The Project Gutenberg Etext of New Arabian Nights
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Robert Louis Stevenson >> The Project Gutenberg Etext of New Arabian Nights
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Such was Alain, Sire de Maletroit.
Denis and he looked silently at each other for a second or two.
"Pray step in," said the Sire de Maletroit. "I have been expecting
you all the evening."
He had not risen, but he accompanied his words with a smile and a
slight but courteous inclination of the head. Partly from the
smile, partly from the strange musical murmur with which the Sire
prefaced his observation, Denis felt a strong shudder of disgust go
through his marrow. And what with disgust and honest confusion of
mind, he could scarcely get words together in reply.
"I fear," he said, "that this is a double accident. I am not the
person you suppose me. It seems you were looking for a visit; but
for my part, nothing was further from my thoughts - nothing could
be more contrary to my wishes - than this intrusion."
"Well, well," replied the old gentleman indulgently, "here you are,
which is the main point. Seat yourself, my friend, and put
yourself entirely at your ease. We shall arrange our little
affairs presently."
Denis perceived that the matter was still complicated with some
misconception, and he hastened to continue his explanations.
"Your door . . . " he began.
"About my door?" asked the other, raising his peaked eyebrows. "A
little piece of ingenuity." And he shrugged his shoulders. "A
hospitable fancy! By your own account, you were not desirous of
making my acquaintance. We old people look for such reluctance now
and then; and when it touches our honour, we cast about until we
find some way of overcoming it. You arrive uninvited, but believe
me, very welcome."
"You persist in error, sir," said Denis. "There can be no question
between you and me. I am a stranger in this countryside. My name
is Denis, damoiseau de Beaulieu. If you see me in your house, it
is only - "
"My young friend," interrupted the other, "you will permit me to
have my own ideas on that subject. They probably differ from yours
at the present moment," he added with a leer, "but time will show
which of us is in the right."
Denis was convinced he had to do with a lunatic. He seated himself
with a shrug, content to wait the upshot; and a pause ensued,
during which he thought he could distinguish a hurried gabbling as
of prayer from behind the arras immediately opposite him.
Sometimes there seemed to be but one person engaged, sometimes two;
and the vehemence of the voice, low as it was, seemed to indicate
either great haste or an agony of spirit. It occurred to him that
this piece of tapestry covered the entrance to the chapel he had
noticed from without.
The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from head to foot with a
smile, and from time to time emitted little noises like a bird or a
mouse, which seemed to indicate a high degree of satisfaction.
This state of matters became rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to
put an end to it, remarked politely that the wind had gone down.
The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent laughter, so prolonged
and violent that he became quite red in the face. Denis got upon
his feet at once, and put on his hat with a flourish.
"Sir," he said, "if you are in your wits, you have affronted me
grossly. If you are out of them, I flatter myself I can find
better employment for my brains than to talk with lunatics. My
conscience is clear; you have made a fool of me from the first
moment; you have refused to hear my explanations; and now there is
no power under God will make me stay here any longer; and if I
cannot make my way out in a more decent fashion, I will hack your
door in pieces with my sword."
The Sire de Maletroit raised his right hand and wagged it at Denis
with the fore and little fingers extended.
"My dear nephew," he said, "sit down."
"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you lie in your throat;" and he snapped
his fingers in his face.
"Sit down, you rogue!" cried the old gentleman, in a sudden, harsh
voice, like the barking of a dog. "Do you fancy," he went on,
"that when I had made my little contrivance for the door I had
stopped short with that? If you prefer to be bound hand and foot
till your bones ache, rise and try to go away. If you choose to
remain a free young buck, agreeably conversing with an old
gentleman - why, sit where you are in peace, and God be with you."
"Do you mean I am a prisoner?" demanded Denis.
"I state the facts," replied the other. "I would rather leave the
conclusion to yourself."
Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep pretty calm;
but within, he was now boiling with anger, now chilled with
apprehension. He no longer felt convinced that he was dealing with
a madman. And if the old gentleman was sane, what, in God's name,
had he to look for? What absurd or tragical adventure had befallen
him? What countenance was he to assume?
