Bug-Jargal, The last day of a condemned man, and Claude Gueux

Preface To Edition Of 1832

In 1818, the author of this volume was sixteen years old ; he had made a wager that he could write a book in fifteen days. The result was Bug-Jargal. At sixteen, one bets on everything and improvises on everything. The story was written two years before Hans of Iceland , and although seven years later, in 1825, the author revised and rewrote a great part of it, yet as a whole it is the same, and may be called the author’s first work. He apologizes for its many unimportant details ; but he thought that the small number of those who like to classify the works of a poet, however obscure he may be, in the order of their composition and publication, would not be averse to his giving the date of Bug-Jargal.

As for the author himself, like a traveller who looks back on his journey to try and find in the hazy lines of the horizon the spot from whence he set out, he wanted to make this story a souvenir of that age of calmness, audacity, and confidence, when he boldly attacked so immense a subject as the revolt of the blacks of San Domingo in 1791, a giant struggle in which three continents took part, Europe and Africa as the contestants, and America as the battlefield iii

Preface To First Edition

January, 1826.

The following story, founded on the revolt of the slaves of San Domingo in 1791, was in itself a sufficient reason for hindering the author from publishing it. But a limited number of copies had already been printed and circulated in 1820, at a time when the politics of the day were only partially interested in Hayti, and it is evident that it is not the author’s fault if the subject, since then, has become of greater interest. The events arranged themselves for the book, not the book for the events. However this may be, the author had no idea of raising the volume from the obscurity into which it had fallen ; but he was informed that a Parisian publisher was thinking of reprinting his anonymous sketch, and in order to prevent this, he revised it and brought it out himself. This precaution saved the author’s amour propre , and the aforesaid publisher a poor investment.

Several distinguished persons, both colonists and officers, who were implicated in the troubles of San Domingo, having heard of the forthcoming publication, voluntarily gave the author much useful material, which was all the more valuable as most of it had never been published. The author here wishes to express to them his sincere thanks. The documents have been most serviceable to him in rectifying some mistakes in the local coloring of Captain d’Auverney’s story, as well as in its historical accuracy.

It must also be stated that the story of Bug-Jargal is only a fragment of a more extensive work, which the author had

v

VI

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.

planned to write, to be known as Camp Stories. The author imagines that during the war of the Revolution, several French officers meet together to while away the long nights of bivouac by telling their adventures. The present volume is a part of this series, but can be read as a separate story. The series was never completed, and never will be, nor is it of importance that it should be.

Contents

PAGE

Last Day of a Condemned Man 191

BUG-JARGAL.

Chapter I

When it came Captain Leopold d’Auverney’s turn to speak, he opened his eyes wide, declaring that really there was not a single episode in his life worth relating.

u But, Captain,’’ said Lieutenant Henri, “ they say you have travelled around the world. Have you not been to the Antilles, Africa, Italy and Spain? Ah, Captain, your lame dog ! ”

D’Auverney started, dropped his cigar, and turned hastily to the door of the tent, as an enormous dog came limping toward him.

The dog, as he rushed in, crushed the captain’s cigar beneath his paw, but the captain did not notice it.

The animal licked his master’s feet, wagged his tail, yelped, jumped about as well as he could, and finally crouched down in front of him. The captain seemed moved, troubled, and patted him mechanically with his left hand, loosening with the other the chin-piece of his helmet, while from time to time he repeated the words, “ You, Kask ! you ! There, — but who brought you back ? ”

“ By your leave, Captain ” —

A moment before, Sergeant Thadee had raised the flap of the tent, and now stood with his right arm hidden under his cloak, his eyes filled with tears, as he silently watched the climax of the Odyssey. At length he ventured the words, “ By your leave, Captain” — D’Auverney raised his eyes.

“ Ah, here you are, Thad ; but how the devil did you man-

BUG-JARGAL.

age it ? Poor dog ! I thought he was in the English camp. Where did you find him ? ”

“ Thank Heaven ! Captain, I am as delighted as your nephew used to be when you made him decline cornu , the horn ; cornus, of the horn.”

