The White House Part 22

"That's the village of Chanonat, monsieur."

"Chanonat!" cried Edouard; "where Delille was born?"

"Delille?" replied the peasant; "as to that, I can't say, monsieur. What did this Delille do? Wasn't he a vine-dresser? Didn't he make wine?"

"No, my good man; he made something better than wine; he was a poet! But he loved the fields; and, like another Virgil, he sang the praises of agriculture in his n.o.ble verses!"

"I never knew him, monsieur."

Robineau turned away with a shrug, muttering:

"What fools these bright men are! The idea of talking about a poet to this countryman who doesn't know about anything except his ducks and his wife and children! I shall never do anything so stupid as that!"

Then, turning to the peasant once more, he said:

"My dear friend, these gentlemen have asked you to name all these places--that's all right, but they forget the most essential thing, which is to ask the shortest way to Saint-Amand, and consequently to my chateau, which is close by."

"Oh! messieurs, you want to go down the hill first, then bear to your left; you'll see Le Crest, and it ain't far from there to Saint-Amand.--Good-day, messieurs."

"Thanks, my good man."

The peasant went his way, and Robineau, after looking at his watch, cried:

"Come, come, messieurs, forward! Do you know what time it is? Half-past five--think of that!"

"Well! it's light until almost nine now."

"Light! Oh! that depends on what sort of road you are on. At all events, we haven't arrived yet."

"Adieu then, delightful spot!" said Edouard with a sigh; "how I should have liked to see the sunset from here!"

"That's it! and we should sleep in the open air!"

"Upon my word, this place inspires me! I feel in the mood for writing; I could compose some verses on this view."

"You can write a poem some other time, my dear Edouard; you can come here again and gaze at the sun and moon and whatever you please; but for the moment, I entreat you, let us go in search of my chateau, which I am beginning to be very much worried about."

As he spoke, Robineau seized Edouard's arm and led him away, calling Alfred, and trying to take his arm as well.

"Why in the devil do you cling to us like this?" demanded Alfred, pulling away from Robineau's grasp.

"Because, my dear fellow, if we three hold on to one another, we are firmer on our feet and less in danger of slipping."

"Do you imagine that we are walking on ice?--Say rather that you're afraid we shall escape from you again."

"Suppose that I were, messieurs? Isn't it quite natural that I should be impatient to see my property?"

"What do a few hours sooner or later matter?"

"My dear Alfred, you talk like a man with a hundred thousand francs a year, who is accustomed to wealth, who is even surfeited with the pleasures it affords; but I am still a perfect novice as to that; I am in haste to be happy, and to me the loveliest situations, the most wonderful views will never possess the charm that I shall feel at the first sight of the domain I have purchased."

"I can understand that," said Edouard; "forward, messieurs."

For some time they went on without stopping; but soon a winding path appeared, between perpendicular rocks whereon they saw goats quickly leaping wide s.p.a.ces, then standing motionless for several minutes on the very brink of a precipice. Edouard could not refrain from stopping once more to contemplate that picture.

"Oh! messieurs, you must agree that this is superb," he cried; "that there is something most majestic in this wild spot. One would think that we were a long, long distance from the world!"

"And so we are, for I don't see a person or a house," said Robineau, looking gloomily about.

"There is something indescribably grand, something antique about this narrow path between these crags; it carries me back to other ages; it seems to me that I shall see dipus and Laius meet in this fatal road!"

"Ah! if we fall foul of the Greeks we shall never have done with them,"

said Robineau, stamping the ground impatiently.

"For my part, messieurs," said Alfred, "I think that it would be very pleasant to walk here with a pretty woman. We have not met a soul for quarter of an hour! It is delightful! When you come to an attractive spot, you could stop and exchange kisses and dilate on the beauties of nature, and you need not fear to be surprised, as you are likely to be in all the country districts about Paris, where those infernal peasants spring up from a potato field just when you least expect it.--Don't you agree with me, Robineau? I say--suppose you had Fifine here?"

"If I had Fifine, I would make her walk at all events! and she wouldn't stop every minute to look at a little pile of moss, or a stone that has broken off the cliff and threatens to fall on our heads!"

"So Fifine is not romantic, eh?--Still, my friend, ladies in general are very fond of making love in the open fields. The turf, the green leaves, a nice soft, dark spot--all these things inspire one and arouse one's emotions; it's astonis.h.i.+ng how amorous the country makes me!"

"Oh! messieurs, how young you are, what children!"

"May we long be children! The sweetest sensations are always those that remind us of our youth!"

"Let us go on, messieurs, let us go on, I beg. I see nothing very pretty in this rocky road.--Well! Monsieur Edouard, what are you looking at in the air?"

"Why, don't you see that goat standing on the very edge of the precipice? It seems to me that its feet hardly touch the ground; and it puts out its head and gazes undismayed into the vast s.p.a.ce over which it is almost suspended!"

"Oh! this is too much, messieurs! As if you had never seen goats before!

The idea of wasting your time watching them! Parbleu! they're not made any differently here from those at the Jardin des Plantes; indeed, they're not so handsome. If you should see a bear now, or a lion, why, you might very well stop to gaze at him!"

"Oh! I am very sure that you wouldn't stop even for that!"

"This infernal road will never come to an end! That peasant must have directed us wrong. We shall end by going astray, by losing ourselves in these mountains.--Ah! how sorry I am now that we didn't take a guide!"

"It's your own fault; why did you refuse to accept the services of that man who offered?"

"Whom do you mean? that beggar, that miserable fellow who didn't even take off his hat when he spoke to us?"

"Is it necessary for a guide to study good manners?"

"At least it is necessary that he shouldn't have the manners of a brigand; and that's the impression that man produced on me. Didn't you notice those underhand glances that he gave us? and that big stick that he carried in his hand?"

"What! you were afraid of that man, when there were three of us?"

"No, it isn't a question of being afraid! But how do you know that he hasn't friends, confederates in the mountains? He could have taken us wherever he chose, and all of a sudden a dozen gentlemen of his stamp would have fallen upon us."

"Oh! my poor Robineau! I see that you will never take a walking trip around the world!"