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by Corry Shores
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[Alexandre Dumas, entry directory]
[Dumas. The Wolf-Leader (Le meneur de loups), entry directory]
[The following is summary. Boldface, underlining, bracketed commentary, and section subdivisions are my own. Proofreading is incomplete, so please forgive my mistakes. Text is copied from online sources (see bibliography below).]
Summary of
Alexandre Dumas
Le meneur de loups
The Wolf-Leader
5
“Le pacte”
“The Pact with Satan”
Brief summary:
(5.1) (Recall from section 2.2 that Thibault the sabot-maker wanted vengeance on Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez, so he was hellbent on capturing the hunted buck before Vez got it. Thibault’s prayers to God for the buck went unanswered, so he prayed to the devil too. These prayers were heard, because the buck was delivered to his shed that night (section 4.1). The next day, Vez is hunting a black wolf. It enters Thibault’s house walking on its hind legs like a human. It is “the devil [le diable] in person or someone very like it”. Thibault helps the Wolf be free of the hunting chase by releasing the buck and sending the hounds on a different trail. Prior to this Thibault asked that in return the Wolf grant him every one of his wishes from now on (section 4.2).) As Thibault returns to his house from releasing the buck, the Wolf explains to him that while he cannot grant all his wishes, he can help him do ill to others, noting that “There is always something sweet to us in the misfortune of our friends,—even the dearest” and “there is always an opportunity of profiting by our neighbour’s calamity, whether he be friend or foe.” As payment for each request to harm another, Thibault will have to give up part of his body, namely, his hair, with the price doubling with each request. “Every time that you express a wish that is not to your own immediate advantage, you will have to repay me with a small portion of your person. [...] For the fulfilment of your first wish, one of your hairs; two hairs for the second wish, four for the third, and so on, doubling the number each time.” Thibault agrees, but as they cannot shake on it without the Wolf’s claws harming Thibault, they instead exchange their rings (the Wolf’s gold one for Thibault’s silver one). “ ‘Good!’ said the wolf, ‘now we two are married’.” The Wolf then disappears leaving a scent of sulfur. (5.2) Thibault then examines the gold ring from the Wolf. It has an engraved monogram, the letters T. and S. “ ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, in a cold sweat, ‘Thibault and Satan, the family names of the two contracting parties [Thibault et Satan, les noms de famille des deux parties contractantes]. So much the worse for me! but when one gives oneself to the devil [diable], one has to do it without reserve.” Then “Thibault began humming a song, trying to drown his thoughts, but his voice filled him with fear, for there was a new and curious sound in it, even to his own ears.” Thibault gets to his work, and in the distance he hears Vez and his hunting party on the chase. Thibault then realizes his new power over him. “Ah, my fine Lord, you may chase your wolf as long as you like; but I can tell you, you won’t get this one’s paw to nail up over the door of your castle. What a lucky beggar I am! here am I, almost as good as a magician [fée], and while you ride on, suspecting nothing, my brave dispenser of blows, I have but to say the word, and a spell [un sort] will be cast over you whereby I shall be amply avenged.” Thibault thinks about the small price to pay for vengeance on Vez and Marcotte the chief pricker ((see section 1.1) who whipped him at Vez’s command (see sections 3.1 and 3.2)): “Thibault passed his hand through the thick, silky hair which covered his head like a lion’s mane. ‘I shall have plenty of hairs left to lose,’ he continued. ‘Why bother about one! [...] Very well then, I wish a serious accident to befall the Baron, and as for that good-for-nothing of a Marcotte, who laid on to me so roughly yesterday, it is only fair that something as bad again should happen to him.’ [...] After uttering his wish, he tried in vain to return to his work, he took hold of his parer, wrong side up, and took the skin off his fingers, and still going on with his paring he spoilt a pair of shoes worth a good twelve sous.” Just then the hunters came as if in funeral procession, and “he saw that they were carrying two rough litters, on which were stretched two lifeless bodies, those of the Baron and of Marcotte.” We then learn from the narrator what happened. The buck crosses closely in front of Vez, and then the dogs come making a racket. Vez gets profoundly angry at the dogs [perhaps for having chased the wrong prey] and “he rode them down, trampling them beneath his horse’s hoofs, flinging himself about in his saddle like a devil [un diable] in a stoup of holy water.” Marcotte comes and whips the dogs, which nonetheless become even more determined to chase the buck. In the process, Marcotte rides his horse into a river, which was quite high and strong from rains, and he and the horse are overtaken by the currents. Vez calls for everyone to try to save Marcotte, promising a large reward. But they ultimately fail, and Marcotte drowns. Vez’s liking for wine “predisposed him ever so little to apoplexy,” and when he saw Marcotte’s corpse, “the emotion was so great, that the blood rushed to his head and brought on a fit.” As they pass before Thibault’s house, they begin searching his shed for things that might serve medicinally to help Vez. Engoulevent (keeper of the hounds, see section 1.1) calls for a goat. He says he needs to slaughter it to get a small bone from the heart, which they will crush and use as medicine to treat Vez’s apoplexy. Thibault objects, because he loves his goat and depends on it for food. Engoulevent says Thibault can later come to Vez to ask for compensation. Thibault assents rather than call the devil for help, because his conscience is too heavy from already bringing so much harm. They slaughter the goat and make the medicinal preparation, which when administered to Vez immediately stops his fit. They give him water, which disgusts him, and he calls for wine. They bring some to him, which he drinks very quickly. “Then he turned himself round with his face to the wall, and murmuring—Mâcon, 1743—fell into a profound slumber.”
