The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

Marie's astonishment was so intense that she paused suddenly, and thinking she could not have read the letter aright, she read the line over again aloud in order to satisfy herself that her eyes had not played her false.

"'I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor.'"

"Yes," said the doctor, "and if he says it he means it."

"Pardon me, doctor," stammered the young mother, overwhelmed with astonishment, "but the amazement this – this unexpected, incomprehensible offer causes me – "

"Incomprehensible, no. When you know the person who makes this offer better, you are the very person to understand and appreciate the feeling that prompted it."

"But without knowing me, doctor – "

"In the first place he does know you, for I admitted, did I not? that I had been very indiscreet; besides, would any other tutor that offered himself be any better acquainted with you?"

"But – but your friend has never been a tutor?"

"No; yet from his letter can you not see that he is a just, generous, and judicious person? As to his capabilities, I can vouch for them. But read on, please."

"'This proposition will doubtless astonish you, my dear friend, as I left you last evening for Nantes, from which place I was to embark for a long voyage. Moreover, I have never been a tutor, the modest fortune at my disposal preventing the necessity of following any regular avocation; last but not least, Madame Bastien does not know me, though I ask her to give me the greatest proof of confidence that it is in her power to grant, that is, to allow me to share the oversight of Frederick with her.

"'The first moment of surprise over, my friend, you will recollect that, though I have endeavoured to impart a useful aim to my travels, I adopted this roving life in the hope of finding distraction from the intense grief the loss of my poor brother caused me. Now after several hours of reflection, I am not only willing but anxious to attempt Frederick's cure. A very extraordinary desire this will doubtless appear to those who do not know me, but perfectly natural to those who do know me intimately. Since Fernand's death all boys of his age inspire me with a profound interest; and since I have reflected long and carefully upon the seriousness of Frederick's mental condition and his mother's increasing anxiety, as well as the obstacles she must overcome in order to ensure her son's recovery, I think I have devised a way of effecting a cure. It seems to me, too, that I should be paying the greatest possible tribute of affection and respect to my poor Fernand's memory by doing for Frederick precisely what I had hoped to do for my own brother, and that this would not only be a wholesome distraction, but the only possible consolation in my grief.

"'Now you have heard my reasons I feel sure my decision will no longer astonish you; and if my offer is accepted I shall fulfil my duties conscientiously.

"'From what I know of Madame Bastien, I feel sure that she will understand my motives perfectly; so, on reflection, I think it would be advisable for you to show her this letter, though it was really written for your eye alone. You are in a position to answer any inquiries Madame Bastien may desire to make concerning me. You know me and my life; so say whatever you think you are justified in saying to satisfy Madame Bastien that I am worthy of her confidence.

"'Write me at Nantes. It is absolutely necessary that I should have an answer this day week, as the Endymion, on which I have engaged passage, sails on the fourteenth, wind permitting; so desiring to give Madame Bastien the longest possible time for reflection, I seize this opportunity to write so my letter may reach you twenty-four hours earlier.

"'If my offer is refused I shall take my intended journey.

"'The diligence is about to start, so I must bid you a hasty farewell, my dear Pierre. I have only time to address this letter and assure you once more of my devoted affection.

"'HENRI DAVID.'"

CHAPTER XVIII

AS Madame Bastien returned the letter with a hand that trembled with emotion, Doctor Dufour said:

"One word, please. I do not know what your decision may be, but before you announce it I ought to give you some information about Henri David, so you may know all about him before you either accept or refuse his offer. Do you not think so?"

"No, my dear doctor, I do not," replied Madame Bastien, after a moment's reflection.

"What?"

"I shall be obliged to do one of two things, that is to say, I shall either have to accept or decline M. David's offer. If I accept it, a desire to know anything further in relation to him would show a distrust of him and of you. This letter is to my mind convincing proof of his high sense of honour and his generosity of heart. If, on the contrary, I cannot or should not accept M. David's offer, there would be a sort of indelicate curiosity on my part in encouraging your revelations concerning the past of a person who would remain a stranger to me, though the nobility of his offer merits my eternal gratitude."

