Prosper Merimée was born in France in 1803 to a wealthy family. At university, he studied law, Greek, Spanish, English and Russian and learnt these languages well enough to translate many Russian and Greek writers to French for the first time. He was the private teacher of a Spanish aristocrat,
Prosper Merimée
Prosper
Merimée was born in France in 1803 to a wealthy family. At university, he
studied law, Greek, Spanish, English and Russian and learnt these languages
well enough to translate many Russian and Greek writers to French for the first
time. He was the private teacher of a Spanish aristocrat, who later became
the Empress of France. He also worked as an archaeologist and became the
director of historical buildings in the country. He was actively interested in
politics as well and served as a French Senator. In short, there was
nothing Merimée could not do – including writing short stories! He died in
1873.
Mateo Falcone
Walking
towards the centre of the island of Corsica, the traveller notices that the
land rises quickly and, after three hours along wild paths, he finds a huge area
of ‘mâquis’. The ‘mâquis’ is where Corsican shepherds and those escaping
the law make their home.
To save himself the trouble of caring for his field, the Corsican farmer sets fire to forests. He is then certain of a good crop from the land because of the ash from the burnt trees. He only cuts the grain, leaving the straw – cutting it makes unnecessary work.
The following spring the roots start
to grow again, and in a few years reach two or three metres high. That is
called a ‘mâquis’. It is made of different kinds of trees and bushes, so
crowded and mixed together that only an axe can open a path through them.
If you have killed a man, go into the
‘mâquis’. With a gun and ammunition, you can live there safely. Do not
forget a coat, which you can use to keep you warm and to lie on. The shepherds will
give you nuts,
milk and cheese, and there is no need to be afraid of the law or the relatives
of the dead, except when you go to the city to buy more ammunition.
When I was in Corsica in 18--, Mateo Falcone
had his house near this ‘mâquis’. He was rich enough in that country, living on
the money from his flocks, which eat the grass here and there
on the mountains. When I saw him, two years after the event that I am going to
tell you about, he seemed about fifty years old or more. Picture a man, small
but healthy, with curly black hair, thin lips, large and restless eyes. And Mateo
could shoot a wolf at a hundred metres or more. He used his gun as easily at
night as in the day.
Because he was so skilled with his gun,
Mateo Falcone had a great reputation. Everyone said he was as good a
friend as he was dangerous an enemy; hospitable and charitable, he lived at peace with
the world. His wife Giuseppa had given him at first three daughters (which made
him very angry), and finally a son he named Fortunato, who became the hope of
his family. The boy who would continue the family name. The daughters were
well-married to men who were loyal to their father-in-law and would help
when he needed a gun. The son was only ten years old, but he was already a fine
boy.
On
an autumn day, Mateo set out early with his wife to visit one of
his flocks in
the ‘mâquis’. The little Fortunato wanted to go with them, but it was too far
away; also, someone had to stay to watch the house. So, the father refused. As
we will see, he would be sorry for his decision.
He had gone some hours, and little Fortunato was lazily lying in the sun, looking at the blue mountains, and thinking that the next Sunday he was going to have dinner in the city with his uncle, the Mayor, when his dreams were suddenly interrupted by the firing of a gun. He got up and turned in the direction of the noise. Other shots followed now and then, and each
time they came nearer; at last, on the
path which led to Mateo's house, a man came, bearded, covered with rags,
and pulling himself along with difficulty. He had just been shot in the leg.
This man was an outlaw,
who had gone to the town at night to buy ammunition but was seen by some
Corsican soldiers. He managed to get away, closely followed and shooting from
rock to rock. But he was only a little in front of the soldiers and his wound made
it impossible for him to get to the ‘maquis’ before the soldiers caught him.
He came up to Fortunato and said:
"You are the son of Mateo Falcone?" – "Yes."
"I am Gianetto. The soldiers are
following me. Hide me! I can’t go any further."
"And what will my father say if I
hide you?"
"He’ll say that you have done
well."
"How do you know?"
"Hide me quickly. They’re
coming."
"Wait till my father gets
back."
"How can I wait? They will be here
in five minutes. Come on, hide me, or I’ll kill you."
Fortunato answered him with coolness:
"Your gun is empty, and there are
no more bullets in your belt."
"I have my knife."
"But can you run as fast as I
can?"
"You aren’t the son of Mateo
Falcone! Will you let them arrest me in front of your house?"
The outlaw took
out a five-franc piece, which he had saved to buy ammunition. Fortunato smiled at the
silver; he took it quickly, and said to Gianetto:
"Don’t worry!"
Immediately he made a big hole in some straw that
was near the house.
Gianetto lay down in it and the child
covered him so that he could breathe but without anyone seeing him. He had
another thought, and placed a cat and her kittens on the straw,
so that it looked like nobody had moved it. Then, noticing some blood on the
path near the house, he covered it carefully with dirt and again lay down in
the sun.
