by Eugène Sue
“What?”
“I am your rival.”
“Rival! how is that?”
“I love Blue Beard, and I am resolved at all hazards to go to her and to please her.”
“Clasp hands, brother.”
“A moment — I must say to you that when Polyphème Croustillac wishes to please, he pleases; when he pleases, one loves him; and when one loves him, one loves him madly and unto death.”
“Clasp hands, brother.”
“I will not touch your hand until you tell me if you will accept me openly for your rival?”
“And if not?”
“If not, break my head; you will be right in so doing. We are alone; your servant will not betray you; but I will never renounce the hope, the certainty, of pleasing Blue Beard.”
“Ah, this is another matter.”
“A last question,” continued the chevalier; “You go often to Devil’s Cliff?”
“I go often to Devil’s Cliff.”
“You see Blue Beard?”
“I see her.”
“You love her?”
“I love her.”
“She loves you?”
“She loves me.”
“You?”
“Me.”
“She loves you?”
“To madness — —”
“She has told you so?”
“And — Blue Beard — —”
“Is my mistress.”
“On the word of a buccaneer?”
“On the word of a buccaneer.”
“Then,” said the chevalier to himself, “there is no more discretion among barbarians than among civilized people. Who would say at the sight of such a stupid fellow, that he was a coxcomb?” Then he said aloud, “Ah, well, then, I repeat to you, break my head, for if you spare my life I shall reach Devil’s Cliff; I shall do all I can to please Blue Beard, and I shall please her, I warn you. So, then, once more, break my head, or resign yourself to seeing in me a rival, shortly a happy rival!”
“I say to you, clasp hands, brother.”
“How? in spite of what I say?”
“Yes.”
“It does not alarm you?”
“No.”
“It is all the same to you if I go to Devil’s Cliff?”
“I will conduct you there, myself.”
“Yourself?”
“To-day.”
“And I shall see Blue Beard?”
“You shall see her as often as you wish.”
The chevalier, moved by the confidence in him which the buccaneer testified, did not wish to abuse it; he said in a solemn tone, “Listen, buccaneer, you are as generous as a savage; this is not by way of offense; but, my worthy friend, my loyal enemy, you are as ignorant as a savage. Reared in the midst of the forest, you have no idea what a man is who has passed his life in pleasing, seducing; you do not know the marvelous resources which such a man finds in his natural attractions; you do not know the irresistible influence of a word, a gesture, a smile, a look! This poor Blue Beard does not know either; to judge from what they say of her three husbands. They were three worthless fellows, three vagabonds; she rid herself of them, rightly. Why has she rid herself of them? Because she sought an ideal, an unknown being, the dream of her dreams. Now, my brave friend, always be it said without offense, you cannot deceive yourself to such a degree as to think that you realize this dream of Blue Beard; you cannot really take yourself for a Celadon — for an Adonis — —”
The buccaneer looked at Croustillac with a stupid air and did not appear to understand him; he said, pointing to the sun, “The sun is setting; we have four leagues to make before we arrive at Devil’s Cliff; let us start.”
“This unhappy man,” thought the chevalier, “has not the slightest idea of the danger he runs; it is a pity to disabuse his blindness; it is like striking a child; it is snaring a sitting pheasant; it is killing a sleeping man; on the honor of De Croustillac, it gives me scruples.” Then aloud, “You do not understand, then, my brave friend, that this man as seductive as irresistible of whom I speak is none other than myself?”
“Ah, bah! it is impossible.”
“Your surprise is not flattering, brave hunter, but if I speak thus to you of myself, it is that honor compels me to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. You do not understand that, once having seen me, Blue Beard will love me; and she will not love you any more, my poor Rend-your-Soul. Understand, then, that it would be cowardly and treasonable on my part not to warn you in advance as to the position you hold with Blue Beard. I repeat, from the moment when I put foot in Devil’s Cliff, from the moment she sees me, when she hears me, her love for you is at an end. Meantime, I have warned you, loyally warned you; consider if you are willing to risk it.”
