by Eugène Sue
He might have been accused of loving the pleasures of the table; not that he abused them (he observed bounds in enjoying the good gifts which God bestowed), but he was singularly fond of indulging himself with marvelous recipes for dressing game, seasoning fish, or preserving in sugar the fragrant fruits of the tropics; at times, even the description of his epicurean tastes became contagious, when he would enlarge upon certain repasts after the manner of buccaneers, prepared in the depths of the forests or on the shore of the island. Between you and me, Father Griffen possessed, among others, the secret of cooking a turtle, buccaneer-fashion, of which the mere recital was enough to excite ravenous hunger on the part of his hearers. In spite of his usually formidable appetite, Father Griffen scrupulously observed his fasts, which an edict of the pope’s decreed should be much less strict at the Antilles and in the Indies than in Europe.
It is unnecessary to say here that the worthy priest would abandon the most delicate repast in order to fulfill his duties as a priest to a poor slave; no one was more pitiful than he — a more charitable or prudent manager, regarding the little he possessed as the property of the unfortunate.
Never was his consolation or succor lacking to those who suffered; but once his Christian task fulfilled, he worked gayly and vigorously in his garden, watered his plants, hoed his paths, pruned his trees, and when night came he loved to rest after his salutary and rustic labor, and enjoy, with an intelligent keenness of palate, the gastronomic riches of the country.
His flock never allowed his cellar or his larder to become empty. The finest fruit, the best portion from the chase or the rod, was always faithfully sent to him. He was beloved — he was blessed. They came to him to settle all points of dispute, and his judgment was finally accepted on all questions.
The physique of Father Griffen accorded perfectly with the impression perhaps formed of him after what has just been said of his character.
He was a man of not more than fifty years, robust, active, though perhaps rather too stout; his long robe of white wool and his black cape set off his broad shoulders; a felt cap covered his bald crown. His red face, his triple chin, his lips thick and crimson, his nose long and flat at the end, his small and lively gray eyes, gave him a certain resemblance to Rabelais; but what specially characterized Father Griffen’s physiognomy was a rare mixture of frankness, goodness, strength and innocent raillery.
At the commencement of this story, the Preaching Brother stood on the stern of the vessel, in conversation with Captain Daniel. The ease with which he maintained his equilibrium, in spite of the violent rolling of the vessel, proved that Father Griffen had long since found his sea-legs.
Captain Daniel was an old sea-dog; once at sea, he left the management of his vessel to his mates and pilot, and became intoxicated regularly every night. Frequently making the trip from Martinique to Rochelle, he had already brought Father Griffen from America. The latter, accustomed to the inebriety of the worthy captain, attentively studied the ship’s management; for without possessing the nautical science of Father Fournier, and other of his religious colleagues, he had a sufficiently theoretical and practical knowledge of navigation. Often had the priest made the passage from Martinique to San Domingo and beyond, on board the privateer vessels, which always yielded a tithe of their prizes to the churches of the Antilles.
Night approached. Father Griffen inhaled with pleasure the odor of supper which was being prepared. The captain’s boy came to announce to the passengers that the repast was ready; two or three among them, who had successfully resisted seasickness, entered the cabin.
Father Griffen said grace; they had hardly seated themselves when the door of the cabin opened suddenly, and the following words were pronounced with a strong Gascon accent:
“There is, I hope, noble captain, a small place for the Chevalier de Croustillac?”
All the guests made a movement of surprise, then strove to read in the features of the captain an explanation of this singular apparition. The captain remained stupefied, regarding his new guest with an air almost of affright.
“Eh, there, who are you? I do not know you. Where the devil did you come from, sir?” he finally said.
“If I came from the devil, this good priest,” and he kissed the hand of Father Griffen, “this good priest would send me back there very quickly, by saying, ‘Get thee behind me, Satan.’”
“But where do you come from, sir?” cried the captain, stupefied by the confident and smiling air of this unexpected guest.
