JUSTICE
Arnauld du Thill was, indeed, lost beyond recall. The judges at once met
for deliberation, and within a quarter of an hour the accused was
summoned before them to listen to the following decree, which we
transcribe literally from the records of the time:--
"In consideration of the examination of Arnauld du Thill, called
Sancette, alias Martin-Guerre, now confined in the conciergerie at
Rieux:
"In consideration of the testimony of divers witnesses, to wit,
Martin-Guerre, Bertrande de Rolles, Carbon Barreau, etc., and especially
that of Monsieur le Comte de Montgommery:
"In consideration of the avowals of the accused himself, who, after
trying in vain to deny it, finally confessed his crime:
"From which said examination, depositions, and avowals it appears:
"That said Arnauld du Thill has been duly convicted of fraud, forgery,
false assumption of surname and baptismal name, adultery, rape,
sacrilege, larceny, and other crimes:
"The court has condemned, and does now condemn and sentence said Arnauld
du Thill:
"First. To do penance in front of the church of Artigues, on his knees,
clad only in his shirt, with head and feet bare, having a halter about
his neck, and holding in his hands a torch of burning wax:
"Secondly. To ask pardon publicly of God and the king and the outraged
law, as well of the said Martin-Guerre and Bertrande de Rolles, husband
and wife:
"And this done, said Arnauld du Thill shall be delivered into the hands
of the public executioner, who shall cause him to be led through the
streets and public places of the said village of Artigues, still with
the halter around his neck, until he shall be before the house of said
Martin-Guerre:
"There to be hanged by the neck upon a gallows to be erected to that end
on that spot, and his body to be afterward burned.
"And, in addition, the court has discharged from custody said
Martin-Guerre and said Bertrande de Rolles, and does now remand said
Arnauld du Thill to the judge of Artigues, who will cause this decree to
be carried into effect according to its form and tenor.
"Given at Rieux the 12th day of July, 1558."
Arnauld du Thill listened to this anticipated judgment with a gloomy and
sombre air, although he repeated his confession, recognized the justice
of the decree, and showed some repentance.
"I implore God's clemency," said he, "and the pardon of mankind, and am
disposed to meet my fate like a Christian."
Martin-Guerre, who was present at this scene, furnished fresh proof of
his identity by bursting into tears at the words of his arch-enemy,
hypocritical though they might be.
He conquered his ordinary bashfulness so far as to ask the president if
there were not some means of obtaining mercy for Arnauld du Thill, whom
he freely forgave for the past so far as he was concerned.
But good Martin-Guerre was informed that the king alone had the right to
interpose, and that for such an extraordinary and notorious crime he
would surely refuse to exercise his right of pardon, even though the
judges themselves should ask it of him.
"Yes," Gabriel muttered to himself; "yes, the king would refuse to show
mercy. And yet he may well need that mercy should be shown himself! But
in this case he would do right to be inflexible. No mercy! Never any
mercy! Justice!"
Martin-Guerre's thoughts probably did not resemble his master's; for in
his absolute need to forgive somebody, he at once opened his arms and
his heart to the penitent and humble Bertrande de Rolles.
Bertrande was not even put to the trouble of repeating the prayers and
promises which in her last very useful blunder she had poured out upon
the forger Arnauld du Thill, when she believed she was speaking to her
husband. Martin-Guerre gave her no time to lament anew her errors and
her weakness. He cut short her first attempt to speak with a loud kiss,
and carried her off, triumphant and delighted, to the blissful little
house which he had not seen for so many years.
In front of that very house, which had at last reverted to the hands of
its true owner, Arnauld du Thill, a week after his conviction, suffered
the penalty which his crimes so well deserved.
Folks came from twenty leagues around to be present at the execution,
and the streets of the wretched village of Artigues were more densely
thronged that day than those of the capital.
The culprit, it must be said, showed a certain amount of courage in his
last moments, and at least ended his shameful life exemplarily.
When the executioner had cried aloud to the people three times,
according to custom: "Justice is done!" and while the crowd was slowly
melting away in horrified silence, within the house of the victim of the
culprit's wiles a man was weeping, and a woman praying; they were
Martin-Guerre and Bertrande de Rolles.
His native air, the sight of the locality in which his youth had been
passed, the affection of his kinsfolk and his old friends, and, above
all, the loving attentions of Bertrande, in a very few days banished
from Martin's face every trace of unhappiness.
One evening in this same month of July he was seated under the vine at
his door, after a peaceful, happy day.
His wife was within, busy with her housekeeping cares, but Martin could
hear her coming and going, so that he was not alone; and he looked off
to the right at the sun, which was just setting in all his glory, giving
promise for the morrow of as beautiful a day as that which had just
passed.
