URSULE AND THE SORCERER OF VERBERIE
For some few days after his nocturnal adventure of the duel Urbain
refrained from wearing his feminine costume. He was not at all anxious
to make any further conquests and to thus expose himself to adventures
which were hardly likely to always result to his advantage; the young
bachelor felt that before he again disguised himself as a girl he should
make sure that his stratagem would bring him nearer to obtaining an
interview with Blanche.
He began to watch Marguerite again, prowling incessantly around the
barber's house, and obtaining all the information he could get as to the
character of the old servant; and he promised himself that he would
avail himself to the utmost of her credulity and superstition. His plan
being carefully considered and arranged, an old messenger, commissioned
by him, accosted Marguerite and asked her if she knew of a place for a
young peasant, a very pleasant and virtuous girl, who had lately come to
Paris and found herself without employment. The kindly old serving woman
at once gave two addresses where she said they would perhaps take the
young girl, and continued on her way.
The next day while going, according to custom, to buy provisions,
Marguerite was stopped by a country woman, very modest in demeanor, but
with an awkward air, who curtseyed to her and thanked her with lowered
eyes.
"What are you thanking me for, my child?" said Marguerite, "I do not
know you."
"Because you interested yourself in me yesterday and tried to find me a
place."
"Oh, are you the one they recommended to me?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Did they engage you?"
"No, mademoiselle."
"I am sorry for it, for you seem to me very pleasing, very honest. Where
do you come from?"
"From Verberie, mademoiselle."
"Why did you come to Paris?"
"I have lost both my parents and I thought I should find work more
easily in a great city."
"Yes, but great cities are dangerous places for virtuous young maids
such as you appear to be. They should have told you that, my child."
"Yes, they did, mademoiselle! but I am not afraid of anything."
"Why, you must believe yourself very wary, very strong, to think you can
escape the snares they'll set for you."
"Indeed it's not that, mademoiselle, but it is that--I daren't say--it's
a mystery, a secret."
Secret and mystery had the same effect upon the old maid as love and
marriage have upon a young maid--they aroused all her feelings.
Marguerite's little eyes beamed and she cried,--
"What, my child! you have a secret? I am not curious, but you interest
me; I should like to be useful to you, but it's necessary that I should
know everything that concerns you. What is this mystery that you dare
not mention?"
"Mademoiselle, I did not wish to confide in anyone in Paris, for
somebody told me there were pickpockets who would steal my treasure."
"You possess a treasure?"
"Oh, yes, mademoiselle; but one with which I could still die of hunger."
"Why, indeed, what does that matter, my child, hasn't every young girl a
treasure without price--her innocence, her virtue--and those who guard
it the best are not always the richest. When I see shameless women, who
live in luxury and abundance, riding in gilded carriages, it makes me
feel ill. But about your secret, my child; would you refuse to confide
in me?"
"No, indeed, mademoiselle, you appear so respectable, so good, that I
cannot refuse you."
Marguerite half smiled and tapped the country woman on the arm, for
praise is a flower whose perfume is grateful at any age.
"Out with it then," she said. "What is it?"
"Mademoiselle, I'll tell you with much pleasure; but it's a long story,
and I must go into a good many houses this morning. If you would let me
tell it to you this evening at your house, that would be better, for I
dare not say all that in the street; some one might hear me and take me
for a sorcerer, and I'm very much afraid of the Chambre Ardente. God
knows, however, mademoiselle, that I understand nothing of magic, and
I'm more afraid of the devil than I am of men."
"Oh," said Marguerite, whose curiosity had reached an unbearable point,
"this mystery of yours is of itself extraordinary?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Indeed! Well, this is very embarrassing; to receive you in the house is
difficult. Where do you live, my child?"
Urbain hesitated for a moment, then replied:--
"Near the Porte Saint-Antoine."
"Oh, good heavens--that's more than a league from here. I could never
get there; my master's a very strict man and doesn't wish that anyone
should have visitors."
Marguerite reflected for some moments, then her curiosity carried the
day.
"Well," said she at last, "come this evening at seven o'clock; it'll be
dark; but look well at that house over there--that alleyway."
"Oh, I shall recognize it."
"Don't knock; keep near the door. I'll let you in, and show you up to my
room. At that hour my master doesn't ordinarily need my services, and he
never leaves the lower room."
"That's enough, mademoiselle, I'll be there at seven precisely."
"What is your name?"
"Ursule Ledoux."
