Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “What dost thou want, then?”

  “I ask a supper and a shelter because your rich convent can well afford to give bread and shelter to poor travelers. Charity commands this from your abbot. And beside, in sheltering Christians, you do not give, you restore. Your abbey grows very fat from its tithes.”

  “Wilt thou be quiet, thou old heretic, thou insolent old fellow!”

  “You call me an insolent old fellow. Very well; learn, Don Surly, that I have still a crown in my wallet, and that I can do without your straw and your soup, Don Ribald.”

  “What dost thou mean by Don Ribald, rascal that thou art?” said the lay brother, advancing to the top of the steps. “Take care lest I give thy old rags a good shaking.”

  “Since we thee-and-thou each other, Don Drinker, take care in thy turn, Don Greedy, that I do not make thee taste of my stick, Don Big Paunch, infirm as I am, Don Brutal.”

  The vigorous monk for a moment made as though he was about to descend to chastise the Gascon, but he shrugged his shoulders and said to Croustillac: “If thou hast ever the impudence to present thyself at the porter’s lodge, thou wilt be thrashed to some purpose. That is the kind of hospitality thou wilt receive henceforth from the Abbey of St. Quentin.” Then addressing himself to the children: “And you be sure to tell your father that in eight days he pays or quits the farm, for, I repeat to you, that there is a farmer more solvent than he who wants it.”

  The monk shut the door brusquely.

  “I cannot tell it to the children,” said the adventurer, speaking to himself; “that would be a bad example for youth; but I had something like a feeling of remorse for having aided in the burning of a convent in the Moravian War — well, it pleases me to imagine that the roasted ones resembled this fat, big-bellied animal, and it makes me feel quite cheerful. The scoundrel! to treat those poor children so harshly! It is strange how I interest myself in them — if I had at least some reason for it, I should let myself hope. After all, why not clear up my doubts? What do I risk by it? I have plenty of money. Ah, then, my children,” said he to the young peasants, “your father is sick and poor? He will not be vexed to gain a little windfall; although I carry a wallet, I have a purse. Well, instead of going to dine and sleep at the inn (may the lightning strike me if I ever set foot in this abbey, the Lord confound it!) I will go and dine and sleep at your place. I will not be any trouble to you. I have been a soldier, I am not hard to suit; a stool in the chimney corner, a morsel of lard, a glass of cider, and for the night a bundle of fresh straw, the gentle warmth of the stable — that is all I need; and that means a piece of twenty-four sous which will come into your house. What do you say to that?”

  “My father is not an innkeeper, sir,” answered the young boy.

  “Bah! bah! my boy, if the good man has sense; if the good mother is a housekeeper, as she ought to be, they will not regret my coming; this piece of good luck will make your pot boil for a whole day. Come, conduct me to your farm, my children; your father would scold you for not bringing him an old soldier.”

  In spite of his apparent roughness and his uncouth figure, the chevalier inspired James and Angela with confidence; the children took each other by the hand and walked before the invalid soldier, who followed them absorbed in a profound reverie.

  At the end of an hour’s walk, they arrived at the entrance of a long avenue of apple trees, which led to the farm.

  CHAPTER XXXVII.

  REUNION.

  JAMES AND ANGELA entered the farm in order to learn if their father would consent to give the old soldier hospitality. While waiting the return of the children, the adventurer closely scanned the outbuildings of the farm.

  Everything appeared to be carried on with care and neatness; at the side of the working buildings was the farmer’s house; two immense walnut trees shaded the door and its thatched roof of velvety green moss; a light smoke escaped from the brick chimney; the sound of the ocean was heard in the distance, as the farm lay almost on the cliffs of the coast.

  The rain began to fall; the wind moaned; a shepherd boy was bringing home from the fields two beautiful brown cows which turned toward their warm stable, causing their little bells to give forth a melancholy sound. The adventurer was touched by this peaceful scene. He envied the lot of the people of this farm, even though he knew their momentary embarrassment. He saw approaching him a woman pale and small in figure, and of middle-age. She was dressed like the peasants of Picardy, but with extreme neatness. Her son accompanied her; her daughter remained in the doorway.