While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the arras that overhung
the chapel door was raised, and a tall priest in his robes came
forth and, giving a long, keen stare at Denis, said something in an
undertone to Sire de Maletroit.
"She is in a better frame of spirit?" asked the latter.
"She is more resigned, messire," replied the priest.
"Now the Lord help her, she is hard to please!" sneered the old
gentleman. "A likely stripling - not ill-born - and of her own
choosing, too? Why, what more would the jade have?"
"The situation is not usual for a young damsel," said the other,
"and somewhat trying to her blushes."
"She should have thought of that before she began the dance. It
was none of my choosing, God knows that: but since she is in it,
by our Lady, she shall carry it to the end." And then addressing
Denis, "Monsieur de Beaulieu," he asked, "may I present you to my
niece? She has been waiting your arrival, I may say, with even
greater impatience than myself."
Denis had resigned himself with a good grace - all he desired was
to know the worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose at
once, and bowed in acquiescence. The Sire de Maletroit followed
his example and limped, with the assistance of the chaplain's arm,
towards the chapel door. The priest pulled aside the arras, and
all three entered. The building had considerable architectural
pretensions. A light groining sprang from six stout columns, and
hung down in two rich pendants from the centre of the vault. The
place terminated behind the altar in a round end, embossed and
honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament in relief, and pierced
by many little windows shaped like stars, trefoils, or wheels.
These windows were imperfectly glazed, so that the night air
circulated freely in the chapel. The tapers, of which there must
have been half a hundred burning on the altar, were unmercifully
blown about; and the light went through many different phases of
brilliancy and semi-eclipse. On the steps in front of the altar
knelt a young girl richly attired as a bride. A chill settled over
Denis as he observed her costume; he fought with desperate energy
against the conclusion that was being thrust upon his mind; it
could not - it should not - be as he feared.
"Blanche," said the Sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I have
brought a friend to see you, my little girl; turn round and give
him your pretty hand. It is good to be devout; but it is necessary
to be polite, my niece."
The girl rose to her feet and turned towards the new comers. She
moved all of a piece; and shame and exhaustion were expressed in
every line of her fresh young body; and she held her head down and
kept her eyes upon the pavement, as she came slowly forward. In
the course of her advance, her eyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's
feet - feet of which he was justly vain, be it remarked, and wore
in the most elegant accoutrement even while travelling. She paused
- started, as if his yellow boots had conveyed some shocking
meaning - and glanced suddenly up into the wearer's countenance.
Their eyes met; shame gave place to horror and terror in her looks;
the blood left her lips; with a piercing scream she covered her
face with her hands and sank upon the chapel floor.
"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that in not the man!"
The Sire de Maletroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not," he said;
"I expected as much. It was so unfortunate you could not remember
his name."
"Indeed," she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this person till
this moment - I have never so much as set eyes upon him - I never
wish to see him again. Sir," she said, turning to Denis, "if you
are a gentleman, you will bear me out. Have I ever seen you - have
you ever seen me - before this accursed hour?"
"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure," answered the
young man. "This is the first time, messire, that I have met with
your engaging niece."
The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders.
"I am distressed to hear it," he said. "But it is never too late
to begin. I had little more acquaintance with my own late lady ere
I married her; which proves," he added with a grimace, "that these
impromptu marriages may often produce an excellent understanding in
the long-run. As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter,
I will give him two hours to make up for lost time before we
proceed with the ceremony." And he turned towards the door,
followed by the clergyman.
The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be in
earnest," she said. "I declare before God I will stab myself
rather than be forced on that young man. The heart rises at it;
God forbids such marriages; you dishonour your white hair. Oh, my
uncle, pity me! There is not a woman in all the world but would
prefer death to such a nuptial. Is it possible," she added,
faltering - "is it possible that you do not believe me - that you
still think this" - and she pointed at Denis with a tremor of anger
and contempt - "that you still think THIS to be the man?"
"Frankly," said the old gentleman, pausing on the threshold, "I do.
But let me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Maletroit, my
way of thinking about this affair. When you took it into your head
to dishonour my family and the name that I have borne, in peace and
war, for more than three-score years, you forfeited, not only the
right to question my designs, but that of looking me in the face.
