Belle-Rose

Front matter

Cha,]). ('opyright No,

V i i

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Contents

CUArXER. PAGE

I — The Falconer’s Son 7

II— The First Tears 17

Chapter II. The First Tears

The recollection of this adventure remained in Jacques’ memory. Time might make faint its details, but the affair itself was fixed like a luminous spot in the depth of his heart. From the day of his meeting with the stranger he contracted a keener taste for things pertaining to war. When a squadron passed over the road, banner floating in the wind and trumpet at the head, he ran after it as far as his legs could carry him and hummed fanfares for a whole week. At times it also happened to him to form the children of the faubourg into a regiment and with them to deliver a counterfeit battle or imitate some siege, which always ended by furious melees in which his arms did wonders ; child though he was, he already displayed a surprising address in the handling of arms — sword, saber, ax, pike, dagger, pistol, or musket. The words of the Arras merchant, “If ever you enrol yourself, you will make your way,” buzzed constantly in his ears, but we should add that there was no drill, review, combat, and assault which Jacques did not willingly abandon to follow Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers when she went with Claudine to search for strawberries in the woods. On these occasions, which were renewed every day, the little general sighed with all his heart and stood confused when Suzanne’s hand encountered his. The little girl made him go and come at her will, but with so much natural grace and with an air so charming, that Jacques would have left for the end of the world without deliberating, upon a sign from her blue eyes.

The years passed then between studies, battles, and

THE FIKST TEARS.

rambles over the country. It was a time of troubles and wars; nothing w^as talked about except cities attacked, camps surprised, and murderous expeditions. Cardinal Mazarin and the king’s party struggled against Parliament, the princes, and the Spaniard. Monsieur de Conde held the country, sometimes conqueror, sometimes conquered ; but up to this time the town of St. Omer, protected by a good garrison, had not suffered from the enemy’s depredations. Jacques would have left long since, if he had not been detained by the charm which he experienced in living near Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers. This sentiment was so much the more imperious that he took no account of it. Chance, that great architect of the future, caused him to read his heart. One day, as he was seated in a corner of the garden, head bowed and rolling a dagger between his fingers, his sister Claudine came and softly struck him on the shoulder. Jacques trembled.

“Of what are you thinking?” said the frolicsome child to her brother.

“I do not know.”

“Do you wish me to tell you? You are thinking of Mam ’selle Suzanne. ’ ’

“Why of her rather than of another’?’ exclaimed Jacques, somewhat confused.

“Because Suzanne is Suzanne.”

“Beautiful reason!”

“Very good,” replied the child, whose mischievous smile half parted her vermilion lips. “Oh, I understand!”

“Then, explain yourself.”

“Hold, Jacques, ” added Claudine, taking on a serious air, “you are thinking of Mam ’selle Suzanne because you love her.”

Jacques blushed to the roots of his hair; he rose with a bound ; a new trouble filled his soul, and a thousand confused sensations animated him.

“Heavens! what is the matter with you?” exclaimed Claudine, frightened at the sudden change which had taken place in her brother’s features.

“Listen to me, my sister; you are only a little girl ”

“I will be fifteen when the apricots come,” said the child.

“But, ” continued Jacques, “it is said that little girls understand these things better than grown boys. Why have you told me that I love Mam ’selle Su-zanne? It ma.y be that I do, but I do not know it. ”

“Bless me! that is to be seen at the first glance. I cannot

THE FIRST TEARS.

tell you how ; but I have understood it from several things which I cannot explain to you, because I do not know by what end to take them. In the first place, you do not speak to her as to the other girls you know ; and then you have eyes as sweet as honey wdien you look at her ; you make wide circuits to avoid her, and nevertheless you al- \vays meet her, or — well, you seek her everywhere, and when you do not find her, you stop short, and one would say that you desired to conceal yourself. In short, I neither know why nor how, but you love her.”

“It is true,” murmured Jacques; “it is true, I love her. ”

His voice, as he pronounced these words so sweet to his heart, had something grave and sad about it which touched Claudine.

“Well, ” said she, slipping her pretty arms around her brother’s neck, “do not go and afflict yourself now? Is it such a painful thing to love people that it is necessary to assume that unhappy air. See, you are going to make me weep.”

