\
FRENCH NOVELS
OF THE NINETEENTH
CENTURY
THE ABBE AUBAIN
AND MOSAICS
r *
FRENCH NOVELS
OF THE NINETEENTH
CENTURY
Crown 8vo
Buckram, y. 6d. net each
Wifli a frontispiece in
ph otogra TJ u re
i
SALAMMBO
Kv GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
Translated by J. W. MATTHKWS
ii
THE LATIN QUARTER
BY HKNKV MURGER
Ti ai, slated by EI.LI;N MAKKIAGK
THE ABBE AUBAIN
AND MOSAICS
Bv PROSPKR MKKIMEE
Translated by EIIII.Y MAKY WALI.KR
^^
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS
. EVE, ME
PROSPER MERIMEE
THE ABBE AUBAIN
AND MOSAICS
Translated by
EMILY MARY WALLER
With an Introduction by
ARTHUR SYMONS
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS
1903
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PLYMOUTH
WILLIAM URKNUON ANU SON
hRINTHKS
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION . . . . . vii
THE ABBE AUBAIN . . . . . i
MOSAICS
MATEO FALCONE . . . . . 21
THE VISION OF CHARLES XI. . . . 41
How WE STORMED THE FORT . 53
TAMANGO . . ... 63
THE GAME OK BACKGAMMON . 95
THE ETRUSCAN VASE . . .121
THE VENUS OF ILLE . . . J 55
LOKIS . . . . . . 199
THE BLUE CHAMBER . . ... 259
THE " VICCOLO " OF MADAM LUCREZIA 281
DJOUMANE
3'5
INTRODUCTION
TV TERIMEE'S temperament was really that of
-**-*- the scholar, not of the artist, and even his
art came to him as a kind of scholarship. He did
one thing after another, as if challenging himself to
accomplish a certain end, and then, that end ac-
complished, he no longer cared to repeat it. That
is the scholar's way, not the artist's ; and the
scholar's instinct is seen, too, in that too purely
critical attitude which he adopted, towards others
and towards himself, working in almost a hostile
fashion upon every impulse, so as to destroy his
interest in any part of his work but the way in
which it was done. He began his career by two
very serious mystifications, Le Theatre de Clara
Gasul, a collection of short plays supposed to be
translated from the Spanish, and La Gusla, a
collection of ballads in prose supposed to be
translated from the Illyrian. Later on he was,
perhaps, a little too anxious to represent himself
as having intended from the first to parody the
fierceness and the "local colour" of the Romantics.
"Vers 1'an de grace 1827 j'etais romantique," he
says ironically, in the preface of 1840, as he re-
vii
Introduction
prints his work of thirteen years ago. " Nous
disions aux classiques : ' Vos Grecs ne sont point des
Grecs ; vos Remains ne sont point des Remains ;
vous ne savez pas donner a vos compositions la
coulcur locale. Point de salut sans conleur locale.^ '
But no doubt he wished from the first to show-
that he also, by a mere disinterested effort of
intelligence, could be as exotic as the Romantics ;
that Romanticism, like everything else, was a
thing that could be done deliberately, done and
then dropped. The invention of history and
archaeology leads to history and archaeology them-
selves. Merimee next produced a piece in dialogue
on La Jacquerie, in which there is more and better
history than drama ; then followed his historical
novel, the Chronique du Rcgnc de Charles IX., in
which he set himself, as deliberately as usual, to
do more carefully what Walter Scott, then a fashion
in France, had done with genius. He produced the
most perfect of historical novels, and looked about
for some new difficulty to conquer.
He found it in the short story, of which he was
to make something firmer, more architectural, than
anything yet made in this form of fiction. It was
then that he wrote the best of his short stories,
from the Mateo Falcone of 1829 to the Car men of
1845. Here, anyone else would have said, he had
found himself ; here was the moment to pause, to
"settle down" to the task of doing what he could
do best, better than anyone else. But Merimee had
Introduction
no sooner perfected his method than he began to
tire of it. His imagination perhaps tired ; he
turned to history, and wrote books on the history
of Spain and Russia ; he became Inspector of
Ancient Monuments, and wrote minute descriptions
of churches ; he translated from the Russian, from
Poushkin, Gogol, and Tourguenieff ; he travelled,
and wrote somewhat dry accounts of his travels ;
he wrote Lokzs, La Chambre Bleue, and Djoumane,
the only stories which he had written for twenty-
five years ; and he seems to have written them in
order to prove to himself that he could still write
them. He died at Cannes in 1870, "claquemure
entre deux vieilles governess," notes Goncourt in his
Journal : " une des plus tristes fins du monde."
Merimee is perhaps the only writer in whom form
is equivalent to what is called in slang "good
form." He did his best to assimilate his mind to
what seemed to him, the English pattern, as others
of his compatriots have had their clothes made by
English tailors. The English pattern of mind
seemed to him, not that mind as it has expressed
itself heroically in poetry, and with something of
loose splendour in prose, but the typical middle-
class mind, severe, precise, doing things by rule,
stiffly proud, a mask for emotion. It was not
English literature which he cared for and wished
to rival, but those sides which he saw most clearly
of the English temperament. As the greatest
English writers have not put those sides of the
Introduction
national character, to any considerable extent, into
their books (perhaps because, being men of genius,
they were exceptions to a rule), Merimee's work,
with its cold, exact, polite record of warm and
savage things, has no resemblance with English
literature, and becomes, in French literature, a new
thing, the personal expression of a new, singular
temperament.
" Ce comedien de 1'insensibilite," Goncourt calls
him ; and it is Goncourt who relates the famous
story of his childish resolve to keep his emotions
to himself, after the discovery that even his parents
could turn them into ridicule. " II etait ne avec tin
cceur tendre et aimant," says Merimee of the hero
of his Vase Etmsqne, "mais, a. un age ou Ton
prend trop facilement des impressions qui durent
toute la vie, sa sensibilite trop expansive lui avait
attire les railleries de ses camarades." In the ex-
terior which Merimee so carefully made for himself,
it is not necessary to decide how much was genuine
at the beginning and how much became genuine
through force of habit. It made, at all events, the
art of his stories ; and we have only to turn to
another page of the Goncourts' fournat to see how
precisely that art corresponds with what struck those
acute observers in the manner of his conversation.
" II cause en s'ecoutant avec de mortels silences,
lentement, mot par mot, goutte a goutte, comme
s'il distillait ses effects, faisant tomber autour de ce
qu'il dit une froideur glaciale." It is such an icy
Introduction
coldness that disengages itself from the finest of
his stories ; from Mateo Falcone, for instance, per-
haps his masterpiece, in its intensity of effect and
in its economy of means. It amused him to tell
moving and pitiful things so relentlessly, getting
the same pleasure in the anticipation of what his
readers would feel that he got from the actual
looks and words of the people to whom he talked
in the drawing-rooms. He counted on a certain
repugnance in those who most admired him, as
men of his disposition count on the help of a
certain instinctive dislike in those of whom they
are most anxious to make themselves masters.
In his stories, with their force, clearness, concise
energy, Merimee is without charm; "as if," says
Walter Pater, in his remarkable and closely packed
essay, "in theological language, he were incapable
of grace." "Gifted as he was with pure mind,"
with a style "the perfection of nobody's style," he
is a kind of hard taskmaster, who is at least sure
of getting his own way, sure of never loosening
his hold. He has, above all things, a mastery over
effect ; and he has none of those preoccupations of
the poet, of the thinker, or of the "inspired"
writer, which so often come to shake the equi-
librium of that to which they add a heavy and
toppling burden of splendour. Each of his stories
is a story, nothing more or less, and in each he
does exactly what he set out to do, even the dry,
scholarly digressions, as they may sometimes seem,
Introduction
being only a part of the plan, of the building up
of the illusion. He is interested in his characters
only as they come into the light of a crisis ; they
live for him only in that moment ; all the rest is
so much detail, so much psychology in the abstract,
with which he has nothing to do. Maupassant
was to follow him, while thinking that he followed
Flaubert, in this rigorous art of cutting your coat
to your cloth. It was Merimee, really, who per-
fected the short story in France, who left it a model
for the writers of every nation.
Towards the end of his life Merimee became
deeply interested in Russia, and it was through
his translations and studies that Tourguenieff be-
came almost a French writer. In Tourguenieff
he had partly a follower, but one who gave a new,
more profound, more essentially human character
to the short story, which has since been developed
so fruitfully in Russia. To the Russian, to Tour-
guenieff, to Tolstoi, to Gorki, the soul is interesting
in itself, for its own sake. Merimee only pays heed
to it when it does something interesting, when it
precipitates itself into action. That is why so many
Russian stories, with all their charm and meaning,
remain nebulous, and why Merimee's are always
hard, firm, each complete as a drama. Look at
Gorki, and how easily he loses the thread of his
narrative or how often he forgets to have a thread
to follow, so significant to him is the mere existence
of these people, among whose actions he is em-
Introduction
barrassed to choose. Take the first act of his play,
Les Petits Boiirgeois, and see how little selection or
composition there is, with what an assemblage of
little intimate details, each closely observed, but
each observed without relation to any other or to
the movement of the whole. MeVimee gives us no
detail which has not its almost mathematical signifi-
cance, but in this orderly arrangement of life it
sometimes happens that we are left with a sense
of something out of which life has been trimmed
dead.
" In history," says Merime'e, in the preface to his
Chronique du Rcgne de Charles IX., " I care only
for anecdotes." It was the anecdote which he
cared for also in fiction, and with him, as with
Stendhal, from whom he got the word and perhaps
some of his taste for the thing, the anecdote was a
somewhat more formal variety of what was after-
wards to be called the document. Merimee as a
writer stands somewhere between Choderlos de
Laclos or Crebillon fils, and the generation of
''Realists" which was to follow him. He has the
nai've immorality, the deliberate frivolity of the
eighteenth century ; but he is frivolous with the
gravity of a scholar. Genuinely interested in those
questions which women discuss among themselves,
he knew how to work artistically upon his own
interest, giving it an ironical turn, which saves it
from the criticism of his intelligence. And in those
anecdotes, to which he reduces history, and out of
Introduction
which he makes the more living history of his
fiction, he finds as much of the soul of great
passions and profound emotions as he cares to
consider. The document is not yet crude fact, as
with the Realists ; it is fact chosen carefully for
its significance, and arranged just so much as it
needs in order to seem as well as be significant.
"Dans chaque anecdote pouvant servir a porter la
lumiere dans quelque coin du cceur," says Merimee,
speaking of Stendhal (he might be speaking for
himself), " il retenait toujours ce qu'il appelait le
trait, c'est a dire le mot ou 1'action qui revele la
passion." It was for this word or action in which
passion reveals itself that Merime'e was always a
seeker : how often and how absolutely he found it,
the tales which follow may be left to prove for
themselves.
ARTHUR SYMONS.
"THE ABB AUBAIN " was published in Le Con-
stitutionnel, February 24, 1846; " Mateo Falcone"
and "The Vision of Charles XI" in the Revue de
Paris, May and July, 1829 ; " How we Stormed the
Fort " in the Revue francaise, September-October,
1829 ; " Tamango " in the Revue de Paris, October,
1829; "The Game of Backgammon" and "The
Etruscan Vase " in the Revue de Paris, June and
January, 1830, respectively; "The Venus of Ille "
in the Revue des Deux Mondes, May 15, 1837 ;
" Lokis " in the Revue des Deux Mondes, September
15, 1869; "The Blue Chamber," dated Biarritz,
September, 1866, in L'Independancebelge, September
6-7, 1871; "The ' Viccolo ' of Madam Lucrezia,"
dated April 27, 1846, in Dernieres Nouvelles, 1873 ;
and " Djoumane " in Le Moniteur Universel, July
9-12, 1873.
A. R. W.
PROSPER MERIMEE
Born at Paris, September 28th, 1803
Died at Cannes, September 23rd, 1870
THE ABBE AUBAIN
IT were idle to say how the following letters came into
our possession. They seem to us curious, moral and
instructive. We piiblish them without any change
other than the suppression of certain proper names,
and a few passages which have no connection with
the incident in the life of the Abbe Aubain.
THE ABBE AUBAIN
From Madame de P to Madame de G-
NOIRMOUTIERS, . . . November, 1844.
I PROMISED to write to you, my dear Sophie,
and I keep my word ; besides, I have nothing
better to do these long evenings.
My last letter informed you that I had made the
simultaneous discovery that I was thirty and ruined.
For the first of these misfortunes, alas ! there is no
remedy ; as for the second, we have resigned our-
selves to it badly enough, but, after all, we are
resigned. We must pass at least two years, to
repair our fortune, in the dreary manor-house, from
whence I write this to you. I have been simply
heroic. Directly I knew of the state of our finances
I proposed to Henry that he should economise in
the country, and eight days later we were at Noir-
moutiers.
I will not tell you anything of the journey. It
was many years since I had found myself alone
with my husband for such a length of time. Of
course, we were both in a bad temper ; but, as I
was thoroughly determined to put on a good face,
all went off well.
The Abbe Aubain
You were acquainted with my good resolutions,
and you shall see if I am keeping" to them. Behold
us, then, installed. By the way, Noirmoutiers, from
a picturesque point of view, leaves nothing to be
desired. There are woods, and cliffs, and the sea
within a quarter of a league. We have four great
towers, the walls of which are fifteen feet thick. I
have fitted a workroom in the recess of the window.
My drawing-room, which is sixty feet long, is
decorated with figured tapestry ; it is truly magnifi-
cent when lighted up by eight candles : quite a
Sunday illumination. I die of fright every time I
pass it after sunset. We are very badly furnished,
as you may well believe. The doors do not fit
closely, the wainscoting cracks, the wind whistles,
and the sea roars in the most lugubrious fashion
imaginable. Nevertheless I am beginning to grow
accustomed to it.
I arrange and mend things, and I plant ; before
the hard frosts set in I shall have made a tolerable
habitation. You may be certain that your tower
will be ready by the spring. If I could but have you
here now ! The advantage of Noirmoutiers is that
we have no neighbours : we are completely isolated.
I am thankful to say I have no other callers but my
priest, the Abbe Aubain. He is a well-mannered
young man, although he has arched and bushy eye-
brows and great dark eyes like those of a stage
villain. Last Sunday he did not give us so bad a
sermon for the country. It sounded very appro-
priate. " Misfortune was a benefit from Providence
to purify our souls." Be it so. At that rate we
ought to give thanks to that honest stockbroker
4
The Abbe Aubain
who desired to purify our souls by running off with
our money.
Good-bye, dear friend.
My piano has just come, and some big packing-
cases. I must go and unpack them all.
P.S. I reopen this letter to thank you for your
present. It is most beautiful, far too beautiful for
Noirmoutiers. The grey hood is charming. I
recognise your taste there. I shall put it on for
Mass on Sunday ; perhaps a commercial traveller
will be there to admire it. But for whom do you
take me, with your novels ? I wish to be, I am,
a serious-minded person. Have I not sufficiently
good reasons ? I am going to educate myself. On
my return to Paris, in three years from now (good
heavens ! I shall be thirty-three), I mean to be a
Philaminte. But really, I do not know what books
to ask you to send me. What do you advise me to
learn? German or Latin? It would be very nice to
read Wilhelm Meister in the original, or the tales of
Hoffmann. Noirmoutiers is the right place for
whimsical stories. But how am I to learn German
at Noirmoutiers? Latin would suit me well, for I
think it so unfair that men should keep it all to
themselves. I should like to have lessons given me
by my priest.
The Abbe Aubain
LETTER II.
The same to the same.
NOIRMOUTIERS, . . . December, 1844.
You may well be astonished. The time passes
more quickly than you would believe, more quickly
than I should have believed myself. The weakness
of my lord and master supports my courage through
everything. Really, men are very inferior to us.
He is depressed beyond measure. He gets up as
late as he can, rides his horse or goes hunting, or
else pays calls on the dullest people imaginable
lawyers and magistrates who live in town, that is to
say, six leagues from here. He goes to see them
when it is wet ! He began to read Mauprat eight
days ago, and he is still in the first volume. '' It is
much better to be pleased with oneself than to slander
one's neighbours." This is one of your proverbs.
But I will leave him in order to talk of myself.
The country air does me incalculable good. I am
magnificently well, and when I see myself in the
glass (such a glass !) I do not look thirty ; but then
I walk a good deal. Yesterday I managed to get
Henry to come with me to the seashore. While he
shot gulls I read the pirate's song in the Giaour.
On the beach, facing a rough sea, the fine verses
seemed finer than ever. Our sea cannot rival that
of Greece, but it has its poetry, as the sea everywhere
has. Do you know what strikes me in Lord Byron ?
6
The Abbe Aubain
his insight and understanding of nature. He does
not talk of the sea from only having eaten turbot
and oysters. He has sailed on it ; he has seen
storms. All his descriptions are from life. Our
poets put rhyme first, then common sense if there
is any in verse. While I walk up and down, read-
ing, watching and admiring, the Abbe Aubain
I do not know whether I have mentioned my Abbe
to you ; he is the village priest came up and joined
me. He is a young priest who often comes to me.
He is well educated, and knows "how to talk with
well-bred people." Besides, from his large dark
eyes and pale, melancholy look, I can very well see
that he has an interesting story, and I try to make
it up for myself. We talked of the sea, of poetry ;
and, what will surprise you much in a priest of
Noirmoutiers, he talked well. Then he took me
to the ruins of an old abbey upon a cliff and pointed
out to me a great gateway carved with delightful
goblins. Oh ! if only I had the money to restore it
all ! After this, in spite of Henry's remonstrances,
who wanted his dinner, I insisted upon going to the
priest's house to see a curious relic which the cure
had found in a peasant's house. It was indeed very
beautiful : a small box of Limoges enamel which
would make a lovely jewel-case. But, good
gracious ! what a dwelling ! And we, who believe
ourselves poor ! Imagine a tiny room on the
ground floor, badly paved, whitewashed, furnished
with a table and four chairs, and an armchair pad-
ded with straw, with a little flat cake of a cushion
in it, stuffed, I should think, with peachstones, and
covered with small pieces of white and red cotton.
7
The Abbe Aubain
On the table were three or four large Greek and
Latin folios. These were the Fathers of the Church,
and below, as though hidden, I came upon Jocclin.
He blushed. He was very attentive, however, in
doing the honours of his wretched lodgings without
pride or false modesty. I suspected he had had
a romantic story. I soon had a proof of it. In the
Byzantine casket which he showed us there was
a faded bouquet five or six years old at least. " Is
that a relic ? " I asked him. <( No," he replied, with
some agitation. "I do not know how it came
there." Then he took the bouquet and slipped it
carefully in his table drawer. Is that clear enough?
I went back to the chateau saddened to have seen
such poverty, but encouraged to bear my own,
which, beside his, seemed of oriental opulence. You
should have seen his surprise when Henry gave him
twenty francs for a woman whom he had introduced
to our notice ! I really must make him a present.
That straw armchair in which I sat is far too hard.
I will give him one of those folding iron chairs like
that which I took to Italy. You must choose me
one, and send it to me as soon as possible.
The Abbe Aubain
LETTER III.
The same to the same.
NOIRMOUTIERS, . . . February, 1845.
I CERTAINLY am not bored at Noirmoutiers. Be-
sides, I have found an interesting occupation, and
I owe it to my Abbe. He really knows every-
thing", botany included. It reminds me of Rousseau's
Letters to hear the Latin name for a nasty onion I
laid on the chimney-piece for want of a better place.
"You know botany, then?" "Not very well," he
replied ; "just enough to teach the country folk
the herbs which might be useful to them ; just
enough, I might say, to give a little interest to
my solitary walks." I thought at once that it
would be very amusing to gather pretty flowers
in my walks, to dry them, and to arrange 'them
in order in "my old Plutarch tied up with ribbons."
" Do teach me botany," I said to him. He wished
to wait until the spring, for there are no flowers
at this bad time of the year. " But you have some
dried flowers," I said ; " I saw them at your house."
I meant to refer to his tenderly preserved old
bouquet. If you could have seen his face ! . . .
Poor wretched man ! I pretty quickly repented of
my indiscreet allusion. To make him forget it
I hastened to tell him that one ought to have a
collection of dried plants. This is called a herbarium.
He agreed at once, and the very next day he brought
9
The Abbe Aubain
me in a grey paper parcel several pretty plants,
each with its own label. The course of botany had
begun, and I made astonishing progress from the
very first. But I had no idea botany was so im-
moral, or of the difficulty of the first explanations,
above all from a priest. You know, my dear, plants
marry just as we do, but most of them have many
husbands. One set is called phanerogams, if I have
remembered the barbarous name properly. It is
Greek, and means to marry openly at the townhall.
Then there are the cryptogams those who marry
secretly. The mushrooms that you eat marry in
secret. All this is very shocking, but he did not
come out of it so badly better than I did, who had
the silliness to shout with laughter, once or twice,
at the most delicate passages. But I have become
cautious now and I do not put any more questions.
LETTER IV.
Tlic same to the same.
NOIRMOUTIERS, . . . February ,
You must be burning to hear the story of that
preciously preserved bouquet ; but, the fact is, 1
dare not ask him about it. In the first place it is
more than probable that there is no story under-
neath ; then, if there is one, perhaps it would be
a story which he did not like to talk about. As for
me, I am quite convinced that . . . but come, don't
let us tell fibs ! You know that I cannot keep any
10
The Abbe Aubain
secrets from you. I know this story, and I will tell
it you in a few words ; nothing easier. " How did
it come about, Monsieur 1'abbe," I said to him one
day, "that with your brains and education you
resigned yourself to the care of a little village?"
He replied, with a sad smile : " It is easier to be the
pastor of poor peasants than of townspeople.
Everyone must cut his coat according to his cloth."
" That is why," said I, " you ought to be in a better
position." "I was once told," he went on, "that
your uncle, the Bishop of N , had deigned to
notice me in order to offer me the cure of Sainte-
Marie ; it is the best in the diocese. My old aunt,
who is my only surviving relative, and who lives
at N , said that it was a very desirable position
for me. But I am all right here, and I learnt with
pleasure that the bishop had made another choice.
What does it matter to me? Am I not happy at
Noirmoutiers ? If I can do a little good here it is
my place ; I ought not to leave it. Besides, town
life reminds me. ..." He stopped, his eyes became
sad and dreamy, then, recovering himself suddenly,
he said, " We are not working at our botany. ..."
I could not think any longer of the litter of old hay
on the table, and I continued my questions. " When
did you take orders? " " Nine years ago." " Nine
years . . . but surely you were then old enough to
be established in a profession? I do not know, but
I have always imagined it was not a youthful call
which led you to the priesthood." " Alas ! no," he
said, in an ashamed manner ; " but if my vocation
came late, it was determined by causes ... by a
cause . ." He became embarrassed and could
The Abbe Aubain
not finish. As for me, I plucked up courage. " I
will wager," I said, "that a certain bouquet which
I have seen had some part in that determination."
Hardly had the impertinent question escaped me
than I could have bitten out my tongue rather than
have uttered such a thing, but it was too late.
"Why, yes, Madam, that is true ; I will tell you all
about it, but not to-day another time. The
Angelus is about to ring." And he had left before
the first stroke of the bell. I expected some terrible
story. He came again the next day, and he himself
took up the conversation of the previous day. He
confessed to me that he had loved a young person
of N , but she had little fortune, and he, a
student, had no other resources besides his wits.
He said to her : "I am going to Paris, where I
hope to obtain an opening ; you will not forget me
while I am working day and night to make myself
worthy of you ? " The young lady was sixteen or
seventeen years old, and was very sentimental.
She gave him her bouquet as a token of faith. A
year after he heard of her marriage with the lawyer
of N -just when he had obtained a professorship
in a college. He was overwhelmed by the blow,
and renounced the chair. He told me that during
these years he could not think of anything else, and
he seemed as much moved whilst reciting this
simple love story as though it had only just
happened. Then he took the bouquet out of his
pocket. " It was childish of me to keep it," he
said, " perhaps even it was wrong," and he threw it
on the fire. When the poor flowers had finished
crackling and blazing, he went on in a calmer
12
The Abbe Aubain
voice : "I am grateful to you for having" asked me
to tell this story. I have to thank you for making
me part with a souvenir which it is scarcely suit-
able I should keep." But his heart was full, and
it was easy to see how much the sacrifice had cost
him. Poor priests ! what a life is theirs ! They
must forbid themselves the most innocent thoughts,
and must banish from their hearts every feeling
which makes the happiness of other men . . . even
those recollections which are a part of life itself.
Priests remind us of ourselves, of all unfortunate
women to whom every living feeling is forbidden as
criminal. We are allowed to suffer, but even in
that we must hide our pain. Good-bye, I reproach
myself for my ill-advised curiosity, but it was
indulged in on your behalf.
(We omit here several letters which do not contain any
reference to the Abbd Aubain.)
LETTER V.
The same to the same.
NOIRMOUTIERS, . . . May, 1845.
I HAVE meant to write to you for a long time, my
dear Sophie, but have always been kept back by a
feeling of shame. What I want to tell you is so
strange, so ridiculous and, withal, so sad, that
I scarcely know whether you will be moved to tears
or to laughter. I am still at a loss to understand it
myself. But I will come to the facts without more
The Abbe Aubain
beating- about the bush. I have mentioned the Abbe
Aubain to you several times in my previous letters :
he is the cure of our village, Noirmoutiers. I also
told you the story which led to his entering- into the
priesthood. Living away from everybody, and my
mind full of those melancholy thoughts which you
know trouble me, the companionship of a clever,
cultivated and agreeable man was extremely con-
g-enial to me. Very likely I let him see that he inter-
ested me, for, in a very short time, he came to our
house as though he were an old friend. I admit it
was quite a novel pleasure to me to talk with a man
of cultured mind. The ignorance of the world did
but enhance his intellectual distinction. Perhaps,
too for I must tell you everything ; I do not wish
to hide from you any little failings of my character
perhaps, too, the naivete of my coquetry (to use your
own expression), for which you have often scolded
me, has been at work unconsciously. I love to be
pleasant to people who please me, and I want to be
liked by those whom I like. ... I see you open
your eyes wide at this discourse, and I think I can
hear you exclaim "Julie!" Don't be anxious; I
am too old to be silly. But to continue. A degree
of intimacy has sprung up between us without let
me hasten to say anything either having been said
or done inconsistent with his sacred calling. He is
very happy in my society. We often talk of his
earlier days, and more than once my evil genius has
prompted me to bring up the subject of that romantic
attachment which cost him a bouquet (now lying in
ashes on my hearth) and the gloomy cassock he
wears. It was not difficult to see that he thought
14
The Abbe Aubain
of his faithless mistress less often. One day he met
ner in the town, and even spoke to her. He told me
all about it on his return, and added quite calmly
that she was happy and had several charming
children. He saw, by chance, some of Henry's fits
of temper ; hence ensued almost unavoidable confi-
dences from my side, and on his increased sympathy.
He understood my husband as though he had known
him for a matter of ten years. Furthermore, his
advice was as wise as yours, and more impartial,
for you always hold that both sides are in the wrong".
He always thinks I am in the right, but at the same
time recommends prudence and tact. In short, he
proves himself a devoted friend. There is some-
thing almost feminine about him which captivates
me. His disposition reminds me of yours : it is
great-minded and strong, sensitive and reserved,
with an exaggerated sense of duty. ... I jostle my
words together one on top of the other in order to
delay what I want to tell you. I cannot speak
openly ; this paper frightens me. If only I had you
in the fireside corner, with a little frame between us,
embroidering the same piece of work ! But at
length, at length, Sophie, I must tell you the real
truth. The poor fellow is in love with me. You
may laugh, or perhaps you are shocked? I wish I
could see you just now. He has not of course said
a word to me, but those large dark eyes of his
cannot lie. ... At these words I believe you will
laugh. What wonderful eyes those are which speak
unconsciously ! I have seen any number of men
try to make theirs expressive who only managed to
look idiotic. I must confess that my bad angel
15
The Abbe Aubain
almost rejoiced at first over this unlucky state of
things. To make a conquest such a harmless
conquest as this one at my age ! It is something
to be able to excite such a feeling, such an im-
possible passion ! . . . But shame on me ! This
vile feeling soon passed away. I said to myself I
have done wrong to a worthy man by my thought-
less conduct. It is dreadful ; I must put a stop to
it immediately. I racked my brains to think how I
could send him away. One day we were walking
together on the beach at low tide ; he did not dare
to utter one word, and I was equally embarrassed.
Five moments of deadly silence followed, during
which I picked up shells to cover my confusion. At
last I said to him, " My dear Abbe, you must cer-
tainly have a better living than this. I shall write
to my uncle the bishop ; I will go to see him if
necessary." " Leave Noirmoutiers ! " he exclaimed,
clasping his hands. "But I am so happy here!
What more can I desire while you are here ? You
have overwhelmed me with good things, and my
little house has become a palace." "No," I re-
plied, " my uncle is very old ; if I had the misfortune
to lose him I should not know whom to address to
obtain a suitable post." "Alas! Madam, I should
be very sorry to leave this village ! . . . The curd
de Sainte-Marie is dead, . . . but I am not troubled,
because I believe he will be replaced by 1'abbe" Raton,
who is a most excellent priest. I am delighted with
his appointment, for if Monseigneur had thought of
"The cur6 de Sainte-Marie is dead!" I cried.
" I will go to my uncle at N - to-day."
16
The Abbe Aubain
"Ah, Madam, do nothing- in the matter. The
Abb6 Raton is much better fitted for it than I ; and,
then, to leave Noirmoutiers ! ..."
"Monsieur 1'abbe," I said resolutely, "you
must ! " At these words he lowered his head and
did not venture to oppose. I nearly ran back to
the chateau. He followed me a couple of paces
behind, poor man, too much upset to open his
mouth. He was quite crushed. I did not lose a
minute. By eight o'clock I was at my uncle's
house. I found him very much prejudiced in favour
of his Raton ; but he is fond of me, and I know my
power. At length, after a long discussion, I got
my way. Raton is cast aside, and 1'abbe Aubain is
cur6 of Sainte-Marie. He has been at the town for
two days. The poor fellow understood my " You
must." He thanked me seriously, but spoke of
nothing- beyond his gratitude. I am grateful to
him for leaving- Noirmoutiers so soon, and for
telling- me even that he was in haste to g-o and
thank Monseig-neur. He sent me at parting" his
pretty Byzantine casket, and asked permission to
write to me sometimes. Ah, well, my dear. Arc
you satisfied, Coucy P This is a lesson which I shall
not forg-et when I g"et back into the world. But
then I shall be thirty-three, and shall hardly expect
to be admired . . . and with such devotion as
his ! . . . Truly, that would be out of the question.
Never mind, from the ruins of all this folly I save a
pretty casket and a true friend. When I am forty,
and a grandmother, I will plot to obtain the Abbe"
Aubain a living- in Paris. Some day you will see
this come to pass, my dear, and he will g"ive your
daughter her first communion.
- ^ 17
The Abbe Aubain
LETTER VI.
The Abbe Aubain to the Abbt 1 Bruncau. Professor
oj Theology at Saint- A .
N , May, 1845.
MY DEAR PROFESSOR, It is the cur<5 of Sainte-
Marie who is writing- to you, not any longer the
humble, officiating priest of Noirmoutiers. I have
left my solitary marshes and behold me a citizen,
installed in a fine living, in the best street in N ;
cure of a large, well-built church, well kept up, of
splendid architecture, depicted in every album in
France. The first time that I said Mass before a
marble altar, which glittered with gilding, I had to
ask myself if I really were myself. But it is true
enough, and one of my delights is the hope that at
the next vacation you will come and pay me a visit.
I shall have a comfortable room to offer you, and a
good bed, not to mention some bordeaux, which I
call my bordeaux of Noirmoutiers ; and I venture
to say it is worth your acceptance. But, you ask
me, how did you g~et from Noirmoutiers to Sainte-
Marie? You left me at the entrance to the nave,
you find me now at the steeple.
O Meliboee deus nobis HJEC otiu fecit.
Providence, my dear Professor, sent a grand lady
from Paris to Noirmoutiers. Misfortunes of a kind
we shall never know had temporarily reduced them
to an income of 10,000 crowns per annum. She is
18
The Abbe Aubain
an agreeable and good woman, unfortunately a bit
jaded by frivolous reading-, and by association with
the dandies of the capital. Bored to death by a
husband with whom she has little in common, she
did me the honour of becoming' interested in me.
There were endless presents and continual invita-
tions, then every day some fresh scheme in which I
was wanted. " M. 1'abbe, I want to learn Latin.
. . . M. 1'abbe", I want to be taught botany."
Horresco referens, did she not also desire that I
should expound theology to her? What would you
have, my dear Professor? In fact, to quench such
thirst for knowledge would have required all the
professors of Saint- A . Fortunately, such whims
never last long : the course of studies rarely lasted
beyond the third lesson. When I told her that the
Latin for rose was rosa, she exclaimed, "What a
well of learning you are, M. 1'abbe ! How could
you allow yourself to be buried at Noirmoutiers ? "
To tell you the truth, my dear Professor, the good
lady, through reading the silly books that are pro-
duced nowadays, got all sorts of queer ideas into
her head. One day she lent me a book which she
had just received from Paris, and which enraptured
her. Abelard, by M. de Remusat. Doubtless you
have read it, and admired the learned research made
by the author, unfortunately in so wrong a spirit.
At first I skipped to the second volume, containing
the " Philosophy of Abelard," and, after reading that
with the greatest interest, I returned to the first, to
the life of the great heresiarch. This, of course,
was all Madam had deigned to read. That, my
dear Professor, opened my eyes. I realised that
The Abbe Aubain
there was danger in the society of fine ladies
enamoured of learning 1 . This one of Noirmoutiers
could give points to Heloi'se in the matter of infatua-
tion. This, to me, extremely novel situation was
troubling me much, when, suddenly, she said to me,
" M. 1'abbe, the incumbent of Sainte-Marie is dead,
and I want you to have the living. You must."
Immediately she drove off in her carriage to see
Monseigneur ; and, a few days later, I was cure of
Sainte-Marie, somewhat ashamed of having obtained
the living by favour, but in other respects delighted
to be far away from the toils of a lioness of the
capital. A lioness, my dear Professor, is the
Parisian expression for a woman of fashion.
12 Zeu, ym'uiKcijv o'i'ov wTrucrds yevos. *
Ought I to have rejected this good fortune in
order to defy the temptation ? What nonsense !
Did not St. Thomas of Canterbury accept castles
from Henry II. ? Good-bye, my dear Professor, I
look forward to discussing philosophy with you in
a few months' time, each of us in a comfortable
armchair, before a plump chicken and a bottle of
bordeaux, more philosophorum. Vac let vie a ma.
* A line taken, I believe, from 1he Seven Against Tliebes, of
/Eschylus, "O Jupiter! women! . . . what a race thou hast
given us ! " The Ablx' Aubain and his Professor, the Abbe
Bruneau, are good classical scholars.
MATEO FALCONE
MATEO FALCONE
OMING out of Porto- Vecchio, and turning
north-west towards the centre of the island,
the ground is seen to rise very rapidly, and, after
three hours' walk by tortuous paths, blocked by large
boulders of rocks, and sometimes cut by ravines,
the traveller finds himself on the edge of a very
broad mdgttis, or open plateau. These plateaus are
the home of the Corsican shepherds, and the resort
of those who have come in conflict with the law.
The Corsican peasant sets fire to a certain stretch
of forest to spare himself the trouble of manuring
his lands : so much the worse if the flames spread
further than is needed. Whatever happens, he is
sure to have a good harvest by sowing upon this
ground, fertilised by the ashes of the trees which
grew on it. When the corn is gathered, they leave
the straw because it is too much trouble to gather.
The roots, which remain in the earth without being
consumed, sprout, in the following spring, into very
thick shoots, which, in a few years, reach to a
height of seven or eight feet. It is this kind of
underwood which is called maquis. It is composed
of different kinds of trees and shrubs mixed up and
entangled as in a wild state of nature. It is only
with hatchet in hand that man can open a way
Mateo Falcone
through, and there are maquis so dense and so
thick that not even the wild sheep can penetrate
them.
If you have killed a man, go into the maquis of
Porto-Vecchio, with a good gun and powder and
shot, and you will live there in safety. Do not
forget to take a brown cloak, furnished with a hood,
which will serve as a coverlet and mattress. The
shepherds will give you milk, cheese, chestnuts, and
you will have nothing to fear from the hand of the
law, nor from the relatives of the dead, except when
you go down into the town to renew your stock of
ammunition.
When I was in Corsica in 18- Mateo Falcone's
house was half a league from this maquis. He was
a comparatively rich man for that country, living
handsomely, that is to say, without doing anything,
from the produce of his herds, which the shepherds,
a sort of nomadic people, led to pasture here and
there over the mountains. When I saw him, two years
after the event that I am about to tell, he seemed
about fifty years of age at the most. Imagine a
small, but robust man, with jet-black, curly hair,
an aquiline nose, thin lips, large and piercing eyes,
and a deeply tanned complexion. His skill in shoot-
ing passed for extraordinary, even in his country,
where there are so many crack shots. For example,
Mateo would never fire on a sheep with swanshot,
but, at one hundred and twenty paces, he would
strike it with a bullet in its head or shoulders as he
chose. He could use his gun at night as easily as
by day, and I was told the following example of his
adroitness, which will seem almost incredible to
24
Mateo Falcone
those who have not travelled in Corsica. A lighted
candle was placed behind a transparent piece of
paper, as large as a plate, at eighty paces off. He
put himself into position, then the candle was ex-
tinguished, and in a minute's time, in complete dark-
ness, he shot and pierced the paper three times out
of four.
With this conspicuous talent Mateo Falcone had
earned a great reputation. He was said to be a
loyal friend, but a dangerous enemy ; in other re-
spects he was obliging and gave alms, and he lived
at peace with everybody in the district of Porto-
Vecchio. But it is told of him that when at Corte,
where he had found his wife, he had very quickly
freed himself of a rival reputed to be equally formid-
able in love as in war ; at any rate, people attributed
to Mateo a certain gunshot which surprised his rival
while in the act of shaving before a small mirror
hung in his window. After the affair had been
hushed up Mateo married. His wife Giuseppa at
first presented him with three daughters, which
enraged him, but finally a son came whom he named
Fortunato ; he was the hope of the family, the
inheritor of its name. The girls were well married ;
their father could reckon in case of need upon the
poniards and rifles of his sons-in-law. The son was
only ten years old, but he had already shown signs
of a promising disposition.
One autumn day Mateo and his wife set out early
to visit one of their flocks in a clearing of the mciquis,
Little Fortunato wanted to go with them, but the
clearing was too far off; besides, it was necessary
that someone should stay and mind the house ; so
25
Mateo Falcone
his father refused. We shall soon see that he had
occasion to repent of this.
He had been gone several hours and little Fortu-
nate was quietly lying out in the sunshine, looking
at the blue mountains, and thinking that on the
following Sunday he would be going to town to
have dinner at his uncle's, the corporal,*' when his
meditations were suddenly interrupted by the firing
of a gun. He got up and turned towards that side
of the plain from which the sound had proceeded.
Other shots followed, fired at irregular intervals, and
each time they came nearer and nearer until he saw
a man on the path which led from the plain to Mateo's
house. He wore a pointed cap like a mountaineer,
he was bearded, and clothed in rags, and he dragged
himself along with difficulty, leaning on his gun.
He had just received a gunshot in the thigh.
This man was a bandit (Corsican for one who is
proscribed) who, having set out at night to get some
powder from the town, had fallen on the way into
an ambush of Corsican soldiers.! After a vigorous
defence he had succeeded in escaping, but they gave
chase hotly, firing at him from rock to rock. He
* Corporals were formerly the chief officers of the Corsican
communes after they had rebelled against the feudal lords.
To-day the name is still given sometimes to a man who, by
his property, his connections and his clients, exercises in-
fluence, and a kind of effective magistracy over a piei'e or
canton. By an ancient custom Corsicans divide themselves
into five castes : gentlemen (of whom some are of higher,
magnijiques, some of lower, signori, estate), corporals, citizens,
plebeians and foreigners.
t Voltigeurs : a body raised of late years by the Govern-
ment, which acts in conjunction with the gendarmes in the
maintenance of order.
26
Mateo Falcone
was only a little in advance of the soldiers, and his
wound made it out of the question for him to reach
the maquis before being overtaken.
He came up to Fortunato and said
"Are you the son of Mateo Falcone ? "
"Yes."
" I am Gianetto Sanpiero. I am pursued by the
yellow-collars.* Hide me, for I cannot go any
further."
" But what will my father say if I hide you with-
out his permission ? "
" He will say that you did right."
" How do you know ? "
" Hide me quickly ; they are coming."
" Wait till my father returns."
"Good Lord! how can I wait? They will be
here in five minutes. Come, hide me, or I will
kill you."
Fortunato replied with the utmost coolness
"Your gun is unloaded, and there are no more
cartridges in your carchera." t
" I have my stiletto."
" But could you run as fast as I can ? "
With a bound he put himself out of reach.
"You are no son of Mateo Falcone! Will you
let me be taken in front of his house? "
The child seemed moved.
" What will you give me if I hide you? " he said,
drawing nearer.
* The uniform of the -voliigeurs was brown with a yellow
collar.
t A leather belt which served the joint purposes of a cart-
ridge-box and pocket for despatches and orders.
27
Mateo Falcone
The bandit felt in the leather pocket that hung
from his side and took out a five-franc piece, which
he had put aside, no doubt, for powder. Fortunato
smiled at the sight of the piece of silver, and,
seizing hold of it, he said to Gianetto
" Don't be afraid."
He quickly made a large hole in a haystack which
stood close by the house. Gianetto crouched down
in it, and the child covered him up so as to leave
a little breathing space, and yet in such a way as
to make it impossible for anyone to suspect that the
hay concealed a man. He acted, further, with the
ingenious cunning of the savage. He fetched a cat
and her kittens and put them on the top of the hay-
stack to make believe that it had not been touched
for a long time. Then he carefully covered over with
dust the bloodstains which he had noticed on the
path near the house, and, this done, he lay down
again in the sun with the utmost sangfroid.
Some minutes later six men with brown uniform
with yellow collars, commanded by an adjutant,
stood before Mateo's door. This adjutant was a
distant relative of the Falcones. (It is said that
further degrees of relationship are recognised in
Corsica than anywhere else.) His name was
Tiodoro Gamba ; he was an energetic man, greatly
feared by the banditti, and had already hunted out
many of them.
"Good day, youngster," he said, coming up to
Fortunato. " How you have grown ! Did you see
a man pass just now? "
"Oh, I am not yet so tall as you, cousin," the
child replied, with a foolish look.
28
Mateo Falcone
"You soon will be. But, tell me, have you not
seen a man pass by ? "
" Have I seen a man pass by? "
"Yes, a man with a pointed black velvet cap
and a waistcoat embroidered in red and yellow."
"A man with a pointed cap and a waistcoat
embroidered in scarlet and yellow? "
"Yes; answer sharply and don't repeat my
questions."
"The priest passed our door this morning- on his
horse Piero. He asked me how papa was, and
I replied "
"You are making 1 game of me, you rascal. Tell
me at once which way Gianetto went, for it is he
we are after ; I am certain he took this path."
" How do you know that ? "
" How do I know that ? I know you have seen
him."
" How can one see passers-by when one is
asleep? "
"You were not asleep, you little demon : the
gunshots would wake you."
"You think, then, cousin, that your guns make
noise enough ? My father's rifle makes much more
noise."
" May the devil take you, you young scamp. I
am absolutely certain you have seen Gianetto.
Perhaps you have even hidden him. Here, you
fellows, go into the house, and see if our man is not
there. He could only walk on one foot, and he has
too much common sense, the villain, to have tried
to reach the mciquis limping. Besides, the traces of
blood stop here."
29
Mateo Falcone
"Whatever will papa say?" Fortunate asked,
with a chuckle. "What will he say when he finds
out that his house has been searched during his
absence ? "
" Do you know that I can make you change your
tune, you scamp?" cried the adjutant Gamba,
seizing- him by the ear. "Perhaps you will speak
when you have had a thrashing with the flat of a
sword."
Fortunato kept on laughing derisively.
-'My father is Mateo Falcone," he said signifi-
cantly.
" Do you know, you young scamp, that I can take
you away to Corte or to Bastia ? I shall put you in a
dungeon, on a bed of straw, with your feet in irons,
and I shall guillotine you if you do not tell me where
Gianetto Sanpiero is."
The child burst out laughing at this ridiculous
menace.
" My father is Mateo Falcone," he repeated.
"Adjutant, do not let us embroil ourselves with
Mateo," one of the soldiers whispered.
Gamba was evidently embarrassed. He talked in
a low voice with his soldiers, who had already been all
over the house. It was not a lengthy operation, for
a Corsican hut only consists of a single square room.
The furniture comprises a table, benches, boxes and
utensils for cooking and hunting. All this time little
Fortunato caressed his cat, and seemed, maliciously,
to enjoy the confusion of his cousin and the soldiers.
One soldier came up to the haycock. He looked
at the cat and carelessly stirred the hay with his
bayonet, shrugging his shoulders as though he
3Q
Mateo Falcone
thought the precaution ridiculous. Nothing moved,
and the face of the child did not betray the least
agitation.
The adjutant and his band were in despair ; they
looked solemnly out over the plain, half inclined to
return the way they had come ; but their chief,
convinced that threats would produce no effect upon
the son of Falcone, thought he would make one last
effort by trying the effect of favours and presents.
" My boy," he said, " you are a wide-awake
young dog, I can see. You will get on. But you
play a dangerous game with me ; and, if I did not
want to give pain to my cousin Mateo, devil take
it ! I would carry you off with me."
"Bah!"
" But, when my cousin returns I shall tell him all
about it, and he will give you the whip till he draws
blood for having told me lies."
" How do you know that? "
"You will see. But, look here, be a good lad
and I will give you something."
"You had better go and look for Gianetto in the
maguis, cousin, for if you stay any longer it will
take a cleverer fellow than you to catch him."
The adjutant drew a watch out of his pocket, a
silver watch worth quite ten crowns. He watched
how little Fortunato's eyes sparkled as he looked at
it, and he held out the watch at the end of its steel
chain.
"You rogue," he said, "you would like to have
such a watch as this hung round your neck, and to
go and walk up and down the streets of Porto-
Vecchio as proud as a peacock ; people would ask
Mateo Falcone
you the time, and you would reply, ' Look at my
watch ! ' '
"When I am grown up, my uncle the corporal
will give me a watch."
" Yes ; but your uncle's son has one already not
such a fine one as this, however for he is younger
than you."
The boy sighed.
" Well, would you like this watch, kiddy? "
Fortunato ogled the watch out of the corner of his
eyes, just as a cat does when a whole chicken is
given to it. It dares not pounce upon the prey,
because it is afraid a joke is being played on it, but
it turns its eyes away now and then, to avoid
succumbing to the temptation, licking its lips all the
time as though to say to its master, " What a cruel
joke you are playing on me ! "
The adjutant Gamba, however, seemed really
willing to give the watch. Fortunato did not hold
out his hand ; but he said to him with a bitter
smile
" Why do you make fun of me ? "
" I swear I am not joking. Only tell me where
Gianetto is, and this watch is yours."
Fortunato smiled incredulously, and fixed his
black eyes on those of the adjutant. He tried to
find in them the faith he would fain have in his
words.
" May I lose my epaulettes," cried the adjutant,
"if I do not give you the watch upon that condi-
tion ! I call my men to witness, and then I cannot
retract."
As he spoke, he held the watch nearer and nearer
Mateo Falcone
until it almost touched the child's pale cheeks. His
face plainly expressed the conflict going" on in his
mind between covetousness and the claims of
hospitality. His bare breast heaved violently al-
most to suffocation. All the time the watch dangled
and twisted and even hit the tip of his nose. By
degrees he raised his right hand towards the watch,
his finger ends touched it ; and its whole weight
rested on his palm although the adjutant still held
the end of the chain loosely. . . . The watch face
was blue. . . . The case was newly polished. . . .
It seemed blazing in the sun like fire. . . . The
temptation was too strong.
Fortunate raised his left hand at the same time,
and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to the
haycock against which he was leaning. The
adjutant understood him immediately, and let go
the end of the chain. Fortunate felt himself sole
possessor of the watch. He jumped up with the
agility of a deer, and stood ten paces distant from
the haycock, which the soldiers at once began to
upset.
It was not long before they saw the hay move,
and a bleeding man came out, poniard in hand ;
when, however, he tried to rise to his feet his
stiffening wound prevented him from standing".
He fell down. The adjutant threw himself upon
him and snatched aw r ay his dagger. He was
speedily and strongly bound, in spite of his re-
sistance.
Gianetto was bound and laid on the ground like a
bundle of faggots. He turned his head towards
Fortunate, who had come up to him.
r> 33
Mateo Falcone
" Son of ," he said to him more in contempt
than in anger.
The boy threw to him the silver piece that he had
received from him, feeling" conscious that he no
longer deserved it ; but the outlaw took no notice
of the action. He merely said in a cool voice to
the adjutant
"My dear Gamba, I cannot walk; you will be
obliged to carry me to the town."
"You could run as fast as a kid just now," his
captor retorted brutally. " But don't be anxious, I
am glad enough to have caught you : I would carry
you for a league on my own back and not feel tired.
All the same, my friend, we will make a litter for
you out of the branches and your cloak. The farm
at Crespoli will provide us with horses."
"All right," said the prisoner; "I hope you will
put a little straw on your litter to make it easier
for me."
While the soldiers were busy, some making a
rough stretcher out of chestnut boughs and others
dressing Gianetto's wound, Mateo Falcone and his
wife suddenly appeared in a turning of the path
from the nmquis. The wife came in bending labor-
iously under the weight of a huge sack of chest-
nuts, while her husband jaunted up carrying his gun
in one hand, and a second gun slung in his shoulder-
belt. It is considered undignified for a man to
carry any other burden but his weapons.