  “We are very much grieved, sir.”

  Hardly had the woman said these words, when Croustillac became as pale as a ghost, extended his arms toward her without saying a word, let his cane escape, lost his equilibrium and fell suddenly his full length on a heap of dry leaves which was, happily, behind him.

  The adventurer had fainted.

  The Duchess of Monmouth (for it was she) not at once recognizing the chevalier, attributed his weakness to fatigue or need, and hastened, with the assistance of her two children, to resuscitate the stranger.

  James, a strong boy for his age, supported the old man to the trunk of one of the walnut trees, while his mother and sister hurried off to seek a cordial. In opening the chevalier’s coat in order to facilitate his respiration, James saw, attached by a leathern braid, the rich medallion which the adventurer carried on his breast.

  “Mother! see this beautiful reliquary,” said the young lad.

  The duchess approached and was in turn stupefied at recognizing the medallion she had once given Croustillac. Then, regarding the chevalier with closer attention, she cried:

  “It is he! it is the generous man who saved us!”

  The chevalier began to revive. When he opened his eyes they were filled with tears.

  It would be impossible to paint the happiness, the transports of the good Croustillac.

  “You in this dress, madame! you whom I see after so many years! When I heard these children just now call each other James and Angela, my heart beat so strong! But I could not believe — hope — And the duke?”

  The Duchess of Monmouth put one finger on her lips, shook her head sadly, and said: “You are going to see him! Alas! why should the pleasure of seeing you again be saddened by the sickness of James? Had it not been for this, to-day would have been beautiful for us.”

  “I can hardly recognize you again, madame; you, in this costume — in this sad condition.”

  “Silence! my children may hear you. But wait a moment here; I will go and prepare my husband to receive you.”

  After some minutes the adventurer entered Monmouth’s room; the latter was extended on one of those green serge canopied beds such as may still be seen in the houses of some of the peasants.

  Although he was emaciated by suffering, and was at that time more than fifty years old, the physiognomy of the duke showed the same gracious and high character.

  Monmouth held out his hands affectionately to Croustillac, and indicating a chair at his bed, said to him: “Seat yourself there, my good friend. To what miraculous chance do we owe this happy meeting? I cannot believe my eyes! So, chevalier, we are reunited after more than eighteen years of separation. Ah! how often Angela and I have spoken of you and of your devoted generosity. Our regret was not being able to tell our children the debt of gratitude that we owe you, and which they also owe you.”

  “Ah, well, my duke, consider what is most pressing,” said the Gascon, “each in his turn.”

  So saying, he took his knife from his pocket, unfastened his coat, and gravely made a large incision in the lining.

  “What are you doing?” asked the duke.

  The chevalier drew from his secret pocket a kind of leathern purse, and said to the duke: “There is in this one hundred double-louis, your highness; on the other side there is as much. This is the first of my savings on my pay, and the price of the leg which I left the past year at the battle of Mohiloff, after the passage of Beresina; for he
was first, Peter the Great — well-named — in paying generously the soldiers of fortune who enrolled themselves in his service and who gave, many of them, the sacrifice of some one of their limbs.”

  “But, my friend, I do not understand you,” said Monmouth, gently pushing away the purse which the adventurer tendered him.

  “I will be explicit, my lord; you are in arrears to the amount of one hundred crowns of rent, and you are threatened with being turned out of this farm in eight days. It is a pot-bellied animal, bearded and corpulent, robed in the garb of a monk, who has made this threat to your poor, dear children but a short time since at the convent door.”

  “Alas, James! this is only too probable,” said Angela, sadly, to her husband.

  “I fear it,” said Monmouth, “but this is not a reason, my friend, to accept — —”

  “But, my lord, it seems to me that you made me such a fine gift, it is now eighteen years ago, that we might well share it to-day; and when we speak of the past, in order to disembarrass yourself at once of what concerns me, and to speak henceforth of your affairs at our ease, my lord, in two words, this is my history. Upon my arrival at Rochelle, Father Griffen told me that you had presented me the Unicorn and its cargo!”

