Collected works of eugen.., p.975
Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 975
In three hours our travelers arrived at Macouba. Father Griffen had not long to wait; the canoe was moored in a little bay, not far from the river which watered this section, one of the most fertile of Martinique.
Father Griffen leaned upon the chevalier’s arm. After having for a time followed the shore where the high and powerful waves of the Caribbean Sea rolled on, they reached the village of Macouba, composed of some hundred houses built of wood and covered with roses and palms.
The village was built on a semicircular plan which followed the outline of the Bay of Macouba, a little port where many canoes and fishing boats were built. The church was a long wooden edifice from the center of which four beams arose, surmounted by a little belfry in which was hung a bell; the church overlooked the village, and was in turn overshadowed by immense cliffs, covered by rich vegetation, which made an amphitheatre of living green.
The sun was rapidly setting. The priest trod the only street that crossed Macouba, and which led to the church. Some small negroes, absolutely nude, were rolling in the dust; uttering loud cries; they fled at the approach of the priest. A number of creole women, white or of mixed blood, dressed in long robes of Indian and madras cloth, in striking colors, ran to the doors; recognizing Father Griffen, they testified to their surprise and joy; young and old hastened to respectfully kiss his hand, and to say in creole, “Blessed is your return, good Father; you have been missed in Macouba.” Numbers of men came out at once and surrounded Father Griffen, with the same tokens of attachment and respect.
While the priest talked with the villagers of the events which had taken place at Macouba during his absence, and in turn gave them news of France, the housewives, fearing that the good father would not find sufficient provision at the parsonage, had retired to select, one a fine fish, another a beautiful pullet; this one the quarter of a fine fat buck, that one some fruits or vegetables, and a number of little negroes were ordered to carry to the parsonage these voluntary tithes.
The priest reached his house, situated on one side, at some distance from the village, overlooking the sea. Nothing could be more simple than this modest wooden house, covered with roses, and of one story. Curtains of clear linen dressed the windows and took the place of blinds, which were a great luxury in the colonies.
A large room, comprising at the same time parlor and dining room, communicated with the kitchen built at the rear; at the left of this principal room were the bedroom of Father Griffen, and two other small rooms opening into the garden and set apart for strangers or the other priests of Martinique who might, at times, ask the hospitality of their brother priest.
A henhouse, a stable for the horse, lodgings for two negroes, and several sheds, completed this establishment, furnished with a rustic simplicity. The garden had been carefully laid out. Four broad paths were divided by many beds bordered by thyme, lavender, wild thyme, hyssop and other fragrant plants. The four principal beds were subdivided into numerous little ones set apart for vegetables or fruits, but surrounded by wide borders of fragrant flowers. Between two little walls of verdure, covered with Arabian jasmine and odorous creepers, could be seen, in the horizon, the sea and the hills of the other islands.
No fresher or more charming spot than this garden, in which the most beautiful flowers mingled with fruits and magnificent vegetables, could be found. Here a bed of melons, of an amber color, was bordered by dwarf pomegranates, shaped like a small box and covered at the same time with purple blossoms and fruit so heavy and so abundant that it touched the earth. A little further on, a branch of Angola wood with its long, green husks, and its blue flowers, was surrounded by a line of white and pink almonds, sweet with perfume; the carrot plant, sorrel, gimgambo and leek, were hidden in a fourfold rank of tuberoses of the richest tints; finally, came a square of pineapples which perfumed the air, having a row of magnificent cacti for a border, with yellow calix and long silver pistils. Behind the house extended an orchard composed of cocoanuts, bananas, guava, tamarind, and orange trees, whose branches were weighted down to the earth with flowers and fruit.
Father Griffen followed the paths of his garden with unspeakable happiness, observing each flower, plant and tree. His two slaves attended him; one was called Monsieur, the other Jean. These two good creatures, weeping with joy at the sight of their master, could not reply to his questions, so much affected were they, and could only say one to the other, with hands raised to heaven, “God be praised — he is here! he is here!”
