HOW ARNAULD DU THILL CAUSED ARNAULD DU THILL TO
BE HANGED AT NOYON
During the first day Arnauld du Thill had no unfortunate encounter, and
pursued his journey with reasonable celerity. He met parties of the
enemy from time to time along the road,--German deserters, disbanded
Englishmen, and Spaniards insolent in the pride of conquest; for there
were more foreigners than Frenchmen at this time in our poor debased
France. But to all questioners Arnauld proudly exhibited Lord
Wentworth's safe-conduct; and all of them, not without some regretful
grumbling, thought best to respect the signature of the governor of
Calais.
Nevertheless, on the second day, in the neighborhood of St. Quentin, a
detachment of Spaniards undertook to get the better of him by claiming
that his horse was not included in the safe-conduct, and that they might
conclude to confiscate him; but the false Martin-Guerre was firm as a
rock, and demanded to be taken to their commander, whereupon they
released the sharp fellow and his horse without more ado.
However, the adventure served as a useful lesson to him, and he resolved
henceforward to avoid as far as possible all meetings with armed bands.
But it was a difficult matter; the enemy, although they had gained no
decisive advantage by the capture of St. Quentin, nevertheless occupied
all the surrounding country. Le Catelet, Ham, Noyon, and Chauny were in
their hands; and when Arnauld found himself before Noyon, on the evening
of the second day, he made up his mind that his best plan was to avoid
the town by a detour, and not put up for the night until he came to the
next settlement.
In order to do this he had to leave the high-road. Arnauld, being but
little acquainted with the country, lost his way; as he was trying to
get back into the right road again, he suddenly found himself at a turn
in the path in the midst of a detachment of armed men, who likewise
seemed to be in search of something.
It is easier to imagine than describe Arnauld's intense satisfaction
when he heard one of them cry out as soon as he caught sight of him,--
"Hallo! If here isn't that miserable Arnauld du Thill now!"
"Arnauld du Thill on horseback?" said another of the party.
"Great Heaven!" said the squire to himself, turning pale, "I seem to be
known hereabouts; and if I am really recognized, it's all over with me."
It was too late, however, for him to turn about and make his escape, for
the soldiers were all around him. Fortunately it was already pretty
dark.
"Who are you, and where are you going?" one of them asked him.
"My name is Martin-Guerre," replied Arnauld, trembling with fear; "I am
the squire of Vicomte d'Exmès, now a prisoner at Calais, and I am on my
way to Paris to procure the money for his ransom. Here is a safe-conduct
signed by Lord Wentworth, governor of Calais."
The leader of the troop called one of his men, who carried a torch, and
began with very serious mien to examine Arnauld's pass.
"The seal is all right," said he; "and the pass seems to be genuine. You
have told the truth, my friend; and you may go on about your business."
"Thanks," said Arnauld, breathing again.
"One word more, my friend. You have not chanced to meet on your way a
man who had the appearance of a fugitive, a rascally gallows-bird, who
answers to the name of Arnauld du Thill?"
"I don't know any such man as Arnauld du Thill," was Arnauld du Thill's
hasty reply.
"Perhaps you don't know him, my friend; but you might have met him among
these by-paths. He is about your height, and as well as one can judge in
this darkness, of somewhat the same build. But he is by no means so well
dressed as you, I must admit. He wears a brown cape, round hat, and gray
leggings, and he should be in hiding somewhere in the direction that you
came from. The villain! Oh, if he but fall into our hands just once
more, that devilish scoundrel!"
"What has he done, pray?" inquired Arnauld, hesitatingly.
"What has he done? This is the third time that he has escaped from us.
He claims that we made his life too hard for him. I think he's right
too! When he ran away the first time he carried off his master's light
o' love. Surely that deserved punishment. Then he had nothing to pay for
his ransom. He has been sold over and over again, and has passed from
hand to hand, and was the property of anybody who wanted him. It was no
more than fair that since he could be of no value to us, he should
entertain us; but that made him proud, and he didn't choose to do it any
longer, so he ran away again. Now, this makes the third time that he has
done it, and if we catch the blackguard again!"
"What will you do to him?" asked Arnauld, again.
"The first time we beat him; the second time we half killed him; and the
third time we will hang him!"
"Hang him!" echoed Arnauld, in alarm.
