EPIPHANY

"Ah!" said Captain Count de Garens, "I should rather think that I do

remember it, that supper of the Kings, during the war!

"I was at the time quarter-master of cavalry, and for a fortnight had

been lurking about as a scout in front of the German advanced guard. The

evening before we had cut down a few Uhlans and had lost three men, one

of whom was that poor little Raudeville. You remember Joseph de

Raudeville well, of course.

"Well, on that day my captain ordered me to take six troopers and to go

and occupy the village of Porterin, where there had been five fights in

three weeks, and to hold it all night. There were not twenty houses left

standing, not a dozen houses in that wasp's nest. So I took ten

troopers, and set out at about four o'clock and at five o'clock, while

it was still pitch dark, we reached the first houses of Porterin. I

halted and ordered Marchas, you know Pierre de Marchas, who afterwards

married little Martel-Auvelin, the daughter of the Marquis de

Martel-Auvelin, to go alone into the village, and to report to me what

he saw.

"I had chosen nothing but volunteers, and all of good family. It is

pleasant when on service not to be forced to be on intimate terms with

unpleasant fellows. This Marchas was as sharp as possible, as cunning as

a fox and as supple as a serpent. He could scent the Prussians as well

as a dog can scent a hare, could find victuals where we should have

died of hunger without him, and he obtained information from everybody,

and information which was always reliable, with incredible cleverness.

"In ten minutes he returned. 'All right,' he said; 'there have been no

Prussians here for three days. It is a sinister place, is this village.

I have been talking to a Sister of Mercy, who is attending to four or

five wounded men in an abandoned convent.'

"I ordered them to ride on, and we penetrated into the principal street.

On the right and left we could vaguely see roofless walls, which were

hardly visible in the profound darkness. Here and there a light was

burning in a room; some family had remained to keep its house standing

as much as they were able; a family of brave, or of poor, people. The

rain had begun to fall, a fine, icy cold rain, which froze us before it

wetted us through, by merely touching our cloaks. The horses stumbled

against stones, against beams, against furniture. Marchas guided us,

going before us on foot, and leading his horse by the bridle.

"'Where are you taking us to?' I asked him. And he replied: 'I have a

place for us to lodge in, and a rare good one.' And soon we stopped

before a small house, evidently belonging to some owner of the middle

classes, quite enclosed, built near the street and with a garden in the

rear.

"Marchas broke open the lock by means of a big stone which he picked up

near the garden gate; then he mounted the steps, smashed in the front

door with his feet and shoulders, lit a bit of wax candle, which he was

never without, and went before us into the comfortable apartments of

some rich private individual, guiding us with admirable assurance, as

if he had lived in this house which he now saw for the first time.

"Two troopers remained outside to take care of our horses, and Marchas

said to stout Ponderel, who followed him: 'The stables must be on the

left; I saw that as we came in; go and put the animals up there, for we

do not want them,' and then turning to me he said: 'Give your orders,

confound it all!'

"This fellow always astonished me, and I replied with a laugh: 'I shall

post my sentinels at the country approaches and I will return to you

here?' 'How many man men are you going to take?' 'Five. The others will

relieve them at five o'clock in the evening.' 'Very well. Leave me four

to look after provisions, to do the cooking and to set the table. I will

go and find out where the wine is hidden away.'

"I went off, to reconnoiter the deserted streets, until they ended in

the open country, so as to post my sentries there.

"Half an hour later I was back, and I found Marchas lounging in a great

armchair, the covering of which he had taking off, from love of luxury

as he said. He was warming his feet at the fire, and smoking an

excellent cigar, whose perfume filled the room. He was alone, his elbows

resting on the arms of the chair, his shoulders, his cheeks flushed, his

eyes bright, and looking delighted.

"I heard the noise of plates and dishes in the next room, and Marchas

said to me, smiling in a beatific manner: 'This is famous; I found the

champagne under the flight of steps outside, the brandy--fifty bottles

of the very finest--in the kitchen garden under a pear tree, which did

not look to me to be quite straight, when I looked at it by the light

of my lantern. As for solids, we have two fowls, a goose, a duck and

three pigeons. They are being cooked at this moment. It is a delightful

part of the country.'

