Collected works of eugen.., p.807
Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 807
“This instant, this instant! Take up your sword!” cried Honorât.
Pog, addressing Pierre des Anbiez, said, in an imperious tone: “Order your second to await the result of your fight with the young captain.”
“Chevalier, I pray you to wait,” said the commander, with resignation.
“Defend your life, murderer!” cried Erebus, rushing upon Pierre des Anbiez with uplifted sword.
“But this is a child!” said the commander, looking at his adversary with a sort of contemptuous compassion.
“Your mother! Your mother!” whispered Pog to Erebus.
“Yes, a child, the child of those whom you have murdered,” cried the unfortunate youth, striking the commander in the face with the breadth of his sword.
The livid countenance of the old soldier became purple; transported with anger at this insult, he threw himself upon Erebus, saying, “Lord, thy will be done!”
Then ensued a parricidal struggle.
And the darkness suddenly fell upon the scene, as if nature herself revolted at the sight.
Thunderbolts rent the clouds, the tempest let loose its fury, and the very rocks trembled upon their foundations.
The parricidal combat continued with undiminished rage.
With clasped hands, Pog, with ferocious eagerness, enjoyed the frightful spectacle.
“At last, after twenty years, I taste one moment of true, ineffable happiness. Roll, O thunder! Burst forth, O tempest! All nature takes part in my vengeance!” cried he, in savage joy.
Honorât, unable to account for his own feelings, cried in dismay:
“Enough! enough!” and tried to separate Erebus and Pierre des Anbiez.
Pog, endowed for the moment with superhuman strength, seized Honorât, paralysed his efforts, and said, in a low voice, trembling with rage and excitement, “My vengeance!”
Erebus fell.
“Pierre des Anbiez, you have killed your son! Here are your letters, here are the portraits, you can see them,” cried Pog, in a voice that rose above the storm, and he threw at the feet of the commander the casket which Hadji had stolen from Peyrou.
Suddenly a thunderbolt struck with a noise impossible to describe. The heavens, the bay, the ruins, the rocks, and the sea, appeared to be on fire.
A terrible explosion followed, and the very earth trembled; a part of the ruins of the abbey fell away, while a blast of wind, breaking and driving everything in its path, enveloped the entire bay in its irresistible and tremendous whirlpool.
CHAPTER XLII. CONCLUSION.
THREE DAYS AFTER the dreadful combat between Pierre des Anbiez and Erebus, the black galley and the polacre of Luquin were anchored in the port of La Ciotat.
The great clock in the hall of Maison-Forte had just struck nine. Captain Trinquetaille was walking softly on tiptoe through the gallery where the Christmas ceremonies had taken place, directing his steps toward the apartment of Mlle. des Anbiez. He knocked at the little door of the oratory. Stephanette soon came out of the door.
“Ah, well, Luquin,” said the young girl, anxiously,
“how has he passed the night?”
“Badly, Stephanette, very badly; the abbé says there is no hope for him.”
“Poor child!” said the young girl, “and how is M. Commander?”
“Always in the same state, seated at the youth’s bedside like a statue; he never moves or speaks or sees or hears. Father Elzear says if M. Commander could only weep, he might be saved, if not—”
“Well?”
“If not, he fears his head,” and Luquin made a gesture indicating the alarm felt for the commander’s mind.
“Ah, my God, if that misfortune should be added to all the others!”
“And how is Mlle. Reine?” asked Luquin.
“Always suffering. The sad ceremony of the baptism yesterday affected her so deeply! Monseigneur wished her to be with him sponsor to this poor young pagan whom they called Erebus, so that he can die a Christian. My God! at his age never to have been baptised! Fortunately, Father Elzear has given him the sacrament! Ah, poor young man, he will bear the Christian names that monseigneur and mademoiselle have given him only until this evening.”
“And how is monseigneur?” asked Luquin.
“Oh, as to monseigneur, he would be on his feet and with the commander if we would listen to him. Abbé Mascarolus says an ordinary man would have been killed by such a wound, and that monseigneur must have a head as hard as iron to have resisted that heavy club. Thank God, he who gave that blow will not give any more.”
