The Werewolf Blood Trail: Tales of Gore, Terror & Hunt. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
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this will be mine! For she did not deceive me by the way she went off: those who have nothing to fear have no need to take flight. She was afraid to show her feelings too plainly at first meeting; but how kind she was after she got home! Well, well, it is all working itself out, as I can see; I have only got to push matters a bit; and some fine morning she will find herself rid of her fat little old man, and then the thing is done. Not that I do, or can, wish for the death of poor Monsieur Magloire. If I take his place after he is no more, well and good; but to kill a man who has given you such good wine to drink! to kill him with his good wine still hot in your mouth! why, even my friend the wolf would blush for me if I were guilty of such a deed.”
Then with one of his most roguish smiles, he went on:
“And besides, would it not be as well to have already acquired some rights over Madame Suzanne, by the time Monsieur Magloire passes, in the course of nature, into the other world, which, considering the way in which the old scamp eats and drinks, cannot be a matter of long delay?”
And then, no doubt because the good qualities of the Bailiff’s wife which had been so highly extolled to him came back to his mind:
“No, no,” he continued, “no illness, no death! but just those ordinary disagreeables which happen to everybody; only, as it is to be to my advantage, I should like rather more than the usual share to fall to him; one cannot at his age set up for a smart young buck; no, every one according to their dues ... and when these things come to pass, I will give you more than a thank you, Cousin Wolf.”
My readers will doubtless not be of the same way of thinking as Thibault, who saw nothing offensive in this pleasantry of his, but on the contrary, rubbed his hands together smiling at his own thoughts, and indeed so pleased with them that he had reached the town, and found himself at the end of the Rue de Largny before he was aware that he had left the Bailiff’s house more than a few hundred paces behind him.
He now made a sign to his wolves, for it was not quite prudent to traverse the whole town of Villers-Cotterets with a dozen wolves walking alongside as a guard of honour; not only might they meet dogs by the way, but the dogs might wake up the inhabitants.
Six of his wolves, therefore, went off to the right, and six to the left, and although the paths they took were not exactly of the same length, and although some of them went more quickly than the others, the whole dozen nevertheless managed to meet, without one missing, at the end of the Rue de Lormet. As soon as Thibault had reached the door of his hut, they took leave of him and disappeared; but, before they dispersed, Thibault requested them to be at the same spot on the morrow, as soon as night fell.
Although it was two o’clock before Thibault got home, he was up with the dawn; it is true, however, that the day does not rise very early in the month of January.
He was hatching a plot. He had not forgotten the promise he had made to the Bailiff to send him some game from his warren; his warren being, in fact, the whole of the forest-land which belonged to his most serene Highness the Duke of Orleans. This was why he had got up in such good time. It had snowed for two hours before day-break; and he now went and explored the forest in all directions, with the skill and cunning of a bloodhound.
He tracked the deer to its lair, the wild boar to its soil, the hare to its form; and followed their traces to discover where they went at night.
And then, when darkness again fell on the Forest, he gave a howl,—a regular wolf’s howl, in answer to which came crowding to him the wolves that he had invited the night before, followed by old and young recruits, even to the very cubs of a year old.
Thibault then explained that he expected a more than usually fine night’s hunting from his friends, and as an encouragement to them, announced his intention of going with them himself and giving his help in the chase.
It was in very truth a hunt beyond the power of words to describe. The whole night through did the sombre glades of the forest resound with hideous cries.
Here, a roebuck pursued by a wolf, fell, caught by the throat by another wolf hidden in ambush; there, Thibault, knife in hand like a butcher, was running to the assistance of three or four of his ferocious companions, that had already fastened on a fine young boar of four years old, which he now finished off.
An old she-wolf came along bringing with her half-a-dozen hares which she had surprised in their love frolics, and she had great difficulty in preventing her cubs from swallowing a whole covey of young partridges which the young marauders had come across with their heads under their wings, without first waiting for the wolf-master to levy his dues.
Madame Suzanne Magloire little thought what was taking place at this moment in the forest of Villers-Cotterets, and on her account.
In a couple of hours’ time the wolves had heaped up a perfect cart-load of game in front of Thibault’s hut.
Thibault selected what he wanted for his own purposes, and left over sufficient to provide them a sumptuous repast. Borrowing a mule from a charcoal-burner, on the pretext that he wanted to convey his shoes to town, he loaded it up with the game and started for Villers-Cotterets. There he sold a part of this booty to the gamedealer, reserving the best pieces and those which had been least mutilated by the wolves’ claws, to present to Madame Magloire.
His first intention had been to go in person with his gift to the Bailiff; but Thibault was beginning to have a smattering of the ways of the world, and thought it would, therefore, be more becoming to allow his offering of game to precede him. To this end he employed a peasant on payment of a few coppers, to carry the game to the Bailiff of Erneville, merely accompanying it with a slip of paper, on which he wrote: “From Monsieur Thibault.” He, himself, was to follow closely on the message; and, indeed, so closely did he do so, that he arrived just as Maître Magloire was having the game he had received spread out on a table.
The Bailiff, in the warmth of his gratitude, extended his arms towards his friend of the previous night, and tried to embrace him, uttering loud cries of joy. I say tried, for two things prevented him from carrying out his wish; one, the shortness of his arms, the other, the rotundity of his person.
But thinking that where his capacities were insufficient, Madame Magloire might be of assistance, he ran to the door, calling at the top of his voice: “Suzanne, Suzanne!”
There was so unusual a tone in the Bailiff’s voice that his wife felt sure something extraordinary had happened, but whether for good or ill she was unable to make sure: and downstairs she came, therefore, in great haste, to see for herself what was taking place.
She found her husband, wild with delight, trotting round to look on all sides at the game spread on the table, and it must be confessed, that no sight could have more greatly rejoiced a gourmand’s eye. As soon as he caught sight of Suzanne, “Look, look, Madame!” he cried, clapping his hands together. “See what our friend Thibault has brought us, and thank him for it. Praise be to God! there is one person who knows how to keep his promises! He tells us he will send a hamper of game, and he sends us a cart-load. Shake hands with him, embrace him at once, and just look here at this.”
Madame Magloire graciously followed out her husband’s orders; she gave Thibault her hand, allowed him to kiss her, and cast her beautiful eyes over the supply of food which elicited such exclamations of admiration from the Bailiff. And as a supply, which was to make such an acceptable addition to the ordinary daily fare, it was certainly worthy of all admiration.
First, as prime pieces, came a boar’s head and ham, firm and savoury morsels; then a fine three year old kid, which should have been as tender as the dew that only the evening before beaded the grass at which it was nibbling; next came hares, fine fleshy hares from the heath of Gondreville, full fed on wild thyme; and then such scented pheasants, and such delicious red-legged partridges, that once on the spit, the magnificence of their plumage was forgotten in the perfume of their flesh. And all these good things the fat little man enjoyed in advance in his imagination; he already saw the boar broiled on the coals, the kid dressed with sauce piquante, the hares made into a pasty, the pheasants stuffed with truffles, the partridges dressed with cabbage, and he put so much fervour and feeling into his orders and directions,