She replied, with a singular look, in the accent of the south:
"No, sir; since six months she is no more."
"She is dead?"
"Yes, sir."
"And of what?"
The woman hesitated, then muttered:
"She is dead—dead, I tell you."
"But of what?"
"Of a fall, then!"
"A fall! where from?"
"From the window."
I gave her a few pence.
"Tell me about it," I said.
No doubt she strongly wished to talk of it, no doubt, too, she had often repeated this history for the last six months, for she retailed it at great length, as a story well-known by heart and invariable in its repetition.
Then I learnt that for thirty years, the old deaf man had had a mistress in the neighbouring village, and that his wife having learnt this by chance from a passing carter, who spoke of it without knowing who she was, rushed panting and bewildered to the attic, and there hurled herself from the window, not perhaps with deliberate purpose, but impelled by the torture of the horrible agony caused by her discovery, which goaded her forward in an irresistible gust of passion, like a whip lashing and cutting. She had flown up the staircase, burst open the door, and without knowing, without being able to stop her headlong speed, had continued to run straight ahead and had leaped into empty space.
Hehad known nothing of it; he did not know even now; he would never know, because he was deaf. His wife was dead, that was all. All the world must die some time or other!
I could see him at a distance giving orders by signs to his labourers.
Then I caught sight of the carriage which was waiting for me in the shade of a tree, and I returned to Saint-Tropez.
April 14th.
I was going to bed yesterday evening, although it was only nine o'clock, when a telegram was handed to me. A friend, one of my dearest, sent me this message: "I am at Monte-Carlo for four days, and have been telegraphing to you at every port on the coast. Come to me at once."
And behold, the wish to see him, the longing to talk, to laugh, to gossip about society, about things, about people; the longing to slander, to criticize, to blame, to judge, to chatter, was alight within me in a moment, like a conflagration. On that morning, even, I should have been furious at this recall, yet in the evening I was enchanted at it; I wished myself already there, with the great dining-room of the restaurant full of people before my eyes, and in my ears that murmur of voices in which the numbers of the roulette table dominate all other phrases, like theDominus vobiscumof the church services.
I called Bernard.
"We shall start at about four o'clock in the morning for Monaco," I said to him.
He replied philosophically:
"If it is fine, sir."
"Itwillbe fine."
"The barometer is going down, though."
"Pooh! it will go up again."
The mariner smiled an incredulous smile.
I went to bed and to sleep.
It was I who woke the men. It was dark, and a few clouds hid the sky. The barometer had gone down still more.
The two men shook their heads with a distrustful air.
I repeated:
"Pooh! it will be fine. Come, let us be off!"
Bernard said:
"When I can see the open, I know what I am about; but here, in this harbour, at the end of this gulf, one knows nothing, sir, one can see nothing; there might be a fearful sea on, without our knowing anything about it."
I replied:
"The barometer has gone down, therefore we shall not have an east wind. Now, if we have a west wind, we can put into Agay, which is only six or seven miles off." The men did not seem much reassured; however, they got ready to start.
"Shall we take the dingy on deck," asked Bernard.
"No, you will see it will be quite fine. Let it tow astern as usual."
A quarter of an hour later, we had quitted the harbour, and were running through the entrance of the gulf, to a light and intermittent breeze.
I laughed.
"Well you see, the weather is good enough."
Soon, we had passed the black and white tower built upon the Rabiou shoal, and although sheltered by Cape Camarat which runs far out into the open sea, and of which the flashing light appeared from minute to minute, theBel-Amiwas already lifted forwards by long powerful slow waves; those hills of water which move on, one behind the other, without noise, without shock, without foam, menacing without fury, alarming in their very tranquillity.
One saw nothing, one only felt the ascent and descent of the yacht over the dark and silently moving waters.
Bernard said:
"There has been a gale out at sea to-night, sir; we shall be lucky if we get in without accident."
The day broke brightly over the wild crowding waves, and we all three looked anxiously seawards to see if the squall were returning.
