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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
15
“Le seigneur de Vauparfond”
“The Lord of Vauparfond”
Brief summary (collecting those below):
__(15.1)__ (Recall from section 14 that Thibault was upset upon seeing his once potential fiancée Agnelette marrying Engoulevent, the head of the keepers of the hounds for Thibault’s enemy, the Baron of Vez. He decided to go to town to the restaurant Dauphin d’Or for a nice meal instead of stewing at home in his misery.) At the Dauphin d’Or restaurant, he orders the best meal he can think of ordering. And instead of eating in a private room, he decides to eat with others to make them envy his better food and wine. Thibault then sees Auguste François Levasseur, valet to Raoul the Lord of Vauparfond. Thibault loudly tries to get François to join him for dinner, but François tries to hush Thibault, explaining that “I am here as proxy in a love affair for my master, and I am waiting for a letter from a lady to carry back to him.” They arrange to dine privately upstairs, and they discuss how François is a “grey-coat,” because he “is a liveried servant, who puts on a grey overall to hide his livery, while he stands sentinel behind a pillar, or mounts guard inside a doorway.” He is awaiting another grey-coat, named Champagne, from his master’s mistress, Comtesse de Mont-Gobert. They discuss her beauty and then notice Champagne outside. They call him up. Because the lovers will have a meeting, that gives the grey-coats their own free time for a while. They toast to love affairs, but Thibault expresses his bitterness about the lack of love in his life: “ ‘As to myself,’ said the shoe-maker, a look of hatred to his fellow creatures passing over his face, ‘I am the only person who loves nobody, and whom nobody loves.” Thibault’s companions then ask if the rumors about Thibault being a were-wolf are true. Thibault laughs and notes that he does not look like like a were-wolf: “‘‘Tell me, now, have I a tail?’ he said, ‘have I a wolf’s claws, have I a wolf’s snout?’ ” But when he next toasts their drinks of wine to the devil, his companions become superstitious: “ ‘To the health of the devil [À la santé du diable] who provides it, gentlemen.’ The two men who were holding their glasses in their hand, put both glasses down on the table. ‘What is that for?’ asked Thibault. ‘You must find someone else to drink that health with you,’ said François [...]’ ” Thibault then drinks their wines, which the companions seemingly think is now cursed. The companions announce they must depart, but Thibault says they should have a stirrup-cup first. They say they cannot drink from the (cursed) wine glasses, so Thibault jokes that they “better call the sacristan and have them washed in holy water.” Instead they ask the waiter for fresh glasses. But given what happens next with the cursed wine glasses, the companions’ superstition was proven right: “ ‘These three, then,’ said Thibault, who was beginning to feel the effects of the wine he had drunk, ‘are fit for nothing more than to be thrown out of window? To the devil with you!’ he exclaimed as he took up one of them and sent it flying. As the glass went through the air it left a track of light behind it, which blazed and went out like a flash of lightning. Thibault took up the two remaining glasses and threw them in turn, and each time the same thing happened, but the third flash was followed by a loud peal of thunder. Thibault shut the window, and was thinking, as he turned to his seat again, how he should explain this strange occurrence to his companions; but his two companions had disappeared.” __(15.2)__ Thibault then drinks the rest of the wine from the bottle, pays his bill, and leaves. He resents his cursed lot, but resolves to still get “the pleasures of the damned” that are uniquely available to him: “He was in an angry disposition of enmity against all the world; the thoughts from which he had hoped to escape possessed him more and more. Agnelette was being taken farther and farther from him as the time went by; everyone, wife or mistress, had someone to love them. This day which had been one of hatred and despair to him, had been one full of the promise of joy and happiness for everybody else; the lord of Vauparfond, the two wretched valets, François and Champagne, each of them had a bright star of hope to follow; while he, he alone, went stumbling along in the darkness. Decidedly there was a curse upon him. ‘But,’ he went on thinking to himself, ‘if so, the pleasures of the damned [les plaisirs des maudits] belong to me, and I have a right to claim them’.” While walking to his hut, a man riding a galloping horse comes behind him. It is Raoul the Lord of Vauparfond, who is riding swiftly to his meeting with his mistress Comtesse de Mont-Gobert (which we learned about in section 15.1). Thibault does not get out of Raoul’s way quick enough, and the rider “brought his whip down upon him in a violent blow, calling out at the same time: ‘Get out of the way, you beggar, if you don’t wish to be trampled under the horse’s feet!’ ” Thibault then “rose to his knees, furious with anger, and shaking his fist at the retreating figure: ‘Would the devil [Mais, au nom du diable],’ he exclaimed, ‘I might just for once have my turn at being one of you great lords, might just for twenty-four hours take your place, Monsieur Raoul de Vauparfond, instead of being only Thibault, the shoe-maker, so that I might know what it was to have a fine horse to ride, instead of tramping on foot; might be able to whip the peasants I met on the road, and have the opportunity of paying court to these beautiful women, who deceive their husbands, as the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert does!’ The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the Baron’s horse shied, throwing the rider over its head.”
