VAGABOND JACK. BY HENRY DE LA MADELÈNE. I. Vagabond Jack was certainly worthy of his nickname, for ever since he had arrived at years of discretion he was not known to have any home or any fixed abode. Always wandering over the mountain he slept anywhere, careless though his bed were the bare ground. All the caves, grottoes, caverns, and crevasses of Mount Ventoux belonged to him of natural right, and his sovereignty extended if need were over forty leagues as the crow flies, from the Barron to the borders of Savoy. His real name was John Gravier; but where will there be found a peasant in this part of the country who is known under the name he has derived from his forefathers? Except the curé and the notary perhaps nobody in the village knew who John Gravier was; but as for Jack the Vagabond-why, the very youngest children knew this name, and he himself would have scarcely answered to any other. Being left an orphan while quite young, Jack was a child of nature in the fullest sense of the term. Very jealous of his liberty and even somewhat wild, he could not long remain in service in the house of a stranger, and soon broke loose from all guardianship. Active as a monkey, almost proof against fatigue, patient, and temperate, he rapidly became an excellent poacher, and able to give odds to the most expert trappers. As a matter of course he soon had a crow to pluck with the gendarmes, whose duty it was to keep order in the country; and such fame did he gain in the battles that were every now and again taking place that it was always to him the hardest blows were attributed. Matters were at this stage, and as yet he had not brought himself under the notice of the law farther than having information lodged against him for breaches of the gamelaws, tavern quarrels, and such like, when a decisive event took place that placed him in open rebellion against the whole social order of his country. On the day of the conscription Jack did not appear to draw his lot along with his comrades. The maire drew for him, and drew one of the most unlucky numbers. So here was Jack a soldier for seven years, at the beck and call of his officers. He a soldier! He to be forced to dwell in towns, to wear a uniform, to obey without a word, to submit to discipline, to sleep in quarters, and to begin anew every day for seven years the same dreary and monoto Poor Jack, was this possible! It nous task! would have been something if there had been a chance of fighting, as not long before; but to rust slowly in a royal barrack, and to be only a show soldier-the very thought of it was enough to turn his stomach. He received a notice to join one morning and paid no attention to it. The maire, who was an excellent man and very fond of him, took him aside one Sunday after mass and said to him, "Take care, Jack; you are getting yourself into trouble; there is still time, and if you will join I shall justify your delay by a good certificate. I can do nothing more, my poor fellow-the law is the law." "Many thanks for your good-will towards me, sir; but I cannot do it. If I had the misfortune to go I should desert in less than a month, I feel that. I prefer to remain here a refractory but not a deserter." "But, my poor fellow, you will be hunted like a hare; and you cannot hope to keep out of the reach of the blues long." "That remains to be seen. I'm not afraid of that, sir." How will you manage it?" Jack with a smile showed the soles of his shoes, which were studded with formidable nails. "These have always served me as my sporting license, and I'll wager they will give me the route too." 66 Very well," said the maire, "I have warned you, and if you let yourself be taken now, I wash my hands of you." Jack acted as he had said, and for about five years he with marvellous success foiled every attempt to catch him, and disconcerted all his enemies' plans with unfailing good fortune. It must be recollected that Mount Ventoux seems expressly made to be the scene of a life such as this. Let the reader picture to himself an immense truncated cone, an outlier of the main chain of the Alps, rising gradually to the height of about 6500 feet above the level of the sea. Everywhere, from base to summit, over perhaps 100,000 acres, nothing but bare rock, barrenness and desolation. Large ravines of profound depth intersect the giant flanks of the mountain, and form as they run down to the plain narrow but fertile combes, where the flocks find at all times a short sweet herbage. Not a dwelling, not a cabin, only here and there some rude hovels of dry stones erected as places of shelter by the shepherds. Who could believe-and yet it is a factthat rather less than a century ago this solitude was covered with magnificent trees, pines, larches, beeches, and oaks? Large game then abounded in these inaccessible forests, the former beauty of which