“ Tell me, where did you find the dog ? ”

“ I did not find him, Captain ; I have been looking for him.”

The captain rose and held out his hand to the sergeant ; but the latter still kept his own hidden in his cloak. The captain did not notice the fact.

“You see, Captain, ever since poor Bask was lost, I have noticed, sir, by your leave, that you missed something. To tell you the whole story, I thought, when evening came, and he failed to return to share my supper as usual, that it would take very little to make old Thad cry like a child. But no, thank God, I have cried only twice in my life : the first was when — when” —

The sergeant looked at his chief anxiously.

“ The second was when the idea entered the head of that fellow Balthazar, corporal in the seventh demi-brigade, to make me clean a bunch of onions.”

“ It strikes me, Thadee,” cried Henri laughing, “ that you have not yet told us on what occasion you cried the first time.” *

“ Probably, old fellow, it was when you received the embrace of La Tour d’ Auvergne, first grenadier of France ; was it not ? ” asked the captain kindly, continuing to stroke the dog.

“No, Captain; if Sergeant Thadee ever cried, you know that it could only have been, and you will bear me witness, on the day when he gave the word, ‘ fire upon Bug-Jargal, otherwise called Pierrot.”

A shadow crossed d’Auverney’s face, and hastily approaching the sergeant, he tried to seize him by the hand ; but in spite of this unusual honor, old Thadee held his cloak closely about him.

“ Yes, Captain,” he continued, retreating a few steps while

BUG-JARGAL.

d’Auverney kept his troubled eyes upon him, “ yes, I did cry then ; and he deserved it ! He was black, it is true, but gunpowder is black too, and — and ” —

The worthy sergeant would have liked to carry out his strange comparison properly. Perhaps there was something pleasing to him in the idea ; but it was in vain that he tried to express it ; so, after having several times attacked it, so to speak, on every side, like a general who tries to attack a garrisoned fort, and fails, he hastily raised the siege, and went on without regard to the smiles of his listeners.

“ You remember, Captain, do you not, the poor negro, rushing up out of breath just as his ten comrades stood there ? They had already been bound. I was in command. And then he untied them himself, and took their place, although they did not want him to do so. But he was inflexible. Oh, what a man ! He was a veritable Gibraltar. And then, Captain, as he stood there as straight as though he were about to dance, and his dog, this same Bask, who understood what was going on, and who sprang at my throat ” —

“ Usually, Thad,” interrupted the captain, “ when you reach this point in the story, you give a little caress to Bask ; see how he is watching you.”

“ You are right,” said Thadee, somewhat embarrassed, “ he is watching me, poor Bask ; but — old Malagrida used to say that a caress with the left hand brought ill-luck.”

“Well, why not use your right hand,” asked d’Auverney surprised, for the first time noticing Thadee’s hand hidden under the cloak, and the pallor of his face.

The sergeant’s embarrassment seemed to increase.

“ By your leave, Captain, it is because — You have a lame dog already, and I am afraid you are about to have a one-armed sergeant.”

The captain sprang from his seat.

“ What ? What do you mean ? WThat are you saying, dear old Thadee, one-armed ? Show me your arm. One-armed, great God ! ”

BUG-JARGAL.

D’Auverney trembled from head to foot ; the sergeant slowly opened his cloak, and showed his arm, wrapped in a bloody handkerchief.

“ Ah, my God ! ” murmured the captain, carefully raising the linen. “ Tell me about it, old fellow.’’