"I had sat down opposite to him, and the fire in the grate was burning

my nose and cheeks. 'Where did you find this wood?' I asked. 'Splendid

wood,' he replied. 'The owner's carriage. It is the paint which is

causing all this flame, an essence of punch and varnish. A capital

house!'

"I laughed for I found the creature was funny, and he went on: 'Fancy

this being the Epiphany! I have had a bean put into the goose, but there

is no queen; it is really very annoying!' And I repeated like an echo:

'It is annoying, but what do you want me to do in the matter?' 'To find

some, of course. Some women,' 'Women?... you must be mad?' 'I managed to

find the brandy under the pear tree, and the champagne under the steps;

and yet there was nothing to guide me, while as for you, a petticoat is

a sure sign. Go and look, old fellow.'

"He looked so grave, so convinced, that I could not tell whether he was

joking or not, and so I replied: 'Look here, Marchas, are you having a

joke with me?' 'I never joke on duty.' 'But where the devil do you

expect me to find any women?' 'Where you like, there must be two or

three remaining in the neighborhood, so ferret them out and bring them

here.'

"I got up, for it was too hot in front of the fire, and Marchas went on:

'Do you want an idea?' 'Yes.' 'Go and see the priest.' 'The priest? What

for?' 'Ask him to supper, and beg him to bring a woman with him.' 'The

priest! A woman! Ha! ha! ha!'

"But Marchas continued with extraordinary gravity; 'I am not laughing,

go and find the priest and tell him how we are situated, and, as his

must be horribly dull, he will come. But tell him that we want one woman

at least, a lady, of course, since we are all men of the world. He is

sure to know his female parishioners on the tips of his fingers, and if

there is one to suit us, and you manage it well, he will indicate her to

you.'

"'Come, come, Marchas, what are you thinking of?' 'My dear Garens, you

can do this quite well. It will even be very funny. We are well bred, by

jove! and we will put on our most distinguished manners and our grandest

style. Tell the Abbé who we are, make him laugh, soften him, seduce him

and persuade him!' 'No, it is impossible.'

"He drew his chair close to mine, and as he knew my weak side, the scamp

continued: 'Just think what a swaggering thing it will be to do, and how

amusing to tell about; the whole army will talk about it, and it will

give you a famous reputation.'

"I hesitated, for the adventure rather tempted me, and so he persisted:

'Come, my little Garens. You are the head of this detachment, and you

alone can go and call on the head of the church in this neighborhood. I

beg of you to go, and I promise you that after the war, I will relate

the whole affair in verse in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_. You owe this

much to your men, for you have made them march enough during the last

month.'

"I got up at last and asked: 'Where is the parsonage?' 'Take the second

turning at the end of the street, you will see an avenue, and at the end

of the avenue you will find the church. The parsonage is beside it.' As

I went out, he called out: 'Tell him the bill of fare, to make him

hungry!'

* * * * *

"I discovered the ecclesiastic's little house without any difficulty; it

was by the side of a large, ugly, brick church. I knocked at the door

with my fist, as there was neither bell nor knocker, and a loud voice

from inside asked: 'Who is there?' To which I replied: 'A quarter-master

of the hussars.'

"I heard the noise of bolts and of a key being turned, and I found

myself face to face with a tall priest with a large stomach, the chest

of a prize-fighter, formidable hands projecting from turned up sleeves,

a red face and the looks of a kind man. I gave him a military salute and

said: 'Good day, Monsieur le Curé.'

"He had feared a surprise, some marauders' ambush, and he smiled as he

replied: 'Good day, my friend; come in.' I followed him into a small

room with a red tiled floor, in which a small fire was burning, very

different to Marchas' furnace, and he gave me a chair and said: 'What

can I do for you?' 'Monsieur, allow me first of all to introduce

myself;' and I gave him my card, which he took and read half aloud: _The

Comte de Garens_.

"I continued: 'There are eleven of us here, Monsieur l'Abbé, five on

grand guard, and six installed at the house of an unknown inhabitant.

The names of the six are, Garens, (that is I), Pierre de Marchas,

Ludovic de Ponderel, Baron d'Etreillis, Karl Massouligny, the painter's

son and Joseph Herbon, a young musician. I have come to ask you, in

their name and my own, to do us the honor of supping with us. It is an

Epiphany supper, Monsieur le Curé, and we should like to make it a

little cheerful.'

