Sentimental Education. Gustave Flaubert
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or flying kites. Then, as the usher called in the two companions from the playground, they would return, taking the path which led along by the gardens watered by brooklets; then they would pass through the boulevards overshadowed by the old city walls. The deserted streets rang under their tread. The grating flew back; they ascended the stairs; and they felt as sad as if they had had a great debauch.
The proctor maintained that they mutually cried up each other. Nevertheless, if Frederick worked his way up to the higher forms, it was through the exhortations of his friend; and, during the vacation in 1837, he brought Deslauriers to his mother’s house.
Madame Moreau disliked the young man. He had a terrible appetite. He was fond of making republican speeches. To crown all, she got it into her head that he had been the means of leading her son into improper places. Their relations towards each other were watched. This only made their friendship grow stronger, and they bade one another adieu with heartfelt pangs when, in the following year, Deslauriers left the college in order to study law in Paris.
Frederick anxiously looked forward to the time when they would meet again. For two years they had not laid eyes on each other; and, when their embraces were over, they walked over the bridges to talk more at their ease.
The captain, who had now set up a billiard-room at Villenauxe, reddened with anger when his son called for an account of the expense of tutelage, and even cut down the cost of victuals to the lowest figure. But, as he intended to become a candidate at a later period for a professor’s chair at the school, and as he had no money, Deslauriers accepted the post of principal clerk in an attorney’s office at Troyes. By dint of sheer privation he spared four thousand francs; and, by not drawing upon the sum which came to him through his mother, he would always have enough to enable him to work freely for three years while he was waiting for a better position. It was necessary, therefore, to abandon their former project of living together in the capital, at least for the present.
Frederick hung down his head. This was the first of his dreams which had crumbled into dust.
“Be consoled,” said the captain’s son. “Life is long. We are young. We’ll meet again. Think no more about it!”
He shook the other’s hand warmly, and, to distract his attention, questioned him about his journey.
Frederick had nothing to tell. But, at the recollection of Madame Arnoux, his vexation disappeared. He did not refer to her, restrained by a feeling of bashfulness. He made up for it by expatiating on Arnoux, recalling his talk, his agreeable manner, his stories; and Deslauriers urged him strongly to cultivate this new acquaintance.
Frederick had of late written nothing. His literary opinions were changed. Passion was now above everything else in his estimation. He was equally enthusiastic about Werther, René, Franck, Lara, Lélia, and other ideal creations of less merit. Sometimes it seemed to him that music alone was capable of giving expression to his internal agitation. Then, he dreamed of symphonies; or else the surface of things seized hold of him, and he longed to paint. He had, however, composed verses. Deslauriers considered them beautiful, but did not ask him to write another poem.
As for himself, he had given up metaphysics. Social economy and the French Revolution absorbed all his attention. Just now he was a tall fellow of twenty-two, thin, with a wide mouth, and a resolute look. On this particular evening, he wore a poor-looking paletot of lasting; and his shoes were white with dust, for he had come all the way from Villenauxe on foot for the express purpose of seeing Frederick.
Isidore arrived while they were talking. Madame begged of Monsieur to return home, and, for fear of his catching cold, she had sent him his cloak.
“Wait a bit!” said Deslauriers. And they continued walking from one end to the other of the two bridges which rest on the narrow islet formed by the canal and the river.
When they were walking on the side towards Nogent, they had, exactly in front of them, a block of houses which projected a little. At the right might be seen the church, behind the mills in the wood, whose sluices had been closed up; and, at the left, the hedges covered with shrubs, along the skirts of the wood, formed a boundary for the gardens, which could scarcely be distinguished. But on the side towards Paris the high road formed a sheer descending line, and the meadows lost themselves in the distance under the vapours of the night. Silence reigned along this road, whose white track clearly showed itself through the surrounding gloom. Odours of damp leaves ascended towards them. The waterfall, where the stream had been diverted from its course a hundred paces further away, kept rumbling with that deep harmonious sound which waves make in the night time.
Deslauriers stopped, and said:
“‘Tis funny to have these worthy folks sleeping so quietly! Patience! A new ‘89 is in preparation. People are tired of constitutions, charters, subtleties, lies! Ah, if I had a newspaper, or a platform, how I would shake off all these things! But, in order to undertake anything whatever, money is required. What a curse it is to be a tavern-keeper’s son, and to waste one’s youth in quest of bread!”
He hung down his head, bit his lips, and shivered under his threadbare overcoat.
Frederick flung half his cloak over his friend’s shoulder. They both wrapped themselves up in it; and, with their arms around each other’s waists, they walked down the road side by side.
“How do you think I can live over there without you?” said Frederick.
The bitter tone of his friend had brought back his own sadness.
“I would have done something with a woman who loved me. What are you laughing at? Love is the feeding-ground, and, as it were, the atmosphere of genius. Extraordinary emotions produce sublime works. As for seeking after her whom I want, I give that up! Besides, if I should ever find her, she will repel me. I belong to the race of the disinherited, and I shall be extinguished with a treasure that will be of paste or of diamond — I know not which.”
Somebody’s shadow fell across the road, and at the same time they heard these words:
“Excuse me, gentlemen!”
The person who had uttered them was a little man attired in an ample brown frock-coat, and with a cap on his head which under its peak afforded a glimpse of a sharp nose.
“Monsieur Roque?” said Frederick.
“The very man!” returned the voice.
This resident in the locality explained his presence by stating that he had come back to inspect the wolf-traps in his garden near the waterside.
“And so you are back again in the old spot? Very good! I ascertained the fact through my little girl. Your health is good, I hope? You are not going away again?”
Then he left them, repelled, probably, by Frederick’s chilling reception.
Madame Moreau, indeed, was not on visiting terms with him. Père Roque lived in peculiar relations with his servant-girl, and was held in very slight esteem, although he was the vice-president at elections, and M. Dambreuse’s manager.
“The banker who resides in the Rue d’Anjou,” observed Deslauriers. “Do you know what you ought to do, my fine fellow?”
Isidore once more interrupted. His orders were positive not to go back without Frederick. Madame would be getting uneasy at his absence.
“Well, well, he will go back,” said Deslauriers. “He’s not going to stay out all night.”
And, as soon as the man-servant had disappeared:
“You ought to ask that old chap to introduce you to the Dambreuses. There’s nothing so useful as to be a visitor at a rich man’s house. Since you have a black coat and white gloves, make use of them. You must mix in that set. You can introduce me into it later. Just think! — a man worth millions! Do all you can to make him like you, and his wife, too. Become her lover!”
Frederick uttered an exclamation by way of protest.
“Why, I can quote classical examples for you on that point, I rather think! Remember Rastignac in