If your father had been alive, he would have spat on you and turned
you out of doors. His was the hand of iron. You may bless your
God you have only to deal with the hand of velvet, mademoiselle.
It was my duty to get you married without delay. Out of pure
goodwill, I have tried to find your own gallant for you. And I
believe I have succeeded. But before God and all the holy angels,
Blanche de Maletroit, if I have not, I care not one jack-straw. So
let me recommend you to be polite to our young friend; for upon my
word, your next groom may be less appetising."
And with that he went out, with the chaplain at his heels; and the
arras fell behind the pair.
The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes.
"And what, sir," she demanded, "may be the meaning of all this?"
"God knows," returned Denis gloomily. "I am a prisoner in this
house, which seems full of mad people. More I know not; and
nothing do I understand."
"And pray how came you here?" she asked.
He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest," he added,
"perhaps you will follow my example, and tell me the answer to all
these riddles, and what, in God's name, is like to be the end of
it."
She stood silent for a little, and he could see her lips tremble
and her tearless eyes burn with a feverish lustre. Then she
pressed her forehead in both hands.
"Alas, how my head aches!" she said wearily - "to say nothing of my
poor heart! But it is due to you to know my story, unmaidenly as
it must seem. I am called Blanche de Maletroit; I have been
without father or mother for - oh! for as long as I can recollect,
and indeed I have been most unhappy all my life. Three months ago
a young captain began to stand near me every day in church. I
could see that I pleased him; I am much to blame, but I was so glad
that any one should love me; and when he passed me a letter, I took
it home with me and read it with great pleasure. Since that time
he has written many. He was so anxious to speak with me, poor
fellow! and kept asking me to leave the door open some evening that
we might have two words upon the stair. For he knew how much my
uncle trusted me." She gave something like a sob at that, and it
was a moment before she could go on. "My uncle is a hard man, but
he is very shrewd," she said at last. "He has performed many feats
in war, and was a great person at court, and much trusted by Queen
Isabeau in old days. How he came to suspect me I cannot tell; but
it is hard to keep anything from his knowledge; and this morning,
as we came from mass, he took my hand in his, forced it open, and
read my little billet, walking by my side all the while. When he
had finished, he gave it back to me with great politeness. It
contained another request to have the door left open; and this has
been the ruin of us all. My uncle kept me strictly in my room
until evening, and then ordered me to dress myself as you see me -
a hard mockery for a young girl, do you not think so? I suppose,
when he could not prevail with me to tell him the young captain's
name, he must have laid a trap for him: into which, alas! you have
fallen in the anger of God. I looked for much confusion; for how
could I tell whether he was willing to take me for his wife on
these sharp terms? He might have been trifling with me from the
first; or I might have made myself too cheap in his eyes. But
truly I had not looked for such a shameful punishment as this! I
could not think that God would let a girl be so disgraced before a
young man. And now I have told you all; and I can scarcely hope
that you will not despise me."
Denis made her a respectful inclination.
"Madam," he said, "you have honoured me by your confidence. It
remains for me to prove that I am not unworthy of the honour. Is
Messire de Maletroit at hand?"
"I believe he is writing in the salle without," she answered.
"May I lead you thither, madam?" asked Denis, offering his hand
with his most courtly bearing.
She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, Blanche in
a very drooping and shamefast condition, but Denis strutting and
ruffling in the consciousness of a mission, and the boyish
certainty of accomplishing it with honour.
The Sire de Maletroit rose to meet them with an ironical obeisance.
"Sir," said Denis, with the grandest possible air, "I believe I am
to have some say in the matter of this marriage; and let me tell
you at once, I will be no party to forcing the inclination of this
young lady. Had it been freely offered to me, I should have been
proud to accept her hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is
beautiful; but as things are, I have now the honour, messire, of
refusing."
Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her eyes; but the old
gentleman only smiled and smiled, until his smile grew positively
sickening to Denis.
