Delphi complete works of.., p.49
Delphi Complete Works of Alphonse Daudet (Illustrated), page 49
The children seemed to be having a very good time there. They ran noisily all round the hall, making the dust rise. Some of them tried to reach the ring; others hung suspended by their hands, shouting; five or six, of a calmer disposition, were eating their bread in front of the windows, looking at the snow that filled the streets, and at the men armed with shovels, who were carrying it away in carts. But I heard nothing of all the racket.
Alone in a corner with tears in my eyes, I was reading a letter, and the boys at that moment might have demolished the gymnasium from top to bottom, without my observing it. It was a letter from Jacques that I had just received; it was postmarked Paris, ah, yes, Paris! — and this is what it said:
DEAR DANIEL, — My letter will surprise you. You haven’t guessed, have you, my being in Paris for the last two weeks? I left Lyons without telling anybody, or asking advice. Don’t blame me; I was too tired of that horrible town, especially since your departure.
I arrived here with thirty francs, and five or six letters from the curé of Saint Nizier. Fortunately, Providence took care of me from the beginning, and made me fall in with an old Marquis, who engaged me as secretary.
We are putting his memoirs in order; all I have to do is to write under his dictation, and I get a hundred francs a month for it. It is not brilliant, as you see; but, everything considered, I hope to be able to send some of my savings home occasionally.
O my dear Daniel! What a pretty city Paris is! Here, at least, it is not always foggy; of course it rains sometimes, but it is a light, cheerful rain, mixed with sunshine, such as I have never seen elsewhere, so I have completely changed; if you only knew! I do not cry any more, it is incredible.
I had come to this point in the letter, when suddenly, under the windows, there was the dull sound of a carriage rumbling through the snow. The carriage stopped before the door of the school, and I heard the children shouting at the top of their lungs: “The sub-prefect! The subprefect!”
A visit from the sub-prefect evidently foretold something unusual. He came scarcely two or three times a year to the school of Sarlande, and then it was an event. But at that moment my brother Jacques’ letter interested me above everything else, and meant more to me than the subprefect of Sarlande, and than all Sarlande itself. So, while the boys, who were in high spirits, were falling over one another in front of the windows in their eagerness to see the sub-prefect get out of his carriage, I returned to my corner and began again to read:
You must know, my dear Daniel, that our father is in Brittany, where he is doing business in cider, in behalf of a company. When he learned that I was the secretary of a Marquis, he wanted me to make him buy a few casks of cider, but, unluckily, the Marquis drinks nothing but wine, and Spanish wine at that. I wrote this to my father, and do you know what he answered?— “Jacques, you are an ass!” as usual. But all the same, my dear Daniel, I believe that at the bottom he is very fond of me.
As to mamma, you know that she is alone now. You ought to write to her, for she complains of your silence.
I had forgotten to tell you something, which will certainly give you great pleasure. I have a room in the Latin Quarter — in the Latin Quarter, only think of it! A real poet’s room like one in a novel, with a little window and house-tops as far as the eye can see. The bed is narrow, but we could both sleep in it at a pinch; and then there is a work-table in the corner where a fellow could write verses very comfortably.
I am sure that if you saw all this, you would come to me as soon as possible; I, too, should like to have you with me, and I do not promise not to ask you to come some day.
In the meantime, don’t forget me, and don’t work too much at school lest it make you ill. Good-by, Your affectionate brother, JACQUES.
Dear kind Jacques! What delicious pain his letter gave me. I laughed and cried at the same time. All my life of the last months, the punch, the billiards, and the Café Barbette, made the effect upon me of a bad dream, and I thought: “Come, that’s all over; now I am going to work. I am going to be brave like Jacques.”
Just then the bell rang. The boys fell into line; they talked much of the sub-prefect and, as they passed, called one another’s attention to his carriage standing before the door. I gave them into the charge of the professors, and then, once rid of them, rushed to the staircase, I longed so greatly to be alone in my room with my brother Jacques’ letter.
