Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “My opinion is, Stephanette, that you are very severe upon young men who kiss young girls,” said the old man with mock gravity, “which proves that you are naturally ferocious, — but what do you want of me?”

  “Master Peyrou,” said the girl, with an air of embarrassment, “I want to know if the weather promises a good passage to Nice, and if one could leave this port with safety.”

  “You wish, then, to go to Nice, my child?”

  “No, not I exactly, but a brave and honest sailor who — who—”

  “Ah, I understand, I understand,” said the watchman, interrupting Stephanette’s stammering; “you mean young Bernard, patron of the tartan, the Sacred Balm.”

  “No, no, Master Peyrou, I assure you I do not mean him,” said the girl, turning as red as a cherry.

  “Come, come, you need not blush like that,” and the watchman added, in a lower tone: “Was the beautiful bouquet of green thyme, that he tied three days ago to your window bar with rose coloured ribbon, to your taste?”

  “A bouquet of green thyme! What bouquet are you talking about, Master Peyrou?”

  The watchman held up a threatening finger to Stephanette and said: “What! last Thursday, at daybreak, did not the patron Bernard carry a bouquet to your window?”

  “Wait, — let me see, Master Peyrou,” said the young girl, with an air of recalling something to her memory; “was it then yesterday that, in opening my casement, I found something like a bundle of dried herbs?”

  “Stephanette, Stephanette! you cannot deceive the old watchman. Listen; patron Bernard had hardly descended, when you came and untied the rose coloured ribbon, and put the bouquet in a pretty terra-cotta vase, and you have watered it every morning; yesterday was the only day you neglected it, and it has withered—”

  The young girl stared at the watchman in utter amazement. This revelation seemed like sorcery.

  The old man looked at her with a mischievous expression, and continued:

  “So it is not the patron Bernard who is going to Nice?”

  “No, Master Peyrou.” “Then it must be the pilot Terzarol.”

  “The pilot Terzarol!” cried Stephanette, clasping her hands, “may Our Lady help me, if I know anything about this pilot going to sea.”

  “Well, well, my child, I was mistaken about Bernard, for it is true that you have allowed his bouquet to wither, but I am not mistaken about Terzarol, because yesterday, from the height of the castle turret, you passed more than two hours looking at the bold pilot throwing nets.” “I, Master Peyrou, I?”

  “Your very self, Stephanette, and at each cast of the net, Terzarol waved his cap in triumph, and you waved your handkerchief in congratulation; he ought to have made a good haul, so enthusiastically did he labour, — you come then to ask me if Terzarol will have a good voyage to Nice?”

  This time Stephanette began to feel afraid, as she realised how much the watchman knew.

  “Ah, my faith, Master Peyrou, you know everything!” cried she, innocently.

  The old man smiled, shook his head, and replied in the words of the Provencal proverb, “Experienco passo scienco, — experience passes science.”

  The poor child, fearing that the watchman’s marvellous discoveries concerning her innocent coquetry might give him a bad opinion of her, cried, with tears in her eyes, as she clasped her hands:

  “Ah, Master Peyrou, I am an honest girl!”

  “I know it, my child,” said the watchman, pressing her hand affectionately. “I know that you are worthy of the protection and affection which your noble and kind mistress shows you. It is only girlish mischief and love of fun which tempts you to turn the heads of these young men, and make poor Luquin Trinquetaille jealous, Luquin, who loves you so much and so faithfully. But listen, Stephanette, you know the proverb of the vinedressers in our valleys: Paou vignose ben tengudos, — have few vines and cultivate them well. Instead of scattering your coquetries, concentrate all your charms upon your betrothed, who will prove a good and honest husband for you, — that would be far better, — and then, you see, my child, these young men are quick, inflammable, and courageous; self-love comes in, rivalry exasperates, a combat follows, blood flows, and then—” “Ah, Master Peyrou, then I should die of despair. All of this is folly. I was wrong, I admit, to amuse myself with the admiring glances of Bernard and Terzarol, for I love Luquin and he loves me; we are going to be married the same day as Mlle, and M. Honorât de Berrol, — the baron desires it. Really, Master Peyrou, you, who find out everything, ought to know that I think of nobody but Luquin. It is about his voyage that I have come to consult you. Master Talebard-Talebardon, consul of La Ciotat, is about to send to Nice three tartans laden with merchandise. He has made a bargain with Luquin to escort them; do you think, Master Peyrou, the passage will be good? Can he put to sea with safety? Is there no pirate in sight? Oh, if a corsair is in sight, or a storm threatens, he will not depart!”

