Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “And the fat cripple was not stingy, either. He gave me ten sous for myself. He drank nothing but our best wine, and they had chickens at every meal. He spent full eighty francs.”

  “So much as that, François?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “How rich he must be!”

  “Not at all. What he spent was money he had gained in prison, from which he had just come.”

  “Gained all that money in prison?”

  “Yes; he said he had seven hundred francs beside, and that, when that was all gone, he should try another good ‘job;’ and if he were taken, he didn’t care, because he should go back to his jolly ‘pals in the Stone Jug,’ as he said.”

  “Then he wasn’t afraid of prison, François?”

  “On the contrary; he told Calabash that they were a party of friends and merrymakers all together; and that he had never had a better bed and better food than when he was in prison. Good meat four times a week, fire all the winter, and a lump of money when he left it; whilst there are fools of honest workmen who are starving with cold and hunger, for want of work.”

  “Are you sure he said that, François, — the stout lame man?”

  “I heard him, for I was rowing him in the punt whilst he told his story to Calabash and the two women, who said that it was the same thing in the female prisons they had just left.”

  “But then, François, it can’t be so bad to steal, if people are so well off in prison.”

  “Oh, the deuce! I don’t know. Here it is only Brother Martial who says it is wrong to steal; perhaps he is wrong.”

  “Never mind if he is, François. We ought to believe him, for he loves us so much!”

  “Yes, he loves us; and, when he is by, there is no fear of our being beaten. If he had been here this evening, our mother would not have thrashed me so. An old beast! How savage she is! Oh, how I hate her — hate her! And how I wish I was grown up, that I might pay her back the thumps she gives us, especially to you, who can’t bear them as well as I can.”

  “Oh, François, hold your tongue; it quite frightens me to hear you say that you would beat mother!” cried the poor little child, weeping, and throwing her arms around her brother’s neck, and kissing him affectionately.

  “It’s quite true, though,” answered François, extricating himself gently from Amandine. “Why are my mother and Calabash always so savage to us?”

  “I do not know,” replied Amandine, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It is, perhaps, because they sent Brother Ambroise to the galleys, and guillotined our father, that they are unjust towards us.”

  “Is that our fault?”

  “Oh, no! But what would you have?”

  “Ma foi! If I am always to have beatings, — always, always, at last I should rather steal, as they do, I should. What do I gain by not being a thief?”

  “Ah, what would Martial say to that?”

  “Ah, but for him, I should have said yes a long time ago, for I am tired of being thumped for ever; why, this evening, my mother was more savage than ever; she was like a fury! It was pitch dark. She didn’t say a word; and I felt nothing but her clammy hand holding me by the scruff of my neck, whilst with the other she beat me; and whilst she did so, her eyes seemed to glare in the dark.”

  “Poor François! for only having said you saw a dead man’s bone by the wood-pile.”

  “Yes, a foot that was sticking out of the ground,” said François, shuddering with fright; “I am quite sure of it.”

  “Perhaps there was a burying-ground there once.”

  “Perhaps; but then, why did mother say she’d be the death of me, if I said a word about the bone to our Brother Martial? I rather think it is some one who has been killed in a quarrel, and that they have buried him there, that no one might know anything about it.”

  “You are right; for don’t you remember that such a thing did nearly happen once?”

  “When?”

  “Don’t you remember once when M. Barbillon wounded with a knife that tall man, who is so very thin, that he showed himself for money?”

  “Oh, the walking skeleton, as they call him? Yes; and mother came and separated them; if she hadn’t, I think Barbillon would have killed the tall, thin man. Did you see how Barbillon foamed at the mouth? and his eyes seemed ready to start from his head. Oh, he does not mind who he cuts and slashes with his knife, — he’s such a headstrong, passionate fellow!”

  “So young and so wicked, François?”

  “Tortillard is much younger, and he would be quite as wicked as he, if he were strong enough.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s very, very wicked! The other day he beat me, because I would not play with him.”

  “He beat you, did he? Then, the first time he comes—”

  “No, no, François; it was only in jest.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, quite sure.”

  “Very well, then, for, if not — But I don’t know how he manages, the scamp! But he always has so much money. He’s so lucky! When he came here with the Chouette, he showed us pieces of gold of twenty francs; and didn’t he look knowing as he said, ‘Oh, you might have the same, if you were not such little muffs!’”

  “Muffs?”

  “Yes; in slang that means fools, simpletons.”

  “Yes, to be sure.”

  “Forty francs in gold! What a many fine things I could buy with that! Couldn’t you, Amandine?”

  “That I could.”

  “What should you buy?”

  “Let’s see,” said the little girl, bending her head, and meditating. “I should first buy Brother Martial a good thick outside coat, that would keep him warm in his boat.”

  “But for yourself, — for yourself.”

  “I should like a crucifixion, like those image-sellers had on Sunday, you know, under the church porch at Asnières.”

  “Yes; and, now I think of it, we must not tell mother or Calabash that we went into a church.”

  “To be sure, for she has always forbidden us to go into a church. What a pity! For church is such a nice place inside, isn’t it, François?”