When he saw the soldiers, Mateo's first thought
was that they had come to arrest him. But he had
no ground for this fear, he had never quarrelled
with the law. On the contrary he bore a good
34
Mateo Falcone
reputation. He was, as the saying is, particularly
well thought of. But he was a Corsican, and
mountain bred, and there are but few Corsican
mountaineers who, if they search their memories
sufficiently, cannot recall some little peccadillo,
some gunshot, or dagger thrust, or such-like baga-
telle. Mateo's conscience was clearer than most,
for it was fully ten years since he had pointed his
gun at any man ; yet at the same time he was
cautious, and he prepared to make a brave defence
if needs be.
"Wife, put down your sack," he said, "and
keep yourself in readiness."
She obeyed immediately. He gave her the gun
which was slung over his shoulder, as it was likely
to be the one that would inconvenience him the
most. He held the other gun in readiness, and
proceeded leisurely towards the house by the side of
the trees which bordered the path, ready to throw
himself behind the largest trunk for cover, and to
fire at the least sign of hostility. His wife walked
close behind him holding her reloaded gun and her
cartridges. It was the duty of a good housewife,
in case of a conflict, to reload her husband's arms.
On his side, the adjutant was very uneasy at the
sight of Mateo advancing thus upon them with
measured steps, his gun pointed and finger on
trigger.
" If it happens that Gianetto is related to Mateo,"
thought he, "or he is his friend, and he means to
protect him, two of his bullets will be put into two
of us as sure as a letter goes to the post, and he
will aim at me in spite of our kinship ! . . . '
35
Mateo Falcone
In this perplexity, he put on a bold face and went
forward alone towards Mateo to tell him what had
happened, greeting him like an old acquaintance.
But the brief interval which separated him from
Mateo seemed to him of terribly long" duration.
"Hullo! Ah! my old comrade," he called out.
"How are you, old fellow? I am your cousin
Gamba."
Mateo did not say a word, but stood still ; and
while the other was speaking-, he softly raised the
muzzle of his rifle in such a manner that by the time
the adjutant came up to him it was pointing sky-
wards.
"Good day, brother,"* said the adjutant, holding-
out his hand. "It is a very long time since I saw
you."
"Good day, brother."
" I just called in when passing to say ' good day '
to you and cousin Pepa. We have done a long
tramp to-day ; but we must not complain of fatigue,
for we have taken a fine catch. We have got hold
of Gianetto Sanpiero."
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Giuseppa. "He
stole one of our milch goats last week."
Gamba rejoiced at these words.
' ' Poor devil ! " said Mateo, ' ' he was hungry. "
"The fellow fought like a lion," continued the
adjutant, slightly nettled. "He killed one of the men,
and, not content to stop there, he broke Corporal
Chardon's arm ; but that is not of much consequence,
for he is only a Frenchman. . . . Then he hid him-
* The ordinary greeting 1 of Corsicans.
36
Mateo Falcone
self so cleverly that the devil could not have found
him. If it had not been for my little cousin Fortunate,
I should never have discovered him."
" Fortunate ? " cried Mateo.
" Fortunate?" repeated Giuseppa.
"Yes; Gianetto was concealed in your haycock
there, but my little cousin showed me his trick.
I will speak of him to his uncle the corporal, who
will send him a nice present as a reward. And both
his name and yours will be in the report which
I shall send to the superintendent."
" Curse you ! " cried Mateo under his breath.
By this time they had rejoined the company.
Gianetto was already laid on his litter, and they
were ready to set out. When he saw Mateo in
Gamba's company he smiled a strange smile ; then,
turning towards the door of the house, he spat
on the threshold.
" It is the house of a traitor ! " he exclaimed.
No man but one willing to die would have dared to
utter the word "traitor" in connection with Falcone.
A quick stroke from a dagger, without need for a
second, would have immediately wiped out the
insult. But Mateo made no other movement beyond
putting his hand to his head like a dazed man.
Fortunato went into the house when he saw his
father come up. He reappeared shortly carrying
a jug of milk, which he offered with downcast eyes
to Gianetto.
" Keep off me ! " roared the outlaw.
Then, turning to one of the soldiers, he said
" Comrade, give me a drink of water."
The soldier placed the flask in his hands, and the
37
Mateo Falcone
bandit drank the water given him by a man with
whom he had but now exchanged gunshots. He
then asked that his hands might be tied crossed over
his breast instead of behind his back.
" I prefer," he said, "to lie down comfortably."
They granted him his request. Then, at a sign
from the adjutant, they set out, first bidding adieu
to Mateo, who answered never a word, and descended
at a quick pace towards the plain.
Well-nigh ten minutes elapsed before Mateo opened
his mouth. The child looked uneasily first at his
mother, then at his father, who leant on his gun,
looking at him with an expression of concentrated
anger.
"Well, you have made a pretty beginning," said
Mateo at last in a voice calm, but terrifying, to
those who knew the man.
" Father," the boy cried out, with tears in his
eyes, just ready to fall at his knees.
" Out of my sight ! " shouted Mateo.
The child stopped motionless a few steps off his
father, and began to sob.
Giuseppa came near him. She had just seen the
end of the watch-chain hanging from out his shirt.
" Who gave you that watch ? " she asked severely.
" My cousin the adjutant."
Falcone seized the watch, and threw it against a
stone with such force that it broke into a thousand
pieces.
" Woman," he said, " is this my child? "
Giuseppa's brown cheeks flamed brick-red.
" What are you saying, Mateo? Do you know to
whom you are speaking ? "
38
Mateo Falcone
"Yes, very well. This child is the first traitor of
his race."
Fortunato's sobs and hiccoughs redoubled, and
Falcone kept his lynx eyes steadily fixed on him.
At length he struck the ground with the butt end of
his gun ; then he flung it across his shoulder, retook
the way to the mdguts, and ordered Fortunate to
follow him. The child obeyed.
Giuseppa ran after Mateo, and seized him by the
arm.
" He is your son," she said in a trembling voice,
fixing her black eyes on those of her husband, as
though to read all that was passing in his mind.
" Leave go," replied Mateo ; " I am his father."
Giuseppa kissed her son, and went back crying
into the hut. She threw herself on her knees
before an image of the Virgin, and prayed fervently.
When Falcone had walked about two hundred
yards along the path he stopped at a little ravine
and went down into it. He sounded the ground
with the butt end of his gun, and found it soft and
easy to dig. The spot seemed suitable to his
purpose.
" Fortunate, go near to that large rock."
The boy did as he was told, then knelt down.
" Father, father, do not kill me ! "
" Say your prayers ! " repeated Mateo in a terrible
voice.
The child repeated the Lord's Prayer and the
Creed, stammering and sobbing. The father said
"Amen!" in a firm voice at the close of each
prayer.
" Are those all the prayers you know? "
39
Mateo Falcone
" I know also the Ave Maria and Litany, that my
aunt taught me, father."
" It is long, but never mind."
The child finished the Litany in a faint voice.
" Have you finished? "
"Oh, father, forgive me! forgive me! I will
never do it again. I will beg my cousin the
corporal with all my might to pardon Gianetto ! "
He went on imploring. Mateo loaded his rifle and
took aim.
" May God forgive you ! " he said.
The boy made a frantic effort to get up and clasp
his father's knees, but he had no time. Mateo fired,
and Fortunate fell stone dead.
Without throwing a single glance at the body,
Mateo went back to his house to fetch a spade with
which to bury his son. He had only returned a
little way along the path when he met Giuseppa,
who had run out alarmed by the sound of firing.
" What have you done? " she cried.
"Justice! "
"Where is he? "
" In the ravine ; I am going to bury him. He
died a Christian. I shall have a mass sung for him.
Let someone tell my son-in-law Tiodoro Bianchi to
come and live with us."
1829.
THE VISION OF CHARLES XL
THE VISION OF CHARLES XI
"There are more things in heav'n and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
SHAKSPEARE : Hamlet.
THOUGH people laugh at visions and super-
natural apparitions, several have been too well
authenticated to be discredited, for, should one be
consistent, it would be necessary to ignore the whole
witness of historic evidence.
A correctly drawn-up report, signed by four
reliable witnesses, is the guarantee of the truth of
the incident about to be related. I should add that
the prediction set forth in this report was so set
forth and cited a very long time before the events
occurred in our days which seemed to fulfil it.
Charles XI., father of the famous Charles XII.,
was a most despotic king, but at the same time
the wisest of the monarchs who have reigned over
Sweden. He restricted the overbearing privileges
of the nobility, abolished the power of the Senate,
and created laws by his own authority ; in fact,
he changed the constitution of the country, which
before was an oligarchy, and compelled the states
to vest the absolute control in him. He was,
besides, an enlightened man, steadfastly attached
43
The Vision of Charles XI.
to the Lutheran religion, brave, of an inflexible,
self-contained, decided character, and entirely
devoid of imagination.
He had just lost his wife, Ulrique Eleonore.
Although it is said that his severity had hastened
her end, he held her in esteem, and appeared more
affected by her death than would have been expected
of a man so hard of heart. After that event he
grew still more taciturn and gloomy than before,
and gave himself up to work with an application
that showed an urgent desire to dispel sad thoughts.
At the close of one autumn evening he was sitting
in his private apartment in the Stockholm Palace, in
his dressing-gown and slippers, before a great fire.
With him was his chamberlain, Count Brahe, who
was one of his most favoured courtiers, and his
physician, Baumgarten, who, it may be remarked
in passing, set up for a sceptic, and who would
have liked people to disbelieve in everything but in
medicine. This night he had been summoned to
advise on some slight ailment.
The evening lengthened, but contrary to his habit
the King made no sign of dismissal to his com-
panions. He sat in deep silence, his head lowered,
and his eyes fixed upon the burning logs, wearied of
their company, but afraid, without knowing why, of
being left alone. Count Brahc had shrewdly observed
that his presence was distasteful to the King, and
had several times hinted that he feared His Majesty
was in need of repose ; but the King had signified
by a gesture that he wished him to remain. The
physician, in his turn, spoke of the ill-effects
to health of keeping late hours. Charles only
44
The Vision of Charles XI.
muttered, " Stay where you are ; I have no desire
to sleep yet."
At this stage the courtiers tried several different
topics of conversation, but all fell flat at the end of
the second or third sentence. It was evident that
His Majesty was in one of his black moods, and in
such circumstance the position of a courtier is
decidedly delicate. Count Brahe, suspecting- that the
King was brooding over the loss of his wife, gazed
for some time at the portrait of the Queen which
hung on the wall of the room, and remarked with a
deep sigh
"What an excellent likeness ! Just the expression
she wore, so majestic and yet so gentle."
"Bah!" the King broke in rudely. "That
portrait is too flattering. The Queen was ugly."
He was always suspicious of there being under-
lying reproaches whenever anyone mentioned her
name in his presence. Then, vexed at his harsh-
ness, he rose and paced the room to hide a blush
of shame. He stopped in front of the window which
looked on to the courtyard.
It was a dark night and the moon was in its
first quarter. The palace in which the Kings of
Sweden now reside was not then finished, so that
Charles XL, who had begun it, lived then in the
old palace on the promontory of Ritterholm over-
looking the Lake Mceler. It was a vast building
in the form of a horse-shoe. The King's cabinet
was at one of the extremities, and nearly opposite
it was the large audience hall where Parliament
assembled to receive communications from the
Crown.
45
The Vision of Charles XI.
The windows of this chamber appeared to be
illuminated with a bright light. This struck the
King as strange, but at first he thought the light
might be produced by the torch of some valet.
Still, what could anybody be doing there at such
an hour, and in a room which had not been opened
for some time? Besides, the light was too bright to
proceed from a single torch. It might be the work
of an incendiary, but there was no smoke, and the
windows were not broken.
Charles watched the windows some time in
silence. No sound could be heard ; everything be-
tokened simply an illumination. Meanwhile Count
Brahe" extended his hand towards the bellrope to
summon a page in order to send him to find out the
cause of this singular light, but the King stopped
him. " I will go to the hall myself," he said.
Whilst he spoke they saw his face grow pale with
superstitious fear ; but he went out with a firm tread,
followed by the chamberlain and physician, each
holding a lighted candle.
Baumgarten went to rouse the sleeping porter
who had charge of the keys with an order from the
King to open immediately the doors of the assembly
hall. The man was greatly surprised at this unex-
pected order. He dressed himself quickly, and
joined the King with his bunch of keys. At first
he opened the door of a gallery which was used as
an antechamber or private entrance to the assembly
hall. The King entered. Imagine his surprise at
finding the walls completely draped in black.
" Who gave the order for hanging this room
thus?" he demanded angrily.
46
The Vision of Charles XL
" No one, Sire, to my knowledge," replied the un-
easy porter. " The last time I swept out the gallery
it was panelled, as it always has been. ... I
am certain this hanging never came out of Your
Majesty's depository."
The King, walking at a rapid pace, had already
traversed more than two-thirds of the gallery. The
Count and porter followed closely ; the physician
Baumgarten was a little behind, divided between
his fears of being left alone and of being exposed to
the consequences of what promised to be such a
strange adventure.
"Go no further, Sire," exclaimed the porter.
" Upon my soul, there is sorcery behind this. At
such an hour . . . and since the death of the Queen
your gracious wife . . . they say she walks in this
gallery. . . . May God protect us ! "
" Stop, Sire," entreated the Count in turn. " Do
you not hear the noise that comes from the assembly
hall ? Who knows to what dangers Your Majesty
may be exposed ? "
"Sire," broke in Baumgarten, whose candle had
just been blown out by a gust of wind, "at least
allow me to go and fetch a score of your halberdiers."
"Let us go in," said the King sternly, stopping
before the door of the great apartment. "Porter,
open the door immediately."
He kicked it with his feet, and the noise, echoing
from the roof, resounded along the gallery like the
report of a cannon.
The porter trembled so much that he could not
find the keyhole.
"An old soldier trembling!" said Charles,
47
The Vision of Charles XI.
shrugging his shoulders. " Come, Count, you
open the door."
"Sire," replied the Count, recoiling- a step, "if
Your Majesty commanded me to walk up to the
mouth of a German or a Danish cannon I would
obey unhesitatingly, but you wish me to defy the
powers of hell."
The King snatched the key from the hands of the
porter.
" I quite see," he observed contemptuously, " that
I must attend this matter myself," and before his
suite could stay him he had opened the heavy oaken
door and entered the great hall, pronouncing the
words " By the power of God ! " His three acolytes,
urged by a curiosity stronger than their fear and
perhaps ashamed to desert their King went in after
him. The great hall was lighted up by innumerable
torches, and the old figured tapestry had been re-
placed by black hangings. Along the walls hung,
as usual, the German, Danish, and Russian flags
trophies taken by the soldiers of Gustavus Adolphus.
In their midst were the Swedish banners, covered
with crape as for a funeral.
An immense assembly filled the seats. The four
orders of the State (the nobility, clergy, citizens
and peasants) were arranged in their proper order.
All were clothed in black, and this array of human
faces, lit up against a dark background, so dazzled
the eyes of the four witnesses of this extraordinary
scene that not one figure was recognisable in the
crowd. Thus an actor who stands before a large
audience is not able to distinguish a single indi-
vidual ; he sees but a confused mass of faces.
48
The Vision of Charles XL
Seated on the raised throne from which the King
usually addressed his Parliament, they saw a bleeding
corpse clothed in the royal insignia. At his right
stood a child with a crown on his head and a sceptre
in his hand ; at his left an old man, or rather another
spectre, leant against the throne. He wore the
State cloak as used by the former administrators of
Sweden before Vasa had made it a kingdom. In
front of the throne, seated before a table covered
with large books and rolls of documents, were
several grave and austere- looking personages,
clothed in long black robes, who looked like judges.
Between the throne and the seats of the assembly
a block was raised covered with black crepe ; against
it lay an axe.
No one in that supernatural assembly seemed to
notice the presence of Charles and the three people
with him. At their entry they could only hear at
first a confused murmur of inarticulate words ; then
the oldest of the black-robed judges arose the one
who seemed to be the president and struck the
book which lay open in front of him three times
with his hand. Deep silence immediately followed.
Then there came into the hall by a door opposite
to that by which Charles had entered several young
men of noble bearing and richly clad. Their hands
were tied behind their backs, but they walked with
heads erect and confident looks. Behind them a
stalwart man in a jerkin of brown leather held the
ends of the cords which bound their hands. The
most important of the prisoners he who walked
first stopped in the middle of the hall before the
block and looked at it with supreme disdain. While
E 49
The Vision of Charles XI.
this was going on the corpse seemed to shake
convulsively, and a fresh stream of crimson blood
flowed out of its wound. The youth kneeled down
and laid his head on the block, the axe flashed
in the air and the sound of its descent followed
immediately. A stream of blood gushed over the
dais and mingled with that from the corpse ; the
head bounded several times on the crimsoned pave-
ment, and then rolled at the feet of Charles. It
dyed him with its blood.
Up to this moment surprise had held the King
dumb, but this frightful spectacle unloosed his
tongue. He stepped forward towards the dais,
and, addressing himself to the figure who was
clothed in the administrator's robes, he pronounced
boldly the well-known form of words
" If thou art of God, speak ; if thou art from the
Other, leave us in peace."
The phantom spoke to him slowly in solemn
tones
" KING CHARLES! this blood will not be shed
during your reign ..." (here the voice grew less
distinct) "but five reigns later. Woe, woe, woe to
the House of Vasa ! "
Then the spectres of the countless personages
who formed this extraordinary assembly gradually
became fainter, until they soon looked like coloured
shadows, and then they completely disappeared.
All the fantastic lights were extinguished, and those
of Charles and his suite revealed only the old
tapestries, slightly waving in the draught. They
heard for some time afterwards a melodious sound,
which one of the witnesses described as like the
5
The Vision of Charles XI.
sig-hing of wind amongst leaves, and another to
the rasping" sound given by the strings of a harp
that is being tuned. All agreed as to the duration
of the apparition, which they judged to have lasted
about ten minutes.
The black draperies, the dissevered head, the
drops of blood which had stained the dais all had
vanished with the phantoms ; only upon Charles's
slipper was there a bloodstain. This was the sole
witness left by which to recall the scene of that
night, had it not been sufficiently engraved upon his
memory.
When the King- returned to his chamber he had an
account written of what he had seen, signed it him-
self, and caused it to be signed by his fellow-
witnesses. In spite of the precautions taken to keep
the contents of this document secret it was soon
known, even during- the lifetime of Charles XI. It
still exists, and up to the present time no one has
thought fit to throw doubts upon its authenticity.
In it the King concludes with these remarkable
words :
"And if that which I herein relate is not the
simple truth, I renounce all my hope in the life
to come, the which I may have merited for some
good deeds done, and, above all, for my zeal in
working for the welfare of my people, and in pre-
serving the faith of my forefathers."
Now, when the reader recollects the death of
Gustavus III., and the doom of Ankarstroem, his
assassin, they will find more than a mere coincidence
between that event and the circumstances of this
extraordinary prophecy.
The Vision of Charles XI.
The young man beheaded before the States
Assembly should be called Ankarstroem.
The crowned corpse should be Gustavus III.
The child, his son and successor, Gustavus
Adolphus IV.
Finally, the old man was the Duke of Sudermania,
uncle of Gustavus IV., regent of the Crown, and,
in the end, King-, after the deposition of his nephew.
5 2
HOW WE STORMED THE FORT
HOW WE STORMED THE
FORT
(L' enlevement de la redoute)
A MILITARY friend of mine, who died of fever
in Greece some years ago, related to me one
day the story of the first engagement in which he
had taken part. His narrative was so striking that
I wrote it down from memory as soon as I had
an opportunity. It is as follows :
On the evening of the 4th September I rejoined
my regiment. I found the colonel in bivouac. At
first he received me rather coolly, but, after having
read General B 's letter of recommendation, his
manner changed, and he said a few kind words.
He introduced me to my captain, who had just
returned from a reconnoitring expedition. This
captain, whose acquaintance I had scarcely the time
to make, was a tall, dark man, with a severe and
forbidding expression. He had been a common
soldier, and had won his commission and the cross
on the battlefield. His voice was weak and hoarse,
and contrasted strangely with his almost gigantic
height. I was told that this strange voice was due
to a ball which had pierced him through at the
Battle of Jena.
55
How we Stormed the Fort
On hearing" that I came from the school at Fon-
tainebleau he shrugged his shoulders and said, " My
lieutenant died yesterday." I understood that he
meant to imply, "You are intended to take his
place, and you are not up to it." A cutting reply
rose to my lips, but I restrained myself.
Behind Fort Cheverino, which stood about two
gunshots off our bivouac, rose the moon. It was
large and red as it usually is when rising. But this
evening it seemed to me to have an unusual splen-
dour. For an instant the fort stood outlined in
black against the shining orb, which looked like the
cone of a volcano during eruption. An old soldier,
near whom I was standing, remarked on the moon's
colour.
" How very red it is ! " he said ; " it is a sign that
it will cost much to take this precious fort. "
I was always superstitious, and this omen, above
all at such a moment, impressed me greatly. I laid
myself down, but could not sleep. I got up and
walked about for some time, watching the long lines
of fire scattered over the heights beyond the village
of Cheverino.
When I thought the fresh, sharp night air had
sufficiently quickened my blood, I returned to the
fire. I wrapped myself carefully in my cloak and
closed my eyes, thinking" not to open them before the
morning. But sleep obstinately evaded me. Gradu-
ally my thoughts took a melancholy hue. I told
myself I had not one friend amongst the hundred
thousand men who covered that plain. If I were
wounded I should go to the hospital, there to be
treated without consideration by ignorant surgeons.
56
How we Stormed the Fort
All I had heard of surgical operations returned to
my memory. My heart beat fast, and instinctively
I arranged my handkerchief and pocket-book over
my breast as a kind of cuirass. I was overcome
with weariness, and I became more drowsy each
moment, but at each moment some dark thought
sprang up with greater force and woke me into
a start.
Nevertheless weariness overcame me, and, when
the reveille sounded, I was fast asleep. We fell
into our ranks ; the roll was called ; then we piled
arms again, and everything suggested that we were
going to pass a quiet day.
About three o'clock an aide-de-camp arrived,
bearing a despatch, and we were ordered to shoulder
arms. Our skirmishers scattered themselves over
the plain ; we followed them slowly, and in about
twenty minutes' time we saw all the outposts of the
Russians fall back and re-enter the fort.
One battery of artillery was on our right, another
on our left, but both were well in advance of us.
They opened a sharp fire on the enemy, who
answered briskly ; and very soon the fort of Che-
verino was hidden under thick clouds of smoke.
Our regiment was almost protected from the
Russian fire by a ridge of earth. Since they aimed
rather at our artillery than at us, their balls passed
over our heads, or at the most cast earth and small
stone at us.
The moment the order to advance was given us
my captain looked at me so closely that I felt
impelled to stroke my budding moustache two or
three times with as nonchalant an air as possible.
57
How we Stormed the Fort
In fact, I had no fear ; my only dread was that
people might think me afraid. Furthermore, these
inoffensive shots contributed to keep me in a calm
state of mind. My vanity told me that I was
really in danger, being at last under battery fire.
I was delighted to find myself so cool, and I dreamed
of the pleasure of relating in the drawing-room
of Madame B , Rue de Provence, the story of the
taking of the fort of Cheverino.
The colonel rode past our company and said to
me, " Well, you are going to get it hot at your first
battle."
I smiled with a truly military air, at the same
time brushing from my sleeve some dust which a
ball thirty paces off had thrown up.
It was evident that the Russians had noticed the
miscarriage of their balls, for they replaced them by
shells which could more easily reach us in the
hollow where \ve were posted. One that burst near
by knocked off my cap and killed a man close
to me.
" I congratulate you," said the captain to me, as
I picked up my cap. " Now you are safe for the
day."
I was acquainted with the soldier's superstition
that the axiom non bis in idem holds good as much
on the battlefield as in the court of justice. I re-
placed my cap jauntily.
"That's a free and easy kind of greeting," I
replied as jovially as possible. This poor joke
seemed excellent under the circumstances.
"You are lucky," said the captain; "you need
not fear anything more, and you will command a
company to-night. I know very well that a bullet
for me will find its billet to-day. Each time I have
been wounded the officer next to me has been
grazed by a spent bullet, and," he added in a lower
and half-ashamed tone, "their names always began
with a P."
I took courage ; most people would have done
the same ; most people would have been equally
struck with such prophetic words. Conscript as I
was, I did riot think I could confide my feelings to
anybody. I thought I ought always to appear cool
and brave.
About half an hour after, the fire of the Russians
slackened considerably : then we sallied out of our
cover to storm the fort.
Our regiment was composed of three battalions.
The second was ordered to outflank the fort from
the side of the gorge ; the other two were to make
the assault. I was in the third battalion.
Coming out from behind the buttress which had
protected us, we were greeted by several rounds of
fire, which did but little harm in our ranks. The
whistling of the balls startled me : I kept looking
round, thus bringing upon myself joking remarks
from my more seasoned comrades.
"Upon the whole," I said, "a battle is not so
very dreadful."
We advanced at the double, preceded by our
sharpshooters ; suddenly the Russians gave three
cheers, three distinct hurrahs, then they stopped
firing and became silent.
" I do not like that silence," said my captain ; " it
bodes no good to us."
59
How we Stormed the Fort
1 thought our men were a little too noisy, and I
could not help inwardly contrasting" their tumultuous
clamour with the impressive silence of the enemy.
We quickly reached the outskirts of the fort,
where the palisades had been broken and the earth
thrown up by our balls. The soldiers leapt upon
this newly-broken ground with shouts of "Vive
1'Empereur ! " more loudly than one could have
thought possible from men who had already shouted
so much.
I raised my eyes, and never shall I forget the
spectacle before me. Most of the smoke had risen,
and was hanging like a canopy about twenty feet
above the fort. Through the blue haze I could
see the Russian Grenadiers, with arms fixed, like
motionless statues, behind their half - destroyed
parapet. I can see now each soldier, his left eye
fixed on us, his right hidden by his raised gun. In
an embrasure a few feet from us a man was holding
a lighted fuse to a cannon.
I shuddered, and I thought my last hour had
come.
" Now the fun begins," cried my captain. " Here
goes ! "
These were the last words I heard him speak.
A roll of drums sounded in the fort. I .saw all
the muskets levelled. I closed my eyes, and heard
an appalling uproar, followed by shrieks and groans.
I opened my eyes, surprised to find myself still
alive. The fort was again wrapped in smoke. I was
surrounded with wounded and dying. My captain
lay stretched at my feet : his head had been smashed
by a ball, and 1 was covered with his brains and
60
How we Stormed the Fort
blood. Out of all my company there were only six
men and myself left standing.
A moment of stupor followed this carnage. The
colonel, putting his hat on the end of his sword,
was the first to climb the parapet, shouting "Vive
1'Empereur ! " He was soon followed by all the
survivors. I cannot remember clearly what followed.
I do not know how we entered the fort. We fought
hand to hand in such a dense smoke that we could
not see. I suppose I hit, for I found my sabre
covered with blood. At last I heard the shout
"Victory!" and, the smoke clearing away, I saw
the ground of the fort covered with blood and
corpses. The guns especially were buried under
heaps of dead. Scattered about in disorder stood
about two hundred men in French uniform : some
were loading their pieces, others wiping their
bayonets. Eleven Russian prisoners were with
them.
The colonel was lying covered with blood on a
broken ammunition box near the gorge. Several
soldiers crowded round him. I joined them.
"Where is the senior captain? " he asked one of
the sergeants.
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders in a signifi-
cant way.
" And the senior lieutenant ? "
" Here is the gentleman who came yesterday,"
said the sergeant in a perfectly calm voice.
The colonel smiled bitterly.
"Well, monsieur, you are commander-in-chief, "
said he to me. " Have the gorge of the fort
fortified at once with these waggons. The enemy
6 1
is in force, but General C - is coming' to support
you."
"Colonel," I said to him, "you are badly
wounded."
"A fig" for that, my lad. We have taken the
fort ! "
TAMANGO
TAMANGO
CAPTAIN LEDOUX was a born sailor. He had
V_^/ started at the bottom and worked his way up
to the rank of assistant quarter-master. At the
battle of Trafalgar his left hand was so severely
damaged by splinters of wood that he had to have
it amputated, and, consequently, he received his
discharge, together with first-rate testimonials.
The quiet monotony of home life was distasteful to
him, and, when he was offered the post of second
lieutenant on board a corsair, he eagerly seized the
opportunity of going to sea again. The money
which came to him as his share of a few captures
enabled him to buy books and to study the theory
of navigation as a supplement to the practical
knowledge he already possessed. In due time he
became captain of a pirate lugger which could boast
of three guns and a crew of sixty dauntless sailors :
the longshoremen of Jersey still remember the
exploits of this pirate lugger. Then came the peace,
which was a great grief to him ; he had amassed a
considerable amount of money during the war and
had looked forward to increase his little fortune at
the expense of the English. But he was obliged to
offer his services to peaceful merchants ; and, as he
was known to be a man of courage and experience,
K 6 5
Tamango
he had no difficulty in finding" a ship. When slave
trading was prohibited by law it could not be under-
taken without running" great risks, for it was
necessary not only to evade the watchfulness of the
French Customs officers (which was not so very
difficult), but also to escape being- captured by
English cruisers. Captain Ledoux proved invalu-
able to these "ebony"* merchants.
Unlike the majority of sailors who spend many
years in subordinate positions, Captain Ledoux had
not that deep-rooted dread of innovation, nor that
innate feeling 1 of routine, which even their elevation
to higher rank is seldom able to expunge. On the
contrary, he was the first to suggest to his ship-
builder the use of metal tanks for holding fresh
water. He had the handcuffs, too, and the chains
indispensable articles on board such vessels made
in a particular fashion and carefully varnished to
prevent their rusting. But that for which he was
well known to all the slave traders was the brig he
had had constructed under his personal supervision
and according to his own ideas. He had christened
her Hope. Built for slave trading, she was a fast
sailer, narrow and long like a war-ship, and yet able
to hold a great number of blacks. He had had the
'tween decks made narrower and less lofty ; had
reduced the height to forty inches, declaring that
that left sufficient room for any nigger of reason-
able stature to sit at ease why should they want to
stand up? There would be more than enough
standing for them when they reached the colonies,
he explained.
* Slave dealers used to style themselves eliy merchants.
66
Tamango
The slaves would sit with their backs against the
sides of the ship in two parallel lines, leaving" a free
space between their feet which, in all other slave
ships, was only used as a gangway. It was
Ledoux's idea to make use of this free space by
putting more slaves there, forcing them to sit at
right angles to the others. In this way his brig
would hold at least ten slaves more than any other
ship of the same size. In case of need, more still
could have been put on board, but he was considerate
enough to insist that each nigger should have a
space measuring about five foot by two in which to
stretch his limbs during the six weeks' journey. For,
after all, niggers were human beings like the white
men, he explained to the shipwright, as an excuse
for his generous treatment.
The Hope weighed anchor in the port of Nantes
on a Friday a fact which superstitious people sub-
sequently recalled. The Customs officers who
visited the brig for the purpose of inspecting every-
thing on board did not come across six large cases
full of chains, handcuffs, and those irons which were
for some unknown reason called "bonds of justice."
The very considerable supply of fresh water which
had been stowed on board did not seem to astonish
them, in spite of the fact that the Hope (according to
her bills) was only going to Senegambia for the
purpose of trading in wood and ivory. The journey
was certainly not a long one, but perhaps they
thought there was no harm in erring on the safe
side for the water would be invaluable if they
happened to be becalmed.
So the good ship Hope set sail on a Friday,
67
Tamango
thoroughly well provisioned and equipped. Ledoux
fancied at first that the masts seemed hardly stout
enough ; but in the course of time he found that the
vessel fulfilled his expectations in every way. They
had a first-rate journey, and the coast of Africa was
soon sighted. The anchor \vas lowered at Joal (if
I mistake not), that portion of the coast being at
the time unguarded by English cruisers ; and the
native merchants immediately came on board.
The moment could not have been more favourable.
Tamango, a well-known warrior and slave dealer,
had just reached the coast with a convoy of slaves,
which he was selling at cheap rates with the con-
fidence of a man who feels that he has the power
of meeting any demands as soon as the article of
his trade becomes scarcer.
Captain Ledoux landed at the mouth of the river
and called on Tamango. He found him sitting in
a straw hut, which had been hastily erected for him,
together with his two wives, a few petty traders,
and the slave drivers. Tamango had felt bound to
put some clothes on to receive the white captain.
The old blue uniform which he wore could still be
recognised as having been a corporal's, but there
were two gold epaulettes on each shoulder, both
fastened to the same button and hanging down, one
behind, the other in front. As he did not wear a
shirt, and the tunic was too small for a man of his
stature, a broad /one of black skin was visible
between the white facings of the uniform and the
canvas breeches. It looked like a belt. A heavy
cavalry sword which hung at his side was fastened
by a string, and a fine double-barrelled English rifle
6S
Tamango
completed the outfit in which the African warrior
doubtless considered himself more than a match for
the most exquisite dandy from London or Paris.
Captain Ledoux stared at him for some time in
silence, and Tamango, flattered by the belief that
he was making a great impression on the white man,
drew himself up like a grenadier being inspected
by a strange general. Ledoux, after having criti-
cally examined him, turned to his chief officer and
observed, "There's a piece of brawn which would
fetch at least a thousand crowns if we could only
land him safe and sound in Martinique."
As soon as they had sat down the customary
greetings were exchanged, a sailor who had a
smattering of the Yolof language acting as inter-
preter. A basket full of bottles of brandy was
brought, drinking began at once, and the captain
thought to propitiate Tamango by making him a pre-
sent of a fine copper powder-flask with a portrait of
Napoleon embossed on it. The gift was acknow-
ledged with the conventional show of gratitude.
Tamango then suggested that they should go and
sit outside in the shade (not forgetting the brandy
bottle) and inspect the slaves he had to sell.
They came forward in a long file, worn out by
fear and fatigue, all bearing on their shoulders a
huge fork over two yards long, the two prongs of
which were fastened at the back of the neck with a
wooden bar. Whenever they set out on a march
one of the slave drivers bears on his shoulder the
handle of the yoke of the first slave, who carries
that of the man behind him ; the second slave carries
the yoke-handle of the third slave, and so on with
69
Tamango
the others. When a halt is made, the leader of the
file drives the pointed end of his yoke-handle into
the ground and the whole column comes to a stand-
still. Of course, there can be no question of escape
from the file with a heavy yoke two yards long-
fastened round one's neck.
The captain shrugged his shoulders as each slave,
male or female, passed before him ; he called them
puny creatures, said that the females were too old
or too young, and complained of the degeneracy of
the black race.
"The whole race is deteriorating," he declared.
" It used to be quite different in the olden days
when every woman was five foot six, and four men
could easily have worked a frigate's capstan and
raised the sheet anchor."
However, he critically picked out a first assort-
ment of blacks, choosing the strong and the good-
looking, for which he was willing to pay the usual
price ; on the remainder he demanded a considerable
reduction. But Tamango knew his own mind ; he
insisted that his wares were valuable, and spoke of
the scarcity of men and the dangers of the trailic.
He ended by quoting the very lowest price he could
possibly accept for the slaves the white captain still
had room for on board.
Ledoux stared at him in amazement and indigna-
tion when he heard Tamango's proposal interpreted.
The captain got up, swearing like a trooper,
apparently with the intention of putting an end
there and then to all bargaining with a man so
unreasonable. But Tamango, after some difficulty,
persuaded him to sit down. Another bottle was
70
Tamango
opened and the discussion renewed. Now it was
the black man's turn to call the white captain's views
outrageous and extravagant. They talked and
haggled as bottle after bottle was emptied ; but the
liquor was having quite a different effect on the two
contracting parties. The more the Frenchman
drank the less became his offers, and the more the
nigger drank the less he insisted on his demands.
So, when the case of brandy was finished, it was
found that they had come to terms. In exchange
for the hundred and sixty slaves, Tamango accepted
a quantity of worthless cotton, powder, gun-flints,
three casks of brandy, and fifty rusty rifles. The
captain, to ratify the compact, shook the half-tipsy
nigger by the hand, and immediately the slaves
were handed over to the French sailors, who lost no
time in putting on iron chains and handcuffs in place
of the wooden yokes a striking demonstration of
the superiority of European civilisation.
There were still about thirty slaves children, old
men, or infirm women. But there was no more room
on board. Tamango, not knowing what to do with
this refuse, offered to sell them to the captain at the
rate of a bottle of brandy a head. The offer was a
tempting one. Ledoux remembered a performance
of the Sicilian Vespers, at Nantes, at which he had
noticed that a considerable number of sturdy and
well-furnished people had managed to push their
way into the pit which was already full, and ulti-
mately find seats, thanks to the compressibility of
human bodies. He agreed to take the twenty
slimmest of the thirty slaves. Tamango then offered
to dispose of the ten remaining for a glass of
o
brandy a head. The fact that children go half-price
and take up half-room in railway carriages crossed
the captain's mind. So he accepted three children,
but said he would not take one more. Tamango,
seeing himself left still with seven slaves on his
hands, seized his rifle and took aim at the nearest
woman. She was the mother of the three children.
"Buy her," he said to the white man, "or I'll
fire. Half a glass of brandy, or she dies."
"But what the deuce am I to do with her?"
asked Ledoux.
Tamango fired, and the slave fell down dead.
" Now for another ! " cried Tamango, taking aim
at a decrepit old man. " A glass of brandy, or
The bullet went off at random, for one of his
wives had suddenly seized his arm. She had
happened to recognise in the old man whom her
husband was about to kill a guiriot, or magician,
who had prophesied that she would be queen.
Tamango, excited by all the brandy he had con-
sumed, lost control of himself when he found
himself thus thwarted. He struck his wife roughly
with the butt end of his gun, and turned towards
the captain.
"Take her," he said ; "I'll make you a present
of this woman. "
"I shall be able to find room for you," said
Ledoux, as he took her by the hand, and he smiled
when he saw how beautiful she was.
The interpreter a charitable man asked
Tamango for the remaining six slaves in ex-
change for a cardboard snuff-box. He took off
their yokes and told them to go whither the}- would.
72
Tamango
They hurried away in different directions, at a loss
to know how to reach their homes, two hundred
leagues from the coast.
In the meantime the captain had said good-bye to
Tamango and was hard at work getting his cargo
on board. He did not think it safe to remain
longer in the river, for fear of the cruisers which
might return at any moment. So he made up his
mind to set sail on the morrow. Tamango could
not do anything but lie down on the grass in the
shade, and sleep away the effects of the brandy.
When he woke up the vessel was already under
sail, and moving down the river. Tamango, still
very dizzy from the effects of his recent debauch,
called for his wife Ayche. He was reminded that
she had been unfortunate enough to displease him,
and that he had made a present of her to the white
captain who had taken her away on board \vith him.
Half stupefied at this news, Tamango clasped his
head in his hands ; then, seizing his gun, he rushed
away by the most direct route towards a little creek
about half a mile from the sea. He knew the river
made several detours before it reached the sea, and,
by means of a small boat which ought to be there,
he hoped to overtake the brig, delayed in her voyage,
as she would be, by the winding river. He was not
deceived ; he leaped into the boat and just managed
to reach the slave ship in time.
Ledoux was surprised to see him ; still more so to
learn that he wanted his wife back.
"You gave her to me," he said, "and I have no
intention of giving you back your present," and he
turned and left him.
75
Tamango
But the black insisted, said he would give back
some of the goods he had received in exchange for
the slaves. The captain laughed, and told him that
Ayche was a fine woman and that he intended to
keep her. Poor Tamango burst into a torrent of
tears, and groaned and cried like a man being
tortured by a surgeon. He flung himself about the
deck calling for his darling Ayche, and dashed his
head against the planks as though he were trying
to commit suicide. The captain, quite unmoved,
pointed to the shore, and suggested that it was
time for him to go. But Tamango held to his
point. He went to the length of offering his golden
epaulettes, his sword, his rifle. All in vain.
Meantime the lieutenant of the Hope suggested to
the captain, " Why not take this lusty brute in place
of the three slaves who died during the night ; he is
worth more than they."
Ledoux looked at him. Yes. He was worth at
least a thousand crowns. Besides, this journey,
which promised to be exceptionally remunerative,
would probably be his last ; his fortune would be
made, and he would give up the slave trade. If .so,
what did it matter what sort of a reputation he left
behind on the coast of Guinea? There was not
a soul in sight on the shore, and the black chieftain
was entirely at his mercy. It would only be a
matter of disarming him, for it would hardly be
safe to lay hands on him while he still had arms
in his possession. So Ledoux asked him for his
gun, as if he wished to examine it to see whether
it was really worth exchanging for the beautiful
negress. Whilst he was scrutinising it, he took
74
Tamango
care to jerk the charge out. The lieutenant
succeeded in obtaining' his sword, and Tamango
stood disarmed. Two sturdy sailors sprang on
him, brought him to the ground, and tried to bind
him. But the black man struggled heroically as
soon as he recovered from the surprise, and he
fought for long with the two sailors in spite of the
disadvantage at which they had him. By sheer
strength he sprang to his feet, and with one blow he
felled the man who held him by the neck. Leaving
half his coat in the hands of the other sailor, he
dashed furiously towards the lieutenant to regain
his sword, and received a cut on the head which,
without going deep, made a large wound. He fell
a second time, and the sailors soon bound him hand
and foot. He yelled with rage and struggled and
writhed like a wild boar caught in a net ; after a
while, seeing that all resistance was useless, he shut
his eyes and remained absolutely motionless. Had
it not been for his heavy and hurried breathing, one
might have thought him dead.
" Bless my soul ! " exclaimed the captain, " won't
these slaves he sold to us chuckle heartily when
they see him a slave like them ! They will begin to
think there must be such a thing as Providence."
Meanwhile poor Tamango was bleeding fast. The
charitable interpreter, who, the day before, had
saved the lives of the six slaves, came to bind up
his wound and speak a few words of sympathy
with him. No record exists of what he said, and
Tamango remained as motionless as a corpse. Two
sailors carried him like a package down to his
allotted place in the 'tween decks. For two days he
75
Tamango
refused to touch anything- to eat or drink, and he
scarcely opened his eyes. His companions in cap-
tivity, once his prisoners, had watched him brought
into their midst with terror-stricken amazement. So
great was the awe with which his mere presence
still inspired them that not one of them durst jeer
at the misery of the man who was the cause of all
their suffering.
Sailing rapidly on the wings of a strong land
breeze, the vessel was soon out of sight of the
coast of Africa. The captain's mind, no longer
haunted with visions of English cruisers, began to
dwell on the prospective fortune he hoped to reap
in the colonies towards which he was sailing. His
cargo of " ebony " was in good health. There were
no contagious diseases. Only twelve negroes had
died of suffocation, and they were the weakest a
mere trifle. But in order to preserve his human
cargo as much as possible from the effects of the
passage he had them brought up on deck once a
day. Three successive batches of these unhappy
slaves came up to inhale, for one hour each batch,
the stock of fresh air which was to last through the
twenty-four hours. A portion of the crew mounted
guard, armed to the teeth for fear of insurrection ;
but they took care that the slaves were never
entirely freed from their shackles. Sometimes a
sailor who could play the violin would treat them
to some music, and it was curious to watch all
those black faces gazing up at the fiddler, gradu-
ally losing their look of abject despair, and then
breaking forth into loud laughter clapping their
hands too, as much as their chains would allow
70
Tamango
them. Exercise being essential to health, one of
Captain Ledoux's salutary regulations was that all
the slaves should be made to dance, just as horses
are made to prance when embarked on a long-
journey.
"Come along, my boys, dance and amuse your-
selves ! " the captain would shout in a voice of
thunder, cracking his heavy slave-whip. In less
than no time the poor blacks were leaping and
dancing.
For some time Tamango's wound kept him below
the hatches. But at length he appeared on deck ;
at first he stood in the midst of the crowd of cring-
ing slaves, holding his proud head very high, and
his sad but untroubled eyes gazed over the wide
expanse of ocean which surrounded the ship ; then
he lay down, or rather threw himself down on deck,
without even troubling to shift his chains into a less
awkward position. Ledoux was sitting behind him
on the quarter-deck, smoking his pipe at ease.
Near him stood Ayche, holding in her hand a tray
of liquors which she was ready to pour out for him.
Instead of shackles she wore a pretty blue cotton
dress and dainty morocco shoes, which clearly
showed that she occupied a position of honour in
the captain's domestic circle. One of the black
men who loathed Tamango pointed her out to him.
As soon as he caught sight of her he cried out, and,
springing up impetuously, reached the quarter-deck
before the sailors on guard could prevent such a
flagrant breach of naval discipline.
"Ayche!" he shouted at the top of his voice
and Ayche shrieked as he added, "do you imagine
77
Tamango
that there is no MAMA JUMBO in the land of the
white man? "
The sailors rushed to his side with uplifted clubs,
but he calmly folded his arms and walked slowly
back to his place, whilst Aych burst into a flood
of tears, and seemed appalled at his mysterious
question.
The interpreter explained what the awful Mama
Jumbo was, the very mention of which had roused
such terror.
"It is the bogey of the black men," he said.
" When a husband is afraid his wife is going to
behave as some wives do, as well in France as
Africa, he threatens her with Mama Jumbo. I have
seen Mama Jumbo with my own eyes, and I under-
stand the trick ; but the poor blacks . . . they are so
unsophisticated they do not understand anything.
Picture to yourself a group of women dancing in
an evening having a folgar, as they call it in their
dialect near a thick and sombre grove. Suddenly
weird music is heard. Not a soul is to be seen, for
all the musicians are hidden amongst the trees. The
sounds of the reed flutes, wooden drums, bulafos, and
guitars made of the half of a gourd make a melody
calculated to produce the devil himself. No sooner do
the women hear the music than they begin to tremble
and would run away if their husbands would let
them ; they know too well what is going to happen.
Suddenly a huge white figure as tall as our top-
gallant-mast comes stalking out of the wood, with
a head as big as a pumpkin, eyes like hawse-holes,
and a mouth like the devil's, full of fire. It moves
slowly, very slowly, and does not come more than
78
Tamango
half a cable's length away from the grove. The
women shriek and yell like costermongers. It is
' Mama Jumbo.' And then their husbands tell them
to confess their sins, for if they do not speak the
Mama Jumbo is there to gobble them up alive.
Some of the women are foolish enough to acknow-
ledge everything, and their husbands proceed to
give them a sound thrashing."
' ' But what is the white figure, this Mama Jumbo ? "
asked the captain.
"Why, it's only some Merry Andrew, muffled up
in a white sheet, holding up on the end of a stick a
hollow gourd, with a lighted candle inside, that serves
as a head. It is nothing worse than that, for it
does not require much ingenuity to deceive these poor
blacks. But, when all's said and done, it's not such
a bad invention, this Mama Jumbo of theirs ; I wish
my wife believed in it."
" If my wife knows nothing of Mistress Jumbo,"
said Ledoux, "she has met with Master Stick, and
she knows well enough what the result would be if
she played any pranks with me. We are not a long-
suffering family, we Ledoux, and though I have only
one fist left it can still use a rope's-end to some
purpose. As to that joker who started the subject
of Mama Jumbo, tell him to keep still, and that if
he frightens this little woman again I'll have him
flogged till his skin changes from black to the colour
of an underdone beefsteak."
The captain led Ayche down to his room and tried
to comfort her, but neither his caresses nor his blows
(there was a limit even to the captain's patience)
succeeded in pacifying the beautiful negress ; her
79
Tamango
tears flowed in torrents. Ledoux went up on deck
in a bad humour and vented his feeling's on the
officer on duty concerning- the first thing- that came
uppermost.
During the night, when nearly everyone on board
was sound asleep and the men on watch were listen-
ing to a low, sad, monotonous chant, which seemed
to come from the 'tween decks, they heard the shrill,
piercing shriek of a woman. Then they heard
Ledoux's fierce voice swearing and threatening, and
the sound of his heavy whip echoed through the
whole vessel. Then the noise ceased, and all was
silent. On the morrow Tamango came on deck, his
face disfigured, but still as proud and undaunted as
ever.
As soon as Ayche caught sight of him she rushed
from the quarter-deck, where she had been sitting by
the side of the captain, and fell on her knees before
Tamango, exclaiming in a frenzy of despair
" Forgive me, Tamango, forgive me ! "
Tamango looked steadily into her eyes for a
minute, and then, seeing that the interpreter was
not within earshot, he ejaculated "A file!" and,
turning his back upon her, lay clown on the deck.
The captain chid her savagely, even struck her once
or twice, and enjoined her never again to speak to
her ex-husband. But he had not the least inkling of
the meaning of the few words they had exchanged,
and he did not ask any questions about them.
Tamango meanwhile, locked up with the other
slaves, continually exhorted them to make one
great effort to regain their liberty. He spoke
to them of the small number of the white
80
Tamango
men, and called their attention to the increas-
ing" carelessness of their guards ; and, without
going" into details, he promised them that he
would find some way of leading them back to their
country. He boasted of his knowledge of the
occult sciences, for which the black races have great
veneration, and declared that any who refused to
assist in the attempt would incur the wrath of the
devil. All these harangues were delivered in the
dialect of the Peules, which was known to most of
the slaves, but which the interpreter did not under-
stand. Such was the credit of the dreaded orator,
and so inveterate was their habit of obeying him,
that his eloquence worked wonders, and he was
begged to fix a day for their emancipation long
before he had even had time to work out all his
plans. So he told the conspirators vaguely that the
time was not yet come, and that the devil, who
appeared to him at night, had not yet given the
word ; but he bade them hold themselves in readi-
ness for the first signal. In the meantime he did
not lose any opportunity of testing the vigilance of
the crew. One day he saw a sailor leaning over the
side of the vessel watching a shoal of flying-fish
which were following the ship. Tamango took the
rifle which had been left standing against the gun-
wale, and began to handle it, mimicing grotesquely
the exercises he had seen the sailors do. The rifle
was immediately taken from him, but he had learnt
that it was possible to touch a weapon without at
once arousing suspicion. When the time came for
him to use one in earnest, woe betide the man who
tried then to wrest it from him !