Martin did not see a horseman who rode up on his left, and dismounting,
approached him noiselessly.
He stood a moment observing with a grave smile Martin's attitude of
dreamy and peaceful contemplation. Then he reached out his hand, and
without a word touched him on the shoulder.
Martin-Guerre quickly turned, and rose with his hand to his cap.
"What! You, Monseigneur!" he said, with much emotion. "Pardon me, I did
not see you coming."
"Don't apologize, my good Martin," replied Gabriel (for it was he); "I
did not come to disturb your peace of mind, but on the other hand to
assure myself of it."
"Oh, Monseigneur has only to look at me, then!" said Martin.
"That's what I was doing, Martin," observed Gabriel. "So you are happy,
are you?"
"Happier, Monseigneur, than the birds of the air or the fish in the
sea."
"That is easily explained," returned Gabriel, "for you have found rest
and plenty in your own home."
"Yes," said Martin-Guerre, "without doubt that is one of the reasons of
my contentment. It may be that I have travelled sufficiently, seen
enough battles, watched and fasted and suffered in a hundred ways
sufficiently, to have earned the right, Monseigneur, to take pleasure in
refreshing myself with a few days' rest. As for the plenty," he
continued, in more serious fashion, "I have found the house well
supplied,--too well supplied, in fact. The money does not belong to me,
and I don't want to touch it. Arnauld du Thill brought it here, and I
propose to restore it to its rightful owners. Much the greater part of
it belongs to you, Monseigneur, for it was the money intended for your
ransom which he stole. That sum is put aside all ready to be handed to
you. As for the balance, it makes little difference how or where Arnauld
obtained it; the gold would soil my fingers. Master Carbon Barreau
thinks as I do, honest man, and having enough to live on, he declines to
accept the unworthy heritage of his nephew. When the expenses of the
trial are paid, the rest will go to the poor of the province."
"But in that case your property will not amount to much, my poor
Martin," said Gabriel.
"I ask your pardon, Monseigneur. One does not serve a master so generous
and open-handed as yourself for a long while without having something
laid by. I brought a very respectable sum in my wallet from Paris.
Besides, Bertrande's family were comfortably situated, and have left her
some property. In short, we shall still be the magnates of the
neighborhood when I have paid our debts and made all proper
restitution."
"Touching this matter of restitution, Martin, I hope you will not refuse
from my hand that which you scorned as a legacy from Arnauld. I beg you,
my faithful servant, to keep, as a remembrance and a slight recompense,
the sum which you say belongs to me."
"What, Monseigneur?" cried Martin,--"a gift of such magnificence to me!"
"Go to!" replied Gabriel; "do you imagine that I can pretend to pay you
for your devotion? Shall I not always be your debtor? Have no scruples
of pride with me, Martin, and let us say no more about it. It is
understood that you will accept the trifle that I offer you--less to you
than to me, in truth; for you tell me that you do not need this sum to
live in comfort and to be highly considered in your province,
consequently this will not add much to your happiness. Now as to this
happiness of yours; you have not spoken very fully to me about it, but
it ought to consist principally in your return to the loved spots which
your infancy and your youth knew. Am I not right?"
"Yes, Monseigneur, that is quite true," said Martin-Guerre. "I have felt
very contented and happy since I returned, just because I am at home. I
gaze with emotion upon the houses and trees and roads, which no stranger
would ever look at a second time. In fact, it seems that one never
breathes so freely as in the air which he breathed the first day of his
life."
"And your friends, Martin?" asked Gabriel. "I told you that I came to
set my mind at rest on all matters touching your welfare. Have you found
all your old friends again?"
"Alas! Monseigneur, some have died; but I have found a goodly number of
the companions of my early days, and they all seem as fond of me as
ever. They, too, are glad to acknowledge my frankness, my faithful
friendship, and my devotion. My word! but they are ashamed that they
could ever have mistaken Arnauld du Thill for me, for he seems to have
given them some specimens of a nature very different from mine. There
were two or three of them who quarrelled with the false Martin-Guerre
because of his evil actions. You should see how proud and contented they
are now! In short, they all vie with one another in overwhelming me with
tokens of esteem and affection,--in order to make up for lost time, I
fancy. Since we are talking about the causes of my happiness,
Monseigneur, that is a very potent one, I assure you."
"I believe it, good Martin, I can well believe it. Ah, but in speaking
of all the affection which sweetens your life you do not mention your
wife."
"Ah, my wife," replied Martin, scratching his ear with an embarrassed
air.
"To be sure, your wife," said Gabriel, anxiously. "What! it can't be
that Bertrande still torments you as before? Has not her disposition
changed for the better? Is she still ungrateful for the kindness of
heart and the relenting fate which have given her such a loyal and
affectionate husband? Is she still trying, Martin, with her shrewish and
quarrelsome ways, to force you to leave your home and your dear old
haunts a second time?"
