“I give up the case, then, Mocquet: all I ask is, that you will not tell my son this fine tale of yours, until he is fifteen at least.”
“And why, General?”
“Because it is no use stuffing his mind with nonsense of that kind, until he is old enough to laugh at wolves, whether they are white, grey or black.”
“It shall be as you say, General; he shall hear nothing of this matter.”
“Go on, then.”
“Where had we got to, General?”
“We had got to your trarp, which you had put on your stomach, and you were saying that it was a first-rate trarp”
“By my faith, General, that was a first-rate trarp!” It weighed a good ten pounds. What am I saying! fifteen pounds at least with its chain!
I put the chain over my wrist.
“And what happened that night?”
“That night? why, it was worse than ever! Generally, it was in her leather overshoes she came and kneaded my chest, but that night she came in her wooden sabots.”
“And she comes like this…?”
“Every blessed one of God’s nights, and it is making me quite thin; you can see for yourself, General, I am growing as thin as a lath. However, this morning I made up my mind.”
“And what did you decide upon, Mocquet?”
“Well, then, I made up my mind I would let fly at her with my gun.”
“That was a wise decision to come to. And when do you think of carrying it out?”
“This evening, or to-morrow at latest, General.”
“Confound it! And just as I was wanting to send you over to Villers-Hellon.”
“That won’t matter, General. Was it something that you wanted done at once?”
“Yes, at once.”
“Very well, then, I can go over to Villers-Hellon, it’s not above a few miles, if I go through the wood and get back here this evening; the journey both ways is only twenty-four miles, and we have covered a few more than that before now out shooting, General.”
“That’s settled, then; I will write a letter for you to give to M. Collard, and then you can start.”
“I will start, General, without a moment’s delay.”
My father rose, and wrote to M. Collard; the letter was as follows:
“My dear Collard,
“I am sending you that idiot of a keeper of mine, whom you know; he has taken into his head that an old woman nightmares him every night, and, to rid himself of this vampire, he intends nothing more nor less than to kill her.
“Justice, however, might not look favourably on this method of his for curing himself of indigestion, and so I am going to start him off to you on a pretext of some kind or other. Will you, also, on some pretext or other, send him on, as soon as he gets to you, to Danre, at Vouty, who will send him on to Dulauloy, who, with or without pretext, may then, as far as I care, send him on to the devil?
“In short, he must be kept going for a fortnight at least. By that time we shall have moved out of here and shall be at Antilly, and as he will then no longer be in the district of Haramont, and as his nightmare will probably have left him on the way, Mother Durand will be able to sleep in peace, which I should certainly not advise her to do if Mocquet were remaining anywhere in her neighbourhood.”
“He is bringing you six brace of snipe and a hare, which we shot while out yesterday on the marshes of Vallue.
“A thousand-and-one of my tenderest remembrances to the fair Herminie, and as many kisses to the dear little Caroline.
“Your friend,
“ALEX. Dumas.”
An hour later Mocquet was on his way, and, at the end of three weeks, he rejoined us at Antilly.
“Well,” asked my father, seeing him reappear in robust health, “well, and how about Mother Durand?”
“Well, General,” replied Mocquet cheerfully, “I’ve got rid of the old mole; it seems she has no power except in her own district.”
VI
Twelve years had passed since Mocquet’s nightmare, and I was now over fifteen years of age. It was the winter of sixty-six; ten years before that date I had, alas! lost my father.
We no longer had a Pierre for gardener, a Hippolyte for valet, or a Mocquet for keeper; we no longer lived at the Chateau of Les Fosses or in the villa at Antilly, but in the market-place of Villers Cotterets, in a little house opposite the fountain, where my mother kept a bureau de tabac, selling powder and shot as well over the same counter.
As you have already read in my Memoires” although still young, I was an enthusiastic sportsman. As far as sport went, however, that is according to the usual acceptation of the word, I had none, except when my cousin, M. Deviolaine, the ranger of the forest at Villers-Cotterets, was kind enough to ask leave of my mother to take me with him. I filled up the remainder of my time with poaching.
For this double function of sportsman and poacher I was well provided with a delightful single-barrelled gun, on which was engraven the monogram of the Princess Borghese, to whom it had originally belonged. My father had given it me when I was a child, and when, after his death, everything had to be sold, I implored so urgently to be allowed to keep my gun, that it was not sold with the other weapons, and the horses and carriages.
The most enjoyable time for me was the winter; then the snow lay on the ground, and the birds, in their search for food, were ready to come wherever grain was sprinkled for them. Some of my father’s old friends had fine gardens, and I was at liberty to go and shoot the birds there as I liked. So I used to sweep the snow away, spread some grain, and, hiding myself within easy gun-shot, fire at the birds, sometimes killing six, eight, or even ten at a time.
Then, if the snow lasted, there was another thing to look forward to, the chance of tracing a wolf to its lair, and a wolf so traced was everybody’s property. The wolf, being a public enemy, a murderer beyond the pale of the law, might be shot at by all or anyone, and so, in spite of my mother’s cries, who dreaded the double danger for me, you need not ask if I seized my gun, and was first on the spot ready for sport.