“Monsieur Daniel, the principal is waiting to see you.”
The principal? What could the principal have to say to me? The porter looked strangely at me. Suddenly, the idea of the sub-prefect returned to me. “Is the sub-prefect up there?” I asked.
And, my heart palpitating with hope, I began to run up the stairs at full speed.
There are days when one seems to be crazy. When I learned that the sub-prefect was waiting for me, do you know what I imagined? I imagined that he had noticed my attractive appearance on prize day, and had come to the school expressly to propose taking me as his secretary. This seemed to me the most natural thing in the world. Jacques’ letter, with the story of the old Marquis had surely muddled my brain.
However that may be, the farther I reached on my way upstairs, the greater became my certainty. Secretary to the sub-prefect! I was beside myself with joy.
In passing through the hall I met Roger. He was very pale, and looked as if he wanted to speak to me, but I did not stop; the sub-prefect could not spare the time to wait. When I came to the principal’s study, my heart was beating very hard, I assure you. Secretary to the sub-prefect! I had to stop a moment to recover my breath; I readjusted my cravat, gave a little twist to my hair with my fingers and turned the door-knob softly.
If I had only known what was awaiting me!
The sub-prefect was leaning negligently against the marble mantelpiece, smiling between his blond whiskers. The principal, in his dressing-gown, stood humbly near him, his velvet cap in his hand, and M. Viot, called in haste, was hiding in the corner.
Upon my entrance, the sub-prefect began to speak.
“It is this gentleman, then,” said he, with a gesture toward me, “who amuses himself by seducing our lady’s-maids?”
He pronounced these words in a clear ironical voice, smiling all the time. I thought at first that he was joking, and did not answer, but the subprefect was not joking, and after a moment’s silence, he resumed, still smiling: —
“Have not I the honor of speaking to Monsieur Daniel Eyssette, — to Monsieur Daniel Eyssette, who has seduced my wife’s maid?”
I did not know what he was talking about, but when I heard the word lady’s-maid, flung thus a second time in my face, I felt myself growing red with shame, and it was with genuine indignation that I cried:
“What lady’s-maid? I have never seduced a lady’s-maid.”
At this reply I saw a flash of scorn gleaming from the principal’s spectacles, and I heard the keys in the corner muttering: “What effrontery!” But the sub-prefect never stopped smiling; he took from the mantelpiece a little package of papers that I had not noticed at first, and then, turning toward me, carelessly shaking them in his hand, said:—” Here is some very grave testimony against you. These are the letters found with the young woman in question. It is true, on the one hand that they are not signed, and that the maid refused to name anybody. Only, in the letters, much is said about the school, and, unfortunately for you, M. Viot has recognized your writing and your style.”
Here the keys jingled fiercely, and the sub-prefect added, still smiling:
“Everybody is not a poet at the school of Sarlande.”
At these words, a sudden idea passed through my brain; I wanted to have a near look at the papers. I rushed forward; the principal feared a scene, and made as if to hold me back. But the sub-prefect quietly held out the bundle to me.
“Look at them,” he said.
Mercy! It was my correspondence with Cecilia.
All the letters were there, all! From the one that began: “O Cecilia! Sometimes on a wild cliff” down to the psalm of thanksgiving: “Angel who consented to pass a night upon earth.” And to think that I had stripped the leaves from all these beautiful flowers of amatory rhetoric to cast them at the feet of a lady’s-maid! To think that this person, in a situation so lofty, — so, etc., brushed off the boots of the sub-prefect every morning! You can fancy my rage and confusion.
“Well, what have you to say about it, Sir Don Juan?” sneered the sub-prefect, after a moment’s silence. “Are these letters yours or not?”
Instead of answering, I bowed my head. A word would have exculpated me; but I would not say that word. I was ready to suffer all rather than denounce Roger; for, please remark that in the midst of this catastrophe, Little What’s-His-Name did not for one instant suspect the loyalty of his friend. On recognizing the letters he thought immediately: “Roger must have been too lazy to copy them; he preferred to play billiards and send mine.” What an innocent was Little What’s-His-Name!
