Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  You will read this journal, Marie; you will see that I have been very guilty, that I have suffered greatly.

  You will read the story of our love from its very inception.

  Since leaving Serval I have ceased to write in this journal. What could I have written? Whatever I have said, Marie, will apply to the future years I shall spend with you.

  You will not find here the date of the birth of our Arthur, — our child, — the greatest joy of my life. Nor will you find the date of that terrible day on which I trembled for your life, my day of most fearful torture.

  While the paroxysm of that unknown joy, of that unknown grief, lasted, I neither thought, reflected, nor acted, I did not exist.

  When one still has the consciousness of one’s sufferings, when one can contemplate one’s own joy, then neither has joy nor sorrow arrived at its highest degree.

  I had thus far suffered atrociously. I had experienced the most intense delights, but I had never been so absorbed as to lose self-consciousness, or the power of self-investigation.

  I have spoken of an unknown happiness, Marie, and yet the date of the blissful day when I no longer doubted of your love is written in this journal, while the date of our Arthur’s birth is not found here.

  Tour tender soul will understand and appreciate the difference, will it not?

  As for our child, Marie, our beautiful and adorable child, we will think of his future, and —

  These were the last words of the journal of an unknown.

  By looking at the dates, and comparing them with the information given me by the curé of the village of — , in the first volume, one can see that this last passage must have been written the day or the day before the triple assassination of the count, Marie, and their child, by Belmont, the pirate of Porquerolles, who, having escaped from prison, and knowing the retreat of the count, wished to wreak upon him a terrible vengeance before leaving France for ever.

  THE END

  The Knight of Malta

  Anonymous 1899 translation, published by Francis A. Niccolls

  Le Commandeur de Malte was first published in 1841. The southern coast of France, in the early seventeenth century, is presented as a place of peril. Everywhere there are sentry boxes, to warn of an impending attack from pirates from North Africa, who plunder the coastal towns of Provence, kidnapping the best French mariners and commerce is suffering. In this uncertain setting, in June 1633, we are introduced to three travellers. They are Muscovites, travelling in luxury, but with only a small retinue. The oldest of the three, Pog, is a man of sarcastic tongue and a hardness of expression, holding himself aloof from his companions. The man a few years his junior is very different – shorter, overweight and given to cynicism and quoting from the works of the ancient writer Petronius – which he does so often he is nicknamed Trimalcyon, the protagonist of Petronius’ Satyricon.

  The youngest of the three men, known as Erebus, is very different. He is a beautiful young man, impeccably and elegantly dressed and while he panders to the vulgar and cynical jokes of his companions, responding as they would wish, he seems to have the potential for a serene and sweet natured persona.

  As the three men travel from Marseilles to Toulon, Erebus, who is in the lead, hears the sound of a woman singing. The voice belongs to Mlle. Reine des Anbiez, a girl of stunning beauty, attired as an aristocrat and in the company of an old man, two body guards and a manservant. The old man is her doting father, Raimond V. Baron des Anbiez, who, despite his great skills as an equestrian, loses control of his horse and is rescued by Erebus. Unfortunately, this noble act is greeted by his own travelling companions with mockery and sneers. The arrival of his two older companions has a negative effect on Erebus and he becomes insolent and arrogant, taking both a kiss and a small brooch from Reine without permission. The two parties go their separate ways.

  Meanwhile, Master Peyrou, a highly respected watchman, former mariner and gifted weather-watcher, goes about his duty on the cape of L’Aigle . He is visited by a delightful young Provencal woman named Stephanette, beloved foster sister and companion of Reine, who tells him in shocked tones of the encounter with Erebus and his two uncouth companions.

  Back at her father’s ancestral home, Castle des Anbiez, Reine is also shocked to receive a gift embellished with the same motif on the brooch stolen by Erebus. Neither she nor her father know what to think of the young man, whose mood and personality seem so changeable, but Reine is without doubt frightened by this new development – how could he have secretly placed this gift in her rooms?