is yet attested by some scanty remains; but the wild goat, the stag, and the wild boar have long since fled before the blind devastation which seemed everywhere fated to attend the French Revolution, and only the wolf, the fox, and the marten have remained faithful to the mountain. The small game, almost annihilated in the low grounds, find a last refuge on Mount Ventoux; coveys of red partridges and flocks of plovers are met with, and the quail regularly halts here in its migrations. A small, squat, dumpy variety of rabbit, which lives exclusively on wild thyme, is abundant. As for the hares of Mount Ventoux they are simply unequalled, and fully justify the preference accorded to them by gourmets of the first rank. Poacher, refractory, condemned to be ceaselessly on the alert, his eye and his ear ever ready, Jack could not have desired a more favourable theatre for his exploits. Beloved by the people of thirty villages round, and esteemed for his honesty, Jack could always find some one kind enough to sell his game for him in town on the market-day. If the three-cornered hat of a gendarme happened to show itself unexpectedly in a village or in the neighbourhood of a farm, a peculiar cry was instantly heard, which being forthwith taken up and repeated from farm to farm, gradually gave Jack notice of the enemy's presence. He had certain peculiar ways of knocking at doors in the night, so that they would be opened to him at any hour; and at many farms he knew where the key was laid, and could let himself in as if he had been at home. On Sundays he generally attended high mass in the village; and children, posted as scouts at all the crossways, enabled honest Jack to perform his devotions in safety. When it was impossible, or he thought it imprudent, to attend, he remained on the mountain, where he might have been seen kneeling down at the sound of the bells of his parish, and joining in intention the faithful assembled in the church. This kind of mass he called hill-top mass. At first he was so hotly pursued that he had been twice driven into Maurienne; and it was there he had learned how to make gunpowder, and had first thought of turning smuggler. Afterwards, when it came to be almost tacitly admitted that Jack could only be taken by chance, he used to return there at fixed periods thrice a year, and supplied almost singlehanded the demand for contraband goods over forty square leagues of country. After the revolution of July a general amnesty was proclaimed, and Jaek accordingly was at perfect liberty to return to the village and resume his civic rights. He did nothing of the kind, however, but remained on the mountain as before. This life of privation, fatigue, strife, and hazard had become a second nature to him, and henceforth he could enjoy no other. He was left alone to live as he pleased. He was then from three-and-thirty to fiveand-thirty years of age, and, without any exaggeration, the best-looking fellow in the country, in spite of his sunburned face. More than one girl looked kindly on him at mass on Sunday, and said to herself, "What a pity that such a handsome fellow should be a vagabond!" Jack was by no means vain, but what man is mistaken on this subject? Jack could not help feeling secretly flattered by the attention he excited among the women. At this time there lived at a neighbouring farm a handsome slip of a girl, who turned all the heads of the young men. and was the object of many longings. Félise, pretty Félise, was looked upon as an heiress, though her father, Martin (Martinet or Tinet), lived in the most sordid and miserly manner. Her mother was dead, and through her she had inherited some acres of meadow-land over at Saintes-Marguerites. She was tall, well-made, saucy, with a pair of eyes fit to ruin her soul, and a perfect darling of a foot. She knew that she was a good match, wore ribbons in her caps, and was quite ready to flirt with the handsome fellows who used to pay court to her. Jack had known her from the time she was a child, and had dandled her on his knees many a time when she was a mere infant, but he had never paid any particular attention to her since she was grown up and old enough to marry. He used frequently to come to her father's farm, where, as it was situated wes up the mountain and about an hour's walk from the village, he was not likely to be sur prised, and he had often found food and shelter there. The first time that it came into his head that Félise was pretty, poor Jack was greatly troubled. It was on a Sunday, the first of May, after vespers. He was crossing, without thought of evil, the little square where the plane-trees of the parsonage give so cool a shade, when he was all at once surrounded by a troop of laughing girls begging for the May Queen. "Give us something, Jack!" The Holy Virgin will repay you a hundred