Then poor Claudine dried the corners of her eyes with her apron ; then smiling with the nobility of childhood, she raised herself upon her tiptoes, and placing her mouth to Jacques’ ear, she continued :

“Bah! if I were you I should rejoice. Suzanne is not your sister. I am sure that she loves you as much as you love her. You shall marry her. ”

Jacques kissed Claudine upon both cheeks.

“You are a kind sister, ” he said to her; “go, now, I know what honesty requires of me.”

And Jacques, disengaging himself from his sister’s embrace, left the garden. He was going straight to the chateau, when he encountered Monsieur de Malzonvilliers.

“I was seeking. you, monsieur, ” he said to him, as he saluted him.

“Me? And what have you to say to me, my boy?”

“I have to speak to you of an important affair.”

“Really? Well, speak; I am listening to you.”

“Monsieur, I am to-day eighteen years and some months old,” said Jacques, with the grave air of an ambassador. “I am an honest fellow who has strong arms and a little education ; I shall have one day two or three thousand livres from an uncle who is a cure in Picardy ; as to that which might come to me on my father’s side, I have decided to leave it to Claudine. In this state, I come to ask you if you will consent to give me your daughter in marriage.”

THE FIRST TEARS.

“In marriage to you! What are you talking about?” exclaimed Monsieur de Malzonvilliers, thoroughly stupefied.

“I say, monsieur, that I love Mademoiselle Suzanne ; the respect I owe to you and my duty do not permit me to inform her of it before having spoken to you of my sentiments. That is why I come to ask you to accept me for your son-in-law.”

During this discourse Jacques was standing in the middle of the path, hat in hand, a handkerchief wrapped around his nock, and w^earing a gray smock.

“There is no need for me to say to you,” he added, “that your consent will render- me perfectly happy, and that I will no longer have any other desire than to recognize your kindness by my good conduct and my devotion. ”

All at once Monsieur de Malzonvilliers burst out laughing. The strangeness of the proposition and the coolness with which it had been made had stupefied him at first ; but at the last words of Jacques he could not keep from laughing in the face of the poor fellow. All of Jacques’ blood mounted to his face. In spite of the illusions with which youth lulls itself, his native good sense told him that his demand would not be -welcomed, but his candid honesty did not permit him to believe* that it might give matter for pleasantry.

“My proposition has amused you,” he resumed, with an ill-concealed emotion. “I was not expecting, I confess, to cause you so much joy.”

“Eh, my friend, neither was I expecting such an adventure. Did one ever see a thing like it? It is more amusing than a comedy of Monsieur Corneille, ’pon my word.”

Jacques tore his hat-brim with his fingers, but he was silent. Monsieur de Malzonvilliers kept on. laughing. Finally, no longer able to restrain himself, he sat down upon a block of stone on the side of the path.

“You will have sufficient leisure to laugh after, ’’said Jacques, “but now is the time to answ^er me; you cannot guess, monsieur, what has taken place in my heart since I have known that I love Mademoiselle Suzanne. I am -v\’aiting.”

“Come, my boy, are you mad? ’’ replied the farmer of revenue, drying his eyes.

“A madman does not come to honestly ask her father for the hand of a young girl.”

“You speak seriously, then?”

“Quite seriously.”

“Be silent, and above all, do not look at me with that

THE FIRST TEARS.

air of an unhappy swain, or you will stifle me with laughter, and I warn you that it would be to abuse my position ; I am much fatigued, my friend.”

“Therefore such is not my intention; I only desire to know what are your sentiments.”

“Go to the devil with my sentiments! Have I the time to amuse myself with the trifles which enter the head of a madman? What a beautiful alliance — the daughter of Monsieur de Malzonvilliers with the son of Guillaume Grinedal, the falconer!”

“Rail at me as much as you please, monsieur, I shall not grow offended,” Jacques quickly exclaimed ; “but take care not to touch my father’s name, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, the one that insults him, were it Suzanne’s father, would have my vengeance to fear.”

“ And what would you do, rascal?”

“I would strangle him!”

And Jacques raised above his head two hands strong enough to quickly give effect to the threat. Monsieur de Malzonvilliers brusquely arose and carried his hand to his neck; he already seemed to feel Jacques’ fingers fastened upon it. But Jacques suddenly lowered his arms, and of his violent emotion there no loi^ger remained anything but a great pallor upon his countenance.

