheveux de flamme, ces yeux au regard d’éclair.
Puis, comme Thibault les avait vus apparaître à travers la futaie, à travers la futaie, ils disparurent.
Comme il avait entendu grandir peu à peu le bruit des violons et du hautbois, le bruit des violons et du hautbois s’éteignit peu à peu. Au bout d’un quart d’heure, la forêt était redevenue déserte…
Thibault était resté avec son oiseau qui chantait, sa fleur qui fleurissait, son rayon de soleil qui brillait.
Seulement, un enfer nouveau venait de s’allumer dans son cœur ; le plus terrible de tous, celui dont les serpents mordent le cœur avec les dents les plus aiguës et infiltrent le poison le plus corrosif :
L’enfer de la jalousie !
En revoyant Agnelette si fraîche, si gentille, si naïvement joyeuse, et surtout en la revoyant à l’heure où elle allait appartenir à un autre, Thibault, qui depuis trois mois ne songeait plus à elle, Thibault, qui n’avait jamais eu l’idée de lui tenir la promesse qu’il lui avait faite, Thibault se figura qu’il n’avait jamais cessé de l’aimer.
Il lui sembla qu’Agnelette était engagée avec lui par serment, qu’Engoulevent lui enlevait son bien.
Peu s’en fallut qu’il ne bondît hors de sa cachette pour reprocher à la jeune fille sa trahison.
Agnelette, lui échappant, venait d’acquérir à l’instant même aux yeux de Thibault des vertus, des qualités, des avantages qu’il n’avait pas même soupçonnés quand, pour les posséder, il n’avait qu’à dire un mot.
Après toutes les déceptions qu’il avait éprouvées, perdre ce qu’il regardait comme un trésor à lui, auquel il lui semblait qu’il serait toujours temps de revenir parce qu’il lui semblait que personne n’aurait jamais l’idée de le lui envier, lui parut un dernier coup de la fortune.
Son désespoir, pour être muet, n’en fut que plus morne et plus profond. Il se mordit les poings, battit de sa tête les parois de l’arbre ; enfin, il pleura et sanglota.
Mais ces pleurs et ces sanglots n’étaient point de ceux qui, en attendrissant le cœur, servent souvent de transition entre un mauvais et un bon sentiment ; non, pleurs et sanglots, inspirés cette fois plutôt par la colère, plutôt par la rage que par le regret, pleurs et sanglots ne purent chasser la haine de l’âme de Thibault.
Il semblait qu’en même temps qu’une moitié des larmes se déversait au-dehors, l’autre se répandît au-dedans et retombât sur le cœur comme autant de gouttes de fiel.
Il prétendait adorer Agnelette.
Il se lamentait de l’avoir perdue.
Mais sa tendresse de furieux se fût volontiers arrangée de la voir tomber morte avec son fiancé au pied de l’autel où le prêtre allait les unir.
Par bonheur, Dieu, qui réservait les deux enfants à d’autres épreuves, ne permit point que le souhait fatal se formulât dans l’esprit de Thibault.
Ils furent pareils à un homme qui dans l’orage entend le bruit du tonnerre et voit serpenter la foudre autour de lui, mais qui a le bonheur de ne pas être touché par le fluide mortel.
Bientôt le sabotier rougit de ses pleurs et eut honte de ses sanglots.
Il renfonça les uns dans ses yeux, les autres dans sa poitrine.
(195-200)
It was broad daylight when Thibault awoke; the wolves had long ago sought their hiding-places, the owls flown back to their ruins. The rain of the night before had ceased, and a ray of sunlight, one of those pale rays which are a harbinger of spring, came gliding through the naked branches of the trees, and having as yet none of the short-lived verdure of the year to shine upon, lit up the dark green of the mistletoe.
From afar came a faint sound of music, gradually it grew nearer, and the notes of two violins and a hautboy could be distinguished.
Thibault thought at first that he must be dreaming. But as it was broad daylight, and he appeared to be in perfect possession of his senses, he was obliged to acknowledge that he was wide awake, the more so, that having well rubbed his eyes, to make quite sure of the fact, the rustic sounds came as distinctly as ever to his ear. They were drawing rapidly nearer; a bird sang, answering the music of man with the music of God; and at the foot of the bush where it sat and made its song, a flower,—only a snowdrop it is true—was shining like a star. The sky above was as blue as on an April day. What was the meaning of this spring-like festival, now, in the heart of winter?