fold!" "Look, Jack, if our queen is not worth it!” Jack looked and was lost. Seated on a raised platform, under an arch of verdure and roses, clothed in white, crowned with white flowers and with white flowers in her hand, the May Queen sat enthroned like a real queen, provoking by her sweetest smiles the generosity of the passersby. Jack, dazzled with admiration and surprise, stopped short. "Félise!" he murmured in a voice altered by emotion. Félise indeed it was; as, being the prettiest, she had been chosen this year by her companions to represent and impersonate the spring. The origin of this custom is lost in the mists of antiquity; but it is more than probable that it is a remnant of the worship of Cybele, still holding its ground after almost twenty centuries of Christianity. Formerly the festival was celebrated on the 1st of May throughout all the county of Venasque, both in towns and villages, and I have a perfect recollection of the pretty bakeress who was the last queen at Carpentras, now nearly forty years ago. Nowadays this custom is losing ground everywhere, and one requires to go far up the mountain in order to find it in its primitive simplicity. Jack emptied his pockets to the last copper into the wooden bowls that circled gaily round him, and with his brain quite confused went and stood leaning at the other end of the square beside the fountain. His fascinated eyes saw nothing but the vision in white; the throng of laughing girls passed and repassed before him without exciting his attention in the least; he felt his breast heaving with the pulsations of his heart, and a strange heat pervaded his whole frame. 66 Félise!" he repeated without even noticing that he pronounced the sweet name aloud; Félise!"Poor Jack was over head and ears in love. The fair Félise on her part returned home in a very dreamy mood. She too had not been able to see without emotion this bold fellow regard her so obstinately with his large eyes that sparkled like burning coals. Involuntarily she compared Jack to the other young men who paid court to her little fortune, and the comparison was hardly to their advantage. They seemed clownish and awkward, without grace or elegance, even on feast-days and in their best clothes. Only see them beside Jack! With what an air he entered the church, his jacket negligently thrown over his left shoulder; and how straight he stood during the service. Jack had never bent his back to the hard labours of the fields, and it was wonderful how well he had preserved his youthful appearance, suppleness, and activity. In place of the horny paw covered with knobs of those accustomed to pulling madder, Jack had the fine and sinewy hand of the hunter, and it was a pleasure to feel his delicate fingers clasping ones waist. But could an honest girl dream of Jack with honour and propriety? What would be thought of Félise if her secret preference were discovered? Jack the Vagabond, without a penny to bless himself with, without hearth or home, game for the gendarmes, and nothing but a cave for his abode that truly was a lover to be preferred to all others by the fair Félise! How the gossips would laugh at it when they met to work together in the evenings; and the wedding-party would be almost mobbed! And suppose they did jeer and whisper maliciously-what then? Was Jack not worth bearing this for? He was poor, no doubt; but who was his equal for honesty and integrity? He was esteemed by all the country round; and the village folks that held their heads highest shook hands with him cordially. Besides, who could affirm that he was incapable of settling down to a regular course of life! Does not a man who is in love do everything to please his sweetheart; and would Jack be the first on whom love had worked a complete change! But, indeed, what was she thinking of? Was it not the feverish excitement caused by want of sleep that was putting such ideas into her head? Jack in love!-what reason had she for thinking that? He had looked at her, to be sure in a manner as to the nature of which women are rarely deceived; but was this enough to build so many fine suppositions and hopes upon? Poor Félise was racked and tormented by her thoughts, and somewhat ashamed of herself into the bargain. Before long all her gaiety disappeared, her cheeks grew pale and thin, making her eyes-in which burned a sombre fire-seem larger than ordinary, and she suffered from languor and lassitude that had no apparent cause. Jack made no sign; but all the world could see that he was strangely preoccupied, and that a great struggle was going on in his breast. He scarcely ever left the neighbourhood now, and his visits to Tinet's became exceedingly frequent. Old Martin was somewhat annoyed by him indeed. "This is what brings me,' he said boldly. | "I have come to talk with Félise, if she has no objections." Félise may