Instead of replying Jacques cried out: ‘The devil with the story of my loves! I’ve gone and left…’
MASTER: What have you left?
Instead of answering him Jacques turned out all of his pockets and then searched himself all over without success. He had left the purse for their journey under the head of his bed and he had no sooner admitted this to his master when he cried out: ‘To the devil with the story of your loves! I’ve gone and left my watch back there hanging on the chimney!’
Jacques needed no encouragement, but turned his horse about, and because he was never in a hurry started slowly back to…
– The huge château?
No, no. Out of all the different places, possible or impossible, which I have listed above, choose the one which best suits the present circumstances.
Meanwhile his master continued on his way. But now, with the master and the servant separated from each other, I don’t know which of the two I would rather follow. If you want to follow Jacques, take care. The search for the purse and the watch could become so long and so complicated that it might take him a long time before he meets up again with his master who is the sole confidant of the story of his loves and then it would be goodbye to the story of Jacques’ loves. If, however, leaving Jacques to go alone in search of the purse and the watch, you choose to keep his master company, you are being polite but you will be very bored. You do not know that type of person yet. He has very few ideas in his head at all. If he happens to say something sensible, it is from memory or inspiration. He has got eyes like you and me but most of the time you cannot be sure he is actually seeing anything. He does not exactly sleep, but he is never really awake either. He just carries on existing simply because it is what he usually does. Our automaton carried straight on ahead, turning round from time to time, to see if Jacques was coming. He got down from his horse and walked for a while on foot. Then he remounted, went about a quarter of a league, got down again and sat on the ground with his horse’s reins looped under his arm and his head in his hands. When he got tired of that position, he got up and peered into the distance to see if he could see Jacques. No Jacques. Then he got impatient and without really knowing whether he was talking or not he said: ‘The wretch, the dog, the rascal, where is he? What is he doing? How could it take anyone so long to recover a watch and a purse? I’ll beat you black and blue. Oh! That’s for sure – I’ll beat you black and blue.’
Then he looked for his watch in his fob-pocket and it wasn’t there, and that was the last straw. Because, without his watch, without his snuff-box and without Jacques, he didn’t know what to do. They were the three mainstays of his life which was spent in taking snuff, looking at the time, and questioning Jacques, which he did in every possible combination. Deprived of his watch he was reduced to his snuff-box, which he kept opening and shutting every minute, like I do when I am bored. The amount of snuff left in my snuff-box at night is in direct proportion to the amusement or in indirect proportion to the boredom of my day. I beg you, Reader, to familiarize yourself with this manner of speaking which is taken from geometry, because I find it precise and shall use it often.
Well then, have you had enough of the master? As the valet is not coming to you, would you rather we went to him? Poor Jacques! At the very moment we were speaking of him Jacques was sorrowfully meditating: ‘So it was written up above that in the same day I’d be arrested as a highwayman, be on the point of being taken to prison and be accused of having seduced a girl.’
On his slow way back to… the château? No, the place where they had spent the previous night, he passed by one of those itinerant pedlars known as ‘porteballes’, who called out to him: ‘Monsieur le Chevalier, garters, belts, watch-straps, snuff-boxes in the utmost good taste, all genuine, rings, fob-seals, a watch, Monsieur, a fine watch with engraving, double action, good as new.’
Jacques replied: ‘I’m looking for one but it’s not yours’, and carried on his way slowly. As he was going, he thought he could see that it was written up above that the watch this man had offered him was his master’s. He retraced his steps and said to the pedlar: ‘Friend, show me your gold watch, I have a fancy it might suit me.’
‘Indeed,’ said the pedlar, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised. It’s a very beautiful watch, made by Julien Le Roi. I’ve only had it a moment. I bought it for next to nothing and will do a good price on it. I like little repeated profits, but these are hard times and I won’t have a bargain like this for the next three months. You seem a fine chap and I would rather see you profit than another…’
As he was speaking the pedlar had put his bundle on the ground, opened it up and pulled out the watch, which Jacques recognized immediately without any surprise, because, since he was never in a hurry, he was rarely surprised. He had a good look at the watch.
‘Yes,’ he said to himself, ‘that’s it.’
To the pedlar: ‘You’re right. It is beautiful, very beautiful, and I know it’s a good watch…’
Then, putting it in his fob-pocket, he said to the pedlar: ‘Thank you very much, my friend.’
‘What do you mean, thank you very much?’
‘Yes, it’s my master’s watch.’
‘I don’t know your master. That watch is mine. I bought it and paid for it fair and square…’, and grabbing Jacques by the collar, he tried to take the watch back. Jacques went to his horse, took one of his pistols and held it against the pedlar’s chest: ‘Get back,’ he said to him, ‘or you’re a dead man…’
The frightened pedlar let go. Jacques got back on his horse and started slowly back towards the town, saying to himself: ‘That’s the watch back. Now let’s see about our purse…’
The pedlar hurriedly shut up his pack, put it on his shoulders and followed Jacques, shouting: ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer! Help! Help me! Help me!’