"Oh, no, quite the contrary, Monseigneur," said Martin-Guerre; "she
makes me too fond of my haunts and my native province. She waits upon
me, coddles me, and kisses me. No more whims or domestic rebellions. Ah,
indeed she is so sweet and equable as I never remember to have seen her
before. I can't open my mouth that she doesn't come running to me; and
she never waits for me to express my wishes, but seems to divine them.
It is wonderful! and as I am naturally easy-going and good-natured
myself, rather than despotic and domineering, our life is all honey, and
our household the most united and happy one in the world."
"I am glad to hear it," said Gabriel; "but you almost frightened me at
first."
"The reason for that, Monseigneur, was that I feel a little
embarrassment and confusion, if I may say so, when this subject is under
discussion. The sentiment I find in my heart when I examine myself on
that subject is a very singular one, and makes me a little ashamed. But
with you, Monseigneur, I may speak in all frankness and sincerity, may I
not?"
"To be sure," said Gabriel.
Martin-Guerre looked carefully around to see that no one was listening,
and especially that no one was within hearing. Then he said in a low
voice,--
"Well, Monseigneur, I not only forgive poor Arnauld du Thill, at this
moment I bless him. What a service he rendered me! He made a lamb out of
a tigress, an angel out of a devil. I welcome the fortunate results of
his brutal manners, without having to reproach myself for them. For all
tormented and harassed husbands, and they say the number of them is
enormous, I can wish nothing better than a double,--a double
as--persuasive as mine. In short, Monseigneur, although Arnauld du Thill
did most certainly cause me much annoyance and suffering, still do you
not think that those troubles are more than atoned for, if he did but
know it, by his energetic system, whereby he assured my domestic
happiness and tranquillity for the rest of my days?"
"There's no doubt of that," said the young count, smiling.
"I am right, then," said Martin, joyfully, "in blessing Arnauld, even
though I do it in secret, since I am reaping every hour the happy fruits
of his involuntary collaboration. I am somewhat of a philosopher, as you
know, Monseigneur, and I always look on the bright side. Therefore I am
bound to say that Arnauld has done me more good than harm at every
point. He has been my wife's husband in the interim; but he has given
her back to me sweeter than a day in June. He stole my property and my
friends from me temporarily; but thanks to him, my property returns to
my possession in increased amount, and my friends even more closely
bound to me. In fact, he was the means of subjecting me to some very
rough experiences, notably at Noyon and at Calais; but my life to-day
seems only more agreeable for his meddling with it. Wherefore I have
every reason to be, and I am, well satisfied with this good Arnauld."
"You have a grateful heart," said Gabriel.
"Oh, but he whom, before all and above all, my grateful heart ought to
thank and to reverence," continued Martin, becoming serious again, "is
not Arnauld du Thill, my involuntary benefactor, but you, Monseigneur,
you, to whom I really owe all these benefits,--my country, fortune,
friends, and wife!"
"Again I repeat, enough of that, Martin," said Gabriel. "I ask only that
you should have all these good things. And you have them, haven't you?
Tell me again if you are happy."
"I repeat, Monseigneur, I am happier than I have ever been."
"That is all I desire to know," remarked Gabriel. "And now I must go."
"What, go?" cried Martin. "Are you really thinking of going so soon,
Monseigneur?"
"Yes, Martin, there is nothing to keep me here."
"Pardon me, of course there is nothing. When do you mean to leave?"
"This very evening."
"And you never told me!" cried Martin-Guerre. "And I, sluggard! was
dreaming away in utter forgetfulness. But wait, wait, Monseigneur, it
will not be long!"
"Wait for what?" asked Gabriel.
"Why, for me to make my preparations for departure, to be sure!"
He rose nimbly and hastily, and ran to the door of the house.
"Bertrande, Bertrande!" he called.
"Why do you call your wife, Martin?" asked Gabriel.
"To get my things ready, and to say adieu, Monseigneur."
"But that's useless, my good Martin; for you are not going with me."
"What! You are not going to take me, Monseigneur!"
"No, I must go alone."
"Never to return?"
"Not for a long while, surely."
"What fault have you to find with me, Monseigneur, I pray you tell me?"
asked Martin, sadly.
"None at all, my good Martin; you are the most devoted and faithful of
servants."
"Yet you do not take me with you," returned Martin, "although it is
natural that the servant should follow his master, that the squire
should attend upon his lord."
"I have the best of reasons for it, Martin."
"May I venture to ask what they are, Monseigneur?"
"In the first place," replied Gabriel, "it would be downright cruelty
for me to tear you away from this happy life which has come to you so
lately, and from the repose you have so well earned."