[Thibault’s Revealing of His Sorcery to His Dinner Companions]
[Thibault’s Bedeviled Encounter with Rider Raoul]
Summary
[Thibault’s Revealing of His Sorcery to His Dinner Companions]
[(Recall from section 14 that Thibault was upset upon seeing his once potential fiancée Agnelette marrying Engoulevent, the head of the keepers of the hounds for Thibault’s enemy, the Baron of Vez. He decided to go to town to the restaurant Dauphin d’Or for a nice meal instead of stewing at home in his misery.) At the Dauphin d’Or restaurant, he orders the best meal he can think of ordering. And instead of eating in a private room, he decides to eat with others to make them envy his better food and wine. Thibault then sees Auguste François Levasseur, valet to Raoul the Lord of Vauparfond. Thibault loudly tries to get François to join him for dinner, but François tries to hush Thibault, explaining that “I am here as proxy in a love affair for my master, and I am waiting for a letter from a lady to carry back to him.” They arrange to dine privately upstairs, and they discuss how François is a “grey-coat,” because he “is a liveried servant, who puts on a grey overall to hide his livery, while he stands sentinel behind a pillar, or mounts guard inside a doorway.” He is awaiting another grey-coat, named Champagne, from his master’s mistress, Comtesse de Mont-Gobert. They discuss her beauty and then notice Champagne outside. They call him up. Because the lovers will have a meeting, that gives the grey-coats their own free time for a while. They toast to love affairs, but Thibault expresses his bitterness about the lack of love in his life: “ ‘As to myself,’ said the shoe-maker, a look of hatred to his fellow creatures passing over his face, ‘I am the only person who loves nobody, and whom nobody loves.” Thibault’s companions then ask if the rumors about Thibault being a were-wolf are true. Thibault laughs and notes that he does not look like like a were-wolf: “‘‘Tell me, now, have I a tail?’ he said, ‘have I a wolf’s claws, have I a wolf’s snout?’ ” But when he next toasts their drinks of wine to the devil, his companions become superstitious: “ ‘To the health of the devil [À la santé du diable] who provides it, gentlemen.’ The two men who were holding their glasses in their hand, put both glasses down on the table. ‘What is that for?’ asked Thibault. ‘You must find someone else to drink that health with you,’ said François [...]’ ” Thibault then drinks their wines, which the companions seemingly think is now cursed. The companions announce they must depart, but Thibault says they should have a stirrup-cup first. They say they cannot drink from the (cursed) wine glasses, so Thibault jokes that they “better call the sacristan and have them washed in holy water.” Instead they ask the waiter for fresh glasses. But given what happens next with the cursed wine glasses, the companions’ superstition was proven right: “ ‘These three, then,’ said Thibault, who was beginning to feel the effects of the wine he had drunk, ‘are fit for nothing more than to be thrown out of window? To the devil with you!’ he exclaimed as he took up one of them and sent it flying. As the glass went through the air it left a track of light behind it, which blazed and went out like a flash of lightning. Thibault took up the two remaining glasses and threw them in turn, and each time the same thing happened, but the third flash was followed by a loud peal of thunder. Thibault shut the window, and was thinking, as he turned to his seat again, how he should explain this strange occurrence to his companions; but his two companions had disappeared.”]
[ditto]
Thibault, arrivé à l’hôtel du Dauphin d’or, commanda le meilleur dîner qu’il pût inventer.
Rien ne lui était plus facile que de se faire servir dans un cabinet à part ; mais il n’eût pas joui de son propre triomphe.
Il fallait que le vulgaire des consommateurs le vît manger son poulet de grain, sa fine matelote d’anguille à la marinière.
Il fallait que les autres buveurs enviassent cet homme qui se versait de trois vins différents dans trois verres de formes diverses.
Il fallait que l’on entendît l’accent hautain de son commandement et la musique argentine de ses pistoles.
