The Honor of the Name Read online

  Produced by David Moynihan; Dagny; David Widger

  THE HONOR OF THE NAME

  By Emile Gaboriau

  THE HONOR OF THE NAME

  CHAPTER I

  On the first Sunday in the month of August, 1815, at ten o'clockprecisely--as on every Sunday morning--the sacristan of the parishchurch at Sairmeuse sounded the three strokes of the bell which warnthe faithful that the priest is ascending the steps of the altar tocelebrate high mass.

  The church was already more than half full, and from every side littlegroups of peasants were hurrying into the church-yard. The women wereall in their bravest attire, with cunning little _fichus_ crossed upontheir breasts, broad-striped, brightly colored skirts, and large whitecoifs.

  Being as economical as they were coquettish, they came barefooted,bringing their shoes in their hands, but put them on reverentiallybefore entering the house of God.

  But few of the men entered the church. They remained outside to talk,seating themselves in the porch, or standing about the yard, in theshade of the century-old elms.

  For such was the custom in the hamlet of Sairmeuse.

  The two hours which the women consecrated to prayer the men employedin discussing the news, the success or the failure of the crops; and,before the service ended, they could generally be found, glass in hand,in the bar-room of the village inn.

  For the farmers for a league around, the Sunday mass was only an excusefor a reunion, a sort of weekly bourse.

  All the cures who had been successively stationed at Sairmeuse hadendeavored to put an end to this scandalous habit, as they termed it;but all their efforts had made no impression upon country obstinacy.

  They had succeeded in gaining only one concession. At the moment of theelevation of the Host, voices were hushed, heads uncovered, and a feweven bowed the knee and made the sign of the cross.

  But this was the affair of an instant only, and conversation wasimmediately resumed with increased vivacity.

  But to-day the usual animation was wanting.

  No sounds came from the little knots of men gathered here and there, notan oath, not a laugh. Between buyers and sellers, one did not overheara single one of those interminable discussions, punctuated with thepopular oaths, such as: "By my faith in God!" or "May the devil burnme!"

  They were not talking, they were whispering together. A gloomysadness was visible upon each face; lips were placed cautiously at thelistener's ear; anxiety could be read in every eye.

  One scented misfortune in the very air. Only a month had elapsed sinceLouis XVIII. had been, for the second time, installed in the Tuileriesby a triumphant coalition.

  The earth had not yet had time to swallow the sea of blood that flowedat Waterloo; twelve hundred thousand foreign soldiers desecrated thesoil of France; the Prussian General Muffling was Governor of Paris.

  And the peasantry of Sairmeuse trembled with indignation and fear.

  This king, brought back by the allies, was no less to be dreaded thanthe allies themselves.

  To them this great name of Bourbon signified only a terrible burden oftaxation and oppression.

  Above all, it signified ruin--for there was scarcely one among them whohad not purchased some morsel of government land; and they were assurednow that all estates were to be returned to the former proprietors, whohad emigrated after the overthrow of the Bourbons.

  Hence, it was with a feverish curiosity that most of them clusteredaround a young man who, only two days before, had returned from thearmy.

  With tears of rage in his eyes, he was recounting the shame and themisery of the invasion.

  He told of the pillage at Versailles, the exactions at Orleans, and thepitiless requisitions that had stripped the people of everything.

  "And these accursed foreigners to whom the traitors have deliveredus, will not go so long as a shilling or a bottle of wine is left inFrance!" he exclaimed.

  As he said this he shook his clinched fist menacingly at a white flagthat floated from the tower.

  His generous anger won the close attention of his auditors, and theywere still listening to him with undiminished interest, when the soundof a horse's hoofs resounded upon the stones of the only street inSairmeuse.

  A shudder traversed the crowd. The same fear stopped the beating ofevery heart.

  Who could say that this rider was not some English or Prussian officer?He had come, perhaps, to announce the arrival of his regiment, andimperiously demand money, clothing, and food for his soldiers.

  But the suspense was not of long duration.

  The rider proved to be a fellow-countryman, clad in a torn and dirtyblue linen blouse. He was urging forward, with repeated blows, a little,bony, nervous mare, fevered with foam.

  "Ah! it is Father Chupin," murmured one of the peasants with a sigh ofrelief.

  "The same," observed another. "He seems to be in a terrible hurry."

  "The old rascal has probably stolen the horse he is riding."

  This last remark disclosed the reputation Father Chupin enjoyed amonghis neighbors.

  He was, indeed, one of those thieves who are the scourge and the terrorof the rural districts. He pretended to be a day-laborer, but thetruth was, that he held work in holy horror, and spent all his time insleeping and idling about his hovel. Hence, stealing was the onlymeans of support for himself, his wife, two sons--terrible youths, who,somehow, had escaped the conscription.

  They consumed nothing that was not stolen. Wheat, wine, fuel,fruits--all were the rightful property of others. Hunting and fishingat all seasons, and with forbidden appliances, furnished them with readymoney.

