Part 12

"Yes," Giovanni replied, looking the girl in the face; "and I forbade you to follow me."

"And so I did not follow you."

"But why have you come to Paris, then?"

"And why have you not returned? It is six months since you went away--six months! Cannot you understand that that is a fearfully long time when one loves, when one is waiting, when one lives only on hope?"

"I would have returned."

"Oh! don't tell me that, Giovanni! No, you would not have returned--or else you would have come too late and would have found me dead! Clearly, you do not understand how much I love you; you know not that to me this love is above and beyond the whole world, that it makes me capable of defying everything, of undertaking any enterprise.--But why do I disturb the happiness that is mine now that I have found you?--Why these clouds on your brow? I will not utter one word of reproach--I will not ask a question. Let me live in the same city with you, let me see you, speak to you sometimes, and I shall be happy; and I will not even ask you what you are doing in Paris, or why you are afraid to have me mention your name!"

"But I propose to tell you!" muttered Giovanni, in a gloomy voice, dropping the girl's hand, so that she shuddered, although she did not yet know why her heart was turned to ice. "Since you have chosen to come to Paris despite my prohibition, you must know what your lover is doing; otherwise, you might unsuspectingly compromise his safety every day."

The young man rose and walked about the room, with a sinister expression, saying:

"Ah! why did you come to Paris, Miretta?"

"Mon Dieu! in what a tone you say that! You would make me tremble if I did not love you so dearly!"

"Your love will not resist, I will swear, the confidence I am about to make to you."

"My love is stronger than everything! You may put it to the test!"

"But if your lover were--a man banished from society--a--a criminal, in short?"

Miretta ran to Giovanni and threw herself into his arms, crying in a tone of savage joy:

"Ah! I was afraid that you were going to say that you loved someone else! I breathe again, since it is not that."

Giovanni kept his eyes fixed for some moments on the girl's, then said, shaking his head:

"Ah! it is the truth! she loves me truly!"

Thereupon he resumed his seat and continued, but more calmly:

"Listen, Miretta: there has been in Paris, for several months past, a man who spreads terror through all classes of society, but especially among the wealthiest; this man--this robber, for I am talking of a robber--attacks every night those people whose purses he knows to be well lined. Adroit, active, fearless, he intimidates his victims by his audacity, he inspires terror by his mere presence, and never, up to the present moment, has he been obliged to shed blood in order to accomplish his ends. When--which rarely happens--he falls in with a gentleman who is brave enough to defend himself, he easily disarms him, and then contents himself with taking his gold. You may imagine that the police are straining every nerve to capture this brigand; but thus far all their efforts have been fruitless. And yet his description, or rather his costume, is known everywhere; for the robber always wears the same dress when he performs his exploits. An ample olive-green cloak envelops his body, a red cap with a fringe of boar's hair covers his head and comes down to his eyes, and a long black beard conceals the lower part of his face."

"Mon Dieu!" said Miretta; "the man must present a terrifying appearance, in very truth! But what have I to do with this robber? I am not afraid that he will take my gold. And why do you tell me of all his doughty deeds?"

Giovanni rose without replying; he went to an old chest secured by a stout padlock, opened it, and took out the olive-green cloak, the cap with the boar's hair, and the enormous black beard. He threw them all at the girl's feet, saying:

"See! here is the costume that this redoubtable brigand assumes every night; for this man whom the police seek and pursue to no purpose, this man who spreads terror and dismay throughout Paris--is I--your lover--Giovanni!"

Miretta covered her face with her hands.

"You!" she murmured; "you! Oh! it is impossible!"

"I have told you the truth, Miretta; indeed, why should I tell you this story, if it were untrue?"

"O mon Dieu! But what can have induced you to take up this horrible trade?"

