Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “Beyond the house?”

  “Yes; we will walk on the great cliff, you know, where one sees in the distance the ocean. On such a beautiful night it will be delicious.”

  “Come, then, capricious child, take your mantle,” said the buccaneer, rising.

  “Come, Sir Black Beard, take your Spanish sombrero and be ready to carry me in your arms, out of reach of stumbling, for I am lazy.”

  “Come, Madame Blue Beard; but you do not wish to visit our guest?”

  “I am sure the poor devil has some horrible dream. Ah, well, to-morrow we will give him a guide and send him away.”

  “No, keep him here another day. I will tell you what Father Griffen thinks of it; amusements are rare, he will amuse you.”

  “Heavens! what a beautiful night,” said Angela, opening the blinds of the window. “It will make me so happy to take a walk.”

  Opening the outer doors of Devil’s Cliff, the buccaneer and the widow left the house.

  . . . . . . . . .

  Contrary to his expectation, Croustillac passed an excellent night. When he awoke the following morning the sun was already high in the heavens; the blinds which were on his chamber windows had been lowered, fortunately, which softened the light. The chevalier had lain down with all his clothing on. He arose and went over to the window, and opened the blinds partially. What was his astonishment to see, at the end of a long walk bordered with tamarinds, that formed a screen almost impenetrable to the light, Blue Beard walking, negligently, leaning on the arm of a Caribbean of vigorous stature. This Caribbean was entirely dyed, according to custom, that is to say, painted with a kind of luminous composition of a reddish brown; his hair, black and glossy, parted in the center, fell on either side of his cheeks; his beard seemed carefully trimmed; his perfectly regular features partook of the character of calm severity peculiar to the savage; on his neck shone large crescents of carracolis (a kind of metal of which the West Indians alone knew the secret, and composed of gold, brass and silver).

  These ornaments, of a brilliant red, were curiously chased and incrusted with green stones, the color of malachite, and to these the Indians attribute all kinds of marvelous virtues. The Caribbean was clad in a loose white garment having a border of blue fringe; the large and sweeping folds of this costume would have served as a model for the drapery of a statue. With the exception of the neck, right arm naked to the shoulder, and the left leg, this cotton garment enveloped the Caribbean completely; on his wrist he had bracelets of carracolis also incrusted with green stones; his leg was half hidden by a kind of sandal made of bands of cotton stuff of a vivid color and very picturesque.

  Angela and Youmäale, for this was he, were walking slowly, and came directly toward the window from the shadow of which the Gascon watched them. A pink girdle about the beautiful figure of the widow confined a long robe of white muslin; her blond curls fell around her fresh and youthful face, which the adventurer had not seen before by day. He could not refrain from admiring her white and clear complexion, her rosy and transparent cheeks, her eyes so limpid and blue.

  The evening before, Angela had appeared to Croustillac in brilliant apparel, and disturbed by the strange confidences of Blue Beard and the buccaneer, the admiration of the chevalier was mixed with distrust, impatience and fear, and he had been more alarmed than touched by the beauty of Angela; but when he saw her in the morning so simply pretty, he experienced a profound emotion; he was moved; he forgot Devil’s Cliff and the cannibal, and thought only of the beautiful creature before him. Love, yes, true love took possession suddenly of the chevalier’s heart just before so little in love. Though the growth of this sudden passion was so rapid and instantaneous, it was none the less sincere.

  Doubtless the evening before, Croustillac had suffered from too much agitation, too sudden astonishment, too strange preoccupations, to really appreciate Blue Beard; refreshed by a night’s sleep, the past seemed like a dream and Angela appeared as if for the first time to him; admiring the supple figure outlined by the perfect fit of her white muslin robe, he forgot the brocaded dress studded with precious stones with which he was so impressed the preceding evening. He sought vainly to discover, in the ingenuous and charming features which he now beheld the diabolical smiles of the singular woman who had made such sinister pleasantries concerning her three deceased husbands. In fact, poor Croustillac was in love. Perhaps it was he and not Blue Beard who had changed; but with his new love came all kinds of cruel jealousy.