  “Oh, so, so, my child, do you think you have so much influence over this bold artilleryman? You are mistaken, I think. What! keep him in port when there is danger in going out? You might as well try to anchor a ship with a thread from your distaff.”

  “Oh, be quiet, Master Peyrou,” said Stephanette, regaining her composure; “to keep Luquin near me, I need not tell him of winds or tempests or of pirates. I will only tell him that I will give Bernard a ribbon to put on his lance at the next tilting-match, or that I will ask the pilot Terzarol for a good place at one of the windows of his mother’s house, that I may go with Dulceline, the housekeeper at Maison-Forte, to see the wrestling and leaping over the cross-bar in La Ciotat; then, I swear to you, Master Peyrou, Luquin will not go out of the gulf, not if the consul, Talebard-Talebardon, covered the deck of his polacre with pieces of silver.”

  “Ah, what a cunning gipsy you are!” said the old man, smiling. “I would never have thought of such tricks. Alas, alas! Buou viel fa rego drecho, — the old ox makes a straight furrow. But come, now, Stephanette, make yourself easy; you need not rob your waist of a ribbon for Bernard nor ask for a window at the Terzarol house: the wind blows from the west, and if it does not change at sunset, and if Martin-Bouffo, the deep grotto of roaring waters in the gulf, says nothing tomorrow at daybreak Luquin will be able to go out of the gulf and sail for Nice without fear; as to the passage, I will answer for that; as to the pirates, I am going to give you a charm that is sure in its effect, if not to confuse them entirely, at least to prevent their carrying off the Holy Terror to the Moors, by the Grace of God.”

  “Ah, how thankful I will be, Master Peyrou!” said the young girl, as she assisted him to rise, for he walked with considerable pain.

  The old man went into his cabin, took a little bag covered with cabalistic signs and gave it to Stephanette, instructing her to order Luquin to conform scrupulously to the directions he would find in it.

  “How good you are, Master Peyrou! How shall I reward—”

  “By promising me, my child, henceforth to allow Bernard’s bouquets to dry on the bars of your window, — then, believe me, there will be no more of them, because a bouquet that is watered makes many others grow. Ah! and you must promise me, too, not to encourage pilot Terzarol’s fishing, because to please you he would destroy all the fish in the bay, and he would finish by being called before the overseer fishers, and I would be obliged to condemn him. By the way, how goes on the discussion between monseigneur and the consuls, on the right of fishing in the cove, — does Raimond V. still keep his seines there?”

  “Yes, Master Peyrou, and he will not take them away; he says that the right of fishing there belongs to him up to the rocks of Castrembaou, and that he will not yield that right to anybody.”

  “Listen, Stephanette: your mistress has her father’s ear; do you persuade her to counsel him to arrange it amicably with the consuls: that will be the best for all parties.”

  “Yes, Master Peyrou, make yourself easy about it, I will mention it to Mlle. Reine.”

  “
Very well, my child, — good-bye, and above all, no more coquetry, — do you promise me that?”

  “Yes, Master Peyrou, only — only—”

  “Well, say it”

  “Only, you see, Master Peyrou, I would not like to make Bernard and Terzarol despair entirely, — not on my own account, Our Lady, no, but on account of Luquin, because I must have some means of keeping him in port, in case of great danger, you see, Master Peyrou, — and for that purpose, jealousy is worth more than all the anchors of his ship.”

  “That is right,” said the watchman, with a significant smile, “you must think of Luquin above all things.”

  The young girl dropped her eyes and smiled, then said: “Ah, I was about to forget, Master Peyrou, to ask you if you thought that monsieur, the commander, and the Reverend Father Elzear would arrive here for the Christmas holidays, as the baron hopes. He is so anxious to see his two brothers again — do you know that Christmas has been twice celebrated at Maison-Forte without them?”

