Collected Works of Gaston Leroux

by Gaston Leroux

  These mercenary calculations into the scene of which Chéri-Bibi’s fantastic destiny had thrown him, induced a feeling of small respect for “the privileged classes,” for whom, for that matter, he had always felt but scant admiration. He wanted, with the help of champagne, to forget present intrigues; to fly beyond the seas and to dream of Cecily’s angelic face, of the virtuous wife and perfect mother devoted to the duties of her home. What would he not have given to see her seated by his side in preference to those perfumed dolls who had never known the meaning of the word virtue.

  “In the meantime, old chap, your wife is carrying on with some other...”

  The words burst like a thunderclap on Chéri-Bibi’s reverie. They were flung at the Marquis, in a burst of laughter, by the mistress of the lanky Robert, who at once requested Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu to moderate her language.

  Chéri-Bibi became as pale as a ghost.

  “It’s not true,” he cried.

  At once every eye was turned on him, and the guests exchanged glances; and then there was an outburst of gayety.

  The Countess took up the running.

  “What did you say?”

  “I?” exclaimed Chéri-Bibi in a blank voice. “I... I didn’t say anything.”

  It seemed to him, in fact, that he had not spoken, but that it was some one else... some one else who uttered those words which he, like the rest of them, had caught.... He did not enter into any further explanation. He was fiercely silent, feeling intensely that he could not be too silent successfully to master the rage which consumed him against the wretched creatures who had dared to insult his idol; against the baseness of the Marquis who had expressed no indignation, nor uttered even a protest, fully occupied as he was, doubtless, with the airs and graces of Madame d’Artigues; against the brother who had not struck down the hussy for speaking in such terms of his sister.

  The Countess interposed with wonderful cleverness and tact, and with the grace of a great lady whom nothing can disconcert and who utters the exact word that is needed in the most difficult situations. She paid a great compliment to Chéri-Bibi, to his rough exterior and his golden heart, his fine conscience and the many qualities which made of him a “veritable French knight-errant.”

  Never had she heard him speak ill of women, and he strained points of honor to such an extent that he would not allow others to speak ill of them in his presence. In truth the Countess was astonishing. She had amazed her fellow-prisoners by her command of the lowest form of speech, and now she was expressing herself “in society” with the utmost elegance.... Unfortunately her charming intervention on his behalf had no other effect than to turn the conversation on poor Cecily.

  “Well, be careful, for it won’t be long before she is carrying on with..

  Nadège de Valrieu and Carmen de Fontainebleau were at one in hinting that M. de Pont-Marie’s assiduities in regard to the Marchioness du Touchais were self-interested. They knew him of old, that particular bird; and he would never have remained behind unless he had found something to interest him.

  “Well, between ourselves, he isn’t difficult to please,” ended Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu, who, as the mistress of Cecily’s brother, could not endure the Bourrelier family. “The last time I saw her in Dieppe was when I was coming back from the races. She was wearing a hat!... I fancy I see myself wearing one like it....”

  Carmen added her quota.

  “Look here, she’s not so very plain.”

  “You’re too funny when you talk like that,” said the Marquis, and he burst into laughter.

  Chéri-Bibi was suffering like a soul in pain, and such he was, but never from his earliest days had he borne such torment. His punishments as a convict were caresses on his thick skin compared with the searing of his soul at that moment, the soul of Chéri-Bibi. The Countess was startled by the sight of him. She feared for a while lest he should fall stone dead in the middle of the banquet. And then by slow degrees his color returned... returned with a smile.

  “Very soon,” thought Chéri-Bibi, “very soon, Miles. Nadège and Carmen, I will hand you... you who are not so very plain... over to my men. And as to you, Maxime du Touchais, as to you, I shall have to think of something... think of something.”

  His eyes encountered the gaze of the Kanaka, who had not hitherto uttered a word, and he recalled the ugly story which ran through the cages about that peculiar individual.

  “Very soon I’ll hand you over to the tender mercies of the Kanaka.”

  That was the reason why Chéri-Bibi was now smiling.

  CHAPTER X

  A STROLL IN THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS

  FROM THAT MOMENT Chéri-Bibi took the lead in the conversation and gave it a singularly sprightly turn. He entered with dash and spirit into a burlesque version of the mutiny of the convicts, and of the extraordinary adventures through which the crew had passed after Chéri-Bibi’s daring escape. He described the incidents in detail so well, in fact, that Chéri-Bibi himself could not have told the story with greater effect. Now he was expatiating on scenes of horror which sent a thrill through the ladies, and anon on scenes of comedy which were tremendously emphasized by the boisterous laughter of his officers and crew who had “particularly distinguished themselves in the recent affair”; so that what the tragic vision conjured up by the Captain, and the disquieting merriment of most of the persons present, the shipwrecked guests felt an indefinable dread steal over them which hampered their enjoyment.

  The champagne flowed like water, and the gaiety, which was almost general, increased in consequence until it became somewhat coarse. The officers especially began to forget the reserve which is the tradition with Frenchmen in uniform, and, above all, in the presence of ladies.