All this time the boat was running a great pace before the wind and with the tide. Already Agay appeared on our beam, and we held counsel whether we should make for Cannes, to escape the rough weather, or for Nice, running to seaward of the isles.
Bernard would have preferred Cannes: but as the breeze did not freshen, I decided in favour of Nice.
For three hours all went well; though the poor little yacht rolled like a cork in the awful swell.
No one who is unacquainted with the open sea, that sea of mountains, moving with weighty and rapid strides, separated by valleys which change place from second to second, filled up and formed again incessantly, can guess, can imagine the mysterious, redoubtable, terrifying and superb force of the waves.
Our little dingy followed far behind us, at the extremity of forty yards of hawser, through this liquid and dancing chaos. We lost sight of it every moment, then suddenly it would reappear perched on the summit of a wave, floating along like a great white bird.
Here is Cannes in the depth of its bay, Saint-Honorat with its tower standing up among the waves, and before us the Cape d'Antibes.
The breeze freshened little by little, and the crests of the waves became flocks of sheep, those snowy sheep which move so fast, and of which the countless troop careers along without dog or shepherd under the endless sky.
Bernard said to me:
"It will be all we shall do to make Antibes."
And indeed seas began to break over us, with inexpressible and violent noise. The sharp squalls shook us, throwing us into yawning gulfs, whence as we emerged, we righted ourselves with terrible shocks.
The gaff was lowered, but at every oscillation of the yacht, the boom touched the waves and seemed ready to tear away the mast, which if it should fly away with the sail, would leave us to float alone and lost upon the wild waves.
Bernard cried out:
"The dingy, sir."
I turned to look. A huge wave filled it, rolled it over, enveloped it in foam as if it would devour it, and, breaking the hawser by which it was made fast to us, took possession of it, half sinking, drowned; a conquered prey which it will presently throw upon the rocks down there, below the headland.
The minutes seem hours. Nothing can be done, we must go on, round the point in front of us, and when we have done that, we shall be sheltered, and in safety.
At last we reach it! The sea is now calm and smooth, protected as it is by the long tongue of rocks and earth which forms the Cape of Antibes.
There is the harbour from which we started only a few days ago, although it seems to me we have been voyaging for months, and we enter just as noon is striking.
The men are radiant on finding themselves back again, though Bernard repeats at every other moment:
"Ah, sir! our poor little boat; it went to my heart, to see it go down like that!"
As for me, I took the four o'clock train, to go and dine with my friend in the principality of Monaco.
I wish I had time to write at length about this surprising state; smaller than many a village in France, but wherein one may find an absolute sovereign, bishops, an army of Jesuits andseminaristsmore numerous than that of the ruler; an artillery, the guns of which are nearly all rifled, an etiquette more ceremonious than that of his lamented Majesty Louis XIV., principles of authority more despotic than those of William of Prussia, joined to a magnificent toleration for the vices of humanity, on which indeed, live both sovereign, bishops, Jesuits,seminarists,ministers, army, magistrates, every one in short.
Hail to this great pacific monarch, who without fear of invasion or revolution, reigns peacefully over his happy little flock of subjects, in the midst of court ceremonies which preserve intact the traditions of the four reverences, the twenty-six handkissings, and all the forms used once upon a time around Great Rulers.
This monarch, moreover, is neither sanguinary nor vindictive, and when he banishes, for he does banish sometimes, the measure is put in force with the utmost delicacy.
Is a proof needful?
An obstinate player, on a day of ill luck, insulted the sovereign. A decree was issued for his expulsion.
During a whole month, he prowled around the forbidden Paradise, fearing the sword blade of the archangel, in the guise of the sabre of the policeman. One day, however, he hardened his heart, crossed the frontier, reached the very centre of the kingdom in thirty seconds, and penetrated into the precincts of the Casino. But suddenly an official stopped him:
"Are you not banished, sir?"