G Si
Tamango
One morning Ayche threw him a biscuit, making
at the same time a sign which he alone understood.
The biscuit contained a small file, and on that tool
hung the success of the plot. Tamango took good
care not to let his companions see the file ; but,
when night had fallen, he began to utter unintelli-
gible sounds, accompanied by weird gestures.
Gradually he became more and more excited, and
the mutterings increased to loud groans. As they
listened to the varied intonations of his voice, the
slaves felt convinced that he was engaged in an
animated conversation with an unseen person.
They were all terrified, not doubting that the devil
was at that moment in their midst. Tamango put
the finishing touch to the scene by exclaiming joy-
fully
" Comrades ! the spirit which I have conjured has
at length fulfilled his promises, and I hold in my
hand the talisman which is to save us. Now you
only need to summon up a little courage, and you
are free men."
Those near him were allowed to feel the file, and
not one of them was sharp enough to suspect that
the whole thing was a gross imposture.
At length, after many days of expectation, the
great day of liberty and vengeance dawned. The
conspirators had been sworn to secrecy by a solemn
oath, and the arrangements had been settled after
much deliberation. The strongest amongst those
who happened to go on deck at the same time as
Tamango were to seize the arms of their guards,
some of the others were to go to the captain's room
to fetch the arms which were kept there. Those who
Tamango
had succeeded in filing through their handcuffs were
to lead the way ; but in spite of several nights'
persistent toil, the majority of the slaves were still
unable to take any active part in the attack. So
three lusty negroes were singled out to slay the
man who kept in his pocket the keys of the
manacles, and to return at once and unfetter their
companions.
That day Captain Ledoux seemed in the best of
tempers. Contrary to his usual habits, he pardoned
a cabin boy who had incurred a flogging. He con-
gratulated the officer of the watch on his seaman-
ship, told the crew he was pleased with their work
and promised to give them all a gratuity at
Martinique, which they would reach very soon.
All the sailors at once began to amuse themselves
by making plans as to how they would use the
gratuity. Their thoughts were of brandy and of
the swart women of Martinique, when Tamango
and his fellow - conspirators were brought up on
deck.
They had been careful to file their handcuffs in
such a way that nothing was noticeable, but at the
same time so that they could break them open
easily. Furthermore, they rattled their chains so
much that morning, that they seemed to be twice
as heavily laden as usual. When they had had
time to drink in the air, they all joined hands and
began to dance, whilst Tamango intoned his tribal
war song* which he always used before going to
battle. After they hr.d danced for some time,
Tamango, as if tired out, stretched himself at full
* Each nes^ro chief has his own.
83
Tamango
length near a sailor who was leaning back at his
ease against the ship's bulwarks ; all the others
followed his example, so that every one of the
guards was singled out by the several negroes.
As soon as he had managed to remove his hand-
cuffs quietly, Tamango gave a tremendous shout,
which was the signal, seized the sailor near him
violently by the legs, threw him head over heels,
and, planting his foot on his stomach, wrenched the
gun away from him and shot the officer of the
watch. Simultaneously every other sailor on deck
was seized, disarmed, and forthwith strangled.
From all sides came sounds of the struggle. The
boatswain's mate, who had the keys of the hand-
cuffs, was one of the first victims. In a moment
the deck was swarming with a crowd of niggers.
Those who could not find arms seized the bars of
the capstan or the oars of the gig. The fate of the
white men was already sealed ; a few sailors made
a show of resistance on the quarter-deck, but they
lacked weapons and resolution. Ledoux, however,
was still alive, and had not lost any of his courage.
Seeing that Tamango was the soul of the revolt,
he hoped that if he could kill him short work
might be made of his accomplices. So he sprang
forward, sword in hand, calling to him at the top of
his voice. Tamango lost no time in rushing to the
encounter. The two commanders met in one of
the gangways one of those narrow passages lead-
ing aft from the quarter-deck. Tamango, holding
his gun by the barrel, and using it as a club, was
the first to strike. The white man dexterously
avoided the blow : the butt end of the musket,
Tamango
falling" violently on the planks, was smashed, and
the weapon was dashed out of Tamango's hand.
He stood defenceless, and Ledoux advanced with a
diabolical grin. But before he had time to make
use of his sword, Tamango, as agile as the panthers
of his native country, sprang- into his adversary's
arms and seized the hand which held the sword.
The one strained to hold the sword, the other to
wrench it from him. During this desperate struggle
both stumbled, but the black man fell undermost.
Without a moment's hesitation Tamango hugged
his adversary with all his strength, and bit his neck
with such vehemence that the blood spurted out as
it does under the teeth of a lion. The sword slipped
from the weakened hand of the captain. Tamango
seized it, sprang up, and, his mouth streaming with
blood, yelled his triumph as he stabbed his dying
enemy through and through.
The victory was complete. The few remaining
sailors entreated the negroes to have pity on them,
but all, even the interpreter who had never done
them any harm, were mercilessly massacred. The
lieutenant fell fighting heroically. He had with-
drawn aft, behind one of those small cannons
which turn on a pivot, and are loaded with grape-
shot. With his left hand he worked the gun and
with his right he used the sword so dexterously that
he attracted a crowd of negroes round him. Then
he fired the gun into their midst and paved a way
with dead and dying. The next moment he was
torn to pieces.
When the body of the last white man had been
hacked to pieces and thrown overboard the negroes
85
Tamango
began to feel that their thirst for vengeance was
satiated, and they gazed up at the ship's sails which
were swollen by the fresh breeze, and seemed still
to obey their oppressors and to carry the con-
querors in spite of their triumph to the land of
slavery.
"All our labour is lost! " they murmured in their
despair. "Will the great fetish of the white men
lead us back to our homes now that we have shed
the blood of so many of his worshippers? "
Someone suggested that Tamango might be able
to make the fetish obey. So they all began to shout
for Tamango.
He was in no hurry to hear them. They found
him standing in the fore cabin, one hand resting
on the captain's bloody sword, the other stretched
out to his wife Ayche, who was on her knees kissing
it. But the joy of victory could not obliterate a
strange look of anxiety w T hich w r as visible in every
line of his face. Less fatuous than the rest, he was
better able to understand the difficulties of the
situation.
At last he came upon deck, affecting a serenity
which he did not feel. Urged by a hundred confused
voices to change the course of the vessel, lie
stalked slowly towards the helm as if to postpone
for a while the moment which would determine both
for himself and for the others the extent of his
power.
Not even the dullest negro on board had failed
to notice the influence exercised on the movements
of the ship by a certain wheel and the box fixed
in front of it ; but the whole mechanism was a
Tamango
profound mystery to them. Tamango examined the
compass for some time, moving his lips as if he
were reading the characters which were printed on
it ; then he put his hand to his head and assumed
the pensive look of a man doing mental arithmetic.
All the negroes stood round him, their mouths wide
open, their eyes one stare, anxiously taking note
of his slightest movement. At length, with that
mixture of fear and confidence which ignorance
inspires, he gave the guiding wheel a tremendous
turn.
Like a noble steed which rears when some im-
prudent rider drives in his spurs, the good ship
Hope plunged into the waves at this unwonted
handling, as if she felt insulted and wished to sink
together with her stupid pilot. The sails being
now entirely at cross purposes with the helm, the
ship heeled over so suddenly that it looked as if she
were bound to founder. Her long yards soused
into the sea ; many of the niggers stumbled and
some fell overboard. However, the ship righted
herself and stood proudly against the swell, as if
to make one last effort to avoid destruction. But
there came a sudden gust of wind, and, with a
deafening crash, the two masts fell, snapped a few
feet above the deck, which was strewn with wreck-
age and covered with a tangled network of ropes.
The terrified negroes fled below the hatchway
howling with fear, but as there was nothing left
to catch the breeze, the vessel remained steady and
merely rocked to and fro on the billows.
Presently the more daring amongst them came
up again and began clearing away the wreckage
Tamango
which encumbered the deck. Tamango remained
motionless, leaning" on the binnacle, his face buried
in his folded arms. Ayche, who was beside him,
did not dare to speak. One by one the negroes
approached him ; they began to murmur, and soon
a torrent of insults and abuse was let loose upon
him.
"Traitor! impostor!" they cried, "you are the
cause of all our ills : you sold us to the white
men, you persuaded us to rebel, you boasted your
wisdom, you promised to take us back to our homes.
We trusted you, fools that we were ! and now we
have narrowly escaped destruction because you
have offended the white man's fetish."
Tamango raised his head proudly, and the negroes
who stood round him slunk back. He picked up
two guns, beckoned to his wife to follow him, and
strode through the group of men, who made way
for him. He went to the bow of the vessel, where
he constructed a kind of barricade of planks and
barrels ; behind this entrenchment he fixed the two
muskets in such a way that the bayonets were
menacingly prominent. There he sat down and
they left him alone.
Some of the negroes were in tears ; others raised
their hands to the sky, and called on their own and
the white man's fetishes ; others knelt down by the
compass and wondered at its ceaseless movements,
entreating it to take them to their homes again ; the
remainder lay on the deck in a state of abject
despair. Amongst these wretches were women and
children shrieking from sheer terror, and a score
of wounded men imploring the relief which no one
dreamt of bringing them.
88
Tamango
All of a sudden a negro appeared on deck, his
face beaming with joy. He came to tell them that
he had discovered where the white men stored their
brandy ; and his excitement and general demeanour
clearly showed that he had already helped himself to
some. This piece of news silenced for a while the
cries of the distracted slaves. They rushed down
to the steward's room and gorged the liquor. In
about an hour's time they were all dancing and
roaring on deck, giving vent to the excesses of
brutish drunkenness. The noise of their singing
and dancing mingled with the groans and sobs
of the wounded. Night fell, and still the orgy
continued.
Next morning, when they woke, despair again
possessed them. During the night a great number
of the wounded had died. The vessel was sur-
rounded by floating corpses, and clouds were lower-
ing over the heavy sea. They held a conference.
Several experts in the art of magic, who had not
dared speak of their knowledge before for fear of
Tamango, now offered their services, and several
potent incantations were tried. The failure of each
attempt increased their despondency till at length
they appealed to Tamango, who was still behind his
barricade. After all, he was the wisest of them,
and he alone could extricate them from the desperate
condition into which he had brought them. An old
man approached him with overtures of peace, and
begged him to give them his advice. But Tamango,
as inexorable as Coriolanus, turned a deaf ear to his
entreaties. During the night, in the midst of the
tumult, he had fetched a supply of biscuits and salt
89
Tamango
meat. To all appearance he had no intention of
leaving the solitude of his retreat.
There was still plenty of brandy left. That, at
all events, helped them to forget the sea, slavery
and the approach of death. They went to sleep,
and in their dreams saw Africa with its forests
of gum trees, its thatched huts, and its baobabs,
whose foliage shaded whole villages. The orgy
of the day before was renewed, and continued for
some time. They did nothing but howl and weep
and tear their hair, or drink and sleep. Several
died of drinking, others jumped into the sea or
stabbed themselves.
One morning Tamango left his fort and advanced
to the stump of the mainmast.
" Slaves ! " he shouted, " the Spirit has appeared
to me in a dream and revealed to me the means
of helping you to return to your homes. You
deserve to be abandoned to your fates, but I pity
the women and children who are crying. I pardon
you. Listen ! "
All the negroes bowed their their heads sub-
missively, and gathered round him.
"Only the white men," continued Tamango,
"know the mystic formulas which guide these
massive wooden houses ; but we can steer without
difficulty those small boats, which are like our own "
(he pointed to the sloop and the other ship's boats).
" Let us fill them with provisions, set out in them,
and row in the direction of the wind. My Master
and yours will make it blow in the direction of our
homes."
They took his word for it. No plan could have
90
Tamango
been more reckless. Without any knowledge of the
compass, ignorant as to their whereabouts, they
could not do anything- but row at random. His
belief was that by rowing straight ahead they
were certain to come, sooner or later, to a land
inhabited by black men ; for he had heard his
mother say that white men lived in their ships, and
that black men possessed the earth.
Soon afterwards everything was ready to be em-
barked, but only the sloop and one small boat were
found to be serviceable. It was impossible to find
room for the eighty negroes who were still alive, so
the sick and wounded had to be abandoned. The
majority of them begged to be slain rather than be
left.
After endless difficulties the two boats were got
under way, so heavily laden that they might at any
moment be swamped in such a choppy sea. Tamango
and Ayche were in the sloop, -which was soon left
behind by the other boat a mere cock-boat, and far
less overcharged. The wailing of the poor wretches
who had been left behind on board the brig was still
audible when a big wave suddenly caught the sloop
athwart and swamped her. In less than a minute
she had disappeared. The smaller boat saw the
catastrophe, and immediately the oars were plied
with redoubled energy, for fear of having to pick up
those who were shipwrecked. Nearly all who were
in the sloop were drowned. Only a dozen or so
managed to reach the vessel again ; amongst whom
were Tamango and Ayche. When the sun set they
could see the other boat far away on the horizon ;
no one knows what became of it.
91
Tamango
Why should I \veary the reader with a revolting
description of the tortures of famine ? About a score
of human beings, crowded together, now tossed
about on a stormy sea, now scorched by the fierce
heat of the sun, fought daily for what scanty remains
of food there were every scrap of biscuit entailing
a fight. . . . The weaker died, not because the
stronger killed him, but because he chose to let him
expire. After a few days only two were still alive on
board the good brig Hope Ayche and Tamango.
One night the sea was rough, the wind blew high,
and the darkness was so intense that one end of the
ship could not be seen from the other. Ayche lay
on a mattress in the captain's room and Tamango
sat at her feet. They had not spoken a word for
many hours.
"Tamango," murmured Ayche at length, " it is
I who have brought all this suffering upon you."
" I do not suffer," he answered quickly, and threw
the half-biscuit, which he still had left, on the
mattress beside her.
" Keep it yourself," she said gently, returning the
biscuit. " I am no longer hungry. Besides, why
eat ? Is not mine hour come? "
Tamango got up without answering and staggered
to the deck, where he sat down against the stump of
the mast. His head lolled on his breast, and he
began to whistle his tribal war song. Suddenly a
loud cry reached his ear in spite of the noise of the
tempest ; a light flashed ; other shouts followed, and
a huge black ship glided swiftly past the brig so
close that Tamango could see her yards pass over
his head. He only saw two faces in the light of a
92
Tamango
lantern which hung" from a mast. They shouted
again ; then their vessel, swept along- by the storm,
disappeared into the darkness. Doubtless the men
on watch had caught sight of the disabled hulk, but
the violence of the tempest had prevented their
tacking. The next moment Tamango saw the flash
of a cannon and heard the report ; then another
flash, but no report ; then he saw nothing more. On
the morrow not a sail was visible on the horizon.
Tamango threw himself down on his mattress and
closed his eyes. His wife Ayche" had died that
night.
I do not know how long it was before an English
frigate, the Bcllona, sighted a dismasted vessel, to
all appearances abandoned by her crew. They sent
a sloop alongside and found a negress dead and
a negro by her side, so haggard and so thin that
he looked like a skeleton. He was unconscious,
but there was still a breath left in him. The doctor
took charge of him and did all he could for him,
so that when they reached Kingston, Tamango had
regained his health. He was asked to give an
account of his adventures, and he told them all he
could remember. The Jamaica planters suggested
that he should be hung as a rebel, but the governor
was a kind-hearted man and took an interest in the
negro, whose crime was, after all, justifiable, since he
had but acted in self-defence ; and, besides, the men
he had murdered were only Frenchmen. He was
treated in the same way as the slaves who are
found on board a captured slave trader. They set
him at liberty that is to say they made him work
93
Tamango
for the Government. And he earned threepence a
day besides his keep. One day the colonel of the
75th caught sight of this splendid specimen of a
man, and made him a drummer in his regimental
band. Tamango learnt a little English, but hardly
ever spoke. To make up for that he was always
drinking rum or tafia. He died in the hospital of
congestion of the lungs.
1829.
94
THE GAME
OF BACKGAMMON
THE
GAME OF BACKGAMMON
THE sails hung motionless, clinging" to the
masts ; the sea was as smooth as glass ; the
heat was stifling and the calm discouraging.
During a sea voyage the resources of amuse-
ment open to passengers on board ship are soon
exhausted. Anyone who has spent four months
together in a wooden house of one hundred and
twenty feet in length knows this fact, alas ! only
too well. When you see the first lieutenant coming
towards you you know that he will first begin
talking about Rio de Janeiro, from whence he came ;
then of the famous Essling Bridge, which he saw
made by the Marine Guards to which he belonged.
After the fifteenth day you know exactly the ex-
pressions he is fond of, even the punctuation of his
sentences and the different intonations of his voice.
When did he ever miss dwelling sadly on the word
"emperor" when he pronounced it for the first
time in his recital? . . . He invariably added, "If
you had only seen him then ! ! ! " (three exclamation
marks to denote his admiration). And the incident
of the trumpeter's horse, and the ball that re-
bounded and carried away a cartridge-box which
H 97
contained seven thousand five hundred francs in
money and jewellery, etc., etc. ! The second
lieutenant is a great politician ; he makes critical
remarks every day on the last number of the
Constitutionnel which he brought from Brest, or, if
he leaves the sublime heights of politics to descend
to literature, he sets you to rights on the last
vaudeville he saw played. Good Lord ! The Com-
missioner of the Navy has a very interesting story
to relate. How he enchanted us the first time he
told us his escape from the pontoon at Cadiz, but,
by the twentieth repetition, upon my word, it is
barely endurable ! . . . And the ensigns and the
midshipmen ! . . . The recollection of their con-
versation makes my hair stand on end. Generally
speaking, the captain is the least tedious person on
board. In his position of despotic commander he is in
a state of secret hostility against the whole staff; he
annoys and oppresses at times, but there is a certain
amount of pleasure to be gained by inveighing
against him. If he is furiously angry with some
of his subordinates, his superior tone is a pleasure
to listen to, which is some slight consolation.
On board the vessel on which I was sailing the
officers were the best fellows going, all good com-
pany, liking each other as brothers, but bored of
each other all the same. The captain was the
gentlest of men, and, what is very rare, was nothing
of a busybody. He was always unwilling to exercise
his authoritative power. But, in spite of all, the
voyage seemed terribly long, especially when the
calm set in which overtook us a few days only
before we made land ! . . .
9 s
The Game of Backgammon
One day, after dinner, which want of employment
had made us spin out as long as it was humanly
possible, we were all assembled on the bridge,
watching the monotonous but ever majestic spectacle
of a sunset over the sea. Some were smoking,
others were re-reading for the twentieth time one
of the thirty volumes which comprised our wretched
library ; all were yawning till the tears ran down
their cheeks. One ensign, who was sitting by me,
was amusing himself, with the gravity worthy of
a serious occupation, by letting the poniard, worn
ordinarily by naval officers in undress, fall, point
downwards, on the planks of the deck. It was as
amusing as anything else on board, and required
skill to throw the point so that it should stick in the
wood quite perpendicularly. I wanted to follow the
ensign's example, and, not having a poniard with
me, I tried to borrow the captain's, but he refused
it me. He was singularly attached to that weapon,
and it would have vexed him to see it put to such
a futile use. It had formerly belonged to a brave
officer who had been mortally wounded in the last
war. I guessed a story would be forthcoming, nor
was I mistaken. The captain began before he was
asked for it, but the officers, who stood round us,
and who knew the misfortunes of Lieutenant Roger
by heart, soon beat a circumspect retreat. Here is
the captain's story almost in his own words :
Roger was three years older than I when I
first knew him ; he was a lieutenant and I was an
ensign. He was quite one of the best officers on
our staff ; he was, moreover, good-natured, talented,
quick and well educated ; in a word, he was a
99
The Game of Backgammon
fascinating young- fellow. But unfortunately he
was rather proud and sensitive ; this arose, I think,
from the fact of his being an illegitimate child, and
his fear that his birth might make people look down
upon him ; but, to tell the truth, the greatest of all
his faults was a passionate and ever-present desire
to take the lead wherever he was. His father,
whom he had never seen, made him an allowance
which would have been more than enough for his
needs, had he not been the soul of generosity. All
that he had was at the service of his friends. When
he drew his quarter's pay, and met a friend with a
sad and anxious face, he would say
"Why, mate, what's the matter? You look as
though you had difficulty in making your pockets
jingle when you slap them ; come, here is my purse,
take what you want, and have dinner with me."
A very pretty young actress came to Brest
named Gabrielle, and she quickly made conquest
among the naval arid army officers. She was
not a perfect beauty, but she had a good figure,
fine eyes, a small foot and a pleasant, saucy man-
ner ; these things are all very delightful when one
is voyaging between the latitudes of twenty and
twenty-five years of age. She was, in addition,
the most capricious of her sex, and her style of
playing did not belie this reputation. Sometimes
she played enchantingly, and one would have called
her a comedienne of the highest order ; on the
following day she would be cold and lifeless in the
very same piece : she would deliver her part as a
child recites its catechism. But more than all else
it was the story told of her which I am about to
The Game of Backgammon
relate that interested our young men. It seems
she had been kept in sumptuous style by a Parisian
senator, who, it was said, committed all sorts of
follies for her sake. One day this man put his hat
on in her house ; she begged him to take it off, and
even complained that he showed a want of respect
towards her. The senator burst out laughing,
shrugged his shoulders and said, as he elaborately
settled himself in his chair, "The least I can do is
to make myself at home in the house of a girl
whom I keep." Gabrielle's white hand smacked
his face as soundly as though she had a navvy's
hand, and she also paid him back for his words by
throwing his hat to the other end of the room.
From that moment there was a complete rupture
between them. Bankers and generals made con-
siderable offers to the lady, but she refused them all
and became an actress, so that she could, as she
expressed it, live independently.
When Roger saw her and learnt her history, he
decided that she was must be his, and with the
somewhat uncouth freedom with which we sailors
are credited, he took the following methods to show
her how much he was affected by her charms.
He bought the rarest and loveliest flowers to be
found in Brest, had them made into a bouquet
which he tied with a beautiful rose-coloured rib-
bon, and in the knot he carefully placed a roll of
twenty-five napoleons, all he possessed for the
time being. I remember accompanying him behind
the scenes during an interval between the acts.
He paid Gabrielle a brief compliment upon the
grace with which she wore her costume, offered
The Game of Backgammon
her the bouquet and asked leave to call upon her.
He managed to get through all this in about three
words.
Whilst Gabrielle only saw the flowers and the
handsome youth who offered them to her, she
smiled upon him, accompanying her smile with a
most gracious bow ; but when she held the bouquet
between her hands and felt the weight of the gold,
her face changed more rapidly than the surface of
the sea when roused by a tropical hurricane ; and
certainly it could scarcely have looked more evil,
for she hurled the bouquet and the napoleons with
all her strength at my poor friend's head, so that
he carried the marks of it on his face for more than
a week after. The manager's bell rang and Gabrielle
went on and played wildly.
Covered with confusion, Roger picked up his
bouquet and packet of gold, went to a cafe, offered
the bouquet (but not the money) to the girl at
the desk, and tried to forget his cruel mistress in
a glass of punch. But he did not succeed, and, in
spite of his vexation at not being able to show him-
self without a black eye, he fell madly in love with
the enraged Gabrielle. He wrote her twenty letters
a day, and such letters ! abject, tender, full of
obsequious phrases that might have been addressed
to a princess. The first were returned to him un-
opened, and the rest received no answer. Roger,
however, kept up hope, until he discovered that the
theatre orange-seller wrapped up his oranges in
Roger's love-letters, which Gabrielle, with the very
refinement of maliciousness, had given him. This
was a terrible blow to our friend's pride ; but his
The Game of Backgammon
passion did not die out. He talked of asking the
actress to marry him, and threatened to blow his
brains out when we told him that the Minister for
Marine Affairs would never give his consent.
While all this was going on the officers of a
regiment of the line in the garrison at Brest wished
to make Gabrielle repeat a vaudeville couplet, and
she refused the encore out of pure caprice. The
officers and the actress both remained so obstinate
that it came to the former hooting until the curtain
had to be dropped and the latter left the stage.
You know what the pit of a garrison town is like.
The officers plotted together to hiss her without
intermission the next day and for a few days after,
and not allow her to play a single part unless she
made humble amends for her bad behaviour. Roger
had taken no part in these proceedings ; but he
heard of the scandal which put the whole theatre
in an uproar that very night, and also the plans for
revenge which were being hatched for the morrow.
He immediately made up his mind what he would do.
When Gabrielle made her appearance the next
night an ear-splitting noise of hooting and catcalls
rose from the officers' seats. Roger, who had pur-
posely placed himself near the roisterers, got up
and harangued the noisiest in such scathing lan-
guage that the whole of their fury was soon turned
on himself. He then drew his notebook from his
pocket, and, with the utmost sang-froid, wrote
down the names cried out to him from all sides ;
he would have arranged to fight with the whole
regiment if a great many naval officers had not
come up, out of loyalty to their order, and taken
The Game of Backgammon
part against his adversaries. The hubbub was
something" frightful.
The whole garrison was confined for several days,
but when we regained liberty, there was a terrible
score to settle. There were threescore of us at
the rendezvous. Roger, alone, fought three officers
in succession ; he pilled one, and badly wounded
the other two without receiving a scratch. I, as
luck would have it, came off less fortunately ; a
cursed lieutenant, who had been a fencing master,
gave me a neat thrust through the chest which
nearly finished me. The duel, or rather battle, was
a fine sight, I can tell you. The naval officers had
gained the victory, and the regiment was obliged to
leave Brest.
You may guess that our superior officers did not
overlook the author of the quarrel. They placed a
guard outside his door for a fortnight.
When his term of arrest was over I came out of
hospital and went to see him. Judge my surprise
when I entered his room and found him sitting at
breakfast tete-a-tete with Gabrielle. They seemed
to have been on friendly terms for some time, and
already called each other thee and thou, and drank
out of the same glass. Roger introduced me to
his mistress as his dearest friend, and told her I
had been wounded in the slight skirmish on her
behalf. This charming young girl then conde-
scended to kiss me, for all her sympathies were
with fighters.
They spent three months together in perfect
happiness, and never left each other for a moment.
Gabrielle seemed to love him to distraction, and
The Game of Backgammon
Roger declared that he had never known love
before he met Gabrielle.
One day a Dutch frigate came into harbour. The
officers gave us a dinner, and we drank deeply of all
sorts of wines ; but when the cloth was removed,
we did not know what to do, for these gentlemen
spoke very bad French. We began to play. The
Dutchmen seemed to have plenty of money ; and
their first lieutenant especially offered to play such
high stakes that none of us cared to take a hand with
him. But Roger, who did not play as a rule, felt
it incumbent upon him to uphold the honour of his
country in the matter. So he played for the stakes
that the Dutch lieutenant fixed. At first he gained,
then he lost, and after several ups and downs of
gaining and losing they stopped without anything
having been done on either side. We returned this
dinner, and invited the Dutch officers. Again we
played, and Roger and the lieutentant set to work
afresh. In short, they played for several days,
meeting either in cafes or on board ship ; they tried
all kinds of games, backgammon more than any,
always increasing their wagers until they came to
the point of playing for twenty-five napoleons each
game. It was an enormous sum for poverty-stricken
officers like us more than two months' pay ! At
the week's end Roger had lost every penny he pos-
sessed, and more than three or four thousand francs
which he had borrowed on all sides.
You will gather that Roger and Gabrielle had
ended by sharing household and purse in common,
that is to say that Roger, who had just received a
large payment on account of his allowance, con-
105
tributed ten or twenty times more than the actress.
He always considered that this sum, large as was
his share in it, belonged chiefly to his mistress, and
he had only kept back for his own expenses about
fifty napoleons. He was, however, obliged to draw
from this reserve to go on playing, and Gabrielle
did not make the slightest objection.
The house-keeping money went the same way as
his pocket money. Very soon Roger was reduced
to playing his last twenty-five napoleons. The game
was long and hotly contested, and it was horrible
to see the intense efforts Roger made to gain it.
The moment came when Roger, who held the dice-
box, had only one more chance left to win ; I think
he wanted to get six, four. The night was far
advanced, and an officer who had been looking at
their play had fallen asleep in an armchair. The
Dutchman was tired out and drowsy ; moreover, he
had drunk too much punch. Roger alone was wide
awake and a prey to the depths of despair. He
trembled as he threw the dice. He threw them
so roughly upon the board that the shock knocked
a candle over on to the floor. The Dutchman
turned his head first towards the candle, which had
covered his new trousers with wax, then he looked
at the dice. They showed six and four. Roger,
who was as pale as death, received his twenty-five
napoleons, and they went on playing. Chance
again favoured my unlucky friend, who, however,
made blunder upon blunder, and secured points as
though he wanted to lose. The Dutch lieutenant
lost his head, and doubled and quadrupled his
stakes ; he lost every time. I can see him now a
1 06
The Game of Backgammon
tall, fair man of a phlegmatic nature, whose face
seemed made of wax. At last he got up, after he
lost forty thousand francs, and paid it without his
features betraying the least trace of emotion.
" We will not take into account what we have
played for to-night," said Roger. " You were more
than half asleep. I do not want your money."
"You are joking," replied the phlegmatic Dutch-
man ; "I played well, but the dice were against
me. I am quite capable of winning off you always.
Good evening! "
And he went out.
We learnt next day that, made desperate by his
losses, he had blown out his brains in his room,
after drinking a bowl of punch.
The forty thousand francs that Roger had won
from him were spread out on the table, and Gabrielle
gazed at them with a smile of satisfaction.
" See how rich we are ! " she said. " What shall
we do with all this money? "
Roger did not answer her ; he seemed stunned
since the Dutchman's death.
"We can do a thousand delicious things," she
went on. "Money gained so easily ought to be
spent as lightly. Let us set up a carriage, and
snap our fingers at the Maritime Prefect and his
wife. I want some diamonds and some Cashmere
shawls. Ask for a holiday, and let us go to Paris ;
we could never spend so much money here ! "
She stopped to look at Roger, whose eyes were
fixed on the ceiling; his head was leant on his hand,
and he had not heard a word ; he seemed to be
a prey to the most miserable thoughts.
107
The Game of Backgammon
" What on earth's wrong with you, Roger? " she
cried, leaning her hand on his shoulder. "You will
make me pull faces at you presently. I cannot get
a word out of you."
" I am very unhappy," he said at length, with
a smothered sigh.
" Unhappy ! Why, I do believe you regret having
pinked that big mynheer."
He raised his head and looked at her with haggard
eyes.
"What does it matter?" she went on. "Why
mind if he did take the thing tragically and blew out
his few brains ? I don't pity losing players ; and his
money is better in our hands than in his. He would
have \vasted it in drinking and smoking, whilst
we will do a thousand lovely things with it, each
one nicer than the last."
Roger walked about the room with his head bent
on his breast, his eyes half closed and filled with
tears. "You would have been sorry for him if you
had seen him."
"Don't you know," said Gabrielle to him, "that
people who do not know how romantically sensitive
you are might imagine you had been cheating? "
"And if it were the truth?" he cried in hollow
tones, stopping before her.
"Bah!" she answered, smiling; "you are not
clever enough to cheat at play."
" Yes, I cheated, Gabrielle ; I cheated wretch
that I am ! "
She understood from his agitation of mind that he
spoke but too truly. She sat down on a couch and
remained speechless for some time.
1 08
The Game of Backgammon
" I would much rather you had killed ten men
than cheated at cards," she said at length in a very
troubled voice.
There was a deathlike silence for half an hour.
They both sat on the same sofa, and never looked at
each other once. Roger got up first and wished
her good night in a calm voice.
" Good night," she replied in cold and hard tones.
Roger has since told me that he would have killed
himself that very day if he had not been afraid that
his comrades would have guessed the reason for his
suicide. He did not wish his memory to be dis-
graced.
Gabrielle was as gay as usual next day. She
seemed, already, to have forgotten the confidences
of the previous evening. But Roger became gloomy,
capricious and morose. He avoided his friends, and
scarcely left his rooms, often passing a whole day
without saying a word to his mistress. I attributed
his melancholy to an honourable, but excessive
sensitiveness, and tried several times to console him ;
but he put me at a distance by affecting a supreme
indifference towards his unhappy partner. One day
he even inveighed against the Dutch nation in
violent terms, and tried to make me believe that
there was not a single honourable man in Holland.
All the same, he tried secretly to find out the Dutch
lieutenant's relatives ; but no one could give him any
information about them.
Six weeks after that unlucky game of back-
gammon Roger found a note in Gabrielle's rooms,
written by an admirer who thanked her for the kind
feeling she had shown him. Gabrielle was the very
109
The Game of Backgammon
personification of untidiness, and the note in question
had been left by her on her mantelpiece. I do not
know whether she was unfaithful to Roger or not,
but he believed her to be so, and his anger was
frightful. His love and a remnant of pride were
the only feelings which still attached him to life,
and the strongest of these sentiments was thus
suddenly destroyed. He overwhelmed the proud
actress with insults ; and was so violent that I do
not know how he refrained from striking her.
"No doubt," he said to her, " this puppy gave you
lots of money. It is the only thing you love. You
would give yourself to the dirtiest of our sailors if he
had anything to pay you with."
"Why not?" retorted the actress icily. "Yes, I
would take payment from a sailor ; but / should not
have stolen it ! "
Roger uttered a cry of rage. He tremblingly drew
his sword, and for one second looked at Gabrielle
with the eyes of a madman ; then he collected him-
self with a tremendous effort, threw the weapon at
her feet, and rushed from the room to prevent him-
self yielding to the temptation which beset him.
That same evening I passed his lodging at a late
hour, and, seeing his light burning, I went in to
borrow a book. I found him busy, writing. He
did not disturb himself, and scarcely seemed to
notice my presence in his room. I sat down by his
desk and studied his features ; they were so much
altered that anyone else but I would hardly have
recognised him. All at once I noticed a letter
already sealed on his desk, addressed to myself. I
immediately opened it. In it Roger announced to me
his intention to put an end to himself, and gave me
various instructions to carry out. While I read this,
he went on writing the whole time without noticing 1
me. He was bidding farewell to Gabrielle. You
can judge of my astonishment, and of what I felt
bound to say to him. I was thunderstruck by his
decision.
"What! you want to kill yourself when you are
so happy? "
"My friend," he said, as he hid his letter, "you
know nothing about it ; you do not know me ; I am
a rascal ; I am so guilty that a prostitute has power
to insult me ; and I am so aware of my baseness
that I have no power to strike her."
He then related the story of the game of back-
gammon, and all that you already know. As I
listened I was as moved as he was. I did not know
what to say to him ; with tears in my eyes I pressed
his hands, but I could not speak. Then the idea
came to me to try and show him that he need not
reproach himself with having intentionally caused
the ruin of the Dutchman, and that, after all, he had
only made him lose, by his . . . cheating . . .
twenty-five napoleons.
" Then," he cried, with bitter irony, " I am a petty
thief and not a great one. I, who was so ambitious,
to be nothing but a scurvy little scoundrel ! "
He shrieked with laughter.
I burst into tears.
Suddenly the door opened and Gabrielle rushed
into his arms.
" Forgive me ! " she cried, strangling him almost
in her passion; "forgive me! I know it now;
I love only you ; and I love you better now than if
you had not done what you blame yourself for. If
you like, I will steal ; I have stolen before now. . . .
Yes, I have stolen ; I took a gold watch. . . . What
worse could one do ? "
Roger shook his head incredulously, but his face
seemed to brighten.
"No, my poor child," he said, gently repulsing
her. " I must kill myself; there is no other course
for me. I suffer so greatly that I cannot bear my
grief."
"Very well, then, if you intend to die, Roger,
I shall die with you. What is life to me without
you? I have plenty of courage; I have fired
pistols ; I shall kill myself like anyone else.
Besides, I have played at tragedy and am used
to it." At first there were tears in her eyes, but
this last idea amused her, and even Roger could not
help smiling with her. "You are laughing, my
soldier-boy," she cried, clapping her hands and
hugging him ; " you will not kill yourself."
All the time she embraced him she was first
crying, then laughing, then swearing like a sailor ;
for she was not, like many women, afraid of a
coarse word.
In the meantime I possessed myself of Roger's
pistols and poniard ; then I turned to him and
said
" My dear Roger, you have a mistress and a friend
who love you. Believe me, there can still be happi-
ness for you in this life." I embraced him and went
out, leaving him alone with Gabrielle.
I do not believe we should have succeeded in
The Game of Backgammon
doing- more than delaying his fatal design if he
had not received an order from the Admiralty to
set out as first lieutenant on board a frig-ate bound
for a cruise in the Indian seas if it could first cross
the lines of the English fleet, which blockaded the
port. It was a dangerous venture. I put it to him
that it would be much better to die nobly by an
English bullet than to put an inglorious end to his
life himself, without rendering any service to his
country. So he promised to live. He distributed
half the forty thousand francs to maimed sailors
or the widows and orphans of seamen ; the rest
he gave to Gabrielle, who at first vowed to him
only to use the money for charitable purposes. She
fully meant to keep her word, poor girl ! but
enthusiasm with her was short-lived. I have heard
since that she gave some thousands of francs to the
poor, but she spent the remainder on finery.
Roger and I boarded the fine frigate La Galate ;
our men were brave, experienced, and well-drilled,
but our commander was an idiot, who thought him-
self a Jean Bart because he could swear better than
an army captain, because he murdered French, and
because he had never studied the theory of his
profession, the practice of which he understood only
very indifferently. However, fate favoured us at
the outset. We got well out of the roadstead
thanks to a gust of wind which compelled the
blockading fleet to give us a wide birth and we
began our cruise by burning an English sloop and
an East Indiaman off the coast of Portugal.
We were slowly sailing towards the Indian seas,
hampered by contrary winds and our captain's bad
The Game of Backgammon
handling- of the ship, whose stupidity increased
the danger of our cruise. Sometimes we were
chased by superior forces, sometimes pursued by
merchant vessels ; we did not pass a single day
without some fresh adventure. But neither the
risky life he led nor the labours caused him by the
irksome ship-duties devolving upon him could
distract Roger from the sad thoughts which un-
ceasingly haunted him. He who was once con-
sidered the most brilliant and active officer in our
port now found it almost a burden to fulfil simply
his duty. As soon as he was off duty he would shut
himself in his cabin without either books or papers,
and the unhappy man passed whole hours lying in
his cot, for he could not sleep.
One day, noticing- his depression, I ventured to
say to him
"Good gracious, my boy, you grieve over nothing!
Granted you niched twenty-five napoleons from a
big Dutchman, you show as much remorse as
though you had taken more than a million. Now,
tell me, when you loved the wife of the Prefect
of ... did you mind at all? Nevertheless, she
was worth more than twenty-five napoleons."
He turned over on his mattress without a word.
"After all," I continued, "your crime, since you
persist in calling it so, had an honourable motive
and arose from a lofty mind."
He turned his head and looked at me furiously.
"Yes, for if you had lost what: would have
become of Gabrielle ? She poor girl!- would
have sold her last garment for you. ... If you
had lost she would have been reduced to misery. . . .
114
The Game of Backgammon
It was for her, out of love to her, you cheated.
There are people who die for love . . . will kill
themselves for it. ... You, my dear Roger, did
more. For a man of our order it takes more courage
to ... steal, to put it baldly, than to commit
suicide."
("Now, perhaps," the captain interrupted his
story to say, " I appear ridiculous to you. I assure
you that my friendship for Rog'er endowed me with a
timely eloquence that I am not equal to nowadays ;
and, devil take it, in saying what I did I spoke in
good earnest, and I believe all I said. Ah, I was
young then ! ")
Roger did not make any answer for a long time ;
then he held out his hand to me.
" My friend," he said, making a great effort over
himself, " you think too well of me. I am a
cowardly wretch. When I cheated the Dutchman
my only thought was to win the twenty-five
napoleons, that was all. I never thought of
Gabrielle, and that is why I despise myself. . . .
I, to hold my honour in less esteem than twenty-five
napoleons ! . . . What baseness ! Yes, I could be
happy if I could tell myself I stole to keep Gabrielle
from wretchedness. . . . No ! . . . no ! I did not
think of her. ... I was not in love at that moment.
... I was a player. ... I was a thief. ... I
stole money to possess it myself, . . . and the deed
has so degraded me, and debased me, that I now
have no more courage left nor love. ... I can see
it ; I do not think any longer of Gabrielle. ... I am
a broken-down man."
He was so wretched, that if he had asked me to
The Game of Backgammon
hand him his pistols to kill himself I believe I should
have given them to him.
One Friday, that day of ill omen, he discovered
that a big English frigate, the Alcestis^ was chasing
us. She carried fifty-eight guns, and we but thirty-
eight. He put on all sail to escape from her, but
her pace was faster than ours, and she gained on us
every minute. It was very evident that before night
we should be obliged to engage in an unequal battle.
Our captain called Roger to his cabin, where they
consulted together for more than a quarter of an
hour. Roger came up on the deck again, took rne
by the arm, and drew me aside.
"In two hours' time," he said, "we shall be
engaged. That rash man who struts the quarter-
deck has lost his wits. He has two courses to choose
from : the first, and the most honourable, would
be to let the enemy come up to us, then to board
the ship determinedly with a hundred or so of our
best men ; the other course, which is not bad, but
rather cowardly, is to lighten ourselves by throwing
some of our guns overboard. Then we could make
for the near coast of Africa, which we shall soon
find to larboard. The English captain would soon
be obliged to give up the chase, for fear of ground-
ing ; but our . . . captain is neither coward nor
hero. He will let himself be destroyed by gunshots
a good distance off, and after some hours' fight he
will honourably lower his flag. So much the worse
for you. The Portsmouth pontoons will be your
fate. I have no desire to see them."
"Possibly," I said, "our first shots will damage
the enemy sufficiently to compel her to abandon the
chase."
ri6
The Game of Backgammon
"Listen, I do not mean to be taken prisoner; I
shall kill myself. It is time I ended it all. If by ill
luck I am only wounded, give me your word of
honour that you will throw me overboard. It is the
proper death-bed for a good sailor."
' ' What nonsense ! " I exclaimed. ' ' What a charge
to make me undertake ! "
"You will be fulfilling the duty of a true friend.
You know I shall have to die. I have only consented
not to take my own life in the hope of being killed ;
you must remember that. Come, promise me this ;
if you refuse, I shall go and ask this service from
the boatswain's mate, who will not refuse me."
After reflecting for some time, I said to him
" I give you my word to do what you wish, pro-
vided that you are mortally wounded, with no hope
of recovery. In that case I consent to spare you
further suffering."
" I shall be mortally wounded or I shall be killed
outright."
He held out his hand to me, and I shook it firmly.
After that he was calmer, and even a kind of martial
cheerfulness shone in his face. Towards three
o'clock in the afternoon the enemy's guns began to
play in our rigging. We then clewed up some of
our sails, crossed the bows of the Alcestis, and
started a rattling fire, which the English returned
vigorously. After about an hour's fight our captain,
who did nothing methodically, wanted to try to
board the enemy ; but we had already many dead
and wounded, and the remainder of our crew had
lost heart. Our rigging, besides, had suffered
severely, and our masts were badly damaged.
117
The Game of Backgammon
Just as we were taking" in sail, to approach the
English vessel, our large mast, which had nothing
to stay it, fell with a horrible noise. The Alccstis
took advantage of the confusion into which this
accident threw us. She came broadside up to our
stern and opened fire upon us within half a pistol
range of us ; she riddled shot through our unfortu-
nate frigate fore and aft, and we were only in a
position to point two small guns at her. At that
moment I was standing near Roger, who was busy
trying to cut the shrouds which still held the fallen
mast. I felt my arm pressed forcibly ; I turned
round and saw him laid flat on the deck covered
with blood. He had received a charge of grapeshot
in the stomach.
" What can we do, lieutenant ? " cried the captain,
running up.
" Nail our flag to this piece of mast and sink the
ship."
The captain left him at that, for he did not in the
least relish the advice.
" Come," said Roger, " remember your promise.''
" It is nothing," I said ; " you will get over it."
"Throw me overboard ! " he cried, and he swore
fearfully and seized me by my coat-tails ; "you see
well enough that I cannot recover. Throw me into
the sea ; I do not want to see our flag taken."
Two sailors came up to carry him below.
" To your guns, you knaves ! " he cried with all his
strength: "use grape-shot, and aim on the deck.
And as for you, if you fail to keep your word I will
curse you and think of you as the most cowardly
and vile of men ! "
118
The Game of Backgammon
His wound was certainly mortal. I saw the
captain call a midshipman and give him the order
to lower the flag.
" Give me a shake of the hand," I said to Roger.
And at that moment our flag was lowered. . . .
"Captain, there is a whale to larboard! " inter-
rupted an ensign, running to us.
"A whale?" cried the captain joyfully and leav-
ing his story unfinished. " Quick ! launch the long-
boat and the yawl, too ! All longboats into the
water ! Bring the harpoons and ropes ! " . . .
I never knew how poor Lieutenant Roger died.
1830.
'19
THE ETRUSCAN VASE
THE ETRUSCAN VASE
AUGUSTE SAINT-CLAIR was not at all a
l~\. favourite in Society, the chief reason being- that
he only cared to please those who took his own fancy.
He avoided the former and sought after the latter. In
other respects he was absent-minded and indolent.
One evening, on coming- out of the Italian Opera,
the Marquise A asked him his opinion on the
singing- of Mile. Sontag. "Yes, Madam," Saint-
Clair replied, smiling- pleasantly, and thinking of
something totally different. This ridiculous reply
could not be set down to shyness, for he talked with
great lords and noted men and women and even
with Society women with as much ease as though he
were their equal. The Marquise put down Saint-
Glair as a stupid, impertinent boor.
One Monday he had an invitation to dine with
Madam B . She paid him a good deal of atten-
tion, and on leaving- her house, he remarked that he
had never met a more agreeable woman. Madam
B spent a month collecting witticisms at other
people's houses, which she dispensed in one evening-
at her own. Saint-Glair called upon her again on
the Thursday of the same week. This time he grew
a little tired of her. Another visit decided him
never to enter her salon again. Madam B gfave
The Etruscan Vase
out that Saint-Clair was an ill-bred young man, and
not good form.
He was naturally tender-hearted and affectionate,
but at an age when lasting impressions are taken
too easily. His too demonstrative nature had drawn
upon him the sarcasm of his comrades. He was
proud and ambitious, and stuck to his opinion like
an obstinate child. Henceforth he made a point of
hiding any outward sign of what might seem dis-
creditable weakness. He attained his end, but the
victory cost him dear. He learnt to hide his softer
feelings from others, but the repression only in-
creased their force a hundredfold. In Society he
bore the sorry reputation of being heartless and
indifferent; and, when alone, his restless imagination
conjured up hideous torments all the worse because
unshared.
How difficult it is to find a friend ! Difficult ! Is
it possible to find two men anywhere who have not
a secret from each other? That Saint-Clair had
little faith in friendship was easily seen. With
young Society people his manner was cold and
reserved. He asked no questions about their
secrets ; and most of his actions and all his thoughts
were mysteries to them. A Frenchman loves to talk
of himself ; therefore Saint-Clair was the unwilling
recipient of many confidences. His friends that is
to say, those whom he saw about twice a week
complained of his indifference to their confidences.
They felt that indiscretion should be reciprocal ; for,
indeed, he who confides his secret to us unasked
generally takes offence at not learning ours in
return.
124
The Etruscan Vase
" He keeps his thoughts to himself," grumbled
Alphonse de Th^mines one day.
" I could never place the least confidence in that
deuced Saint-Clair," added the smart colonel.
" I think he is half a Jesuit," replied Jules
Lambert. " Someone swore to me that he had met
him twice coming out of St. Sulpice. Nobody
knows what he thinks about. I must say I never
feel at ease with him."
They separated. Alphonse encountered Saint-
Clair in the Boulevard Italien. He was walking
with his eyes on the ground, not noticing anyone.
Alphonse stopped him, took his arm, and, before
they had reached the Rue de la Paix, he had related
to him the whole history of his love affairs with
Madam , whose husband was so jealous and so
violent.
The same evening Jules Lambert lost his money
at cards. After that he thought he had better go
and dance. While dancing, he accidentally knocked
against a man, who had also lost his money and
was in a very bad temper. Sharp words followed,
and a challenge was given and taken. Jules begged
Saint-Clair to act as his second, and, at the same
time, borrowed money from him, which he was
never likely to return.
After all, Saint-Clair was easy enough to live
with. He was no one's enemy but his own ; he
was obliging, often genial, rarely tiresome ; he had
travelled much and read much, but never obtruded
his knowledge or his experiences unasked. In
personal appearance he was tall and well made ; he
had a dignified and refined expression almost
125
The Etruscan Vase
always too grave, but his smile was pleasing- and
very attractive.
I am forgetting one important point. Saint-Clair
paid attention to all women, and sought their
society more than that of men. It was difficult
to say whether he was in love ; but if this reserved
being felt love, the beautiful Countess Mathilde de
Coursy was the woman of his choice. She was
a young widow, at whose house he was often seen.
To prove their friendship there was the evidence
first of the almost exaggerated politeness of Saint-
Clair towards the Countess, and vice versa ; then
his habit of never pronouncing her name in public,
or if obliged to speak of her, never with the
slightest praise ; also, before Saint-Clair was intro-
duced to her, he had been passionately fond of
music, and the Countess equally so of painting.
Since they had become acquainted their tastes had
changed. Lastly, when the Countess visited a
health resort the previous year, Saint-Clair followed
her in less than a week.
My duty as novelist obliges me to reveal that
early one morning in the month of July, a few
moments before sunrise, the garden gate of a
country house opened, and a man crept out with the
stealthiness of a burglar fearing discovery. This
country house belonged to Madam de Coursy, and
the man was Saint-Clair. A woman, mullled in a
cape, came to the gate with him, stood with her
head out and watched him as long as she could,
until he was far along the path which led by the
120
The Etruscan Vase
park wall. Saint - Clair stopped, looked round
cautiously, and signed with his hand for the woman
to go in. The clearness of a summer dawn enabled
him to distinguish her pale face. She stood motion-
less where he had left her. He went back to her,
and took her tenderly in his arms. He meant to
compel her to go in ; but he had still a hundred
things to say to her. Their conversation lasted ten
minutes, till at last they heard the voice of a peasant
going to his work in the fields. One more kiss
passed between them, the gate was shut, and Saint-
Clair with a bound reached the end of the footpath.