“One does not come thus on board. You are not on my list of passengers. You have fallen from the sky, perhaps?”
“A few minutes since it was from the infernal regions; now it is from the heavens that I come. Faith! I do not lay claim to an origin so divine nor so infernal, worthy captain; I — —”
“It matters not as to that,” replied the captain. “Tell me, how came you here?”
The chevalier assumed a majestic air. “I should be unworthy of belonging to the noble house of de Croustillac, one of the oldest in Guienne, if I had the slightest hesitation in satisfying the legitimate curiosity of the illustrious captain.”
“So — this is very lucky,” cried the latter.
“Do not say it is lucky, rather say it is right. I fall upon your vessel like a bomb; you are astonished; nothing is more natural; you ask me how I came on board. This is your right. I explain it to you — that is my duty. Completely satisfied by my explanation, you extend to me your hand and say, ‘This is well, chevalier, place yourself at table with us.’ I respond to you, ‘Captain, I cannot refuse, for I am dying for lack of sustenance. Blessed be your benevolent offer.’ So saying I slip in between these two estimable gentlemen. I make myself small; very small; in order not to incommode them; on the contrary, the motion is so violent that I wedge — —”
So saying, the chevalier put his words into execution; profiting by the general surprise, he insinuated himself between two guests and provided himself with the glass of one, the plate of another, and the napkin of a third. Profound amazement made his neighbors oblivious to the things of this world. All this was accomplished with so much quickness, dexterity, confidence and boldness that the guests of the illustrious captain of the Unicorn and the illustrious captain himself did not dream of more than looking with the greatest curiosity and astonishment at the Chevalier de Croustillac. The adventurer proudly wore an old waistcoat of rateen, once green, but now of a yellowish blue; his frayed breeches were of the same shade; his stockings, at one time scarlet, were now a faded pink, and seemed in places to be fairly embroidered with white thread; a badly worn gray felt hat, an old sword-belt trimmed with imitation gold lace, now tarnished, supported a long sword upon which the chevalier, on entering, leaned with the air of a grandee. Croustillac was a very tall and excessively thin man. He appeared to be from thirty-six to forty years of age. His hair, mustache, and eyebrows were jet black, his face bony, brown and tanned. He had a long nose, small hazel eyes, which were extraordinarily lively, and his mouth was very large; his physiognomy betrayed at the same time an imperturbable assurance and an excessive vanity.
Croustillac had that overweening belief in himself which one finds only among the Gascons. He so exaggerated his merits and natural graces to himself that he believed no woman was able to resist him; the list of his conquests of every kind had been interminable. In spite of the most amazing falsehoods, which cost him little, it cannot be denied that he possessed true courage and a certain nobility of character. This natural valor, joined to his blind confidence in himself, sometimes precipitated him into almost inextricable situations, into which he threw himself headlong, and from which he never emerged without hard blows — for if he was as adventurous and boastful as a Gascon, he was as obstinate and opinionated as a Breton.
Heretofore his life had been very similar to that of his Bohemian companions. The younger son of a poor Gascon family of doubtful nobility, he had come to seek his fortune at Paris; by turns petty officer
of a forlorn hope; provost of an academy, bath-keeper, horse jockey, peddler of satirical news and Holland gazettes; he had more than once pretended to be a Protestant, feigning conversion to the Catholic faith in order to secure the fifty crowns that M. Pelisson paid each neophyte as the price of conversion. This cheat discovered, the chevalier was condemned to the lash and to prison. He suffered the lash, escaped from prison, disguised himself by means of an immense shade over his eye, girded himself with a formidable sword with which he ambled about, then embraced the profession of wheedling country folk for the benefit of gambling houses, into which he led those innocent lambs, who did not come forth again until completely shorn. It must be said — to the chevalier’s credit that he took no part himself in these rascalities; as he said to himself — if he did bait the hook, he at least did not eat the fish.