“Speaking of that, Stephanette, you know they have not been able to find the body of Pog-Reis under the ruins of the abbey?”
“He was only an infidel, but, oh, to die without burial!” said Stephanette, with a shudder. “How was he buried under the ruins?”
“This is what M. Honorât told me, and he ought to know. The moment the unfortunate young man fell, wounded by the commander, Pog-Reis, as they called him, seized M. Honorât, so as to prevent his separating the two combatants. Suddenly, as you know, the thunderbolt burst in the middle of the bay It struck the Red Galleon; her powder took fire, and she was blown up, and carried with her the other galley, already seriously damaged by the culverin of Master Laramée. Not a pirate escaped. The waves of the bay were so high and so powerful that the best swimmer would have been drowned a thousand times over.”
“But, Pog-Reis?” asked Stephanette.
“The explosion was so tremendous that the earth trembled. M. Honorât told me this: ‘The pirate, startled, then left me. I ran to the commander, who had already been thrown on the body of his son. He was embracing him, as he sobbed. At the time of the explosion Pog-Reis was standing on the ruins. Those old walls, shaken by the commotion and violence of the wind, suddenly fell and crushed him beneath their weight’ This morning, some fishermen coming from the bay said the stones were so enormous that they could not be moved, and so they had given up all hope of finding the body of the brigand.”
“My God! my God! What a disaster, Luquin, and how it proves that Heaven is just See, the two galleys of these brigands were struck and not one escaped! And Pog-Reis crushed under the ruins of the abbey!”
“No doubt, no doubt, Stephanette, Heaven has done much; but it has not done all, there remains yet another account to settle.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we heard this explosion at sea, and when we set sail for Maison-Forte, and a little faster, too, than I wished, for the tempest was driving my polacre over the waves like a feather in the air, you see—”
“That is true, Luquin, we thought we were lost What weather! what waves! we thought we had escaped one danger only to fall into another.”
“Yes, yes. Ah, well, what was it passed within range of my cannon during the hurricane?”
“How do I know? I was too much frightened and too much occupied with my mistress to see what was happening around us.”
“Indeed, Stephanette! Ah, well, it was the chebec of that cursed Bohemian whom hell leaves on this earth I know not why. Yes, it was his chebec that was near us. He had, by chance, anchored his ship so far from the galleys that he did not feel the explosion. Two hours after, when he had brought M. Commander, M. Honorât, and that poor young man on board the galley, taking advantage of the commander’s forgetfulness, who neglected to have him hanged, he had the audacity to set sail again, and it was he we saw pass us, returning, no doubt, to the south, where he will be drowned or burned if the good God wishes to finish the example he has already given us in destroying the two galleys of these infidels. That is what I wish may happen to him.”
“Come, come, Luquin, you are so enraged against this wretch; do not think of him any more. Yet it was he who brought on board the black galley Mlle. Reine, me, my companions, the prisoners, the recorder Isnard and his clerk, who were among the captives, and who never ceased to call him our deliverer. So do have a little pity on your neighbour—”
“My neighbour! that miserable vagabond! My neighbour! the neighbour of Satan! That is what he is!”
“Ah, how wicked you are in your hatred!”
“Come, now, that is pretty good!” cried Luquin, in a fury, “that is the way you defend him now! You can do no more than regret him. Besides, he said, really, that you would regret him, and perhaps he was not wrong!” “Indeed, if you begin your jealousy again, you will make me regret him.”
“Regret him — him! you dare—”
“Without doubt; for at least, one time in his ship, he left me to weep and grieve in peace, and—”
“But that was not what he said. H’m — h’m — the honeyed words of this insolent prattler were quite capable of making you forget your grief for a time, no doubt.”
Stephanette, indignant, was about to reply to her betrothed, when the whistle of Mlle, des Anbiez called her to that lady’s apartment.
She entered, after having thrown an angry glance at Luquin.