The winter of 1817 to 1818 had been long and severe; the snow was lying a foot deep on the ground, and so hard frozen that it had held for a fortnight past, and still there were no tidings of anything.
Towards four o’clock one afternoon Mocquet called upon us; he had come to lay in his stock of powder. While so doing, he looked at me and winked with one eye. When he went out, I followed.
“What is it, Mocquet?” I asked, “tell me.”
“Can’t you guess, Monsieur Alexandre?”
“No, Mocquet.”
“You don’t guess, then, that if I come and buy powder here from Madame, your mother, instead of going to Haramont for it, in short, if I walk three miles instead of only a quarter that distance, that I might possibly have a bit of a shoot to propose to you?”
“Oh, you good Mocquet! and what and where?”
“There’s a wolf, Monsieur Alexandre.”
“Not really?”
“He carried off one of M. Destournelles’ sheep last night, I have traced him to the Tillet woods.”
“And what then?”
“Why then, I am certain to see him again to-night, and shall find out where his lair is, and to-morrow morning we’ll finish his business for him.”
“Oh, this is luck!”
“Only, we must first ask leave…”
“Of whom, Mocquet?”
“Leave of Madame.”
“All right, come in, then, we will ask her at once.”
My mother had been watching us through the window; she suspected that some plot was hatching between us.
“I have no patience with you, Mocquet,” she said, as we went in, “you have no sense or discretion.”
“In what way, Madame?” asked Mocquet.
“To go exciting him in the way you do; he thinks too much of sport as it is.”
“Nay, Madame, it is with him, as with dogs of breed; his father was a sports man, he is a
sportsman, and his son will be a sportsman after him; you must make up your mind to that.”
“And supposing some harm should come to him?”
“Harm come to him with me? With Mocquet? No, indeed! I will answer for it with my own life, that he shall be safe. Harm happen to him, to him, the General’s son? Never, never, never!”
But my poor mother shook her head; I went to her and flung my arms round her neck.
“Mother, dearest,” I cried, “please let me go.”
“You will load his gun for him, then, Mocquet?”
“Have no fear, sixty grains of powder, not a grain more or less, and a twenty to the pound bullet.”
“And you will not leave him?”
“I will stay by him like his shadow.”
“You will keep him near you?”
“Between my legs.”
“I give him into your sole charge, Mocquet.”
“And he shall be given back to you safe and sound. Now, Monsieur Alexandre, gather up your traps, and let us be off; your mother has given her permission.”
“You are not taking him away this evening, Mocquet.”
“I must, Madame, to-morrow morning will be too late to fetch him; we must hunt the wolf at dawn.”
“The wolf! it is for a wolf-hunt that you are asking for him to go with you?”
“Are you afraid that the wolf will eat him?”
“Mocquet! Mocquet!”
“But when I tell you that I will be answerable for everything!”
“And where will the poor child sleep?”
“With father Mocquet, of course, he will have a good mattress laid on the floor, and sheets white as those which God has spread over the fields, and two good warm coverlids; I promise you that he shall not catch cold.”
“I shall be all right, mother, you may be sure! Now then, Mocquet, I am ready.”
“And you don’t even give me a kiss, you poor boy, you!”
“Indeed, yes, dear mother, and a good many more than one!”
And I threw myself on my mother’s neck, stifling her with my caresses as I clasped her in my arms.”
“And when shall I see you again?”
“Oh, do not be uneasy if he does not return before to-morrow evening.”
“How, to-morrow evening! and you spoke of starting at dawn!”
“At dawn for the wolf; but if we miss him, the lad must have a shot or two at the wild ducks on the marshes of Vallue.”
“I see! you are going to drown him for me!”
“By the name of all that’s good, Madame, if I was not speaking to the General’s widow I should say”
“What Mocquet? What would you say?”
“That you will make nothing but a wretched milksop of your boy… If the General’s mother had been always behind him, pulling at his coat-tails, as you are behind this child, he would never even have had the courage to cross the sea to France.”
“You are right, Mocquet! take him away! I am a poor fool.”
And my mother turned aside, to wipe away a tear.
A mother’s tear, that heart’s diamond, more precious than all the pearls of Ophir! I saw it running down her cheek. I ran to the poor woman, and whispered to her, “Mother, if you like, I will stay at home.”
“No, no, go, my child,” she said, “Mocquet is right; you must, sooner or later, learn to be a man.”
I gave her another last kiss; then I ran after Mocquet, who had already started.
After I had gone a few paces, I looked round; my mother had run into the middle of the road, that she might keep me in sight as long as possible; it was my turn now to wipe away a tear.
“How now?” said Mocquet,” you crying too, Monsieur Alexandre!”
“Nonsense, Mocquet! it’s only the cold makes my eyes run.”
But Thou, O God, who gavest me that tear, Thou knowest that it was not because of the cold that I was crying.
VII
It was pitch dark when we reached Mocquet’s house. We had a savoury omelette and stewed rabbit for supper, and then Mocquet made my bed ready for me. He kept his word to my mother, for I had a good mattress, two white sheets and two good warm coverlids.
“Now,” said Mocquet, “tuck yourself in there, and go to sleep; we may probably have to be off at four o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“At any hour you like, Mocquet.”