The chevalier, indifferent to the joy of the natives, followed the priest mechanically; he was consumed with the desire to inquire of his host if, through the woods which rose in an amphitheatre, one could see the road to Devil’s Cliff.
After examining his garden, the good priest went out to inspect his horse which he had named Grenadille, and his large English mastiff called Snog; as soon as he opened the stable door Snog threw himself upon his master and bounded around him. He not only jumped upon him but barked with joy, with such evidence of affection that the negro, Monsieur, was obliged to take the dog by his collar and could with difficulty restrain him, while the priest caressed Grenadille, whose glossy coat and well-covered ribs bore testimony to the good care of Monsieur, who had charge of the stable.
After this thorough visit through his little domain, Father Griffen conducted the chevalier into the bedroom which he had intended for him. A bed draped with a mosquito-netting under a linen canopy, a large bureau of mahogany wood, and a table, was the furnishing of this room, which opened upon the garden. Its only ornament was a crucifix suspended from the center of the slightly roughened wainscot.
“You will find here a poor and modest hospitality,” said Father Griffen to the chevalier, “but it is offered you with a good heart.”
“And I accept it with gratitude, Father,” said Croustillac.
At this moment Monsieur came to announce that supper was ready, and Father Griffen led the way to the dining room.
CHAPTER V.
THE SURPRISE.
A LARGE GLASS wherein burned a candle of yellow wax, lighted the table; the dishes were placed on a table cloth of coarse but very white linen. There was no silver; the steel knives, and spoons of maple wood, were of great neatness. A bottle of blue glass contained about a pint of canary; in a large pewter pot bubbled the oagou, a fermented beverage made from the grain of sugar cane; a sealed earthen vessel held water, as fresh as if it were iced.
A fine dorado grilled in its scales (a Caribbean dish), a roasted paroquet of the size of a pheasant, two dishes of sea crabs cooked in the shell and served with sauce of the citron juice, and a salad of green peas, had been symmetrically placed on the table by the negro Jean, around a centerpiece composed of a large basket containing a pyramid of fruit, which had at its base a European melon, a watermelon, and at its summit a pineapple; there was a side dish of sliced palm-cabbage dressed with vinegar, and little whitefish preserved in spiced pickle, which would tempt the appetite of the guests or excite their thirst.
“You are treating me with royal magnificence, Father,” said the chevalier to the priest. “This island is the ‘promised land,’ surely.”
“With the exception of the canary wine, which was a gift, my son, all this is the product of the garden which I cultivate, or the fishing and hunting of my two slaves, for the offerings of my parish are superfluous, thanks to the foresight of Monsieur and Jean, who were advised of my arrival by a sailor at Fort St. Pierre. Help yourself to this paroquet, my son,” said the priest to the chevalier, who appeared to find the fish very much to his taste.
Croustillac hesitated a moment and looked at the priest in an uncertain manner. “I do not know why, but it seems strange to eat a paroquet,” said the chevalier.
“Try it, try it,” responded the priest, and he placed a wing on his plate. “Is a pheasant’s flesh more plump or more golden? It is cooked to a marvel; and then, did you ever smell anything more appetizing?”
“I should say four spices are employed,” said the chevalier, inhaling the odor.
“It is claimed that these birds are very fond of the berry of the Indian trees which they find in the forest; these trees have at once the taste of cinnamon, clove and pepper, and the flesh of the game partakes of the scent of this aromatic tree. How this juice is flavored. Add a little of the orange sugar, and then tell me if the Lord has not blessed his creatures in bestowing such gifts upon them?”
“In all my life I have never eaten anything more tender, more delicate or more savory than this,” replied the chevalier, with full mouth, and half shutting his eyes in sensual enjoyment.
“Is it not good?” said the good priest, who, knife and fork in hand, looked at his guest with satisfied pride.
