Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Oh, the man’s infernal hypocrisy only deepens the blackness of his debaucheries and swordsman’s prowess!”

  Absorbed in his private thoughts, Monsieur John remained in a brown study. Presently he said to the Franc-Taupin:

  “You followed Loyola to war. Was the captain’s regiment well disciplined? How did he treat his soldiers?”

  “His soldiers? By the bowels of St. Quenet! Imagine, not men, but iron statues, that, with but a gesture, a wink of his eye, Don Ignatius either moved or petrified, as he chose. Broken in and harnessed to his command like so many machines, he said: ‘Go!’ — and they went, not only into battle but whithersoever he ordered. They were no longer themselves, but he. What the devil, Captain Loyola controlled men and women like horses — by the identical methods.”

  “What methods, let us hear them, Josephin.”

  “Well, one day a wild stallion of Cordova was brought to him; the animal was savage, a veritable demon; two strong stablemen were hardly able to hold him by the halter. Don Ignatius ordered the wild beast to be taken to a small enclosed yard, and remained there alone with him. I was outside, behind the gate. First I heard the stallion neigh with fury, then with pain, and then there was silence. Two hours later Captain Loyola issued from the yard mounted on the animal which steamed with foam and still trembled with fear, but as docile as a curate’s mule.”

  “That is wonderful!” cried Christian. “Was the man possessed of a magic charm with which to curb wild beasts?”

  “Exactly so, brother, and his talisman consisted in a set of reins so fearfully and skilfully contrived that, if the horse yielded passive obedience to the hand that guided him, he felt no pain whatever; but at the slightest show of resistance, Captain Loyola set in motion a certain steel saw contrivance supplied with sharp points and fastened in the bit. Immediately the animal would neigh with pain, remain motionless and sink down upon his haunches, whereupon Don Ignatius would pat it with his hand and give it some cream cakes. By the bowels of St. Quenet! Iron reins and cream cakes — this was the trick wherewith the captain Loyolized men, women and horses!”

  “And did his soldiers love him, despite his inflexible yoke?” asked Monsieur John.

  “Did they love him? The devil! Do you forget the cream cakes? Puddings, sausages, capons, fatted geese, pouches filled with Val-de-Peñas wine, gay wenches, high jinks in the barracks; in the enemy’s country, free pillage, free rape, fire, blood and sack, and long live the saturnalia! These were the cream cakes of Captain Loyola. Whenever occasion required, he would treat his soldiers to these dainties out of his own pocket like a magnificent seigneur; but to allow his soldiers to reflect, to think, to reason, to will? — Never! To ask why this and why that? Never! ‘Kill,’ the captain would say, and the response was: ‘Listen, he says kill — we kill!’ But it is your friend, your brother, your father, your sister, your mother that he orders you to kill. ‘Makes no difference, he said kill — we kill, and we kill;’ and then come the cream cakes and more cream cakes, otherwise the reins begin to play, and they play so severely — clubbings, strappings, croppings of ears, hanging by the limbs and other devices of the devil. ‘Our dear master,’ often did the old majordomo say to me, ‘our dear master is everything to all of us, provided all of us let him have his own will untrammeled; omnipotence is the secret joy of the dear Don Ignatius; to possess a woman, curb a mettlesome horse, manoeuvre his men of iron as one bends a reed — that is his enjoyment! He delights in absorbing souls. As to bodies, he fondles, caresses, indulges, dandles, fattens and greases them — provided they move at his will.’ It is ever so, he who holds the soul holds the body.”

  Christian hesitated to believe the account of the Franc-Taupin; he could hardly give credence to the monstrous description. Monsieur John looked less surprised, but more alarmed. He said to Josephin, who, having wished to help himself to some more wine, sighed at finding the pot empty:

  “But by what combination of circumstances could Ignatius Loyola, such as you described him to us and such as, I do believe, he was, metamorphose himself to the extent of coming here, to Paris, and seat himself on the benches of the Montaigu College among the youngest of the students?”

  “What!” cried Christian, stupefied. “Is Ignatius Loyola to-day a simple student?”

  “He attended the College,” replied Monsieur John; “and one day he submitted to be publicly whipped in punishment for a slip of memory. There is something unexplainable, or frightful, in such humility on the part of such a man.”

