# The Story of Manon Lescaut and of the Chevalier des Grieux/Chapter 4

Chapter IV.
We soon reached St. Denis. My brother, surprised at my silence, and supposing it to be due to fear on my part, endeavored to console me by assuring me that I had nothing to apprehend from my father's severity, provided that I was disposed to return submissively to the path of duty and to show myself worthy of his affection for me. He made me pass the night at St. Denis, taking the precaution of having the three lackeys sleep in the same room with me.
One thing was a cause of no slight distress to me; and this was to find myself in the same hostelry at which I had stopped with Manon on our way from Amiens to Paris. The landlord and servants recognized me, and at once divined the truth of my story. I overheard the landlord saying:
"Ah! That is the fine young gentleman who passed this way, some six weeks hence, with the lass whom he loved so dearly—as well he might, for a pretty lass she was! Poor youngsters. How they fondled one another! Egad! 'Tis a pity to have separated them!"
I pretended to hear nothing, and showed myself as little as possible.
My brother had a double chaise ready at St. Denis, and ​in this we set off early in the morning, arriving home the following evening. He saw my father before I did, in order to predispose him in my favor by telling him how unresistingly I had allowed myself to be brought home; the result being that I was received with less severity than I had looked for. My father contented himself with rebuking me in a general way for the breach of duty of which I had been guilty in absenting myself without his permission. As far as my mistress was concerned, he told me that I had richly merited what had just happened to me for my folly in abandoning myself to a woman of whom I knew absolutely nothing; that he had entertained a better opinion of my prudence, but that he was in hopes that this little adventure would teach me greater wisdom.
I received these admonitions only in the sense which accorded with my own ideas. I thanked my father for his kindness in pardoning me, and I promised him to conduct myself in future with more obedience and propriety. In my secret heart I was full of exultation; for, from the course which things were taking, I felt little doubt but that I should find a chance to slip away from home, even before the night had passed.
We sat down to supper, and I was rallied on my conquest at Amiens and my flight with that constant mis​tress of mine. I submitted to this banter with good grace. I was even delighted at being permitted to talk of the subject which occupied my thoughts unceasingly. But a casual remark of my father's suddenly riveted my attention. He made some allusion to perfidy, and to the far from disinterested services rendered him by M. de B———. I was thunderstruck on hearing him utter this name, and begged him humbly to explain himself more fully. He turned to my brother and asked him if he had not told me the whole story. My brother replied that I had seemed to him so little disturbed in mind during our journey that he had not considered me in need of that remedy to cure me of my folly. Observing that my father was hesitating whether or not to complete his explanations, I implored him so earnestly to do so, that he satisfied me—or, rather, he tortured me cruelly by the relation of the following abominable story.
To begin with, he asked me whether I had throughout been simple enough to suppose that my mistress loved me. I told him unflinchingly that I was so sure of it that nothing could excite in me the least distrust on that point. "Ha! ha! ha!" he exclaimed, laughing heartily; "this is excellent! You are a pretty dupe! Your fine senti​ments are vastly to your credit, on my word! 'Twill be a great pity, my poor Chevalier, to force you to join the Order of Malta, since you are so well fitted to make a husband of patient and accommodating disposition." He indulged in a long succession of similar sneers at what he called my folly and credulity.
At last, seeing that I remained silent, he went on to say that, according to the closest calculation he could make of the time since my departure from Amiens, Manon had loved me for about twelve days; "for," added he, "you left Amiens, as I reckon, on the 28th of last month; we are now at the 29th of the present month; it is eleven days since Monsieur de B——— wrote to me. I will suppose that eight days were necessary for him to establish a close intimacy with your mistress. Thus, subtracting eleven and eight from the thirty-one days which there are between the 28th of one month and the 29th of the next, there remain twelve, or a fraction more or less!"
At this there were renewed peals of laughter. I listened with a pang of such acute agony at my heart that I began to fear it would overmaster me before this sad comedy were at an end.
"You must know, then," resumed my father, "as you do not seem to be aware of it, that Monsieur de B——— has won the heart of your inamorata, for he is simply trifling ​with me in pretending that his motive in taking her from you was a disinterested desire to serve me. It is scarcely from a man of his stamp that one looks for such lofty sentiments, especially when, as it happens, he is a complete stranger to me. He learned from her that you were my son, and, wishing to rid himself of your inconvenient presence, he wrote and informed me of your whereabouts and of the life of irregularity you were leading, giving me to understand, at the same time, that forcible means would be necessary to secure you. He offered his assistance in finding an easy way to lay hands on you; and it was under his directions, and those of your mistress herself, that your brother succeeded in catching you at a moment when you were off your guard. Now let us hear you congratulate yourself on the duration of your triumph as a lover! You know how to vanquish rapidly enough. Chevalier, but not how to maintain your conquests."
I could listen no longer to words like these, every one of which had pierced me to the heart. Rising from the table, I endeavored to leave the room, but I had scarcely taken four steps when I fell to the floor in a deep swoon. Prompt assistance was rendered me and brought me back to consciousness, but I opened my eyes only to burst into a tor​rent of tears, and my lips only to give utterance to the most piteous and heart-rending moans.