"I thank you both on David's behalf and my own for the confidence you manifest in us, my dear Madame Bastien. Now reflect, and let me know your decision as soon as your mind is fully made up. In compliance with my friend's request, I lost no time in acquainting you with the contents of his letter, and that is why I came at this late hour of the night, even at the risk of disturbing you, instead of waiting until to-morrow, and – "

The doctor did not finish the sentence, for a shrill, spasmodic laugh resounded from Frederick's room, and made Madame Bastien spring from her seat.

Pale and terrified, she seized the lamp and ran into her son's room, followed by the doctor.

The unfortunate youth, with distorted features, livid complexion, and lips contracted in a sardonic smile, had been seized with a fit of delirium, due, doubtless, to a reaction after the events of the evening, and his frenzied outburst of laughter was followed by incoherent exclamations, in which the following recurred incessantly:

"I missed him, but patience, patience!"

These words, which were only too significant to Madame Bastien, showed how persistently the idea of vengeance still clung to Frederick. Thanks to Doctor Dufour's almost providential presence, the promptest and most efficacious attentions were lavished upon Frederick, and the physician spent the remainder of the night and the morning of the next day with the sick youth. Toward evening there was a decided change for the better in his condition. The delirium ceased, and it was with unusual effusiveness that the poor boy thanked his mother for her devotion, weeping freely the while.

Madame Bastien's relief was so great that she deluded herself with the idea that the violence of this crisis had effected a salutary change in the condition of her son's mind, and that he was saved, so about ten o'clock in the evening she yielded to the doctor's persuasions, and consented to lie down and rest while old Marguerite watched over her son.

When she returned to her son's bedside she found him sleeping soundly, so motioning Marguerite to follow her, she asked:

"Has he rested well?"

"Very well, madame. He woke only twice, and talked very sensibly, I assure you."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, he talked about different things. Among others he asked me where his gun was, and when I told him madame had made me put it away, he said: 'That's all right, Marguerite, but don't tell my mother I've been asking for my gun. It might worry her if she thought I had any idea of hunting again, weak as I am.'"

So he had hardly recovered from this attack before Frederick's mind was again engrossed with thoughts of vengeance. Marie had only just made this deplorable discovery when a letter was handed to her. Madame Bastien recognised her husband's handwriting, consequently this was the reply to the letter in which she had announced her intention of travelling with Frederick.

"BOURGES, November 5, 1846.

"I answer by return mail as you request, to ask, first, if you have gone mad, and, secondly, if you really think me ass enough to accede to the most absurd whim that ever visited a woman's brain.

"So, madame, on the plea that Frederick's health requires it, you are planning a pleasure trip to the sunny south with your retinue like some great lady! It strikes me that you have taken it into your head to play the part of a woman rather late in the day!

"'We shall remain in Paris only twenty-four hours at the longest,' you say, but I see through your little game.

"You are dying to see the capital, like all provincials, and your excuse would be a pretty good one if I was such an egregious fool as you seem to think. Once in Paris, you would write: My son is too much fatigued with the journey to go on at once, or, we could secure no places in the diligence, or, I am not feeling well myself, until a week or two weeks or even a month had passed.

"If monsieur, my son, needs diversion on account of his health, send him out fishing, – he has three ponds at his disposal, – or let him go hunting. If he needs change, let him walk from Herbiers to the Grand Pré mill half a dozen times a day, and I'll wager that in three months he'll be strong enough to make the journey from Pont Brillant to Hyères on foot.

"You excite my pity, upon my word! To have such absurd ideas at your age, think of it, and, above all, to suppose me capable of consenting to anything so ridiculous!

"All this confirms me in the opinion that you are bringing up your son to be a perfect nincompoop. I shall hear of his having the blues and nervous attacks next, I suppose. He'll soon get over all this nonsense when I take him in hand, I promise you. I consented to leave him with you until he was seventeen, and even to let him have a tutor, as if he were a young duke or a marquis. I shall keep my word, so you can have your son and a tutor exactly five months longer, after which M. Frederick will enter the office of my friend Bridou, the notary, where he will stain his slender white fingers copying documents as his father and grandfather did before him.