"Oh! it goes back a long way! Alas! in life, one thing leads to another, all things are connected. The child who refuses to study, the youth who leads a vagabond life, the young man who seeks only to enjoy himself and to gratify his passions--all these are insensibly marching on to the goal which I have reached. They approach it less openly, perhaps! Some become swindlers, others Greeks--that is to say, they cheat at cards in fashionable society. I consider myself as good as they are; I run greater risks, that is all the difference! Yes, the man who seeks nothing but pleasure comes to this, unless he has the strength, the common sense, to stop in time. But I did not stop. I determined to indulge myself with all the forms of pleasure which the favorites of fortune enjoy--or those men whose talents raise them to the highest positions, to the greatest honors. But I had neither fortune nor talent. I might tell you that it was the decree of fate, that my destiny was written in advance, that I could not avoid it. I will not say that, because I do not believe it; because, on the contrary, everything tends to prove that men make themselves what they are.--Besides, why should I seek to excuse myself? I had a momentary respite from my passions--a moment of calm and almost unalloyed happiness; that was when I knew you, Miretta! Your sincere love made me think, for a brief period, that to love was all that was necessary to be happy. But soon those passions, which you had had the art to lull to sleep, reawoke in my being; it was impossible for me to resist them. You yourself unsuspectingly aroused them sometimes; for when I saw you dressed so simply, so shabbily, I would say to myself:

"'Ah! how lovely she would be in a handsome silk dress! in the jewels with which so many old and ugly women bedeck themselves! What joy to drive with her in a fine carriage! to see everyone admire her and envy my good fortune!'"

"Ah! did I need fine clothes to love you, Giovanni?"

"No, not you; but I--I wanted to give them to you, to see you dressed in them.--Well, Miretta, that desire I am able to satisfy now. Come, look!"

Giovanni took Miretta's hand, led her to the chest, opened a false bottom, and showed her a heap of gold pieces, jewels, and diamonds, which half filled the great box.

"Do you see that gold? do you see all those treasures? A few more months in Paris, and I shall have twice as much! Then I will return to Italy; and if you will go with me, you shall be the most fashionable, the most coquettish, the most richly dressed of women!"

Miretta turned away from the chest with a gesture of horror.

"I! array myself in jewels that you have stolen! Oh! never! never! That gold makes me ill! Look you, Giovanni--I must needs love you very dearly to be still in the room with you after the confession you have made to me! And yet, I am grateful to you for having confided this terrible secret to me; I thank you for having such confidence in me.--Ah! you know full well that I will not betray it!--Yes, my love is so great that I can forgive everything, forget everything! But, in pity's name! for the love of God! renounce this ghastly career; leave this path of crime in which, sooner or later, you will meet your punishment! You wanted wealth--well, have you not enough? Take what you have acquired by such evil means, since you have the courage to make use of it without remorse. But come with me; let us leave Paris, and France, to-morrow--nay, this very night! I will stay with you, to watch over your safety, to turn aside the dangers that may threaten you. When all danger is at an end, then I will leave you, if my presence annoys you; but, near or far, I will watch over you, and every morning and every evening I will pray God to forgive your crimes and open your heart to repentance.--Giovanni, my Giovanni, do not spurn my entreaties; trust a secret voice which tells me that death awaits you in the frightful trade you ply. I beg you on my knees--abandon it, and let us fly--far, far from Paris--to the end of the world--so far that you will be in no danger.--Oh! I was mad just now when I preferred to know that you were a criminal rather than in love with another woman; heaven is punishing me for that blasphemy.--Giovanni, I give you back your liberty, your oaths; I will forgive you if you do love another woman. But, in the name of the Madonna who presided over your birth, tell me, oh! tell me that you will abandon this career, which will surely lead you to the scaffold!"

The girl had thrown herself at her lover's feet, she held his hands, she raised to his face her eyes wet with tears; and at that moment there was something sublime in the expression of her features.