A few moments later, six men in brown
uniforms were in front of Mateo's door. Their captain was a relative of
Falcone's. His name was Gamba. He was an active man, feared by the outlaws,
as he had already caught so many of them.
"Good afternoon, little
cousin," he said, coming up to Fortunato. "How tall you have grown!
Have you seen a man go past here just now?"
"Oh! I’m not yet as tall as you,
cousin," replied the child very simply.
"You soon will be. But haven't you
seen a man go by here, tell me?"
"If I’ve seen a man go by?"
"Yes, answer quickly!"
"This morning the baker passed on
his horse. He asked me how papa was, and I answered him …"
"Ah, you’re playing with me! Tell
me quickly which way Gianetto went! We’re looking for him and I’m sure he took
this path."
"What will you give me if I hide
you?" he said, coming nearer.
"Who knows? I know you’ve seen
him."
"Can anyone see who passes when
they’re asleep?"
"You weren’t asleep. The shooting
woke you up."
"Then you believe, cousin, that
your guns make so much noise? My father's is louder than yours."
"I’m certain you’ve seen Gianetto.
Perhaps you’ve even hidden him. Soldiers, go into the house and see if our man
is there. He could only walk on one foot, and he’s too clever to try to reach
the ‘mâquis’ like that. And look, the blood stops here."
"And what will papa say?"
asked Fortunato. "What will he say if he knows that you’ve been in his
house while he was away?"
"Perhaps you’ll speak differently
after I’ve slapped your
bottom."
"My father is Mateo Falcone,"
he said decidedly.
"You know very well that I can
carry you off to prison, make you sleep on straw, and even cut your head off,
if you don't tell me where Gianetto is."
The child started laughing at this. He
repeated:
"My father is Mateo Falcone."
"Captain," said one of the
soldiers in a low voice, "let’s have no arguments with Mateo."
Gamba was embarrassed. He spoke quietly to the
soldiers who had already visited the house. This had not taken very long
because a Corsican house has only one square room, with a table, some chairs
and cupboards. In the meantime, little Fortunato played with his cat and
enjoyed the confusion of the soldiers and his cousin.
The
Captain thought. Already the soldiers were looking away, as if they were ready
to return by the way they had come, when their chief decided to make a last
effort and give a present to Mateo’s son.
"My little cousin," he said,
"you’re a clever lad. You’ll do well in life. But you’re playing
a naughty game with me and, if I wasn't afraid of making trouble for
my cousin, Mateo, I’d take you with me. But when my cousin comes back I’ll tell
him about this, and he’ll hit you for telling lies."
"Really?"
"You’ll see. But wait! Be a good
boy and I’ll give you something."
"Cousin, let me give you some
advice. If you wait much longer Gianetto will be in the mâquis and it will take
a cleverer man than you to follow him."
The Captain took out of his pocket a
silver watch and noticing that Fortunato's eyes opened wide, said:
"You’d like to have this watch,
wouldn't you, and to walk in the streets of the town with it? People would ask
you what time it was, and you’d say: 'Look at my watch.'"
"When I’m grown up, my uncle,
the Mayor, will give me a watch."
"Yes; but your uncle's little boy
has one already; not as fine as this, of course. But he’s younger than you.
Would you like this watch, little cousin?"
However, the Captain seemed serious.
Fortunato did not reach out his hand for it, but said with a smile:
"Why do you make fun of me?"
“I’m
not making fun
of you. Only tell me where Gianetto is and the watch is yours."
Fortunato smiled and, his black eyes on
the Captain’s, tried to read if the man was really serious.
"These soldiers are witnesses."
While
he was speaking, he slowly held the watch nearer till it almost touched the
child's face, which plainly showed the struggle that was going on
between his greed and respect for hospitality.
Finally, his right hand moved towards
it. The ends of his fingers touched it; then it was in his hand. In the
sunlight it seemed to be on fire. Fortunato raised his left hand and pointed
over his shoulder at the straw. The Captain understood him at once. He
jumped up and the soldiers began to uncover the straw.
There was a movement and a bloody man
with a knife in his hand appeared. He tried to get up, but his leg did not
allow it and he fell. The Captain at once took away his knife.
Gianetto, lying on the earth, turned
his head towards Fortunato, who had come close to him.
"Traitor!" he said, with more
than anger.
The child threw him the silver coin which
he had got, feeling that he had no longer earnt it. But the outlaw paid
no attention and with great coolness said to the Captain:
"A few minutes ago, you could run,
but relax. I’m so pleased to have you that I would carry you on my back.
Besides, we are going to make a bed for you with your coat and some
branches."
"Good," said the prisoner,
"You can also put a little straw on my bed so that I may be more
comfortable."
