by Eugène Sue
The Prophet entered the stable in silence: the dark red of his long pelisse contrasted with the pale yellow of his straight hair and beard; the lantern, placed at some height above the ground, threw its rays full upon this man, and the strong light, opposed to the deep shadows around it, gave effect to the sharp proportions of his bony and savage looking figure.
He approached the cage slowly. The white rim, which encircled his eyeball, appeared to dilate, and his look rivaled in motionless brilliancy the steadily sparkling gaze of the panther. Still crouching in the shade, she felt already the fascination of that glance; two or three times she dropped her eyelids, with a low, angry howl; then, reopening her eyes, as if in spite of herself, she kept them fastened immovably on those of the Prophet. And now her rounded ears clung to her skull, which was flattened like a viper’s; the skin of her forehead became convulsively wrinkled; she drew in her bristling, but silky muzzle, and twice silently opened her jaws, garnished with formidable fangs. From that moment a kind of magnetic connection seemed to be established between the man and the beast.
The Prophet extended his glowing bar towards the cage, and said, in a sharp, imperious tone: “Death! come here.”
The panther rose, but so dragged herself along that her belly and the bend of her legs touched the ground. She was three feet high, and nearly five in length; her elastic and fleshy spine, the sinews of her thighs as well developed as those of a race-horse, her deep chest, her enormous jutting shoulders, the nerve and muscle in her short, thick paws — all announced that this terrible animal united vigor with suppleness, and strength with agility.
Morok, with his iron wand still extended in the direction of the cage, made a step towards the panther. The panther made a stride towards the Prophet. Morok stopped; Death stopped also.
At this moment the tiger, Judas, to whom Morok’s back was turned, bounded violently in his cage, as if jealous of the attention, which his master paid to the panther. He growled hoarsely, and, raising his head, showed the under-part of his redoubtable triangular jaw, and his broad chest of a dirty white, with which blended the copper color, streaked with black, of his sides; his tail, like a huge red serpent, with rings of ebony, now clung to his flanks, now lashed them with a slow and continuous movement: his eyes, of a transparent, brilliant green, were fixed upon the Prophet.
Such was the influence of this man over his animals, that Judas almost immediately ceased growling, as if frightened at his own temerity; but his respiration continued loud and deep. Morok turned his face towards him, and examined him very attentively during some seconds. The panther, no longer subject to the influence of her master’s look, slunk back to crouch in the shade.
A sharp cracking, in sudden breaks, like that which great animals make in gnawing hard substances, was now heard from the cage of the lion. It drew the attention of the Prophet, who, leaving the tiger, advanced towards the other den.
Nothing could be seen of the lion but his monstrous croup of a reddish yellow. His thighs were gathered under him, and his thick mane served entirely to conceal his head. But by the tension and movement of the muscles of his loins, and the curving of his backbone, it was easy to perceive that he was making violent efforts with his throat and his forepaws. The Prophet approached the cage with same uneasiness, fearing that, notwithstanding his orders, Goliath had given the lion some bones to gnaw. To assure himself of it, he said in a quick and firm voice: “Cain!”
The lion did not change his position.
“Cain! come here!” repeated Morok in a louder tone. The appeal was useless; the lion did not move, and the noise continued.
“Cain! come here!” said the Prophet a third time; but, as he pronounced these words, he applied the end of the glowing bar to the haunch of the lion.
Scarcely did the light track of smoke appear on the reddish hide of Cain, when, with a spring of incredible agility, he turned and threw himself against the grating, not crouching, but at a single bound — upright, superb, terrifying. The Prophet being at the angle of the cage, Cain, in his fury, had raised himself sideways to face his master, and, leaning his huge flank against the bars, thrust between them his enormous fore leg, which, with his swollen muscles, was as large as Goliath’s thigh.
“Cain! down!” said the Prophet, approaching briskly.
The lion did not obey immediately. His lips, curling with rage, displayed fangs as long, as large, and as pointed as the tusks of a wild boar. But Morok touched those lips with the end of the burning metal; and, as he felt the smart, followed by an unexpected summons of his master, the lion, not daring to roar, uttered a hollow growl, and his great body sank down at once in an attitude of submission and fear.
The Prophet took down the lantern to see what Cain had been gnawing. It was one of the planks from the floor of his den, which he had succeeded in tearing up, and was crunching between his teeth in the extremity of his hunger. For a few moments the most profound silence reigned in the menagerie. The Prophet, with his hands behind his back, went from one cage to the other, observing the animals with a restless contemplative look, as if he hesitated to make between them an important and difficult choice.
From time to time he listened at the great door of the shed, which opened on the court-yard of the inn. At length this door turned on its hinges, and Goliath appeared, his clothes dripping with water.
“Well! is it done?” said the Prophet.
“Not without trouble. Luckily, the night is dark, it blows hard, and it pours with rain.”
“Then there is no suspicion?”
