# Colas Breugnon/Chapter 7

VII
THE PLAGUE
We have recently had reason to feel the full truth of the old saying: "Evil comes on a swift horse, but is slow of foot to leave us." This time we had hardly any warning, for on Monday of last week we heard of the first case of the plague at St. Fargeau, and the evil seed sprang up so rapidly that by the end of the week there were ten more cases and yesterday it broke out here in our neighborhood at Coulanges-la-Vineuse. You can imagine what a clatter there was in our duck-pond, and how the boldest took to their heels! Most of the women and children were packed off to Montenoison to be out of danger; leaving an unwonted calm behind them, at least in my household; it's an ill wind that blows no one good!
Florimond went in charge of the female detachment, on the pretext that he could not leave Martine, as she was near her confinement, but he was kept in countenance by many another gentleman, who, when his carriage was at the door, thought it was a good time to go and see how the crops were ​getting on at a distance. We who stayed behind put a good face on it, and had no end of fun out of the people who were frightened, and their precautions. The Provost stationed guards at the town gates, and on the road to Auxerre, with strict orders to turn back any tramps or beggars who might attempt to enter, and even the well-to-do, whose purses at least were perfectly healthy, had to be examined by our three physicians, Messrs. Etienne Loyseau, Martin Frotier, and Philibert des Veaux, all fortified against the plague by means of masks, spectacles, and long false noses filled with unguents. Everybody laughed so much at them that Frotier could bear it no longer, and tore off his nose, declaring that he for his part had no faith in such nonsense; all the same, poor old chap, he died of it, but so did Loyseau also, who kept his nose on, and shared a bed with him. The only survivor of the three was des Veaux, who was better advised than his colleagues, and abandoned his post instead of his precautions. But I have got ahead of my story and must go back and begin again at the beginning. We all whistled loudly to keep our courage up, declaring that our tanneries would keep off the pestilence, as it is well known that there is nothing so healthy as the smell of leather. The last visitation we had had of the plague was about the ​year 1580 (I remember it well, for I was nearly fourteen years old); she poked her nose then over our threshold, but came no farther, to the astonishment of all our neighbors, particularly those of Châtel-Censoir, who were so disgusted with their patron, St. Potentian, who had not taken good care of them, that they turned him out, and tried seven others in succession, until in despair they fell back on a female of the same name, St. Potentiana. We told this, and lots of other old stories, with shouts of laughter; and to show that we were above such silly superstitions, and had no faith in the Provost's regulations either, we went boldly down to the Chastelot gate and talked across the moat with all the vagrants assembled there. Some of us even slipped out between the angels who stood guard before our paradise,—(they did not take themselves seriously either), and shared a bottle with some of these outcasts in a nearby tavern. Need I say that I was one of the number? for naturally I could not bear the thought that the others should go swaggering, drinking and talking, and I not of the party. I met a friend out there, a farmer from Mailly-le-Château, and we had a drink together. He was a jolly old bird with a round red face fairly shining with health and good cheer, and he was even more boastful about the plague than I was, pooh-poohing ​the whole thing and declaring that it was all an invention of the doctors and that people died of fear, and not of the pestilence; said he, "I'll tell you the best remedy I know for it, and I won't charge you anything either!"
"Be sure and warm your feet;
Be careful what you eat;
Be shy of woman's charm,
And you are safe from harm"
We sat there with our heads together for an hour or more; he had a trick of poking you in the ribs, or slapping you on the back or the leg, which I did not notice much at the time, but you may believe I thought of it afterwards, when the next morning one of my apprentices told me that old farmer Grattepain was dead! It made the cold shivers go down my back, and in my heart I gave myself up for lost, but I went back to the shop and fussed about a little, though I was hardly conscious of what I was about, and kept saying to myself, "You have done for yourself now, you old idiot." Still, in our part of the world we don't waste time over what we ought to have done the day before yesterday, we just take hold and do what we can at the present moment; so I resolved to keep the enemy at bay as long as I was able, ​telling myself that I still had a good fighting chance. The idea of consulting a doctor occurred to me (going to St. Cosmo's shop, as we call it), but in spite of the trouble I was in, I had enough self-control not to do it, for, as I said to myself, doctors really know no more than we do, they will only take my fee, and send me to the pest-house, and there I shall catch the plague and no mistake; no, so long as I have my wits about me, I will ask help of no man; dying is, after all, a lonely business, and as the saying goes, "In spite of every drug and leech, we live until Death's door we reach."