The notes of the bird as it sang in salutation of this bright, unexpected day, the brightness of the flower that shone as if with its radiance to thank the sun for coming to visit it, the sounds of merry-making which told the lost and unhappy man that his fellow-creatures were joining with the rest of nature in their rejoicings under the azure canopy of heaven, all the aroma of joy, all this up-springing of happiness, brought no calmer thoughts back to Thibault, but rather increased the anger and bitterness of his feelings. He would have liked the whole world to be as dark and gloomy as was his own soul. On first detecting the sounds of the approaching rural band, he thought of running away from it; but a power, stronger than his will, as it seemed to him, held him rooted to the spot; so he hid himself in the hollow of the oak and waited. Merry voices and lively songs could be heard mingling with the notes of the violins and hautboy; now and again a gun went off, or a cracker exploded; and Thibault felt sure that all these festive sounds must be occasioned by some village wedding. He was right, for he soon caught sight of a procession of villagers, all dressed in their best, with long ribands of many colours floating in the breeze, some from the women’s waists, some from the men’s hats or button-holes. They emerged into view at the end of the long lane of Ham.
They were headed by the fiddlers; then followed a few peasants, and among them some figures, which by their livery, Thibault recognised as keepers in the service of the lord of Vez. Then came Engoulevent, the second huntsman, giving his arm to an old blind woman, who was decked out with ribands like the others; then the major-domo of the Castle of Vez, as representative probably of the father of the little huntsman, giving his arm to the bride.
And the bride herself—Thibault stared at her with wild fixed eyes; he endeavoured, but vainly, to persuade himself that he did not recognise her—it was impossible not to do so when she came within a few paces from where he was hiding. The bride was Agnelette.
Agnelette!
And to crown his humiliation, as if to give a final blow to his pride, no pale and trembling Agnelette dragged reluctantly to the altar, casting looks behind her of regret or remembrance, but an Agnelette as bright and happy as the bird that was singing, the snowdrop that flowered, the sunlight that was shining; an Agnelette, full of delighted pride in her wreath of orange flowers, her tulle veil and muslin dress; an Agnelette, in short, as fair and smiling as the virgin in the church at Villers-Cotterets, when dressed in her beautiful white dress at Whitsuntide.
She was, no doubt, indebted for all this finery to the Lady of the Castle, the wife of the lord of Vez, who was a true Lady Bountiful in such matters.
But the chief cause of Agnelette’s happiness and smiles was not the great love she felt towards the man who was to become her husband, but her contentment at having found what she so ardently desired, that which Thibault had wickedly promised to her without really wishing to give her,—someone who would help her to support her blind old grandmother.
The musicians, the bride and bridegroom, the young men and maidens, passed along the road within twenty paces of Thibault, without observing the head with its flaming hair and the eyes with their fiery gleam, looking out from the hollow of the tree. Then, as Thibault had watched them appear through the undergrowth, so he watched them disappear. As the sounds of the violins and hautboy has gradually become louder and louder, so now they became fainter and fainter, until in another quarter of an hour the forest was as silent and deserted as ever, and Thibault was left alone with his singing bird, his flowering snowdrop, his glittering ray of sunlight. But a new fire of hell had been lighted in his heart the worst of the fires of hell; that which gnaws at the vitals like the sharpest serpent’s tooth, and corrodes the blood like the most destructive poison—the fire of jealousy. [Seulement, un enfer nouveau venait de s’allumer dans son cœur ; le plus terrible de tous, celui dont les serpents mordent le cœur avec les dents les plus aiguës et infiltrent le poison le plus corrosif : L’enfer de la jalousie !]
On seeing Agnelette again, so fresh and pretty, so innocently happy, and, worse still, seeing her at the moment when she was about to be married to another, Thibault, who had not given a thought to her for the last three month, Thibault, who had never had any intention of keeping the promise which he made her, Thibault now brought himself to believe that he had never ceased to love her.