“None, master. Your information was good. The door of the cellar opens on the fields, just under the window of the lasses. When you whistled to let me know it was time, I crept out with a stool I had provided; I put it up against the wall, and mounted upon it; with my six feet, that made nine, and I could lean my elbows on the window-ledge; I took the shutter in one hand, and the haft of my knife in the other, and, whilst I broke two of the panes, I pushed the shutter with all my might.”
“And they thought it was the wind?”
“Yes, they thought it was the wind. You see, the ‘brute’ is not such a brute, after all. That done, I crept back into my cellar, carrying my stool with me. In a little time, I heard the voice of the old man; it was well I had made haste.”
“Yes, when I whistled to you, he had just entered the supper-room. I thought he would have been longer.”
“That man’s not built to remain long at supper,” said the giant, contemptuously. “Some moments after the panes had been broken, the old man opened the window, and called his dog, saying: ‘Jump out!’ — I went and hid myself at the further end of the cellar, or that infernal dog would have scented me through the door.”
“The dog is now shut up in the stable with the old man’s horse.”
“Go on!”
“When I heard them close shutter and window, I came out of my cellar, replaced my stool, and again mounted upon it. Unfastening the shutter, I opened it without noise, but the two broken panes were stopped up with the skirts of a pelisse. I heard talking, but I could see nothing; so I moved the pelisse a little, and then I could see the two lasses in bed opposite to me, and the old man sitting down with his back to where I stood.”
“But the knapsack — the knapsack? — That is the most important.”
“The knapsack was near the window, on a table, by the side of a lamp; I could have reached it by stretching out my arm.”
“What did you hear said?”
“As you told me to think only of the knapsack, I can only remember what concerns the knapsack. The old man said he had some papers in it — the letter of a general — his money — his cross.”
“Good — what next?”
“As it was difficult for me to keep the pelisse away from the hole, it slipped through my fingers. In trying to get hold of it again, I put my hand too much forward. One of the lasses saw it, and screamed out, pointing to the window.”
“Dolt!” exclaimed th
e Prophet, becoming pale with rage, “you have ruined all.”
“Stop a bit! there is nothing broken yet. When I heard the scream, I jumped down from my stool, and got back into the cellar; as the dog was no longer about, I left the door ajar, so that I could hear them open the window, and see, by the light, that the old man was looking out with the lamp; but he could find no ladder, and the window was too high for any man of common size to reach it!”
“He will have thought, like the first time, that it was the wind. You are less awkward than I imagined.”
“The wolf has become a fox, as you said. Knowing where the knapsack was to be found with the money and the papers, and not being able to do more for the moment, I came away — and here I am.”
“Go upstairs and fetch me the longest pike.”
“Yes, master.”
“And the red blanket.”
“Yes, master.”
“Go!”
Goliath began to mount the ladder; half-way up he stopped. “Master,” said he, “may I not bring down a bit of meat for Death? — you will see that she’ll bear me malice; she puts it all down to my account; she never forgets, and on the first occasion—”
“The pike and the cloth!” repeated the Prophet, in an imperious tone. And whilst Goliath, swearing to himself, proceeded to execute his instructions, Morok opened the great door of the shed, looked out into the yard, and listened.
“Here’s the pike and the cloth,” said the giant, as he descended the ladder with the articles. “Now what must I do next?”
“Return to the cellar, mount once more by the window, and when the old man leaves the room—”
“Who will make him leave the room?”
“Never mind! he will leave it.”
“What next?”
“You say the lamp is near the window?”
“Quite near — on the table next to the knapsack.”
“Well, then, as soon as the old man leaves the room, push open the window, throw down the lamp, and if you accomplish cleverly what remains to do — the ten florins are yours — you remember it all?”
“Yes, yes.”
“The girls will be so frightened by the noise and darkness, that they will remain dumb with terror.”
“Make yourself easy! The wolf turned into a fox; why not a serpent?”
“There is yet something.”
“Well, what now?”
“The roof of this shed is not very high, the window of the loft is easy of access, the night is dark — instead of returning by the door—”
“I will come in at the window.”
“Ay, and without noise.”
“Like a regular snake!” and the giant departed.
“Yes!” said the Prophet to himself, after a long silence, “these means are sure. It was not for me to hesitate. A blind and obscure instrument, I know not the motives of the orders I have received: but from the recommendations which accompany them — but from the position of him who sends them — immense interests must be involved — interests connected with all that is highest and greatest upon earth! — And yet how can these two girls, almost beggars, how can this wretched soldier represent such interests? — No matter,” added he, with humility; “I am the arm which acts — it is for the head, which thinks and orders, to answer for its work.”
Soon after the Prophet left the shed, carrying with him the red cloth, and directed his steps towards the little stable that contained Jovial. The crazy door, imperfectly secured by a latch, was easily opened. At sight of a stranger Spoil-sport threw himself upon him; but his teeth encountered the iron leggings of the Prophet, who, in spite of the efforts of the dog took Jovial by his halter, threw the blanket over his head to prevent his either seeing or smelling, and led him from the stable into the interior of the menagerie, of which he closed the door.