“Yes, I know, you are a capital riser over night, and to-morrow morning I shall have to throw a jug of cold water over you to make you get up.”
“You are welcome to do that, Mocquet, if you have to call me twice.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.”
“Are you in a hurry to go to sleep, Mocquet?”
“Why, whatever do you want me to do at this hour of the night?”
“I thought, perhaps, Mocquet, you would tell me one of those stories that I used to find so amusing when I was a child.”
“And who is going to get up for me at two o’clock to-morrow, if I sit telling you tales till midnight? Our good priest, perhaps?”
“You are right, Mocquet.”
“It’s fortunate you think so!”
So I undressed and went to bed. Five minutes later Mocquet was snoring like a bass viol.
I turned and twisted for a good two hours before I could get to sleep. How many sleepless nights have I not passed on the eve of the first shoot of the season! At last, towards midnight fatigue gained the mastery over me. A sudden sensation of cold awoke me with a start at four o’clock in the morning; I opened my eyes. Mocquet had thrown my bed-clothes off over the foot of the bed, and was standing beside me, leaning both hands on his gun, his face beaming out upon me, as, at every fresh puff of his short pipe, the light from it illuminated his features.
“Well, how have you got on, Mocquet?”
“He has been tracked to his lair.”
“The wolf? and who tracked him?”
“This foolish old Mocquet.”
“Bravo!”
“But guess where he has chosen to take covert, this most accommodating of good wolves!”
“Where was it then, Mocquet?”
“If I gave you a hundred chances you wouldn’t guess! in the Three Oaks Covert.”
“We’ve got him, then?”
“I should rather think so.”
The Three Oaks Covert is a patch of trees and undergrowth, about two acres in extent, situated in the middle of the plain of Largny, about five hundred paces from the forest.
“And the keepers?” I went on.
“All had notice sent them,” replied Mocquet; “Moynat, Mildet, Vatrin, Lafeuille, all the best shots in short, are waiting in readiness just outside the forest. You and I, with Monsieur Charpentier, from Vallue, Monsieur Hochedez, from Largny, Monsieur Destournelles, from Les Fosses, are to surround the Covert; the dogs will be slipped, the field-keeper will go with them, and we shall have him, that’s certain.”
“You’ll put me in a good place, Mocquet?”
“Haven’t I said that you will be near me; but you must get up first.”
“That’s true Brrou!”
“And I am going to have pity on your youth and put a bundle of wood in the fire-place.”;
“I didn’t dare ask for it; but, on my word of honour, it will be kind of you if you will.”
Mocquet went out and brought in an armful of wood from the timber-yard, and threw it on to the hearth, poking it down with his foot; then he threw a lighted match among the twigs, and in another moment the clear bright flames were dancing and crackling up the chimney. I went and sat on the stool by the fireside, and there dressed myself; you may be sure that I was not long over my toilette; even Mocquet was astonished at my celerity.
“Now, then,” he said, “a drop of this, and then off!” And saying this, he filled two small glasses with a yellowish coloured liquor, which did not require any tasting on my part to recognize.
“You know I never drink brandy, Mocquet.”
“A
h, you are your father’s son, all over! What will you have, then?”
“Nothing, Mocquet, nothing.”
“You know the proverb: ’Leave the house empty; the devil will be there.’ Believe me, you had better put something into your stomach, while I load your gun, for I must keep my promise to that poor mother of yours.”
“Well, then, I will have a crust of bread and a glass of pignolet.” Pignolet is a light wine made in non-winegrowing districts, generally said to require three men to drink it, one to drink, and two to hold him; I was, however, pretty well accustomed to pigrolet, and could drink it up without help. So I swallowed my glass of wine while Mocquet loaded my gun.
“What are you doing, Mocquet?” I asked him.
“Making a cross on your bullet,” he replied. “As you will be near me, we shall probably let fly together, and, although I know you would give me up your share, still, for the glory of it, it will be as well to know which of us killed him, if the wolf falls. So, mind you aim straight.”
“I’ll do my best, Mocquet.”
“Here’s your gun, then, loaded for bird-shooting; and now, gun over your shoulder, and off we start.”
VIII
The meeting-place was on the road leading to Chavigny. Here we found the keepers and some of the huntsmen, and within another ten minutes those who were missing had also joined us. Before five o’clock struck, our number was complete, and then we held a council of war to decide our further proceedings. It was finally arranged that we should first take up our position round the Three Oaks Covert at some considerable distance from it, and then gradually advance so as to form a cordon round it. Everything was to be done with the utmost silence, it being well known that wolves decamp on hearing the slightest noise. Each of us was ordered to look carefully along the path he followed, to make quite sure that the wolf had not left the covert. Meanwhile the field-keeper was holding Mocquet’s hounds in leash.
One by one we took our stand facing the covert, on the spot to which our particular path had conducted us. As it happened, Mocquet and I found ourselves on the north side of the warren, which was parallel with the forest.
Mocquet had rightly said that we should be in the best place, for the wolf would in all probability try and make for the forest, and so would break covert on our side of it.
The Werewolf Megapack Page 36
