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Authors: Owen Parry, Ralph Peters
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too. My system of intelligence must be failing me, cher. I didn’t know you and Madame Venin were acquainted. Or you and Petit Jean, for that matter.”
During the conversation, Mr. Barnaby had been as silent and respectful as a son, but he alerted when he heard our host speak of my chasing this Mrs. Venin. Twas clear that he knew little of events, for he looked at me as if I had just emerged from Fingal’s Cave.
He even clattered his cup on his saucer, which my Mary Myfanwy has taught me is bad manners.
“The woman with the snake?” I asked.
The old man nodded. “So I hear tell. What on earth set you running after our second-most-accomplished voudouienne, Major Jones? And you waving your stick at her?”
“She violated the Ursuline convent,” I told him. “And appeared up to no good.”
My host smiled mildly. “I suppose there might be something in that. Always suspected there was a bit more violating among the good sisters than a fellow’s intended to believe. I take it, then, your action was … spontaneous? That you didn’t know who you were chasing?”
Looked at through another’s eyes, the vigor of my pursuit did seem excessive. But, then, I was a sergeant for some years, in my John Company days, and such always suspect that others are guilty of something.
I shook my head in admission of my ignorance.
“Well, well, well, ” Mr. Champlain said. “Mr. B. here could tell you that your course of action … may not have been well advised. I do not know, Major Jones, how deeply you areacquainted with the language of civilization and the arts, but in my family’s native tongue, ‘venin,’ as in Marie Venin, means ‘venom.’ Madame Venin made her reputation through her knowledge of various poisons. Concoctions even more dangerous than those forced down our throats by our doctors of medicine.” He tutted. “It’s said she can stir up a potion to make a man do most anything she wishes.” He looked at me, one eyebrow up, the other eye narrowed again. “Now … what do you think Madame Venin might wish to do to you? After your … escapade?”
I thought of the hours that I had spent unconscious in the power of mine enemies. Time enough there had been to force a concoction down my throat, or to apply some devious lotion to my flesh.
Encouraged, I asked, “So you would say that this woman’s abilities lie in her chemical skills? And not in the power of Satan?”
The old fellow laughed heartily. “At my age, cher, I would find it a great inconvenience to believe in Satan, given his reputation for excessive hospitality toward sinners. On the other hand, I’m wary enough of our human vanity not to assume that I know all there is to know. I’m content to sit right here and let the world entertain me. Without feeling compelled to sit in judgment on its morals or its meanings. As for voodoo … I never was drawn to such things myself. But I do wonder if somebody with a different temperament than mine … might not be able to make a superstition at least halfway real just by believing in it hard enough.”
He grinned, then cupped a hand around one of his body’s folds. “I’m inclined to wonder just how much of a person is this sullied flesh … and how much is the mind’s talent for believing. I suspect that some of the things folks come to believe grow more real to ’em than anything you’re likely to see on the corner of Bourbon and Toulouse. No, sir, if mankind has any one talent that distinguishes us from the beasts of the field, it’s not our over-advertised sense of morality—which always strikes meas particular, rather than general—but our ability to believe in things we can’t see. Whether we take God, Satan or our Glorious Southern Cause as an example.”
He refreshed his smile, but did not force it to fullness. “Of course, I’m speaking in hypothetical terms, not as a Christian who already hears uninvited footsteps in his bedchamber. Not, sad to say, those of a
During the conversation, Mr. Barnaby had been as silent and respectful as a son, but he alerted when he heard our host speak of my chasing this Mrs. Venin. Twas clear that he knew little of events, for he looked at me as if I had just emerged from Fingal’s Cave.
He even clattered his cup on his saucer, which my Mary Myfanwy has taught me is bad manners.
“The woman with the snake?” I asked.
The old man nodded. “So I hear tell. What on earth set you running after our second-most-accomplished voudouienne, Major Jones? And you waving your stick at her?”
“She violated the Ursuline convent,” I told him. “And appeared up to no good.”
My host smiled mildly. “I suppose there might be something in that. Always suspected there was a bit more violating among the good sisters than a fellow’s intended to believe. I take it, then, your action was … spontaneous? That you didn’t know who you were chasing?”
Looked at through another’s eyes, the vigor of my pursuit did seem excessive. But, then, I was a sergeant for some years, in my John Company days, and such always suspect that others are guilty of something.
I shook my head in admission of my ignorance.
“Well, well, well, ” Mr. Champlain said. “Mr. B. here could tell you that your course of action … may not have been well advised. I do not know, Major Jones, how deeply you areacquainted with the language of civilization and the arts, but in my family’s native tongue, ‘venin,’ as in Marie Venin, means ‘venom.’ Madame Venin made her reputation through her knowledge of various poisons. Concoctions even more dangerous than those forced down our throats by our doctors of medicine.” He tutted. “It’s said she can stir up a potion to make a man do most anything she wishes.” He looked at me, one eyebrow up, the other eye narrowed again. “Now … what do you think Madame Venin might wish to do to you? After your … escapade?”
I thought of the hours that I had spent unconscious in the power of mine enemies. Time enough there had been to force a concoction down my throat, or to apply some devious lotion to my flesh.
Encouraged, I asked, “So you would say that this woman’s abilities lie in her chemical skills? And not in the power of Satan?”
The old fellow laughed heartily. “At my age, cher, I would find it a great inconvenience to believe in Satan, given his reputation for excessive hospitality toward sinners. On the other hand, I’m wary enough of our human vanity not to assume that I know all there is to know. I’m content to sit right here and let the world entertain me. Without feeling compelled to sit in judgment on its morals or its meanings. As for voodoo … I never was drawn to such things myself. But I do wonder if somebody with a different temperament than mine … might not be able to make a superstition at least halfway real just by believing in it hard enough.”
He grinned, then cupped a hand around one of his body’s folds. “I’m inclined to wonder just how much of a person is this sullied flesh … and how much is the mind’s talent for believing. I suspect that some of the things folks come to believe grow more real to ’em than anything you’re likely to see on the corner of Bourbon and Toulouse. No, sir, if mankind has any one talent that distinguishes us from the beasts of the field, it’s not our over-advertised sense of morality—which always strikes meas particular, rather than general—but our ability to believe in things we can’t see. Whether we take God, Satan or our Glorious Southern Cause as an example.”
He refreshed his smile, but did not force it to fullness. “Of course, I’m speaking in hypothetical terms, not as a Christian who already hears uninvited footsteps in his bedchamber. Not, sad to say, those of a
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