It was harvest time and the fields were full of workers. They all left their sickles and crowded around the man, asking him: ‘Where is the thief?’ ‘Where is the murderer?’
‘There he is, there he is, over there.’
‘What! That man riding slowly towards the town gate?’
‘That’s him.’
‘Come on, you’re crazy. That’s not the way a thief behaves.’
‘He’s one, he’s a thief, I tell you. He took a gold watch from me by force.’
These people did not know what to believe, the cries of the pedlar or the calm pace of Jacques.
But the pedlar added: ‘My friends, I will be ruined if you don’t help me. It’s worth thirty louis if it’s worth a brass farthing. Help me. He’s carrying off my watch and he’s only got to spur his horse and my watch will be lost…’
Even if Jacques was out of earshot of the shouting he could easily see the crowd, but still he went no faster. The pedlar had persuaded the peasants to run after Jacques in the hope of a reward. There was a crowd of men, women and children running after him shouting: ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer!’ with the pedlar following as closely as his burden would permit shouting: ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer!’
They entered the town, because it was in a town that Jacques and his master had spent the previous night, I remember it now. The townspeople left their dwellings and joined the peasants and the pedlar, all going along shouting in unison ‘Thief! Thief! Murderer!’ and they all caught up with Jacques at the same moment. The pedlar threw himself on to Jacques, who lashed out at him with a kick which knocked him to the ground but did not stop him shouting: ‘Rogue, rascal, scoundrel, give me back my watch! You’ll give it back to me and you’ll still be hanged for it…’
Jacques retained his composure, addressed the crowd, which was growing larger every moment, and said: ‘There is a magistrate here. Take me to him. When we get there I’ll show you that I’m not a thief, but this man might be one. I am not unknown in this town. The day before yesterday evening my master and I arrived here and we stayed with the Lieutenant-Governor,8 my master’s old friend…’
If I did not
say sooner that Jacques and his master had passed through Conches and that they had stayed with the Lieutenant-Governor of this place, then that is because it didn’t come back to me any earlier.
‘Take me to the Lieutenant-Governor,’ said Jacques, and dismounted. Jacques, his horse and the pedlar were in the middle of the procession. They set off and arrived at the gate of the Lieutenant-Governor’s house. Jacques, his horse and the pedlar went in, Jacques and the pedlar holding each other by the lapels. The crowd stayed outside.
Meanwhile, what was Jacques’ master doing? He was sleeping by the side of the road, the reins of his horse looped round his arm, and the animal grazing the grass around the sleeping figure as far as the length of the reins allowed.
As soon as the Lieutenant-Governor saw Jacques he shouted out: ‘Ah! Is that you, my poor Jacques? What’s brought you back here all alone?’
‘My master’s watch. He left it hanging on the corner of the chimney and I’ve just discovered it in this man’s pack. Our purse, which I left under the head of my bed, will doubtless also be found if you order it.’
‘If it is written up above,’ added the magistrate…
He called his people straight away and the pedlar immediately pointed out a large rascal with a shifty manner who had recently arrived at the house and said: ‘There’s the man who sold me the watch.’
The magistrate, taking on a solemn tone, said to the pedlar and his valet: ‘The pair of you deserve to go to the galleys, you for having sold the watch, and you for having bought it.’
To his valet: ‘Give this man back his money and take off your livery immediately…’
To the pedlar: ‘Hurry up and get out of these parts, unless you want to stay here hanging from a gibbet. The way you two earn your living always leads to a bad end… Now, Jacques, let’s see about your purse.’
The person who had taken it appeared without being called for. She was a full-grown shapely girl.
‘Monsieur, I have the purse,’ she said to her master, ‘but I didn’t steal it. He gave it to me.’
‘I gave you my purse?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose it’s possible, but the devil take me if I can remember.’
The magistrate said to Jacques: ‘All right, Jacques, we won’t go any further into that.’
‘Monsieur…’
‘She’s pretty and obliging from what I can see.’
‘Monsieur, I swear…’
‘How much was there in the purse?’
‘Around nine hundred and seventeen pounds.’
‘Ah! Javotte! Nine hundred and seventeen pounds for one night. That’s far too much for you, and for him. Give me the purse.’
The girl gave the purse to her master who took out a six-franc piece: ‘There you are,’ he said, throwing her the coin, ‘that is the price of your services. You deserve better, but from someone other than Jacques. I wish you twice as much as that every day, but not in my house, do you hear? And as for you, Jacques, hurry up and get back on your horse and return to your master.’
Jacques bowed to the magistrate and went off without answering, but saying to himself: ‘The brazen hussy! So it was written up above that someone else would sleep with her and that Jacques would pay for it, was it? Come along Jacques, cheer up; aren’t you pleased that you got the purse and your master’s watch back and that it cost you so little?’