He followed a track evidently well known to him,
and ran along, striking the bushes with his stick
and almost jumping for joy. Sometimes he stopped,
or sauntered slowly, looking at the sky, which was
flushed in the east with purple. In fact, anyone
meeting him would have taken him for an escaped
lunatic. After half an hour's walk he reached the
door of a lonely little house which he had rented for
the season. He let himself in with a key, and then,
throwing himself on the couch, he fell into a day-
dream, with vacant eyes and a happy smile playing
on his lips. His mind was filled with bright
reflections. " How happy I am ! " he kept repeat-
ing. "At last I have met a heart that understands
mine. . . . Yes, I have found my ideal. ... I have
gained at the same time a friend and a lover. . . .
What depth of soul ! . . . What character ! . . .
No, she has never loved anyone before me." How
soon vanity creeps into human affairs ! " She is the
loveliest woman in Paris," he thought, and his
imagination conjured up all her charms. " She has
127
The Etruscan Vase
chosen me before all the others. She had the flower
of Society at her feet. That colonel of hussars,
gallant, good-looking- and not too stout ; that young
author, who paints in water-colours so well, and
who is such a capital actor; that Russian Lovelace,
who has been in the Balkan campaign and served
under Diebitch ; above all, Camille T , who is
brilliantly clever, has good manners and a fine sabre-
cut across his forehead. . . . She has dismissed
them all for me ! . . . Then came the refrain
" Oh, how happy I am ! how happy I am ! " and he
got up and opened the window, for he could scarcely
breathe. First he walked about ; then he tossed on
his couch.
A happy lover is almost as tedious as an unhappy
one. One of my friends, who is generally in one or
other of these conditions, found that the only way of
getting any attention was to give me an excellent
breakfast, over which he could unburden himself on
the subject of his amours. When the coffee was
finished he was obliged to choose a totally different
topic of conversation.
As I cannot give breakfast to all my readers, I
make them a present of Saint-Clair's ecstasies.
Besides, it is impossible always to live in cloudland.
Saint-Clair was tired ; he yawned, stretched his
arms, saw that it was broad day and at last slept.
When he awoke he saw by his watch that he had
hardly time to dress and rush off to Paris, to attend
a luncheon-party of several of his young friends.
The Etruscan Vase
They had just uncorked another bottle of cham-
pagne. I leave my readers to guess how many had
preceded it. It is sufficient to know that they had
reached that stage which comes quickly enough at a
young men's dinner-party, when everybody speaks
at once, and when the steady heads get anxious for
those who cannot carry so much.
"I wish," said Alphonse de Themines, who had
never missed a chance of talking about England
" I wish that it was the custom in Paris, as it is in
London, for each one to propose a toast to his
mistress. If it were we should find out for whom
our friend Saint-Clair sighs." And, while uttering
these words, he filled up his own glass and those of
his neighbours.
Saint-Clair felt slightly embarrassed, but was
about to reply when Jules Lambert prevented him.
" I heartily approve this custom," he said, raising
his glass ; " and I adopt it. To all the milliners of
Paris, with the exception of those past thirty, the
one-eyed and the lame."
" Hurrah ! hurrah ! " shouted the anglomaniacs.
Saint-Clair rose, glass in hand.
"Gentlemen," said he, " I have not such a large
heart as has our friend Jules, but it is more con-
stant a constancy all the more faithful since I
have been long separated from the lady of my
thoughts. Nevertheless I am sure that you will
approve of my choice, even if you are not already
my rivals. To Judith Pasta, gentlemen ! May we
soon welcome back the first tragedienne of Europe."
Themines was about to criticise the toast, but
was interrupted by acclamation. Saint-Clair having
K 129
The Etruscan Vase
parried this thrust, believed himself safe for the rest
of the day.
The conversation turned first on theatres. From
the criticism of the drama they wandered to political
topics. From the Duke of Wellington they passed
to English horses. From English horses to women,
by a natural connection of ideas ; for, to young men,
a good horse first, and then a beautiful mistress, are
the two most desirable objects.
Then they discussed the means of acquiring these
coveted treasures. Horses are bought, women also
are bought ; only we do not so talk of them. Saint-
Clair, after modestly pleading inexperience in this
delicate subject, gave as his opinion that the chief
way to please a woman is to be singular, to be
different from others. But he did not think it
possible to give a general prescription for singu-
larity.
"According to your view," said Jules, "a lame
or hump-backed man would have a better chance of
pleasing than one of ordinary make."
"You push things too far," retorted Saint-Clair,
"but 'I am willing to accept all the consequences of
my proposition. For example, if I were hump-
backed, instead of blowing out my brains I would
make conquests. In the first place, I would try my
wiles on those who are generally tender-hearted ;
then on those women and there are many of them
who set up for being original eccentric, as they say
in England. To begin with, I should describe my
pitiful condition, and point out that I was the
victim of Nature's cruelty. I should try to move
them to sympathy with my lot, I should let them
130
The Etruscan Vase
suspect that I was capable of a passionate love. I
should kill one of my rivals in a duel, and I should
pretend to poison myself with a feeble dose of
laudanum. After a few months they would not
notice my deformity, and then I should be on the
watch for the first signs of affection. With women
who aspire to originality conquest is easy. Only
persuade them that it is a hard-and-fast rule that a
deformed person can never have a love affair, they
will immediately then wish to prove the opposite."
" What a Don Juan ! " cried Jules.
"As we have not had the misfortune of being
born deformed," said Colonel Beaujeu, "we had
better get our legs broken, gentlemen."
" I fully agree with Saint-Clair," said Hector
Roquantin, who was only three and a half feet high.
"We constantly see beautiful and fashionable
women giving themselves to men whom you fine
fellows would never dream of."
" Hector, just ring the bell for another bottle,
will you ? " said Themines casually.
The dwarf got up and everyone smiled, recalling
the fable of the fox without a tail.
" As for me," said Themines, renewing the con-
versation, "the longer I live, the more clearly I see
that the chief singularity which attracts even the
most obdurate, is passable features " and he threw
a complaisant glance in a mirror opposite "pass-
able features and good taste in dress," and he
filliped a crumb of bread off his coat.
" Bah ! " cried the dwarf, " with good looks and
a coat by Staub, there are plenty of women to be
had for a week at a time, but we should be tired of
The Etruscan Vase
them at the second meeting-. More than that is
needed to win what is called love. . . . You
must ..."
" Stop ! " interrupted Themines. " Do you want
an apt illustration ? You all know what kind of
man Massigny was. Manners like an English
groom, and no more conversation than his horse.
. . . But he was as handsome as Adonis, and could
tie his cravat like Brummel. Altogether he was
the greatest bore I have ever met."
" He almost killed me with weariness," said
Colonel Beaujeu. " Only think, I once had to
travel two hundred leagues with him ! "
''Did you know," asked Saint-Clair, "that he
caused the death of poor Richard Thornton, whom
you all knew? "
" But," objected Jules, " I thought he was assas-
sinated by brigands near Fondi ? "
"Granted; but Massigny was at all events an
accomplice in the crime. A party of travellers,
Thornton among them, had arranged to go to
Naples together to avoid attacks from brigands.
Massigny asked to be allowed to join them. As
soon as Thornton heard this, he set out before the
others, apparently to avoid being long with Mas-
signy. He started alone, and you know the rest."
" Thornton took the only course," said Themines ;
" he chose the easiest of two deaths. We should
all have done the same in his place." Then, after
a pause, "You grant me," he went on, "that
Massigny was the greatest bore on earth?"
" Certainly," they all cried with one accord.
" Don't let us despair," said Jules ; " let us make
132
The Etruscan Vase
an exception in favour of ... especially when he
divulges his political intrigues."
" You will next grant me," continued Themines,
"that Madam de Coursy is as clever a woman as
can be found anywhere."
A moment's silence followed. Saint-Clair looked
down and fancied that all eyes were fixed on
himself.
"Who disputes it?" he said at length, still
bending over his plate apparently to examine more
closely the flowers painted in the china.
"I maintain," said Jules, raising his voice " I
maintain that she is one of the three most fascinat-
ing women in Paris."
"I knew her husband," said the Colonel, "he
often showed me her charming letters."
"Auguste," interrupted Hector Roquantin, "do
introduce me to the Countess. They say you can
do anything with her."
" When she returns to Paris at the end of
autumn, ..." murmured Saint-Clair, " I I believe
she does not entertain visitors in the country. "
"Will you listen to me? " exclaimed Themines.
Silence was restored. Saint-Clair figetted upon
his chair like a prisoner before his judges.
" You did not know the Countess three years ago
because you were then in Germany, Saint-Clair,"
went on Alphonse de Themines, with aggravating
coolness. "You cannot form any idea, therefore,
of her as she was then ; lovely, with the freshness
of a rose, and as light-hearted and gay as a butter-
fly. Perhaps you do not know that among all her
many admirers Massigny was the one she honoured
The Etruscan Vase
with her favours ? The most stupid and ridiculous
of men turned the head of the most fascinating
amongst women. Do you suppose that a deformed
person could have done as much ? Nonsense ;
believe me, with a good figure and a first-rate
tailor, only boldness in addition is needed."
Saint-Clair was in a most awkward position. He
longed to fling back the lie direct in the speaker's
face, but was restrained from fear of compromising
the Countess. He would have liked to have said
something to defend her, but he was tongue-tied.
His lips trembled with rage, and he tried to find
some indirect means of forcing a quarrel, but could
not.
"What," exclaimed Jules, with astonishment,
"Madam de Coursy gave herself to Massigny?
Frailty, thy name is woman ! "
" The reputation of a woman being of such small
moment, it is, of course, allowable to pull it to
pieces for the sake of a little sport," observed Saint-
Clair in a dry and scornful tone, " and
But as he spoke he remembered with dismay a
certain Etruscan vase that he had noticed a hundred
times upon the mantelpiece in the Countess's house
in Paris. He knew that it was a gift from Massigny,
who had brought it back with him from Italy ; and
overwhelming coincidence ! it had been taken by
the Countess from Paris to her country house.
Every evening when Mathilde took the flowers out
of her dress she put them in this Etruscan vase.
Speech died upon his lips. He could neither see
nor think of anything but of that Etruscan vase.
"How absurd," cries a critic, "to suspect his
mistress from such a trifle ! "
The Etruscan Vase
" Have you ever been in love, my dear critic? "
Themines was in too good a humour to take
offence at the tone Saint-Clair had used when
speaking to him, and replied lightly and with great
good nature
" I can only repeat what I heard in Society. It
passed as a true story while you were in Germany.
However, I scarcely know Madam de Coursy. It
is eighteen months since I was at her house. Very
likely I am wrong, and the story was a fabrication
of Massigny's. But let us return to our discussion,
for whether my illustration be false or not does not
affect my point. You all know that the cleverest
woman in France, whose works
The door opened, and Theodore Neville came in.
He had just returned from Egypt.
" Theodore, you have soon come back ! " He was
overwhelmed with questions.
" Have you brought back a real Turkish cos-
tume?" asked Themines. ''Have you got an
Arabian horse and an Egyptian groom ? "
"What sort of man is the Pasha?" said Jules.
"When will he make himself independent? Have
you seen a head cut off with a single stroke of the
sabre ? "
"And the ahnces," said Roquantin. "Are the
Cairo women beautiful ? "
"Did you meet General L ?" asked Colonel
Beaujeu. " Has he organised the army of the
Pasha ? Did Colonel C - give you a sword for
me ? "
"And the Pyramids? The cataracts of the Nile?
And the statue of Memnon ? Ibrahim Pasha?" etc.
The Etruscan Vase
They all talked at once ; Saint-Clair only brooded
on the Etruscan vase.
Theodore sat cross-legged. He had learnt that
habit in Egypt, and did not wish to lose it in
France. He waited till his questioners were tired,
and then spoke as fast as he could to save himself
from being- easily interrupted.
" The Pyramids! upon my word they are a regular
humbug. They are not so high as I expected.
Strasburg Cathedral is only four yards lower. I
passed by the antiquities. Do not talk to me about
them. The very sight of hieroglyphics makes me
faint. There are plenty of travellers who worry
themselves over these things ! My object was to
study the nature and manners of all the strange
people that jostle against each other in the streets
of Alexandria and of Cairo. Turks, Bedouins,
Copts, Fellahs, Moghrebins. I drew up a few
hasty notes when I was in the quarantine hospital.
What infamous places they are ! I hope none of you
fellows are nervous about infection ! I smoked my
pipe calmly in the midst of three hundred plague-
stricken people. Ah ! Colonel, you would admire
the well-mounted cavalry out there. I must show
you some superb weapons that I have brought back.
I have a djcrid which belonged to a famous Mourad
Bey. I have a yataghan for you, Colonel, and a
khandjar for Auguste. You must see my metcJild
and houmous and hhaick. Do you know I could
have brought back any number of women with me ?
Ibrahim Pasha has such numbers imported from
Greece that they can be had for nothing. . . . But
I had to think of my mother's feelings. ... I
136
talked much with the Pasha. He is a thoroughly
intelligent and unprejudiced man. You would
hardly credit it, but he knows everything about our
affairs. Upon my honour, he knows the smallest
secrets of our Cabinet. I gleaned much valuable
information from him on the state of parties in
France. . . . Just now he is taken up with statis-
tics. He subscribes to all our papers. Would you
believe it ? he is a pronounced Bonapartist, and
talks of nothing but Napoleon. ' Ah ! what a great
man Bounabardo was!' he said to me; 'Bounabardo,'
that is how he pronounces Bonaparte."
" Giourdina, meaning Jourdain," murmured
Themines.
"At first," continued Theodore, "Mohamed Ali
was extremely reserved with me. All the Turks are
very suspicious, you know, and he took me for
a spy or a Jesuit, the devil he did ! He had a
perfect horror of Jesuits. But, after several visits,
he recognised that I was an unprejudiced traveller,
anxious to inform myself at first hand of Eastern
manners, customs and politics. Then he un-
bosomed himself and spoke freely to me. At the
third and last audience he granted me I ventured to
ask His Excellency why he did not make himself in-
dependent of the Porte. ' By Allah ! ' he replied,
v I wish it indeed, but I fear the Liberal papers
which govern your country would not support me
if I proclaimed the independence of Egypt.' He is
a fine old man, with a long white beard. He never
smiles. He gave us some first-rate confections ;
but the gift that pleased him most of all I offered
him was a collection of costumes of the Imperial
Guard by Charlet. "
i37
The Etruscan Vase
" Is the Pasha of a romantic turn of mind ? " asked
Themines.
" He does not trouble himself much about litera-
ture; but you know, of course, that Arabian literature
is entirely romantic. They have a poet called Melek
Ayatalnefous-Ebn-Esraf, who has recently published
a book of Meditations, compared with which Lamar-
tine's read like classic prose. I took lessons in
Arabic directly I got to Cairo, in order to read
the Koran. I did not need to have many lessons
before I was able to judge of the supreme beauty
of the prophet's style, and of the baldness of all our
translations. Look here, would you like to see
Arabian handwriting? This word in gold letters
is Allah, which means God."
As he spoke he showed them a very dirty letter,
which he took out of a scented silk purse.
"How long were you in Egypt?" asked The-
mines.
" Six weeks."
And the traveller proceeded to hold forth on every-
thing from beginning to end. Saint-Clair left soon
after his arrival, and went in the direction of his
country house. The impetuous gallop of his horse
prevented him from thinking consecutively, but he
felt vaguely that his happiness in life had gone for
ever, and that it had been shattered by a dead man
and an Etruscan vase.
After reaching home he threw himself on the
same couch upon which he had dreamed for so long
and so deliciously, and analysed his happiness the
evening before. His most cherished dream had been
that his mistress was different from other women,
138
The Etruscan Vase
that she had not loved nor ever would love anyone
but himself. Now this exquisite dream must perish
in the light of a sad and cruel reality. <( I have had
a beautiful mistress, but nothing' more. She is
clever ; she is therefore all the more to be blamed
for loving Massigny ! . . . I know she does love
me now . . . with her whole soul ... as she can
love. But to be loved in the same fashion as
Massigny has been loved ! . . . She has yielded
herself up to my attentions, my importunities, my
whims. But I have been deceived. There has been
no sympathy between us. Whether her lover were
Massigny or myself was equally the same to her.
He is handsome, and she loves him for his good
looks. She amuses herself with me for a time.
' I may as well love Saint-Clair,' she says to
herself, ' since the other is dead ! And if Saint-
Clair dies, or I tire of him, who knows? '
" I firmly believe the devil listens invisible behind
a tortured wretch like myself. The enemy of man-
kind is tickled by the spectacle, and as soon as the
victim's wounds begin to heal, the devil is waiting
to reopen them."
Saint-Clair thought he heard a voice murmur in
his ears .
I he peculiar honour
Of being" the successor. ..."
He sat up on the couch and threw a savage glance
round him. How glad he would have been to find
someone in his room ! He would have torn him
limb from limb without any hesitation.
The clock struck eight. At eight-thirty the
Countess expected him. Should he disappoint her?
i39
The Etruscan Vase
Why, indeed, should he ever see Massigny's mistress
again ? He lay down again on the couch and shut
his eyes. " I will try to sleep," he said. He lay
still for half a minute, then he leapt to his feet and
ran to the clock to see how the time was going.
" How I wish it were half-past eight ! " he thought.
" It would be too late then for me to start." If only
he were taken ill. He had not the courage to stop
at home unless he had an excuse. He walked up
and down his room, then he sat down and took a
book, but he could not read a syllable. He sat down
in front of his piano, but had not enough energy to
open it. He whistled ; then he looked out of his
window at the clouds, and tried to count the poplars.
At length he looked at the clock again, and saw
that he had not succeeded in whiling away more
than three minutes. " I cannot help loving her," he
burst out, grinding his teeth and stamping his feet ;
" She rules me, and I am her slave, just as Massigny
was before me. Well, since you have not sufficient
courage to break the hated chain, poor wretch, you
must obey."
He picked up his hat and rushed out.
When we are carried away by a great passion it is
some consolation to our self-love to look down from
the height of pride upon our weakness. " I certainly
am weak," he said to himself; "but what if I wish
to be so? "
As he walked slowly up the footpath which led to
the garden gate, he could see in the distance a white
face standing out against the dark background of
trees. She beckoned to him with her handkerchief.
His heart beat violently, and his knees trembled
140
The Etruscan Vase
under him ; he could not speak, and he had become
so nervous that he feared lest the Countess should
read his ill-humour.
He took the hand she held out to him, and kissed
her brow, because she threw herself into his arms.
He followed her into her sitting-room in silence,
though scarce able to suppress his bursting sighs.
A single candle lighted the Countess's room. They
sat down, and Saint-Clair noticed his friend's coiffure ;
a single rose was in her hair. He had given her,
the previous evening, a beautiful English engraving
of Leslie's " Duchess of Portland " (whose hair was
dressed in the same fashion), and Saint-Clair had
merely remarked to the Countess, " I like that single
rose better than all your elaborate coiffures." He did
not like jewels, and inclined to the opinion of a
noble lord who once remarked coarsely, " The devil
has nothing left to teach women who overdress
themselves and coil their hair fantastically." The
night before, while playing with the Countess's pearl
necklace (he always would have something between
his hands when talking), Saint-Clair had said, " You
are too pretty, Mathilde, to wear jewels ; they are
only meant to hide defects." To-night the Countess
had stripped herself of rings, necklaces, earrings
and bracelets, for she stored up his most trivial
remarks. He noticed, above everything else in a
woman's toilet, the shoes she wore ; and, like many
other men, he was quite mad on this point. A heavy
shower had fallen at sunset, and the grass was still
very wet ; in spite of this the Countess walked on
the damp lawn in silk stockings and black satin
slippers. . . . Suppose she were to take cold ?
141
The Etruscan Vase
" She loves me," said Saint-Clair to himself.
He sighed at his folly, but smiled at Mathilde in
spite of himself, tossed between his sorry mood and
the gratification of seeing a pretty woman, who
had sought, by those trifles which have such priceless
value in the eyes of lovers, to please him.
The Countess was radiant with love, playfully
mischievous and bewitchingly charming. She took
something from a Japanese lacquered box and held
it out to him in her little firmly closed hand.
" I broke your watch the other night," she said ;
" here it is, mended."
She handed the watch to him and looked at him
tenderly, and yet mischievously, biting her lower lip
as though to prevent herself from laughing. Oh,
what beautiful white teeth she had ! and how they
gleamed against the ruby red of her lips ! (A man
looks exceedingly foolish when he is being teased by
a pretty woman, and replies coldly.)
Saint-Clair thanked her, took the watch and was
about to put in his pocket.
" Look at it and open it," she continued. " See
if it is mended all right. You, who are so learned,
you, who have been to the Polytechnic School, ought
to be able to tell that."
"Oh, I didn't learn much there," said Saint-Clair.
He opened the case in an absent-minded way, and
what was his surprise to find a miniature portrait of
Madam de Coursy painted on the interior of the case ?
How could he sulk any longer? His brow cleared ;
he thought no longer of Massigny ; he only remem-
bered that he was by the side of a beautiful woman,
and that this woman loved him.
142
The Etruscan Vase
"The lark, that harbinger of dawn," began to
sing, and long bands of pale light stretched across
the eastern clouds. At such an hour did Romeo
say farewell to Juliet, and it is the classic hour
when all lovers should part.
Saint-Clair stood before a mantelpiece, the key
of the garden gate in his hand, his eyes intently
fixed on the Etruscan vase, of which we have
already spoken. In the depths of his soul he still
bore it a grudge, although he was in a much better
humour. The simple explanation occurred to his
mind that Themines might have lied about it.
While the Countess was wrapping a shawl round
her head in order to go to the garden gate with him
he began to tap the detested vase with the key,
at first gently, then gradually increasing the force
of his blows until it seemed as though he would
soon smash it to atoms.
"Oh, do be careful!" Mathilde exclaimed. "You
will break my beautiful Etruscan vase ! "
She snatched the key out of his hands.
Saint-Clair was very angry, but he resigned
himself and turned his back on the chimney-piece to
avoid temptation. Opening his watch, he began
to examine the portrait that had just been given
him.
" Who painted it ? " he asked.
"Monsieur R , and it was Massigny who
introduced him to my notice. (After Massigny had
been in Rome he discovered that he had exquisite
taste in art, and constituted himself the Macaenas
of all young painters.) I really think the portrait
is like me, though it is a little too flattering."
The Etruscan Vase
Saint-Clair had a burning- desire to fling the watch
against the wall, to break it beyond all hope of
mending-. He controlled himself, however, and put
the watch in his pocket. Then he noticed that it
was daylight, and, entreating- Mathilde not to come
out with him, he left the house and crossed the
garden with rapid strides, and was soon alone in
the country.
" Massigny ! Massigny ! " he burst forth with
concentrated rage. "Can I never escape him? . . .
No doubt the artist who painted this portrait painted
another for Massigny. . . . What a fool I am to
imagine for a moment that I am loved with a love
equal to my own ! . . . just because she put aside
her jewels and wore a rose in her hair ! . . . Jewels !
why, she has a chest full. . . . Massig-ny, who
thought of little else save a woman's toilette, was
a lover of jewellery ! . . . Yes, she has a gracious
nature, it must be granted ; she knows how to
gratify the tastes of her lovers. Damn it ! I would
rather a hundred times that she were a courtesan
and g-ave herself for money. Just because she was
my mistress and unpaid I thought she loved me
indeed."
Soon another still more unhappy idea presented
itself. In a few weeks' time the Countess would be
out of mourning, and Saint-Clair had promised to
marry her as soon as her year of widowhood was
over. He had promised. Promised? No. He
had never spoken of it, but such had been his
intention and the Countess had understood it so.
But for him this was as good as an oath. Last
night he would have given a throne to hasten the
144
The Etruscan Vase
time for acknowledging his love publicly ; now the
very thought of marrying the former mistress of
Massigny filled him with loathing.
" Nevertheless, I owe it to her to marry her," he
said to himself, "and it shall be done. No doubt
she thinks, poor woman, I heard all about her
former liaison ; it seems to have been generally
known. Besides, she did not then know me. . . .
She cannot understand me ; she thinks that I am
only such another lover as Massigny."
Then he said to himself, and not without a certain
pride
" For three months she has made me the happiest
man living ; such happiness is worth the sacrifice
of my life."
He did not go to bed, but rode about among the
woods the whole of the morning. In one of the
pathways of the woods of Verrieres he saw a man
mounted on a fine English horse, who called him
immediately by his name while he was still far off.
It was Alphonse de Themines. To a man in Saint-
Clair's state of mind solitude is particularly de-
sirable, and this encounter with Themines changed
his bad humour into a furious temper. Themines
did not notice his mood, or perhaps took a wicked
pleasure in thwarting it. lie talked and laughed
and joked without noticing that he did not receive
any response. Saint-Clair soon tried to turn his
horse aside into a narrow track, hoping the bore
would not follow him ; but it was of no use, bores
do not leave their prey so easily. Themines pulled
the bridle in the same direction, increased his
horse's pace to keep by Saint-Clair's side and
complacently continued the conversation.
L 145
The Etruscan Vase
I have said that the path was a narrow one. The
two horses could hardly walk abreast. It was not,
therefore, to be wondered at that even so good a
horseman as Themines should graze against Saint-
Clair's foot as he walked along with him. This put
the finishing touch to his anger, and he could not
contain himself any longer. He rose in his stirrups
and struck Themines' horse sharply across the nose
with his whip.
" What the devil is the matter with you,
Auguste ? " cried Themines. "Why do you strike
my horse ? "
" Why do you pursue me? " roared Saint-Clair.
"Have you lost your senses, Saint-Clair? You
forget to whom you are talking'."
" I know quite well that I am talking to a puppy."
"Saint-Clair! . . . you must be mad, I think.
. . . Listen to me. To-morrow you will either
apologise to me, or you will account for your
insolent conduct."
"To-morrow, then, sir
Themines stopped his horse ; Saint-Clair pushed
his on, and very soon disappeared among the trees.
He was calmer now. He was silly enough to
believe in presentiments. He felt sure he would be
killed on the morrow, and that would be a suitable
ending to his condition. Only one more day of
anxieties and torments to endure. He went home
and sent a note by his servant to Colonel Beaujeu.
He wrote several letters, after which he dined with
a good appetite, and was promptly at the little
garden gate by ^.30.
146
The Etruscan Vase
" What is the matter with you to-day, Auguste? "
said the Countess. "You are unusually lively, and
yet your gaiety does not move me to laugh. Last
night you were just a trifle dull, and I was the gay
one ! We have changed parts to-day. I have a
racking headache."
" Dear one, I admit it. Yes, I was very tedious
yesterday, but to-day I have been out, I took exercise,
and I feel quite excited."
" On the other hand, I overslept myself this morn-
ing, and rose late. I had bad dreams."
" Ah ! dreams ? Do you believe in dreams ? "
" What nonsense ! "
" I believe in them. I am sure that you had a
dream which foretold some tragic event."
"Good heavens! I never remember my dreams.
Once I recollect . . . that I saw Massigny in my
dream ; so, you see, it was not very entertaining."
" Massigny ! But I should have thought you
would have been pleased at seeing him again ! "
" Poor Massigny ! "
" Why ' poor Massigny ' ? "
" Please tell me, Auguste, what is wrong with you
to-night. Your smile is perfectly diabolic, and you
seem to be making game of yourself."
"Ah ! now you are treating me as badly as your
old dowager friends treat me."
"Yes, Auguste, you wear the same expression
to-day that you put on before people whom you do
not like."
"That is unpardonable in me. Come, give me
your hand."
He kissed her hand with ironical gallantry, and
147
The Etruscan Vase
they gazed at each other studiously for a minute.
Saint-Clair was the first to drop his eyes.
" How difficult it is," he exclaimed, " to live in this
world without being" thought ill of ! One ought
really never to talk of anything but the weather
and hunting, or eagerly to discuss with your old
friends the reports of their benevolent societies."
He picked up a paper from the table near him.
"Come, here is your lace-cleaner's bill. Let us
discuss that, sweetheart ; then you cannot say I am
ill-tempered."
" Really, Auguste, you amaze me. . . ."
"This handwriting puts me in mind of a letter I
found this morning. I must explain that I have fits
of untidiness occasionally, and I was arranging my
papers. Well, then, I found a love-letter from a
dressmaker with whom I fell in love at sixteen. She
had a trick of writing each word most fantastically,
and her style was equal to her writing. Well, I was
foolish enough then to be vexed that my mistress
could not write as well as Madame de Sevigne,
and I left her abruptly. In reading over this letter
to-day I see that this dressmaker really did love me."
" Really ! a woman whom you kept? "
"In fine style on fifty francs a month. But I
could not afford more, as my guardian only allowed
me a little money at a time, for he said that youths
who had money ruined themselves and others."
" What became of this woman ? "
" How should I know? . . . Probably she died in
a hospital."
" Auguste, ... if that were true you would not
speak so flippantly."
148
The Etruscan Vase
"Well, then, to tell you the truth, she is married
to a respectable man, and when I came of age I
gave her a small dowry."
" How good of you ! . . . But why do you try to
make yourself out so evil? "
"Oh, I am good enough. . . . The more I think
of it the more I persuade myself that this woman
really did care for me. . . . But on the other hand,
it is difficult to discern true feeling under such a
ridiculous expression of it."
"You ought to have shown me your letter. I
should not have been jealous. . . . We women have
finer tact than you, and we can tell at a glance, from
the style of a letter, whether the writer is sincere, or
feigning a passion he does not really feel."
" But what a number of times you have allowed
yourself to be taken in by fools and rogues ! "
As he spoke he looked at the Etruscan vase with
a threatening glance, to which his voice responded,
but Mathilde went on without noticing anything.
"Come, now, all you men wish to pose as Don
Juans. You fancy you are making dupes when often
you have encountered only Doila Juana, who is much
more cunning than yourselves."
" I perceive that with your superior wit you ladies
scent out rakes in every place. I doubt not also
that our friend Massigny, who was both a stupid
and a coxcomb, became, when dead, spotless and
a martyr."
" Massigny? He was not a fool ; then too there
are silly women to be found. I must tell you a story
about Massigny. But surely have I not told it you
already ? "
149
The Etruscan Vase
"Never," replied Saint-Clair tremblingly.
" Massigny fell in love with me after his return
from Italy. My husband knew him and introduced
him to me as a man of taste and culture. Those
two were just made for each other. Massigny was
most attentive to me from the first ; he gave me
some water-colour sketches which he had bought
from Schroth, as his own paintings, and talked of
music and art in the most divertingly superior
manner. One day he sent me an incredibly ridicu-
lous letter. He said, among other things, that I was
the best woman in Paris ; therefore he wished to be
my lover. I showed the letter to my cousin Julie.
We were then both very silly, and we resolved to
play him a trick. One evening we had several
visitors, among them being Massigny. My cousin
said to me, ' I am going to read you a declaration
of love which I received this morning.' She took
the letter and read it amidst peals of laughter. . . .
Poor Massigny ! ..."
Saint-Clair fell on his knees uttering a cry of joy.
He seized the Countess's hand and covered it with
tears and kisses. Mathilda was surprised beyond
measure, and thought at first he had gone mad.
Saint-Clair could only murmur, "Forgive me!
forgive me ! " When he rose to his feet he was
radiant ; he was happier than on the day when
Mathilde had said to him for the first time, " I
love you."
" I am the guiltiest and most stupid of men," he
cried ; " for two days I have misjudged you . . . and
never given you a chance to clear yourself. ..."
" You suspected me ? . . . And of what? "
150
The Etruscan Vase
"Oh! idiot that I was! . . . they told me you
had loved Massigny, and
" Massigny ! " and she began to laugh ; then soon
quickly growing more earnest, " Auguste," she said,
"how could you be so foolish as to harbour such
suspicions, and so hypocritical as to hide them from
me ? "
Her eyes filled with tears.
" I implore you to forgive me."
" Of course I forgive you, beloved . . . but let
me first swear ..."
"Oh! I believe you, I believe you; do not say
any more about it."
" But in Heaven's name what put such an im-
probable notion in your head ? "
" Nothing, nothing in the world except my accursed
temper . . . and . . . would you believe it ? that
Etruscan vase which I knew Massigny had given
you."
The Countess clasped her hands together in
amazement, and then she burst into shouts of
laughter.
" My Etruscan vase ! my Etruscan vase ! "
Saint-Clair was obliged to join in the laughter
himself, although great tears rolled down his cheeks.
He seized Mathilde in his arms. " I will not let you
go," he said, " until you pardon me."
"Yes, I forgive you, though you are so foolish,"
she replied, kissing him tenderly. " You make me
very happy to-day ; it is the first time I have seen
you shed tears, and I thought that you could not
weep."
Then she struggled from his embrace, and, snatch-
The Etruscan Vase
ing the Etruscan vase, broke it into a thousand
pieces on the floor. It was a valuable and unique
work, painted in three colours, and represented
the fight between a Lapithe and a Centaur.
For several hours Saint-Clair was the happiest
and the most ashamed of men.
" Well," said Roquantin to Colonel Beaujeu,
when he met him in the evening at Tortoni's, "is
this news true ? "
"Too true, my friend," answered the Colonel
sadly.
" Tell me, how did it come about? "
"Oh! just as it should. Saint-Clair began by
telling me he was in the wrong, but that he wished
to draw Themines' fire before begging his pardon. I
could do no other than accede. Themines wished
to draw lots who should fire first. Saint-Clair
insisted that Themines should. Themines fired ;
and I saw Saint-Clair turn round once and then
fall stone dead. I have often remarked, in the case
of soldiers when they have been shot, this strange
turning round which precedes death."
" How very extraordinary ! " said Roquantin.
"But Themines, what did he do?"
" Oh, what is usual on these occasions : he threw
his pistol on the ground remorsefully, with such
force that he broke the hammer. It was an English
pistol of Manton's. I don't believe there is a gun-
maker in Paris who could make such another."
*
152
The Etruscan Vase
The Countess shut herself up in her country
house for three whole years without seeing" anyone ;
winter and summer, there she lived, hardly going
out of her room. She was waited upon by a
mulatto woman who knew of the attachment be-
tween Saint-Clair and herself. She scarcely spoke
a word to her day after day. At the end of three
years her cousin Julie returned from a long voyage.
She forced her way into the house and found poor
Mathilde thin and pale, the very ghost of the
beautiful and fascinating woman she had left behind.
By degrees she persuaded her to come out of her
solitude, and took her to Hyeres. The Countess
languished there for three or four months, and then
died of consumption brought on by her grief so
said Dr. M , who attended her.
1830.
153
THE VENUS OF 1LLE
THE VENUS OF ILLE
'IXew9 '//;> 5V7tb, Vorw 6 avSpias
/ecu TJTTIOS, OVTUS dvdpe'ios &v,
AOTKIANOT *IAO*ETAH2.
I DESCENDED the last hillside at Canigou,
and, although the sun had already set, I could
distinguish the houses of the little town of Ille, in
the plain, towards which my steps were turned.
"You know," I said to the Catalanian who had
been my guide since the previous day "no doubt
you know where M. de Peyrehorade lives? "
"Do I know it!" he exclaimed. "I know his
house as well as I know my own ; and if it wasn't
so dark I would point it out to you. It is the
prettiest in Ille. M. de Peyrehorade is a rich man ;
and he is marrying his son to a lady even richer
than himself."
" Is the marriage to take place soon ? " I asked.
" Very soon ; probably the violinists are already
ordered for the wedding. Perhaps it will be to-
night, or to-morrow, or the day after, for all I
know. It will be at Puygarrig ; for the son is to
marry Mademoiselle de Puygarrig. It will be a
very grand affair ! "
I had been introduced to M. de Peyrehorade by
my friend M. de P., who told me he was a very
The Venus of Ille
learned antiquarian and of extreme good nature. It
would give him pleasure to show me all the ruins for
ten leagues round. So I was looking forward to
visit with him the district surrounding Ille, which
I knew to be rich in monuments belonging to
ancient times and the Middle Ages. This marriage,
of which I now heard for the first time, would upset
all my plans. I said to myself, I should be a kill-
joy ; but I was expected, and as M. de P. had
written to say I was coming, I should have to
present myself.
" I will bet you, Monsieur," said my guide to me,
when we were in the plain " I will bet you a cigar
that I can guess why you are going to M. de
Peyrehorade's."
" But that is not a difficult thing to guess," I
replied, holding out a cigar to him. " At this hour,
after traversing six leagues amongst the Canigou
hills, the grand question is supper."
"Yes, but to-morrow? . . . Wait, I will bet
that you have come to Ille to see the statue. I
guessed that when I saw you draw pictures of the
Saints at Serrabona."
"The statue ! What statue ? " The word had ex-
cited my curiosity.
" What ! did no one tell you at Perpignan that
M. de Peyrehorade had found a statue in the
earth?"
" Did you mean a statue in terra-cotta, or
clay?"
" Nothing of the kind. It is actually in copper,
and there is enough of it to make heaps of coins.
It weighs as much as a church bell. It is deep in
158
The Venus of Ille
the ground, at the foot of an olive tree that we
dug up."
" You were present, then, at the find ? "
" Yes, sir. M. de Peyrehorade told Jean Coll and
me, a fortnight ago, to uproot an old olive tree
which had been killed by the frost last year, for
there was a very severe frost, you will remember.
Well, then, whilst working at it with all his might,
Jean Coll gave a blow with his pickaxe, and I
heard bimm ! ... as though he had struck on a bell.
' What is that ? ' I said. He picked and picked again,
and a black hand appeared, which looked like the
hand of a dead man coming out of the ground. I
felt frightened ; I went to the master and said to
him: 'There are dead folk, master, under the
olive tree ; I wish you would send for the priest.'
'What dead folk?' he asked. He came, and
had no sooner seen the hand than he cried out,
' An antique statue ! an antique statue ! ' You
might have thought he had discovered a treasure.
Arid then he set to with pickaxe and hands, and
worked hard ; he did almost as much work as the
two of us together."
" And what did you find in the end? "
" A huge black woman, more than half naked,
saving your presence, sir, all in copper, and M. de
Peyrehorade told us that it was an idol of pagan
times . . . perhaps as old as Charlemagne ! "
" I see what it is . . . some worthy Virgin in
bronze which belonged to a convent that has been
destroyed."
"The Blessed Virgin! Well, I never! ... I
should very soon have known if it had been the
i59
The Venus of Ille
Blessed Virgin. I tell you it is an idol ; you can see
that plainly from its appearance. It stares at you
with its great white eyes. . . . You might have said
it was trying to put you out of countenance. It
was enough to make one ashamed to look at her."
"White eyes were they? No doubt they are
inlaid in the bronze ; it might perhaps be a Roman
statue."
" Roman ! that's it. M. de Peyrehorade said that
it was Roman. Ah ! I can see you are as learned
as he is."
" Is it whole and in good preservation? "
" Oh, it is all there, sir. It is much more beauti-
ful and better finished than the painted plaster bust
of Louis Philippe, which is at the town hall. But
for all that the idol's face is not very nice to look at.
She looks wicked . . . and she is so, too."
" Wicked ! What mischief has she done you ? "
"No mischief to me exactly ; but I will tell you.
We were down on all fours to raise her up on end,
and M. de Peyrehorade was also tugging at the
rope, although he had no more strength than a
chicken, good man ! With much trouble he got her
straight. I picked up a tile to prop her up, when,
good Lord ! she fell upside down all in a heap.
' Look out there below ! ' I said, but I was not quick
enough, for Jean Coll had not time to draw his leg
out ..."
" And was it hurt? "
" His poor leg was broken as clean as a pole.
Goodness ! when I saw it I was furious. I wanted
to break up the idol with my pickaxe, but M. de
Peyrehorade would not let me. He gave some
1 60
The Venus of Ille
money to Jean Coll, who, all the same, has been in
bed the whole fortnight since it happened, and the
doctor says that he will never walk with that leg
again so well as with the other. It is a sad
pity ; he was our best runner, and, after M. de
Peyrehorade's son, he was the cleverest tennis
player. M. Alphonse de Peyrehorade was dread-
fully sorry, for it was Coll against whom he played.
It was fine to see them send the balls flying.
Whizz! whizz! they never touched the ground."
And so we chatted till we reached Ille, and I very
soon found myself in the presence of M. de Peyre-
horade. He was a little old man, still hale and
active ; he was powdered, had a red nose, and his
manner was jovial and bantering. When he had
opened M. de P.'s letter he installed me in front
of a well-appointed table and presented me to his
wife and son as an illustrious archaeologist, whose
desire it was to raise the province of Roussillon
from obscurity, in which it had been left by the
neglect of the learned.
Whilst I was eating with a good appetite for
nothing makes one so hungry as mountain air I
examined my hosts. I have said a word or two
about M. de Peyrehorade ; I should add that he was
vivacity itself. He talked and ate, got up, ran
to his library to bring me books, showed me en-
gravings, and poured out drinks for me ; he was
never still for two minutes. His wife was rather too
stout, like most Catalanian women over forty, and
she seemed to me a regular provincial, solely taken
up with the cares of her household. Although the
supper was ample for six people at least, she ran to
M i6t
The Venus of Ille
the kitchen, had pigeons killed and dozens of them
fried, besides opening I don't know how many pots
of preserves. In a trice the table was loaded with
dishes and bottles, and I should assuredly have
died of indigestion if I had even tasted all that was
offered me. However, at each dish that I refused
there were fresh excuses. They were afraid I did
not get what I liked at Ille there are so few means
of getting things in the provinces, and Parisians are
so hard to please !
M. Alphonse de Peyrehorade stirred no more than
a statue in the midst of his parents' comings and
goings. He was a tall young man of twenty-six,
with beautiful and regular features, but they were
wanting in expression. His figure and athletic build
quite justified the reputation he had gained in the
country as an indefatigable tennis player. He was
that evening exquisitely dressed, exactly like the
latest fashion plate. But he seemed to me to be
uneasy in his garments ; he was as stiff as a post
in his velvet collar, and could not turn round unless
with his whole body. His fat and sunburnt hands,
with their short nails, contrasted strangely with his
costume. They were the hands of a labouring man
appearing below the sleeves of a dandy. For the
rest, he only addressed me once throughout the
whole evening, and that was to ask me where I
had bought my watch-chain, although he studied
me from head to foot very inquisitively in my
capacity as a Parisian.
"Ah, now, my honoured guest," said M. de
Peyrehorade to me when supper drew to its con-
clusion, "you belong to me. You are in my house,
162
The Venus of Ille
and I shall not give you any rest until you have seen
all the curiosities among" our mountains. You must
learn to know our Roussillon and to do it justice.
You have no idea what we can show you Phoeni-
cian, Celtic, Roman, Arabesque and Byzantine
monuments. You shall see them all lock, stock
and barrel. I will take you everywhere, and will
not let you off a single stone."
A fit of coughing compelled him to stop. I took
advantage of it to tell him I should be greatly dis-
tressed if I disturbed him during the interesting
event about to take place in his family. If he would
kindly give me the benefit of his valuable advice
about the excursion I ought to take, I should be
able to go without putting him to the inconvenience
of accompanying me. . . .
"Ah, you are referring to this boy's marriage ! "
he exclaimed, interrupting me. "That is all non-
sense. It takes place the day after to-morrow.
You shall celebrate the wedding with us ; it will
take place quietly, for the bride is in mourning for
an aunt, whose heiress she is. Therefore there
is to be neither fete nor ball. . . . It is a pity. . . .
You would have seen our Catalanian women dance.
. . . They are pretty, and you might perhaps have
been tempted to follow Alphonse's example. One
marriage, they say, leads to others. . . . On Satur-
day, after the young people are married, I shall be at
liberty, and we will set out. I ask your forgiveness
for the irksomeness of a provincial wedding. To
a Parisian blase with fetes . . . and a wedding
without a ball too ! However, you will see a bride
. . . such a bride . . . you must tell me what you
163
The Venus of Ille
think of her. . . . But you are not a frivolous man,
and you take no notice of women. I have better
things than women to show you. I am going to
show you something ! I have a fine surprise for
you to-morrow."
"Ah," I replied, "it is not easy to have a
treasure in your house without the public knowing
all about it. I think I can guess the surprise you
have in store for me. You are thinking of your
statue. I am quite prepared to admire it, for my
guide's description if it has roused my curiosity."
"Ah! he told you about the idol, for that is
what they call my beautiful Venus Tur but
I will not talk of it. To-morrow, as soon as it is
daylight, you shall see her, and you shall tell me
if I am not right in considering her a chef-d'oeuvre.
Upon my word, you could not have arrived at a
better time ! There are inscriptions which poor
ignorant I explain after my own fashion . . . but
a savant from Paris ! . . . You will probably laugh
at my interpretation, for I have written a treatise
on it. ... I an old provincial antiquarian I am
o-oing to venture. ... I mean to make the press
o-roan. If you would be so good as to read and
correct it, I should be hopeful. . . . For example,
I am curious to know how you would translate this
inscription on the pedestal: 'CAVE' . . . but I do
not want to ask you anything yet ! To-morrow,
to-morrow ! Not a single word about the Venus
to-day."
"You are quite right, Peyrehorade," said his
wife, "to stop talking about your idol ; you ought
to see that you are preventing the gentleman from
164
The Venus of Ille
eating. Why, he has seen far more beautiful statues
in Paris than yours. There are dozens of them in
the Tuileries, and in bronze too."
"Just look at her ignorance the blessed ignorance
of the provinces ! " interrupted M. de Peyrehorade.
" Fancy, comparing a splendid antique statue to the
flat figures of Coustou !
" ' How irreverently of my affairs
The gods are pleased to talk ! '
"Do you know my wife wanted to have my statue
melted down to make a bell for our church ? She
would have been its godmother one of Myro's
chef-d 'ceuvres. "
" Chef-d' centre ! chef-d'oeuvre! a fine chef-d'oeuvre
it is to break a man's leg ! "
"Look here, wife," said M. de Peyrehorade in
a determined voice, as he extended his right leg
towards her, clad in a fine silk stocking, "if my
Venus had broken this leg I should not have
minded."
" Good gracious ! Peyrehorade, how can you talk
like that? Fortunately, the man is going on well.
. . . And yet I cannot bring myself to look at the
statue which did such an evil thing as that. Poor
Jean Coll ! "
"Wounded by Venus, sir," said M. de Peyre-
horade, laughing loudly. "The rascal complains
of being wounded by Venus !
" ' Veneris nee pra^mia noris.'
Who has not suffered from the wounds of Venus ? "
M. Alphonse, who understood French better than
Latin, winked with an understanding air, and looked
165
The Venus of Ille
at me as though to say, " Do you understand that,
you Parisian? "
Supper ended at last. For an hour I had not
been able to eat any more. I was tired, and could
not hide my frequent yawns. Madam de Peyre-
horade saw it first, and said that it was time to
retire. Then began fresh apologies for the poor
entertainment I should find. I should not be com-
fortable as in Paris ; in the country things are so
different ! I must make allowances for the people
of Roussillon. It was in vain I protested that
after a journey among the mountains a bundle
of straw would seem a delicious bed. They still
begged me to pardon their poor rustic servants
if they did not behave as well as they should. At
last, accompanied by M. de Peyrehorade, I reached
the room put apart for my use. The staircase, the
top steps of which were of wood, led to the centre of
a corridor, out of which opened several rooms.
"To the right," said my host, "is the set
of rooms that I intend for the future Madam
Alphonse. Your room is at the end of the passage
opposite. You will understand," he added, with
a look which he meant to be sly " you will readily
understand that newly married people wish to be by
themselves. You are at one end of the house and
they at the other."
We entered a very handsomely furnished room,
where the first object that caught my eye was a
bed seven feet long, six broad, and such a height
that one needed a stool to get into it. My host
pointed out the position of the bell, and satisfied
himself that the sugar-bowl was full, and the
1 66
The Venus of Ille
smelling-bottles of eau de Cologne in their proper
places on the toilette table ; then he asked me
repeatedly if I had all I wanted, wished me good-
night and left me alone.
The windows were shut. Before undressing, I
opened one to breathe the cool night air, which was
delicious after such a lengthy supper. In front was
Canigou Mountain, which is at all times beautiful,
but to-night it seemed the fairest in the world,
lighted up as it was by a splendid moon. I stood
a few minutes to contemplate its marvellous outline,
and was just going to close my window when,
lowering my gaze, I saw the statue on a pedestal
about forty yards from the house. It was placed in
a corner of the quick-set hedge which separated a
little garden from a large, perfectly level court,
which, I learnt later, was the tennis ground for the
town. This ground had been M. de Peyrehorade's
property, but he had given it to the public at his
son's urgent entreaties.
From my distance away it was difficult to make
out the form of the statue ; I could only judge of its
height, which I guessed was about six feet. At
that moment two town larrikins passed along the
tennis court, close to the hedge, whistling the
pretty Roussillon air, "Montagnes re"galades. " They
stopped to look at the statue, and one of them even
apostrophised her in a loud voice. He spoke the
Catalanian dialect, but I had been long enough in
the province of Roussillon to be able to understand
almost all he said.
"Chi-ike, huzzy I " (the Catalanian expression was
more forcible than that). " Look here," he said,
167
The Venus of Ille
"you broke Jean Coil's leg" for him! If you be-
longed to me I would have broken your neck."
"Bah! what with?" asked the other. "She is
made of copper, and so hard that Stephen broke his
file over it, trying" to cut into it. It is copper from
before the Flood, and harder than anything- I can
think."
" If I had my cold chisel " (apparently he was a
locksmith's apprentice) " I would jolly soon scoop out
her big- white eyes ; it would be like cracking- a
couple of nutshells for the kernels. I would do it
for a bob."
They moved a few paces further off.
" I must just wish the idol gx>od night," said the
tallest of the apprentices, stopping- suddenly.