please herself," said old Martin, without appearing to be much surprised at the request; but I believe your time will be wasted, my lad." "That's my affair," said Jack. Tell Félise that I shall be back this evening." Over all the mountain and far into the plain, this is the way in which gallants in quest of a wife introduce themselves to the families. The young people talk together for a longer or shorter period before carrying matters farther; sometimes they talk for years without anything coming of it; or the talking may be formally broken off without damaging the reputation of the girl in the least. Everything goes on openly in the simplest manner possible: the lover comes after supper and passes the evening, the girl makes room for him at her side, and continues her spinning or knitting as if nothing were in the wind at all. Now and again they exchange a word or two in a low tone; generally they remain silent, mutually observing each other, watching for any little occasion when the real disposition will betray itself, wholly engaged in trying to become perfectly acquainted with each other, and both carefully keeping their weaknesses as much as possible out of sight. When it is time to retire the lover bids the company goodnight, and goes home, singing by the way some ditty expressive of the joy he feels; and so on for night after night till he makes up his mind to take the decisive step. It is clear that nothing could be simpler than these courtships. Jack's entry in the character of a lover authorized to talk was made quietly and without fuss. He proceeded to seat himself by the side of Félise on her mute invitation, and maintained a shy silence all the evening, hardly uttering a word, but very happy nevertheless, as any one may suppose. Félise sat and span, twirling her spindle with astonishing rapidity, Old Martin seemed asleep, but kept a corner of one eye open for the slightest movement of the young people. Everything went on according to ancient use and wont, and as custom would have it. blushed with pleasure and said to herself, "He'll make an excellent husband, I am sure, whatever they may say of him." Old Martin did not take quite the same view of things as his daughter did. "This busy fit of his is all very fine, no doubt," said he, "but what makes a better blaze than straw? Wait till the poaching season comes on and we'll see if the old man is really dead. I won't believe it till I see Jack following the plough instead of catching hares." Martin's doubts were not altogether unjusti fiable. At the first call-notes of the new coveys of red partridge, at the first marks of the nocturnal excursions of the hares, Jack felt himself seized by a violent desire to regain the mountain and renew his past exploits. He struggled long against the temptation and wrestled with himself, but in the clear moonlight, after a day of harassing toil, how was it possible to hear unmoved the sound of the poacher's guns? At the cry of a passing flock of quails he would feel a terrible itching in his limbs; and it was sometimes as much as be could do to stick to his plough and not leave the furrow half made. What had a still greater effect on him, and inspired him even with a kind of remorse, was the mute protestation of Maripan, his old companion in adventure, who, as if he had been the renegade sportsman's conscience in bodily form, made him almost blush for his steadiness as he ceaselessly followed him with his eyes-now beseeching, now indignant. Maripan was a large lean dog of the lurcher breed, bold, hardy, and almost wild, with the feet dry and nervous, the breast full and strong, the belly hollow, the loins vigorous and supple, the tail straight, the ears mobile, the eye in quisitive and restless, and sparkling under a pent-house of dense grayish hairs, fangs pointed, projecting, and of dazzling whiteness, and the nose moist, shining like a mulberry, and as black as a roasted chestnut. As well known as his master, the villagers vied with each other in pampering him, and he had always plenty of delicate morsels ever since it was noticed that on returning even from the longest run he would rather stretch himself out and go to sleep than touch any vulgar mess The last days of July were at hand, and in in which the bread was not irreproachable. spite of the burning heat of a torrid sun, the The princely air of disdain with which this cattle were kept treading out the grain on the vagabond would then turn up his nose at the thrashing-floors from dawn to nightfall. Jack, pittance offered him had gained him the name full of praiseworthy zeal, would take part in of Maripan (bad bread), under which he shared these labours and show his skill: and he astonished everybody by his steadiness and his cleverness in managing the mules. Félise the celebrity of Jack, and with him formed the subject of many a