Cesar Cascabel

CÆSER Cascabel’s journey has at last come to an end! The Fair Rambler has now only to cross Russia and Germany to get on French soil, and the north of France, to be in Normandy. A pretty long trip, no doubt; but as compared with the ten or eleven thousand miles it has just covered, it is but a trifle, just “a ride you could have in a hackney coach,” as Mr. Cascabel used to say.

Yes, it has come to an end, and a better end than might have been expected after so many adventures! Never was there a happier termination,—even in that admirable piece “The Brigands of the Black Forest,” the issue of which gave the greatest satisfaction to all parties concerned, save Ortik and Kirschef, who were hanged a few weeks later; and save, likewise, their companions, who were sent off to Siberia for the remainder of their days.

The question of the separation now forced itself on all our friends with all the gloom of its hopeless perspective. How would it be solved?

Well, in a very simple manner.

The very night of the memorable performance, when all the artists had met together in the Fair Rambler, Count Narkine said:

“My friends, I am conscious of all that I owe you, and I should be an ungrateful being if I ever forgot it. What can I do for you? My heart bleeds at the thought of parting with you! Now, come, how would it suit you to remain in Russia, to settle and live here on my father’s domain?”

Mr. Cascabel, who did not expect such a proposal, thought for an instant:

“Count Narkine—”

“Do call me Mr. Sergius, never any other name—to please me!”

“Well, Mr. Sergius, we are greatly touched. Your offer shows all your kindly feeling for myself and mine. We thank you from our hearts. But, you know, home is home.”

“I understand you,” interrupted the count. “Yes, I quite feel with you. Well, since you insist on returning to France, to your dear Normandy, I should be very happy to know that you are snug and comfortable in a nice little country house, with a farm, and a few acres of land around you. There you might rest after your long traveling.”

“Don’t imagine we are fatigued, Mr. Sergius!” exclaimed Cæser Cascabel.

“Come, my friend, speak to me openly. Do you care very much to keep to your profession?”

“Of course, since it is our bread-earner.”

“You will not understand me,” continued Count Narkine, “and you pain me thereby! Will you deny me the satisfaction of doing something for you?”

“Never forget us, Mr. Sergius,” said Cornelia; “that is all we ask of you; for we, on our part, will never forget you,—nor Kayette!”

“Oh, mother!” cried the young woman.

“I can’t be your mother, dear child!”

“Why not, Madame Cascabel?” asked Mr. Sergius.

“How could I, now?”

“By giving her to your son as a wife!”

All the effects produced by Manager Cascabel in the course of his glorious career were nothing to that produced by these words of Count Narkine.

John was beside himself with joy, and kissed over and over the hand of Mr. Sergius, who pressed Kayette against his breast. Yes, she should be John’s wife, while continuing to be the count’s adopted daughter! And John would stay with him as his private secretary. Could Mr. and Mrs. Cascabel ever have dreamt a better position for their son? As to accepting from Count Narkine anything more than the assurance of his continued friendship, they would not hear of it. They had a good trade, they would go on with it!

It is then that young Sander pushed his way to the front, and with faltering voice but beaming eyes, said:

“Why should you go on with it, father? We are rich! We don’t want to work for our bread!”

And so saying, he drew out of his coat pocket the nugget he had picked up in the forests of Cariboo.

“Where did you make that out?” asked his father, seizing the precious stone between his fingers.

Sander related how he came by it.

“And you never told us about it?” exclaimed Cornelia. “You have been able to keep such a secret all this time!”

“Yes, mother, although it often teased me. I wished to give you a surprise, you see, and say nothing till we had got home!”

“You are a darling boy!” said Cascabel. “Well, Mr. Sergius, here’s a windfall just at the right moment! Look at it, sir! It’s a nugget! Real gold. Nothing to do but change it!”

Count Narkine examined the stone attentively, and weighed it up and down in his hand to estimate its value.

“Yes,” he said, “it is real gold! It weighs at least ten pounds.”

“And that’s worth?” inquired Cascabel.

“It’s worth twenty thousand roubles!”

“Twenty thousand roubles!”

“That’s so! And as to changing it, it is the simplest thing in the world. You see, ladies and gentlemen, one, two, three!”

And, prestissimo! the worthy pupil of Cæsar Cascabel had substituted for the nugget a well-filled pocket-book, which passed into Sander’s hand like a flash of lightning.

“That’s splendidly done!” exclaimed the professor. “Had I not told you, sir, you had a wonderful natural aptitude for the art?”

“What is there in your portfolio?” asked Cornelia of the youngster.

“The value of the nugget,” replied Mr. Sergius, “nothing more, nothing less!”

And, sure enough, it was found to contain a check for twenty thousand roubles on Rothschild Brothers of Paris.

What was the intrinsic value of the nugget? Was it a lump of gold or a vulgar stone that young Sander had so conscientiously brought home all the way from the Columbian Eldorado? This will never be known. The Cascabels were, of course, obliged to take Count Narkine’s word for it, and trust to the friendship of Mr. Sergius, which, in their eyes, was a more precious treasure than the wealth of His Majesty the Czar.

The Cascabel family remained in Russia for one month longer. The Perm fair and the Nijni fair were now laid aside; but could father, mother, brother, and sister have taken their departure before witnessing the wedding ceremony of John and Kayette! It was celebrated in great pomp at the chateau of Walska, and never was a young couple united midst a concourse of happier people.

“Eh, Cæser? What, do you think?” said Cornelia, nudging her husband as they came out of the manorial chapel.

“Just what I said all through!” he replied.

A week later, both of them, with Sander, Napoleona, and Clovy,—who must not be forgotten, for he was really one of the family,—took leave of Count Narkine, and started for France with the Fair Rambler, but by rail this time, and by fast train, if you please!

Mr. Cascabel’s return to Normandy was an event. Cornelia and he became big propriétaires in the neighborhood of Pontorson, and were known to have a nice lump sum laid up for Sander and Napoleona.

Count Narkine, John, his secretary, and Kayette, the happiest of wives, came to see them every year; and of their welcome it were idle to speak.

Such is the faithful tale of this journey, which might be reckoned one of the most surprising in the series of “Extraordinary Travels.” Of course all “ends well” and “all is well.” What else could have been expected when that good Cascabel family was in question?

THE END.

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