  At the mention of the commander, the face of the watchman took on an expression of profound melancholy.

  “If God grants my most earnest prayers, my child, they will both come, but, alas, Father Elzear has gone to redeem captives in Algiers, as a worthy and courageous brother of mercy, and the faith of those Barbary people is perfidious!”

  “Yes, Master Peyrou, as Father Elzear learned by experience when he was kept in the convict-prison among slaves for one year! At his age, too, to suffer so much!”

  “And without a murmur, — without losing his adorable saintliness—”

  “Speaking of them, Master Peyrou, why is the commander’s galley, instead of being white and gold like the gallant galleys of the king, and of monseigneur, the Duke of Guise, always painted in black like a coffin? Why are its sails and masts black? Really, nothing looks more solemn, and his sailors and his soldiers, they look as hard and severe as Spanish monks; and then the commander himself looks so sad. I never saw a smile on his pale face but once, and that was when he arrived at Maison-Forte and embraced monseigneur and my mistress. Yet, my God, what a melancholy smile! Is it not strange, Master Peyrou, and all the more so because Luquin told me, the other day, that when he was artilleryman on board La Guisarde, the admiral’s galley, in the waters of the Levant, many a time he has seen the commanders and captains of Malta at Naples, and notwithstanding the severity of their order, they were as merry as other officers.”

  The watchman for some moments seemed as if he no longer heard the girl; his head had fallen upon his breast, he was lost in profound meditation, and when Stephanette bade him farewell, he responded only by an affectionate gesture of the hand. Some time after the departure of the young girl, he went into his cabin, opened the carved ebony box he found there, sprung the secret lock of a double bottom, and took out of it a little casket chased with silver; an embassed Maltese cross ornamented its cover.

  For a long time he gazed at this casket with sorrowful attention; the sight of it seemed to awaken the most bitter memories. Then, assuring himself that this mysterious trust was still intact, he shut the doors of the ebony chest and, like a dreamer, returned to his seat at the door of his cabin.

  CHAPTER V. THE BETROTHED.

  STEPHANETTE LEFT THE watchman with a light heart She was just about to quit the esplanade, when she saw, on the last steps of the stairway, the tall figure of Captain Luquin Trinquetaille. With an imperative sign the young girl ordered him to return by the way he had come.

  The sailor showed an exemplary submission; he stopped, made a right-about, with the quickness and precision of a German grenadier, and gravely descended the steps he had just mounted.

  Had the meeting been arranged by the lovers? We do not know, but certain it was that Stephanette, preceded by her obedient adorer, descended the narrow, winding flight of steps which conducted to the watchman’s cabin, with the lightness of a gazelle.

  Many times Luquin turned his head, to catch a sight of the neat ankle and little foot, which cleared the rough rocks so nimbly, but Stephanette, with a threatening gesture, and queen-like dignity, arrested the curiosity of the ex-artilleryman, who was compelled to accelerate his gait in obedience to the oft-repeated words:

  “Go on, Luquin, go on!”

  While the lovers are descending the escarpment of the cape of l’Aigle, we will say a few words about Luquin Trinquetaille. He was a robust fellow of thirty years, brown and sunburnt. He had a manly figure, a frank, ingenuous manner, somewhat vain; he wore a costume which marked both the soldier and the sailor, — a military coat, and Provencal breeches, fastened around his waist by the belt which held his broadsword.

  The air was cold, and over his coat he wore a mantle, the seams of which were braided in red and blue wool; the hood half covered his forehead, and under it could be seen a forest of black curls.

  When they had reached the foot of the mountain, Stephanette, in spite, of her agility, felt the need of rest.

  Luquin, delighted with an opportunity for conversation, carefully sought a spot where she could be comfortably seated.

  When he had found it, he gallantly took off his mantle and spread it out on the rock, so that Stephanette could have a seat with a back; then, crossing his hands on the head of his cane, and leaning his chin on his hands, he contemplated Stephanette with a calm and happy adoration.

