THE WEDDING AT CAVRON-SAINT-MARTIN

 

 

If I live for another hundred years I shall still remember Jean Saveux’s wedding as I remember it today.

I left my village early in the morning, because I had to go through the forest of Hesdin in order to pick up, in accordance with my uncle’s request, our old friend Nicolas Meuron, the shepherd, who had been invited to the wedding.

He refused obstinately to accompany me, saying that he would not be seen at such an espousal even if he were paid a hundred ducats, but he did not want to tell me why.

I was already at least four aves away from his house when he ran after me and called me back in order to hand me a little bottle which he asked me at least twenty times not to be separated from it for an instant throughout that time I was in Jean Saveux’s house in Cavron-Saint-Martin. It would, he said, preserve me from the evil Spirit’s ambushes, which would not fail to be laid.

Alas, the old shepherd’s prediction was only too true, you shall see in due course.

I did not know my cousin Marguerite’s future husband, and when I saw him on my arrival, I felt myself becoming quite sad that that he was marrying such a pretty girl. He was, I must admit, a handsome fellow, but there was something in his pale face and his eyes, sunken beneath bushy brows, the sight of which caused a sensation of unease. He was not much liked in the village because he was very careful with his money, never went to enjoy himself at the tavern and sometimes went an entire week without saying a single word to anyone. That became the cause of various speculations; some thought that he was under a spell; others, on the contrary, took him for a spell-caster. Thus, in spite of the goodly sum of money and the large farm with three barns that he brought as a marriage-portion, my cousin Marguerite was still criticized for making the marriage, and more than one person said: “Marguerite is marrying Jean Saveux; that will be quite some marriage.”

The wedding-feast began, and everything went well until the time came for dancing. Now, it happened that the fiddler of Hesdin, the joyful Mathias Wilmart, had not been invited. Everyone was lamenting such the inconvenience when the groom was told that an unknown man was asking to speak to him.

Jean Saveux, who was chatting and joking with his wife, and who had never been seen, so far as anyone would remember, in such a good mood, got to his feet, cursing the importunate individual who was disturbing him thus. As the sight of the stranger, however—who, weary of waiting, had taken it upon himself to come in—he went as pale as a corpse and nearly fell over.

“I hope that I’m welcome?” said the unknown man, coldly, to the groom.

“You have the right to be here,” Jean Saveux replied, but his pale face and the trembling of all his limbs gave the lie to the welcome that he forced himself to give to the newcomer.

The latter was not put off by it. He sat down cheerfully at the table, poured a full measure of beer into a tankard the size of a boot and drank it in a single draught—after which he served himself a ham, of which he left nothing but the bone, and then ate several enormous tarts, drinking in proportion. No one had ever seen a thirst so dry or an appetite so voracious.

In the meantime, there was a more profound silence among the guests than at a funeral dinner. The stranger was completely at his ease, however, and paid no heed to the concern that his arrival had caused; he crossed his legs with difficulty and, unbuttoning his waistcoat, which was hindering his digestion, turned his head and saw Jean Saveux, still standing there, paler than ever.

“Ha ha!” he said, in a familiar fashion. “You haven’t introduced your wife to me yet, comrade. Damnation! I’ve been a reckless fellow in my time, like anyone else; I’ve drawn more than one pretty girl to sin—but other times, other tastes. Now, as you know, Jean Saveux, it isn’t young women I catch in my net, is it?”

Jean Saveux, albeit reluctantly, took Marguerite by the hand and led her to the strange man.

“She’s a charming creature, Jean! You have good taste. My word, it’s unfortunate that this evening…for it is this evening...” He added the last few words in a whisper, almost in Jean’s ear. Jean shivered from head to toe.

“But what’s the meaning of this?” the stranger went on, without paying any attention to the groom’s distress. “This is a singular wedding; there isn’t even a single violin.”

Someone hazarded the remark that they had neglected to incite Mathias Wilmart, and that even if he had been invited, the rain that had been falling since midday would gave rendered the marl roads surrounding Cavron-Saint-Martin impracticable.

“Why, if that’s all that’s preventing you from dancing,” said the stranger, “I have a violin, and without claiming to be an excellent musician, I hope that you won’t regret the absence of this Mathias Wilmart, whom you’re praising so loudly, too much.

He went out, and came back in with a violin. That surprised me somewhat, for I had chanced to see him, when he had knocked on the door on his arrival, and I would have sworn on my share of paradise that he did not have a violin in his hand or under his arm. Nor could the instrument have been in his traveling-bag, for he was not carrying one.

At any rate, the stranger put a chair in the middle of a table, climbed up to it, and started playing the violin as if he had never done anything else in his life. He could easily have been mistaken for a veritable fiddler, for he was a short fat man with a cheerful attitude and an exceedingly mocking manner; he tapped his foot, exclaimed, fidgeted and drank like Mathias Wishart.

Everyone took their places, except for the husband, who stood in a corner, taciturn and pensive, and tried to prevent his wife from dancing.

The violin-player perceived that. “What does this conduct signify, Jean Saveux?” he asked, sniggering. “Today is the most beautiful day in your life, and you’re standing there like an owl! Come on! Cheer up, comrade, and take your place!”

This time, however, Jean Saveux refused to obey. With a single bound, the stranger leapt off the table and placed his hand on the recalcitrant’s shoulder. Immediately, a frenetic gaiety took possession of Jean, previously so gloomy. He started to talk, to jump, and to laugh—but all of it in such a sinister manner that one would more ready have taken him for a man possessed that a man who was due, in half an hour, to find himself in private with a charming bride.

To tell the truth, the music that the unknown man was playing produced a sort of dolorous joy that I only ever experienced that once. During the dance, I sensed a thousand singular and guilty thoughts; it was as if I were drunk and having a bad dream. And yet, the air we were breathing in the room became heavy and hot, and a strong odor spread into every corner, acrid and suffocating, like that produced by a red-hot iron when one plunges it into water.

Midnight chimed; then, the unknown man put his violin under his arm, got down from his chair and approached Jean Saveux.

“Now” he said to him.

“One more night! Just one more night!” Jean pleaded, all of whose limbs were trembling in a frightful manner.

“No,” the unknown man replied.

“At least grant me an hour, one more hour!”

“No,” replied a dull and implacable voice.

“Give me a quarter of an hour!” said Jean, then, in a piteous manner.

“No,” said the stranger. He added, after enjoying Jean Saveux’s despair momentarily: “I’ll take pity on you. If your wife signs it, I’ll grant you another week.”

Jean took the scroll of red parchment with golden letters that his guest handed to him—but he threw it back at him in horror.

“Then I’ll bid the company farewell, and you can see me out.”

The short man bowed to everyone, and, putting his arm around Jean Saveux’s neck in an amicable fashion, he said to the bride: “Adieu. Don’t hold it against me too much that I’m taking your lover away: you’ll soon be seeing him again, my beauty.”

It was, however, not until the next day that she saw him again, and he was no more than a cadaver struck by lightning. He was found like that, after a long search, lying at the foot of an oak-tree in Hesdin forest.

When he was taken to the church, the blessed candles all went out at the same time, and I’m told that the grave in which his coffin was deposited was found to be empty the following day.