“I ask your pardon for my hastiness,” he said. “I ought never to forget the benefits which you have conferred on my family ; this anger is the fault of my youth and not of my heart ; forget it, monsieur. You would not be vexed with me if you knew how much I suffer since love has possessed me. I only live for Mademoiselle Suzanne, and I well feel that I cannot obtain her. But if to merit her it would be necessary for me to undertake something impossible, tell me, and with God’s aid it seems to me that I should succeed. Speak, monsieur ; what must I attempt? Whatever it may be, I am ready to obey, and if I do not succeed, I shall sacrifice my life in the effort.”

There is always in the expression of a true sentiment an accent which touches ; tears had come to Jacques’ eyes, and his attitude expressed at the same time anguish and resignation; Monsieur de Malzonvilliers was at bottom a good man; vanity had obscured his judgment without spoiling his heart ; he felt touched and extended his hand to Jacques.

“There is no occasion to grieve, my friend,” he said to him, “nor to take things so hard. You love, so you say. It has not been a great while since I loved, but I do not re-

THE rmST TEAKS.

collect to have loved at eighteen. You ■will forget as I have forgotten, and you will not feel any ill-effects from it:”

Jacques shook his head sadly.

“Yes! yes! every hodj^ talks that way,” continued the farmer of revenue. “Eh? My God ! at your age I already believed myself in the river because I had lost the object of my first flame. But, bah! I have lost many others since. Let us talk sense, my boy; you will understand me, for you do not lack for intelligence. Several gentlemen of the neighborhood have asked me for Suzanne’s hand. Can I conscientiously prefer you who have nothing, neither profession, nor fortune, and repulse those who have both?”

Jacques lowered his head, and a tear fell to the ground.

“Parbleau, if you were rich and noble,” resumed Monsieur de Malzonvilliers, “I should wish for no other son-in-law than yourself.”

“If I were rich and noble?” exclaimed Jacques.

“Yes, certainly.”

“Well, monsieur, I shall endeavor to win fortune and nobility.”

“Listen, then, my friend, these things do not come quickly. I do not promise you to wait.”

Jacques hesitated a moment; then raising his eyes to heaven, he said :

“God sparing me, monsieur, I shall make as much haste as I can.”

“Poor fellow!” murmured Monsieur de Malzonvilliers, as Jacques moved away; “it is truly unfortunate that he IS not a marquis, or at least a millionaire.”

Jacques dir*ected his course with a slow but firm step toward a part of the park of Malzonvilliers where Suzanne was accustomed to walk at this hour, a book or some needlework in her hand. He accosted her resolutely and related to her the conversation which he had just had with her father; his voice trembled, but his glance was steady. Suzanne had felt herself blush at Jacques’ first word, but soon overcoming her emotions, she had fixed upon her lover that clear and serene look which beamed like a star in the depths of her blue ej^es.

“Your father has left me no hope, mademoiselle, ” said Jacques, after he had finished his narrative; “nevertheless I am determined to undertake everything to merit you Do you permit me?”

“Do you love me, Jacques?” said the young girl, in that sweet and vibrating voice which sounded like crystal. ‘

“Do I love you? I would give my life for my sister

THE FIRST TEAHS.

Claudine; but, mademoiselle, it seems to me — and God pardon me this blasphemy — that I would give my soul’s safety for you. ’ ’

“I shall then be your wife one day, my friend,” said Suzanne, extending her hand to Jacques, who felt his heart melt at these words. “Both of us are very young, almost two children, ” she added, with a smile, “but God will come to our aid.”

“I have a strong heart,” exclaimed Jacques. “Oh, mademoiselle, I shall win you.”

“I count on it, and I promise you to never belong to any one but you. ’ ’

^ Jacques wished to kiss Suzanne’s hand, but Suzanne opened her arms, and the two children embraced each other. Both were at the same time grave and ingenuous. They believed in their love.

“Go and merit me,” said Suzanne, her cheeks humid and blushing; “I shall wait for you.”

They exchanged a last oath and separated.

Jacques went back to the cottage, serious but no longer sad. He at once imparted to Guillaume Grinedal what had taken place during the day.

