Read La fièvre d''or. English Page 8


  CHAPTER IV.

  EXPLANATIONS.

  The hunters placed their animals in a vast corral; then they sought ashelter for themselves in a meson, the landlord of which, a perfectlikeness of the worthy Knight of La Mancha, received them to the best ofhis ability. After the rough journey they had made, it was a greatdelight to the adventurers to rest their heads once again beneath aroof, and be, for a few hours at least, lodged in a manner almostcivilised.

  Don Louis and Valentine occupied the same cuarto, while Curumilla andDon Cornelio selected that exactly facing theirs. So soon as theseprovisional arrangements were made, and supper enjoyed in common, allretired to rest.

  Before lying down on the _cuadro_, covered with an oxhide, intended forhis bed, Don Louis walked up to Valentine, who, lying back in a _butaca_(easy chair), was smoking a cigarette, and idly watching the blue smokeascend in spirals.

  "What are you thinking about?" he asked him, as he leant familiarly onthe back of the butaca.

  "About you," Valentine replied, turning to him with a smile.

  "About me?"

  "Yes. What other anxiety can I have at present, save to see you happy?"

  The count looked down on the ground and sighed.

  "It is impossible," he said.

  Valentine looked at him.

  "Impossible!" he repeated. "Oh, oh! Have we reached that point? Come,let us have an explanation, once for all."

  "You are right; the hour has arrived: let us have a hearty explanation."

  The count drew up a butaca, sat down opposite Valentine, took a cigarfrom the case his foster brother handed him, and lit it. The hunterfollowed all his movements attentively. When he saw him comfortablyinstalled, he said,--

  "Speak."

  "Alas! My life has nothing very interesting in it; it has resembled thatof all adventurers. At one time rich, at another poor, I have wanderedabout, traversing Mexico in every direction, dragging after me thememory of my lost happiness, like the galley slaves cannon ball. For amoment I imagined that a future might still exist for me, and that Imight at least regain my rank in the world, if I did not secure again aposition like that I had lost I started for San Francisco, that weirdEldorado, whose marvels the hundred-mouthed rumour was narrating. ThereI found myself mixed up with a crowd of greedy and unbridledadventurers, whose life was one continued orgy, and whose sole passionwas gold. I saw there, within a few months, the most prodigiousmetamorphoses. I saw the most scandalous fortunes spring up and collapseagain, and plunging resolutely into this gulf, I demanded from chance myshare of feverish joys and intoxicating emotions; but I lacked faith,and nothing succeeded with me. I tried every profession, ever pursued bythat implacable fatality which was determined to crush me. I had greatdifficulty in saving myself from a death by hunger. In turn hunter,porter, Heaven knows what, my efforts availed nothing in that Babel,where the condemned of civilisation jostled each other, who, all markedwith the indelible seal of Dante's reprobates, piled ruin on ruin toform themselves a pedestal of ingots, which was immediately overthrownby another. Disgusted with this mingled life of blood, filth, rags, andgold, I set off, resolved to become a drover. A noble profession, is itnot, for a Count de Prebois, whose ancestors made three crusades?" headded, with a bitter laugh. "But I knew generals ostlers, marquiseswaiters; hence I, who had never been anything, could, without any greatdegradation, become a trader in cattle. And then I had another object inthe choice of my profession. Ever since my arrival in North America Ihave been looking for you: I hoped to find you again some day. For thefirst time fortune has smiled on me, you see, as I have succeeded inmeeting with you. That is all I had to say to you. Now you know as muchabout my life as I do; so ask me no more."

  After these words, uttered in a sharp voice, the count threw himselfback on his butaca, relit his cigar, crossed his arms on his chest, andseemed determined not to add a word. Valentine looked at him for a longtime with the most concentrated attention, at times tossing his head,and frowning with evident dissatisfaction. At length he resolved torenew the conversation.

  "Hum!" he said, "I now know your whole life, I grant it. There isnothing very extraordinary about it in a country like that where we are.It in no way departs from the common law. You would do very wrong tocomplain."

  "I do not complain," the count exclaimed quickly; "I merely assert afact."

  "Of course," Valentine said; "and yet, in all you have told me, onepoint remains obscure to me."

  "Which?"

  "You told me all you wished to do--that is well; but leaving out of thequestion the fraternal friendship that attaches us, and which, howeverpowerful it may be, cannot to my mind account for your settleddetermination to find me again, you have not told me for what purposeyou sought me so obstinately."

  The count sprang up, and his eye flashed.

  "Have you not guessed it, Valentine?"

  "No!"

  The count let his head fall, and for a few moments the conversation wasagain interrupted.

  "You are right, Valentine: better finish at once, and never return tothe subject again; besides, you know as well as I what I wish to say,"the count replied, with the accent of a man whose mind is made up.

  "Perhaps so," the hunter said laconically.

  "Come, come, I am not an ass; and on the morning of that day when youasked a shelter at my bivouac, you understood me at the first word I letfall."