My father, who always loved me tenderly, devoted himself with all the force of his affection to the task of consoling me. I listened to him, but his words fell meaningless on my ears. Throwing myself at his feet, I clasped my hands in entreaty, and besought him to let me return to Paris that I might seek out B——— and revenge myself on him at the point of the sword.
"No, no!" I cried; "he has not won Manon's heart! He has used violence toward her; he has seduced her by some unholy charm or drug—aye, even, perchance, brutally violated her! Manon loves me; ah! do I not know it well? He must have menaced her, dagger in hand, to force her to desert me. What is there that he would not have done to tear so sweet a mistress from my arms? Can it be possible, just Heaven! that Manon has betrayed—has ceased to love me?"
As I repeatedly declared my intention of returning to Paris forthwith, and started to my feet again and again with that purpose in view, my father became convinced that, as long as my present transports of grief continued, nothing that he could say would have any effect in pre​venting me. He therefore made me follow him to a room in the upper part of the house, where he left me in charge of two servants, whom he ordered not to let me out of their sight.
I was in a state of mind bordering upon frenzy. Gladly would I have given my life a thousand times over in exchange for one short quarter of an hour in Paris; but I realized that, after having declared my intentions so openly, I should not readily be permitted to escape from my room.
I looked out of the windows, and calculated their height from the ground. Seeing no possibility of regaining my liberty in that way, I appealed to the two servants in my most persuasive tones, promising—nay, vowing solemnly to make their fortunes some day, if they would connive at my escape. I entreated, I wheedled, I threatened them—but this attempt was as vain as the other. At last, losing all hope, I resolved to die, and threw myself upon the bed with the determination that I would never leave it alive. I spent that night and the following day in this condition. I refused the food that was brought me the next day. My father came to see me in the afternoon. He was good enough to soothe my sufferings by consolations of the gentlest kind. He commanded me so imperatively to take some food that I yielded, out of respect to his orders.
Several days went by, during which I ate nothing save in his presence and in obedience to his wishes. He continued to press upon my consideration every argument calculated to recall me to my senses and to inspire me with contempt for my faithless Manon. I certainly had lost all esteem for her; what esteem could I retain for the most fickle and perfidious of beings? But her image—the fair features which I bore imprinted on my inmost heart ​were not yet effaced. My own feelings were clear to me. "I may die," I said; "I ought to die, in truth, after so much shame and anguish; but, though I suffered a thousand deaths, I should still be unable to forget you, ungrateful Manon!"
My father was surprised to see me continue thus deeply affected. He knew that I cherished principles of honor, and, being certain that Manon's treachery must have made me despise her, he arrived at the conclusion that my constancy was due less to my passion for her in particular than to a general fondness for women. He became so wedded to this view that, consulting only his tender affection for me, he came one day and broached it to me. "Chevalier," he said to me, "it has hitherto been my intention that you should wear the Cross of the Order of Malta, but I see that your inclinations do not lie in that direction. You have a taste for pretty women. Well, I am willing to find you a wife to your liking. Tell me frankly your ideas on the subject."
I answered him that all women were alike to me now, and that after the blow that had so lately fallen on me, I regarded them all with equal detestation.
"I will find you one," replied my father, with a smile, ​"who shall be like your Manon in all respects, save her inconstancy."
"Ah, sir!" said I, "as you love me, give me her, and her alone! Rest assured, dear father, that it was not she who betrayed me; she is incapable of such base and cruel treachery. It is that false-hearted B——— who is deceiving us—deceiving us all three. If you could but realize the tenderness and sincerity of her nature—if you could but know her—you would yourself love her!"
"Child!" retorted my father, "how can you thus blind yourself, after all that I have told you of her? It was she—she herself who gave you up into your brother's hands. It were well for you to forget her very name, and, if you are wise, to profit by the indulgence I am showing you."
I recognized only too clearly that he was right; and it was unreasoning impulse alone that made me thus side with my faithless mistress.
"Alas!" I rejoined, after a moment's silence, "it is but too true that I am the victim of the most shameful treachery! Yes," I continued, weeping from very mortification, "yes, I am indeed nothing but a child—I see it plainly. It was an easy matter for them to cheat credulity like mine. But I know how to be revenged!"
My father inquired what I intended to do.
"I will go to Paris," said I, "and set fire to B———'s house, that he and my faithless Manon may perish together in the flames!"
This outburst made my father laugh, and only resulted in my being watched with increased vigilance in my place of confinement.
I there spent six whole months, during the first of which there was little change in my condition. My feelings may be summed up as a perpetual alternation between love and hatred, between hope and despair, ac​cording to the aspect under which Manon presented herself to my mind. At one moment I thought of her only as the loveliest of women, and pined to see her once more; at another I saw in her nothing but a heartless and unfaithful mistress, and registered vow upon vow that I would seek her out only to punish her.
I was furnished with books, and they served to restore my peace of mind to some degree. I read once more through all my favorite authors, and extended my attainments into fresh branches of learning. My eager delight in study was reawakened in me; and you will see of what use it proved to me in the sequel. The new insight which I owed to love illuminated for me a number of passages in Horace and Virgil which had formerly been obscure to me. I composed an Amatory Commentary on the fourth book of the Æneid. I intend that it shall see the light some day, and I am not without hopes that it will be favorably received by the public.
