Kitobni o'qish: «Avarice - Anger: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins», sahifa 15

CHAPTER VII.
HOME PLEASURES

Several days have passed since the traveller fell into the trap Captain Russell and his companion had set for him, and we must beg the reader to accompany us to a pretty cottage in the little village of Lionville, about four miles from Havre.

A bracing and salubrious climate, a country which is at the same time fertile and picturesque, fine trees, luxuriant turf, and a superb view of the ocean, make Lionville a veritable paradise to persons who love peace and quiet and opportunities for solitary meditation.

At that time, as in many other towns and villages, great and small, the absence of young men was particularly noticeable, the last wars of the Empire having summoned to the defence of the flag nearly all who were young and able-bodied, until a young man of twenty-five who had remained a civilian, unless he was a hunchback, or crippled, was almost as rare a phenomenon as the phoenix or a white crow.

Lionville possessed one of these rarities in the shape of a handsome young man not over twenty-four years of age, but we must make haste to say that he did not seem in the least inclined to take advantage of his position, for he led a very retired life, quite as much from preference as from any other reason.

This young man was one of the inmates of the pleasant, cheerful home to which we have already alluded, and several days after the traveller had been victimised by the pretended postilion a middle-aged woman, a young girl, and this young man (the phœnix referred to) were assembled one evening in a pretty, comfortably furnished drawing-room. A good fire was blazing on the hearth, for the evenings were still cool, and a shaded lamp diffused a soft light through the apartment, while the tea-kettle, standing in front of the fire, bubbled softly.

A close observer would perhaps have noticed that most of the ornaments and articles of luxury were of English origin, in spite of the stern prohibition against the importation of English goods which then prevailed on the continent. The same might be said of the handsome silver tea-service, no two pieces of which were alike, however, a ducal coronet surmounting the massive hot-water urn and a knight's crest adorning the teapot, while an unpretending initial was engraved upon the sugar-bowl, though it was none the less brilliant on that account.

The middle-aged woman had a frank, intelligent, cheerful face. She was at least forty-two years old, but her hair was still black, her complexion fresh, her teeth white, and her eyes bright; in short, this worthy dame still attracted plenty of admiring glances when, arrayed in a handsome bonnet of English lace, a gown of English tissue, and a Paisley shawl of the finest texture, she accompanied her youthful charge to the village church.

The young girl in question was seventeen, tall, slender, extremely delicate in appearance, and endowed or rather afflicted with an extremely nervous and impressionable temperament. This extreme sensibility or susceptibility was at least partially due to, or perhaps we should say, had been greatly aggravated by a terrible event which occurred many years before, and which had had the effect of rendering her excessively timid. It would be difficult to find a more pleasing and attractive face than hers, however, and when, yielding to the uncontrollable fear which the most trivial incident sometimes excited, she arched her slender neck, and listened pantingly, breathlessly, with her graceful attitude and large wondering, frightened eyes, she reminded one of a startled gazelle. By reason of this nervous and extremely sensitive temperament, probably, the young girl had not the brilliant colouring of sturdy health, but was usually very pale, though every passing emotion brought a delicate rose tint to her cheek, and then her charming face, framed in a wealth of bright chestnut hair, seemed radiant with the glowing beauty of youth. True, with a more vivid colouring and fuller contour, she might have been much more attractive to many persons, but much of the charm of her expressive features and delicate loveliness would have been lost.

The last of the three persons assembled in the cosy parlour was the phœnix to whom allusion has been made, that is to say, a handsome young man who had not been summoned to the defence of the flag.

This phœnix was twenty-five years old, of medium height, slender, but admirably formed, with a frank expression and regular features, though a tinge of slightly deprecating embarrassment was apparent both in his face and manner, the result of the infirmity which had exempted him from military service. In short, the young man's sight was very poor, so poor, indeed, that he could scarcely see to move about; besides, by reason of some organic peculiarity, he could derive no assistance from glasses, and though his large brown eyes were clear and well-shaped, there was something vague and uncertain in their gaze, and sometimes when the poor myope, after having turned quickly, as if to look at you, remembered, alas! with bitter sadness, that three yards from him every person and object became unrecognisable, the expression of his face was almost heartrending.