“We love each other,” he added, “and we shall marry.”

The father looked at the swallows which were flying far off in the blue sky.

“Lovers’ oaths!” said he, shaking his bald head. “But whether they last or not matters little, my son, you must go away.”

“Such -was my intention,” replied Jacques.

Father and son pressed each other’s hands.

“The daughter belongs to the father, ’’said Guillaume Grinedal. “Monsieur de Malzonvilliers has been kind to us ; he must not accuse you of having wished to sow disorder in his house. You will leave to-morrow without seeking to see Suzanne again.”

Jacques hesitated.

“It must be so, ” repeated the elder.

“I shall leave,” said the son; “I shall leave without seeing her again. ”

Toward evening, at the accustomed hour, they sat down around the table. The dinner was barely touched. They sat in silence. Jacques did not eat, and the refrain of the songs which he was accustomed to hum died upon his lips. Claudine did not wish to speak, for fear of bursting into sobs. She turned aside at times to dry her eyes. Jacques and Guillaume tried to appear calm, but the morsels which

THE FIEST- TEARS.

they carried to their lips they again placed back untouched upon their plates. After the evening prayer the father embraced his three children. He retained Jacques the longest ui^on his heart.

“Go to sleep,” he said to him ; “but previously ask God for courage to live the life which begins for you to-morrow. ”

The father withdrew, and the three children began to weep. Not one had the strength to express his disappointment, and each of them found fewer words to say than kisses to give. Toward dawn the family gathered together on the threshold of the door. Jacques had put on large shoes and gaiters, a leather belt tightened his blouse around his waist, a small haversack was suspended to his shoulders, and his hand was armed with a stout stick of holly wood. Pierre and Claudine were sobbing. Jacques was slightly pale, but his look had regained all its assurance and firmness.

“Where are you going, my son?” said the father.

Even at this epoch Paris was the magic city, the radiant center which attracted every active intelligence, every audacious mind, every unquiet imagination. Jacques had not for a moment thought of the details of the extreme part which he had chosen, nevertheless at his father’s question, he unhesitatingly replied :

“To Paris.”

“It is a great city, full of perils and surprises. Many have arrived there poor like yourself, and have gone away rich, but better to go away from it miserable than to leave your honesty there. May God bless you, my son.”

Jacques knelt down between his brother and sister, and Guillaume placed his trembling hands upon the forehead of his first-born child. After he had risen, the father wished to slip in Jacques’ hand a purse, in which some gold shone, but Jacques gave it back to him.

“Keep this gold,” he said to him; “it is Claudine’s dowry. I have arms and in my haversack fifty livres which I have earned.”

The father did not insist, but drawing from his bosom a jewel attached to a ribbon, he passed it around Jacques’ neck.

“Do you recognize it, Jacques?” he said to him. ‘ Tt is the medallion lost by the stranger five years ago. You have well earned it, therefore keep it. If you again come across the gentleman to whom it belongs, you will return it to him, and perhaps he will recall the hospitality of our

A STEP IN LIFE.

roof. Let us embrace each other now, and may God guide you.”

Jacques first embraced Guillaume and Pierre. Claudine had remained slightly in the rear ; when it was her turn, she threw herself on Jacques’ neck.

“I embrace you for myself first,” she whispered to him, so low that her voice glided like a breath into the traveler’s ear; “afterward for her.”

Jacques trembled.

“Yes, for her,” his sister resumed; “she herself has recommended me to do so. ”

Jacques passionately pressed Claudine to his heart at the recollection of Suzanne. He looked at the sky full of new courage, his eye shining with hope.

The first rays of dawn lit up the dewy plains. On the horizon floated a thousand gilded vapors, and the road was lost in the midst of solitudes bathed in light. Paris was yonder, behind that flaming horizon ; Suzanne was the reward of triumph. Jacques snatched himself from Claudine’s arms and took his departure. \