Au premier ordre qu’il donna, une espèce de grison qui buvait une demi-bouteille de vin dans le coin le plus obscur de la salle, se retourna comme on se retourne au son d’une voix connue.
En effet, cet homme était un camarade de Thibault ; – camarade de cabaret, bien entendu.
Thibault avait racolé bon nombre de ces camarades-là, depuis qu’au lieu de faire le sabotier le jour, il faisait le meneur de loups la nuit.
En apercevant Thibault, le grison se retourna vivement du côté de la muraille.
Mais pas si vivement que Thibault n’eût eu le temps de le reconnaître pour maître Auguste-François Levasseur valet de chambre du seigneur Raoul de Vauparfond.
– Hé ! François ! cria Thibault, que fais-tu là dans ton coin, à bouder comme un moine en carême, au lieu de dîner honnêtement et franchement comme je fais, à la vue de tout le monde ?
François ne répondit pas à l’interpellation, et fit seulement signe de la main à Thibault de se taire.
– Que je me taise ? Que je me taise ? dit Thibault. Et s’il ne me convient pas de me taire, à moi ? Si je veux parler ? Si je m’ennuie à dîner tout seul ? S’il me plaît de te dire : « Ami François, viens ici ; je t’invite à dîner avec moi… » ? Tu ne viens pas ? Non ? Eh bien, alors je vais t’aller chercher.
Thibault se leva et, suivi par les regards de tous les convives, il alla donner à son ami François une tape à lui démonter l’épaule.
– Fais semblant de t’être trompé, Thibault, ou tu me fais perdre ma place ; ne vois-tu pas qu’au lieu de ma livrée, j’ai ma redingote couleur de muraille ! Je suis ici en bonne fortune par procuration de mon maître, et j’attends un billet doux que je dois lui porter.
– Dans ce cas, c’est autre chose, et je te demande bien pardon de l’indiscrétion. J’aurais cependant bien voulu dîner avec toi.
– Rien de plus simple : fais servir ton dîner dans un cabinet particulier, et je vais dire à notre gargotier que, s’il arrive un autre grison comme moi, il le fasse monter ; entre nous autres amis, il n’y a pas de mystère.
– Bon ! fit Thibault.
Et il appela le maître du restaurant et fit porter son dîner au premier étage, dans une chambre donnant sur la rue.
François se plaça de manière à voir celui qu’il attendait, descendre de loin la montagne de la Ferté-Milon.
Le dîner qu’avait commandé Thibault pour lui seul était assez copieux pour deux convives.
Il n’y changea rien, sinon qu’il demanda une ou deux bouteilles de vin de plus.
Thibault n’avait pris que deux leçons de maître Magloire, mais il les avait prises bonnes, et elles lui avaient profité.
Disons aussi que Thibault avait quelque chose à oublier, et qu’il comptait sur le vin pour arriver à cet oubli.
Thibault regardait donc comme un grand bonheur d’avoir rencontré un ami avec qui causer.
Dans la situation de cœur et d’esprit où était Thibault, on se grise autant en parlant qu’en buvant.
Aussi, à peine assis, à peine la porte refermée, à peine son chapeau bien enfoncé sur sa tête, pour que François ne remarquât pas le changement de couleur d’une partie de ses cheveux, Thibault entama-t-il la conversation en attaquant bravement le taureau par les cornes.
– Ah çà ! l’ami François, dit-il, tu vas m’expliquer un peu, n’est-ce pas, ce que veulent dire quelques-unes de tes paroles que je n’ai point comprises ?
– Cela ne m’étonne pas, dit François en se renversant avec fatuité sur le dossier de sa chaise ; nous autres laquais de grands seigneurs, nous parlons la langue de la cour, et tout le monde n’entend point cette langue-là.
– Non ; mais, quand on vous l’explique, on peut l’entendre.
– Parfaitement ! Interroge, et je te répondrai.
– Je l’espère d’autant mieux que je me charge d’humecter tes réponses pour leur donner plus grande facilité à sortir. D’abord, qu’est-ce que c’est qu’un grison ? J’avais cru jusqu’ici que c’était tout simplement un âne.
– Âne toi-même, ami Thibault, dit François en riant de l’ignorance du sabotier ; non : un grison, c’est un laquais à livrée, que l’on revêt momentanément d’une redingote grise, afin que la livrée ne soit pas reconnue, tandis qu’il fait sentinelle derrière une colonne ou qu’il monte la garde dans le renfoncement d’une porte.
