THE CROWN OF ANGE'S LOVE.
A little over a year after the execution of the king and the departure
of Gilbert, his son, and Billet, on a fine, cold morning of the hard
winter of 1794, three or four hundred persons--that is, a sixth of
the population of Villers Cotterets--waited on the square before the
manor-house and in the mayor's yard for the coming out of two married
folks whom Mayor Longpre was uniting in the holy bonds. These were Ange
Pitou and Catherine Billet.
Alas! it had taken many grave events to bring the flame of Viscount
Charny, the mother of little Isidore, to become Mistress Pitou.
Everybody was chattering over these events; but in whatever manner they
related and discussed them, there was always something to the greater
glory of the devotion of Ange Pitou and the good behavior of Billet's
daughter.
Only, the more interesting the couple were, the more they were pitied.
Perhaps they were happier than any in the crowd; but human nature is
inclined that way--it must pity or applaud!
On this occasion it was in the compassionate vein.
Indeed, what Cagliostro had foreseen, had come on rapidly, leaving a
long track of blood after it.
On the 1st of February, 1793, the issue of more paper money was agreed.
In March, the fugitive nobles were perpetually banished and their
property confiscated. In November, a new kind of religion was proposed
instead of the established church.
The result of the confiscation decree was, that Billet and Gilbert
being considered fugitives, their lands were seized for the public
good. The same fate befell the estates of the Charnys, the count having
been killed and the countess murdered in prison.
The consequence to Catherine was that she was turned out of Billet's
farm, which was national property. Pitou wanted to protest, but Pitou
was a moderate and a "suspect," and wise souls advised him not to
oppose the orders of the nation in will or deed.
So Catherine and Pitou had gone over to Haramont.
She had thought of taking refuge in Daddy Clovis's lodge, but he
appeared at the door to lay his finger on his lips and shake his head
in token of impossibility; the place was already occupied.
The law on the banishment of refractory priests was still in force,
and it is easy to understand that Father Fortier had banished himself,
as he would not take the oath. But he had not felt like passing the
frontier, and his exile was limited to his leaving his house in charge
of his sister, to see the furniture was not stolen, and asking Clovis
for shelter, which was granted.
This retreat was only a cave, and it would with difficulty hold, in
addition to the corpulent priest, Catherine, little Isidore, and Pitou.
Besides, we recall the refusal of the priest to bury Mrs. Billet.
Catherine was not good Christian enough to overlook the unkindness, and
had she been so, the Abbe Fortier was too good a Catholic to forgive
her.
So they had to give up the idea of staying with old Clovis.
This choice lay between Aunt Angelique's house and Pitou's lodgings at
Haramont.
They dared not think of the former. As the revolution had followed
its course, Angelique had become more and more diabolic, which seems
incredible, and thinner, which seems impossible.
This change in her temper and her physique arose from the fact that the
churches were closed at Villers as elsewhere, awaiting the invention
of a reasonable and civic cult, according to the Board of Public
Instruction. The churches being shut, Aunt Angelique's principal
revenue, from letting seats, fell into disuse.
It was the drying up of her income which made her Tartar--we beg
pardon, tarter and bonier than ever.
Let us add that she had so often heard the story of Pitou and Billet
capturing the Bastile, and had so often seen them start off for Paris
whenever any great event was to take place, that she did not in the
least doubt that the French Revolution was led by Ange Pitou and Farmer
Billet, with Citizens Danton, Marat, Robespierre & Co., playing the
secondary parts.
The priest's sister fostered her in these somewhat erroneous opinions,
to which the regicidal vote of Billet had given the seal on heated
fanaticism.
Pitou ought not to think of placing the regicide's daughter under
Angelique's roof.
As for the petty accommodation at Haramont, how could he think of
installing two--there were three--souls in two rooms; while if they
were comfortable, it would set evil tongues wagging?
It was more out of the question than Clovis's hut.
So Pitou made up his mind to beg shelter for himself of Desire
Maniquet. That worthy son of Haramont gave the hospitality which Pitou
paid for in kind; but all this did not provide Catherine with a fixed
habitation.