  Seeing Angela and Youmäale walking together so familiarly, the adventurer experienced agony and new disquietude increased by an intense curiosity. Alas! what a sight for him. At times, Angela dropped the Caribbean’s arm in order to pursue, with the ardent enjoyment of a child, the beautiful gold and blue insects, or to pick some lovely fragrant flower; then she would suddenly return to Youmäale, always calm, almost solemn, who seemed to have a feeling of grave and tender protection for the young woman.

  At times the Caribbean gave his hand to the widow to kiss. Angela, happy and proud at this favor, carried the hand to her lips with an air at once respectful and passionate; she seemed a Caribbean woman accustomed to live a submissive and devoted slave to her master. Youmäale held a magnificent flower which the widow had given him. He let it fall to the earth. Angela bent quickly, and picking it up, handed it to him, while the savage made no gesture to prevent her, or to thank her for this attention.

  “Stupid and gross animal!” cried Croustillac indignantly; “would one not think he was a sultan? How can that adorable creature bring herself to kiss the hand of a cannibal, who had no other way of sounding the praises of the good priest Simon than that he had eaten him! Yesterday a buccaneer, to-day a cannibal, to-morrow, without doubt, a filibuster. But she is a veritable Messalina!” continued Croustillac, at once despairing and feeling within himself a victim to a real passion.

  The widow and the Caribbean approached nearer and nearer the window where Croustillac stood watching them, and he could hear their conversation. Youmäale spoke French with the slight guttural accent natural to his race; his words were few and brief. Croustillac overheard these words of the conversation:

  “Youmäale,” said the little widow, leaning on the arm of the Caribbean and looking tenderly at him, “Youmäale, you are my master, I will obey you; is it not my duty, my sweet duty, to obey you?”

  “It is thy duty,” said the Caribbean, who used that form, but which Angela did not. His dignity as the man demanded this.

  “Youmäale, my life is your life, my thoughts are yours,” returned Angela; “if you should tell me to put to my lips the deadly juice of this poisonous apple, I should do it, to show you that I belong to you, as your bow, your cabin, your canoe, belong to you.”

  Saying these words Angela showed the silent Caribbean a yellow fruit which she held in her hand, and which contained the most deadly and subtle poison. Youmäale, after subjecting Angela to the most piercing scrutiny, made an imperative gesture holding up the forefinger of his right hand. At this sign, the widow quickly raised the deadly fruit to her lips, and, had it not been for a movement still more rapid on the part of the Caribbean she would perhaps have given this fatal proof of passive obedience to the slightest caprice of her master. A movement of affright as fugitive as lightning, contracted the impassive features of the Caribbean as the widow lifted the apple to her lips; but he quickly recovered his coolness, lowering the hand of Angela, kissing the young woman gravely on the forehead, and saying to her in a sweet and sonorous tone, “It is well.”

  At this moment the two pedestrians were so close to the window of Croustillac that the latter, fearing to be discovered eavesdropping, withdrew suddenly into his chamber, and said “How she frightened me with her poison. And this savage animal, who looks like a lobster, as much from the color of his skin as from his movements, says to her, ‘It is well,’ when this adorable woman, at a sign from him, would have poisoned herself; for once in love, women are capable of anything.” The
n, after some moments of cruel reflection, the Gascon exclaimed, “It is inexplicable that a woman should be in love with a man such as this one appears to be; with two, for this is evident; although it is an enormity! But it is impossible that she should love three at the same time; this descends to monstrosity — it is worthy of the lower regions. How! Blue Beard, linked to a buccaneer, and a filibuster, also has a frightful fancy for this cannibal who eats missionaries, without taking into account in addition that she proposes to me to marry her! Zounds! this is enough to make one lose his head. Decidedly I will not remain here; no, no, a thousand times, no! What I have seen has made me ill. I will not become so stupid as to take this woman; I should lose all my advantages. Real love makes one as stupid as a goose; during this last hour I have already lost more resolution than since my arrival here. My heart has melted; I feel myself inclined to do the most ridiculous things. Fly, fly; this is madness, a dream. I was born poor; I have always been poor; I will die poor. I will leave this house, I will seek out the worthy captain of the Unicorn. After all,” said Croustillac, with a discouragement singular in a man of his character, “there are worse things than swallowing lighted candles to amuse Captain Daniel.”