"To the nearest tree, my good fellow; and without trial. He is ours. To
hang him will amuse us, and teach him a lesson. Look to your right, my
friend. Do you see that gallows? Well, we shall string up Arnauld du
Thill on that very gallows the moment we succeed in capturing him."
"Oh, indeed!" said Arnauld, with rather constrained merriment.
"It's just as I tell you, my friend! so if you meet the rascal, just
take him in hand, and bring him to us; we will not forget the service.
Until then, farewell."
Thereupon they were leaving him, but he, feeling immensely relieved,
called them back.
"Pardon me, masters, but one good turn deserves another! I am completely
astray, you see, and have not the slightest idea where I am; so just set
my compass right for me, will you?"
"That's very easily done, my friend," said the trooper. "Those walls
behind you and the postern-gate that you can just distinguish in the
darkness are part of Noyon. You are looking too far to the right, toward
the gallows; look more to the left, where you see the pikes of our
comrades glistening, for our company is doing guard-duty to-night at
that postern. Now, turn about and you have in front of you the road from
Paris through the wood. About twenty paces from here the road forks. You
may turn to the right or left, as you think best. The roads are of equal
length, and come together at the ferry over the Oise about a fourth of a
league from here. Having crossed the ferry, bear always to the right.
The first village is Auvray, a league from the ferry. Now you know as
much as we do, my friend. A pleasant journey to you!"
"Thanks, and good-evening," said Arnauld, putting his horse to a trot.
The directions they had given him were very accurate. Twenty paces away
he came to the fork, and left the selection to his horse, who chose the
left-hand road.
The night was very dark, and the forest doubly so. However, in about ten
minutes Arnauld arrived at a clearing in the woods; and the moon,
breaking through the clouds, cast a feeble and uncertain light upon the
road.
At that moment the squire was thinking of the fright he had had, and of
the strange adventure which had put his _sang-froid_ to the test. Though
his mind was at ease as to the past, he could not contemplate the future
without misgiving.
"This must be the real Martin-Guerre, whom they are hunting under my
name," he thought. "But the gallows-bird has got away! I shall find him
at Paris as soon as I get there myself, very likely, and a fine contest
I shall have on my hands in that case. I know that nothing but impudence
can carry me through; but it may be my destruction. Why need the
blackguard have escaped h He is getting to be a great nuisance
certainly; and it would be a great kindness to me if those brave fellows
would hang him. He is decidedly my evil genius."
This edifying monologue was yet unfinished when Arnauld, who had a very
keen and practised sight, saw or thought he saw, a hundred paces or so
ahead of him, a man, or more properly speaking, a shadow, which, as he
drew near, suddenly disappeared in a ditch.
"Hallo! another ill-timed meeting,--an ambush perhaps," thought the
prudent Arnauld.
He tried to plunge into the woods, but the ditch was impassable for
horseman and horse. He waited a few moments, then ventured to look
around. The phantom, which had raised its head, disappeared as quickly
as before.
"Can it be that he is as much afraid of me as I am of him?" said Arnauld
to himself. "Are we equally anxious to avoid each other? Well, I must do
something, since this infernal undergrowth prevents my going across
through the woods to the other road. Must I go back to the fork in the
road! That would be the surest way. May I not bravely put my horse on
the run and pass my man like a flash? That would be the shortest way to
do. He is on foot, and unless a shot from an arquebuse--but no, I won't
give him time for that."
No sooner resolved than carried out. Arnauld drove both spurs into his
horse's sides, and went by the man in ambush or hiding like a streak of
lightning.
The man did not stir.
That rather lessened Arnauld's terror; he pulled up his horse, and even
went back a few steps, acting upon a thought that had suddenly occurred
to him.
Still the man gave no sign of life.
Thereupon all Arnauld's courage came back to him; and now, almost
certain that he was right in his conjecture, he rode straight up to the
ditch.
But at this juncture, and before he had time even to utter an
exclamation, the man gave one leap, and releasing Arnauld' right foot
from the stirrup with a sudden movement, and throwing it roughly over
the saddle, he cast the squire from his horse, fell to the ground upon
him, and seized him by the throat with his knee on his chest.
All this took place in less than twenty seconds.
"Who are you? What do you want?" asked the victor of his fallen foe.
