Saint Anthony
They called him Saint Anthony, because his name was Anthony, and also,perhaps, because he was a good fellow, jovial, a lover of practicaljokes, a tremendous eater and a heavy drinker and a gay fellow, althoughhe was sixty years old.He was a big peasant of the district of Caux, with a red face, largechest and stomach, and perched on two legs that seemed too slight for thebulk of his body.He was a widower and lived alone with his two men servants and a maid onhis farm, which he conducted with shrewd economy. He was careful of hisown interests, understood business and the raising of cattle, andfarming. His two sons and his three daughters, who had married well,were living in the neighborhood and came to dine with their father once amonth. His vigor of body was famous in all the countryside. "He is asstrong as Saint Anthony," had become a kind of proverb.At the time of the Prussian invasion Saint Anthony, at the wine shop,promised to eat an army, for he was a braggart, like a true Norman, a bitof a, coward and a blusterer. He banged his fist on the wooden table,making the cups and the brandy glasses dance, and cried with the assumedwrath of a good fellow, with a flushed face and a sly look in his eye:"I shall have to eat some of them, nom de Dieu!" He reckoned that thePrussians would not come as far as Tanneville, but when he heard theywere at Rautot he never went out of the house, and constantly watched theroad from the little window of his kitchen, expecting at any moment tosee the bayonets go by.One morning as he was eating his luncheon with the servants the dooropened and the mayor of the commune, Maitre Chicot, appeared, followed bya soldier wearing a black copper-pointed helmet. Saint Anthony boundedto his feet and his servants all looked at him, expecting to see himslash the Prussian. But he merely shook hands with the mayor, who said:"Here is one for you, Saint Anthony. They came last night. Don't doanything foolish, above all things, for they talked of shooting andburning everything if there is the slightest unpleasantness, I have givenyou warning. Give him something to eat; he looks like a good fellow.Good-day. I am going to call on the rest. There are enough for all."And he went out.Father Anthony, who had turned pale, looked at the Prussian. He was abig, young fellow with plump, white skin, blue eyes, fair hair, unshavento his cheek bones, who looked stupid, timid and good. The shrewd Normanread him at once, and, reassured, he made him a sign to sit down. Thenhe said: "Will you take some soup?"The stranger did not understand. Anthony then became bolder, and pushinga plateful of soup right under his nose, he said: "Here, swallow that,big pig!The soldier ,answered "Ya," and began to eat greedily, while the farmer,triumphant, feeling he had regained his reputation, winked his eye at theservants, who were making strange grimaces, what with their terror andtheir desire to laugh.When the Prussian had devoured his soup, Saint Anthony gave him anotherplateful, which disappeared in like manner; but he flinched at the thirdwhich the farmer tried to insist on his eating, saying: "Come, put thatinto your stomach; 'twill fatten you or it is your own fault, eh, pig!"The soldier, understanding only that they wanted to make him eat all hissoup, laughed in a contented manner, making a sign to show that he couldnot hold any more.Then Saint Anthony, become quite familiar, tapped him on the stomach,saying: "My, there is plenty in my pig's belly!" But suddenly he beganto writhe with laughter, unable to speak. An idea had struck him whichmade him choke with mirth. "That's it, that's it, Saint Anthony and hispig. There's my pig!" And the three servants burst out laughing intheir turn.The old fellow was so pleased that he had the brandy brought in, goodstuff, 'fil en dix', and treated every one. They clinked glasses withthe Prussian, who clacked his tongue by way of flattery to show that heenjoyed it. And Saint Anthony exclaimed in his face: "Eh, is not thatsuperfine? You don't get anything like that in your home, pig!"From that time Father Anthony never went out without his Prussian. Hehad got what he wanted. This was his vengeance, the vengeance of an oldrogue. And the whole countryside, which was in terror, laughed to splitits sides at Saint Anthony's joke. Truly, there was no one like him whenit came to humor. No one but he would have thought of a thing like that.He was a born joker!He went to see his neighbors every day, arm in arm with his German, whomhe introduced in a jovial manner, tapping him on the shoulder: "See, hereis my pig; look and see if he is not growing fat, the animal!"And the peasants would beam with smiles. "He is so comical, thatreckless fellow, Antoine!""I will sell him to you, Cesaire, for three pistoles" (thirty francs)."I will take him, Antoine, and I invite you to eat some black pudding.""What I want is his feet.""Feel his belly; you will see that it is all fat."And they all winked at each other, but dared not laugh too loud, for fearthe Prussian might finally suspect they were laughing at him. Anthony,alone growing bolder every day, pinched his thighs, exclaiming, "Nothingbut fat"; tapped him on the back, shouting, "That is all bacon"; liftedhim up in his arms as an old Colossus that could have lifted an anvil,declaring, "He weighs six hundred and no waste."He had got into the habit