"Above all, Ursule, don't gossip with anybody about this. It's no crime
to receive you, but my master's a little ridiculous and might find it
wrong. Besides, my child, one must be discreet in everything. You'll
tell me your secret this evening, Ursule?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"At seven o'clock, the house over there."
Urbain departed, delighted by the success of his stratagem, breathing
with difficulty, partly from the hope of seeing Blanche and partly
because his corset impeded his respiration; and Marguerite reached her
dwelling, saying,--
"This young girl looks as sweet as she looks honest, and there's no harm
in receiving her for a moment--it'll amuse my poor little Blanche a
little; she's been rather sad for some days and seems more lonely than
usual; and we shall know the secret which--mon Dieu, if seven o'clock
would only come soon."
Marguerite hastened to find Blanche. Since the night of the serenade
the lovely child had been even more dreamy than before; she sang nothing
but the refrain of her dear romance, and the villanelles, the virelays,
the old songs amused her no longer. Marguerite drew near to her and said
mysteriously, in a low tone,--
"This evening we shall have a visitor."
"A visitor," said Blanche. "Oh, M. Chaudoreille I suppose."
"No, indeed, a very pleasing, very honest young country girl whom you
don't know. A poor child who possesses a treasure and who is looking for
a place as cook; she wishes to remain virtuous, and for that reason has
come to Paris; she is afraid of the devil, but of nothing else."
"But dear nurse, I don't understand."
"Hush! hush! keep still! This evening she will come, and we shall hear
her story; there is a question of a very curious mystery, but be silent;
it is not necessary that M. Touquet should know anything about that for
he might forbid this poor Ursule from coming to chat with us, and that
would displease me very much because she will amuse you a little, my
child."
"Oh, be easy, dear nurse, I shall say nothing," cried Blanche, and she
jumped about her room for joy because the announcement of this visit was
for her an extraordinary event. The least thing new is a great pleasure
for those who pass their lives deprived of all gayety. It is thus that a
storm or even a shower will distract and occupy a poor prisoner; that a
bottle of wine will make a feast for a man of small means habituated to
drinking nothing but water; that the sound of a Barbary organ appears
delightful to the country people; that a ticket for the play crowns the
wishes of the poor workwoman of ten sous a day; that a little muslin
dress makes an honest grisette happy; and that Sunday is awaited with
impatience by those who work all the week; while for many people fetes,
the theatre, music, diamonds, cannot rejoice their hearts. After all,
should not the poor be happier than the rich?
At last seven sounded from Saint Eustache's clock. The barber had long
since sent Blanche and Marguerite to shut themselves into their rooms.
The old servant went softly downstairs, trying to make as little noise
as possible with her heels, and shielding the light of her lamp with her
hand. She opened the street door and saw the country girl, who had been
waiting for a quarter of an hour.
"That's well," said Marguerite, "you are here; but hush! don't speak,
don't make any noise; let me lead you."
Urbain nodded his head and entered the alleyway, while Marguerite softly
closed the door. Then our lover was at the height of his joy. It seemed
to him that he breathed a purer air in the house of the one he loved. He
believed himself in the abode of highest bliss while going up the
little crooked staircase; and the black and crumbling walls that
surrounded him had more charm for his eyes than the marbles or the
sculptures of the Louvre.
"You are going to see my mistress," said Marguerite, "I have warned her,
but fear nothing, she is as amiable as she is good; you can speak
without danger before her, she is discretion itself,--besides, she never
sees anybody, and never goes out. My master wishes to shield her against
the enterprises of these dandies, of these worthless fellows who seek to
cajole the poor girls. It is true that my little Blanche is very pretty;
she would turn the heads of all our noblemen, you are going to see her,
and you can judge for yourself; here we are at her room. Come in, come,
don't tremble so; how childish you are."
Urbain was trembling, in fact, and his heart beat so hard that he was
obliged to support himself for a moment against the wall. During this
time Marguerite opened the door and said to Blanche,--
"Here she is."
Blanche rose and came to meet the young girl whom her nurse had brought,
smiling pleasantly at her. Urbain raised his eyes, saw Blanche, and his
emotion increased. He had only been able through the panes of the
casement to perceive her features very imperfectly, and the charming
object which now met his gaze was a hundred times more beautiful than
the image which his memory and his imagination had created. He remained
for a moment stunned, motionless, not daring to take a step, doubting
still whether he could believe his happiness, and looking with delight
at the lovely girl, who smiled at him and took him by the hand, saying
to him,--
"Won't you come in? Come in and sit down and warm yourself. Why, you're
not afraid of me, are you?"