“Clasp hands, brother,” said the buccaneer, seemingly insensible to the danger that the chevalier pointed out to him. “Let us be going. We will arrive at night at Devil’s Cliff; a fall from the precipice would not be pleasant at this hour.”
“Come on — you are mad — so be it, but I have warned you; it will be open war,” said the chevalier.
The buccaneer, without making any reply to the chevalier, said to his servant, “Shut up the dogs in the house, and have ready two dozen bulls’ skins, which will be needed to-morrow at Basse-Terre; I shall not return to-night.”
“It falls aright,” said the servant to himself, and with a shrewd air; “he sleeps away from the hut one night in every three.”
While the buccaneer attached his belt, the chevalier said to himself, looking at the hunter with a feeling of pity, “Faith! but he puts the rope gayly about his own throat; since he will not heed my warning, let him look out for himself. It appears that lovers are, in such cases, no wiser than husbands. But as regards Blue Beard — if she is pretty — it must be that she is — can she receive such a savage? Poor little thing. It is very simple. She does not know the compensation that is reserved for her. Hail to the gods. Croustillac, thy star has arisen!” continued the chevalier, after some minutes of reflection.
“Come, brother, let us start,” said the buccaneer; “but before doing so, Peter shall envelop your legs in a piece of skin which he has, for we are going to traverse a bad quarter for serpents.”
The chevalier thanked the buccaneer, not without shrugging his shoulders in pity for him, and said, “Unhappy man! he is shoeing me, but I shall put a cap on him!”
This stupid joke was to be fatally punished in Croustillac, who followed his guide with renewed ardor, for was he not going to see Blue Beard?
PART II.
CHAPTER XII.
THE MARRIAGE.
AFTER FOUR HOURS’ walk the chevalier and the buccaneer arrived close to Devil’s Cliff. The road was so difficult and so much incumbered that the two companions could scarcely converse. Croustillac became more thoughtful the nearer his approach to the dwelling of Blue Beard; in spite of the good opinion he had of himself, in spite of his consoling reflections regarding the allegorical nudity of Venus and Truth, he regretted that his natural advantages were not set off by costly garments. He ventured, then, after some hesitation, to tell a falsehood to the buccaneer. “I assure you, my true and worthy rival, that my servants and trunks are at St. Pierre and I find myself, as you see, hardly clothed in a proper fashion to present myself before the queen of my thoughts.”
“What do you mean?” said the buccaneer.
“What I would say, brave Nimrod, is that I have the appearance of a beggar, in that my coat and shoes, which yesterday were almost new, are to-day abominably tattered and appear at least six months old.”
“Six months? Oh! they are devilishly older than that to all appearances, my brother.”
“All which proves how torrid your devilish sun is; in one day it has faded my clothing which yesterday was the freshest sea-green, the most tender and coquettish of colors, until now — —”
“They are almost mould-green,” said the buccaneer. “It is like your
shoulder-strap — our devouring sun eats gold until he leave but a red thread.”
“What signifies the shoulder-strap if the sword is free and strong from the scabbard?” said Croustillac proudly. Then softening his tones, he continued, “It is just because I am momentarily in an outfit unworthy my rank, that I would inquire if I can find garments more suitable at Devil’s Cliff?”
“Ah, do you think that Blue Beard keeps a second-hand clothing establishment?” said the buccaneer.
“Heaven forbid that I should accuse her of such an ignoble traffic! But, in fine, it would not be surprising if, as I say, by chance, there had been overlooked in some corner of a clothes-press some garments belonging to one of the deceased husbands of our charming friend?”
“Ah!” said the buccaneer.
“Well?” replied the chevalier imperturbably, “although it would cost me an effort to appear in what did not belong to me, and above all, in what could not fit me very well, I would reconcile myself to so doing, in default of my fine clothing now at St. Pierre, even at the risk of being abominably disfigured, perhaps, by the chance garments,” continued he disdainfully.
The buccaneer broke into peals of laughter at the singular notion of his companion. Croustillac colored with annoyance and said, “Zounds! you are very facetious, my friend.”
