The Story of Manon Lescaut and of the Chevalier des Grieux

Front matter

From the Edition of 1753

Copyright, 1886.

fr:Manon Lescaut

Author's Preface

A I might have introduced the Adventures of the Chevalier des Grieux in my own Memoirs, it seemed to me that, as there was no necessary connection between the two, the reader would find it more satisfactory to have them separately. The thread of my own story would have been too much interrupted by a digression of such length. Far as I am from laying any claim to precision as a writer, I am yet well aware that a narrative should be free from details which render it cumbersome and involved. To quote the maxim of Horace:

Ut jam nunc dicat jam nunc debentia dici, Pleraque differat et præsens in tempus omittat."

Indeed, so weighty an authority is not needed to establish so simple a truth; for this rule has its origin in common-sense.

If the story of my life afforded the public some interest and entertainment, I may venture to promise them equal pleasure in the perusal of the present sequel to it. They will find, in the adventures of M. des Grieux, a terrible example of the tyranny of the passions. I have before me the task of depicting a headstrong youth who rejects happiness, to plunge of his own accord into the deepest misery; who, possessed of every quality necessary for the attainment of brilliant distinction, yet, of his own choice, prefers an obscure and roving lift to all the advantages which nature and fortune have placed at his command; who foresees the sorrows which await him, without making an effort to avert them; who feels them so keenly as to be overwhelmed by them, and yet dees not avail himself of the remedies which are continually offered him, and which might at any moment bring them to an end: in short, a character made up of contradictions; a mixture of vices and of virtues, a perpetual contrast of lofty sentiments and of unworthy conduct—such is the groundwork of the picture which I am about to present.

To judicious minds, a work of this nature will not appear a waste of labor. Besides the entertainment to be derived from its perusal, it will be found to contain but few incidents that may not be turned to good account as lessons in morality; and I take it to be no slight service to the public to instruct and amuse them at the same time.

No one who reflects over the precepts of morality can fail to be amazed at observing how they are at once both honored and neglected; or to ask himself the reason of this strange capriciousness of the human heart, which leads it to delight in ideals of virtue and perfection, only to deviate from them in practice. Let any one of a fair degree of intelligence and cultivation consider what is the most frequent subject of his conversations, or even of his solitary meditations. He will readily perceive that they nearly always turn upon some moral theme. The most delightful moments of his life are those which he spends, either in solitude or with some friend, in open-hearted communion on the charms of virtue, the joys of friendship, the means of attaining happiness, the frailties of our nature, which alienate us from it, and the remedies by which they may be counteracted. Horace and Boileau allude to such converse as one of the most beautiful among the features which they include in their pictures of a happy life. How comes it, then, that one falls so easily from these lofty speculations, and so soon finds one's self on a level with the common run of mankind? I am much deceived if the reason I am about to allege for it does not fully explain this contradiction between our ideals and our actions. It is this: all the precepts of morality being no more than vague and general principles, there is great difficulty in applying them specifically to the details of life and duty.

Let us illustrate the matter by an example. All generous natures feel that benevolence and humanity are estimable virtues, and are eager to display them. At the very moment for putting them into practice, however, they often pause and hesitate, debating whether this be indeed a proper occasion for their exercise, not being quite sure as to how far they should be carried, and doubting whether the object may not be a mistaken one. A hundred difficulties obtrude themselves, such as the fear of being duped when desirous of being charitable and generous; of betraying weakness by appearing too tender-hearted and impressible; in a word, of exceeding or of falling short of the duties which are too vaguely comprised in the terms "humanity" and "benevolence." In such uncertainty, only previous experience or example can be relied upon to guide the impulse of the heart to a wise decision. Now, this needful experience is an advantage which, cannot be freely acquired by every one. It is dependent upon the surroundings amid which our lot may have been cast, and these differ in the case of every one of us.

A vast number of persons, therefore, are left with nothing but precedent to serve them as a standard in the practice of virtue.