The repast ended, Monsieur placed a pot of tobacco and pipes at the side of the bottle of canary, and Father Griffen and Croustillac were then left alone.
After filling a glass of wine and passing it to the chevalier, the priest said to him, “Your health, my son.”
“Thanks, father,” said the chevalier, lifting his glass. “Drink also to the health of my future bride; it will be a good omen for me.”
“How? your future bride?” replied the priest; “what do you mean?”
“I allude to Blue Beard, father.”
“Ah — always jesting! Frankly, I believe the men of your province are most inventive, my son,” said Father Griffen, smiling mischievously, and emptying his glass in small doses.
“I never spoke more seriously, father. You heard the vow which I made on board the Unicorn?”
“Impossibility nullifies a vow, my son; because you should swear to measure the ocean, would you engage to fulfill this oath?”
“How, Father — is the heart of Blue Beard as bottomless as the ocean?” gayly exclaimed the chevalier.
“An English poet has said of woman, ‘Perfidious as the waves,’ my son.”
“However perfidious women may be, my worthy host,” said the chevalier with a self-sufficient air, “we men know how to disarm them, and I shall exercise afresh that power in dealing with Blue Beard.”
“You will not attempt anything of the kind, my son; I am easy on that point.”
“Allow me to say, father, that you deceive yourself. To-morrow, at daybreak, I shall ask of you a guide to conduct me to Devil’s Cliff, and I shall confide the course of this adventure to my Star.”
The chevalier spoke with so serious an air that Father Griffen hastily placed upon the table the glass which he was raising to his lips, and regarded the chevalier with as much astonishment as distrust. Until then he had really believed the matter to be only a pleasantry or idle boast. “Are you sincere in this resolve? This is absolute madness, but — —”
“Excuse me, Father, for interrupting you,” said the chevalier, “but you see before you the younger son of my family, who has tempted every fortune, wasted all his resources, and with whom nothing has succeeded. Blue Beard is rich, very rich. I have everything to gain, nothing to lose.”
“Nothing to lose?”
“Life, perhaps, you will say. I make a good bargain; and then, barbarous though this country may be, helpless as justice may prove, I do not think that Blue Beard will dare treat me, on my arrival, as she treated her three husbands; if so, you will know that I have fallen a victim; you will demand an account of my death. I risk nothing more than seeing my homage rejected. Ah! well, if such be the case, if she repulses me, I shall continue to delight Captain Daniel during his trips by swallowing lighted candles and balancing bottles on the end of my nose. Certainly such an occupation is honorable and amusing, but I prefer another life. So, then, no matter what you say, Father, I am resolved to attempt the adventure and to go to Devil’s Cliff. I cannot tell you what secret presentiment tells me I shall succeed, that I am upon the eve of seeing my destiny fulfill itself in a most wonderful manner. The future seems tinted with rose and gold; I dream only of magnificent palaces, wealth, and beauty; it seems to me (excuse the pagan comparison) that Love and Fortune have come and taken me by the hands and are saying to me, ‘Polyphème de Croustillac, happiness awaits thee.’ You will say, perhaps, Father,” continued the chevalier, throwing a mocking glance at his faded coat, “that I am poorly dressed to present myself in this beautiful and brave company of fortune and happiness; but Blue Beard, who must be intelligent, will comprehend at once that under this outside, the heart of an Amadis, the spirit of a Gascon, and the courage of a Cæsar dwells.”
After a moment’s silence the priest, instead of smiling at the pleasantries of the chevalier, said to him in a tone that was most solemn, “Is your resolve finally taken?”
“Unwaveringly and absolutely taken, Father.”
“Hear me then; I heard the confessions of the Chevalier de Crussol, the former governor of this island; he who, when the third husband of this woman disappeared, went to Devil’s Cliff.”
“Well, father?”
