THE AMBUSCADE.
The church and parsonage of Bouqueval were placed on the side of a hill
covered with chestnut-trees, and commanded an entire view of the
village. Fleur-de-Marie and the abbé reached a winding path which led to
the clergyman's home, crossing the sunken road by which the hill was
intersected diagonally. The Chouette, the Schoolmaster, and Tortillard,
concealed in one of the hollows of the road, saw the priest and
Fleur-de-Marie descend into the ravine, and leave it again by a steep
declivity. The features of the young girl being hidden under the hood of
her cloak, the Chouette did not recognise her old victim.
"Silence, my old boy," said the old harridan to the Schoolmaster; "the
young 'mot' and the 'black slug' are just crossing the path. I know her
by the description which the tall man in black gave us; a country
appearance, neither tall nor short; a petticoat shot with brown, and a
woollen mantle with a black border. She walks every day with a
'devil-dodger' to his 'crib,' and returns alone. When she come back,
which she will do presently by the end of the road, we must spring upon
her and carry her off to the coach."
"If she cries for help," replied the Schoolmaster, "they will hear her
at the farm, if, as you say, the out-buildings are visible from here;
for you--you can see," he added, in a sullen tone.
"Oh, yes, we can see the buildings from here quite plainly," said
Tortillard. "It is only a minute ago that I climbed to the top of the
bank, and, lying down on my belly, I could hear a carter who was talking
to his horses in the yard there."
"I'll tell you, then, what we must do," said the Schoolmaster, after a
moment's silence. "Let Tortillard have the watch at the entrance to the
path. When he sees the young girl returning, let him go and meet her,
saying that he is the son of a poor old woman who has hurt herself by
falling down the hollow road, and beg the girl to come to her
assistance."
"I'm up to you, _fourline_; the poor old woman is your darling Chouette.
You're 'wide-awake!' My man, you are always the king of the 'downy ones'
(_têtards_). What must I do afterwards?"
"Conceal yourself in the hollow way on the side where Barbillon is
waiting with the coach. I will be at hand. When Tortillard has brought
the wench to you in the middle of the ravine, leave off whimpering and
spring upon her, put one 'mauley' round her 'squeeze,' and the other
into her 'patter-box,' and 'grab' her 'red rag' to prevent her from
squeaking."
"I know, I know, _fourline_; as we did with the woman at the canal of
St. Martin, when we gave her cold water for supper (drowned her), after
having 'prigged' her 'negress' (the parcel wrapped in black oil-skin)
which she had under her arm,--the same 'dodge,' isn't it?"
"Yes, precisely. But mind, grab the girl tight whilst Tortillard comes
and fetches me. We three will then bundle her up in my cloak, carry her
to Barbillon's coach, from thence to the plain of St. Denis, where the
man in black will await us."
"That's the way to do business, my _fourline_; you are without an equal!
If I could, I would let off a firework on your head, and illuminate you
with the colours of Saint Charlot, the patron of 'scragsmen.' Do you
see, you urchin? If you would be an 'out-and-outer,' make my husband
your model," said the Chouette, boastingly to Tortillard. Then,
addressing the Schoolmaster, "By the way, do you know that Barbillon is
in an awful 'funk' (fright)? He thinks that he shall be had up before
the 'beaks' on a swinging matter."
"Why?"
"The other day, returning from Mother Martial's, the widow of the man
who was scragged, and who keeps the boozing-ken in the Ile du Ravageur,
Barbillon, the Gros-Boiteux, and the Skeleton had a row with the husband
of the milkwoman who comes every morning from the country in a little
cart drawn by a donkey, to sell her milk in the Cité, at the corner of
the Rue de la Vieille-Draperie, close to the ogress's of the 'White
Rabbit,' and they 'walked into him with their slashers' (killed him with
their knives)."
The son of Bras Rouge, who did not understand slang, listened to the
Chouette with a sort of disappointed curiosity.
"You would like to know, little man, what we are saying, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. You were talking of Mother Martial, who is at the Ile du Ravageur,
near Asnières. I know her very well, and her daughter Calebasse and
François and Amandine, who are about as old as I am, and who are made to
bear everybody's snubs and thumps in the house. But when you talked of
'walking into (_buter_) any one,' that's slang, I know."
"It is; and, if you're a very good chap, I'll teach you to 'patter
flash.' You're just the age when it may be very useful to you. Would you
like to learn, my precious lambkin?"