When the sub-prefect saw that I would not answer, he put the letters back into his pocket, and, turning toward the principal and his acolyte, said: “Now, gentlemen, you know what there remains for you to do.”
Thereupon, M. Viot’s keys fluttered lugubriously; and the principal answered, bowing to the ground “that M. Eyssette deserved to be sent away on the spot, but that, in order to avoid a scandal, they would keep him another week.” Just time enough to engage a new master.
At the terrible word “sent away,” all my courage left me. I bowed without speaking, and hurriedly left the room, I was hardly out of it when I burst into tears. I ran straight to my room, stifling my sobs in my handkerchief.
Roger was waiting for me; he looked anxious, and was striding up and down.
As he saw me enter, he came toward me.
“Monsieur Daniel,” said he with a questioning glance. I let myself fall into a chair without answering.
“Tears and babyishness!” continued the fencing-master roughly; “all that proves nothing. Come, quick! What has happened?”
Then I related in detail the whole of the horrible scene in the study.
As I went on speaking, I saw Roger’s face brighten; he no longer looked at me so haughtily, and, at the end, when he heard I had allowed myself to be sent away from the school rather than betray him, he held out both hands to me, and said simply: “Daniel, you are a noble fellow.” Just then we heard a carriage roll through the street; it was the sub-prefect going away.
“You are a noble fellow,” repeated my good friend the fencing-master, squeezing my wrists till he nearly broke them; “you are a noble fellow, that is all I can say. But you ought to understand that I cannot allow any man to sacrifice himself for me.”
As he spoke, he had drawn near to the door.
“Don’t cry, Monsieur Daniel. I am going to see the principal, and I swear that it is not you who will be sent away.”
He made another step to go; then, coming back to me, as if he had forgotten something, he said in a low voice:
“Only listen to this before I go. Your tall friend Roger is not alone in the world; he has an infirm mother in a corner somewhere. A mother! Poor sainted woman! Promise me to write her when all is over.”
He said this gravely and quietly, in a tone that frightened me.
“What do you mean to do?” I cried.
Roger made no answer; he only half opened his waistcoat and let me see the polished butt of a pistol in his pocket.
I rushed toward him, much moved.
“What, kill yourself, poor wretch? You want to kill yourself?”
He answered very coldly:
“My dear fellow, when I was in the service, I promised myself that, if ever I should be disgraced through any rashness of my own, I should not survive my dishonor. The time has come to keep my word. In five minutes I shall be sent away from the school, that is to say, disgraced; an hour afterwards, good-evening; I shall blow out my brains.’’
On hearing this, I planted myself resolutely in front of the door.
“No, Roger; you shall not go. I should rather lose my place than be the cause of your death.”
“Let me do my duty,” said he fiercely, and, in spite of my efforts, he succeeded in partly opening the door.
Then, it came into my mind to speak to him of his mother, of the poor mother he had in a corner somewhere. I proved to him that he ought to live for her, that I could easily find another place, and that, besides, at all events, we had still a week ahead of us, and that the least he could do was to wait until the last moment before coming to so terrible a decision. This last reflection seemed to touch him. He consented to delay for a few hours his visit to the principal and what was to follow: Meanwhile, the bell rang; we shook hands and I went down to the school-room.
What creatures we are! I had entered my room in despair, and I left it almost happy. Little What’s-His-Name was so proud of having saved the life of his good friend the fencing-master.
Nevertheless, I must acknowledge that when I was once seated in my armchair, and the first glow of enthusiasm had passed, I began to reflect. Roger had consented to live, and that was a good thing; but what was to become of me after my noble devotion should have turned me out of the school?