  Everyone in the neighborhood knew this; and yet when Father Chupin waspursued and captured, as he was occasionally, no witness could be foundto testify against him.

  "He is a hard case," men said; "and if he had a grudge against anyone,he would be quite capable of lying in ambush and shooting him as hewould a squirrel."

  Meanwhile the rider had drawn rein at the inn of the Boeuf Couronne.

  He alighted from his horse, and, crossing the square, approached thechurch.

  He was a large man, about fifty years of age, as gnarled and sinewy asthe stem of an old grape-vine. At the first glance one would not havetaken him for a scoundrel. His manner was humble, and even gentle; butthe restlessness of his eye and the expression of his thin lips betrayeddiabolical cunning and the coolest calculation.

  At any other time this despised and dreaded individual would have beenavoided; but curiosity and anxiety led the crowd toward him.

  "Ah, well, Father Chupin!" they cried, as soon as he was within thesound of their voices; "whence do you come in such haste?"

  "From the city."

  To the inhabitants of Sairmeuse and its environs, "the city" meantthe country town of the _arrondissement_, Montaignac, a charmingsub-prefecture of eight thousand souls, about four leagues distant.

  "And was it at Montaignac that you bought the horse you were riding justnow?"

  "I did not buy it; it was loaned to me."

  This was such a strange assertion that his listeners could not repress asmile. He did not seem to notice it, however.

  "It was loaned me," he continued, "in order that I might bring somegreat news here the quicker."

  Fear resumed possession of the peasantry.

  "Is the enemy in the city?" anxiously inquired some of the more timid.

  "Yes; but not the enemy you refer to. This is the former lord of themanor, the Duc de Sairmeuse."

  "Ah! they said he was dead."

  "They were mistaken."

  "Have you seen him?"

  "No, I have not seen him, but someone else has seen him for me, and hasspoken to him. And this someone is Monsieur Laugeron, the pr
oprietor ofthe Hotel de France at Montaignac. I was passing the house this morning,when he called me. 'Here, old man,' he said, 'do you wish to do me afavor?' Naturally I replied: 'Yes.' Whereupon he placed a coin in myhand and said: 'Well! go and tell them to saddle a horse for you,then gallop to Sairmeuse, and tell my friend Lacheneur that the Ducde Sairmeuse arrived here last night in a post-chaise, with his son,Monsieur Martial, and two servants.'"

  Here, in the midst of these peasants, who were listening to him withpale cheeks and set teeth, Father Chupin preserved the subdued mienappropriate to a messenger of misfortune.

  But if one had observed him carefully, one would have detected anironical smile upon his lips and a gleam of malicious joy in his eyes.

  He was, in fact, inwardly jubilant. At that moment he had his revengefor all the slights and all the scorn he had been forced to endure. Andwhat a revenge!

  And if his words seemed to fall slowly and reluctantly from his lips, itwas only because he was trying to prolong the sufferings of his auditorsas much as possible.

  But a robust young fellow, with an intelligent face, who, perhaps, readFather Chupin's secret heart, brusquely interrupted him:

  "What does the presence of the Duc de Sairmeuse at Montaignac matter tous?" he exclaimed. "Let him remain at the Hotel de France as long as hechooses; we shall not go in search of him."

  "No! we shall not go in search of him," echoed the other peasants,approvingly.

  The old rogue shook his head with affected commiseration.

  "Monsieur le Duc will not put you to that trouble," he replied; "he willbe here in less than two hours."

  "How do you know?"

  "I know it through Monsieur Laugeron, who, when I mounted his horse,said to me: 'Above all, old man, explain to my friend Lacheneur that theduke has ordered horses to be in readiness to convey him to Sairmeuse ateleven o'clock.'"

  With a common movement, all the peasants who had watches consulted them.

  "And what does he want here?" demanded the same young farmer.

  "Pardon! he did not tell me," replied Father Chupin; "but one need notbe very cunning to guess. He comes to revisit his former estates, andto take them from those who have purchased them, if possible. From you,Rousselet, he will claim the meadows upon the Oiselle, which alwaysyield two crops; from you, Father Gauchais, the ground upon whichthe Croix-Brulee stands; from you, Chanlouineau, the vineyards on theBorderie----"

  Chanlouineau was the impetuous young man who had interrupted FatherChupin twice already.

  "Claim the Borderie!" he exclaimed, with even greater violence; "lethim try, and we will see. It was waste land when my father boughtit--covered with briers; even a goat could not have found pasture there.We have cleared it of stones, we have scratched up the soil with ourvery nails, we have watered it with our sweat, and now they would try totake it from us! Ah! they shall have my last drop of blood first!"

  "I do not say but----"

  "But what? Is it any fault of ours that the nobles fled to foreignlands? We have not stolen their lands, have we? The government offeredthem for sale; we bought them, and paid for them; they are lawfullyours."

  "That is true; but Monsieur de Sairmeuse is the great friend of theking."

  The young soldier, whose voice had aroused the most noble sentimentsonly a moment before, was forgotten.