"I rather think I should, too, and no mistake; and I would rather live
with you than with my old cheat of a mountebank, pounding his drugs. If
I knew where he hides his 'rat-poison for men,' I'd put some in his
soup, and then that would settle the quarrel between us."
The Chouette laughed heartily, and said to Tortillard, drawing him
towards her:
"Come, chick, and kiss his mammy. What a droll boy it is--a darling!
But, my manikin, how didst know that he had 'rat-poison for men'?"
"Why, 'cause I heard him say so one day when I was hid in the cupboard
in the room where he keeps his bottles, his brass machines, and where he
mixes his stuffs together."
"What did you hear him say?" asked the Chouette.
"I heard him say to a gentleman that he gave a powder to, in a paper,
'When you are tired of life, take this in three doses, and you will
sleep without sickness or sorrow.'"
"Who was the gentleman?" asked the Schoolmaster.
"Oh, a very handsome gentleman with black moustachios, and a face as
pretty as a girl's. He came another time; and then, when he left, I
followed him, by M. Bradamanti's order, to find out where he perched.
The fine gentleman went into the Rue de Chaillot, and entered a very
grand house. My master said to me, 'No matter where this gentleman goes,
follow and wait for him at the door. If he comes out again, still keep
your eye on him, until he does not come out of the place where he
enters, and that will prove that he lives there. Then Tortillard, my
boy, twist (_tortille_) yourself about to find out his name, or I will
twist your ears in a way that will astonish you.'"
"Well?"
"Well, I did twist myself about, and found out his name."
"How did you manage it?" inquired the Schoolmaster.
"Why, so. I'm not a fool; so I went to the porter at the house in the
Rue de Chaillot, where this gentleman had gone in and not come out
again. The porter had his hair finely powdered, with a fine brown coat
with a yellow collar trimmed with silver. So I says to him, 'Good
gentleman, I have come to ask for a hundred sous which the gentleman of
the house has promised me for having found his dog and brought it back
to him--a little black dog called Trumpet; and the gentleman with dark
features, with black moustachios, a white riding-coat, and light blue
pantaloons, told me he lived at No. 11 Rue de Chaillot, and that his
name was Dupont.' 'The gentleman you're talking of is my master, and his
name is the Viscount de St. Remy, and we have no dog here but yourself,
you young scamp; so "cut your stick," or I'll make you remember coming
here, and trying to do me out of a hundred sous,' says the porter to me;
and he gave me a kick as he said it. But I didn't mind that," added
Tortillard most philosophically, "for I found out the name of the
handsome young gentleman with black moustachios, who came to my master's
to buy the 'rat-poison for men' who are tired of living. He is called
the Viscount de St. Remy,--my--my--St. Remy," added the son of Bras
Rouge, humming the last words, as was his usual habit.
"Clever little darling--I could eat him up alive!" said the Chouette,
embracing Tortillard. "Never was such a knowing fellow. He deserves that
I should be his mother, the dear rascal does."
And the hag embraced Tortillard with an absurd affectation. The son of
Bras Rouge, touched by this proof of affection, and desirous of showing
his gratitude, eagerly answered:
"Only you tell me what to do, and you shall see how I'll do it."
"Will you, though? Well, then, you sha'n't repent doing so."
"Oh, I should like always to stay with you!"
"If you behave well, we may see about that. You sha'n't leave us if you
are a good boy."
"Yes," said the Schoolmaster, "you shall lead me about like a poor blind
man, and say you are my son. We will get into houses in this way, and
then--ten thousand slaughters!" added the assassin with enthusiasm; "the
Chouette will assist us in making lucky hits. I will then teach that
devil of a Rodolph, who blinded me, that I am not yet quite done for. He
took away my eyesight, but he could not, did not remove my bent for
mischief. I would be the head, Tortillard the eyes, and you the
hand,--eh, Chouette? You will help me in this, won't you?"
"Am I not with you to gallows and rope, _fourline_? Didn't I, when I
left the hospital, and learnt that you had sent the 'yokel' from St.
Mandé to ask for me at the ogress's--didn't I run to you at the village
directly, telling those chawbacons of labourers that I was your _rib_?"
These words of the "one-eyed's" reminded the Schoolmaster of an
unpleasant affair, and, altering his tone and language with the
Chouette, he said, in a surly tone:
"Yes, I was getting tired of being all by myself with these honest
people. After a month I could not stand it any longer; I was frightened.