While some of the soldiers were making
a kind of bed and the rest were cleaning Gianetto's wound, Mateo Falcone
and his wife suddenly appeared on the path that led to the ‘mâquis’. The woman
was walking with difficulty under an enormous sack of nuts, while her husband was only
carrying one gun in his hands, with another across his shoulders, for a man
should only carry weapons.
When he saw the soldiers, Mateo's first
thought was that they had come to arrest him. But why? No. He had a good reputation,
an excellent name, but he was also a Corsican, and there are few Corsicans who
cannot remember a fight, a gun-shot or knife-wound. But Mateo for more than ten
years had not pointed his gun at a man. Still, he was always careful, and put
himself in a position to defend himself if necessary.
"Wife," said he to Giuseppa,
"put down the sack and get ready."
She did it at once. He gave her the gun
that was across his shoulders and walked slowly towards the house, walking
among the trees on the side of the road, ready to hide behind the largest one.
His wife followed closely behind, holding his second weapon and ammunition.
The duty of a good wife, if there is a fight, is to keep her
husband's guns ready.
The Captain was worried to see Mateo
walk in this way. "If" he thought, "Mateo is related to
Gianetto, or if he’s his friend and wants to defend him, he could kill many of
us, even though I’m his cousin!"
He walked alone towards Mateo to tell
him about the arrest like an old friend, but the short space between him and
Mateo seemed very long.
"Hello, old friend!" he
shouted. "How are you? It’s Gamba, your cousin."
"Good-day, brother," said the
Captain, holding out his hand. "It’s a long time since I’ve seen you. I
stopped while passing, to say good-day to you and my little cousin here. We’ve
had a long journey today, but have no reason to complain because we’ve won a
famous prize. We’ve just arrested Gianetto."
"Thank God" cried Giuseppa.
"He stole a goat from us last week."
"Poor
man!" said Mateo, "He was hungry."
"He fought like a lion,"
continued the Captain. "He killed one of my soldiers. Then he was so well
hidden that we couldn't find him. Without my little cousin, Fortunato, I should
never have discovered him."
"Fortunato!" cried Mateo.
"Yes, Gianetto was hidden under
the straw over
there, but my little cousin showed me the place. I shall tell his uncle,
the Mayor, that he should send him a fine present. Both his name and yours
will be in the report that I shall send."
Gianetto was already lying on the bed
ready to set off. When he saw Mateo and Gamba together he smiled a strange
smile, then, turning his head towards the door of the house, he spat,
saying:
"House of a traitor."
Only a man ready to die would use the
word ‘traitor’
to Falcone. However, Mateo only placed his hand on his forehead like a man who
is confused.
Fortunato had gone into the house when
his father arrived, but now he came with some milk which he handed to Gianetto.
The soldier placed his bottle in his
hands and the prisoner drank the water given to him by a man that he had just
shot at. He then asked them to tie his hands across his chest instead of behind
his back.
"I like," he said, "to
lie comfortably."
Then the Captain gave the signal to
start, said good-bye to Mateo, who did not answer, and went down the hill with
quick steps towards the town.
Nearly ten minutes passed before Mateo
spoke. The child looked with restless eyes, now at his mother, now at his
father, who was staring at him in a rage.
"You begin well," said Mateo
at last with a calm voice, but frightful to one who knew the man.
"Oh, father!" cried the boy,
starting to cry, and moving forwards to kneel before his father. But
Mateo cried, "Away from me!"
The boy stopped and cried, a few steps
from his father.
Giuseppa had just discovered the watch
in Fortunato's jacket.
"Who gave you that watch?"
she asked in a strict voice.
"My cousin, the Captain."
Falcone took the watch and smashed it
in a thousand pieces against a rock.
"Wife," said he, "is
this my child?"
Giuseppa's face turned brick-red.
"What are you saying, Mateo?"
Falcone turned in the direction of the
‘mâquis’, calling to Fortunato, who was still crying, to follow.
The boy obeyed. Giuseppa hurried after Mateo
and pulled his arm.
"He’s your son," she said,
her black eyes on her husband’s to read what was going on in his heart.
"Leave me alone," said Mateo,
"I’m his father."
Giuseppa kissed her son and, crying,
entered the house. Meanwhile Falcone walked along the path. He tried the earth
with his gun, and found it soft and easy to dig. The place seemed to be
convenient.
"Fortunato, go close to that big
rock there."
The child did as he was told.
"Oh, father, father, do not kill
me!"
"Are you finished?"
"Oh! Father, forgive me! I’ll
never do it again."
He was still speaking. Mateo lifted his
gun, and aimed.
The boy made a desperate effort to get up and hold his
father's knees, but there was not time. Mateo fired and Fortunato fell dead.
Without looking at the body, Mateo
returned to the house for a spade to bury his son. He had only
gone a few steps when he met Giuseppa, who was hurrying to him.
"What have you done?" cried
she.
"Justice."
"Where is he?"
"I am going to bury him.
Tell my son-in-law, Tiodoro Bianchi, to come and live with us."