11 Oh, it is a very simple story. I told you that I had noticed your grief ever since those cursed English stole your beautiful dog, poor Rask, the mastiff of Bug — That was enough. I resolved to bring him back (were it to cost me my life), in order to have a good appetite for supper this evening. So I gave orders to Mathelet to brush your uniform thoroughly, to-morrow being the day for the battle, and slipped quietly out of camp, armed with my sword. In order to reach the English camp more quickly, I crossed through the hedges, and had scarcely reached the first intrenchments, when, by your leave, Captain, in a clump of trees on the left, I caught sight of a group of redcoats. All unobserved I advanced to see what was going on, and there in their midst was Bask, tied to a tree, while two of my fine gentlemen, naked to the waist, like heathens, were fighting each other, making as much noise as the drum of a regiment. These two Englishmen, if you please, Captain, were fighting for your dog. But all at once Bask caught sight of me, and gave such a bound that the cord broke, and in the twinkling of an eye he was at my heels. The others were not long in following. I hid in the woods. Bask followed. Several bullets whizzed by my ears. Bask barked, but luckily they could not hear him above their shouts of ( French dog ! French dog ! ’ as though your dog was not a fine San Domingo. Well, I crossed through the thicket, and was just leaving it when two redcoats appeared before me. I disposed of one with my sword, and should have made way with the other had not his pistol been loaded. You see my right arm — Well, no matter ! The ‘ French dog ’ sprang at his throat, as though he were an old acquaintance, and the Englishman fell over, strangled to death. I promise you the embrace was a rough one. Why did the fel-

BUG-JARGAL.

low pursue me, like a beggar after a student ? But, Thad is back in camp again, and Bask too. My only regret is that the good Lord was not willing for me to receive this wound in to-morrow’s battle, that’s all.”

The old sergeant’s features became sad at the thought of not having received the wound in battle.

“ Thadee ! ” cried the captain, in a vexed tone. Then more gently ; “ Why were you foolish enough to run such a risk for a dog ? ”

“ It was not for a dog, Captain, it was for Bask.”

D’Auverney’s face relaxed completely. The sergeant continued : —

“ For Bask, the mastiff of Bug ” —

“ Enough ! enough ! old Thad,” cried the captain, putting his hand to his eyes. “Come,” said he, after a moment’s silence, “ lean on me, and we will go to the hospital.”

Thadee obeyed, after a respectful resistance. The dog, who had been chewing his master’s fine bear-skin rug, rose and followed them.

BUG-JAEGAL.

Chapter II

This episode had greatly roused the curiosity of the careless story-tellers.

Captain Leopold d’Auverney was one of those men who, no matter where they are placed by the chances of nature or circumstance, always inspire a certain degree of respect and interest. At first sight, there was nothing especially prepossessing in him ; his manner was cold, his glance indifferent. Although tropical suns had bronzed his features, they had not roused in him that vivacity of gesture and expression which the Creoles unite with a graceful carelessness. D’Auvern^y spoke little, rarely listened, and always appeared restless. The first to mount, the last in camp, it seemed as though he were trying to forget himself in bodily exercise. His thoughts had left their sad traces in the deep lines of his brow, and were not such as are forgotten in the telling, nor such as would interest one in a light conversation. Leopold d’Auverney, whom the fatigues of battle could not overcome, seemed to be borne down by a mental struggle, so to speak. He avoided discussion as much as he sought fighting. If now and then he let himself be drawn into an argument, he uttered three or four words full of sound sense and judgment, then, just as his adversary was about to be convinced, he stopped short, saying, “ Of what use is it all?” and left the camp to ask the commander what could be done, while waiting for the charge or the attack.

His comrades excused his cold and reserved manner, because on every occasion they had found him brave, good and kind. He had saved many a life, at the risk of his own, and they well knew that, although he seldom opened his lips, his purse, at least, was never closed. The army loved him and forgave him his faults, even to the point of worshipping him.

BUG-JARGAL.

Yet he was still very young. He looked perhaps thirty, but he was not even that. Although he had been fighting for quite a while in the Republican ranks, they were still ignorant of his past life. The only being who, besides Rask, could elicit any show of affection from him was the old sergeant, Thadee, who had entered the army with him, and who now and then told, in a vague way, some stories of his life. It was known that d’Auverney had suffered great misfortunes in America ; that he had married at San Domingo, and lost his wife and his entire family in the massacres which the Revolution brought upon that magnificent colony. At the time of this story, such misfortunes were so common, that there existed a sort of fund of general sympathy, in which every one had a share. So they pitied Captain d’Auverney, not so much for the loss he had suffered, as for the way in which he bore it. Now and again there were visible, behind his cold indifference, signs of a deep, unhealed wound.