  These sad reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the old mulattress, who knocked at his door and informed him that the negro who had waited upon him in the capacity of valet the previous day was waiting for him in the outer building.

  Croustillac followed the slave, was dressed, shaved and thus went to wait upon Blue Beard in the same room where he had waited the preceding night.

  The widow shortly appeared.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  TRUE LOVE.

  AT SIGHT OF Blue Beard, in spite of himself, Croustillac blushed like a schoolboy.

  “I was very disagreeable yesterday, was I not?” said Angela to the chevalier, with an enchanting smile. “I gave you a bad opinion of me when I permitted Rendsoul to tell all kinds of tricks; but do not let us speak of them any more. By the way, Youmäale, the Caribbean, is here.”

  “I saw you from my window, madame,” said the chevalier bitterly, while he thought, “She has not the slightest shame. What a pity, with such an adorable face. There, Croustillac, be firm!”

  “Is Youmäale not very handsome?” asked the widow with a triumphant air.

  “Humph! he is handsome for a savage,” returned the chevalier, unwillingly; “but, now that we are alone, madame, explain to me how you can in one day (do not be shocked by this question which circumstances compel me to ask you), how you can in one day change your lover?”

  “Oh, it is simple enough; one comes, the other goes; it is very simple.”

  “One comes, the other goes — it is very simple from this standpoint, but, madame, nature and morality have laws!”

  “All three love me truly, why should I not love all three?”

  This answer was made with such perfect candor that the chevalier said to himself, “It seems as if this unhappy woman must have been raised in some desert or cavern. She has not the slightest idea of good and evil; one would have to absolutely educate her.” He said aloud, with some embarrassment, “At the risk of being taken for an indiscreet and wearisome person, madame, I would say that this morning, during your walk with the Caribbean, I both saw and heard you. How is it that at a sign from him you would dare, at the risk of poisoning yourself, lift to your lips the deadly fruit of the poisonous apple?”

  “If Youmäale should say to me ‘die’ I should die,” replied the widow.

  “But the buccaneer, the filibuster — what would they say if you should die for the Caribbean?”

  “They would say I had done right.”

  “And if they demanded that you should die for them?”

  “I would die for them.”

  “As you would for Youmäale?”

  “As for Youmäale.”

  “Then you love the three equally?”

  “Yes, because all three love me equally.”

  “She has a rooted idea and no one can dislodge it,” thought the Gascon; “I lose my trouble. Her accent is too frank to be assumed. It may be that evil tongues have slandered a fraternal affection that this young woman bears for these three bandits. Though the buccaneer gave me to understand — after all, perhaps I misunderstood him and, as I am going to leave her, I would much rather believe her more innocent than culpable; although she does appear very hard to me to acquit.” He went on: “A last question, madame. What was the object of the atrocious tales that you and the buccaneer related last night concerning two of your deceased husbands — that one had died of laughter and the other been used as a lamp, thanks to the intervention of Satan who always, according to the same story, signs your marriage contract? You must feel, madame, that, however polite I may be, it is extremely difficult for me to appear to believe such follies as these.”

  “They are not follies.”

  “How — you wish me to believe — —”

  “Oh, you must believe them, and many other things, after you have evidence of them,” said the widow, with a peculiar tone.

  “And when will you explain this mystery to me, madame?”

  “When I tell you the price I place upon my hand.”

  “Ah, she is beginning to jest again,” thought the Gascon. “I will appear to be duped, in order to see what she will do; I wish she was far away — that my stupid fancy were completely extinguished.” Then aloud, “Was it not to-day that you were to say what price you place upon your hand, madame?”

