Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  By these words, pronounced with noble and touching simplicity, the burgomaster was moved in spite of himself, and regretted his hasty speech. “It is natural that you should be sorry for your horse,” said he, in a less impatient tone; “but what is to be done? — It is a misfortune.”

  “A misfortune? — Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, a very great misfortune. The girls, who accompany me, were too weak to undertake a long journey on foot, too poor to travel in a carriage — and yet we have to arrive in Paris before the month of February. When their mother died, I promised her to take them to France, for these children have only me to take care of them.”

  “You are then their—”

  “I am their faithful servant, Mr. Burgomaster; and now that my horse has been killed, what can I do for them? Come, you are good, you have perhaps children of your own; if, one day, they should find themselves in the position of my two little orphans — with no wealth, no resources in the world, but an old soldier who loves them, and an old horse to carry them along — if, after being very unfortunate from their birth — yes, very unfortunate, for my orphans are the daughters of exiles — they should see happiness before them at the end of a journey, and then, by the death of their horse, that journey become impossible — tell me, Mr. Burgomaster, if this would not touch your heart? Would you not find, as I do, that the loss of my horse is irreparable?”

  “Certainly,” answered the burgomaster, who was not ill natured at bottom, and who could not help taking part in Dagobert’s emotion; “I now understand the importance of the loss you have suffered. And then your orphans interest me: how old are they?”

  “Fifteen years and two months. They are twins.”

  “Fifteen years and two months — that is about the age of my Frederica.”

  “You have a young lady of that age?” cried Dagobert, once more awaking to hope; “ah, Mr. Burgomaster! I am really no longer uneasy about my poor children. You will do us justice.”

  “To do justice is my duty. After all, in this affair, the faults are about equal on both sides. You tied up your horse badly, and the brute tamer left his door open. He says: ‘I am wounded in the hand.’ You answer: ‘My horse has been killed — and, for a thousand reasons, the loss of my horse is irreparable.’”

  “You make me speak better than I could ever speak on my own account, Mr. Burgomaster,” said the soldier, with a humble, insinuating smile; “but ’tis what I meant to express — and, as you say yourself, Mr. Burgomaster, my horse being my whole fortune, it is only fair—”

  “Exactly so,” resumed the magistrate, interrupting the soldier; “your reasons are excellent. The Prophet — who is a good and pious man with all has related the facts to me in his own way; and then, you see, he is an old acquaintance. We are nearly all zealous Catholics here, and he sells to our wives such cheap and edifying little books, with chaplets and amulets of the best manufacture, at less than the prime cost. All this, you will say, has nothing to do with the affair; and you will be right in saying so: still I must needs confess that I came here with the intention—”

  “Of deciding against me, eh, Mr. Burgomaster?” said Dagobert, gaining more and more confidence. “You see, you were not quite awake, and your justice had only one eye open.”

  “Really, master soldier,” answered the judge with good humor, “it is not unlikely; for I did not conceal from Morok that I gave it in his favor. Then he said to me (very generously, by the way): ‘Since you condemn my adversary, I will not aggravate his position by telling you certain things—’”

  “What! against me?”

  “Apparently so; but, like a generous enemy, when I told him that I should most likely condemn you to pay him damages, he said no more about it. For I will not hide from you, that, before I heard your reasons, I fully intended that you should make compensation for the Prophet’s wound.”

  “See, Mr. Burgomaster, how the most just and able persons are subject to be deceived,” said Dagobert, becoming once more the courtier; then, trying to assume a prodigiously knowing look, he added: “But such persons find out the truth at last, and are not to be made dupes of, whatever prophets may say.”

  This poor attempt at a jest — the first and only one, perhaps, that Dagobert had ever been guilty of — will show the extremity to which he was reduced, and the desperate efforts of all kinds he was making to conciliate the good graces of his judge. The burgomaster did not at first see the pleasantry; he was only led to perceive it by the self satisfied mien of Dagobert, and by his inquiring glance, which seemed to say: “Is it not good, eh? — I am astonished at it myself.”