– De sorte que, dans ce moment-ci, tu es de faction, mon pauvre François ? Et qui doit venir te relever ?
– Champagne, celui qui est au service de la comtesse de Mont-Gobert.
– Bon ! je comprends. Ton maître, le seigneur de Vauparfond, est amoureux de la comtesse de Mont-Gobert. Tu attends ici une lettre de la dame que doit t’apporter Champagne.
– Optimè ! comme dit le professeur du jeune frère de M. Raoul.
– C’est un heureux gaillard que le seigneur Raoul !
– Mais oui, dit François en se rengorgeant.
– Peste ! la belle créature que la comtesse !
– Tu la connais ?
– Je l’ai vue courir la chasse avec monseigneur le duc d’Orléans et madame de Montesson.
– Mon ami, tu sauras qu’on ne dit pas courir la chasse, mais courre la chasse.
– Oh ! dit Thibault, je n’y regarde pas de si près. À la santé du seigneur Raoul !
Au moment où François reposait son verre sur la table, il poussa une exclamation.
Il venait d’apercevoir Champagne.
On ouvrit la fenêtre et l’on appela le troisième compagnon.
Champagne comprit avec la rapidité d’intuition d’un laquais de bonne maison, et monta. Il était, comme son compagnon, vêtu d’une redingote couleur de muraille. Il apportait la lettre.
– Eh bien, demanda François à Champagne en voyant dans ses mains la lettre de la comtesse de Mont-Gobert, y a-t-il rendez-vous pour ce soir ?
– Oui, répondit joyeusement Champagne.
– Tant mieux, répondit allègrement François.
Cette communion de bonheur entre les laquais et le maître étonna Thibault.
– Est-ce donc la bonne fortune de votre maître qui vous rend si joyeux ? demanda-t-il à François.
– Non pas ; mais, quand M. le baron Raoul de Vauparfond est occupé, moi je suis libre !
– Oui, et tu profites de ta liberté ?
– Dame ! fit François en se rengorgeant, on a ses bonnes fortunes aussi, tout valet de chambre que l’on est, et l’on emploiera son temps tant bien que mal.
– Et vous, Champagne ?
– Moi, répondit le nouveau venu en mirant au jour le rubis liquide de son vin, moi, j’espère bien ne pas perdre le mien.
– Allons, allons, à vos amours ! dit Thibault, puisque tout le monde a ses amours.
– Aux vôtres ! répondirent en chœur les deux laquais.
– Oh ! moi, dit le sabotier avec une expression de profonde haine contre le genre humain, moi, je suis le seul qui n’aime personne et que personne n’aime.
Les deux hommes regardèrent Thibault avec un certain étonnement.
– Oh ! oh ! dit François, est-ce que ce serait vrai, ce que l’on dit de vous, tout bas, dans le pays ?
– De moi ?
– Oui, de vous, dit Champagne.
– On dit donc la même chose du côté de Mont-Gobert que du côté de Vauparfond ?
Champagne fit de la tête signe que oui.
– Eh bien, demanda Thibault, que dit-on ?
– Que vous êtes loup-garou, dit François.
Thibault éclata de rire.
– Allons donc, dit-il, est-ce que j’ai une queue ? Est-ce que j’ai des griffes ? Est-ce que j’ai un museau de loup ?
– Bon ! fit Champagne, nous vous disons ce que l’on dit ; nous ne disons pas que cela soit.
– En tout cas, reprit Thibault, avouez que les loups-garous ont de bon vin.
– Ma foi ! oui, dirent les deux laquais.
– À la santé du diable qui le donne, messieurs !
Les deux hommes, qui tenaient le verre à la main, reposèrent leurs verres sur la table.
– Eh bien ? demanda Thibault.
– Cherchez quelqu’un qui vous fasse raison à cette santé-là, dit François, ce ne sera pas moi.
– Ni moi, dit Champagne.
– Soit, dit Thibault ; alors, je boirai les trois verres à moi tout seul.
Et à lui tout seul, en effet, il but les trois verres.
– Ami Thibault, dit le laquais du baron, il faut se séparer.
– Bon ! déjà ? fit Thibault.
– Mon maître m’attend, et sans doute, avec quelque impatience… Ta lettre, Champagne ?
– La voici.
– Prenons donc congé de notre ami Thibault, et allons chacun à nos affaires ou à nos plaisirs, et laissons Thibault à ses plaisirs ou à ses affaires.
