The Keeper
After dinner we were recounting shooting adventures and accidents.
An old friend of ours, Monsieur Boniface, a great slayer of beasts and drinker of wine, a strong and debonair fellow, full of wit, sense, and a philosophy at once ironical and resigned, which revealed itself in biting humour and never in melancholy, spoke abruptly:
“I know a shooting story, or rather a shooting drama, that’s queer enough. It’s not in the least like the usual tale of the kind, and I’ve never told it before; I didn’t suppose that anyone would be interested in it.
“It’s not very pleasant, if you know what I mean. I mean to say that it does not possess the kind of interest which affects, or charms, or agreeably excites.
“Anyhow, here it is.
“In those days I was about thirty-five, and mad on shooting. At that time I owned a very lovely piece of land on the outskirts of Jumièges, surrounded by forests and excellent for hares and rabbits. I used only to spend four or five days there a year, by myself, the limited accommodation not permitting of my bringing a friend.
“I had installed there as keeper an old retired policeman, a good man, hot-tempered and very conscientious in the performance of his duties, a terror to poachers, and afraid of nothing. He lived by himself, some way out of the village, in a little house, or rather a hovel, consisting of two ground-floor rooms, a kitchen and a small storeroom, and of two more rooms on the first floor. One of these, a sort of box just large enough for a bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair, was reserved for me.
“Old Cavalier occupied the other. In saying that he was alone in this cottage, I expressed myself badly. He had taken with him his nephew, a hobbledehoy of fourteen, who fetched the provisions from the village two miles off, and helped the old man in his daily duties.
“This youth was tall, thin, and somewhat stooping; his hair was so pale a yellow that it looked like the down on a plucked hen, and so thin that he appeared to be bald. He had enormous feet and colossal hands, the hands of a giant.
“He squinted a little and never looked anyone straight in the face. He gave one the impression that he occupied in the human race the place that the musk-secreting beasts hold in the animal kingdom. He was a polecat or a fox, was that boy.
“He slept in a sort of hole at the top of the little staircase which led to the two rooms. But during my short visits to the Pavilion—I called this hovel the Pavilion—Marius gave up his nest to an old woman from Écorcheville named Céleste, who came in to cook for me, old Cavalier’s concoctions being by no means good enough.
“Now you know the characters and the setting. Here is the story.
“It was in 1854, the fifteenth of October: I remember the date, and I shall never forget it.
“I left Rouen on horseback, followed by my dog, a big Dalmatian from Poitou, broad-chested and heavy-jowled, who rummaged about in the bushes like a Pont Audemer spaniel.
“My bag was slung on the saddle behind me, and I carried my gun by the sling. It was a cold day, with a high and mournful wind, and dark clouds rode in the sky.
“While ascending the slope of Canteleu I gazed at the broad valley of the Seine, through which the river meandered with serpentine twists as far as the horizon. On the left all the steeples of Rouen lifted to the sky, and on the right the view was blocked by the far-off tree-clad hills. I passed through the forest of Roumare, going now at a trot, now at a walking pace, and at about five o’clock I arrived at the Pavilion, where old Cavalier and Céleste were waiting for me.
“For the last ten years, at the same season, I had been presenting myself in the same way, and the same mouths welcomed me with the same words:
“ ‘Good day, your honour. Your honour’s health is good?’
“Cavalier had scarcely altered at all. He stood up to the passage of time like an old tree; but Céleste, especially in the last four years, was becoming almost unrecognisable.
“She was bent nearly double, and although still active, she walked with the upper part of her body so bowed that it formed almost a right angle with her legs.
“The old woman was very devoted to me; she always seemed much affected at seeing me again, and whenever I left she used to say:
“ ‘Think, this is maybe the last time, your honour.’
“And the poor servant’s heartbroken, frightened farewell, her desperate resignation to inevitable death, so surely close upon her, stirred my heart strangely each year.
“I dismounted, and while Cavalier, with whom I had shaken hands, was leading my horse to the little shed which did duty for a stable, I entered the kitchen, which also served as the dining room, followed by Céleste.
“Then the keeper joined us again. Right from the first I saw that his face had not its customary expression. He seemed preoccupied, ill at ease, worried.
“ ‘Well, Cavalier,’ I said to him, ‘is everything going on all right?’