  The magistrate began, therefore, to smile with a patronizing air, and, nodding his head, replied in the same jocular spirit: “Ha! Ha! Ha! You are right; the Prophet is out in his prophecy. You shall not pay him any damages. The faults on both sides are equal, and the injuries balance one another. He has been wounded, your horse has been killed; so you may cry quits, and have done with it.”

  “But how much then, do you think he owes me?” asked the soldier, with singular simplicity.

  “How much?”

  “Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, what sum will he have to pay me? Yes — but, before you decide, I must tell you one thing, Mr. Burgomaster. I think I shall be entitled to spend only part of the money in buying a horse. I am sure, that, in the environs of Leipsic, I could get a beast very cheap from some of the peasants; and, between ourselves, I will own to you, that, if I could meet with only a nice little donkey — I should not be over particular — I should even like it just as well; for, after my poor Jovial, the company of another horse would be painful to me. I must also tell you—”

  “Hey-day!” cried the burgomaster, interrupting Dagobert, “of what money, what donkey, and what other horse are you talking? I tell you, that you owe nothing to the Prophet, and that he owes you nothing!”

  “He owes me nothing?”

  “You are very dull of comprehension, my good man. I repeat, that, if the Prophet’s animals have killed your horse, the Prophet himself has been badly wounded; so you may cry quits. In other words, you owe him nothing, and he owes you nothing. Now do you understand?”

  Dagobert, confounded, remained for some moments without answering, whilst he looked at the burgomaster with an expression of deep anguish. He saw that his judgment would again destroy all his hopes.

  “But, Mr. Burgomaster,” resumed he, in an agitated voice, “you are too just not to pay attention to one thing: the wound of the brute-tamer does not prevent him from continuing his trade; the death of my horse prevents me from continuing my journey; therefore, he ought to indemnify me.”

  The judge considered he had already done a good deal for Dagobert, in not making him responsible for the wound of the Prophet, who, as we have already said, exercised a certain influence over the Catholics of the country by the sale of his devotional treasures, and also from its being known that he was supported by some persons of eminence. The soldier’s pertinacity, therefore, offended the magistrate, who, reassuming his lofty air, replied, in a chilling tone: “You will make me repent my impartiality. How is this? Instead of thanking me, you ask for more.”

  “But, Mr. Burgomaster, I ask only for what is just. I wish I were wounded in the hand, like the Prophet, so that I could but continue my journey.”

  “We are not talking of what you wish. I have pronounced sentence — there is no more to say.”

  “But, Mr. Burgomaster—”

  “Enough, enough. Let us go to the next subject. Your papers?”

  “Yes, we will speak about my papers; but I beg of you, Mr. Burgomaster, to have pity on those two children. Let us have the means to continue our journey, and—”

  “I have done all I could for you — perhaps, more than I ought. Once again, your papers!”

  “I must first explain to you—”

  “No! No explanation — your papers! — Or would you like me to have you arrested as a vagabond?”

  “Me — arrested!”

 
“I tell you that, if you refuse to show me your papers, it will be as if you had none. Now, those people who have no papers we take into custody till the authorities can dispose of them. Let me see your papers, and make haste! — I am in a hurry to get home.”

  Dagobert’s position was the more distressing, as for a moment he had indulged in sanguine hope. The last blow was now added to all the veteran had suffered since the commencement of this scene, which was a cruel as well as dangerous trial, for a man of his character — upright, but obstinate — faithful, but rough and absolute — a man who, for a long time a soldier, and a victorious one, had acquired a certain despotic mariner of treating with civilians.

  At these words— “your papers,” Dagobert became very pale; but he tried to conceal his anguish beneath an air of assurance, which he thought best calculated to gain the magistrate’s good opinion. “I will tell you all about it, Mr. Burgomaster,” said he. “Nothing can be clearer. Such a thing might happen to any one. I do not look like a beggar and a vagabond, do I? And yet — you will understand, that an honest man who travels with two young girls—”

  “No more words! Your papers!”

