The Queen Pedauque by Anatole France

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"Don't be uneasy," said the abbe. "I have a strong desire to know so
fine a secret, but I will not conceal from you that I do not expect
any effect from it, as I do not believe in Sylphs. Instruct me, if
you please."

"You request me?" replied the cabalist. "Well, then, know that
whenever you want the assistance of a Sylph, you have but to
pronounce the simple word _Agla_, and the sons of the air will
at once come to you. But understand, M. Abbe, that the word must be
spoken by the heart as well as by the lips, and that faith alone
gives it its virtue. Without faith it is nothing but a useless
murmur. Pronounce it as I do at this moment, putting in it neither
soul nor wish, it has, even in my own mouth, but a very slight
power, and at the utmost some of the children of light, if they have
heard it, glide into this room, the light shadows of light. I've
divined rather than seen them on yonder curtain, and they have
vanished when hardly visible. Neither you nor your pupil has
suspected their presence. But had I pronounced that magic word with
real fervour you would have seen them appear in all their splendour.
They are of a charming beauty. Now, sir, I have entrusted you with a
grand and useful secret. Let me say again, do not divulge it
imprudently. And do not sneer at the example of the Abbe de Villars,
who, for having revealed their secrets, was murdered by the Sylphs,
on the road to Lyons."

"On the Lyons road?" said my good tutor. "How strange!"

M. d'Asterac left us suddenly.

"I will now for the last time," said the abbe, "visit that noble
library where I have enjoyed such austere pleasures and which I
shall never see again. Do not fail, Tournebroche, to be at nightfall
at the Bergeres Circus."

I promised to be there; it was my intention to lock myself in my
room for the purpose of writing to M. d'Asterac, and my dear
parents, asking them to kindly excuse me for not taking personal
leave of them, as I had to fly after an adventure wherein I was more
unlucky than guilty.

When I reached the door of my room, I heard heavy snoring from
within. Peeping in I saw M. d'Anquetil in my bed, sleeping, his
sword at the bedside, playing cards strewn all over the quilt. For a
moment I felt tempted to run him through with his own sword, but the
temptation did not last, and I left him sleeping. Notwithstanding my
grief I could not help laughing when I thought that Jahel, being
locked and bolted in by Mosaide, could not rejoin him.

So I went to my tutor's room, to write my letters, where I disturbed
five or six rats, who had begun to make a meal off his Boethius,
which had remained on the night table. I wrote to my mother and to
M. d'Asterac, and I composed the most touching epistle to Jahel. My
tears fell on this when I read it over for a second time. "Perhaps,"
I said to myself, "the faithless girl will cry too, and her tears
will mix with mine."

Then, overwhelmed as I was by fatigue and sorrow, I threw myself on
my tutor's bed, and soon went off into a kind of semi-sleep,
troubled by dreams, erotic and sinister. I was awakened by the
taciturn Criton, who had entered the room and presented to me, on a
silver salver, a sort of curling paper, whereon a few badly written
words were scribbled in pencil. Someone expected me at once outside
the castle. The note was signed "Friar Ange, unworthy Capuchin." I
went as quickly as I could, and found the little friar seated on the
bank of a ditch in a state of pitiable dejection. Wanting strength
to get up, he looked at me with his big dog's eyes, nearly human and
full of tears; his sighs moved his beard and chest. In a tone which
really pained me he said:

"Alas! Monsieur Jacques, the hour of trial has come to Babylon, as
it is said in the prophets. At the request of M. de la Gueritude,
the Lieutenant of Police had Mam'selle Catherine taken by the
constables to the spittel, from whence she'll be sent to America by
the next convoy. I was informed of it by Jeannette the hurdy-gurdy
player, who saw Catherine brought in a cart to the spittel, as she
left it herself after having been cured of an evil ailment by the
surgeon's art--at least I hope so, please God! And Catherine is to
be transported, and no reprieve to be expected."

And Friar Ange at this point in his discourse groaned and shed tears
abundantly. After doing my best to console him I asked if he had
nothing else to tell me.

"Alas! M. Jacques," he replied. "I have intimated the essential, and
the remainder floats in my head like the Spirit of God on the
waters, without comparison if you please. The matter is dark
altogether. Catherine's misfortune has taken away my senses. It
needed the necessity of giving you important news to bring me to the
threshold of this cursed house, where you live in company with all
sorts of devils, and it was with dismay, and after having recited
the prayer of Saint Francis, that I ventured to knock at the door
for the purpose of handing to a lackey the note I wrote to you. I do
not know if you have been able to read it, as I have but little
practice in forming letters, and the paper was not of the best to
write on, but you see it is the honour of our holy order not to give
way to the vanities of our century! Ah! Catherine at the spittel!
Catherine in America! Is it not enough to break the hardest heart?
Jeannette herself wept abundantly, and did so in spite of her
jealousy of Catherine, who prevails over her in youth and beauty
just as Saint Francis surpasses in holiness all the other blessed
ones. Ah, M. Jacques! Catherine in America! Such are the strange
ways of Providence. Alas! our holy religion is true, and King David
was right in saying that we are like the grass of the field--is not
Catherine at the spittel? The stones on which I am sitting are
happier man I, notwithstanding that I wear the signs of a Christian
and a monk. Catherine at the spittel!"

He sobbed again. I waited till the torrent of his sorrow had passed
away, and then asked him if he had any news of my parents.

"M. Jacques," he replied, "'tis they who have sent me to you, bearer
of a pressing message. I must tell you that they are not very happy,
through the fault of Master Leonard, your father, who passes in
drinking and gambling all the days God has given him. And savoury
fumes of roasting geese and fowls do not now arise to the signboard
of _Queen Pedauque_ swinging sadly in the damp wind which rusts
it. Where are the times when the smell of your father's cookshop
perfumed the Rue Saint Jacques, from the _Little Bacchus_ to
the _Three Maids_? Since yonder sorcerer visited it, everything
wastes away, beasts and men, in consequence of the spell he has
thrown on it. And vengeance divine is manifest there since that fat
Abbe Coignard made his entry, and I was cast out. It was the
beginning of the evil, inaugurated by M. Coignard, who prides
himself on the depths of his knowledge, and the distinction of his
manners. Pride is the spring of all evil. Your pious mother was very
wrong, M. Jacques, not to have been satisfied with such teaching as
I charitably gave you, and which would have made you fit to
superintend the cooking, to manage the larding, and to carry the
banner of the guild after the demise, the funeral service and the
obsequies of your worthy father, which cannot be very far off, as
all life is transitory and he drinks to excess."

It may be easily understood how sorely I was afflicted by this news.
My tears and those of Friar Ange mixed freely together. However, I
inquired after my mother.

Friar Ange replied:

"God, who afflicted Rachel in Rama, has sent to your mother,
Monsieur Jacques, sundry tribulations for her good, and to chastise
Master Leonard for the sin he committed by maliciously expelling, in
my humble person, our Lord Jesus Christ from his cookshop. He has
transferred most of the purchasers of poultry and pies to the
daughter of Madame Quonion, who turns the spit at the other end of
the Rue Saint Jacques. Your mother sees with sorrow that the other
house is blessed at the cost of her own, and that her shop is now
deserted to such a degree that, figuratively speaking, moss covers
its threshold. She is sustained in her trials, firstly, by her
devotion to Saint Francis; secondly, by the consideration of the
progress of your worldly position, which enables you to wear a sword
like a man of condition.

"But this second consolation has been much shaken by the constables
calling this very morning at the cookshop to take you into custody,
and carry you to the Bicetre Prison, to break stones for a year or
two. It was Catherine who denounced you to M. de la Gueritude, but
you must not blame her for it; she did her duty as a Christian by
confessing the truth. She accused you and the Abbe Coignard of being
M. d'Anquetil's accomplices, and gave a faithful account of all the
murder and bloodshed perpetrated in the course of that terrible
night. Alas! her truthfulness was of no use; she was carried to the
spittel. It's downright horrible to think of it."

At this point of his story, the little friar covered his face with
his hands and sobbed and cried anew.

Night had come, and I was afraid to fail in my appointment. Pulling
the little friar out of the ditch, I put him on his feet, and wished
him to keep me company on my walk along the Saint Germain road to
the Circus of the Bergeres. He obeyed me willingly. Sadly walking by
my side, he asked my assistance in disentangling the mixed-up
threads of his thoughts. I put him back to where the constables came
to search for me at the cookshop.

"As they could not find you," he continued, "they wanted to take
your father. Master Leonard pretended he did not know where you were
hidden. Your mother said the same, and took her sacred oath on it.
May God forgive her, Monsieur Jacques, as evidently she perjured
herself. The constables began to get cross. Your father reasoned
well with them, and took them to have a drink with him, after which
they parted quite friendly. Meanwhile your mother went after me to
the _Three Maids_, where I was soliciting alms according to the
holy rules of my order. She sent me to you to warn you that
immediate flight is your only safety, as the Lieutenant of Police
would soon discover your retreat."

