I was always delighted to go home; I was happier there; I sought new suffering in my memories; but that very suffering had a charm for me which I failed to find in society. But if I wished to forget her, I must needs leave those lodgings. How could I fail to think of her in that room, on that bed where she had slept! everything there reminded me of her and fed my love for her. I felt that I must go away; that I must leave Paris, where life had become unendurable to me. Distance, change of scene, and time, which, they say, triumphs over everything,—those were the remedies with which I must treat the insane passion that held sway in my heart. I would go to see my sister; she had ceased to expect me, but she would be none the less glad to see me; at all events, I should find there people who loved me. It seemed to me that that would do me good. My preparations were soon made. I locked the door of my lodgings, which I retained, although I was resolved never to occupy them again. I forbade Madame Dupont to let anyone enter except herself; she was to take care of them. I paid two quarters’ rent in advance, and started for my sister’s.
XXVIII
LIFE IN THE PROVINCES
I arrived in due time at the country estate where my sister ordinarily passed the whole year. From a distance I saw that the window shutters were closed. Could they be travelling? She surely would have written me. I rang the bell at the gateway; the gardener admitted me and informed me that Monsieur and Madame Déneterre had gone to Melun for the winter, and that they came into the country on fine Sundays only. As the city was only two or three miles distant, I set out on foot. It was beginning to be dark, but there was a moon. On the way, I tried to imagine what had induced my dear relations to change their mode of life. They used never to leave their country house; but they had been married a number of years, and they probably were beginning to find that they had not so much to say to each other. Then the winter evenings seemed long to them, I supposed, so it occurred to them to try passing them in town. That is the way such fine plans for the future always end! Is there anything on earth that is beyond the reach of the effects of time?
I came in sight of the first houses of Melun, a pretty little town, where I used to enjoy myself immensely in the old days; I should surely find it delightful, now that Paris was unendurable to me. This much was certain, that change of scene necessarily causes distraction, and distraction is the very best remedy for pains of the heart and mind. Besides, I was no Werther; I had no inclination to nourish my love and my sorrow in dense forests, or on the brink of a precipice. On the contrary, I was trying to cure myself; that is the most sensible course; less romantic, it is true, but more in accordance with nature; and I am all for the natural.
I inquired my sister’s address. I walked through a part of the town, which would be its Faubourg Saint-Germain, and I soon found the Déneterre mansion. In the provinces a family generally occupies a whole house, whereas in Paris three families often live on the same floor. I confess that it is pleasanter to be alone in your house, to be able to do whatever you choose without fear of annoying your neighbors, to be spared the necessity of meeting repulsive faces, insolent servants, and snarling children on the stairs, to find no marks of a dog or cat on your doormat, when for cleanliness’ sake you keep no animals yourself; and lastly, to be able to dismiss your concierge when he is disrespectful, whereas in Paris you must bribe him, no matter how insolent he may be, at the risk of passing the night in the street or at the police station, because, in the company of your friends, you have forgotten to keep watch of the time. These are some notable advantages of the provinces over the capital.
My sister uttered a cry of surprise and delight when she saw me; she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me.
“Is it really you, dear Eugène?” she said. “In truth, I didn’t expect to see you before next spring. Ah! it’s very sweet of you to remember your best friends at last.”
I did not tell her that nothing but the desire to avoid Nicette had driven me from Paris; there was no need of that; besides, I preferred to be spared the comments of my dear Amélie, who was something of a gossip, which one is sure to be when one lives in the provinces, where there is not enough to do to keep people from meddling with their neighbors’ affairs.
My sister sent for her husband, who had gone to play billiards with some friends.
“So he no longer passes all his evenings at home?” I asked Amélie.