  At this juncture two powerful auxiliaries arrived to the soldier’s aid. The orphans, growing more and more uneasy, and hearing Dagobert still talking upon the landing-place, had risen and dressed themselves; so that just at the instant, when the magistrate said in a rough voice— “No more words! Your papers!” — Rose and Blanche holding each other by the hand, came forth from the chamber.

  At sight of those charming faces, which their poor mourning vestments only rendered more interesting, the burgomaster rose from his seat, struck with surprise and admiration. By a spontaneous movement, each sister took a hand of Dagobert, and pressed close to him, whilst they regarded the magistrate with looks of mingled anxiety and candor.

  It was so touching a picture, this of the old soldier presenting as it were to his judge the graceful children, with countenances full of innocence and beauty, that the burgomaster, by a sudden reaction, found himself once more disposed to sentiments of pity. Dagobert perceived it; and, still holding the orphans by the hand, he advanced towards him, and said in a feeling voice: “Look at these poor children, Mr. Burgomaster! Could I show you a better passport?” And, overcome by so many painful sensations — restrained, yet following each other in quick succession — Dagobert felt, in spite of himself, that the tears were starting to his eyes.

  Though naturally rough, and rendered still more testy by the interruption of his sleep, the burgomaster was not quite deficient in sense of feeling. He perceived at once, that a man thus accompanied, ought not to inspire any great distrust. “Poor dear children!” said he, as he examined them with growing interest; “orphans so young, and they come from far—”

  “From the heart of Siberia, Mr. Burgomaster, where their mother was an exile before their birth. It is now more than five months that we have been travelling on by short stages — hard enough, you will say, for children of their age. It is for them that I ask your favor and support for them against whom everything seems to combine to-day for, only just now, when I went to look for my papers, I could not find in my knapsack the portfolio in which they were, along with my purse and cross — for you must know, Mr. Burgomaster — pardon me, if I say it— ’tis not from vain glory — but I was decorated by the hand of the Emperor; and a man whom he decorated with his own hand, you see, could not be so bad a fellow, though he may have had the misfortune to lose his papers — and his purse. That’s what has happened to me, and made me so pressing about the damages.”

  “How and where did you suffer this loss?”

  “I do not know, Mr. Burgomaster; I am sure that the evening before last, at bed-time, I took a little money out of the purse, and saw the portfolio in its place; yesterday I had small change sufficient, and did not undo the knapsack.”

  “And where then has the knapsack been kept?”

  “In the room occupied by the children: but this night—”

  Dagobert was here interrupted by the tread of some one mounting the stairs: it was the Prophet. Concealed in the shadow of the staircase, he had listened to this conversation, and he dreaded lest the weakness of the burgomaster should mar the complete success of his projects.

  CHAPTER XIV. THE DECISION.

  MOROK, WHO WORE his left arm in a sling, having slowly ascended the staircase, saluted the burgomaster respectfully. At sight of the repulsive countenance of the lion-tamer, Rose and Blanche, affrighted, drew back a step nearer to the soldier. The brow of the latter grew dark, for he felt his blood boil against Morok, the cause of all his difficulties — though he was yet ignorant that Goliath, at the instigation of the Prophet, had stolen his portfolio and papers.

  “What did you want, Morok?” said the burgomaster, with an air half friendly and half displeased. “I told the landlord that I did not wish to be interrupted.”

  “I have come to render you a service, Mr. Burgomaster.”

  “A service?”

  “Yes, a great service; or I should not have ventured to disturb you. My conscience reproaches me.”

  “Your conscience.”

  “Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, it reproaches me for not having told you all that I had to tell about this man; a false pity led me astray.”

  “Yell, but what have you to tell?”

  Morok approached the judge, and spoke to him for sometime in a low voice.