  This is classic nineteenth-century storytelling and there is less moralising by Sue than in his other works, although the notion of freedom does seem to be explored in most of the plot threads. In spite of the overly romanticised view of both the ancient French nobility and the peasantry, the narrative is straightforward and has a pleasing pace to it. The characters are ideal for the plot and historical setting and the juxtaposition of personal and public tribulations is well crafted.

  The original frontispiece for this translation

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION.

  CHAPTER II. MISTRAON

  CHAPTER III. THE WATCHMAN.

  CHAPTER IV. STEPHANETTE.

  CHAPTER V. THE BETROTHED.

  CHAPTER VI. MAISON-FORTE

  CHAPTER VII. THE SUPPER.

  CHAPTER VIII. THE LOVER

  CHAPTER IX. THE PICTURE

  CHAPTER X. THE RECORDER

  CHAPTER XI. TAKING THE CENSUS

  CHAPTER XII. THE BOHEMIAN

  CHAPTER XIII. THE GUZIAC OF THE EMIR.

  CHAPTER XIV. JEALOUSY

  CHAPTER XV. THE SUMMONS

  CHAPTER XVI. THE OVERSEERS OF THE PORT

  CHAPTER XVII. THE JUDGMENT

  CHAPTER XVIII. THE TELESCOPE.

  CHAPTER XIX. THE LITTLE SATCHEL

  CHAPTER XX. THE SACRIFICE

  CHAPTER XXI. OUR LADY OF SEVEN SORROWS

  CHAPTER XXII. THE BROTHER OF MERCY

  CHAPTER XXIII. THE COMMANDER

  CHAPTER XXIV. THE POLACRE

  CHAPTER XXV. THE RED GALLEON AND THE SYBARITE

  CHAPTER XXVI. POG AND EREBUS

  CHAPTER XXVII. CONVERSATION

  CHAPTER XXVIII. HADJI

  CHAPTER XXIX. CHRISTMAS

  CHAPTER XXX. THE ARREST

  CHAPTER XXXI. THE DESCENT

  CHAPTER XXXII. THE CHEBEC

  CHAPTER XXXIII. DISCOVERY

  CHAPTER XXXIV. THE LETTERS

  CHAPTER XXXV. THE MURDERER

  CHAPTER XXXVI. PLANS

  CHAPTER XXXVII. THE INTERVIEW

  CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE THREE BROTHERS

  CHAPTER XXXIX. PREPARATIONS FOR THE COMBAT

  CHAPTER XL. THE CHALLENGE

  CHAPTER XLI. THE COMBAT

  CHAPTER XLII. CONCLUSION.

  CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION.

  THE TRAVELLERS WHO now sail along the picturesque coasts within the district of the Bouches-du-Rhone — the peaceable inhabitants of shores perfumed by the orange-trees of Hyères, or the curious tourists, whom steamboats are continually transporting from Marseilles to Nice or to Gênes — are perhaps ignorant of the fact that two hundred years ago, under the flourishing administration of Cardinal Richelieu, the seashore of Provence was, almost every day, plundered by Algerian pirates, or other robbers from Barbary, whose audacity knew no bounds. Not only did they capture all the merchant vessels leaving port, — although these ships were armed for war, — but they landed under the cannon even of the forts, and carried away with impunity the inhabitant whose dwellings were not adequately armed and fortified.

  These depredations increased to such a degree that in 1633 Cardinal Richelieu instructed M. de Séguiran, one of the most eminent men of that time, to visit the coast of Provence, for the purpose of ascertaining the best means of protecting them from the invasion of pirates.

  We will quote a passage from the memoir of M. de Séguiran in order to give to the reader an exa
ct idea of the scenes which are to follow.

  “There is,” says he, “in the town of La Ciotat, a sentry-box which the consuls have had built on one of the points of the rock of Cape l’Aigle, in which they keep a man, very expert in navigation, on guard night and day, to watch for pirate vessels.

  “Every evening, toward nightfall, the guard in the sentry-box of La Ciotat kindles his fire, which is continued by all the other similar sentry-boxes to the lighthouse of Bouc.