"The priest smiled and murmured: 'It seems to me to be hardly a suitable

occasion for amusing oneself.' And I replied: 'We are fighting every

day, Monsieur. Fourteen of our comrades have been killed in a month, and

three fell, as late as yesterday. That is war. We stake our lives every

moment, have we not, therefore, the right to amuse ourselves freely? We

are Frenchmen, we like to laugh, and we can laugh everywhere. Our

fathers laughed on the scaffold! This evening we should like to brighten

ourselves up a little, like gentlemen, and not like soldiers; you

understand me, I hope. Are we wrong?'

"He replied quickly: 'You are quite right, my friend, and I accept your

invitation with great pleasure.' Then he called out: 'Hermance!'

"An old bent, wrinkled, horrible, peasant woman appeared and said: 'What

do you want?' 'I shall not dine at home, my daughter.' 'Where are you

going to dine then?' 'With some gentlemen, hussars.'

"I felt inclined to say: 'Bring your servant with you, just to see

Marchas's face,' but I did not venture to, but continued: 'Do you know

anyone among your parishioners, male or female, whom I could invite as

well?' He hesitated, reflected, and then said: 'No, I do not know

anybody!'

"I persisted: 'Nobody! Come, Monsieur, think; It would be very nice to

have some ladies, I mean to say, some married couples! I know nothing

about your parishioners. The baker and his wife, the grocer, the ... the

... the ... watchmaker ... the ... shoemaker ... the ... the chemist

with Mrs. chemist.... We have a good spread, and plenty of wine, and we

should be enchanted to leave pleasant recollections of ourselves behind

us, with the people here.'

"The priest thought again for a long time, and then resolutely: 'No,

there is nobody.' I began to laugh. 'By Jove, Monsieur le Curé, it is

very vexing not to have an Epiphany queen, for we have the bean. Come,

think. Is there not a married Mayor, or a married Deputy-Mayor, or a

married Municipal Concilor or schoolmaster?' 'No, all the ladies have

gone away.' 'What, is there not in the whole place some good tradesman's

wife with her good tradesman, to whom we might give this pleasure, for

it would be a pleasure to them, a great pleasure under present

circumstances?'

"But suddenly the Curé began to laugh, and he laughed so violently that

he fairly shook. And exclaimed: 'Ha! ha! ha! I have got what you want,

yes. I have got what you want! Ha! ha! ha! We will laugh and enjoy

ourselves, my children, we will have some fun. How pleased the ladies

will be, I say, how delighted they will be. Ha! ha!... Where are you

staying?'

"I described the house, and he understood where it was. 'Very good,' he

said. 'It belongs to Monsieur Bertin Lavaille. I will be there in half

an hour, with four ladies!!!... Ha! ha! ha! four ladies!!!...'

"He went out with me, still laughing, and left me, repeating; 'That is

capital; in half an hour at Bertin-Lavaille's house.'

"I returned quickly, very much astonished and very much puzzled. 'Covers

for how many?' Marchas asked, as soon as he saw me. 'Eleven. There are

six of us hussars, besides the priest and four ladies.' He was

thunderstruck, and I triumphant, and he repeated: 'Four ladies! Did you

say, four ladies?' 'I said: four women.' 'Real women?' 'Real women.'

'Well accept my compliments!' 'I will, for I deserve them.'

"He got out of his armchair, opened the door and I saw a beautiful,

white tablecloth on a long table, round which three hussars in blue

aprons were setting out the plates and glasses. 'There are some women

coming!' Marchas cried. And three men began to dance and to cheer with

all their might.

"Everything was ready, and we were waiting. We waited for nearly an

hour, while a delicious smell of roast poultry pervaded the whole house.

At last, however, a knock against the shutters, made us all jump up at

the same moment. Stout Ponderel ran to open the door, and in less than a

minute a little Sister of Mercy appeared in the doorway. She was thin,

wrinkled and timid, and successively saluted the four bewildered hussars

who saw her enter. Behind her, the noise of sticks sounded on the tiled

floor in the vestibule, and as soon as she had come into the

drawing-room, I saw three old heads in white caps, following each other

one by one, who came in balancing themselves with different movements,

one canting to the right, while the other canted to the left. And three

worthy women showed themselves, limping, dragging their legs behind

them, crippled by illness and deformed through old age, three infirm old

women, past service, the only three pensioners in the establishment

which Sister Saint-Benedict managed, who were able to walk.

