"We will dispense with them as much as possible.I will muster up all my knowledge to tell you the history of these pretty painted flowers; I will tell you of their families; I will teach you how to classify them; in short, will give you little by little, all I know of botany."He made a hundred absurd objections,--among others, that he found in all the flowers of the fields and the woods in this country a creeping and servile air; then this, and then that, expressing himself in a sharp but sportive tone.
"I shall teach you botany, my wild young colt," I said to myself, "and not let you break loose."I have not been able, however, to draw from him any positive promise.
July 14th.
Victory! By persistent hammering I have succeeded in beating the idea of the painted herbarium into this naughty, unruly head.
But he has imposed his conditions.He consents to paint only the flowers that I will gather myself, and bring to him.After some discussion I yielded the point.
"Ah!" said I, "take care to gather some yourself, for otherwise Ivan..."Sunday, July 15th.
This afternoon I took a long walk in the woods.I had succeeded in gathering some labiates, the dead nettle, the pyramidal bell-flower and the wild thyme, when in the midst of my occupation, I heard the trot of a horse.It was he, a bunch of herbs and flowers in his hand.Ivan, who according to his custom, followed him at a distance of ten paces, regarded me some way off with an uneasy air;he evidently feared that I would accost them; but having arrived within a few steps of me, Stephane, turning his head, started his horse at full gallop, and Ivan, as he passed, smiled upon me with an expression of triumphant pity.Poor, simple Ivan, did you not hear our souls speak to each other?
July 16th.
Yesterday I carried my labiates to him.After some desultory talk, I endeavored to describe as best I could the characters of this interesting family.He listened to me out of complaisance.In time, he will listen to me out of curiosity, inasmuch as, to tell the truth, I am not a tiresome master; but I dare not yet interrogate him in a Socratic way.The SHORT LITTLE QUESTIONSwould make our hot-headed young man angry.The lesson finished, he wished to commence his herbarium under my eyes.The honor of precedence has been awarded to the wild thyme; its little white, finely cut labias and the delicate appearance of the stem pleased him, whilst he found the dead nettle and the bell flower extremely common, and pronounced by him the word "extremely" is most expressive.While he made pencil sketches, I told him three stories, a fairy tale, an anecdote of Plutarch and some sketches of the life of St.Francis of Assisi.He listened to the fairy tale without uttering a word, and without a frown; but the other two stories made him shake his head several times.
"Is what you are telling me really true?" said he."Would you wager your life upon it?" And when I came to speak of St.Francis embracing the lepers--"Oh! now you're exaggerating." Then speaking to St.George: "Upon your conscience now, would you have done as much?"He ended by becoming sportive and frolicsome.As he begged me to sing him a little song, I hummed Cadet Roussel, which he did not know; the "three hairs" made him laugh till the tears ran down his cheeks, but he paid dearly for this excess of gayety.When I rose to leave he was seized with a paroxysm of weeping, and I had much trouble in consoling him.I repent having excited him so much.Imust humor his nerves, and never put him in that state of mind which contrasts too strongly with the realities of his life.At any cost I must prevent certain AWAKINGS.
July 19th.
I admire his conduct at the table.Seated opposite me, he never appears to see me, whilst you, grave Gilbert, do not know at times what to do with your eyes; but the other day he crossed the great hall with such a quick and elastic step that the Count's attention was drawn to him.I must caution him to be more discreet.I am also uneasy because in our nocturnal tete-a-tetes he often raises his voice, moves the furniture, and storms round the room; but he assures me there is nothing to fear.The walls are thick, and the foot of the staircase is separated from the corridor by a projection of masonry which would intercept the sound.Then the alcove, the vestibule, the two solid oak doors! These two doors are never locked.Ivan, he told me, is far from suspecting anything, and the only thing which could excite his distrust would be excessive precaution.
"And besides," added he, "by the mercy of God he is beginning to grow old, his mind is getting dull, and he is more credulous than formerly.So I have easily persuaded him that I will never forgive you, as long as I live, for the death of my dog.Then again, he is growing hard of hearing, and sleeps like a top.Sometimes to disturb his sleep, I amuse myself by imitating the bark of Vorace but I have the trouble of my pains.The only sound which he never fails to hear, is the ringing of my father's bell.I admit, however, that if anyone presumed to touch his great ugly oak door, he would wake up with a start.This is because his door is his property, his object, his fixed idea: he has a way of looking at it, which seems to say: 'you see this door? it is mine.' Ibelieve, that in his eyes there is nothing lovelier in the world than a closed door.So he cherishes this horrible, this infamous door: he smiles on it benignly, he counts its nails and covers them with kisses.""And you say that after nine o'clock he never comes up here?""Never, never.I should like to see him attempt it!" cried he, raising his head with an indignant air.
"You see then, that he is a jailer capable of behaving handsomely.