“While I must respect the secrets of the confessional, I can, I must, tell you that if you persist in your insane project, you expose yourself to great and unavoidable peril. Without doubt, if you lose your life, your death will not remain unpunished; but there will be no means of preventing the fatal end upon which you would rush. Who obliges you to go to Devil’s Cliff? The resident of that place wishes to live in solitude; the barriers of that abode are such that you cannot break them down without violence; for in every country, and above all in this one, he who trespasses upon the property of another exposes himself to grave danger — danger the greater that all idea of a union with this widow is impossible, even if you were of a princely house.”
These words hurt immeasurably the self-esteem of the Gascon, who exclaimed, “Father, this woman is but a woman, and I am Croustillac.”
“What do you say, my son?”
“That this woman is free; that she has not seen me; that but one look, one only, will change entirely her resolve.”
“I do not think it.”
“Reverend Father, I have the greatest, the blindest confidence in your word; I know all its authority; but this concerns the fair sex, and you cannot understand the heart of woman as I understand it, you do not know what inexplicable caprices they are capable of; you do not know that what pleases them to-day displeases them to-morrow; and that they wish for to-day, that which they disdained yesterday. With women, my reverend sir, one must dare in order to succeed. If it were not for your cloth, I would tell you some curious adventures and audacious undertakings by which I have been recompensed amorously!”
“My son!”
“I understand your sensitiveness, Father, and to return to Blue Beard: once in her presence, I shall treat her not only with effrontery, with haughtiness, but as a victor — I dare say it, as a lion who comes proudly to carry off his prey.”
These remarks of the chevalier were interrupted by an unforeseen accident. It was very warm; the door of the dining room which looked on the garden was half open. The chevalier, with back turned to this door, was seated in an arm chair with a wooden back which was not very high. A sharp hissing sound was heard and a quick blow vibrated in the middle of the chevalier’s chair.
At this sound Father Griffen bounded from his chair, rushed and took his gun down from a rack placed in his bedroom, and precipitated himself out of doors, crying, “Jean! Monsieur! Take your guns! Follow me, my children! follow me! The Caribbeans are upon us!”
CHAPTER VI.
THE WARNING.
ALL THIS TOOK place so rapidly that the chevalier was dumfounded. “Get up! get up!” cried the priest. “The Caribbeans! Look at the back of your chair — get out of the light!”
The chevalier rose quickly, and saw an arrow three feet in length fixed in the back of his chair. Two inches higher and the chevalier would have been pierced through the shoulders. Croustillac seized his sword, which he had left on a chair, and hurried after the priest.
Father Griffen, at the head of his two negroes, armed with their guns, and preceded by his mastiff, sought for the enemy; unfortunately, the door of the dining room opened upon a trellised orchard; the night was dark; doubtless the person who had sped the arrow was already far away, or well hidden in the top of some thick tree.
Snog bounded hither and thither in the eagerness of his search. Father Griffen recalled his two slaves who were too venturesome and would have penetrated into the orchard.
“Well, father, where are they?” said the chevalier, brandishing his sword: “shall we charge upon them? A lantern — give me a lantern; we will visit the orchard and the neighborhood of the house.”
“No, no, not a lantern, my son, it would serve to point us out to the assailants if there are a number, and you would be too much exposed; you would receive an arrow in you. Come, come,” said the priest, lowering his gun after some moments of attentive scrutiny; “it is but an alarm; let us return and thank the Lord for the clumsiness of this cannibal, for if he had not blundered, you would not be here, my son. What astonishes me, and for which I thank God, is that you have escaped; a native so bold as to make such an attempt should have a true eye and a sure hand.”
“But what harm have you ever done these savages, Father?”
“None! I have often been in their settlement at the Isle des Saintes, and have always been properly received; thus I cannot understand the object of this attack. But let us look at this arrow — I shall know from the feather if it is a native arrow.”
“We must keep a good watch, to-night, Father, and to this end confide in me,” said the Gascon. “You see that it is not only in a love affair that I have firmness.”