"She had turned round to her invalids, full of anxiety for them, and

then seeing my quarter-master's stripes, she said to me: 'I am much

obliged to you for thinking of these poor women. They have very little

pleasure in life, and you are at the same time giving them a great treat

and doing them a great honor.'

"I saw the priest, who had remained in the obscurity of the passage, and

who was laughing heartily, and I began to laugh in my turn, especially

when I saw Marchas's face. Then motioning the nun to the seats I said:

'Sit down, Sister: we are very proud and very happy that you have

accepted our unpretentious invitation.'

"She took three chairs which stood against the wall, set them before the

fire, led her three old women to them, settled them on them, took their

sticks and shawls which she put into a corner, and then, pointing to the

first, a thin woman with an enormous stomach, who was evidently

suffering from the dropsy, she said: 'This is Mother Paumelle, whose

husband was killed by falling from a roof, and whose son died in Africa;

she is sixty years old.' Then she pointed to another, a tall woman,

whose head trembled unceasingly: 'This is Mother Jean-Jean, who is

sixty-seven. She is nearly blind, for her face was terribly singed in a

fire, and her right leg was half burnt off.'

"Then she pointed to the third, a sort of dwarf, with protruding, round,

stupid eyes, which she rolled incessantly in all directions. 'This is la

Putois, an idiot. She is only forty-four.'

"I bowed to the three women as if I were presented to some Royal

Highness, and turning to the priest I said: 'You are an excellent man

Monsieur l'Abbé, to whom all of us here owe a debt of gratitude.'

"Everybody was laughing, in fact, except Marchas, who seemed furious and

just then Karl Massouligny cried: 'Sister Saint-Benedict, supper is on

the table!'

"I made her go first with the priest, then I helped up Mother Paumelle,

whose arm I took and dragged her into the next room, which was no easy

task, for her swollen stomach seemed heavier than a lump of iron.

"Stout Ponderel gave her arm to Mother Jean-Jean, who bemoaned her

crutch, and little Joseph Herbon took the idiot, la Putois to the

dining-room, which was filled with the odor of the viands.

"As soon as we were opposite our plates, the Sister clapped her hands

three times, and, with the precision of soldiers presenting arms, the

women made a rapid sign of the cross, and then the priest slowly

repeated the _Benedictus_ in Latin. Then we sat down, and the two fowls

appeared, brought in by Marchas, who chose to wait on them, as to sit

down as a guest, to this ridiculous repast.

"But I cried: 'Bring the champagne at once!' and a cork flew out with

the noise of a pistol, and in spite of the resistance of the priest and

the kind Sister, the three hussars sitting by the side of the three

invalids, emptied their three full glasses down their throats, by force.

"Massouligny, who possessed the faculty of making himself at home, and

on being on good terms with everyone, wherever he was, made love to

Mother Paumelle, in the drollest manner. The dropsical woman, who had

retained her cheerfulness in spite of her misfortunes, answered him

banteringly in a high falsetto voice which appeared as if it were put

on, and she laughed so heartily at her neighbor's jokes, that her large

stomach looked as if it were going to rise up and get onto the table.

Little Herbon had seriously undertaken the task of making the idiot

drunk, and Baron d'Etreillis whose wits were not always particularly

sharp, was questioning old Jean-Jean about the life, the habits, and the

rules in the hospital.

"The nun said to Massouligny in consternation: 'Oh! oh! you will make

her ill; pray do not make her laugh like that, Monsieur. Oh!

Monsieur....' Then she got up and rushed at Herbon to take a full glass

out of his hands which he was hastily emptying down la Putois' throat,

while the priest shook with laughter, and said to the Sister: 'Never

mind, just this once, it will not hurt her. Do leave them alone.'

"After the two fowls they ate the duck, which was flanked by the three

pigeons and the blackbird, and then the goose appeared, smoking,

golden-colored, and diffusing a warm odor of hot, browned fat meat. La

Paumelle who was getting lively, clapped her hands; la Jean-Jean left

off answering the Baron's numerous questions, and la Putois uttered

grunts of pleasure, half cries and half sighs, like little children do

when one shows them sweets. 'Allow me to take charge of this animal,'

the _Curé_ said. 'I understand these sort of operations better than most

people.' 'Certainly, Monsieur l'Abbé,' and the Sister said: 'How would

it be to open the window a little; they are too warm, and I am afraid

they will be ill.'