[Thibault’s Pact with the Wolf]
[The Devil’s Deed]
Summary
[Thibault’s Pact with the Wolf]
[(Recall from section 2.2 that Thibault the sabot-maker wanted vengeance on Seigneur Jean, Baron of Vez, so he was hellbent on capturing the hunted buck before Vez got it. Thibault’s prayers to God for the buck went unanswered, so he prayed to the devil too. These prayers were heard, because the buck was delivered to his shed that night (section 4.1). The next day, Vez is hunting a black wolf. It enters Thibault’s house walking on its hind legs like a human. It is “the devil [le diable] in person or someone very like it”. Thibault helps the Wolf be free of the hunting chase by releasing the buck and sending the hounds on a different trail. Prior to this Thibault asked that in return the Wolf grant him every one of his wishes from now on (section 4.2).) As Thibault returns to his house from releasing the buck, the Wolf explains to him that while he cannot grant all his wishes, he can help him do ill to others, noting that “There is always something sweet to us in the misfortune of our friends,—even the dearest” and “there is always an opportunity of profiting by our neighbour’s calamity, whether he be friend or foe.” As payment for each request to harm another, Thibault will have to give up part of his body, namely, his hair, with the price doubling with each request. “Every time that you express a wish that is not to your own immediate advantage, you will have to repay me with a small portion of your person. [...] For the fulfilment of your first wish, one of your hairs; two hairs for the second wish, four for the third, and so on, doubling the number each time.” Thibault agrees, but as they cannot shake on it without the Wolf’s claws harming Thibault, they instead exchange their rings (the Wolf’s gold one for Thibault’s silver one). “ ‘Good!’ said the wolf, ‘now we two are married’.” The Wolf then disappears leaving a scent of sulfur.]
[ditto]
Thibault s’arrêta sur le seuil de la porte, tout étourdi de cette réapparition.
– Nous disions donc, reprit le loup, comme si rien ne s’était passé, que je ne puis t’accorder que tout le bien que tu souhaiteras t’arrive.
– Alors, je n’ai rien à attendre de vous ?
– Si fait, car je puis faire que le mal que tu souhaiteras à ton prochain se réalise.
– Bon ! et à quoi cela m’avancera-t-il ?
– Niais ! Un moraliste a dit : « Il y a toujours dans le malheur de notre plus cher ami un point qui nous est agréable. »
– C’est un loup qui a dit cela ? Je ne savais pas que les loups eussent des moralistes.
– Non, c’est un homme.
– On l’a pendu ?
– Non : on l’a fait gouverneur d’une province du Poitou. Il est vrai qu’il y a beaucoup de loups dans cette province-là. Or, si dans le malheur du meilleur ami il y a toujours quelque chose d’agréable, comprends donc ce qu’il peut y avoir de réjouissant dans le malheur du plus grand ennemi !
– Il y a du vrai là-dedans, dit Thibault.
– Sans compter qu’il y a toujours moyen que le mal du prochain nous profite, que le prochain soit ami ou ennemi.
– Vous avez, ma foi, raison, seigneur loup, répondit Thibault après quelques secondes de réflexion. Et vous m’accorderiez ce service en échange de quoi ? Voyons, donnant, donnant, n’est-ce pas ?
– Oui. Chaque fois donc que tu formeras un vœu, et que ce vœu ne profitera pas à toi-même, je veux avoir en propriété une petite partie de ta personne.
– Eh ! eh ! fit Thibault en reculant tout effrayé.
– Oh ! sois tranquille, je ne te demande pas une livre de ta chair, comme certain juif de ma connaissance a fait pour son débiteur.
– Que me demandez-vous, alors ?
– Un de tes cheveux au premier vœu que tu feras, deux au second, quatre au troisième, et ainsi de suite en doublant toujours.
Thibault se mit à rire.
– Si ce n’est que cela, messire loup, dit-il, j’accepte, et je vais tâcher de souhaiter une si bonne chose du premier coup, que je ne serai jamais forcé de porter perruque. Topons donc !
Et Thibault tendit la main. Le loup noir leva la patte, mais il laissa la patte levée.
– Eh bien ? fit Thibault.
– Je réfléchis, dit le loup, que j’ai les griffes pointues, et que, sans le vouloir, je pourrais te faire grand mal. Mais je vois un moyen de conclure le marché sans aucun inconvénient. Tu as une bague d’argent ; moi, j’ai une bague d’or ; – troquons. – Tu vois que le marché est à ton avantage.
Et le loup montra sa patte, à l’annulaire de laquelle brillait, en effet, à travers le poil, une bague de l’or le plus fin.
– Ah ! dit Thibault, j’accepte.
L’échange des anneaux se fit.
– Bon ! dit le loup, nous voilà mariés.
– Oh ! fit Thibault, fiancés, messire loup. Peste ! comme vous y allez !
– C’est ce que nous verrons, maître Thibault. Et maintenant, retourne à ta besogne, je retourne à la mienne.
– Adieu, seigneur loup.
– Au revoir, maître Thibault.
À peine le loup avait-il prononcé ces mots au revoir, sur lesquels il avait appuyé d’une sensible façon, qu’il disparut comme une pincée de poudre à laquelle on met le feu, et, comme une pincée de poudre, laissant une odeur de soufre.
(81-83)
THIBAULT stopped short on the threshold, overcome with astonishment at this re-apparition. “I was saying,” began the wolf, as if nothing had happened to interrupt the conversation, “that it is out of my power to grant you the accomplishment of all the wishes you may have in future for your own comfort and advancement.”
“Then I am to expect nothing from you?”
“Not so, for the ill you wish your neighbour can be carried out with my help.”
“And, pray, what good would that do me personally?”
“You fool! has not a moralist said, ‘There is always something sweet to us in the misfortune of our friends,—even the dearest.’ ”
“Was it a wolf said that? I did not know wolves could boast of moralists among their number.”
“No, it was not a wolf, it was a man.”
“And was the man hanged?”