"Alas!" I would sigh, while writing it, "it was for such a heart as mine that the constant Dido longed in vain!"
Tiberge came to see me one day while I was still in confinement. I was surprised at the affectionate warmth with which he greeted me; for I had not hitherto re​ceived any proofs of his regard for me that could lead me to think of it as anything more than an ordinary college friendship, such as naturally grows up between young fellows of about the same age. He had changed so greatly, and become so matured during the five or six months since I had last seen him, that his whole bearing and tone of conversation inspired me with respect. He talked to me more like a grave and prudent adviser than a companion of my school-days—deploring the follies into which I had strayed, and congratulating me upon my reformation, which he supposed to be almost complete. Finally he exhorted me to profit by this youthful error of mine by letting it open my eyes to the vanity of pleasure.
I gazed at him in amazement. Observing this, he said to me:
"My dear Chevalier, what I am now saying is simply the absolute truth, of which I have become firmly convinced after the most earnest examination. I had as great a leaning as yourself towards the pleasures of the senses; but Heaven vouchsafed me at the same time a love of virtue. I employed my reason in a comparison of the fruits of the one with those of the other, and I was not long in discovering the contrast between them. Religion brought ​its aid to my own reflections, and I conceived for this world a deep and unspeakable contempt. Can you divine," he added, "what it is that still keeps me in it, and prevents my seeking a life of solitude? It is solely my warm attachment to you. I know your excellent qualities of heart and mind. There is no goodness of which you might not make yourself capable. The fatal fascinations of pleasure have led you astray. How grievous a loss to the cause of virtue! Your flight from Amiens distressed me so deeply that I have not since enjoyed a moment's happiness. You may judge of this by the steps it led me to take."
He then told me how, on realizing that I had deceived him and fled with my mistress, he had set out on horseback in my pursuit; but, as I had the start of him by some four or five hours, it had been impossible for him to overtake me. He had reached St. Denis, however, only half an hour after I had left it. Being sure that I would remain in Paris, he had spent six weeks there in a vain endeavor to find me. He had gone to every place where he thought it likely that he might meet me, and, at last, had recognized my mistress one evening at the theatre, where the splendor of her toilet convinced him that she presented this ​prosperous appearance at the expense of some new lover. He had followed her coach home, and learned from a servant that she was living upon the liberality of M. B———.
"I did not stop at this," he continued, "but returned to the house the next day, to ascertain from her own lips what had become of you. She left me abruptly when I mentioned your name, and I was compelled to return to the country without any further enlightenment. There I heard all about your adventure, and the profound distress which it had caused you, but I thought it as well not to see you until I was assured of finding you more resigned."
"And you have seen Manon, then," I responded, with a sigh. "Alas! you are more fortunate than I, who am doomed never to behold her again!"
He reproached me for my sigh, which betrayed a lingering weakness for her; and then flattered me so adroitly on the goodness of my character and general disposition that, even during this first visit, he succeeded in inspiring me with an ardent desire to renounce, like him, all worldly pleasures, and to enter the Church.
I was so enamoured of this idea that, when once more left to myself, I thought of nothing else. I recurred in memory to the words of the Bishop of Amiens, who had given me the same advice, and to the bright augury which he had drawn of my success, should I decide to embrace that calling. Piety, too, was not without its share in influencing me. "I will lead," thought I, "a holy and Christian life. I will devote myself to study and to religion, which will leave me no time to think of love and its dangerous pleasures. I will hold in contempt all that is admired by the common herd of mankind; and, since I feel an inward assurance that my heart will desire nothing but what is worthy of its esteem, I shall have but few wishes, and as few cares."
​I thereupon sketched, in anticipation, a plan of peaceful and solitary life. In my fancy I saw a secluded cottage nestling among surrounding trees; a brook of gently flowing water, murmuring as it ran by the end of my garden; a library of chosen volumes; a small circle of virtuous and intelligent friends; and a daintily served table, over which temperance and frugality should reign. To all this I added a correspondence with some friend residing in Paris, who should keep me informed in the news of the day—less to gratify my curiosity than to supply me with a source of diversion in the contemplation of the senseless turmoil of mankind. "Will not this be true happiness?" I exclaimed, "and shall I not find in such a life the fulfilment of all my best dreams?"
The project undeniably presented many attractions to a disposition like mine. But, when my virtuous scheme was all complete, I felt that there was still something more that my heart demanded; and that for the most inviting of retreats to leave nothing to be desired, it must be shared with Manon.
However, as Tiberge continued to visit me frequently in furtherance of the purpose with which he had inspired me, I took occasion to broach the subject to my father. ​He assured me that it was his intention to leave his children free in the choice of their vocation, and that, whatever disposition of my future I might wish to make, he merely reserved to himself the right of aiding me by his advice. He then gave me some that was full of wisdom, and that tended less to discourage me in my project than to enable me to follow it out with a due appreciation of the step I was taking.
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