The situation was not cheerful; I saw the rebuilding of the hearth already singularly compromised, my mother in tears, and my father in a passion. Fortunately, I thought of Jacques; how lucky it was that his letter had arrived precisely on that morning. It was all easy, after all, for had not he written me that there was room for two in his bed? Besides, it is always possible to find something to live on in Paris.
Here a horrible thought stopped me: I needed money for going away; first, for my railway ticket, then fifty-eight francs I owed the porter, ten francs that I had borrowed from one of the older boys, and also enormous sums inscribed opposite my name on the account-book of the Café Barbette. How should I procure all this money?
“Pooh!” said I to myself, as I thought it over, “I am very foolish to bother over such a small thing: isn’t Roger here? Roger is rich; he gives lessons in town, and will be only too glad to obtain a few hundred francs for me, who have just saved his life.”
My affairs thus settled, I forgot all the catastrophes of the day in thinking only of my great journey to Paris. I was very happy, caring no more about losing my place; and M. Viot, who came down to the school-room to enjoy my despair, looked much disappointed when he saw my joyous face. At dinner, I ate much and fast; in the court I let the boys off their punishment. At last the recitation-bell rang.
The most pressing thing was to see Roger; with one bound I reached his room, but nobody was there. “Very well,” I said to myself; “he must have gone over to the Café Barbette,” and in such dramatic circumstances this caused me no surprise.
At the Café Barbette, too, I found nobody. “Roger,” they told me, “had gone off to the Meadow with the non-commissioned officers.” What the devil could they be doing there in such weather? I began to be extremely uneasy, so, refusing an invitation to play billiards, I turned up my trousers at the bottom, and rushed out into the snow, in the direction of the Meadow, to look for my good friend the fencing-master.
CHAPTER XII.
THE IRON RING.
IT IS A good mile and a quarter from the gates of Sarlande to the Meadow; but, at the rate at which I was going, on that day, I covered the ground in less than a quarter of an hour. I trembled for Roger. I feared lest the poor fellow, in spite of his promise, might have told everything to the principal during the study-hour; it seemed to me that I still saw the butt of his pistol shine. This lugubrious thought lent me wings.
However, as I went along, I could see in the snow the trace of numerous footsteps going toward the Meadow, and it reassured me somewhat to think that the fencing-master was not alone.
Then, slackening my pace, I thought of Paris, Jacques, and my departure. But, after a minute, my terrors began again.
“Roger is evidently going to kill himself. Why otherwise should he come to this deserted place, far from the town? If he has taken his friends from the Café Barbette with him, it must be to say good-by to them, to drink the stirrup-cup, as they say. Oh, those soldiers!” And I set off again at breathless speed.
Luckily, I was approaching the Meadow, and could already see the tall trees laden with snow. “My poor friend,” said I to myself, “if I only arrive in time!”
The footsteps led me thus as far as a public-house known as the Espéron.
This public-house was a suspicious place of bad reputation, where the rakes of Sarlande had their pleasure-parties. I had been there more than once in the company of the noble fellows, but I had never thought its appearance so sinister as on that day. Yellow and dirty, in the midst of the immaculate whiteness of the plain, with its low door, ruinous walls and ill-washed window-panes, it was skulking behind a grove of small elms. The little house looked ashamed of its ugly trade.
As I approached, I heard a merry noise of voices, laughter, and the clash of glasses.
“Good God,” thought I, with a shudder, “it is the stirrup-cup.” And I stopped to take breath.
I had reached the back of the public-house; I pushed open the latticed door, and entered the garden. What a garden! A big bare hedge, clumps of leafless lilac bushes, heaps of refuse lying on the snow, and white arbors that looked like Esquimaux’ huts. It was dreary enough to make one cry.
The racket came from a room on the ground-floor, and the men must have grown hot from drinking, for, in spite of the cold, they had opened both windows wide.
I had already put my foot on the first step, when I heard something that stopped me short and made my blood run cold; it was my own name pronounced amid great bursts of laughter. Roger was speaking of me, and, strange to say, every time the name Daniel Eyssette recurred, the others laughed to split their sides.
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