THE COUNTRY OUTING

I had trouble to keep up with Meaulnes along the road to Vieux-Nançay. He rode like a racer. He did not push up any of the hills. His unaccountable hesitation of the previous day was followed by a feverish nervousness and an eagerness to hasten our arrival which rather frightened me. At my uncle’s he showed the same impatience and seemed unable to be interested in anything until about ten next morning, when, settled in the carriage, we were ready to start for the river.

It was the end of August; the summer was drawing to a close; the empty sheaths of the yellowing chestnut trees were beginning to litter the white roads. The drive was not long. The Guelders, the farm close to the spot we were making for on the banks of the Cher, was scarcely more than two kilometres beyond the Sand Pit. Now and again we came across other guests also driving, and even young fellows on horseback, whom Florentin had boldly invited in M. de Galais’ name.... An attempt had been made, as of old, to bring rich and poor together, squires and peasants. Thus it was we noticed Jasmin Delouche coming on his bicycle, for he had, some time back, made the acquaintance of my uncle through Baladier the forester.

‘There’s the fellow,’ said Meaulnes, spotting him, ‘who had the key of the whole thing while we were searching as far as Paris. It is maddening!’

And each time he looked at him his bitterness increased. Delouche, who on the contrary considered he deserved our full gratitude, rode very near to our carriage as escort, right to the end. He had clearly taken pains with his toilet, without much result, and the end of his threadbare jacket rubbed the mud-guard of his machine.

But in spite of the constraint he put upon himself to be agreeable, his old-looking face never succeeded in pleasing. It made me feel a kind of vague pity for him. But on whom would I not have had pity that day?...

* * * * *

I never recall that country outing without an obscure regret--a stifling uneasiness. I had looked forward to the day with so much joy.... Everything appeared so perfectly contrived to make us happy. But so little happiness came of it!...

Yet how beautiful were the banks of the Cher! Where we stopped, the hill sloped gently down to the riverside, and the land was divided into small green meadows and willow groves separated by fences like so many tiny gardens. On the other side, the river had steep banks cut out of rugged grey hills; and on the most distant of these you could make out romantic country seats, each with a turret rising from the firs. Now and again, in the far distance, was heard the barking of the pack of hounds at the Château de Préveranges.

We had reached this spot through intricate little lanes thick with sharp flints or else full of sand--lanes which, near the river, springs changed into streams. As we went by, wild brambles caught at our sleeves. And at one moment we plunged into the cool darkness at the bottom of ravines, while the next, owing to a break in the hedges, we were bathed in the clear light of the whole valley. Then, farther out on the other bank, as we approached, a man hanging onto the rock was with slow movements setting ground lines for fishing. Heavens! what a beautiful day it was!

We settled on a grass plot, a clearing in a copse of silver birches. It was like a wide lawn of fine turf and seemed to offer room for endless games.

The horses were unharnessed and taken to the farm. Then we began to unpack the food--right in the wood--and to set up on the grass the small folding tables my uncle had brought.

Just then volunteers were required to go to the entrance of the adjoining road to keep watch for the late comers and show them where we were. I at once offered myself; Meaulnes followed me, and we posted ourselves by the suspension bridge at the junction of many lanes and the road leading from the Sand Pit.

There we had to wait, walking up and down, talking of the past, trying as best we could to divert our thoughts. One more carriage arrived from Vieux-Nançay with some unknown peasants and a tall girl decked with ribbons. Then nothing more, or rather three children in a donkey cart, the children of the former gardener at the Sand Pit.

‘I seem to recognise them,’ said Meaulnes. ‘I feel sure these are the kids who got hold of my hands, that first evening of the fête, and took me in to dinner....’

But at that moment the donkey refused to go and the children jumped down to pull at the beast, poking and whacking him as hard as they could; then Meaulnes, much put out, pretended he had made a mistake....

I asked them if they had come across Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Galais on the road. One replied that he did not know, the other, ‘I believe so, sir.’ So we were no better off.

