Chapter 17 fifteen

After the priest sent the letter, and on the eve of M. de La Marche's departure, a small incident happened in Varennes, which was very surprising and interesting to me when I heard it in America.Moreover, it is connected in an extraordinary way with the most important events of my life, as you will see later. Although I was wounded in the unfortunate incident at Savannah①Savannah, the capital of Georgia, USA, was captured by the British in December 1778. In September 1779, the American and French allied forces launched a powerful offensive to recapture the city, but failed and suffered heavy casualties.

Quite seriously, I was still active in Virginia under the command of General Green to collect the remnants of Gates; Gates seemed to me a far greater hero than his lucky rival, Washington.We have just learned that M. de Ternet's squadron has landed.Reinforcements are in sight, and the frustrations that infected us during times of setbacks and hardships are beginning to dissipate (actually, far fewer reinforcements are arriving than we had hoped for).Arthur and I were walking in the woods not far from camp.We took advantage of this short break to talk at last about something other than Cornwallis and the disgraceful Arnold.We have long been beholders of America's catastrophe, and with a heavy heart the fear of seeing the forces of injustice and greed defeat the cause of our people, and now we can indulge in sweet joy.I took an hour off to forget about the hard work and retreat to the oasis of my mind, the Saint-Sever family.At such moments, as was customary, I related to good Arthur some of the grotesque scenes of my first encounter with the world after leaving Maupra's Rock.I described to him my first formal appearance attire, and I described Miss LeBlanc's contempt and disgust for me, and she told her friend St. John not to approach me within my arm's reach.As soon as I thought of those interesting people, the image of Marcas, a dignified nobleman of the last class of Spain, somehow came to my mind; and I began to describe faithfully and carefully the clothes, manners, and speech of this mysterious figure.Marcus is not really as ridiculous as I imagined; but at twenty a bachelor is like a child, especially a soldier who has just escaped great danger and won his own life, and is naturally full of carelessness. arrogance.Arthur laughed heartily as he listened to my account, and declared his willingness to exchange all the natural specimens he had collected for a rare beast like the one I described.Enthused by the pleasure he shared in my boyishness, I wondered if I could resist the temptation to exaggerate my model's features a little, when, at the corner of the lane, we suddenly met a shabbily dressed man.A tall, bony man met head-on.He looked serious and walked towards us thoughtfully, holding a long sword drawn out of its sheath in his hand, and hung the sword head to the ground without hostility.Arthur was taken aback by such a coincidence that the figure so closely resembled the one I had just described; he let out a sudden burst of uncontrollable laughter, and dodged to let the Malcus likeness pass, while throwing himself on the grass in fits of coughing fits. superior. ①Nathanael Green (1741-1786), an American general, was nominated by Washington to replace Gates in December 1780 and reorganized his army.

② Horatio Gates (1725-1806), an American general, in 1777 a group of military officers hoped that Gates would replace Washington in command of the US army, but failed. In August 1780, Gates was completely defeated by Cornwallis, and only 700 of an American army of 3,000 survived. ③ Cornwallis (1738-1805), a British general, was in charge of the southern campaign. ④ Benedict Arnold (174l-1801), formerly an American general, escaped after the plan of collaborating with the enemy was uncovered in September 1780, and later attacked the American army as a brigadier general of the British army and spent the rest of his life in London.

As for me, I couldn't laugh, and this seemingly inconceivable incident almost shocked me most accustomed to adventure.He and I, our eyes fixed on each other, arms outstretched, legs approaching each other.He is not the ghost of Marcas, but himself, a flesh-and-blood Spanish nobleman, the venerable mole-catcher. I was startled when I saw the man whom I had taken to be a ghost slowly raise his hand to the brim of his hat, and lifted it up with meticulous care, and took three steps back; Arthur thought I was joking with such passion, and became more and more delighted.The weasel catcher was not embarrassed; perhaps he was dignified with reason, thinking that this is the way people are greeted across the Atlantic.

Arthur's gaiety, however, would have been almost contagious, had not Marcus said to me at this moment, with the utmost seriousness: "Mr. Bernard, I have had the honor of looking for you for a long time." "It has been a long time indeed, my good Marcus," I squeezed the hand of this old friend happily: "But please tell me, by what amazing power, I have been able to have the luck to attract you all the time." Arrived here. Once upon a time, you were considered a wizard; am I now a sorcerer and don't know it?" "I'll tell you all about it, my dear general," replied Marcus, obviously dazzled by my general's uniform. "Allow me to walk with you; I will tell you many things, many things!"

Arthur could not help laughing again at the sound of Malcus repeating his last words in a weak voice, as if offering himself an echo--a quirk I had been imitating a moment before.Marcus turned to him, gazed at him for a moment, and bowed solemnly.Arthur returned to his seriousness at once, rose to his feet and returned the salute in a solemn and comical manner, almost bowing to the ground. We return to camp together.Along the way, Marcus told me his story, in that terse style that forced the listener to ask endless tiring questions, and, far from simplifying his account, overcomplicated the conversation.Arthur enjoyed it greatly; but you will not have the same pleasure in retelling this interminable conversation as it is, so I will simply tell you how Marcus decided to leave his country and his friends , to aid the cause of America with his long sword.