Still, it must be admitted that the consequences of the young man's infirmity were sometimes so amusing as to excite mirth rather than compassion; and it is needless to say that the middle-aged lady was keenly alive to all that was ludicrous in her youthful relative's blunders — for the relationship existing between them was that of nephew and aunt, — while the young girl, on the contrary, seemed to sympathise deeply with the oftentimes painful position of the half-blind man.

The young girl was embroidering, and her governess or housekeeper knitting, while the young man, with the last issue of the Journal of the Empire held close to his eyes, was reading the latest news aloud, and informing his readers of the Duc de Reggio's departure to take command of the army.

The housekeeper, hearing a brisk bubbling sound accompanied with several little jets of steam from the kettle, said to her nephew:

"The water is boiling, Onésime. Pour some into the urn, but pray be careful."

Onésime laid his paper on the table, rose, and started toward the hearth with dire misgivings which were more than justified. He knew, alas! that his path was full of snares and pitfalls, for there was an armchair standing on his left to be avoided, then a small round table to the right of him, and this Scylla and Charybdis avoided, he had to step over a small footstool near the hearth before he could seize the boiling kettle. Consequently, one can easily understand the extreme prudence with which Onésime started on his mission. One outstretched hand warning him of the close proximity of the armchair on his left, he avoided that obstacle, but he was almost on the point of running against the table before his other hand discovered danger of a second shipwreck, and he was inwardly rejoicing at having reached the fireplace without mishap, when he stumbled over the footstool. In his efforts to regain his equilibrium he took a step or two backwards, and, coming in violent contact with the table, overturned it with a loud crash.

For several minutes the young girl had been absorbed in a profound reverie. Rudely awakened from it by the noise made by the falling table, ignorant of the cause of the commotion, and unable to overcome her fear, she uttered a cry of terror and sank back in her chair, trembling like a leaf.

"Don't be frightened, my dear," cried the housekeeper. "It is another of Onésime's escapades, that is all. Calm yourself, my child."

The young girl, on discovering the cause of the commotion, deeply regretted having increased her unfortunate friend's embarrassment, so, striving to overcome the nervous trembling that had seized her, she said:

"Forgive me, my dear friend. How silly I am, but you know I never seem to be able to conquer this absurd nervousness."

"Poor child, it is no fault of yours! Are you not the one who suffers most from it? Surely there is no necessity for apologising to us, especially as but for my nephew's awkwardness — "

"No, no, I am the culprit," interrupted the young girl. "To be so childish at my age is disgraceful."

The unfortunate young man, distressed beyond measure at his mishap, stammered a few incoherent words of apology, then set the table on its feet again, shoved the footstool aside, and, seizing the tea-kettle, started to pour the water into the urn, when his aunt exclaimed:

"Don't attempt that, for Heaven's sake! You are so awkward, you will be sure to make a mess of it."

Onésime, deeply mortified and anxious to atone for his former blunder, persisted, nevertheless, and, lifting the cover of the urn, began to pour the water from the kettle with his right hand, while his left rested on the edge of the table. But unfortunately his eyes played him false as usual, and he began pouring the contents of the tea-kettle down one side of the urn, instead of into the opening, covering his left hand with boiling water and burning it frightfully.

He manifested a truly heroic stoicism, however. But for the slight start caused by the sudden and intense suffering, he gave no sign, and, conscious now of the mistake he had made, finally managed to fill the urn, after which he said, gently:

"The urn is filled, aunt. Shall I make the tea? Mademoiselle will take a cup, perhaps."

"What! you have actually filled the urn without any fresh catastrophe? You really ought to have a leather medal, my dear," laughed his aunt.

"Don't pay any attention to what she says, M. Onésime," interposed the young girl. "Your aunt takes such delight in teasing you that I feel it my duty to come to your assistance. And now will you be kind enough to give me a cup of tea?"