  “This is a certain signal that there is not a corsair in the sea.

  “If the said guard in the sentry-box has, on the contrary, recognised one, he makes two fires, as do all the others from Antibes to the lighthouse of Bouc, and this is accomplished in less than a half-hour of time.

  “The inhabitants of La Ciotat confess that commerce has been better during the last few years. But as far as can be learned, it is ruined.

  “The corsairs from Barbary in one year seized eighty vessels and put about fifty of their best sailors in chains.”

  As we have said, so great was the terror that these Barbary pirates inspired dong the coast that every house was transformed into a fortress.

  “Continuing our way,” says M. de Séguiran, “we arrived at the house of the lord of Boyer, gentleman of the king’s chamber, which house we found in a state of defence, in case of a descent of the corsairs, — having a terrace in front, facing the port, and on it twelve pieces of cast iron, several pieces of less calibre, and two swivel-guns, and in the said house four hundred pounds of powder, two hundred balls, two pairs of armour, and twelve muskets and short pikes.

  “At Bormez and at St. Tropez,” says M. de Séguiran, further on, “commerce is so seriously injured that it cannot amount to ten thousand pounds, which is a consequence not only of the poverty of the inhabitants, but also of the invasions made by pirates, who enter their ports almost every day, so that very often vessels are compelled to touch port, in order that the men who man them may escape, or the inhabitants of the place arm themselves.

  “At Martignes, a community which has suffered great losses in the persons of its inhabitants, — esteemed the best and most courageous seamen on the Mediterranean, — many of them have been made slaves by the corsairs of Algiers and Tunis, who practise their piracies more than ever, in the sight of the forts and fortresses of that province.”

  The reader can imagine the contempt of these Barbary pirates for the forts on the coast, when he knows that the seashore was in such a deplorable state of defence that M. de Séguiran says, in another passage of his report to Cardinal Richelieu:

  “The next day, January 24th, at seven o’clock in the morning, we went to the fortified castle named Cassis, belonging to the Lord Bishop of Marseilles, where we found that the entire garrison consisted of a porter only, a servant of the said bishop, who showed us the place, and where there were only two small pieces of ordnance, one of which had been emptied.”

  Later, the Archbishop of Bordeaux made the same remark in reference to one of the strongest positions of Toulon.

  “The first and most important of these forts,” says the warrior prelate in his report, “is an old tower where there are two batteries, in which fifty cannon and two hundred soldiers could be placed; there are good cannon within, but all are dismounted, and no ammunition, except what was sent by order of your Eminence [Cardinal Richelieu] fifteen days ago. The commandant is a simple, good man, who has for garrison only his wife and her servant, and, according to what he says, he has not received a farthing in twenty years.”

  Such was the state of things a few years before Cardinal Richelieu was invested by Louis XIII. with the office of grand master in chief and general superintendent of the navigation and commerce of France.

  In studying attentively the aim, the progress, the methods, and results of the government of Richelieu, — in comparing, in a word, the point of departure of his administration with the imperious conclusion of absolute centralisation toward which it always tended, and which he attained so victoriously, — one is especially impressed by the character of the navy, by the incredible confusion and multiplicity of powers or rival rights which covered the seashore of the kingdom with their inextricable network.

  When the cardinal was entrusted with the maritime interests of France, he could count but little upon the support of a weak, timid, restless, and capricious king; besides, he felt that France was secretly agitated by profound political and religious discords. Alone, opposing the exorbitant pretensions represented by the most powerful houses of France, — haughty and jealous guardians of the last traditions of feudal independence, — it was essential that the will of Richelieu should be indomitable, even obstinate, in order to crush beneath the level of administrative unity interests so numerous, so tenacious, and so rebellious! Such was, however, the work of this great minister.

