Angelique - Part 1. Marquise of the Angels Chapter 7 - Read online

IT BECAME A HABIT, WHEN COUNTING DAYS, to say it happened ‘before’—or—‘after’—the visit of the Marquis du Plessis.
Then there was the incident of the ‘black visitor’.
Angelique remembered him more deeply and more lastingly. Far from being destructive and harmful like the previous guests, he brought with him strange words of hopefulness that were to remain with her throughout her life; a hope so deeply anchored that in the moments of utter misery which she lived through later she had only to close her eyes to recapture that murmuring, rainy spring evening when he had first appeared.
Ang£lique was in the kitchen as usual. Denis, Marie-Agnes and little Albert were playing near her. The baby was in his cradle by the hearth. For the children, the kitchen was the most beautiful room in the house. A fire burned there permanently and almost smokelessly, for the canopy of the vast fire-place was very high. The glow of this constant fire danced and was reflected in the russet copper pans and basins that decorated the walls. The shy and dreamy Gontran would of ten sit for hours watching these sparkling lights in which he saw strange visions, while Angelique recognised in them the household gods of Monteloup.
That evening Angelique was cooking a hare pie. She had already kneaded the dough in the shape of a tart and was mincing the meat. From outside came the sound of galloping hoofs.
“That’s your father coming back,” said Aunt Pulcherie. “Angelique, I think it would be proper for us to go into the drawing-room.”
But after a short silence, during which the rider must have dismounted, the bell at the entrance rang.
“I’ll go,” cried Angelique. ,
She rushed out, heedless of the upturned sleeves that showed her bare arms white with flour.
Through the curtain of rain and evening mist she distinguished a tall, lean man whose cape was dripping with water.
“Did you put your horse under shelter?” she cried. “Animals catch cold so easily here. There is too much mist on account of the marshes.”
“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” replied the stranger, removing his wide- brimmed hat with a bow. “I made free, as travellers do, to take my horse and luggage straight to your stables. When I saw I was still too far from my goal and passing near the castle of Monteloup, I thought I’d ask his lordship the Baron for a night’s hospitality.”
His costume of coarse black material with only a white collar for trim¬ming made Angelique suppose he was a small merchant or a peasant in Sunday dress. His accent, however, which was not the local one and sounded somewhat foreign, disconcerted her, as did his carefully chosen words.
“My father is not back, but come in and warm yourself in the kitchen. We’ll send a groom to rub down your mount.”
As she returned to the kitchen, followed by the visitor, her brother Josselin, was coming through the door from the outhouses. Covered with mud, his face red and dirty, he was dragging across the stone floor a wild boar which he had killed with a spear.
“Good hunting, sir?” inquired the stranger courteously.
Josselin threw him an unfriendly glance and answered with a growl. He then sat down on a stool and stretched his feet towards the flames. The stranger sat more modestly in a comer of the hearth and accepted a plateful of soup which Fantine brought him.
He explained that he was a native of these parts, his birthplace being near Secondigny but that he had spent many years travelling abroad, so that eventually he acquired a strong accent in his mother tongue.
“But it’ll soon wear of f,” he declared. He had landed at La Rochelle no more than a week ago.
At those last words, Josselin raised his head and looked at him with sparkling eyes. The children surrounded him and began pelting him with questions.
“Which country did you go to?”
“Is it far?”
“What is your trade?”
“I have none,” said the stranger. “At the moment I think I’d rather like to travel through France and tell of my journeys and adventures to whoever will listen to them.”
“Like the poets and minstrels of the Middle Ages?” inquired Angllique, who did after all remember some of Aunt Pulch6rie’s lessons.
“Something like that, although I can neither sing nor versify. But I could tell some lovely stories about the countries where the vine grows without being planted. The grapes hang from trees in the forest, but the inhabitants don’t know how to make \vine, It’s better thus, for Noah inebriated himself and the Lord does not wish all men to turn into swine. There are still innocent peoples on earth. I could tell you, too, of those vast plains where, if you want a horse, you just wait behind a rock for the wild herds that gallop past. You fling a long rope with a running noose at the end and you capture your mount.”
“Are they easily tamed?”
“Not always,” said the visitor with a smile.
Angelique suddenly felt that this man must smile but rarely. He seemed to be in his forties, but there was a certain intensity and passion in his eyes.
“Do you at least cross the seas to reach those countries?” questioned the taciturn Josselin distrustfully. .
“You cross the entire ocean. Over there, far inland, are rivers and lakes. The inhabitants are as red as copper. They adorn their heads with bird- feathers and move about in canoes made of stitched hides. I have also been to islands where men are quite black. They live on reeds that are as thick as a man’s arm and are called sugar-cane—and that indeed is where sugar comes from. They also make a drink of this syrup that is stronger than corn-brandy. It makes you less drunk but gives you strength and gaiety. It’s called rum.”