of making people offer his "pig" something toeat wherever they went together. This was the chief pleasure, the greatdiversion every day. "Give him whatever you please, he will swalloweverything." And they offered the man bread and butter, potatoes, coldmeat, chitterlings, which caused the remark, "Some of your own, andchoice ones."The soldier, stupid and gentle, ate from politeness, charmed at theseattentions, making himself ill rather than refuse, and he was actuallygrowing fat and his uniform becoming tight for him. This delighted SaintAnthony, who said: "You know, my pig, that we shall have to have anothercage made for you."They had, however, become the best friends in the world, and when the oldfellow went to attend to his business in the neighborhood the Prussianaccompanied him for the simple pleasure of being with him.The weather was severe; it was freezing hard. The terrible winter of1870 seemed to bring all the scourges on France at one time.Father Antoine, who made provision beforehand, and took advantage ofevery opportunity, foreseeing that manure would be scarce for the springfarming, bought from a neighbor who happened to be in need of money allthat he had, and it was agreed that he should go every evening with hiscart to get a load.So every day at twilight he set out for the farm of Haules, half a leaguedistant, always accompanied by his "pig." And each time it was afestival, feeding the animal. All the neighbors ran over there as theywould go to high mass on Sunday.But the soldier began to suspect something, be mistrustful, and when theylaughed too loud he would roll his eyes uneasily, and sometimes theylighted up with anger.One evening when he had eaten his fill he refused to swallow anothermorsel, and attempted to rise to leave the table. But Saint Anthonystopped him by a turn of the wrist and, placing his two powerful hands onhis shoulders, he sat him down again so roughly that the chair smashedunder him.A wild burst of laughter broke forth, and Anthony, beaming, picked up hispig, acted as though he were dressing his wounds, and exclaimed: "Sinceyou will not eat, you shall drink, nom de Dieu!" And they went to thewine shop to get some brandy.The soldier rolled his eyes, which had a wicked expression, but he drank,nevertheless; he drank as long as they wanted him, and Saint Anthony heldhis head to the great delight of his companions.The Norman, red as a tomato, his eyes ablaze, filled up the glasses andclinked, saying: "Here's to you!". And the Prussian, without speaking aword, poured down one after another glassfuls of cognac.It was a contest, a battle, a revenge! Who would drink the most, nomd'un nom! They could neither of them stand any more when the liter wasemptied. But neither was conquered. They were tied, that was all. Theywould have to begin again the next day.They went out staggering and started for home, walking beside the dungcart which was drawn along slowly by two horses.Snow began to fall and the moonless night was sadly lighted by this deadwhiteness on the plain. The men began to feel the cold, and thisaggravated their intoxication. Saint Anthony, annoyed at not being thevictor, amused himself by shoving his companion so as to make him fallover into the ditch. The other would dodge backwards, and each time hedid he uttered some German expression in an angry tone, which made thepeasant roar with laughter. Finally the Prussian lost his temper, andjust as Anthony was rolling towards him he responded with such a terrificblow with his fist that the Colossus staggered.Then, excited by the brandy, the old man seized the pugilist round thewaist, shook him for a few moments as he would have done with a littlechild, and pitched him at random to the other side of the road. Then,satisfied with this piece of work, he crossed his arms and began to laughafresh.But the soldier picked himself up in a hurry, his head bare, his helmethaving rolled off, and drawing his sword he rushed over to FatherAnthony.When he saw him coming the peasant seized his whip by the top of thehandle, his big holly wood whip, straight, strong and supple as the sinewof an ox.The Prussian approached, his head down, making a lunge with his sword,sure of killing his adversary. But the old fellow, squarely hitting theblade, the point of which would have pierced his stomach, turned itaside, and with the butt end of the whip struck the soldier a sharp blowon the temple and he fell to the ground.Then he, gazed aghast, stupefied with amazement, at the body, twitchingconvulsively at first and then lying prone and motionless. He bent overit, turned it on its back, and gazed at it for some time. The man's eyeswere closed, and blood trickled from a wound at the side of his forehead.Although it was dark, Father Anthony could distinguish the bloodstain onthe white snow.He remained there, at his wit's end, while his cart continued slowly onits way.What was he to do? He would be shot! They would burn his farm, ruin hisdistrict! What should he do? What should he do? How could he hide thebody, conceal the fact of his death, deceive the Prussians? He heardvoices in the distance, amid the utter stillness of the snow. All atonce he roused himself, and picking up the helmet he placed it on hisvictim's head. Then, seizing him round the body, he lifted him up in hisarms, and thus running with him, he overtook his team, and threw the bodyon top of