"I write to my banker in Blois by this same mail, telling him not to advance you a centime. I shall also write to my friend Bossard, the notary at Pont Brillant, who is as good as a town crier, to proclaim it from the housetops that, in case you try to borrow any money, no one is to loan you a sou, for any debts contracted by a wife without the husband's consent, or rather when he has given due notice that he has no intention of paying them, are null and void.

"Besides, I warn you that I shall instruct Bridou, in case you have the audacity to undertake this journey on borrowed money, to set the police on your track and bring you back to the conjugal domicile, as I have an undoubted right to do, for no wife can leave her husband's roof without the consent of her lord and master. You know me too well to fancy for one moment that I shall hesitate to carry my threat into execution. You have a will of your own, as you have proved. Very well, you will find that I have one, too.

"Don't take the trouble to answer this letter. I leave Bourges this evening for the Netherlands, where I shall probably remain until the middle of January, returning to the farm in March, to give you and my son the blowing up you so richly deserve.

"It is in this hope that I sign myself your deeply incensed husband,

"BASTIEN.

"P.S. – You wrote me in a previous letter that the tutor had taken his departure. If you want another ass to take the place of the one that has gone, you can employ one, provided you can get him for one hundred francs a month, board and lodging – but no washing – included. Above all, don't forget that I won't have him eating at the table with me. When I am at home he will eat in his room, or in the kitchen if he wants company.

"Ask Huebin to let me know how the brood sows are looking, for I want to get the premium for my hogs this fall. It is a matter of pride with me."

A quarter of an hour after this coarse effusion from her lord and master had been received, Madame Bastien wrote the following letters, which were despatched to Pont Brillant at once.

"TO DOCTOR DUFOUR: – Dear doctor, will you have the goodness to forward the enclosed letter to Nantes, after having first read and sealed it. My son had a comfortable night.

"Try to give me a few minutes to-day or to-morrow, so I can tell you what I have not time to write.

"Hoping to see you very soon, I remain,

"Your sincere friend,"MARIE BASTIEN."

The letter enclosed read as follows:

"MONSIEUR: – I accept your generous offer with profound gratitude. My son's age and mental condition, the anxiety I feel concerning his future are my only claims upon your interest, yet I believe that in your eyes these claims are sacred.

"Increase my obligations by hastening the date of your arrival here as much as possible. Your predictions in relation to my unfortunate child are more than verified.

"My only hope is in you, monsieur, and every hour and minute adds to my anxiety. I am terrified at the thought of what may occur at any moment in spite of my solicitude and untiring vigilance. It is needless to say that I await your assistance with the utmost impatience.

"May Heaven bless you, for the compassion you have shown to a mother who lives only in her son.

"MARIE BASTIEN."

CHAPTER XIX

DURING the brief time which preceded Henri David's arrival the condition of physical weakness which followed Frederick's attack of nervous fever prevented him from leaving the house, especially as the weather was very unpleasant, an unusually early snow having covered the ground, while a heavy fog obscured the atmosphere.

Since the scene in the forest there had been no explanation between the mother and son, nor even any allusion to the distressing incident. Remembering the offensive manner in which her son had treated M. David on Saint Hubert's Day, Madame Bastien felt no little anxiety with regard to the future relations between her son and his new tutor, whose intended coming was as yet a secret to Frederick.

At last came a note from Doctor Dufour, enclosing the following:

"I am travelling by post to make a few hours, my dear Pierre, so I shall arrive very soon after you receive these few lines, and we will go together to Madame Bastien's house."

M. David's arrival being only a matter of a few hours, Marie could defer the revelation of her plans no longer, so she went to the study in search of him. She found him seated at a table, apparently engaged in translating a French exercise into English.