“On the contrary, he was made Governor of part of Poitou; there are, to be sure, a good many wolves in that province—well then, if there is something pleasant in the misfortune of our best friend, cannot you understand what a subject of rejoicing the misfortune of our worst enemy must be!”
“There is some truth in that, certainly,” said Thibault.
“Without taking into consideration that there is always an opportunity of profiting by our neighbour’s calamity, whether he be friend or foe.”
Thibault paused for a minute or two to consider before he answered:
“By my faith, you are right there, friend wolf, and suppose, then, you do me this service, what shall you expect in exchange? I suppose it will have to be a case of give and take, eh?”
“Certainly. Every time that you express a wish that is not to your own immediate advantage, you will have to repay me with a small portion of your person.”
Thibault drew back with an exclamation of fear.
“Oh! do not be alarmed! I shall not demand a pound of flesh, as a certain Jew of my acquaintance did from his debtor.”
“What is it then you ask of me?”
“For the fulfilment of your first wish, one of your hairs; two hairs for the second wish, four for the third, and so on, doubling the number each time.”
Thibault broke into a laugh: “If that is all you require, Master Wolf, I accept on the spot; and I shall try to start with such a comprehensive wish, that I shall never need to wear a wig. So let it be agreed between us!” and Thibault held out his hand. The black wolf lifted his paw, but he kept it raised.
“Well?” said Thibault.
“I was only thinking,” replied the wolf, “that I have rather sharp claws, and, without wishing to do so, I might hurt you badly; but I see a way whereby to clinch the bargain without any damage done to you. You have a silver ring, I have a gold one; let us exchange; the barter will be to your advantage, as you see.” And the wolf held out its paw, Thibault saw a ring of the purest gold shining under the fur of what corresponded to the ring finger, and accepted the bargain without hesitation; the respective rings then changed ownership.
“Good!” said the wolf, “now we two are married.”
“You mean betrothed, Master Wolf,” put in Thibault. “Plague upon you! you go too fast.”
“We shall see about that, Master Thibault. And now you go back to your work, and I’ll go back to mine.”
“Good-bye, my lord Wolf.”
“Till we meet again, Master Thibault.”
The wolf had hardly uttered these last words, on which it had laid an unmistakeable emphasis, ere it disappeared like a pinch of lighted gun-powder, and like the gun-powder, left behind a strong smell of sulphur.
(31-32)
[The Devil’s Deed]
[Thibault then examines the gold ring from the Wolf. It has an engraved monogram, the letters T. and S. “ ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, in a cold sweat, ‘Thibault and Satan, the family names of the two contracting parties [Thibault et Satan, les noms de famille des deux parties contractantes]. So much the worse for me! but when one gives oneself to the devil [diable], one has to do it without reserve.” Then “Thibault began humming a song, trying to drown his thoughts, but his voice filled him with fear, for there was a new and curious sound in it, even to his own ears.” Thibault gets to his work, and in the distance he hears Vez and his hunting party on the chase. Thibault then realizes his new power over him. “Ah, my fine Lord, you may chase your wolf as long as you like; but I can tell you, you won’t get this one’s paw to nail up over the door of your castle. What a lucky beggar I am! here am I, almost as good as a magician [fée], and while you ride on, suspecting nothing, my brave dispenser of blows, I have but to say the word, and a spell [un sort] will be cast over you whereby I shall be amply avenged.” Thibault thinks about the small price to pay for vengeance on Vez and Marcotte the chief pricker ((see section 1.1) who whipped him at Vez’s command (see sections 3.1 and 3.2)): “Thibault passed his hand through the thick, silky hair which covered his head like a lion’s mane. ‘I shall have plenty of hairs left to lose,’ he continued. ‘Why bother about one! [...] Very well then, I wish a serious accident to befall the Baron, and as for that good-for-nothing of a Marcotte, who laid on to me so roughly yesterday, it is only fair that something as bad again should happen to him.’ [...] After uttering his wish, he tried in vain to return to his work, he took hold of his parer, wrong side up, and took the skin off his fingers, and still going on with his paring he spoilt a pair of shoes worth a good twelve sous.” Just then the hunters came as if in funeral procession, and “he saw that they were carrying two rough litters, on which were stretched two lifeless bodies, those of the Baron and of Marcotte.” We then learn from the narrator what happened. The buck crosses closely in front of Vez, and then the dogs come making a racket. Vez gets profoundly angry at the dogs [perhaps for having chased the wrong prey] and “he rode them down, trampling them beneath his horse’s hoofs, flinging himself about in his saddle like a devil [un diable] in a stoup of holy water.” Marcotte comes and whips the dogs, which nonetheless become even more determined to chase the buck. In the process, Marcotte rides his horse into a river, which was quite high and strong from rains, and he and the horse are overtaken by the currents. Vez calls for everyone to try to save Marcotte, promising a large reward. But they ultimately fail, and Marcotte drowns. Vez’s liking for wine “predisposed him ever so little to apoplexy,” and when he saw Marcotte’s corpse, “the emotion was so great, that the blood rushed to his head and brought on a fit.” As they pass before Thibault’s house, they begin searching his shed for things that might serve medicinally to help Vez. Engoulevent (keeper of the hounds, see section 1.1) calls for a goat. He says he needs to slaughter it to get a small bone from the heart, which they will crush and use as medicine to treat Vez’s apoplexy. Thibault objects, because he loves his goat and depends on it for food. Engoulevent says Thibault can later come to Vez to ask for compensation. Thibault assents rather than call the devil for help, because his conscience is too heavy from already bringing so much harm. They slaughter the goat and make the medicinal preparation, which when administered to Vez immediately stops his fit. They give him water, which disgusts him, and he calls for wine. They bring some to him, which he drinks very quickly. “Then he turned himself round with his face to the wall, and murmuring—Mâcon, 1743—fell into a profound slumber.”]