"Let me get up, I beseech you!" said the almost strangled voice of
Arnauld, who felt that he had met his master. "I am a Frenchman; but I
have a safe-conduct from Lord Wentworth, governor of Calais."
"If you are a Frenchman," said the man,--"and in truth you seem not to
have an accent like all these demons of foreigners,--I have no need of
your passport. But what made you approach me in such an extraordinary
way?"
"I thought that I saw a man in the ditch," said Arnauld, as the pressure
on his chest was somewhat relaxed; "and I was coming to see if it wasn't
a wounded man, and if there wasn't something I could do for him."
"Your purpose was good," said the man, withdrawing his hand and taking
away his knee. "Come, get up, comrade," he added, extending his hand to
Arnauld, who was soon on his feet. "I gave you rather a--rather a rough
welcome; but you must excuse me, because I have no mind just now to have
anybody interfering with my affairs. But you are a fellow-countryman,
which is a very different matter; and far from injuring me, you may do
me a great service. Let us get to know each other first. My name is
Martin-Guerre; and yours?"
"Mine? Mine? It's Bertrand," said Arnauld, with a start; for being alone
with him at night, and in that dense forest, this man, whom he
ordinarily ruled completely by virtue of his cunning and shrewdness, now
quite as completely had him in his power by virtue of his strength and
courage.
Fortunately for Arnauld, the darkness assured his remaining
unrecognized, and he did his best to disguise his voice.
"Well, friend Bertrand," continued Martin-Guerre, "let me tell you that
I am an escaped prisoner, and that I got away this morning for the
second time (my captors say for the third) from these Spaniards and
English and Germans and Flemings; in short, from this whole catalogue of
foes who have settled down upon our poor land like a swarm of locusts.
For may I be hanged if France is not at this moment another Tower of
Babel! For the last month I have belonged, just as you see me now, to
twenty jabberers of different nationalities; and each patois was always
harsher and more outlandish to listen to than the last. I was tired to
death of being harried from village to village, which was done to me so
much that I began to think they were simply making sport of me, and
amusing themselves by tormenting me. They were forever blackguarding me
about some pretty little witch named Gudule, who was supposed to have
fallen in love with me so madly apparently as to have run away with me."
"Aha!" ejaculated Arnauld.
"I am just telling you what they told me. Well, their raillery tired me
so much that one fine morning I took to my heels, all alone, however. As
bad luck would have it, they caught me, and pounded me so that I had to
pity myself. But what was the good of it all? They threatened to hang me
if I did it again, but that only made me all the more anxious to attempt
it; and this morning, seizing a favorable opportunity while they were
arranging their quarters at Noyon, I gave my tyrants the slip again
finely. God knows how eagerly they have been hunting for me to hang me!
But as I am strongly opposed to that conclusion of the affair, I have
been perched up in a tall tree here in the woods all day, waiting for
night to come; and I couldn't help laughing, although rather feebly, to
see them pass right under my feet, cursing and swearing. When it became
dark, I left my observatory. Now, in the first place, I have lost myself
in the woods, having never been here before; and in the second place, I
am dying of hunger, not having had a morsel between my teeth for
twenty-four hours, except a few leaves and roots, which do not make a
bountiful meal. That is why I fell down from weakness, as you can easily
understand."
"Phew!" said Arnauld. "I didn't understand it that way just now; on the
contrary, you seemed to me, I must confess, to be quite vigorous."
"Oh, yes," said Martin, "because I pommelled you a little. However,
don't be angry about it. It was the fever of hunger that lent strength
to my arm. But now you are my Providence; for you, being a
fellow-countryman, surely will not let me fall into the hands of those
fellows again, will you?"
"No, to be sure I will not, if I can help you in any way," replied
Arnauld du Thill, who was reflecting in his shrewd way upon what Martin
had said.
He began to see light on the subject of regaining his advantage, which
had been put in some peril by the strong grasp of his double.
"You can do a great deal for me," Martin-Guerre went on ingenuously.
"Are you not somewhat acquainted with this neighborhood?"
"I belong in Auvray, a quarter of a league from here," said Arnauld.
"Are you on your way there?"
"No, I am just coming from there," replied the crafty knave, after a
moment's hesitation.
"Does Auvray lie in that direction, then?" asked Martin, pointing toward
Noyon.