So then I thought of trying to find you out; and a nice thing I did for
myself," he added, in a tone of increasing anger; "for the day after you
arrived I was robbed of the rest of the money which that devil in the
Allée des Veuves had given me. Yes, some one stole my belt full of gold
whilst I was asleep. It was only you who could have done it; and so now
I am at your mercy. Whenever I think of it, I can hardly restrain myself
from killing you on the spot--you cursed old robber, you!" and he
stepped towards the old woman.
"Look out for yourself, if you try to do any harm to the Chouette!"
cried Tortillard.
"I will smash you both--you and she--base vipers as you are!" cried the
ruffian, enraged; and, hearing the boy mumbling near him, he aimed at
him so violent a blow with his fist, as must have killed him if it had
struck him. Tortillard, as much to revenge himself as the Chouette,
picked up a stone, took aim, and struck the Schoolmaster on the
forehead. The blow was not dangerous, but very painful. The brigand grew
furious with passion, raging like a wounded bull, and, rushing forward
swiftly and at random, stumbled.
"What, break your own back?" shouted the Chouette, laughing till she
cried.
Despite the bloody ties which bound her to this monster, she saw how
entirely, and with a sort of savage delight, this man, formerly so
dreaded, and so proud of his giant strength, was reduced to impotence.
The old wretch, by these feelings, justified that cold-blooded idea of
La Rochefoucauld's, that "there is something in the misfortunes of our
best friends which does not displease us." The disgusting brat, with his
tawny cheeks and weasel face, enjoyed and participated in the mirth of
the one-eyed hag. The Schoolmaster tripped again, and the urchin
exclaimed:
"Open your peepers, old fellow; look about you. You are going the wrong
way. What capers you are cutting! Can't you see your way? Why don't you
wipe your eye-glasses?"
Unable to seize on the boy, the athletic murderer stopped, struck his
foot violently on the ground, put his enormous and hairy fists to his
eyes, and then uttered a sound which resembled the hoarse scream of a
muzzled tiger.
"Got a bad cough, I'm afraid, old chap!" said Bras Rouge's brat. "You're
hoarse, I'm afraid? I have some capital liquorice which a _gen-d'arme_
gave me. P'raps you'd like to try it?" and, taking up a handful of sand,
he threw it in the face of the ruffian.
Struck full in his countenance by this shower of gravel, the
Schoolmaster suffered still more severely by this last attack than by
the blow from the stone. Become pale, in spite of his livid and
cicatrised features, he extended his two arms suddenly in the form of a
cross, in a moment of inexpressible agony and despair, and, raising his
frightful face to heaven, he cried, in a voice of deep suffering:
"_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_"
This involuntary appeal to divine mercy by a man stained by every crime,
a bandit in whose presence but very recently the most resolute of his
fellows trembled, appeared like an interposition of Providence.
"Ha! ha! ha!" said the Chouette, in a mocking tone; "look at the thief
making the crucifix! You mistake your road, my man. It is the 'old one'
you should call to your help."
"A knife! Oh, for a knife to kill myself! A knife! since all the world
abandons me!" shrieked the wretch, gnawing his fists for very agony and
rage.
"A knife!--there's one in your pocket, cut-throat, and with an edge,
too. The little old man in the Rue du Roule, you know, one moonlight
night, and the cattle-dealer in the Poissy road, could tell the 'moles'
all about it. But if you want it, it's here."
The Schoolmaster, when thus instructed, changed the conversation, and
replied, in a surly and threatening tone:
"The Chourineur was true; he did not rob, but had pity on me."
"Why did you say that I had 'prigged your blunt'?" inquired the
Chouette, hardly able to restrain her laughter.
"It was only you who came into my room," said the miscreant. "I was
robbed on the night of your arrival, and who else could I suspect? Those
country people could not have done such a thing."
"Why should not country people steal as well as other folks? Is it
because they drink milk and gather grass for their rabbits?"
"I don't know. I only know I'm robbed."
"And is that the fault of your own Chouette? What! suspect me? Do you
think if I had got your belt that I should stay any longer with you.
What a fool you are! Why, if I had chosen to 'pouch your blunt,' I
could, of course; but, as true as I'm Chouette, you would have seen me
again when the 'pewter' was spent, for I like you as well now with your
eyes white, as I did--you rogue, you! Come, be decent, and leave off
grinding your 'snags' in that way, or you'll break 'em."
"It's just as if he was a-cracking nuts," said Tortillard.