He persuaded himself that Agnelette was engaged to him by oath, that Engoulevent was carrying off what belonged to him, and he almost leaped from his hiding place to rush after her and reproach her with her infidelity. Agnelette, now no longer his, at once appeared to his eyes as endowed with all the virtues and good qualities, all in short that would make it advantageous to marry her, which, when he had only to speak the word and everything would have been his, he had not even suspected.
After being the victim of so much deception, to lose what he looked upon as his own particular treasure, to which he had imagined that it would not be too late to return at any time, simply because he never dreamed that anyone would wish to take it from him, seemed to him the last stroke of ill fortune. His despair was no less profound and gloomy that it was a mute despair. He bit his fists, he knocked his head against the sides of the tree, and finally began to cry and sob. But they were not those tears and sobs which gradually soften the heart and are often kindly agents in dispersing a bad humour and reviving a better one; no, they were tears and sobs arising rather from anger than from regret, and these tears and sobs had no power to drive the hatred out of Thibault’s heart. As some of his tears fell visibly adown his face, so it seemed that others fell on his heart within like drops of gall.
He declared that he loved Agnelette; he lamented at having lost her; nevertheless, this furious man, with all his tender love, would gladly have been able to see her fall dead, together with her bridegroom, at the foot of the altar when the priest was about to join them. But happily, God, who was reserving the two children for other trials, did not allow this fatal wish to formulate itself in Thibault’s mind. They were like those who, surrounded by storm, hear the noise of the thunder and see the forked flashes of the lightning, and yet remain untouched by the deadly fluid.
Before long the shoe-maker began to feel ashamed of his tears and sobs; he forced back the former, and made an effort to swallow the latter.
(73-75)
[Thibault’s Brooding, Jealous Regret and His Decision to Dine Out at a Fine Restaurant]
[Thibault rushes home. Then “he went into his hut as a tiger might enter its den, closed the door behind him, and went and crouched down in the darkest corner he could find in his miserable lodging. There, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands, he sat and thought. And what thoughts were they which occupied this unhappy, desperate man? Ask of Milton what were Satan’s thoughts after his fall [Demandez à Milton quelles furent les pensées de Satan après sa chute]. He went over again all the old questions which had upset his mind from the beginning, which had brought despair upon so many before him, and would bring despair to so many that came after him. Why should some be born in bondage and others be born to power? Why should there be so much inequality with regard to a thing which takes place in exactly the same way in all classes—namely birth? By what means can this game of nature’s, in which chance for ever holds the cards against mankind, be made a fairer one? And is not the only way to accomplish this, to do what the clever gamester —get the devil to back him up [en mettant le diable de leur côté ]?” He notes that cheating as he had with the devil’s help never worked: “Each time he had held a good hand, each time he had felt sure of the game, it was the devil [le diable] after all who had won.” For, with the devil’s supernatural aid, he lost Agnelette, Madame Poulet the Miller, and Madame Magloire. He also caused the death of Marcotte without even getting the buck he hunted, which was his original ambition. “And then this rapid multiplication of devil’s hairs [cheveux diaboliques] was appalling! He recalled the tale of the philosopher who asked for a grain of wheat, multiplied by each of the sixty-four squares of the chess board—the abundant harvests of a thousand years were required to fill the last square. And he—how many wishes yet remained to him?—seven or eight at the outside. The unhappy man dared not look at himself either in the spring which lurked at the foot of one of the trees in the forest, or in the mirror that hung against the wall. He feared to render an exact account to himself of the time still left to him in which to exercise his power; he preferred to remain in the night of uncertainty than to face that terrible dawn which must rise when the night was over.” Yet Thibault holds onto the belief that were he educated enough, he would be able to figure out a way to cause misfortune to others in a way that brought himself wealth and happiness. But the example of Faust suggests otherwise: “Poor fool! If he had been a man of learning, he would have known the legend of Doctor Faust. To what did the omnipotence conferred on him by Mephistopheles [Méphistophélès] lead Faust, the dreamer, the thinker, the pre-eminent scholar? To the murder of Valentine! to Margaret’s suicide! to the pursuit of Helen of Troy, the pursuit of an empty shadow!” Thibault is especially angered that Agnelette’s groom is “That wretched little Engoulevent, the man who had spied him out when he was perched in the tree, who had found his boar-spear in the bush, which had been the cause of the stripes he had received from Marcotte. Ah! if he had but known! to him and not to Marcotte would he have willed that evil should befall! What was the physical torture he had undergone from the blows of the strap compared to the moral torture he was enduring now.” The narrator notes that had Thibault not become overcome with ambition and pride, he could have lived a happy life as a workman married to Agnelette; for he was Agnelette’s first love. While the wedding party feasts, Thibault resentfully is left with bread, water, and solitude in his hut. He then realizes that his money can buy a nice meal at the fine restaurant Dauphin d’Or, which he heads off to.]