[ditto]
Thibault resta un instant abasourdi. Il ne pouvait s’habituer à cette manière de faire sa sortie, comme on dit en terme de théâtre ; il regarda de tous les côtés : plus de loup. Le sabotier crut un instant qu’il avait été le jouet d’une vision. Mais, en abaissant les yeux, il vit la bague diabolique à l’annulaire de sa main droite. Thibault la tira de son doigt et l’examina. Il lui sembla qu’il y avait un chiffre gravé dans l’intérieur de la bague, et il reconnut qu’il se composait de deux lettres, un T et un S.
– Ah ! ah ! dit-il avec une sueur froide. Thibault et Satan, les noms de famille des deux parties contractantes. Ma foi, tant pis ! quand on se donne au diable, il faut s’y donner de bon cœur.
Et Thibault, pour se griser, entonna une chanson.
Mais sa voix avait un si singulier accent, qu’elle lui fit peur à lui-même.
Il se tut donc, et, pour se distraire, se remit à l’ouvrage.
Mais, au troisième ou quatrième coup de paroir qu’il donna à son sabot, il entendit dans le lointain, du côté de Baisemont, une reprise de la meute et une reprise du cor du baron.
Thibault suspendit son travail pour écouter chiens et trompe.
– Cours, mon beau seigneur, dit-il, cours après ton loup ! Ce n’est pas de celui-là, je t’en réponds, que tu cloueras la patte à la porte de ton château. Ventre-gai ! la bonne aubaine ! me voilà devenu presque fée, et, tandis que tu ne te doutes de rien, mon honnête bailleur d’étrivières, il ne tient qu’à moi de jeter un sort sur ta tête et de me venger grassement de toi.
Thibault, à cette pensée, s’arrêta court.
– Tiens, au fait, dit-il, si je me vengeais de ce damné baron et de maître Marcotte ? Bah ! pour un cheveu, je puis bien me passer cette fantaisie.
Thibault passa sa main dans son épaisse et soyeuse crinière, fournie et riche comme celle d’un lion.
– Bon ! dit-il, j’en ai de reste à perdre, des cheveux ; va donc pour un cheveu ! D’ailleurs, c’est un moyen de m’assurer que mon compère le diable ne s’est pas gaussé de moi. Donc, je désire un bon accident pour le seigneur Jean ; et quant à ce grand vaurien de Marcotte, qui m’a si rudement fustigé hier, je suppose qu’il ne serait que juste qu’il fût une fois plus maltraité que son maître.
Tout en faisant ce double vœu, Thibault était fortement ému. Malgré ce qu’il avait vu de la puissance du loup noir, il craignait que celui-ci n’eût abusé de sa crédulité. Aussi, le vœu fait, lui fut-il impossible de reprendre son ouvrage. Il s’écorcha les doigts au paroir, qu’il prit à l’envers, et gâta, en s’obstinant à les parer, une paire de sabots de douze sous.
Pendant que Thibault déplorait cet irréparable accident et qu’il secouait sa main ensanglantée, il se fit un grand bruit du côté de la vallée.
Il courut à la route de la Chrétiennelle et vit de loin un cortège d’hommes qui revenait à petits pas.
Ces hommes, c’étaient les piqueurs et les valets de chiens du seigneur de Vez.
La route de la Chrétiennelle a près de trois quarts de lieue de long.
Thibault fut donc quelque temps à distinguer ce que faisaient ces hommes qui lui paraissaient marcher d’un pas lent et solennel, pareil à celui d’un convoi mortuaire.
Mais, quand ces hommes ne furent plus qu’à cinq cents pas, Thibault s’aperçut qu’ils portaient deux civières.
Sur ces deux civières, deux corps inanimés étaient étendus :
Celui du seigneur Jean et celui de son piqueur Marcotte.
Une sueur froide lui passa sur le front.
– Oh ! oh ! dit-il, qu’est-ce que cela ?
Voici ce qui était arrivé :
Tant que le daim s’était tenu sous le couvert, l’expédient dont Thibault avait usé pour donner le change aux chiens avait eu un heureux résultat.
Mais, en faisant un retour du côté de Marolle, la bête, traversant une bruyère, vint passer à dix pas du seigneur Jean.
Celui-ci crut d’abord que le daim s’était levé d’effroi au bruit des chiens et se dérobait.
Mais, derrière lui, à cent pas à peine, il vit paraître la meute tout entière, quarante chiens courant, jappant, hurlant, criant les uns en basse comme des bourdons de cathédrale, les autres à voix pleine comme des tam-tams, les autres en fausset comme des clarinettes qui détonnent, tous y allant à pleine gorge, avec autant de cœur et de liesse que si jamais ils n’eussent humé l’odeur d’un autre animal.
Le seigneur Jean entra alors dans une de ces colères près desquelles les colères de Polichinelle sont de pâles colères.
Il ne criait plus, il hurlait.
Il ne jurait plus, il sacrait.
Il ne se contentait plus d’allonger des coups de fouet à ses chiens, il trépignait sur eux des quatre fers de son cheval, se démenant sur sa selle comme un diable dans un bénitier.
Toutes ces malédictions allaient à l’adresse de son premier piqueur, qu’il accusait d’ânerie, ni plus ni moins.
Cette fois, il n’y avait plus rien à dire, pas d’excuse à donner, et le pauvre Marcotte était bien honteux de la bévue de ses chiens et bien inquiet de la grande rage de monseigneur.
Il résolut donc de faire tout ce qui est au pouvoir d’un homme et même davantage pour réparer l’une et calmer l’autre.
En conséquence, il lança son cheval au galop à travers futaies et taillis, criant de toute la force de ses poumons :
– Arrière, chiens ! Arrière !