  “Yes.”

  “At what hour?”

  “This evening, when the moon rises.”

  “Why not now, madame?”

  “That is a secret you will know like others.”

  “And if I marry you, you will give me but one year to live?”

  “Alas! only a year.”

  “Let me appear duped,” said the Gascon to himself; and aloud, “Is it your desire that my days should be so few?”

  “No, no!” cried the widow.

  “Then, personally, you do not dislike me?” said Croustillac.

  At this question the face of Blue Beard changed entirely and her expression became grave and thoughtful; she raised her head proudly, and the chevalier was struck with the air of nobility and goodness which overspread her face. “Listen to me,” she said, with an affectionate and protecting voice. “Because certain circumstances in my life oblige me to a conduct often strange; because I perhaps abuse my liberty you must not think I have a contempt for men of heart.”

  Croustillac looked at the widow with surprise. She was not the same woman. She appeared like a woman of the world. He was so taken aback that he could not speak.

  Blue Beard continued: “You ask me if I hate you; we have not yet reached the point where such sentiments, good or bad, can attain such extremity; but I am far from hating you; you are certainly very vain, very boastful, very arrogant — —”

  “Madame!”

  “But you are good, brave, and you would be capable, I am sure, of a generous devotion; you are poor, of obscure birth — —”

  “Madame, the name of Croustillac is as good as any other,” cried the chevalier, unable to vanquish the demon of pride.

  The widow continued as if she had not heard the chevalier. “If you had been born rich and powerful, you would have made a noble use of your power and your wealth. Want has counseled you to more evil than she has made you perform, for you have suffered and endured many privations — —”

  “But, madame — —”

  “Poverty finds you careless and resigned; fortune would have found you prodigal and generous; in a word, what is of rare occurrence, you have not been more hurt by poverty than you would have been by prosperity. If the amount of your good qualities has not brought you much more than the heedlessness of youth, this house would not have been open to you, be certain of that, sir. If the proposition that I shall make you to-night is not agreeable to you, I am sure, at least, that you will not carry away a
disagreeable remembrance of Blue Beard. Will you await me here?” she said, smiling, “I am going to take a look at Youmäale’s breakfast, for it is customary with the Caribbeans that the women alone take care of this, and I wish, in that respect at least, that Youmäale should feel as if in his own cabin.”

  So saying, the widow left. This interview was, so to speak, a finishing touch to the unhappy chevalier. Although the widow had shrewdly summed up the character of Croustillac, she had expressed it in a manner full of kindness, grace and dignity. She had, in fact, shown herself in a new light, which overthrew all the Gascon’s suppositions. The simple and affectionate words of Angela, the sweet and noble look which accompanied them, rendered Croustillac prouder and happier than he would have been at the most extravagant compliments. He felt, with a mixture of joy and fear, so completely and hopelessly in love with the widow that had she been poor and friendless he would have been truly and generously devoted to her — the most unmistakable symptom of true love.

  The astounding presumption of the chevalier deserted him. He understood how ridiculous the part he had played must appear; and, as the property of true sentiment is always to make us better, more intelligent and more sensible, in spite of the chaos of contradictions which surrounded Angela’s conduct, the chevalier discerned that these appearances must hide a grave mystery; he also said to himself that the intimacy of Blue Beard with her lovers, as she called them, covered, without doubt, another secret, and that this young woman was, as a consequence, slandered in a most unjust manner. He said, further, that the apparent ease with which Angela assumed a frightful cynicism before a stranger was not without some very pressing reason. In consequence of this rehabilitation of Blue Beard in the mind of Croustillac, she became in his eyes, completely innocent of the murder of her three husbands. Finally, the adventurer began to believe, so much had love metamorphosed him, that the solitary inmate of Devil’s Cliff wished to mock him; and he proposed to clear up his suspicions that same night, when the widow should tell him the price she placed upon her hand.