But Giovanni had listened to her with no outward evidence of emotion. When she ceased to speak, he raised her, seated her on the sofa, took his seat beside her, and said with perfect tranquillity:

"My dear love, I forbade you to follow me, to come to France. I was wise to do so; I anticipated some such scene as this. If you will take my advice, you will return instantly to Milan."

"With you?"

"No; without me."

"Never! My mind is made up: I shall remain where you are. I have nothing left to lose! I have sacrificed to you a maiden's most precious treasure, and it is easy for me to give you now my repose and my life."

"But I do not ask you for either. You are too excitable, my poor Miretta! you have an ardent imagination. Now, I am thoroughly practical. You choose to remain in Paris--very good! But you must understand that it is impossible for you to live with me; you would embarrass me; in this trade of mine, a woman is always in the way; when she thinks that she is helping us, she ruins us!"

"So you are not willing to abandon this--this infamous trade?"

Giovanni darted a glance at the girl which almost made her shudder, as he replied:

"No woman will ever change my resolutions; when it pleases me to enjoy my wealth, to return to Italy, the robber will vanish, and Giovanni, favored of fortune, assuming a stately name and title, will make a brilliant appearance in the world, where everyone will cringe to him without trying to ascertain the source of his fortune.--You have heard me, Miretta; so never recur to this subject, or you will see me no more."

Miretta made no other reply than to let her head sink sadly on her breast.

"You have a place in Paris, I am told: you are in the service of Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin?"

"Yes; how do you know that?"

"I know much more! It was Cédrille, your cousin, who brought you to Paris?"

"Yes; and I had arranged to meet him in front of the house this evening, at dusk; I thought that he would be my escort and would take me to see a young girl who lives on Rue Saint-Jacques, where her father keeps baths; for that girl rendered us a great service this morning, when we arrived in Paris. You do not know that----"

"I know all! the miserable jests, the jibes that they discharged at your travelling companion, poor Cédrille; and the compliments they paid to the pretty foreigner; and the quarrel and the battle that followed!--Oh! I recognized in all that the untamed highborn youth, which is determined to be master in France--more master than the king, in truth! But let them beware! There is at the head of the government a certain Cardinal de Richelieu, who, I fancy, will straighten all this out! He will be called a tyrant, for every man is so called who attempts to put down abuses, to put a curb on license and disorder, to give power to the laws, and, above all, to have them executed, whatever the name, the rank, or the exalted position of the person whom they strike!--But the man of genius, the strong man, is not at all disturbed by the clamor which he stirs up about him; he goes his way and reaches his goal, often calumniated by his contemporaries; it is posterity that takes it upon itself to do him justice!--Well! it seems to me, Miretta, that I reason rather well for a robber, eh? You see that, even though one lives at war with society, that does not prevent one from doing justice to those who are able to protect it.--But let us return to yourself: you waited in vain for Cédrille, for I was plying him with drink at a wine shop, with a certain Gascon chevalier, as long and lean as a beanpole, who claims also to be your liberator."

"Oh, yes! I remember; a tall man, and very thin; he almost knelt in front of our horse; he insisted on kissing my hand and on my accepting him for my knight! But he is horribly ugly!"

"That is true; but that does not prevent him from being in love with you. Ah! Seigneur Passedix--that is this hero's name--is not discreet in his love affairs. Beware, Miretta! he has sworn to triumph over your rigor."

"He is not dangerous! But even if he were the handsomest, most fascinating man in the kingdom of France, you well know that my heart is no longer mine to give!"

Giovanni bestowed an affectionate glance on the girl and pressed her hand lovingly, murmuring:

"Poor girl! I know well that that is true! You are not like other women!"

But soon, as if regretting that momentary weakness, the Italian resumed his indifferent air and began to pace the floor.

"Well," he said, "have you been to see the bath keeper's daughter on Rue Saint-Jacques?"

