by Eugène Sue
This man, who had the breadth of Hercules, was now frightfully pale in consequence of the reaction of long continued drink and anger. He was about half drunk; his coarse, thick hair fell low on his forehead and almost concealed his little, wicked gray eyes. His bull-like neck was naked and his blouse open, as well as his great coat and vest, exposing a part of a powerful and hairy chest.
At the sight of this man, Marie, as we have said, felt for a moment her courage give way.
But, reflecting that the excited state in which M. Bastien was, only rendered him more passionate, and more intractable, that he would not hesitate at any violence or outburst of temper, and that then the intervention of David and Frederick would, unfortunately, become inevitable, the young woman, brave as she always was, thanked Heaven that her son had heard nothing, seized the lamp on the chimneypiece, returned to her husband, who stood immovable on the threshold, and said to him in a low voice:
“Let us go in the library, monsieur. I am afraid, as I told you, of waking my son.”
M. Bastien appeared to take counsel with himself before yielding to Marie’s desire.
After several minutes’ hesitation, during which the young woman almost died of anguish, the Hercules replied:
“Well, to come to the point, I prefer that; come, go on before me.”
Marie, preceding Jacques Bastien in the corridor, soon entered the library.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
MADAME BASTIEN, WHOSE heart was beating violently, set the lamp on the chimneypiece in the library, and said to her husband:
“What do you wish, monsieur?”
Jacques had reached that degree of drunkenness which is not madness, which leaves the mind even quite clear, but which renders the will implacable; he did not at first reply to the question of Marie, who said again:
“Please, monsieur, I beg you, tell me what you wish of me.”
Jacques, both hands in the pockets of his blouse, stood directly in front of his wife; sometimes he knit his eyebrows with a sinister expression as he stared at her, sometimes he smiled with a satirical air.
Finally, addressing Marie with a slow and uncertain voice, for his half-drunken condition retarded his utterance and obliged him to make frequent pauses, he said to her:
“Madame it is about seventeen years and a half that we have been married, is it not?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“What good have you been to me?”
“Monsieur!”
“You have not even served me as a wife.”
Marie, her cheeks coloured with shame and indignation, started to go out.
Bastien barred the passage and cried elevating his voice:
“Stop there!”
“Silence, monsieur!” said the unhappy woman, whose fears were renewed lest David and Frederick should be awakened by the noise of an altercation.
So, waiting for new outrages, and resigned beforehand to submit to them, she said to Jacques, in a trembling voice:
“For pity’s sake, monsieur, do not speak so loud, they will hear you. I will listen to you, as painful as this conversation is to me.”
“I tell you that you have been no good to me since we were married; a servant hired for wages would have kept my house better than you, and with less expense.”
“Perhaps, monsieur,” replied Marie, with a bitter smile, “this servant might not, as I, have reared your son—”
“To hate his father?”
“Monsieur!”
“Enough! I saw that clearly this evening. If you had not prevented him, that blackguard would have used abusive language to me and ranged himself on your side. It is very plain, and he is not the only one. As soon as I arrive here, in my own house, each one of you says, ‘There is the enemy, there is the wild boar, there is the ogre!’ Ah, well, let me be an ogre; that suits me very well.”
“You are mistaken, monsieur; I have always taught your son the respect that is due you, and this evening even—”
“Enough!” cried Hercules, interrupting his wife.
And he pursued his thought with the tenacity of the drunkard, who concentrates upon one idea all the lucidity of mind left to him.
“I tell you again,” continued he, “that since our marriage you have served me in nothing; you have made of my son a coxcomb, who requires preceptors and pleasure excursions to drive away his hysterics, and who, over and above that, curses me; you have rifled my wood and my silver, you have stolen from me!”
“Monsieur!” cried Marie, indignant.
“You have stolen from me!” repeated Hercules, in such a thundering voice, that Marie clasped her hands, and murmured:
“Oh, for mercy’s sake, monsieur, not so loud, not so loud!”
“Now then, since in these seventeen years you have done me nothing but evil, this cannot last.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have enough of it.”
“But—”
“I have too much of it. I want no more of it.”
“I do not understand you, monsieur.”
“No? Well, then, when a person or a thing plagues me, I get rid of it, and the quicker the better.”
Notwithstanding his excitement, Madame Bastien did not for a moment believe that her husband thought of killing her; so, trying to discover his intention, under his mask of besotted anger, she said to him:
“If I understand you rightly, monsieur, you have decided to rid yourself of persons who annoy you or displease you?”
“Just so! As your little puppy of a son plagues me, to-morrow I will get rid of him.”
“You will get rid of him? But, monsieur—”
“Silence! Bridou will take him; he will take him away with him to-morrow evening, upon our return from Blémur.”
“You say, monsieur, that M. Bridou will take my son; please explain to me.”
“He will take him for his board as a young clerk, and your Benjamin who is not mine will be lodged, fed, and washed, and at eighteen years will get six hundred francs, if Bridou is satisfied with him.”
“Nobody will dispose of my son’s future without my consent, monsieur.”
“Eh!” replied Jacques, with a sort of hollow roar.