"I am afraid," he said, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you do not
perfectly understand the choice I have to offer you. Follow me, I
beseech you, to this window." And he led the way to one of the
large windows which stood open on the night. "You observe," he
went on, "there is an iron ring in the upper masonry, and reeved
through that, a very efficacious rope. Now, mark my words; if you
should find your disinclination to my niece's person
insurmountable, I shall have you hanged out of this window before
sunrise. I shall only proceed to such an extremity with the
greatest regret, you may believe me. For it is not at all your
death that I desire, but my niece's establishment in life. At the
same time, it must come to that if you prove obstinate. Your
family, Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way; but if you
sprang from Charlemagne, you should not refuse the hand of a
Maletroit with impunity - not if she had been as common as the
Paris road - not if she were as hideous as the gargoyle over my
door. Neither my niece nor you, nor my own private feelings, move
me at all in this matter. The honour of my house has been
compromised; I believe you to be the guilty person; at least you
are now in the secret; and you can hardly wonder if I request you
to wipe out the stain. If you will not, your blood be on your own
head! It will be no great satisfaction to me to have your
interesting relics kicking their heels in the breeze below my
windows; but half a loaf is better than no bread, and if I cannot
cure the dishonour, I shall at least stop the scandal."
There was a pause.
"I believe there are other ways of settling such imbroglios among
gentlemen," said Denis. "You wear a sword, and I hear you have
used it with distinction."
The Sire de Maletroit made a signal to the chaplain, who crossed
the room with long silent strides and raised the arras over the
third of the three doors. It was only a moment before he let it
fall again; but Denis had time to see a dusky passage full of armed
men.
"When I was a little younger, I should have been delighted to
honour you, Monsieur de Beaulieu," said Sire Alain; "but I am now
too old. Faithful retainers are the sinews of age, and I must
employ the strength I have. This is one of the hardest things to
swallow as a man grows up in years; but with a little patience,
even this becomes habitual. You and the lady seem to prefer the
salle for what remains of your two hours; and as I have no desire
to cross your preference, I shall resign it to your use with all
the pleasure in the world. No haste!" he added, holding up his
hand, as he saw a dangerous look come into Denis de Beaulieu's
face. "If your mind revolts against hanging, it will be time
enough two hours hence to throw yourself out of the window or upon
the pikes of my retainers. Two hours of life are always two hours.
A great many things may turn up in even as little a while as that.
And, besides, if I understand her appearance, my niece has still
something to say to you. You will not disfigure your last hours by
a want of politeness to a lady?"
Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring gesture.
It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased at this
symptom of an understanding; for he smiled on both, and added
sweetly: "If you will give me your word of honour, Monsieur de
Beaulieu, to await my return at the end of the two hours before
attempting anything desperate, I shall withdraw my retainers, and
let you speak in greater privacy with mademoiselle."
Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to beseech him to
agree.
"I give you my word of honour," he said.
Messire de Maletroit bowed, and proceeded to limp about the
apartment, clearing his throat the while with that odd musical
chirp which had already grown so irritating in the ears of Denis de
Beaulieu. He first possessed himself of some papers which lay upon
the table; then he went to the mouth of the passage and appeared to
give an order to the men behind the arras; and lastly he hobbled
out through the door by which Denis had come in, turning upon the
threshold to address a last smiling bow to the young couple, and
followed by the chaplain with a hand-lamp.
No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced towards Denis with
her hands extended. Her face was flushed and excited, and her eyes
shone with tears.
"You shall not die!" she cried, "you shall marry me after all."
"You seem to think, madam," replied Denis, "that I stand much in
fear of death."
"Oh no, no," she said, "I see you are no poltroon. It is for my
own sake - I could not bear to have you slain for such a scruple."
"I am afraid," returned Denis, "that you underrate the difficulty,
madam. What you may be too generous to refuse, I may be too proud
to accept. In a moment of noble feeling towards me, you forgot
what you perhaps owe to others."
He had the decency to keep his eyes upon the floor as he said this,
and after he had finished, so as not to spy upon her confusion.