"Mon Dieu! no; in the first place, I waited for Cédrille a long while; and when he did not come, I decided to go alone, for I am not timid, as you know. But when I found myself all alone, at night, in the streets of this great city, of which I have heard so many terrible things, I felt troubled, my heart beat fast; however, I walked on, thinking that I knew my road. At last, as I was afraid of going astray, I spoke to a gentleman who was passing, and asked him to direct me to Master Hugonnet's baths, on Rue Saint-Jacques.--Ah! how I regretted speaking to that man! If you knew how he treated me!--'Aha! you wanton!' he said; 'going to the baths so late? then the assignation must be very important!'--And he added a lot of insulting remarks, and tried to put his arm about my waist and to detain me by force. But anger gave me strength; I pushed the man away so violently that he seemed dazed, and I fled, running at random; then it was that I lost my way altogether. I walked a long, long while, trying to find my way back to the Hôtel de Mongarcin; but I would have passed the whole night in the street rather than ask my way again! Then you met me."

"This should serve you as a lesson, Miretta; you must not venture out alone in Paris at night; it is dangerous for a man, much more so for a pretty young girl; and if the watch had fallen in with you, they would have taken you to the Filles Repenties. But the clock struck ten long ago; I will take you back to the Hôtel de Mongarcin. Do you know that they will form a strange opinion of you there? On the very day of your arrival, you disappear for a large part of the evening."

"I shall tell my young mistress what happened to me; I shall tell her the whole truth; Mademoiselle Valentine will forgive me, for I will promise to be more prudent hereafter."

"You will tell her the _whole_ truth?" repeated Giovanni, fastening his eyes on the girl's face.

"Yes, but without naming you. Oh! never fear: I will not tell--your secret."

"I rely upon it; come! But wait a moment."

Giovanni took the horrible hairy cap, the huge beard, and the olive-green cloak, and held them all up before Miretta, saying:

"Look at these carefully; if you should ever see a man dressed in these clothes, fly, fly at once--do not go near that man!--Do you swear, Miretta?"

"I swear," faltered the girl, in a trembling voice.

"On that condition, you will see me again sometimes, now as a wealthy gentleman, now as a simple artisan, or a bourgeois; but I will speak first to you."

With that, the Italian hastily resumed the costume of an old Bohemian; when that was done, he said:

"Come, now, let us make haste; but, above all things, make no noise."

Giovanni quickly extinguished the candles and replaced in its corner the smoking lamp, which but dimly lighted the apartment. Then he took Miretta's hand and led her from the room and the house with the same precautions and without meeting anybody. Once in the street, he drew his companion's arm through his and forced her to walk rapidly.

They walked the whole distance in silence; the girl was oppressed by grief and alarm; when they met anyone, she pressed her guide's arm tight, for she imagined that he would be recognized and arrested. But Giovanni knew Paris and its most crooked streets perfectly; in a very short time he and his companion stopped in front of a large house, and he said to her:

"This is the place; here is the Hôtel de Mongarcin; you are at home."

"Already!"

"You say _already_, and you are trembling like a leaf, my poor girl!"

"Oh! not for myself! For now I must leave you; but when shall I see you again?"

Giovanni made a movement with his head which seemed to indicate that he did not himself know. Then, before Miretta had had time to detain him, he disappeared, and she soon ceased to hear his footsteps.

Thereupon Miretta gave free vent to her sobs and went into the house, murmuring:

"Ah! the unhappy man!"

XVII

THE FIRE OF SAINT-JEAN

Long before the reign of King Louis XIII, the sheriffs of Paris were wont, on Saint-Jean's Eve, to cause huge piles of sticks of all dimensions, with thorn bushes and small twigs quick to ignite, to be constructed on Place de Grève, whither the king would come, in solemn state, to set fire to that enormous mass with his own hand.

In 1471, Louis XI followed the example of his predecessors and presided at that ceremony, which eventually came to be attended with fêtes and entertainments to which the good people of Paris always looked forward with impatience.