"This is the girl I told you about," announced Marguerite, "but she is a
little timid, though she will soon lose that; may she always preserve
her modesty in Paris."
Blanche's soft hand slipped into that of the young bachelor and she led
him to the fireplace. On feeling the pretty fingers imprinted on his
own, Urbain scarcely breathed, and murmured in a feeble voice,--
"How good you are, mademoiselle?"
"She has a very pretty voice," cried Blanche, immediately. "Don't you
think so, Marguerite? A voice which I seem to have heard before; it is
very singular, I can't recall where I've heard it."
"You are mistaken, my child," said Marguerite, "for myself I think that
Ursule's voice is a little rough. But remember that we have not much
time to keep her here and she is going to tell us a certain thing."
"One moment," said Blanche, "let her rest for a minute, she looks
tired. Do you need anything?"
"No, I thank you," said Urbain, raising his eyes on the amiable child,
and immediately abasing them, for he feared that she would read in them
all the love which consumed him and it seemed to him that the moment was
very ill-chosen to make it known; besides, he was so happy near Blanche
that he wished to prolong the time, and, thanks to his disguise, he
could see the sweet girl practise her graces, her amiability, and learn
her character much better than if he had appeared to her in his true
form. Before a lover the frankest girl is always timid, embarrassed,
reserved, while with a person of her own sex she expresses without
constraint the feelings which she experiences.
"And so you are looking for a place?" said Blanche, seating herself near
Urbain.
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Have you been long in Paris?"
"A fortnight, mademoiselle."
"And your parents?"
"I have none, mademoiselle. I am an orphan."
"Poor girl! that's like me, I am an orphan also, and if M. Touquet had
not taken care of me I too should have had to go to work to earn my
living."
"You, mademoiselle," said Urbain ardently, but he restrained himself and
finished in a low voice, "that would have been very unfortunate."
"My dear Blanche," said Marguerite, "it was not that you might tell her
your history, but that she might acquaint us with the secret she is
keeping that she came here. Now, Ursule, speak my child!"
Urbain sighed; he would much rather have listened to Blanche than have
talked to Marguerite; but it was necessary to satisfy the old maid, he
needed her; and it was by exciting her curiosity that he hoped often to
see Blanche. He commenced his recital, disguising his voice, and while
he spoke the beautiful child fixed her eyes on him, a favor which he
owed to his costume, but which often made him lose the thread of his
discourse.
"You have doubtless heard tell of Jeanne Harviliers, so famous a century
ago for her witcheries and sorceries."
"No, never," said Marguerite, drawing her chair nearer and stretching
her neck, because the word sorcery had already produced its electrical
effect upon the old servant. "Tell us the history of this sorcery, my
child, and try not to omit a single fact."
"Jeanne Harviliers was born at Verberie in the year 1528. Her mother,
they say, was a wicked woman, who dedicated her child to the devil as
soon as she came into the world.
"When Jeanne was twelve years old the devil presented himself to her in
the guise of a black man, armed and booted."
"Dear nurse," said Blanche, "can the devil then take any form he
pleases?"
"Yes, of course, I've told you so a hundred times; he changes as he
wishes."
"You've always said, dear nurse, that he shows himself as a black cat."
"A cat or a man, what does it matter?"
"I was only afraid of cats before, now I shall be afraid of men also."
"Come, mademoiselle, if you interrupt this young girl like that we shall
never know her story. Go on, my child!"
Urbain glanced quickly at Blanche and resumed his narration.
"The black man told Jeanne that if she would give herself to him he
would teach her a thousand secrets by which she could work good or evil
to people according to her will. Jeanne Harviliers yielded to the
proposition of the devil, and pronounced the formula which he dictated;
she soon became a famous magician, riding to the witches' sabbaths on a
broomstick.
"Jeanne practised her art near Verberie, but, being accused of sorcery,
she was for some time obliged to hide herself. She had a neighbor who
disclosed her whereabouts, and Jeanne asked the devil to give her a
charm, that she might revenge herself. He gave her a powder, telling her
to place it in a road where her enemy was about to pass, and it would
give the latter a malady of which she would die. Jeanne did as the
devil had told her, and placed the charm; but another person passed
first over the road, and it was she who was the victim. Jeanne,
distressed at seeing the sick woman, confessed to her that she had
caused her misfortune and promised to cure her, but she could not do as
she wished for she was then arrested and thrown into prison. They
questioned her; she confessed that she was a sorcerer, and was condemned
to be burned alive. She was executed on the last day of April in the
year 1578."