Listening to this sad news, I walked with a quicker step, and we
passed the bridge of Neuilly.

On the rather steep hill leading to the circus, the elms of which
soon became visible, the little friar said with a dying voice:

"Your mother particularly asked me to warn you of the danger you are
in, and handed to me a little bag she had secreted under her dress.
I cannot find it," he added, after having felt all over his body.
"How do you expect me to find anything after losing Catherine? She
was devoted to Saint Francis, and lavish of alms, and now they have
treated her like a harlot, and will shave her head; it's
heartbreaking to think that she will look like a milliner's doll,
and be shipped in that state to America, where she runs the risk of
dying by fever and being eaten by cannibal savages."

When he ended this discourse with a sigh we had reached the circus.
To the left, the inn of the _Red Horse_ showed its roof over a
double row of elms, its dormer windows with their pulleys, while
under the foliage the gateway was to be seen wide open.

I slackened my walk, and the little friar sat down on the roots of a
tree.

"Friar Ange," I said to him, "you mentioned a satchel my dear mother
handed you for me."

"Quite right; she wished me so to do," replied the little Capuchin,
"and I have put it somewhere so safely that I cannot remember where,
and you ought to know, Monsieur Jacques, that I could not have lost
it for any other reason but from too much carefulness."

I rather sharply said that I did not believe he had lost the
satchel, and should he not find it at once I would search for it
myself.

He understood and, sighing deeply, brought out from under his frock
a little bag made of coloured calico, and handed it to me. It
contained a crown piece and a medal with the effigy of the Black
Virgin of Chartres, which I kissed fervently, shedding tears of
tenderness and repentance. The little friar took out of his large
pockets a parcel of coloured prints and prayers, badly illuminated,
made a rapid selection, and gave me two or three of them, those he
considered the most useful to pilgrims, travellers, and all
wandering people, saying:

"They are blessed and of good effect against danger of death and
sickness. You have only to recite the text printed on them, or to
lay them on the skin of your body, I give them to you, M. Jacques,
for the love of God. Do not forget to give me an alms. Keep in mind
that I beg in the name of Saint Francis. He'll protect you, without
fail, if you assist the most unworthy of his sons, and that is
precisely myself."

Listening to his speech, I saw in the doubtful twilight a post-
chaise and four come out of the gateway of the _Red Horse_ inn,
heard the whips cracking and the horses pawing the ground when the
driver stopped on the highroad, close to the tree on the roots of
which Friar Ange was sitting. It was not an ordinary post-chaise,
but a very large, clumsy vehicle, having room to seat four, and a
small coupe in front. I looked at it for a minute or two, when up
the hill came M. d'Anquetil, with Jahel, carrying several parcels
under her cloak and wearing a mob-cap. M. Coignard followed them,
loaded with five or six books wrapped up in an old thesis. When they
reached the carriage the post boys lowered the carriage steps, and
my beautiful mistress, raising her skirt like a balloon, ascended
into the carriage, pushed from behind by M. d'Anquetil.

I ran towards them and shouted:

"Stop, Jahel! Stop, sir!"

But the seducer only pushed the perfidious girl the more, and her
charming rounded figure quickly disappeared. Preparing himself to
climb after her, one foot on the steps, he looked at me with
surprise.

"Oh! Monsieur Tournebroche! You would then take from me all my
mistresses! Jahel after Catherine. Do you do it for a wager?"

But I did not hear what he said, and continued to call Jahel, the
while Friar Ange, having risen from his seat under the elm-tree,
came up to the carriage door, and offered to M. d'Anquetil pictures
of Saint Roch, a prayer to be recited during the shoeing of a horse,
another against fever, and asked him for charity with a mournful
voice.

I should have stopped there the whole of the night, calling Jahel,
if my good tutor had not got hold of me and pushed me inside the
large compartment of the carriage, which he entered after me.

"Let them have the _coupe_ by themselves," he said to me, "and
let us travel in the large compartment. I have been looking for you,
Tournebroche, and, not to withhold anything from you, had quite made
up my mind to depart without you when, happily, I discovered you in
company with the Capuchin under yonder elm-tree. We could not delay
any longer, as M. de la Gueritude has given sharp orders to look
everywhere for us. He has a long arm, having lent money to the
king."

The carriage was moving on, but Friar Ange clung to the door, with
hand outstretched, begging pitifully.

I sank into the cushions.

"Alas, sir," I exclaimed, "did you not tell me that Jahel was locked
in threefold?"

"My son," replied my good master, "not too much confidence may be
placed in women, who always play their tricks on the jealous and
their locks. If the door is closed, they jump out of the window. You
have no idea, my dear Tournebroche, of the cunning of women. The
ancients have reported admirable examples of it, and many a one
you'll find in Apuleius, where they are sprinkled like salt in the
'Metamorphoses.' But the best example is given in an Arabian tale
recently brought to Europe by M. Galand, and which I will tell you.

"Schariar, Sultan of Tartary, and his brother, Schahzenan, walked
one day on the seashore, when they saw rise suddenly above the waves
a black column, moving towards the shore. They recognised it as a
genie of the most ferocious kind, in the form of an immensely tall
giant, carrying on his head a glass case locked with four iron
locks. Both were seized with dismay, so much so that they hid
themselves in the fork of a tree standing near. The genie however
came on shore, and brought the glass case to the tree where the two
princes were hiding. Then he lay down and soon went to sleep. His
outstretched legs reached the sea, and his breathing shook earth and
heaven. During his terrifying repose the cover of the glass case
rose by itself, and out of it came a woman with a majestic body and
of the most perfect beauty. She raised her head--"

Here I interrupted his narrative, which I had hardly-listened to,
and exclaimed:

"Ah! sir, what do you think Jahel and M. d'Anquetil are saying at
this moment, all by themselves in the _coupe_?'

"I don't know," replied my dear tutor: "it's their business, not
ours. But let me finish the Arabian tale, which is full of sense.
You've interrupted me inconsiderately, Tournebroche, at the very
moment when the damsel, looking up, discovered the two princes in
the tree. She made them a sign to come down; but desirous as they
were to respond to the appeal of a person of so much beauty, they
were afraid to approach so terrible a giant. Seeing that they
hesitated she said to them in an undertone: 'Come down at once, or I
wake up the genie.' Her resolute and resolved countenance made them
understand that it was not a vain threat, and that the safest, as
also the most pleasant, thing to do was to go down without delay,
which they did as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the giant.
The lady, taking their hands, led them somewhat farther away under
the trees, and gave them to understand very clearly that she was
ready at once to give herself to both. Gracefully they accepted the
beauty's offer, and as they were men of courage, fear did not spoil
their enjoyment. Having obtained from both what she had wished for,
and seeing that each of the two princes wore a ring, she asked them
for their rings. Returning to the glass case where she lived, she
took out of it a chaplet of rings, and showed it to the princes.

"Do you know what is the meaning of this chaplet of rings? They are
those of all the men for whom I have had the same kindness as for
you. Their number, all told, is ninety-eight. I keep them as
souvenirs, for that same reason, and to complete the century I have
asked for yours. And now to-day I have had a full hundred lovers, in
spite of the vigilance and care of yonder giant, who never leaves
me. He may lock me in the glass case as much as he likes, and hide
me in the depths of the sea. I deceive him as often as I please."

"That ingenious apologue," added my good tutor, "shows you that the
women of the Orient, who are shut up and cloistered, are as cunning
as their sisters of the Occident, who are free of their movements.
Whenever a woman wants something there is no husband, lover, father,
uncle, or tutor able to prevent her carrying out her will. And
therefore, my dear boy, you ought not to be surprised that to
deceive that old Mordecai was but child's play for Jahel, whose
perverse spirit is made up of all the cuteness of our she-geldings
and the perfidy of the Orient. I guess her to be as ardent in
sensual pleasure, as greedy after gold and silver; altogether a
worthy descendant of the race of Aholah and Aholibah.

"She is of an acid and mordant beauty, and I do not deny that
somehow she excites me, although age, sublime meditations, and the
miseries of an agitated life have sufficiently mortified in me the
lust of the flesh. You're suffering over the success of M.
d'Anquetil's adventure with her, wherefore I reckon that you feel
much more than I do the sharp tooth of desire, and that jealousy is
tearing you. And that's the reason you blame an action, irregular
certainly, contrary to vulgar propriety, but withal indifferent in
character, or at least not adding much to the universal evil.
Inwardly you condemn me for having had a part in it, and you fancy
you defend the principle of chaste living when you do nothing except
from the prompting of your passions. Such is the way, my dear boy,
that we colour for the use of our own eyes our worst instincts.
Human morals have no other origin. Confess, however, that it would
have been a pity to leave such a fine girl for a single day longer
with that old lunatic. Acknowledge that M. d'Anquetil, young and
handsome, is a better mate for such a delicious creature, and resign
yourself to accept what cannot be altered. Such wisdom is difficult
to practise; but it would have been more difficult still, had your
own mistress been taken from you. In such a case you'd feel the iron
teeth torture your flesh, filling your soul with images odious and
precise. This consideration, my boy, ought to ease your present
sufferings. Besides, life is full of labour and pain. It is this
which evokes in us the just hope of an eternal beatitude."

