by Eugène Sue
“Martial, you comfort me.”
“Well, then, that is all right; and as to that stupid-dream, you will think no more of it, I hope?”
“I’ll try.”
“Well, then, you’ll come to us at four o’clock; the diligence goes at five.”
“Agreed. But I will get out here and walk to the barrier at Charenton, where I will await M. Rodolph, that I may see him pass.”
The coach stopped, and the Chourineur alighted.
CHAPTER XI.
THE FINGER OF PROVIDENCE.
THE CHOURINEUR HAD forgotten that it was the day after mid-Lent, and was consequently greatly surprised at the sight, at once hideous and singular, which presented itself to his view when he arrived at the exterior boulevard, which he was traversing to reach the barrier of Charenton.
He found himself suddenly in the thickest of a dense throng of people, who were coming out of the cabarets of the Faubourg de la Glacière, in order to reach the Boulevard St. Jacques, where the execution was to take place.
Although it was broad daylight, there was still heard the noisy music of the public-houses, whence issued particularly the loud echoes of the cornets-à-piston. The pencil of Callot, of Rembrandt, or of Goya is requisite to limn the strange, hideous, and fantastical appearance of this multitude.
Almost all of them, men, women, and children, were attired in old masquerade costumes. Those who could not afford this expense had on their clothes rags of bright colours. Some young men were dressed in women’s clothes, half torn and soiled with mud. All their countenances, haggard from debauchery and vice, and furrowed by intoxication, sparkled with savage delight at the idea that, after a night of filthy orgies, they should see two women executed on the scaffold prepared for them.
The foul and fetid scum of the population of Paris, — this vast mob — was formed of thieves and abandoned women, who every day tax crime for their daily bread, and every evening return to their lairs with their vicious spoils.
It is calculated that there are in Paris 30,000 persons who have no other means of existence but theft.
The crowd entirely choked up the means of circulation, and, in spite of his gigantic strength, the Chourineur was compelled to remain almost motionless in the midst of this compact throng. He was, however, willing to remain so, as the prince would not pass the barrier of Charenton until eleven o’clock, and it was not yet seven; and he had a singular spectacle before him.
In a large, low apartment, occupied at one end by musicians, surrounded by benches and tables laden with the fragments of a repast, broken plates, empty bottles, etc., a dozen men and women, in various disguises and half drunk, were dancing with the utmost excitement that frantic and obscene dance called La Chahut.
Amongst the dissipated revellers who figured in this saturnalia, the Chourineur remarked two couples who obtained the most overwhelming applause, from the revolting grossness of their attitudes, their gesticulations, and their language. The first couple consisted of a man disguised as a bear, and nearly covered with a waistcoat and trousers of black sheepskin. The head of the animal, being too troublesome to carry, had been replaced by a kind of hood with long hair, which entirely covered his features; two holes for his eyes, and a long one for his mouth, allowed him to see, speak, and breathe.
This man — one of the prisoners escaped from La Force (amongst whom were Barbillon and the two murderers arrested at the ogress’s at the tapis-franc, at the beginning of this recital) — this man so masked was Nicholas Martial, the son and brother of the two women for whom the scaffold was prepared but a few paces distant.
Induced into this act of atrocious insensibility and infamous audacity by one of his associates, this wretch had dared with this disguise to join in the last revels of the carnival. The woman who danced with him, dressed as a vivandière, wore a round leather cap with ragged ribands, a kind of bodice of threadbare red cloth, ornamented with three rows of brass buttons, a green skirt, and trousers of white calico. Her black hair fell in disorder all about her head, and her haggard and swollen features evinced the utmost effrontery and immodesty. The vis-à-vis of these dancers were no less disgusting.
The man, who was very tall, and disguised as Robert Macaire, had so begrimed his features with soot that it was impossible to recognise him, and, besides, a large bandage covered his left eye; the white of the right eye being thus the more heightened, rendered him still more hideous. The lower part of the Skeleton’s countenance (for it was he) disappeared in a high neckcloth made of an old red shawl.