[ditto]
Il sortit de son gîte la tête perdue, et s’élança dans la direction de sa cabane.
Il fit une lieue en moins d’un quart d’heure.
Cette course effrénée, en amenant la transpiration, le soulagea un peu.
Enfin, il reconnut les alentours de sa chaumière.
Il y rentra comme un tigre rentre dans sa caverne, referma la porte derrière lui, et s’accroupit dans l’endroit le plus obscur du pauvre logis.
Là, les coudes sur les genoux, le menton sur les poignets, il pensa.
Quelles furent les pensées de ce désespéré ?
Demandez à Milton quelles furent les pensées de Satan après sa chute.
Il pensa à ces rêves qui lui avaient éternellement bouleversé l’esprit, qui avaient fait tant de désespérés avant lui dans le passé, et qui devaient encore faire tant de désespérés après lui dans l’avenir.
Pourquoi les uns naissent-ils faibles et les autres puissants ?
Pourquoi tant d’inégalité dans une chose qui se passe d’une façon si identique à tous les étages de la société, la naissance ?
Par quel moyen corriger ce jeu de la nature où le hasard tient éternellement les cartes contre l’homme ?
N’est-ce pas, avait-il pensé, en faisant comme font les joueurs habiles : en mettant le diable de leur côté ?
En trichant ?
Il avait fait ainsi, lui.
Mais qu’avait-il gagné à tricher ?
Chaque fois qu’il avait eu beau jeu, chaque fois qu’il s’était cru sûr du point, c’était le diable qui avait gagné.
Quel bénéfice lui avait rapporté cette fatale puissance qui lui était donnée de faire le mal ?
Aucun.
Agnelette lui avait échappé.
La meunière l’avait chassé.
La baillive l’avait raillé.
Son premier souhait avait causé la mort du pauvre Marcotte et ne lui avait même pas rapporté un cuissot de ce daim qu’il avait ambitionné, et qui avait été le point de départ de ses désirs déçus.
Il avait été obligé de donner ce daim aux chiens du seigneur Jean pour leur faire faire fausse voie sur le loup noir.
Et puis cette multiplication des cheveux diaboliques était effrayante !
Elle rappelait l’exigence de ce savant qui avait demandé un grain de blé multiplié par chacune des soixante-quatre cases de l’échiquier ; il fallait mille ans d’abondantes récoltes pour remplir la dernière case !
Lui, combien de souhaits lui restait-il à faire ? Sept ou huit, tout au plus.
Le malheureux n’osait plus se regarder.
Il n’osait porter ses regards ni dans la fontaine qui dormait au pied d’un arbre dans la forêt, ni dans la glace suspendue à la muraille.
Il craignait de se rendre à lui-même un compte trop exact de la durée de sa puissance.
Il aimait mieux rester dans la nuit que de voir l’aurore terrible qui devait se lever au-delà de cette nuit.
Cependant, il devait y avoir un moyen de combiner les choses pour que le mal d’autrui lui rapportât un bénéfice quelconque.
Il lui semblait que, s’il eût reçu une éducation scientifique au lieu d’être un pauvre sabotier sachant lire et compter à peine, il eût trouvé, dans les sciences, des combinaisons qui lui eussent infailliblement donné la richesse et le bonheur.
Pauvre fou !
S’il eût été savant, il eût connu la légende du docteur Faust.