The Fire of Saint-Jean in 1573 was a magnificent ceremony, so it is said. A mast about sixty feet in height had been erected on Place de Grève, with many wooden crossbars, to which an enormous quantity of fagots and bundles of brushwood was attached. A number of loads of wood and countless bundles of straw were heaped about the base of this structure. The whole was decorated, or rather disguised, by wreaths and garlands. Bouquets were distributed to the king and his suite, to the notables of the city, and to the magistrates. Fireworks also were placed under the fagots. A hundred and twenty archers from the city, a hundred bowmen, and a hundred arquebusiers kept order. Lastly, they hung on the mast a large basket containing two dozen cats and a fox. This last then was, no doubt, the _ne plus ultra_ of the fête. Poor cats! poor foxes! We leave you in peace now when we have public rejoicings; and to say the truth, I am persuaded that they are none the less attractive for that reason.

Under Cardinal de Richelieu, the ceremony of the Fire of Saint-Jean had lost much of its brilliancy; cats were no longer burned, as it was natural that they should not be, the first minister having a deep affection for those animals, by which he loved to be surrounded.

However, the ceremony continued to take place, and still attracted a goodly number of sightseers, idlers, students, young girls, and even young gentlemen, who came thither in search of adventures, or to play tricks on rustics.

A few weeks after the events we have narrated, the Place de Grève was adorned by a pile of combustibles, which, while it could not be compared with those which we have described, was very presentable none the less.

When the night began to fall, there was a large number of people assembled on the square; but that was a mere nothing, for every moment thereafter the quays or the narrow streets leading into the square poured forth a constant stream of bourgeois parties, bands of young clerks of the Basoche, young men arm in arm, people of the lower classes, esquires, pages, and elegant young gentlemen carefully enveloped in their cloaks, beneath which they tried to conceal the richness of their costumes, but always betrayed it by the too gorgeous plumes that adorned their hats or the magnificence of the spurs attached to their boots.

By the time that it was quite dark, the square was crowded, and one could not move without difficulty, especially in the direction of the pile. But what life! what animation! what a fusillade of voices! what a din of remarks and questions bandied about in all directions! It was an incessant humming sound.

Many people reflected aloud, in order to be overheard by everybody within earshot; for at all times there have been plenty of those fine talkers, those pretentious personages who deem themselves called upon to declaim, to put themselves forward, and who often put forward nothing but their folly or their conceit!

"This way, father; let us go this way; I promise you that we shall have a much better place to see the fire!" said a tall, fine-looking girl, in whom we meet once more a pleasant acquaintance from Rue Saint-Jacques.

It was Ambroisine, whose right arm was passed through the arm of a girl even prettier than herself, but with a shy, timid air, who was evidently surprised beyond measure to find herself in the midst of that tumult. That girl was Bathilde, the daughter of Landry the bath keeper of Rue Dauphine.

How did it happen that she was so far from home, and without her mother, in the midst of that bold and curious crowd, where beauty and youth were the objective point of the glances of most of the sightseers? How did it happen that she was arm in arm with Ambroisine, upon whom Dame Ragonde had looked coldly for so long a time, and with whom she seemed afraid to allow her daughter to talk?

The reason was that Bathilde's mother had an old kinswoman in Normandie, who had always manifested much affection for her, and had refrained from marrying, with the intention of leaving all her property to Ragonde some day. That property consisted of a few acres of land and a wretched house--the whole being worth, perhaps, fifteen hundred livres; but we must remember that in those days fifteen hundred livres was equal to six thousand to-day; that Landry had no other property than his business; and lastly, that in Ragonde's eyes that fifteen hundred livres would be a sufficient dowry to obtain for Bathilde the hand of some respectable Parisian tradesman.

It happened that one fine day a message arrived from Caudebec, the old kinswoman's residence. A neighbor of hers wrote to Dame Landry, to inform her that her cousin was very ill, and was most anxious to have her by her side, to close her eyes. He added that haste was important, because the old maid seemed to have only a short time to live.