Wearing an old, white, napless hat with a crushed side, dirty, and without a crown, a green coat in rags, and tight mulberry-coloured pantaloons, patched in every direction, and tied around the instep with pieces of packthread, this assassin outraged the most outré and revolting attitudes of the Chahut, darting from right to left, before and behind, his lanky limbs as hard as steel, and twisting and twining, and springing and bounding with such vigour and elasticity, that he seemed set in motion by steel springs.
A worthy coryphée of this filthy saturnalia, his lady partner, a tall and active creature with impudent and flushed features, attired en débardeur, wore a flat cap on one side of a powdered wig with a thick pigtail, a waistcoat and trousers of worn green velvet, adjusted to her shape by an orange scarf, with long ends flowing down her back.
A fat, vulgar, coarse woman, the brutal ogress of the tapis-franc, was seated on one of the benches, holding on her knees the plaid cloaks of this creature and the vivandière, whilst they were rivalling the bounds, and jumps, and gross postures of the Skeleton and Nicholas Martial.
Amongst the other dancers there was a lame boy, dressed like a devil, by means of a black net vest, much too large for him, red drawers, and a green mask hideous and grotesque. In spite of his infirmity, this little monster was wonderfully agile, and his precocious depravity equalled, if it could not exceed, that of his detestable companions, and he gambolled as impudently as any of them before a fat woman, dressed as a shepherdess, who excited her partner the more by her shouts of laughter.
No charge having been raised against Tortillard (our readers have recognised him), and Bras Rouge having been for the while left in prison, the boy, at his father’s request, was reclaimed by Micou, the receiver of the passage of the Brasserie, who had not been denounced by his accomplices.
As secondary figures in this picture, let imagination conceive all there is of the lowest, most shameful, and most monstrous, in this idle, wanton, insolent, rapacious, atheistical, sanguinary assemblage of infamy, which is most hostile to social order, and to which we would call the attention of all thinking persons as our recital draws to a close.
Excited by the shouts of laughter and the cheers of the mob assembled around the windows, the actors in the infamous dance cried to the orchestra for a finale galop. The musicians, delighted to reach the end of their labours, complied with the general wish, and played a galoppade with the utmost energy and rapidity. At this the excitement redoubled; the couples encircled each other and dashed away, following the Skeleton and his partner, who led off their infernal round amidst the wildest cries and acclamations.
The crowd was so thick, so dense, and the evolutions so multiplied and rapid, that these creatures, inflamed with wine, exercise, and noise, their intoxication became delirious frenzy, and they soon ceased to have space for their movements. The Skeleton then cried, in a breathless voice, “Look out at the door! We will go out on to the boulevard.”
“Yes, yes!” cried the mob at the windows; “a galop as far as the Barrière St. Jacques!”
“The two ‘mots’ will soon be here.”
“The headsman cuts double! How funny!”
“Yes, with a cornet-à-piston accompaniment.”
“I’ll ask the widow to be my partner.”
“And I the daughter.”
“Death to the informers!”
“Long live the prigs and lads of steel!” cried the Skeleton in a voice of thunder, as he
and the dancers, forcing their way in the midst of the mass, set the whole body in motion; and then were heard cries, and imprecations, and shouts of laughter, which had nothing human in their sound.
Suddenly this uproar reached its height by two fresh incidents. The vehicle which contained the criminals, accompanied by its escort of cavalry, appeared at the angle of the boulevard, and then all the mob rushed in that direction, shouting and roaring with ferocious delight.
At this moment, also, the crowd was met by a courier coming from the Boulevard des Invalides, and galloping towards the Barrière de Charenton. He was dressed in a light blue jacket with yellow collar, with a double row of silver lace down the seams, but, as a mark of deep mourning, he wore black breeches and high boots; his cap also, with a broad band of silver, was encircled with crape, and on the winkers of his horse were the arms of Gerolstein.