  At first apparently much astonished, the burgomaster became by degrees deeply attentive and anxious; every now and then be allowed some exclamation of surprise or doubt to escape him, whilst he glanced covertly at the group formed by Dagobert and the two young girls. By the expression of his countenance, which grew every moment more unquiet, severe, and searching, it was easy to perceive that the interest which the magistrate had felt for the orphans and for the soldier, was gradually changed, by the secret communications of the Prophet, into a sentiment of distrust and hostility.

  Dagobert saw this sudden revolution, and his fears, which had been appeased for an instant, returned with redoubled force; Rose and Blanche, confused, and not understanding the object of this mute scene, looked at the soldier with increased perplexity.

  “The devil!” said the burgomaster, rising abruptly; “all of this never occurred to me. What could I have been thinking of? — But you see, Morok, when one is roused up in the middle of the night, one has not always presence of mind. You said well: it is a great service you came to render me.”

  “I assert nothing positively, but—”

  “No matter; ’tis a thousand to one that you are right.”

  “It is only a suspicion founded upon divers circumstances; but even a suspicion—”

  “May give you scent of the truth. And here was I, going like a gull into the snare! — Once more, what could I have been thinking of?”

  “It is so difficult to be on guard against certain appearances.”

  “You need not tell me so, my dear Morok, you need not tell me so.”

  During this mysterious conversation, Dagobert was on thorns; he saw vaguely that a violent storm was about to burst. He thought only of how he should still keep his anger within bounds.

  Morok again approached the judge, and glancing at the orphans, recommenced speaking in a low voice. “Oh” cried the burgomaster, with, indignation, “you go too far now.”

  “I affirm nothing,” said Morok, hastily; “it is a mere supposition founded on—” and he again brought his lips close to the ear of the judge.

  “After all, why not?” resumed the magistrate, lifting up his hands; “such people are capable of anything. He says that he brings them from the heart of Siberia: why may not all this prove to be a tissue of impudent falsehoods? — But I am not to be made a dupe twice,” cried the burgomaster, in an angry tone, for, like all persons of a weak and shifting character, he was without pity for those whom he thought capable of having beguiled his compassion.

  “Do not be in a hurry to
decide — don’t give to my words more weight than they deserve,” resumed Morok with a hypocritical affectation of humility. “I am unhappily placed in so false a position with regard to this man,” — pointing to Dagober— “that I might be thought to have acted from private resentment for the injury he has done me; perhaps I may so act without knowing it, while I fancy that I am only influenced by love of justice, horror of falsehood, and respect for our holy religion. Well — who lives long enough will know — and may heaven forgive me if I am deceived! — In any case, the law will pronounce upon it; and if they should prove innocent, they will be released in a month or two.”

  “And, for that reason, I need not hesitate. It is a mere measure of precaution; they will not die of it. Besides, the more I think of it, the more it seems probable. Yes this man is doubtless a French spy or agitator, especially when I compare these suspicions with the late demonstration of the students at Frankfort.”

  “And, upon that theory, nothing is better fitted to excite and stir up those hot-headed youths than—” He glanced significantly at the two sisters; then, after a pause, he added with a sigh, “Satan does not care by what means he works out his ends!”

  “Certainly, it would be odious, but well-devised.”

  “And then, Mr Burgomaster, look at him attentively: you will see that this man has a dangerous face. You will see—”

  In continuing thus to speak in a low tone, Morok had evidently pointed to Dagobert. The latter, notwithstanding his self-command, felt that the restraint he had imposed upon himself, since his arrival at this unlucky inn, and above all wince the commencement of the conversation between Morok and the burgomaster, was becoming no longer bearable; besides, he saw clearly that all his efforts to conciliate the favor of the judge were rendered completely null by the fatal influence of the brute-tamer; so, losing patience, he advanced towards him with his arms folded on his breast, and said to him in a subdued voice: “Was it of me that you were whispering to Mr. Burgomaster?”