Et il distribuait à droite et à gauche des coups de fouet si vigoureux, que chacun d’eux creusait son sillon dans le poil des pauvres bêtes.
Mais il avait beau faire, beau crier, beau fouetter, les chiens n’en semblaient que plus enragés sur la voie.
On eût dit qu’ils avaient reconnu leur daim de la veille et que leur amour-propre, piqué au vif, tenait à avoir sa revanche.
Marcotte prit alors un parti désespéré : celui de traverser la rivière d’Ourcq, près de laquelle on se trouvait, et que la chasse traversait elle-même en ce moment, ou plutôt qu’elle était près de traverser.
En se pliant sur l’autre bord et en fouaillant les chiens lorsqu’ils remonteraient sur l’autre rive, il espérait rompre la meute.
Il lança son cheval dans la direction de la rivière et d’un bond fut au milieu du courant.
Tous deux, cheval et cavalier, étaient tombés à l’eau avec assez de bonheur.
Mais, par malheur, comme nous l’avons déjà dit, la rivière était horriblement grossie par les pluies ; le cheval ne put tenir contre le courant : il tournoya plusieurs fois sur lui-même et disparut.
De son côté, Marcotte, voyant son cheval perdu, voulut l’abandonner pour gagner la rivière.
Mais ses pieds étaient si fortement engagés dans les étriers, qu’il ne put les en retirer, et disparut trois secondes après son cheval.
Pendant ce temps, le baron était arrivé avec ses gens au bord de la rivière, et sa colère s’était tout simplement métamorphosée en désespoir quand il avait pu se rendre compte de la situation critique de son piqueur.
Le seigneur de Vez aimait sincèrement ceux qui le servaient dans ses plaisirs, autant les hommes que les bêtes.
Il cria de toute la force de ses poumons :
– Mille tonnerres du diable ! sauvez Marcotte ! Vingt-cinq louis, cinquante louis, cent louis à celui qui le sauvera !
Hommes et chevaux sautèrent à l’eau à l’envi comme des grenouilles effrayées.
Lui-même poussa son cheval à la rivière ; mais on le retint, et l’on mit tant d’empressement à empêcher le digne seigneur d’exécuter son héroïque projet, que le témoignage d’affection donné au maître devint fatal au malheureux piqueur.
On l’oublia pendant une minute.
Cette minute suffit pour le perdre.
Marcotte reparut à un endroit où l’Ourcq fait un coude, battit l’eau de ses bras, parvint à dégager son visage, cria une dernière fois :
– Au retour, chiens ! au retour !…
Mais l’eau, en revenant sur sa bouche, étouffa la dernière syllabe du dernier mot, et ce ne fut qu’un quart d’heure après que l’on retrouva son corps sur un petit banc de sable où le courant l’avait amené.
Marcotte était mort.
Cet accident eut de funestes résultats pour le seigneur Jean.
En noble homme qu’il était, il ne haïssait pas le bon vin, et cela l’avait un tant soit peu prédisposé aux coups de sang.
Or, la commotion qu’il ressentit en face du cadavre de son serviteur fut tellement vive, que le sang, affluant avec violence vers le cerveau, y détermina une apoplexie.
Thibault fut épouvanté de l’exactitude scrupuleuse avec laquelle le loup noir avait rempli ses engagements. Il ne songeait pas sans un certain frisson à la ponctualité que maître Isengrin était en droit d’exiger en retour de la sienne. Puis il se demandait avec inquiétude si le gaillard serait loup à se contenter toujours de quelques cheveux, – et cela d’autant plus qu’au moment du souhait et dans les quelques secondes qui l’avaient suivi, c’est-à-dire au moment de son accomplissement, il n’avait ressenti aucune impression dans le cuir chevelu, pas même le plus petit chatouillement.
Le cadavre du pauvre Marcotte lui produisit un assez vilain effet. Sincèrement, il ne l’aimait point et se croyait fondé à ne point l’aimer ; mais son aversion pour le défunt n’avait jamais été jusqu’à souhaiter sa mort, et le loup avait évidemment outrepassé ses souhaits.
Il est vrai que Thibault n’avait point précisément indiqué ce qu’il voulait, et avait laissé de la marge à la malice du loup.
Il se promit à l’avenir de mieux préciser sa volonté, et surtout d’être plus réservé dans les vœux qu’il formerait.
Quant au baron, il n’était pas mort ; mais il n’en valait guère mieux.
Depuis le moment où il avait été frappé comme d’un coup de foudre par le souhait de Thibault, il n’avait pas repris ses sens.
On l’avait couché à l’air sur le tas de bruyères que le sabotier avait amassées afin de cacher la porte de son étable, et ses gens, tout effarés, bouleversaient la maison pour trouver quelque condiment qui rappelât leur bon seigneur à la vie.
L’un demandait du vinaigre pour lui en frotter les tempes, l’autre une clef pour la lui fourrer dans le dos, celui-ci une planchette pour lui frapper dans les mains, celui-là du soufre pour lui brûler sous le nez.
Au milieu de toutes ces voix qui battaient évidemment la campagne, on entendit la voix du petit Engoulevent qui criait :
– Par la rate-Dieu ! ce n’est pas tout cela qu’il nous faudrait, c’est une chèvre. Ah ! si nous avions seulement une chèvre ?
– Une chèvre ? s’écria Thibault, qui n’était point fâché de voir le seigneur Jean rétabli, ce qui eût dégagé sa conscience de la moitié du poids qui pesait sur elle, et en même temps sauvé sa pauvre cabane du pillage. Une chèvre ? J’en ai une !
– Vraiment ! vous possédez une chèvre ? s’écria Engoulevent. Ah ! mes amis, voilà notre cher seigneur sauvé !