"Oh, as for that, it is my duty to accompany you, Monseigneur, and to
serve you to my last hour; and I would give up Paradise, I believe, for
the sake of being at your side."
"Yes, but it is my duty not to abuse your zeal, for which I am grateful
with all my heart," said Gabriel. "In the second place, the sad casualty
which befell you at Calais will not allow you hereafter to render me
such active service as you have done formerly."
"It is true, alas! Monseigneur, that I can no longer light by your side,
or attend you in the saddle. But at Paris, at Montgommery, or in the
field even, there are many confidential commissions with which you can
still intrust the poor cripple, I hope, and which he will execute to the
best of his ability."
"I know it, Martin; and I might perhaps be selfish enough to accept your
sacrifice were it not for a third reason."
"May I know that, Monseigneur?"
"Yes," Gabriel replied with melancholy gravity; "but only on condition
that you will not seek to go to the bottom of it, and that you will be
content with it, and not persist any further in following me."
"It must be a very serious and very imperious reason, then,
Monseigneur?"
"It is a sorrowful and unanswerable one, Martin," said Gabriel, in a
hollow voice. "Until now my life has been an honorable one; and if I had
chosen to allow my name to be uttered more freely it would have been a
glorious one. In fact, I believe that I may claim, without boasting, to
have rendered France and her king great and valuable services; for to
speak only of St. Quentin and Calais, I think I may say that at those
two places I discharged my debt to my country to the full."
"Who knows it better than I?" said Martin-Guerre.
"Very true, Martin; but in the same degree as this first part of my life
has been loyal and unselfish and open to the broad light of day, the
balance of my days will be passed in gloom and fear, always seeking to
hide itself in the darkness. Doubtless, I shall have the same vigor at
my command; but it will be exerted for a cause which I cannot avow, and
to attain an end which I must conceal. Thus far, in the open field,
before God and man, it has been my pleasure to strive manfully and
joyously for the reward of gallantry. Hereafter it is my duty, in
darkness and suffering, to avenge a crime. Hitherto I have fought; now I
must punish. From being a soldier of France I have become the executor
of the will of God."
"Holy Jesus!" cried Martin-Guerre, with hands clasped as if in
supplication.
"Therefore," continued Gabriel, "I must needs undertake alone this
ill-omened task,--in which I pray Heaven to employ my arm only, not my
will, and in which I desire to be merely the blind instrument, not the
guiding and directing brain. Since I ask, since I hope and trust, that
my fearful duty will employ only half of my own being, how can you think
that I would dream of associating you with it?"
"That is very true, and I understand, Monseigneur," said the faithful
squire, with lowered head. "I thank you for having condescended to give
me this explanation, much as it grieves me; and I accept it, as I
promised to do."
"I thank you, too, for your submissiveness," replied Gabriel; "for I
assure you that your devotion helps to lighten the heavy burden which is
almost too much for me even now."
"But, Monseigneur, is there absolutely nothing that I can do to serve
you at this crisis?"
"You can pray God, Martin, to spare me the necessity of taking the
initiative in this struggle, which I contemplate with such bitter pain.
You have a devout heart, and have led an honest and pure life, my
friend, and your prayers may be of more help to me now than your arm."
"I will pray, Monseigneur, I will pray,--how ardently I need not tell
you!"
"And now, adieu, Martin," said Gabriel; "I must leave you and return to
Paris, to be prepared and on the spot whenever it pleases God to give
the signal. All my life I have defended the right, fighting on the side
of justice; may God remember that in my favor at the supreme hour of
which I speak! May He mete out justice to His servant, even as I have
done to mine!"
With his eyes upturned to heaven, the noble youth repeated,--
"Justice! justice!"
For six months past, whenever Gabriel's eyes had been open, they were
generally intently fixed upon that Heaven at whose hands he asked for
justice; when they were closed, he seemed always to see once more the
gloomy Châtelet, in his gloomier reflections, which would at such times
make him cry aloud, "Vengeance!"
Ten minutes later he tore himself away with great difficulty from the
tearful farewells of Martin-Guerre and Bertrande de Rolles, who had come
at her husband's summons.
"Adieu, adieu, good Martin, my faithful friend!" he said, releasing his
hands almost by force from the fervent grasp of his squire, who was
kissing and sobbing over them. "I must go now. Adieu! We shall meet
again."
"Adieu, Monseigneur! God preserve you!--oh, I pray that He will preserve
you!"
Poor Martin, choked with grief, could say no more than that.
Through his tears he saw his master and benefactor remount his horse in
the fast-gathering darkness, which soon hid from his eyes the sombre
figure of the horseman, as it had hidden his life from him for a long
time past.