Then, as the school monitor called in the two companions from the playground, they would return, taking the path which led along by the gardens watered by brooks; then they would pass through the boulevards overshadowed by the old city walls. The deserted streets echoed under their steps. The gate flew back; they climbed the stairs; and they felt as sad as if they had indulged in wild debauchery.

The proctor claimed that they egged on each other. Nevertheless, if Frédéric worked his way up to the higher forms, it was through the encouragement of his friend; and, during their vacation in 1837, he brought Deslauriers home to his mother’s house.

Madame Moreau disliked the young man. He had an enormous appetite. He refused to go to church on Sunday. He was fond of making republican speeches. Finally, she got it into her head that he had been leading her son into unsavory places. She kept an eye on their relationship. This only made their friendship grow stronger, and they said good-bye to each other with great sadness when, in the following year, Deslauriers left college in order to study law in Paris.


Frédéric anxiously looked forward to the time when they would meet again. For two years they had not seen each other; and, when their embraces were over, they walked over the bridges to talk more at ease.


The captain, who now ran a billiard-room at Villenauxe, reddened with anger when his son called to ask for an account of his trusteeship of his mother’s fortune, and even cut the allowance for his living expenses. Since he intended to become a candidate at a later period for a professor’s chair at the school, and as he had no money, Deslauriers accepted the post of principal clerk in an attorney’s office at Troyes. Through sheer self deprivation he hoped to save four thousand francs; and, even if he could not draw upon the sum which came to him through his mother, he would have enough to enable him to work freely for three years while he was waiting for a better position. It was necessary, therefore, to abandon their former plans to live together in the capital, at least for the moment.


Frédéric hung his head. This was the first of his dreams which had crumbled into dust.

“Cheer up,” said the captain’s son. “Life is long. We are young. We’ll meet again. Think no more about it!”

He shook his hand warmly, and, to distract him, asked questions about his journey.

Frédéric had nothing to say. But, at the thought of Madame Arnoux, his sadness disappeared. He did not mention her, restrained by a feeling of bashfulness. He made up for it by talking about Arnoux, recalling his stories, his manners, his connections; and Deslauriers urged him strongly to cultivate this new acquaintance.

Frédéric had of late written nothing. His literary opinions were changed. Passion was now above everything else in his estimation. He was equally enthusiastic about Werther, René, Franck, Lara, Lélia,c and other more mediocre works. Sometimes it seemed to him that music alone was capable of giving expression to his troubles. So, he dreamed of symphonies; or else the appearance of things seized hold of him, and he longed to paint. He had, however, composed verses. Deslauriers considered them beautiful, but did not ask for more.

As for himself, he had given up metaphysics. Social economy and the French Revolution absorbed all his attention.