The laws regarding duels were at that time very severe. One day the chevalier encountered a well-known brave named Fontenay-Coup-d’Epée. The latter roughly elbowed our adventurer, saying, “Take care! I am Fontenay Sword-Thrust.” “And I,” said the Gascon, “Croustillac Cannon-Ball,” whipping out his sword.
Fontenay was killed, and Croustillac obliged to flee in order to escape capture.
The chevalier had often heard of the wonderful fortunes to be realized in the colonies. Journeying sometimes on foot, sometimes on horse, sometimes in a wagon, he went to Rochelle hoping to embark for America. Once there, Croustillac found that he not only must pay his passage on board a vessel, but must also obtain from the intendant of marine, permission to embark for the Antilles.
These two things were equally difficult of accomplishment; the emigration of Protestants, which Louis XIV. wished to prevent, made the officers of the ports extremely severe, and the voyage to Martinique cost no less than eight or nine hundred livres. In all his life the adventurer had never been possessed of a tithe of this amount. Arriving at Rochelle with ten crowns in his pocket, dressed in a smock frock and carrying his clothing on the end of his scabbard, the chevalier went, like a journeyman, to lodge at a poor tavern, ordinarily frequented by sailors.
There he inquired as to outgoing vessels, and learned that the Unicorn would set sail in a few days. Two of the crew of this vessel frequented the tavern which the chevalier had selected for the center of his operations. It would take too long to tell by what prodigies of astuteness and address; by what impudent and fabulous lies; by what mad promises Croustillac succeeded in interesting in his behalf the master cooper charged with the stowage of the casks of fresh water in the hold; it is enough to know that this man consented to hide Croustillac in an empty cask and to carry him on board the Unicorn.
According to custom, the intendant’s assistants and the admiralty clerks carefully examined the vessel at the moment of its departure, in order to see that no one had fraudulently embarked. The chevalier kept quiet at the bottom of his cask and escaped the careful search of the king’s servants. His heart bounded freely when he felt the vessel under way; he waited some hours before daring to show himself, knowing well that, once on the high seas, the captain of the Unicorn would not return to port to bring back a contraband passenger.
It had been arranged between the master cooper and the chevalier that the latter should never disclose the means whereby he had been smuggled on board.
A man less impudent than our adventurer would have timidly kept his place among the sailors, waiting with uneasiness the moment when Captain Daniel should discover the stowaway. Croustillac, on the contrary, went boldly to his end; preferring the captain’s table to the mess of the crew, he was not a moment in doubt that he would be seated at that table — if not rightfully, at least in fact.
We have seen how his audacity served his purpose.
Such was the unexpected visitor at whom the guests of the Unicorn looked curiously.
CHAPTER II.
BLUE BEARD.
“NOW, SIR, EXPLAIN how you came here!” cried the captain of the Unicorn, too impatient to learn the Gascon’s secret to send him from the table.
The Chevalier de Croustillac poured out a large glass of wine, stood up, and said in a loud tone, “I will first propose to the illustrious company to drink the health of one who is dear to us all — that of our glorious king, that of Louis the Great, the most adored of princes!”
In that troublous time, it would have been unwise and even dangerous for the captain to receive the chevalier’s proposition with coolness. Captain Daniel and the passengers following his example, responding to the toast, repeated in chorus, “To the king’s health! to the health of Louis the Great!” One person alone remained silent; this was the chevalier’s neighbor. Croustillac looked at him frowningly.
“By the gods, sir, are you not one of us?” said he; “are you, then, an enemy of our beloved king?”
“Not at all, sir; not at all. I love and venerate this great king, but how can I drink. You have taken my glass,” replied the passenger timidly.
“What! gods! Is it for such a trifle as this that you expose yourself to passing for a bad Frenchman?” exclaimed the chevalier, shrugging his shoulders. “Are there not enough glasses here? Waiter! bring this gentleman a glass. My dear friend, good luck. Now stand and let us say, ‘To the king’s health — our great king!’”