“Oh, monsieur, if you were to kill me on the spot, I would say the same thing.”
“Eh!” again roared the colossus, more threatening still.
“I tell you, monsieur, that my son shall not leave me. He will continue his studies under the direction of his preceptor. I will inform you, if you wish, of the plans I have for Frederick, and—”
“Ah! that is it, is it?” cried the colossus, furious at the resistance of his wife. “Ah, well, to-morrow I will take this Latin spitter by the shoulders and kick him out of my door. Another one who plagues me, and I will get rid of. As to you—”
“What will be my fate, monsieur?”
“You shall clear the house, like the others.”
“What do you say, monsieur?”
“When I have enough of a thing, or when I have too much of a thing or a person, I get rid of it.”
“So, monsieur, you intend to drive me out of your house?”
“Still stubborn, are you? For seventeen years you have been no good to me, you have turned my son against me, you have plundered my wood, stolen my silver, — all that plagues me, and I wish to get rid of it. But to begin, where are your jewels?”
“My jewels?” asked Marie, astonished at this unexpected demand.
“Yes, your jewels, valued at nearly one thousand francs; go and get them and give them to me; that will compensate me for the silver you have robbed me of.”
“I do not own these jewels any longer, monsieur.”
“What!”
“I have sold them.”
“What!” cried Jacques, stammering with anger, “you — you — you—”
“I have sold them, monsieur, at the same time the silver was sold, and for the same object.”
“You lie!” cried the colossus, in a formidabl
e voice.
“Oh, speak lower, monsieur, I implore you, speak lower.”
“You are hiding your jewels to keep from paying me,” added Hercules, taking a step toward his wife with his fists clenched, and his face livid with rage; “you are twice a thief!”
“Please, monsieur, do not scream so!” cried the young woman, not thinking of the grossness of the insults heaped upon her, but fearing that Frederick and David might be awakened by his loud talk.
In short, furious that he could not obtain his wife’s jewels as a compensation for the loss of his silver, — the one idea which had occupied his mind the whole evening, — Jacques, excited to frenzy by wine and disappointed rage, cried out:
“Ah! you have hidden those jewels, have you? Well, it will not be to-morrow that you will go out of my house, but it will be to-night, — at once.”
“Monsieur, this is a cruel jest,” replied Marie, overcome by so many bitter experiences. “I desire to go to my chamber; it is late, and I am chilled. To-morrow we will talk seriously; you will then regain your self-possession, and—”
“That is as much as to say I am drunk now, eh?”
“To-morrow, monsieur. Permit me to retire.”
Jacques, dreadful with anger, hatred, and drunkenness, walked up to his wife, and pointing to the dark corridor which conducted to the outside door, said:
“Go out of my house! I order you out, you double thief!”
Marie could not believe that Jacques was speaking seriously. She had been trying to end the painful conversation as soon as possible, to prevent the intervention of David and her son. So she answered, addressing her husband with the greatest sweetness, hoping thereby to calm him:
“Monsieur, I beseech you, go to your chamber, and let me go to mine. I repeat to you that to-morrow—”
“God’s thunder!” cried Jacques, beside himself with rage, “I did not tell you to go back to your chamber, but to go out of my house. Must I take you by the shoulders and put you out?”
“Outside!” cried Marie, who understood from the ferocity of Bastien’s face that he was speaking seriously.
It was ferocity, it was stupidity, but what could be expected from such a wretch, made furious by drink.
“Outside!” said Marie again, terrified. “But, monsieur, you do not mean it; it is night, it is cold.”
“What is all that to me?”
“Monsieur, I beseech you, come to yourself. My God! it is one o’clock in the morning; where do you wish me to go?”
“I will—”
“But, monsieur—”
“Once more! will you go out, thief?”
And the colossus made a step toward his wife.
“Monsieur, one word, just one word!”
“Twice, will you go out?”
And Jacques took another step toward his wife.
“Please listen to me.”
“Three times! will you go out?”
And the Hercules turned up his sleeves to take hold of his wife.
What could the unfortunate woman do?
Cry, — call for help?
Frederick and David would awaken, would run to the spot, and for Marie, there was something more horrible than this cruel, outrageous expulsion; it was the shame, the dreadful idea of being seen by her son fighting against her husband, who wished to thrust her, half naked, out of his house. Her dignity as wife and as mother revolted at this thought, and above all, at the idea of a desperate struggle between her son and her husband which might result in murder, — in parricide, — for Frederick would not stop at any extremity to defend a mother driven out of the house. Marie then submitted, and when Jacques started to seize her and repeated:
“Three times! will you go out?”
“Ah, well, yes, yes, monsieur, I will go out,” she replied, in a trembling voice. “I am going out immediately, but no noise, I implore you!”
Then desperate, extending her supplicating hands toward Jacques, who, still threatening, walked up to her and pointed to the outside door, Marie, going backwards step by step in the darkness, at last reached the end of the corridor.
Bastien opened the door.
A puff of icy wind rushed through the entrance.
Outside, nothing but darkness and drifting snow.