"Exactly so," replied Arnauld; "it is the first village out of Noyon on
the road to Paris."
"On the road to Paris!" cried Martin; "well, just see, then, how a man
may get turned around in the woods! I fancied that my back was turned to
Noyon, whereas I was really coming back to it; that I was going toward
Paris, whereas I was really getting farther away. The cursed country is
entirely strange to me, as I was just telling you. So it seems that I
must travel in the direction from which you came to avoid walking into
the wolfs jaws."
"You are quite right, Master! I am going to Noyon; but walk with me a
few steps. We shall find at the ferry over the Oise, close by, another
road which will take you to Auvray more directly."
"I am very much obliged, friend Bertrand," said Martin; "to be sure, I
want to be as sparing of my steps as possible, for I am very tired and
very weak, having, as I was telling you, about as little sustenance in
me as I well could have. You don't happen to have anything to eat about
you, friend Bertrand, do you? If you have, you will have saved me twice
over,--once from the English, and again from starvation, which is quite
as terrible as they."
"Alas!" was Arnauld's reply, "I haven't a crumb in my haversack! But if
you care for a draught of good wine, why, my calash is quite full."
In fact, Babette had taken care to fill her unfaithful swain's calash
with _vin de Chypre_,--a very potent wine of the period; and Arnauld up
to that time had indulged very sparingly, so as to retain his rather
easily upset reasoning powers amid the perils of the road.
"I think I should be more than glad of a drink!" cried Martin-Guerre,
enthusiastically. "A draught of wine is sure to enliven me a bit."
"Well, then, take it and drink away, my good fellow!" said Arnauld,
offering him his calash.
"Thanks! And may God requite you!" said Martin, who set to work
unsuspiciously to drown his sorrows in the wine, which was as
treacherous as he who offered it, and whose fumes almost immediately
began to work upon his brain, which was easily affected on account of
his long abstinence from food.
"Well, well," said he, hilariously, "this light wine of yours doesn't
lack fire!"
"Oh, _mon Dieu_! it's quite harmless!" said Arnauld; "I drink two
bottles at every meal. But as the evening is very fine, let us sit here
on the grass awhile; and do you take a good rest, and drink at your
leisure. I have time enough; and I shall be all right if I reach Noyon
before ten o'clock, which is the hour for closing the gates. But you,
although Auvray still flies the standard of France, are nevertheless
likely to meet with troublesome patrolling parties if you follow the
high-road so early; while if you leave it, you will lose your way again.
The best course will be for us to stay here awhile, and quietly talk
matters over. Where were you made prisoner?"
"I don't quite know," said Martin-Guerre, "for there are two
contradictory versions of that matter, just as there are of almost the
whole of my unfortunate life,--one which I believe myself, and another
which I hear from others. For instance, I am assured that it was at the
battle of St. Laurent that I surrendered at discretion; while my own
idea is that I was not present on that occasion, and that it was
somewhat later than that I fell into the hands of a party of the
enemy all by myself."
"What do you mean?" asked Arnauld, feigning incredulity. "Have you two
histories, pray? Your adventures seem very interesting and instructive,
to say the least of them. I must confess that I am extravagantly fond of
such tales. Just take a good drink to freshen up your memory, and tell
me something of your life. You are not from Picardy?"
"No," replied Martin, after a pause, which he occupied in drinking three
fourths of the contents of the calash; "no, I am from the
South,--Artigues."
"A fine country, they say. Is your family there?"
"My wife and children, my good friend," replied Martin, who had become
very expansive and confidential under the influence of the Chypre.
Being stimulated partly by Arnauld's questions and partly by his
constant libations, he began to narrate with great volubility his whole
history, even to its least detail,--his youth, his love-affairs, and his
marriage; that his wife was a very charming woman, notwithstanding a
slight failing in regard to her hand, which was too quick and too heavy
at once. In truth, a blow from a woman was no dishonor to a man,
although it was rather tiresome in the long run. That was why
Martin-Guerre had left his too-emphatic wife. Then followed a
circumstantial account of the causes, details, and sequel of the rupture
between them. However, he loved her still at heart,--his dear Bertrande!
