The Story of Manon Lescaut and of the Chevalier des Grieux/Chapter 1

by L'Abbé Prévost

Chapter I.

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I must carry my reader back to the period of my life at which I first met the Chevalier des Grieux. This was some six months prior to my departure for Spain. Although I rarely emerged from my retirement, deference to the wishes of my daughter occasionally led me to undertake various little expeditions, which I was in the habit of making as short as possible.

I chanced one day to be returning from Rouen, whither I had gone at her request to attend the trial of a cause before the Parliament of Normandy, which involved the right of succession to an estate bequeathed to me by my grandfather on the maternal side, and my title to which I had made over to her. Having retraced my steps by way of Evreux, where I slept the first night, I arrived the next day in time for dinner at Passy, which is some five or six leagues further on. On entering this town I was surprised to observe a general commotion among its inhabitants. They were hurrying out of their houses and running in a crowd to the door of a wretched hostelry, in front of which were standing two covered wagons. From the appearance of the horses, which were still in harness, and reeking from the heat and fatigue of their journey, I surmised that the two vehicles had only just arrived.

I stopped a moment to inquire the cause of the tumult, but could obtain little enlightenment from the inquisitive crowd, who paid no heed to my questions, but went on pushing and fighting among themselves in their eagerness to reach the inn. At last an archer,^[1] wearing a cross-belt and carrying his musket on his shoulder, made his appearance at the door. Beckoning him towards me, I asked him to tell me what was occasioning all this hubbub.

"Nothing, sir," he replied, "nothing but a dozen girls of the town whom I and my comrades are taking to Havre-de-Grace, where we are going to put them aboard ship for America. There are some pretty ones among them, and that, apparently, is what excites the curiosity of these good country-folk."

I should have passed on after this explanation, had not my attention been arrested by the exclamations of an old woman, who came out of the inn wringing her hands and crying that she could not bear to see such horrible barbarity, it was enough to excite the pity of any one but a savage.

"What is amiss?" I asked her.

"Oh, sir!" she replied, "go in yonder and see if 'tis not a heart-rending sight."

Urged by curiosity I dismounted, leaving my horse to the care of my groom. I had some difficulty in effecting an entrance, but pushing my way through the crowd, I beheld, in truth, a most touching spectacle.

Among the twelve girls who were chained together by their waists in two groups of six each, was one whose face and whole appearance were so little in keeping with her present situation that under any other circumstances I should have taken her to be a person of the highest rank.

The sadness of her expression, and her soiled and bedraggled dress, detracted so little from her beauty, that I was filled with pity and respect as I looked at her. She endeavored, however, to turn herself away as far as her chain would allow, in order to conceal her face from the gaze of the bystanders. There was something so unaffected in her efforts to hide herself, that they seemed to be prompted by an innate sense of modesty.

The six guards who were in charge of this unhappy band being also in the room, I drew aside the one who was in command, and asked him to give me some account of how this lovely girl had met with such a fate. He could do so only in a very general way.

"We took her from the Hôpital," said he, "by order of the Lieutenant-General of Police. She was not shut up there as a reward for good conduct, that is certain. I have questioned her several times on our way here, but she obstinately refuses to reply. I received no orders to treat her more kindly than the others; but for all that I have shown her some consideration, because she appears to me a trifle better than her companions. Yonder is a young man," added the archer, "who may be able to tell you more than I can concerning the cause of her disgrace. He has followed her all the way from Paris, and has scarcely stopped weeping for a moment. He must be her brother, or her lover."

I turned toward the corner of the room where the young man was sitting. He appeared to be buried in deep thought. I never beheld a more striking picture of grief. He was very simply dressed; but it did not require a second glance to perceive that he was a man of birth and education. He rose as I approached him, and his features, his expression, and his every movement bore the mark of such refinement and nobility that I felt myself instinctively drawn towards him.

"Do not let me disturb you," I said, seating myself beside him. "Will you be kind enough to gratify the curiosity which I feel to learn something of the history of that fair creature, who seems to me little fitted for the sad condition in which I now see her?"

He replied frankly that he could not let me know who she was, without disclosing his own name, which he had strong reasons for desiring to keep a secret.

"However," he continued, pointig to the archers as he spoke, "I can tell you what those wretches know only too well: that I love her with such passionate devotion as to make me the unhappiest of men. I left no means untried at Paris to obtain her release. Entreaties, stratagem, and force proving alike in vain, I resolved to follow her to the very ends of the earth, if need be. The ship which carries her to America shall take me with her. But, so utterly inhuman are those cowardly rascals," he added, alluding to the archers, "that they will not allow me to go near her. My intention was to make an open attack upon them when some leagues outside of Paris. I had four men with me, whom I had paid liberally to promise me their assistance. The traitors made off with my money and left me single-handed. Seeing that it was impossible to accomplish anything by force, I put up my sword and proposed to the archers that they should at least allow me to accompany them, promising to reward them if they would do so. Their cupidity led them to consent. They insisted upon being paid every time they granted me leave to speak to my mistress. The contents of my purse were soon exhausted, and now that I am penniless they have the barbarity to thrust me away brutally whenever I take a step towards her. Only a moment since, upon my venturing to approach her in spite of their threats, they had the insolence to raise the butts of their muskets against me. In order to satisfy their greed and to fit myself for continuing the journey on foot, I now find myself forced to sell my horse, which, sorry animal though it is, has carried me so far on the way."