  “Ignatius Loyola! the debauchee, the skilful swordsman! The haughty nobleman, did he do that?” cried Christian. “Can it be possible?”

  “By the bowels of St. Quenet, brother,” put in the Franc-Taupin in his turn, “as well tell me that the monks of Citeaux left their kegs empty after vintage! Even such a thing would sound less enormous than that Captain Loyola slipped down his hose to receive a flogging! The devil take me!” cried the Franc-Taupin vainly trying to extract a few more drops from the pot. “I am choked with surprise!”

  “But you must not be allowed to choke with thirst, good Josephin,” put in Christian, smiling and exchanging a look of intelligence with Monsieur John. “The pot is empty. As soon as your story is ended, and in order to feast our guest, I shall have to ask you to go to the tavern that you know of and fetch us a pot of Argenteuil wine. That is agreed, brother.”

  “St. Pansard, have pity upon my paunch! By my faith, brother, the pots are empty. I guess the reason why. One time I used to drink it all — now I leave nothing. Did you say a pot of wine? Amen!” said the Franc-Taupin rising from his seat. “We shall furnish our guest with a red border, like a cardinal! Yes, brother, it is agreed. And so I shall go for the pot, but not for one only — for two, or three.”

  “Not so fast, first finish your story; I am interested in it more than you can imagine,” said Monsieur John with great earnestness. “I must again ask you: To what do you, who knew Loyola so well, attribute this incredible change?”

  “May my own blood smother me; may the quartain fever settle my hash, if I understand it! A few hours ago I strained my remaining eye fit to give it a squint, in contemplating Don Ignatius. Seeing him so threadbare, so wan, so seedy and leaning upon his staff, I had not the courage to remind him of me. By the bowels of St. Quenet, I felt ashamed of having been page to the worn-out old crippled hunch-back.”

  “How is that! You described him as having been such a fine-looking cavalier and such a skilful swordsman — and yet he was hunch-backed?”

  “He was crippled through two wounds that he received at the siege of Pampeluna. The devil! All the fathers, all the brothers, all the husbands whose daughters, sisters and wives the captain Loyolized, would have felt themselves thoroughly revenged if, like myself, they had seen him writhe like one possessed and howling like a hundred wolves from the pain of his wounds. By the bowels of the Pope, what horrible grimaces the man made!”

  “But how could so intrepid a man display such weakness at pain?”

  “Not at the pain itself; not that. On the contrary. As a result of his wounds he voluntarily endured positive torture, beside which his first agonies were gentle caresses.”

  “And why did he submit to such tortures? Can you explain that?”

  “Yes. The truce between the Spaniards and the French lasted several days. At its close Captain Loyola mounted his horse, and placing himself at the head of his forces ordered a sortie. He made havoc among the enemy; but in the melee he received two shots from an arquebus. One of them fractured his right leg just below the knee, the other took him under the left hip. My gallant was carried to his house and we laid him in his bed. Do you know what were the first words that Don Ignatius uttered? They were these: ‘Death and passion, I may remain deformed all my life!’ And would you believe it? Captain Loyola wept like a woman! Aye, he wept, not with pain, no, by the bowels of St. Quenet, but with rage! You may imagine how crossed the handsome and roistering cavalier felt at the prospect. I
magine a limping cripple strolling under balconies and warbling his love songs! Imagine such a figure running after the señoras! What a sight it would be to have such a disjointed lover throwing himself at their feet at the risk of being unable to pick himself up again and yelling with pain: ‘Oh, my leg! Oh, my knee!’ Just think of such a lame duck attempting to try conclusions with jealous and irate husbands and brothers, arms in hand! Don Ignatius must have thought of all that — and wept!”

  “It is almost incomprehensible that a man of his temper could be so enamoured of his physical advantages,” remarked Christian.

  “Not at all!” replied Monsieur John thoughtfully. “Oh, what an abyss is the human soul! I now think I understand—” but suddenly breaking off he asked the Franc-Taupin: “Accordingly, Don Ignatius was dominated by the fear of remaining crippled for life?”