“Oh, my God! what a night!” murmured Marie, terrified in spite of her resolution, and wishing to turn back; “mercy, monsieur!”
“Good evening!” said the wretch, with a ferocious giggle, as he pushed his wife out of the door.
Then, shutting the door again, he bolted it.
Marie, bareheaded, and with no clothing but her dressing-gown, felt her feet sink into the thick layer of snow with which the floor of the porch was already covered, in spite of the rustic roof.
A ray of hope remained to the poor woman; for a moment, she believed that her husband was only perpetrating a joke as cruel as it was stupid; but she heard Jacques walking away heavily.
Soon he had reached his chamber, as Marie discovered by the light which shone through the window-blinds.
Frozen by the sharp, penetrating north wind, Marie’s teeth began to chatter convulsively. She tried to reach the stables situated in a neighbouring building. Unfortunately she found the garden gate fastened, and then she remembered that this garden, surrounded by buildings on all sides, was enclosed by a fence, in the middle of which was a door which she could not succeed in opening.
Three windows overlooked this garden, two belonging to the apartment of Jacques Bastien, and the other to the dining-room, where nobody slept.
Marie had no other help to expect.
She resigned herself to her fate.
The poor creature came back to the porch, swept off the snow which covered the threshold with her hands, and already chilled, stiffened by the cold, seated herself on the stone step, barely sheltered by the roof of the porch.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
JACQUES BASTIEN, AFTER having brutally put his wife out of the house, returned to his chamber with a tottering step, threw himself on the bed in his clothes, and fell into a profound sleep.
At three o’clock, according to the order he had given in the evening, Marguerite carried a light to her master and found him asleep; she had much difficulty in awakening him, and announced to him that old André had hitched the horse to the little carriage.
Jacques, still heavy with sleep and the consequences of his intoxication, which obscured his ideas, shook himself in his garments, like a tawny beast in his fur, passed his hand through his tangled hair, put on his back over his clothes an overcoat of goatskin with long hairs, rinsed his mouth with a full glass of brandy, and sent Marguerite to inform Bridou that all was ready for their departure.
Bastien’s head was aching, his ideas confused, and he scarcely had a vague remembrance of his atrocious brutality toward his wife; he struggled painfully against a violent desire to sleep, and while waiting for his companion, he seated himself on the edge of the bed, where he was beginning to sleep again, when Bridou entered.
“Come, Jacques, come along,” said the bailiff; “you look stupid all over, old fellow, shake yourself up.”
“There! there!” replied M. Bastien, standing upon his legs and rubbing his eyes. “My head is heavy and my eyes full of sand, — perhaps the fresh air will revive me. Wait, Bridou, drink a drop, and then we will set off on our journey. It is twelve miles from here to Blémur.”
“To your health, then, old fellow!” said the bailiff, pouring out a glass of brandy. “Ah, so, you will not drink?”
“Yes, indeed, it will wake me up, for my brain is devilishly confused.”
And, after having swallowed a new bumper of brandy, which, far from clearing his ideas, rendered them all the more confused, Bastien, preceding Bridou, went out of his chamber, followed the corridor and opened the door, through which he had driven his wife two hours before.
But Marie had left the porch where she had at first cowered.
The snow had ceased to fall.
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The moon shone in the sky, the cold was becoming more and more intense. Jacques felt it keenly, for he had just swallowed two glasses of brandy, and for a few moments he seemed bewildered, walking directly before him across the lawn, instead of following the walk which led to the gate.
Bridou saw the distraction of his friend and said to him:
“Jacques, Jacques, where in the devil are you going?”
“Sure enough,” responded the Hercules, stopping short and balancing himself on his legs. “Sure enough, old fellow,” said he. “I do not know what is the matter with me; I am besotted this morning. I go to the right when I mean to go to the left. It is the cold which pinches me so when I come out of the house.”
“It is enough to pinch one!” replied Bridou, shivering. “I have a hood and a comforter, and I am frozen.”
“You chilly fellow, go on!”
“That is very easy for you to say.”
“Come, Bridou, do you want my skin?”
“What! your skin?”
“My goatskin, you idiot!”
“And what will you do, Jacques?”
“Take it; when I get into the carriage the heat will fly to my head, and I shall sleep in spite of myself.”
“Then, Jacques, I accept your skin all the more cheerfully, my old fellow, for if you fall asleep you will turn us over.”
“Here, put it on,” said Jacques, taking off his goatskin, in which his companion soon wrapped himself. “Come, now,” said Bastien, passing his hand over his forehead, “I feel more like myself; I am better.”
And Jacques, with a less unsteady step, reached the gate that André had just opened from the outside, as he led the old white horse, hitched to the carriage, to a convenient spot for his master.
Bastien jumped into the carriage first; Bridou, embarrassed by the goatskin, stumbled on the foot-board.
“Take care, master, take care,” said old André, deceived by the goatskin, and thinking he was addressing M. Bastien. “Pay attention, master!”
“Jacques, this must be a regular lion’s skin,” whispered the bailiff. “Your servant takes me for you, old fellow, because I have on your cloak.”