  “My God! my friend, this was such a small thing after all that you had done for us,” said James.

  “May we not at least recognize all that you have done for us?” said Angela.

  “Without doubt, it was little — it was nothing at all — a cup of coffee well sugared, with rum to soften it, was it not? Only the cup was a ship, and to fill it there was coffee and sugar and rum, the cargo of a vessel of eight hundred tons — the whole worth two hundred thousand crowns. You are right — it was less than nothing — but in order to put aside useless discussion and to be frank, Zounds! this gift wounded me — —”

  “My friend — —”

  “I was paid by this medallion — speak no more of it. Besides, I have no longer the right to resent it; I made deed of gift of the whole to Father Griffen in order that he might in his turn give it to the poor, or to the convent, or to the devil if he chose to.”

  “Can it be possible that you refused it?” exclaimed both husband and wife.

  “Yes, I did refuse it, and I am sure, my lord, although you pretend surprise, that you would have acted as I did. I was not already so rich in good works as not to keep the memory of Devil’s Cliff pure and without stain. It was a costly luxury, perhaps, but I had been James of Monmouth twenty-four hours, and somewhat of my rôle of grand seigneur still clung to me.”

  “Noble and excellent heart!” exclaimed Angela.

  “But,” said Monmouth, “you were so poor!”

  “It is just because I am used to poverty and an adventurous life that that cost me nothing — I said to myself: ‘Polyphème — consider! thou hast dreamed this night that thou wast worth two hundred thousand crowns.’ I dreamed this dream — all has been said — and that did me good. Yes, often in Russia, when I was in misery — in distress — or when I was nailed to my pallet by a wound, I said to myself, to comfort and to rejoice me: ‘After all, Polyphème, for once in thy life thou hast done something noble and generous.’ Well, you may believe me, that restored my courage. But this is boasting, and what is worse, it unmans me — let us return to my departure from Rochelle. I avow it to you and I thank you for it; nevertheless, I have profited a little by your generosity. As nothing remained to me of my three unlucky crowns, and that was a small sum to travel to Moscow on, I borrowed twenty-five louis from Master Daniel on the cargo; I paid my passage on a Hamburg ship from Hamburg to Fallo; I embarked for Revel on a Swedish vessel; from Revel I went to Moscow; I arrived there like seafish in Lent; Admiral Lefort was recruiting a forlorn hope to reinforce the polichnie of the czar; in other words, the first company of infantry equipped and maneuvering after the German mode which had existed in Russia. I had made the campaign in Flanders with the ‘reiters;’ I knew the service; I was then enrolled in the polichnie of the czar, and I had the honor of having this great man for file closer, for he served in this company as a simple soldier, seeing he had the habit of thinking that in order to know a trade it is necessary to learn it.

  “Once incorporated in the Muscovite army, I served in all the wars. Do not think, my lord, that I am going to recount to you my campaigns, to speak to you of the siege of Azof, where I received a saber cut on my head; the taking of Astrakhan under Scheremetoff, where I received a lance thrust in my loins; of the siege of Narva, where I had the honor of aiming at his majesty, Charles XII., and the good fortune to miss him; and finally, the great battle of Dorpat.

  “No, no, do not fear, my lord; I keep these fine stories to put your children to sleep with during the winter nights, in the chimney corner, when the seawinds rage in the branches of your old walnut trees. All that remains for me to say to you, my lord, is that I have made war ever since I left you, first as a noncommissioned officer, and then as lieutenant. I might have done it still, perhaps, if last year I had not forgotten one of my legs at Mohiloff. The czar generously gave me the capital of my pension, and I returned to France because, after all, it is there that one dies best — when one is born there; I went on foot, lounging along, regaining my paternal valley, lodging and sleeping in the abbeys to spare my purse, when chance — this time, no,” said the chevalier, in a grave and penetrating tone which contrasted greatly with his ordinary language, “oh, this time, no — it was not chance, but the providence of the good God which caused me to meet with your children, my lord; they have brought me here; I fell back in a swoon on a heap of dry leaves on recognizing the duchess, and here I am.