He still wore on his finger his iron marriage-ring, and over his heart
the two or three letters which Bertrande had written the first time they
ever were separated. As he told of this, the honest fellow wept. It was
decidedly tender-hearted wine. He would have liked to go on with the
details of everything that had happened to him since he entered the
service of Vicomte d'Exmès; that a demon had pursued him; that he,
Martin-Guerre, was double, and did not recognize himself at all in his
other existence. But this portion of his narrative seemed less
interesting to Arnauld du Thill, who kept luring him back to talk of his
childhood and his father's house, of his friends and kinsfolk at
Artigues, and of Bertrande's charms and failings.
In less than two hours the treacherous Arnauld, by dint of skilful and
persistent questioning, knew all that he cared to know about the former
habits and the most private concerns of poor Martin-Guerre.
At the end of two hours Martin, with his head on fire, rose, or rather
tried to rise; for as soon as he moved, he stumbled and fell heavily
back onto his seat.
"Well, well, what's the matter?" said he, with a loud laugh which was a
long while dying out. "Upon my soul, your saucy wine has done its work!
Give me your hand, pray, my friend, so that I may be able to stand up."
Arnauld courageously went about hoisting him up, and at last succeeded
in getting him on his legs, but not in a posture of classical
equilibrium.
"Hallo, there! what a number of lanterns!" cried Martin. "Oh, what a
fool I am! I took the stars for lanterns."
Then he began to sing at the top of his voice,--
"Par ta foy, envoyras-tu pas
Au vin, pour fournir le repas
Du meilleur cabaret d'enfer
Le vieil ravasseur Lucifer?"[1]
"Don't make such an infernal noise!" cried Arnauld; "suppose some party
of the enemy should be passing near, and hear you?"
"_Basta_! I'm not afraid of them," said Martin; "what could they do to
me? Hang me? It must be very fine to be hanged. You have made me drink
too much, comrade. I, who am commonly as sober as a judge, don't know
how to fight against drunkenness, and then, besides, I had been fasting,
and I was almost starved; now I am thirsty."
"'Par ta foy, envoyras-tu pas--'"
"Be still!" said Arnauld. "Come, try to walk. Don't you mean to put up
for the night at Auvray?"
"Oh, yes, I want to put up for the night," said Martin, "but not at
Auvray; down here on the grass, beneath God's lanterns."
"Yes," retorted Arnauld; "and to-morrow morning some Spanish patrol will
come along and discover you, and send you to take up your quarters with
the Devil."
"With Lucifer, the old rake?" said Martin. "No, I prefer to pull myself
together a bit, and drag myself as far as Auvray. It's this way, isn't
it? Well, I'm off."
But it was absurd for him to talk about pulling himself together: for he
described such marvellous zigzags that Arnauld saw clearly that without
some help from him, Martin would speedily lose his way again,--that is
to say, he would very likely be safe for the time; and that was just
what the villain did not want.
"Come," said he to poor, drunken Martin; "I have a kind heart, and
Auvray is not so very far away. I will go there with you. Just let me
unhitch my horse; then I can lead him by the bridle, and give you my
arm."
"_Ma foi_! I gladly accept," rejoined Martin; "I am not proud, and
between ourselves I confess that I believe I am a little tipsy. I am
still of the opinion that light wine of yours does not lack
strength. I am very happy, but just a little tipsy."
"Well, let's be off; it's getting late," said Arnauld du Thill, starting
off on the road by which he had come, with his double leaning on his
arm, and heading straight for the postern gate of Noyon. "But to beguile
the time," he added, "are you not going to tell me another amusing story
about Artigues?"
"Shall I tell you the story of Papotte?" said Martin-Guerre. "Ah, poor
Papotte!"
The epic of Papotte was rather too incoherent for us to undertake to
reproduce here. It was almost finished when these two Dromios of the
sixteenth century arrived in rather indifferent trim before the Noyon
gate.
"There!" said Arnauld; "I have no need to go any farther. Do you see
that gate h Well, that is the gate of Auvray. Knock there, and the
watchman will open for you; you tell him that you are a friend of mine,
and he will point out to you my house, only two steps from the gate. Go
there, and my brother will welcome you and give you a good supper and a
good bed. Now, comrade, let me shake your hand once more, and adieu!"
"Adieu! and many thanks," said Martin. "I am only a poor devil, and in
no condition to realize all that you have done for me. But never fear,
the good Lord, who is a just God, will know how to requite you. Adieu,
my friend."