All this time, in spite of my bravado, I began to have queer feelings in my stomach, in my head, and all over my body; I cannot get over it when I think of the delicious dish of mutton and beans, dressed with wine sauce, which I actually refused at dinner time. I could not swallow a mouthful; thought I, "This is final; if my appetite is gone, I must be done for." I had to decide quickly on what was best to do; as I knew very well that if I died in my house the Councilors would burn it down on the pretext that it was infected. Just think of being mean and stupid enough to burn a new house for such a reason as that! But sooner than that should happen I would rather go out and die on my own dunghill. So, without losing a ​minute, I put on the worst old clothes I could find, made a bundle of a few books which I tied up with a chunk of bread and a candle, and told the apprentice to take a good holiday; then I locked the door of my house behind me, collected a few of my best books, and set off for a little place I had outside the town on the road to Beaumont, where I had built a little sort of shed or hut where I kept all sorts of rubbish, garden tools, a straw mattress, and a broken chair or two, "if they burn that," thinks I, "there will be no great harm done!"
I had not been there five minutes before I was in a high fever, my teeth chattered, I had a sharp stitch in my side, and my gizzard felt as if it was upside down. Now don't think for a moment, my friends, that at this painful moment I was heroic and endured my sufferings in the grand manner, like noble Romans in the history books. As I was all by myself with nothing near but the stomachache, I just threw myself down on my straw mattress and howled. You could have heard me as far as the big tree of Sembert.
"Good Lord," I groaned, "what pleasure can You take in tormenting a poor creature who never did You any harm? Oh, how my head aches! and my back feels as if it were broken. It is hard to be cut off in the flower of one's age and what ​difference can it make when I go to Heaven?—of course it would be a pleasure—an honor I mean, but why this indecent haste, since we are sure to meet sooner or later? I am perfectly willing to wait, for my part; a poor worm like me! Lord, if it is Your will, I am, as You see, resigned and humble but—oh, I can't bear these pains another minute!"
All this weeping and praying did not seem to do much good to my body, but it eased my mind a little, and as I became calmer I reflected that God was either deaf to my cries, or else that He did not choose to listen, which is much the same thing when you come to think of it. If man is made in His likeness, I thought, He will act as seems good to Him, so I may as well save my breath, for to all appearance what I have will not last more than an hour or two, so I will try and make the most of what is left in this dear old body, which I am reluctant to quit, even if it is to better myself. Well, we can die but once, so I may as well see how the thing is done, now that there is no help for it. When I was a little boy, I used to make willow-whistles, and I found the best way to loosen the bark was to tap it sharply with a knife-handle.
"Ah-h, I had a hard knock that time! The Lord no doubt is getting my bark off by the same method, but it does seem a strange sort of ​amusement for a Personage of His age, and there is nothing left for me but to watch and see what happens, which is hard when such a horrible commotion is going on inside one!"—[Here the author takes the liberty of omitting some lines, as Breugnon enters, with somewhat too much detail, into the disordered state of his machinery, which we fear would not be of interest to the general reader.]—There I lay reflecting, and sometimes stopping to howl a little, and at last I lighted my candle and stuck it in the neck of an old bottle, which smelt still of the spirit that once had filled it. "My body and soul will be like that by this time tomorrow," thought I, and then I turned over and tried to read a little, but the Romans and their lofty sentiments rather bored me, especially their self-satisfaction. "We are not all worthy to see Rome!" and sayings of that kind fell flat at that moment, when I had no pride left, and only wanted to complain of the cramp in my stomach.
When I had an interval of ease, however, I found such a good joke in an old jest book, that in spite of my aches and pains, I fairly roared with laughter, till it brought on the cramp again, and I had to stop and groan. Oh, what a night that was! When day dawned at last, I was really half dead, and could only drag myself on my hands ​and knees to the little window, where I called out in a lamentable voice to the first passerby I saw. One glance at me was enough. He made the sign of the Cross and fled for his life, and in fifteen minutes two sentinels were posted at my door with orders that on no account was I to cross the threshold. I could not have gone out if they had allowed it, but I begged them to go and fetch my old friend Paillard the notary, at Dornecy, so that I could make my will before dying. My guards were so afraid of the plague that they did not even dare to listen to the sound of my voice, but at last I found a messenger, a little boy whom I had caught one day stealing my cherries; he liked me because I told him he might as well pick some for me too while he was about it, so now he ran off on my errand.