  “That was his only worry. But I must hurry on. I have a horror of empty wine pots. My present worry is about the wine spigot. Well, all the same, after healing, Captain Loyola’s legs remained, as he feared, of unequal length. ‘Oh, dogs! Jews! Pagan surgeons!’ bawled Don Ignatius when he made the discovery. ‘Fetch me here the robed asses! the brothers of Beelzebub! I shall have them quartered!’ Summoned in great hurry, the poor wretches of surgeons hastened to Don Ignatius. They trembled; turned and turned him about; they examined and re-examined his leg; after all of which, the slashers of Christian flesh and sawers of Christian bones declared that they could render Captain Loyola as nimble of foot as ever he was. ‘A hundred ducats to each of you if you keep your promise!’ he cried, already seeing himself prancing on horseback, prinking in his finery, strutting about, warbling love songs under balconies, parading, and above all Loyolizing. ‘Yes, señor; the lameness will disappear,’ answered the bone-setters, ‘but, we shall have, first of all, to break your leg over again, where it was fractured before; in the second place, señor, we shall have to cut away the flesh that has grown over the bone below your knee; in the third place, we shall have to saw off a little bone that protrudes; that all being done, no doe of the forest will be more agile than your Excellency.’ ‘Break, re-set, cut off, saw off, by the death of God!’ cried Captain Loyola ‘provided I can walk straight! Go ahead! Start to work!’”

  “But that series of operations must have caused him frightful pain!”

  “By the bowels of St. Quenet! When the protruding bone was being sawed off, the grinding of Captain Loyola’s teeth drowned the sound of the saw’s teeth. The contortions that he went through made him look like a veritable demon. His suffering was dreadful.”

  “And did he heal?”

  “Perfectly. But there still remained the left thigh in its bandages. The fraternity of surgeons swore that that limb would be as good if not better than before the injury that it sustained. At the end of six weeks Captain Loyola rose and tried to walk. He did walk. Glory to the bone-setters! He no longer limped of the right leg; but, the devil! his left thigh had shrunk by two inches by reason of a tendon that was wounded. And there was my gallant still hobbling, worse than ever. It had all to be done over again.”

  “Don Ignatius’s fury must have been fierce!”

  “Howling tigers and roaring lions would have been as bleating lambs beside Captain Loyola in his boiling rage. ‘Dear, sweet master,’ his old majordomo said to him, ‘the saints will help you; why despair? The surgeons performed a miracle on your right leg; why should not they be equally able to do the same thing on your left thigh?’ The drowning man clings to a straw. ‘Halloa, page, run to the surgeons!’ yelled my master at me; ‘bring them here instantly!’ The surgeons came. ‘Here they are, señor.’ ‘I suffered the pangs of death for the cure of my right leg; I am willing to suffer as much or worse for the lengthening of my left thigh. Can you do it?’ said Don Ignatius to the bones-setters. Whereupon they fell to feeling, pressing, kneading and manipulating the twisted thigh of the patient; without desisting from their work at the member after a while they raised their heads and mumbled between their teeth: ‘Señor, yes, we can free you from this limp — but, firstly, we shall have to strap you down upon your back, where you will have to lie, motionless, for two months; secondly, a strap will have to be passed under your arms and fastened firmly to the head of your couch; thirdly, a weight of fifty pounds will have to be adjusted to a ring and fastened to your left leg, to the end that the weight slowly, steadily, and constantly distend your thigh. The result will then be obtained, seeing you will be held firm and motionless by the two straps, the one that binds you down to your bed and the other, under your arms, that holds you to the head of your couch. With the aid of these contrivances, your thigh will be restored to its normal condition at the end of two months, and the does of the forest will then be less agile than your Excellency.’ ‘Do it!’ was Loyola’s answer. ‘Strap, distend, stretch me out, blood of God, provided I can walk!’”

  “That is frightful!” cried Christian. “It is the ‘wooden horse’ torture, prolonged beyond the point of human endurance.”