After this toast all reseated themselves. The chevalier profited by the confusion to give a napkin and plate to his neighbor. Then, uncovering a dish placed before him, he said boldly to Father Griffen, “Father, may I offer you some of this potted pigeon?”
“Zounds, sir,” cried the captain, struck by the liberties taken by the chevalier, “you put yourself very much at your ease.”
The adventurer interrupted the captain and said to him with a solemn air, “Captain, I know how to render to each what is due. The clergy is the first order of the state; I conduct myself then as a Christian in serving at once this reverend father. I shall do more — I shall seize this occasion to render homage, in his respectable and holy person, to the evangelical virtues which distinguish and always will distinguish our church.”
So saying, the chevalier served Father Griffen. From this moment it became very difficult for the captain to oust the adventurer. He had not refused the chevalier’s toast, nor prevented him from doing the honors of the table. Meanwhile he continued to question him. “Come, sir, you are a gentleman, so be it! you are a good Christian, you love the king as we all love him — this is very well, but tell me, how the devil came you here to eat supper with us?”
“Father,” said the chevalier, “I call upon you to bear witness, in the presence of this honorable company — —”
“To bear witness to what, my son?” replied the priest.
“To bear witness to what the captain has said.”
“How? What have I said,” exclaimed the captain.
“Captain, you have said, you will remember, in the presence of this company, that I am a gentleman.”
“I have said so, no doubt, but — —”
“That I am a good Christian.”
“Yes, but — —”
“That I love the king.”
“Yes, because — —”
“Very well,” replied the chevalier. “I again call this illustrious company to bear witness that when one is a good Christian, when one is a gentleman, when one loves his king, what more can be asked? Father, shall I help you to some of this roast?”
“I will take some, my son, for my seasickness takes the form of a robust appetite; once on shipboard, my hunger redoubles.”
“I am delighted, Father, at this similarity in constitution. I, too, have a ravenous appetite.”
“Very well, my son; as our good captain has given you the means wherewith to satisfy your appetite, I would say, to make use of your own words, that it is just because you are a gentleman, a good Christian, and well-disposed toward our beloved sovereign, that you ought to answer the questions of Captain Daniel as to your extraordinary appearance on board his ship.”
“
Unhappily, that is just what I cannot do, Father.”
“How? cannot do?” cried the irritated captain.
The chevalier assumed a solemn air, and replied, as he turned toward the priest, “This reverend father can alone hear my confession and my vows; this secret is not mine alone; this secret is grave, very grave,” he added, raising his eyes in contrition to heaven.
“And I — I can force you to speak,” cried the captain, “when I cause a cannon ball to be tied to each of your feet and ride you on a rail until you disclose the truth.”
“Captain,” answered the chevalier, with imperturbable calm, “I never permit any one to threaten me. The motion of an eyelid, a sneer, a gesture, a nothing, which seems insulting — but you are king on your own ship, and therefore I am in your kingdom and recognize myself to be your subject. You have admitted me to your table — I shall continue to be worthy of this favor always — but there is no reason to arbitrarily inflict upon me such bad treatment. Nevertheless, I shall know how to resign myself to it, to support it, unless this good priest, the refuge of the feeble against the strong, deigns to intercede with you in my behalf,” replied the chevalier humbly.
The captain was very much embarrassed, for Father Griffen did not hesitate to speak a few words in behalf of the adventurer who had so suddenly sought his protection, and who had promised to reveal, under the seal of the confessional, the secret of his presence on the Unicorn. The anger of the captain was somewhat appeased; the chevalier, at first flattering, insinuating, became jovial and comical; for the amusement of the passengers he performed all kinds of tricks; he balanced knives on his nose; he built up a pyramid of glasses and bottles with wonderful ingenuity; he sang new songs; he imitated the cries of various animals. In fact, Croustillac knew so well how to amuse the captain of the Unicorn, who was not very hard to please, that when supper was concluded the latter clapped the Gascon on the shoulder, saying:
