PARTIAL DÉNOUEMENT
We go forward to the 8th of January,--the day succeeding that on which
Gabriel d'Exmès had finally restored to the King of France Calais, his
fairest city, which had been lost to him for so many years, and the Duc
de Guise, his greatest captain, who had been in imminent danger of
death.
But we have no longer to deal with questions involving the future fate
of nations; we are at present to occupy ourselves with matters of
private and domestic import. From the breach in the walls of Calais and
the sick bed of François de Lorraine we pass to the living-room in the
dwelling of the Peuquoys.
It was in that room on the lower floor of the house that Jean had
decided to lodge Martin, in order to avoid the fatigue of ascending the
stairs; and it was there that Ambroise Paré had, the evening before,
with his usual skill and success, performed upon the brave squire the
amputation that he deemed necessary.
So that certainty had taken the place of what had before been only hope.
Martin-Guerre was still in a state of great exhaustion, it is true; but
his life was saved.
It would be impossible to describe the regret of Pierre Peuquoy--his
remorse, rather--when he learned the truth from Jean. His stern but
honest and loyal soul could not obtain its own forgiveness for such a
bitter mistake. The honest armorer was constantly urging upon
Martin-Guerre to ask or to accept all that he possessed,--his heart and
his strong arm, his property and his life.
But we know already that Martin-Guerre had pardoned Pierre
Peuquoy,--nay, more, had approved what he had done,--without waiting for
him to express his sorrow therefor.
Thus they were on the best of terms; and we must not be surprised to
find a sort of domestic council--similar to the one at which we have
already been present during the bombardment--in progress at the bedside
of Martin-Guerre, who was as one of the family thenceforth.
Vicomte d'Exmès, who was to start for Paris that same evening, was
admitted to their deliberations, which were, all things considered, of a
less painful nature to the gallant allies of the Risbank fort than on
the previous occasion.
In truth, the reparation which was due to the honor of the Peuquoy name
was not now beyond the bounds of possibility. The real Martin-Guerre was
married; but there was nothing to indicate that Babette's seducer was,
and it only remained to find the villain.
Thus it happened that Pierre's expression was calmer and more kindly,
but Jean's was very sorrowful, while Babette seemed to be in the deepest
dejection.
Gabriel looked from one to another in silence; and Martin-Guerre,
stretched upon his bed of pain, was in despair at the thought that he
could do nothing for his new-found friends, except furnish them with
vague and unsatisfactory information as to the personal appearance of
his double.
Pierre and Jean had just returned from the bedside of Monsieur de Guise;
for the duke had refused to delay any longer the expression of his
gratitude to the brave, patriotic burghers for the effective and
glorious part they had taken in the surrender of the city; and Gabriel
had introduced them to him at his urgent request.
Pierre was proudly and joyously describing to Babette the details of the
presentation.
"Yes, my dear sister," he was saying, "when Monsieur d'Exmès had told
the Duc de Guise of our co-operation in all this, in terms which were
certainly too flattering and highly colored, the great man deigned to
express his satisfaction to Jean and myself with a gracious
consideration which I, for my part, shall never forget, though I should
live for more than a hundred years. But he gladdened and touched my
heart above all by adding that he was anxious to serve us in some way,
and asking me in what way he could do so. Not that I was interested for
myself, Babette,--you know me too well for that; but do you know what
favor I mean to ask of him?"
"No, indeed I do not, my brother," murmured Babette.
"Well, dear sister," continued Pierre, "as soon as we have found the
wretch who so basely betrayed you,--and we shall find him, never
fear!--I will ask Monsieur de Guise to assist me with his influence in
making him save your good name. We have ourselves neither power nor
riches, and some such support as his may be necessary to help us to
obtain justice."
"Suppose that you fail of obtaining justice, even with his support,
cousin?" asked Jean.
"Thanks to my good right arm," Pierre replied energetically, "vengeance
at least will not fail me. And yet," he added in a lower voice, and
glancing timidly at Martin-Guerre, "I must confess that violence has
been productive of but little good thus far."
For a moment he said no more, but was lost in thought. When he shook off
his absorption, he was surprised to see that Babette was weeping.
"What makes you weep, pray, my sister?" he asked.
"Ah, I am very unhappy!" cried Babette, sobbing as if her heart would
break.
"Unhappy, and why? I believe that in the future the clouds will break
away, and--"
"No, they will grow even darker," she said.
"No, no, everything will come all right; make your mind easy," said
Pierre. "There can be no hesitation between a reparation which brings
nothing but pleasure in its train, and a terrible vengeance. Your lover
will come back to you; you will be his wife--"
"But suppose I refuse to marry him?" cried Babette. Jean Peuquoy could
not forbear a joyous movement, which did not escape Gabriel's notice.
"Refuse to marry him!" exclaimed Pierre, surprised beyond measure. "Why,
you loved him!"
"Yes, I did love him," said Babette; "for he was suffering; besides he
seemed to love me, and showed respect and tenderness for me. But the man
who deceived me, who lied to me and abandoned me, who appropriated the
language, the name, and perhaps the very clothes of another, to lay
siege to and surprise a poor, trusting heart--ah, that man I hate and I
despise!"
"But if he were willing to marry you?" said Pierre. "It would only be
because he was driven to do it, or because he hoped for favors from the
Duc de Guise. He would bestow his name upon me either from fear or
avarice. No, no, I pray I may never see him again!"
"Babette," replied Pierre, sternly; "you have no right to say, 'I pray I
may never see him again.'"
"My dear brother, for mercy's sake! for pity's sake!" cried Babette,
weeping piteously, "do not force me to marry a man whom you have
yourself called a villain and a coward."
"Babette, think of your dishonored name!"
"I prefer to blush a moment for my misplaced love rather than to blush
for my husband all my life."
"Babette, think of your fatherless child!"
"It would be far better for him, I think, to be without a father who
would detest him, than to lose his mother who will adore him; and his
mother, if she marries that man, will surely die of shame and chagrin."
"So, Babette, you turn a deaf ear to all my remonstrances and
entreaties?"
"I implore your affection and your pity, my brother."
"Very well, then," said Pierre, "my affection and my pity will reply to
your words, sorrowfully but firmly. As it is necessary above all things,
Babette, that you should possess the esteem of others and retain your
good name, and as I prefer your unhappiness to your dishonor, since
being dishonored your unhappiness will be twofold,--I, your elder
brother, the head of your family, wish you to understand that you should
marry, if he agrees, the man who betrayed you, and who alone has the
power to-day to give you back the honor he has stolen. The law and our
religion endow me with an authority over you, which I forewarn you I
must use in case of need, to compel you to take a step which, to my
mind, is required by your duty toward God, your family, your unborn
child, and yourself."
"You condemn me to death, brother," replied Babette, in an altered
voice. "It is well; and I bow to your will, since it is my fate and my
punishment, and not a soul intercedes for me."
As she spoke, she looked at Gabriel and Jean Peuquoy, who were both
silent,--the latter because he was suffering keenly, the other because
he wished to see what course events would take.
But at Babette's direct appeal, Jean could no longer restrain himself;
and addressing his words to her, but turning to Pierre, he rejoined with
a bitter irony, which was hardly in accord with his character,--
"Why do you wish that any one should intercede for you, Babette? Is it
because this thing that your brother demands of you is not altogether
just and wise? His way of looking at the affair is indeed admirable. He
has deeply at heart your honor and that of his family; and to maintain
that honor intact, what does he do? He forces you to marry a forger.
Truly it is marvellous! To be sure, this scoundrel when once he is taken
into the family will probably bring everlasting dishonor upon it by his
conduct. It is certain that Monsieur d'Exmès, now present, will not
fail to demand from him, in the name of Martin-Guerre, a bitter
reckoning for his basely false impersonation, and that this will
probably lead to your having to go before the judges, Babette, as the
wife of this low-lived appropriator of a name. But what does it matter?
You will none the less belong to him by a valid title, and your child
will none the less be the recognized and acknowledged son of the false
Martin-Guerre. You will die perhaps of the disgrace of being his wife,
but your maiden reputation will remain unsullied in everybody's eyes."
Jean Peuquoy uttered these sentiments with a degree of indignant warmth
which surprised Babette herself.
"I should hardly have known you, Jean," exclaimed Pierre in amazement.
"Is it really you, who speak thus?--you, who are generally so moderate
and calm."
"It is just because of my moderation and calmness," replied Jean, "that
I am able to view more dispassionately the situation into which you are
inconsiderately plunging us to-day."
"Do you believe, pray," rejoined Pierre, "that I would accept with any
better grace the infamy of my brother-in-law than my sister's shame? No;
if we find Babette's betrayer, I am in hopes that, after all, his fraud
may have done no harm except to ourselves and Martin-Guerre; and in that
event I rely upon good Martin's friendship for us to cause him to desist
from making a complaint, the result of which would fall upon the
innocent equally with the guilty."