the manure. Once in his own house he would think up some plan.He walked slowly, racking his brain, but without result. He saw, hefelt, that he was lost. He entered his courtyard. A light was shiningin one of the attic windows; his maid was not asleep. He hastily backedhis wagon to the edge of the manure hollow. He thought that byoverturning the manure the body lying on top of it would fall into theditch and be buried beneath it, and he dumped the cart.As he had foreseen, the man was buried beneath the manure. Anthonyevened it down with his fork, which he stuck in the ground beside it.He called his stableman, told him to put up the horses, and went to hisroom.He went to bed, still thinking of what he had best do, but no ideas cameto him. His apprehension increased in the quiet of his room. They wouldshoot him! He was bathed in perspiration from fear, his teeth chattered,he rose shivering, not being able to stay in bed.He went downstairs to the kitchen, took the bottle of brandy from thesideboard and carried it upstairs. He drank two large glasses, one afteranother, adding a fresh intoxication to the late one, without quietinghis mental anguish. He had done a pretty stroke of work, nom de Dieu,idiot!He paced up and down, trying to think of some stratagem, someexplanations, some cunning trick, and from time to time he rinsed hismouth with a swallow of "fil en dix" to give him courage.But no ideas came to him, not one.Towards midnight his watch dog, a kind of cross wolf called "Devorant,"began to howl frantically. Father Anthony shuddered to the marrow of hisbones, and each time the beast began his long and lugubrious wail the oldman's skin turned to goose flesh.He had sunk into a chair, his legs weak, stupefied, done up, waitinganxiously for "Devorant" to set up another howl, and startingconvulsively from nervousness caused by terror.The clock downstairs struck five. The dog was still howling. Thepeasant was almost insane. He rose to go and let the dog loose, so thathe should not hear him. He went downstairs, opened the hall door, andstepped out into the darkness. The snow was still falling. The earthwas all white, the farm buildings standing out like black patches. Heapproached the kennel. The dog was dragging at his chain. He unfastenedit. "Devorant" gave a bound, then stopped short, his hair bristling, hislegs rigid, his muzzle in the air, his nose pointed towards the manureheap.Saint Anthony, trembling from head to foot, faltered:"What's the matter with you, you dirty hound?" and he walked a few stepsforward, gazing at the indistinct outlines, the sombre shadow of thecourtyard.Then he saw a form, the form of a man sitting on the manure heap!He gazed at it, paralyzed by fear, and breathing hard. But all at oncehe saw, close by, the handle of the manure fork which was sticking in theground. He snatched it up and in one of those transports of fear thatwill make the greatest coward brave he rushed forward to see what it was.It was he, his Prussian, come to life, covered with filth from his bed ofmanure which had kept him warm. He had sat down mechanically, andremained there in the snow which sprinkled down, all covered with dirtand blood as he was, and still stupid from drinking, dazed by the blowand exhausted from his wound.He perceived Anthony, and too sodden to understand anything, he made anattempt to rise. But the moment the old man recognized him, he foamedwith rage like a wild animal."Ah, pig! pig!" he sputtered. "You are not dead! You are going todenounce me now--wait--wait!"And rushing on the German with all the strength of leis arms he flung theraised fork like a lance and buried the four prongs full length in hisbreast.The soldier fell over on his back, uttering a long death moan, while theold peasant, drawing the fork out of his breast, plunged it over and overagain into his abdomen, his stomach, his throat, like a madman, piercingthe body from head to foot, as it still quivered, and the blood gushedout in streams.Finally he stopped, exhausted by his arduous work, swallowing greatmouthfuls of air, calmed down at the completion of the murder.As the cocks were beginning to crow in the poultry yard and it was neardaybreak, he set to work to bury the man.He dug a hole in the manure till he reached the earth, dug down further,working wildly, in a frenzy of strength with frantic motions of his armsand body.When the pit was deep enough he rolled the corpse into it with the fork,covered it with earth, which he stamped down for some time, and then putback the manure, and he smiled as he saw the thick snow finishing hiswork and covering up its traces with a white sheet.He then stuck the fork in the manure and went into the house. Hisbottle, still half full of brandy stood on the table. He emptied it at adraught, threw himself on his bed and slept heavily.He woke up sober, his mind calm and clear, capable of judgment andthought.At the end of an hour he was going about the country making inquirieseverywhere for his soldier. He went to see the Prussian officer to findout why they had taken away his man.As everyone knew what good friends they were, no one suspected him. Heeven directed the research, declaring that the Prussian went to see thegirls every evening.An old retired gendarme who had an inn in the next village, and a prettydaughter, was arrested and shot.
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