Thus spoke my good tutor, while the elms of the king's highway
passed quickly before our eyes. I did not let him know that he
irritated my griefs in trying to soothe them, and that he, without
being aware of it, had laid his finger on my wound.

Our first stoppage was at Juvisy, where we arrived in the rain early
in the morning. Entering the post inn I found Jahel in the corner of
the fireplace, where five or six fowls were roasting on a spit. She
was warming her feet, and showed part of a silken stocking, which
was a great trouble to me, because it brought her leg to my mind. I
seemed to see all the beauty of her satin skin, the down, and all
other striking circumstances. M. d'Anquetil was leaning on the back
of the chair whereon she was sitting, holding her cheeks with his
hands. He called her his soul and his life, asked her if she was
hungry, and on her saying yes, he went out to give the necessary
orders.

Remaining alone with the unfaithful one I looked in her eyes, which
reflected the flames of the fire.

"Ah! Jahel," I exclaimed, "I am very unhappy; you have betrayed me,
and you no longer love me."

"Who says that I do not love you any more?" she asked, and looked at
me with her velvety eyes of flame.

"Alas! mademoiselle, your conduct shows it sufficiently."

"But, Jacques, could you envy the trousseau of Dutch linen and the
godroon plate that the gentleman is to present me with! I only ask
for your forbearance till he has fulfilled his promises, and after
that you'll see that I am still to you as I was at the Croix-des-
Sablons."

"And in the meantime, Jahel? Alas! he will enjoy your favours."

"I feel," she replied, "that that will be a trifle, and that nothing
will efface the strength of the feeling you have inspired me with.
Do not torment yourself with such mere nothings; they are only of
value by your idea of them."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, "my idea of them is horrible, and I am really
afraid that I shall not be able to survive your treachery."

She looked at me with a somewhat mocking sympathy, and said with a
smile:

"Believe me, my friend, neither of us will die of it. Think,
Jacques, that I am in want of plate and linen. Be prudent, do not
show the feelings that agitate you, and I promise to reward you for
your discretion, later on."

This hope softened somewhat my poignant grief. The innkeeper's wife
laid on the table the lavender-scented cloth, the pewter plates,
goblets and pitchers. I was very hungry, and when M. d'Anquetil, in
company with the abbe, re-entered the dining-hall, inviting us to
eat a morsel with him, I willingly sat down between Jahel and my
dear old tutor. We were afraid of being followed, so after having
put away three omelets and a couple of spring chickens we resumed
our journey. We resolved, seeing the danger of pursuit, to pass
every halting place without stopping as far as Sens, where we
decided to stay the night.

My imagination went horribly to that night at Sens, thinking that
there Jahel's treachery would be completed. And so much was I
troubled by those but too legitimate apprehensions that I listened
with but half an ear to the discourse of my good master, to whom
every trifling incident of our journey suggested the most admirable
reflections.

My jealous fears were not groundless. We alighted at the best inn at
Sens, that paltry hostelry of _The Armed Man_. Supper hardly
over, M. d'Anquetil took Jahel with him to his room, which was next
to mine. You may believe that I could not enjoy a wink of sleep.
Jumping out of bed at daybreak, I left my chamber of torture. I
seated myself under the waggoner's porch, where the postboys drank
white wine and played the deuce with the servants. I remained there
two or three hours contemplating my misery. The horses were already
harnessed when Jahel appeared under the porch, shivering all over,
under her black cloak. I could not bear the sight of her, and turned
my moistened eyes away. She came to me, sat close to me on the
stone, and told me sweetly not to be disconsolate, as what I thought
monstrous was but a trifle; that one has to be reasonable; that I
was too much a man of spirit to want a woman for myself alone; that
if one wished for that one had to take a housekeeper without brains
or beauty, and even then it was a big risk to run.

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