Jacques got back on to his horse and pushed his way through the crowd which had gathered round the entrance to the magistrate’s house, but because he took it rather badly that so many people should take him for a thief he affected to take the watch out of his pocket to look at the time. Then he spurred his horse, which was not used to this and took off faster than it had ever done before. It was Jacques’ habit to let the horse do whatever it wanted because he found it just as inconvenient to stop it when it was galloping as it was to make it go faster when it was going slowly. We believe that it is we who control Destiny but it is always Destiny which controls us. And Destiny for Jacques was everything which touched him or came near him – his horse, his master, a monk, a dog, a woman, a mule, a crow. And so his horse took him as fast as it could go towards his master, who was sound asleep by the side of the road with his horse’s reins tied around his arm, as I have told you. On that occasion, however, the horse was on the end of the reins but when Jacques arrived the reins were still there and the horse was not. It would appear that a thief had come up to the sleeping figure, quietly cut the reins and led the animal away. On hearing the noise of Jacques’ horse his master woke up and his first words were: ‘Come here, come here, you scoundrel. I’m going to…’
Then he started to yawn his head off.
‘Have a good yawn, Monsieur, as much as you like,’ said Jacques, ‘but where is your horse?’
‘My horse?’
‘Yes, your horse.’
The master, noticing straight away that somebody had stolen his horse, was about to belabour Jacques with the reins when Jacques said to him: ‘Gently, Monsieur, I’m in no mood today to let myself be beaten senseless. I’ll take the first blow, but, I swear to you, on the second I’ll set spur to my horse and leave you here.’
This threat of Jacques’ had the sudden effect of calming the wrath of his master, who asked him in a gentler manner: ‘And my watch?’
‘Here it is.’
‘What about the purse?’
‘Here.’
‘You’ve been a long time.’
‘Not too long for all that I’ve done. Listen carefully. I went there. I got into a fight. I stirred up all the peasants in the fields. I caused a riot amongst the townsfolk. I was taken for a highwayman and I was brought before the judge. I underwent two cross-examinations. I very nearly caused two men to be hanged. I made a valet lose his job and had a maidservant lose hers. I’ve been convicted of spending the night with a creature I’ve never seen in my life, whom I nevertheless paid. And I came back.’
‘And as for me, while I was waiting for you…’
‘While you were waiting for me it was written up above that you would fall asleep and that someone would steal your horse. Monsieur, think no more of it. It’s one lost horse, and perhaps it is written up above that it’ll be found again.’
‘My horse! My poor horse!’
‘And if you cry from now till tomorrow it won’t be any the more or the less so.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Well, I’ll take you up behind me, or, if you would rather, we can take off our boots, tie them on to my horse’s saddle and carry on our way on foot.’
‘My horse! My poor horse!’
They chose to continue on foot, the master crying out from time to time: ‘My horse! My poor horse!’ and Jacques elaborating on the account of his adventures. When he had got to the girl’s accusation his master said to him: ‘Is it true, Jacques, that you didn’t sleep with the girl?’
JACQUES: No, Monsieur.
MASTER: And yet you paid for her?
JACQUES: Of course.
MASTER: Well, I was once even unluckier than you.
JACQUES: You mean you paid for it after you slept with her?
MASTER: You’ve said it.
JACQUES: Won’t you tell me about it?
MASTER: I think that before we start on the story of my loves we had better get to the end of yours. Well, Jacques, tell me more of your loves, which I shall take as the first and only loves of your life notwithstanding your little adventure with the servant girl of the Lieutenant-Governor of Conches, because although you may have slept with her that doesn’t mean you were in love with her. Every day people sleep with women they don’t love and every day they don’t sleep with women they love. But…
JACQUES: But what? Well, what’s wrong?
MASTER: My horse!… Jacques, my friend, don’t get angry with me. Put yourself in my horse’s shoes. Suppose that I’d lost you, and tell me if you wouldn’t have thought the better of me if you heard me saying: ‘Jacque
s! My poor Jacques!’
Jacques smiled and said:
I think I had got to the dialogue between my host and his wife during the night after my wound had first been dressed. I rested a little. My host and his wife both got up the next day a little later than they usually did.
MASTER: I can believe that.
JACQUES: When I woke up I quietly drew back the curtains around my bed and I saw my host, his wife and the surgeon in secret conference over by the window. After what I had heard during the night it wasn’t difficult to guess what was being discussed. I coughed. The surgeon said to the husband: ‘He’s woken up. Friend, go down to the wine cellar. We’ll have a drink to steady our hands. Then I’ll change the bandage and after that we’ll see about the rest.’
After the bottle had arrived and been emptied, because ‘to have a drink’ is a term of art and means to empty at least one bottle, the surgeon came to my bed and said to me: ‘What sort of night did you have?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Your arm… good, good, your pulse isn’t bad, there’s hardly any more fever. Now let’s see about this knee. Come on, mistress,’ he said to my host’s wife, who was standing at the foot of my bed on the other side of the curtain, ‘and help us…’
Jacques the Fatalist (Classics) Page 5