I couldn't tell you what happened for a long time after that, I just lay all humped up on my mattress, burning with fever, but after a while I heard wheels on the road, and a familiar gruff voice, so I knew Paillard was there, and tried to raise myself and call to him. I wanted to tell him to draw up a codicil to my will leaving a larger share of my money to Martine and little Glodie, and in the long night I had thought out a way to do this so that my sons could not contest it. The ​great bell of St. Martin's seemed to be weighing on my forehead, but I managed to drag myself to the window, and out on the road I saw two round red faces staring at me with horror-stricken eyes. Paillard and Chamaille had rushed in hot haste to get a sight of their friend before he expired, but when they did see him, their ardor cooled a little, and they fell back so as to put the width of the road between us.
"Heavens!" cried Chamaille; "my poor friend, your color is something awful." But the mere sight of them seemed to restore me, so I called out, "You look hot, won't you come in and sit down a minute?"
"No, thank you, no!" they both said hastily; "we are all right out here," and they kept backing away towards the cart, where Paillard pretended to fumble with the bit of his old nag, to cover his embarrassment. Chamaille soon pulled himself together, for with him it was an everyday experience to talk with the dying; he first inquired how I was feeling, and when I said but poorly, he shook his head.
"Ah, my dear Colas!" said he sadly, "I have told you more times than I could count that this is what we must all come to; all flesh is grass, here today and gone tomorrow, but in the heyday of your ​youth you would never listen to me. Now alasl your cup is nearly empty, only the dregs remain to you, but all the same you ought not to be afflicted, since God does you the honor to summon you before Him, and I am here to prepare and wash your soul if perchance it is not perfectly clean and ready. Come, sinner, the time is short!"
Vicar," said I, "I will attend to you in a few moments."
"The Chariot of Death will not wait for you."
"In that case I shall have to go on my two feet."
"Breugnon, my brother," said he solemnly, "relinquish your hold on the things of this world; why should you cling to them since they are naught but vanity and vexation of spirit?"
"Too true," said I, "and it breaks my heart to think of leaving old friends like you behind me in the midst of such desolation,"
"We shall meet again!" said he, rolling up his eyes.
"Let it be soon then! You remember the motto of the Duke of Guise, 'Where I lead you follow!'"
"Come, come, Breugnon, time is passing, and so are you; do you want the father of lies to snap up your sinful soul for his dinner? He will, if you do not make your confession quickly. Colas! I entreat you for my sake!"
​"For yours, for God's, and for my own sake," said I, "but first I have a word or two to say to the notary."
"Is it possible, Breugnon, that you will make the Eternal wait for the scrivener?"
"The Eternal has all eternity, so He will not mind waiting, besides it is more polite for me to take leave of this world which I am quitting, before I greet the next world where I am—perhaps—expected."
As I insisted in spite of all he could say to the contrary, Master Paillard took out his writing-case and sat down on a stone by the roadside, surrounded by a circle of spectators, and all the dogs in the neighborhood, while I dictated to him my last will and testament. Having disposed of my money, I turned my attention to my soul under the direction of Chamaille, till at last, feeling that my strength failed me, "Baptiste," said I, "your words are heavenly, but what avails the sky to a man whose throat is dry! Get me a stirrup-cup, for my soul is just about to spring to the saddle, so one bottle, if you love me!"
My last words fell on the willing ears of good neighbors and Christians who brought me not only one bottle but three, Chablis, Pouilly, and Irancy, and I, like a sailor setting out on a voyage, let ​down a rope out of my window; they put the wine in an old basket, tied the rope to its handle, and I pulled it up gently, my last best friend! After this, though the others had gone, I was not quite so lonely, but I kept no count of time, and could not tell now how the hours passed or rather how they seemed to be stolen from me, perhaps it was by the spirits in my trio of bottles, from which came voices and replies, but Colas Breugnon was not there to hear them.