"No, no, don't you dare to think of such a thing!" exclaimed the housekeeper, laughing. "You will be sure to break one of these pretty pink and white cups monsieur brought us the last time he came home."

But Onésime gave the lie to his aunt's gloomy prognostications, by bringing the cup of tea to the young girl without spilling a drop, and was rewarded by a gentle "Thank you, M. Onésime," accompanied with her sweetest smile. But the sad, almost imploring expression in the young man's eyes, as he turned toward her, touched her deeply.

"Alas!" she said to herself, "he does not even see that I am smiling at him. He always seems to be asking you to have patience with his infirmity."

This thought grieved her so much that the older woman noticed the fact, and asked:

"What is the matter, my child? You look sad."

Hearing his aunt's words, Onésime turned anxiously to the young girl, as if trying to read the expression of her face, while she, embarrassed by the housekeeper's remark, answered:

"You are mistaken, I am not in the least sad; but just now when you spoke of my father it reminded me that he ought to have reached home several days ago."

"Surely you are not going to torment yourself about that, my child. Is this the first time your father has failed to arrive at the appointed time?"

"It worries me, nevertheless."

"Dear me! There isn't the slightest doubt that business has detained him. Do you suppose that a man who acts as the business agent of a number of big factories can tell the exact hour at which he will be able to return home? An opportunity to make a large sale sometimes presents itself just as he is about to start, and he is obliged to remain. Only a couple of months ago, just before he went away, he said to me: 'I am determined my daughter shall be rich. A couple more trips like the last, and I will never leave the dear child again.'"

"Heaven grant that time may soon come," sighed the girl. "I should be tranquil and happy if my kind and loving father were always with me. You are tormented by so many fears when one you love is absent from you."

"Fears! fears about what, I should like to know! What risk can a quiet merchant like monsieur run? A merchant who doesn't meddle with other people's affairs, but travels about from town to town in a post-chaise, to sell his goods. What risk does a man like that run? Besides, he travels only in the daytime, and always has his clerk with him, and you know he would go through fire and water for your father, though he really does seem to be the most unfortunate of mortals."

"That is true. Poor man! some accident seems to befall him every time he travels with my father."

"Yes, and why? Simply because he is the most meddlesome old creature that ever lived, and the awkwardest. Still, that doesn't prevent him from being a great protection to monsieur if any one should attempt to molest him. So what have you to fear, my child?"

"Nothing."

"Think how you would feel if you had a father in the army as so many girls have."

"I could never stand such a terrible strain as that. Why, to be always thinking that my father was exposed to danger, to death, — why, the mere idea of such a thing is appalling."

"Yes, my poor child, the mere idea of such a thing makes you as pale as a ghost, and sets you to trembling like a leaf. It does not surprise me, though, for I know how devoted you are to your father. But drive these dreadful thoughts from your mind, and, by the way, suppose Onésime finishes reading the paper to us."

"Certainly, if M. Onésime is not too tired."

"No, mademoiselle," replied the young man, making almost superhuman efforts to conceal his suffering, which was becoming more and more intolerable.

And getting the paper as close to his eyes as possible, he was preparing to resume the reading, when he remarked:

"I think this is an article which is likely to interest mademoiselle."

"What is it about?"

"It describes the exploits of that famous Dieppe privateer, of whom everybody is talking."

"I fear the article will be too exciting for you to-day, my dear, you seem to be so nervous," remarked the housekeeper.

"Is it such a very blood-curdling story, M. Onésime?" inquired the girl, smiling.

"I think not, mademoiselle, judging from the title. The article is headed: 'Remarkable Escape of the Brave Captain l'Endurci, Who Was Abducted from French Soil by English Emissaries.'"

"It must be very interesting. Pray read it, monsieur."

So the young man at once began to read the following account of the brave captain's escape.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE CAPTAIN'S NARRATIVE

"All France is familiar with the name and heroic valour of Captain l'Endurci, commander of the privateer Hell-hound, as well as the large number of prizes which the gallant captain has recently captured from the English.