  "It is possible," Valentine said imperturbably; "still, as I have nopretence to the art of divination, be good enough to explain yourselfclearly and categorically."

  "You insist on it?"

  The hunter bowed his assent.

  "Well, be it so," the count went on; "you are still the same man youwere fifteen years ago."

  "Are we not referring to that very period now?" Valentine said with asmile.

  "Ah!" the count exclaimed, striking the arm of his butaca, "you see thatyou understood me."

  "Did I say the contrary?"

  "Why, then, do you demand----?"

  "Because it must be so," the hunter said dryly.

  "Be at rest, for I will repeat your own words."

  "I am listening."

  "You remember, I suppose, a cold winter night, in the bedroom of myhouse at Paris?"

  "December 31st, 1834, at eleven in the evening," Valentine remarked.

  "Yes; the rain lashed the window panes, the wind whistled in the longpassages. I was awaiting your coming. You arrived. Then, as now, I wasface to face with ruin. I wished to die: you prevented me."

  "It is true. Did I do wrong?"

  "Perhaps," the count said in a hollow voice; "but these are the wordsyou made use of."

  "Allow me to repeat them myself; for, in spite of the fifteen years thathave elapsed, Louis, that scene is as present to my mind as if it tookplace yesterday. After proving to you that you did wrong to despair,"Valentine said in a solemn voice, "that all was not lost, I replied to afinal objection you raised, 'Be easy, Louis, be easy. If I have notfulfilled my promise in two years, I will hand you the pistols myself,and then--' 'Then?' you asked. 'Then,' I added, 'you shall not killyourself alone.' 'I accept,' you answered. Those were the words thatpassed between us on that night, which decided your future and made aman of you. Is it not so? Have I forgotten the slightest detail?Answer."

  "No, you have forgotten nothing, Valentine."

  "Well?"

  "Well, now that I have faithfully fulfilled the promise I made you, Icome to claim of you the complete execution of our compact."

  "I do not comprehend you."

  "What! You do not comprehend me?" the count said, bounding from hisbutaca.

  "No," Valentine answered coldly. "Did I not keep my promise? Ah, Louis,since you insist on it, by heavens!" he added, growing animated in histurn, "let us reckon up accounts. I ask nothing better. What do you meanby talking to me of fulfilling an agreement? Have I not fulfilled myengagements? Did I not find for you that woman you despaired of everseeing again? Did you not marry her? Did you not enjoy
with her tenyears of perfect happiness? By what right do you complain of thefatality that pursues you? By what right do you curse your destiny,ungrateful man! Whose happiness lasted ten years--ten ages in thisearth? Look around you. Show me a man who, throughout his whole life,can reckon one year of that happiness you rail at, and then I will pityyou, will weep with you, and, if it must be, help you to die. Oh! Allmen are the same--weak in the presence of joy as in grief, forgetting,in a few hours of adversity, years of happiness. And so, after fifteenyears, you have returned to the same point. Insensate! Do you know, youwho speak in that way, what it is to pass a whole existence of sufferingand horrible agony: to feel hour by hour, minute by minute, your heartlacerated, and that without hope, and yet smile and seem gay--in a word,live? Have you for a single day endured that atrocious suffering, youwho speak so deliberately about dying?"

  Gradually, while speaking, Valentine had grown animated, his featureswere contracted, and his eyes flashed flames. Louis gazed on his friendwithout comprehending him, but startled at the state of exaltation inwhich he saw him.

  "Valentine," he exclaimed, "Valentine, in heaven's name, calm yourself!"

  "Ah!" the hunter continued, with a ghastly laugh, "you suffer, yousay--you are unhappy; and yet listen. That woman you loved, whom I foundfor you again, whom I enabled you to marry--well, it was not love I feltfor her, but idolatry. To be able to tell her so I would joyfully haveparted with my blood drop by drop; and yet I, to whom you have just toldyour grief, I placed you in each other's arms. I smiled--do youunderstand me?--smiled on your love, and without a murmur, a word, toreveal that passion which gnawed my heart, I fled into the desert, alonewith my love. Face to face with it I suffered for fifteen years. Oh, myGod, my God! The wound is as painful now as on the first day. Tell me,Louis, now that you know all--for we are frank with each other--what areyour sufferings compared with mine? By what right would you die?"

  "Oh, pardon me, pardon me, Valentine!" Louis exclaimed, as he rushedinto his arms. "Oh! You are right; I am very ungrateful to you."

  "No," Valentine answered sadly, as he returned his embrace; "no, Louis,you are a man; you have followed the common law. I cannot and ought notto be angry with you. Pardon me, on the contrary, for allowing myself tobe carried away so far as to reveal to you the secret which I had swornto bury eternally in my heart. Alas! We have all our cross to bear inthis world, and mine has been rude. God doubtlessly decreed it so,because I am strong," he added, with an attempt at a smile. "But, toreturn to yourself, it is true that youth has fled far from us, with itsgay perspective and smiling illusions; life has no longer anything tooffer us, save the painful trials of a ripe age. I am as wearied ofexistence as yourself; it weighs equally on me as on you. You see, myfriend, I am fully of your opinion. I will not only not prevent you fromdying, but I wish to accomplish my promise fully by accompanying youinto the tomb."