Towards midnight I appeared to be seated in a strawberry bed looking up at the sky through the branches of a tree. How dark the earth was, and how the stars twinkled, the moon too was smiling at me, and all around were twisted distorted old stems and roots, like a nest of serpents grinning horribly.—What was I doing there? My head was spinning, but I seemed to say to myself, "Up with you. Colas! and lie no longer on that old mattress; the bottles are empty, out with you to the garden!" I wanted also to pick some cloves of garlic, because they are said to be a cure for the plague, but scarcely had I set foot on the ground when everything seemed to be enchanted; the sky arched over me like a huge tree, and from its drooping branches hung the stars like glittering fruit, and they all had eyes to look at me; they laughed ​and so did the strawberries; high up among the leaves was a golden pear all ripe and juicy, and she sang in a sweet little voice:
"Grow like me
From the tree,
Little man below.
Reach your hand to mine,
Cling like stems of vine;
Shake off all your woe,
Grow with me
As we upward go !"
And the heavens and earth seemed like one big orchard full of fruits all singing, "Grow with me!"
Then I stuck my arms into the soft warm earth up to the elbows, and sank down till I was all enfolded from head to heel, as if on my mother's breast. From the July night rose the Song of Songs, the bright bunches of stars swung before my eyes, and the deep voice of St. Martin's struck the hour; twelve o'clock, fourteen, sixteen o'clock? Surely there was something strange in the old timepiece! And the star fruit above and below began to strike too, or was it chiming? with such celestial sounds that they pierced my heart, and vibrated in my ears like distant thunder. Then it seemed as I lay that a tree of Jesse was growing from me and I mounted with it, up, up among the chiming branches towards a bright planet dancing on the ​highest tree-top, and that I stretched out my arms to reach it, singing:
"You are mine, Star wine, Spirit of the living vine, Halleluia!"
I must have kept on climbing for the greater part of the night, and from what they tell me I sang for hours, all sorts of songs, sacred and profane, some edifying and some very much the reverse; I also played on the dulcimer as well as on the drum and trumpet, till at last all the neighborhood came out to listen and to say, "Poor old Colas, he is dying, and mad as mad can be."
The next morning the sun was out of his bed long before I was, for I never opened my eyes till near midday, and my first thought was, "Good, here I am still living!"—not but what my couch was hard enough, and I still had those horrible pains in the gizzard, but I was glad enough that my body was there to put a pain in. "Breugnon, old man," said I, "it is a pleasure to see you; if you had died last night, I should never have got over it. Good-morning, dear garden, and everything in you!"
And while I was gloating on my beautiful melons, I heard some one hailing me from the ​other side of the wall. "Breugnon, are you dead yet?" And there were Paillard and Chamaille weeping and wailing, and prepared already to proclaim the virtues of the dear departed.
I crawled slowly from my bed, for my back was still onfoundedly painful, and put my head gently out of the window. "Here he is," said I. "Cuckoo!"
"Colas!" they cried, laughing, while the tears ran down their faces, and I stuck out my tongue at them, telling them that I was not dead yet by a long sight, but if you will believe me those friends actually kept me shut up for ten days longer, till they were perfectly certain that I was entirely recovered. It is only fair to say that they kept me well supplied with bread and water,—I mean the kind that Noah drank,—and they came every day and sat under my window and told me all the news of town and country. When at last I was set free, Chamaille wanted me to go at once and return thanks to St. Roch, who according to him had delivered me from my mortal sickness. I told him I thought the saints that saved me had come out of three quart bottles.
"Well, Colas," said he, "we will split the difference, you come first with me to St. Roch and I will help you afterwards to render due ​thanks to St. Vineyard." So we made both these pious pilgrimages, all three together, for Paillard insisted on joining us.
"Friends," said I, "you were not so anxious to go with me the other day."
"You know I love you," said Paillard, "but I love my own self better, and as the proverb says, 'My skin fits tighter than my waistcoat.'"
"I am an old coward," said Chamaille, thumping himself on the chest, and looking very shamefaced.
"Well then," said I, "of what use are all the precepts of religion and of Cato?"
We all looked at each other and laughed. "Life is sweet," we cried, "and good men are scarce; if God thought fit to put us into this world, it is our duty to stay here as long as we can."