À quoi avait conduit Faust la toute-puissance concédée par Méphistophélès, à lui, le rêveur, le penseur, le savant par excellence ?
Au meurtre de Valentin ! Au suicide de Marguerite ! À la poursuite d’Hélène, c’est-à-dire d’une ombre !
D’ailleurs, Thibault pouvait-il rien chercher, rien combiner, dans ce moment où la jalousie lui rongeait le cœur, où il voyait la blanche Agnelette engageant pour toute sa vie, au pied de l’autel, sa foi à un autre que lui !
Et à qui engageait-elle sa foi ?
Au misérable petit Engoulevent, à celui qui l’avait découvert juché sur son arbre et qui avait retrouvé dans le buisson l’épieu qui lui avait valu les coups de courroie appliqués par Marcotte.
Oh ! s’il l’avait su ! Comme il eût désiré que ce fût à lui qu’il arrivât malheur au lieu de Marcotte !
Qu’était-ce que la torture physique que les coups de ceinturon lui avaient fait éprouver, auprès de la torture morale qu’il éprouvait !
Supposez que les désirs d’ambition ne l’eussent pas pris, et, comme des ailes de vautour, ne l’eussent pas enlevé au-dessus de sa sphère : quel bonheur n’eût pas été le sien, à lui, habile ouvrier, pouvant gagner jusqu’à six francs par jour, avec une gentille petite ménagère comme Agnelette !
Car c’était certainement lui qu’Agnelette aimait le premier ; c’était lui peut-être qu’elle aimait encore, en épousant un autre. Et, tout en faisant ces réflexions, Thibault sentait le temps s’écouler. La nuit venait.
Si modeste que fût la fortune des mariés, si bornés que fussent les désirs des paysans qui les suivaient, il était évident qu’à cette heure paysans et mariés étaient à table faisant un joyeux repas.
Lui, il était seul et triste.
Il n’avait personne pour lui préparer son dîner.
Qu’y avait-il à manger, à boire dans toute la maison ?
Du pain ! De l’eau !
La solitude ! au lieu de cette bénédiction du ciel qu’on appelle une sœur, une amie, une femme.
Mais pourquoi donc ne dînerait-il pas, lui aussi, joyeusement et copieusement ?
Ne pouvait-il pas aller dîner où bon lui semblerait ?
N’avait-il pas dans sa poche le prix du dernier gibier qu’il avait vendu à l’aubergiste de la Boule-d’or ?
Ne pouvait-il pas dépenser à lui tout seul autant que les nouveaux mariés et tous leurs convives ?
Il ne tenait qu’à lui.
– Ah ! par ma foi ! dit-il, je suis trop niais de rester ici, de me laisser creuser le cerveau par la jalousie, et l’estomac par la faim, tandis que je puis, dans une heure, grâce à un dîner copieux et à deux ou trois bonnes bouteilles de vin ne plus songer à tout cela. Allons manger, et surtout allons boire !
Et voulant, en effet, faire un bon repas, il prit le chemin de la Ferté-Milon, où florissait, à l’enseigne du Dauphin d’or, un restaurant capable, assurait-on, de damer le pion au maître d’hôtel de Son Altesse Sérénissime monseigneur le duc d’Orléans.
(200-203)
He came out of his lair, not quite knowing where he was, and rushed off in the direction of his hut, covering a league in a quarter of an hour; this mad race, however, by causing him to perspire, somewhat calmed him down. At last he recognised the surroundings of his home; he went into his hut as a tiger might enter its den, closed the door behind him, and went and crouched down in the darkest corner he could find in his miserable lodging. There, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands, he sat and thought. And what thoughts were they which occupied this unhappy, desperate man? Ask of Milton what were Satan’s thoughts after his fall [Demandez à Milton quelles furent les pensées de Satan après sa chute].
He went over again all the old questions which had upset his mind from the beginning, which had brought despair upon so many before him, and would bring despair to so many that came after him.
Why should some be born in bondage and others be born to power?
Why should there be so much inequality with regard to a thing which takes place in exactly the same way in all classes—namely birth?