"Lay aside your books a moment, Frederick, and come and sit down by me. There is something I wish to say to you."

Frederick took a seat beside his mother on a sofa near the fireplace, and his mother, taking her son's hands in hers, said to him, with the tenderest solicitude:

"How cold your hands are, my son. Your writing-table is too far from the fire. You ought to move your table to this part of the room."

"I will, mother, if you wish it."

"I wish you would do so presently, but first we must have a little talk."

"About what?"

"About a very important matter, my son."

"I am listening."

"The reasons that decided me to employ a tutor for you still exist, though he has left us. There are branches in which you need instruction which I am unfortunately not able to give."

"I seem to have lost all taste for study now, you know, mother."

"You must make some effort to overcome this languor. It worries me very much."

"I will try, mother."

"But it seems to me that if you had some one to encourage you in your good resolutions, and assist your studies, it would be much better for you, don't you think so?"

"Your encouragement suffices for me."

"I may encourage you, but as I said before, I am unable to render you any assistance, so I have thought it would be advisable to replace the tutor who just left us."

"Replace him? It is not worth while to think of that, mother. I don't want any tutor."

"But you need one, nevertheless, so I have engaged a new one for you."

"You must be joking, mother."

"You and I seem to have gotten sadly out of the habit of jesting, my dear boy. The jolly times you and I used to have together seem almost like a dream when I think of them now. But to return to the subject I was speaking of. Your new tutor will probably arrive – "

"Arrive! When?"

"To-day."

Frederick's face turned scarlet, and, springing up abruptly, he stamped angrily upon the floor, exclaiming:

"I will not have any tutor, mother; do you hear me?"

"But listen, my child, I beg of you."

"I will not have a tutor, I tell you. Send him away; it is useless to take him. I will serve him exactly as I did the other."

Up to this time Madame Bastien's manner toward her son had always been tender, almost entreating, but realising that she must show no weakness now, she replied, in a firm though affectionate tone:

"I have decided that it will be for your interest to have a tutor, my son, so I feel sure you will respect my wishes."

"You will see if I do."

"If you mean by that, that you hope to wear your new tutor out by your obstinacy and ill-temper, you will make a great mistake; first, because you will grieve me very much, and, secondly, because M. David, for that is his name, is not a person who will be easily disheartened. This is sufficiently proven by the fact that your anger and impertinence only served to arouse his commiseration."

"What do you mean? Who are you talking about?"

"The gentleman you met at Doctor Dufour's house."

"What! that man – "

"Is the tutor I have selected for you."

"Is that so?" responded Frederick, with a bitter smile. "After all, what difference does it make? I had just as soon contend with one as with the other."

Though convinced that Henri David was fully prepared for all the tribulations of the difficult task he wished to undertake, Marie was naturally desirous of sparing the generous-hearted man an ungracious reception, so she resolved to appeal to her son's affection, which had never failed her heretofore.

"My dear son, I feel sure of being understood when I tell you that it is in the name of my tenderness and devotion for you that I implore you to treat M. David with the respectful deference due to his character and merits. That is all I ask. Affection and confidence are sure to come later. But if you do not treat him as you ought, I shall think, yes, I shall think that you have ceased to love me, Frederick. You make no reply. I understand why, my son. You think I am exaggerating, do you not, when I say that I shall think you have ceased to love me if you treat your new tutor rudely? But, my son, the coming of this new tutor means your salvation and mine, for I truly believe it will prove the beginning of a new era of hope and happiness for us both, and that being the case, you would not grieve and disappoint me by receiving M. David rudely, for no son who loved his mother would wish to make me miserable; so you see I do not exaggerate, after all, my child. But, Frederick, you turn away your head. You refuse to look at me. What I say about your having ceased to love me is true, then! You do not say so much as a word to reassure me, you who used to be so loving and affectionate. Why are you angry with me? What have I done?"

"You feel better now, doubtless, since you have summoned a stranger to your aid, mother."