"Oh," said Martin-Guerre from his bed, "there is no vindictiveness in my
nature, and I have no desire for the death of the sinner. If he but pays
his debt to you, I will discharge him from any claim I have against
him."
"All that is very fine so far as the past is concerned," retorted Jean,
who seemed only moderately delighted over the squire's forgiving
disposition. "But the future,--who will answer for the future?"
"I will be always on the watch," replied Pierre. "Babette's husband
shall never be out of my sight, and it will be best for him to remain an
honest man and walk in the straight path, or else--"
"You will inflict justice upon him yourself, will you not?" Jean
interposed. "It will be full time. Babette, meanwhile, will have been
sacrificed all the same."
"Very well; but you must remember, Jean," retorted Pierre, rather out of
patience, "that if it is a difficult position, I simply am meeting it. I
did not bring it about. Have you, who talk so finely, been able to
devise any other plan than that which I suggest?"
"Yes, of course there is another resource," said Jean.
"What is it?" asked Pierre and Babette in one breath,--Pierre, it must
be said, quite as eagerly as his sister.
Vicomte d'Exmès said not a word, but listened with redoubled
intentness.
"Oh, well," said Jean, "may it not be possible to find some honest man,
who, more moved than alarmed by Babette's ill-fortune, would agree to
give her his name?"
Pierre shook his head incredulously,--
"We must not hope for that," said he. "Any one who would close his eyes
to such a thing must be either in love or a coward. In either event, we
should be obliged to admit strangers or indifferent friends into our sad
secret; and although Monsieur d'Exmès and Martin are no doubt our most
loyal friends, still I deeply regret that circumstances have made them
acquainted with facts which ought never to have been known outside of
the family."
Jean Peuquoy replied with an emotion which he tried in vain to hide,--
"I would not suggest a coward to Babette for her husband; but as to your
other supposition, Pierre, may we not consider that, too? Suppose that
some one were in love with my cousin; suppose that he, also, had been
made acquainted by circumstances with her fault, but had learned of her
repentance at the same time, and had resolved to assure himself a
peaceful and happy future, to forget the past, which Babette surely
would like well to efface by her virtue and goodness hereafter,--suppose
all this were true; what would you say, Pierre; and you, Babette?"
"Oh, that cannot be! It is a dream!" cried Babette, whose eyes,
nevertheless, were illumined with a ray of hope.
"Do you know such a man, Jean?" asked Pierre, in a matter-of-fact way;
"or is it not a mere supposition on your part,--as Babette says, a
dream?"
Jean Peuquoy, at this straightforward question, hesitated and stammered,
and was very ill at ease.
He did not notice the silent, but deep and attentive interest with which
Gabriel was following his every motion; he was entirely absorbed in
observing Babette, who, breathing fast, and with eyes cast down, seemed
to be battling with an emotion which the honest weaver, little skilled
in such matters, knew not how to interpret.
He did not draw from it any deduction favorable to his hopes, for it was
in a piteous sort of voice that he answered his cousin's direct
interrogatory,--
"Alas, Pierre, it is only too probable! I confess that all that I have
said is only a dream. In truth, it would not be sufficient for the
fulfilment of my dream that Babette should be dearly loved; there must
be a little love on her side as well, otherwise she would still be
wretched. Now, the man who would be willing thus to buy his own
happiness from Babette at the price of forgetfulness would doubtless
have to make excuses for some disadvantages on his own side; he would
probably not be young nor handsome,--in a word, not lovable. Thus there
is no likelihood that Babette would consent to become his wife, and that
is why all that I have said is, I fear, nought but idle dreaming."
"Yes, it was a dream," said Babette, sadly, "but not for the reasons
that you give, my cousin. The man who would be generous enough to come
to my rescue by such devotion, though he should be the most withered and
ugly of his sex, ought to be young and beautiful in my sight; for his
very act would show a freshness of soul which is not always to be found
in the youth of twenty; nor can such kind and generous thoughts fail to
leave the imprint of nobleness upon the features. I should find him
worthy of my love, too, for he would have given me the greatest proof of
his affection that woman could receive. My duty and my pleasure would be
to love him all my life and with all my heart, and so that would be very
easy. But the impossible and improbable part of your dream, my cousin,
would be to find any one capable of such self-abnegation for a poor
girl, without charm, and dishonored as I am. There may be men noble
enough and kind-hearted enough to entertain for an instant the idea of
such a sacrifice, and that is a great deal; but upon reflection, even
they would hesitate, and withdraw at the last moment, and I should fall
once more from hope to despair. Such, my good Jean, are the real reasons
why what you said was nought but a dream."
