The name I bequeath to you, and which I have honoured, is not mine. My
father's name was Savage. He was overseer of a large plantation in the
Island of St. Lucia (then French), which belonged to a rich and noble
family of Dauphine--the Champcey d'Hauterives. In 1793 my father died,
and, though I was quite young, I succeeded to the trust the Champceys
reposed in him. Towards the end of that disastrous year the French
Antilles were taken by the English or given up to them by the rebel
colonists. The Marquis of Champcey d'Hauterive (Jacques-Auguste), whom
the orders of the Convention had not yet struck down, then commanded the
_Thetis_ frigate, which had been cruising on this coast for three years.
A good number of the French colonists of the Antilles had succeeded in
realizing their fortunes, which had been in imminent peril. They had
arranged with the Commandant de Champcey to get together a fleet of
light transports, to which their property had been transferred, and
which was to sail for France under the protection of the guns of the
_Thetis_. In view of imminent disasters, I had myself received, a long
time back, an order and authority to sell the plantation at any price.
On the night of November 14, 1793, I put out alone in a boat for the
Point of Morne-au-Sable and secretly left St. Lucia, already occupied by
the enemy. I brought with me in English notes and guineas the amount I
had received for the plantation. M. de Champcey, thanks to his intimate
knowledge of the coast, had slipped past the English cruiser and had
taken refuge in the dangerous and unknown channel of Gros-Ilet. He had
instructed me to join him there this night, and only awaited my arrival
to leave the channel with his convoy and make for France. In crossing,
I fell into the hands of the English. These experts in treason gave me
the choice of being shot on the spot or of selling them, for the million
I had with me, which they agreed to leave in my hands, the secret of the
channel where the fleet was hiding. I was young ... the temptation was
too great. Half an hour later the _Thetis_ was sunk, the convoy taken,
and M. de Champcey seriously wounded. A year passed--a year without
sleep.... I was going mad.... I determined to make the cursed English
pay for the remorse I suffered. I went to Guadeloupe; I changed my name;
I devoted the larger part of the money I had received to the purchase of
an armed brig, and I fell upon the English. For fifteen years I washed
in their blood and my own the stain that in an hour of weakness I had
brought on my country's flag. Though three parts of my fortune have
been acquired in honourable combats, its origin was, nevertheless, the
price of my treachery.
Returning to France in my old age, I ascertained the position of the
Champcey d'Hauterives, and found that they were happy and wealthy. I
kept my own counsel. I ask my children to forgive me. While I lived I
had not the courage to blush before them. My death will reveal this
secret to them. They must use it as their consciences may direct. For
myself I have only one prayer to address to them. Soon or late there
will be a final war between France and her neighbour. We hate one
another too much; there's nothing else to be done; either we must devour
them or they must devour us. If this war should be declared during the
life of my children or grand-children, I desire that they give to the
state a corvette fully armed and completely equipped, on one condition,
that it shall be called the Savage, and be commanded by a Breton. At
each broadside she shall send on to the Carthaginian shore my bones will
tremble with joy in my grave.
RICHARD SAVAGE, called LAROQUE.
The memories that this terrible confession awakened convinced me that it
was correct. Twenty times I had heard my father relate with pride and
indignation this incident in my ancestor's career. But in the family we
believed that Richard Savage--I remember the name quite well--had been
the victim, and not the contriver of the treason or mischance which had
betrayed the commandant of the _Thetis_. Now I understand the
peculiarities I had often noticed in the old sailor's character, and
especially his thoughtful and timid bearing towards me. My father had
always told me that I was the living portrait of my grandfather, the
Marquis Jacques, and perhaps some dim perception of this resemblance had
penetrated to the old man's troubled brain.
This revelation threw me into a terrible perplexity. I felt but little
resentment against the unhappy man who had redeemed a moment of weakness
by a long life of repentance, and by a passion of desperation and hatred
which was not without greatness. Nor could I, without admiration,
breathe the wild blast which animated the lines written by this guilty
but heroic hand. Still, what was I to do with this terrible secret? My
first thought was that it removed all obstacles between Marguerite and
me; that henceforth the fortune that had kept us apart would be almost
an obligatory bond, for I was the only person in the world who could
regularize her title to it by sharing it with her. But in truth this
secret did not belong to me, and though I had learned it by the purest
of accidents, strict honesty, perhaps, demanded that I should leave it
to come at its own time into the hands for which it was destined. But
while I waited for that moment the irreparable would be accomplished.
Eternal bonds were to be forged. The tomb was to close over my love, my
hopes, and my sorrowful heart. And should I allow it when I might
prevent it by a single word? And the day these poor women learned the
truth, and blushed with shame to learn it, perhaps they would share my
regret and despair. They would be the first to cry:
"Ah! if you knew, why did you not speak?"
No, neither to-day nor to-morrow, nor ever, shall those noble women
blush for shame if I can prevent it. My happiness shall not be bought
at the price of their humiliation. This secret is mine alone. The old
man, henceforth speechless, cannot betray himself. The secret does not
exist; the flames have destroyed it. I pondered it well. I know what I
have dared to do. It was a will, a sacred document, and I have
destroyed it. Moreover, it did not benefit me alone. My sister, who is
intrusted to my care, might have found a fortune there, and, without
consulting her, I have plunged her back into poverty. I know all that,
but I will not allow two pure proud souls to be crushed and dishonoured
by the burden of a crime of which they are ignorant. There is a
principle of equity at stake far superior to mere literal justice. If,
in my turn, I have committed a crime, I will answer for it. But the
struggle has exhausted me. I can do no more now.
_October 4th_.
M. Laubepin, after all, arrived yesterday. He came to see me. He was
brusque, preoccupied, and seemed ill-pleased. He spoke briefly of the
marriage.
"A very satisfactory business!" he said; "in all respects an excellent
combination, where nature and society both receive the guarantees they
have the right to require in such matters. And so, young man,
good-night. I have to smooth the delicate ground of the preliminary
agreements, that the hymeneal car of this interesting union may reach
its goal without jolting."
At one o'clock this afternoon the family assembled in the drawing-room
with all the preparations and formalities observed at the signing of a
marriage contract. I could not attend this ceremony, and I blessed my
broken arm for sparing me the trial. About three I was writing to
little Helene, and taking care to assure her more strongly than ever of
my complete devotion to her, when M. Laubepin and Mlle. de Porhoet came
into my room. In his frequent visits to Laroque, M. Laubepin has learnt
to appreciate my venerable friend, and the two old people have formed a
respectful and Platonic attachment, which Dr. Desmarets tries in vain to
misrepresent. After an exchange of ceremonies, of interminable bows and
courtesies, they took the chairs I offered them, and both set about
considering me with an air of grave beatitude.
"Well," I said, "it's over?"
"Yes," they replied in chorus, "it's over."
"It went off well?"
"Very well," said Mlle. de Porhoet.
"Wonderfully well," said M. Laubepin. After a pause he added:
"Bevallan's gone to the devil!"
"And the young Helouin after him!" continued Mlle. de Porhoet.