“I laugh because I see I am not alone in the traffic of skins,” said Rend-your-Soul. “Truly we are brothers! If I despoil the bulls of their skins, you are not too proud to despoil one of the husbands of the widow. But we are now at the foot of the cliff. Take care, friend, one must have a sure foot and a true eye to climb this ascent unharmed! If you find it too rough, you need go no further; I will send you a guide to conduct you back to Macouba.”
“Remain here! at my journey’s end, almost! after a thousand difficulties! at the moment when I shall see and captivate this enchantress, Blue Beard,” cried the chevalier. “You have lost your wits. Come on, comrade, what you do, I will do,” said the chevalier.
Truth to say, thanks to his long legs, his natural agility and his coolness, Croustillac followed the buccaneer over the perilous road that led to the mansion, across the terrible precipice of Devil’s Cliff. A signal from the buccaneer and the wall of the platform was scaled, and, with his companion, he entered the outer buildings.
Reaching the covered passage which led to the widow’s especial suite, the buccaneer whispered a word in the ear of the mulattress. She took the chevalier’s hand and led him to a stairway in the passage. Croustillac hesitated a moment to follow the slave. The buccaneer said, “Go on, brother, you do not wish to present yourself thus before the widow; I have said a word to old Jennette, and she is going to provide you with the means to shine like the sun. As for me, I go to announce your arrival to Blue Beard.”
So saying, the buccaneer disappeared in the covered passage. Croustillac, guided by the mulattress, came to a room very elegantly and comfortably furnished.
“Zounds!” cried the adventurer, rubbing his hands and taking long strides, “this begins well. Provided I can appear to advantage, provided that the deceased husbands of the widow had decent figures and that their clothes will not disfigure me too much, I shall please — I shall captivate the widow; and this animal of a buccaneer, ousted by me from the heart of Blue Beard, will return to-morrow — perhaps even to-night, to his forest.”
Croustillac soon saw a number of negroes enter the room. One of them staggered under an enormous parcel; the other carried on a chased silver tray a silver gilt dish, wherein smoked a soup of the most appetizing odor; two glass carafes, one filled with old Bordeaux, the color of rubies, the other with Madeira wine, color of topaz, flanked the dish and completed this light refreshment sent to the chevalier by the widow. While one of the slaves placed before him a little table of ebony inlaid with ivory, the negro bearing the parcel laid upon the bed a costume of black velvet ornamented by rich flowers embroidered in gold. What was singular about the coat was that the left sleeve was of cherry-colored satin; this sleeve closed above the wrist with a broad facing of buffalo skin.
For the rest, with the exception of this peculiarity, the coat was elegantly cut; stockings of very fine silk, a rhinegrave, or cravat, of magnificent lace, a large felt hat adorned with beautiful white plumes and a heavy gold cord were to complete the transformation of the adventurer.
While the chevalier endeavored to divine why the left sleeve of this black velvet coat was of cherry-colored silk, the two negroes prepared a bath in a neighboring dressing-room; another slave asked Croustillac in quite pure French if he would be shaved and have his hair dressed; Croustillac assented. Entirely refreshed and invigorated by an aromatic bath, wrapped in a dressing-gown of fine Holland linen which exhaled the most exquisite odors, the adventurer lounged on a soft divan while the slaves waved enormous fans.
The chevalier, in spite of his blind faith in his destiny, which, according to him, was to become as beautiful as it had heretofore been miserable, believed himself at times in a dream.
His wildest hopes were surpassed; in casting a complacent glance on the rich costume with which he was clothed, and which was to render him fatally irresistible, he was seized with a feeling akin to remorse, on account of the buccaneer, who had so unwisely given ingress to the wolf into this fold in which dwelt his love. The thought of this good fellow made Croustillac smile; he was prepared to bewilder Blue Beard by language in which he would be victorious over her barbarous adorers.
Suddenly a horrible fear obscured the smiling prospect for the Gascon. He began to fear for the first time that Blue Beard might be repulsively plain; he had also the modesty to think that perhaps it would be too much of him to require of fate that Blue Beard be of an ideal beauty.