"Yes, sir, but I leave by the next train."
"Oh! in that case it is all right. You can go in."
And every week he came back: and each time, the same functionary asked him the same question, to which he invariably gave the same answer.
Could justice be more gentle?
Within the last few years, however, a very serious and novel case occurred within the kingdom.
This was an assassination.
A man, a native of Monaco, not one of the wandering strangers of whom one meets legions on these shores—a husband, in a moment of anger, killed his wife; killed her without rhyme or reason, without any excuse that could be accepted.
Indignation was unanimous throughout the principality.
The Supreme Court met to judge this exceptional case (a murder had never taken place before), and the wretch was with one voice, condemned to death.
The indignant sovereign ratified the sentence.
There only remained to execute the criminal. Then arose a difficulty. The country possessed neither guillotine nor executioner.
What was to be done? By the advice of the minister of Foreign affairs, the Prince opened negotiations with France to obtain the loan of a headsman and his apparatus.
Long deliberations took place in the ministry at Paris. At last they replied by sending an estimate of the cost of moving the woodwork and the practitioner. The whole amounted to sixteen thousand francs (six hundred and forty pounds).
The Monarch of Monaco reflected that the operation would cost him dear; the assassin was certainly not worth that price. Sixteen thousand francs for the head of a wretch like that! Never!
The same request was addressed to the Italian government. A King and a brother would no doubt show himself less exacting than a Republic.
The Italian government sent in a bill which amounted to twelve thousand francs, (four hundred and eighty pounds).
Twelve thousand francs! It would be necessary to impose a new tax, a tax of two francs (twenty pence) a head! This would be enough to cause serious, and hitherto unknown trouble in the State.
Then they bethought them of having the villain beheaded by a simple soldier. But the general, on being consulted, replied hesitatingly, that perhaps his men had scarcely sufficient practice to acquit themselves satisfactorily of a task, which undoubtedly demanded great experience in the handling of the sword.
Then the Prince again assembled the Supreme Court, and submitted to it this embarrassing case.
They deliberated long, without finding any practical way out of the difficulty. At last the first president proposed to commute the sentence of death, to that of lifelong imprisonment, and the measure was adopted.
But they did not possess a prison. It was necessary to fit one up, and a gaoler was appointed who took charge of the prisoner.
For six months all went well. The captive slept all day on a straw mattress in the nook arranged for him, and his guardian lazily reclined upon a chair before the door, while he watched the passers-by.
The Prince, however, is economical—extravagance is not his greatest fault—and he has accurate accounts laid before him of the smallest expenses of his State (the list of them is not a long one). They handed him, therefore, the bill of the expenses incurred in the creation of this new function, the cost of the prison, the prisoner, and the watchman. The salary of this last was a heavy burden on the budget of the Sovereign.
At first he merely made a wry face over it; but when he reflected that this might go on for ever (the prisoner was young), he requested his Minister of Justice to take measures to suppress the expense.
The minister consulted the President of the Tribunal, and the two agreed to suppress the expense of a gaoler. The prisoner, thus invited to guard himself, could not fail to escape, which would solve the question to the satisfaction of all parties.
The gaoler was therefore restored to his family, and it became the duty of a scullion from the palace kitchen, to carry to the prisoner his morning and evening meals. But the captive made no attempt to recover his liberty.
Finally, one day, as they had neglected to furnish him with food, they beheld him tranquilly appear at the palace to claim it; and from that day forward, it became his habit to come at meal-times to the palace, to eat with the servants, whose friend he became, and thus save the cook the trouble of the walk to and fro.
After breakfast, he would take a turn as far as Monte Carlo. He sometimes went into the Casino, to venture a five-franc piece on the green cloth. When he had won, he gave himself a good dinner at one of the most fashionable hotels; then he returned to his prison, carefully locking his door on the inside.
He never slept away a single night.
The situation became a little puzzling, not for the convict, but for the judges.
The court assembled afresh, and it was decided that they should invite the criminal to leave the State of Monaco.