Et, en disant ces mots, François cligna de l’œil à son compagnon, qui lui répondit par un clignement d’yeux semblable.
– Eh ! dit Thibault, nous ne nous séparerons pas sans boire un dernier coup.
– Pas dans ces verres-là du moins, dit François en montrant ceux où Thibault avait bu à la santé de l’ennemi du genre humain.
– Vous êtes bien dégoûtés ; appelez le sacristain et faites-les laver à l’eau bénite.
– Non ; mais, pour ne pas refuser une politesse à un ami, nous appellerons le garçon et nous lui demanderons d’autres verres.
– Alors, ceux-là, dit Thibault, qui commençait à se griser, ne sont plus bons qu’à jeter par la fenêtre ? Va-t’en au diable ! dit-il.
Le verre, lancé à cette adresse, traça dans l’air un sillon lumineux qui s’éteignit comme s’éteint un éclair.
Après le premier, Thibault prit le second.
Le second s’enflamma et s’éteignit de la même façon que le premier.
Après le second, ce fut le troisième.
Ce troisième fut accompagné d’un violent coup de tonnerre.
Thibault referma la fenêtre et reprit sa place, cherchant dans son esprit l’explication qu’il allait donner de ce prodige à ses deux compagnons.
Mais ses deux compagnons avaient disparu.
(204-210)
THIBAULT, on arriving at the Dauphin d’Or, ordered himself as fine a dinner as he could think of. It would have been quite easy for him to have engaged a private room, but he would not then have enjoyed the personal sense of superiority. He wished the company of ordinary diners to see him eat his pullet, and his eel in its delicate sauce. He wished the other drinkers to envy him his three different wines, drunk out of three different shaped glasses. He wished everybody to hear him give his orders in a haughty voice, to hear the ring of his money.
As he gave his first order, a man in a grey coat, seated in the darkest corner of the room with a half bottle of wine before him, turned round, as if recognising a voice he knew. And, as it turned out, this was one of Thibault’s acquaintances—it is scarcely necessary to add, a tavern acquaintance.
Thibault, since he had given up making shoes by day and, instead, had his wolves about at night, had made many such acquaintances. On seeing that it was Thibault, the other man turned his face away quickly, but not so quickly but that Thibault had time to recognise Auguste François Levasseur, valet to Raoul the Lord of Vauparfond.
“Halloa! François!” Thibault called out, “what are you doing sitting there in the corner, and sulking like a Monk in Lent, instead of taking your dinner openly and cheerfully as I am doing, in full view of everybody?”
François made no reply to this interrogation, but signed to Thibault to hold his tongue.
“I am not to speak? not to speak?” said Thibault, “and supposing it does not suit me to hold my tongue, supposing I wish to talk, and that I am bored at having to dine alone? and that it pleases me to say; ‘Friend François, come here; I invite you to dine with me?!’ You will not? no? very well, then I shall come and fetch you.” And Thibault rose from his seat, and followed by all eyes, went up to his friend and gave him a slap on the shoulder vigorous enough to dislocate it.
“Pretend that you have made a mistake, Thibault, or you will lose me my place; do you not see that I am not in livery, but am only wearing my drab great-coat! I am here as proxy in a love affair for my master, and I am waiting for a letter from a lady to carry back to him.”
“That’s another matter altogether, and I understand now and am sorry for my indiscretion. I should like, however, to have dined in your company.”
“Well, nothing is easier; order your dinner to be served in a separate room, and I will give word to our host, that if another man dressed in grey like me comes in, he is to show him upstairs; he and I are old cronies, and understand one another.”
“Good,” said Thibault; and he therewith ordered his dinner to be taken up to a room on the first floor, which looked out upon the street.
François seated himself so as to be able to see the person he was expecting, while some distance off, as he came down the hill of Ferté-Milon. The dinner which Thibault had ordered was quite sufficient for the two; all that he did was to send for another bottle or so of wine. Thibault had only taken two lessons from Maître Magloire, but he had been an apt pupil, and they had done their work; moreover Thibault had something which he wished to forget, and he counted on the wine to accomplish this for him. It was good fortune, he felt, to have met a friend with whom he could talk, for, in the state of mind and heart in which he was, talking was as good a help towards oblivion as drinking. Accordingly, he was no sooner seated, and the door shut, and his hat stuck well down on to his head so that François might not notice the change in the colour of his hair, than he burst at once into conversation, boldly taking the bull by the horns.
“And now, friend François,” he said, “you are going to explain to me some of your words which I did not quite understand.”