Et, dans, son transport, Engoulevent sauta au cou de Thibault, disant :
– Amenez votre chèvre, mon ami ! amenez votre chèvre !
Le sabotier entra dans l’étable et tira derrière lui l’animal, qui le suivait en bêlant.
– Tenez-la ferme par les cornes, dit le petit valet du chenil, et soulevez-lui la patte de devant.
Et, en parlant ainsi, l’apprenti veneur avait tiré de sa gaine le petit couteau qu’il portait à la ceinture et l’aiguisait soigneusement à la meule où Thibault repassait ses outils.
– Que comptez-vous donc faire ? demanda le sabotier, assez inquiet de ces préparatifs.
– Comment ! dit Engoulevent, ne savez-vous donc pas qu’il y a dans le cœur des chèvres un petit os en croix qui, mis en poudre et broyé, est souverain contre les coups de sang ?
– Vous voulez tuer ma chèvre ! s’exclama Thibault en lâchant tout à la fois la corne et la patte de la pauvre bête ; mais je ne veux pas qu’on la tue, moi !
– Ah ! fi ! dit Engoulevent ; ce n’est pas joli, ce que vous dites là, monsieur Thibault ! Pouvez-vous mettre en parallèle l’existence de notre bon seigneur avec celle de cette misérable bique ? Vrai, j’en rougis pour vous.
– Vous en parlez bien à votre aise. Cette chèvre, c’est toute ma fortune, tout mon bien. Elle me donne son lait, et j’y tiens.
– Ah ! monsieur Thibault, bien certainement que vous ne pensez pas un mot de ce que vous dites là, – et, par bonheur, le seigneur baron ne vous entend pas ; – sans quoi, il aurait le cœur navré de voir sa précieuse santé ainsi marchandée par un vilain.
– D’ailleurs, dit un des piqueurs en riant d’un rire narquois, si maître Thibault estime sa chèvre un prix que monseigneur puisse seul lui payer, rien ne l’empêchera de venir réclamer ce prix au château de Vez. On le lui payera avec ce qui lui est redû sur son compte d’hier.
Thibault n’était pas le plus fort, à moins d’appeler de nouveau le diable à son aide.
Mais il venait de recevoir de monseigneur Satan une si belle leçon, qu’il n’y avait pas de danger que, le même jour au moins, il s’exposât à pareille aubaine.
Il n’eut donc pour le moment qu’une préoccupation : ce fut de ne rien souhaiter de mauvais à aucun de ceux qui se trouvaient là.
Un homme trépassé, un autre à moitié mort, c’était une suffisante leçon.
Il en résulta que, quoique les physionomies qui l’entouraient fussent ou menaçantes ou railleuses, il détourna les yeux de ces physionomies de peur qu’elles ne lui montassent la tête.
Pendant qu’il avait les yeux détournés, on égorgeait la chèvre, du supplice de laquelle il ne fut informé que par le cri douloureux que jeta le pauvre animal.
Lorsque la chèvre eut expiré, on chercha dans son cœur tout pantelant le petit os qu’Engoulevent avait indiqué.
On le prit, on le mit en poudre, on le délaya avec du vinaigre dans lequel on avait introduit treize gouttes de fiel extraites de la vésicule qui le contenait ; au moyen de la croix d’un chapelet, on mélangea le tout dans un verre d’eau, puis, les dents du seigneur Jean ayant été desserrées à l’aide de la lame d’un poignard, on lui versa doucement cette mixture dans le gosier.
L’effet du breuvage fut prompt et vraiment miraculeux.
Le seigneur Jean éternua, se dressa sur son séant et demanda d’une voix encore un peu embarrassée, mais cependant déjà intelligible :
– À boire !
Engoulevent lui présenta de l’eau dans un vidercome de bois, héritage de famille, dont Thibault était très fier. Mais le baron n’y eut pas plutôt trempé ses lèvres et ne se fut plutôt aperçu de l’abominable liquide que l’on avait eu l’impudence de lui offrir, qu’il fit un pouah ! des plus significatifs, lança à toute volée le vidercome contre la muraille et le brisa en mille pièces.
Puis, d’une voix pleine et sonore, et qui annonçait son entier retour à la santé :
– Du vin ! cria-t-il.
Un des piqueurs monta à cheval et courut jusqu’au château d’Oigny demander quelque vieux flacon de bourgogne au seigneur du lieu.
Dix minutes après, le piqueur était de retour.
On déboucha deux bouteilles que le seigneur Jean, faute de verre, attaqua corps à corps, bouche à goulot, et qu’il vida chacune d’un trait. Puis il se tourna du côté de la muraille en murmurant :
– Mâcon, — 1745.
Et il s’endormit profondément.
(83- 92)
Thibault again stood for a moment dumbfounded. He had not yet grown accustomed to this manner of making one’s exit, to use a theatrical expression; he looked round him on every side, but the wolf was not there.
At first he thought the whole thing must have been a dream, but, looking down, he saw the devil’s ring on the third finger of his right hand; he drew it off and examined it. He saw a monogram engraved on the inner side, and looking more closely, perceived that it was formed of two letters, T. and S.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, in a cold sweat, “Thibault and Satan, the family names of the two contracting parties [Thibault et Satan, les noms de famille des deux parties contractantes]. So much the worse for me! but when one gives oneself to the devil [diable], one has to do it without reserve.”
And Thibault began humming a song, trying to drown his thoughts, but his voice filled him with fear, for there was a new and curious sound in it, even to his own ears. So he fell silent, and went back to his work as a distraction.
He had only just begun, however, to shape his wooden shoe, when, some distance off, from the direction of Baisemont, he again heard the baying of the hounds, and the notes of the Baron’s horn. Thibault left off working to listen to these various sounds.
