The White House Part 26

As there was no reply from the hovel, Edouard stepped forward and said:

"Admit us, good people; we will pay you handsomely for your trouble and for the guide you give us."

"That is to say, we will pray for you," added Robineau, "for we have forgotten to bring our purses."

The door opened at last, and a man clad in a goatskin jacket, like the Swiss shepherds, came out and gazed stupidly at the three young men.

"Oh! mon Dieu! what in heaven's name is that?" exclaimed Robineau, stepping behind his companions; "it's either an orang-outang or a counterfeiter!"

The peasant, after contemplating the young men in silence, pointed to the doorway of his hovel, saying:

"Will you come into our house, messieurs?"

"With pleasure," said Alfred; and he walked in, followed by Edouard; whereupon Robineau, who had no desire to be left alone, was obliged also to enter the shepherd's abode.

The interior was larger than one would have supposed from the outside.

The roughly built structure was cone-shaped, and received light from above. The ground floor was divided into two parts; but the part.i.tion, made of rough planks not fastened together, seemed intended rather to support the walls and prevent their falling in upon the inmates, than to keep them apart.

There was a fire in one corner of the first room; a huge earthenware kettle was set upon some crackling twigs; a woman of some forty years, seated, or rather crouching, in front of the fire, was stirring the contents of the kettle with a wooden spoon, and by her side knelt three tall, st.u.r.dy boys, gazing at what was on the fire. Farther on, an old man, still hale and hearty, sat upon a bunch of straw, patting an old he-goat that lay on the floor beside him. This picture was lighted but dimly by a lamp standing on a small wooden table, because the smoke from the fire formed dense clouds which emerged very slowly through the vent in the roof.

The three travellers, having entered the hovel, stopped to examine the curious scene before their eyes. The occupants scrutinized them in their turn, but with a sort of stupid amazement, and without moving.

"This is very original!" said Alfred to his friends.

"It is very ugly!" said Robineau.

"It is a most picturesque interior, strongly tinged with local color,"

said Edouard.

"I don't know whether it has any color," muttered Robineau, "but this same picturesque interior smells horribly!"

"Where are we, please, good people?" inquired Alfred.

"At Chadrat," the old man replied.

"At Chadrat!" cried Robineau; "what! this is Chadrat! and they dare to call this a village! I wouldn't take it to stable my horses in."

Apparently paying no attention to Robineau, the shepherd, who had entered with the travellers, made an imperative sign to the boys kneeling by the fire; whereupon they decided, although with regret, to rise, and brought forward some small wooden benches for the travellers.

"Sit down, messieurs, and rest yourselves," said the Auvergnat.

Alfred and Edouard seated themselves, while Robineau gazed in alarm at the three tall youths who had risen, and glanced out of the corner of his eye toward the doorway of the hovel. But his companions paid no heed to the signs he made them, so he decided at last to take a seat.

"We were anxious to arrive to-night at a chateau called La Roche-Noire,"

said Alfred; "do you know it?"

The peasants looked at one another and shook their heads.

"Parbleu! how does he suppose that these clowns, these idiots should know my chateau?" said Robineau to himself.

"But you know the town of Saint-Amand?" said Edouard.

"Saint-Amand-Talende--oh, yes, monsieur!"

"Are we far from it?"

"Not very--still, it's some distance."

"Look you, my good man--these three tall fellows are your sons, I'll wager."

The peasant made an affirmative movement with his head.

"Well! as they must know these mountains by heart, do us the favor to give us one of them for a guide--all three, if they prefer; we will pay them well."

"Yes," said Robineau, "we'll pay them at the town; our money is there."

The peasants looked at one another for some time without speaking; then the father asked his sons:

"Do you want to go, young 'uns?"

The boys seemed to hesitate; at last the oldest one said in an undertone:

"We should have to pa.s.s the White House!"

"The White House!" said Alfred, "what's that? Is it an inn?"

The peasants shook their heads.

"Is it a farm-house, or a wine-shop?" asked Edouard.

The peasants still said nothing, and Robineau muttered between his teeth:

"These clowns are terribly stupid!"

At last the old man drew nearer to the travellers and said in a low voice:

"The White House is a place that I don't much like in the daytime, and still less at night! It's a dangerous place! All the accidents happen near there! in fact, it's a bewitched place!"

"Ha! ha! Do you mean to say, good people, that you believe in witches?"

exclaimed Alfred; while the peasants, amazed that anyone should dare to laugh while speaking of the White House, recoiled from the travellers and gazed at them with mingled surprise and terror.

Robineau, having discovered that the people of whom he had been afraid were themselves very timid, sprang suddenly to his feet, and exclaimed, pacing the floor with a firm tread:

"What! are you so stupid as all that, you unfortunate peasants? You believe in stories of magic and devils? such stout fellows as you, of five feet six! It makes me feel sorry for you; it--oh!"

In the heat of his harangue Robineau had barely escaped overturning the kettle, and he had just discovered that he was walking on burning brands.

"Messieurs," said Edouard, "it does not seem very surprising to me that the people of a small village among the mountains, far from frequented roads, who seem to retain the manners and customs of primitive times, should place faith in errors of which we ourselves have not been cured so very long--indeed, are we fully cured even now? In Paris, the centre of the enlightenment and civilization of our era, Mademoiselle Le Normand made a fortune, and fortune-tellers and necromancers are patronized by the very highest cla.s.ses of society. Men have a decided penchant for error; the Romans had _haruspices_ and sibyls; the Greeks, oracles and pythonesses; the Gauls, Druids; the Egyptians, their mysteries of Isis, Eleusis, Apis and Anubis; and the Jewish prophets were far superior to all the magicians of the Middle Ages!--And lastly, messieurs, I find that some great men, men of vast intellect, have been superst.i.tious; and, without believing as Plato did in the existence of sorcerers, I see nothing extraordinary in the fact that the people of a poor hamlet have a weakness toward which men of culture show so much inclination."