He stooped, and probably picked up a stone. I
saw him stretch out his arm and throw something",
and immediately after I heard a resounding" blow
from the bronze. At the same moment the appren-
tice raised his hand to his head and yelled out in
pain.
" She has thrown it back at me ! " he cried.
And then the two scamps took to flig"ht as fast as
they could. The stone had evidently rebounded
from the metal, and had punished the rascal for the
outrag-e done to the g-oddess.
I shut the window and laug'hed heartily.
Yet another vandal punished by Venus ! Would
that all destroyers of our ancient monuments could
have their heads broken like that !
And with this charitable wish I fell asleep.
It was broad day when I awoke. Near my bed
on one side stood M. de Peyrehorade in a dressing"-
i6S
gown ; on the other a servant sent by his wife with
a cup of chocolate in his hand.
" Come now, Parisian, get up ! How lazy you
people from the capital are ! " said my host, while
I hastily dressed myself. "It is eight o'clock, and
you still in bed. I got up at six o'clock. I have
been upstairs three times ; I listened at your door
on tiptoe, but there was no sign of life at all. It
is bad for you to sleep too much at your age. And
my Venus waiting to be seen ! Come, take this
cup of Barcelona chocolate as fast as you can . . .
it is quite contraband. You can't get such chocolate
in Paris. Take in all the nourishment you can, for
when you are before my Venus no one will be able
to tear you away."
I was ready in five minutes ; that is to say, I was
only half shaved, wrongly buttoned and scalded
by the chocolate which I had swallowed boiling hot.
I went downstairs into the garden and was soon
in front of a wonderfully fine statue. It was indeed
a Venus of extraordinary beauty. The top part
of her body was bare, just as the ancients usually
depicted their great deities ; her right hand, raised
up to her breast, was bent, with the palm inwards,
the thumb and two first fingers extended, whilst the
other two were slightly curved. The other hand
was near the hips, and held up the drapery which
covered the lower part of the body. The attitude
of this statue reminded me of that of the Morra
player, which, for some reason or other, goes by
the name of Germanicus. Perhaps they wished to
depict the goddess playing at the game of Morra.
However that might be, it is impossible to con-
169
The Venus of Ille
ceive anything- more perfect than the body of this
Venus ; nothing could be more harmonious or more
voluptuous than its outlines, nothing 1 more graceful
or dignified than its drapery. I expected some
work of the Lower Empire, and I beheld a master-
piece of the most perfect period of sculpture. I was
specially struck with the exquisite truth of form,
which gave the impression that it had been moulded
by nature itself, if nature ever produces such perfect
specimens.
The hair, which was raised off the forehead,
looked as though it might have been gilded at some
time. The head was small, like those of nearly all
Greek statues, and bent slightly forward. As to the
face, I should never be able to express its strange
character ; it was of quite a different type from
that of any other antique statue I could recall to
mind. It was not only the calm and austere beauty
of the Greek sculptors, whose rule was to give a
majestic immobility to every feature. Here, on
the contrary, I noticed with astonishment that the
artist had purposely expressed ill-nature to the point
even of wickedness. Every feature was slightly
contracted : the eyes were rather slanting, the
mouth turned up at the corners, and the nostrils
somewhat inflated. Disdain, irony, cruelty, could
be traced on a face which was, notwithstanding,
of incredible beauty. Indeed, the longer one looked
at this wonderful statue, the more did the distressing
thought obtrude itself that such marvellous beauty
could be united with an utter absence of goodness.
" If the model ever existed," I said to M. de
Peyrehorade, "and I doubt if Heaven ever produced
170
The Venus of Ille
such a woman, how I pity her lovers ! She would
delight to make them die of despair. There is
something- ferocious in her expression, and yet I
never saw anything so beautiful."
" ' It is Venus herself gloating- over her prey,'"
cried M. de Peyrehorade, pleased with my en-
thusiasm.
That expression of fiendish scorn was perhaps
enhanced by the contrast shown by her eyes, which
were encrusted with silver, and shone brilliantly
with the greenish-black colour that time had given
to the whole statue. Those brilliant eyes produced
a kind of illusion which recalled lifelike reality.
I remembered what my guide had said, that she
made those who looked at her lower their eyes.
It was quite true, and I could hardly restrain an
impulse of anger against myself for feeling rather
ill at ease before that bronze face.
" Now that you have admired it minutely, my
dear colleague in antiquarian research," said my
host, "let us, by your leave, open a scientific con-
ference. What say you to that inscription, which
you have not yet noticed ? "
He showed me the pedestal of the statue, and
I read on it these words :
CAVE AMANTEM
" Quid die is, doctissimc ? " he asked me, rubbing
his hands together. " Let us see if we can hit on
the meaning of this CA VE AMANTEM."
" But," I answered, " it has two meanings. It
can be translated : ' Beware of him who loves thee ;
mistrust thy lovers.' But in that sense I do not know
171
The Venus of Ille
whether CAVE AMANTEM would be good Latin.
Looking" at the lady's diabolic expression, I would
rather believe that the artist intended to put the
spectator on his guard against her terrible beauty ;
I would therefore translate it : ' Beware if she loves
thee.'"
" Humph ! " said M. de Peyrehorade ; "yes, that
is an admissible interpretation ; but, without wishing
to displease you, I prefer the first translation, and
I will tell you why. You know who Venus's lover
was?"
"There were several."
"Yes, but the chief one was Vulcan. Should one
not rather say, ' In spite of all thy beauty and thy
scornful manner, thou shalt have for thy lover a
blacksmith, a hideous cripple ' ? What a profound
moral, Monsieur, for flirts ! "
I could hardly help smiling at this far-fetched
explanation.
" Latin is a difficult tongue, because of its concise
expression," I remarked, to avoid contradicting my
antiquarian friend outright ; and I stepped further
away to see the statue better.
"One moment, colleague," said M. de Peyre-
horade, seizing me by the arm, "you have not seen
everything. There is still another inscription. Climb
up on the pedestal and look at the right arm." And
saying this, he helped me up.
I held on to the neck of the Venus unceremoni-
ously, and began to make myself better acquainted
with her. I only looked at her for a moment, right
in the face, and I found her still more wicked, and
still more beautiful. Then I discovered that there
172
The Venus of Ille
were some written characters in an ancient, running
hand, it seemed to me, engraved on the arm. With
the help of spectacles I spelt out the following,
whilst M. de Peyrehorade repeated every word as
soon as pronounced, with approving gesture and
voice. It read thus :
VENERI TVRBVL . . .
EVTYCHES MYRO
IMPERIO FECIT.
After the word TVRBVL in the first line, I thought
some letters had been effaced ; but TVRBVL was
perfectly legible.
''What do you say to that?" asked my host,
radiantly smiling with malice, for he knew very well
that I could not easily extricate myself from this
TVRBVL.
" I cannot explain that word yet," I said to him ;
"all the rest is easy. By his order Eutyches Myro
made this great offering to Venus."
"Good. But what do you make of TVRBVL?
What is TVRBVL?"
" TVRBVL puzzles me greatly ; I cannot think of
any epithet applied to Venus which might assist me.
Stay, what do you say to TVRBVLENTA? Venus,
who troubles and disturbs. . . . You notice I am all
the time thinking of her malignant expression.
TVRBVLENTA would not be at all a bad epithet for
Venus," I added modestly, for I was not myself quite
satisfied with my explanation.
"Venus the turbulent! Venus the broiler! Ah!
you think, then, that my Venus is a Venus of the
pot-house ? Nothing of the kind, Monsieur. She is
a Venus belonging to the great world. And now I
i73
The Venus of Ille
will expound to you this TVRBVL. . . . You will at
least promise not to divulge my discovery before my
treatise is published. I shall become famous, you
see, by this find. . . . You must leave us poor pro-
vincial devils a few ears to glean. You Parisian
savants are rich enough."
From the top of the pedestal, where I still perched,
I solemnly promised that I would never be so dis-
honourable as to steal his discovery.
" TVRBVL . . . Monsieur," he said, coming
nearer and lowering his voice for fear anyone else
but myself should hear, "read TVRBVLNERJE."
" I do not understand any better."
"Listen carefully. A league from here, at the
base of the mountain, is a village called Boulternere.
It is a corruption of the Latin word TVRBVLNERA.
Nothing is commoner than such an inversion.
Boulternere, Monsieur, was a Roman town. I have
always been doubtful about this, for I have never
had any proof of it. The proof lies here. This
Venus was the local goddess of the city of Boulter-
nere ; and this word Boulternere, which I have just
shown to be of ancient origin, proves a still more
curious thing, namely that Boulternere, after being
a Roman town, became a Phoenician one ! "
He stopped a minute to take breath, and to enjoy
my surprise. I had to repress a strong inclination
to laugh.
"Indeed," he went on, "TVRBVLNERA is pure
Phoenician. TVR pronounce TOUR. . . . TOUR and
SOUR, are they not the same word? SOUR is the
Phoenician name for Tyre. I need not remind you of
its meaning. BVL is Baal, Bal, Bel, Bui, slight
The Venus of Ille
differences in pronunciation. As to NERA, that gives
me some trouble. I am tempted to think, for want
of a Phoenician word, that it comes from the Greek
vr/pos damp, marshy. That would make it a hybrid
word. To justify v^pos I will show you at Boulter-
nere how the mountain streams there form poison-
ous swamps. On the other hand, the ending NERA
might have been added much later, in honour of
Nera Pivesuvia, the wife of Tetricus, who may have
done some benevolent act to the city of Turbul. But,
on account of the marshes, I prefer the derivation
from y?jpos. "
He took a pinch of snuff with a satisfied air.
"But let us leave the Phoenicians and return to
the inscription. I translate, then : ' To the Venus
of Boulternere Myro dedicates by his command this
statue, the work of his hand.' '
I took good care not to criticise his etymology,
but I wanted, on my own account, to put his penetra-
tive faculties to the proof, so I said to him : " Wait
a bit, Monsieur, Myro dedicated something, but I
do not in the least see that it was this statue."
"What!" he exclaimed, "was not Myro a
famous Greek sculptor ? The talent would descend
to his family ; and one of his descendants made this
statue. Nothing can be clearer."
" But," I replied, " I see a little hole in the arm.
I fancy it has been used to hold something, perhaps
a bracelet, which this Myro gave to Venus as an
expiatory offering, for Myro was an unlucky lover.
Venus was incensed against him, and he appeased
her by consecrating a golden bracelet. You must
remember that fecit is often used for consecravit.
The Venus of Ille
The terms are synonymous. I could show you
more than one instance if I had access to Gruter or,
better still, Orellius. It is natural that a lover
should behold Venus in his dreams, and that he
should imagine that she commanded him to give
her statue a golden bracelet. Myro consecrated a
bracelet to her. . . . Then the barbarians, or per-
haps some sacrilegious thief
" Ah ! it is easily seen that you are given to
romancing," cried my host, lending his hand to help
me down. " No, Monsieur, it is a work after the
School of Myro. Only look at the work, and you
will agree."
Having made it a rule never to contradict pig-
headed antiquarians outright, I bowed my head as
though convinced, and said
" It is a splendid piece of work."
"Ah ! my God ! " exclaimed M. de Peyrehorade,
" here is yet another mark of vandalism ! Some-
one has thrown a stone at my statue ! "
He had just seen a white mark a little below the
breast of the Venus. I noticed a similar mark on
the fingers of the right hand, which at first I
supposed had been scraped by the stone in passing,
or perhaps a fragment of it might have broken off
by the shock and rebounded upon the hand. I told
my host the insult that I had witnessed and the
prompt punishment which had followed. He
laughed heartily, and compared the apprentice to
Diomede, wishing he might see all his comrades
changed into white birds, as the Greek hero did.
The breakfast bell interrupted this famous inter-
view ; and, as on the previous evening, I was forced
176
to eat as much as four people. Then M. de Peyre-
horade's tenants came to see him, and, whilst he
gave them audience, his son took me to see a
carriage which he had bought for his fiancee at
Toulouse, and, of course, I admired it properly.
After that I went with him to the stables, where he
kept me half an hour praising his horses and telling
me their pedigrees and the prizes he had won at the
country races. At last he spoke of his future
bride, by a sudden transition from the grey mare
that he intended for her.
"We shall see her to-day. I wonder if you will
think her pretty. You are so difficult to please in
Paris ; but everybody here and at Perpignan thinks
her lovely. The best of it is she is very wealthy.
Her aunt, who lived at Prades, left her all her
money. Oh, I am going to be ever so happy ! "
I was deeply shocked to see a young man much
more affected by the dowry than by the beautiful
looks of his bride-to-be.
"Are you learned in jewellery?" continued M.
Alphonse. "What do you think of this ring which
I am going to give her to-morrow? "
So saying, he drew from the first joint of his
little finger a large ring blazing with diamonds,
formed by the clasping of two hands : a most
poetic idea, I thought. It was of ancient workman-
ship, but I guessed that it had been retouched when
the diamonds were set. Inside the ring was engraved
o o
in gothic letters : " Scmpr' ab ti" ("Ever thine").
"It is a lovely ring," I said; but added, "the
diamonds have taken from its original character
somewhat."
N 177
The Venus of Ille
"Oh, it is much prettier as it is now," he replied,
smiling-. "There are one thousand two hundred
francs' worth of diamonds in it. My mother gave
it me. It was an old family ring . . . from the
days of chivalry. It was worn by my grand-
mother, who had it from her grandmother. Good-
ness knows when it was made ! "
"The custom in Paris," I said, "is to give a very
plain ring, usually made of two different metals,
say, gold and platinum. For instance, the other
ring which you have on that finger would be most
suitable. This one is so large, with its diamonds
and hands in relief, that no glove would go over it."
"Oh, Madam Alphonse can arrange that as she
likes. I think she will be pleased enough to have
it. Twelve hundred francs on one's finger is very
pleasing. That little ring," he added, looking with
a satisfied expression at the plain ring which he
held in his hand, "was given me one Shrove
Tuesday by a woman in Paris, when I was staying-
there two years ago. Ah ! that is the place to enjoy
oneself in ! . . ." And he sighed regretfully.
We were to dine at Puygarrig that day, at the
house of the bride's parents ; we drove in carriages,
and were soon at the Castle, which was about a
league and a half from Ille. I was introduced and
received like one of the family. I will not talk of
the dinner, nor of the conversation which took place,
and in which I had but little part. M. Alphonse,
who sat by the side of his future bride, whispered
in her ear every quarter of an hour. She hardly
raised her eyes, and blushed modestly every time
her intended spoke to her, though she replied
without embarrassment.
178
The Venus of Ille
Mademoiselle de Puygarrig was eighteen years of
age, and her lithe, delicate figure was a great con-
trast to the bony limbs of her sturdy lover. She
was more than beautiful : she was enchanting. I
admired the perfect naturalness of all her replies.
Her expression was kindly, but nevertheless was
not devoid of a light touch of maliciousness which
reminded me, do what I would, of my host's Venus.
While making this comparison to myself I wondered
if the superior beauty which undoubtedly belonged
to the statue was not largely owing to her tigerish
expression, for strength, even when accompanied by
evil passions, always induces wonder and a sort of
involuntary admiration.
What a pity, I reflected, as we left Puygarrig, that
such a charming person should be so rich, and that
her dowry should be the cause of her being sought
by a man so unworthy of her !
Whilst on the return to Ille I found it difficult to
know what to talk of to Madam de Peyrehorade,
with whom I thought I ought to converse.
"You are very strong-minded people here in
Roussillon," I exclaimed, "to have a wedding on a
Friday. In Paris we are more superstitious ; no
man dare take a wife on that day."
"Oh, please don't talk of it," she said;' "if it
had depended only on me, I would certainly have
chosen another day. But Peyrehorade wanted it,
and would not give way. It troubles me, however.
Suppose some misfortune should happen ? There
must be something in it, else why should everybody
be afraid of a Friday? "
"Friday," her husband cried, "is the day dedi-
179
The Venus of Ille
cated to Venus. An excellent day for a wedding.
You will notice, my dear colleague, that I only think
of my Venus. What an honour ! It was on that
account I chose Friday. To-morrow, if you are
willing", we will offer her a small sacrifice before the
ceremony two ringdoves and incense, if I can find
any."
" For shame, Peyrehorade ! " interrupted his wife,
who was scandalised in the highest degree. " Offer
incense to an idol! It would be an abomination!
What would be said about you through the country-
side ? "
"At all events," said M. de Peyrehorade, "you
will let me put a wreath of roses and lilies on her
head ?
' ' Manibus date lilia plenis.
You see, monsieur, the charter is but a vain thing.
We have no religious freedom."
The arrangements for the morrow were regulated
in the following manner. Everyone had to be ready
and dressed for the wedding at ten o'clock prompt.
After taking chocolate we were to be driven to Puy-
garrig. The civil marriage was to take place at the
village registry, and the religious ceremony in the
Castle chapel. After that there would be luncheon.
Then we were to spend the time as we liked until
seven o'clock, when we were all to return to M. de
Peyrehorade's house, where the two families would
sup together. The remainder of the time would
naturally be spent in eating as much as possible, as
there would be no dancing.
Ever since eight o'clock I had sat before the
Venus, pencil in hand, beginning over again for the
I So
The Venus of Ille
twentieth time the head of the statue, without being
able to seize the expression. M. de Peyrehorade
came and went, giving me advice and repeating his
Phoenician derivations. Then he placed some Bengal
roses on the pedestal of the statue, and addressed to
it, in a tragi-comical air, vows for the couple about
to live under his roof. He went in to see about his
toilette towards nine o'clock, and at the same time
M. Alphonse appeared, well groomed, in a new
suit, white gloves, patent-leather shoes, chased
buttons and a rose in his button-hole.
"You must take my wife's portrait," he said,
leaning over my drawing ; " she, too, is pretty."
Then began on the tennis ground, to which I have
already referred, a game which at once attracted
M. Alphonse's attention. I was tired, and in
despair at being unable to reproduce that diabolical
face, so I soon left my drawing to watch the players.
There were among them several Spanish muleteers
who had come the night before. They were men
from Aragon and from Navarre, almost all clever
players. Although the local players were encouraged
by the presence and advice of M. Alphonse, they
were very soon beaten by these new champions.
The patriotic onlookers were filled with concern, and
M. Alphonse looked at his watch. It was still only
half-past nine. His mother was not ready yet. He
hesitated no longer, threw off his coat, asked for a
vest, and challenged the Spaniards. I looked at
him with amusement and in some surprise.
"The honour of our country must be upheld," he
said.
Then I saw how very handsome he was. He was
181
The Venus of Ille
roused to passion. The toilette, which had just now
filled his thoughts to the exclusion of everything
else, was completely forgotten. A few minutes
before he hardly dared turn his head, for fear of
spoiling his cravat. Now he thought nothing of
his curled hair or of his beautifully got up frilled
shirt. And his fiancee! I really believe that, if
necessary, he would have adjourned the wedding.
I saw him hastily put on a pair of sandals, turn up
his sleeves, and with a self-satisfied manner range
himself at the head of the vanquished party, like
Cassar when he rallied his soldiers at Dyrrachium.
I leapt the hedge and took up a position comfort-
ably under the shade of a nettle tree in such a way
as to be able to see both camps.
Contrary to general expectation, M. Alphonse
missed the first ball ; true, it grazed the ground,
and bound with surprising force near one of the
players from Aragon, who seemed the head of the
Spaniards.
He was a man of about forty, strong, yet spare
in appearance ; he stood six feet high, and his olive
skin was of almost as deep a tint as the bronze of
the Venus.
M. Alphonse threw his racquet on the ground in
a furious rage.
" It is this cursed ring ! " he cried, " which pressed
into my finger and made me miss a sure thing."
With some difficulty he took off his diamond ring,
and I went nearer to take it, but he forestalled me,
ran to the Venus, slipped the ring on its fourth
finger, and retook his position at the head of his
townsmen.
182
The Venus of Ille
He was pale, but cool and determined. From
that time he made no more fouls, and the Spaniards
were completely beaten. The enthusiasm of the
spectators was a fine sight : some uttered shrieks
of delight and threw their caps in the air : others
shook hands with him and called him the pride of
their countryside. If he had repulsed an invasion,
I doubt if he would have received heartier or more
sincere congratulations. The disappointment of the
vanquished added still more to the brilliance of his
victory.
"We must have another match, my fine fellow,"
he said to the muleteer from Aragon in a con-
descending tone ; " but I must give you odds."
I would have preferred M. Alphonse to be more
modest, and I was almost sorry for his rival's
humiliation.
The Spanish giant felt the insult keenly ; I saw
him go pale under his tanned skin. He looked
miserably at his racquet and ground his teeth ; then,
in a choking voice he said, " Me lo pagaras."*
The voice of M. de Peyrehorade interrupted his
son's triumph ; my host was extremely astonished
not to find him superintending the preparation of
the new carriage, and was even more surprised to see
him with racquet in hand, flushed from the game.
M. Alphonse ran to the house, bathed his face
and hands, put on his new coat again and his
patent-leather shoes, and five minutes after we were
in full trot on the road to Puygarrig. All the tennis
players of the town and a large crowd of spectators
followed us with shouts of joy. The stout horses
* " But you will pay for it."
183
The Venus of Ille
which drew us could hardly keep ahead of these
dauntless Catalanians.
We were at Puygarrig, and the procession was
forming" into order to walk to the registry when
M. Alphonse suddenly put his hand up to his head
and whispered to me
"What a blunder! I have forgotten the ring;!
It is on Venus's finger, devil take her ! Do not tell
my mother, whatever happens. Perhaps she will
not notice the omission."
"You could send someone for it," I said.
"No! my servant has stayed behind at Ille. I
dare hardly trust these fellows here with twelve
hundred francs of diamonds. What a temptation
that will be to someone ! Besides, what would the
people here think of my absent-mindedness ? They
would make fun of me. They would call me the
husband of the statue. ... If only no one steals
it ! Fortunately, the idol frightens the young
rascals. They dare not go within arm's length of
her. Well, it doesn't matter, I have another ring."
The two ceremonies, civil and religious, were
accomplished with suitable state. Mademoiselle de
Puygarrig received the ring which had belonged to
a Paris milliner, little thinking that her fiance had
sacrificed another's love-token to her. Then we sat
down and drank, ate and sang for long enough. I
was sorry the bride had to bear the coarse jollity
which went on all around her ; however, she took
it with a better face than I should have thought
possible, and her embarrassment was neither awk-
ward nor affected. Possibly courage springs up
under occasions that need it.
184
The Venus of Ille
The banquet broke up Lord knows when some-
where about four o'clock. The men went for a
walk in the park, which was a magnificent one, or
watched the peasants of Puygarrig dance on the
Castle lawn, decked in their gala dresses.
In this way we passed several hours. In the
meantime the women thronged round the bride,
who showed them her wedding presents. Then she
changed her toilette, and I noticed that she covered
up her beautiful hair with a cap and a hat with
feathers in it, for wives are most particular to don
a.s quickly as possible those adornments which
custom has forbidden them to wear when they are
still unmarried.
It was nearly eight o'clock when we were ready
to go back to Ille. But there was a pathetic scene
first between Mademoiselle de Puygarrig and her
aunt, who had been a mother to her, and was of
advanced age and very religious : she had not been
able to go to the town with us. At her departure
she gave her niece a touching sermon on her wifely
duties, which resulted in a flood of tears and endless
embracings. M. de Peyrehorade compared this
parting to the Rape of the Sabines. However, we
got off at last, and during the journey everyone
exerted himself to cheer up the bride and make her
laugh, but in vain.
At Ille supper awaited us ; and what a supper !
If the morning's coarse revel had shocked me, I
was still more disgusted by the quips and jokes
which circled round the bride and bridegroom. The
bridegroom, who had disappeared for an instant
before sitting down to supper, was pale and as
185
The Venus of Ille
chilly as an iceberg". He drank the old wine of
Collioure constantly, which is almost as strong' as
brandy. I was on one side of him, and felt I must
warn him
" Do take care. They say this wine
I don't know what silly thing I said to him to
show myself in harmony with the merry-makers.
"When they get up from the table I have some-
thing to say to you," he whispered, pushing my knee.
His solemn tone surprised me. I looked at him
more attentively, and noticed a strange alteration in
his features.
" Do you feel ill ? " I asked.
"No."
And he began to drink again.
In the meantime, in the midst of cries and clap-
ping hands, a child of eleven, who had slipped
under the table, showed to the company a pretty
white and rose-coloured ribbon which she had just
taken from the bride's ankle. They called it her
garter. It was soon cut into bits and distributed
among the young people, who decorated their
button-holes with it, according to a very old custom
which is still preserved in a few patriarchal families.
This made the bride blush to the whites of her eyes.
But her confusion reached its height when M. de
Peyrehorade, after calling for silence, sang some
Catalanian verses to her, which he said were im-
promptus. I give the sense so far as I under-
stood it.
" What is the matter with me, my friends ? Has
the wine I have taken made me see double ? There
are two Venuses here. ..."
1 86
The Venus of Ille
The bridegroom turned round suddenly and
looked scared, which set everybody laughing.
"Yes," continued M. de Peyrehorade, "there
are two Venuses under my roof. One I found in
the earth, like a truffle ; the other came down to us
from the heavens to share her girdle with us."
He meant, of course, her garter.
" My son, choose between the Roman and the
Catalanian Venus which you prefer. The rascal
took the Catalanian, the better part, for the Roman
is black and the Catalanian is white. The Roman
is cold, and the Catalanian sets on fire all who come
near her."
This conclusion excited such an uproar of noisy
applause and loud laughter that I thought the roof
would fall on our heads. There were but three
grave faces at the table those of the wedded pair
and mine. I had a splitting headache ; for besides,
I know not why, a marriage always makes me feel
melancholy. This one disgusted me rather, too.
The last couplets were sung by the deputy-mayor,
and, I may say, they were very broad ; then we
went into the salon to witness the departure of the
bride, who would soon be conducted to her chamber,
as it was nearly midnight.
M. Alphonse drew me aside into the recess of a
window, and said, as he turned his eyes away
from me
"You will laugh at me . . . but I do not know
what is the matter with me. ... I am bewitched,
devil take it ! "
My first thought was that he fancied he was
threatened with some misfortune of the nature of
187
The Venus of Ille
those referred to by Montaigne and Madame de
SeVigne : "The whole realm of love is filled with
tragic stories."
I thought to myself that this kind of mishap only
happens to men of genius.
"You have drunk too much Collioure wine, my
dear M. Alphonse," I said. " I warned you."
" That may be. But this is something much more
terrible."
His voice was broken, and I thought he was quite
drunk.
"You know my ring?" he continued, after a
pause.
" Yes. Has it been taken ? "
"No."
" Therefore you have it? "
" No I I could not get it off the finger of that
devil of a Venus."
" Nonsense ! you did not pull hard enough."
"Yes, I did. . . . But the Venus . . . has
clenched her finger."
He looked at me fixedly with a haggard expres-
sion, and leant against the framework to keep
himself from falling.
" What a ridiculous tale ! " I said. " You pushed
the ring on too far. To-morrow you must use
pincers, only take care not to injure the statue.
"No, I tell you. The finger of Venus has con-
tracted and bent up ; she closed her hand, do you
hear? . . . She is my wife apparently, because
I gave her my ring. . . . She will not give it
back."
I shivered suddenly, and for a moment my blood
188
The Venus of Ille
ran cold. Then the deep sigh he gave sent a breath of
wine into my face and all my emotion disappeared.
"The wretched man is completely drunk," I
thought.
"You are an antiquarian, Monsieur," the bride-
groom added in dismal tones ; " you know all about
such statues. . . . There is perhaps some spring,
some devilish catch, I do not know of. If you would
go and see."
" Willingly," I said. " Come with me."
" No, I would rather you went by yourself."
So I left the salon.
The weather had changed during supper, and rain
began to fall heavily. I was going to ask for an
umbrella, when I stopped short and reflected. " I
should be a great fool," I said to myself, "to go
and verify the tale of a tipsy man ! Perhaps, besides,
he intended to play some stupid joke on me to amuse
the country people ; and at the least I should be
wet through to the skin and catch a bad cold."
I cast a glance on the dripping statue from the
door, and went up to my room without returning to
the salon. I went to bed, but sleep was long in
coming. All the scenes that had occurred during
the day returned to my mind. I thought of that
beautiful, innocent young girl given up to a drunken
brute. "What a detestable thing," I said to myself,
"is a marriage of convenience! A mayor puts on a
tricoloured sash, and a priest a stole, and behold, the
noblest of girls may be dedicated to the Minotaur.
What can two beings who do not love each other
say at such a moment, a moment that lovers would
buy at the price of life itself? Can a wife ever love
189
The Venus of Ille
a man whom she has once discovered is coarse-
minded? First impressions can never be obliterated,
and I am certain M. Alphonse deserves to be hated."
During- my monologue, which I abridge consider-
ably, I had heard much coming and going about the
house, doors open and shut, and carriages go away ;
then I thought I could hear the light steps of
several women upon the staircase proceeding to the
end of the passage opposite my room. It was
probably the procession leading the bride to bed.
Then they went downstairs again, and Madam de
Peyrehorade's door shut. " How unhappy and
strangely ill at ease that poor girl must feel ! "
I said to myself. I turned over on my bed in a
bad temper. A bachelor cuts but a poor figure at a
house where there is a wedding going on.
Silence had reigned for a long while, when it was
interrupted by heavy steps coming up the stairs.
The wooden stairs creaked loudly.
" What a clumsy lout ! " I cried. " I bet he will
fall down stairs."
Then all became quiet again. I took up a book to
change the current of my thoughts. It was a
treatise on the Statistics of the Department, em-
bellished with a preface by M. de Peyrehorade on
the " Druidical Monuments of the Arrondissement
of Prades." I fell into a doze at the third page.
I slept badly and waked several times. It must
have been five in the morning, and I had been awake
more than twenty minutes when the cock began
to crow. Day had dawned. Then I distinctly
heard the same heavy steps and the same creaking
of the stairs that I had heard before I went to
190
The Venus of Ille
sleep. It struck me as very strange. I tried
amidst my yawning- to guess why M. Alphonse
should rise so early ; I could not think of any
reason at all likely. I was going to close my eyes
again when my attention was afresh excited by
strange trampings, which were soon intermingled
with the ringing of bells and the banging of doors,
and then I could distinguish confused cries.
The drunken bridegroom must have set fire to the
house ! And at this reflection I leapt out of bed.
I dressed rapidly and went into the corridor.
From the opposite end proceeded cries and wailings,
and one piercing cry sounded above all the others
"My son! my son!" Evidently some accident
had happened to M. Alphonse. I ran to the bridal-
chamber ; it was full of people. The first sight
which met my eyes was the young man, half-dressed,
stretched across the bed, the wood of which was
broken. He was livid and motionless, and his mother
wept and cried by his side. M. de Peyrehorade
was busy rubbing his son's temples with eau de
Cologne and holding smelling salts under his nose.
Alas ! his son had been dead a long time. Upon
a couch at the other end of the room was the bride
in the grip of terrible convulsions. She uttered
inarticulate cries, and two strapping servants had
the greatest difficulty in holding her down.
" My God! " I exclaimed, "what has happened? "
I went to the bedside and raised the body of the
unfortunate young man ; he was already cold and
stiff. His clenched teeth and black face denoted
the most frightful agony. It could be easily seen
that his death had been violent and his agony
191
The Venus of Ille
terrible. There was, however, no trace of blood
on his clothes. I opened his shirt and found a livid
mark on his breast, which extended down his sides
and back. One would have thought he had been
strangled by a band of iron. My foot stumbled on
something" hard which was under the rug; I stooped
and saw the diamond ring.
I led M. de Peyrehorade and his wife away into
their room ; then I had the bride carried out.
"You have a daughter left," I said to them;
"you must give all your care to her." I then left
them to themselves.
There seemed to me no doubt that M. Alphonse
had been the victim of an assassination, and the
perpetrators must have found some means to get
into the bride's room during the night. Those
bruises, however, on the chest and the circular
direction of them puzzled me much, for neither
a stick nor a bar of iron could have produced
them. Suddenly I recollected to have heard that
in Valence the bravoes use long leather bags full
of fine sand to smother people whom they want
to kill. Soon, too, I remembered the muleteer
from Aragon and his threat, though I could hardly
think that he would take such a terrible vengeance
on a light jest.
I went into the house and hunted all over for any
traces of their having broken into the house, but
I found none whatever. I went to the garden to
see if the assassins had got in from there, but I
could not find any sure indication. Last night's rain
had, moreover, so soaked the ground that it would
not have retained the clearest imprint. But 1 noticed,
192
The Venus of Ille
notwithstanding", several deep footmarks in the
earth ; they were in two contrary directions, but
in the same line, beginning" at the corner of the
hedge next to the tennis ground and ending" at the
front door to the house. These might have been the
footmarks made by M. Alphonse when he went to look
for his ring" on the statue's finger. On the other
side the hedge at that spot was not so thick, and
it must have been here that the murderers made
their escape. Passing and repassing in front of
the statue, I stopped short a second to look at it.
I confess that this time I could not look at its
expression of ironical wickedness without fear, and
my head was so full of the ghastly scenes I had just
witnessed that I seemed to be looking at an infernal
divinity which gloated over the misfortunes that had
fallen on the house.
I regained my room and remained there until
noon. Then I went down and asked for news of my
host and hostess. They were a little calmer. Made-
moiselle de Puygarrig or rather the widow of M.
Alphonse had regained consciousness ; she had
even spoken to the magistrate of Perpignan, then
on a tour of inspection in Ille, and this magistrate
had taken down her statement. He asked me for
mine. I told him what I knew, and did not conceal
my suspicions regarding the muleteer from Aragon.
He gave orders for his instant arrest.
" Have you learnt anything from Madam Al-
phonse ? " I asked the magistrate, when my deposi-
tion had been taken down and signed.
"That unhappy young lady has gone mad," he
said, with a sad smile; "mad, completely mad.
See what she told me :
o 193
The Venus of Ille
"'She had been in bed,' she said, 'for some
moments with the curtains drawn, when the bed-
room door opened and someone came in.' Now
Madam Alphonse lay on the side of the bed, with
her face turned to the wall. She did not stir,
supposing" it to be her husband. In a second the
bed creaked as though it were burdened with an
enormous weight. She was terribly frightened, but
dared not turn round. Five minutes, or perhaps
ten she could not tell how long passed. Then
she made an involuntary movement, or else the
other person who was in the bed made one, and she
felt the touch of something" as cold as ice these are
her very words. She sat up in the bed, trembling
in every limb. Shortly after the door opened again,
and someone entered, who said, ' Good night, my
little wife,' and soon after the curtains were drawn.
She heard a stifled cry. The person who was in
bed by her side sat up, and seemed to stretch out
its arms in front. Then she turned her head round
. . . and saw, so she says, her husband on his
knees by the bed, with his head as high as the
pillow, in the arms of a green-looking giant who
was strangling him with all its might. She said
and she repeated it to me over and over twenty
times, poor lady ! she said that she recognised
. . . Can you guess? The bronze statue of Venus
belonging to M. de Peyrehorade. . . . Since it came
into the country everybody dreams of it, but I will
proceed with the story of the unhappy mad girl.
She lost consciousness at this sight, and probably
for some lime her reason. She cannot in any way
tell how long she remained in a faint. When she
194
The Venus of Ille
came to she saw the phantom again or the statue,
as she persists in calling it motionless, its legs and
the lower half of the body in the bed, the bust and
arms stretched out before it, and between its arms
her lifeless husband. A cock crew, and then the
statue got out of the bed, dropped the dead body,
and went out. Madam Alphonse hung on to the
bell, and you know the rest."
They brought in the Spaniard ; he was calm, and
defended himself with much coolness and presence
of mind. He did not attempt to deny the remark
I heard ; he explained it by pretending that he
meant nothing by it, but that on the following day,
when he was more rested, he would have won
a tennis match against his victor. I remember that
he had added
"A native of Aragon does not wait for his revenge
till to-morrow when he is insulted. Had I thought
M. Alphonse meant to insult me, I should have
immediately stabbed him with my knife to the
heart."
His shoes were compared with the footmarks in
the garden ; but his shoes were much larger than
the marks.
Finally, the innkeeper with whom the man had
lodged averred that he had spent the whole of that
night in rubbing and doctoring one of his sick
mules.
Moreover, this man from Aragon was quite noted
and well known in the countryside, to which he
came annually to trade. He was therefore released
with many apologies.
I had forgotten the deposition of a servant who
The Venus of Ille
had been the last to see M. Alphonse alive. He
saw him go upstairs to his wife, and he had called
the man and asked him in an anxious manner if he
knew where I was. Then M. Alphonse heaved a
sigh, and stood for a moment in silence, adding
afterwards
" Well, the devil must have carried him off too ! "
I asked this man if M. Alphonse had his diamond
ring" on when he spoke to him. The servant
hesitated before he replied ; then he said that he
thought not, that at all events it had not attracted
his attention. "If he had worn that ring," he
added, correcting himself, " I should certainly have
noticed it, because I believed that he had given
it to Madam Alphonse."
Whilst I interrogated this man I felt a little of
the superstitious terror that Madam Alphonse's
deposition had spread throughout the house. The
magistrate looked at me and smiled, and I refrained
from pressing my questions any further.
A few hours after the funeral of M. Alphonse
I prepared to leave Ille. M. de Peyrehorade's
carriage was to take me to Perpignan. In spite of
his state of feebleness the poor old man would accom-
pany me to the gate of his grounds. He walked to
it in silence, hardly able to drag himself along
even with the help of my arm. Just as we were
parting I cast a last glance at the Venus. I could
see plainly that my host, although he did not share
the terrors and hatred that his family felt for it,
would like to get rid of the object that would ever
afterwards remind him of a frightful disaster. I
resolved to try and persuade him to put it in a
196
The Venus of Ille
museum. I was hesitating to begin the subject
when M. de Peyrehorade mechanically turned his
head in the direction in which he saw me looking so
attentively. He saw the statue, and immediately
burst into tears. I embraced him, and, without
venturing to say a single word, I stepped into the
carnage.
Since my departure I have never learnt that
anything was discovered to throw light on this
mysterious catastrophe.
M. de Peyrehorade died some months after his
son. He bequeathed me his manuscripts in his
will, which some day I may publish. But I have
not been able to find the treatise relating to the
inscriptions on the Venus.
P.S. My friend M. de P. has just written to me
from Perpignan to tell me that the statue no longer
exists. After her husband's death, the first thing
Madam de Peyrehorade did was to have it melted
down and made into a bell, and in this fresh form
it is used in the church at Ille. But, adds M. de P.,
it would seem that an evil fate pursues those who
possess that piece of bronze. Since that bell began
to ring in Ille the vines have twice been frost-bitten.
1837.
197
LOKIS
LOKIS
FROM THE MS. OF PROFESSOR WITTEMBACH
I
THEODORE," said Professor Wittembach,
"please give me that manuscript - book,
bound in parchment, which is laid on the second
shelf above my writing-desk no, not that one, but
the small octavo volume. I copied all the notes of
my journal of 1866 in it at least those that relate to
Count Szemioth."
The Professor put on his glasses, and, amid
profound silence, read the following :
"LOKIS,"
with this Lithuanian proverb as a motto :
" Miszka su Lokiu,
Abu du tokiu."*
When the first translation of the Holy Scriptures
into the Lithuanian language appeared in London,
I published in the Scientific and Literary Gazette of
Kcenigsberg, an article wherein, while rendering full
justice to the efforts of the learned interpreter and to
the pious motives of the Bible Society, I pointed
* " The two together make a pair " ; word for word, Michon
(Michael) with Lokis, both are the same. Michaelium cum
Lokide, ambo \duo] ipsissimi.
201
Lokis
out several slight errors, and showed, moreover,
that this version could only be useful to one portion
of the Lithuanian people.
Indeed, the dialect from which they translated is
hardly intelligible to the inhabitants of the districts
where \hzjomaittc tongue, commonly called Jmonde,
is spoken, namely, in the Palatinate of Samogitia.
This language is, perhaps, nearer akin to the
Sanskrit than to High Lithuanian. In spite of the
furious criticisms which this observation drew down
upon me from a certain well-known professor of the
Dorpat University, it so far enlightened the members
of the Committee of the Bible Society that they lost
no time in making me a flattering offer to direct and
supervise an edition of the Gospel of St. Matthew
into Samogitian. I was too much occupied at the
time with my researches in Trans-Uralian dialects
to undertake a more extended work comprising
all four of the Gospels. Deferring my marriage
with Mile. Gertrude Weber, I went to Kowno
(Kaunas) for the purpose of collecting all the lin-
guistic records, whether printed or in MSS., of
Jmoude, that I could lay hands on. I did not over-
look, of course, old ballads (da'inos], tales, or legends
(pasakos] which would furnish me with material for a
Joma'itic vocabulary, a work which must necessarily
precede that of translation.
I had been given a letter of introduction to the
young Count Michel Szemioth, whose father, I was
told, had come into the possession of the famous
Catechismus Samogiticiis of Father Lawicki. It was
so rare that its very existence had been disputed,
particularly by the Dorpat professor to whom allu-
Lokis
sion has been already made. In his library I should
find, according to the information given me, an old
collection of dainos, besides ballads in old Prussian.
Having- written to Count Szemioth to lay the object
of my visit before him, I received a most courteous
invitation to spend as much time at his Castle of
Medintiltas as my researches might need. He ended
his letter by very gracefully saying that he prided
himself upon speaking Jmoude almost as well as his
peasants, and would be only too pleased to help me
in what he termed so important and interesting an
undertaking. Besides being one of the wealthiest
landowners in Lithuania, he was of the same evan-
gelical faith of which I had the honour to be a
minister. I had been warned that the Count was
not without a certain peculiarity of character, but
he was very hospitable, especially towards all who
had intellectual tastes. So I set out on my journey
to Medintiltas.
At the Castle steps I was met by the Count's
steward, who immediately led me to the rooms
prepared for me.
" M. le Comte," he said, " is most sorry not to be
able to dine with you to-day. He has a bad head-
ache, a malady he is unfortunately subject to. If
you do not prefer to dine in your room you can dine
with the Countess's doctor, Dr. Frceber. Dinner
will be ready in an hour ; do not trouble to dress for
it. If you have any orders to give, there is the bell."
He withdrew, making me a profound salute.
The room was of immense size, comfortably fur-
nished, and decorated with mirrors and gilding.
One side of it looked out upon a garden, or rather
203
Lokis
the park belonging to the Castle, and the other upon
the principal entrance. Notwithstanding the state-
ment that there was no need to dress, I felt obliged
to get my black coat out of my trunk, and was in
my shirt-sleeves busy unpacking my simple luggage
when the sound of carriage wheels attracted me to
the window which looked on the court. A hand-
some barouche had just come in. It contained a
lady in black, a gentleman, and a woman dressed in
the Lithuanian peasant costume, but so tall and
strong-looking that at first I took her for a man
in disguise. She stepped out first ; two other
women, not less robust in appearance, were already
standing on the steps. The gentleman leant over
the lady dressed in black, and, to my great surprise,
unbuckled a broad leather belt which held her to her
seat in the carriage. I noticed that this lady had
long white hair, very much dishevelled, and that
her large, wide-opened eyes were vacant in expres-
sion. She looked like a waxen figure. After having
untied her, her companion spoke to her very respect-
fully, hat in hand ; but she appeared not to pay the
slightest attention to him. He then turned to the
servants and made a slight sign with his head.
Immediately the three women took hold of the lady
in black, lifted her out as though she were a feather,
and carried her into the Castle, in spite of her efforts
to cling to the carriage. The scene was witnessed
by several of the house servants, who did not appear
to think it anything extraordinary.
The gentleman who had directed the proceedings
drew out his watch, and asked how soon dinner
would be ready.
204
Lokis
" In a quarter of an hour, doctor," was the reply.
I guessed at once that this was Dr. Frceber, and
that the lady in black was the Countess. From her
age I concluded she was the mother of Count
Szemioth, and the precautionary measures taken
concerning her told me clearly enough that her
reason was affected.
Some moments later the doctor himself came to
my room.
"As the Count is indisposed," he said to me, " I
must introduce myself to you. I am Dr. Frceber, at
your service, and I am delighted to make the
acquaintance of a savant known to all readers of the
Scientific and Literary Gazette of Kcenigsberg. Have
you been properly waited on ? "
I replied to his compliments as well as I could,
and told him that if it was time to go down to dinner
I was ready to accompany him.
When we were in the dining-hall, a major-domo
brought us liqueurs and several piquant and highly
spiced dishes on a silver salver to induce appetite,
after a northern custom.
"Allow me, sir, in my office as doctor, to recom-
mend a glass of that Starka, a true Cognac brandy
casked forty years ago. It is a queen of liqueurs.
Take a Drontheim anchovy ; nothing is better for
opening and preparing the digestive organs, the
most important functions of the body. . . . And
now to table. Why do we not speak in German ?
You come from Kcenigsberg, I from Memel ; but I
took my degree at Je"na. We shall be more at ease
in that way, and the servants, who only know Polish
and Russian, will not understand us,"
205
Lokis
We ate at first in silence ; then, after having- taken
our first glass of Madeira, I inquired of the doctor
if the Count were often inconvenienced by the
indisposition which deprived us of his presence that
night.
"Yes and no," was the doctor's answer. "It
depends upon what expeditions he takes."
"How so?"
" When he takes the road to Rosienie, for instance,
he comes back with headache, and in a savage
temper."
" I have been to Rosienie myself without such an
experience."
"It depends, Professor," he replied, laughing, "on
whether you are in love."
I sighed, thinking of Mile. Gertrude Weber.
" Does the Count's fiancee, then, live at Rosienie?"
I said.
"Yes, in that neighbourhood; but I cannot say
whether she is affianced to him. She is a real flirt,
and will drive him off his head, so that he will be in
his mother's state."
" Indeed, then her ladyship is ... an invalid?"
" She is mad, my dear sir, mad ; and I was
even madder to come here ! "
" Let us hope that your able attentions will restore
her to reason."
The doctor shook his head, and looked attentively
at the colour of the glass of Bordeaux which he held
in his hand.
" The man you see before you, Professor, was once
surgeon-major in the Kalouga regiment. At Sevas-
topol we cut off arms and legs from morning till
206
Lokis
night ; not to speak of bombs which came down
among" us as thick as flies on a galled horse. But,
though I was then ill-lodged and ill-fed, I was not so
bored as I am here, where I eat and drink of the
best, am lodged like a prince, and paid like a Court
physician. . . . But liberty, my dear sir ! ... As
you can guess, with this she-dragon I have not a
moment to call my own."
" Has she been under your care for long? "
"Less than two years; but she has been insane
at least twenty-seven, since before the birth of
the Count. Did no one tell you this either at
Rosienie or Kowno? Listen, then, for it is a case
on which I should like some day to write an article
for the Medical Joiirnal of St. Petersburg. She went
mad from fear. ..."
" From fear? How was such a thing possible ? "
" She had a fright. She is of the house of
Keystut. . . . Oh, there are no mesalliances in this
house. We descend from the Gedymin. . . . Well,
Professor, two or three days after her marriage,
which took place in the castle where we are dining
(I drink to your health . . .), the Count, the father
of the present one, went out hunting. Our Lithu-
anian ladies are regular amazons, you know. The
Countess accompanied him to the hunt. . . . She
stayed behind, or got in advance of the huntsmen,
... I do not know which, . . . when, all at once,
the Count saw the Countess's little Cossack, a lad of
twelve or fourteen, come up at full gallop.
"'Master!' he said, 'a bear has carried off the
Countess.'
" ' Where? ' cried the Count.
207
Lokis
" ' Over there,' replied the boy-Cossack.
" All the hunt ran towards the spot he pointed
out, but no Countess was to be seen. Her strangled
horse lay on one side, and on the other her lambs-
wool cloak. They searched and beat the wood on
all sides. At last a huntsman cried out, ' There is the
bear ! ' and, sure enough, the bear crossed a clearing-,
dragging 1 the Countess, no doubt for the purpose of
devouring her undisturbed, into a thicket, for these
beasts are great gourmands ; they like to dine at
ease, as the monks. Married but a couple of days,
the Count was most chivalrous. He tried to fling
himself upon the bear, hunting knife in his fist ; but,
my dear sir, a Lithuanian bear does not let himself be
run through like a stag. By good fortune the
Count's gun-bearer, a queer, low fellow, so drunk
that morning as to be unable to tell a rabbit from a
hare, fired his rifle, more than a hundred paces off,
without taking care whether the bullet hit the beast
or the lady. ..."
"And he killed the bear?"
" Stone dead. It takes a tipsy man to hit like
that. There are also predestined bullets, Professor.
There are sorcerers here who sell them at a moder-
ate price. . . . The Countess was terribly torn,
unconscious, of course, and had one leg broken.
They carried her home, and she recovered conscious-
ness, but her reason had gone. They took her to
St. Petersburg for a special consultation of four
doctors, who glittered with orders. They said that
Madam was enceinte, and that a favourable turn
might be expected after her delivery. She was to
be kept in fresh air in the country, and given whey
208
Lokis
and codeine. Each physician received about a
hundred roubles. Nine months later the Countess
gave birth to a fine, healthy boy, but where was
the 'favourable turn'? Ah, yes, indeed . . . there
was nothing- but redoubled frenzy. The Count
showed her her son. In novels that never fails
to produce a good effect. ' Kill it ! kill the beast ! '
she yelled ; a little longer, and she would have
wrung his neck. Ever since there have been phases
of stupid imbecility, alternating with violent mania.
There is a strong suicidal tendency. We are obliged
to strap her down to make her take fresh air, and
it takes three strong servants to hold her in. Never-
theless, Professor, I ask you to note this fact, when
I have exhausted my Latin on her without making
her obey me, I have a resort that quietens her. I
threaten to cut off her hair. I fancy she must have
had very beautiful hair at one time. Vanity ! It
is the sole human feeling left. Is it not odd ? If
I could experiment upon her as I chose, I might
perhaps be able to cure her."
"By what method?"
" By thrashing her. I cured in that way twenty
peasant women in a village where the terrible
Russian madness (the hurlement*} had broken out.