“I am not surprised at that,” replied François, leaning back in his chair with an air of conceited impertinence, “we attendants on fashionable lords learn to speak court language, which everyone of course does not understand.”
“Perhaps not, but if you explain it to your friends, they may possibly understand.”
“Quite so! ask what you like and I will answer.”
“I look to your doing so the more, that I will undertake to supply you with what will help to loosen your tongue. First, let me ask, why do you call yourself a grey-coat? I thought grey-coat another name for a jack-ass.”
“Jack-ass yourself, friend Thibault,” said François, laughing at the shoe-maker’s ignorance. “No, a grey-coat is a liveried servant, who puts on a grey overall to hide his livery, while he stands sentinel behind a pillar, or mounts guard inside a doorway.”
“So you mean that at this moment then, my good François, you are on sentry go? And who is coming to relieve you?”
“Champagne, who is in the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert’s service.”
“I see; I understand exactly. Your master, the Lord of Vauparfond, is in love with the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert, and you are now awaiting a letter which Champagne is to bring from the lady.”
“Optimé! as the tutor to Monsieur Raoul’s young brother says.”
“My Lord Raoul is a lucky fellow!”
“Yes indeed,” said François, drawing himself up.
“And what a beautiful creature the Countess is!”
“You know her then?”
“I have seen her out hunting with his Highness the Duke of Orleans and Madame de Montesson.”
Thibault in speaking had said out hunting.
“My friend, let me tell you that in society we do not say hunting and shooting, but huntin’ and shootin’.”
“Oh!” said Thibault, “I am not so particular to a letter as all that. To the health of my Lord Raoul!”
As François put down his glass on the table, he uttered an exclamation; he had that moment caught sight of Champagne.
They threw open the window and called to this third comer, and Champagne, with all the ready intuition of the well-bred servant, understood at once, and went upstairs. He was dressed, like François, in a long grey coat, and had brought a letter with him.
“Well,” asked François, as he caught sight of the letter in his hand, “and is there to be a meeting to-night?”
“Yes,” answered Champagne, with evident delight.
“That’s all right,” said François cheerfully.
Thibault was surprised at these expressions of apparent sympathy on the part of the servants with their master’s happiness.
“Is it your master’s good luck that you are so pleased about?” he asked of François.
“Oh, dear me no!” replied the latter, “but when my master is engaged, I am at liberty!”
“And do you make use of your liberty?”
“One may be a valet, and yet have one’s own share of good luck, and also know how to spend the time more or less profitably,” answered François, bridling as he spoke.
“And you, Champagne?”
“Oh, I,” replied the last comer, holding his wine up to the light, “yes, I too hope to make good use of it.”
“Well, then, here’s to all your love affairs! since everybody seems to have one or more on hand,” said Thibault.
“The same to yours!” replied the two other men in chorus.
“As to myself,” said the shoe-maker, a look of hatred to his fellow creatures passing over his face, “I am the only person who loves nobody, and whom nobody loves.”
His companion looked at him with a certain surprised curiosity.
“Ah! ah!” said François, “is the report that is whispered abroad about you in the country-side a true tale then?”
“Report about me?”
“Yes, about you,” put in Champagne.
“Oh, then they say the same thing about me at Mont-Gobert as they do at Vauparfond?”
Champagne nodded his head.
“Well, and what is it they do say?”
“That you are a were-wolf,” said François.
Thibault laughed aloud. “Tell me, now, have I a tail?” he said, “have I a wolf’s claws, have I a wolf’s snout?”
“We only repeat what other people say,” rejoined Champagne, “we do not say that it is so.”
“Well, anyhow, you must acknowledge,” said Thibault, “that were-wolves have excellent wine.”
“By my faith, yes!” exclaimed both the valets.
“To the health of the devil [À la santé du diable] who provides it, gentlemen.”
The two men who were holding their glasses in their hand, put both glasses down on the table.
“What is that for?” asked Thibault.
“You must find someone else to drink that health with you,” said François, “I won’t, that’s flat!”
“Nor I,” added Champagne.
“Well and good then! I will drink all three glasses myself,” and he immediately proceeded to do so.
“Friend Thibault,” said the Baron’s valet, “it is time we separated.”
“So soon?” said Thibault. “My master is awaiting me, and no doubt with some impatience ... the letter, Champagne?”
“Here it is.”
“Let us take farewell then of your friend Thibault, and be off to our business and our pleasures, and leave him to his pleasures and business.” And so saying, François winked at his friend, who responded with a similar sign of understanding between them.