“ ‘Yes and no,’ he murmured. ‘There’s something that isn’t at all all right.’
“ ‘Well, what is it, man?’ I asked. ‘Tell me all about it.’
“But he shook his head.
“ ‘No, monsieur, not yet. I don’t want to pester you with my worries like this, when you’ve only just arrived.’
“I insisted, but he absolutely refused to tell me about it before dinner. His expression, however, told me that it was serious.
“Not knowing what to say to him, I asked:
“ ‘And what about the game? Have we plenty?’
“ ‘Oh, yes, there’s plenty of game, plenty. I kept my eyes open, thanks be to God.’
“He said this with such desperate seriousness that it was positively comical. His large grey moustaches looked ready to fall off his lips.
“Suddenly I realised that I had not yet seen his nephew.
“ ‘And Marius, where has he gone to? Why hasn’t he shown up?’
“The keeper started; he wheeled sharply and faced me.
“ ‘Well, monsieur, I’d sooner tell you the story straight out; yes, I’d sooner do that. It’s about him that this thing’s on my mind.’
“ ‘Ah. Well, where is he?’
“ ‘In the stable, monsieur; I’m expecting him to turn up any moment.’
“ ‘Well, what has he been doing?’
“ ‘This is the story, monsieur …’
“But the keeper hesitated none the less, his voice was changed and shook, his face was suddenly graven with deep wrinkles, the wrinkles of old age.
“Slowly he continued:
“ ‘Here it is. I noticed this winter that someone was laying snares in the wood of Roseraies, but I couldn’t catch the man. I spent night after night there, monsieur; but no good. And during that time snares began to appear on the Écorcheville side. I grew thin with rage. But as for catching the thief, impossible! You would have said the scoundrel was warned beforehand of my visits and my plans.
“ ‘But one day, while brushing Marius’s breeches, his Sunday breeches, I found forty sous in his pocket. Now where had the boy got that from?
“ ‘I thought it over for a week, and I noticed that he was in the habit of going out; he used to go out just when I came back to bed, monsieur.
“ ‘Then I watched him, but I hadn’t a doubt of the truth, oh, not a doubt of it. And one morning, when I had gone to bed just before he went off, I promptly got up again, and tracked him. And as for tracking, there’s no one to touch me, monsieur.
“ ‘And I caught him, monsieur, setting snares on your land—Marius, my nephew, your keeper’s nephew!
“ ‘My blood rushed through my body in one flood, and I nearly killed him on the spot. I gave him such a thrashing—oh, Lord! how I did beat him; and I promised him that when you came he would have another from me in your presence, for the sake of the lesson.
“ ‘That’s all. I’ve gone thin with grief. You know what it means to be crossed like that. But what would you have done, now? He’s got no father or mother. I’m the only one of his own blood the boy’s got; I’ve brought him up; I couldn’t turn him out, could I?
“ ‘But I’ve told him that if he does it again, it’s the end, the end, more’s the pity. There! Was I right, monsieur?’
“I held out my hand to him, and replied:
“ ‘You were right, Cavalier; you’re a good fellow.’
“He rose.
“ ‘Thank you, monsieur. Now I’ll go and fetch him; he must be punished, for the sake of the lesson.’
“I knew that it was useless to attempt to dissuade the old man from any plan he had already formed. So I let him have his own way.
“He went off to fetch the lad, and brought him back, holding him by the ear.
“I was seated on a cane chair, wearing the grave visage of a judge. Marius appeared to me to have grown; he was even uglier than the year before, with his evil, cunning expression. And his great hands looked monstrous.
“His uncle shoved him in front of me, and said in his military voice:
“ ‘Ask pardon from the master.’
“The boy did not utter a word.
“Then, seizing him under the arms, the ex-policeman lifted him off the ground and began to thrash him with such violence that I got up to stop the blows.
“The child was now bawling:
“ ‘Mercy!—mercy!—mercy! I promise …’
“Cavalier lowered him on to the ground and, forcing him on to his knees by pressing upon his shoulders, said:
“ ‘Ask pardon.’
“ ‘I ask pardon,’ murmured the young scamp, with downcast eyes.
“Thereupon his uncle lifted him to his feet and dismissed him with a blow which nearly knocked him down again.