The captain was in the way of repenting of his suspicions when the majordomo Laramée, coming precipitately out of the chamber of Raimond V., said:
“Here you are, Luquin, come quick and help me to carry monseigneur to the commander. He is too weak to walk; we will carry him in his armchair.”
Luquin followed Laramée, and entered the baron’s chamber. The old gentleman was still very pale, a wide black bandage wrapped his head, but he had partly recovered his vivacity and his energy. Abbé Mascarolus was with him.
“You say, then, abbé, that this poor young man is about to die, and he wishes to speak to me?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“And how is my brother Pierre?”
“In the same state, monseigneur.”
“Quick, quick, Laramée, throw a mantle over my shoulders, and I will walk on your legs and the legs of this boy, for my own will not support me yet.” Luquin took the armchair on one side, and Laramée took the other, and they transported the baron into the large chamber where Erebus was lying. At the door of this chamber they found Peyrou, the watchman, who anxiously awaited news from his old captain.
The face of Erebus already gave signs of approaching death. His features, once so clear, so beautiful, so serene, were painfully contorted. He was pale with the pallor of the dying. His eyes shone with a brilliancy all the more intense because it was so soon to be eclipsed in death. His wound was mortal, and no place was left for hope.
Pierre des Anbiez, wearing the same clothes he wore on the day of the fatal encounter, was seated on the foot of his son’s bed, absolutely motionless, his head bowed on his breast, his hands on his knees, his gaze fixed upon the floor; since the day before he had kept this position.
Father Elzear, seated by the pillow of Erebus, leaned over him, lifted the poor young man’s heavy head, and pressed it tenderly to his breast.
Raimond V. made his bearers place him near the bed. Luquin and Laramée retired.
“God will forgive me, will he not, good priest?” said Erebus, in a feeble voice, to Father Elzear. “He will have pity on my ignorance, and look only at my zeal. Alas! I have known the true faith but two-days.”
“Hope, hope in his infinite compassion, my child, you are a Christian now. Two days of repentance and faith will atone for many sins. It is the fervour and not the length of the repentance which touches the Lord.”
“Oh, I would die with one hope more, if my father could forgive me also,” said Erebus, bitterly. Then he cried, in a frenzy, “Oh, a curse on Pog-Reis! Oh, why did he make me believe, as he showed me these portraits, that my father had been the murderer of my mother and of my family? Oh, how he excited all my bad passions! Alas! I believed him, because he who had always been so cruel wept, yes, he wept, as he pressed me to his heart and asked my forgiveness for all the evil he had done me. Then, seeing this implacable man weep as he embraced me, I believed him. I hoped the combat would be fatal to me. I knew Reine des Anbiez would be returned in safety to her father, hence I was able to die. And you — you — her father, will you forgive me, too?” added Erebus, addressing Raimond V.
“Poor child, did you not save my life in the rocks of Ollioules? Although my daughter was in your power, did you not respect her and defend her? And are you not the son of my brother, after all? the son of a guilty love, of course, but, Manjour! you are of the family.” “Raimond — Raimond!” said Father Elzear to his brother, softly, in a tone of reproach.
“But, my father, my father does not hear me,” said Erebus. “I will die without his saying to me, ‘My son!’” cried the unhappy youth, in a failing voice, and then with a sadden movement he sat up, threw his arms around the neck of Pierre des Anbiez, and letting his heavy head fall on the paternal bosom, he cried, “My father, my father! Oh, hear me!”
This despairing, expiring cry, in which Erebes seemed to have concentrated all that remained of his strength, at last reached the depth of the heart of Pierre, des Anbiez.
The commander slowly raised his head, looked around him, then fixed his eyes on Erebus, who still hung around his neck. Then, pressing his son’s head in his two hands, he kissed his forehead reverently and tenderly. Placing his son’s head softly on the pillow, he said, in a low voice, with a strange smile, and an accent full of kindness: “My child, you have called me, I heard your voice in the midst of darkness. I have come; now I return to it Farewell, sleep — sleep for ever, my child.”
And he spread a cloth on the face of Erebus as is done for the dead.