  “Now, here is my plan — at least, if you consent to it, my lord. My paternal valley is very empty — my father and my mother are long since dead; I should wish, of all things, to establish myself near you. Although lame, I am still good for something, if only to serve as a scarecrow to hinder the birds from eating your apples and cherries. I will forget that you are ‘my lord:’ I will call you ‘Master James,’ I will call the duchess, ‘Dame James,’ your children shall call me Father Polyphème; I will tell them of my battles, and it will go on like that, vitam æternam.”

  “Yes! yes! we accept; you shall never leave us,” said James and Angela together, their eyes filled with tears.

  “But on one condition,” said the chevalier, drying his eyes also, “that is, that I, who am as proud as a peacock, shall pay you, in advance, my board; and that you will accept from me these two hundred louis that you refused; total, six thousand livres; at five hundred francs a year, twelve of board. In twelve years we will make another lease.”

  “But, my friend — —”

  “But, my lord, it is yes or no. If it is yes, I remain, and I am more happy than I deserve to be. If it is no, I take again my stick, my wallet, and I start for the paternal valley, where I shall die, in a corner sadly and all alone, like an old dog who has lost his master.”

  Grotesque as were these words, they were spoken in a tone so full of emotion and so touching that the duke and his wife could not refuse the offer of the chevalier: “Well then, I accept.”

  “Hurrah!” cried Croustillac, in the voice of a stentor, and he accompanied this Muscovite exclamation by throwing into the air his old fur cap.

  “Yes, I accept with all my heart, my old friend,” said Monmouth, “and — why conceal it from you? — this unexpected succor which you offer us so generously, saves, perhaps, my life — saves, perhaps, my wife and children from misery, for this sum sets us afloat again, and we can brave two years as bad as those which have been the cause of our first embarrassment. Fatigue, chagrin, fear for the future, have made me ill; now, tranquil as to the fate of my dear ones, assured of a friend like you — I am sure that my health will return to me.”

  “Zounds! my lord, how did it happen that, with the enormous amount of jewels that you had, you are reduced?”

  “Angela will tell you that, my friend; emotion at once so keen and s
o sweet as I feel has fatigued me.”

  “After having left you on board of the Unicorn,” said Angela “we set sail for Brazil; we sojourned there some time, but from prudence, we resolved to depart for India on board a Portuguese vessel. We had lived three years in this little-known country, very happy and very tranquil, when I fell seriously ill. One of the best physicians in Bombay declared that the climate of India would become fatal to me; my native air alone could save me. You know how James loves me; it was impossible for me to alter his resolution; he chose at all hazards to return to Europe, to France, in spite of the dangers that threatened him. We started from the Cape in a Dutch ship, making sail for the Texel. We possessed a very considerable sum coming from the sale of our jewels. Our voyage was very fortunate as far as the coast of France, but there a terrible tempest assailed us. After losing her masts, and being beaten about by the waves for three days, our ship went ashore on the coast a quarter of a league from here; by a miracle of Heaven, James and I alone escaped an almost certain death. Several of the passengers were, like us, cast on the beach during this horrible night — all perished. I repeat to you, my friend, that a miracle from Heaven was necessary to save us, James and me — to save me especially, ill as I was. The tenants whom we replaced on this farm found us almost dying on the shore; they brought us here. The ship was swallowed up with all our riches; James, occupied solely with me, had forgotten all; we no longer possessed anything; I was an orphan with no fortune; James could not apply to any one without being recognized.

  “What remained to us in Martinique had, without doubt, been confiscated — and then, how could we claim this property? For all resource there remained to us a ring which I wore on my finger at the time of the ship-wreck; we intrusted it to the tenants of this farm, who had received us, to sell the diamond at Abbeville; they got for it about four thousand livres — that was all our store. My health was so affected that we were obliged to stop here; this measure, besides reconciled both prudence and economy; the farmers were good, full of cares for us.