She stood silent for a moment, then walked suddenly away, and
falling on her uncle's chair, fairly burst out sobbing. Denis was
in the acme of embarrassment. He looked round, as if to seek for
inspiration, and seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for something
to do. There he sat, playing with the guard of his rapier, and
wishing himself dead a thousand times over, and buried in the
nastiest kitchen-heap in France. His eyes wandered round the
apartment, but found nothing to arrest them. There were such wide
spaces between the furniture, the light fell so baldly and
cheerlessly over all, the dark outside air looked in so coldly
through the windows, that he thought he had never seen a church so
vast, nor a tomb so melancholy. The regular sobs of Blanche de
Maletroit measured out the time like the ticking of a clock. He
read the device upon the shield over and over again, until his eyes
became obscured; he stared into shadowy corners until he imagined
they were swarming with horrible animals; and every now and again
he awoke with a start, to remember that his last two hours were
running, and death was on the march.
Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did his glance settle on
the girl herself. Her face was bowed forward and covered with her
hands, and she was shaken at intervals by the convulsive hiccup of
grief. Even thus she was not an unpleasant object to dwell upon,
so plump and yet so fine, with a warm brown skin, and the most
beautiful hair, Denis thought, in the whole world of womankind.
Her hands were like her uncle's; but they were more in place at the
end of her young arms, and looked infinitely soft and caressing.
He remembered how her blue eyes had shone upon him, full of anger,
pity, and innocence. And the more he dwelt on her perfections, the
uglier death looked, and the more deeply was he smitten with
penitence at her continued tears. Now he felt that no man could
have the courage to leave a world which contained so beautiful a
creature; and now he would have given forty minutes of his last
hour to have unsaid his cruel speech.
Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow rose to their ears
from the dark valley below the windows. And this shattering noise
in the silence of all around was like a light in a dark place, and
shook them both out of their reflections.
"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?" she said, looking up.
"Madam," replied Denis, with a fine irrelevancy, "if I have said
anything to wound you, believe me, it was for your own sake and not
for mine."
She thanked him with a tearful look.
"I feel your position cruelly," he went on. "The world has been
bitter hard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to mankind. Believe
me, madam, there is no young gentleman in all France but would be
glad of my opportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service."
"I know already that you can be very brave and generous," she
answered. "What I WANT to know is whether I can serve you - now or
afterwards," she added, with a quaver.
"Most certainly," he answered with a smile. "Let me sit beside you
as if I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget
how awkwardly we are placed to one another; make my last moments go
pleasantly; and you will do me the chief service possible."
"You are very gallant," she added, with a yet deeper sadness . . .
"very gallant . . . and it somehow pains me. But draw nearer, if
you please; and if you find anything to say to me, you will at
least make certain of a very friendly listener. Ah! Monsieur de
Beaulieu," she broke forth - "ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I
look you in the face?" And she fell to weeping again with a
renewed effusion.
"Madam," said Denis, taking her hand in both of his, "reflect on
the little time I have before me, and the great bitterness into
which I am cast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my
last moments, the spectacle of what I cannot cure even with the
sacrifice of my life."
"I am very selfish," answered Blanche. "I will be braver, Monsieur
de Beaulieu, for your sake. But think if I can do you no kindness
in the future - if you have no friends to whom I could carry your
adieux. Charge me as heavily as you can; every burden will
lighten, by so little, the invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it
in my power to do something more for you than weep."
"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for.
My brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am not in
error, that will content him amply for my death. Life is a little
vapour that passeth away, as we are told by those in holy orders.
When a man is in a fair way and sees all life open in front of him,
he seems to himself to make a very important figure in the world.
His horse whinnies to him; the trumpets blow and the girls look out
of window as he rides into town before his company; he receives
many assurances of trust and regard - sometimes by express in a
letter - sometimes face to face, with persons of great consequence
falling on his neck. It is not wonderful if his head is turned for
a time. But once he is dead, were he as brave as Hercules or as
wise as Solomon, he is soon forgotten. It is not ten years since
my father fell, with many other knights around him, in a very
fierce encounter, and I do not think that any one of them, nor so
much as the name of the fight, is now remembered. No, no, madam,
the nearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark and dusty
corner, where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut after
him till the judgment day. I have few friends just now, and once I
am dead I shall have none."
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