At last they walked down towards the lawn, some pulling the donkey by the bridle, others pushing behind. And we turned back to wait. Meaulnes kept his eyes fixed on the bend of the Sand Pit road, watching with a sort of terror for the approaching vision of the girl he had once so much sought. A strange and almost ludicrous nervousness clutched at him and vented itself on Jasmin. From the small hillock on which we had climbed to survey the road, we could see, on the lawn down below, a group of guests amongst whom Delouche was trying to cut a fine figure.

‘Look at that idiot holding forth!’ Meaulnes said to me.

And I replied, ‘Leave him alone. He does the best he can, poor chap.’

Meaulnes would not stop. Some distance away a hare or a squirrel must have come out of the thicket. Jasmin, to show off, pretended to chase it.

‘Look at that! He’s running now! ...’ said Meaulnes, as if that beat everything in cheek.

And this time I could not keep from laughing: Meaulnes, too, but only for a moment.

After another quarter of an hour:

‘Suppose she does not come? ...’ he asked.

I replied, ‘But she’s promised. Try and be patient!’

He resumed his watch. But at last, unable to put up any longer with this unbearable delay, he said:

‘Listen. I’m going down to the others. I don’t know what fate is now against me: but if I stay here, I feel sure she will never come--that it is utterly impossible she will presently appear at the end of this road.’

And he went away towards the lawn, leaving me alone. I walked some hundred yards along the road to kill time. And at the first bend I saw Yvonne de Galais riding side-saddle on an old white horse, so frisky this morning that she was obliged to pull the reins to prevent him trotting. M. de Galais, in silence, painfully walked on foot by the horse’s head. On the way they had most likely taken turns in using the old mount.

Seeing me alone, the girl smiled, jumped nimbly to the ground, and, giving the reins to her father, came towards me while I hurried up to her.

‘I am pleased at finding you alone,’ she said. ‘For I wouldn’t show old Bélisaire to any one but you, and I don’t want to put him with the other horses. He’s too ugly and too old, for one thing, then I always fear he might get hurt by the others. Yet he’s the only one I dare to ride, and when he’s dead, I shall never go on horseback....’

In Mademoiselle de Galais as in Meaulnes I felt, beneath this charming animation and this grace which seemed so peaceful, something impatient and almost anxious. She talked faster than usual. In spite of a rosy flush on her cheeks, there was an intense pallor here and there round her eyes, on her forehead, in which all her trouble was manifest.

We agreed to tie Bélisaire to a tree, in the little wood near the road. Old M. de Galais, still not saying a word, produced the halter from the holster and tied up the animal--rather low, so it seemed to me. I promised to send presently from the farm hay and oats and straw....

And Mademoiselle de Galais arrived on the lawn just as I picture her in former days, walking towards the shore of the lake, when Meaulnes saw her for the first time.

Taking her father’s arm and with her left hand holding aside the flap of the long cloak that wrapped her round, she drew near the guests with her usual expression, at once so serious and so childlike. I walked by her. All the guests, who had scattered about or were playing farther out, stood up and gathered to welcome her. There was a brief moment of silence while every one gazed as she approached.

Meaulnes had mingled with the group of young men and nothing marked him out from amongst his companions except his height; yet there were others almost as tall. He did nothing to draw attention to himself, making no gesture, taking no step forward. I could see him, dressed in grey, standing motionless, and, like every one else, keeping his eyes fixed on the beautiful girl advancing. At last, however, with an unconscious and uneasy gesture, his hand went over his bare head as if amongst the well-brushed heads of his companions, to hide his own, so rough, and with hair cropped like a peasant’s.

Then the group gathered round Mademoiselle de Galais. She was introduced to the girls and boys she did not know.... My friend’s turn was soon to come and I felt as anxious as he could be. I was preparing to make the introduction myself.

But, before I could say anything, the girl advanced towards him, with surprising assurance and gravity:

‘I recognise Augustin Meaulnes,’ she said.

And she held out her hand to him.