“Ah, my fine Lord, you may chase your wolf as long as you like; but I can tell you, you won’t get this one’s paw to nail up over the door of your castle. What a lucky beggar I am! here am I, almost as good as a magician [fée], and while you ride on, suspecting nothing, my brave dispenser of blows, I have but to say the word, and a spell [un sort] will be cast over you whereby I shall be amply avenged.” And in thinking thus, Thibault suddenly paused.
“And, after all,” he went on, “why shouldn’t I revenge myself on this damned [damné] Baron and Master Marcotte? Pshaw! with only a hair at stake I may well gratify myself on this score.” And so saying Thibault passed his hand through the thick, silky hair which covered his head like a lion’s mane.
“I shall have plenty of hairs left to lose,” he continued. “Why bother about one! And, besides, it will be an opportunity for seeing whether my friend the devil [mon compère le diable] has been playing false with me or not [ne s’est pas gaussé de moi]. Very well then, I wish a serious accident to befall the Baron, and as for that good-for-nothing of a Marcotte, who laid on to me so roughly yesterday, it is only fair that something as bad again should happen to him.”
While expressing this double wish, Thibault felt anxious and agitated to the last degree; for in spite of what he had already seen of the wolf’s power, he still feared the Devil might only have been playing on his credulity. After uttering his wish, he tried in vain to return to his work, he took hold of his parer, wrong side up, and took the skin off his fingers, and still going on with his paring he spoilt a pair of shoes worth a good twelve sous. As he was lamenting over this misfortune, and wiping the blood off his hand, he heard a great commotion in the direction of the valley; he ran into the Chrétiennelle road and saw a number of men walking slowly two and two in his direction. These men were the prickers and kennelmen of the Lord of Vez. The road they were traversing was about two miles long, so that it was some time before Thibault could distinguish what the men were doing, who were walking as slowly and solemnly as if forming part of a funeral procession. When, however, they got to within five hundred paces of him, he saw that they were carrying two rough litters, on which were stretched two lifeless bodies, those of the Baron and of Marcotte. A cold sweat broke out over Thibault’s forehead. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “What do I see here?”
What had happened was this:
Thibault’s expedient for putting the dogs on the wrong scent had succeeded, and all had gone well as long as the buck remained in covert; but it doubled, when near Marolle, and while crossing the heath passed within ten paces of the Baron. The latter thought at first that the animal had been startled by hearing the hounds, and was trying to hide itself.
But at that moment, not more than a hundred paces behind him, the whole pack of hounds appeared, forty dogs, running, yelping, yelling, crying, some in a deep bass like great cathedral bells, others with the full sound of a gong, and again others in a falsetto key, like clarionettes out of tune, all giving cry at the top of their voices, as eagerly and merrily as if they had never followed the scent of any other beast.
Then the Baron gave way to one of his wild fits of rage, fits only worthy of Polichinello tearing a passion to tatters in a puppet-show. He did not shout, he yelled; he did not swear, he cursed. Not satisfied with lashing his dogs, he rode them down, trampling them beneath his horse’s hoofs, flinging himself about in his saddle like a devil in a stoup of holy water.
All his maledictions were hurled at his chief pricker, whom he held responsible for the stupid blunder that had occurred. This time Marcotte had not a word to say either in explanation or excuse, and the poor man was terribly ashamed of the mistake his hounds had made, and mighty uneasy at the towering passion into which it had thrown my lord. He made up his mind therefore to do everything in the power of man, if possible more, to repair the one and calm the other, and so started off at full gallop, dashing among the trees and over the brushwood, crying out at the top of his voice, while he slashed right and left with such vigour, that every stroke of his whip cut into the flesh of the poor animals. “Back, dogs! back!” But in vain he rode, and whipped, and called aloud, the dogs only seemed to become more wildly anxious to follow up the new found scent, as if they recognised the buck of the day before, and were determined that their wounded self-esteem should have its revenge. Then Marcotte grew desperate, and determined on the only course that seemed left. The river Ourcq was close by, the dogs were already on the point of crossing the water, and the one chance of breaking up the pack was to get across himself and whip back the dogs as they began to climb the opposite bank. He spurred his horse in the direction of the river, and leaped with it into the very middle of the stream, both horse and rider arriving safely in the water; but, unfortunately, as we have already mentioned, the river just at this time was terribly swollen with the rains, the horse was unable to stand against the violence of the current, and after being swept round two or three times finally disappeared. Seeing that it was useless trying to save his horse, Marcotte endeavoured to disengage himself, but his feet were so firmly fixed in the stirrups that he could not draw them out, and three seconds after his horse had disappeared, Marcotte himself was no longer to be seen.
Meanwhile, the Baron, with the remainder of the huntsmen, had ridden up to the water’s edge, and his anger was in an instant converted into grief and alarm as soon as he became aware of the perilous situation of his pricker; for the Lord of Vez had a sincere love towards those who ministered to his pleasure, whether man or beast. In a loud voice he shouted to his followers: “By all the powers of hell! Save Marcotte! Five and twenty louis, fifty louis, a hundred louis, to anyone who will save him!” And men and horses, like so many startled frogs, leaped into the water, vying with each other who should be first. The Baron was for riding into the river himself, but his henchmen held him back, and so anxious were they to prevent the worthy Baron from carrying out his heroic intention, that their affection for their master was fatal to the poor pricker. For one moment he was forgotten, but that last moment meant his death. He appeared once more above the surface, just where the river makes a bend; he was seen to battle against the water, and his face for an instant rose into view, as with one last cry he called to his hounds, “Back! dogs, back!” But the water again closed over him, stifling the last syllable of the last word, and it was not till a quarter of an hour later that his body was found lying on a little beach of sand on to which the current had washed him. Marcotte was dead; there was no doubt about it! This accident was disastrous in its effect on the Lord of Vez. Being the noble lord he was, he had somewhat of a liking for good wine; and this predisposed him ever so little to apoplexy, and now, as he came face to face with the corpse of his good servitor, the emotion was so great, that the blood rushed to his head and brought on a fit.