"Ha! ha! ha! what a droll baby it is! But quiet, now, quiet, my man of
men; let him laugh, it is but an infant. You must own you have been
unfair; for when the tall man in mourning, who looks like a mute at a
funeral, said to me, 'A thousand francs are yours if you carry off this
young girl from the farm at Bouqueval, and bring her to the spot in the
Plain of St. Denis that I shall tell you,' say, cut-throat, didn't I
directly tell you of the affair and agree to share with you, instead of
choosing some 'pal' with his eyesight clear? Why, it's like making you a
handsome present for doing nothing; for unless to bundle up the girl and
carry her, with Tortillard's assistance, you would be of no more use to
me than the fifth wheel to an omnibus. But never mind; for, although I
could have robbed you if I would, I like, on the contrary, to do you
service. I should wish you to owe everything to your darling
Chouette--that's my way, that is. We must give two hundred 'bob' to
Barbillon for driving the coach, and coming once before with the servant
of the tall man in mourning, to look about the place and determine where
we should hide ourselves whilst we waited for the young miss; and then
we shall have eight hundred 'bob' between us. What do you say to that
old boy? What! still angry with your old woman?"
"How do I know that you will give me a 'mag' when once the thing's done?
Why!--I"--said the ruffian, in a tone of gloomy distrust.
"Why, if I like, I need not give you a dump, that's true enough; for you
are on my gridiron, my lad, as I once had the Goualeuse; and so I will
broil you to my own taste, till the 'old one' gets the cooking of my
darling--ha! ha! ha! What, still sulky with your Chouette?" added the
horrible woman, patting the shoulder of the ruffian, who stood mute and
motionless.
"You are right," said he, with a sigh of concentrated rage; "it is my
fate--mine--mine! At the mercy of a woman and child whom but lately I
could have killed with a blow. Oh, if I were not afraid of dying!" said
he, falling back against the bank.
"What! a coward!--you--you a coward!" said the Chouette, contemptuously.
"Why, you'll be talking next of your conscience! What a precious farce!
Well, if you haven't more pluck than that, I'll 'cut' and leave you."
"And that I cannot have my revenge of the man who in thus making a
martyr of me has reduced me to the wretched situation in which I am!"
screamed the Schoolmaster, in a renewal of fury. "I am afraid of
death--yes, I own it, I am afraid. But if I were told, 'This man Rodolph
is between your arms--your two arms--and now you shall both be flung
into a pit,' I would say, 'Throw us, then, at once.' Yes, for then I
should be safe not to relax my clutch, till we both reached the bottom
together. I would fix my teeth in his face--his throat--his heart. I
would tear him to pieces with my teeth--yes, my teeth; for I should be
jealous of a knife!"
"Bravo, _fourline_! now you are my own dear love again. Calm yourself.
We will find him again, that wretch of a Rodolph, and the Chourineur
too. Come, pluck up, old man; we will yet work our will on them both. I
say it, on both!"
"Well, then, you will not forsake me?" cried the brigand to the Chouette
in a subdued tone, mingled, however, with distrust. "If you do leave me,
what will become of me?"
"That's true. I say, _fourline_, what a joke if Tortillard and I were to
'mizzle' with the 'drag,' and leave you where you are--in the middle of
the fields; and the night air begins to nip very sharp. I say, it would
be a joke, old cutpurse, wouldn't it?"
At this threat the Schoolmaster shuddered, and, coming towards the
Chouette, said tremulously, "No, no, you wouldn't do that, Chouette; nor
you, Tortillard. It would be too bad, wouldn't it?"
"Ha! ha! ha! 'Too bad,' says he, the gentle dear! And the little old man
in the Rue du Roule; and the cattle-dealer and the woman in Saint
Martin's Canal; and the gentleman in the Allée des Veuves; they found
you nice and amiable, I don't think--didn't they--with your
'larding-pin?' Why, then, in your turn, shouldn't you be left to such
tender mercy as you have showed?"
"I'm in your power, don't abuse it," said the Schoolmaster. "Come, come,
I confess I was wrong to suspect you. I was wrong to try and thump
Tortillard; and, you see, I beg pardon; and of you too, Tortillard. Yes,
I ask pardon of both."
"I will have you ask pardon on your knees for having tried to beat the
Chouette," said Tortillard.
"You rum little beggar, how funny you are!" said the Chouette, laughing
loudly; "but I should like to see what a 'guy' you will make of
yourself. So on your knees, as if you were 'pattering' love to your old
darling. Come, do it directly, or we will leave you; and I tell you that
in half an hour it will be quite dark, though you don't look as if you
thought so, old 'No-Eyes.'"