Croustillac possessed good qualities. He said to himself with the conviction of a man who knew perfectly how to moderate and set bounds to his ambition— “Providing the widow be not more than from forty to fifty years; that she be not blind or outrageously lame; that she has some teeth and hair — faith! her wine is so good, her service so fine, her servants so attentive — if she is worth three or four millions, I consent to take the risk my predecessors did, and to make the widow happy, on the honor of De Croustillac! seeing that I prefer to take the consequences of my rôle as a husband rather than return on board the Unicorn and swallow lighted candles for the amusement of that amphibious animal, Captain Daniel. Well, then, should Blue Beard be plain, and of overripe age, she is still a millionaire, and I will take care of this good lady, and will be so very agreeable to her that, far from sending me to join the other dead husbands, she will have no desire but that of cherishing me dearly, and embellishing my life by all kinds of delicious cares. Come, come, Croustillac,” said the adventurer, with increased exaltation, “I say truly, your star is in the ascendent, and shall shine more than in the past it has been overcast! Yes, it is in the ascendent.”
So saying, the chevalier called one of the blacks who was awaiting his orders in a neighboring room, and with his assistance put on the velvet dress with the cherry colored sleeve. The Gascon was tall, but bony and thin; the garment which he donned was made for a man of the same height, but broad-chested and small in the waist; so the vest formed some large folds about the body of Croustillac; and his cherry-colored stockings draped themselves no less majestically about his long, thin, and nervous legs.
The chevalier did not concern himself about these slight imperfections of his costume; he threw a final glance at his reflection in the Venetian mirror which the slave held up to him, arranged his rough, black hair, caressed his long mustache, hung his formidable sword to a rich strap of buffalo skin which had been brought to him, proudly put on the felt hat with golden cord and white plumes, and, strutting up and down the room with a triumphant air, impatiently awaited the moment of presentation to the widow. This moment arrived shortly. The aged mulattress who had received the adventurer came to seek him, and begging him to follow her, ushered him into the retired building which
we have already seen.
The room in which Croustillac waited some moments was furnished with a luxury of which he had heretofore had no idea; superb old paintings, magnificent porcelains, curiosities in goldsmith’s work, of the most costly nature, incumbered the furniture, as valuable on account of its material as for its workmanship; a lute and a theorbo, whose ornaments of ivory and gold were of a finish most uncommon in carving, attracted the attention of Croustillac, who was delighted to think that his future wife was a musician.
“Zounds!” cried the chevalier, “is it possible that the mistress of so much wealth is as beautiful as the day? No, no, I should be too fortunate; although I deserve this happiness.”
We may judge of the surprise, not to say the shock, to the Gascon when Angela entered. The little widow was radiant in youth, grace, beauty and dress; robed in a costume of the fashion of Louis the Fourteenth, she wore a dress of sky blue, the long waist of which seemed to be embroidered with diamonds, pearls and rubies, though this profusion of gems was arranged with taste.
Croustillac, in spite of his audacity, recoiled before such a vision. In all his life he had never encountered a woman so ravishingly pretty, so royally dressed; he could not believe his eyes; he looked at her with bewilderment. We must say, to the chevalier’s credit, that he had a laudable attack of modesty, but unhappily as fleeting as sincere. He thought that so charming a creature might perhaps hesitate to marry an adventurer like himself; but he recalled his impertinent and vainglorious confidences to the buccaneer; he said to himself that, after all, one man was as good as another, and he recovered very rapidly his imperturbable assurance.
Croustillac made, one after another, three of the most respectful bows; in order to resume his upright attitude and at the same time display the nobility of his figure, advancing on one of his long legs, and drawing the other a little behind it, he assumed a conquering air, holding his hat in the right hand and resting his left hand upon the handle of his sword. Doubtless he was about to make some gallant compliment to Blue Beard, for he had already placed his hand on his heart, and opened his large mouth, when the little widow, who could no longer repress an irresistible desire to laugh at the absurd appearance of the chevalier, gave free vent to her hilarity. This explosion of gayety shut Croustillac’s mouth and he endeavored to smile, hoping thus to humor Blue Beard.