“We must not separate,” said Thibault, “without drinking a stirrup-cup together.”
“But not in those glasses,” said François, pointing to the three from which Thibault had drunk to the enemy of mankind.
“You are very particular, gentlemen; better call the sacristan and have them washed in holy water.”
“Not quite that, but rather than refuse the polite invitation of a friend, we will call for the waiter, and have fresh glasses brought.”
“These three, then,” said Thibault, who was beginning to feel the effects of the wine he had drunk, “are fit for nothing more than to be thrown out of window? To the devil with you!” he exclaimed as he took up one of them and sent it flying. As the glass went through the air it left a track of light behind it, which blazed and went out like a flash of lightning. Thibault took up the two remaining glasses and threw them in turn, and each time the same thing happened, but the third flash was followed by a loud peal of thunder.
Thibault shut the window, and was thinking, as he turned to his seat again, how he should explain this strange occurrence to his companions; but his two companions had disappeared.
(76-79)
[Thibault’s Bedeviled Encounter with Rider Raoul]
[Thibault then drinks the rest of the wine from the bottle, pays his bill, and leaves. He resents his cursed lot, but resolves to still get “the pleasures of the damned” that are uniquely available to him: “He was in an angry disposition of enmity against all the world; the thoughts from which he had hoped to escape possessed him more and more. Agnelette was being taken farther and farther from him as the time went by; everyone, wife or mistress, had someone to love them. This day which had been one of hatred and despair to him, had been one full of the promise of joy and happiness for everybody else; the lord of Vauparfond, the two wretched valets, François and Champagne, each of them had a bright star of hope to follow; while he, he alone, went stumbling along in the darkness. Decidedly there was a curse upon him. ‘But,’ he went on thinking to himself, ‘if so, the pleasures of the damned [les plaisirs des maudits] belong to me, and I have a right to claim them’.” While walking to his hut, a man riding a galloping horse comes behind him. It is Raoul the Lord of Vauparfond, who is riding swiftly to his meeting with his mistress Comtesse de Mont-Gobert (which we learned about in section 15.1). Thibault does not get out of Raoul’s way quick enough, and the rider “brought his whip down upon him in a violent blow, calling out at the same time: ‘Get out of the way, you beggar, if you don’t wish to be trampled under the horse’s feet!’ ” Thibault then “rose to his knees, furious with anger, and shaking his fist at the retreating figure: ‘Would the devil [Mais, au nom du diable],’ he exclaimed, ‘I might just for once have my turn at being one of you great lords, might just for twenty-four hours take your place, Monsieur Raoul de Vauparfond, instead of being only Thibault, the shoe-maker, so that I might know what it was to have a fine horse to ride, instead of tramping on foot; might be able to whip the peasants I met on the road, and have the opportunity of paying court to these beautiful women, who deceive their husbands, as the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert does!’ The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the Baron’s horse shied, throwing the rider over its head.”]
[ditto]
– Les lâches ! murmura Thibault.
Puis il chercha sur la table un verre où boire.
Il n’y en avait plus.
– Bon ! dit-il, le bel embarras vraiment ! on boira à même la bouteille, voilà tout !
Et Thibault, joignant l’exemple au précepte, acheva son dîner en buvant à même la bouteille ; ce qui ne contribua point à remettre en équilibre sa raison, déjà tant soit peu chancelante.
À neuf heures, Thibault appela le restaurateur, régla son compte et partit.
Thibault était en mauvaise disposition d’esprit contre l’humanité tout entière.
L’idée à laquelle il avait voulu échapper l’obsédait.
Agnelette, au fur et à mesure que le temps s’écoulait, lui échappait de plus en plus.
Ainsi, tout le monde, femme ou maîtresse, avait un être qui l’aimait.
Ce jour, qui était un jour de rage et de désespoir pour lui, allait être un jour de joie et de bonheur pour tout le monde.
Chacun à cette heure, le seigneur Raoul, François, Champagne, deux misérables laquais, chacun suivait l’étoile lumineuse du bonheur.
Lui seul allait bronchant dans la nuit.
Il était donc décidément maudit.
Mais, s’il était maudit, les plaisirs des maudits lui revenaient alors, et il avait bien le droit, pensait-il, de réclamer ces plaisirs-là.