One woman begins to howl, then her companion
follows, and in three days' time the whole village is
howling mad. I put an end to it by flogging them.
(Take a little chicken, it is very tender.) The Count
would never allow me to try the experiment."
"What! you wanted him to consent to your
atrocious treatment ? "
* The Russian for one possessed is "a howler" ; klikoncha,
the root of which is klik, clamour, howling.
P 209
Lokis
" Oh, he had known his mother so little, and
besides it was for her good ; but tell me, Professor,
have you ever held that fear could drive anyone
mad ? "
"The Countess's situation was frightful ... to
find herself in the claws of a savage beast ! "
"All the same, her son does not take after her.
A year ago he was in exactly the same predicament,
but, thanks to his coolness, he had a marvellous
escape."
" From the claws of a bear? "
"A she -bear, the largest seen for some time.
The Count wanted to attack her, boar-spear in
hand, but with one back stroke she parried the
blade, clutched the Count, and felled him to the
ground as easily as I could upset this bottle. He
cunningly feigned death. . . . The bear smelt and
sniffed him, then, instead of tearing him to pieces,
she gave him a lick with her tongue. He had the
presence of mind not to move, and she went on her
way."
"She thought that he was dead. I have been
told that these animals will not eat a dead body."
"We will endeavour to believe that is so, and
abstain from making personal investigation of the
question. But, apropos of fear, let me tell you
what happened at Sevastopol. Five or six of us
were sitting behind the ambulance of the famous
bastion No. 5, round a pot of beer which had been
brought us. The sentry cried, ' A shell ! ' and we
all lay flat on our stomachs. No, not all of us : a
fellow named . . . but it is not necessary to give
his name ... a young officer who had just come
210
Lokis
to us, remained standing up, holding- his glass full,
just when the shell burst. It carried off the head
of my poor comrade Andre" Speranski, a brave lad,
and broke the pitcher, which, fortunately, was
nearly empty. When we got up after the explosion
we saw, in the midst of the smoke, that our friend
had swallowed his last mouthful of beer just as
though nothing had happened. We dubbed him a
hero. The following day I met Captain Ghedeonof
coming out of the hospital. ' I dine with you fellows
to-day,' he said, 'and to celebrate my return I will
stand the champagne.' We sat down to the table,
and the young officer of the beer was there. He
did not wait for the champagne. A bottle was being
uncorked near him, and fizz ! the cork hit him on
the temple. He uttered a cry and fainted away.
Believe me, my hero had been devilishly afraid the
first time, and his drinking the beer instead of
getting out of the way showed that he had lost the
control of his mind, and only unconscious mechanical
movements remained to him. Indeed, Professor, the
human mechanism
" Sir," said a servant who had just come into the
room, "Jdanova says that the Countess will not
take her food."
" Devil take her ! " growled the doctor. " I must
go to her. When I have made my she-dragon eat,
Professor, if agreeable to you, we will take a hand
at preference or at douratchki. "
I expressed my regret that I was ignorant of the
games, and, when he had gone to see the invalid,
I went up to my room and wrote to Mile. Gertrude.
Lokis
ii
It was a warm night, and I had left open the
window overlooking" the park. I did not feel ready
for sleep after I finished my letter, so I set to work
to rehearse the irregular Lithuanian verbs, and to
look into Sanskrit to find the origins of their differ-
ent irregularities. In the middle of my absorbing
labours a tree close to my window shook violently.
I could hear the dead branches creak, and it
seemed as though some heavy animal were trying
to climb it. Still engrossed with the bear stories
that the doctor had told me, I got up, feeling rather
uneasy, and saw, only a few feet from my window,
a human head among the leaves of the tree, lit up
plainly by the light from my lamp. The vision only
lasted a second, but the singular brilliance of the eyes
which met my gaze struck me more than I could
say. Involuntarily I took a step backwards ; then
I ran to the window and demanded in severe tones
what the intruder wanted. Meanwhile he climbed
down quickly, and, seizing a large branch between
both hands, he swung himself off, jumped to the
ground, and was soon out of sight. I rang the
bell and told the adventure to a servant who
answered it.
" Sir," he said, "you must be mistaken."
" I am certain of what I tell you," I replied.
" I am afraid there is a burglar in the park."
" It is impossible, sir."
"Well, then, is it: someone out of the house?"
The servant opened his eyes wide without reply-
212
Lokis
ing", and in the end asked me if I wanted anything.
I told him to fasten my window, and I went to bed.
I slept soundly, neither dreaming of bears nor of
thieves. In the morning', while I was dressing,
someone knocked at my door. I opened it and
found myself face to face with a very tall and finely
built young man in a Bokhara dressing-gown, hold-
ing in his hand a long Turkish pipe.
" I come to beg your pardon, Professor," he said,
" for having welcomed such a distinguished guest
so badly. I am Count Szemioth."
I hastened to say that, on the contrary, my humble
thanks were due to him for his most courteous hospi-
tality, and inquired if he had lost his headache.
" Very nearly," he said. " At all events, until the
next crisis," he added, with a melancholy expression.
''Are you comfortable here? You must not forget
that you are among barbarians ; it would be difficult
to think otherwise in Samogitia. "
I assured him I was most comfortably enter-
tained. All the time I was speaking I could not
prevent myself from studying him with a very im-
polite curiosity ; there was something strange in his
look which reminded me, in spite of myself, of the
man whom I had seen climbing the tree the night
before. . . .
"But what probability," I said to myself, "is
there that Count Sxemioth would climb trees by
night ? "
His forehead was high and well - developed,
although rather narrow. His features were large
and regular, but his eyes were too close together,
and I did not think that, measured from one
213
Lokis
lacrymal gland to the other, there was the width
of an eye, the canon of Greek sculptors. His
glance was piercing. Our eyes met several times,
in spite of ourselves, and we looked at each other
with some embarrassment. All at once the Count
burst out laughing.
" You recognise me ! " he said.
" Recognise you? "
"Yes, you detected me yesterday playing a
scoundrelly part."
" Oh ! Monsieur le Comte ! "
" I had passed a suffering day shut up in my bed-
room. As I was somewhat better at night I went
for a walk in the garden. I saw your light and
yielded to curiosity. ... I ought to have told you
who I was, and introduced myself properly, but I
was in such a ridiculous situation. ... I was
ashamed, and so I fled. . . . Will you excuse me
for having disturbed you in the midst of your
work?"
He said all this with a would-be playful air ; but
he blushed, and was evidently confused. I did my
best to reassure him that I did not retain any un-
pleasant impression from our first interview, and, to
change the subject, I asked him if he really possessed
the Samogitic Catechism of Father Lawicki.
" It may be so ; but, to tell you the truth, I do
not know much about my father's library. He
loved old and rare books. I hardly read anything
beyond modern works ; but we will look for it,
Professor. You wish us, then, to read the Gospel
in Jmudic ? "
" Do you not consider, M. le Comte, that a
214
Lokis
translation of the Scriptures into the language of
this country is very desirable ? "
"Certainly; nevertheless, if you will permit me
a slight remark, I can tell you that amongst the
people who know no other language than the
Jmudic, there is not a single person who can read."
"Perhaps so, but I ask permission of Your
Excellency* to point out that the greatest obstacle
in the way of learning to read is the absence of
books. When the Samogitic countries have a printed
text they will wish to read it, and will learn to read.
This has already happened in the case of many
savage races . . . not that I wish to apply such
a term to the people of this country. . . . Further-
more," I went on, "is it not a deplorable thing that
a language should disappear, leaving no trace
behind? Prussian became a dead language thirty
years ago, and the last person who knew Cornic
died the other day."
"Sad," interrupted the Count. "Alexander
Humboldt told my father he had met with a parrot
in America that was the only living thing which
knew several words of the language of a tribe no\v
entirely wiped out by small-pox. Will you allow
me to order our tea here ? "
While we drank tea the conversation turned upon
the Jmudic tongue. The Count found fault with
the way Germans print Lithuanian, and he was
right.
"Your alphabet," he said, " does not lend itself to
our language. You have neither our J, nor our
* Siatelstvo, "Your shining light"; the title used in ad-
dressing a count.
215
Lokis
L, V, or E. I have a collection of dainos published
last year at Kcenigsberg, and I had immense trouble
to understand the words, they are so queerly
formed."
" Your Excellency probably speaks of Lessner's
dainos ? "
" Yes, it is very vapid poetry, do you not think? "
" He might perhaps have selected better. I admit
that, as it is, this collection has but a purely philo-
logical interest ; but I believe if careful search
were made one would succeed in collecting the most
perfect flowers of your folk-poetry."
"Alas! I doubt it very much, in spite of my
patriotic desires."
"A few weeks ago a very fine ballad was given
me at Wilno an historical one. ... It is a most
remarkable poem. . . . May I read it? I have it in
my bag."
" With the greatest pleasure."
He buried himself in an armchair, after asking
permission to smoke.
" I can't understand poetry unless I smoke," he
said.
" It is called The Tlircc Sons of Boudrys."
"The TJircc Sons of Boudrys?" exclaimed the
Count, with a gesture of surprise.
"Yes, Boudrys, as Your Excellency knows better
than I, is an historic character."
The Count looked at me fixedly with that odd
gaze of his. It was almost indefinable, both timid
and ferocious, and produced an almost painful im-
pression until one grew accustomed to it. I hurriedly
began to read to escape it.
216
Lokis
"THE THREE SONS OF BOUDRYS.
" In the courtyard of his castle old Boudrys called
together his three sons three genuine Lithuanians
like himself.
"'My children,' he said to them, 'feed your
war horses, and get ready your saddles ; sharpen
your swords and your javelins. It is said that
at Wilno war has broken out between the three
quarters of the globe. Olgerd will march against
Russia ; Skirghello against our neighbours, the
Poles ; Keystut will fall upon the Teutons.* You
are young, strong and bold ; go and fight ; and
may the gods of Lithuania protect you ! This year
I shall not go to war, but I wish to counsel you.
There are three of you, and three roads are open to
you.
" ' One of you must accompany Olgerd to Russia,
to the borders of Lake Ilmen, under the walls of
Novgorod. Ermine skins and embroidered stuffs
you will find there in plenty, and among the
merchants as many roubles as there are blocks
of ice in the river.
"'The second must follow Keystut in his in-
cursion. May he scatter the cross-bearing rabble !
Amber is there as common as is the sea sand ; their
cloths are without equal for sheen and colour ; their
priests' vestments are ornamented with rubies.
"'The third shall cross the Niemen with Skir-
ghello. On the other side he will find base imple-
ments of toil. He must choose good lances and
* The knights of the Teutonic order.
217
Lokis
strong" buckles to oppose them, and he will bear
away a daughter-in-law.
" 'The women of Poland, my sons, are the most
beautiful of all our captives sportive as kittens
and as white as cream. Under their black brows
their eyes sparkle like stars. When I was young,
half a century ago, I brought away captive from
Poland a beautiful girl who became my wife. She
has long been dead, but I can never look at her side
of the hearth without remembering her.'
" He blessed the youths, who already were armed
and in the saddle. They set out. Autumn came,
then winter . . . but they did not come back, and
the old Boudrys believed them to be dead.
" There came a snowstorm, and a horseman drew
near, who bore under his black bourka* a precious
burden.
"'Is it a sackful of roubles from Novgorod?'
asked Boudrys.
" ' No, father. I am bringing 1 you a daughter-in-
law from Poland.'
" In the midst of the snowstorm another horse-
man appeared. His bourka was also distended
with a precious burden.
" 'What have you, my child ; yellow amber from
Germany ? '
"'No, father. I bring you a daughter-in-law
from Poland.'
" The snow fell in squalls. A horseman advanced
hiding a precious burden under his bourka. . . .
But before he had shown his spoil Boudrys had
invited his friends to a third wedding."
* Felt cloak.
218
Lokis
" Bravo ! Professor," cried the Count ; " you pro-
nounce Jmoude to perfection. But who told you
this pretty daina ? "
" A young lady whose acquaintance I had the
honour to make at Wilno, at the house of Princess
Katazyna Pac."
"What is her name?"
" The panna Iwinska."
"Mile. loulka!"* exclaimed the Count. "The
little madcap ! I might have guessed it. My dear
Professor, you know Jmoude and all the learned
tongues ; you have read every old book, but you
have let yourself be taken in by a young girl who
has only read novels. She has translated to you,
more or less correctly, in Jmoudic, one of Mickie-
wicz's dainty ballads, which you have not read
because it is no older than I am. If you wish it
I will show it to you in Polish, or, if you prefer,
in an excellent Russian translation by Pouchkine."
I confess I was quite dumbfounded. How the
Dorpat professor would have chuckled if I had
published as original the daina of the "Sons of
Boudrys " !
Instead of being amused at my confusion, the
Count, with exquisite politeness, hastened to turn
the conversation.
" So you have met Mile. loulka ? " said he.
" I have had the honour of being presented
to her."
"What do you think of her? Speak quite
frankly."
" She is a most agreeable young lady."
* Julienne.
219
Lokis
" So you are pleased to say."
" She is exceedingly pretty."
"Oh! "
"Do you not think she has the loveliest eyes in
the world ? "
"Yes."
"A complexion of the most dazzling whiteness?
... I was reminded of a Persian ghascl, wherein
a lover extols the fineness of his mistress's skin.
'When she drinks red wine,' he said, 'you see
it pass down her throat.' The panna Iwinska made
me think of those Persian lines."
" Mile. loulka may possibly embody that pheno-
menon ; but I do not know if she has any blood
in her veins. . . . She has no heart. . . . She is as
white and as cold as snow ! "
He rose and walked round the room some time
without speaking, as though to hide his emotion ;
then, stopping suddenly
"Pardon me," he said, "we were talking,
I believe, of folk-poetry. ..."
" We were, Your Excellency."
" After all it must be admitted that she translated
Mickiewicz very prettily. . . . ' Frolicsome as a
kitten, . . . white as cream, . . . eyes like stars,'
. . . that is her own portrait, do you not agree? "
"Absolutely, Your Excellency."
" With reference to this roguish trick ... a very
ill-judged one, to be sure, . . . the poor child is
bored to death by an old aunt. She leads the life
of a nun."
"At Wilno she went into society. I saw her
at the ball given by the officers of the regiment. "
220
Lokis
"Ah, yes ! the society of young" officers suits her
exactly. To laugh with one, to backbite with
another, and to flirt with all of them. . . . Will
you come and see my father's library, Professor? "
I followed him to a long gallery, lined with many
handsomely bound books, which, to judge from the
dust which covered their edges, were rarely opened.
What was my delight to find that one of the first
volumes I pulled out of a glass case was the Cate-
chismus Samogiticus ! I could not help uttering a
cry of pleasure. It seemed as though some
mysterious power were exerting its influence un-
known to us. ... The Count took the book, and,
after he had turned over the leaves carelessly, wrote
on the fly-leaf: "To Professor Wittembach, from
Michael Szemioth. " I did not know how to express
my great gratitude, and I made a mental resolution
that after my death this precious book should be
the ornament of my own University library.
" If you like to consider this library your work-
room," said the Count, "you shall never be
disturbed here."
Ill
After breakfast the following day the Count
proposed that I should take a walk with him.
The object in view was to visit a kapas (the name
given by the Lithuanians to tumuli, called by the
Russians kourgCinc), a very noted one in that
country, because formerly poets and magicians
(they are one and the same thing) gathered there
on certain special occasions.
Lokis
" I have a very quiet horse to offer you," he said.
" I regret that I cannot take you by carriage, but,
upon my word, the road we go by is not fit for
carriages."
I would rather have stopped in the library taking
my notes, but I could not express any wish contrary
to that of my generous host, and I accepted. The
horses were waiting for us at the foot of the steps
in the courtyard, where a groom held a dog in leash.
" Do you know much about dogs, Professor?" said
the Count, stopping for a minute and turning to me.
" Hardly anything, Your Excellency."
"The Staroste of Zorany, where I have property,
sent me this spaniel, of which he thinks highly.
Allow me to show him to you." He called to the
groom, who came up with the dog. He was indeed
a beautiful creature. The dog was quite used to
the man, and leapt joyfully and seemed full of life ;
but when within a few yards of the Count he put
his tail between his legs and hung back terrified.
The Count patted him, and at this the dog set up a
dismal howl.
" I think he will turn out a good dog with careful
training," he said, after having examined him for
some time with the eye of a connoisseur. Then he
mounted his horse.
"Professor," he said, "when we were in the
avenue leading from the chateau, you saw that
dog's fear. Please give me your honest opinion.
In your capacity of savant you must learn to solve
enigmas. . . . Why should animals be afraid of
me ? "
" Really, Your Excellency does me the honour of
Lokis
taking" me for an CEdipus, whilst I am only a
simple professor of comparative philology. There
mig-ht "
"Observe," he interrupted me, "that I never
beat either horses or dogs. I have a scruple
agfainst whipping- a poor beast who commits a mis-
take through ignorance. But, nevertheless, you
can hardly conceive the aversion that I inspire in
dogs and horses. It takes me double the time and
trouble to accustom them to me that it would other
people. It took me a long- time before I could
subdue the horse you are riding", but now he is as
quiet as a lamb."
" I believe, Your Excellency, that animals are
physiognomists, and detect at once if people whom
they see for the first time like them or not. I
expect you only like animals for the services they
render you ; on the other hand, many people have
an instinctive partiality for certain beasts, and they
find it out at once. Now I, for instance, have
always had an instinctive liking- for cats. They
very rarely run away from me when I try to stroke
them, and I have never been scratched by one."
" That is very likely," said the Count ; " I cannot
say I have a real affection for animals. . . . Human
beings are so much more to be preferred. We are
now coming into a forest, Professor, where the king-
dom of beasts still flourishes the mateczuik, the
womb, the great nursery of beasts. Yes, according to
our national traditions, no one has yet penetrated its
depths, no one has been able to reach to the heart of
these woods and thickets, unless, always excepted,
the poets and magicians have, who go everywhere.
223
Lokis
Here the beasts all live as in a Republic ... or
under a Constitutional Government, I cannot tell
which of the two. Lions, bears, elks, the jonbrs,
our wild oxen or aurochs, all live very happily
together. The mammoth, which is preserved there,
is thought highly of; it is, I believe, the Marshal
of the Diet. They have a very strict police force,
and if they decide that any beast is vicious they
sentence him to banishment. It falls thus out of
the frying-pan into the fire ; it is obliged to venture
into the region of man, and few escape."*
"A very curious legend," I exclaimed, "but,
Your Excellency, you speak of the aurochs, that
noble animal which Caesar has described in his
Commentaries, and which the Merovingian kings
hunted in the forest of Compiegne. I am told they
still exist in Lithuania is that so? "
" Certainly. My father himself killed a joubr,
having obtained permission from the Government.
You can see the head in the large dining-hall. I
have never seen one. I believe they are very scarce.
To make amends we have wolves and bears here in
abundance. To guard against a possible encounter
with one of these gentlemen I have brought this
instrument" (and he produced a Circassian tchek-
holef which he carried in his belt), " and my groom
carries in his saddle-box a double-barrelled rifle."
We began to penetrate into the forest. Soon the
narrow track that we were following disappeared
altogether. Every few moments we were obliged
* See Mcssire Tliadctte, by Mickicwicz, and Captive Poland,
by M. Charles Edmond.
t A Circassian gun-case.
224
Lokis
to ride round enormous trees whose low branches
barred our passage. Several of these, which were
dead of old age and fallen over, looked like bulwarks
crowned with a line of chevaux-de-frise (impossible
to scale). Elsewhere we encountered deep pools
covered with water lilies and duckweed. Further
on we came to a clearing where the grass shone
like emeralds ; but woe to those who ventured on it,
for this rich and deceptive vegetation usually hides
abysses of mud in which both horse and rider would
disappear for ever. . . . The arduousness of the
route had interrupted our conversation. All my
attention was taken up in following the Count, and
I admired the imperturbable sagacity with which he
guided his way without a compass, and always
regained the right direction which had to be
followed to reach the kapas. It was evident that
he had frequently hunted in these wild forests.
At last we perceived the tumulus in the centre of
a large clearing. It was very high and surrounded
by a fosse still clearly recognisable in spite of the
landslips. It looked as though it had recently been
excavated. At the summit I noticed the remains of
an erection built of stones, some of which bore
traces of fire. A considerable quantity of ashes,
mixed with pieces of charcoal, with here and there
fragments of coarse crockery, attested that there
had been a fire on the top of the tumulus for a con-
siderable time. If one can put faith in popular
tradition, human sacrifices had been offered several
times in the kapas ; but there is hardly any extinct
religion to which these abominable rites have not
been attributed, and I imagine one could justify
Q 225
Lokis
a similar theory with regard to the ancient Lithuan-
ians from historic evidence.
We came down from the tumulus to rejoin our
horses, which we had left on the far side of the
fosse, when we saw an old woman approaching" us,
leaning on a stick and holding a basket in her
hand.
"Good day, gentlemen," she said to us as she
came up, " I ask an alms for the love of God.
Give me something for a glass of brandy to warm
my poor body."
The Count threw her a coin, and asked what she
was doing in the wood, so far from habitation.
For sole answer she showed him her basket filled
with mushrooms. Although my knowledge of
botany was but limited, I thought several of the
mushrooms looked like poisonous ones.
" My good woman," I said, "you are not going
to eat those, I hope."
" Sir," the old woman replied, with a sad smile,
" poor folk eat all the good God gives them."
"You are not acquainted with Lithuanian
stomachs," the Count put in ; "they are lined with
sheet iron. Our peasants eat every kind of fungus
they find, and are none the worse for them."
"At least prevent her from tasting the ugaricus
necator she has in her basket," I cried, and I
stretched out my hand to take one of the most
poisonous of the mushrooms, but the old woman
quickly withdrew the basket.
"Take care," she said in a frightened tone;
" they are protected . . . Pirknns! Pirkuns!"
" Pirkuns," I may explain in passing, is the Samo-
226
Lokis
gitian name for the divinity called by the Russians
Peroune ; it is the Jupiter tonans of the Slavs. If I
was surprised when I heard the old woman invoke
a pagan god, I was much more astonished to see
the mushrooms heave up. The black head of a
snake raised itself at least a foot out of the basket.
I jumped back, and the Count spat over his shoulder
after the superstitious custom of the Slavs, who
believe that in this way they turn away misfortune,
as did the ancient Romans. The old woman put
the basket on the ground, and crouched by its side ;
then she held out her hand towards the snake,
pronouncing some unintelligible words like an in-
cantation. The snake remained quiet a moment,
then it curled itself round the shrivelled arm of the
old woman and disappeared in the sleeve of her
sheepskin cloak, which, with a dirty chemise,
comprised, I believe, all the dress of this Lithuanian
Circe. The old woman looked at us with a little
laugh of triumph, like a conjurer who has just
executed a difficult trick. Her face wore that
mixture of cunning and stupidity which is often
noticeable in would-be witches, who are mostly
scoundrels and dupes.
" Here you have," said the Count in German,
"a specimen of local colour; a witch who tames
snakes, at the foot of a kapas, in the presence of a
learned professor and of an ignorant Lithuanian
gentleman. It would make a capital subject for a
picture of natural life by your countryman Knauss.
... If you wish to have your fortune told, this is a
good opportunity."
I replied that I did not encourage such practices.
227
Lokis
"I would much rather," I added, "ask her if
she knows anything about that curious superstition
of which you spoke. Good woman," I said to her,
" have you heard tell of a part of this forest where
the beasts live in a community, independent of
man's rule ? "
The witch nodded her head in the affirmative, and
she gave a low laugh, half silly, half malicious.
" I come from it," she said. " The beasts have
lost their king. Noble, the lion, is dead ; the
animals are about to elect another king. If you go
there perhaps they will make you king."
" What are you saying, mother? " and the Count
burst into shouts of laughter. " Do you know to
whom you are talking? Do you not know that this
gentleman is. ... (what the deuce do they call a
professor in Jmude?) a great savant, a sage, a
laa'i delate ? " *
The witch stared at him fixedly.
" I was mistaken," she said. "It is thou who
ought to go there. Thou wilt be their king, not
he ; thou art tall, and strong, and hast claws and
teeth."
" What do you think of the epigrams she levels
at us?" said the Count. "Can you show us the way,
mother? " he asked.
She pointed with her hand to a part of the forest.
" Indeed? " said the Count. " And how can you
get across the marsh ? You must know, Professor,
that she pointed to an impassable swamp, a lake of
liquid mud covered over with green grass. Last year
* A bad translation of the word "professor." The ivuideloles
were the Lithuanian bards.
228
Lokis
a stag that I wounded plunged into this infernal
marsh, and I watched him sink slowly, slowly. . . .
In five minutes I saw only his horns, and soon he
disappeared completely, two of my dogs with him."
"But I am not heavy," said the old woman,
chuckling.
" I think you could cross the marsh easily on a
broomstick."
A flash of anger shone in the old woman's eyes.
"Sir," she said, returning to the drawling and
nasal twang of the beggar, " haven't you a pipe of
tobacco to give a poor woman ? Thou hadst better
search for a passage through the swamp than go to
Dowghielly," she added in a lower tone.
" Dowghielly ! " said the Count, reddening, "what
do you mean ? "
I could not help noticing that this word produced
a singular effect upon him. He was visibly em-
barrassed ; he lowered his head in order to hide his
confusion, and busied himself over opening the
tobacco pouch which hung at the hilt of his hunting
knife.
" No, do not go to Dowghielly," repeated the old
woman. "The little white dove is not for thee, is
she, Pirkuns? "
At that moment the snake's head appeared out of
the collar of the old woman's cloak and stretched up
to its mistress's ear. The reptile, trained doubtless
to the trick, moved its jaws as though it spoke.
" He says I am right," said the old woman.
The Count gave her a handful of tobacco.
" Do you know me? " he asked.
" No, sir."
229
Lokis
" I am the master of Mddintiltas. Come and see
me one of these days ; I will "ive you tobacco and
brandy."
The old woman kissed his hand and moved away
with rapid strides. We soon lost sight of her. The
Count remained thoughtful, tying and untying the
fastenings of his bag, hardly conscious of what he
was doing.
" Professor," he said to me after a somewhat long
silence, "you will laugh at me. That old crone
knew both me and the road which she showed me
better than she pretended. . . . After all, there is
nothing so very surprising in that. I am as well
known in this countryside as the white wolf. The
jade has seen me several times on the road to Dow-
ghielly Castle. ... A marriageable young lady
lives there, so she concluded that I was in love. . . .
Then some handsome boy has bribed her to tell me
bad luck. ... It is obvious enough. Nevertheless,
... in spite of myself, her words have affected me.
I am almost frightened by them. . . . You have
cause to laugh. . . . The truth is that I intended to
go and ask for dinner at the Castle of Dowghielly,
and now I hesitate. ... I am a great fool. Come,
Professor, you decide it. Shall we go? "
"In questions of marriage I never give advice,"
I said laughingly. " I take good care not to have
an opinion."
We had come back to our horses.
" The horse shall choose for me," cried the Count,
as he vaulted into the saddle and let the bridle lie
slack.
The horse did not hesitate ; he immediately entered
230
Lokis
a little footpath, which, after several turnings, de-
scended into a metalled road which led to Dow-
ghielly. Half an hour after we reached the Castle
steps.
At the sound of our horses a pretty, fair head
appeared at a window, framed between two curtains.
I recognised the translator of Mickiewicz, who
had taken me in.
"You are welcome," she said. "You could not
have come more apropos, Count Szemioth. A dress
from Paris has just arrived for me. I shall be lovely
past recognition."
The curtains closed again.
" It is certainly not for me that she is putting on
this dress for the first time," muttered the Count
between his teeth whilst mounting the steps.
He introduced me to Madam Dowghiello, the
aunt of the panna Iwinska, who received me cour-
teously and spoke to me of my last articles in the
Kcenigsberg Scientific and Literary Gazette.
"The Professor has come to complain to you,"
said the Count, " of the malicious trick which Made-
moiselle Julienne played on him."
" She is a child, Professor ; you must forgive her.
She often drives me to distraction with her follies.
I had more sense at sixteen than she has at twenty,
but she is a good girl at heart, and she has many
good qualities. She is an admirable musician, she
paints flowers exquisitely, and she speaks French,
German and Italian equally well. . . . She em-
broiders."
"And she composes Jmoudic verses," added the
Count, laughing.
231
Lokis
" She is incapable of it," exclaimed Madam Dow-
ghiello ; and they had to explain her niece's mis-
chievousness.
Madam Dowghiello was well educated, and knew
the antiquities of her country. Her conversation
was particularly agreeable to me. She read many
of our German reviews, and held very sane views
upon philology. I admit that I did not notice the
time that Mademoiselle Iwinska took to dress, but
it seemed long to Count Szemioth, who got up and
sat down again, looked out of the window, and
drummed on the pane with his fingers as a man
who has lost patience.
At length, at the end of three-quarters of an
hour, Mademoiselle Julienne appeared, wearing with
exquisite grace a dress which would require more
critical knowledge than mine to describe. She was
followed by her French governess.
"Do I not look pretty?" she said to the Count,
turning round slowly so that he could see her from
all sides.
She did not look either at the Count or at me, but
at her new dress.
" How is it, loulka," said Madam Dowghiello,
" that you do not say good day to the Professor ? He
complains of you."
"Ah, Professor!" she cried, with a charming
little pout. "What have I done? Have you come
to make me do penance ? "
"We shall punish ourselves, Mademoiselle, if we
deprive ourselves of your presence," I answered.
" I am far from complaining ; on the contrary, I
congratulate myself on having learnt, thanks to you,
232
Lokis
that the Lithuanian Muse has reappeared more
brightly than ever."
She lowered her head, and, putting- her hands
before her face, taking care not to disarrange her
hair, she said, in the tones of a child who has
just stolen some sweetmeats
" Forgive me ; I will not do it again."
" I will only pardon you, my dear Pani," I said to
her, "if you will fulfil a certain promise which you
were good enough to make to me at Wilmo, at the
house of the Princess Katazyna Pac."
"What promise?" she asked, raising her head
and laughing.
" Have you forgotten so soon? You promised me
that if we met in Samogitia you would let me see a
certain country dance which you said was en-
chanting."
"Oh, the roussalka ! I shall be charmed; and
the very man I need is here."
She ran to a table loaded with music-books, and,
turning over one hastily, put it on the piano stand.
" Mind, my dear, allegro presto ," she said, address-
ing her governess. And she played the prelude
herself, without sitting down, to show the time.
" Come here, Count Michel ! you are too much of
a Lithuanian not to be able to dance the roussalka ;
. . . but dance like a peasant, you understand."
Madam Dowghiello in vain tried to object. The
Count and I insisted. He had his motives, for his
part in the dance was extremely agreeable, as we
soon saw. The governess, after several attempts,
said she thought she could play that kind of waltz,
strange though it was ; so Mademoiselle Iwinska,
233
Lokis
after moving' some chairs and a table that were in the
way, took hold of her partner by the collar of his coat
and led him into the centre of the room.
"You must know, Professor, that I am a
roussalka, at your service."
She made a low bow.
" A roussalka is a water nymph. There is one in
each of the big pools of black water which adorn our
forests. Do not go near! The roussalka comes out,
lovelier even than I, if that be possible ; she carries
you to the bottom, where, very likely, she gobbles
you up. . . . '
" A real siren," I cried.
" He," continued Mademoiselle Iwinska, pointing
to Count Szemioth, "is a very foolish young fisher-
man who exposes himself to my clutches, and, to
make the pleasure last longer, I fascinate him by
dancing round him for a time. . . . But, alas ! to do
it properly I want a sarafane.* What a pity ! You
must please excuse this dress, which has neither
character nor local colour. . . . Oh ! and I have
slippers on. It is quite impossible to dance the
roussalka with slippers on ... and heels on them
too."
She picked up her dress, and, daintily shaking a
pretty little foot at the risk of showing her leg, she
sent the slipper flying to the end of the drawing-
room. The other followed the first, and she stood
upon the parquetry floor in her silken stockings.
" We are quite ready," she said to the governess.
And the dance began.
The roussalka revolves and revolves round her
* A peasant's skirt, without a bodice.
234
Lokis
partner ; he stretches out his arms to seize her, but
she slips underneath him and escapes. It is very
graceful, and the music has movement and origin-
ality. The figure ends when the partner, believing
that he has seized the roussalka, tries to give her a
kiss, and she makes a bound, strikes him on the
shoulder, and he falls dead at her feet. . . . But the
Count improvised a variation, strained the winsome
creature in his arms, and kissed her again and
again. Mademoiselle Iwinska uttered a little cry,
blushed deeply, and threw herself, pouting, into a
couch, complaining that he had hugged her like
the bear that he was. I saw that the com-
parison did not please the Count, for it brought
to his mind the family misfortune, and his brow
darkened. I thanked Mademoiselle Iwinska most
warmly, and praised her dance, which seemed
to me to have an antique flavour, and recalled the
sacred dances of the Greeks. I was interrupted by
a servant announcing General and Princess Veliam-
inof. Mademoiselle Iwinska leaped to the sofa for
her shoes, hastily thrust in her little feet, and ran to
meet the Princess, making successively two profound
bows. I noticed that at each bow she adroitly drew
on part of her slipper. The General brought with
him two aides-de-camp, and, like us, had come to
ask for hospitality. In any other country I imagine
the mistress of the house would have been a little
embarrassed to receive all at once six hungry and
unexpected guests ; but Lithuanian hospitality is so
lavish that the dinner was not more than half an
hour late, I think ; there were too many pies, how-
ever, both hot and cold.
235
Lokis
IV
The dinner was very lively. The General gave us
a most interesting" account of the dialects spoken in
the Caucasus, some of which are Aryan, and others
Turanian, although between the different peoples
there is a remarkable uniformity in manners and
customs. I had to talk of my travels because
Count Szemioth congratulated me on the way I
sat a horse, and said he had never met a minister
or a professor who could have managed so easily
such a journey as the one we had taken. I ex-
plained to him that, commissioned by the Bible
Society to write a work on the language of the
Char mas, I had spent three and a half years in
the Republic of Uruguay, nearly always on horse-
back, and living in the pampas among the Indians.
This led me to relate how, when lost for three days
in those boundless plains, without food or water,
I had been reduced, like the gauchos who accom-
panied me, to bleed my horse and drink his blood.
All the ladies uttered a cry of horror. The
General observed that the Kalmouks did the same
in similar extremities. The Count asked me what
the drink tasted like.
" Morally, it was most repugnant," I replied,
" but, physically, I found it rather good, and it is
owing to it that I have the honour of dining here
to-day. Many Europeans, I mean white men, who
have lived for a long time with the Indians,
accustom themselves to it, and even get to like the
taste. My good friend Don Fructuoso Rivero,
President of the Republic, hardly ever missed a
236
Lokis
chance of gratifying- it. I recollect one day, when
he was going to Congress in full uniform, he passed
a rancho where a young foal was being bled. He
got off his horse to ask for a cJiTipon, a suck ; after
which he delivered one of his most eloquent
speeches."
"Your President is a hideous monster," cried
Mademoiselle Iwinska.
"Pardon me, my dear Pani," I said to her, "he
is a very distinguished person, with a most en-
lightened mind. He speaks several very difficult
Indian dialects to perfection, specially the Charrua,
the verbs of which take innumerable forms, accord-
ing to whether its objective is direct or indirect, and
even according to the social relations of the persons
who speak."
I was about to give some very curious instances
of the construction of the Charrua verb, but the
Count interrupted me to ask what part of the horse
they bled when they wanted to drink its blood.
" For goodness' sake, my dear Professor," cried
Mademoiselle Iwinska, with a comic expression of
terror, "do not tell him. He is just the man to
slay his whole stable, and to eat us up ourselves
when he has no more horses left ! "
Upon this sally the ladies laughingly left the
table to prepare tea and coffee whilst we smoked.
In a quarter of an hour they sent from the drawing-
room for the General. We all prepared to go with
him ; but we were told that the ladies only wished
one man at a time. Very soon we heard from the
drawing-room loud bursts of laughter and clapping
of hands.
237
Lokis
"Mademoiselle loulka is up to her pranks," said
the Count.
He was sent for next ; and again there followed
laughter and applause. It was my turn after his.
By the time I had reached the room every face had
taken on a pretended gravity which did not bode
well. I expected some trick.
"Professor," said the General to me in his most
official manner, " these ladies maintain that w 7 e have
given too kind a reception to their champagne, and
they will not admit us among them until after a
test. You must walk from the middle of the room
to that wall with your eyes bandaged, and touch it
with your finger. You see how easy it is ; you
have only to walk straight. Are you able to keep a
straight line ? "
" I think so, General."
Mademoiselle Iwinska then threw a handkerchief
over my eyes and tied it tightly behind.
"You are in the middle of the room," she said ;
" stretch out your hand. . . . That is right ! I wager
that you will not touch the wall."
" Forward, march ! " called out the General.
There were only five or six steps to take. I
advanced very cautiously, sure that I should en-
counter some cord or footstool treacherously placed
in my path to trip me up, and I could hear stifled
laughter, which increased my confusion. At length
I believed I was quite close to the wall, when my
outstretched finger suddenly went into something
cold and sticky. I made a grimace and started
back, which set all the onlookers laughing. I tore
off my bandage, and saw Mademoiselle Iwinska
23*
Lokis
standing near me holding- a pot of honey, into which
I had thrust my finger, thinking that I touched the
wall. My only consolation was to watch the two
aides-de-camp pass through the same ordeal, with
no better result than I.
Throughout the evening Mademoiselle Iwinska
never ceased to give vent to her frolicsome humour.
Ever teasing, ever mischievous, she made first one,
then another, the butt of her fun. I observed, how-
ever, that she more frequently addressed herself to
the Count, who, I must say, never took offence,
and even seemed to enjoy her allurements. But
when, on the other hand, she began an attack upon
one of the aides-de-camp, he frowned, and I saw
his eyes kindle with that dull fire which was almost
terrifying. " Frolicsome as a kitten and as white
as cream." I thought in writing that verse Mi^kie-
wicz must surely have wished to draw the portrait
of the panna Iwinska.
V
It was very late before we retired to bed. In
many of the great houses in Lithuania there is
plenty of splendid silver plate, fine furniture, and
valuable Persian carpets ; but they have not, as in
our dear Germany, comfortable feather beds to offer
the tired guest. Rich or poor, nobleman or peasant,
a Slav can sleep quite soundly on a board. The
Castle of Dowghielly was no exception to this
general rule. In the room to which the Count and
I were conducted there were but two couches newly
covered with morocco leather. This did not distress
239
Lokis
me much, as I had often slept on the bare earth in
my travels, and I laughed a little at the Count's
exclamations upon the barbarous customs of his
compatriots. A servant came to take off our boots
and to bring" us dressing-gowns and slippers. When
the Count had taken off his coat, he walked up and
down awhile in silence ; then he stopped in front
of the couch, upon which I had already stretched
myself.
" What do you think of loulka ? " he said.
" I think she is bewitching."
"Yes, but such a flirt! . . . Do you believe she
has any liking for that fair-haired little captain ? "
" The aide-de-camp? . . . How should I tell ?"
" He is a fop ! ... So he ought to please
women."
" I deny your conclusion, Count. Do you wish
me to tell you the truth? Mademoiselle Iwinska
thinks far more how to please Count Sz^mioth than
to please all the aides-de-camp in the army."
He blushed without replying ; but I saw that
my words had given him great pleasure. He walked
about again for some time without speaking ; then,
after looking at his watch, he said
"Good gracious! we must really go to sleep; it
is very late."
He took his rifle and his hunting knife, which had
been placed in our room, put them in a cupboard,
and took out the key.
"Will you keep it? "he said; and to my great
surprise he gave it to me. " I might forget it.
You certainly have a better memory than I have."
"The best way not to forget your weapons would
240
Lokis
be to place them on that table near your sofa,"
I said.
"No. . . . Look here, to tell you the truth, I do
not like to have arms by me when I am asleep. . . .
This is the reason. When I was in the Grodno
Hussars, I slept one night in a room with a com-
panion, and my pistols were on the chair near
me. In the night I was awakened by a report.
I had a pistol in my hand ; I had fired, and the
bullet had passed within two inches of my com-
rade's head. ... I have never been able to remem-
ber the dream I had."
I was a little disturbed by his anecdote. I was
guarded against having a bullet through my head ;
but, when I looked at the tall figure of my com-
panion, with his herculean shoulders and his muscular
arms covered with black down, I could not help
recognising that he was perfectly able to strangle
me with his hands if he had a bad dream. I took
care, however, not to let him see that I felt the
slightest uneasiness. I merely put a light on a
chair close to my couch, and began to read the
Catechism of Lawicki, which I had brought with
me. The Count wished me good night, and lay
down on his sofa, upon which he turned over five or
six times ; at last he seemed asleep, although he
was doubled up like Horace's lover, who, shut up
in a chest, touched his head \vith his bent knees.
"... Turpi clausus in area,
Contractum genibus tangas caput. ..."
From time to time he sighed heavily, or made
a kind of nervous rattle, which I attributed to the
R 241
Lokis
peculiar position in which he had chosen to sleep.
An hour perhaps passed in this way, and I myself
became drowsy. I shut my book, and settled myself
as comfortably as was possible on my bed, when an
odd giggling sound from my neighbour set me
trembling-. I looked at the Count. His eyes were
shut ; his whole body shuddered ; from his half-
opened lips escaped some hardly articulate words.
"So fresh! ... so white! . . . The Professor
did not know what he said. . . . Horse is not worth
a straw. . . . What a delicious morsel ! "
Then he began to bite the cushion, on which his
head rested, with all his might, growling at the
same time so loudly that he woke himself.
I remained quite still on my couch, and pretended
to be asleep. Nevertheless, I watched him. He
sat up, rubbed his eyes, sighed sadly, and remained
for nearly an hour without changing his position,
absorbed apparently in his reflections. I was,
however, very ill at ease, and I inwardly vowed
never again to sleep by the side of the Count. But
in the long run weariness overcame disquiet, and
when the servant came to our room in the' morning,
we were both in a profound sleep.
VI
We returned lo Mudintiltas after breakfast. When
I found Dr. Frceber alone, I told him that I believed
the Count was unwell, that he had had frightful
dreams, was possibly a somnambulist and would
be dangerous in that condition.
" 1 am aware of all that," said the doctor.
242
Lokis
"With an athletic organisation he is at the same
time as nervous as a highly strung' woman. Perhaps
he gets it from his mother. . . . She has been
devilishly bad to-day. ... I do not believe much
in stories of fright and longings of pregnant women ;
but one thing is certain, the Countess is mad, and
madness can be inherited. ..."
" But the Count," I returned, "is perfectly sane :
his mind is sound, he has much higher intelligence
than, I admit, I should have expected ; he loves
reading. ..."
" I grant it, my dear sir, I grant it ; but he is
often eccentric. Sometimes he shuts himself up for
several days ; often he roams about at night. He
reads unheard-of books. . . . German metaphysics
. . . physiology, and I know not what ! Even
yesterday a package of them came from Leipzig.
Must I speak plainly? A Hercules needs a Hebe.
There are some very pretty peasant girls here. . . .
On Saturday evenings, when they have washed,
you might mistake them for princesses. . . . There
is not one of them but would be only too proud to
distract my lord. I, at his age, devil take me ! . . .
No, he has no mistress ; he will not marry, it is
wrong. He ought to have something to occupy his
mind."
The doctor's coarse materialism shocked me
extremely, and I abruptly terminated the conversa-
tion by saying that I sincerely wished that Count
Szdmioth should find a wife worthy of him. I was
surprised, I must admit, when I learnt from the
doctor of the Count's taste for philosophical
studies. It went against all my preconceived ideas
243
Lokis
that this officer of the Hussars, this ardent sports-
man, should read German metaphysics and engage
himself in physiology. The doctor spoke the truth,
however, as I had proof thereof even that very
day.
" How do you explain, Professor," he said to me
suddenly towards the close of dinner "how do
you explain the duality or the livofold nature of our
being ? "
And when he observed that I did not quite follow
him, he went on
" Have you never found yourself at the top of a
tower, or even at the edge of a precipice, having at
the same time a desire to throw yourself down into
space, and a feeling of terror absolutely the re-
verse? ..."
"That can be explained on purely physical
grounds," said the doctor; "first, the fatigue of
walking up hill sends a rush of blood to the brain,
which
"Let us leave aside the question of the blood,
doctor," broke in the Count impatiently, "and take
another instance. "You hold a loaded firearm.
Your best friend stands by. The idea occurs to
you to put a ball through his head. You hold
assassination in the greatest horror, but all the
same, you have thought of it. I believe, gentlemen,
that if all the thoughts which come into our heads
in the course of an hour ... I believe that if all
your thoughts, Professor, whom I hold to be so
wise, were written down, they would form a folio
volume probably, after the perusal of which there
would not be a single lawyer who could successfully
244
Lokis
defend you, nor a judge who would not either put
you in prison or even in a lunatic asylum."
"That judge, Count, would certainly not condemn
me for having hunted, for more than an hour this
morning, for the mysterious law that decides which
Slavonic verbs take a future tense when joined to
a preposition ; but if by chance I had some other
thought, what proof of it could you bring against
me? I am no more master of my thoughts than of
the external accidents which suggest them to me.
Because a thought springs up in my mind, it cannot
be implied that I have put it into execution, or even
resolved to do so. I have never thought of killing
anybody ; but, if the thought of a murder comes
into my mind, is not my reason there to drive it
away? "
"You talk with great certainty of your reason;
but is it always with us, as you say, to guide us ?
Reflection, that is to say, time and coolness are
necessary to make the reason speak and be obeyed.
Has one always both of these ? In battle I see a
bullet coming towards me ; it rebounds, and I get
out of the way ; by so doing I expose my friend,
for whose life I would have given my own if I had
had time for reflection. ..."
I tried to point out to him our duty as men and
Christians, the obligation we are under to imitate
the warrior of the Scriptures, always ready for
battle ; at length I made him see that in constantly
struggling against our passions we gain fresh
strength to weaken and to overcome them. I only
succeeded, I fear, in reducing him to silence, and
he did not seem convinced.
245
Lokis
I stayed but ten days longer at the Castle. I
paid one more visit to Dowghielly, but we did not
sleep there. As on the first occasion, Mile. Iwinska
acted like a frolicsome and spoilt child. She exer-
cised a kind of fascination over the Count, and I
did not doubt that he was very much in love
with her. At the same time he knew her faults
thoroughly, and was under no illusions. He knew
she was a frivolous coquette, and indifferent to all
that did not afford her amusement. I could see
that he often suffered internally at seeing her so
unreasonable ; but as soon as she paid him some
little attention his face shone, and he beamed with
joy, forgetful of all else. He wished to take me to
Dowghielly for the last time the day before my
departure, possibly because whilst I could stay talk-
ing with the aunt, he could walk in the garden with
the niece ; but I had so much work to do 1 was
obliged to excuse myself, however much he urged.
He returned to dinner, although he had told us not
to wait. He came to table, but could not eat. He
was gloomy and ill-tempered all through the meal.
From time to time his eyebrows contracted and his
eyes assumed a sinister expression. When the
doctor returned to the Countess, the Count followed
me to my room, and told me all that was on his
mind.
"I heartily repent," he exclaimed, "having left
you to go and see that little fool who makes game
of me, and only cares for fresh faces ; but, fortun-
ately, all is over between us ; I am utterly disgusted,
and I will never see her again. ..."
For some time he paced up and down according
to his usual habit.
246
Lokis
" You thought, perhaps, I was in love with her? "
he went on. " That is what the silly doctor thinks.
No, I have never loved her. Her merry look
amused me. Her white skin gave me pleasure to
look at. ... That is all there is pleasing about her,
. . . her complexion especially. She has no brains. I
have never seen anything in her but just a pretty doll,
agreeable to look at when one is tired and lacks a
new book. . . . There is no doubt she is beautiful.
. . . Her skin is marvellous ! . . . The blood under
that skin ought to be better than a horse's. . . . Do
you not think so, Professor ? "
And he laughed aloud, but his laugh was not
pleasant to hear.
I said good-bye to him the next day, to continue
my explorations in the north of the Palatinate.
VII
They lasted nearly two months, and I can say
that there is hardly a village in Samogitia where
I did not stop and where I did not collect some
documents. I may here be allowed, perhaps, to
take this opportunity of thanking the inhabitants of
that province, and especially the Church dignitaries,
for the truly warm co-operation they accorded me in
my researches, and the excellent contributions with
which they have enriched my dictionary.
After staying a week at Szawle, I intended to
embark at Klaypeda (the seaport which we call
Memel) to return to my home, when I received the
following letter from Count Szemioth, which was
brought by one of his huntsmen :
247
Lokis
" MY DEAR PROFESSOR, Allow me to write to
you in German, for I should commit too many errors
in grammar if I wrote in Jmoudic, and you would lose
all respect for me. I am not sure you have much of
that as it is, and the news that I am about to
communicate to you will probably not increase it.
Without more ado, I am going to be married, and
you will guess to whom. Jove laughs at lovers' 1 roias.
So said Pirkuns, our Samogitian Jupiter. It is,
then, Mile. Julienne Iwinska that I am to marry
on the 8th of next month. You will be the kindest
of men if you will come and assist at the ceremony-
All the peasantry of Medintiltas and the neighbour-
ing districts will come to devour several oxen and
countless swine, and, when they are drunk, they
will dance in the meadow, which, you will remember,
lies on the right of the avenue. You will see
costumes and customs worthy of your considera-
tion. It will give me and also Julienne the greatest
pleasure if you come, and I must add that your
refusal would place us in a most awkward situa-
tion. You know that I belong to the Evangelical
Communion, as does my betrothed ; now, our
minister, who lives about thirty leagues away, is
crippled with gout, and I ventured to hope you
would be so good as to act in his stead.
" Believe me, my dear Professor,
" Yours very devotedly,
"MICHEL S/EMIOTH."
At the end of the letter, in the form of a postscript,
had been added in Jmoudic, in a pretty feminine
handwriting :
"I, the muse of Lithuania, write in Jmoudic.
248
Lokis
Michel is very impertinent to question your approval.