"Only a few days ago Captain l'Endurci returned to Dieppe, with a large three-master belonging to the East India Company, and armed with thirty guns, in tow, while the Hell-hound can boast of only sixteen. This three-master, which was convoying several merchant vessels loaded with wheat, had, together with her convoy, been captured by the intrepid captain, after a desperate fight of three hours, in which nearly or quite one-half of the French crew had been killed or wounded.

"The gallant captain's entrance into the port of Dieppe was a veritable triumph. The entire population of the town assembled upon the piers, and when the brig, black with powder and riddled with shot, sailed slowly in with her prizes, shouts of the wildest enthusiasm rent the air, but the brave captain's triumph became an ovation when the people learned that the vessels which the three-master was convoying were laden with wheat. At a time when grain is so appallingly scarce in France, such a capture is a national benefaction, and when the people discovered that Captain l'Endurci, being aware of the speedy arrival of these vessels, had spent several days lying in wait for them, allowing richer and less dangerous prizes to pass unmolested, all Dieppe went wild."

"How grand!" exclaimed the housekeeper, enthusiastically. "Ah, I would give ten years of my life to be the mother or sister of such a hero."

"And I, my friend, deem myself a thousand times more fortunate in being the daughter of an honest merchant, instead of having some bloodthirsty hero for a father," remarked Sabine.

"What a strange child you are! Wouldn't you feel proud to be able to say: 'That famous man is my father?'"

"Not by any means. If he were absent, I should be always trembling to think of the danger he might be in; if he were with me, I should always be imagining I saw blood on his hands."

"Such ideas seem very strange to me, for I love heroes, myself," said the older woman, gaily. "But go on, Onésime, I am anxious to hear how this valiant captain could have been kidnapped on French soil." Then, noticing that her nephew was unusually pale, and that big drops of perspiration were standing on his brow, she asked:

"What is the matter, Onésime? You seem to be suffering."

"No, indeed, aunt," replied the young man, enraged at himself for not being able to conceal the agony his burn was causing him. "Now listen to the rest of the story.

"Captain l'Endurci, after a three day's sojourn in Dieppe, started for Paris, unfortunately leaving his head gunner, one of his oldest comrades-in-arms, who was seriously wounded in the last engagement, in Dieppe to attend to some business matters.

"It was between the second and the third post-stations on his route that this audacious attack was made upon the captain, evidently by English emissaries who had been lying in wait for him. It seems that these emissaries had taken advantage of the postilion's credulity to persuade him to allow one of them to take his place and drive the vehicle for awhile. This change of drivers was made while ascending a steep hill, where the progress of the vehicle was necessarily slow, but the Englishman was scarcely in the saddle before he started the horses off at a frightful pace, while the postilion was hurled half-dead upon the ground by the other Englishman, who was clinging to the back of the post-chaise.

"The captain astonished at the terrific speed with which the horses were tearing down the steep descent, thought that the postilion had neglected to put on the brake, and had lost all control of the horses; but soon the rate of speed diminished perceptibly, though the vehicle continued to fly swiftly along.

"The night having become very dark, the captain could not see that the carriage, instead of following the main road, was going in an entirely different direction. Not having the slightest suspicion of this fact, and ignorant of the change of postilions, the captain rode on in this way about an hour and a half, and finally fell asleep.

"The sudden stopping of the carriage woke him, and supposing that he had reached the next relay station, and seeing two or three lanterns flitting about, he was unsuspectingly alighting from the vehicle, when several men suddenly rushed upon him, and, before he had time to offer the slightest resistance, he was securely bound and gagged, and dragged down to the beach on the outskirts of the little seaport town of Hosey, about fifteen miles from Dieppe, and known as the headquarters of a daring gang of smugglers. Here, the captain, who was unable to make the slightest movement or utter a word, was hustled aboard a fishing-smack, and a few minutes afterward, wind and tide both being favourable, the little vessel set sail for England.

"But Captain l'Endurci is not the man to tamely submit to defeat, as the following extract from that gentleman's letter to a friend in this city conclusively proves.