  A certain lieutenant was at the table who alone made a considerable noise, and it was impossible to keep him quiet.

  “Will you hold your tongue, Toper?”

  So all those gentlemen had odd surnames — Little Buddha, the Top, and so forth — and flung them from one end of the table to the other with a familiarity which difference in rank in no way deterred.

  Baron Proskof, whose mind had been depressed by the loss of his beloved wife, roused himself from his lethargy to express to his friends by a bewildered look the astonishment that filled him on observing such laxity of manners in the French navy.

  Robert Bourrelier shook his head, and Maxime du Touchais coughed in a way that was understood by M. d’Artigues, who, as a journalist accustomed to move in official circles, could not refrain from whispering:

  “They’ve no idea of such things at the Ministry of the Navy.”

  These various movements were not lost on Chéri-Bibi, who accounted for the tone at the banquet by a good-humored sentence which secured the approval of the ladies.

  “We belong to one and the same family on board the Bayard.”

  “It’s extraordinary,” said Madame d’Artigues, “what a resemblance there is between you all.”

  “No doubt that comes from the fact that you have as little hair on your heads as mushrooms,” said Mlle. Nadège de Valrieu.

  “Or as convicts,” added Mlle. Carmen de Fontainebleau, laughing heartily at what she considered to be an excellent joke.

  The last remark threw, as it were, a “wet blanket” over the company. A silence fell, during which the men looked at each other askance, and then Little Buddha slapped his thigh and exclaimed, “What a good joke!” whereupon a tremendous burst of laughter resounded through the Captain’s cabin.

  Chéri-Bibi, with his usual presence of mind, replied that if the officers and men had had their hair cut so short it was entirely because they wished “to show the convicts a good example.”

  “However many rings the Captain has,” exclaimed Carrots, “that doesn’t prevent him from being a jolly good fellow.”

  “Yes, yes,” they shouted, “a jolly good fellow.”

  “He certainly looks one,” agreed Carmen de Fontainebleau.

  “You are a jolly g
ood fellow,” said Madame d’Artigues, “but what are ‘rings’?”

  “Rings,” replied Chéri-Bibi, without turning a hair, “are, in service slang, gold stripes. Don’t imagine, ladies and gentlemen, though I allow my men to treat me as the father of the family,” he thought it well to add, “that discipline is any the worst for it. I know my duty, and I can be terrible if needs be. Of course,” he went on in the most natural manner, “if I did not combine firmness with friendliness where should I be with a shipload like this? I put the question to you. And if you will allow me, I will answer it myself. After the revolt the other day it is we who would be in the cages at the present time!”

  A great outburst of cheering and shouts of hurrah greeted the Captain’s daring supposition.

  “Yes, that’s true,” agreed Mlle. Carmen de Fontainebleau, “you can’t be joking all day long when you have convicts in your charge.”

  “But I say, the villains had to be in agreement in order to mutiny. They were in their cages and guarded. How was it possible for them to come to an understanding?” asked Madame d’Artigues.

  All eyes were fixed on Chéri-Bibi, who experienced a certain satisfaction as he observed the interest which seemed to be attached to his least word, and he took advantage of the opportunity to deliver to his guests a short dissertation on prison life. Moreover, the importance of the subject inspired him not a little, and the turn of his phrases, without his suspecting it, partook slightly of the professional air characteristic of lecturers.

  “You do not know these men,” he said, laying stress upon his words, “or you would not be astonished at anything from that point of view. Nothing betrays the intimacy which exists between them. They may be lying on the same bench, but no movement or sign reveals that they know each other if, by chance, they have already met outside or in prison. They have a language of their own which it is impossible for others to understand.

  “In the position of their feet, in the natural gesture of their arms, in the direction of their look, there is a word, a dictionary, a complete language. This mute conversation escapes the observation, and the long experience, of the convict guard, the military overseer, and the cleverest chief himself; in a word, it escapes me. Nevertheless, some of my men and I have been able to discover a few words of this secret language.

  “We will make an experiment. Step forward, Little Buddha, and place yourself here. You, Carrots, go to the other end of the room.... We have sailed together for so long that I don’t hesitate to call them by their nicknames.... There!... Now begin.... Good.... Very good.... That’ll do.... Be quiet, you naughty boys!”

  “But they didn’t move,” exclaimed Madame d’Artigues.

  “You think so, Madame, but you are mistaken. From the manner in which Carrots raised his eyebrows and put his hands in his pocket, and by the position of his lower lip, and, on the other hand, by the position of Little Buddha’s feet, and the three changes in the direction of his glance, a complete conversation took place between the two men, but I won’t venture to repeat it.”

  “Oh, yes, please do, dear Captain, tell us what they said.”

  “Do you mean it?” said Chéri-Bibi to Madame d’Artigues, who was the most eager of them all. “You shall have your wish. In speaking of you in their own particular slang they said:— ‘She is very sweet is the little lady; the big man, the Marquis, is making eyes at her, but the thin man, the husband, is watching them. We must take advantage of the quarrel presently to tell her that we’ve fallen in love with her.’”

  “Well done, well done. It’s marvelous,” exclaimed Mlle, de Valrieu.