  “Yes; and what beautiful silver candlesticks!”

  “And the picture of the holy Virgin, how kind she looks!”

  “And did you look at the fine lamps, and the handsome cloth on the large table at the bottom, when the priest was saying mass with his two friends, dressed like himself, and who gave him water and wine?”

  “Tell me, François, do you remember last year, at the Fête-Dieu, when we saw from here the little communicants, with their white veils, pass over the bridge?”

  “What nice nosegays they had!”

  “How they sang in a soft tone, holding the ribands of their banners!”

  “And how the silver lace of their banners shone in the sunshine! What a deal of money it must have cost!”

  “Oh, how beautiful it was! Wasn’t it, François?”

  “I believe you! And the communicants with their bows of white satin on the arm, and their wax candles, with red velvet and gold on the part by which they hold them.”

  “And the little boys had their banners, too, hadn’t they, François? Ah, François, how I was thumped that day for asking our mother why we did not go in the procession, like the other children!”

  “And it was then she forbade us from ever going into a church when we should go into the town, or to Paris; ‘Unless it was to rob the poor-box, or the pockets of the people who were hearing mass,’ Calabash said, grinning, and showing her nasty yellow teeth. Oh, what a bad thing she is!”

  “Oh, and as for that, they should kill me before I would rob in a church; and you, too, François?”

  “There, or anywhere; what difference does it make, when once one has made up one’s mind?”

  “Why, I don’t know; but I should be so frightened, I could never do it.”

  “Because of the priests?”

  “No; but because of the portrait of the holy Virgin, who seems
so kind and good.”

  “What consequence is a portrait? It won’t eat or drink, you silly child!”

  “That’s very true; but then I really couldn’t. It is not my fault.”

  “Talking of priests, Amandine, do you remember that day when Nicholas gave me two such hard boxes on the ear, because he saw me make a bow to the curate, who passed on the bank? I had seen everybody salute him, and so I saluted him; I didn’t think I was doing any wrong.”

  “Yes; but then, you know, Brother Martial said, as Nicholas did, that there was no occasion to salute the priests.”

  At this moment François and Amandine heard footsteps in the passage. Martial was going to his chamber, without any mistrust, after his conversation with his mother, believing that Nicholas was safely locked up until the next morning. Seeing a ray of light coming from out the closet in which the children slept, Martial came into the room. They both ran to him, and he embraced them affectionately.

  “What! Not in bed yet, little gossips?”

  “No, brother, we waited until you came, that we might see you, and wish you good night,” said Amandine.

  “And then we heard you speaking very loud below, as if there were a quarrel,” added François.

  “Yes,” said Martial, “I had some dispute with Nicholas, but it was nothing. Besides, I am glad to see you awake, as I have some good news for you.”

  “For us, brother?”

  “Should you like to go away from here, and come with me a long way off?”

  “Oh, yes, brother!”

  “Yes, brother!”

  “Well, then, in two or three days we shall all three leave the island.”

  “Oh, how delightful!” exclaimed Amandine, clapping her hands with joy.

  “And where shall we go to?” inquired François.

  “You will see, Mr. Inquisitive; no matter; but where you will learn a good trade, which will enable you to earn your living, be sure of that.”

  “Then I sha’n’t go fishing with you any more, brother?”

  “No, my boy, you will be put apprentice to a carpenter or locksmith. You are strong and handy, and with a good heart; and working hard, at the end of a year you may already have earned something. But you don’t seem to like it: why, what ails you now?”

  “Why, brother, — I—”

  “Come, come! Speak out.”

  “Why, I’d rather not leave you, but stay with you, and fish, and mend your nets, than go and learn a trade.”

  “Really?”

  “Why, to be shut up in a workshop all day is so very dull; and then it must be so tiresome to be an apprentice.”

  Martial shrugged his shoulders.

  “So, then, you would rather be an idler, a scamp, a vagabond, — eh?” said he, in a stern voice; “and then, perhaps, a thief?”

  “No, brother; but I should like to live with you elsewhere, as we live here, that’s all.”

  “Yes, that’s it; eat, drink, sleep, and amuse yourself with fishing, like an independent gentleman, — eh?”

  “Yes, I should like it.”

  “Very likely; but you must prefer something else. You see, my poor dear lad, that it is quite time I took you away from here; for, without perceiving it, you have become as idle as the rest. My mother was right, — I fear you have vice in you. And you, Amandine, shouldn’t you like to learn some business?”

  “Oh, yes, brother; I should like very much to learn anything rather than stay here. I should dearly like to go with you and François.”

  “But what have you got on your head, my child?” inquired Martial, observing Amandine’s very fine head-dress.

  “A handkerchief that Nicholas gave me.”

  “And he gave me one, too,” said François, with an air of pride.

  “And where did these handkerchiefs come from? I should be very much surprised to learn that Nicholas bought them to make you a present of.”

  The two children lowered their eyes, and made no reply. After a second, François said, with a resolute air, “Nicholas gave them to us. We do not know where they came from, do we, Amandine?”