Thibault felt appalled as he realised with what scrupulous exactness the black wolf had fulfilled his part of the contract, and not without a shudder did he think of the right Master Isengrin now had to claim an equal punctuality of payment in return. He began to wonder uneasily whether the wolf, after all, was the kind of being that would continue to be satisfied with a few hairs—and this the more that both at the moment of his wish and during the succeeding minutes during which it was being accomplished, he had not been conscious of the slightest sensation anywhere about the roots of his hair, not even of the least little tickling. He was far from being pleasantly affected by the sight of poor Marcotte’s corpse; he had not loved him, it was true, and he had felt that he had good reason for not doing so; but his dislike to the defunct had never gone so far as to make him wish for his death, and the wolf had certainly gone far beyond his desires. At the same time, Thibault had never precisely said what he did wish, and had left the wolf a wide margin for the exercise of his malice; evidently he would have to be more careful in future in stating exactly what he wanted, and above all, more circumspect as regards any wish he might formulate.
As to the Baron, although still alive, he was almost as good as dead. From the moment when, as the result of Thibault’s wish, he had been struck down as it were by lightning, he had remained unconscious. His men had laid him on the heap of heather which the shoe-maker had piled up to hide the door of the shed, and troubled and frightened, were ransacking the place to try and find some restorative which might bring their master back to life. One asked for vinegar to put on his temples, another for a key to put down his back, this one for a bit of board to slap his hands with, that for some sulphur to burn under his nose. In the midst of all this confusion was heard the voice of little Engoulevent, calling out: “In the name of all that’s good, we don’t want all this truck, we want a goat. Ah! if only we had a goat!”
“A goat?” cried Thibault, who would have rejoiced to see the Baron recover, for it would lift at least part of the burden now weighing on his conscience, and would also rid his dwelling of these marauders. “A goat? I have a goat!”
“Really! you have a goat?” cried Engoulevent, “oh! my friends! now our dear master is saved!”
And so overcome with joy was he, that he flung his arms round Thibault’s neck, saying, “Bring out your goat, my friend! bring out your goat!”
Thibault went to the shed and led out the goat, which ran after him bleating.
“Hold it firmly by the horns,” said the huntsman, “and lift up one of its front feet.” And as he gave the word, the second huntsman drew from its sheath a little knife which he carried in his belt, and began carefully sharpening it on the grindstone which Thibault used for his tools. “What are you going to do?” asked the shoe-maker, feeling somewhat uneasy about these preparations.
“What! don’t you know,” said Engoulevent, “that there is a little bone in the shape of a cross inside a goat’s heart, which, if crushed into powder, is a sovereign remedy for apoplexy?”
“You intend to kill my goat?” exclaimed Thibault, at the same time leaving hold of the goat’s horns, and dropping its foot, “but I will not have it killed.”
“Fie, fie!” said Engoulevent, “that is not at all a becoming speech, Monsieur Thibault, would you value the life of our good master as of no more worth than that of your wretched goat? I am truly ashamed for you.”
“It’s easy for you to talk. This goat is all I have to depend upon, the only thing I possess. She gives me milk, and I am fond of her.”
“Ah! Monsieur Thibault, you cannot be thinking of what you are saying—it is fortunate that the Baron does not hear you—for he would be broken-hearted to know that his precious life was being bargained for in that miserly way.”
“And besides,” said one of the prickers with a sneering laugh, “if Master Thibault values his goat at a price which he thinks only my lord can pay, there is nothing to prevent him coming to the castle of Vez to claim this payment. The account can be settled with what was left over as due to him yesterday.”
Thibault knew that he could not get the better of these men, unless he again called the devil to his aid; but he had just received such a lesson from Satan, that there was no fear of his exposing himself, at all events for a second time the same day, to similar good offices. His one desire for the time being was not to wish any sort of ill to anyone of those present.
One man dead, another nearly so—Thibault found this lesson enough. Consequently, he kept his eyes turned away from the menacing and jeering countenances around him, for fear of being aggravated beyond control. While his back was turned, the poor goat’s throat was cut, her piteous cry alone informing him of the fact; and it was no sooner killed than its heart, which had hardly ceased throbbing, was opened in search of the little bone of which Engoulevent had spoken. This found, it was ground into powder, mixed with vinegar diluted with thirteen drops of gall from the bladder containing it, the whole stirred together in a glass with the cross of a rosary, and then poured gently down the Baron’s throat, after his teeth had been forced apart with the blade of a dagger.
The effect of the draught was immediate and truly miraculous. The Lord of Vez sneezed, sat up, and said in a voice, intelligible though still a little husky: “Give me something to drink.”
Engoulevent handed him some water in a wooden drinking-cup, a family possession, of which Thibault was very proud. But the Baron had no sooner put his lips to it and become aware of what the vile, abominable liquid was, which they had had the impudence to offer him, than, with an exclamation of disgust, he flung the vessel and its contents violently against the wall, and the cup fell, smashed into a thousand pieces. Then in a loud and sonorous voice, which left no doubt of his perfect recovery, he called out: “Bring me some wine.” One of the prickers mounted and rode at full speed to the castle of Oigny, and there requested the lord of the place to give him a flask or two of sound old Burgundy; ten minutes after he was back again. Two bottles were uncorked, and there being no glasses at hand, the Baron put them in turn to his mouth, draining each at a single draught.
Then he turned himself round with his face to the wall, and murmuring—Mâcon, 1743—fell into a profound slumber.
(32-35)
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:
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