  There is no doubt that the ardent and sacred love of the general good, the noble, instinctive perception of the needs and progress of humanity, — those pure and serene aspirations of a DeWitt or a Franklin, — would not have sufficed the cardinal in undertaking and sustaining so fierce a struggle; perhaps, too, it was essential that he should feel himself animated by an unbridled, insatiable ambition, in order to cope with so many formidable antagonisms, to despise so many outcries, to prevent or punish so many dangerous revolts by prison, exile, or the scaffold, and at last achieve the end of gathering in his dying and sovereign hand all the resources of the state.

  It was by this means — we think so, at least — that the genius of Richelieu, exalted by an unconquerable personality, succeeded in consummating this admirable centralisation of conflicting powers, — the constant aim and glorious end of his administration.

  Unfortunately, he died at the time he was beginning to organise this authority so valiantly conquered.

  If France, at the time of the cardinal’s death, presented still upon her surface the distinct evidences of a complete social overthrow, the soil was at least beginning to be freed from the thousand parasitical and devouring forces which had so long exhausted her strength.

  So, one might say that almost always eminent men, although of diverse genius, are born in time to achieve the great labours of governments.

  To Richelieu, that resolute and indefatigable clearer of untilled ground, succeeds Mazarin, who levelled the earth so profoundly ploughed, — then Colbert, who sowed it, and made it fruitful.

  The imperial will of Richelieu appeared under one of its most brilliant aspects in the long struggle he was obliged to sustain, when he was entrusted with the organisation of the navy.

  Up to that time, the governor-generals of Provence had always challenged the orders of the admiralty of France, styling themselves the “born admirals” of the Levant.

  As such, they pretended to the maritime authority of the province; a few of these governors, such as the Counts of Tende and of Sommerives, and, at the period of which we speak, the Duke of Guise, had received from the king special letters which conferred upon them the title of admiral. These concessions, drawn from the weakness of the monarch, far from supporting the pretentions of the governor-generals, protested, on the contrary, against their usurpation, since these titles proved clearly that the command of sea and land ought to be separate.

  Thus we see how divided and antagonistic were these rival powers, that the cardinal, in performing the functions of his office as grand master of navigation, wished imperiously to unite and centralise.

  It can be seen by this rapid and cursory view, and by the extracts which we have borrowed from the report of M. de Séguiran, that a frightful disorder reigned in every department of power.

  This disorder was the more increased by the perpetually recurring conflicts of jurisdiction, either through the governors of the province, or through the admiralties, or through the feudal claims of many gentlemen whose estates commanded a forest or a river.

  In a word, abandonment or disorganisation of fortified places, ruin of commerce, robbery of the t
reasury, invasion of the seashore, terror of populations retiring into the interior of the country, in the hope of flying from the attacks of these Barbary pirates, — such was the grievous picture presented by Provence at the period in which this story opens, — a story of incredible facts which seem rather to belong to the barbarity of the middle ages than to the seventeenth century.

  CHAPTER II. MISTRAON

  ABOUT THE END of the month of June, 1633, three distinguished travellers, arriving at Marseilles, established themselves in the best inn of the city. Their dress and accent were foreign. It was soon known that they were Muscovites, and although their attendants were not numerous, they lived in magnificent style. The eldest of the three travellers had called upon the Marshal of Vitry, Governor of Provence, then residing in Marseilles, and the marshal had returned his visit, a circumstance which greatly enhanced the dignity of the foreigners.

  They employed their time in visiting the public build-ings, the port, and the docks. The preceptor of the youngest of these travellers, with the permission of the Marshal of Vitry, made careful inquiry of the consuls concerning the productions and commerce of Provence, the condition of the merchant service, its equipment and destination, evidently anxious, for the benefit of his pupil, to make a comparison between the growing navy of the North and the navy of one of the most important provinces of France.

  One day these Muscovites directed their journey toward Toulon.

  The eldest of the three foreigners appeared to be fifty years old. His countenance presented a singular union of pride and severity. He was attired in black velvet; a long red beard covered his breast, and his hair, of the same colour, mingled with a few silver locks, showed beneath a Tartar cap trimmed with costly fur. His sea-green eyes, his sallow complexion, his hooked nose, his heavy eyebrows, and his thin lips gave him a hard and ironical expression.