En roulant ces réflexions dans sa tête, en blasphémant tout haut, en menaçant du poing le ciel, Thibault suivait dans la forêt la route qui conduisait tout droit à sa cabane, dont il n’était plus qu’à une centaine de pas, quand il entendit derrière lui le galop d’un cheval.
– Ah ! ah ! dit Thibault, voilà le seigneur de Vauparfond qui va à son rendez-vous. Je rirais bien, sire Raoul, si le seigneur de Mont-Gobert vous surprenait ! Cela ne se passerait pas comme avec maître Magloire ; là, il y aurait des coups d’épée reçus et donnés.
Tout préoccupé de ce qui se passerait si le comte de Mont-Gobert surprenait le baron de Vauparfond, Thibault qui tenait le milieu de la route, ne se rangea probablement pas assez vite, car le cavalier, voyant cette espèce de paysan qui lui faisait obstacle, lui allongea un terrible coup de cravache en lui criant :
– Range-toi donc, drôle ! si tu ne veux pas que je t’écrase !
Thibault sentit à la fois, au fond de son ivresse mal dissipée, le cinglement de la cravache, le choc du cheval et le froid de l’eau et de la boue dans lesquels il roulait.
Le cavalier passa.
Furieux, Thibault se releva sur un genou, et, montrant le poing à cette ombre qui fuyait :
– Mais, au nom du diable ! dit-il, ne serai-je donc pas, une fois seulement, grand seigneur à mon tour, pendant vingt-quatre heures, comme vous, monsieur Raoul de Vauparfond, au lieu d’être Thibault le sabotier comme je suis, afin d’avoir un bon cheval au lieu d’aller à pied, de fouailler les manants que je rencontrerai sur mon chemin ; et de courtiser les belles dames qui trompent leurs maris, comme fait la comtesse de Mont-Gobert !
À peine Thibault avait-il exprimé ce souhait, que le cheval du baron Raoul butta et envoya son cavalier rouler à dix pas devant lui.
(210-212)
“Cowards!” he muttered. Then he looked for a glass, but found none left.
“Hum! that’s awkward,” he said. “I must drink out of the bottle, that’s all!”
And suiting the action to the word, Thibault finished up his dinner by draining the bottle, which did not help to steady his brain, already somewhat shaky.
At nine o’clock, Thibault called the innkeeper, paid his account, and departed.
He was in an angry disposition of enmity against all the world; the thoughts from which he had hoped to escape possessed him more and more. Agnelette was being taken farther and farther from him as the time went by; everyone, wife or mistress, had someone to love them. This day which had been one of hatred and despair to him, had been one full of the promise of joy and happiness for everybody else; the lord of Vauparfond, the two wretched valets, François and Champagne, each of them had a bright star of hope to follow; while he, he alone, went stumbling along in the darkness. Decidedly there was a curse upon him. “But,” he went on thinking to himself, “if so, the pleasures of the damned [les plaisirs des maudits] belong to me, and I have a right to claim them.”
As these thoughts went surging through his brain, as he walked along cursing aloud, shaking his fist at the sky, he was on the way to his hut and had nearly reached it, when he heard a horse coming up behind him at a gallop.
“Ah!” said Thibault, “here comes the Lord of Vauparfond, hastening to the meeting with his love. I should laugh, my fine Sir Raoul, if my Lord of Mont-Gobert managed just to catch you! You would not get off quite so easily as if it were Maître Magloire; there would be swords out, and blows given and received!”
Thus engaged in thinking what would happen if the Comte de Mont-Gobert were to surprise his rival, Thibault, who was walking in the road, evidently did not get out of the way quickly enough, for the horseman, seeing a peasant of some kind barring his passage, brought his whip down upon him in a violent blow, calling out at the same time: “Get out of the way, you beggar, if you don’t wish to be trampled under the horse’s feet!”
Thibault, still half drunk, was conscious of a crowd of mingled sensations, of the lashing of the whip, the collision with the horse, and the rolling through cold water and mud, while the horseman passed on.
He rose to his knees, furious with anger, and shaking his fist at the retreating figure:
“Would the devil [Mais, au nom du diable],” he exclaimed, “I might just for once have my turn at being one of you great lords, might just for twenty-four hours take your place, Monsieur Raoul de Vauparfond, instead of being only Thibault, the shoe-maker, so that I might know what it was to have a fine horse to ride, instead of tramping on foot; might be able to whip the peasants I met on the road, and have the opportunity of paying court to these beautiful women, who deceive their husbands, as the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert does!”
The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the Baron’s horse shied, throwing the rider over its head.
(79-80)
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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