CHAPTER X. THE SURPRISE.
THE ORPHANS, AFTER reading the journal of their father, remained for some moments silent, sad, and pensive, contemplating the leaves yellowed by time. Dagobert, also plunged in a reverie, thought of his wife and son, from whom he had been so long separated, and hoped soon to see again.
The soldier was the first to break the silence, which had lasted for several minutes. Taking the leaves from the hand of Blanche, he folded them carefully, put them into his pocket, and thus addressed the orphans:
“Courage, my children! you see what a brave father you have. Think only of the pleasure of greeting him, and remember always the name of the gallant youth, to whom you will owe that pleasure — for without him your father would have been killed in India.”
“Djalma! we shall never forget him,” said Rose.
“And if our guardian angel Gabriel should return,” added Blanche, “we will ask him to watch over Djalma as over ourselves.”
“Very well, my children; I am sure that you will forget nothing that concerns good feeling. But to return to the traveller, who came to visit your poor mother in Siberia, he had seen the general a month after the events of which you have read, and at a moment when he was about to enter on a new campaign against the English. It was then that your father entrusted him with the papers and medal.”
“But of what use will this medal be to us, Dagobert?”
“And what is the meaning of these words engraved upon it?” added Rose, as she drew it from her bosom.
“Why it means, my children, that on the 13th of February, 1832, we must be at No. 3, Rue Saint Francois, Paris.”
“But what are we to do there?”
“Your poor mother was seized so quickly with her last illness, that she was unable to tell me. All I know is, that this medal came to her from her parents, and that it had been a relic preserved in her family for more than a century.”
“And how did our father get it?”
“Among the articles which had been hastily thrown into the coach, when he was removed by force from Warsaw, was a dressing-case of your mother’s, in which was contained this medal. Since that time the general had been unable to send it back, having no means of communicating with us, and not even knowing where we were.”
“This medal is, then, of great importance to us?”
“Unquestionably; for never, during fifteen years, had I seen your mother so happy, as on the day the traveller brought it back to her. ‘Now,’ said she to me, in the presence of the stranger, and with tears of joy in her eyes, ‘now may my children’s future be brilliant as their life has hitherto been miserable. I will entreat of the governor of Siberia permission to go to France with my daughters; it will perhaps be thought I have been sufficiently punished, by fifteen years of exile, and the confiscation of my property. Should they refuse, I will remain here; but they will at least allow me to send my children to France, and you must accompany them, Dagobert. You shall set out immediately, for much time has been already lost; and, if you were not to arrive before the 13th of next February, this cruel separation and toilsome journey would have been all in vain.’”
“Suppose we were one day after?”
“Your mother told me that if we arrived the 14th instead of the 13th, it would be too late. She also gave me a thick letter, to put into the post for France, in the first town we should pass through — which I have done.”
“And do you think we shall be at Paris in time?”
“I hope so; still, if you are strong enough, we must sometimes make forced marches — for, if we only travel our five leagues a day, and that without accident, we shall scarcely reach Paris until the beginning of February, and it is better to be a little beforehand.”
“But as father is in — India, and condemned to death if he return to France, when shall we see him?”
“And where shall we see him?”
“Poor children! there are so many things you have yet to learn. When the traveller quitted him, the general could not return to France, but now he can do so.”
“And why is that?”
“Because the Bourbons, who had banished him, were themselves
turned out last year. The news must reach India, and your father will certainly come to meet you at Paris, because he expects that you and your mother will be there on the 13th of next February.”
“Ah! now I understand how we may hope to see him,” said Rose with a sigh.
“Do you know the name of this traveller, Dagobert?”
“No, my children; but whether called Jack or John, he is a good sort. When he left your mother, she thanked him with tears for all his kindness and devotion to the general, herself, and the children; but he pressed her hands in his, and said to her, in so gentle a voice that I could not help being touched by it: ‘Why do you thank me? Did He not Say — LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER!’”
“Who is that, Dagobert?”
“Yes, of whom did the traveller speak?”
“I know nothing about it; only the manner in which he pronounced those words struck me, and they were the last he spoke.”
“Love one another!” repeated Rose, thoughtfully.
“How beautiful are those words!” added Blanche.
“And whither was the traveller going?”
“Far, very far into the North, as he told your mother. When she saw him depart, she said to me: ‘His mild, sad talk has affected me even to tears; whilst I listened to him, I seemed to be growing better — I seemed to love my husband and my children more — and yet, to judge by the expression of his countenance, one would think that this stranger had never either smiled or wept!’ She and I watched him from the door as long as we could follow him with our eyes; he carried his head down, and his walk was slow, calm, and firm; one might fancy that he counted his steps. And, talking of steps, I remarked yet another thing.”
“What was it, Dagobert?”
“You know that the road which led to our house way, always damp, because of the overflowing of the little spring.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, the mark of the traveller’s footsteps remained in the clay, and I saw that he had nails under his shoe in the form of a cross.”