He walked his horse, his advance becoming every moment more difficult, and he was almost obliged to stop when he found himself in the midst of the sea of people we have described. Although he called to them, and moved his horse with the greatest caution, cries, abuse, and threats were soon directed against him.
“Does he want to ride us down, that vagabond?”
“He’s got lots o’ silver on his precious body!” cried Tortillard.
“If he comes against us we’ll make him alight and strip the ‘tin’ off his jacket to go to the melter’s,” said Nicholas.
“And we’ll take the seams out of your carcase if you are not careful, you cursed jockey!” added the Skeleton, addressing the courier and seizing the bridle of his horse, — for the crowd was so dense that the ruffian had given up his idea of dancing to the barrier.
The courier, who was a powerful and resolute fellow, said to the Skeleton, lifting the handle of his whip, “If you do not let go my bridle I’ll lay my whip over you. Let me pass; my lord’s carriage is coming close behind. Let me go forward, I say.”
“Your lord!” said the Skeleton; “what is your lord to me? I’ll slit his weasand if I like! I never did for a lord; I should like to try my hand.”
“There are no more lords now. Vive la Charte!” shouted Tortillard; and as he said so he whistled a verse of the “Parisienne,” and clinging to one of the courier’s legs nearly drew him out of his saddle. A blow with the handle of his whip on Tortillard’s head punished his insolence; but the populace instantly attacked the courier, who in vain spurred his horse, — he could not advance a step.
Dismounted, amidst the shouts of the mob, he would have been murdered but for the arrival of Rodolph’s carriage, which took off the attention of these wretches.
The prince’s travelling carriage, drawn by four horses, had for some time past advanced at only a foot pace, and one of the two footmen had got down from the rumble and was walking by the side of the door, which was very low; the postilions kept crying out to the people, and went forward very cautiously.
Rodolph was dressed in deep mourning, as was also his daughter, one of whose hands he held in his own, looking at her with affection. The gentle and lovely face of Fleur-de-Marie was enclosed in a small capot of black crape, which heightened the dazzling brilliancy of her skin and the beautiful hue of her lovely brown hair; and the azure of this bright day was reflected in her large eyes, which had never been of more transparent and softened blue. Although her features wore a gentle smile, and expressed calmness and happiness when she looked at her father, yet a tinge of melancholy, and sometimes of undefinable sadness, threw its shadow over her countenance when her eyes were not fixed on her father.
At this moment the carriage came amongst the crowd and began to slacken its pace. Rodolph lowered the window, and said in German to the lackey who was walking by the window, “Well, Frantz, what is the meaning of this?”
“Monseigneur, there is such a crowd that the horses cannot move.”
“What has this assemblage collected for?”
“Monseigneur, there is an execution going on.”
“Ah, frightful!” said Rodolph, throwing himself back in his carriage.
“What is it, my dear father?” asked Fleur-de-Marie with uneasiness.
“Nothing — nothing, dearest.”
“Only listen, — these threatening cries approach us! What can it be?”
“Desire them to reach Charenton by another road,” said Rodolph.
“Monseigneur, it is too late, the crowd has stopped the horses.”
The footman could say no more. The mob, excited by the savage encouragement of the Skeleton and Nicholas, suddenly surrounded the carriage, and, in spite of the threats of the postilions, stopped the horses, and Rodolph saw on all sides threatening, furious countenances, and above them all the Skeleton, who came to the door of the carriage.
“Take care, my dear father!” exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, throwing her arms around Rodolph’s neck.
“Oh, you are the ‘my lord,’ are you?” said the Skeleton, thrusting his hideous head into the carriage.
Had it not been for his daughter’s presence, Rodolph would have given way to the natural impetuosity of his character at this insolence; but he controlled himself, and coolly replied:
“What do you want, and why do you stop my carriage?”
“Because we choose,” said the Skeleton. “Each in his turn. Yesterday you trampled on the mob, and to-day the mob will crush you if you stir.”
“Father, we are lost!” murmured Fleur-de-Marie.
“Take courage, love! I understand,” replied the prince; “it is the last day of the carnival, — these fellows are tipsy; I will get rid of them.”