When M. de La Marche was preparing to leave for America, Marcas happened to be staying for a week at his Château de Berry, to make his annual inspection of the beams and joists of the barn.The count's family, excited by the expedition, were excitedly making all sorts of wonderful speculations about that distant land; full of dangers and wonders, according to some wise men in the village, and those who came back were wild. Wealth, the gold ingots they carried.There are so many silver ingots that it takes ten big ships to hold them.Don Marcas is like some extreme northern volcano, with a fiery imagination and a passionate love of the strange hidden behind its cold exterior.Accustomed to living in a state of balance on a girder of a roof truss on a place obviously higher than others, he was not indifferent to the glory of amazing onlookers every day with his brave, sure-footed acrobatic movements; he could not help Enthusiasmed by descriptions of the El Dorado; this impulse was especially strong because, as was customary, he kept his secrets to no one.M. de La Marche, therefore, was taken aback when, on the eve of his departure, he saw Marcus come forward and offer to accompany him to America as a servant.It was in vain that M. de La Marche reminded Marcas that he was too old to abandon his profession and venture into a new life.Markus was very firm and finally convinced him.Mr. de La Marche made this unusual choice resolutely for various reasons.He had long ago decided to take a servant older than Malcus, one who followed him only reluctantly.But M. de La Marche placed all his confidence in this man, which is difficult to admit, because he only has the appearance of aristocratic life, but in fact he hopes to be served frugally, discreetly, and faithfully.He knew that Marcus was a man of extreme integrity, even disinterested; for Marcus was like Don Quixote in mind and appearance.Among the ruins Marcus found one treasure, a stoneware jar containing nearly ten thousand francs in old gold and silver coins.Not only did he give it all back to the owner (to whom the owner of the ruins could have been deceived at will), but he also refused any payment, declaring, in eclipsed and irregular language, that "honesty perishes if it can be bought or sold." ① For the description of El Dorado in America, see Chapters 17 and 18 of Voltaire's novel Candide (1759).

The frugality, prudence, and conscientiousness of Marcus would make him a valuable servant, if he could be trained to use these qualities in the service of others.The only concern is that he may not be used to losing his independence.Before M. de Ternet's fleet set sail, however, M. de La Marche thought that he had time to put his new squire to the test. As for Marcas, he felt inseparable when he said goodbye to his friends and his homeland; Obvious preference; of all his castles (he was in the habit of calling every place he ever lived "his"), Saint-Several was the only one he came with joy and left with nostalgia. of.One day he fell, quite badly, from the roof, when Edmee was a child, and she won his heart by her tears and innocent care of the accident.Marcus had grown fonder of Saint-Sever since Patience came to live at the edge of the garden, for Patience was Orestes of Marcas.Marcus did not always know Patience; but Patience was the only one who knew Marcas well enough to know that beneath this strange exterior lay chivalrous rectitude and noble courage.Marcus bowed before the superior intellect of the hermit, and whenever Patience's poetry became incomprehensible, the weasel-catcher stopped reverently and avoided asking questions or failing to speak with touching patience. He lowered his eyes and nodded from time to time, expressing agreement if he realized something, which at least made his friend feel sincerely happy that someone listened without rebuttal. ① Orestes, a character in Greek legend, is loyal to friendship and has formed an irreversible friendship with Pyrades.

Marcus, however, knew enough to grasp the idea of ​​a republic, to share in the romantic hope of universal equalization and the restoration of the golden age of equality that old Patience so ardently hoped for.Marcus had often heard from his friends that great care must be exercised in the study of these doctrines (a commandment which Patience himself did not take much care to observe), and that his nature and habits were taciturn, so he never mentioned it. own philosophy.But he made more effective propaganda, passing from castle to hut, from bourgeois home to country estate, cheap pamphlets like The Lore of Good Old Richard, and other little readings of popular patriotism.According to the Jesuits, the books were distributed freely among the lower classes by a secret society of Voltairean philosophers committed to implementing the diabolical program of Freemasonry. ① Refers to the French translation of Franklin's famous book published in 1732, which is full of proverbs, maxims, aphorisms, and proverbs.

So there was a mix of revolutionary zeal and a love of adventure in Marcus' sudden decision.For too long the dormouse and polecat had been too weak enemies, and the granaries had provided too little space, for his public-minded man.Every day he read the overnight paper in the pantry of the decent people he visited; the war in America meant the awakening of liberty and justice in the New World, and it seemed to him bound to bring about a revolution in France.Indeed, he took seriously the influence of ideas that crossed the oceans and came to occupy our minds on the Continent.He often dreamed that a victorious American army jumped from many large ships, bringing to the French nation an olive branch of peace and a horn full of flowers and fruits symbolizing a good harvest.He also dreamed that he was commanding a valiant legion, returning to Varennes as an old soldier, a legislator, a rival to Washington, to right the wrongs, to overthrow the rule of the rich and powerful, to distribute a proper share of property to each proletarian, In these broad and powerful measures the good and upright nobles were protected and maintained a decent way of life.Needless to say, the necessary suffering of great political change was not in the mind of Marcas; nor was the romantic picture that Patience set before his eyes stained by a single splash of blood.