Pitou showed her all the attentions of a loving friend and the
affection of a brother; but poor Catherine was well aware that he did
not love her like friend or brother.
Little Isidore had something of the same idea; for the poor child,
having never known the Viscount of Charny, loved him more perhaps, for
Pitou was not merely the sweetheart of Catherine, but his slave.
A skillful strategist must have understood that the way to win
Catherine's heart was through the help of the little one.
But we hasten to say that no such calculation tarnished the purity of
Pitou's sentiments. He was just the simple fellow we met him at the
first, unless, on becoming a man, he became simpler than ever.
All his good gifts touched Catherine. She saw that Pitou adored her
ardently, to the point of fanaticism, and she caught herself wishing
that she could repay so great a love and utter devotion with something
better than friendship.
Gradually, by dint of dwelling on her isolation from all the world,
Pitou excepted, and on her boy being left alone if she were to die,
Pitou again excepted, she came to giving Pitou the only reward in her
power--her hand.
Alas, her first love, that perfumed flower of youth, was in heaven!
For six months Catherine had been nourishing this conclusion without
Pitou suspecting that the wind was blowing up in his favor, though her
welcoming was a shade warmer and her parting a trifle more lingering
each time; so she was forced to speak the first--but women take the
lead in such matters.
One evening, instead of offering her hand, she held up her cheek for
a kiss. Pitou thought she had forgot, and was too honest to take
advantage of a mistake.
But Catherine had not let go his hand, and she drew him closer to her.
Seeing him still hesitate, little Isidore joined in, saying:
"Why won't you kiss Mamma Catherine, Papa Pitou?"
"Good gracious!" gasped Pitou, turning pale as if about to die, but
letting his cold and trembling lip touch her cheek.
Taking the boy up, she put him in Pitou's arms, and said:
"I give you the boy, Ange; will you have the mother?"
This time, it was too much for the swain, whose head swam; he shut his
eyes, and while he hugged the child, he dropped on a chair, and panted
with the delicacy which only a delicate heart could appreciate:
"Oh, Master Isidore, how very fond I am of you!"
Isidore called Pitou "Papa Pitou," but Pitou called him "Master
Isidore."
That is why, as he felt that love for her son had made Catherine love
Ange, he did not say:
"Oh, how dearly I love you, Catherine!"
This point settled that Pitou thought more of Isidore than of
Catherine, they spoke of marriage.
"I don't want to seem in a hurry," said the man, "but if you mean to
make me happy, do not be too long about it."
Catherine took a month.
At the end of three weeks Ange, in full regimentals, went respectfully
to pay a visit to Aunt Angelique, with the aim to inform her of his
near at hand union with Catherine Billet.
Seeing her nephew from afar, she hastened to shut her door. But he
did not hold back from the inhospitable door whence he had once been
expelled.
He rapped gently.
"Who is there?" snarled Angelique, in her sourest voice.
"I--your dutiful nephew, Ange Pitou."
"Go on your bloody way, you September man of massacre!" cried Aunt
Angelique.
"Auntie, I come to tell you of a bit of news which can not fail to make
you jolly, because it is my happiness."
"What is the news, you red-capped Jacobin?"
"I will tell you if you open the door."
"Say it through the door; I shall not open it to a breechless outlaw
like you."
"If there is no other way, here you have it--I am going to get married."
The door flew open as by magic.
"Who are you going to marry, you wretched fellow?" asked the old
spinster.
"Catherine Billet, please."
"Oh, the villain, the scamp, the regicide!" said the good soul; "he
marries a ruined girl! Get you gone, scapegrace; I curse you!"
With a gesture quite noble, she held up her dry and yellow hands toward
her nephew.
"Dear aunt," replied the young man, "you ought to know that I am too
well hardened to your maledictions to care a fig for them. I only
wanted to do the proper thing by inviting you to dance at my wedding;
if you won't come, still I have asked you to shake a leg--"
"Shake a--fy, for shame!"
"Fare thee well, sweet Aunt Angelique!"
Touching his cocked hat in the military manner, Pitou made a salute to
his relative and hurried away.