"I turned to Marchas: 'Open the window for a minute.' He did so, the

cold outer air as it came in, made the candles flare, and the smoke

from the goose, which the _Curé_ was scientifically carving, with a

table napkin round his neck, whirl about. We watched him doing it,

without speaking now, for we were interested in his attractive

handiwork, and seized with renewed appetite at the sight of that

enormous golden-colored bird, whose limbs fell one after another into

the brown gravy at the bottom of the dish. And at that moment, in the

midst of that greedy silence which kept us all attentive, the distant

report of a shot came in at the open window.

* * * * *

"I started to my feet so quickly, that my chair fell down behind me, and

I shouted: 'Mount, all of you! You, Marchas, will take two men and go

and see what it is. I shall expect you back here in five minutes.' And

while the three riders went off at full gallop through the night, I got

into the saddle with my three remaining hussars, in front of the steps

of the villa, while the _Curé_, the Sister and the three old women

showed their frightened faces at the window.

"We heard nothing more, except the barking of a dog in the distance. The

rain had ceased, and it was cold, very cold, and soon I heard the gallop

of a horse, of a single horse, coming back. It was Marchas, and I called

out to him: 'Well?' 'It is nothing; François has wounded an old peasant

who refused to answer his challenge: "Who goes there?" and who continued

to advance, in spite of the order to keep off; but they are bringing him

here, and we shall see what is the matter.'

"I gave orders for the horses to be put back into the stable, and I sent

my two soldiers to meet the others, and returned to the house. Then the

_Curé_, Marchas and I took a mattress into the room to put the wounded

man on; the Sister tore up a table napkin, in order to make lint, while

the three frightened women remained huddled up in a corner.

"Soon I heard the rattle of sabres on the road, and I took a candle to

show a light to the men who were returning; and they soon appeared,

carrying that inert, soft, long and sinister object which a human body

becomes when life no longer sustains it.

* * * * *

"They put the wounded man on the mattress that had been prepared for

him, and I saw at the first glance that he was dying. He had the death

rattle and was spitting up blood, which ran out of the corners of his

mouth, forced out of his mouth by his gasps. The man was covered with

it! His cheeks, his beard, his hair, his neck and his clothes seemed to

have been rubbed, to have been dipped in a red tub; and that blood stuck

to him, and had become a dull color, which was horrible to look at.

"The old man, wrapped up in a large shepherd's cloak, occasionally

opened his dull, vacant eyes, which seemed stupid with astonishment,

like those of animals which a sportsman kills, and which fall at his

feet, more than half dead already, stupefied with fear and astonishment.

"The _Curé_ exclaimed: 'Ah! there is old Placide, the shepherd, from les

Marlins. He is deaf, poor man, and heard nothing. Ah! Oh God! they have

killed the unhappy man!' The Sister had opened his blouse and shirt, and

was looking at a little blue hole in the middle of his chest, which was

not bleeding any more. 'There is nothing to be done,' she said.

"The shepherd was gasping terribly and bringing up blood with every last

breath, and in his throat, to the very depth of his lungs, they could

hear an ominous and continued gurgling. The Curé, standing in front of

him, raised his right hand, made the sign of the cross, and in a slow

and solemn voice pronounced the Latin words which purify men's souls,

but before they were finished the old man was shaken by a rapid shock,

as if something had broken inside him; he no longer breathed. He was

dead.

"When I turned round, I saw a sight which was even more horrible than

the death struggle of this unfortunate man; the three old women were

standing up huddled close together; hideous, and grimacing with fear and

horror. I went up to them, and they began to utter shrill screams, while

la Jean-Jean, whose leg had been burnt, and could not longer support

her, fell to the ground at full length.

"Sister Saint-Benedict left the dead man, ran up to her infirm old

women, and without a word or a look for me, wrapped their shawls round

them, gave them their crutches, pushed them to the door, made them go

out, and disappeared with them into the dark night.

"I saw that I could not even let a hussar accompany them, for the mere

rattle of a sword would have sent them mad with fear.

"The _Curé_ was still looking at the dead man; but at last he turned

round to me and said:

"'Oh! What a horrible thing!'"