"He writes as follows:

"'When I found myself a prisoner in the hold, my rage at the cowardly trick which had been played upon me became ungovernable. I had been thrown upon a few pieces of old sail in the hold, with my legs securely bound together with a long piece of rope as big as my thumb, and with my hands tied behind my back. I tried by stooping to reach with my teeth the rope that bound my legs, but found it impossible. I knew by the motion of the boat that a strong wind was blowing, and that we were heading straight for the shores of England.

"'I knew the fate that awaited me there. A few words that had passed between my captors had enlightened me. Instead of killing me outright, they wanted to see me lead a life of torture in the hulks. One of them had even spoken of exposing me to the jeers and insults of the populace for several days.

"'The mere thought of such a thing nearly drove me mad, and in a paroxysm of fury I sank back on the old sails, foaming with rage. This ebullition over, anger as usual gave me new strength. My blood boiled in my veins, then, mounting to my brain, gave birth to a thousand projects, each one more audacious than the other, and I felt both my physical and mental vigour increased a hundred-fold by this effervescent condition of all my vital powers.

"'I finally decided upon one of the plans that this paroxysm of rage had suggested to me. In any other frame of mind, it would have seemed utterly impracticable to me, and I believe it would have seemed so to any man who was not half frenzied by a spirit of anger, — anger, that dread and powerful divinity, as the Indian poet says.'"

For some time the young girl who sat listening had seemed to be a prey to a painful preoccupation; several times she had started impatiently as if anxious to escape from some harrowing thought, and now suddenly interrupting the reading in spite of herself, as it were, she exclaimed:

"That man makes me shudder!"

"And why?" demanded the housekeeper. "This brave sailor seems to me as brave as a lion."

"But what a man of iron!" exclaimed the girl, more and more excitedly. "How violent he is! And to think that any person should dare to excuse and even glorify anger when it is so horrible — so unspeakably horrible!"

The housekeeper, without attaching much importance to the girl's protest, however, replied:

"Nonsense, my child! You say that anger is so terrible. That depends, — for if anger suggested to the captain a way and means of escape from these treacherous Englishmen, he is perfectly right to glorify it, and I, in his place — But good Heavens!" she exclaimed, seeing the girl turn alarmingly pale and close her eyes as if she were about to swoon. "Good Heavens, what is the matter with you? Your lips are quivering. You are crying. You do not answer me, — speak, what is the matter?"

But the words failed to reach the ears of the poor child. With her large eyes distended with terror and bewilderment, she indicated with a gesture some apparition which existed only in her disordered imagination, and murmured, wildly:

"The man in black! Oh, the man in black! There he is now! Don't you see him?"

"Calm yourself! Don't allow yourself to think any more about that, in Heaven's name. Don't you know how hurtful such thoughts are to you?"

"Oh, that man! He was equally terrible in his rage, when — It was years and years ago, and I was little more than a baby, but I can see him yet, in his strange, sombre costume of black and white like the livery of the dead. It was night, and my father was absent from home when this man gained an entrance into our house, I know not how. I had never seen him before. He threatened my mother, who was holding me in her arms. 'At least spare my child!' she sobbed. I remember it well. But he only exclaimed, still advancing threateningly upon my mother, 'Don't you know that I am capable of anything in my anger?' And then he rushed out of the room. Oh, my mother, my mother dead, and I — "

The girl could say no more, for she was relapsing into one of the nervous spasms which this terrible recollection almost always caused, — this recollection of a deplorable occurrence from which her condition of morbid susceptibility seemed to have dated.

This crisis soon abated, thanks to the judicious attentions of the housekeeper, who was, alas! only too used to rendering them. When she was herself again, the young girl, whose character was a singular compound of weakness and firmness, thought with shame and regret of the lack of self-control she had displayed while this account of the corsair's escape was being read, an account which, strange to say, had an inexplicable fascination for her, inspiring her at the same time with horror and a sort of morbid curiosity; so, in spite of Onésime's entreaties, she insisted that he should continue the reading so unfortunately interrupted.

The housekeeper, noting this insistence, and fearing that any opposition might react very dangerously upon the girl's excitable nature just at this time, also requested Onésime to continue the account of Captain l'Endurci's escape.