However, as soon as a battle began, his brow became serene. He was as dauntless in an assault as though he were ambitious for a generalship, but after the victory he appeared as modest as though he wanted to be only a simple soldier. His comrades, when they saw his contempt for honors and promotion, could not see why he should appear so eager before a battle, nor did they surmise that d’Auverney sought only death from all the chances of war.

The representatives of the people gave him the title of brigade-commander, one day on the battlefield; but he declined it, because he would be obliged, in leaving his company, to part from Sergeant Thadee. A few days later, he offered to undertake a hazardous expedition. He returned from it safe, contrary to the general expectation and his own wishes. He was heard to say that he wished he had not refused the promotion offered him ; “ For,” he added, “ although I always escape the enemy’s guns, perhaps the guillotine, which ends those who rise, might claim me.”

BUG-JAEGAL.

Chapter III

This was the man about whom the following conversation took place, when he had left the tent.

“ I’ll wager,” cried Lieutenant Henri, wiping off the mud which the dog had left on his red boot, “ I’ll wager that the captain would not exchange the broken paw of his dog for those ten hampers of Madeira which we saw the other day in the general’s wagon.”

“ Hush, hush ! ” gayly cried Paschal, the aide-de-camp. “ That would be a bad bargain. The hampers are at present empty, I have heard about them ; and,” he added, in a serious tone, “ thirty uncorked bottles are not worth as much, you must admit, Lieutenant, as that poor dog’s paw, which, after all, could be used for a bell-pull.”

The company burst into laughter at the serious tone in which the aide-de-camp uttered these last words. Alfred, alone, the young officer of the Basque Hussars, did not even smile, but looked on discontentedly.

“ I do not see, gentlemen, what cause there is for laughter in what has just happened. The dog and the sergeant, both of whom have been with d’Auverney as long as I have known him, seem to me to be most interesting. Besides, the episode ” —

Paschal, piqued at Alfred’s ill-humor and at the others’ jokes, interrupted him with —

“ Yes, it was very affecting, a restored dog, and a broken arm ! ”

“ Captain Paschal, you are wrong,” said Henri, flinging the bottle he had just emptied out of the tent, “this Bug, or Pierrot, rouses my curiosity.”

Paschal, ready to retort angrily, became calm, and re-

BUG-JARGAL.

marked that the glass which he had thought empty was full. D’Auverney entered at that moment, and sat down without a word. His manner was troubled, but his features were calmer. He seemed so preoccupied, that he heard nothing of the conversation aboi\t him. Eask had followed him, and crouched down at his feet with a restless air.

“ Your glass, Captain d’ Auverney. Taste a bit of this.”

“Oh! Thank God,” said the captain, “the wound is not dangerous, the arm is not broken.”

Only the involuntary respect which they all felt for the captain, restrained the laugh on Henri’s lips.

“ Well, since you are no longer anxious about Thadee,” said he, “ and as we are here for the purpose of relating stories to shorten this night of bivouac, I hope, my dear friend, that you will keep your promise, and tell us the story of your lame dog and Bug — somebody, or Pierrot, that veritable Gibraltar ! ”

To this question, asked in a tone half-serious, half-joking, d’Auverney would have had nothing to reply, had not the others added their entreaties to those of the lieutenant.

At length he yielded.

“ I will tell it to you, gentlemen ; but you must expect only a very ordinary story, in which I play only a secondary role. If you expect something extraordinary on account of the attachment between Thadee, Eask and myself, I warn you that you deceive yourselves. I will begin.”

Immediately silence fell upon the group. Paschal emptied his brandy-flask, and Henri wrapped himself in the halfdemolished bear-skin, to protect himself from the night air, and Alfred stopped humming the Galician tune of Matajoerros.