  “No, no, brother,” replied Amandine, stammering, and turning very red, not daring to look Martial in the face.

  “Don’t tell lies,” said Martial, harshly.

  “We don’t tell lies,” replied François, doggedly.

  “Amandine, my child, tell the truth,” said Martial, mildly.

  “Well, then, to tell the whole truth,” replied Amandine, timidly, “these fine handkerchiefs came out of a box of things that Nicholas brought in this evening in his boat.”

  “And which he had stolen?”

  “I think so, brother, — out of a barge.”

  “So then, François, you lie?” said Martial.

  The boy bent down his head, but made no reply.

  “Give me this handkerchief, Amandine; and yours, too, François.”

  The little girl took off her head-dress, gave a last look at the large bow, which was not untied, and gave the handkerchief to Martial, repressing a sigh of regret. François drew his slowly out of his pocket, and then gave it to his brother, as his sister had done.

  “To-morrow morning,” he said, “I will return these handkerchiefs to Nicholas. You ought not to have taken them, children. To profit by a robbery is as if one robbed oneself.”

  “It is a pity those handkerchiefs were so pretty!” said François.

  “When you have learned a trade, and earn money by your work, you will buy some as good. Go to bed, my dears, — it is very late.”

  “You are not angry, brother?” said Amandine, timidly.

  “No, no, my love, it is not your fault. You live with ill-disposed persons, and you do as they do unconsciously. When you are with honest persons, you will do as they do; and you’ll soon be with such, or the devil’s in it. So now, good night!”

  “Good night, brother!”

  Martial kissed the children. They were now alone.

  “What’s the matter with you, François, — you seem very sorrowful!” said Amandine.

  “Why, brother has taken my nice handkerchief; and besides, didn’t you hear what he said?”

  “What?”

  “He means to take us with him, and put us apprentice.”

  “And ain’t you glad?”

  “Ma foi, no!”

  “Would you rather stay here and be beaten every day?”

  “Why, if I am beaten I am not made to work. I am all day in the boat, fishing, or playing, or waiting on the customers, who sometimes give me something, as the stout lame man did. It is much more amusing than to be from morning till night shut up in a workshop working like a dog.”

  “But didn’t you understand? Why, brother said that if we remained here longer we should become evil-disposed.”

  “Ah! bah! That’s all one to me, since the other children call us already little thieves, — little guillotines! And then to work is too tiresome!”

  “But here they are always beating us, brother!”

  “They beat us because we listen to Martial more than to any one else.”

  “Oh, he is so kind to us!”

  “Yes, he is kind, — very kind, — I don’t say he ain’t; and I am very fond of him. No one dares to be unkind to us when he is by. He takes us out with him, — that’s true; but that’s all; he never gives us anything.”

  “Why, he has nothing. What he gains he gives our mother to pay for his eating, drinking, and lodging.”

  “Nicholas has something. You may be sure if we attend to what he and mother say, they would not make our lives so uncomfortable, but give us pretty things, as they did to-day. They would not distrust us, and we should have money like Tortillard.”

  “But we must steal for that; and how that would grieve dear, good Martial!”

  “Well, so much the worse!”

  “Oh, François! And then we should be taken up and put into prison.”

  “To be in a prison or shut up in a workshop all day is the
same thing. Besides, the Gros-Boiteux says they amuse themselves very much in prison.”

  “But how sorry Martial would be; only think of that! And then it is on our account that he returned here, and remains with us! For himself only he would not have any difficulty, but could go again and be a poacher in the woods which he is so very fond of.”

  “Oh, if he’ll take us with him into the woods,” said François, “that would be better than anything else. I should be with him I am so fond of, and should not work at any business that would tire me.”

  The conversation of François and Amandine was interrupted. Some one outside double-locked their door.

  “They have fastened us in,” said François.

  “Oh, what can it be for, brother? What are they going to do to us?”

  “It is Martial, perhaps.”

  “Listen, listen, — how his dog barks!” said Amandine, listening.

  After a few minutes, François added:

  “It sounds as if some one were knocking at his door with a hammer. Perhaps they want to force it open!”

  “Yes; but how the dog barks still!”

  “Listen, François! It is as if they were nailing something. Oh, dear, oh, dear, how frightened I am! What are they doing to our brother? And how the dog howls still!”

  “Amandine, I hear nothing now,” said François, going towards the door.

  The two children held their breath, and listened anxiously.

  “They are coming from my brother’s room,” said François, in a low voice; “I hear them walking in the passage.”

  “Let us throw ourselves on our beds; mother would kill us if she found us out of bed,” said Amandine, terrified.

  “No,” said François, still listening; “they have just passed by our door, and are running down the staircase.”

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear, what can it be?”

  “Ah, now they are opening the kitchen door.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes, yes; I know the sound.”

  “Martial’s dog is still howling,” said Amandine, listening. Suddenly she exclaimed, “François, our brother calls us.”

  “Martial?”

  “Yes; don’t you hear him? Don’t you hear him now?”

  And at this moment, in spite of the thickness of the two closed doors, the powerful voice of Martial, who called to the children from his room, reached them.