  “By the bowels of St. Quenet! There is nothing beyond endurance to a gallant who is determined not to hobble. Don Ignatius underwent the torture for the two months. The old majordomo and myself nursed our master. At times he screamed — Oh, such screams! They were heard a thousand feet from the house. Exhausted with pain, his eyelids would droop in sleep, but only to be suddenly reawakened with a start by his shooting pains. At such times the sounds that he emitted were screams no longer, but the howlings of the damned. At the end of two months of insomnia and continuous agony, which left nothing but the skin on his bones, but during which he was held up at least with the hope of final cure, Captain Loyola’s surgeons held a consultation, and allowed him to leave his bed of torture. He rose, walked — but, the devil! not only was his left thigh not sufficiently lengthened, but his right knee, that had been previously operated upon, had become ossified from lying motionless for so long a time! Captain Loyola said not a word; he became livid as a corpse and dropped unconscious to the floor. We all thought he was dead. The next day the majordomo notified me that our master did no longer need a page. My wages were paid me; I left Spain and returned to France with other prisoners who had been set free. After all that, and after the lapse of fourteen or fifteen years, I ran a few hours ago across Don Ignatius, near a booth on the market place, in the company of your friend Lefevre. That, brother, ends my story. Jarnigoy! Is it not racy? But by the bowels of St. Quenet, my tongue is parched; it cleaves to the roof of my mouth; my whistle burns; it is on the point of breaking out into flame; help! help! wine! wine! Let the wine act as water to put out the fire! I shall now run out for the promised nectar of Argenteuil!” added the Franc-Taupin, rising from his seat. “I shall be back in a jiffy! And then we shall drinkedrille, drinkedraille, gaily clink glasses with our guest. A full pot calls for a wide throat!”

  So saying, Josephin went out, singing in a sonorous voice his favorite refrain:

  “A Franc-Taupin had an ash-tree bow,

  All eaten with worms, and all knotted its cord;

  His arrow was made out of paper, and plumed,

  And tipped at the end with a capon’s spur.

  Derideron, vignette on vignon! Derideron!”

  CHAPTER VII.

  BROTHER ST. ERNEST-MARTYR.

  THE MOMENT THE Franc-Taupin left the house the stranger said to Christian:

  “Your brother-in-law’s story is a revelation to me. The past life of Ignatius Loyola explains to me his present life.”

  “But who is that man? Whence the interest, curiosity and even alarm that he seems to inspire you with?”

  Christian was saying these words when his wife descended from the floor above. The sight of her reminded him it was urgent that the stranger be taken to the garret before the return of Josephin. “Bridget,” he accordingly said to his wife, “has Hena gone to bed?”

  “Yes; both the dear children have retired for the night.”

  “Master Robert Estienne has confided a secre
t to me and asked of me a service, dear Bridget. For two or three days we are to hide Monsieur John, our guest of this evening, in this house. The garret seems to me to offer a safe retreat. I have temporarily got your brother out of the way. Take our refugee upstairs; I shall remain here to wait for Josephin.”

  Bridget took up again the lamp that she had deposited upon the table, and said to the stranger as she prepared to lead the way upstairs:

  “Come, monsieur; your secret will remain with Christian and myself; you may rely upon our discretion.”

  “I am certain of that, madam,” answered Monsieur John; “I shall never forget your generous hospitality;” and addressing the artisan: “Could you join me later, after your brother-in-law has gone? I should like to speak with you.”

  “I shall join monsieur after Josephin’s departure,” Christian answered the stranger, who followed Bridget to the upper loft.

  The latter two had both withdrawn when suddenly an uproar was heard in the street. Peals of laughter were interspersed with the plaintive cries of a woman. Although quite familiar with these nocturnal disorders, seeing that the Guilleris, the Mauvais-Garçons, the Tire-Laines and other bandits infested the streets at night, and not infrequently disturbed the carousals of the young seigneurs bent upon their debauches, Christian’s first impulse was to go out to the help of the woman whose cries resounded ever more plaintive. Considering, however, that no decent woman would venture outside of her house at such a late hour, and, above all, fearing that by interfering in the affray he might provoke an assault upon his house and thereby put the safety of his guest in jeopardy, he contented himself with partly opening the window, whereupon, by the light of the torches held by several pages dressed in rich liveries, he saw three seigneurs, evidently just come from some orgy, surrounding a woman. The seigneurs were in an advanced stage of intoxication and sought to drag the woman after them; she resisted and held her arms closely clasped around a large cross that stood in the center of the bridge. The woman cried imploringly: “Oh, leave me, seigneurs. In the name of heaven, leave me! Mercy! Have pity for a woman — mercy, seigneurs!”