“He made off, and I did not see him again that evening.
“But Cavalier seemed terribly distressed.
“ ‘He’s a bad character,’ he said, and throughout dinner he kept on saying:
“ ‘Oh! how it grieves me, monsieur; you don’t know how it grieves me.’
“I tried to console him, but in vain. I went up to bed early, so as to be out shooting at break of day. My dog was already asleep upon the floor at the foot of my bed, when I blew out my candle.
“I was awakened in the middle of the night by the furious barking of Bock. I realised at once that my room was full of smoke. I leapt out of bed, lit the light, ran to the door, and opened it. A swirl of flames entered. The house was on fire.
“I promptly shut the strong oak door again, and dragging on my breeches, I first of all lowered my dog from the window with a rope made of twisted sheets; then, throwing down my clothes, my game-bag, and my gun, I made my escape in the same way.
“Then I began to shout with all my might:
“ ‘Cavalier! Cavalier! Cavalier!’
“But the keeper did not wake; the old policeman was a heavy sleeper.
“Through the lower windows I saw that the whole ground-floor was nothing but a blazing furnace, and I saw too that it had been filled with straw to assist the fire.
“So it had been purposely fired!
“I resumed my furious shouts:
“ ‘Cavalier!’
“Then the thought came to me that the smoke was suffocating him. An idea leaped into my mind; slipping two cartridges into my gun, I fired straight at his window.
“The six panes crashed into the room in a welter of splintered glass. This time the old man had heard, and his terrified figure appeared at the window, clad in his nightshirt; he was terrified more than anything by the violent glare which lit up the whole front of his dwelling.
“ ‘Your house is on fire,’ I shouted. ‘Jump out of the window, quick, quick!’
“The flames suddenly darted through the lower windows, licked the wall, reached him, were on the point of surrounding him. He jumped and landed on his feet like a cat.
“It was high time. The thatched roof cracked in the middle, above the staircase, which formed a sort of chimney for the fire below; an immense red sheaf of flame rose in the air, widened, like the jet of a fountain, and sowed a shower of sparks round the cottage. In a few seconds it was nothing but a mass of flames.
“ ‘How did it catch fire?’ asked Cavalier, bewildered.
“ ‘Someone set fire to the kitchen,’ I replied.
“ ‘Who could have done it?’ he murmured.
“Suddenly I guessed.
“ ‘Marius!’ I said.
“The old man understood.
“ ‘Oh! Holy Mother of God!’ he stammered; ‘that’s why he didn’t come in again.’
“But a horrible thought ran through my brain. I cried:
“ ‘And Céleste? Céleste?’
“He did not answer, but the house collapsed before our eyes, forming nothing but a huge brazier, blinding, bleeding; a terrible pyre in which the poor woman could be no more than a glowing cinder, a cinder of human flesh.
“We had not heard a single cry.
“But, as the fire was reaching the neighbouring shed, I suddenly thought of my horse, and Cavalier ran to set it free.
“He had scarcely opened the stable-door when a swift, supple form passed between his legs, throwing him flat on his nose. It was Marius, running for all he was worth.
“In a second the man picked himself up. He wanted to run after the wretch, but realising that he could not hope to catch him and maddened with an ungovernable rage, he yielded to one of those momentary, thoughtless impulses which can be neither foreseen nor restrained. He picked up my gun, which was lying upon the ground close by, set it to his shoulder, and before I could move, pulled the trigger, without even knowing whether the gun was loaded.
“One of the cartridges which I had put in to give warning of the fire had not gone off; the charge caught the fugitive full in the back, and flung him on his face, covered with blood. He began to scrabble at the ground with hands and knees, as though he was eager to go on running upon all fours, like mortally wounded hares when they see the hunter come up.
“I dashed to him. The child was already in his death-throes. He died before the flames were extinguished, without having uttered a word.
“Cavalier, still in his nightshirt, with bare legs, stood near us, motionless, bewildered.
“When the people arrived from the village, they took away my keeper, who was like a madman.
“I appeared at the trial as a witness, and narrated the facts in detail, without altering a single incident. Cavalier was acquitted. But he left the district the same day, and disappeared.
“I have never seen him again.
“That’s my shooting story, gentlemen.”