Chapter III. A Step In Life

At some hundred steps from the cottage, the road made a turn and led up a small hill. Arrived at the top, Jacques turned back. Upon the threshold of the door, Guillaume Grinedal was standing, and near him, kneeling ujDon the ground, Pierre and Claudine holding his hands in theirs. Behind him Jacques left all his happiness, all that he had loved — the garden filled with shade and delightfully cool, the tranquil retreat where he had stammered his first prayer and dreamed his first dreams of love, the great plains which had protected his soul with their solitude and their serenity, the vast chateau, vailed by old elms, where he had so often sighed, without knowing the cause of his sighs, at the noise of Wo infantile lips singing a song of the country. The tawny oxen wandering over the fertile meadows, the bulls ruminating in the shade of the beech trees, the herd filing along the path, the black swarms of crows dispersed about the oaks, the young girl passing the babbling brook with bare feet, the stupid farmer urging on his loitering team, and even the larks

A STEP IN LIFE.

hidden in the hollow furrows or lost in the immense azure — all the beings and all the things of creation had a part in that life which had expanded like a limpid and fresh stream between two banks of soft grass. Behind him was repose and peace ; before him was the unknown and its numberless accidents.

Jacques leaned against the stick of holly, and let his gaze wander far away. A thousand recollections awoke in a crowd in his heart ; for a long time he listened to their confused voices which told him of the past filled with sweet joys and honest labors, and took pleasure in their mysterious narratives ; his eyes turned toward the beautiful foliage which formed for Malzonvilliers a green belt. Two tears which came to wet his hands, without his having felt them flow over his cheeks, distracted him from his dream. How many others had not already fallen to the ground? Jacques shook his head and bounded to the other side of the hill. After having passed the night at Fauquenbergne, he arrived the next day at Fruges. In the inn where he stopped he heard that a troop of freebooters liad penetrated into the country between Aire and St. Omer. They belonged, it was said, to a corps of Hungarian and Croatian soldiers which the Spanish government had licensed, and who sought to amass a large booty before leaving Flanders.

The inhabitants who were in easy circumstances were retiring in all haste in the direction of St. Pal or Montreuil; the others were concealing their most precious possessions. Among those who were decamping in all haste not one had yet seen anything, yet no one stopped, and no one dared tiirn back his head. Jacques thought that each one fled because he saw the others fly, and like the resolute fellow that he was, he determined to continue his journey, wishing fco arrive at Hesdin before night. The day was hot, and Jacques had been walking since morning; appetite began to make itself felt along with fatigue. Perceiving neither Hungarians nor Croats, Jacques threw himself upon the side of the road near a spring, which bubbled in the shade of a clump of trees, and drawing from his satchel some provisions with which he had provided himself at Fruges, he dined merrily. At this place the grass was thick and the shade cool. Jacques looked over the road, and seeing nothing, neither footsoldier nor cavalier, he stretched himself out like a shepherd of Virgil at the foot of a beech. He thought at first and a great deal of Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers and

A STEP IN LIFE.

sighed ; then at the recollection of the good people whom he had encountered flying like hares, he smiled. Undoubtedly he was going to think of many other things still, when he went to sleep.

Jacques only wished to rest, but youth proposes and the fresh grass disposes. He w^as sleeping then as one sleeps at eighteen, when a great noise of horses neighing and prancing awoke him in surprise. Seven or eight cavaliers were circling around him, while two others were unstrajjping his haversack, after having leaped from the saddle. Jacques rose at a bound, and at the first blow of his fist felled one of the pillagers. He was going to take the other by the throat when three or four cavaliers pounced upon him and overthrew him. Before he could rise again a violent blow stunned him, and he remained stretched at the feet cf the horses.

Only three minutes had been needed for the cavalier to unstrap his valise ; it did not take them two to pillage the money and the effects, to despoil Jacques of his coat, and to disapjiear at a gallop. Jacques remained immovable for some moments, extended upon his back. The large brim of his felt hat having softened the force of the blow w'hich was intended for him, Jacques was only stunned. When he raised himself again, half naked and moneyless, he ran to an elevation to reconnoiter the road which the liillagers had taken. A whirlwind of smoke, lashed by the wind, undulated in the plain ; two villages were burning; between the crackling roofs of thatch passed the frightened animals. A dull cloud pitted with sparks was expanding in the distance. When the Are gained a strawstack or some barn filled with hay a jet of flame divided the somber curtain with its red and forked lightnings. A body of cavalry was ranged in line of battle on the forder of a stream. Jacques had never seen a similar uniform, which was composed of a white coat with yellow facings and black pants. At the head of it^ going and coming from one end of the squadron to the other, rode a cavalier whose countenance indicated that he was the chief. He had no doubt but what he had to do with marauders belonging to the enemy, but in his naive sentiment of equity, he fully believed that the chief would cause to be returned to him what had been stolen from him. If the King of Spain and the Emperor of Germany made war on the King of France, they ought not to make it on travelers. At the sight of a young man advancing toward them, bare-headed and coatless, the captain drew up.