Strangely enough, these drunken predictions made Arnauld shudder, though
superstition was not among his faults; and for a moment he thought of
calling Martin back. But he was already knocking lustily at the postern.
"Poor devil, he is knocking at the door of his tomb!" thought Arnauld;
"but, bah! this is childishness."
Meanwhile Martin, with no suspicion that his fellow-traveller was spying
him from a distance, was shouting at the top of his voice,--
"Hallo there, watchman! Hallo, Cerberus! open the gate, blockhead! It is
Bertrand, worthy Bertrand, who has sent me."
"Who goes there?" demanded the sentinel from within. "It's too late to
come in. Who are you to be making such an uproar?"
"Who am I? You drunkard, I am Martin-Guerre, or Arnauld du Thill, if you
please; or the friend of Bertrand, if you like that better. I am several
people all at once, especially when I am in liquor. I am twenty rakes or
so, who are going to give you a good sound drubbing if you don't open
the gate for me at once."
"Arnauld du Thill! You are Arnauld du Thill?" asked the sentinel.
"Yes, I am Arnauld du Thill, twenty thousand cartloads of devils!" said
Martin-Guerre, hammering away at the gate with feet as well as fists.
Then there was a noise behind the gate as of troops assembling at the
call of the sentinel.
A man with a lantern opened the gate; and Arnauld du Thill, crouching
behind the trees at a little distance, heard several voices crying out
together in surprise,--
"Upon my word, it's he! It's he indeed, upon my soul!"
Poor Martin-Guerre, recognizing his tyrants, uttered a cry of despair,
which struck upon Arnauld's heart in his hiding-place like a
malediction.
Then he judged from the trampling and yelling that brave Martin, seeing
that everything was lost, was making a stout fight for liberty; but he
had only two fists against twenty swords. The noise grew less, then died
gradually away until it ceased altogether. They had dragged Martin away,
blaspheming and cursing.
"If he expects to smooth matters over with insults and blows--" said
Arnauld, rubbing his hands.
When he could hear nothing more, he gave himself up to reflection for a
quarter of an hour; for he was a very deep rascal, this same Arnauld du
Thill. The result of his meditation was that he penetrated three or four
hundred paces into the woods, tied his horse to a tree, laid his saddle
and blanket upon the dead leaves, wrapped himself in his cloak, and in a
few minutes was sleeping the deep sleep which God makes much easier for,
the hardened villain than for the innocent.
He slept eight hours without stirring.
Nevertheless, when he awoke it was still dark; and he knew from the
position of the stars that it must be about four o'clock in the morning.
He rose and shook himself, and without disturbing his horse, crept
softly out toward the high-road.
On the gallows which they had pointed out to him the night before, the
body of poor Martin-Guerre was swinging gently to and fro.
A hideous smile flickered upon Arnauld's lips.
He approached the body without a quiver; but it was hanging too high for
him to touch. Then he climbed up the gallows-post, sword in hand, and
when he had reached the necessary height, cut the cord with his sword.
The body fell to the ground.
Arnauld came down again, removed an iron ring hardly worth the taking
from the dead man's finger, searched in his breast and there found some
papers which he carefully put away, put his cloak on again, and coolly
walked away, without a look, without a prayer for the poor wretch whom
he had worried so during his life, and whom he thus robbed in death.
He found his horse in the underbrush, saddled him, and started off at
full speed toward Aulnay. He was well satisfied, villain that he was,
for Martin no longer was an object of fear to him.
A half-hour later, just as the first glimmer of day began to appear in
the east, a wood-cutter, chancing to pass that way, saw the gallows-cord
cut, and the body lying on the ground. He drew near, fearful and curious
at the same time, to the dead man, whose clothes were in disorder, and
the cord loose around his neck; he was wondering whether the weight of
the body had broken the cord, or if some friend had cut it, too late, no
doubt. He even ventured to touch the body to make sure that it was
really lifeless.
To his unbounded alarm, the body moved its head and hands, and raised
itself upon its knees; and the terrified wood-cutter fled into the
woods, crossing himself over and over again, and commending his soul to
God and the saints.
[Footnote 1: "Old Lucifer, thou libertine,
Wilt thou not send some wine
From Acheron's best cabaret
To grace this feast of mine?"]