By what means can this game of nature’s, in which chance for ever holds the cards against mankind, be made a fairer one?
And is not the only way to accomplish this, to do what the clever gamester does—get the devil to back him up [en mettant le diable de leur côté ]? he had certainly thought so once.
To cheat? He had tried that game himself. And what had he gained by it? Each time he had held a good hand, each time he had felt sure of the game, it was the devil [le diable] after all who had won.
What benefit had he reaped from this deadly power that had been given him of working evil to others?
None.
Agnelette had been taken from him; the owner of the mill had driven him away; the Bailiff’s wife had made game of him.
His first wish had caused the death of poor Marcotte, and had not even procured him a haunch of the buck that he had been so ambitious to obtain, and this had been the starting point of all his disappointed longings, for he had been obliged to give the buck to the dogs so as to put them off the scent of the black wolf.
And then this rapid multiplication of devil’s hairs [cheveux diaboliques] was appalling! He recalled the tale of the philosopher who asked for a grain of wheat, multiplied by each of the sixty-four squares of the chess board—the abundant harvests of a thousand years were required to fill the last square. And he—how many wishes yet remained to him?—seven or eight at the outside. The unhappy man dared not look at himself either in the spring which lurked at the foot of one of the trees in the forest, or in the mirror that hung against the wall. He feared to render an exact account to himself of the time still left to him in which to exercise his power; he preferred to remain in the night of uncertainty than to face that terrible dawn which must rise when the night was over.
But still, there must be a way of continuing matters, so that the misfortunes of others should bring him good of some kind. He thought surely that if he had received a scientific education, instead of being a poor shoe-maker, scarcely knowing how to read or cypher, he would have found out, by the aid of science, some combinations which would infallibly have procured for him both riches and happiness.
Poor fool! If he had been a man of learning, he would have known the legend of Doctor Faust. To what did the omnipotence conferred on him by Mephistopheles [Méphistophélès] lead Faust, the dreamer, the thinker, the pre-eminent scholar? To the murder of Valentine! to Margaret’s suicide! to the pursuit of Helen of Troy, the pursuit of an empty shadow!
And, moreover, how could Thibault think coherently at all of ways and means while jealousy was raging in his heart, while he continued to picture Agnelette at the altar, giving herself for life to another than himself.
And who was that other? That wretched little Engoulevent, the man who had spied him out when he was perched in the tree, who had found his boar-spear in the bush, which had been the cause of the stripes he had received from Marcotte.
Ah! if he had but known! to him and not to Marcotte would he have willed that evil should befall! What was the physical torture he had undergone from the blows of the strap compared to the moral torture he was enduring now!
And if only ambition had not taken such hold upon him, had not borne him on the wings of pride above his sphere, what happiness might have been his, as the clever workman, able to earn as much as six francs a day, with Agnelette for his charming little housekeeper! For he had certainly been the one whom Agnelette had first loved; perhaps, although marrying another man, she still loved him. And as Thibault sat pondering over these things, he became conscious that time was passing, that night was approaching.
However modest might be the fortune of the wedded pair, however limited the desires of the peasants who had followed them, it was quite certain that bride, bridegroom and peasants were all at this hour feasting merrily together.
And he, he was sad and alone. There was no one to prepare a meal for him; and what was there in his house to eat or drink? A little bread! a little water! and solitude! in place of that blessing from heaven which we call a sister, a mistress, a wife.
But, after all, why should not he also dine merrily and abundantly? Could he not go and dine wheresoever he liked? Had he not money in his pocket from the last game he had sold to the host of the Boule-d’Or? And could he not spend on himself as much as the wedded couple and all their guests together? He had only himself to please.
“And, by my faith!” he exclaimed, “I am an idiot indeed to stay here, with my brain racked by jealousy, and my stomach with hunger, when, with the aid of a good dinner and two or three bottles of wine, I can rid myself of both torments before another hour is over. I will be off to get food, and better still, to get drink!”
In order to carry this determination into effect, Thibault took the road to Ferté-Milon, where there was an excellent restaurant, known as the Dauphin d’Or, able it was said to serve up dinners equal to those provided by his head cook for his Highness, the Duke of Orleans.
(75-76)
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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