It is precisely this class of readers to whom works of the present nature are likely to prove of the utmost benefit; if their author, that is to say, be a man of strict rectitude and good judgment. Each incident related in them carries with it a certain degree of enlightenment, and serves as a lesson to supply the place of experience. In each adventure may be found an example for imitation; all that is lacking is its application to the circumstances of the individual case. The whole work, in fact, may be regarded as a treatise on morality, pleasantly reduced into practice.

There may, perchance, be readers austere enough to think that it ill-beseems a man of my years to take up his pen for the purpose of relating a story of love and adventure. To all such I would say that if there be any truth in the above reflections, I need no other justification; while, if they be false, my error must be my excuse.

Part First: Chapter 1

I 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, 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.]

Part First: Chapter 2

I was seventeen years of age, and was completing my studies in philosophy at Amiens, where I had been sent by my parents, who belonged to one of the best families in P——. The life I led was so blameless and correct that my masters held me up as an example to the whole college; not that I made any extraordinary efforts to merit this commendation, but I was naturally of a sedate and gentle temperament. I applied myself to study as a matter of inclination; and the evidences which I gave of an instinctive aversion from vice were put to my credit as positive virtues. My rank, my rapid progress in my studies, and a certain comeliness of person, had secured me the acquaintance and esteem of all the leading people of the town.

I acquitted myself so much to the general approbation at my final public examinations, that his lordship, the Bishop of the Diocese, who was present on the occasion in question, proposed that I should enter upon an ecclesiastical career, in which I could not fail, he told me, to attain greater distinction than in the Order of Malta, for which my parents had destined me. By their wish I was already wearing the cross of that Order, with the title of the Chevalier des Grieux.

Vacation being now at hand, I was preparing to return home to my father, who had promised soon to send me to the Academy. My only regret on leaving Amiens was that I had to part with a friend there to whom I had always been tenderly attached. He was my elder by a few years. We had been brought up together; but, as his family was far from wealthy, he was obliged to enter the Church, and had to remain at Amiens after I left, in order to pursue the studies demanded by that calling.

He was possessed of so many good qualities that I could not even begin to enumerate them now. You will find him displaying the best of them in the course of my story; and, above all, a zeal and unselfishness in friendship which surpass the most renowned examples of antiquity. Had I, in those days, followed his counsels, I should have always been a virtuous and happy man. Had I even heeded his rebukes when deep in the gulf into which my passions dragged me, I should have rescued something from the shipwreck of my fortune and reputation. But he has reaped no other fruit from his brotherly solicitude than the grief of finding it all in vain, and of being sometimes harshly requited for it by an ungrateful wretch, who has more than once actually resented it as officious.

I had settled on the time for my departure from Amiens. Alas, that I did not fix it for one day sooner! I should then have gone home to my father with my innocence all unsullied.

The very evening before I was to have left Amiens, as I was taking a walk with my friend, whose name was Tiberge, we saw the Arras diligence arrive, and strolled after it to the inn at which these conveyances set down their passengers. We were actuated merely by idle curiosity. Some women alighted, and withdrew at once; but one, a very young girl, remained standing in the the court-yard, while an elderly man, who appeared to be acting as her escort, busied himself in getting her baggage taken out of the boot.

Her beauty struck me as being so remarkable that I—who had never given a thought to the difference between the sexes, nor bestowed even the most passing attention upon a woman—I, be it repeated, whose virtue and propriety were the subjects of general eulogy, felt myself suddenly and madly enamoured of her. One of the defects of my character had always been that I was excessively timid and easily disconcerted; but now, so far from being restrained by that weakness, I advanced boldly towards her who was already the mistress of my heart.