“I say, my ‘covey,’ come, get out, and your ‘mot’ with you!” cried Nicholas; “why should you trample upon a parcel of poor people!”
“You seem to have drunk a good deal, and to desire to drink more,” said Rodolph; “here, take this, and do not delay my carriage any longer,” and he threw out his purse, which Tortillard caught.
“Oh, what, you are going to travel, eh? Well, then, you’ve got your pockets well lined, no doubt. Come, shell out, my blade, or I’ll have your life.” And he opened the door suddenly.
Rodolph’s patience was exhausted. Alarmed for Fleur-de-Marie, whose alarm increased every moment, and believing that a display of vigour would daunt the wretch, whom he believed to be only drunk, he sprung from the carriage, intending to seize the Skeleton by the throat. The latter suddenly receded, and then, drawing a long knife-dirk from his pocket, rushed at Rodolph. Fleur-de-Marie, seeing the dirk raised to stab her father, gave a shriek, sprung from the carriage, and threw her arms around him.
Her father’s life must have been sacrificed but for the Chourineur, who at the commencement of this tumult, having recognised the livery of the prince, had contrived, by superhuman efforts, to reach the Skeleton; and at the moment when that ruffian menaced the prince with his knife the Chourineur seized on his arm with one hand, and, with the other grasping his collar, threw him backwards.
Although surprised, and from behind too, the Skeleton turned around, and, recognising the Chourineur, cried, “What! the man in the gray blouse from La Force? This time, then, I’ll do for you!” and rushing furiously at the Chourineur, he plunged his knife in his breast. The Chourineur staggered, but did not fall. The crowd kept him on his legs.
“The guard! Here come the guard!” exclaimed several voices in alarm.
At these words, and at the sight of the murder of the Chourineur, all this dense crowd, fearing to be compromised in the assassination, dispersed as if by magic, and fled in every direction; the Skeleton, Nicholas, Martial, and Tortillard amongst the earliest.
When the guard came up, guided by the courier (who had escaped when the crowd had let him go to surround the prince’s carriage), there only remained in this sad scene, Rodolph, his daughter, and the Chourineur, bathed in his blood. The two servants of the prince had seated him on the ground, with his back to a tree.
All this passed more quickly than it can be described, a
nd at a few paces from the guinguette from which the Skeleton and his band had issued.
The prince, pale and agitated, held in his arms Fleur-de-Marie, half fainting, whilst the postilions were repairing the harness broken in the scuffle.
“Quick!” said the prince to his servants engaged in aiding the Chourineur, “convey this poor fellow to the cabaret; and you,” he added, turning to the courier, “get on the box, and gallop back for Doctor David at the hôtel; you will find him there, as he does not leave until eleven o’clock.”
The carriage went away at a great speed, and the two servants conveyed the Chourineur to the low apartment in which the orgies had taken place; several of the women were still there.
“My poor, dear child!” said Rodolph, to his daughter, “let me take you to some room in this place where you can await me, for I cannot abandon this brave fellow, who has again saved my life.”
“Oh, my dearest father, I entreat you do not leave me!” exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie, with alarm, and seizing Rodolph’s arm. “Do not leave me alone! I should die with fright! Where you go I will go!”
“But this frightful spectacle?”
“Yes, thanks to this worthy man, you still live for me, my father, and therefore allow me to join you in thanking and consoling him.”
The prince’s perplexity was very great. His daughter evinced so much just fear of remaining alone in a room in this low haunt that he made up his mind to allow her to enter with him into the apartment, where they found the Chourineur.
The mistress of the tavern and many of the women who had remained (and amongst whom was the ogress of the tapis-franc) had hastily laid the wounded man on a mattress, and then stanched and bound his wound with napkins. The Chourineur opened his eyes as Rodolph entered. At the sight of the prince his features, pale with approaching death, became animated. He smiled painfully, and said in a low voice:
“Ah, M. Rodolph, it was very fortunate I was there!”