Although he related all this with apparent calmness, tears stood in his eyes as he concluded. The whole incident struck me as strange and pathetic in the extreme.

"I will not press you," I said, "to confide your secret affairs to me; but if I can be of assistance to you in any way, I gladly offer you my services."

"Alas!" he replied, "I have abandoned all hope. There is nothing left for me but to resign myself to my fate, cruel as it is, and go to America, where my love and I will at least be free together. I have written to one of my friends, who will send me some money to Havre-de-Grace. My only anxiety is as to how I am to reach there, and as to how I can procure that poor girl," he added, glancing sadly at his mistress, "some little comfort on the way."

"Well," said I, "I will solve that difficulty for you. Pray oblige me by accepting this money. I only regret that I cannot serve you in any other way."

I then gave him four louis d'or, taking care not to be observed by the guards as I did so: for I shrewdly conjectured that if they suspected him of having such a sum about him they would put a higher price on their favors. It even occurred to me to strike a bargain with them to allow the young lover to talk with his mistress at his pleasure all the way to Havre. Beckoning to the archer in command. I made the proposition to him. In spite of his effrontery, it seemed to put him to the blush.

"You see, sir," he responded with some embarrassment, "we should have no objection to his speaking to the girl; but he is not satisfied with that. He wants to be continually at her side. That puts us to no little trouble, and it is only fair that he should pay for the inconvenience he causes us."

"How much, think you, would prevent your feeling the annoyance?" I asked him.

He had the impudence to ask me for two louis, which I at once gave him, saying as I did so:

"Mind you, sirrah! Do not attempt any rascality; for I am going to leave my address with this young gentleman, so that he may let me know of it if you do; and I have influence enough to see that you are punished, depend upon it."

The affair thus cost me six louis d'or.

The young stranger expressed such deep gratitude and thanked me so gracefully that I was confirmed in my impression that he was of noble birth, and fully deserving of the liberality I had shown him. I spoke a few words to his mistress before I left the room. She answered me so sweetly and with such charming modesty of manner that, as I went out, I fell to musing for a long while over the incomprehensibility of the female character.

Returning, as I did, to my life of solitude, I was left in ignorance of the sequel of this adventure. The lapse of two years had driven the matter completely out of my mind, when chance again afforded me an opportunity of learning the full particulars of the affair.

I was returning from London, with my pupil, the Marquis of ———, and had just arrived at Calais. We put up, if I remember rightly, at the Golden Lion, where, for some reason, we were obliged to spend the whole of that day and the following night. As I was taking a walk through the streets in the afternoon, I caught sight of the same young man I had met at Passy. He was very poorly clad, and much paler than when I had first seen him. He was carrying an old portmanteau under one arm, and had evidently only just arrived in the town. His was too handsome a face to be easily forgotten, however, and I knew him again immediately.

"I cannot let that young man pass without speaking to him," I said to the marquis.

He was overjoyed when he, in turn, recognized me.

"Ah! sir," he exclaimed, kissing my hand, "I am indeed glad to have an opportunity of assuring you once again of my undying gratitude!"

I asked him whence he had come. He replied that he had just arrived, by sea, from Havre-de-Grace, whither he had returned from America only a short time since.

"From your appearance I fear that you are not very well off for money," said I; "if you will walk on to the Golden Lion, where I am lodging, I will be with you in a few minutes."

I soon returned, in fact, full of impatience to learn the details of his misfortunes and all the particulars of his voyage to America. I embraced him cordially, and gave orders that he should be allowed to want for nothing.

He did not wait to be urged to relate the story of his life.

"You treat me with such noble generosity, sir," he said to me, "that I should reproach myself with base ingratitude were I to withhold anything from you which it would interest you to hear. I will tell you, if you care to listen, not only my misfortunes and sufferings, but the follies and misdeeds for which I have most cause to blush; and I am sure that, while you may condemn, you cannot help but pity me."

[I must here explain that I committed the young man's story to writing almost immediately after hearing it, and that the reader may consequently rest assured of the absolute accuracy and fidelity of the following narrative. Its fidelity extends, I may say, even to the relation of the reflections and sentiments to which the young adventurer gave expression in language of the utmost grace.

Here, then, is his story; to which I shall add not a single word, from beginning to end, that is not his own.]

1. The armed police of Paris were called archers at the period of this story.—Translator.