Although she was even younger than myself, she received my polite advances without any signs of embarrassment. I asked her what brought her to Amiens, and whether she had any acquaintances in the town. She replied ingenuously that she had been sent there by her parents to enter a convent. Love, though it had been enthroned in my heart only a few short moments, had already so quickened my perception that I saw in this intention a mortal blow to all my hopes. From the manner in which I talked to her, she soon guessed what was passing in my mind; for she was by no means so unsophisticated as myself. She was being forced to take the veil against her will—doubtless in order to curb that love of pleasure which had already asserted itself in her character, and which, in after days, was the cause of all her misfortunes and my own. I combated the cruel intentions of her parents with all the arguments that my new-born love and scholastic eloquence could suggest. She affected neither severity nor disdain, and told me, after a moment's silence, that she foresaw, only too clearly, how unhappy she was going to be; but that it was apparently the will of Heaven, as there was no way of escaping her fate.

The tender glances and the winning air of sadness with which she accompanied these words—nay, rather let me say, the dominating influence of my destiny, which was hurrying me on to my ruin—did not allow me a moment's time for reflection as to what my answer should be. I assured her that if she would but rely on my honor and on the deep affection with which she had already inspired me, I would lay down my very life to deliver her from the tyranny of her parents, and to secure her happiness.

Many a time have I wondered, in reflecting over this incident, how I succeeded in mustering up such boldness and facility of expression; but Love would not rank among the gods did he not often work miracles.

I added much more in the way of urgent entreaty. The fair stranger was well aware that men are not deceivers at the age I had then reached. She frankly admitted that if I could think of any way of rescuing her from her impending fate, she would consider herself indebted to me for what was more precious than life itself—her liberty.

I once more declared that there was nothing I would not undertake on her behalf; but, being too inexperienced to be able to hit upon a plan for aiding her then and there, I confined myself to this general assurance, which was not calculated to be of much assistance either to her or to myself.

Her aged Argus now making his approach, my hopes would have been baffled, had she not been gifted with enough ready wit to make up for my own deficiencies in that respect. As her guardian joined us, I was not a little surprised to hear her address me as cousin, and tell me, with the utmost composure, that as she had been so fortunate as to meet me at Amiens, she would postpone her entrance into the convent until the following day in order that she might have the pleasure of supping with me. I was not slow to catch the spirit of this ruse, and recommended her to put up at an inn, the landlord of which was devoted heart and soul to my service, having been my father's coachman for many years before he had established himself at Amiens.

I conducted her there myself, despite the muttered objections of her old protector; while my friend Tiberge, who was completely mystified by this scene, followed me without uttering a word. He had not overheard our conversation, having occupied himself in pacing up and down the court-yard while I was wooing my fair one. Dreading his virtuous scruples, I rid myself of his presence by asking him to execute a small commission for me; and thus had the happiness, when we reached the inn, of having my heart's mistress entirely to myself.

I soon discovered that I was not the mere boy I had hitherto supposed myself to be. My heart expanded under the influence of a thousand sensations of pleasure of which I had never so much as dreamed. A delicious warmth suffused itself through all my veins, and I yielded up my whole being to an indescribable ecstasy which robbed me for some time of the free use of my voice, and found expression only in my eyes.

Mademoiselle Manon Lescaut—for such, she told me, was her name—seemed to be well pleased at the effect pro- duced upon me by her charms; and I thought that I detected signs of no less emotion on her side. She confessed that she did not regard me with indifference, and that liberty would be all the sweeter to her if she owed it to me. She was eager to know who I was, and looked upon me with increased favor when I told her; for, being of humble origin herself, it flattered her self-esteem to find that she had made the conquest of a lover of my rank. We then began to consider by what means we could gain the happiness of mutual possession.

After much discussion we concluded that there was no other course open to us but flight. We should have to elude the vigilance of her escort, who, though only a servant, was not a man to be trifled with. We arranged that I should order a postchaise during the night, and that I should return to the inn early in the morning, before he was awake, when we would steal away quietly, and make straight for Paris, getting married upon our arrival there. I had about fifty crowns, the fruits of my small savings, while she had nearly double that amount. We imagined, inexperienced children that we were, that this sum was inexhaustible; and we reckoned no less confidently upon the success of the rest of our plan.