“My brother!” cried Father Elzear, quickly removing the cloth and looking at the commander in astonishment.
The latter did not seem to hear him; he fell back into a sort of lethargy from which he seemed unable to recover.
Erebus grew weaker and weaker, and said to Raimond V.:
“One last favour before I die.”
“Speak, speak, my child, I grant it already.”
“I would like to see your daughter once more, she who gave me a Christian name. She too, alas! must forgive me.”
“Reine, your cousin, your godmother? I consent to it with all my heart Elzear, my brother, will you go and tell her?”
“Your moments are numbered, you must think on God, my son,” said Father Elzear to Erebus.
“For pity’s sake, let me see her, or I shall die in despair,” said Erebus in such a heart-broken voice that Father Elzear went in search of Reine.
Raimond V. took both hands of his nephew in his own. Already they were cold.
“She does not come,” said Erebus, “and yet I must—”
His voice grew weaker, he could not continue.
Reine entered, accompanied by Father Elzear.
Erebus raised himself on his elbow; with his right hand he had the strength to break a little chain of gold he wore around his neck. He handed it to Reine, showing her, with a faint smile, the little enamelled dove that he had fastened to it, formerly taken from Reine in the rocks of Ollioules, and said to her:
“I return it to you. Will you forgive me?”
“I will always wear this chain in memory of the day you saved the life of my father,” replied Reine, full of emotion.
“You will wear it always?” said Erebus.
“Always!” replied Reine, bursting into tears.
“Ah, now I can die!” said Erebus.
A last ray seemed to illumine his face, as death slowly approached.
“Brother,” said Father Elzear, in an austere voice, as he rose, “this child is about to die.”
Raimond V. understood that the last moments of Erebus belonged to God. He embraced his nephew, called Luquin and Laramée to cany him, and went out with Reine.
The commander remained silent and motionless, seated on the bed of his dying son.
Raimond V. sent Peyrou to him, hoping the watchman’s presence might perhaps recall him to himself.
The watchman, approaching Pierre des Anbiez, said to him, “M. Commander, come.”
Whether the voice of Peyrou, which he had not heard for so long a time, impressed him all the more, or whether he obeyed an inexplicable instinct, the commander rose and followed the watchman, alas! without casting a look upon his son.
Father Elzear alone remained with the young man.
A quarter of an hour after, Erebus was no more.
Erebus was buried in the cemetery of La Ciotat. The black and gray monks of La Ciotat followed his funeral procession. When the service was over, they dispersed.
One penitent only remained long at the grave.
It was very strange. He had taken no part in the chants or the ceremonies of the church, he had not sprinkled holy water on the coffin.
This penitent remained until night.
Then with slow steps he travelled to a stream where he found a boat in which he embarked. That false penitent was Hadji. He had left his chebec and had landed, braving every peril in order to come and render homage to the memory of the unfortunate youth, whom he had, nevertheless, done so much to destroy. From that time no more was heard of the Bohemian.
Pierre des Anbiez, until the end of his days, remained in a state which was one neither of reason, nor insanity. He was never heard to utter a word, although he continued to live at Maison-Forte. He never replied to a question, but every morning went to sit by the grave of his son, and there he remained until the evening, absorbed in profound meditation. Peyrou never left him, but the commander never seemed to recognise his presence.
Father Elzear, after some months’ sojourn at Maison-Forte, began again his adventurous life as the ransomer of captives, and led that life until old age permitted him to travel no longer.
Reine did not marry Honorât de Berrol. She remained faithful to the sad memory of Erebus. Some years after, the chevalier married, and Reine was the best of friends to him and to his wife.
Raimond V., healed of his wounds, rode Mistraon a long time.
Cardinal Richelieu, informed of the courageous conduct of the baron at the time of the descent of the pirates, shut his eyes to the misdemeanours of the old malcontent in his dealings with the recorder Isnard.
A short time after, the Marshal of Vitry was sent to the Bastille, in consequence of his quarrel with the Archbishop of Bordeaux.