"How is that? She was a sorcerer and she let them burn her?" said
Blanche with astonishment.
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"How funny that is, and what use was it to her to be a sorcerer then?"
"Blanche you are far too young to argue like that," said Marguerite.
"And the devil, did they burn him also?"
"No, mademoiselle, they could not do that."
"That's a pity, for then we should not need to be afraid of him. Perhaps
the devil has been burned now."
"The demon will always exist, my child!"
"You've told me, dear nurse, that St. Michael fought with him and
vanquished him."
"Yes, of course he vanquished him, but that is as if he had done
nothing. Now, Ursule, go on; for I do not yet see in all that you have
told us anything relating to yourself, since this Jeanne was burned
close on sixty years ago."
"I am coming to it, mademoiselle," said Urbain, recalling his ideas,
which Blanche's beautiful eyes had turned to other things than sorcery.
"Since the time of Jeanne Harviliers, they talk of nothing in Verberie
and its neighborhood except the witches' sabbaths which were held at the
Pont-aux-Reine on the highway to Compeigne, in the wood of Ajeux; and
where noises were heard of horsemen riding in squads, witches going to
their sabbaths, and wizards of all kinds. The good inhabitants of the
country, wishing to put themselves on their guard against these
emissaries of the devil, went to Charlemagne's chapel, which is now
known as the church of Saint-Pierre, and asked the good religious to
give them something which would guarantee them against sorceries of all
kinds."
"A very good idea, truly," said Marguerite, "they could not have acted
more wisely, and what did they give them, my child?"
"The good fathers gave them a robe which had been worn by a pious
hermit, who during his life had always made the demons flee from any
place where he came. A tiny morsel of that robe was sufficient to ward
off all danger from the one who carried it. You may imagine how anxious
everybody was to have a piece of it."
"Oh, I can well believe it. If I had been there there's nothing I
wouldn't have given to obtain a piece."
"Well but dear nurse," said Blanche, "is it like mine."
"Hush! let Ursule finish, my child!"
"Finally, mademoiselle, one of my ancestors, who lived then had the good
fortune to get a morsel of the pious hermit's robe. She left it to her
daughter after her, who left it to my mother, from whom I have it; and
that is how this talisman came to me and it is that which makes me
afraid of nothing in Paris, and with which I dare risk myself alone in
the streets at night."
"Oh, how singular!" cried Blanche, "that's like me; I also have a
talisman which preserves me from all danger, however, they won't even
let me look out of the window. That's because my protector, the barber,
does not believe in talismans."
"He's very wrong, mademoiselle," said Urbain.
"Yes, assuredly he is," said Marguerite, "but, my dear child, have you
yours on you now?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. Oh, I always carry it."
"Let us see this precious relic. Only to touch it will do one good."
Urbain felt in his apron pocket and drew forth a small paper folded with
great care; he opened it and took out a sample of his breeches which he
presented to the old servant, pinching his lips to keep a serious face.
Marguerite who had put on her glasses took the little scrap of cloth
respectfully, and kissed it three times, crying,--
"That's it, oh, how good that is! that emits an odor all about it, an
odor of sanctity."
"Do you think so, dear nurse," said Blanche, who was looking at the
little sample of cloth in surprise, "I should never have thought that a
little rag like that could have any power."
"A rag! O my dear Blanche, speak more respectfully of this relic."
"My talisman is much prettier than that. It's a little piece of
parchment. Wait, here it is." Saying these words Blanche opened her
kerchief, and signed to Urbain to look in her corset, half disclosing
her virgin neck as she spoke, in order that the supposed Ursule might
better perceive her talisman.
"Ah, how charming!" exclaimed Urbain involuntarily.
"Is it not," said Blanche, smiling; "it's much prettier than that scrap
of cloth."
Urbain had no strength with which to answer, he remained motionless, his
eyes still fixed on the place where the lovely child hid her talisman,
while Marguerite, contemplating the fragment of smallclothes, kissed it
anew, repeating,--
"The worth of that has been well proven, which makes it all the more
precious."
Blanche fastened her kerchief, and Urbain, still moved by what he had
seen, sighed deeply.
"What is the matter with you," said the young girl, looking with
interest at her whom she believed to be a simple country girl. "You seem
grieved."