"What else could I do? Be just, I beg of you. What am I to think when I see you utterly unmoved by all I say to you? Is it true that in a few brief months I have lost all influence over you, that my tears and entreaties are alike powerless to move you? And when I see only too plainly that this is the case, you are angry because I summon some one to my aid. Is it possible that you are no longer able to distinguish good from evil, that all that is good and generous and noble is dead within you? In that case my last hope has indeed fled. I must bring myself face to face with the hideous reality, and as you force me, absolutely force me, to do it," added Marie, in a voice almost inaudible from horror, "I must remind you of that horrible scene, the other night, in the forest – in the forest – when you – when you tried – tried to kill – in the most cowardly manner – Oh, my God! my son, my son, an assassin!"

The last word was accompanied with such an outburst of despairing sobs that Frederick turned pale and trembled from head to foot.

On hearing the word "assassin" applied to him by his own mother, Frederick realised for the first time the enormity of the crime he had tried to commit, and noticing her son's gloomy silence, and the expression of profound despair that had succeeded his strained and sarcastic smile, Madame Bastien asked herself, with increasing anxiety, whether the result of this cruel scene would be disastrous or salutary for Frederick; but just then Marguerite entered hurriedly, and said to her mistress:

"The doctor has just arrived with another gentleman, madame. They wish to see you."

"Frederick," exclaimed the young mother, hastily wiping away her tears, "my son, it is your new tutor, M. David. I implore you – "

But she could not finish the sentence, for Doctor Dufour entered, accompanied by Henri David.

The latter bowed low to Madame Bastien, but as he raised his head he saw traces of recent tears on the lady's face. He noticed, too, Frederick's livid pallor and his gloomy and defiant air, so he would have had no trouble in divining what had just taken place, even if an imploring look from Madame Bastien had not still further enlightened him.

"Madame, I have the honour to present my friend, M. Henri David," began the doctor.

Madame Bastien was so overwhelmed with emotion, that she could only rise from her chair, into which she sank back again after bowing to David, who said:

"I shall endeavour to be worthy of the confidence you have manifested in me, madame."

"My son," said Marie Bastien, in a voice she tried hard to steady, "I hope you will not disappoint the expectations of M. David, who has kindly consented to assume the direction of your studies."

"Monsieur," said Frederick, looking his new tutor full in the face, "you come here in spite of me. You will leave here on account of me."

"Mon Dieu!" murmured Madame Bastien, with a despairing sob, and, overcome with shame and confusion, she dared not even lift her eyes to Henri David's face.

"You will regret those words when you learn to know me better," said Henri David, with a look of infinite compassion.

Frederick burst into a shrill, sardonic laugh, and rushed out of the room.

"Don't leave him alone, doctor, I implore you," exclaimed the mother.

But this entreaty had not passed her lips before M. Dufour started after Frederick.

CHAPTER XX

LEFT alone with Madame Bastien, Henri David remained silent for several minutes as if to collect his thoughts, then, turning to his companion, he said, earnestly:

"I wish, madame, that you could see in me a physician who is devoting himself to a dangerous but by no means hopeless case. I should like to receive from you a full account of all the events which have taken place since you first noticed the change in your son's character which distresses you so much. Our friend, Doctor Dufour, has already given me some information on the subject. But what you can tell me, madame, will doubtless enlighten me still more."

Marie complied with his request, but when she came to the description of the scene in the forest, she hesitated and turned pale, and her distress was so apparent that Henri David exclaimed:

"What is the matter, madame? This emotion, these tears – "

"Ah, monsieur, I should be unworthy of your generous aid if I concealed any portion of the truth from you, no matter how terrible it may be."

"What do you mean, madame?"

"Ah, monsieur," murmured Madame Bastien, with eyes downcast, "in a paroxysm of fever, or delirium, or I know not what, he lost his senses completely and went at night – "

"At night?"

"To the forest."

And as Madame Bastien again paused with a shudder, David repeated:

"To the forest?"

"Yes, to the forest, where he concealed himself behind a tree to shoot M. de Pont Brillant."