  Invaded France, the threatening enemy, were alike forgotten. Theall-powerful instinct of avarice was suddenly aroused.

  "In my opinion," resumed Chanlouineau, "we should do well to consult theBaron d'Escorval."

  "Yes, yes!" exclaimed the peasants; "let us go at once!"

  They were starting, when a villager who sometimes read the papers,checked them by saying:

  "Take care what you do. Do you not know that since the return of theBourbons Monsieur d'Escorval is of no account whatever? Fouche has himupon the proscription list, and he is under the surveillance of thepolice."

  This objection dampened the enthusiasm.

  "That is true," murmured some of the older men; "a visit to Monsieurd'Escorval would, perhaps, do us more harm than good. And, besides, whatadvice could he give us?"

  Chanlouineau had forgotten all prudence.

  "What of that?" he exclaimed. "If Monsieur d'Escorval has no counsel togive us about this matter, he can, perhaps, teach us how to resist andto defend ourselves."

  For some moments Father Chupin had been studying, with an impassivecountenance, the storm of anger he had aroused. In his secret hearthe experienced the satisfaction of the incendiary at the sight of theflames he has kindled.

  Perhaps he already had a presentiment of the infamous part he would playa few months later.

  Satisfied with his experiment, he assumed, for the time, the role ofmoderator.

  "Wait a little. Do not cry before you are hurt," he exclaimed, in anironical tone. "Who told you that the Duc de Sairmeuse would troubleyou? How much of his former domain do you all own between you? Almostnothing. A few fields and meadows and a hill on the Borderie. All thesetogether did not in former times yield him an income of five thousandfrancs a year."

  "Yes, that is true," replied Chanlouineau; "and if the revenue youmention is quadrupled, it is only because the land is now in the handsof forty proprietors who cultivate it themselves."

  "Another reason why the duke will not say a word; he will not wish toset the whole district in commotion. In my opinion, he will dispossessonly one of the owners of his former estates, and that is our worthyex-mayor--Monsieur Lacheneur, in short."

  Ah! he knew only too well the egotism of his compatriots. He knew withwhat complacency and eagerness they would accept an expiatory victimwhose sacrifice should be their salvation.

  "That is a fact," remarked an old man; "Monsieur Lacheneur owns nearlyall the Sairmeuse property."

  "Say all, while you are about it," rejoined Father Chupin. "Where doesMonsieur Lacheneur live? In that beautiful Chateau de Sairmeuse whosegable we can see there through the trees. He hunts in the forests whichonce belonged to the Ducs de Sairmeuse; he fishes in their lakes; hedrives the horses which once belonged to them, in the carriages uponwhich one could now see their coat-of-arms, if it had not been paintedout.

  "Twenty years ago, Lacheneur was a poor devil like myself; now, he is agrand gentleman with fifty thousand livres a year. He wears the finestbroadcloth and top-boots like the Baron d'Escorval. He no longer works;he makes others work; and when he passes, everyone must bow to theearth. If you kill so much as a sparrow upon his lands, as he says, hewill cast you into prison. Ah, he has been fortunate. The emperor madehim mayor. The Bourbons deprived him of his office; but what does thatmatter to him? He is still the real master here, as the Sairmeuse werein other days. His son is pursuing his studies in Paris, intending tobecome a notary. As for his daughter, Mademoiselle Marie-Anne--"

  "Not a word against her!" exclaimed Chanlouineau; "if she were mistress,there would not be a poor man in the country; and yet, how some of herpensioners abuse her bounty. Ask your wife if this is not so, FatherChupin."

  Undoubtedly the impetuous young man spoke at the peril of his life.

  But the wicked old Chupin swallowed this affront which he would neverforget, and humbly continued:

  "I do not say that Mademoiselle Marie-Anne is not generous; but afterall her charitable work she has plenty of money left for her finedresses and her fallals. I think that Monsieur Lacheneur ought tobe very well content, even after he has restored to its former ownerone-half or even three-quarters of the property he has acquired--no onecan tell how. He would have enough left then to grind the poor underfoot."

  After his appeal to selfishness, Father Chupin appealed to envy. Therecould be no doubt of his success.

  But he had not time to pursue his advantage. The services were over, andthe worshippers were leaving the church.

  Soon there appeared upon the porch the man in question, with a younggirl of dazzling beauty leaning upon his arm.

  Father Chupin walked straight toward him,
and brusquely delivered hismessage.

  M. Lacheneur staggered beneath the blow. He turned first so red, then sofrightfully pale, that those around him thought he was about to fall.

  But he quickly recovered his self-possession, and without a word to themessenger, he walked rapidly away, leading his daughter.

  Some minutes later an old post-chaise, drawn by four horses, dashedthrough the village at a gallop, and paused before the house of thevillage cure.

  Then one might have witnessed a singular spectacle.

  Father Chupin had gathered his wife and his children together, and thefour surrounded the carriage, shouting, with all the power of theirlungs:

  "Long live the Duc de Sairmeuse!"