H’Auverney was silent a moment, as though to recall events of long ago ; at last he began to speak very slowly, in a low tone, and with frequent pauses.

BUG-JABGAL.

Chapter IV

“ Although born in France, when still very young I was sent to San Domingo, to an uncle, a rich colonist, whose daughter I was to marry.

“ My uncle’s estates lay next to Fort Galifet, and his plantations occupied the greater part of the plains of l’Acul.

“This unfortunate fact, which no doubt seems trifling to you, was one of the chief causes of the misfortunes and the total ruin of my family.

“ Eight hundred negroes were employed on my uncle’s immense estate. The wretched condition of these slaves was aggravated still more by their master’s indifference. My uncle belonged to that class of planters, fortunately few in number, whose heart had been hardened by his long habit of absolute despotism. Accustomed to immediate obedience, the slightest hesitation on thp part of a slave was punished in the most cruel manner* and often the intercession of his children served only to increase his anger. Thus we were often compelled to alleviate in secret the pain we could not prevent openly.”

“ Those are fine phrases ! ” said Henry aside, to his neighbor. “ I trust that the captain will not leave the misfortunes of the former without some little dissertation on the duties imposed by humanity, et cetera. One might as well be at the Massiac club.” 1

1 Perhaps our readers have forgotten that the Massiac club, to which Lieutenant Henri refers, was an association of Negrophiles. The club was organized at Paris, in the beginning of the Revolution, and was the cause of most of the insurrections which arose among the colonies.

One may be surprised at the rather audacious flippancy in which the young lieutenant referred to the philanthropists who reigned at this time through the mercy of the executioner. But we must remember that, both during the Reign of Terror and afterwards, liberty of thought and speech had taken refuge in the camp. This noble privilege now and then cost a general his

BUG-JARGAL.

“ I will be obliged to you, Henri, if you will spare me your jests,” said d’Auverney coldly, who overheard the remark.

Then he resumed : —

“ Among all these slaves, one alone found favor with my uncle. This was a Spanish dwarf, a colored griff e,1 who had been given him by Lord Effingham, governor of Jamaica. My uncle had lived for a long time in Brazil, and had acquired habits of Portuguese luxury, liking to surround himself with a display corresponding to his wealth. His many slaves, trained to service like European servants, gave his home a princely splendor. That it might lack nothing, he had made Lord Effingham’s slave his fool, after the manner of the ancient feudal princes, who had court jesters. It must be admitted that this choice was a remarkably happy one. The griffe, Habibrah (such was his name), was one of those creatures whose physical appearance was so strange, that if they . did not amuse one, they would seem like monsters. The hideous dwarf was short and fat, and moved with singular

head ; but it absolved from all reproach the shining glory of the soldiers whom the denunciators of the convention called, “the gentlemen of the Army of the Rhine.”

1 This word demands an explanation.

Monsieur Moreau de Saint Mery, in developing Franklin’s system, has classified under the generic heads the various tints of the mixed colored race.

He says that man consists of one hundred and twenty-eight parts, the whites with whites, and the blacks with blacks.

Following out this idea, he states that one comes nearer to, or farther from one color or another, as one comes nearer to, or farther from, the sixtyfourth term, which is the mean proportion.

According to this system every man who is not eight parts white is called black.

Going from this color toward the white, there are nine principal stems, which vary according to the greater or less number of parts they retain of one color or the other. These nine stems are: the sacatra, griffe, marabout, mulatto, quateron, metis, mameloue, quateronnt, sang-mele.

The latter, continuing to mingle with the white, finally is confounded with it. It is proved, however, that some indisputable trace of its origin can be found on some part of the body.

The griffe is the result of five combinations, and may have from twenty-eight to thirty-two white parts, and ninety-six or one hundred and four of black.

