Colas Breugnon

by Romain Rolland

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 stomach-ache, 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 alas! 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.”