When this decision was announced to him, he simply replied:
"You are pleased to be facetious. Well! and what would become of me in that case? I have no longer any means of subsistence. I have no longer a family. What would you have me do? I was condemned to death. You did not choose to execute me. I made no complaint. I was afterwards condemned to imprisonment for life, and placed in the hands of a gaoler. You took away my guardian. Again I made no complaint.
"Now, to-day, you want to turn me out of the country. Not if I know it. I am a prisoner, your prisoner, judged and condemned by you. I am faithfully fulfilling my sentence. I remain here."
The Supreme Court was floored. The Prince was in a terrible rage, and ordered fresh measures to be taken.
Deliberations were resumed.
Then, at last, they decided to offer to the culprit a pension of six hundred francs (twenty-four pounds), if he would leave the State and live elsewhere.
He accepted.
He has rented a little plot five minutes' walk from the kingdom of his former sovereign, and lives happily upon his property, cultivating a few vegetables, and despising all potentates.
However, the Court of Monaco has profited, though a little late, by this experience, and has made a treaty with the French Government, by which they send their convicts over to France, who keeps them out of sight, in consideration of a modest compensation.
In the judicial archives of the principality, one is shown the decree which settles the pension, by which the rascal was induced to leave the State of Monaco.
Opposite to the palace, rises the rival establishment, the Roulette. There is, however, no hatred, no hostility between them; for the one supports the other, which in return protects the first. Admirable example! unique instance of two neighbouring and powerful families living in peace in one tiny state: an example well calculated to efface the remembrance of the Capulets and the Montagues. Here, the house of the sovereign; there, the house of play; the old and the new society fraternizing to the sound of gold.
The saloons of the Casino are as readily opened to strangers, as those of the Prince are difficult of access.
I turn to the first.
A noise of money, continuous as that of the waves, a noise at once deep, light and terrible, fills the ears from the moment one enters, then fills the soul, stirs the heart, troubles the mind, and bewilders thought. Everywhere this sound, this singing, crying, calling, tempting, rending sound.
Around the tables, a motley crowd of players, the scum of every continent and of every society; mixed with princes, or future kings, women of fashion,bourgeois,money lenders, disreputable women; a mixture unique in the world, of men of all races, of all castes, of all kinds, of every origin; a perfect museum of adventurers from Russia, Brazil, Chili, Italy, Spain, Germany; of old women with reticules, of disreputable young ones carrying little bags containing keys, a handkerchief, and the three last five-franc pieces which are kept for the green cloth, when the vein of luck shall chance to return.
I approached the first table, and saw ... a pale face, with lined forehead, and hard-set lip; features convulsed, with an expression of evil ... the young woman of Agay bay, the beautiful sweetheart of the sunny wood, and the moonlit bay. He, too, is there, seated before her, his hand resting on a few napoleons.
"Play on the first square," said she.
He inquired anxiously:
"All?"
"Yes, all."
He placed the coins in a little heap.
The croupier turned the wheel. The ball ran, danced, and stopped.
"Nothing further counts," jerks forth the voice, which resumes after a moment:
"Twenty-eight."
The young woman started, and in a hard, sharp tone said:
"Come away."
He rose, and without looking at her, followed her; and one felt that some dreadful thing had sprung up between them.
Some one remarked:
"Good-bye to love. They don't look as if they were of one mind to-day."
A hand taps me on the shoulder. I turn round. It is my friend.
I have only now to ask pardon for having thus trespassed on my reader by talking so much of myself. I had written this journal of day-dreams entirely for myself, or rather, I had taken advantage of my floating solitude, to capture the wandering ideas which are wont to traverse our minds, like birds on the wing.
But I am asked to publish these few pages, which, unconnected, deficient in composition and in art, follow one after the other without a reason, and abruptly conclude without a motive; simply because a squall of wind put an end to my voyage.
I have yielded to this request. Perhaps I am wrong.