fireside story. No longer finding an outlet for his feverish activity, Maripan could not resign himself to this sluggish life. At the least whiff of scent which met his nose, the least rustle in the bushes, he was off like lightning, jumping, barking, and joyfully wagging his tail, but in vain. His appeals met with no response, and he had always to return disappointed and discouraged to take his place at his master's heels, whom he would piteously follow, with his tail between his legs and his ears hanging. Sometimes, however, he revolted altogether. On such occasions he would pass the plough with a vigorous bound, plant himself beyond it with his two fore-legs firmly supporting him, in the energetic attitude of one who demands an explanation, and then gravely sitting like a judge, with his neck proudly raised, his head inclined as if he waited for an answer, his eyes wide open, and his ears erect, he would gaze reproachfully on his master, as much as to say, "Oh, you are laughing at me, are you? But if you are pleased to give up our fine wandering life, do you think that I was made to turn the spit and serve as a plaything for the village brats?" There was that in the gaze of Maripan which, along with other things, swept away the last vestiges of poor Jack's resolutions, and overpowered the last faint efforts of his vacillating will. Add to this the stories of exploits performed by others, the disgust at seeing the noble sport spoiled by burglars, the absorbing and irresistible passion that only a hunter can comprehend, and it is easy to understand how Jack could hold out no longer. It was a great grief to Félise. To tell the truth, she did not love Jack a bit the less, and her heart was entirely his, but she instinctively perceived that this return to his unsettled life would compromise the whole edifice of her happiness, already fragile enough. She felt perfectly that it would be impossible to get her father to accept such a son-in-law; and if before marriage, and in the first transports of love, she had only obtained a temporary victory, surely there was room for misgivings as to the future, when assured possession would have dulled the edge of passion. On the other hand, old Martin, who had not been too highly flattered by Jack's preference, was enchanted at the pretext the latter had so conveniently furnished against himself, and only waited for a good opportunity to dismiss him. "I have not crossed you in your inclinations," he said to his daughter, "and if Jack had really become an altered man, I should certainly not have refused my consent; but I leave you to judge for yourself where he would lead you by the road he is taking. Leave him to his sport, and forget him. A good-looking girl like you, and one that has something of her own, runs no risk of not finding lovers." Félise felt the full force of this reasoning, and could make no reply. She passed part of every night in weeping, praying, and calling on all the saints of her acquaintance to take her out of her troubles; but she could not make up her mind to renounce all hope by breaking entirely with Jack." "Well, well," said Father Martin one evening, "since Lise is so long in deciding, I must interfere myself; this affair has gone on too long already." II. The next time that Jack went to Tinet's farm he did not find Félise sitting as usual in the chimney-corner: old Martin was attending to the boiling of the pig's-pot by himself. "Where is Lise?" asked Jack, not without a vague presentiment of evil, and with a slight quaver in his voice. "She is not very well," replied her father; "but though she had been quite well it would have been all the same- -she would not be here." "What do you mean?" "That Lise does not wish to talk with you, and that you are wasting your time in coming here." At these cruel words, uttered in the most indifferent tone, Jack's heart was torn with such bitter grief that he could hardly keep from crying out. He restrained himself, however, and, biting his lip till the blood came, replied, "And did Lise give you this message for me?" "Alas! yes, my boy; only a short time ago, on this very spot, she said to me, 'If Jack comes, tell him to go away again---I do not wish him to speak to me any more. By my share of paradise, these are the very words she said." "Well," said Jack, whose eyes were blazing, "tell her that he is going away again. And you suppose that that is enough to settle the whole affair?" "Oh, it's hard, it is hard; I admit that: but Lise is perfectly free-you are aware of that. Will you take a glass to cheer you up?" "No, thank you; I shall soon be all right without anything. I am going away, but I shall not bid you good-bye, Father Martin; and I think you will likely hear from me before long." He left the room with a threatening air, very pale and trembling with anger; but the change |