"Night or day, what's that to him?" said Tortillard, saucily. "The
gentleman always has his shutters closed."
"Then here, on my knees, I humbly ask your pardon, Chouette; and yours
also, Tortillard! Will not that content you?" said the robber, kneeling
in the middle of the highway. "And now will you leave me?"
This strange group, enclosed by the embankment of the ravine, and
lighted by the red glimmer of the twilight, was hideous to behold. In
the middle of the road the Schoolmaster, on his knees, extended his
large and coarse hands towards the one-eyed hag; his thick and matted
hair, which his fright had dishevelled, left exposed his motionless,
rigid, glassy, dead eyeballs--the very glance of a corpse. Stooping
deprecatingly his broad-spread shoulders, this Hercules kneels abjectly,
and trembles at the feet of an old woman and a child!
The old hag herself, wrapped in a red-checked shawl, her head covered
with an old cap of black lace, which allowed some locks of her grizzled
hair to escape, looked down with an air of haughty contempt and
domineering pride on the Schoolmaster. The bony, scorched, shrivelled,
and livid countenance of the parrot-nosed old harridan expressed a
savage and insulting joy; her small but fierce eye glistened like a
burning coal; a sinister expression curled her lips, shaded with long
straight hairs, and revealed three or four large, yellow, and decayed
fangs.
Tortillard, clothed in a blouse with a leathern belt, standing on one
leg, leaned on the Chouette's arm to keep himself upright. The bad
expression and cunning look of this deformed imp, with a complexion as
sallow as his hair, betokened at this moment his disposition--half
fiend, half monkey. The shadow cast from the declivity of the ravine
increased the horrid _tout ensemble_ of the scene, which the increasing
darkness half hid.
"Promise me,--oh, promise me--at least, not to forsake me!" repeated
the Schoolmaster, frightened by the silence of the Chouette and
Tortillard, who were enjoying his dismay. "Are you not here?" added the
murderer, leaning forward to listen, and advancing his arms
mechanically.
"Yes, my man, we are here; don't be frightened. Forsake you! leave my
love! the man of my heart! No, I'd sooner be 'scragged'! Once for all, I
will tell you why I will not forsake you. Listen, and profit. I have
always liked to have some one in my grip--beast or Christian. Before I
had Pegriotte (oh! that the 'old one' would return her to my clutch! for
I have still my idea of scaling off her beauty with my bottle of
vitriol)--before Pegriotte's turn, I had a brat who froze to death under
my care. For that little job, I got six years in the 'Stone Jug.' Then I
used to have little birds, which I used to tame, and then pluck 'em
alive. Ha! ha! but that was troublesome work, for they did not last
long. When I left the 'Jug,' the Goualeuse came to hand; but the little
brat ran away before I had had half my fun out of her carcass. Well,
then I had a dog, who had his little troubles as well as she had; and I
cut off one of his hind feet and one of his four feet; and you never saw
such a rum beggar as I made of him; I almost burst my sides with
laughing at him!"
"I must serve a dog I know of, who bit me one day, in the same way,"
said the promising Master Tortillard.
"When I fell in again with you, my darling," continued the Chouette, "I
was trying what I could do that was miserable with a cat. Well, now, at
this moment, you, old boy, shall be my cat, my dog, my bird, my
Pegriotte; you shall be anything to worry (_bête de souffrance_). Do you
understand, my love? Instead of having a bird or a child to make
miserable, I shall have, as it were, a wolf or a tiger. I think that's
rather a bright idea; isn't it?"
"Hag! devil!" cried the Schoolmaster, rising in a desperate rage.
"What, my pet angry with his darling old deary? Well, if it must be so,
it must. Have your own way; you have a right to it. Good night, blind
sheep!"
"The field-gate is wide open, so walk alone, Mister No-eyes; and, if you
toddle straight, you'll reach the right road somehow," said Tortillard,
laughing heartily.
"Oh, that I could die! die! die!" said the Schoolmaster, writhing and
twisting his arms about in agony.
At this moment, Tortillard, stooping to the ground, exclaimed, in a low
voice:
"I hear footsteps in the path; let us hide; it is not the young miss,
for they come the same way as she did."
On the instant, a stout peasant girl in the prime of youth, followed by
a large shepherd's dog, carrying on her head an open basket, appeared,
and followed the same path which the priest and the Goualeuse had taken.
We will rejoin the two latter, leaving the three accomplices concealed
in the hollow of the path.