A STEP IN LIFE.

“What do you wish?” he . brusquely said to him, when Jacques was at two steps from his horse.

“Justice,” Jacques tranquilly replied.

The chief smiled and passed his long and nervous fingers through his mustache.

Two cavaliers who followed him exchanged some rapid words ; they spoke rather with the throat than with the lips, and their idiom struck Jacques’ ears like the croaking of ravens.

“Of what do you complain?” said the chief.

“My valise, the effects which it contained, my money, even my clothes — everything has been taken from me. ’ ’

“They left you your skin, and you complain. You are exacting.”

Jacques thought he had not well understood.

“But I tell you ”

“And I tell you to hold your tongue!” exclaimed the chief. “You will answer when you are questioned.”

Thei chief turned to his officers. During their short conference Jacques crossed his arms. The idea of flying did not enter his mind ; it seemed to him impossible that any further harm could be done him.

“You are a Frenchman, undoubtedly?’ said the chief returning to him.

“Yes.”

“From this neighborhood, perhaps?”

“From St. Omer.”

“You must know, then, the secret roads for gaming the frontiers of Flanders.”

“Quite well.”

“You will have to serve us, then, as guide that far. Though your compatriots decamp like flocks of ducks at our approach, I believe that we have advanced too far. I have enough of this kind of booty. Ho^wever, if there are some good chateaux in the neighborhood, you will lead us to them. Go ahead.” .

Jacques did not budge.

“Did you hear me?” repeated the chief, touching him with the end of his switch.

“Perfectly well.”

“Then march.”

“No, I shall remain here.”

“Remain here!” exclaimed the chief, and urging on his horse, he brought him up alongside the immovable Jacques.

The icy tube of a pistol touched Jacques’ forehead.

“Come, do you know that all I have to do is to move my finger in order to blow out your brains?” said the chief.

“Move it, then, for I shall not serve you as guide in my country and against my own people.”

The pistol was slowly lowered.

“Then you do not wish to lead us to the frontiers,” added the chief, slipping his pistol under the saddle-bow.

“I cannot. ”

“Then it is I who will lead you there.”

The chief spoke some words in a foreign tongue, and before Jacques could suspect the danger which threatened him, three or four soldiers had seized and hound him.

“There is in the company some old halters which will do you for a cravat, ” continued the chief, addressing himself to Jacqties. “When we come to the limits of Artois I intend to leave you there, suspended to the most beautiful branch of the most beautiful oak I can find, in order to make you serve as an example to the inhabitants of the place. If the ravens permit you, scoundrel, you will have leisure to there meditate on the results of your honesty.”

Upon a sign from the chief, two soldiers threw Jacques behind a cavalier. They tied him on the saddle like a sack, and the whole troop started at a trot in the direction of Hesdin. Jacques, bent in two, beat with his head and his feet the horse’s flanks ; the blood rushed to his extremiies, his face became purple, his eyes grew blood-shot, a painful and confused buzzing filled his ears, the name of Suzanne expired upon his lips, and he closed his eyes. But just as the red vail which floated before his half-closed eyes was obscuring most his mind, he carried, by a most violent effort, his hands to his head. The straps which bound them touched his lips. He bit them, and the instinct of self-preservation returning with the hope of deliverance, he soon loosened the knots with his teeth. The cavalier was singing and polishing the guard of his saber. Jacques suspended himself by one hand to the horse’s crupper, and with the other undid the strap wliich held him to the saddle. When he felt his limbs free he looked around him to see if any soldier of the squadron was watching him. ^The chief and the officers were riding in front, and the squadron followed them without thinking of the captive. The cavalier, busy with his weapon, did not press his horse, who, more heavily loaded than the others, had lost some ground and was now at the rear end of the column. Jacques let himself glide softly down into the road. No sooner than he felt the ground under his feet