  "You, Valentine! O no! It is impossible."

  "Why so? Is not our position the same? Have we not both sufferedequally? An implacable creditor, you have asked me to honour mysignature. Very good; but on one condition."

  Louis was too well acquainted with his foster brother's firm andresolute character to try and combat his will.

  "What is it?" he asked simply.

  "I shall choose the mode of death."

  "Be it so."

  "Oh, pardon me, Louis! I shall not propose an ordinary suicide, so Imust have your word of honour before I explain myself more fully."

  "I give it you."

  "Good! There are two difficult things for a man to do in thisworld--arranging his life, and arranging his death. The man who killshimself coldly by blowing out his brains in his room, after writing tohis friends to announce his suicide, is either a coward or a madman.That is not the sort of suicide I wish; it means nothing, it provesnothing, and is of no service. But there is a manner of suicide which Ihave ever dreamed of, because it is noble and great: it is that of theman who, unable or unwilling to do more with a life he despises,sacrifices it for his fellow men, with no other object than that ofbeing useful to them, and falls after accomplishing his task."

  "I believe I understand you, Valentine."

  "Perhaps so; but let me finish. We are in the country best prepared forsuch a design. Already several attempts--all unsuccessful, however--havebeen made, especially by the Count de Lhorailles in his colony ofGuetzalli. Sonora, which is the richest country in the world, is in thelast throes, under the brutalising and unintelligent system of theMexican government. Well, let us restore life to this country; let usgalvanise it, summon to our aid the French emigrants in California, andcome here to give liberty to a people whose energetic character willcomprehend us. What do we risk in the event of non-success? Death! Why,that is exactly what we desire. At any rate, when we have fallen, weshall sleep in a shroud of glory as martyrs, bearing with us the regretsand sympathies of all. Instead of killing ourselves like cowards, weshall have died in the breach like heroes. Is not that martyrdom thenoblest, the most sublime of all?

  "Yes, Valentine, you are right--always right Oh, men like ourselves canonly die in that fashion!"

  "Good!" Valentine exclaimed; "you have understood me."

  "Not only have I understood you, brother, but I guessed your meaningbefore."

  "How so?"

  "When I met the Count de Lhorailles for the last time in the desert, Iwas returning with Belhumeur and an Indian chief from visiting a placerof incalculable value which that Indian had discovered, and theownership of which he gave to Belhumeur, who, in his turn, handed itover to me. On my return, I proceeded to Mexico, where I entered intonegotiations with several notable persons; among others, the French_charge d'affaires_. You of course know how slow everything is tosucceed in this unhappy country. Still, owing to the rich samples I hadthe precaution to bring with me, and, above all, the powerful protectionof certain persons, I succeeded in founding a company, of which I wasappointed chief, with the right of levying a French company, armed anddisciplined, in order to take possession of the placer, and work it onbehalf of the company."

  "What then?"

  "Well, I returned to San Francisco, and made a few arrangements; but Ineeded two things--first, patience, and next, money to enlist my men andpurchase the necessary stores; and--shall I confess it to you?--what Imost needed was the desire to succeed. But you, Valentine, have causedthat desire to spring up in me; your presence has restored all myenergy, and though I know not how I shall remove all the obstacles thatoppose the execution of my plan, I shall do so, I swear it to you."

  "What were you doing in Sonora, then?"

  "I can hardly explain it to you. My speculation in cattle was more aflight than anything else. I was disgusted with everything, and tried tomake an end of it, no matter how."

  "Now it is my turn. Tomorrow, at sunrise, you will start. You willproceed at full speed to San Francisco. Your excursion in Sonora wasonly an exploring tour. You will employ any pretext you like, in a word,and set to work earnestly forming your company. During that time I willsell your herd, and arrange so as to procure you the funds you require.Trouble yourself about nothing, but push ahead boldly."

  "But how will you manage it? The sum I need is large."

  "That does not concern you: let me arrange matters in my way; At theappointed hour I will furnish you with more than you want, so it issettled. You will start at sunrise?"

  "I will do so; but when and where shall I see you again?"

  "Ah! That is true. On the twenty-fifth day from this, at sunset, I willenter your room."

  "But I do not know myself yet where I shall lodge."

  "Do not let that trouble you; I shall find out."

  "So, then, at sunset of the twenty-fifth day?"

  "Yes, I will arrive with the treasure ships," Valentine replied with alaugh.

  "Thanks, brother; you are my good genius. If my life has had a fewblemishes, you are preparing me a glorious death to expiate them."

  "Pity yourself, pray! I am going to
make of you a Francisco Pizarro andan Almagro."

  The two men shook hands affectionately, while exchanging a sorrowfulsmile. After a few more unimportant remarks, they threw themselves ontheir beds, where they soon fell asleep, overpowered as they were byfatigue.