There is no one but I, indeed, who would be so
silly as to marry such a fellow as he. You will
see, Professor, on the 8th of next month, a bride
who may be called chic. That is not a Jmoudic
word, it is French. But please do not be distracted
during" the ceremony."
Neither the letter nor the postscript pleased me.
I thought the engaged couple showed an inexcus-
able levity concerning such a solemn occasion.
However, how was I to decline ? And yet I will
admit that the promised pageant had its attractions
for me. According" to all appearance, I should not
fail to find among the great number of gentlefolk,
who would be gathered together at the Castle of
Medintiltas, some learned people who would furnish
me with useful information. My Jmoudic glossary
was very good ; but the sense of a certain number
of words which I had learnt from the lips of the
lowest of the peasants was still, relatively speaking-,
somewhat obscure to me. All these considerations
combined were sufficiently strong to make me con-
sent to the Count's request, and I replied that I
would be at Medintiltas by the morning' of the 8th.
How greatly had I occasion to repent of my
decision !
VIII
On entering the avenue which led to the Castle I
saw a great number of ladies and gentlemen in
morning dress standing- in groups on the steps of
the entrance or walking about the paths of the park.
249
Lokis
The court was filled with peasants in their Sunday
attire. The Castle bore a festive air ; everywhere
were flowers and wreaths, flags and festoons. The
head servant led me to the room on the ground
floor which had been assigned to me, apologising' for
not being able to offer me a better one ; but there
were so many visitors in the Castle that it had
been impossible to reserve me the room I had occu-
pied during my first visit, which had been given to
the wife of the premier Marshal. My new chamber
was, however, very comfortable ; it looked on the
park, and was below the Count's apartment. I
dressed myself hastily for the ceremony, and put on
my surplice, but neither the Count nor his betrothed
made their appearance. The Count had gone to
fetch her from Dowghielly. They should have come
back a long time before this ; but a bride's toilette is
not a light business, and the doctor had warned the
guests that as the breakfast would not take place till
after the religious ceremony, those whose appetites
were impatient would do well to fortify themselves
at a sideboard, which was spread with cakes and all
kinds of drinks. I remarked at the time that the
delay excited ill-natured remarks ; two mothers of
pretty girls invited to the fete did not refrain from
epigrams launched at the bride.
It was past noon when a salvo of cannon and
muskets heralded her arrival, and soon after a state
carriage entered the avenue drawn by four magnifi-
cent horses. It was easily seen by the foam which
covered their chests that the delay had not been on
their part. There was no one in the carnage be-
sides the bride, Madam Dowghiello and the Count.
250
Lokis
He got out and gave his hand to Madam Dowghiello.
Mademoiselle Iwinska, with a gracefully coquettish
gesture, pretended to hide under a shawl to avoid
the curious looks which surrounded her on all sides.
But she stood up in the carriage, and was just about
to take the Count's hand when the wheelers, terrified
maybe by the showers of flowers that the peasants
threw at the bride, perhaps also seized with that
strange terror which animals seemed to experience
at the sight of Count Szemioth, pranced and snorted ;
a wheel struck the column at the foot of the flight
of steps, and for a moment an accident was feared.
Mademoiselle Iwinska uttered a little cry, . . . but
all minds were soon relieved, for the Count snatched
her in his arms and carried her to the top of the
steps as easily as though she had been a dove.
We all applauded his presence of mind and his
chivalrously gallant conduct. The peasants yelled
terrific hurrahs, and the blushing bride laughed and
trembled simultaneously. The Count, who was not
at all in a hurry to rid himself of his charming
burden, evidently exulted in showing her picture to
the surrounding crowd. . . .
Suddenly a tall, pale, thin woman, with disordered
dress and dishevelled hair, and every feature in her
face drawn with terror, appeared at the top of the
flight of stairs before anyone could tell from whence
she sprang.
"Look at the bear! " she shrieked in a piercing
voice, " look at the bear ! . . . Get your guns ! . . .
He has carried off a woman ! Kill him ! Fire !
fire ! "
It was the Countess. The bride's arrival had
251
Lokis
attracted everybody to the entrance and to the court-
yard or to the windows of the Castle. Even the
women who kept guard over the poor maniac had
forgotten their charge ; she had escaped, and, without
being observed by anyone, had come upon us all. It
was a most painful scene. She had to be removed,
in spite of her cries and resistance. Many of the
guests knew nothing about the nature of her illness,
and matters had to be explained to them. People
whispered in a low tone for a long time after. All
faces looked shocked. " It is an ill omen," said the
superstitious, and their number is great in Lithuania.
However, Mile. Iwinska begged for five minutes
to settle her toilette and put on her bridal veil, an
operation which lasted a full hour. It was more
than was required to inform the people who did not
know of the Countess's illness of the cause and of
its details.
At last the bride reappeared, magnificently attired
and covered with diamonds. Her aunt introduced
her to all the guests, and, when the moment came to
go into the chapel, Madam Dowghiello, to my great
astonishment, slapped her niece on the cheek, in the
presence of the whole company, hard enough to
make those whose attention was not otherwise
engaged to turn round. The blow was received
with perfect equanimity, and no one seemed sur-
prised ; but a man in black wrote something on a
paper which he carried, and several of the persons
present signed their names with the most nonchalant
air. Not until after the ceremony did I find the clue
to the riddle. Had I guessed it I should not have
failed to oppose the abominable custom with the
252
Lokis
whole weight of my sacred office as a minister of
religion. It was to set up a case for divorce by pre-
tending" that the marriage only took place by reason
of the physical force exercised against one of the
contracting parties.
After the religious service I felt it my duty to
address a few words to the young couple, confining
myself to putting before them the gravity and
sacredness of the bond by which they had just
united themselves; and, as I still had Mile. Iwinska's
postscript on my mind, I reminded her that she was
now entering a new life, no longer accompanied
by childish pleasures and amusements, but filled
with serious duties and grave trials. I thought
that this portion of my sermon produced much
effect upon the bride, as well as on everyone present
who understood German.
Volleys of firing and shouts of joy greeted the
procession as it came out of the chapel on its way
to the dining-hall. The repast was splendid and
the appetites very keen ; at first no other sounds
were audible but the clatter of knives and forks.
Soon, however, warmed by champagne and Hun-
garian wines, the people began to talk and laugh,
and even to shout. The health of the bride was
drunk with enthusiastic cheers. They had scarcely
resumed their seats when an old pane with white
moustaches rose up.
" I am grieved to see," he said in a loud voice,
" that our ancient customs are disappearing. Our
forefathers would never have drunk this toast from
glasses of crystal. We drank out of the bride's
slipper, and even out of her boot ; for in my time
253
Lokis
ladies wore red morocco boots. Let us show, my
friends, that we are still true Lithuanians. And you,
Madam, condescend to give me your slipper."
" Come, take it, Monsieur," replied the bride,
blushing and stifling" a laugh; . . . "but I cannot
satisfy you with a boot."
The pane did not wait a second bidding ; he threw
himself gracefully on his knees, took off a little
white satin slipper with a red heel, filled it with
champagne, and drank so quickly and so cleverly
that not more than half fell on his clothes. The
slipper was passed round, and all the men drank out
of it, but not without difficulty. The old gentleman
claimed the shoe as a precious relic, and Madam
Dowghiello sent for a maid to repair her niece's
disordered toilette.
This toast was followed by many others, and
soon the guests became so noisy that it did not
become me to remain with them longer. I escaped
from the table without being noticed and went
outside the Castle to get some fresh air, but there,
too, I found a none too edifying spectacle. The
servants and peasants who had had beer and spirits
to their hearts' content were nearly all of them
already tipsy. There had been quarrelling and
some heads broken. Here and there drunken men
lay rolling on the grass in a state of stupidity, and
the general aspect of the fete looked much like a
field of battle. I should have been interested to
watch the popular dances quite close, but most
of them were led by impudent gipsies, and I
did not think it becoming 1o venture into such a
hubbub. I went back, therefore, to my room and
254
Lokis
read for some time ; then I undressed and soon fell
asleep.
When I awoke the Castle clock was striking" three
o'clock. It was a fine night, although the moon
was half shrouded by a light mist. I tried to go to
sleep again, but I could not manage it. According
to my usual habit when I could not sleep I thought
to take up a book and read, but I could not find
matches within reach. I got up and was going
to grope about the room when a dark body of great
bulk passed before my window and fell with a dull
thud into the garden. My first impression was that
it was a man, and I thought possibly it was one
of the drunken men, who had fallen out of the
window. I opened mine and looked out, but
I could not see anything. I lighted a candle at
last, and, getting back into bed, I had gone through
my glossary again just as they brought me a cup
of tea. Towards eleven o'clock I went to the salon,
where I found many scowling eyes and disconcerted
looks. I learnt, in short, that the table had not
been left until a very late hour. Neither the Count
nor the young Countess had yet appeared. At half-
past eleven, after many ill-timed jokes, people began
to grumble at first below their breath, but soon
aloud. Dr. Frceber took upon himself to send the
Count's valet to knock at his master's door. In a
quarter of an hour the man came back looking
anxious, and reported to Dr. Frceber that he had
knocked more than a dozen times without getting
any answer. Madam Dowghiello, the doctor and
I consulted together. The valet's uneasiness in-
fluenced me. We all three went upstairs with him
Lokis
and found the young Countess's maid outside the
door very scared, declaring- that something dreadful
had happened, for Madam's window was wide open.
I recollected with horror that heavy body falling
past my window. We knocked loudly ; still no
answer. At length the valet brought an iron bar,
and we forced the door. . . . No ! courage fails
me to describe the scene which presented itself to
our eyes. The young Countess was stretched dead
on her bed, her face horribly torn, her throat cut
open and covered with blood. The Count had
disappeared, and no one has ever heard news of
him since.
The doctor examined the young girl's ghastly
wound.
" It was not a steel blade," he exclaimed, " which
did this wound. ... It was a bite. ..."
******
The doctor closed his book, and looked thought-
fully into the fire.
"And is that the end of the story?" asked
Adelaide.
" The end," replied the Professor in a melancholy
voice.
"But," she continued, "why have you called it
'Lokis'? Not a single person in it is so called."
" It is not the name of a man," said the Pro-
fessor. "Come, Theodore, do you understand what
' Lokis ' means ? "
" Not in the very least."
" If you were thoroughly steeped in the law of
transformation from the Sanskrit into Lithuanian,
you would have recognised in lokis the Sanskrit
256
Lokis
arkcha, or rikscha. The Lithuanians call lokis that
animal which the Greeks called a/3KTos, the Latins
ursns, and the Germans Mr.
" Now you will understand my motto :
" Miszka su Lokiu,
Abu clu tokiu."
"You remember that in the romance of Renard
the bear is called damp Brim. The Slavs called it
Michel, which becomes Miszka in Lithuanian, and
the surname nearly always replaces the generic
name lokis. In the same way the French have
forgotten their new Latin word gonpil, or gorpil,
and have substituted renard. I could quote you
endless other instances. ..."
But Adelaide observed that it was late, and we
ought to go to bed.
257
THE BLUE CHAMBER
THE BLUE CHAMBER
To Madame de la Rhune
A YOUNG man was walking- up and down the
waiting- -room of a railway station, in an
agitated condition. He wore blue spectacles, and,
although he had not a cold, he used his pocket-
handkerchief incessantly. He held a little black
bag in his left hand which, as I learnt later, con-
tained a silk dressing-gown and a pair of Turkish
pantaloons.
Every now and again he went to the door and
looked into the street, then he drew out his watch
and consulted the station clock. The train did not
leave for an hour ; but there are people who always
imagine they will be late. This train was not for
people in a pressing hurry ; there were very few first-
class carriages on it. It was not an hour at which
stock-brokers left, after business was finished, to go
to their country homes for dinner. When travellers
began to appear, a Parisian would have recognised
from their bearing that they were either farmers,
or small suburban tradesmen. Nevertheless, every
time anyone came into the station, or a carriage
drew up at the door, the heart of the young man
with the blue spectacles became inflated like a
balloon, his knees trembled, his bag almost fell from
261
The Blue Chamber
his hands, and his glasses off his nose, where,
we may mention in passing, they were seated
crookedly.
His agitation increased when, after a long wait, a
woman appeared by a side door, from precisely the
direction in which he had not kept a constant look-
out. She was dressed in black with a thick veil
over her face, and she held a brown morocco
leather bag in her hand, containing, as I subse-
quently discovered, a wondrous morning-gown and
blue satin slippers. The woman and the young man
advanced towards each other looking to right and
left, but never in front of them. They came up
to one another, shook hands, and stood several
minutes without speaking a word, trembling and
gasping, a prey to one of those intense emotions
for which I would give in exchange a hundred years
of a philosopher's life.
" Leon," said the young woman, when she had
summoned up courage to speak (I had forgotten to
mention that she was young and pretty) "Leon,
what a happy thought ! I should never have recog-
nised you with those blue spectacles."
" What a happy thought ! " said Leon. " I should
never have known you under that black veil."
"What a happy thought!" she repeated. "Let
us be quick and take our seats ; suppose the train
were to start without us! . . ." (and she squeezed
his arm tightly). " No one will suspect us. I am
now with Clara and her husband, on the way to their
country house, where, to-inon-oiv, I must say good-
bye to her ; . . . and," she added, laughing and
lowering her head, "she left an hour ago; and to-
262
The Blue Chamber
morrow, . . . after passing the last evening with
her, . . . (again she pressed his arm), to-morrow,
in the morning, she will leave me at the station,
where I shall meet Ursula, whom I sent on ahead to
my aunt's. . . . Oh ! I have arranged everything.
Let us take our tickets. . . . They cannot possibly
guess who we are. Oh ! suppose they ask our
names at the inn ? I have forgotten them
already. ..."
" Monsieur and Madame Duru."
"Oh no! Not Duru. There was a shoemaker
called that at the pension."
" Dumont, then ? "
"Daumont."
" Very well. But no one will ask us."
The bell rang, the door of the waiting-room
opened, and the carefully veiled young woman
rushed into a carriage with her youthful companion.
The bell rang a second time, and the door of their
compartment was closed.
" We are alone ! " they exclaimed delightedly.
But, almost at the same moment, a man of about
fifty, dressed completely in black, with a grave and
bored expression, entered the carriage and settled
himself in a corner. The engine whistled, and the
train began to move. The two young people drew
back as far as they could from their unwelcome neigh-
bour and began to whisper in English as an additional
precaution.
" Monsieur," said the other traveller, in the same
tongue, and with a much purer British accent, "if
you have secrets to tell to each other, you had better
not tell them in English before me, for I am an
263
The Blue Chamber
Englishman. I am extremely sorry to annoy you ;
but there was only a single man in the other com-
partment, and I make it a rule never to travel alone
with one man only. . . . He had the face of a Judas
and this might have tempted him."
He pointed to his travelling-bag, which he had
thrown in before him on the cushion.
" But I shall read if I do not go to sleep."
And, indeed, he did make a gallant effort to sleep.
He opened his bag, drew out a comfortable cap, put
it on his head, and kept his eyes shut for several
minutes ; then he reopened them with a gesture of
impatience, searched in his bag for his spectacles,
then for a Greek book. At length he settled himself
to read, with an air of deep attention. While getting
his book out of the bag he displaced many things
piled up hap-hazard. Among others, he drew out
of the depths of the bag a large bundle of Bank of
England notes, placed it on the seat opposite him,
and, before putting it back in the bag, he showed
it to the young man, and asked him if there
was a place in N where he could change
bank-notes.
"Probably, as it is on the route to England."
N - was the place to which the young people
were going. There is quite a tidy little hotel at
N , where people seldom stop except on Saturday
evenings. It is held out that the rooms are good,
but the host and his helpers are far enough away
from Paris to indulge in this provincial vice. The
young man whom I have already called by the name
of Le"on, had been recommended to this hotel some
time previously, when he was minus blue spectacles,
264
The Blue Chamber
and, upon his recommendation, his companion and
friend had seemed desirous of visiting it.
She was, moreover, at that time in such a con-
dition of mind that the walls of a prison would have
seemed delightful, if they had enclosed Leon with her.
In the meantime the train journeyed on ; the
Englishman read his Greek book, without looking
towards his companions, who conversed in that low
tone that only lovers can hear. Perhaps I shall not
astonish my readers when I tell them that these two
were lovers in the fullest acceptation of the term,
and what was still more deplorable, they were not
married, because there were reasons which placed
an obstacle in the way of their desire.
They reached N , and the Englishman got out
first. Whilst Leon helped his friend to descend from
the carriage without showing her legs, a man jumped
on to the platform from the next compartment. He
was pale, even sallow ; his eyes were sunken and
bloodshot, and his beard unkempt, a sign by which
great criminals are often detected. His dress was
clean, but worn almost threadbare. His coat, once
black, but now grey at the back and by the elbows,
was buttoned up to his chin, probably to hide a
waistcoat still more shabby. He went up to the
Englishman and put on a deferential tone.
"Uncle!" he said.
" Leave me alone, you wretch ! " cried the English-
man, whose grey eyes flashed with anger ; and he
took a step forward to leave the station.
(< Don't drive me to despair," replied the other,
with a piteous and yet at the same time menacing
accent.
265
The Blue Chamber
"Will you be good enough to hold my bag for
a moment?" said the old Englishman, throwing his
travelling-bag at Leon's feet.
He then took the man who had accosted him by
the arm, and led, or rather pushed, him into a
corner, where he hoped they would not be over-
heard, and there he seemed to address him roughly
for a moment. He then drew some papers from his
pocket, crumpled them up, and put them in the
hand of the man who had called him uncle. The
latter took the papers without offering any thanks,
and almost immediately took himself off and dis-
appeared.
As there is but the one hotel in N - it was not
surprising that, after a short interval, all the charac-
ters of this veracious story met together there. In
France every traveller who has the good fortune to
have a well-dressed wife on his arm is certain to
obtain the best room in any hotel ; so firmly is it
believed that we are the politest nation in Europe.
If the bedroom that was assigned to Leon was
the best, it would be rash to conclude that it was
perfect. It had a great walnut bedstead, with
chintz curtains, on which was printed in violet the
magic story of Pyramis and Thisbe. The walls
were covered with a coloured paper representing
a view of Naples and a multitude of people ; un-
fortunately, idle and impertinent visitors had drawn
moustaches and pipes to all the figures, both male
and female, and many silly things had been scribbled
in lead-pencil in rhyme and prose on the sky and
ocean. Upon this background hung several en-
gravings : " Louis Philippe taking the Oath of the
266
The Blue Chamber
Charter of 1830," " The first Interview between
Julia and Saint-Preux," "Waiting for Happiness,"
and " Regrets," after M. Dubuffe. This room was
called the Blue Chamber, because the two arm-
chairs to left and right of the fireplace were up-
holstered in Utrecht velvet of that colour ; but for
a number of years they had been covered with
wrappers of grey glazed calico edged with red
braid.
Whilst the hotel servants crowded round the new
arrival and offered their services, Leon, who, although
in love, was not destitute of common sense, went
to order dinner. It required all his eloquence and
various kinds of bribes to extract the promise of a
dinner by themselves alone. Great was his dismay
when he learnt that in the principal dining-room,
which was next his room, the officers of the 3rd
Hussars, who were about to relieve the officers of
of the 3rd Chasseurs at N , were going to join
at a farewell dinner that very day, which would be
a lively affair. The host swore by all his gods that,
except a certain amount of gaiety which was natural
to every French soldier, the officers of the Hussars
and Chasseurs were known throughout the town for
their gentlemanly and discreet behaviour, and that
their proximity would not inconvenience madam in
the least ; the officers were in the habit of rising
from table before midnight.
As Leon went back to the Blue Chamber but
slightly reassured, he noticed that the Englishman
occupied the other room next his. The door was
open, and the Englishman sat at a table upon which
were a glass and a bottle. He was looking at the
267
The Blue Chamber
ceiling with profound attention, as though he were
counting the flies walking on it.
"What matter if they are so near," said Leon to
himself. " The Englishman will soon be tipsy, and
the Hussars will leave before midnight."
On entering the Blue Chamber his first care was to
make sure that the communicating doors were tightly
locked, and that they had bolts to them. There were
double doors on the Englishman's side, and the
walls were thick. The partition was thinner on the
Hussars' side, but the door had a lock and a bolt.
After all, this was a more effectual barrier to curiosity
than the blinds of a carriage, and how many people
think they are hidden from the world in a hackney
carriage !
Assuredly the most opulent imagination could
certainly never have pictured a more complete state
of happiness than that of these two young lovers,
who, after waiting so long, found themselves alone
and far away from jealous and prying eyes, prepar-
ing to relate their past sufferings at their ease and to
taste the delights of a perfect reunion. But the
devil always rinds out a way to pour his drop
of wormwood into the cup of happiness.
Johnson was not the first who wrote he took
it from a Greek writer that no man could say,
"To-day I shall be happy." This truth was recog-
nised at a very remote period by the greatest
philosophers, and yet is ignored by a certain number
of mortals, and especially by most lovers.
Whilst taking a poorly served dinner in the Blue
Chamber from some dishes filched from the Hussars'
and the Chasseurs' banquet, Leon and his lover
268
The Blue Chamber
were much disturbed by the conversation in which
the gentlemen in the neighbouring room were
engaged. They held forth on abstruse subjects
concerning strategy and tactics, which I shall refrain
from repeating.
There were a succession of wild stories nearly
all of them broad and accompanied by shrieks
of laughter, in which it was often difficult for our
lovers not to join. Leon's friend was no prude ; but
there are things one prefers not to hear, particularly
during a tete-a-tete with the man one loves. The
situation became more and more embarrassing, and
when they were taking in the officers' dessert, L6on
felt he must go downstairs to beg the host to tell
the gentlemen that he had an invalid wife in the
room adjoining theirs, and they would deem it a
matter of courtesy if a little less noise were made.
The noise was nothing out of the way for a
regimental dinner, and the host was taken aback
and did not know what to reply. Just when Leon
gave his message for the officers, a waiter asked for
champagne for the Hussars, and a maidservant for
port wine for the Englishman.
" I told him there was none," she added.
"You are a fool. I have every kind of wine. I
will go and find him some. Port is it? Bring
me the bottle of ratafia, a bottle of quince and a
small decanter of brandy."
When the host had concocted the port in a trice,
he went into the large dining-room to execute
Leon's commission, which at first roused a furious
storm.
Then a deep voice, which dominated all the others,
269
The Blue Chamber
asked what kind of a woman their neighbour
was. There was a brief silence before the host
replied
" Really, gentlemen, I do not know how to
answer you. She is very pretty and very shy.
Marie-Jeanne says she has a wedding-ring on her
finger. She is probably a bride come here on her
honeymoon, as so many others come here."
" A bride? " exclaimed forty voices. " She must
come and clink glasses with us ! We will drink
to her health and teach the husband his conjugal
duties ! "
At these words there was a great jingling of
spurs, and our lovers trembled, fearing that their
room was about to be taken by storm. All at once
a voice was raised which stopped the manoeuvre.
It evidently belonged to a commanding officer. He
reproached the officers with their want of politeness,
ordered them to sit down again and to talk decently,
without shouting. Then he added some words too
low to be heard in the Blue Chamber. He was
listened to with deference, but, nevertheless, not
without exciting a certain amount of covert hilarity.
From that moment there was comparative quiet in
the officers' room ; and our lovers, blessing the
salutary reign of discipline, began to talk together
with more freedom. . . . But after such confusion
it was a little time before they regained that peace
of mind which anxiety, the worries of travelling,
and, worse than all, the loud merriment of their
neighbours, had so greatly agitated. This was not
very difficult to accomplish, however, at their age,
and they had very soon forgotten all the troubles
270
The Blue Chamber
of their adventurous expedition in thinking" of its
more important consequences.
They thought peace was declared with the Hus-
sars. Alas ! it was but a truce. Just when they
expected it least, when they were a thousand
leagues away from this sublunary world, twenty-
four trumpets, supported by several trombones,
struck up the air well known to French soldiers,
"La victoire est nous ! " How could anyone with-
stand such a tempest? The poor lovers might well
complain.
But they had not much longer to complain, for at
the end the officers left the dining-room, filed past
the door of the Blue Chamber with a great clattering
of spurs and sabres, and shouted one after the
other
" Good night, madam bride ! "
Then all noise stopped. No, I am mistaken ;
the Englishman came out into the passage and
cried out
"Waiter! bring me another bottle of the same
port."
Quiet was restored in the hotel of N . The
night was fine and the moon at the full. From time
immemorial lovers have been pleased to gaze at our
satellite. Leon and his lover opened their window,
which looked on a small garden, and breathed with
delight the fresh air, which was filled with the scent
of a bower of clematis.
They had not looked out long, however, before
a man came to walk in the garden. His head was
271
bowed, his arms crossed, and he had a cigar in his
mouth. Le"on thought he recognised the nephew
of the Englishman who was fond of good port
wine.
*****
I dislike useless details, and, besides, I do not feel
called upon to tell the reader things he can readily
imagine, nor to relate all that happened hour by
hour in the inn at N . I will merely say that
the candle which burned on the fireless mantel-
piece of the Blue Chamber was more than half
consumed when a strange sound issued from the
Englishman's room, in which there had been silence
until now ; it was like the fall of a heavy body. To
this noise was added a kind of cracking, quite as
odd, followed by a smothered cry and several in-
articulate words like an oath. The two young
occupants of the Blue Chamber shuddered. Perhaps
they had been waked up suddenly by it. The noise
seemed a sinister one to both of them, for they
could not explain it.
" Our friend the Englishman is dreaming," said
L^on, trying to force a smile.
But although he wanted to reassure his com-
panion, he shivered involuntarily. Two or three
minutes afterwards a door in the corridor opened
cautiously, as it seemed, then closed very quietly.
They heard a slow and unsteady footstep which
appeared to be trying to disguise its gait.
" What a cursed inn ! " exclaimed Leon.
" Ah, it is a paradise ! " replied the young woman,
letting her head fall on Leon's shoulder. " I am
dead with sleep. ..."
272
The Blue Chamber
She sighed, and was very soon fast asleep again.
A famous moralist has said that men are never
garrulous when they have all their heart's desire.
It is not surprising, therefore, that Leon made no
further attempt to renew the conversation or to
discourse upon the noises in the hotel at N .
Nevertheless, he was preoccupied, and his imagina-
tion pieced together many events to which in another
mood he would have paid no attention. The evil
countenance of the Englishman's nephew returned
to his memory. There was hatred in the look that
he threw at his uncle even while he spoke humbly
to him, doubtless because he was asking for money.
What would be easier than for a man, still young
and vigorous, and desperate besides, to climb from
the garden to the window of the next room ? More-
over, he was staying at the hotel, and would walk
in the garden after dark, perhaps . . . quite
possibly . . . undoubtedly, he knew that his uncle's
black bag contained a thick bundle of bank-notes.
. . . And that heavy blow, like the blow of a club
on a bald head ! . . . that stifled cry ! . . . that
fearful oath ! and those steps afterwards ! That
nephew looked like an assassin. . . . But people do
not assassinate in a hotel full of officers. Surely the
Englishman, like a wise man, had locked himself in,
specially knowing the rogue was abotit. . . . He
evidently mistrusted him, since he had not wished
to accost him bag in hand. . . . But why allow
such hideous thoughts when one is so happy ?
Thus did Leon cogitate to himself. In the midst
of his thoughts, which I will refrain from analysing
at greater length, and which passed in his mind
T 273
The Blue Chamber
like so many confused dreams, he fixed his eyes
mechanically on the door of communication between
the Blue Chamber and the Englishman's room.
In France, doors fit badly. Between this one
and the floor there was a space of nearly an inch.
Suddenly, from this space, which was hardly lighted
by the reflection from the polished floor, there
appeared something" blackish and flat, like a knife
blade, for the edge which the candlelight caught
showed a thin line which shone brightly. It moved
slowly in the direction of a little blue-satin slipper,
which had been carelessly thrown close to this door.
Was it some insect like a centipede? . . . No, it
was no insect. It had no definite shape. . . . Two
or three brown streams, each with its line of light
on its edges, had come through into the room.
Their pace quickened, for the floor was a sloping
one. . . . They came on rapidly and touched the
little slipper. There was no longer any doubt ! It
was a liquid, and that liquid, the colour of which
could now be distinctly seen by the candlelight,
was blood ! While L6on, paralysed with horror,
watched these frightful streams, the young woman
slept on peacefully, her regular breathing warming
her lover's neck and shoulder.
The care which Leon had taken in ordering the
dinner on their arrival at the inn of N adequately
proved that he had a pretty level head, a high
degree of intelligence and that he could look ahead.
He did not in this emergency belie the character we
have already indicated, lie did not stir, and the
274
The Blue Chamber
whole strength of his mind was strained to keep
this resolve in the presence of the frightful disaster
which threatened him.
I can imagine that most of my readers, and, above
all, my lady readers, filled with heroic sentiments, will
blame the conduct of Leon on this occasion for
remaining motionless. They will tell me he ought
to have rushed to the Englishman's room and
arrested the murderer, or, at least, to have pulled
his bell and rung up the people of the hotel. To
this I reply that, in the first case, the bells in French
inns are only room ornaments, and their cords do
not correspond to any metallic apparatus. I would
add respectfully, but decidedly, that, if it is wrong to
leave an Englishman to die close by one, it is not
praiseworthy to sacrifice for him a woman who is
sleeping with her head on your shoulder. What
would have happened if Leon had made an uproar
and roused the hotel ? The police, the inspector
and his assistant would have come at once. These
gentlemen are by profession so curious, that, before
asking him what he had seen or heard, they would
have questioned him as follows :
"What is your name? Where are your papers?
And what about Madam? What were you doing
together in the Blue Chamber? You will have to
appear at the Assizes to explain the exact month, at
what hour in the night, you were witnesses of this
deed."
Now it was precisely this thought of the inspector
and officers of the law which first occurred to
Leon's mind. Everywhere throughout life there
are questions of conscience difficult to solve. Is it
275
The Blue Chamber
better to allow an unknown traveller to have his
throat cut, or to disgrace and lose the woman one
loves ?
It is unpleasant to have to propose such a
problem. I defy the cleverest person to solve it.
Leon did then what probably most would have
done in his place. He never moved.
He remained fascinated for a long time with his
eyes fixed upon the blue slipper and the little red
stream which touched it. A cold sweat moistened
his temples, and his heart beat in his breast as
though it would burst.
A host of thoughts and strange and horrible
fancies took possession of him, and an inward voice
cried out all the time, " In an hour all will be known,
and it is your own fault ! " Nevertheless, by dint of
repeating to himself " Qu'allais-je faire dans cette
galere ? " he finished up by perceiving some few rays
of hope. " If we leave this accursed hotel," he
said to himself at last, " before the discovery of
what has happened in the adjoining room, perhaps
they may lose trace of us. No one knows us here.
I have only been seen in blue spectacles, and she has
only been seen in a veil. We are only two steps
from the station, and should be far away from it in
an hour."
Then, as he had studied the time-table at great
length to make out his journey, he recollected that a
train for Paris stopped at eight o'clock. Very soon
afterwards they would be lost in the vastness of
that town, where so many guilty persons are con-
cealed. Who could discover two innocent people
there ? But would they not go into the English-
276
The Blue Chamber
man's room before eight o'clock ? That was the
vital question.
Quite convinced that there was no other course
before him, he made a desperate effort to shake off
the torpor which had taken possession of him for so
long, but at the first movement he made his young
companion woke up and kissed him half-consciously.
At the touch of his icy cheek she uttered a little cry.
" What is the matter ? " she said to him anxiously.
"Your forehead is as cold as marble."
" It is nothing," he replied in a voice which belied
his words. " I heard a noise in the next room. ..."
He freed himself from her arms, then he moved
the blue slipper and put an armchair in front of the
door of communication, so as to hide the horrid
liquid from his lover's eyes. It had stopped flowing,
and had now collected into quite a big pool on the
floor. Then he half opened the door which led to
the passage, and listened attentively. He even
ventured to go up to the Englishman's door, which
was closed. There were already stirrings in the
hotel, for day had begun. The stablemen were
grooming the horses in the yard, and an officer came
downstairs from the second story, clinking his spurs.
He was on his way to preside at that interesting
piece of work, more agreeable to horses than to
men, which is technically known as la botte.
Leon re-entered the Blue Chamber, and, with
every precaution that love could invent, w r ith the
help of much circumlocution and many euphemisms,
he revealed their situation to his friend.
It was dangerous to stay and dangerous to leave
too precipitately ; still much more dangerous to wait
277
The Blue Chamber
at the hotel until the catastrophe in the next room
was discovered.
There is no need to describe the terror caused by
this communication, or the tears which followed it,
the senseless suggestions which were advanced, or
how many times the two unhappy young" people
flung themselves into each other's arms, saying,
" Forgive me ! forgive me ! " Each took the blame.
They vowed to die together, for the young woman
did not doubt that the law would find them guilty of
the murder of the Englishman, and as they were not
sure that they would be allowed to embrace each
other again on the scaffold they did it now to suffo-
cation, and vied with each other in \vatering them-
selves with tears. At length, after having talked
much rubbish and exchanged many tender and
harrowing words, they decided, in the midst of a
thousand kisses, that the plan thought out by Leon,
to leave by the eight o'clock train, was really the
only one practicable, and the best to follow. But
there were still two mortal hours to get through.
At each step in the corridor they trembled in every
limb. Each creak of boots proclaimed the arrival
of the inspector.
Their small packing was done in a flash. The
young woman wanted to burn the blue slipper in the
fireplace ; but Leon picked it up and, after wiping it
by the bedside, he kissed it and put it in his pocket.
He was astonished to find that it smelt of vanilla,
though his lover's perfume was " Bouquet de
1'imperatrice Eugenie."
Everybody in the hotel was now awake. They
heard the laughing of waiters, servant-girls singing
278
The Blue Chamber
at their work, and soldiers brushing- their officers'
clothes. Seven o'clock had just struck. L6on
wanted to make his friend drink a cup of coffee,
but she declared that her throat was so choked
up that she should die if she tried to drink any-
thing.
Ldon, armed with the blue spectacles, went down
to pay the bill. The host begged his pardon for the
noise that had been made ; he could not at all under-
stand it, for the officers were always so quiet ! Leon
assured him that he had heard nothing-, but had
slept profoundly.
" I don't think your neighbour on the other side
would inconvenience you," continued the landlord ;
" he did not make much noise. I bet he is still sleep-
ing- soundly."
Leon leant hard against the desk to keep from
falling, and the young woman, who had followed
him closely, clutched at his arm and tightened the
veil over her face.
" He is a swell," added the pitiless host. " He will
have the best of everything. Ah ! he is a good sort.
But all the English are not like him. There was one
here who is a skinflint. He thought everything too
dear : his room, his dinner. He wanted me to take
a five-pound Bank of England note in settlement of
his bill for one hundred and eighty-five francs, . . .
and to risk whether it was a good one ! But stop,
Monsieur ; perhaps you will know, for I heard you
talking English with Madam. ... Is it a good
one?"
With these words he showed Leon a five-pound
bank-note. On one of its corners there was a little
279
The Blue Chamber
spot of red which Leon could readily explain to
himself.
" I think it is quite good," he said in a stifled
voice.
" Oh, you have plenty of time," replied the host ;
"the train is not due here till eight o'clock, and it
is always late. Will you not sit down, Madam? you
seem tired. ..."
At this moment a fat servant-girl came up.
"Hot water, quick," she said, " foi milord's tea.
Give me a sponge too. He has broken a bottle of
wine and the whole room is flooded."
At these words Leon fell into a chair, and his
companion did the same. An intense desire to laugh
overtook them both, and they had the greatest
difficulty in restraining themselves. The young
woman squeezed his hand joyfully.
" I think we will not go until the two o'clock
train," said Leon to the landlord. " Let us have a
good meal at midday."
BIARRITZ,
September, 1866.
280
THE "VICCOLO"
OF MADAM LUCREZIA
THE "VICCOLO"
OF MADAM LUCREZIA
I WAS twenty-three years old when I set out for
Rome. My father gave me a dozen letters of
introduction, one of which, four pages long, was
sealed. It was addressed : " To the Marquise
Aldobrandi."
"You must write and tell me if the Marquise is
still beautiful," said my father.
Now, from my earliest childhood, I had seen over
the mantelpiece in his study a miniature of a very
lovely woman, with powdered hair crowned with
ivy, and a tiger skin over her shoulder. Under-
neath was the inscription, "Roma, 18 . " The
dress struck me as so strange that I had many
times asked who the lady was.
" It is a bacchante," was the only answer given
me.
But this reply hardly satisfied me. I even sus-
pected a secret beneath it, for, at this simple
question, my mother would press her lips together,
and my father look very serious.
This time, when giving me the sealed letter, he
looked stealthily at the portrait ; involuntarily I did
the same, and the idea came into my head that the
283
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
powdered bacchante might perhaps be the Marquise
Aldobrandi. As I had begun to understand the
world I drew all kinds of conclusions from my
mother's expression and my father's looks.
When I reached Rome, the first letter I delivered
was the one to the Marquise. She lived in a
beautiful palace close to the square of Saint-Mark.
I gave my letter and my card to a servant in
yellow livery, who showed me into a vast room,
dark and gloomy, and badly furnished. But in all
Roman palaces there are pictures by the old
masters. This room contained a great number of
them, and several were very remarkable.
The first one I examined was a portrait of a
woman which I thought was a Leonardo da Vinci.
By the magnificence of the frame, and the rosewood
easel on which it rested, there was no doubt it was
the chief gem of the collection. As the Marquise
was long in coming I had plenty of time to look at
it. I even carried it to a window to see it in a more
favourable light. It was evidently a portrait and
not a fancy study, for such a face could not have
been imagined : she was a beautiful woman, with
rather thick lips, eyebrows nearly joined, and an
expression that was both haughty and endearing.
Underneath was her coat of arms, surmounted by a
ducal coronet. But what struck me most was the
dress, which even to the powder was like that of
my father's bacchante.
I was holding the portrait in my hand when the
Marquise entered.
" Exactly like his father ! " she cried, coming
towards me. "Ah, you French! you French !
284
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
Hardly arrived before he seizes upon ' Madam
Lucrezia. ' "
I hastened to make excuses for my impertinence,
and began to praise at random the chef-d'oeuvre of
Leonardo, which I had been so bold as to lift out
of its place.
" It is indeed a Leonardo," said the Marquise,
"and it is the portrait of the infamous Lucrezia
Borgia. Of all my pictures it was the one your
father admired most. . . . But, good heavens !
what a resemblance ! I think I see your father as
he was twenty-five years ago. How is he ? What
is he doing ? And will he not come to see us at
Rome some time? "
Although the Marquise did not wear either tiger
skin or powdered hair, at the first glance, and with
my natural quickness of perception, I recognised in
her my father's bacchante. Some twenty-five years
had not been able entirely to efface the traces of
great beauty. Her expression only had changed,
even as her toilette. She was dressed completely
in black, and her treble chin, her grave smile and
her manner, serious and yet radiant, apprised me
that she had become religious.
No one could have given me a warmer welcome ;
in a few words she offered me her home, her purse
and her friends, among whom she mentioned several
cardinals.
" Look upon me," she said, " as your mother."
She lowered her eyes modestly.
"Your father has charged me to look after you
and to advise you."
And to show me that she did not intend her office
285
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
to be a sinecure she began at once to put me on my
guard against the dangers Rome had for young
men of my age, and exhorted me earnestly to
avoid them. I must shun bad company, artists
especially, and only associate with people that she
chose for me. In fact, I received a lengthy ser-
mon. I replied respectfully, and with conventional
hypocrisy.
" I regret that my son the Marquis should be
away on our property at Romagna," she said, as I
rose to go, "but I will introduce you to my second
son, Don Ottavio, who will soon become a Mon-
signor. I hope you will like him, and that you will
make friends with each other as you ought to. ..."
She broke off precipitately
" For you are nearly the same age, and he is
a nice steady boy like yourself."
She sent immediately for Don Ottavio, and I was
presented to a tall, pale young man, whose down-
cast, melancholy eyes seemed already conscious of
his hypocrisy.
Without giving him time to speak, the Marquise
offered me in his name the most ready services.
He assented by bowing low at all his mother's
suggestions, and it was arranged that he should
take me to see the sights of the town on the follow-
ing day and bring me back to dinner en famille at
the Aldobrandi palace.
I had hardly gone twenty steps down the road
when an imperious voice exclaimed behind me
"Where are you going alone at this hour, Don
Ottavio? "
I turned round and saw a fat priest, who looked
286
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
me up and down from head to foot with his eyes
wide open.
" I am not Don Ottavio," I said.
The priest bowed down to the ground, profuse
in apologies, and a moment after I saw him go into
the Aldobrandi palace. I continued on my way,
not much flattered at being taken for a budding
Monsignor.
In spite of the Marquise's warnings, perhaps
even because of them, my next most pressing
concern was to find out the lodging of a painter
I knew, and I spent an hour with him at his studio
talking over the legitimate or dubious ways of en-
joying oneself that Rome could provide. I led him
to the subject of the Aldobrandi.
The Marquise, he said, after being excessively
frivolous became hig'hly devotional when she
recognised that she was too old for further
conquests. Her eldest son was a fool, who spent
his time hunting and receiving the rents of the farms
on his vast estates. They were going the right way
to make an idiot of the second son, Don Ottavio;
he was to be a cardinal some day. Until then he
was given up to the Jesuits. He never went out
alone ; he was forbidden to look at a woman, or
to take a single step without a priest at his heels,
who had educated him for God's service, and who,
after having been the Marquise's last amico, now
ruled her house with almost despotic authority.
The next day Don Ottavio, followed by the Abb6
Negroni, he who had taken me for his pupil the
previous evening, came to take me out in a carriage
and to offer his services as cicerone.
287
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
The first public building we stopped at was a
church. Following" his priest's example, Don
Ottavio knelt down, beat his breast, and made
endless signs of the cross. After he had got up
he showed me the frescoes and statues, and talked
like a man of sense and taste. This was an agree-
able surprise to me ; we began to talk, and his
conversation pleased me. For some time we con-
versed in Italian, but suddenly he said to me in
French
" My director does not understand a word of your
language ; let us talk French, and we shall feel
freer."
It might be said that change of idiom transformed
the young man. There was nothing that smacked
of the priest in his talk. I could have imagined
him one of our own liberal-minded men. I noticed
that he said everything in an even, monotonous
tone of voice, which often contrasted strangely with
the vivacity of his sentiments. It was, apparently,
a ruse to put Negroni off the scent, who from time
to time asked us to explain what we were talking
about. I need hardly say that our translation was
extremely free.
A young man in violet stockings passed us.
"That is one of our modern patricians," said
Don Ottavio. "Wretched livery! and it will be-
mine in a few months ! What happiness," he added
after a moment's silence "what happiness to live-
in a country like yours ! If I were French I might
perhaps one day have become a deputy."
This high ambition made me feel strongly in-
clined to laugh, and as the Abbe noticed it, 1 had
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
to explain that we were talking of the error of an
archaeologist who mistook a statue by Bernini for
an antique.
We dined at the Aldobrandi palace. Directly
after the coffee the Marquise asked me to excuse her
son, who was obliged to retire to his room to fulfil
certain pious duties. I remained alone with her,
and the Abbe" Negroni leant back in his chair and
slept the sleep of the just.
In the meantime the Marquise interrogated me
minutely about my father, about Paris, as to my
past life, and on my future plans. She seemed to
me a good and amiable woman, but rather too
inquisitive and over-much concerned about my
salvation. But she spoke Italian perfectly, and I
took a lesson in pronunciation from her which I
promised myself I would repeat.
I often came to see her. Nearly every morning
I visited the antiquities with her son and the ever-
present Negroni, and in the evenings I dined with
them at the Aldobrandi palace. The Marquise
entertained very rarely, and then nearly always
ecclesiastics.
Once, however, she introduced me to a German
lady, who was a recent convert and her intimate
friend. She was a certain Madam de Strahlenheim,
a very handsome woman who had lived a long while
in Rome. Whilst these ladies talked together
about a celebrated preacher, I studied, by the lamp-
light, the portrait of Lucrezia, until I felt it my duty
to put in a word.
" What eyes ! " I exclaimed ; " her eyelids almost
seem to move ! "
u 289
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
At this somewhat pretentious figure of speech
which I ventured on to show myself to Madam
Strahlenheim in the light of a connoisseur, she
trembled with fear and hid her face in her handker-
chief.
"What is the matter, my dear?" said the
Marquise.
"Oh! nothing but what Monsieur said just
now ! . . . "
We pressed her with questions, and when she
said that my phrase had recalled a horrible story we
compelled her to relate it.
Here it is in a few words :
Madam de Strahlenheim had a sister-in-law called
Wilhelmina, who was betrothed to a young man
from Westphalia, Julius de Katzenellenbogen, a
volunteer in General Kleist's division. I am very
sorry to have to repeat so many barbarous names,
but extraordinary episodes never happen except to
people with names which are difficult to pronounce.
Julius was a charming fellow, full of patriotic
feeling and love of metaphysics. He gave his
portrait to Wilhelmina when he entered the army
and she gave him hers, which he wore next his
heart. They do this sort of thing in Germany.
On the i3th of September, 1813, Wilhelmina was
at Cassel. She was sitting in a room, about five
o'clock in the afternoon, busy knitting with her
mother and sister-in-law. While she worked she
looked at her /ranee's portrait, which was standing
on a little table opposite to her. Suddenly she
uttered a terrible cry, put her hand on her heart and
fainted. They had the greatest difficulty in the
290
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
world to bring her back to consciousness, and, as
soon as she could speak, she said
"Julius is dead ! He has been killed ! "
She insisted that she had seen the portrait shut
its eyes, and at the same instant that she had felt a
terrible pain as though a red-hot iron had pierced
her heart : her horror-struck countenance gave
credence to her words.
Everybody tried to show her that her vision was
unreal and that she ought to pay no attention to it.
It was of no use. The poor child was inconsol-
able ; she spent the night in tears and wanted to go
into mourning the next day, as though quite con-
vinced of the affliction which had been revealed to
her. Two days after news came of the bloody battle
of Leipzig. Julius wrote to \i\sfiancce a letter dated
at three o'clock p.m. on the i3th. He had not
been wounded, but had distinguished himself, and
was just going into Leipzig, where he expected to
pass the night in the general's quarters, which were,
of course, out of the range of danger. This
reassuring letter did not calm Wilhelmina, who
noticed that it had been written at three o'clock,
and persisted in believing that her beloved had died
at five o'clock.
The unhappy girl was not mistaken. It was
known that Julius had been sent out of Leipzig
with a despatch at half-past four, and that three-
quarters of a league from the town, beyond the
Elster, a straggler from the enemy's army, con-
cealed in a trench, had fired and killed him. The
bullet pierced his heart and broke the portrait of
Wilhelmina.
291
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
"And what became of the poor girl?" I asked
Madam de Strahlenheim.
" Oh ! she has been very ill. She is married now
to a gentleman who is a barrister in Werner, and,
if you went to Dessau, she would show you Julius's
portrait."
"All that was done by the interposition of the
devil," the Abbe broke in, for he had only been half
asleep during Madam de Strahlenheim's story. " He
who could make the heathen oracles speak could
easily make the eyes of a portrait move if he
thought fit. Not twenty years ag~o an Englishman
was strangled by a statue at Tivoli. "
" By a statue!" I exclaimed. "How did that
come about? "
" He was a wealthy man who had been making
excavations at Tivoli, and had discovered a statue
of the Empress Agrippina Messalina ... it matters
little which. Whoever it was he had it taken to
his house, and by dint of gazing at it and admiring
it he became crazy. All Protestants are more than
half mad. He called it his wife, his lady, and
kissed it, marble as it was. He said that the statue
came to life every evening" for his benefit. So true
was this that one morning they found milord stone
dead in his bed. Well, would you believe it ? there
was another Englishman quite ready to purchase
the statue. Now I would have had it made into
lime."
When once stories of the supernatural arc let
loose there is no stopping them. Everybody con-
tributed his share, and I too took part in this
collection of fearful tales ; to such purpose that
292
The c Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
when we broke up we were all pretty well scared
and full of respect for the devil's power.
I walked back to my lodgings, and, to get into
the Corso, I took a little winding lane, down which
I had not yet been. It was quite deserted. I could
see nothing but long garden walls, or some mean-
looking houses, none of which were lighted up. It
had just struck midnight, and the weather was
threateningly dark. I was in the middle of the
street, walking very quickly, when I heard a slight
noise above my head, a st ! and just at the same
time a rose fell at my feet. I raised my eyes and,
in spite of the darkness, I saw a woman clothed in
white, at a window, with one arm stretched out
towards me. Now we French show to great ad-
vantage in a strange land, for our forefathers, the
conquerors of Europe, have cradled us in the
traditions flattering to national pride. I believed re-
ligiously in the susceptibility of all German, Spanish,
and Italian ladies at the mere look of a Frenchman.
In short, at that period I was still very much of a
Frenchman, and, besides, did not the rose tell its
own tale plainly enough ?
"Madam," I said in a low voice, as I picked up
the rose, " you have dropped your nosegay. ..."
But the lady had already vanished, and the win-
dow had been closed noiselessly. I did what every
other man would have done in my position : I
looked for the nearest door, which was two steps
from the window ; I found it, and I waited to have
it opened for me. Five minutes passed in a pro-
found silence ; then I coughed, then I scratched
softly, but the door did not open. I examined it
293
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
more carefully, hoping to find a lock or latch ; to
my great surprise I found it padlocked.
"The jealous lover has not gone in yet, then,"
I said to myself.
I picked up a small stone and threw it against the
window ; it hit a wooden outside shutter and fell at
my feet.
"The devil!" I thought; "Roman ladies must
be accustomed to lovers who carry ladders in their
pockets ; no one told me of the custom."
I waited a few more moments, but fruitlessly. I
thought once or twice I saw the shutter shake lightly
from the inside, as though someone wanted to draw
it aside to look into the street, but that was all. My
patience was exhausted at the end of a quarter of
an hour. I lit a cigar and went on my way, but
not until I had carefully taken stock of the position
occupied by the padlocked house.