  When she had recovered from the effects of her precipitous descent, Stephanette turned to Luquin, and said, with the air of a spoiled child, and a woman sure of her despotic domination:

  “Why, Luquin, did you come to the watchman’s cabin for me, when I told you to wait for me at the foot of the mountain?”

  Luquin, preoccupied with admiration for Stephanette’s fine colour, which the walk had imparted, did not reply.

  “Did ever anybody see the like?” cried she, with an impatient stamp of her little foot. “Do you hear what I say to you, Luquin?”

  “No,” said the captain, coming out of his reflective mood; “all that I know is that from Nice to Bayonne, from Bayonne to Calais, from Calais to Hambourg, from Hambourg to—”

  “Have you finished your European trip, Luquin?”

  “Indeed, from one pole to the other there is not a prettier girl than you, Stephanette.”

  “What! Did you make such an extensive voyage to arrive at that discovery, captain? I pity the privateers of the Holy Terror to the Moors, by the Grace of God, if the voyages of this poor old polacre have no better results!”

  “Do not speak ill of my polacre, Stephanette; you will be glad to see its blue and white pavilion when I return from Nice, and how you will watch for my coming from the turret of Maison-Forte!”

  Luquin’s conceitedness disgusted Stephanette; she replied, with an ironical air:

  “Well, well! I see that a watchman on the cape of L’Aigle is altogether unnecessary. All the young girls who wait impatiently for the return of Captain Trinque-taille, and all the jealous ones who watch his departure with their eyes fixed on the sea, will be sufficient to discover the pirates. There is nothing more to fear from corsairs.”

  Luquin took on an air of modest triumph, and said:

  “By St. Stephen, my patron, I am too sure of your love, and too happy in it, Stephanette, to care if I am expected or regretted by other girls; and although Rose, the daughter of the haberdasher in La Ciotat, — who resembles the flower whose name she bears, — often tells me—”

  “My faith! Thank you for your confidences, Luquin,” said Stephanette, with a jealous impatience she could not dissimulate. “If I told you all that the patron Bernard or Master Terzarol said to me, it would take till evening.”

  Captain Luquin frowned when he heard the names of his rivals, and exclaimed:

  “Thunder of heaven! If I knew that those two rascals dared even to look at your shoes as you pass, I would make a figurehead for my polacre of one, and a weather-cock for my mast of the other! But no! They know that Luquin Trinquetaille is your betrothed, and his name rhymes too well
with battle for them to want an issue with me.”

  “Well, well, my fine bully!” replied Stephanette, recalling the watchman’s advice, and fearing to excite the jealousy of the inflammable captain; “if Bernard and Terzarol talk to me ever so long, I shall reply that every one knows I am too much in love with the most wicked devil in La Ciotat But wait, — see here what Master Peyrou gave me for you. Read that, and do everything he orders. It is late; the sun is setting, and it is getting cold. Let us go back to Maison-Forte; mademoiselle will be anxious.”

  The two lovers hastened on their way, and, as they walked, Trinquetaille read the following instructions given by the watchman:

  “Every morning at sunrise the captain will change the charge of his cannon, and will put on the ball one of the red flies affixed to this paper.

  “After that, make a double cross on the ball with the thumb of the left hand. From sunrise to sunset, cabin-boys must relieve each other on the watch at the top of the mast; they will always look at the east and the south, and every five minutes repeat ‘St Magnus.’

  “Set the swords in order on the stem, three by three, point downward.

  “Set the muskets on the right of the deck, three by three.

  “On the day of departure, at the rising of the moon, carry on deck a vase filled with oil; throw in it seven grains of salt, saying with each grain ‘St Elmo and St Peter.’

  “Leave the vase on deck until the moon goes down. At that moment cover it over with a black veil, on which write in vermilion the word ‘Syrakoe.’ Every morning at sunrise, rub the arms and the locks of the muskets with this oil.”

  At this point, Captain Trinquetaille stopped and said to Stephanette:

  “By St. Elmo, Master Peyrou is a sorcerer. Three months ago, if I had had these flies of magic paper, my swivel-guns, instead of resting mute on their pivots when I applied the match, would have replied sharply to that Tunis chebec which surprised our convoy, and we did not see until it was almost on us—”