A great distance lay between these fine hopes and the service of M. de La Marche's valet; but Marcus had no other means of attaining his object.The establishment of the legion that was going to America was already full, and he could only board the merchant ship following the fleet as a passenger related to the expedition.All this he had already asked the priest without revealing his plans.His departure was undoubtedly a dramatic event for the entire population of Varenna. No sooner had he set foot on the shores of America than he felt an irresistible need to take up his great hat and sword, and go off alone through the woods, as he used to do in his native land.But his conscience forbade him to leave without saying goodbye after agreeing to serve his master.He had counted on fate to help him, and fate helped him.The battle was much more violent than one had expected, and there were many casualties, which M. de La Marche falsely feared being affected by the weakened health of his thin squire.In addition, he surmised that Marcus wanted freedom, and gave him a sum of money and letters of introduction, making it possible for him to enlist in the American army as a volunteer.Marcus, knowing his master's financial situation, refused the money, took only the letter of introduction, and set off, with the brisk walk of the swiftest weasel he ever caught. He would have liked to go to Philadelphia; but by an insignificant chance, learning that I was in the South, and intending, not without reason, to seek advice and help from me, he set foot on foot through strange, almost deserted, often Dangerous region, come and find me alone.Only his clothes were damaged; his yellow face remained unchanged.He was not surprised by this latest trek, the one from Saint-Several to the Garzo Tower. The only unusual behavior I noticed in him was that he looked over his shoulder now and then, as if to beckon someone; then he immediately smiled and sighed almost simultaneously.I couldn't help but ask him the reason for his uneasiness. "Ah!" he answered, "old habits stick; a poor dog! a good dog! Always wanting to say, 'Here, Blalow! Here, Blalow!'" "I understand," I said, "that Blairo is dead, and you just can't get used to the idea of ​​not seeing him following you any longer." "Dead?" he cried, waving his hands in horror. "No, thank God! Friend Paccience, great friend! Blelo happy, but sad like his master, his only master!" "If Blairo is kept at Patience," put in Arthur, "he is happy indeed, for Patience lacks nothing; Patience will love him out of love for you. ; you will surely see your noble friend and faithful dog again." Marcus looked up at the man who seemed to know his life well; convinced that he had never seen him before, he raised his hat and bowed reverently, as he always did when he didn't understand. On my direct recommendation, Marcus was recruited into my company and shortly thereafter was promoted to sergeant.This noble man has fought by my side, and has shown great valor. In 1782, when I returned to Rochambeau's army and fought under the French banner, he still followed me and was willing to live and die with me.In those first days I regarded him more as a joke than a comrade in arms, but his good character and quiet bravery soon won the respect of all; I had reason to protect people feel proud.Arthur also established a deep friendship with him.Outside of duty, he accompanied us on our walks, carrying the naturalist's case, and piercing snakes with his long sword. ① Rochambeau (1725-1807), Marshal of France, once led a team of 6,000 people to support the American War of Independence. In 1781, the coalition forces of Washington and Rochambeau surrounded Cornwallis' army in Yorktown, which made Cornwallis surrender with 7,000 men, and the British army never recovered. But when I tried to get him to talk about my cousin, he didn't do it.Either he did not understand how much I longed to know all the details of her life in a remote place, or he obeyed in this respect an unshakable code that governed his consciousness, in short I was never able to get a definite answer to the problem that tormented me. doubt.At first he told me that there was no question of her marrying anyone; but though I was more or less used to the vague way in which he expressed his thoughts, I still thought he looked embarrassed in making this assertion, as if he had promised to keep a secret. Secretly.Face is at stake, and I don't want to press it further, lest he see my desire; therefore, there has always been an uncomfortable knot between us, which I avoid touching, but can't help but always think about it.As long as Arthur was with me, I could keep my senses, and interpret Edmee's letter in the most righteous light; but as soon as I had the misfortune to leave him, the pain awoke; and my stay in America became more and more oppressive. Arthur and I were finally obliged to part when I broke away from the American troops and fought under the command of a French general.Arthur was an American, and he had to wait until the end of the war before he could leave the army and settle in Boston, where he could work next to Professor Courant.Professor Kuyong loved him like a son, and agreed to appoint him as the chief librarian of the Philadelphia Society Library.This was the highest reward Arthur had long desired for his work. All events, large and small, that occurred during my last few years in America belong to the realm of history.It was with purely personal joy that I saw peace come and the declaration of American independence.All the time my anxiety was burning, and my enthusiasm was undiminished, and I had no desire to revel in military honors.Before returning to sail, I went to say good-bye to Arthur, and embarked with the noble Marcus, feeling both sorry to leave my only friend, and glad to see my only love again.Several times I had given up hope in the perilous crossings of my fleet, thinking that it would be impossible to kneel and half-kneel to Edmee under the great oak tree at Saint-Several.At last, after the last storm on the coast of France, I stepped onto the sands of Brittany and threw myself into the arms of my poor sergeant.He has endured our common hardships, if not with superior physical strength, at least with calmer fighting spirit; our tears were shared.