“Did you bring this wonderful drink back with you?” asked Josselin.
“I have a flask of it in my saddle-holster. But I also left several barrels with my cousin, who lives at La Rochelle and who intends to make a good profit out of it. That’s his business. I am not a tradesman. I am only a traveller who is interested in new lands, eager to know those places where nobody is hungry or thirsty and where man feels free. That’s where I grasped that all evil comes from the men of white race, because they have not heeded the Lord’s word but travestied it. For the Lord did not order us to slay or destroy, but to love one another.”
“You are a Protestant, arc you not?” Raymond ventured to ask bluntly.
“Yes, indeed. I am even a clergyman, though without a parish. And, above all, a traveller.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place, sir,” sneered Josselin. “I suspect my brother of being much attracted to the discipline and spiritual practices of the Company of Jesus, of which you doubtless disapprove.”
“I have no thought of blaming him,” protested the Huguenot. “Many a time I met Jesuit fathers over there who penetrated deep into those lands
with evangelical courage and self-sacrifice. For certain tribes in Nova Francia there is no greater hero than the famous Father Jogues, a martyr of the Iroquois. But everyone is free to have his own conscience and convictions/*
“Upon my word/* said Jossdin. “I am hardly fit to argue with you on these subjects, for f m beginning to lose my Latin. But my brother speaks it more elegandy than French, and . . .**
“That is precisely one of the greatest misfortunes of our country,” exclaimed the pastor. “One can no longer pray to one’s God, to the Lord of the Universe, in one’s mother tongue and with one’s heart, but must needs use those magic incantations in Latin. . .
Angelique was sorry there was no more talk of tidal waves and slave ships, of extraordinary beasts like snakes or giant lizards with pike’s fangs which can kill an ox, or of whales as big as ships. She had not noticed that the nurse had left the room, leaving the door ajar. So she was surprised to hear whispers and to recognise the voice of Madame de Sance, who did not think she was being overheard.
“Protestant or no, my girl, this man is our guest and will stay here as long as he pleases.”
Soon after, the Baroness, followed by Hortense, came into the kitchen.
The visitor bowed very civilly, but he did not kiss their hands or make a display of courtly etiquette. Angelique thought to herself that he was surely a commoner, but a nice man all the same, despite being a Huguenot and just a trifle highly strung.
“Pastor Rochefort,” he introduced himself. “I am on my way to Sccondigny, where I was born, but, as it is a long road, 1 thought of resting a little while under your hospitable roof, madam.”
The mistress of the house assured him that he was welcome, that they were all practising Catholics but that this did not prevent their being tolerant, as had been recommended by good King Henri.
“That’s what I dared to hope when coming here, madam,” resumed the clergyman with a deeper bow, “for I must confess that friends of mine informed me that you have had an old Huguenot retainer in your service for many years. So I went to see him first and this Guillaume Liitzcn gave me to hope that I might be put up for the night.”
“You may be sure of it, sir, for tonight and as many nights thereafter as you may wish.”
“My only wish is to be at the orders of the Lord in the way that I can best serve Him. And I’m following His inspiration in avowing that I wish to see your husband most of all.”
“You have a message for my husband?” asked Madame de Sancl, surprised.
“Not a message, but a mission perhaps. Allow me to keep the burden * of it for him alone.”
“Most certainly, sir. Besides, I hear his horse.”
Baron Armand, in his turn, soon appeared. He seemed to have been apprised of the unexpected visit and did not greet his guest with his customary cordiality. He seemed constrained, almost anxious.
“Is it true, Monsieur, that you come from the Americas?” he inquired after the usual greetings.
“Yes, Monsieur le Baron. And I should be glad to have a few moments* private conversation with you concerning someone whom you know.**
“Hush!** said Armand de Sance, imperatively casting an anxious glance towards the door. He added rather hurriedly that their house was at Monsieur Rochefort’s disposal and that the latter need but ask for the men- servants if he wanted anything. Dinner would be served in an hour’s time. The clergyman thanked him and asked for permission to withdraw in order to ‘have a wash*.
‘Wasn’t that downpour enough for him?* wondered Angelique. ‘Odd people, those Huguenots! It is rightly said that they aren’t like other people. I’ll ask Guillaume if he, too, has a wash at odd moments.
‘Must be part of their rites. That’s why they so of ten look guilty, or else are touchy like Liitzcn. Their skin must be quite thin with scrubbing, it must ache. . . . Like young Philippe, who feels an urge to wash at all times! This constant concern with himself will probably lead him to heresy, too. Maybe they’ll bum him and it’ll serve him right!’
However, as the visitor was going towards the door to retire to the room Madame de Sance was about to show him, Josselin caught him by the arm with his usual brusqueness.
“One word more, pastor. In order to work over there, in the Americas, I expect one needs to be very rich, or else to buy a commission as a navigator’s ensign or at least some sort of craftsman’s licence?”