  “Yes, and it’s true,” declared Mlle. Carmen de Fontainebleau.

  “Madame, I offer you my apologies,” said Chéri-Bibi in his best style, turning to Madame d’Artigues; “but these gentlemen are not accustomed to the polite world, and are easily astonished by the sight of society at play.”

  “Not at all, it’s very amusing,” returned Madame d’Artigues with an affectation of pleasure. “And your conversation, my dear Captain, is most instructive.”

  “I’ve lived among convicts for so many years, Madame.”

  “The whole thing is excellent,” said Robert Bourrelier; “the wretches understand each other. But how did they manage to get out of their cages? You told us that your Chéri-Bibi was in irons and guarded by two warders.”

  “Oh, Chéri-Bibi’s escape!” exclaimed the Captain. “I will explain that to you presently at the exact spot. Irons, fetters — these things don’t stop him. Chéri-Bibi himself, you understand, disclosed to me a dozen ways at least of breaking fetters and of hiding from sight the bites made in them by file or chisel. And the convicts have as many files and chisels as they need. Chéri-Bibi gave me as a birthday present a basket in each twig of which was buried a saw which was practically invisible.”

  “Oh, tell us something more about Chéri-Bibi, Captain.”

  “Chéri-Bibi can force any lock or padlock with an ordinary brass wire,” said the Captain in a voice of pride.

  “But did you not suspect anything before the mutiny broke out?” asked Maxime du Touchais. “How was it possible for the secret to be so well kept? For, after all, is it not an extraordinary thing that among eight hundred convicts not one, not a single one, gave the others away?”

  The Captain swallowed a glass of champagne.

  “Blacklegs and informers are rare among us.”

  He at once comprehended from a sign from the Kanaka that he had committed a blunder. He went on to explain himself, stumbling somewhat in his speech.

  “I mean in our world, in the world that we have to guard, in the world of convicts in short. They crop up still from time to time. But the kind of brute who betrays his comrades is tending more and more to disappear.

  “You may take it that vengeance is swift and terrible. If the informer lives in the cages, he is found dead one morning, and the cleverest doctor is unable to discover the cause of his sudden disease. If he lives in Cayenne, an immense pile of wood gives way, apparently from some lack of intelligence on the part of the workers, and when the ground is cleared a corpse is picked up.

  “Sometimes when the sea is rough, when a large ship’s boat on fatigue duty is battling with the waves, a man disappears into the deep. Was it an accident due to inexperience? No. It was a punishment inflicted upon an informer. The convict gang, ladies and gentlemen, has its bench of judges which pronounces its sentences with due regard to justice, and those judges have their scale of penalties. If the offense against a man’s comrades is a light one, the verdict may discover ‘extenuating circumstances,’ but in any event if the finding does not, entail the death penalty it implies the men’s contempt. The man who is convicted loses the respect of his comrades.

  “The respect of his comrades is the most valuable asset that a convict can possess. There are various degrees of respect. God knows how onerous the conditions are which have to be satisfied before he can reach the highest point. But though it is not given to everyone to attain the highest point by brilliant exploits, each prisoner does his utmost to take his place and to maintain it worthily. He knows that at the bottom of the scale, as I was saying just now, the word ‘contempt’ is written; and more than one convict has proved that he preferred death to that particular word.”

  “But it seems to me, Captain, heaven forgive me for saying so, that you have an admiration for them,” interposed the beautiful Madame d’Artigues with a suggestion of alarm in her voice.

  “I... I admire them!” protested Chéri-Bibi with an innocent look. “Say rather that I pity them. Chéri-Bibi himself is to be pitied, believe me. I have had long conversations with that curious and unfortunate individual. I can assure you that he was not born into this world to terrorize it. Circumstances and men have involved him in a sort of deadly game of chance. Oh, it’s an easy matter when one’s reputation is beyond the abyss of evil to lecture and give good advice to those who are unfortunate. But we must not forget that fate lies in
wait ready to strike the blow. To have good luck or not to have good luck. I don’t say that everything turns on that, but I do say that nearly everything turns on it. To be or not to be, that is the question. Fatalitas, Fatalitas cried the amazing Chéri-Bibi in a lyrical outburst in which English and Latin were mingled. “O Fate... Fate, must you associate this just man with the vilest of mortals? Nothing is more demoralizing in all things than the society of the wicked; the fruit thereof is bitterness. It is a field of misery, and the harvest is death.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise to you most sincerely. I hardly know what I am saying,” confessed Cecily’s admirer, wiping! the tears that sprang to his eyes. “I fancy that I’ve had a glass of champagne too much. Come, let us take the air on deck. Afterwards we will have a little stroll in the Zoological Gardens.”

  The entire party rose from the table in a peculiar state of mind. The Captain’s agitation had impressed the company at this extraordinary banquet in different ways. The convicts remembered that many of them had always claimed Chéri-Bibi as “an innocent victim” in the first instance. As to the shipwrecked guests, they felt some difficulty in accounting for the old sea-dog’s emotion when he spoke of the monster Chéri-Bibi.