BUG-JARGAL.

rapidity on his slim, weak legs, which he folded under him when he sat down, like the legs of a spider. His huge head, sunk deep between his shoulders, bristled with frizzled, red wool, and his ears were so large that his comrades used to say that Habibrah used them to wipe his eyes with when he cried. His face was one constant grin, yet never the same, a strange mobility of feature which at least possessed the advantage of giving variety to his ugliness. My uncle loved him on account of his deformity and his constant gayety. Habibrah was his favorite. While the other slaves were worn out with work, Habibrah’ s only duty was to carry behind his master a large fan of birds-of-paradise plumes, and wave away the flies and mosquitos. My uncle had him eat on a rush mat at his feet, and always gave him something from his own choice dish. Habibrah appeared grateful for such kindness, and used his privileges of clown, the right to say and do anything, only to divert his master. At the least sign from the latter, he would run with the swiftness of an ape and the submission of a dog.

“I did not like the fellow. He was too servile; and if slavery does not dishonor one, being a servant lowers one. I felt a kindly pity for the unhappy negroes who worked all day with hardly any clothing to hide their chains ; but this deformed buffoon, this lazy slave, in his absurd costume covered with gold lace and bells, filled me with scorn. Besides, the dwarf did not make good use of the advantage which being his master’s favorite gave him. He never asked mercy for others, of the master who inflicted so much punishment ; and one day, when he thought he was alone with my uncle, he was even heard to beg him to use greater severity than usual toward his unfortunate comrades. But the other slaves, who might have looked at him in jealousy and defiance, did not seem to hate him. He inspired them with a sort of respectful fear, unlike the feeling of hatred ; and whenever he passed by their huts, in his great pointed cap covered with bells and its strange figures in red ink, they whispered among themselves : “ He is an obi ! ” ( Sorcerer .)

BUG-JARGAL.

“ These details which I am telling you, gentlemen, at first were of small note to me. I was completely absorbed by my pure love, which it seemed nothing could ever change, a love that had been felt and shared from childhood by the woman I was to marry. I thought of little else besides Marie. From my earliest years I had been accustomed to look upon her, who had been a sister to me, as my future wife ; and there had grown up between us a feeling, the nature of which cannot be understood, even when I say that it partook of brotherly affection, passionate love, and perfect trust. Few men had a happier childhood than mine ; few men have felt their hopes in life opening under a clearer sky, or brightened by a sweeter joy. Surrounded from birth with every luxury of wealth, with every privilege of rank, in a country where color alone gave rank, spending my days beside the one who possessed all my love, seeing that love smiled upon by our parents, who were the only ones who could have forbidden it, and all this at an age when the blood is warm, in a land where summer is eternal, and where nature is at her best, — what more was necessary to make me trust blindly in my future star ? What more was needed to give me the right to say that few men have spent a happier childhood ? ”

The captain paused, as though his voice failed him when he recalled his past happiness. Then he continued, in a sorrowful tone : —

“ It is true, that I have the right now to add that no one could spend his last days more unhappily.”

And, as though the thought of his unhappiness gave him strength, he resumed in a firm voice : —

BUG-JARGAL.

CHAPTEB V.

“ In the midst of these dreams and hopes, my twentieth birthday, which would be in the month of August, 1791, drew near. My uncle had set this date for my marriage with Marie. You can readily see that the thought of such approaching happiness easily put everything else out of my mind, and how vague would be my remembrance of the political troubles which for two years had been agitating the colony. I will not speak of the Count de Peinier, nor of Monsieur de Blanchelaude nor of that unhappy Colonel de Mauduit whose end was so tragic. I will not describe to you the rivalry of the Provincial Assembly of the North, and of the Colonial Assembly , which assumed the title of General Assembly , thinking that the word colonial sounded servile. These troubles, which at that time engrossed every one, interest us now only on account of the disasters which they produced. Between the mutual jealousy of the Cape and that of Port-au-Prince, my opinion, had I had one, would necessarily have been in favor of the Cape, where we were living, and of the Provincial Assembly, of which my uncle was a member.