“The Americas are free countries, my son. They ask nothing of you there, though it is necessary to work hard and also to defend yourself.”
“Who are you, stranger, that you permit yourself to call this young man your son, and this in the presence of his own father and in mine, his grandfather’s?”
The old Baron’s voice had rung out with a sneer.
“I am the Pastor Rochefort, at your service, Monsieur lc Baron, but I have no incumbency and am only passing here.”
“A Huguenot!” growled the old man. “And one, moreover, who comes from those accursed lands . .
He stood on the threshold, supported by his stick but holding himself very straight. He had taken care to remove his vast black greatcoat that he wore in winter. His face seemed to Angflique as white as his beard. She felt afraid without knowing why, and hastened to intervene.
“Grandfather, this gentleman was completely drenched and we invited him in to dry himself. He has told us thrilling stories ”
“All right. I won’t deny that I like courage, and when the foe presents himself with his face uncovered I know he is entitled to our consider¬ation.”
The clergyman picked up his damp coat from the chair.
“I had not come as an adversary. I had a mission to fulfil at the Chateau de Sance. A message to bring from distant lands. I would have liked to speak of it with the Baron Armand alone, but I see that you are accustomed in your family to conduct your affairs in public. I like this custom. It was that of the patriarchs and also of the Apostles.”
Angelique noticed that her grandfather had turned as white as the ivory pommel of his stick and that he was leaning against the door¬post.
She felt sorry for him. She would have liked to stop the words that were to come, but the clergyman continued:
“Monsieur Antoine de Ridou6 de Sance, your son, whom I had the pleasure of meeting in Florida, asked me to go to the castle where he was bom, to inquire after his family so that I can bring news on my return. My task is thus fulfilled. . . .”
The old Baron had slowly advanced towards him.
“Get out of here!” he panted hoarsely. “Never as long as I live shall the name of my son, who perjured his God, his King and his country, be pro-nounced under this roof. Get out, I say. I won’t have a Huguenot in my house!”
“I am going,” said the pastor calmly.
“No!” Raymond’s voice rang out again. “Stay, Monsieur. You must not be out of doors on a rainy night like this. No villager of Monteloup will of fer you a lodging and the nearest Protestant village is too far away. I ask you to accept the hospitality of my room.”
“Yes, stay,” said Josselin in a husky voice. “You must tell me more of the Americas and the sea.”
The old Baron’s beard quivered.
“Armand!” he cried, and the distress in his voice gripped Angflique’s heart. “This is where your brother Antoine’s rebellious spirit has taken refuge. In these two boys whom I loved. God has not spared me any¬thing. I have lived too long indeed.”
He tottered. Old Guillaume caught hold of him. He left, leaning on the old soldier and repeating in a shaking voice: “Antoine . . . Antoine...”
A few days later the old grandfather died, of what ailment no one ever knew. In fact he went out like a candle, when he was already supposed to have recovered from the emotion caused by the pastor’s visit.
He was spared the grief of learning ofjosselin's departure.
One morning, soon after the funeral, Angllique in her half-sleep heard herself being softly called:
“Angflique! Angflique!”
She opened her eyes, and saw with amazement Josselin at her bedside.
“I am leaving,” he whispered. “You try and make them understand.”
“Where are you going?”
“To La Rochelle first, and then I’ll sail for the Americas. Pastor Rochefort told me of all those countries: the Antilles, New England and the colonies, too—Virginia, Maryland, Carolina. I'll end up in some place where I'm wanted.”
“But you're wanted here, too,” she said plaintively. She was shivering in her thin, threadbare night-gown.
“No,” he said, “there's no room for me in this world of ours. I am tired of belonging to a class that has privileges but no usefulness. Rich or poor, the nobles no longer know what they are good for. Look at Papa. He's groping blindly. He lowers himself to breed mules, but dares not even exploit this humiliating position to lend fresh lustre to his title as a gentle¬man by means of money. He's finally losing on both counts. People point a finger at him because he toils like a horse-coper, and at us because we are nevertheless beggarly nobles. Happily, our uncle, Antoine de Sanci, has shown me the way. He was Papa’s elder brother. He's become a Hugue¬not and left the continent.”
“You won't recant your faith?” she implored, aghast.
“No. I am not interested in sanctimonious hocus-pocus. I want to live.”
He kissed her quickly, walked down the few steps, then turned and looked at his half-naked young sister with shrewd eyes.
“You are becoming beautiful and strong, Ang&que. Beware. You too will have to leave. If not, you'll find yourself one of these days tumbling in the hay with a stable boy. Or else you’ll become the plaything of one of our rich neighbours.” *
He added with sudden gendeness:
“You can take the word of one who has sowed more than his share of wild oats, my darling. It would be a dreadful life for you. You, too, should run away from these crumbling walls. As for me, I’m off to sea !” And, bounding down the last steps, the young man disappeared from sight.