The next day, in thinking over this adventure, I
arrived at the following conclusions : A )'oung
Roman lady, probably a great beauty, had noticed
me in my expeditions about the town, and had been
attracted by my feeble charms. If she had declared
her passion only by the gift of a mysterious flower,
it was because she was restrained by a becoming
sense of modesty, or perhaps she had been dis-
turbed in her plans by the presence of some duenna,
maybe some cursed guardian like Bartolo de Rosina.
I decided to lay siege to the house which was in-
habited by this infanta.
With this fine idea in my head I left my rooms
when I had first given my hair a finishing touch and
had put on my new coat and yellow gloves. In this
294
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
get -up, with my hat tilted over my ear and the
faded rose in my buttonhole, I turned my steps
toward the street whose name I did not yet know,
but which I had no difficulty in discovering". A
notice stuck on a Madonna told me it was called
" II viccola di Madama Lucrezia."
I was struck by this name at once, and recollected
Leonardo da Vinci's portrait, together with the
stories of presentiments and witchcraft that I had
heard the evening before at the Marquise's. Then
I remembered that some matches are made in
heaven. Why should not my love be named
Lucrezia ? Why should she not be like the Lucrezia
of the Aldobrandi collection ?
It was dawn. I was within two steps of a ravish-
ing young lady, and no sinister thoughts mingled
with the emotion I felt.
I came to the house. It was No. 13. What an
unlucky omen ! . . . Alas ! it hardly answered to
the idea of it that I had conceived by night. It was
certainly no palace, whatever else it might be. The
walls surrounding it were blackened with age and
covered with lichen, and behind these were some
fruit trees badly eaten by caterpillars. In one
corner of the inclosure was a pavilion one story
high, with two windows looking on to the street ;
both were closed by old shutters furnished outside
with a number of iron bars. The door was low,
and over it was an old coat of arms almost worn
away ; it was shut, as on the previous night, by a
large padlock which was attached to a chain. Over
the door was a notice written in chalk, which read,
" House to Let or to be Sold."
295
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
However, I had not made a mistake. The houses
were too few for confusion to be possible. It was
indeed my padlock, and, furthermore, two rose
leaves on the pavement, near the door, indicated
the exact spot where I had received the evidences
of love from my well-beloved, and they also proved
that the pavement in front of the house was rarely-
swept.
I asked several poor people in the neighbourhood
if they could tell me where the keeper of this mys-
terious house lived.
"Not anywhere here," they replied curtly.
My question seemed to displease those to whom
I put it ; and this piqued my curiosity still further.
Going" from door to door I finished by going into
a kind of dark cave, where was an old woman, who
might have been suspected of witchcraft, for she
had a black cat, and was cooking some mysterious
decoction in a cauldron.
"You want to see over the house of Madam
Lucrezia? " she said. " I have the key of it."
"All right. Show me over."
"Do you wish to take it?" she asked, smiling
with a dubious air.
" Yes, if it suits me."
" It will not suit you ; but, see, will you give me
a paul if I show it you ? "
" Most willingly."
Upon this assurance she rose slowly from her
stool, unhooked a very rusty key from the wall, and
led me to No. 13.
"Why," I said, "do they call this the house
of Lucrezia ? "
296
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
" Why are you called a foreigner? " retorted the
old woman, chuckling". ''Is it not because you arc
a foreigner ? "
" Certainly. But who was this Madam Lucrezia?
Was she a Roman lady? "
"What! you come to Rome without knowing
Madam Lucrezia ? I will tell you her history when
we are inside. But here is another devilish trick !
I do not know what has come to this key it will
not turn. You try it."
Indeed, the padlock and the key had not seen
each other for a long time. Nevertheless, by means
of three or four oaths and much grinding of my
teeth, I succeeded in turning the lock ; but I tore
my yellow gloves and strained the palm of my hand.
We entered upon a dark passage, which led to
several low rooms.
The curiously decorated ceilings were covered with
cobwebs, under which traces of gilding could dimly
be seen. By the damp smell which pervaded every
room it was evident they had not been occupied for
a long time. There was not a single stick of furni-
ture in them, only some strips of old leather hung
down the saltpetred walls. From the carving of
some consoles and the shape of the chimney-pieces
I concluded that the house dated from the fifteenth
century, and it is probable that at one time it had
been tastefully decorated. The windows had little
square panes of glass, most of which were broken ;
they looked into the garden, where I noticed a rose
tree in flower, some fruit trees, and a quantity
of broccoli.
When I had wandered through all the rooms on
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
the ground floor, I went upstairs to the story from
where I had seen my mysterious being. The old
woman tried to keep me back by telling me there
was nothing to see and that the staircase was
in a very bad state. Seeing I was headstrong, she
followed me, but with marked aversion. The rooms
on this floor were very much like the others, only
they were not so damp, and the floors and windows
also were in a better state. In the last room that I
entered I saw a large armchair covered with black
leather, which, strangely enough, was not covered
with dust. I sat down in it, and finding it comfortable
enough in which to hear a story, I asked the old
woman to tell me the history of Madam Lucrezia ;
but, in order to refresh her memory, I first gave her
a present of several pauls. She cleared her throat,
blew her nose, and began the following story :
" In heathen times, when Alexander was Emperor,
he had a daughter, who was as beautiful as the day.
She was called Madam Lucrezia. Stop there she
is! . . ."
I turned round quickly. The old woman was
pointing to a carved console which upheld the chief
beam of the room. It was a very roughly carved
siren.
" Goodness ! " went on the old woman, " how she
loved to enjoy herself! And, as her father found
fault with her, she had this house built.
" Every night she left the Quirinal and came here
to amuse herself. She stood at that window, and
when a fine cavalier, such as yourself, Monsieur,
passed by in the street, she called to him, and I
leave you to guess if he was well received. But
298
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
most men are chattering magpies, and they could
have done her great harm by their babbling, so she
took care to guard herself. When she had made
her adieu to her lover, her armed attendants filled
the staircase by which we came up. They des-
patched you, and then buried you among the
cabbages ! Yes, many of their bones are found
in the garden !
"This establishment went on for a long time,
but one evening her brother, Sisto Tarquino, passed
under the window. She did not recognise him, and
she called to him. He came up. In the dark all
cats look grey, and he was treated like all the
others. But he had left his handkerchief behind,
and his name was upon it.
"Despair seized her as soon as she saw the
mischief she had done. She immediately unwound
her garter and hung herself from that beam up
there. What an example for young people ! "
While the old woman was thus confusing the
ages, mixing up the Tarquins with the Borgias, I
had my eyes fixed on the flooring. I had discovered
several rose petals still quite fresh, which gave me
plenty to think of.
"Who attends to this garden?" I asked the old
woman.
"My son, Monsieur, gardener to M. Vanozzi,
who has the next garden. M. Vanozzi is always
away in the Maremma ; and he hardly ever comes to
Rome. That is why the garden is not very nicely
kept. My son goes with him, and I am afraid they
will not come back for a very long time," she added,
with a sigh.
299
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
" He is busily employed, then, with M. Vanozzi."
"Oh, he is a queer man busy over too many
things. I am afraid he spends his time in a bad
way. . . . Ah, my poor boy ! "
She took a step towards the door as though she
wanted to change the conversation.
" No one lives here, then?" I resumed, stopping
her.
" Not a single creature."
"And why is that? "
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Listen to me," I said, as I gave her a piastre.
"Tell me the truth. A woman comes here."
" A woman ? Good Lord ! "
" Yes ; I saw her yesterday evening and I spoke
to her."
" Holy Mother ! " cried the old dame, and she
rushed to the staircase; "it must be Madam
Lucrezia ! Let us go ! let us go, Monsieur ! They
certainly told me she walked here by night, but I
did not wish to tell it you for fear of injuring the
landlord, because I thought you wished to rent it."
It was out of the question to keep her there ; she
hurried out of the house, anxious, she said, "to
light a candle in the nearest church."
I went out too, and let her go, hopeless of learn-
ing anything more from her.
You will readily guess that I did not relate my
adventures at the Alclobrandi palace ; the Marquise
was too prudish, and Don Ottavio too much taken
up with politics to be a useful adviser in a love affair.
But I went to my artist friend, who knew Rome from
end to end, and asked him what he thought of it.
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
"I think you have seen the ghost of Lucrezia
Borgia," he said. "What a danger you have run
into ! She was dangerous enough when she was
alive ; imagine how much more she must be now she
is dead ! It makes me shudder to think of it."
" You are surely half joking? "
" So Monsieur is an atheist and a philosopher and
does not believe in the most orthodox explanations.
Very well, then. What do you say to another hypo-
thesis ? Suppose the old woman lets the house to
women who are equal to accosting men who pass by
in the street ; there are old women sufficiently de-
praved to drive such a trade."
"Wonderful," I said. "Then I must look like a
saint, for the old dame never suggested any such
offers. You insult me. Besides, my friend, re-
member the furnishing of the house : a man must
be possessed by the devil to be satisfied with it."
"Then it is a ghost, there can be no doubt about
it. But wait a bit, I have still another idea. You
have mistaken the house ah ! that is it ; near a
garden? With a little low door to it. ... Why,
that is my dear friend Rosina's ! Eighteen months
ago she was the ornament of that street. It is true
she has become blind in one eye, but that is a trifle.
. . . She still has a very lovely profile."
None of these explanations satisfied me. When
evening came I walked slowly past the house of
Lucrezia, but I did not see anything. I went up and
down past it with no further result. Three or four
evenings followed, and I danced attendance under
her windows as I went home from the Aldobrandi
palace, with ever the same want of success. I had
301
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
begun to forget the mysterious occupant of No. 13,
when, passing towards midnight through the lane,
I distinctly heard a woman's light laugh behind the
shutter of the window at which the giver of the
flowers had appeared to me. Twice I heard that
little laugh, and I could not prevent feeling slightly
afraid, when just at that moment I saw come out
at the other end of the street a group of penitents,
closely hooded, with tapers in hand, bearing a corpse
to burial. When they had gone by I took up my
stand once more under the window ; but this time I
did not hear anything. I tried to throw pebbles ; and
I even called out more or less loudly ; but still no one
appeared ; and, a heavy shower coming on, I was
obliged to beat a retreat.
I am ashamed to tell how many times I stood
before that accursed house without succeeding in
solving the riddle that tormented me. Once only
did I pass along the Viccolo di Madama Lucrezia
with Don Ottavio and his ubiquitous Abbe.
" That is the house of Lucrezia," I said.
I saw him change colour.
"Yes," he replied; "a very dubious popular
tradition asserts that Lucrezia Borgia's little house
was here. If those walls could speak, what horrors
they could reveal to us ! Nevertheless, my friend,
when I compare those times with our own I am
seized with regrets. Under Alexander VI. there were
still Romans. Now there are none. Caesar Borgia
was a monster ; but he was a great man. He tried
to turn the barbarians out of Italy ; and perhaps, if
his father had lived, he might have accomplished
his great design. Oh ! if only Heaven would send us
302
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
a tyrant like Borgia to deliver us from these human
despots who are degrading us ! "
When Don Ottavio threw himself into the realms
of politics, it was impossible to stop him. We were
at the Piazza del Popolo before his panegyric in
favour of enlightened despotism was concluded ;
but we were a thousand miles from the subject of
my Lucrezia.
One night, when I was very late in paying my
respects to the Marquise, she told me her son was
unwell, and begged me to go up to his room. I
found him lying on his bed, still dressed, reading a
French journal which I had sent him that morning
concealed between the leaves of a volume of the
Fathers. An edition of the Holy Fathers had for
some time served us for those communications
which he had to conceal from the Abbe and the
Marquise. On the day when the Courier de France
appeared I received a folio Father. I returned
another, in which I slipped a newspaper, lent me
by the Ambassador's secretary. This gave the
Marquise an exalted notion of my piety ; and also
his director, who often wanted to make me discuss
theology with him.
When I had talked for some time with Don
Ottavio, and had noticed that he seemed so much
upset that not even politics could attract his atten-
tion, I recommended him to undress, and I bid him
adieu. It was cold, and I had no coat with me ;
Don Ottavio pressed me to take his, and in accept-
ing it I received a lesson in the difficult art of wearing
a cloak in the proper Roman fashion.
I left the Aldobrandi palace muffled up to the eyes.
303
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
I had gone but few steps on the pavement of the
Square of Saint-Mark when a peasant, whom I had
noticed seated on a bench by the gate of the
palace, came up to me and held out a crumpled
bit of paper.
" Read it, for the love of God ! " he said, and
quickly disappeared, running" at top speed.
I took the paper, and looked round for a light by
which to read it. By the light of a lamp which was
burning before a Madonna I saw it was a pencilled
note, and written apparently in a trembling hand. I
had much difficulty in making out the following
words :
"Do not come to-night, or we are lost! All is
known except your name. Nothing can sever us.
Your LUCREZIA."
" Lucrezia ! " I cried, " Lucrezia again ! What
devilish mystification underlies all this ? ' Do not
come.' But, my good lady, what road must I take
to find you out? "
While I was cogitating over the contents of this
note I mechanically took the road to the Viccolo di
Madama Lucrezia, and soon found myself in front
of No. 13.
The street was deserted as usual, and only the
sound of my footsteps disturbed the profound silence
which reigned all round. I stopped and looked up
at the well-known window. This time I was not
mistaken : the shutter was pushed back and the
window was wide open.
I thought I saw a human shape standing out from
the dark background of the room.
" Lucrezia, is it you? " I said in a low voice.
.54
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
No one answered, but I heard a clicking- noise, the
cause of which I could not at first understand.
"Lucrezia, are you there?" I repeated rather
louder.
At the same instant I received a sharp blow in the
chest, followed by the sound of a report, and down
I went on the pavement.
"Take that from the Signora Lucrezia!" cried
out a hoarse voice, and the shutter was noiselessly
closed.
I soon staggered to my feet, and the first thing
I did was to feel myself all over, as I expected to
find a big hole in my body. The cloak and my coat
were both pierced, but the ball had been blunted
by the folds of the cloth, and I had escaped with
nothing worse than a nasty bruise.
The idea that a second shot might not be long in
coming made me drag myself close up to the side of
this inhospitable house, and I squeezed close to the
walls, so that I could not be seen.
I took myself off as quickly as I could, still pant-
ing, when a man whom I had not noticed behind me
took my arm and asked me anxiously if I were hurt.
By the voice I recognised Don Ottavio. It was
not the moment to question him, however surprised
I was to see him alone and in the street at that time
of night. I told him briefly that I had just been
fired at from a window, but that I was only grazed.
" It is a mistake ! " he cried. " But I hear people
coming. Can you walk ? If we are seen together
I shall be lost ; but I will not abandon you."
He took my arm and led me along at a rapid
pace. We walked, or rather ran, as fast as I could
x 3S
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
manage ; but I was soon obliged to sit down on a
stump to get my breath.
Happily we were by that time not far from a large
house where a ball was being given ; there were
numbers of carriages in front of the door, and
Don Ottavio went to find one, then he put me inside
and conducted me to my hotel. After a good drink
of water I felt quite restored and related to him
minutely all that had happened in front of that fatal
house, from the gift of the rose to that of the
bullet.
He listened with his head bent down, half hidden
behind one of his hands. When I showed him the
note that I had received, he seized it and read it
eagerly.
"It is a mistake! A wretched mistake!" he
exclaimed again.
" You will admit, my dear fellow," I said to him,
" that it is extremely disagreeable for both of us. I
might have been killed, and there are about a dozen
holes in your fine cloak. Good gracious ! how
jealous your fellow-countrymen are ! "
Don Ottavio shook hands with me, looking the
picture of woe, and re-read the note without
answering.
"Do try," I said, "to offer me some explanation
of this affair. Devil take it if I can make any-
thing of it ! "
He shrugged his shoulders.
" At least tell me what I ought to do," I said ;
" to whom I should address my grievances in this
pious town of yours, in order to see justice done
to this gentleman who peppers passers-by without
306
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
even asking them their names. I confess I should
love to see him hanged."
" Be very careful," he cried. " You do not know
this country. Do not say a word to anyone of what
has happened, or you will expose yourself too
much."
"What shall I expose myself to? Damn it!
I mean to have my revenge. If I had offended the
scoundrel there might be some excuse ; but, be-
cause I picked up a rose ... In all conscience,
surely I did not deserve to be shot."
" Let me act in the matter," said Don Ottavio ;
"perhaps I shall succeed in clearing up the mystery.
But I ask you as a special favour, as a sig'nal proof
of your friendship for me, not to mention this to a
single soul. Will you promise me ? "
He looked so sad as he entreated that I had not
the heart to resist him, and I promised him all he
asked. He thanked me effusively, and, when he
had himself applied a compress of eau de Cologne
to my chest, he shook hands and bid me adieu.
" By the way," I asked him, as I opened the door
to let him go out, "tell me how it happened that
you were there just in the nick of time to help me."
"I heard the gunshot," he replied in an em-
barrassed tone, "and I came out at once, fearing
some mischance had happened to you."
He left me hastily, after he had again sworn me to
secrecy.
In the morning a surgeon came to see me, sent
no doubt by Don Ottavio. He prescribed a poul-
tice, but asked no questions about the cause that
had added violet marks to my white skin. People
37
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
are very discreet in Rome, and I desired to conform
to the customs of the country.
Several days passed by without my being- able to
talk freely with Don Ottavio. He was preoccupied
and even more gloomy than usual ; besides, he
seemed to try to avoid my questionings. During
the rare moments that I was alone with him he did
not say a word about the strange inhabitants of the
Viccolo di Madama Lucrezia. The day fixed for the
ceremony of his ordination drew near, and I attri-
buted his melancholy to his repugnance to the pro-
fession he was being forced to adopt.
I prepared to leave Rome for Florence. When I
announced my departure to the Marquise Aldo-
brandi, Don Ottavio made some excuse to take me
up to his room. When we reached it he took both
my hands in his
" My dear friend," he said, " if you will not grant
me the favour I am going to ask you I shall
certainly blow out my brains, for I see no other
way out of my difficulties. I have quite made up
my mind never to wear the wretched dress they
want me to adopt. I want to escape out of this
country. I ask you to take me with you, and to
let me pass as your servant ; it will only need one
word added to your passport to facilitate my flight."
At first I tried to turn him from his design by
speaking of the grief it would cause his mother ;
but, finding his resolution was firmly fixed, I ended
by promising to take him with me, and to have my
passport altered accordingly.
"That is not all," he said. "My departure still
depends on the success of an enterprise on which 1
308
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
am engaged. You must set out the day after to-
morrow ; by then I may have succeeded, and then
I shall be completely at your service."
"Are you so foolish," I asked uneasily, "as to
get yourself entangled in some conspiracy ? "
"No," he replied; "the matter is not quite of
such grave importance as the fate of my country,
but grave enough for my life and happiness to
depend on the success of my undertaking. I can-
not tell you any more now. In a couple of days
you shall know everything."
I had begun to get used to mysteries, so I re-
signed myself to yet another. It was arranged
that we should start at three o'clock in the morning,
and that we should not break our journey until we
reached Tuscan territory.
As I knew it would be useless to go to bed with
such an early start in prospect, I employed the last
evening of my stay in Rome in paying calls at all
the houses where 1 had received hospitality. I
went to take leave of the Marquise, and for form's
sake I shook hands ceremoniously with her son. I
felt his hand tremble in mine.
"At this moment my life is a game of pitch and
toss," he whispered. "You will find a letter at
your hotel from me. If I am not with you punctu-
ally at three o'clock, do not wait for me."
I was struck by the alteration in his features, but
I attributed it to a very natural emotion on his part
at leaving his family possibly for ever.
It was nearly one o'clock when I regained my
lodgings. I felt a desire to walk along the Viccolo
di Madama Lucrezia once more. Something white
39
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
hung from the window which had been the scene
of two such different visions. I approached it
cautiously, and saw that it was a knotted rope.
Was it an invitation to bid farewell to the Signora ?
It looked like it, and the temptation was strong". I
did not yield to it, however, but recollected my
promise to Don Ottavio ; and also, it must be con-
fessed, the disagreeable reception I had brought on
myself some days ago by an act that was nothing
like as bold.
I continued on my way slowly, for I was sorry to
lose the last opportunity of penetrating the mysteries
of No. 13. I turned my head at each step that I
took, expecting every time to see some human being
climb up or descend the cord. Nothing appeared,
and at length I got to the far end of the lane, which
led into the Corso.
" Farewell, Madam Lucrezia," I said, and I took
off my hat to the house which I could still see.
" Find out someone else, I beg you, to help you to
avenge yourself on the jealous lover who keeps you
imprisoned there."
It was striking two o'clock when I entered my
hotel. A carriage loaded with luggage stood wait-
ing in the yard. One of the hotel \vaiters gave me
a letter ; it was from Don Ottavio, and, as it looked
a long one, I thought I had better take it up to my
room to read, so I asked the waiter to light me
upstairs.
"Monsieur," he said, "your servant, whom you
told us was going to travel with you ..."
"Well? Has he come?"
" No, Monsieur ..."
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
" He is at the inn, and will come with the
horses."
''Monsieur, a lady came a little while ago and
asked to speak to your servant. She absolutely
insisted on going" up to your room, Monsieur, and
told me to tell your servant as soon as he came that
Madam Lucrezia was in your room."
"In my room!" I cried, clutching hold of the
bannister rail.
" Yes, Monsieur ; and it looks as though she were
going too, for she gave me a small box to put in
the boot."
My heart beat loudly, and superstitious terror and
curiosity possessed me in turn. I went up the stairs
step by step. When I reached the first landing (my
rooms were on the second floor), the waiter, who
was in front of me, tripped, and the candle which he
held in his hand was extinguished. He begged
pardon profoundly, and went downstairs to relight
it. I still climbed on.
I had my hand on the key of my room, but I hesi-
tated. What fresh vision should I see ? More than
once, in the darkness, the story of the bleeding nun
had returned to me. Was I possessed by a demon,
even as was Don Alonso ? The waiter seemed a
terribly long time in coming.
I opened the door. Heaven have mercy on us !
there was a light in my bedroom. I rapidly crossed
the little sitting-room which came first, and a single
glance sufficed to show me no one was in my bed-
room ; but immediately I heard light steps behind
me, and the rustle of skirts. I believe my hair
stood on end as I turned round suddenly.
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
A woman, dressed in white, her head covered with
a black mantilla, rushed to me with outstretched
arms.
" Here you are at last, my beloved ! " she cried,
as she seized my hands.
Hers were as cold as ice, and her features were
as pale as death. I started back against the
wall.
" Holy Mother ! It is not he ! ... Oh, Monsieur,
are you Don Ottavio's friend ? "
At that name all was made clear. In spite of her
pallor the young lady did not look like a ghost ; she
lowered her eyes, a thing ghosts never do, and held
her hands clasped in a modest attitude before her
girdle, which made me think that my friend Don
Ottavio was not so much of a politician as I had
imagined. In short, it was high time to take
Lucrezia away ; and, unfortunately, the role of
confidant was the only one deputed to me in this
adventure.
A moment after Don Ottavio arrived, disguised.
The horses came too ; and we set off. Lucrezia had
no passport ; but a woman, especially a pretty one,
raises no suspicions. One gendarme, however,
raised difficulties. I told him he was a hero, and
had assuredly served under the great Napoleon. He
acknowledged the fact, and 1 offered him a portrait
of that great man on a golden coin, telling him that
it was my habit to travel with a lady friend to keep
me company ; and that, as I very frequently changed
them, I did not think it any use to put their names
on my passport.
" This one," I added, " leaves me at the next town.
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
I am told that I shall find many others there who
could take her place."
"You would do wrong to change her," said the
gendarme, as he respectfully shut the carriage door.
To tell you the truth, Madam, this rascal of a
Don Ottavio had entered upon terms of friendship
with a lovely young lady. She was the sister of a
certain wealthy planter named Vanozzi, who earned
a bad name for himself for being very stingy, and
carrying on illicit trade. Don Ottavio knew very
well that, even if his family had not intended him
for the Church, they would never have consented to
let him marry a girl so much lower in social position
than himself.
Love is ingenious. The Abbe Negroni's pupil
succeeded in holding a secret correspondence with
his beloved. Every night he escaped from the
Aldobrandi palace, and, as he had not dared to
scale the walls of Vanozzi's house, the two lovers
arranged to meet in Madam Lucrezia's house, which
was protected by its ill-repute. A little door hidden
by a fig tree communicated between the two
gardens. They were young and in love, and
Lucrezia and Ottavio did not complain of the
paucity of furnishing, which consisted, as I think
I have already pointed out, of an old leather-
covered armchair.
One night, when waiting for Don Ottavio,
Lucrezia mistook me for him, and made me the
present which I received in his place. There was
certainly some resemblance between Don Ottavio's
figure and appearance and my own, and some
scandal-mongers, who knew my father in Rome,
The 'Viccolo' of Madam Lucrezia
maintained that there were reasons for this likeness.
In course of time the accursed brother discovered
their meetings ; but his threats did not make Lucrezia
reveal her seducer's name. We know how he took
vengeance and how I was to pay their debt. It is
needless to tell you how the two lovers took steps
respectfully to set themselves free.
To conclude. We all three arrived at Florence.
Don Ottavio married Lucrezia, and they left imme-
diately for Paris. My father gave him as warm a
welcome as I had received at the hands of the
Marquise. He took upon him to bring about a
reconciliation, and after a good deal of trouble he
succeeded. The Marquis Aldobrandi was oppor-
tunely taken with Roman fever and died ; so Ottavio
inherited his title and fortune, and I became god-
father to his firstborn.
2-jth April, 1846.
DJOUMANE
DJOUMANE
ON the 2ist of May, 18 , we returned to
Tlemcen. The expedition had been a fortu-
nate one: we brought back oxen, sheep, goats,
prisoners and hostages.
After a thirty-seven days' campaign, or rather
of incessant hunt, our horses were thin and lean-
ribbed, but their eyes were still lively and full of
fire ; not one was saddle-galled. We men were
bronzed by the sun, our hair was long, our cross-
belts were dirty, and our waistcoats were worn to
threads ; we all presented that appearance of in-
difference to danger and hardship which charac-
terises the true soldier.
What general would not have chosen our light
cavalry for a battle-charge rather than the smartest
of squadrons all decked out in new clothes?
Since morning I had thought of all the little
pleasures that awaited me.
Now I should sleep in my iron bedstead, after
having slept for thirty-seven nights on a square of
oilcloth. I should sit on a chair to take my dinner,
and should have as much soft bread and salt as I
liked. Next I wondered to myself whether Made-
moiselle Coucha would wear a pomegranate flower
or jessamine in her hair, and if she had kept the
oumane
vows made when I left ; but, faithful or inconstant,
I knew she could reckon on the great depth of
tenderness that a man brings home from the wilds.
There was not anyone in our squadron who had
not made plans for the evening.
The colonel received us in a most fatherly manner,
and even told us he was satisfied with us ; then he
took our commanding officer aside and for five
minutes, and in low tones, communicated to him
some not very agreeable intelligence, so far as we
could judge from their expressions.
We noticed the movements of the colonel's mous-
taches, which rose up to his eyebrows, whilst those
of the commandant fell, piteously out of curl, almost
on to his breast. A young trooper, whom I pretended
not to hear, maintained that the commandant's nose
stretched as far as one could see ; but very soon ours
lengthened too, for the commandant came to tell us
to " Go and feed your horses, and be ready to set off
at sunset ! The officers will dine with the colonel
at five o'clock, in the open ; the horses must be
mounted after the coffee. ... Is it possible that
you are not pleased at this, gentlemen? ..."
It did not suit us, and we saluted in silence,
inwardly sending him to all the devils we could
think of, and the colonel into the bargain.
We had very little time in which to make our
small preparations. I hurried to change my dress,
and, when I had done this, I was wise enough not
to sit in my easy-chair, for fear I should fall asleep.
At five o'clock I went to the colonel's. He lived
in a large Moorish house. I found the open court
filled with French and natives, all crowding round a
oumane
band of pilgrims or mountebanks who had come
from the South.
An old man conducted the performance ; he was
as ugly as a monkey and half naked, under his
burnous, which was full of holes. His skin was the
colour of chocolate made of water ; he was tattooed
all over with scars ; his hair was frizzy and so matted
that from a distance one might have thought he
had a bearskin cap on his head ; and his beard was
white and bristly.
He was reputed to be a great saint and a great
wizard.
In front of him an orchestra, composed of two
flutes and three tambourines, made an infernal din,
worthy of the performance about to be played. He
said that he had received complete sway over demons
and wild beasts from a famous Mahomedan priest,
and, after some compliments addressed to the
colonel and the elite audience, he went off into a
sort of prayer or incantation, accompanied by his
orchestra, whilst the actors danced to his command,
turned on one foot, and struck their breasts heavy
blows with their fists.
Meanwhile the tambourines and flutes increased
their din and played faster and faster.
When exhaustion and giddiness had made these
people lose what few brains they had, the chief
sorcerer drew several scorpions and serpents from
some baskets round him, and, after showing that
they were full of life, he threw them to his jesters,
who fell upon them like dogs on a bone, and tore
them to pieces with their teeth, if you please !
We looked down on this extraordinary spectacle
oumane
from a high gallery ; no doubt the colonel treated
us to it to give us a good appetite for our dinner. As
for myself, I turned my eyes away from these beasts,
who disgusted me, and amused myself by staring at
a pretty girl of thirteen or fourteen years of age, who
had threaded through the crowd to get nearer to
the performance.
She had the most beautiful eyes imaginable, and
her hair fell on her shoulders in fine tresses ; these
ended in small pieces of silver, which made a
tinkling sound as she moved her head gracefully
about. She was dressed with more taste than most
of the girls of that country ; she had a kerchief of
silk and gold on her head, a bodice of embroidered
velvet, and short pantaloons of blue satin, showing
her bare legs encircled with silver anklets. There
was not a vestige of a veil over her face. Was she
a Jewess or a heathen? or did she perhaps belong to
those wandering tribes of unknown origin who never
trouble themselves with religious prejudice?
Whilst I followed her every movement with so
much interest, she had arrived at the first row of the
circle w r here the fanatics carried on their exercises.
While she was trying to get still nearer she
knocked over a narrow-bottomed basket that had
not been opened. Almost at the same time the
sorcerer and the child both uttered a terrible cry,
and there was a great commotion in the ring, every-
one recoiling' with horror.
A very big snake had escaped from the basket and
the little girl had trodden on it. In an instant the
reptile had curled itself round her leg and I saw
several drops of blood onxe from under the ring that
oumane
she wore round her ankle. She fell down back-
wards, crying, and grinding her teeth, while her lips
were covered with a white foam, and she rolled in
the dust.
" Run ! run, doctor ! " I cried out to our surgeon-
major; " for the love of Heaven save the poor child."
"Greenhorn!" the major replied, shrugging his
shoulders. "Do you not see that it is part of the
programme ? Moreover, my trade is to cut off your
arms and legs. It is the business of my confrere
down below there to cure girls who are bitten by
snakes."
In the meantime the old wizard had run up, and
his first care was to possess himself of the snake.
" Djoumane ! Djoumane ! " he said to it in a tone
of friendly reproach. The serpent uncoiled itself,
quitted its prey, and started to crawl away. The
sorcerer nimbly seized it by the end of its tail, and,
holding it at arm's length, he went round the circle
exhibiting- the reptile, which bit and hissed without
being able to stand erect.
You know that a snake held by his tail does not
know in the least what to do with himself. He can
only raise himself a quarter of his length, and can-
not therefore bite the hand of the person who seizes
him.
The next minute the serpent was put back in his
basket and the lid firmly tied down. The magician
then turned his attention to the little girl, who
shrieked and kicked about all the time. He put a
pinch of white powder, which he drew from his
girdle, on the wound, and whispered an incantation
in the child's ear, with unexpected results. The
oumane
convulsions ceased ; the little girl wiped her mouth,
picked up her silk handkerchief, shook the dust off
it, put it on her head again, rose up, and soon after
went away.
Shortly after she came up to our gallery to
collect money, and we fastened on her forehead
and shoulders many fifty-centime coins.
This ended the performance, and we sat down to
dinner.
I was very hungry, and was preparing to do
justice to a splendid Tartary eel, when our doctor,
by whom I sat, said that he recognised the snake of
the preceding moment. That made it quite im-
possible for me to touch a mouthful.
After first making great fun of my fastidiousness
the doctor annexed my share of the eel, and declared
that snake tasted delicious.
"Those brutes you saw just now," he said to me,
"are connoisseurs. They live in taverns with their
serpents as the Troglodytes do ; their girls are
pretty witness the little girl in blue knickerbockers.
No one knows what their religion is, but they are
a cunning lot, and I should like to make the ac-
quaintance of their sheik."
We learnt during dinner why we were to re-
commence the campaign. Sidi-Lala, hotly pursued
by Colonel R , was trying to reach the mountains
of Morocco.
There was choice of two routes : one to the south
of Tlemcen, fording the Moula'fa, at the only place
not rendered inaccessible by rocks ; the other by the
plain, to the north of our cantonment, where we should
find our colonel and the bulk of the regiment.
322
oumane
Our squadron was ordered to stop him at the
river crossing if he attempted it, but this was
scarcely likely.
You know that the Moulai'a flows between two
walls of rock, and there is but a single point like a
kind of very narrow breach, where horses can ford
it. I knew the place well, and I did not understand
why a blockhouse had not been raised there before.
At all events, the colonel had every chance of en-
countering the enemy, and we of making a useless
journey.
Before the conclusion of dinner several orderlies
from Maghzen had brought despatches from Colonel
R . The enemy had made a stand, and seemed
to want to fight. They had lost time. Colonel
R 's infantry had come up and routed them.
But where had they escaped to? We knew no-
thing at all, and must decide which of the two
routes to take. I have not mentioned the last
resource that could be taken, viz. to drive them
into the desert, where his herds and camp would
very soon die of hunger and thirst. Signals were
agreed upon to warn us of the enemy's move-
ments.
Three cannon-shots from Tlemcen would tell us
that Sidi-Lala was visible in the plain, and we
should carry rockets with us in case we had to let
them know that we needed reinforcements. In all
probability the enemy could not show itself before
daybreak, and our two columns had several hours'
start. Night had fallen by the time we got to horse.
I commanded the advance guard platoon. I felt
tired and cold ; I put on my cloak, turned up the
323
oumane
collar, thrust my feet far into my stirrups, and rode
quietly to my mare's long-striding walk, listening
absently to quartermaster W T agner's stories about
his love affairs, which unluckily ended by the flight
of an infidel, who had run off with not only his heart,
but a silver watch and a pair of new boots. I had
heard this history before, and it appeared even
longer than usual.
The moon rose as we started on our way. The
sky was clear, but a light, white mist had come up
since sundown, and skimmed the ground, which
looked as though it were covered with down. On
this white background, the moon threw long
shadows, and everything took on a fantastic air.
Very soon I thought I saw Arab mounted sentries.
As I came nearer I found they were tamarisks in
flower. Presently I stopped short, for I thought I
heard the cannon-shot signal. Wagner told me it
was the sound of a horse galloping.
We reached the fort and the commandant made
his preparations.
The place was very easy to defend, and our
squadron would have been sufficient to hold back a
considerable force. Complete solitude reigned on
the other side of the river.
After a pretty long wait, we heard the gallop of a
horse, and soon an Arab came in sight mounted on
a magnificent animal and riding towards us. By
his straw hat crowned with ostrich plumes, and by
his embroidered saddle from which hung a gcbira
ornamented with coral and chased with gold flowers,
we recognised that he was a chief ; our guide told
us it was Sidi-Lala himself. He was a fine-looking
324
Djoumane
and well-built young man, who managed his horse
admirably. He put it at a gallop, threw his long
gun up in the air and caught it again, shouting at
us unintelligible terms of defiance.
The days of chivalry are over, and Wagner called
for a gun to take the marabout down a peg, as he
called it ; but I objected, yet, so that it should not
be said that the French refused to fight at close
quarters with an Arab, I asked the commandant for
leave to go through the ford and cross swords with
Sidi-Lala. Permission was granted me, and I was
soon over the river where the enemy's chief was
trotting a little way off, and taking stock of things.
Directly he saw I was across he ran upon me and
aimed with his gun.
" Take care ! " cried Wagner.
I am rarely afraid of a horseman's shot, and,
after the tricks he had just played with it, I thought
that Sidi-Lala's gun could not be in a condition to
fire. And in fact he pulled the trigger when he was
only three paces from me, but the gun missed fire,
as I had expected. Soon he turned his horse round
so rapidly that instead of planting my sabre in his
breast I only caught his floating burnous.
But I pressed him close, keeping him always on
my right and beating him back, whether he was
willing or not, towards the steep declivities which
edged the river. He tried in vain to turn aside, but
I pressed him closer and closer. After several mo-
ments of frantic effort, suddenly I saw his horse rear
and the rider drew rein with both hands. Without
stopping to ask myself why he made such a strange
movement I was on him like a shot, and I pierced
325
oumane
him with my blade, right in the centre of his back,
my horse's hoof striking his left thigh at the same
time. Man and horse disappeared, and my mare
and I fell after them.
Without perceiving it we had reached the edge of
a precipice and were hurled over it. ... While I
was yet in the air so rapid is thought ! I remem-
bered that the body of the Arab would break my
fall. I could distinctly see under me a white bur-
nous with a large red patch on it, and I should fall
on it, head or tail.
It was not such a terrible leap as I feared, thanks
to the water being high ; I went in over head and
ears and sputtered for an instant quite stunned, and
I do not know quite how I found myself standing in
the middle of the tall reeds at the river's edge.
I knew nothing of what had become of Sidi-Lala
and the horses. I was dripping and shivering in
the mud, between two walls of rock. I took a few
steps forward, hoping to find a place where the
declivity was less steep ; but the further I advanced
the more abrupt and inaccessible it looked.
Suddenly I heard above my head the sound of
horses' hoofs and the jangling of sabres against
stirrups and spurs ; it was evidently our squadron.
I wanted to cry out, but not a sound would come
out of my throat ; I must in my fall have broken in
my ribs.
Imagine the situation I was in. I heard the
voices of our men and recognised them, and I
could not call them to my aid.
"If he had let me do that," old Wagner was
saying, "he would have lived to be made colonel."
326
ouman e
The sound soon lessened and died away, and I
heard it no more.
Above my head hung a great branch, and I hoped
by seizing this to hoist myself up above the banks of
the river. With a desperate effort I sprang up, and
. . . crack ! . . . the branch twisted and escaped
from my hands with a frightful hissing. ... It was
an enormous snake. . . .
I fell back into the water ; the serpent glided
between my legs and shot into the river, where it
seemed to leave a trail of fire. . . .
A moment later I had regained my sang-froid,
and the fire-light had not disappeared : it still
trembled on the water. I saw it was the reflection
from a torch. A score of steps from me a woman
was filling a pitcher at the river with one hand, and
in the other she held a lighted piece of resined wood.
She had no idea I was there ; she placed the pitcher
coolly upon her head and, torch in hand, disappeared
among the rushes. I followed her and found I was
at the entrance to a cave.
The woman advanced very quietly and mounted a
very steep incline ; it was a sort of staircase cut out
of the face of an immense hall. By the torchlight I
saw the threshold of this great hall, which did not
quite reach the level of the river ; but I could not
judge of its full extent. Without quite knowing
what I did, I entered the slope after the young
woman who carried the torch, and followed her at a
distance. Now and again her light disappeared
behind some cavity of the rocks, but I soon found
her again.
I thought I could make out, too, the gloomy
327
oumane
openings of great galleries leading into the principal
room. It looked like a subterranean town with
streets and squares. I stopped short, deeming it
dangerous to venture alone into that vast labyrinth.
Suddenly one of the galleries below me was lit up
brilliantly, and I saw a great number of torches,
which appeared to come out of the sides of the rocks
as though they formed a great procession. At the
same time a monotonous chanting rose up, which
recalled the singing of the Arabs as they recited
their prayers. Soon I could distinguish a vast multi-
tude advancing- slowly. At their head stepped a
black man, almost naked, his head covered with an
enormous mass of stubbly hair. His white beard
fell on his breast, and contrasted with the brown
colour of his chest, which was gashed with bluish-
tinted tattooing. I quickly recognised the sorcerer
of the previous evening, and, soon after, saw the
little girl near him who had played the part of
Eurydice, with her fine eyes, and her silk pantaloons,
and the embroidered handkerchief on her head.
Women and children and men of all ages followed
them, all holding torches, all dressed in strange
costumes of vivid colour, with trailing skirts and
high caps, some made of metal, which reflected the
light from the torches on all sides.
The old sorcerer stopped exactly below me, and
the whole procession with him. The silence was
profound. I w r as twenty feet above him, protected
by great stones, from behind which I hoped to see
everything without being perceived. At the feet of
the old man I noticed a large slab of stone, almost
round, with an iron ring in the centre.
328
oumane
He pronounced some words in a tongue unknown
to me, which I felt sure was neither Arabic nor
Kabylic. A rope and pulleys, hung from somewhere,
fell at his feet ; several of the assistants attached it
to the ring, and at a given signal twenty stalwart
arms all pulled at the stone simultaneously. It
seemed of great weight, but they raised it and put it
to one side.
I then saw what looked like the opening down a
well, the water of which was at least a yard from
the top. Water, did I say? I do not know what
the frightful liquid was ; it was covered over with an
iridescent film, disturbed and broken in places, and
showing a hideous black mud beneath.
The sorcerer stood in the midst of the gathered
crowd, near the kerbstone which surrounded the
well, his left hand on the little girl's head ; with his
right he made strange gestures, whilst uttering a
kind of incantation.
From time to time he raised his voice as though
he were calling someone. ' ' Djoumane ! Djoumane ! "
he cried ; but no one came. None the less he went
on making raucous cries which did not seem to come
from a human throat, and rolled his eyes and ground
his teeth. The mummeries of this old rascal in-
censed and filled me with indignation ; I felt tempted
to hurl a stone at his head that I had ready to hand.
When he had yelled the name of Djoumane for the
thirtieth time or more, I saw the iridescent film over
the well shake, and at this sign the whole crowd
flung itself back ; the old man and the little girl
alone remained by the side of the hole.
Suddenly there was a great bubbling of the bluish
329
Djoumane
mud from the well, and out of this mud came the
head of an enormous snake, of livid grey colour,
with phosphorescent eyes. . . .
Involuntarily I leapt backwards. I heard a little
cry and the sound of some heavy body falling into
the water. . . .
When perhaps a tenth of a second later I again
looked below, I saw the sorcerer stood alone by
the well-side ; the water was still bubbling, and
in the middle of what remained of the iridescent
scum there floated the kerchief which had covered
the little girl's hair. . . .
Already the stone was being moved, and it glided
into its place over the aperture of the horrible gulf.
Then all the torches were simultaneously extin-
guished, and I remained in darkness in the midst
of such a profound silence that I could distinctly
hear my o\vn heart beat. . . .
When I had recovered a little from this ghastly
scene I wanted to quit the cavern, vowing that if I
succeeded in rejoining my comrades, I would return
to exterminate the abominable denizens of those
quarters, men and serpents.
But the pressing question was how to find my
way out. I had come, I believed, a hundred feet
into the cave, keeping the rock wall on my right.
I turned half round, but saw no light which might
indicate the entrance to the cavern ; furthermore, it
did not extend in a straight line, and, besides, I had
climbed up all the time from the river's edge. I
groped along the rock with my left hand, and
sounded the ground with the sword which I held
in my right, advancing slowly and cautiously. For
330
oumane
a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes . . .
possibly for half an hour, 1 walked without being
able to find the way I came in.
I was seized with apprehension. Had I entered
unconsciously some side gallery instead of returning
the way I had at first taken ? . . .
I went on all the time groping along the rock,
when in place of the cold stone I felt a curtain,
which yielded to my touch and let out a ray of light.
Redoubling my precaution, I drew the curtain noise-
lessly aside and found myself in a little passage
which led to a well-lighted room. The door was
open, and I saw that the room was hung with silk
tapestry, embroidered with flowers and gold. I
noticed a Turkey carpet and the end of a velvet-
covered divan. On the carpet was a narghile of
silver and several perfume-burners. In short, it
was an apartment sumptuously furnished in Arabian
taste.
I approached with stealthy tread till I reached the
door ; a young woman squatted on the divan, and
near her was a little low table of inlaid wood, which
held a large silver-gilt tray full of cups and flagons
and bouquets of flowers.
On entering this subterranean boudoir I felt quite
intoxicated by the most exquisite perfume.
Everything in this retreat breathed voluptuous-
ness ; on every side I saw the glitter of gold and
sumptuous materials, and varied colourings and
rare flowers. The young woman did not notice me
at first ; she held her head down and fingered the
yellow amber beads of a long necklace, absorbed
in meditation. She was divinely beautiful. Her
oumane
features were like those of the unfortunate child I
had seen below, but more finely formed, more
regular and more voluptuous. She was as black
as a raven's wing, and her hair was
" Long as are the robes of a king.''
It fell over her shoulders to the divan and almost to
the carpet under her feet. A gown of transparent
silk in broad stripes showed her splendid arms and
neck. A bodice of velvet braided with gold en-
closed her figure, and her short blue satin knicker-
bockers revealed a marvellously tiny foot, from
which hung a gold-worked Turkish slipper which
she danced up and down gracefully and whimsically.
My boots creaked, and she raised her head and
saw me.
Without being disturbed or showing the least
surprise at seeing a stranger with a sword in his
hand in her room, she clapped her hands gleefully
and beckoned me to come nearer. I saluted her by
placing my hand first on my heart and then on my
head to show her I was acquainted with Mahomedan
etiquette. She smiled, and with both hands she
put aside her hair which covered the divan this
was to tell me to take a seat by her side. I thought
all the spices of Araby pervaded those beautiful
locks.
I modestly seated myself at the extreme end of
the divan, inwardly vowing I would very soon go
much nearer to her. She took a cup from the tray,
and holding it by the filigree saucer, she poured
out some frothed coffee, and after touching it lightly
with her lips she offered it to me.
332
Djoumane
"Ah, Roumi ! Roumi ! . . ." she said. <( Shall we
not kill the vermin, lieutenant? ..."
At these words I opened my eyes as wide as a
carriage entrance. This young- lady had enormous
moustaches, and was the living image of Quarter-
master Wagner. . . . And it was indeed Wagner
who stood over me with a cup of coffee, whilst,
pillowed on my horse's neck, I stared at him
wildly.
" It appears we have pionce, all the same, lieu-
tenant. We are at the ford, and the coffee is
boiling-."
THE EXD
PLYMOUTH
WILLIAM URENDON AND SON
PRINTERS
French Novels of the Nineteenth Century
i
Salammbo
By GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
Translated by J. W. MATTHEWS.
With an Introduction by ARTHUR SYMONS.
SOME PRESS OPINIONS.
" In its new form ' Salammbo ' has the advantage of a compe-
tent translation, and that in itself is a rare assistance."
The Daily Chronicle.
" Mr. Symons's Introduction is full of insight and suggestion, and
prepares the reader for the accurate and well-written translation of
Flaubert's great romance. Translation is usually ill-paid and ill-done,
but Mr. Matthews has done his work with such careful thoroughness
that the book reads like an original work." The Daily News.
"It has been admirably rendered into vigorous English."
The Scotsman.
" May be unreservedly commended both for mechanical produc-
tion and the excellence of the translation." The Daily Mail.
"Ought to be very popular. The translation is admirable."
The Star.
" There is a serious effort to render not only the meaning but the
colour and rhythms of the French." Manchester Guardian.
" Mr. Matthews has translated ' Salammbo ' as well, perhaps, as it
could be translated into English." The Illustrated London News.
" The translation is exceedingly well done, and the volumes will
form the foundation for a representative library of modern French
writers done into English." The Sheffield Independent.
" To those who cannot read it in the original it could not be pre-
sented in a more adequate version than the present one. It is not
only faithful, but is fluent, and the correctness of the diction shows
that Mr. Matthews has never allowed himself to forget that he was
translating the work of a writer whose respect for the mot propre
was one of his strongest literary sentiments." The Glasgow Herald .
"The translation has been excellently accomplished, and the
Introduction is written with knowledge and taste."
The Dundee Advertiser.
" The series will redound to the credit of the publisher. Charm-
ingly bound, admirably printed, supplied with a speaking likeness of
its author, and most cleverly translated." The Liverpool Mercury,
LONDON : GRANT RICHARDS
French Novels of the Nineteenth Century
ii
The Latin Quarter
By HENRY MURGER
Translated by ELLEN MARRIAGE and JOHN SELWYN.
With an Introduction by ARTHUR SYMONS.
SOME PRESS OPINIONS.
" The translators have entered fully into Murger's spirit, and have
a good command of idiom." The Athencnim.
" It may be said that the present translators have done their work
well. The book should be welcome and popular."
The Pall Mall Gazette.
"A good translation of a most readable book,'' The Outlook.
"The work of translation has been done excellently, and the
book has been rendered more valuable by the finely-written and
just appreciation which Mr. Arthur Symons has contributed."
The Ladies' Field.
"A translation of considerable merit. . . . The Introduction by
Mr. Arthur Symons is brilliantly written. . . . The translators . . .
deserve no little praise." The World.
" Mr. Arthur Symons has furnished a charmingly-written and
adequate Introduction. . . . The translation is very successful, and
if anyone who cannot read French wishes to read these idylls of
love and poverty and art, they cannot do better than read them in
this form." The Manchester Guardian.
" The translation is well done, the difficult art of transferring jests
from one language to another being possessed in no common degree
by the two interpreters of this volume." The Yorkshire Daily Post.
" The present version . . . ought to find many appreciative readers.
If it does not the fault will not lie with the translators. They have
performed their task with irreproachable fidelity and with practised
skill." The Glasgow Herald.
"This is an admirable translation." The Scotsman.
LONDON : GRANT RICHARDS
UUSUUIHbHNHtUIUNALLIBHAHY hAULIIY
AA 000003418 1