"Alas, mademoiselle! I was remembering that I was alone and without
resources in this city, that I have no parents, no friends."
"Poor girl! Well, we will be your friends. Yes, I feel that I love you
already, Ursule."
"Can it be mademoiselle? Ah! if it were only true!"
"Why do you say if it were true? I never say what is untrue; but what I
feel I say at once. Isn't that natural? And do you think that you can
love me also?"
"Can I love you," said Urbain, warmly; then remembering that Marguerite
was there, he resumed less forcibly, but with an accent that came from
his heart,--
"Yes, yes, mademoiselle, and all my life."
"Oh, it is so nice to have a friend of one's own age," said Blanche,
shaking the bachelor's hand. "At least I shall have some one with whom I
can laugh and chat. Marguerite likes to talk very well, but she never
laughs and then she never talks of anything but magic and the devil. We
shall find other things to talk about, shan't we, Ursule?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"I know very little about anything; always alone in my room, never
going out, though I have a great desire to do so; my protector never
comes to chat with me; I receive visits from one man only."
"From a man?" said Urbain, anxiously.
"Yes, my music master. Formerly he made me laugh, now he wearies me, for
he always sings the same thing to me."
Urbain breathed more freely, and resumed,--
"You sing, mademoiselle?"
"A little," said Blanche, "and do you sing, Ursule?"
"Sometimes."
"That's better still. You shall teach me the songs of your country and I
will teach you the ones that I know."
"You will let me come to see you again, then, mademoiselle?"
"Certainly, every evening, if you can. Remember that I am very lonely by
myself, in place of which I shall amuse myself with you. She can come to
see us every evening, Marguerite, can't she? M. Touquet won't be angry,
will he?"
Marguerite during this conversation had remained in meditation and in
ecstasy before Ursule's talisman. She would have given all the world to
possess it in her new room, where she had much trouble in going to
sleep, but the name of her master drew her from these reflections and
she cried,--
"What are you saying about M. Touquet; that he knows we are receiving
this young girl without his permission? Oh, no, indeed!"
"But, dear nurse, that's why it is necessary to ask him."
"Ah, mademoiselle," said Urbain, "he will refuse it, and I shall be
deprived of the pleasure of seeing you."
"In that case we will say nothing; but if he would take you into his
service?"
"Monsieur does not wish to have anybody else in the house. What could
Ursule do here?"
"It's a pity, for Ursule must find a place to earn her living; how very
disagreeable it is to have a talisman which preserves you from all
danger and allows you to die of hunger. It's exactly like mine."
"Oh, I still have time to wait I have a prospect of something before
me," said Urbain, "and my expenses are so very little."
"Had your ancestors ever any occasion to prove the virtue of this
talisman?" said Marguerite.
"Yes, mademoiselle, many circumstances prove that, and, above all, my
mother had a very strange adventure."
"An adventure," said the old woman, drawing her chair to the hearth. At
this moment the church clock struck nine. "O heavens! nine o'clock,"
said Marguerite, "it is very late; you must go, my child. If my master
perceives that we have not gone to bed he'll want to know the reason;
come, it's necessary to part."
"And that adventure which she is going to tell us," said Blanche.
"That will be for tomorrow, if you will permit it," said Urbain.
"Oh, yes, tomorrow. Can she not come tomorrow, dear nurse."
"So be it," said Marguerite, who was also curious to hear it. "But
remember to be prudent, Ursule, that nobody may know."
"Oh, I'll answer to you for my silence, mademoiselle."
"That's well. Wait, here is your talisman. Take care not to lose it.
Good heavens! how happy I should be if I had a similar one."
Urbain received the little scrap of cloth, dropping a curtsey and
putting it in his pocket, while Marguerite took a lamp to lead him.
"You are going alone," said Blanche, "perhaps a long distance."
"To the Porte Saint-Antoine."
"O heavens! and are you not afraid to be in the street so late?"
"Has she not her talisman?" said Marguerite.
"Ah, that is true; I shan't think about it any more. Good-by, Ursule,
you'll come back tomorrow, will you not?"
The lovely child held out her hand to Urbain, who was about to carry it
to his lips, but remembering that he was a woman he was obliged to
content himself with pressing it tenderly and followed Marguerite, after
glancing sweetly at Blanche. The old woman reconducted him with the same
precaution she had taken in introducing him, and closed the street door
softly, saying to him,--
"Good-by till tomorrow, and be sure to take good care of your
talisman."