"And what if it were the truth after all?" said Gabriel suddenly rising
from his chair.
"What, what do you say?" cried Babette, completely bewildered.
"I say, Babette, that this devoted, generous heart does exist," replied
Gabriel.
"Do you know the man?" asked Pierre, deeply moved.
"I do know him," replied the young man, smiling. "He loves you indeed,
Babette, but with the affection of a father as well as of a lover,--an
affection which longs to cherish and forgive you. Thus you may accept
without reservation this sacrifice of his, in which is no possibility of
error, and which is induced only by most tender compassion and most
sincere devotion. Besides, you will give as much as you receive,
Babette: you will receive honor, but you will bestow happiness; for he
who loves you stands alone in the world, joyless, with no interests to
make life sweet to him and nothing to hope for in the future. But you
will bring him all these things; and if you consent, you will make him
as happy to-day as he will make you some day hereafter. Do I not speak
the truth, Jean Peuquoy?"
"But, Monsieur le Vicomte, I am ignorant," stammered Jean, trembling
like a leaf.
"Very true, Jean," continued Gabriel, still smiling; "there is really
one thing that you don't perhaps know; that is, that Babette feels for
him by whom she is beloved, not only profound esteem and deep-seated
gratitude, but a holy affection. Babette, although she has not guessed
it, has felt a vague presentiment of this love of which she is the
object, and was at first relieved in her own heart, then touched by it,
and finally made happy by the thought of it. Her violent aversion for
the villain who deceived her dates from that time. That is why she went
on her knees to her brother a moment ago to implore him not to insist on
her union with that wretch, whom she only thought that she loved, in the
mistaken innocence of her pure, young heart, and whom she loathes to-day
with all the force with which she loves him who holds out a hand to
rescue her from shame. Am I wrong, Babette?"
"Really, Monseigneur, I don't know," said Babette, with a face as white
as the driven snow.
"One doesn't know, and the other is ignorant," resumed Gabriel. "What,
Babette, and you, Jean, do you know nothing of your own inmost hearts?
Are you ignorant of your own dearest thoughts? Come, come, that isn't
possible! I am not the first to make it clear to you, Babette, that Jean
loves you. Surely, Jean, you suspected before I spoke, that you were
beloved by Babette?"
"Oh, can it be so?" cried Pierre Peuquoy, in a perfect ecstasy of
delight; "oh, no, it would be too much happiness!"
"But just look at them!" said Gabriel to him.
Babette and Jean were gazing at each other, still irresolute and half
incredulous.
Then, Jean read in the eyes of Babette such fervent gratitude, and
Babette so moving an appeal in those of Jean, that both were convinced
and persuaded at the same moment.
Without knowing how it came about, they were locked in each other's
arms.
Pierre Peuquoy was so entirely overcome that he could not utter a word;
but he pressed Jean's hand with a fervor more eloquent than all the
words of all the languages in the world.
As for Martin-Guerre, he sat up in bed, despite the risk, and with eyes
swimming in tears of joy, clapped his hands with a will at this
unexpected dénouement.
When the first transport of joy had somewhat subsided, Gabriel said,--
"Now we will arrange matters thus. Jean Peuquoy must marry Babette as
soon as possible; but before finally taking up their abode with their
brother, I insist that they pass a few months in my house at Paris. In
that way Babette's secret, the sad cause of this happy marriage, will be
buried forever in the five faithful hearts of those who are here
present. There is a sixth, to be sure, who might betray the secret; but
he, if he ever learns Babette's fate, which is not likely, will not have
it in his power to annoy them for long--that I will answer for. So, my
dear kind friends, you may live henceforth in perfect content and peace,
and have no fear of the future."
"Ah, my noble, high-souled guest!" said Pierre, kissing Gabriel's hand.
"To you, and you alone," said Jean, "do we owe our happiness, even as
the king owes Calais to you."
"And every morning and evening," added Babette, "we will pray fervently
to God for the welfare of our savior."
"Yes, Babette," Gabriel replied, deeply moved, "yes, I thank you for
that thought: pray God that your savior may now have the power to save
himself."